Summer is here and that means bicycle riding for me. Having grown up with bikes, taken bike day trips with my family, commuted by bike, ridden mountain bike trails and long stretches of open road, I feel very much at home on a bike.

I got an inside view of the world of bikes when I worked at a bike shop early in my nun life. Yes, I worked at a bike shop as a Catholic sister! It’s an interesting story and the short version is that I had done my MA in theology on the theologian Karl Rahner, SJ, whose fundamental belief is that we can directly experience God at any time, any place. At the time, I was in need of a part-time ministry and so I reasoned that if God is in all things, then surely God is in a bike shop. Why not do ministry there? I loved bikes, and I loved working with mechanics (my dad and brother are engineers), and I wanted to interact with ordinary folks in ordinary moments. So after consulting with my nuns, I applied for a summer job and managed to beat out the competition (a handful of high school boys). It was one of my best experiences of formation — learning how to be with people, to minister with them outside the ordinary or obvious places of church ministry.

In the bike shop, you meet a lot — I mean a lot — of characters from every economic bracket, educational level, age, culture, etc. Each person has a story, and when you see them that way, you find there are so many opportunities for being present to them. And often, a bike marks a significant moment in their life. Why? Because ultimately, it’s not about the bike, as Lance Armstrong noted. A new bike or a repair to a bike is often loaded with meaning. One guy lost his job and couldn’t afford to drive so he needed a bike to get around. A mom and dad bought their child’s first bike. A woman’s husband was emotionally abusive (we saw it first hand in the store) and she wanted a bike to get out of the house more often. A young woman bought a road bike for her first triathlon marking her journey to feel better about herself.

My bike is also a marker of significant moments in my life. It is priceless because of the stories attached to it — both good times and bad. I am highly protective of it and take good care of it. When I first moved to Chicago I went through at least 4 different bike shops until I found On The Route Bicycles, bike guys whose expertise I trusted and who showed care about “the story” that people have with their bike or bike riding.

What significant moments does your bike (or similar thing) hold for you?

Greetings! Monday is Nunday here at A Nun’s Life because we feature photos of real Catholic sisters and nuns.

Today’s Nunday photo is from Susan, a Lutheran seminarian and oblate of the Sisters of Saint Scholastica in Chicago. (Yes, you can be an oblate or associate of a Catholic religious community and not be Catholic!)

Writes Susan, “Once a year the women of my church make a retreat with the Benedictine sisters at St. Mary Monastery in Rock Island, IL. Theirs is an interesting story.” Sister Charlotte Sonneville, OSB, is one of the nuns that Susan met at the monastery

Sister Charlotte Sonneville is in charge of Benet House, the retreat center.  She is, in the best sens,e a guest mistress. Her welcoming face is the one that greets us each year as we arrive in the February cold for our retreat.  She is efficient and thorough, friendly and conscientious. She relays the rules of the house with an explanation and a smile, making us all feel like beloved family members who have just been away for a time.  I look forward to seeing her each year.

Sister Charlotte is originally from Moline, IL, which is right next to Rock Island, so in a sense coming to St. Mary Monastery and Benet House has been a homecoming for her.  Sixty years ago, she chose to become a nun, she says, because she “wanted to share my faith with others.”  She taught at the school and held many jobs within the order, always striving to do just that. She now sees the running of Benet House as a part of her ministry of welcoming people as Christ, just as St. Benedict stated in his rule.

Her sweatshirt says, “Lord, thank you for letting me see all the colors.” This captures Sister Charlotte perfectly, as she is someone who not only sees all the colors of God’s creation, but loves them all deeply.

To see all the photos of Catholic sisters and nuns and links to their stories, visit the A Nun’s Life Facebook photo album. If you’ve got a photo and story of a real Catholic sister or nun, check out the details on submitting your photo for consideration.

Yesterday I went with a couple friends to Lifeline Theatre to see Mariette in Ecstasy, a performance based on the novel by Ron Hansen. Before the performance even began, I was in love with the theatre and the set — small, warm, artistic and welcoming. The theatre’s tagline says it well:
“Big Stories, Up Close”.

