Saint Angela Merici

Today, January 27, is a special day in the Catholic Church calendar, a "feast," that is, a holy day to commemorate a sacred mystery or event, or, as in today's feast, to celebrate the life of a particular Saint. In our modern culture, we take note of the birth dates of famous figures. In the Church, the birth date we remember is the one that launched them from this life to the next. Today marks the date that Saint Angela Merici followed Jesus into glory. That holds special significance for me because I look to Saint Angela as my "Patron Saint" . . . and the inspiration for my writing identity. (The picture featured is from the Ursuline Sisters of Mount Saint Joseph, Maple Mount, Kentucky.)

When I made my profession of faith in the Catholic Church, I had the choice of whether to take the name of a Saint. At the urging of some close prayer partners, I prepared for confirmation by exploring the lives of some of the Saints and asking the Lord who, if anyone, I should select. So prayerfully I pondered this, learned a lot about others who have gone before us with holy lives, and on the eve of my confirmation I felt a strong sense that the Lord was introducing me to Saint Angela. I liked her from the moment we met. If this lady and I had lived in the same community, I've no doubt we would have enjoyed many delightful conversations over a cup o' Joe.

I confess, one of the things that initially drew me to her was her name and her culture. I love the name Angela, and given my own cultural heritage, I was pleased to connect with another Italian. I learned that when she was 10, she and her sister were orphaned and went to live with an uncle. When she was growing up, the unexpected death of her older sister troubled her deeply: She wanted reassurance that her sister was with the Lord. It is said that the Lord gave her a vision, revealing that her older sister was indeed in heaven with the Saints. And that was another thing that drew me to Angela—the relationship she had with her sister. Over the years, my sister Jeanette and I have had sort of a tag-team relationship when it comes to spiritual things, a dynamic that began when I was 10. I could imagine Angela and her sister as another version of Jeanette and me, albeit 500 years earlier.

On the threshold of her adult years, Angela's uncle died, and she decided to return to her paternal home in Desenzano, Italy. It was there that she felt a burden for the girls and young women in her community, the desire to find a way for them to receive an education, particularly in the basics of their Christian faith. So she started her own school. (Yes, it was at this point when I began to realize, Here is a soul mate. . . .) Her school enjoyed such great success that she was invited to come to nearby Brescia and began another work there among the girls and young women. Angela was light years ahead of her time in her vision for educating single women, and that didn't escape the notice of people in high places.

In 1525 Pope Clement VII heard of Angela’s success as an educator and invited her come to Rome, to use her skills there to fulfill needs. But it wasn't simply her abilities that commended Angela to the Holy See. It was dramatic evidence of her intimate relationship with the Lord.

In 1524, Angela had purposed to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Midway on her journey, while on the island of Crete, she suddenly became blind. That traumatic experience did not dissuade her. She continued her journey and visited the Holy Places as planned. A few weeks later, on her return home, she stopped at the same place where she had become blind. There she prayed before a crucifix . . . and there she regained her sight.

This sounds like the stuff of legends, but historical documents testify to the substance of her story. Indeed, the validity of her experiences had traveled before her to the Pope himself. When they finally met, Pope Clement requested that Angela oversee a religious order of sisters who practiced nursing. She said no.

It was at this point when I knew, I like this woman a lot, not because she refused the Pope's offer, but because she realized she had to be true to her calling. Her passion was stirred by seeing the needs of those around her, single women who, in that day and age, would have been denied an education were it not for Angela's vision and leadership. This was radical thinking in her day. I like her style. Angela went on to establish a formal group of women that would grow and continue after her lifetime, later known as "Angela's Company of Saint Ursula," or the "Ursulines," the first group of "women religious" (I know—that phrase sounds odd) to work outside the cloister. Angela felt it was important for young women to connect with the people in their world—they had so much to offer. The work she founded went on to become the first teaching order of women.

In 1540, at age 70, Saint Angela knew she was about to cross over. Even near death she comforted the women in her order, who dreaded losing her: "I shall continue to be more alive than I was in this life, and I shall see you better and shall love more the good deeds which I shall see you doing continually, and I shall be able to help you more." (Catholic Online at www.catholic.org/) [Another reliable source: Catholic Encyclopedia at www.advent.org/] (You can learn more about Saint Angela and read a collection of her writings at http://www.ursulinesmsj.org/.)

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, led us rid ourselves of every burden and sin that clings to us and persevere in running the race that lies before us, keeping our eyes fixed on Jesus. . . ." (Hebrews 12:1,2).

