This Nun in the Blue Jump Suit Cautioned the Men: "Call Me 'Sister' "

 

                                                                      By Robert R. Schwarz

 

 

            There she was, a nun who at age l6 had vowed obedience, chastity and poverty, now working in the oil fields as a research chemist. For the next 20 years,  she'd be a co-worker among 1,400 employees, sometimes refining the language of  men and,  as one  boss said, "showing but  never telling" them how to live.

           Today, after her career in a company blue jump suit, followed by decades as an educator, Sr. Joanne Grib, lives out her vows as an active 76-year-old convent member of the Sisters of the Living Word in Arlington Heights, Illinois. Once pocketing her Rosary beads during trips to oil fields and steel and paper mills throughout America or Venezuela, you now see her holding them as she walks the St. James church   grounds. 

            We met on a March day in an activity room of Sr. Joanne's convent. The morning sun was casting long shadows across the outside garden where convent’s 70 sisters come to meditate and stroll. As I arranged my note-taking materials,  the room's  conspicuous silence  made me think of other close up conversations  with nuns, of those  privileged  peeks into a dimension of life normally veiled  from most of us.   In that respect, this white-haired nun with the brown eyes and brisk walk was not to disappoint me. 

            I encouraged Sr. Joanne to reminisce, and she did, talking freely with a healthy respect for facts.  In a self-effacing manner, she spoke with low, articulate tones, flashing an occasional grin over some memory that obviously humored her but which she chose to keep private.  It was St. Patrick's Day, and I complimented her on her teal green slacks and sweater and her shamrock-shaped earrings.  “I’m Polish and Czech,” she said, “far from Irish.”  She saw me gaze at the glass Celtic cross hanging from her neck. "It's from Ireland, a gift from a friend."

            We started at the very beginning. “I was born in Cook County Hospital,” she said, then quickly added: “In those days it was a reputable hospital.” e father H Her  Her father was a tool designer, who insisted that her mother remain a homemaker to care for their son and daughter. “I’ll take two jobs before you take one, “he promised.  Both parents were "staunchly” Catholic. From youth her mother had wanted to be a nun. She died when Sr. Joanne was seven. Sr. Joanne's dad married his wife's sister, who gave birth to two girls.

Our nun grew up on the city’s South Side in the St. Gall parish. "I've been going to mass daily since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.”

            In her high school senior year she took vows and entered the convent of the Sisters of St. Joseph and became a postulate, then spent two years as a novice in a convent in South Bend, Indiana. Next came a B.S. degree from DePaul University in Chicago, followed by a master's degree in chemistry from Kansas State University.  “I wanted to be a pharmacist, “she said,” but the sister superior of my religious community said they needed a chemistry teacher. I didn't want to be a teacher, but in those days, it was ' no, sister, yes, sister.' "

            After teaching chemistry for 25 years, Sr. Joanne served a three-year term as school   principal. One day she expressed her desire to go into industry. She was given permission along with Sister Superior’s comment: “We certainly can use the money.”   Whatever money Sr. Joanne would earn throughout the life would be given to her "community." 

At Work in the Fields in a Blue Jump Suit

            Except for a four-year break to teach at St. Ignatius College Preparatory school in Chicago, Sr. Joanne donned that blue jump suit for the fields and laboratories of the Nalco Chemical Company, and then headquartered in Chicago, now in Naperville.  Did Nalco hesitate to hire a nun?   "No.  I went for an interview and they hired me on the spot.  Then they sent me all over America, to Rome, even Venezuela. I worked in paper and steel mills, in oil refineries. I was instrumental in getting lap top computers for the salesmen and in setting up a computer chemistry program for them. "

            I asked her what it was like working as a nun—the only one— among 1,400 employees and  many of them men who likely saw her as a  woman from a world they only knew from afar.  “Well, everybody called me ‘Sister.’  They also called me, though not to my face, ‘Nalco's Blue Nun’ because I wore a blue jump suit when I worked in the fields.  Blue Nun wine was popular at the time, and so when an occasional salesman took me home to eat dinner with his family, there was always a bottle of that wine on the table.  But in the beginning, the men were uncomfortable in my presence—until they got to know me.  I was very careful to let them know I was a nun.  I did clean up some of their language.

            I asked: "Any—well, how we can say it—'relational' problems?”

                        "One man was flirtatious and I had to tell him I was a nun.” The man explained, somewhat defensively, she related, that  he was from the South and thought she was too and that in the South  everyone calls a woman 'sister'  in the intimate manner he had called her.

