By a happy, even heavenly coincidence, my three colleague friends walked into my life just 50 years ago, when I was 25 years old, circa 1973, newly married, not yet a father, transitioning into adulthood. All three were Irish-American, Sisters of Charity of Convent Station, about half a generation older than me, seasoned and wise. I encountered them in different Catholic arenas of Jersey City: St. Mary's High School (Sister Maria Martha), St. Al's ministry in Duncan Projects (Sister Virginia) and the charismatic People of Hope prayer group at Christ the King black parish (Sister Patricia). They surely knew each other but I related to each in these distinct contexts. Each worked with me in the three passions (aside from my marriage and family of course) of my adult life: catechesis of the young (Martha), care for the poor (Virginia), and the life of prayer and worship in the Holy Spirit (Patricia). All women of deep Catholic faith, moral integrity, passion, intelligence, and total commitment to Christ, his Church and his people.
We All Need a Big Sister.
I never had a big sister. Oldest of nine, I was ALWAYS the big brother. Throughout my adult life I was to be teacher, supervisor, director of a residence for women, father, grandfather, uncle, coach (only for tee-ball). Never the little brother! All at once I had three marvelous big sisters, just when I needed them! Until I graduated college and fell in love with my wife-to-be, I never had a girl friend and never really had a girl as friend. In fifth grade at St. John's, Orange, we boys went with the Christian brothers, the girls with the Sisters of Charity. From there to all-boys Seton Hall Prep and onto Maryknoll College Seminary. I worked always with men: caddying and greens-keeping on the golf course, delivering beer for Rheingold the dry beer, and later would spend 25 years in trucking with UPS. Always men! From age 10 to 22 I never spoke with a girl. Seriously insecure and girl-shy, I was fascinated with them from a distance. Happily I was nurtured in a large family, surrounded by terrific women (1 mother, 6 sisters, 2 adopted sisters, 2 grandmothers, 1 great-aunt, 5 aunts, 5 cousins, and an extended network) so my disability was not grave, but was significant. This deficit was largely, not absolutely, but magnificently overcome by my delight in my bride, a joy that would deepen when we were blessed with children. It was also healed by these three big sisters.
Mentor.
A mentoring relationship is a friendship between quasi-equals in the sharing of some values, pursuits, or missions. But one of the two is superior in some dimension, more experienced, and therefore guides, corrects, encourages the inferior. It is a temporary relationship that passes as the younger one matures. I remained engaged with these three for just about 3-4 years. By 1977 we had two children and I, blissfully free of any career ambitions, was guided by a gentle, invisible Hand to what would be a good job at UPS for 25 years. In that I conspicuously lacked a mentor: most of the manager-bosses of us supervisors were themselves insecure in that stressful, demanding climate and quietly hostile to us underlings. Additionally, I was myself an outlier, a misfit in a quasi-military, hyper-macho culture with my more quiet, thoughtful, less aggressive temperament. But looking back now I realize that my real formation came in what was my more important work: if you want to be engaged in the city, with the Church and the poor and the young you will be around lots of women, very good women! During this period I also enjoyed wholesome, holy friendships with perhaps a dozen other women including two principals, religious, single and married. They all knew and loved my wife and new children so there were not distractions from emotional needs, mine nor theirs. Our marriage was only strengthened. My friendships with these good women prepared me for many more such collaborations, especially with Felician and Domincan sisters, and helped me be a better father to my daughters and mentor in my own time. Years later a Felician nun graphologist would find in my handwriting evidence of "a strong feminine influence." That came, clearly, from family and friends.
Sister Maria Martha Joyce.
Mary Lyn and I met Martha in Ponce, Puerto Rico, in the summer of 1973 (I think), studying Spanish together. She was already known by my wife and sisters as an eccentric, explosive Spanish teacher, obsessed with rearranging the desks in the classroom. But for us she was tons of fun: laughing, joking, sharing a good drink. She ends up teaching religion with me at St. Mary's H.S. and became my very close partner. In the 1970s, teaching religion was a war to keep the attention and interest of tough city kids (mix of black, white, Spanish): an aversion to authority, black militancy, pervasive disinterest in religion and massive confusion in Catholic catechetics. In this contest, Martha was a superior combatant, an excellent disciplinarian, unlike myself. She feared no one and had an unpredictable, random Irish temper: the kids did not want to mess with her. When she was around, all was orderly and correct. And the desks always in order! She was SO much fun. Along with her deep faith she was a free spirit: laughing and joking, venting her temper, radiant with a contagious joy. Sharing so much affection, respect, fun and faith with Martha made that stressful, challenging work a delight. About 20 years later I looked her up and found her still in Jersey City, in St. Al's H.S., teaching about substance abuse as she had found her way into AA. More on her at the end of this.