Mariette in Ecstasy is about a cloistered community of nuns, the Sisters of the Crucifixion, who “live quiet lives of prayer and devotion until the intriguing Mariette is initiated into their cloister.” The postulant Mariette experiences what she (and some of the sisters) believe to be divine encounter, but other sisters are not so sure about the authenticity of the experience. The faith of the sisters, their trust in one another, and their community life is all put into question as the sisters try to deal with Mariette and their own conflicting feelings.

Overall, the story and the performance were amazing. I felt like I was a part of the performance because of the wonderful choreography and the intensity of the actors. Because it was a story about nuns, I was particularly attentive to how the nuns were portrayed, how their community life and spirituality were expressed.

My favorite nun was the prioress, Reverend Mother Céline, played by Patrice Egleston. She was probably the nun shown with the most depth. I particularly liked how she was showed the dynamic of being a nun who was responsible for the common good and the community, but also a nun who had a family, who struggled, who prayed, who cared deeply. I also loved how graceful Mother Céline was — her every movement was effortless and when she walked it was as if she were floating just above the floor!

Brenda Barrie was very good as Mariette Baptiste, the new postulant and sibling of the prioress. She kind of freaked me out a bit when she was in ecstasy which meant she was doing an excellent job acting!

In the end, the question that begs to be answered is whether Mariette was having authentic experiences of God (stigmata, trances, visions) or if she was making it up to get attention or because she was sick.

A deeper question, however, and one that is pertinent for all of us, is whether or not we are open to being surprised by God. Are we open to the sometimes strange and totally unreasonable ways that God is present to us in our lives?

If you live in the Chicago area, go see this performance of Mariette in Ecstasy at Lifeline Theatre. I highly recommend it. Hurry! You only have until April 5.

Also, check out the book by Ron Hansen.

Last night I went to a free taping of the National Public Radio show Wait, Wait … Don’t Tell Me at the outdoor Pritzker Pavilion in Millennium Park in Chicago. The entertaining weekly news quiz show is hosted by Peter Sagal with scorekeeper Carl Kasell. The panelists were Mo Raca, Paula Poundstone, and Tom Bodett. They also had on the show the legendary baseball player Moose Skowron who today is a community relations representative for the White Sox.

As if all that was not entertaining enough, Chicago was beseiged by rain for the whole day and night yesterday. Having arrived early to get seats, my nun and I crouched beneath umbrellas, Starbucks in hand, for a good long time until the kindly people of Millennium Park allowed us to come up front where only the first few rows had some shelter from the rain. The yearly recording in Millennium Park normally sees 10,000 plus people, but this night it was just a few hundred wet but friendly people.

Moose Skowron was a delight and told story after story. He made the 1961 Yankees team come alive and his comparisons between players today and players in his day was hilarious. If I had my own radio show, I’d be sure to have him on.

Hmmm … if I did have my own radio show, who else would you like to see me interview and why? Sky’s the limit! Respond below in the comments section.

Last night Chicago witnessed one of the most spectacular storms — also very dangerous. Here’s my story of the storm.

Not one to believe weather reports, I hopped on my bike after work yesterday and went riding downtown with my buddy Carol. We parked our bikes at Ohio Street Beach, right at the foot of Navy Pier. The beach is almost always populated during the summer,  and the stretch of Lake Michigan water that goes along the board walk is a place that many swimmers do laps (it’s where I trained for my triathlon last year).

It was about 6 p.m. and the sky was cloudy, but not threatening in any way. We locked up our bikes and biking gear and hit the water. Immediately we noticed that the water was higher than usual — normally you can walk for 1/4 mile + out but even before we got to the bouys, the water was nearly neck high. We swam a bit but mostly chatted. It was so great to cool off. Then off in the distance I saw a flash light up the sky over Lake Michigan. “Uh, Carol, i think that was lightening.” “Oh, it’s way off. We’ve got plenty of time,” replied Carol. “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure lightening travels faster than you or I can swim,” I said. We kept going out but as soon as we saw the next, closer flash of light, we headed back toward the beach. Swimmers were still heading out, but as the sky got darker, I was glad we were heading in.