            Asked if she ever help convert any Nalco employee, Sr. Joanne recalled that two  workers approached her one day to tell her that they had returned to the Catholic church after a long absence because of her behavior as a  "nice and caring" person.

  "If there was gossip at the lunch table, I would get up and leave or change the subject," she continued. Another man still sends her a Christmas card along with a "good" donation to Sisters of the Living Word (S.L.W.) because she helped walk him through a divorce from a woman whom Sr. Joanne used to hear scream at her husband in his work cubicle.

            In  l992, Sr. Joanne transferred  from Sisters of  St. Joseph to her Arlington Heights convent, an order that began in l975 when 90 women of the Sisters of Charity (headquartered in Europe )" joined hearts and hands" to form S.L.W.  In 2000, Sr. Joanne retired from Nalco with a "juicy pension”. She took it in one lump sum and gave it to her community of sisters.

A Typical Day…Lots of Praying

            This nun’s typical day begins at five, sometimes five-thirty a.m., with a prayer, or the "morning office”, as the church calls it. It's followed by 20 or 30 minutes of meditation when she “just communicates with God.” Before breakfast she recites the Rosary.  Then she might teach a computer class at the Arlington Heights Senior Center or help feed the homeless at the nearby "Journeys from Pads to Hope”, where she also applies her PC skills to client data intake.    Bedtime is between 9 and 10 p.m., before which she prays the "evening office." There is always time for a "good” spiritual book (she is currently reading “The Jesuit Guide to Almost Everything”).

            I should have known the answer to my question about her day off.  "You never get a day off from God," she instructed me. Of course.  The question of why she became a nun, however, caused Sr. Joanne to searchingly look out the window for a moment, as if neither she nor anyone else had ever really asked it. "Prayer, I guess, led to it,” she finally said.  She paused again, recalling something from many years ago. “They always told me I got my vocation from my mother. She always wanted to be a nun but never could. I didn't know about this until after she died. And then, by an act of God, I entered the very same religious community she had wanted to enter. “Sr. Joanne's eyes became teary.

            When we talked about her life challenges, the nun summed them up with three: remaining faithful, being patient with the senior citizens she teaches, and taking time for prayer—"you're tempted to neglect that sometimes and sleep in." She then admitted: "I guess I don't have any real challenges. Many times God seems a million miles away but you just keep working at it.” Sr. Joanne's eyes moistened.

What about spiritual warfare?  With that, we shared a laugh. "Oh, yeah," she said, a bit leery about where we might go with this.  “I pray constantly for wisdom and understanding and for a deeper spiritual life.  I'd like to be able to pray better, get rid of those distractions. “She said she handles distractions during mass or a homily by resolving in that moment to "see what message here Jesus may have for me…During the offertory I offer myself up to the altar of God… At the consecration, I am very aware that Jesus is coming into that piece of bread and into that cup of wine. Many times I leave [the morning mass] with Jesus still dissolving on my tongue. I have a deep love for the Eucharist and a deep desire in my heart to be more Christ like."

Since her trip to the Holy Land last July (a gift from her best friend),   the Holy Mother and the Rosary has become more alive for her, she affirmed.  Now when she recites her Rosary, she sees in her mind's eye those Holy Land churches and other sites associated with the mother of Jesus.

At this point, one had to ask if things came easy for her.  “I don’t know if they come easy. I make them easy. I'm free. God takes care of me. I don't have to worry where I'm going to get food or where I'm going to live." Her goal is to "spread the living Word of God."  This she does by teaching a weekly Bible class and by speaking only positive, “life-giving words" to people.

Does this nun have any regrets about a lifestyle which, since childhood, has been one of frequent self-denial?  Sr. Joanne sensed what I really wanted to ask. She became mellow, quite warm.  " There's always been temptations like  'why not quit and get married …you could have children of your own'…I love children. But these temptations are fleeting. I know better. As you get older, it's not that big of a struggle. The life here isn't that austere."

She waxed some delight—and some relief—when we went to questions about her recreation.  Yes, she does see a movie now and then (a James Bond or the recent "'Kings Speech”, which she found "fabulous ") and, on television,   she watches "CSI”, “Jeopardy” and ABC News. She likes to read mysteries by women authors and loves Chinese food.  She also mentioned the dice game “Farfell" which the sisters play.

Any big plans for the future?   "Keep on keeping on," she said as we parted in the convent parking lot. “By the way," I shouted to her,” who’s your patron saint?"

