A Gift Shop

SHOPKEEPING FOR GOD

by Catherine Doherty

Like all things of God in Madonna House, our gift shop started exceedingly small, maybe smaller than a mustard seed, but much more casually. Way back in the early days of the apostolate, both in Friendship House (our earlier house) and Madonna House, among the endless donations that charitable people sent us for the poor, were what people call antiques

Having had an extensive education in art and music and recognizing antiques, I realized that these extra donations could be exchanged for cash for the poor.

And exchange them I did, but in a sort of desultory fashion, for we were all too busy to take time out to really appraise these donations.

But when I came to Combermere and started MH, I had a little more time, and some sixth sense, or maybe an inspiration from Our Lady, made me attentive when we were sorting out donations.

I set aside the pieces of jewelry, china, silver, and so forth. Years passed, and one year, the idea came to me that we could get out some of those nice antiques, display them on a few shelves, and make them available for people to buy. By the end of that first summer, to our immense surprise, we had made $900.

About that time, we had been invited to open a mission in Pakistan and we were begging money for it, and so the idea of using this cash that came in so providentially and unexpectedly, for the Pakistan mission was a natural.

I begged for things in “One Man’s Scrap,” the stock grew, and came the day when we realized that a gift shop was to become part and parcel of our way of life and of raising money for the poor.

But our MH shop must not only be a shop to raise money for the poor but an apostolate in itself of contacts with those who shall come to it as customers. In these times, we face a lack of reverence for things and people, for they usually go together.

It is not easy. But we are apostles. So let us teach a silent lesson in our relation to our customers and others by showing them a great reverence. Example is their greatest teacher.

We are interested personally, apostolically, in the person of the customer. Our best items in this shop are politeness, charity, and personal interest in the customer. Our goal is apostolic, to bring Christ to the marketplace.

The world may call this “selling” and so it is. But it is so much more. For the money we receive in exchange for our goods is not “money for profit.”

We offer the work of our hands, into which has been woven prayer and joy. This is our prayer for the poor, the customer, and the unity of the world. This is our prayer for our humble apostolate itself, and for the courage to cry the gospel with our lives wherever God wants us to do so. This is an apostolic shop, because all things we do and are, we do for Christ.

But The children of the light must be as wise as the children of the darkness (cf. Lk 16:8). So it is well for the children of the light to use, in the service and glory of the Father, the good methods of the children of darkness.

Among these methods are efficiency, intelligence, ingenuity, and imagination. We apply them to the crying the Gospel with our lives.

So for example, in order to be really apostolic, we must know our stock, because our knowledge is the wedge that will bring us deeper into the minds of people. It will interest them more, and allow us slowly to foster this acquaintanceship into a friendship through which we can eventually show them the face of God.

In our midst will come those who have made their collections their gods. At times we will sense greed of possession in them. Others use their possessions as status symbols.

We must not judge or be disturbed by such people. We will pray to ask God to open their eyes. We must never, never close ourselves to anyone.

In my inter-racial work in the 1940s and ’50s, I could have closed by heart completely to the whites of America. All of us have been tempted to close our hearts to someone.

But it was a thief who first came into heaven as the first fruit of the redemption, and it was a prostitute that is remembered until the end of time. And it is a women taken in adultery who was so gently forgiven. We have always to keep an open heart for all.

Can anyone imagine a greater field for our apostolate than our gift shop? Through it, God brings us people who would never know the existence of our apostolate, people whom we would otherwise never touch. This is an instance of our not only being in the marketplace in the most literal and spiritual sense, but of the marketplace coming to us. “Go into the marketplace and stay with me … pray … fast … pray always … fast.” (Words from the MH Little Mandate, which gives the essence of the spirituality of Madonna House)

The gift shop answers the question that is eternally being asked about our being in “the world” and touching “the world.” Let me assure you that the gift shop is so embroiled in the world, so involved in it, that small as this apostolate of the gift shop may always be, it will be an intense school of love for us and for those who come in contact with us.

From The People of the Towel and the Water, pp. 126-140, available from MH Publications.

 

 

Combermere Diary

DRAWN INTO GOD-POWER

by Emily Huston

As we pilgrim from the Pasch to Pentecost, the hymn “Christ is Risen from the Dead” rings out in Combermere. For fifty days we sing and proclaim the linchpin of history, Christ risen, “trampling on death by death and on those in the tombs lavishing life.”

Christ remains at his post the year round drawing us from our many tombs. Yet how easy to forget this.

To instill awareness, here in the MH dining room during Eastertide is mounted a large banner. Overseeing our gatherings it heralds, signals, draws us into the Lord’s saving work. Portrayed vividly is Christ lifting Adam and Eve from the tomb. All of us are being raised

Particularly lustrous in the light of Christ’s lifting are the newly baptized. At MH we were gifted to witness the baptism of our guest, Jamie, as James Lee Rogers. Having completed the Lenten steps of preparation in our midst, he was sacramentally plunged into Christ’s death at our Easter Vigil.

In faith we saw James’ old self die to sin and rise, through baptism, confirmation, and first communion, into Christ the New Man. This witness in turn gave joyous impetus to our communal baptismal renewals.

This focused our eyes on the definitive fact: it is God who turns the world. But human fidelity greases the wheel. Without our willed presence to appointed tasks, tankers would sink, metros collide, taps run day, and computers crash

Ours too to be at God’s post. So resolute attention to the job at hand, getting there, remaining there is cheek by jowl with the linchpin of history. In MH we call this “the duty of the moment.”

Such was the momentum of Holy Week here. Irene was making pascha; Pat baking the koolitch (Russian Easter foods). The kitchen buzzed with many tasks, and the house shone with all the cleaning and polishing.

We were astir with all kinds of preparations for the Triduum. Fr. Francis Boland, as master of ceremonies for the liturgies, was memorizing rubrics; other priests were preparing homilies; Reyna was finishing the carving of the Paschal candles; readers were practicing; and in different corners schola groups could be heard practicing.

Mary D. and Ruth drove to a nursery to pick up Easter flowers, and Paul Murray readied the brazier for the Easter fire. The handicraft crew prepared banners, posters, and the like. Folk ironed festal table cloths in the laundry. Meanwhile,in the sacristy, Viva dealt with a myriad of details.

Houseparents had their hands full with an influx of guests. Lists appeared on the bulletin board with work assignments for the feast days, and, of course, all the usual work was being done as well.

