a woman who changed my life: my Sister Tess

Sister Tess and I at the 1992 7th National Black Catholic Congress in N.O.
(I was on assignment and she was attending!)

A few years ago I wrote an essay titled "Mi Hermana Tess" about my admiration for and friendship with Sister Tess Browne, a member of the Sisters of Charity of Nazareth, Kentucky. 

The essay was published in a book that I've mentioned before -- "Thank you Sisters: Stories About Women Religious And How They Enrich Our Lives" -- a very appropriate text for this week, National Catholic Sisters Week! 

Edited by my friend and colleague in the Catholic press John Feister, the book is a collection of 12 essays written by several famous people: 

Cokie Roberts; Maureen Orth, award-winning journalist and special correspondent for Vanity Fair; Sr. Helen Prejean; James Martin, S.J.; best-selling author Adriana Trigiani... and more.

And as I've joked and pointed out since the beginning, I am, clearly, one of the"and more" -- although this "filler writer" is nothing but honored and grateful to have been included in this great project! 

I have posted before an excerpt from that essay describing when I first met Sister Tess at the University of Texas Catholic Student Center. You can read that blog here. 

Today I'd like to post a different part of the essay, from a conversation I had with Sister Tess when our group of college students (including the guy I was dating and later married!) from the Catholic Student Center went to witness the work of her community with the United Farm Workers in South Texas. 

Don't laugh too much -- here's what we looked like in 1980. The summer before I turned 20! 

¡Si se puede!

University Catholic Center students visiting farm workers in South Texas, 

with Sr Tess Browne, who was working with the United Farm Workers, 1980.

(Can you make out Michael and I in the front row?!)

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Listening to Tess’ stories, I was a bit star-struck. Like a female Tom Hanks in the movie “Forrest Gump,” Tess’ life casually crossed paths with significant moments in history.  Picketing alongside Cesar Chavez. Civil rights marches. A sit-in with Dorothy Day...  

Tess frequently shocked me, provoked me, and in a very real way, inspired me. As a Hispanic privileged enough to be attending college, I felt a special responsibility to learn more, to do more for these people, my people. 

So when she invited students interested in visiting the Rio Grande Valley to come learn more about the work of the United Farm Workers and the life of farm workers in south Texas, I jumped at the opportunity. 

Our group’s visit to the border towns of San Juan and McAllen is a blur in my memory. I remember going to UFW rallies, and being the one to introduce our students in Spanish to the farm workers gathered that night. I remember celebrating daily Mass and prayers with our hosts, Tess’s co-ed religious community.  But what stands out the most in my memory is the intense feelings I had throughout that weekend. 

It was my first time to encounter a situation so tragic, so horrible, so challenging, that I felt completely powerless and ultimately, deeply angry. I was livid about living conditions of children and their families in the colonias—dirt streets, no running water, houses that were truthfully shacks. It was like being in a third world country. I was broken hearted and infuriated conversing in Spanish with young women my age who had already lived profoundly painful lives. And in all honesty, I was irritated with my own ignorance, for not knowing this existed just five hours from my home. 

Sitting by myself in the community’s chapel one night, I cried weakly in my seething anger.  Sr. Tess walked in and just sat next to me, waiting until I could speak. When she sensed that I was ready, she grabbed my hand and looked at me.  

“How do you do it?” The words stumbled clumsily. “How can you do this work and see all this, every day, and not be consumed by the anger?” 

Without hesitation, Tess began, “*I* don’t do it. I offer up my day every morning to the One who can make a difference, and I leave the details up to God,” she paused but continued to look intensely at me. 

“I come to the Eucharist daily and let it heal me. And every night, I leave my anger, frustration, hopelessness, despair, right here, at the foot of the altar. I am not the maker, María, I am the instrument.”

With Sister Tess, a mini-reunion of our University Catholic Center 

UFW group (with Jean Perdicaris, Sandra Derby, Michael Scaperlanda)

at my daughter Michelle's wedding, July 2012

one thing I ask

1917 postcard depiction of view from Mount Bonnell

[Courtesy of Special Collections, University of Houston Libraries] 

My junior year as a University of Texas student, I often felt overloaded by an avalanche of emotions—worries!—about the future. Looming at the center of it all was discerning whether I was being called to religious life, and wondering what I would do with the degree in Journalism I was undertaking.

On days when I yearned for clarity and peace away from campus and the University Catholic Center where I was intensely involved, I would get away to two special spots in west Austin: the “Pink Sisters” monastery at the top of a hill on Exposition Blvd, and the road to Mount Bonnell overlooking Lake Austin.

As an island girl, the sight of water has always been an especially calming influence for me. If and when time allowed it, I would also park, take the walk up the steps and sit on a rock at the highest point in Austin—Mount Bonnell Park. But often just parking for a while on a hill spot where I could see the water below me was enough.

Although the community is no longer there, I will never forget the deep and instant peacefulness that bathed my spirit every time I walked into the Pink Sisters Adoration chapel—or the fact that I could always count on those doors to be opened! Those cloistered women will never know the gift they were to me, or how often the graces of their prayers for the world walked with me.

On those drives, there was often one song playing in the background, the St. Louis Jesuits' version of Psalm 27:

"This Alone," St. Louis Jesuits

The LORD is my light and my salvation;
whom should I fear?
The LORD is my life’s refuge;
of whom should I be afraid?

One thing I ask of the LORD
this I seek:
To dwell in the house of the LORD
all the days of my life,
That I may gaze on the loveliness of the LORD
and contemplate his temple.

I believe that I shall see the bounty of the LORD
in the land of the living.
Wait for the LORD with courage;
be stouthearted, and wait for the LORD.

Hope begins in the dark

“The Spirit drove Jesus out into the desert, 

and he remained in the desert for forty days, 

tempted by Satan.” [Mark 1: 12]

Qumran, Israel, 2012

I was a 19-year-old college student at the University of Texas the first time I really “got” the reality that Jesus was fully human, like me—that He experienced the full range of emotions, desires, even temptations that I do.  I was blown away by the Truth of that statement!

God so loved the world, so loved ME, that He sent His Son to become one of us in all ways but sin.  As author and poet Kathleen Norris points out, the incarnation is, indeed, a scandalous affair! There’s so much to ponder about this generous and extravagant Love.

Today I find myself finding hope in this awareness, in this Jesus Christ. When I am tempted to give in to negativity, I am encouraged to know that Jesus knows how it feels. When I am tempted to stop believing in the purpose of my life, I remember Jesus gets it. On the days when I’m tempted to stay in bed and give up altogether, I turn to Jesus with my ache and my sorrow. When I start listening to the voices of despair and I am tempted to doubt myself, I find hope in remembering that my Lord has experienced this darkness, too.

Whatever I am feeling, even the darkness of temptation, I can humbly bring to Jesus with confidence that he truly understands. Not in some heady, theological way, but with His full experience of humanity. And I can follow Jesus’ example at a time of temptation, turning to God, His Father and MY Father, and trusting Him without reservation for all of my needs.