"Joan of Arc!”

Naturally.

THE END

rrschwarz7@wowway.com

©2011 Robert R. Schwarz

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This Cantor's Heart Flies on Eagle's Wings

                                    

 

 

 

           
                                                                    By Robert R. Schwarz
        The organ and cantor rested a few bars. Then the cantor, an attractive woman of 63 years, gently yet commandingly raised her outstretched arms to invite the hundred or so mourners to sing the refrain:  And he will raise you up on eagle's wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of his hand .The cantor will later say this was a magical, transcendent moment for her.

              As the sanctuary swelled with her singing On Eagle's Wings", a hymn equally loved at weddings as well as funerals, the voice of the accomplished soprano both heightened and soothed her listeners' mourning.  They sensed an inexplicable quality about her voice that was different, perhaps unlike anything they had appreciated at Ravinia or the Lyric Opera.

             For those who had come from afar, she was a stranger, suddenly appearing in the midst of their delicate, intimate hour; and so, no doubt some wondered just how much this "hired" cantor, this woman in her long sleeve black dress, could really share their sorrow. After all, had she not sung this same hymn at hundreds of funerals, so often that surely this matter of mourning and funeral liturgy had become just a bit mechanical—no matter how soulful she sounded?   

             True, this Mary Ann Beatty had been a professional cantor for 42 years and had sung regularly at St. James Catholic Church in Arlington Heights, Illinois, as do several other artistically talented cantors who sing there today. But here was a cantor—maybe a rare one—who makes a practice of developing empathetic relationships with the deceased by acquainting herself with the deceased's life prior to singing hymns like "On Eagle's Wings.” 

            "It’s not a job, it's not a gig,” Mary Ann said as we later walked up to the choir loft to talk. She moved quickly and gracefully, a dexterity acquired from a variety of many solo stage performances and as a member of the Chicago Symphony Chorus.

           We sat in a pew, and I noticed she had blue eyes and brown hair, subtle (and unnecessary) makeup, wore wooden, jade-colored earrings, and a necklace with a solitary diamond (a Valentine gift from her husband who, on a later Valentine Day, dearly presented her with malted milk bars). She soon revealed her passion for Roman culture; it was easy to visualize this statuesque woman hosting a musical event on some imperial portico in ancient Rome. Not as easy was to see Mary Ann as the Latin teacher she was at a junior high school nor as someone who has balanced a busy singing career with the raising of three daughters and a son while also being a cooking homemaker for her husband Carter, now a retired accountant.

           We began with the question:  "What were you feeling when you sang " On Eagle's Wings" ?  Mary Ann obviously likes to take her time developing her answers.

          "A cantor can get jaded over the years unless he or she personalizes their singing.  When you do that, you’re doing justice to the person and to God's work. You also participate in God's word that happens to be coming through the music."  She explained that when singing "On Eagle's Wings" and recalling that the deceased had been a pilot, she was also thinking about "how pilots are up in the air and close to God.” She reflected a moment on her words, then added:  "I guess when I sang that, I was concentrating on ethereal questions.”      

             But would her singing had sounded the same if she hadn't done homework about the deceased?

            "It's a magical thing about singing,” she said. Patiently waiting for my note-taking to catch up with her speech—it demonstrated a discipline  acquired from 14 years of teaching private voice lessons to high school students—then  made her  point : "When you can link the song to the person, this colors what you are singing."

             (Earlier, St. James director of music, Scott Arkenberg, had told me that the criteria for a good cantor are
to sing the prayer, be respectful of the music, know the acoustical levels of the setting, and be in tune with her or his own spirituality… and Mary Ann has deep spirituality.”)

Can this "magic" occur in a secular setting?

              Animated by the question, the soprano shifted her posture,  glanced pensively  down at the now empty sanctuary , and exclaimed: "Sometimes when I'm singing with the Chicago Symphony Chorus ,  everything is as perfect as it can get—musicians, the conductor, and  me are all in sync—I have a transcendent experience. " 
              "Like what?" I asked.

             "Well, it was like the other day when a student of mine came so close to what I had hoped she would do in developing her voice. For me, this was a heavenly experience. "

             As for opera, Mary Ann admits she is not a big fan. “I’ve been to the Lyric Opera four times and each time I looked at my watch and asked myself what I could have done in the last two or three hours that would have been more worth my time.” Her sister, who, like Mary Ann, is of Slovak heritage "one hundred percent,”  has sung opera throughout Europe. Her stage name is Joanna Porackova.