Creatively on the job in Visitation, our health care annex, Mary Lynn and the rest of the care-givers planned a “first”

Five weeks of perseverance in our sugar bush paid off with around 160 gallons of maple syrup. That’s after a liberal disbursement at the sugar shack (the place where the sap is boiled down into syrup) of snacks

The “company” of helpers, usually guests Marc and Morgan, merit mention for their adherence to appointed tasks. This included three arduous weeks of learning how to snowshoe in order to walk across deep snow first to insert taps in the maple trees and then to collect the sap from up to a thousand taps. Not to mention the labor of wood-moving in order to feed the fire of the sap-boiler.

This month there was a first for the gift shop. For its 36 years the washing of donations was done in a basement where water was on tap but not on drainage. The buckets of waste-water were manually carried out-of-doors and dumped. Now there is a drain and sump pump. Hooray for Sherman and Doug who installed it!

Without the farm crew steadfastly at their tasks, our tables would be bare. The springtime crew, headed by farm manager Scott, includes seven MH members and one or more live-in guests.

Iain, “the cheese maker,” processes milk from four to twelve cows, a job which keeps him pasteurizing and making cheese, yogurt, and butter five days a week.

Kieran “the gardener” is currently nurturing seedlings for future fields of broccoli, cabbage, and cauliflower. He is also into greenhouse lettuce as well as tending therein young tomatoes and peppers. Outdoor seeding comes in late May.

Preparatory field work done by Scott with Tom Morrell as apprentice, goes on, mostly using horses (sometimes tractors) to disc and/or harrow 60 acres of pasture for the animals and five acres of garden plots.

Chuck has taken on the shop work

Ronnie, the veteran of nearly five decades, is trying to ease from his post and is training Chris and Tom as “herdsmen.” This encompasses animal care (chickens, cattle, and sheep), milking and breeding.

Lambing occurred over Easter week, evoking the image of the Paschal Lamb, and drawing visitors and staff alike to see the frisky newborns.

Shearing occurred during Holy Week. Two professionals made quick work of the job. Now lots of dirty fleece is stored awaiting the preparations

As you and I look past Pentecost, Christ remains at his post lavishing life. The June solemnity of St. John the Baptist beckons. He, the forerunner

Like this forerunner, we, the year round, proclaim ways into paschal life. By fidelity to the daily doing and being, cheek by jowl, reliant on Christ’s raising of us, we bend our wills to the plough of God’s will. We can unleash exponential God-power. May the glory of God be revealed.

 

 

Museum

A STEP BACK IN TIME

by Mamie Legris

“Museums are bridges which link the past, the present, and the future. Without knowledge of our tradition, we are quite ignorant of the lives of the early pioneers (who settled our area).” So wrote Catherine Doherty, the Madonna House foundress, in 1962.

Then in 1967, Canada’s centennial year, she opened a pioneer museum. Built out of the logs of hundred-year-old barns that were no longer used, the building stands as a tribute to the skill of its local builders: Eddie and Frank Coulas, Joe Yantha, and Frank Serran. It is, in fact, an excellent example of an old-fashioned way of building, a way that, in this age of technology, is almost lost.

While the structure was taking shape, Catherine used the column “One Man’s Scrap” in RESTORATION to beg for artifacts to display. Thus much that we now view came as gifts from our readers. Also over the years local farmers generously donated hundreds of treasures. Auction sales throughout the region were still another source.

The articles thus acquired are marvelously varied and include tools, furniture, clothing, toys, kitchen ware, and furniture and are arranged in “rooms”

The museum offers a step back in time. In returning the visitors to the period of the pioneers, the displays depict an age of simplicity and hard work

It has been a privilege

The surrounding countryside is a haven for vacationers. The cottages, motels, and campgrounds, rivers, lakes, and indescribable beauty make for a tourists’ paradise. But last year, the Jubilee year, sometimes called “the year without a summer”, was cold and wet. So the usual outdoor activities were limited.

While awaiting the return of the sun, people explored the indoors of local sites. One big attraction for thousands was the Madonna House Gift Shop and Pioneer Museum.

Last summer, I hosted a wide-range of these folks in the museum. Children came with their parents and grandparents; and Scouts and Girl Guides came with their leaders. And home-schooled children came with their parents for an instructive field trip.

Many people returned repeatedly, bringing their guests. One lady, who has returned often, said, “Today I bring you ambassadors

Men reminisced among themselves about tools, farm equipment, and the blacksmith’s forge. Women, as they browsed, told stories about the dishes, stoves, and quilts, and about needle craft, irons, and butter churns. Many told stories about treasures they themselves had saved from parent’s homes. Shared memories flourished as people revisited their past.

And they came from far and near. Our visitors’ book was signed by people from Holland, Germany, Poland, Japan, England, Australia, China, France, and elsewhere, plus hundreds from the local area and from places all across Canada and the States.

The books’s comment column included such gems from young people as “cool,” “neat,” “wow,” “great stuff,” “super-cool”; and from the appreciative, older generation, “very good for kids,” “back after 28 years,” “you learn to appreciate the pioneers,” “I would like to be using much of it.” Or, “interesting, exciting, and informative,” “a walk back in time,” “history at its best,” “amazing treasures,” “nice to see we can share the well-preserved past.”

How grateful are we to the many, like our foundress, Catherine, who had the foresight to collect and preserve the treasures on display! They not only bring us back to a wholesome, simple life, but these treasures from our ancestors also depict beauty and ingenious craftsmanship.

Yes, truly our museum is the embodiment of the dreams, vision, and planning of Catherine Doherty. After all, one of her favorite sayings about any kind of information was “Pass it on!”

 

 

Letters

LOVE GIVEN

Most of the time, the story of an item we receive in donation and the movement in the heart that led the donor to send it remain properly veiled in God’s silence. But once in a while, along with a donation, someone writes us a letter. Each of the following paragraphs is from a different letter.

———-

As a sister I never have much to send. It is only a drop in the bucket, but if it drips long enough, it will fill the bucket. So I send this little donation. May God bless you always for being good to the poor.

We are both old people. I am 82, my husband is 85, and now he is losing his eyesight. I hope he doesn’t go blind. As of now we have our home for sale. I am asking you to pray so we can sell and move into an apartment. I am enclosing some things precious to us as I can’t send money. Please sell them for the poor.

