Sometimes as I read various things, I come to the realization two things come from my reading. The more important realization is how much I am helped by the thoughts and process of others. I should not be surprised. I am not the only one living out my life during this trying time. Some people live out their lives as one long complaint. If my life were a little more difficult, maybe I would become a chronic complainer, too. My second realization about reading is I continue to come across thoughts that I want to share with someone. And so, I write one of these pieces and share it.
I was convinced I would find something for myself when I spotted the headlines with the title, “Hope trails alongside.” The subtitle was “Remembering Macrina Wiederkehr,” whom I did not know. I did not even know who she was. But one more thing about the short essay drew me to read it. The author is Judith Valente, whom I do know and value what she has to offer the world. So I jumped into the text.
The first couple lines pull me into the essay even more urgently. Valente begins, “There are people we encounter who transform our lives. We meet them by a grace that we neither expect nor deserve.” I cannot read that kind of thing without immediately beginning to think of the people I have met who have transformed my life. These are people without whom I could never be doing what I am doing. They are people who literally helped me become a different guy. And truly, it is a work of grace. Those people in my life I could never have found, nor would I have been smart enough to ask for what I got.
It turns out Macrina is a Benedictine nun who lived monastically in Fort Smith, AK. I have been to Fort Smith, but obviously missed the Benedictine monastery. Sadly, Sister Macrina died from a brain tumor. I also have found wisdom among the Benedictine monks and nuns, so I eagerly followed the story. Judith was ready to share her memories of encountering this transformative nun.
In 2016 Valente was invited to give a retreat for the nuns in that Arkansas monastery. Feeling squeamish about going into a context where the pupil was going to instruct the master, Valente nevertheless was pushed into action. I loved Valente’s reason for doing it. She said, “Deep down, I knew I would regret missing the chance to meet Sister Macrina in person if I had said no.” Ha, self-interest dies a slow death! I would have done it, too---squeamish or not!
Valente’s narrative of her preparing to step to the lectern to begin the first presentation is moving. She quickly noticed Macrina sitting off to the side of the audience. No doubt, seeing her made Valente double clutch, but the wise nun knew exactly what to offer. Judith says about Macrina, “she stood for a moment, clasped her hands together, and gave me a bow.” What a magnificent touch and gift. What a powerful dose of encouragement.
Rather than recount a story of deep theology, Valente instead offers a little snippet of Macrina’s life that no doubt led her to a deep sanctity. That night after the presentation Macrina again appears on the scene. Valente tells us, “She was carrying a can of spiced almonds someone had brought back from Africa for her and a couple of single-serving bottles of wine similar to the kind you're given on airplanes, which she got from who knows where.” Even as a Quaker, I know this is not a eucharist, but I wonder if it is not a communion moment? The best part is not theology, but laughter. In her own words, Valente comments, “I wish I could recall the conversation that night. What I remember is our laughter, the sheer joy of simply being together.”
The sheer joy of being together. Is there anything any better in life? Authentic being together is always a gift---always a grace. People pay money to buy it, but it is not real when purchased. It is gift. And that, I take it, is how Sister Macrina dealt with her brain tumor. Rather than chasing it medically and, perhaps, invasively, she opted to live out her numbered days in her own spiritual way. By now, she has become my teacher, too.
In a later conversation with Valente, Macrina shared her news. She was going to live out her diagnosis in her own way. And then comes these poignant words from Valente. “Something she shared with me on that last visit seems prescient now. She told me, "Hope trails alongside me like my best friend no matter how desperate I might feel." Those words strike deeply inside me. Hope trails alongside me.
If we can get to this place, then fear does not have the final word. Momentarily, we might be afraid, but we don’t get caught in fear. Macrina has grasped and now understands both life and death. Furthermore, she has found perfect words to express it.
Hope trails alongside of me.
I was convinced I would find something for myself when I spotted the headlines with the title, “Hope trails alongside.” The subtitle was “Remembering Macrina Wiederkehr,” whom I did not know. I did not even know who she was. But one more thing about the short essay drew me to read it. The author is Judith Valente, whom I do know and value what she has to offer the world. So I jumped into the text.
The first couple lines pull me into the essay even more urgently. Valente begins, “There are people we encounter who transform our lives. We meet them by a grace that we neither expect nor deserve.” I cannot read that kind of thing without immediately beginning to think of the people I have met who have transformed my life. These are people without whom I could never be doing what I am doing. They are people who literally helped me become a different guy. And truly, it is a work of grace. Those people in my life I could never have found, nor would I have been smart enough to ask for what I got.
It turns out Macrina is a Benedictine nun who lived monastically in Fort Smith, AK. I have been to Fort Smith, but obviously missed the Benedictine monastery. Sadly, Sister Macrina died from a brain tumor. I also have found wisdom among the Benedictine monks and nuns, so I eagerly followed the story. Judith was ready to share her memories of encountering this transformative nun.
In 2016 Valente was invited to give a retreat for the nuns in that Arkansas monastery. Feeling squeamish about going into a context where the pupil was going to instruct the master, Valente nevertheless was pushed into action. I loved Valente’s reason for doing it. She said, “Deep down, I knew I would regret missing the chance to meet Sister Macrina in person if I had said no.” Ha, self-interest dies a slow death! I would have done it, too---squeamish or not!
Valente’s narrative of her preparing to step to the lectern to begin the first presentation is moving. She quickly noticed Macrina sitting off to the side of the audience. No doubt, seeing her made Valente double clutch, but the wise nun knew exactly what to offer. Judith says about Macrina, “she stood for a moment, clasped her hands together, and gave me a bow.” What a magnificent touch and gift. What a powerful dose of encouragement.
Rather than recount a story of deep theology, Valente instead offers a little snippet of Macrina’s life that no doubt led her to a deep sanctity. That night after the presentation Macrina again appears on the scene. Valente tells us, “She was carrying a can of spiced almonds someone had brought back from Africa for her and a couple of single-serving bottles of wine similar to the kind you're given on airplanes, which she got from who knows where.” Even as a Quaker, I know this is not a eucharist, but I wonder if it is not a communion moment? The best part is not theology, but laughter. In her own words, Valente comments, “I wish I could recall the conversation that night. What I remember is our laughter, the sheer joy of simply being together.”
The sheer joy of being together. Is there anything any better in life? Authentic being together is always a gift---always a grace. People pay money to buy it, but it is not real when purchased. It is gift. And that, I take it, is how Sister Macrina dealt with her brain tumor. Rather than chasing it medically and, perhaps, invasively, she opted to live out her numbered days in her own spiritual way. By now, she has become my teacher, too.
In a later conversation with Valente, Macrina shared her news. She was going to live out her diagnosis in her own way. And then comes these poignant words from Valente. “Something she shared with me on that last visit seems prescient now. She told me, "Hope trails alongside me like my best friend no matter how desperate I might feel." Those words strike deeply inside me. Hope trails alongside me.
If we can get to this place, then fear does not have the final word. Momentarily, we might be afraid, but we don’t get caught in fear. Macrina has grasped and now understands both life and death. Furthermore, she has found perfect words to express it.
Hope trails alongside of me.
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