              Mary Ann's professional singing biography is a seemingly endless list of guest soloist appearances in the Midwest with symphony orchestras, musical theaters, and churches of all denominations. She has recorded five CDs:  “Requiem" on the Classical Angst label, “Don We Now…” released by the Windy City Gay Chorus, "Gentle Woman: Songs of Mary" and "On that Blessed Night" with the St. Thomas of Villanova Choirs, and "You Are for Me", The Liturgical Music of Tony Barr.

             “When I was a toddler,” she said, "my parents found out I could carry a tune pretty well.” Her parents encouraged her singing, and soon she was singing in the church choir in Whiting, Indiana.  “So, I have sung in church since second grade but did not have a voice lesson until age 25.”   At Indiana University she studied classical languages and literature. Then came a master's degree in Latin from the University of Wisconsin, which later led to her teaching high school Latin in Freeport, Illinois.   While a student at the U. of W. from l972-73, she and the university's highly rated concert choir were given an all-expense paid trip to Venezuela to sing at the president’s palace, churches, and in several villages.

             Shorty thereafter, Mary Ann married, and she and Carter moved to Des  Plaines, Illinois. Then came  one of her  two career turning points:  She successfully auditioned for the Chicago Symphony Chorus after singing—in Latin, of course-- an impressive  " Ave Maria", followed by a  melody which no doubt raised a few eyebrows among the classicists there: "As Long as I  Have You," from the musical "Oliver."   

             Her comment on the audition came with her own raised eyebrow and a laugh: "Now, mind you, I had had no vocal training up to then.”

             Her other career juncture appeared when she was offered a full-time position as a voice teacher in a high school near Chicago. "Music had always been a part of my life but to make it fulltime was a shock.”

Reminded that the overarching theme of our interview today was about the experiences of people who are trekking an exodus trail similar in spirit to the Biblical Exodus, I asked this grandmother of a three-year-old child about her life challenges.  

             “As a teacher and a mother, I’ve had numerous roadblocks put in front of me by people trying to reduce me to mediocrity.”  One example she cited was once being confronted  by fellow teachers  who felt that her  passion for teaching Latin and  music—a passion which  had motivated her to work many hours before and after school-- was undermining their teaching  contracts.  Mary Ann reacted to this particular confrontation somewhat rebelliously, she confessed, by not compromising any of her “trouble-making” zeal for putting on a successful celebration of Latin Week for the sole benefit of her students. "I'm not the person who is striving for notoriety. I just want to make sure that I'm working the best and the hardest I can with the gifts God had given me. "

             Mary Ann said she prays almost daily to see more evidence of a denominational Christian faith in her husband, a non-Catholic who attends church with his wife only on holidays.  She is quick, however, to ward off any judgmental opinions about Carter. "He's a better Christian person than I am. He would drop anything to help someone. " Their children were raised Catholic.

             At her home with Carter in wooded area a short drive from Arlington Heights, Mary Ann, with a sigh, says she doesn't do very much for fun.  “Carter and I watch the television program 'House', I love to needlepoint when time for it.  I also, when with friends, re-write song lyrics.   I read the Wall Street Journal arts section, saw the movie  ' The King's Speech'—that was really, really good.  We like to try new restaurants. There isn’t any food I don't like, but I am allergic to eggplant. "

             We rose to leave the choir loft. “Something else," she reminded herself. “Above all things I'd like to do anytime is see a dance or a ballet performance. "

              I grabbed my camera for an outdoor photograph of her. “We’ll have to hurry," she said. "I have two more funerals today."            

THE END

rrschwarz7@wowway.com

©2011 Robert R. Schwarz

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From India with Love

 

                                                              By Robert R. Schwarz

            As two searching pilgrims, Tom and Gheeta Chitta nine years ago stepped off their jumbo jet at  O'Hare International Airport, cringed a bit at the radical  climate change from their hometown in India, and headed for the northwest Chicago  suburb of Arlington Heights. Their mission—which they were starting from scratch—was to pitch a  base camp from where they could be reaching back to help the "rural poor"  in the Indian state of Andhra Pradesh. Besides repeated prayers, their hope lay only in having learned that  an Arlington Heights married couple once adopted a three-month-old boy from an adoption agency in India . Now they were about to meet the parents of this child, Gail and Al Walton.