This little statue of the Infant of Prague has been in our family for a long time. Could you perhaps repair it and restore it so that someone could appreciate him again through his representation?

Seems like a long time since I have written, but much has happened. I am a patient in Riverside Hospital, four months now, heart failure. I’m getting lots of rest and am coming along. I packed this little package for you.

When you untie the quilt, please be careful because I have a vase in the center. There is a lot of love tucked in this box, so please spread it around.

I am mailing you a box with some costume jewelry, also two rosaries and a ring. The ring is the only valuable thing in my possession. I hope you can sell it for the poor. Please pray for me and my family and their heart-breaking troubles.

Hope these few things will be of some use to you. I wish I could send something better, but in these hard times and my husband on old age pension, I guess this is the best I can do for now. I collected some of the things from my neighbors.

I hope what I have sent in this box will help. Each item (jewelry) was given to me with love and I give it to be used for those who have never been loved as I have.

God has been so good to me all through the years. My husband died 22 years ago, little children were left crying at my feet. We all wondered what we were going to do. I asked our Blessed Mother to come to help us. No one will ever know or could ever realize what God has done for us. We had no water and now we have three overflowing wells. Everything we lacked God provided. We want to care for others in turn. Please accept these gifts for the poor. They belonged to my husband and have been in the family a long time.

I am a quadriplegic. I am on welfare so there is very little I can contribute financially. Nevertheless I may have something to offer you besides my prayers. Last summer I made a faith and sharing retreat. I didn’t have any money for a donation. Being an artist, I took a bunch of pen and ink drawings I had done and put them on the table where they had books for sale. By the end of the retreat they were all gone. Here are some of my stationeries. Please sell them for the poor.

I am feeling a very strong call to simplify my life and my surroundings. It feels good to divest myself of status symbols and conversation pieces (jewelry).

My husband and I are celebrating our 35th wedding anniversary. I can think of no better way to thank God for our good marriage than the first symbol of our life together: my engagement ring. It will make me very happy if you will accept this gift to help God’s poor.

 

 

Letters

LOVE RECEIVED

Our gift shop and wool shop support not only our own foreign missions but missions throughout the world. And the money does not always go to the same places. If there is a great need in one part of the world, a famine for example, we will send more money there.

Here, we share with you just a few of the thank yous from the missions

———-

From a Bishop in South Africa:

This is a timely donation indeed. The archdiocese runs two private hospitals. A number of patients, although in bad need of medical care, are not able to pay even the minimum fee required to be accepted into the hospital. It is my intention to use this money to help them.

———-

From Burkina Faso:

Your letter and cheque were for me a great and happy surprise. The money will go to help those in need to obtain drinking water.

———-

From a Sister in India:

On behalf of our blind girls, a hearty thanks! I am still working in the sheltered workshop for the blind. Struggling for order, trying to make the girls happy and at the same time disciplined, which is not easy. They aren’t wanted by their families. Some of them are somewhat frustrated; others are okay. I would give my life for them, but I often fail. If only I could give more love or be love for all of them.

———-

From Cameroon:

A very big thank you for the cheque you sent. I am very happy to be able to tell you that at Easter 52 adults were baptized.

———-

From an African bishop:

We are a young clergy, growing regularly. I hope with all my heart that, as we grow in numbers, we will grow in sanctity. Your generous gift has been used to build a training center for young girls who wish to become diocesan nuns. We greatly need nuns for our diocesan hospital, a leprosarium, and institutions to care for the blind, the handicapped, and young girls.

———-

From a native priest in Ghana:

Your gift came at a time when I needed money most desperately. Money for my petrol to go around this big parish with the main hospital of the diocese to which we have to bring the sick in our own cars. Money to drive a poor boy 300 miles away to see a specialist for a needed and urgent operation. Money to buy the necessary things for a lame girl who managed to pass for secondary school.

How my head ached with the memory of all these needs. How was I ever going to be able to meet them? Then I said to myself, `God will provide, since it is his work.’ Though I could not see how.

I was actually on my way to borrow some money when I first went to the post office and found your registered letter and the money enclosed. I could hardly believe my eyes and felt like in a dream.

———-

From a Sister in India:

You can’t believe how much we needed the money you sent. At the end of the summer, we have to repair twelve roofs in one colony and also give the elderly a new sleeping cot each, plus a few hens each. I know it sounds trivial, small, unimportant, but it’s all of these things that make the difference in the lives of our leprosy patients. A couple of hens means not just eggs to eat but to sell a few and get a bit of pocket money.

———-

From an Italian priest celebrating 50 years as a missionary in India:

What is it? Nothing short of a great miracle! You cannot imagine how much I prayed, day in and day out, for days, nay, months and months, to all my patron saints

———-

From a priest who runs a school and orphanage in India:

Your staggering gift

What did I do today? Perhaps one truly Christ-like thing. Radha came, a ten year old, lowest caste, father dead, mother illiterate, just herself, Radha. She came weeping into my office, not quite sure why. As she grows, in her all-round misery, is she becoming half aware of the tearfulness of things?

Through the mercy of God, this time at least, I had the sense to put aside the report I was working on and let her try to put her tearfulness into words. A few hundred words and ten minutes later she left my office laughing, as children will.

When all is said and done, and may I never forget it here in India, nor you in Ontario, what you are helping me to do is not `run projects,’ nor even to `help the poor,’ but to love my Radha and my Shambu just as you are trying to love your John and your Jane.

Not the real names.

 

 

Letters

BREAD FOR THE SOUL

Every since the earliest days of our apostolate, Catherine begged for books, and the ones you sent built and stocked libraries throughout the world.

Then in 1988 when we began our own publishing company, MH Publications, Linda Lambeth who was, at the time, in charge of both it and the gift shop, had the idea of using some of the proceeds from the shop to send MH books and RESTORATION to the missionaries we were supporting.

Here we share with you just two letters from missionaries who have received these books.

———-

From a leper colony in India:

When we read Catherine’s books, we cannot but feel her excitement when “special” things happen.

Last week in one of our village surveys, we detected a leprosy patient in a sad medical and social situation. I had to take photographs of the man for our medical records, and when I got them back, for some unknown reason, I thought of Catherine. Here was a photograph of a human being, a photograph of a brother who was lonely, rejected, and uncared for.

