A reflection by Mother Maria-Michael Newe, OSB, delivered to our community on the vigil of the Novice Investiture of Sister Hope
Photos courtesy of the family of Sister Hope (and Sister Cecilia, also a member of our community!)
Tomorrow we happily celebrate the Memorial of Martha, Mary and Lazarus (July 29). It is also the day on which Hope will receive the Benedictine habit — the mark of our monastic life. In a sense, Hope is being invited into the house of Bethany, which Jesus loved dearly, and where He was dearly loved as well.
In Bethany, it is Martha who seems to have initiated the friendship of Jesus by inviting Him into their lives. It says in the Gospel that she “welcomed” Him; you could say that her warmth impelled Him. Her sister Mary’s response to Jesus is one of being captivated by Him. She allowed herself to be drawn in, held still in His presence. But we don’t hear that much more about Mary — it seems to be a relationship more hidden. Her tears about her brother’s death is the last we hear of her, and it touches Jesus deeply. Is that not the contemplative life?
The Gospel tells us more of Martha. She apparently allowed her hospitality to become burdensome. Martha instructed Jesus, “Tell her to help me” (Luke 10:40). I read somewhere that whenever a name is pronounced twice in the Gospels, it signals that the one spoken to is someone very dear, so that means something when we get to hear, “Martha, Martha…Mary has chosen the better part and it will not be taken from her” (Luke 10:41-42). In a way it seems like a bit of a rebuke, perhaps because Martha had been invited by Jesus to stay there as well, but she felt like she “needed” to push on to serving.
Hope, tomorrow you will hear during the investiture ceremony, “I accept you as a Novice into this community,” and, “you should strive to live the monastic life.” Strive to truly live in community. You wish to join this community for the love of Jesus Christ? Well, let everything be permeated by love. Prefer nothing to the Love of Jesus. Above all, seek God and the ways in which He guides you to perfection in this life.
Every time you put the habit on, remember, you are a handmaid of the Lord; be ready and eager to serve God with undivided devotion. Let your belt remind you of the chains Jesus wore in His passion. That is actually why we hold our hands down beneath our scapulars. It really is to remind us of Christ and what He bore for us. We can never forget His Passion — nor His Resurrection. Both are needed. When you at last clothe yourself with the scapular, it is a sign of completion. His yoke is easy, His burden light, when born with love. The veil you will wear is a sign of your religious state, may you always be recognized as one consecrated to God. Wear the habit of our community with great dignity. Wear it remembering the centuries of women who have worn this habit, lived the Benedictine life, and have been buried in this habit. It means something. It means we are one body — We don’t live for ourselves; we are in community. We do what we can in community to serve Christ in each other. And when we wear this habit, we remember we have been chosen. We wear it as women who are chosen. We also have chosen. Christ chose and we chose. He puts His hand out, but we also have to put out ours. They meet, but His is stronger I have to say.
Jesus loved Bethany because of Martha, Mary, and Lazarus. Without them, we wouldn’t hear of the town of Bethany; we wouldn’t have that same notion of it. Bethany is a home He loved dearly, where Hewas loved unconditionally. May we too be like Bethany full of love and devotion and ever attentive to the needs of His heart. That’s what it means to be at home with Christ — We are attentive to His heart.
So, I wish you all the joy of tomorrow. You are stepping into a new stage and are giving of the things that meant so much in the world, so you can receive the things of heaven.
18th century painting of St. Walburga by an unknown artist, currently found at the Abtei of St. Walburg in Eichstätt
St. Walburga was born in what is today known as the county of Wessex in southern England in 710, into a noble family of saints. Her father was St. Richard, and her mother was Wuna, the sister or cousin of St. Boniface. Her two brothers, St. Willibald and St. Wunibald, also became saints.
As a child around the age of 10, St. Walburga was entrusted to the care of the Benedictine nuns of Wimbourne Abbey in present-day Dorset, England. For about 28 years, St. Walburga lived the typical monastic life of singing the praises of God in the Divine Office and presumably performing ordinary tasks around her monastery. Between 740 and 750, when St. Boniface asked the superior of Wimbourne to send nuns to help him in his missionary efforts in Germany, St. Walburga and around thirty other nuns were appointed to make the journey across the English Channel.