Just as we saddled up our bikes and started riding through downtown towards home, the rain hit. Big, huge drops of rain that hit with a thud and exploded like a water balloon. Still we weren’t too worried because we were already soaked from swimming and the extreme humidity, but as darkness descended we began to wonder if we’d be able to get ahead of the storm. Unfortunately neither of us had bike lights because we didn’t expect to be out late nor did we expect the premature darkness. So we rode safely but swiftly. About 2 1/2 miles from home, we parted ways, each to our own abode. By then the lightening was all around us, the rain pouring down, and the darkness swallowing up the city. It was as beautiful as it was terrifying.

Fortunately good bicycling skills and adrenaline took over. I took side streets home, riding through a few flooded streets and trying to stay away from lightening, trees blowing precariously in the wind, and wavering cars. Truly it was exhilarating though probably not all together smart. I finally got to my house. I had to walk between my brownstone and my neighbor’s. The alley was lit up like a night game at Wrigley. I could feel the lightening reverberating all around me. I threw my bike over my shoulder, hopped up my back stairs and prayed that my metal door would not electrocute me. Somehow I got me and the bike inside, climbed another set of stairs and breathed a huge sigh of relief when I reached my flat. Pfew!

I realized how scary the situation was when the tornado siren started going off. Carol called having gotten home safely. We hung up, and I went to find my cat. I picked up Chloe the Convent Cat, held her close, and sat in my hallway for a good 10 minutes. The wind and rain were whipping the building and trees relentlessly. I cleaned up quickly and packed my backpack anticipating a quick escape if necessary. Cat food? check. Water? check. Flashlight? … flashlight? … where the heck are my D batteries?? Wallet? check. Cell phone? …. is it really almost out of juice? … argh! So much for emergency preparedness. Towel? check. Safari hat? check. Yeah, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Once packed, I went around the entire house and unplugged everything, except one fan and my cell phone that was recharging. Exhausted, I lay in bed – sneakers and all. Chloe sat nestled in my arm oblivious to the non-airconditioned heat. Long story short, we made it through the night. Fitfully. The damage in my neighborhood wasn’t too bad. And we still had power, unlike many in Chicago — including my buddy Carol. So this morning bright and early I went over to pick up her three over-heated cats and bring them to the convent. Soon after Carol followed. Then it was off to work!

Now, its after 8 p.m. My house guests — Carol, her three cats, and her Mac laptop are settled in and happy to have a cool, powered home to hang out in. As for me and Chloe, it’s time for bed. I have some much needed sleep to catch up on, and Chloe needs some loving since having house guests detracts attention away from her!

My prayers are with all those who are suffering in the aftermath of the storm.

Last year I wrote often about biking, running and swimming because I was training for a triathlon (which I completed!) but this year, without that goal, I’ve been a bit lax about working out. Yes, even nuns workout. I come from an athletic background having biked a lot and played team sports and just been an outdoorsy kind of gal. So with all that said, it felt GREAT to get on my road bike this morning and crank out some miles commuting to work. My good friend Carol and I are going for a 20+ mile ride after work. I used this great web site … Map My Ride … to map the ride so that we can get a good 20 miles in. i also used the Chicago Bike Map to find the safest streets and trails to ride on. The ride takes us through city streets, neighborhoods, parks, forest preserves and along the Chicago River. What fun! (And also very economical because I don’t have to go to the gas pump!)

One thing that I love about cycling is that it is very meditative for me (unless in major traffic). There’s a wonderful rhythm of breathing and repetition and being in sync with oneself and the bike — for me it is conducive for meditation. When I am done cycling, I’m tired, but I also feel very centered and can easily slip into prayer.

What practice helps you to slip into prayer?

I’m hanging out at Starbucks so I can cool off. Just installed my AC units this morning but still hot and muggy. I left Chloe the Convent Cat sprawled on the rug and licking an ice cube. What happened to the rest of Spring??

Today the IHMs in Chicago are gathering from far and wide for a cook-out, book study, and prayer. I’m looking forward to being all together. We are reading The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros. It’s a series of vignettes about Esperanza …

… a Chicana (Mexican-American girl), who is about twelve years old when the novel begins. During the year, she moves with her family into a house on Mango Street. The house is a huge improvement from the family’s previous apartment, and it is the first home her parents actually own. However, the house is not what Esperanza has dreamed of, because it is run-down and small. The house is in the center of a crowded Latino neighborhood in Chicago, a city where many of the poor areas are racially segregated. Esperanza does not have any privacy, and she resolves that she will someday leave Mango Street and have a house all her own. (source: SparkNotes)

Have you read it? What do you like about it?

