It is late March and the sun is rising, flooding the eastern sky in deep pink. St. Mary Monastery’s bell tower stands in silent silhouette against the spreading bloom. There is no hurry here: birds sing, deer browse, breezes rustle the underbrush.

Then the largest bell begins to ring, slowly, repeatedly, drowning out all other sound. BONG … BONG ... BONG ... It is calling the Sisters to morning prayer, or Lauds. It is calling them to begin their day.

Every day at the monastery begins this way, with the Sisters filing into the chapel to break their overnight silence with song and prayer. Indeed, every day at every Benedictine monastery across the globe begins with the communal prayer of the church called Liturgy of the Hours (also called the Divine Office). With silence and song, Scripture and the Psalms, the Benedictines praise God and ask God’s protection for those in need. For the Sisters of St. Benedict, this communal prayer happens three times daily, in the morning, at noon, and in the evening, forming the hinges of their day and the heart of their life together.

“The Liturgy of the Hours is also called the Opus Dei, or Work of God,” Sr. Catherine Cleary, OSB, explains. “As Benedictines, it holds the central and dominant place in our lives. Our reason for being here is to seek God, and this communal prayer is an outward sign that we are doing so together. We sing and chant the Psalms, we sit in silent reflection on the Word. In fact, early morning is a period of silent reflection before Lauds. Our silence is broken by song and the praise of God in the resurrection theme of Lauds. God is the first one we call upon in the morning.”

The call is quiet and reverential. As the sun’s rays slowly but steadily overspread the walls and floor, so the Sisters’ prayer steadily fills the chapel, many voices blending into one, in song and in chant.

“I get this wonderful feeling of unity with the community at prayer,” Sr. Susan Hutchens, OSB, says. “To look out and see our 98- and 99-year old Sisters praying with one voice with the younger members really moves me. It’s the thing that unites us all in our search for God. And it unites us daily. I remember a monk once saying that praying the Office is like winding the clock every day. It’s the daily-ness that I love about it.”

The Liturgy of the Hours comes from the Scripture to pray without ceasing. The number and times of prayer have been modified over the millennia – some monastic communities may pray as many as eight times a day, rising well before dawn to begin – but most follow a less rigorous schedule today. The principal Hours, as determined by the Second Vatican Council, are Lauds and Vespers, or evening prayer. As Lauds symbolizes the Resurrection, at morning light it “brings us out of darkness into a new day of salvation,” Sr. Susan says. “We have been redeemed because Christ has risen. Lauds also is an act of dedication of the day, with its labors and accomplishments, to the Lord. At Vespers, we thank God for the good of the day, and ask for forgiveness for our sins.”

The Psalms form the basic content of the Liturgy of the Hours. “Jesus himself prayed the Psalms,” Sr. Susan says. “Jesus prays them within us as we pray them to Him. They express every human emotion, need, longing and feeling. As we pray to and with Jesus, we nourish and develop the prayer of the heart which prays without ceasing and enters contemplation.”

The heavens proclaim your wonders, O Lord, and your faithfulness, in the assembly of the holy ones. For who in the skies can rank with the Lord? (Psalm 89)

After Lauds, many Sisters remain in the chapel in silent reflection, to await the beginning of the Eucharistic celebration which usually follows.

“Lauds leads very naturally into Mass, as the primary celebration of Christ’s death and resurrection,” Sr. Teresa Ann Harrington, OSB, says. “By the time we leave the chapel, we are ready for the day.”

The bells ring again, three hours later, to summon the Sisters to Noonday prayer shortly before lunch. Although sometimes inconvenient – projects beg for just a few minutes more – the Sisters obey St. Benedict’s command to lay down whatever they have in hand and leave it unfinished.

Noonday prayer is short – only ten minutes or so – but as nourishing of the heart and spirit as the lunch that follows it is of the body.

“These prayers are so much a part of our lives, they are in our very bones,” Sr. Teresa Ann says. “We make a conscious effort to be present in our minds and hearts during our prayers. That practice helps us go into the rest of our day – to lunch with each other and back to our ministries – nourished and refreshed. We are able to be present to each other.”

The Vespers bells ring at the end of the workday, calling the Sisters together, one last time, for evening prayer. (On Sundays, they also say Compline, or Night Prayer.) “It’s time to lay down the worries of the day in peace,” Sr. Catherine says. “I look around at the Sisters and feel so good that we have come together, as one, in prayer. Our guests can pray these prayers, as well. Muslims, Jews and Christians: everyone can pray the Psalms. They are 2400 years old and universal! They are
the inspired words of God. That’s why attention to detail – the silence, the meter – is so important. We are in dialogue with God. We speak and then we listen.”