Momentum for their base camp picked up amazingly fast. The "kindness of strangers” first came with Katie McCambridge, who provided the Chittas with living quarters in her condominium for two months. After that, several other families, perceiving the mission zeal of Tom and Gheeta, shared their homes with them.  The Waltons gave them an office, and Gail Walton donated her full-time services as executive secretary. Soon, the Chittas had their base camp for a fledgling not-for-profit organization called Foundation for Children in Need (FCN).

            But the milestone for FCN,  Tom said in this interview, was when Fr. Bill Zavaski, pastor of St. James Catholic Church there, offered them a parish-owned home. “Fr. Bill was a blessing in our lives," Tom said. “He changed everything for us. ".  And now came an annual FCN "thanks giving” banquet, sponsored by St. James and emceed by the foundation's future board secretary, Brian Reynolds, a musician who plays his drums as fervently as he promotes FCN today. 

            Next came eight years of the Chittas  criss-crossing  America  by automobile and jet, annually averaging 20,000 miles  to add sponsors and bring their  FCN message to more than 300 Catholic parishes.  "I don't know of two harder working people,” Reynolds said. “Tom is not able to slow down. He has only one speed:  'faster ' . " 

            Nowadays, Tom, 56, and his 50-year-old physician wife, Gheeta, provide leadership for an organization that brings critical aid to almost 5,000 Indian children, students, and the elderly. They spend six months each year at their home in Porumamilla , a town of 30,000 people  in the  continent's southeast, about 400 kilometers from  the city of Hyderabad.  There, one sees the fruits of the Chitta’s seemingly indefatigable  labors and of the loyalties of thousands of American donors and volunteers. Here is where 2,200 children and college students receive aid, where another 2,000 non-sponsored students annually receive dictionaries and notebooks, and where care is given to more than  500 individuals afflicted with deafness, blindness, lameness,  and physical deformities. (You just might occasionally see the Chittas at mass in St. James.) 

            FCN school is spread over  eight acres surrounded by mostly flat farmland of  sugarcane, lentils,  sunflowers, peanuts, and—if water is available—rice.  Many of the farmers here are unskilled day laborers who, working in summer (March through May) with temperatures of 90 to 110 degrees F. , earn 150 to 200 Rupees daily, or U.S.  $3 to $4. 

            Porumamilla is encircled by approximately 200 villages, all within a 20-mile radius of the FCN operation; each is   populated by 20 to 50 families.   Most people are Hindus but, Tom said during our interview, there is "a good-sized Moslem population, with whom we have an amicable relationship."    The local language is Telugu, the official tongue of Andhra Pradesh and is spoken by the third largest number of Indians. Its vocabulary has been somewhat shaped by the Sanskrit and Prakrits tongues.

            Water comes from hand-pumped "tube" wells in the villages; it is stored in tanks from which people tap it and then carry home. Homes do not have running water.   Although typhoid, tuberculosis, pneumonia, and Hepatitis A exist, none is endemic, Gheeta explained.  "Infant mortality is about two to five per cent,” she said.  Tom added that “mosquitoes are a big problem.  “So is malnutrition.  In a recent newsletter FCN, stated that "most of the people in the villages do not eat balanced food. The health and sanitation conditions are very poor. "

            FCN has separate hostels for 90 boys and girls in grades one through ten. The students are brought in from villages and provided with education, food, clothing, and medical care. They return home on holidays. Another 250 children daily   walk one to three miles from home to attend school and, guided by FCN staff, are given disbursement checks to deposit in their bank accounts.  All students attend classes 9 a.m. to 4 p.m., with a 45-minute lunch break.  They have a six-week summer vacation.  FCN also provides free food, clothing, and medical care for 40 elderly at its St. Xavier's Home for the Aged.  

            Because many older children and college age students have to stay at home to look after their younger siblings and because child labor abuses are a serious problem in the region, FCN staff and social workers must encourage parents to have their children educated. Asked to relate "success" stories of his students, Tom paused, then confidently replied: "The success story   is when the student graduates and is able stand on his own two feet.”