In so many of Catherine’s writings, we get the sense that if we pass these lost people by then we have passed the opportunity to see Christ, for it is in these lost people that he appears.

It would have been so easy to simply give him medicine as per the requirement of the project, as per the prescription of the doctor, but I felt in his eyes that what he really wanted was to feel wanted.

Even though we were full at the farm with other leprosy patients, and the doctor wasn’t sure that this man needed custodial care, I asked him if he would like to live in our care program for a while.

That invitation changed his face. It was an expression of disbelief. I knew that he just couldn’t believe that someone was offering to care for him and to allow him to have food without begging.

———-

To Catherine from a priest in Africa:

In one sitting I have read your love letter (book), Dear Father. You know my first mission as a newly ordained priest was hard. It was a dangerous place. I nearly had a breakdown. I asked my bishop to transfer me, but he pleaded that I stay a while longer.

I felt I had really nothing. Complete emptiness. In summer I asked to go on retreat, but there was no one to take my place. Next year, the same story.

I was desperate but said, `Lord, you are the source of your priest’s life and strength, Give me what you think I need.’

Dear Father was his answer. O how wonderful and marvelous are the works of the Lord!

 

 

Story

BORN TO SERVE

by Jude Fischer

Once upon a time a bowl was born. It wasn’t much of a birth. There were no long months of planning for his coming, no excited anticipation of what he would be like, no patient shaping under loving hands, nothing. Scarcely a thought had gone into his design, and as few moments as possible into his making. The quick impersonal movement of a few machines, a trip through a hot oven, and there he was. Nothing much to look at, no warmth, no beauty.

Then he sat in a store and and was soon bought, not for his looks, but because he was cheap and would serve a purpose. That he did well. Meal after meal, day after day, he faithfully served. For that was his call, to be a simple serving bowl. And all the while no one ever took much notice of him.

Sometimes after a meal he would sit around dirty for a long time waiting to be cleaned. Invariably he would be among the last of the dishes to be washed for the pretty delicate ones always went first. By the time his turn came the water would be

The girl washing him would mumble and grumble the whole time about this unwelcome chore. The poor bowl bore it all so as to be able to serve once more. And so his life went, meal after meal, week after week, year after year.

Then one day his mistress walked in with a shiny new bowl. It had such a pretty floral design. “Just what I’ve always wanted,” she said. “You’ll serve us well and be lovely to look at at the same time.” So the first bowl was packed up with a few other discarded items and sent away.

It was a long journey and so tiresome that the bowl fell fast asleep. When he woke up much later he found himself in unfamiliar hands.

He was plunged into nice sudsy water and washed up. This bath was quite different from any he had known, and for the first time in his life he actually enjoyed it. It was so refreshing. The water was clean and warm, and the girl washing him didn’t seem to mind the task at all. In fact, she hummed a merry tune all the while.

Then he was taken to a nice log building

When he learned this the bowl became quite excited. He really wanted to help some poor person by his sale. He sat there waiting for his chance, waiting for someone to buy him. But no one did.

No one looked at him twice. For he was so plain, so ordinary, so lacking in the most elementary charm and grace, and he was surrounded by so many lovely things.

Why, the vase next to him was truly exquisite. Just looking at it one could see the love that went into its creation. It must have been carried in the mind of its maker for a long time, tenderly brooded over as a design was perfected down to the last wee detail. Then it was fashioned slowly, painstakingly, under a pair of warm gentle hands, and delicately painted with soft loving strokes.

All the time and attention lavished on its creation shone splendidly from its being and drew the attention of all who walked in. It wasn’t long at all until it was sold and its sale brought a handsome price to help many.

Then there was that little dancing figurine whose presence echoed the joy of its maker, and one could sense that sacred time when sheer goodness flowed from the fingers of its maker and came to dwell in this delightful object.

But as we said, poor bowl knew no such grace or beauty. Repeatedly overlooked, he nearly gave up all hope of being sold.

He settled into life in the shop. It wasn’t bad really. He enjoyed the care and attention paid him by those who worked there even if no one else took a second glance at him. He was dusted regularly and he liked the warm touch of the hands that held him so gently as they did this.

Often he was moved around from shelf to shelf, given new companions, and every effort was made to display him as nicely as possible even though it seemed to be to no avail. After he had been there a long time he was given another nice warm sudsy bath. He was quite content with all this for awhile.

But after a number of years he grew rather wistful. This unexpected retirement had been nice, but after all, he had been born to serve, and he knew in his heart it was time to get on with his life of service. But still he waited.

Then one day he heard the people at work in the shop talk about a boy who needed a wheelchair, but had no money for it. The next sales in the shop would supply it for him.

Bowl’s heart jumped. How he would love to help the boy

Then he heard a woman walking toward him. He knew her attention would go immediately to that attractive tray at his right, or to the elegant silver teapot to his left.

But she looked right at him, smiled, and said, “Just what I’m looking for, just like grandmother used to have. So lovely, and you’ll do a nice job of serving my family as well.” Lovely? He’d never been called that before. Serve them well, yes, he would. But be lovely? Never. He knew better than that.

She picked him up and walked to the counter to pay for him. On the way he passed a mirror. The bowl looked in it and was amazed. For he was indeed lovely. Much the same, yet so different. Radiant! Why, he positively glowed, and his plain design sparkled warmly.

He couldn’t believe it! He’d never looked that way before. Then suddenly he recognized that what he was seeing was what he had felt all those times he was so lovingly handled by those girls in the shop as they washed and dusted and arranged him. Their love had clung to him and filled him and subtly transformed him. And now, not only would he begin a life of service again and realize his dream of helping the boy, but from now on he’d give delight by his presence as well.

We, with our unveiled faces, reflecting like mirrors the brightness of the Lord, all grow brighter and brighter as we are turned into the image that we reflect (2 Cor 3:18).

From Be Always Little, pp. 23-27, available from MH Publications.

 

 

THE RING

Anonymous

It’s gone! My heart pounded and I started to perspire. I stared at the jagged prongs of my engagement ring and began to pray that the beautiful diamond that had fallen out of it would be lying there on the bed where I’d just laid down my baby. But it wasn’t.

I put Sue* in her crib and searched the bed, gently shaking the bed clothes. Then I went to the bathroom where I’d changed the diaper and searched frantically. It wasn’t there either. I asked God to calm my heart.