It was at this time that we hear of St. Walburga’s first recorded miracle. While they were on the boat that carried them across the Atlantic Ocean, a terrible storm came, but through her intercession the storm ceased, and they were able to safely continue their voyage. It is reminiscent of Jesus calming the storm at sea, whereupon His disciples were all amazed and said, “What sort of man is this, whom even the winds and the sea obey?” (cf. Matt. 8:24-27). Moses, too, wielded authority over the waters when God gave him the power to part the Red Sea for the Israelites to cross over to safety from their Egyptian pursuers. From her miracles, one gets the sense that St. Walburga stands among the great men and women of the Old Testament, the powerful prophets of God. But the person she followed the most, of course, was Christ. It was in following His example—and by His authority—That she was able to accomplish such great wonders.
The Miracle of St. Walburga by Peter Paul Rubens, c. 1610, currently housed in a private collection
Upon the nuns’ arrival in Germany, they taught the young, cared for the sick, and helped the poor with alms. After two or three years, once the monastery at Heidenheim had been built by Wunibald, she traveled to join him and set up a monastery for nuns nearby. They prayed the Divine Office together, but were otherwise separate from the monks, forming a double monastery. When Wunibald died, Willibald named Walburga his successor, and she became Abbess over both monks and nuns of Heidenheim.
Another miracle of Christ that St. Walburga imaged was the healing of Jairus’ daughter. Jesus went to Jairus’ house and told the mourners that the girl was only sleeping, and brought her back to life by taking her hand, and saying, as one of the translations tells us, “Little Lamb, arise” (Talitha Koum). Then—and how Benedictine—He tells the onlookers to get her something to eat (cf. Mark 5:38-43). Similarly, it was recorded that St. Walburga went out at one night to the house of a nobleman, whose daughter was near death. The nobleman offered St. Walburga all the niceties, everything wonderful, as he bade her sit down with him, and by the time she was able to go upstairs to pray for the girl, the family had declared her dead. Regardless of this news, St. Walburga spent the night with the little girl in prayer, and when the sun arose, she presented a perfectly healthy girl to the noble parents, and then quickly returned to her monastery. The father tried to load her up with gifts to take back to her monastery, but she politely refused them and carried on without a fuss. There was no fanfare. She was simply a servant, a servant at work, who had completed her God-given task. That’s how you know the true humility of a saint: She’s not in it for the fanfare.
St. Walburga visits the sick girl / Tapestry artwork from the Abtei St. Walburg in Eichstätt, Germany
St. Walburga is known to be a saint of extraordinary light. On one occasion, she went into the monastery church at night, and she asked a monk (she was the Abbess of the double monastery of men and women at the time) for a torch to find her way, but the monk flatly refused. So instead, God lit the whole house up in abundance, in flowing light, which her nuns saw, and which seemed to “penetrate to the very heart of the earth.” St. Walburga, like another famous female Benedictine saint, St. Scholastica, asked a monk for a kindness, and was rejected — St. Scholastica had asked her brother, St. Benedict, to stay with her and pray shortly before she died, but he refused; then she turned to God and prayed, and a huge storm suddenly rolled in, which served to prevent St. Benedict from returning to his monastery, and he was forced to meet his sister’s request. When St. Walburga asked a monk for a light to see, and was refused, she too turned to God in prayer, and her request was answered with the miracle of light.
St. Walburga and the miracle of light / Tapestry artwork from the Abtei St. Walburg in Eichstätt, Germany
And then we also recognize the spirit of God acting freely and powerfully in St. Walburga through the miraculous holy oil that still flows from her bones. We hear in John 4:14, “Indeed the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life,” and in Isaiah 8:11, “You shall be like a watered garden. Like a spring of water whose waters do not fade.” It seems that St. Walburga’s great compassion for others did not end at her death, but continues to be a pure gift of God which flows throughout the ages for the good of His Church. Many people write us asking for St. Walburga’s oil, and then take the time to share their stories of healing with us. One could say that this quote from St. Thérèse of Lisieux may also be applied to our patroness: “I wish to spend my heaven in doing good upon the earth.” St. Walburga certainly does.
