The halls were cool. Large pale ceramic tiles lined the walls. The floors polished by Mr. Jensen every afternoon, so I thought. We knew to be quiet and respectful in these halls, except of course when it was nearly impossible at 3 o’clock and our capacity for stillness was wrung out. We needed to run and chatter and play and burst into the sunshine, or the rain, or snow. But, we weren’t released until the entire class could line up quietly and proceed in an orderly fashion.
Every morning began with the Morning Offering and the Pledge of Allegiance. With a large crucifix over the speaker box, an American flag on its pole, Sr. Mary Norbert lead us. Catholicism and patriotism entwined.
I entered St. Clare School in September, 1963, not yet six years old. My oldest brother was in the 8th grade, my sister in the 6th, the next brother in the 4th, and there were two more at home who would be enrolled. My little piece of the world, Rosedale, New York, on the southeast edge of Queens, was a wonderful place for children. And boy, were there children. We were Baby Boomers: our fathers fought in World War II, victorious over the forces of darkness that threatened to destroy all goodness.
We were born into a time of peace and prosperity. For all I knew in 1963, everyone was Catholic, everyone attended St. Clare’s School and Church. We even had a Catholic President.
Life was good. Life made sense.
We were on the cusp of Vatican II changes; the nuns wore starched white crown and bib, black veil, with voluminous organdy skirts and around their waists a large rosary with a crucifix—the crucified Savior swinging past us as Sister paced the aisles checking to see that we were doing our work. We made First Communion in First Grade with the Latin Mass. We were introduced to the mysterious, powerful words, and if we were paying attention, we were seized with the power of the presence of Christ.
How could we not be? Our young souls were drenched in the mysteries, the discipline, the prayers and the oft repeated lives of the saints, our heroes and heroines, who gave everything, even their lives, to defend the truth of our faith.
Equally important to us, there was St. Clare. She stood watch over us from the first floor hallway, across from the principal’s office. She stood, head bowed, in reverence at the monstrance housing the Blessed Sacrament. At her feet was a sword and arrow, shattered. The message was clear to my child mind. It is, and always will be, the power of Christ that will conquer all adversaries, vanquish all evil. (Here is my witness to those modern day liturgical iconoclasts who dismiss the teaching power of stained glass windows, statues and icons.)
On the feast day of St. Clare (I get an email for the saint of the day), I reread a bit of her bio. She was an early feminist—-rejecting her parents plans for her to marry and running away to meet with St. Francis and founded an order of nuns, the Poor Clares. She lived a rugged life and suffered from poor health.
In the year 1240, her home of Assisi was overrun by Saracens bent on destroying Christianity and slaying all Christians. Though she was confined to bed, because of illness, her frightened charges pled with her to protect them from the army at their convent door. She arose, removed the monstrance from their chapel and held it up against their would-be-murderers. The Saracens fled, unable to withstand the holy presence of the Body of Christ, enshrined in the monstrance. Thus, the sword and arrow, shattered, at her feet.
But, that was more than 700 years before my school days. Things like that didn’t happen anymore. Christian persecution was a thing of the past. History. Thank God that was all behind us.
What did I know? I was six. I lived in a bubble, a happy child who loved school and church, loved the comfort of the holy colors and aromas, and the beautiful, reassuring sacredness that I was privileged to have consume me.
Before Thanksgiving of in the first grade, the world began to shatter. Caroline Kennedy and I were the same age, born in the same month. Our mothers even combed our thick blondish hair in the same fashion. Her father was killed and it changed the world. Could my father, every bit as much a hero, be killed?
An era was over. It was a short era, granted, and it was killed with gunshots in Dallas.
Then the Sixties really began to happen; social unrest, riots, war, everything questioned and scoffed. Christianity laughed at as a pleasant delusion to keep the masses down. Nothing new there, just that now they had microphones and TV cameras and the subtleties of tossing everything up for grabs and not waiting to see what stuck. The idea of the Sacred and the everlasting was for fools. Only the now, man, that’s the only thing that matters. Peace out. Be groovy. Here, take a toke if you want to see mysteries.
Over the years, I have learned that all those holy colors, and aromas, and rites were not a pleasant distraction; a magnificent pageant. No, they all were centered in Christ crucified and Christ Risen. And the cloud of witnesses, the saints and the holy ones, whose very core, stripped of all the world has to offer, is Jesus.