This past week has been a whirlwind for me, hence my blog absence. On the weekend my sister and brother-in-law, two nephews, and aunt visited.

We had a ton of fun — dinner at Giordano’s for some Chicago-style pizza, a day at the Shedd Aquarium and a visit with the Komodo Dragon, a river/lake boat ride around Chicago with architectural highlights and a lock, a walk through Millennium Park, 30-miles of cycling on Bike the Drive, more parks, lunch at Portillo’s, and shopping at IKEA. WOW — 60s hours of some serious fun and family bonding! After the fam left on Monday a.m. I cleaned, did laundry, ran errands, and packed for a nun week away.

I’m currently hanging out in Ohio near the Great Black Swamp — enjoying my time away and the opportunity to get some of my own work and writing done. (More on the Great Black Swamp later!)

This weekend I’ll head up to Monroe, Michigan, to my IHM Motherhouse for a few engagements and meetings.

My Internet connection has been spotty so rather than frustrate myself, I’ve abstained from too much online activity. But it’s getting better so I think I’m back. Ah the joys of traveling with uncertain connectivity!

After hanging with my nuns, doing some laundry, updating my blog, and shopping for groceries, I pulled out the bike gear for another cycling adventure. Funny thing was, the forecast was 90% chance of rain — didn’t rain while I was running errands, but as soon as I slipped my helmet on for a ride, go figure, it started raining. Undaunted nun biker that I am, I got on my bike and headed out. Met up with buddy Carol outside Loyola Press and then we continued toward the Lake Shore trail.

Along Addison, we hit all kinds of people and car traffic. The Cubs game was in the final inning and people were flowing into the streets (Cubs blew the Pirates out of the water 13-1). Love Wrigley Field, “the friendly confines”.

By the time we got to the lakeshore (just about a mile or so), the fog had rolled in. Couldn’t see the skyline, the lake, or even your front wheel!

Went south for a while, dodging bikers and runners — all of us spattered with rain and weaving through the fog. Got off at Fullerton and parked at our destination: The Peggy Notebaert Nature Museum. Locked down the bikes (street cuffs, u-lock, and 3 kryptonite cables plus a prayer to the angels for protection) and went inside to warmth and dryness!

It’s a pretty educational museum. Lots of kids and stuff to interact with and read. Saw the river exhibit, some snakes and spiders and stick-looking bugs and turtles. Went through the butterfly room — a little unnerving to have dive-bombing butterflies. Glad I still had my helmet. They also had a great exhibit called The Extreme Green Room.

Another great exhibit was Cool Globes. Sixth grade students from 34 Chicago public schools created mini-globes that showcase solutions to global warming, as perceived from a child’s viewpoint. If you go along Chicago’s lakefront from the Field Museum north to Navy Pier you can see the full exhibit of over 100 sculpted globes each 5 feet in diameter. Check out www.coolglobes.org.

After the museum, Carol and I saddled up the bikes again and headed into the city for coffee. Along the way we ran into a pink bunny … it was Patty, a woman dressed up in a furry bunny suit encouraging people to help work for a cure for breast cancer. It’s a passion of hers, she said, as well as helping to raise money to fight AIDS, a significant work for which Mayor Daley himself has recognized Patty. Rock on, Patty. Great work you are doing. Thank you.

Well, so that was the bike adventure of the weekend. Hope to get out again later today but am also trying to catch up on emails and blog comments. Have a good one!

Sister Julie

It’s snowing here in Chicago. I woke up this morning at 3:44 a.m. to the sound of a neighbor shoveling the sidewalk right beneath my window. Good morning! So I’ve been up ever since, praying, puttering around the house, doing some editing, and drinking strong coffee.

This is my favorite time of the day, though often I miss it because I am still sleeping. I love the pre-dawn day when the sun has not yet peeked over the horizon and the city feels asleep under the cover of night. My prayer as well as my thinking always seem so much sharper at this time. I feel like God is ever so close to me — I know God is always close to me, but this time of day seems to heighten it for me. How many psychologists and spiritualists talk about the “liminal edges”(liminal meaning being on the threshold)?

