Lenten Reflections #12
March 2, 2026
It was “One final announcement” time at the end of mass – that moment when everyone is planning their next move. But the elderly congregation at my childhood church is settled. This is their destination. They arrived 20 minutes early to recite the Rosary and the Memorare. They kneel, sit, and stand gingerly and devoutly, and are settled in the pews where they sit every Saturday evening. Same row, same kneeler, same well-worn pine showing generations of worshippers. My own parents move methodically to “their row” each week, led by muscle memory, devotion, faith.
As the small, joyful woman made her way up to the altar, she was like a bright light in the form of a five-foot nun from the Philippines. She was from the Little Sisters of the Poor.
After a sermon I do not remember (though in the middle of it I did wonder if priests ever use ChatGPT)… we all sat on the edge of our pews, eager to hear what she had to say.
She began with a pun, “Father Nick asked me to keep my speech short…he must not have noticed I’m already short.” The congregation loved her immediately. She went on to tell us about the services the Little Sisters provide. “For nearly 200 years, our order has welcomed the elderly poor and dying into our homes as we would welcome Christ Himself.”
Wow, I thought, sitting next to my elderly parents, what a blessing.
She went on to tell us they have homes where they serve people in over 30 countries and 20 in the U.S.providing personalized care, with sisters living on-site.
With a huge smile on her face, she said, “But to keep things short for Father Nick, I’ll just say, YOU PAY! I PRAY!” Laughter filled the cavernous church. Levity. Something our aging church had not had within the brick walls for years. I feel like even Jesus on the cross gave a little Mona Lisa smile.
Her voice slowed, becoming more measured, “We take turns sitting and praying with the dying.” She said. “As a young nun, I would take my turn and pray. But I was so nervous…” She went on, “My prayer was always: Please don’t die during my shift. Please wait for the next sister’s shift.” She smiled, the congregation laughed, and then told us she finally learned how special and sacred it is to bear witness to someone leaving this world.
She closed by saying in her lively voice, “For those girls who are interested in becoming a Little Sister, we have your veils waiting in the Narthex.” More laughter followed.
What I Learned:
As Sister Maria walked down the aisles with a collection basket, one of the poorest communities in Albuquerque opened their wallets and gave what they could to help. Because that’s what we do – share laughter, share love, share what we have.
Thank you for joining me,
I’m so glad you’re here,
Lucretia
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