            One such story is about Bramhaiah Chintakunta,  a college history major from a poverty-stricken family whose father  died when he was age four, forcing his mother to  work in the  fields.  "I am so grateful for a college education upon which to build the dreams of my life, " he stated.  Another success is Parameswari Palle ,  a college freshman studying engineering.  "I now have a bright future because of FCN,” she said.  And there is Bharath Moyela , an eleventh grader born with a protruding spinal membrane, who related : " My mother is an unskilled laborer who is looking for work each day. It was very sad to see my mom struggling to take care of my medical needs and then to send my sister and me to school. God heard our prayers and my days are bright now just because of someone in America [i.e., Fr. Bill Zavaski, pastor of St. James] who is helping me through sponsorship. "

            Though FCN staffs 3l people and two nurses in India (there is no paid full time staff in America), its annual fundraising disbursements of four per cent and administration costs of three per cent (according to its 2009-20l0 financial report) are obviously to be envied – if not to be sought — by most not-for-profit organizations.  Reynolds, in an interview, explained that the Chittas take only asmall stipend for themselves. “Everything is for the kids," he added.  Also, as a FCN factsheet points out, dollars go ten times further in India than in America.  For example, $75 will buy a bicycle for a social worker, $50 a month of work from a social worker, $240 for a year of sponsorship of a child, student, or a senior, and $6,000  will build  a classroom. (Sponsorship and other information about FCN can be had from their website:  www.fcn-usa.org or by writing FCN,  P.O. Box 1247, Arlington Heights, Il, 60006-1247).

            Tom sees FCN as unique: "It has been built up on the sacrifice of many peoples' time, talent, and prayers,” he said.  “We are a very personable organization which keeps in timely touch with our sponsors. We keep a good link between our children and sponsors by having them exchange letters. “Sponsors are also encouraged to take educational tours to FCN in India and visit their sponsored child or student and family. One such sponsor, a St. James member, and his sponsored child, now in the fourth grade, have been exchanging letters for four years. In her last letter, Mounika Kalluri, gave a full report of her studies, adding: "I am safe here. Hope you are also safe by the grace of God. "

            Tom's parents were both primary school teachers and were from what he labeled "lower middle class.”  He has been a Catholic from birth; his father was a Hindu convert.   Tom obtained a Master's Degree in pastoral theology and counseling from Loyola University in Chicago. Gheeta obtained her medical degree (with a family practice specialty) from St. John's Medical College in Bangalore, India. Her father was a military office, her mother a homemaker.

Tom and Gheeta met in India while both were engaged in Catholic parish ministries in Kadapa.  Both have been immersed in Catholicism all their lives; critical help for launching their mission, however, also came from two non-Catholics, Gail and Al Walton.

For recreation, the Chittas read a variety of books and favor Italian food. They rarely see a movie and turn the TV channel only to news.  Tom's most difficult adjustment to this region?  Without hesitating, he simply uttered, “cold weather.”  His most loved prayer is the widely-known one of St. Francis. As for scripture, he loves Matthew 25:40: "Whatever you did for one of these least of my brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me." 

Husband and wife have been inspired by the work of Mother Teresa, especially Gheeta, who met this likely saint of the future when Gheeta was l7.  "I see something special in you,” Mother Teresa told her. "You little girl are going to be a doctor and help the needy."

Years later with her medical degree in hand, Gheeta told her husband:  “And when a saint tells you to do something, you do it."

THE END

rrschwarz7@wowway.com

©2011 Robert R. Schwarz

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"What Justice Cannot Do On Its Own”

                                     By Robert R. Schwarz


At her kitchen table, Marybeth muffled a sob when she read  a simple note that had been left for her at the parish office by a client. Scribbled on the back of an envelope was: “Thank you for helping us when no one else would.”

In the early l9th Century, a Frenchman's prophetic vision about charity quickly resounded throughout the world, eventually inflaming the hearts of 900, 00 people. Among them today are Marybeth and Mike Schoenwald who spearhead the Society of St. Vincent de Paul of the St. James Catholic parish in Arlington Heights, Illinois.

 This husband and wife team provide leadership for 50 volunteers who, since 2005, have been motivated by words of that French visionary, Frederic Ozanam: "Order in society is founded on two virtues, justice and charity. But justice already presupposes a lot of love, for one must love a person a lot if one is to respect his rights which border one's own rights, and his freedom which limits one's own freedom. “Ozanam wished for "charity to do what justice cannot do on its own.”    Beatified on Aug. 23, l997, by Pope John Paul II, Ozanam poignantly expressed the ideal of the Society's founding patron, St. Vincent de Paul, when he said:  “There are many people who have too much, and who want still more. There are very many more who do not have sufficient, who have nothing and who want to take if people won't give".