Vespers ends with a quiet but resonant tap on the gong near the organ. Day, too, has ended. The Sisters will walk together to the dining room for dinner, perhaps to be followed by a stroll along the lake, a game in the community room, or a little reading. Peace, the ultimate blessing of a life of prayer, fills this sacred place as the shadows deepen into night.

A tall, soft-spoken man shuffles down the stairs to the cold concrete basement of Sacred Heart Catholic Church in Rock Island. He is dressed in blue hospital scrubs and a black warm-up jacket. He pulls the bill of his black baseball cap further down over his eyes and jams his hand back into his pocket.

“How many in your family?” asks Mike, a volunteer at the oldest food pantry in the Quad Cities. “Four,” he answers. Mike directs him to Benedictine Sr. Margaret Suerth, OSB, who waits at the first stop along the pantry route. She fills his bag with peanut butter, jelly, grape juice, black beans and chicken noodle soup. You can barely hear his whispered “Thanks.” Across the room, Benedictine Sr. Anne Newcomer, OSB, fills more bags with two chickens, two boxes of instant mashed potatoes, a package of toilet paper, three boxes of macaroni and cheese and a super-sized box of Froot Loops.

The place looks more like a play store or a camp kitchen than a grocery distribution site. Cans, boxes and bags of food line the dusty wood shelves. Packing boxes piled to the ceiling teeter in the corners. Paper bags stuffed with crusty loaves of bakery bread fill the table next to the door. Frozen chickens fill the upright freezer. An assortment of household and toiletry items – from sandwich bags to hotel-sized shampoos – fill another table.
“I always think if we can give them cereal and chicken, they get what they need,” Sr. Anne says as the first customer disappears back up the steps.

“It feels good to give them the kinds of things they can build a meal around,” Sr. Margaret agrees. “Meat, mashed potatoes. Peanut butter and jelly, especially for the kids. The customers are always more concerned about the kids than they are about themselves.”

The next customer files in. The tiny room won’t hold more than a handful of people at once, so they line up in the hallway outside. It’s impossible to guess this woman’s age, although her waist-length, honey-colored hair might help her pass for a teenager from behind. She has five in her family. She smiles out from under her hair at Sr. Margaret. Yes, she would like peanut butter and jelly. Her hands are in her pockets. The customers all keep their hands in their pockets.

“There are a lot of people who don’t have enough to eat,” Sr. Margaret says. “Some have lost their jobs. Some are living in their cars. There are lots of grandmothers taking care of grandchildren.”

The next customer is tall and stately, with her long hair styled in corn rows and twisted into a chignon. Her eyebrow is studded with a silver dumbbell. Her men’s flannel shirt hangs like a dress, and her men’s khaki pants bag around her ankles. Her answers are tight and clipped, “Yes, yes, um hmm.” She steps back to allow Sr. Margaret to pick up a box that falls at her feet.

“Everyone who comes here is hungry,” Sr. Margaret says when asked - after the customer leaves - how she feels about such a show of seeming ingratitude. “Everyone is suffering.”

Mike has a harder time with it. “Sometimes the customers smell bad. Sometimes they smell like alcohol. It’s hard to see Jesus in everyone. But the Sisters help me be generous.”

Sr. Anne says volunteering here changes them. “We are better people because we come here. You can read about poverty in the paper, but until you meet people struggling with it you don’t understand. You find out they’re just like you. I pray, Oh, help them, Lord.”

Now a beautiful woman with a faux-fur trimmed black cape is shopping for eight, while the next customer, a genial fellow who has lost a few teeth, is shopping for three. His bulky black coat hangs halfway down his legs, and his pants bunch up at the ankles. He props a cereal box on his shoulder to shield his face.

“We’re always out of fresh stuff,” Sr. Anne says. “We run out of canned fruit right away, too. And tuna. We get food from the government and from donations. The Sisters of St. Benedict support us. Parishioners donate their old grocery bags, and cans of food, too.”

“Somebody gave $2,000 anonymously one time,” Sr. Margaret says. “I had to call and ask if it was right. We never received that kind of money before.”

The morning is almost over. The final customer appears. She sports an I Dream of Jeanie hairdo, a quilted black jacket and brown velour pants. She wraps and rewraps a scarf around her face. She, like most customers, is embarrassed to be here. Hands stuffed in pockets, voices not often above a whisper, they want to run away. But hunger is a strong motivator, especially when the hunger belongs to the children in their care. So they stay for the food. And when Srs. Anne and Margaret are here, they get something more: a prayer for better days.