Dawn is like a threshold where the night is no longer here and the day not quite yet. They are both present and not present at the same time. Do you remember all those movies and fairy tales where the person (or thing) lives the day in one form (a werewolf, an ogre, a pumpkin or other creature — I watched the film Ladyhawke a million times when I was younger!) and at dusk transforms into another form? Then at dawn, the transformation is reversed? In our collective human psyche I think we know that these are special times of the day. Monks and nuns have honored these hours for hundreds of years by praying the Liturgy of the Hours. I honor this time with prayer and coffee (coffee being a libation of sorts, I suppose ).

Though I was a bit perturbed by waking up to a snow shovel scraping the sidewalk, upon further reflection, I’m glad for it because it reminds me to get up a little earlier next time so I can enjoy this sacred time instead of rushing into my day.

Thanks, Neighbor Guy, for waking me up — in more ways than one!

Fall has definitely arrived here in Chicago. The temps are cooler and the air has that bit of crispness that can only mean the change of the season. I’m pleased about this. As much as I loved this summer, especially after learning how to swim in Lake Michigan and training for my triathlon, I am still very much of a winter kind of gal. It’s the season that seems to speak most to me spiritually.

This morning I’ve been thinking a lot about a comment I received on my previous post. Lil, who just discovered this blog, wrote a beautiful little reflection that has just stayed with me. I remember asking some of those same questions when I was young and had a few nuns teaching at my grammar school. That’s probably why I never thought of myself becoming a nun because I figured they were way holier than I was, more prayerful, and had a direct line to God. I was just an ordinary kid mixed up in the world like everyone else. Years later (in my early twenties) when I got to know sisters, I found people that were kind of like me. Mind you, these women were/are stellar women, wise and compassionate … characteristics I would hardly give to myself, yet nonetheless, they were human beings, real and down to earth. What Lil said about being “like the rest of us” rang true for me. And like those first nuns, I am “still asking the questions…getting it sometimes, or never…but still dedicated to living devoted.”

One of my favorite saints is Saint Teresa of Avila, the great mystic, writer, and Doctor of the Church. I was always wowed by her descriptions of her experiences with God and her teachings on prayer. It wasn’t until later that I learned that Teresa had many, many years of struggling with prayer. You’d think that she had all the answers, that she could just pop into the zone with God at will. Yet she had periods of darkness where she couldn’t feel God’s presence even though she knew God was with her. Somehow, she hung in there and has left an incredible wealth of writing and experiences for all of us.

I take great comfort in Saint Teresa and try always to hang in there even when I don’t have the answers (which is more often then I would like to admit) or can’t seem to connect with God even though I know that God is closer to me than my very next breath.

You never know where nuns will get “honorable” mention–whether fact or fiction. In this case, the questionable comment came during a tour of Chicago’s gangster history.

This afternoon I went on the Untouchable Tour … Chicago’s original gangster tour. True to its slogan, it was a blast. Our tour guide (and faux gangster) led us through the streets of Chicago recalling its gangster past. As we pulled up on North State Street downtown, the guide told us about the famous Chicago gangster Dean O’Banion. On our right was a parking lot that used to be the site of a flower shop. The shop was the legitimate front for O’Banion’s flower business (which proved profitable after many mob shooting funerals) and a hangout for O’Banion’s gang. Across the street was Holy Name Cathedral where O’Banion and his gangster buddy Hymie Weiss attended Mass. Our tour guide informed us that as a youth, O’Banion had been in the church choir there and attended its parochial school. And then the punchline … O’Banion goes from being the sweet altar boy type to a murdering gangster thanks to being taught by “the nuns.”

This joke got a few laughs from people on the bus. Yeah, it was temporarily amusing to think about the sheer contrast between altar boy and gangster. But, the implication is that the nuns were so mean or oppressive to the young impressionable “Deannie” that he turned into a gangster and killer. I don’t think so. (Perhaps his transformation into a gangster was due instead to being a member of the Little Hellions, the juvenile division of the Bloody Market Streeters. Just a guess.)

The offhand comment reflects a bad stereotype of Catholic nuns. While there may have been teacher-nuns who were unduly rigid, the vast majority were excellent educators who cared deeply for the spiritual well-being of the children in their care. So, is it worth a few laughs to denigrate a whole group of women whose primary purpose was to educate and care for children? I don’t think so.