I didn’t have time to look for a diamond. I had three small children to care for and all our earthly belongings to pack away. In three days we would be leaving Africa to return home to Canada.

A year after we married, when Steve* was finishing medical school and I was working as a public health nurse, we heard the call of God to serve him as foreign missionaries. Not long after that, in 1970, a small bush plane deposited us in the center of the African grasslands.

The next several years were hectic and tiring but very rewarding

My admiration and respect for my husband grew tremendously during those years as I saw him minister to the sick patiently and lovingly, just like Jesus did.

But then he started to cough and wheeze, and after many months of his ill-health, we decided to leave for six months of home service in Canada. Only three more days to pack everything (carefully

I asked our house boy to sweep the house very carefully, and I asked our little girls to look on the floor for a shiny stone. And I asked our missionary friends to pray that I’d find my diamond. But I never did.

But though we left Africa without the diamond, there was joy in our hearts. We left knowing that we had worked with all the strength God had given us to leave something more precious than diamonds. Jesus had enabled us to relieve suffering and poverty, to save lives, and to teach his Word.

Both Steve and I had grown up in poor families in which we had learned to work hard and to demand little. Nevertheless, like most romantic girls, I had yearned for a diamond engagement ring.

We were both careful spenders, paying our own way through university, but the day we were looking for an engagement ring, I was looking for the best. Then I found it

It was the ring I wanted, but Steve said that it cost too much. I’d always worn hand-me-downs and once again it hurt to be poor. But I scolded myself for wanting what I could not have.

So you can’t imagine my surprise and delight when, a few weeks later, Steve presented me with the ring. It became my most precious possession, and through all the dirt and sweat and tears of life in the missions, I could see the beauty of my ring.

Steve’s illness made it impossible for us to return to Africa, and after six months of living in seventeen different homes, we finally found a place in northern Canada. There Steve’s health improved, but our marriage did not. We had never learned to communicate with one another; and after thirteen years without emotional support, I felt that my only hope was to abandon my family. I was losing my mind.

But although I’d never felt God’s loving, protective arms around me, yet he was there, loving and protecting us. It must have hurt him to see us suffer, but I think he wanted to train my husband to be the kind of Christian family physician who can be understanding and an instrument of God’s healing to the many northern families that are breaking up because of isolation, stress and sorrow, and even insanity.

And so when our training was complete, he opened our hearts to “speak the truth in love” to one another and to become best friends. God healed our family! Praised be his wonderful name!

Then, seemingly as a gift and symbol of our new start, we saw a ring exactly the same as the ring. This time the price was more than double what Steve had paid before, but it was on sale. On impulse, I asked Steve to buy it for me, and he did.

But I never wear it. I’d grown accustomed to the plain wedding band on my finger. And I don’t need its beauty anymore. I can see beauty all around me now.

No longer do I despair of ever feeling the loving protective arms of God or my husband around me. Daily, God pours his love and protection into my life through Steve.

So I want to give the ring and our story to someone else. And through the Madonna House Gift Shop, we want to help the poor. May God bless you.

*Not the real names.

 

 

Marian Centre Edmonton

CRAFTS FOR THE SHOP

by Patrick Stewart

The last few months have been a time of great artistic energy and productivity at Marian Centre. This included Linda’s hand-painted greeting cards and companion envelopes on paper made by her and Nancy, Veronica’s poured and dipped candles decorated with painted and real flower petals and leaves, many different decorative boxes crafted by our friend Kim Sellmer, Lupe’s restored religious statues, and my paintings of scenes of the North Saskatchewan River Valley. Many of these items are now on sale in the gift shop in Combermere.

In the fall, I was able to give one day a week to landscape painting. Edmonton has large and wonderful parks, and in parts of some of them, you can feel you are in the wilderness. I have roamed their river valley trails and have also driven into outlying farmlands in the search for paintable views.

What a gift to be painting (in obedience even!), and to be immersed in all that natural beauty! I completed a fair number of paintings before the days got too cold.

A good friend used his skills and machinery to produce a versatile and simple aspen molding which I made into frames. Linda then spent many hours staining, painting, and gilding them to suit each of my painting. We hung them in our dining room and have already sold a number, the money from which will go, as does everything sold in the gift shop in Combermere, to the poor of the Third World.

We have also been teaching crafts. With the assistance of Catherine and Nancy, Veronica has been teaching wheat weaving.

Veronica also continues to experiment with new wax colors and molds. She has produced a series of coffee-scented candles poured into International Coffees’ flavored coffee containers.

Nancy was particularly diligent in the fall picking up colorful leaves on her afternoon breaktime strolls

As usual in Marian Centre, even during this extraordinarily creative time, the ordinary tasks of living and loving are the bedrock. For, as our foundress Catherine says,

“An artist is an ordinary person who goes about doing the chores of every day whatever they may be because he knows that every work of his hand and of his mind

And all the while during this time, stews have been cooked and served to the poor, floors have been swept and mopped, thousands of doorbells and phones have been answered, tens of thousands of bowls and plates have been washed, and who can say how many times we have asked forgiveness of, or given forgiveness to, one another.

For every bit of fruit we bear in our life flows through and out of the love we bear toward one another, a love mostly expressed in the ordinary, very ordinary moments of our humble lives. God is a wondrous God!

 

 

Gift Shop

OUR LADY IS OUR BUYER

by Jude Fischer

How did our gift shop begin? We needed money for the foreign missions. We had just sent a team to Pakistan, and the travel alone was very expensive. So Catherine prayed, and what came to her was, “Build a shop and let Our Lady be the buyer.”

It was a venture in faith; every item in it would come in donation. And so it happened. For over 35 years, Our Lady has moved the hearts of people to send all kinds of beautiful things to sell. For every item sold, another has come in donation. The shelves have always been full.

Apostolate to the Missions

So, first of all, the shop is an apostolate to raise money for the poor, for our own missions, and for other missionaries throughout the world as well. Over the years, the money from the shop has dug wells, provided food, built dispensaries, helped orphanages, and helped provide education and a means of livelihood.

Yet the income from the shop is never enough to meet all the requests that come our way. Then what can we do but stand like Mary at the foot of the cross with our missionary friends in their pain and helplessness in an endless sea of human need. And look at our own lives and try to live more simply and poorly ourselves.

