It’s been a week since we opened the new convent. “New” merely refers to the fact that it’s new as a convent, but in actually it’s an old house with the normal and not-so-normal problems associated with old houses. Take the pipes for example. All corroded. Had to be replaced which delayed our ability to move in. Monday and Tuesday night we ended up with stuff in the truck and ourselves at a local hotel courtesy of the realtor. Moved in on Wednesday. Started cleaning on Thursday only to discover that the base of the lower kitchen cabinets was like a science experiment gone wrong with mold creeping up from the edges. Needless to say, it’s a mess and our move in experience is less than desirable. Still, it’s fixable and we love the house and neighborhood. As soon as the rehabbers get through replacing the offending cabinets, the convent will be in good shape.

As we work with the rehabbers, I am reminded of our IHM Sisters who in the 1930s oversaw the building of our 380,000 square foot building. I wonder how they did it all. We just have a small old house in need of rehab, but they had to start from scratch, put their vision into concrete — literally, and know enough about building, construction, electrical, plumbing, finances, environment, health care, residential living, etc. to build a home for our sisters and create a physical symbol of our IHM life. In just the last few days, I’ve learned a lot about this stuff, and I’ve also learned a bit about the guys working here like their family and why they like/dislike this kind of work, and for the young guys who cut our lawn, what their hopes and dreams are for their own futures.

True, our priority is fixing this place and getting rid the petri dish that is our kitchen, we also are about being present to people no matter where or how we meet them, even if we are the ones who are in need at the time. This is something I have taken always seen in my sisters, especially my nun Joyce who has such a beautiful way of working with people. She doesn’t see “a maintenance person” or “a secretary”, she sees a person full of dignity and light who is using her or his gifts, earning a living, supporting a family, ministering to others. Though shy by nature, I think always of Joyce when I encounter workers of any kind — and I remember to cherish them as she does and as Jesus shows us time and again in the Gospels.

How have you cherished a worker lately?