Benedictines Celebrate Jubilees
Fifty years ago, a young woman entered the Sisters of St. Benedict knowing she had found home. Shy and quiet, Sr. Mary Schmidt said she blended in with the Benedictines as they prayed and lived together in peace and joy. This year, Sr. Mary celebrated her 50th jubilee as a Benedictine. Joining her were Sr. Lucy Laroe, 70 years, Srs. Maureen Coughlin and Irene Krogmeier, 60 years, Sr. Margaret Murphy, 50 years, and Sr. Jean Matteson, 25 years.

While the Sisters had a variety of secondary reasons for entering the Benedictine community, their primary reason was to seek God. “I had a longing to know more of God and to be able to serve others in a larger context,” Sr. Margaret said. Sr. Jean wrote, in her request to enter the community in 1981, “I come to this community seeking God ,,, reaching out beyond what I now am to what I may yet become.” Sr. Irene had several relatives in this and other communities, but said she was drawn to the Benedictines by the Holy Spirit. “I prayed that I would know my vocation and follow what I was to do,” Sr. Irene said. “I feel my vocation is an answer to prayer.”

Prayer is the way to discover the path you should take, the Sisters agree. “My advice to someone considering a religious vocation would be to pray and reflect on what would help you fulfill your deepest desire,” Sr. Margaret said.

Sr. Mary added that you should look for peace. “In this world, peace is difficult to find. Look for quiet. Find some place that you can be, where you can talk and listen to God.”

Sr. Mary serves as social minister and faith formation director at Sacred Heart Cathedral, Davenport, Iowa. Sr. Margaret serves at St. Thomas the Apostle School, Peoria Heights, Ill. Sr. Maureen, Sr. Irene and Sr. Jean serve in community ministry at St. Mary Monastery, while Sr. Lucy is retired.

   Sr. Jozefa’s joy is contagious: you go back to work renewed. But her joy was hard won. It survived and grew despite a childhood of wrenching turbulence. Sr. Jozefa, now a Sister of St. Benedict at St. Mary Monastery in Rock Island, was 14 years old when the spring that changed everything dawned. Her voice is quiet but clear. Her words come quickly, tumbling and tangling as she gropes impatiently for the English words that are not part of her native tongue.

   “My father died on April 12, 1941,” she says, “and my mother died 18 days later. At her wake, we could see Italian soldiers marching toward our village. The Germans were coming from another direction. For the next few months, my sisters and I tried to keep the farm going. I took care of the cows and horses, and my other sisters took care of the pigs and cooked. We all helped with the fieldwork.

   “Then the Italians took all our men and boys to an island and starved them. The mayors pleaded for their release. When my brother, Ivan, came home, I almost didn’t recognize him. He was just skin and bones.”

   By now, the Communists had begun organizing in Slovenia, and Sr. Jozefa remembers their army members trying to persuade Ivan to join. “Ivan didn’t trust the Communists, so he and others organized the Domobranci army to protect our village,” Sr. Jozefa says. “The Communists would come to our houses at night and steal our food and blankets and clothes.”

   The years between 1941 and the war’s end were filled with fear and sorrow for Sr. Jozefa. One such moment came when her brother Franc was arrested by the Gestapo and sent to Dachau (he later escaped). Others came when she herself was detained and questioned by the Communists.

   The Communists proved to be the biggest threat to Slovenian happiness and peace. “In early May, 1945, the war was over,” Sr. Jozefa says. “But Communists were taking over our country. We had to leave. We loaded our wagon and joined a procession that was miles long. We went through a long, dark, water-dripping tunnel to Austria. We walked for days, with the Domobranci fighting the Communists ahead. We settled into a camp in Austria, and the Domobranci were sent back to Slovenia, supposedly to make barracks for the civilians. But they fell into Communist hands and were slaughtered.  Ivan was among them.

   “When the Slovenians in the camp learned what happened to their men, there was one big cry, all night long. I will never forget that sound.

   Things began to get better after that. We stayed in a more permanent camp for several years, and I made friends and learned how to sew. In 1949, the Sisters of St. Benedict sponsored us to come to Nauvoo (where the Sisters then lived). The Sisters seemed so very happy, and that impressed me. After a year, I decided to enter.

   “I wasn’t angry at the Communists, but I was so scared of them I used to wake up crying for Ivan. But after I made final profession, I never cried like that again. I’m grateful the rest of my sisters and brother survived. I have pretty good health and I can still laugh. Life is good!”