Responding to the needs of nearly 100 families each year, Marybeth and Mike have  been changing lives of single mothers and other people—some St. James members, some not—troubled with unpaid bills, divorce,  addictions, and inability to pay for medical treatment. Members of their team have also been knocking on front doors with a bag of groceries in hand. 

As the Schoenwalds and their volunteers move single moms out of sleazy motels and into apartments (which the Society sometimes furnishes), they take joy in knowing that what they do "unto the least of them [Matthew 25:40], " they do for Jesus Christ. One husband whom Marybeth and Mike help reunite with his family told them: “We know that with your prayers and blessings, we will succeed and be able to give back to society one day everything that has been given to us in our time of need.”

 No money is ever loaned to clients; a typical aid amount is from $400 to $800. Last year the Society’s $36, 000 in aid money almost tripled that spent in 2005, its first operational year. The current ill economy has increased cash needs of the Society's clients; for the first time, more clients need help with mortgage rather than rent payments. Most of the aid money comes from small donations and the parish itself. In turn, the Society donates regularly to their partners, the Dominican Republic Conference and the St. Clare/St. Rita Conference in Chicago. 

The Schoenwalds conduct a monthly Bible study in their modest home a few blocks from their church. Then there is their Rosary network of 163 friends to whom Mike and his wife relay prayer intentions each l3th of the month at 7 p.m.  The ministries of PADS (for the homeless) and Respect Life   also benefit from these two seniors’ labors. For the past five years the couple, along with other Christians, have spent an hour praying each Thursday morning at 9:30 in front of a Chicago abortion clinic. Marybeth smiled when she mentioned   their annual “Truly Garage Sale”, which was held on their own driveway on north Hickory Street last year and which raised $2, 000  for five charities.

            Married 33 years, Mike and Marybeth obviously demonstrate what St. Vincent de Paul proclaimed soon after he and six Paris university students established the Society in 1833: that faith and work should harmonize in service to neighbor. 

            The tonnage of paperwork which keeps the couple busy full-time is done on the Schoenwald’s kitchen table. While organizing notebook after notebook one afternoon, Mike shook his head and said: “All this required record-keeping was beyond what we expected.”  He and his wife share at least one item on their "wish" list:  more free time just to talk about things like friends and family. They have two recreations: One is Marybeth's organic garden of fruits and vegetables which, she said, "we're still eating in January."  Their other fun time, Mike said, "is finding a good restaurant with a good chef.”

At the table, Mike started to tell about the early years of his marriage to Marybeth, those days when they had little money.  Then, pausing to exchange a glance with his wife, he reflected: “I’ve walked those miles in other people's shoes and know that there, but for the grace of God..."  And then Marybeth handed him another notebook.

THE END

rrschwarz7@wowway.com

©2011 Robert R. Schwarz

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The Man in the Front Pew

                                                                   By Robert R. Schwarz  

             Though he's been sitting in that front pew for more than 10 years, chances are many worshippers in the back have never met him nor know his name. He's known by some as that broad-shoulder man—six-foot-two tall—who sits almost motionless, his attention fixed on the looming Christ figure behind the altar. He arrives before anyone else for the 7:30 a.m.  mass and, for ten, sometimes fifteen minutes, remains a solitary figure   in the early dawn light. Monday through Friday in the St. James Catholic church in Arlington Heights, Illinois, you'll see him in that front pew, praying and reading his "Magnificat". People wonder—but never seem to ask—what life journey this man has trekked and continues to trek.

            Being a retired newspaper editor and still a nosey soul, I talk to him, Brad Jenkins, and learned that his journey has been a lifetime of   searching for truth and love, a journey not without devilish attacks and perilous walks down rabbit trails leading nowhere. Mr. Jenkins is no stranger, so he told me, to spiritual combat. 

            Describing himself as a once  " poorly catechized cradle Catholic,"   Brad  was born into music, to  a father who was a trombonist with the Stan Kenton and Louis Prima bands  and a mother   classically trained to sing opera so well that her singing in church embarrassed her son.  “And , at home, all the neighbors would hear her," Brad reminisced with a chuckle.  At age l4 he formed his own rock'n’roll band and was  singing melodies and playing bass guitar with a latent professionalism that one day would bring him gig after gig in northwest Cook County.