The bottling of St. Walburga’s Holy Oil at the Abtei St. Walburg in Eichstätt, Germany
When St. Walburga died around the year 779, she was buried at the monastery at Heidenheim, but the years went on, her name appeared to be forgotten, and her grave was no longer held in honor. The story of the discovery of her relics is quite amusing: In 842, when Bishop Otkar was undertaking renovation of the church at Heidenheim, St. Walburga appeared to him in a dream and complained, “Every day I am stomped on by [the workmen’s] dirty shoes, and am maltreated by their rough footsteps. Therefore, you should know that I will give you a clear sign that you have not acted justly against me” (Wolfhard, The Book of Miracles: Walburga as Abbess). Soon after this dream, the newly constructed northern wall of the church collapsed. The bishop saw this as the sign St. Walburga had warned him about, and arranged for her remains to be moved to the Cathedral in Eichstätt, to give her a worthier resting place next to her brother Willibald. “The men who were digging according to the request of the bishop found the venerable bones of…Walburga covered with some drops of spring water… Although the soil was moist, no residue of dirt could be observed at the hands of those who touched it” (Wolfhard). When the horses pulling the carriage with her relics stopped at the western gate of the city and refused to go any further, this was taken to be a sign that she wished to be buried in the nearby chapel that would later be called St. Walburga’s Church. Her body was reinterred in the chapel there, an act which marked the beginning of her public veneration, since at that time the transfer of relics was equivalent to an official act of canonization. A small community of canonesses became custodians of her shrine until her relics were moved to the Abtei of St. Walburg after its founding in 1035.
In 893, an Abbess from a neighboring monastery in Monheim requested some of St. Walburga’s relics. While on the way to Monheim, “two very sick boys who had independently of each other requested to touch the small case with the saint’s relics, were instantly healed from their infirmities in a miraculous way…The news spread far and wide. Everyone in Monheim rejoiced that the saint has brought such blessings to their town, while the population of Eichstätt, worrying that the saint might have abandoned them, had to be assured by the bishop that only a small part of her relics had been given away” (Wolfhard).
Art caption: St. Walburga’s bones are brought to Monheim / Tapestry artwork from Abtei St. Walburg in Eichstätt, Germany
“Pilgrims flocked from near and far…to St. Walburga’s shrine in Monheim. It was above all people from the lowest ranks of society, especially the poor, who were at the mercy of pestilence, infections, famine, and acts of violence. The pilgrims undertook long journeys. On arrival they repeatedly visited the shrine containing the relics of St. Walburga, took part in the Liturgy and Divine Office of the nuns, brought gifts with them, told the nuns of their illnesses and distress, and not infrequently witnessed extraordinary healings. The nuns kept a written record of these healings. Furthermore, a great number of votive offerings, such as crutches, candles, swords, effigies of body parts that were healed, and pictures which display the distress and Walburga’s help, give evidence of these miraculous events” (Wolfhard).
The Abtei of St. Walburg in Eichstätt, where the majority of St. Walburga’s bones remain, continues to be a place of frequent pilgrimages for people seeking physical, spiritual, and psychological healing. Those who can’t embark on pilgrimage request her oil from the Abtei in Germany or our Abbey in the United States (generously shipped to us from the nuns in Germany), and receive an abundance of healing and consolations.
Statues of St. Walburga and her family, and surrounding artwork and mementoes depicting miracles attributed to her intercession / Beneath this is the crypt where St. Walburga’s relics are kept at the Abtei St. Walburg in Eichstätt, Germany
In the words of Mother Maria-Michael Newe, OSB: “What would St. Walburga say to us today? Listen, O daughter, forget your people and your father’s house, and follow the Lamb. Seek God in everything. Persevere with great love. Let God’s compassion flow through you, even to the marrow of your very bones. Let us truly celebrate St. Walburga, this great saint. She will lead us to holiness, if we let her. She knows what it means to leave home and country. She knows what it means to have her loved ones die. She knows what it means to let God’s will reign in her life. She knows what it means to love and live in community. She knows its cost. She knows how to fight evil by love and compassion, by simply doing God’s will. Let us pray for this. Let us pray for that humble love she carried with her. She was a humble woman, and one of great light. Our lives are called to be the same, in different ways — Fresh water that comes out, either through our smile, our kindness, our generosity, our prayers, our life hidden with Christ in God.”