Sister Virginia Kean.
Remarkable for her competence and dedication to the poor, Sister Virginia had actually moved out of the convent, with other sisters, into an apartment in the Duncan Housing Projects of Jersey City, very tough area. The others did not stay, but she remained by herself. Much loved and respected by the residents there. I was hired by the parish as a liason with the Spanish-speakers in the projects. We quickly became friends and co-workers. She ran a summer Bible Camp and took me on as the instructor. She ran the program with impeccable efficiency. Most importantly, she placed me on a pedestal for the children and elicited from them great esteem for me. If they misbehaved she would say: "I wouldn't want Mr. Matt to know about this!" In that she mirrored my own wife who would warn our children that she would inform me about something when I got home but I really never registered any retribution or even anger, in either domain. But the children received everything I said like nuggets straight from heaven. It helped they they had zero familiarity with the standards Gospel stories: Good Samaritan, Prodigal Son, etc. I have taught religion and catechetics most of my adult life, perhaps 40 year or so, but that experience in the projects was by far the most delightful and satisfying.
Sister Patricia Brennan.
Previously in charge of the novitiate at Convent Station, Sister Pat was the closest thing I have ever seen to the evangelical zeal of a St. Paul or St. Francis Xavier. I know tons of Maryknollers and Jesuits, not one can hold a candle to her in passionate, intelligent missionary commitment. She was leader of the small mission of four women from the Charismatic People of Hope who came to Christ the King Parish to foster a prayer group and community. By another happy-heavenly coincidence, the very first prayer meeting was held in late Spring of 1973 on the day after Mary Lynn finished her Cursillo. We had both of us encountered the person of Jesus Christ very deeply, intimately on our Cursillos and were eager for more. So we eagerly joined the prayer group and trustingly opened ourselves to a deeper infusion of the Holy Spirit. This engagement definitively formed my own Catholic faith and our marriage. She worked closely with Fr. Jim Ferry, the great charismatic missionary to North New Jersey and he worked with the extraordinary lay leaders (Ralph Martin, Steve Clark, etc.) but Sister Pat was our mentor.
Postscript.
About 30 years later, 20 years ago, circa 2003, I was driving not far from Convent Station with some time and I thought that I might find these three in the nursing home there. I had three surprises waiting for me there.
My first visit was to my dear friend Martha. I couldn't wait to reminisce with her. But it was not to be. She brightened up immediately upon seeing me with that wholesome, radiant, Irish smile. Affectively she knew me. But cognitively not so much. She asked: where did we teach? What did we teach? It was clearly dementia. But her mood and spirit were the same as ever! And she looked good. And later when I was driving out of the place I saw her walking alone into the chapel, clearly to spend time with her Beloved.
The next step was worse. I was showed into a day room with half a dozen elderly nuns sitting around a table but Sister Pat was standing alone. She had aged but looked good: well groomed, nicely dressed, serene expression. When I spoke with her she did not even blink. This was total dementia! I was deeply disappointed! I spoke for a while with the other sisters who seemed to appreciate a break in the monotony. I was comforted that she was obviously getting excellent care as she looked so good. I know that she had left the Sisters of Charity to join another order of charismatic nuns but here she was back in Convent Station getting such good care. One of the brightest intellects and inflamed hearts I had ever encountered was now asleep. Very moving!
On to Sister Virginia and a different story entirely. She was bedridden and incapable of walking. But her mind was as sharp as ever. We reminisced and she asked about our friends. I was at once saddened to see her so incapacitated but heartened to engage with that lively, alert intellect and good heart.
These memories coalesced in my mind around this idea of mentoring over the last week while traveling in Portugal (including Fatima) and southern Spain. Previously I had not appreciated the clear, strong influence of these three on me. I did a google on the three and found almost no cyber-information on them. They all passed away not too long after that last visit and before the explosion of the internet.
But I delight in imagining them looking down from heaven, with all that affection and respect they gave me, and rooting for me! Belatedly but sincerely I am grateful to them!
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