Jane Marie Bradish

It's 150 years later, and the School Sisters of St. Francis are still here. We are still meeting the needs of the times, what we refer to as the will of God. A lot has changed, but the heart of who we are remains the same.

Many find saying no a struggle. "No" isn't easy. I started with small things. And I keep practicing.

There are times when our world seems to be falling apart at the seams. All the good being done seems to do nothing. And so, the haunting song question becomes my question, too. I have no answer.

Hearts need healing, not just after physical cardiac events. We've all been there, feeling not quite right on an emotional, psychological, mental, physical or spiritual level.

I've had colleagues, friends and even GSR editors tell me something along the lines of "You take a left field approach." I take that as a compliment. It serves me well when traditional prayer isn't working for me.

While I like the idea of learning from my predecessors, I prefer the imagery of anchors instead of pillars. Anchors allow for movement. But mine are gradually disappearing and I'm not liking it one bit.

It's not just the changing seasons that bring transitions. All of us face transitions on a regular basis. Growth requires change. It's those in-between times, transition times, growth times, that are bothering me right now.

During my personal feast celebrations, I take some extra time to pray and reflect and see where the feast leads me; it's never the same. 

Whether Communion, confirmation, ordination, graduation or even coronation, how much do I understand about the rituals I encounter? Why do we do what we do and how could we help people (and maybe ourselves) understand?

Although unspoken, all of us in religious life live an "extra vow" of care. Look around — there are so many needs, and we've done well meeting them. That led me to this question: How do I take care of myself?

God isn't going to just show up and "fix us." That's not how it works. We need to put time and effort into first identifying and then softening our stony hearts.

My experiences and images of God change. Sometimes I need a listening ear, sometimes a kick in the butt to get me moving, sometimes reassurance, and sometimes I have no clue what I need.

I'm ministering in a school where my community has served for about 100 years. When I started, there were a dozen members of my community. In August, when another school year started, I was suddenly "the only one" left.

When you hear Christmas, what comes to mind? Parties and presents? Travel and short-staffed offices? Concerts and pageants? Hymns and all-too-familiar Scripture readings? In my experience, Christmas is too romanticized.

When people die, they leave behind complex legacies likely to include good and bad impressions. We all leave behind hard truths.

Let's be honest, the world is kind of a scary place right now. So much is unknown and so many are struggling. There is usually a sense of safety in a hug, whether it's "I'm so happy to see you" or "I'm scared, hold me."

Three times in one week I encountered things from the "You're not supposed to be here" category, such as bunnies in a window well. I started to wonder about other experiences of "What are you doing here?"

High school students brainstormed what a world lived with a beatitude focus would look like. Among their proposed additions to the Beatitudes: "Blessed are the moody teens" and "Blessed are those who are toxic."

I was adamant — I was in no way like Judas! But when I decided to be completely honest with myself, I realized I am more like him than I care to admit.

How can we follow Jesus' example to highlight and change practices and structures for the good of all, knowing that in the process we will likely be as misunderstood as Jesus was?