  In 1969, Brad and family moved from St. Louis to nearby Crystal Lake and, later, to Arlington Heights, where soon, he said, “I was dabbling in things I he shouldn't have”.  He experimented in drugs ( no arrests, he said )  and got "things sort of messed up"  by  getting too deep into Eastern religions and  Evolution and by  reading New Age books, including one on astral travel.  “I was a truth seeker," he said. “I always wanted to know the truth. I knew there was more than just this life I was living. "          

            At age 23, Brad married.  Two children followed: Katy, now a 27-year-old actress living in Manhattan, New York, and John, 24, studying to be lawyer.  “My wife was Catholic, too, but neither of us wanted anything to do with the church. We never really had much of a faith life." Seventeen years later, the couple was divorced over "irreconcilable differences,” which, Brad points out, had a lot to do with money.  "When you don't have Christ in the picture, things fall apart,” he admitted.

            Towards the end of the marriage, Brad started to attend mass at St. James. He was  also attending the Willow Creek Community church in South Barrington ( he still thinks it's got some of the very best contemporary church music ), the Moody Bible Institute  ( which ostensibly appealed to his charismatic sense ),  and a Promise Keeper rally , a national Protestant event  after which, l8 years ago,  inspired him to  join—and later help  facilitate for eight years-- the Saturday morning men's faith group at St. James.

But Brad, like the ancient Hebrews fresh out of bondage, had a long trek ahead before reaching his River Jordan. "My goal of knowing truth and love remained.” It would occur to him later that the essence of both was in Jesus Christ.

 Not only did Brad discover he had to put on that full armor of God—which included prayer and Bible study—if he was to ward off the Flesh, World, and Devil, but equally critical to his very spiritual survival, he had to surrender something.  

            This "something"—the “Big One", Brad calls it-- occurred one night in a grove of Oak trees outside the Bellarmine  Jesuit Retreat House in Barrington, Illinois.  Preoccupied with his pending divorce, Brad approached a life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary and knelt.   “She just came alive," Brad recalled. “I poured out my heart to her. It was at that moment, when I completely surrendered my will, that the door was opened. My shell was broken. It was through this brokenness that the Holy Mother allowed me to come in and lead me to her Son. "

            Brad soon ensconced his 230 pounds in that front pew on weekday mornings and, on Sundays, with his children and new wife, Bonnie, a high school special education aide he had met through mutual friends. " It was the Eucharist that brought me back into the church," he said,  his voice a full octave.  Now, for the first time, he was believing in the True Presence of Christ in the Eucharist.  “This was the ‘something’ that had been missing in my faith life," he said.   “I saw that the church is Jesus and without Him, the whole thing would fall apart.”

Brad continued his thoughts  with a reference to Christ's words which proclaim that  whenever two or three  people come together in Christ's name, He is in their midst. “You can pray the Rosary by yourself but it doesn’t have the power like when you say it with another person or group. You know, the wolf attacks the stray sheep."

            Asked if he believed that he had now crossed his Jordan that maybe his exodus trek had ended, Brad paused, took off his glasses and thoughtfully moved a finger across his brown bearded chin.  "You know, everyday is a constant barrage. I put on that full amour of God all the time.  I go to confession once a week, and if I don't, things just start to happen. "

            In McDonalds over breakfast, I asked him how he copes with that "favorite" sin we're all prone to repeating despite resolutions and promises.  Brad put down his coffee and sighed.  "Well, you just go to confession and pick yourself up and start again.”  He quickly added: "The act of going to confession doesn't automatically make everything all right. But it gives us the grace to change.  Without God's grace, you're going to repeat that sin over and over again." 

 We talked about Brad's move at the end of 2010 to Austin, Texas, where he and his wife will eventually retire. It's a move he and Bonnie have prayerfully considered.  Why Austin? Most importantly, the region’s climate will be healthful for Bennie’s rheumatoid arthritis. Then, there's the economy. It's much better there than around the Chicago area, Brad maintains. He'll be working for a large national firm, selling insurance to seniors. Bonnie and he also have friends in Austin. And it's no small bonus that Austin, according to Brad, is the world's music capitol, where Brad, of course, will be contributing his share of music. He's also visibly excited about the reverence he perceives exists among Austin's Catholic parishioners; he will introduce himself to the bishop as a first step in re-activating his St. James ministries of facilitating faith groups and leading adorations of the Blessed Sacrament.

Our conversation turned again to Bonnie. “She makes me happy. She makes me smile." Brad intoned the words as if they were a lyric from a favorite song.

A parting word came from a Eucharistic Minister who has worked with Brad for years. "He's been a wonderful fixture, and we're going to miss him.”

THE END

rrschwarz7@wowway.com

©2010 Robert R. Schwarz

           

           

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