Like Peter, we often have to say, Silver and gold I have none, but what I have I give you (Acts 3:6). What do we have that we can give? Above all we try to offer our spiritual support through our prayer and the offering of our lives. We can do the little things well

Secondly, we give many of our missionary friends complimentary subscriptions to RESTORATION or books from MH Publications, and thus share words of inspiration from our foundress, Catherine Doherty. Many of them tell us that they have found these a rich source of spiritual food. And by sending these and also books we receive in donation, we help Third World seminaries build up their libraries.

Apostolate to Customers

But this is not only a shop to raise money for the poor. It is also an apostolate in itself

Catherine spoke of a dream she had of Christ standing at the corner of road we are on

Loving One Another

And, as with every house and work department in MH, our first and most important work in the gift shop is to love one another, and then to love each person who comes, keeping in mind that we are serving Christ in each customer. Catherine always said if we didn’t love one another, we might as well close the house, the shop, that is, whatever work we are doing.

When we do that, however imperfectly, and are always ready to forgive and ask forgiveness, it spills over to those who come, and they touch something holy.

Many remark on how peaceful the shop is, and come back summer after summer, sharing their joys and sorrows of the past year, births and deaths.

Gather Up the Fragments

The gift shop also takes seriously the call of the Gospel to gather up the fragments lest they be lost (Jn 6:12). To this end we work closely with St. Raphael’s, our handicraft department where many items that would otherwise be thrown away, are repaired and restored.

There, among other things, candle stubs are melted down and made into new candles; and religious statues and other items are repaired and repainted. And there, to give just one example of the creative restoration done by the staff, Deirdre Burch beautifully cleans, repaints, and decorates many beat-up wooden and metal items.

Yes, creativity is one of man’s needs and one of God’s gifts to man. God constantly restores us and makes us new, and invites us in turn to restore and make new. Many of the staff and many of our friends from all over make things to sell in the shop.

So the work of the shop is multifaceted, including an apostolate to the poor, to our customers, and to the work of restoring all things to Christ. And all is under the patronage of Our Lady of Combermere, Our Lady of the Shop, Our Lady of the Missions. We call her by many titles.

We consider her our buyer. It is she who moves hearts to send us beautiful things to grace our shelves, and it is she who brings the customers. And it is she who keeps nudging us who work in the shop to try to love them and one another more deeply.

 

 

IF THE SHOE FITS

by Bill Ryan

Where is God to be found?

Elijah looked for him in fire, earthquake, and mighty wind, but found him in a soft breeze. Moses found him in a common desert thorn bush which burned without being charred or reduced to ashes.

I find God in everyday life

Recently, I was asked if I ever go to poustinia. My reply was cryptic, incomplete: “You mean a log cabin in the woods, a physical place? No, not for years. For me, poustinia is a state of being I enter into.”

Later I read Wordsworth’s Tintern Abbey and found that the poet put words to the inarticulate instinct of my heart: to be “in a serene and blessed mood in which the affections gently lead us, so that our body is set aside and we become a living soul. Then, with an eye made quiet by harmony and joy, we see into the life of things.”

To see as God sees, ponder with God’s mind, grasp the harmony within things, and share God’s joy over their existence. Other events happen in the poustinia too, but Wordsworth captures an aspect of it that’s essential to me.

Inner Realities

Since childhood, I’ve been aware of inner realities. By temperament and training, my soul is anchored in a contemplative mood. My parents taught me why things exist, where they originate, how they evolve, and who handles them before they come to me.

Each object

A shoe is not just a shoe. It’s an animal cared for by a rancher, a hide worked on by a tanner, a piece of leather shaped by a cobbler, a manufactured item taken to town by a trucker, a piece of merchandise paid for by my parents, an item of apparel fitted to my foot by a helpful sales clerk.

Shoes metamorphosed into personal protectors, which kept me safe as I raced around a playground. They became my “buckler and shield”

Rancher, tanner, cobbler, trucker, parents, sales clerk

Most everyday objects that I touch have a similar heritage. Even today.

Food for Thought

In my childhood, gifts mysteriously appeared at the dinner table. But, from where? I was never on a farm, and TV and videotapes were far in the future, so my eyes did not see how it came about. My questions about food and drink were verbally answered, through story-telling.

I learned that chocolate, coffee, tea, sugar, were grown by fascinating inhabitants of exotic lands. Plates, saucers, cups, silverware were designed by wondrous artists in hidden studios, then crafted by artisans in far-away factories.

The details of growing meat and vegetables were obscure to me. But I knew such gifts came by strange and labyrinthine routes, carried by a host of loyal, dedicated servants.

Alleyways behind neighborhood shops were filled with trucks backed up to unloading docks, bringing wares from around the world. Alleys were magical highways leading to the Ohio Canal, the Chisholm Trail, the Silk Road, and even to far-off Shanghai, or London, or Paris, or Rome, or Baghdad.

Worldwide Vision

Standing on the black sunbaked pavement

Freight trains and diesel trucks were caravans of modern camels, carrying treasures from far away. Truck drivers and train engineers were oriental potentates, to be honored by a smile and respectful hand-wave. When I was fortunate, my smile and wave were returned.

Childhood was a preparation for the future. Someday I too would bring a caravan of riches to the world. Mundane commodities perhaps, or exotic spices. What would my contribution be? Food for the mind or nourishment for the heart? Shoes for the body? Bucklers and shields for the spirit?

My parents and teachers could not say what I might offer to society, but they exhorted me to prepare for a useful function in life, to become a servant to others as they had been to me.

A Mystic Vocation

In my 40-odd years in Combermere, I’ve been a receptionist who greets people, gives them a tour, brings them to chapel or supper, finds them bedspace in a dorm.

I’ve driven trucks, taking donated items from depot to sorting areas to final destination, and foodstuffs from our farm to the kitchen or pantry of our main house.

I’ve weeded gardens, fed sheep, collected eggs, milked cows, helped them to birth.

Then I became an editor for our books, and a typesetter for our paper. Mystifying jobs. No longer a train driver or trucker, much less sales clerk or receptionist. I was further back in the distribution process. Not a rancher either. I no longer handled live material; it was more a dead thing, a raw product

Now I’m circulation manager of RESTORATION. As such, I promote and process subscriptions and organize the mailing out of our newspaper. I am back to being a sales clerk.

