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Being Benedictine

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pandemic

We Are The World, We Are The Children

The award-winning song We Are The World, written by Michael Jackson and Lionel Richie, is an anthem for our time. On January 21, 1985, the most well-known artists in the music industry, under the direction of Quincy Jones, came together to support USA for Africa, bringing awareness and financial relief to the famine in Africa. It was a gesture of solidarity that is a reminder for us now and always. Listen here:

(First verse)
“There comes a time
When we heed a certain call
When the world must come together as one.”

 I have friends or family living in many countries–Germany, Italy, Switzerland, Austria, Czechia, Belgium, Spain, Canada, Argentina, Australia—and in all regions of the United States from California to New York, Washington to Arkansas. Being Benedictine has followers and visitors from over 75 countries. In the Benedictine Confederation, there are hundreds of monasteries and thousands of monks, nuns, sisters, and oblates in every part of the world.

No matter where we call home, we are connecting with each other on social media, Zoom, Skype and Facetime to check in with each other, to ask how it’s going, to send a word of encouragement, to offer help. Never have we ALL been in such shared circumstances like this.

together

(First verse continued)
“There are people dying.”

An inevitability, St. Benedict reminds us to keep death daily before our eyes. But even that advice feels different now. The pandemic underscores our connectedness that we don’t take stock of regularly. Collectively we are staring death in the eyes. Depending on where we live, we are on varying points of “the curve” with differing strategies from our governments and medical professionals to “flatten the curve.” Continue reading “We Are The World, We Are The Children”

The road ahead is uncertain: 2020 Edition

The road ahead is uncertain. But isn’t it always?  The title of a blog post I wrote after a very difficult year has come to the forefront of my thoughts these past days.

The weather on January 20, 2017, the day of the Presidential Inauguration, was foggy, rainy, and overall, depressing and dreary. It struck me then that although the road ahead, literally and figuratively, was unclear, eventually the fog would lift. The seasons teach us this.

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Last Thursday, the morning we headed home from a joyous spring break vacation in Wisconsin visiting our daughter and her boyfriend, there was limited visibility on the highway. Like the bathroom mirror steams over from a too-hot shower, a haziness settled on houses and barns, trees and tractors. A dense fog allowed us to see no further than a few hundred feet in front of us. On the side of the road, coffee-colored trees are more visible than trees just several feet behind, muted with the hue of a healthy dose of half-and-half, a church only distinguishable from a house or a barn by its steeple.

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Most visible were the white lines along either side of the road, the necessary boundaries to keep us confident about continuing, and the headlights of oncoming cars.

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I thought, here we are again: foggy weather and uncertain times. In the last day of our trip as reports of the seriousness of the pandemic gripped the news cycle, the encouragement to thoroughly handwash and to elbow bump instead of handshake turned into urgent messages of social distancing, self-isolation and quarantining to “flatten the curve.”

The road ahead is uncertain. Undeniably. Continue reading “The road ahead is uncertain: 2020 Edition”

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