When the world crashes down around your ankles, and the Saracens are at the gate, what is it that will save us?
O Jesus, through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I offer you my prayers, works, joys, and sufferings of this day for all the intentions of your Sacred Heart, in union with the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass throughout the world, for the salvation of souls, the reparation of sins, the reunion of all Christians, and in particular for the intentions of the Holy Father this month. Amen. St. Clare, please pray for us.
18 thoughts on “St. Clare and The Morning Offering”
Julianne, thanks for this wonderful article. Being new to Catholicism, it gives me a greater understanding.
David, welcome to Catholicism! I feel blessed to have had an absolute drenching in the Church all my life, and really, before i was born. I have often thought we are embraced by all those before us whose faith and prayers brought us into being through God. Whatever path brought us to faith it is comforting and energizing to know that we are not alone in our faith, we are in very good company.
Thanks again Julianne, I needed to hear that. God bless.
The comments are wonderful! My two older children attended Catholic School in NY– then we were transferred to Texas. Our parish here had a bare walls mentality. Images were openly scoffed.
When my son was a first grader in the Catholic school, a statue of Madonna and child graced the hall. My six year old told me that he found comfort in that image of Mary holding the child Jesus in her arms, that it was reassuring that his day would go well with that marble reminder of love.
Now, that was evangelization. Silent but effective.
We’ll need images of the sacred until we lose our eyeballs.
Graphically stated, Bill.
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Brought back such wonderful memories of St Louis grade school in Clarksville, Maryland. The richness of the experience still follows me today and fills me with joy. Wishing that the innocence of youth would remain as I watch my grandchildren. On a second thought though I see that their presence is the gift of reminding me of this beginning and of loving God and feeling His love right back at me.
How blessed are we to have grandchildren to see once again the beauty and holiness of God in the little ones!
Nicely done, Julianne! We both shared the same childhood. Mine was at St. Joseph the Worker, in Fallsington, Pennsylvania. On this day when we celebrate the birth of our mother, your gift of witness and truth – your story – is tied with a pretty blue bow honoring St. Clare. What a perfect present, indeed!
George, aren’t we the fortunate ones. I think my grade may have been the last wave of pre- and post- changes. I do love many of the changes of the past fifty years, but, I do wish they hadn’t thrown the baby out with the bathwater, so to speak.
Dear GrandMother Julianne, Your insight re: the connection between mystery/mysterious and the Presence of Christ is spot on. Not only does nothing in our culture even hint at mystery, but in many happy-clappy let-us-worhip-ourselves arenas on Sunday there is no acknowledgement of mystery. But it is mystery, not scientific study or proof, that is the basis for love that surpasses human knowledge and peace that surpasses all understanding. Thank you. Guy McCung, San Antonio
Although, Guy, I have to observe that those ‘happy-clappy let-us-worhip-ourselves arenas on Sunday” are still The Mass, if we’re talking about the Catholic Church. Not to the taste of us old-timers, perhaps, but still the transformation of bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ. Still a Mystery.
You are so right billmarvel-and in some places I listen very carefully to make sure the celebrant/MC/star-of-the-show/ad-libber says [at least] the words of consecration correctly so that it is a Mass, minimalist at best. And I have learned to pray instead of paying attention to the liturgy abuse which can be an occasion of sin for me, right there in church. On a better note, yesterday I visited Mother Cabrini, Brigidine Nun, came to San Antonio at age 25 in 1953 from Ireland and tried to lead me and about 40 other little hellions to heaven. She is all smiles and love as she was back in 1953 at St Paul’s School here in SA. I urge you to try to find a nun who taught you and I promise you they will remember you. In my view [and I don’t care to hear from those who got their knuckles rapped, deservedly or not] these were/are saints. Guy McClung, San Antonio
Must be some strange goings-on there in San Antonio. So far as I know they haven’t spread to Dallas. But I lead a sheltered life.
Guy, I have noticed a hunger in these last few years to fill that deep need we have for the sacred. This hunger can never be satisfied by the philosophy that we are our own highest source of wisdom, which I pray is being exposed for the nonsense it is. Thanks for commenting.
Well begun!
We need new ways to envision the saints, to set them before us as images and models.Those old statues and holly card pictures that look so quaint now served a real purpose. Where are the Catholic artists now who can open our eyes again?
Bill, you always keep the conversation going! Thanks