Yet I keep to my cobbler’s trade. I shape a story about a habit of being: seeing God hidden in everyday affairs … alert to small, soft breezes that tickle the ear … aware of lowly thorn bushes that spring up in arid soil. I cobble a “shoe” that fits my person.

Does it fit anyone else’s? I wonder. Does it help in their pilgrimage? I do not know.

 

Notes from Near and Far

ARIZONA

I was sitting here trying to figure out how to start my very first “first impressions” newsletter, and feeling a little overwhelmed when Anne Marie walked by with an overflowing box of library books to be shelved. A beautiful cover on one of them caught my eye and drew my attention away from my writer’s block. And a list of its contents sums up my first two months in this house in five powerful words:

Tears, tenderness

trials, trust, triumph.

As a new staff worker in my first mission house, I have experienced all of these both upon leaving Combermere and since being in MH Winslow.

First of all, on the way here on the bus, my tears started to flow. Why? Because my heart was so full of Our Lady’s tender love. I felt embraced by her, and with the ears of my heart I heard, “Welcome to your new home. Let yourself be loved. Learn from all whom I put on your path, and you will become child-like.”

I feel very much at home here at our house, La Casa de Nuestra Se

He had a beautiful smile on his face as he said it, and our foundress Catherine Doherty’s words came back to me: “Every moment is the moment of beginning again.” I have been holding on to these two “words”

So whether I am at St. Vincent de Paul’s food bank, at Spanish class, visiting, having someone here visiting, cooking, answering the phone, making coffee and a sandwich for a Brother Christopher, or assisting at the Atrium (Montessori catechism classes), or

Over all, I’d say this Madonna House is full of life and love. There are tears that turn to joy when a little tenderness is given. Though the trials may be many, trust grows in abundance, and triumph shines through the darkness. I wait with bated breath to see what else God has up his holy sleeve.`

Jo-Ann Treige

MH Winslow

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Returning to Washington after three and a half months in Combermere, I carried the words “journey to the lonely Christ” in my heart. Praying with Catherine’s writings during that time had continually pointed me to the Little Mandate* and the call to assuage the loneliness of Christ, which is such a large part of our MH vocation. *Our Little Mandate is a 3x5 card containing the essence of MH spirituality.

We continue our monthly mornings of recollection for the friends of the house, and this year we are focussing on the Little Mandate. Many times in the past when we have presented things that were especially MH in content the reception was fairly mediocre, but this time it is different.

People have been so receptive. They are applying the Little Mandate to their own lives with ease and finding it both confronting and consoling. I think we’re entering a new era in this house.

I saw this clearly as we celebrated the 20th anniversary of MH Washington. During the first ten years, a foundation was laid in prayer and listening

Now, entering our third decade, I think it’s time for us to be missionaries of the Little Mandate, that is, of Madonna House spirituality. Not only are people hungry for it, but they are open to receive it.

At our anniversary open house on March 19th one hundred plus of our friends, new and old, passed through our blue doors. They joined us in celebrating twenty years of God’s goodness to us and the faithfulness of all the staff who served here.

The days leading up to the anniversary were filled with a little more than the usual preparations as we, with help from our friends, Frank and Michael, painted and wallpapered the dining room.

Christina continues her biweekly visits to the local nursing center and has joined one of the parish Renew groups. She and I are in the parish choir.

Angela (who is African-American), has made contact with the Office of Black Catholics here in the archdiocese. As one result, the head of that office recently came to MH to give us a three-hour workshop on interracial awareness. The presence and pain of racism are still very real in this city and country.

We continue with household projects. As I type this, I can hear Christina scraping the radiators in preparation for painting them before we install the new carpet. Throughout the house our carpets are more than deteriorating, and thanks to the memorial donation of a deceased friend, we are able to do this much-needed renovating. And then there’s the beautiful oriental-type carpet that Rae found in a dumpster and which is now transforming our front room.

Cathy Mitchell

MH Washington

 

Corpus Christi

RELIGIOUS PROCESSIONS

by Fr. Pat McNulty

My earliest memories of the great feast of Corpus Christi are of public processions. When we got to dress up in our Sunday-best during the week, have the day free from school, and parade all around the block singing and carrying candles, it was a big deal.

The priest placed the luna (the large glass container for the host that had been consecrated at Mass) in the monstrance, and then the whole parish paraded and sang with Corpus Christi, the Body of Christ, in our midst.

Then, when the procession was over, families did their assigned hours of adoration, and in the evening we often had our parish bazaar with games and ice cream and all that good stuff. Except for the celebration of the Forty Hours, Corpus Christi was probably the most exciting feast in the parish.

I lived in a town where Catholics were a minority. Just a few short years before my time, some Catholics had experienced the burning of their barns by mysterious folk dressed in white sheets. By the time I had arrived on the scene, though the public actions against the Catholic Church were over, the hidden hostility and the discrimination were not.

Before my time, our pastor, Fr. John Francis Noll (who later became Archbishop Noll), decided to take on the hostility toward the local Catholic church both in public and in print. He founded the Catholic newspaper Our Sunday Visitor, and became famous for his ability to argue with those who misunderstood and misrepresented the Church.

And it was he, I was told who had expanded the parish celebration of the feast of Corpus Christi into the public arena. He did that, not to “rub the non-Catholic noses in the dirt”, but because he wanted the whole town to know that our love for Christ was similar to theirs and deserved to be proclaimed.

I lived in that town long enough to see the barriers of religious discrimination disappear almost entirely, but I remember the pain of it.

Because I was a Catholic, I was politely told by the father of the first girl I really wanted to date that she was not available, and it was because I was a Catholic that my Protestant friends were hired for an after-school job, and I was not. And it was because I was a Catholic that I did not win the high school state oratorical contest.

This latter was confirmed many years later, when a man who had been present at the contest told me, “You should have won, but in those days there was no way we could have let a Catholic beat a Protestant.”

And there was another kind of hostility in that little town of ours, one that did not involve Protestants

What does all of this have to do with Corpus Christi? One connection is an experience I had with a boyhood friend. One day when we were committing the great crime of kids under 16

“What funny thing?” I asked. “You know,” he said, “that big gold thing yer minister carries.” “Oh, you mean the monstrance.” (NO, not monster, dummy. Monstrance!)

Well that was the beginning of his interest in any religion at all. He started going to a local Protestant church, and many years later when I met him as an adult, he was a minister in that denomination. He told me it all began that day when we were having our first cigarette and talking about that “funny gold thing.”