Hymn “Ave flos Virginum” composed by Heribert, Bishop of Eichstatt, 1022-1042
Greetings to you, O Virgin of the Lord, St. Walburga, Renowned sister of Willibald and Wynnebald, You who consecrated yourself willingly to Christ.
Amidst the throng of holy people, England, your mother, lovingly nourished you And sent you to us, angel-like Virgin.
And the Mother of the Lord, Mother and Virgin, Ranks you among the choir of rejoicing virgins, Consecrates you as the blessed bride of her Son.
Behold, the choir of angels bids you welcome With the call of the Lord, ‘Beloved virgin, Come to Me into the kingdom of everlasting joy!’
To the Triune God creation pays homage; Virgins, prudent, and proved true, sing Him hymns. Intercede for us, O Virgin Walburga. Amen.
It seems to me that God loves to meet people on a walk. Starting in Genesis we hear that God walked with Adam and Eve through the gardens. And we have Jesus meeting the disciples on the road to Emmaus. And we have Saul on the way to Damascus. And how many other encounters there have been, we don’t know, but I’m sure there are many. And I think they still happen today. Enjoy your walks! You never know if He is going to be upon you, quickly, and with a great deal of love. But remember He also walked His Passion. The Way of the Cross. And He met each one: His Mother, Veronica, Simeon… Think of all those He encountered on the Way, specifically.
We have to be able to allow God’s presence, and not pass Him by. On the road to Emmaus, the disciples had the chance to let Jesus go, and they didn’t. “Stay with us,” they said. I think the excitement of every day comes from wondering, “Where am I going to meet Him?” “How am I going to meet Him?”
Jesus wants our lives to be mixed with His. It’s like in a marriage, how over time a couple even grows to look alike, because they transform each other. That should be true of all of us. By the end of our lives we should be transformed. By doing things so much like Christ we should begin to look like Him. I wish that for everyone, and for you to have a lovely walk, encountering Him all along your way every day.
A reflection by Mother Maria-Michael Newe, OSB, on the Solemnity of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, celebrated every year on August 15
Titian, Assumption of the Virgin, 1518 Basilica di Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, Venice Public Domain
“Finally the Immaculate Virgin, preserved free from all stain of original sin, when the course of her earthly life was finished, was taken up body and soul into heavenly glory, and exalted by the Lord as Queen over all things, so that she might be the more fully conformed to her Son, the Lord of lords and conqueror of sin and death.” The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin is a singular participation in her Son’s Resurrection and an anticipation of the resurrection of other Christians.
Catechism of the Catholic Church, 966
The meaning of the Solemnity of the Assumption of Mary is that of culmination and a new beginning. With Our Lady’s Assumption into heaven, the promises of the Lord were fulfilled for her and as always, beyond all expectation. I would have loved to have seen Mary’s face at her arrival into heaven. She saw her Son under the horror of the Cross; and I’m sure that never left her heart. But now she gets to see the glory of her Son and she shares in that. Remember that as she came to heaven, she was body and soul—she had an expression on her face. And that expression has never left her. The beauty of her Son seated on His throne…
The word “assumption” comes from the Latin word “assumere,” meaning, “to take to oneself.” Our Lord Jesus Christ took Mary home to Himself where He is. Now, on Mary’s part, it was the work of a lifetime of being watchful and ready to preserve the deifying light in her soul. In the Prologue of the Rule of St. Benedict, we hear, “Let us open our eyes to the light that comes from God.” Mary never took her eyes off of the light that comes from God, her Son. Further on in the Rule it says, “Run while you have the light of life, that the darkness of death may not overtake you.” Well we could say that Mary ran the marathon of life and outran sin! She never stood around long enough for sin to “attach” itself to her. There was no selfishness in Mary for sin to cling to. And isn’t most sin about selfishness? And while we also remember that Mary is the sorrowful Mother, her sorrow was never about herself. Mary’s sorrows have only to do with anything that separates us from the love and life of Christ. It would be good for us to imitate Mary in knowing true sorrow instead of selfish sorrow.
