An MC sister talking with a volunteer after Mass at their Mata de Palma convent. Today is the Feast of St. Maximilian Kolbe, one my favorites, who died for another man in Auschwitz on this day in 1941. Please don’t let the day go by without praying in gratitude to this “patron saint of our troubled century,” as St. John Paul called him. He faced the Nazi dehumanization of man without flinching, without despair, and he recommends us to the Immaculate Heart of Mary, that we may remain steadfast in our 21st Century. The recent videos exposing Planned Parenthood reveal in terrifying clarity a legal system that protects those who feed on the bodies of the weak, who cut them up and sell their parts. For the businesswomen in these videos, babies are not human but simply “products of conception” to be chopped up and sold to the highest bidder. It is hard to sleep after seeing one of these videos, but I look to St. Maximilian, who kept his joyful good humor even in his Auschwitz starvation cell.
MC volunteers Candido and his wife Mercedes with grandchildren in front of their home, a few doors down from the convent. I’ll never forget my walk through the fields of Auschwitz-Birkenau, 50 years after Kolbe died in Block 11. Wildflowers again blow in the wind between the barracks, and the SS headquarters has become “St. Maximilian Kolbe Parish” with a red sanctuary lamp burning before the Abiding Presence. “My Immaculate Heart will triumph” assured the Blessed Mother, and when you think of it, wildflowers have blossomed in those fields for all of human history but for five brief years (1941-45). There is infinitely more good in the world, because the infinite God dwells among us—even in a tabernacle within the very guardhouse that had been so confident in defeating the divine presence in man. John Paul II canonized St. Maximilian as a “martyr of charity” who promoted devotion to the Immaculate Heart of Mary, and I’m giving a retreat to the Missionaries of Charity who venerate Our Lady under the title “Immaculate Heart of Mary, Cause of our Joy.” The joy of purity radiates from them as it did from Kolbe.
A curious thing happened to me yesterday morning here on retreat. The priests’ room is in their shelter for the elderly poor across the street from the convent. I was trying to shave before morning Mass, using a little mirror they had hung at about the level of my bellybutton. I had moved the mirror up to the towel rack, and was hunching over it with razor poised, when I lost my balance. The mirror fell and shattered as I leapt over it, but a shard swiped a little vein on my ankle. Blood began pouring over the bathroom floor. I hobbled over to my room to get a shirt and some footgear. Blood was gushing now and I wondered if I had enough time to get to the convent (I get dizzy when rising quickly even when I’m not bleeding to death). I burst out of my room, dragging my oozing foot through the shelter, with the inmates staring after me.
I found a sister in the chapel. “Quick, sister, I need a bandage!” She ran off. I was back outside on the pavement with my foot propped up on railing when she returned. She applied the necessary pressure to stop the bleeding and applied a bandage as the homeless folks gathered around to give helpful advice. Then she began to clean me up with alcohol and cotton swabs. I’ve cleaned up a few homeless people over the years in MC shelters, and a few times was filled with joy to know that I was touching the Body of Christ. Now it was my turn to lay back and watch sister touch the Body of Christ. There’s something about being healed by a nun. I think they know better than anyone whom they are touching.
I can remember another time, 20 years ago, when I broke my leg skiing. I showed up for Mass the next morning on crutches and hobbled through my usual routine, determined not to lose an hour of work because of an accident. The next day I drove my 5-speed Mazda with one foot (using the emergency hand brake to slow down, as one cannot operate the clutch and brake and accelerator with one foot) to a convent in Modesto for my scheduled day of retreat. When the sisters saw my cast, they rushed to offer genuine sympathy. They scurried about to set up a special chair in the chapel so I could elevate the leg during prayers. And there I sat in the chapel with my beloved sisters, who understand better than most when the Body of Christ is broken, and know just how to fix it.
Back in Santo Domingo yesterday, Sr. Manjulica stopped the bleeding in my foot and cleaned me up with holy dispatch. I was able to begin Mass on time for the crowd of poor and simple folks who come every day to receive the Body of Christ into their own broken bodies.
A curious thing happened to me yesterday morning here on retreat. The priests’ room is in their shelter for the elderly poor across the street from the convent. I was trying to shave before morning Mass, using a little mirror they had hung at about the level of my bellybutton. I had moved the mirror up to the towel rack, and was hunching over it with razor poised, when I lost my balance. The mirror fell and shattered as I leapt over it, but a shard swiped a little vein on my ankle. Blood began pouring over the bathroom floor. I hobbled over to my room to get a shirt and some footgear. Blood was gushing now and I wondered if I had enough time to get to the convent (I get dizzy when rising quickly even when I’m not bleeding to death). I burst out of my room, dragging my oozing foot through the shelter, with the inmates staring after me.
I found a sister in the chapel. “Quick, sister, I need a bandage!” She ran off. I was back outside on the pavement with my foot propped up on railing when she returned. She applied the necessary pressure to stop the bleeding and applied a bandage as the homeless folks gathered around to give helpful advice. Then she began to clean me up with alcohol and cotton swabs. I’ve cleaned up a few homeless people over the years in MC shelters, and a few times was filled with joy to know that I was touching the Body of Christ. Now it was my turn to lay back and watch sister touch the Body of Christ. There’s something about being healed by a nun. I think they know better than anyone whom they are touching.
I can remember another time, 20 years ago, when I broke my leg skiing. I showed up for Mass the next morning on crutches and hobbled through my usual routine, determined not to lose an hour of work because of an accident. The next day I drove my 5-speed Mazda with one foot (using the emergency hand brake to slow down, as one cannot operate the clutch and brake and accelerator with one foot) to a convent in Modesto for my scheduled day of retreat. When the sisters saw my cast, they rushed to offer genuine sympathy. They scurried about to set up a special chair in the chapel so I could elevate the leg during prayers. And there I sat in the chapel with my beloved sisters, who understand better than most when the Body of Christ is broken, and know just how to fix it.
Back in Santo Domingo yesterday, Sr. Manjulica stopped the bleeding in my foot and cleaned me up with holy dispatch. I was able to begin Mass on time for the crowd of poor and simple folks who come every day to receive the Body of Christ into their own broken bodies.
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