Finally, there was an incident in the city of Philadelphia in the mid-1800s, at a time when anti-Catholic feeling was so high that churches and schools were being burned. St. John Neumann, one of my heroes, was bishop and he wanted to introduce to America a tradition from his native Czechoslovakia (and other countries in Europe), the Forty Hours Devotion, a devotion which included a public procession with the Blessed Sacrament.

His clergy advised against it; they felt it would only serve to heighten the tension.

Late one night as he prayed at the table where he was about to write the pastoral letter favoring the public processions, he fell asleep and his candle fell over. It burned everything around him except the empty pages! This convinced him the idea was from God.

There was not a single anti-Catholic demonstration during the processions which followed, and many say it was the procession which broke the back of the Know-Nothings (a powerful anti-Catholic group) in Philadelphia.

Yes, when I think of the great feast of Corpus Christi, I always think of public processions and the mysterious power they had to touch the hearts of everyone, even those who do not believe. It’s a shame that, in most places, we have ceased to have them.

Who knows what would happen in our large cities if the Blessed Sacrament graced the streets, and those in need looked upon him even if they did not know who it was they looked upon?

I wonder if the fact that the barriers between Catholics and Protestants in my home town came crumbling down was a direct result of our public processions. I know it was directly related to the breakdown of the barriers between the Irish and the Germans. One of the first joint-parish event which I remember between those two churches that were only one block apart was

I guess all this is why, whenever I hear the words “Corpus Christ”, I think of public processions. A powerful sacrament this Blessed One of ours.

 

 

One Man’s SCRAP/ Another Man’s GOLD

What a freedom it is to be able to put away our winter boots and jackets and to feel spring’s balmy air on our skin!

The warmer weather also means that the farm is hopping with activity, especially in the area of animal care. I wish you could see the lambs frolicking in the pasture.

The farmers are looking for equipment to care for the animals, equipment such as heat lamps for the young, a creep feeder for the lambs, hutches for calves, and blankets for horses, cows, and sheep.

And they are in great need of a trailer for hay transport. They would also welcome rubber boots for working in the barnyard. Maybe some of you who farm or have farmed would have some of these supplies to spare.

The gift shop staff, who are just beginning their busy season, would be very grateful for cafeteria-type trays

These trays filled with merchandise are put on hand-drawn wagons and sleds, ones large enough to hold three or four trays or several boxes. A favorite of these was an old plastic sled that is now falling apart.

Someone recently gave the shop a new display case. So now our jewelry section has a whole new look. Please help stock the shop by sending old cigarette lighters, pocket knives, compacts, fountain pens, thimbles, chains (the kind to hang pendants on), and practically any saleable item.

St. Raphael’s handicraft center is asking for epoxy glue and for varnish (not urethane). Many thanks for the black fountain pen ink.

Do you use a computer? We need some black ink cartridges for an Epsom 400 color printer. Perhaps you have some left over?

The laundry is low on spray starch and stain remover. We use the spray starch for chapel linens, and a little goes a long way.

Our archives could use large and very large magnetic boards, as well as magnet-strips for the boards. These are extremely helpful for quick (and non-damaging) displays of photographs or for filming photos onto video.

They are preparing to move our textile collection to better storage. We have some textiles from all stages of Catherine’s life (for instance, a baby dress, hand-made linens/embroideries, and some Russian nobility dresses she made for lecturing).

To store these, they need larger under-the-bed type polypropylene boxes

They also need a really good vacuum cleaner, for conservation work as well as cleaning books and delicate equipment. The electric hand-held kind used for cleaning computers would be very good. For conservation use, vacuums with hepa filters are great because they help remove small particles of mold and fungi as well as dust.

There is a perennial need in our publication department for colored Xerox paper or colored paper of any kind.

The nurses are very grateful for the Band-Aids, 222’s, and hemorrhoid creams you sent. Springtime reminds them to ask for allergy and iron tablets. Here are some over-the- counter remedies they would appreciate having on hand: Tylenol, Ibuprofen or Advil, Immodium, and antacids.

We thank you for your faithful readings of this column. We are ever aware of all you do for us. Every day we ask God to bless you. We know it isn’t always possible for you to send us something, but please, keep in mind that we do count on your prayers.

In Our Lady of Combermere,

Jean Fox

 

 

Wool Shop

WE GIVE AWAY LOVE

by Jeannine Biron

Behind our gift shop and museum is a small wool shop. If you visit it, most likely it is Jeannine Biron who would welcome you.

———-

In the early 1960s, when Catherine decided to build the pioneer museum, she thought it would be a good idea to have a pioneer house with it. So she looked for and found, not too far away, a one-room, two-story log cabin which she bought and had moved behind the museum.

But it was never used as a pioneer house. It was used first as sleeping quarters for staff and then as a flea market. Then it was a craft and fabric shop and then a herb shop. Now it is a wool shop where I have worked for several years.

On your left as you enter the shop, there are rugs that a friend of ours wove from our wool which was spun and dyed by Mary Davis. Next to them is a table with collector dolls and in the corner under the stairs is some yarn from our sheep, commercially spun, both natural-colored and dyed.

To the right along the upper wall, are wool batts washed and carded by Mary Davis and guests, and under the batts are old trunks filled with sheep skins.

Near another corner pinned to a board are wool angels made by our 95-year-old Kathleen O’Herin and near them dolls and stuffed animals knit by Deirdre Burch and Joanne Weisbeck.

And near the middle of the room is a big round table covered with mitts, scarves, slippers, toques, hats, and sweaters knit by staff and friends.

Also in the wool shop is a spinning wheel, and if you come, you might be surprised to find me spinning, especially if there are children there. I spin to show them how it’s done, and later I dye the yarn and use it for knitting socks.

The wool shop is a place where customers can buy wool and hand-crafted things made from the wool of our sheep, but it is also a place where they can find peace and love. We do not sell peace and love; we give them away gladly.

One day, for example, a little girl and her mother came in the shop, looked around, and went out. Shortly after, they both came back. The little girl was in tears. She had been reprimanded by her mother for having “stolen” a handful of carded wool. Her mother, wanting to teach her, had brought her back to return it and apologize.

I accepted their apology and, as a penance, I asked the little girl to give me a hug. She did, and I told her I loved her. Now the mother had tears in her eyes, and both left in peace.