Thanks for letting me introduce you to one of my close friends.

Runnin’ with a bucket,

“Angela”

Cup O' Joe With Angela O

Every picture tells a story. . . .

The Voice

“If you enter this writing contest,” she bribed, “you’ll get extra credit.”

We were seniors in high school, caving to the grade-grubbing pressures inflamed by our English lit teacher, Mary Garner, fondly known as “Bloody Mary.”

The contest was sponsored by Guideposts magazine, and it centered on a topic that resonated with me: “The Day My Faith Meant Most to Me.”

In those days, whenever I had to write anything, I found that I couldn’t sit still. I had to go take a walk. Often I would pray, begging for some stroke of inspiration. I figured it wasn’t just a coincidence that our teacher would dangle this type of an assignment under my nose. After all, this wasn’t a parochial school. I had a feeling God was in this.

I was delighted when an idea finally came to me, and I raced home to record my thoughts. There—this should win points with our class. They loved funny stories. But as I finished writing my essay, I felt uneasy. Something wasn’t right. . . . I took another walk. Sigh. . . . The Hound of Heaven was hot on my trail, relentless in his pursuit.

There was another story that came to mind, but it was painfully serious and terribly embarrassing. “All right” I said. “You win. I’ll write that story, too. But I’m not going to read it to the class, okay?”

So the next day, I shared my first story with the class. It was received as I had envisioned. . . . Ah, the wonderful sounds of laughter and applause. Then I mentioned my second story to the teacher. I told her I would submit both stories to Guideposts, but I didn’t wish to read the second one. She took the hint.

Each day as I walked past our school library, the contest poster on the window reminded me of the entry I shared with the class—and the one that was strictly between me and God. The poster featured previous contest winners standing in front of the Capitol. As I stared at the images, I found myself drifting off in reflection, imagining what it would be like if I were one of the winners. . . . Then I noticed that winning contestants would bring a chaperone, and the only stipulation was “must be 21 years or older.”

Wow! I thought. I could bring anyone I want—as long as that person is at least 21. I wondered who I might bring. . . . Then I thought of my sister Jeanette, who was 23. We were not best buddies growing up, but we eventually learned to bridge the gap . . . about the same time she went off to college. I imagined her response if I won the contest and asked her to be my chaperone—she would be shocked. The thought of that made me smile. Then I thought, Wouldn’t that be a great way to say, “I love you”?

Immediately, I heard a voice say, “I’m going to give that to you.”

Now in spite of my vivid imagination, I was not accustomed to hearing voices. This was a startling new experience. Was that voice who I thought it was?

A Divine Appointment

It was New Year's Eve, seven years ago, and we were sitting at the dinner table. My husband Kevin is a fairly even-keeled, easy going person, not given to great highs or deep lows. So it surprised me when he gave voice to some rather melancholy reflections. "It's kind of sad," he said, "not to have anybody left in your family, especially during the holidays."

I remember the sharp pang I felt as he spoke those words. I have four older brothers and sisters, and even though they live clear across the country, they are there for me. We email, we call, we are there for each other at a moment's notice. But who did Kevin have? His mom had recently passed away. His brother John had passed away a few years before that. And his sister, Gloria, died when Kevin was only 10 months old. He never knew her. That was it—there was no one left in his family. . . . Or was there?

My mind raced back to a scene two years earlier. After my mother in-law passed away, my husband was sorting through some of her old documents. A puzzled look came over his face as he picked up his father's military discharge papers. Kevin's dad had served in the Navy during WWII, but the odd thing about this document was the personal status. He was listed as "married" when he was discharged.

"Look at this," Kevin said. "The Navy made an error on his discharge papers. I wonder if he even noticed that?"

I’m a journalist. My first thought was, Hmmm. . . . What if . . . ? So gently, I put the question to my husband.

"Kev, I know this sounds crazy, but . . . what if that wasn't a mistake?"

"I thought about that, too," he said. "I don't even want to go there. If my dad had a previous marriage and no one told me, then I'm not so sure I want to know about it."

Well, I do! I thought. And I did. What if Kevin's dad had been married previously? What if he had other children? What if Kevin had siblings he didn't know about? What if our daughter unknowingly struck up a relationship with someone who turned out to be . . . her own cousin!

A few days later, I decided I couldn’t resist. I dialed the number for vital statistics in the county office where Kevin's dad grew up. But as I waited on hold, something held me back. What if this opens up a Pandora's Box? Maybe Kevin is right. And it isn't exactly a trust builder to do this behind my husband's back. So I gave up the idea . . . but not entirely.