The Assumption is seen as a sign of hope for all Christians, demonstrating the ultimate destiny of those who are united with Christ: the glorious reunion of body and soul in heaven. It highlights the goodness and dignity of the human body, destined for eternal glory.
There is a story, that perhaps you have heard, of a very holy woman who would serve God’s people during the day without ceasing to pray. She would go to bed late at night but would get up early every morning to continue to serve. And when she would get up in the morning, as soon as her feet hit the floor, hell shook and said, “Oh no, she’s up!” I pray that could be said for every one of us. But for that to happen, we have to live like Mary—attentive to the body of Christ, attentive to one another, attentive to everything that separates anybody from the love of Christ and His life.
Mary’s Assumption did not mark the end of her service. On the contrary, her service could now assume its universal work. We read in Lumen Gentium that “taken up to heaven, she did not lay aside this saving role, but by her manifold acts of intercession continues to win for us gifts of eternal salvation. By her maternal charity, Mary cares for the brethren of her Son who still journey on…” And Mary cares for us. Let us do nothing that would grieve the immaculate heart of Mary. Let us live in her presence.
As we celebrate the Assumption let us make our house a place where Mary wants to dwell. That takes work and it takes love. Mary suffered, but she loved more than she suffered. Like Mary, we too have to pay more attention to what we love than to what we suffer.
Archaeology has revealed two tombs of Mary, one in Jerusalem and one in Ephesus. The fact that Mary lived in both places explains the two tombs. But what is inexplicable apart from the Assumption is the fact that there is no body in either tomb. And there are no relics. Anyone who peruses early Church history knows that Christian belief in the communion of saints and the sanctity of the body—in radical contrast to the Gnostic disdain for “the flesh”—led early Christians to seek out with the greatest fervor relics from the bodies of great saints. Cities, and, later, religious orders, would fight over the bones of great saints. This is one reason why we have relics of the apostles and so many of the greatest saints and martyrs in history. Yet never was there a single relic of Mary’s body? As revered as Mary was, this would be very strange, except for the fact of the assumption of her body.
A reflection on the triumph of Love by Mother Maria-Michael Newe, OSB
I was thinking about the incredible words we sing during the Divine Office on the Feast of St. Andrew: “Seeing the cross [of his own martyrdom], Andrew cried out with joy, ‘O precious cross! Truly I have always loved you, and I have desired to embrace you.’”
This is a disciple who ran away in the garden of Gethsemane—he
didn’t stand by Jesus on the cross—so the greatest gift that could be given to
him was another chance to stand by the cross. What did he do with it? He
embraced it. He longed for that moment to tell Christ, “I love you, and I want
to be with you, wherever that leads.” This is the power of the triumph of the
cross. Love is the triumph of the
cross. When we love enough that we no longer fear the crosses in our lives but
we embrace them and we long for them because they unite us with him who has
loved us beyond all love, that is the triumph of the cross. So today we
celebrate that we no longer fear the cross; it is truly the exaltation. Of
course we cannot do this of ourselves. St. Andrew, St. Peter, none of them,
could have embraced the cross on their own, but with divine strength they could
embrace and kiss it. And their suffering turned into gratitude. Yes, when we
can thank God for the crosses in our life, God has triumphed. When we can see
that it is Love that has given us once again the chance to prove our love, we
will rejoice and say, “Amen!” and run toward it, because we have a chance to
prove our love. Let us pray today that the cross may triumph in our own lives, because
it will not happen on our own. It is completely divine strength.
May this Easter season bring you much joy in the
resurrection of Our Lord, who suffered his cross for the love of us, that we might
have a sense of the depths of his love and desire to return our love for his.
