In this day and age it is heard in airports, restaurants and even out on the streets. “Thank you for Your Service” is a greeting offered to many seen in uniform, whether military or civilian. We have learned from the past how painful it is when a person gives of themselves for the greater good, but no one seems to care.
There is another profession that requires personal commitment to others, not for just a few years but for a lifetime. The women and men who render it walk invisibly through the streets of the United States these days, though in the past they were easily identifiable. One by one they touch our minds and hearts and yet as they approach 
the end of their days in this world they are largely forgotten.
The Sisters, Monks and Priests of my youth each affected who I am and what I became. All of them at some point in their lives decided to forgo a future with children and grandchildren of their own and instead they dedicated their hearts and talents to the service of God. They spend their given decades as teachers, nurses, and ministers. These people save lives every day. They mold our children’s concepts of the future every day. The web of prayers and actions they perform every day is the stabilizing force underpinning our Faith.
And then they grow old.
The children they taught and the people they healed have gone on to fulfill their own destinies. The church sees to their basic needs, but who is left to remember them on holidays and birthdays? Some have relatives still living, some are alone but for the fellowship of their order.
Looking back at all the catholic schools I attended, there are only a few teachers whose names and faces I recall. A few stand out, and those were ones who gave me personal encouragement or guidance mostly during my high school years. I graduated from Our Lady of Grace academy in 1973.
My favorite teacher was Sr. Harriet Woehler, a member of the Benedictine Order. Like everyone else I moved on with my life, which also necessitated moving around the country. Yet over time I would think of her on holidays and send a card, or I might bop over to the monastery to say “Hi” while I was in town visiting relatives. She gives me updates on how the other Sisters who were my teachers are doing.
Sr. Harriet taught music and choir at the academy and has been the organist for several area churches. She admits that she has bouts of forgetfulness and although she still loves playing piano the arthritis in her hands is a challenge on the keyboard. Most of her days are spent looking after others in the monastery and attending services.
Recently I took her out to lunch and the familiar quiet smile and twinkling eyes greeted the day as she mentioned how much she enjoyed my letters and cards. She said, “We don’t hear from our kids very often and it is such a delight to know you are well.”
Our Kids
At that moment I realized that in her mind the students she taught were her children. She invested her whole life to their well-being, to giving them the skills they would need to navigate their futures. At 87 years old she still prays for them every day.
It is harder to tell these days if someone has a religious vocation. Other than a crucifix worn around their neck, they dress to blend in rather than stand out in their work and social environments. Because the number of people choosing this life has decreased over the years there is a great age imbalance in most organizations. Like social security, the number of people who are retired and in physical or mental decline are greater than those still actively participating.
I visited the Sisters of Saint Francis Convent Cemetery in Oldenburg, Indiana with my mother a few years ago. Although a feeling of serene peace was prevalent, the neatly manicured rows of grey tombstones were mostly alike and lined up the way you would expect in one of the national military cemeteries. Mother had been there several times before as a child and pointed out markers for the women in our family who had taken the veil from the time our family had moved to southern Indiana from Germany in the late 1800’s.
How many people’s lives have been touched by these soldiers of the church? The tombstones have both their civilian names and the ones they chose upon taking Holy Orders, but the cold stones don’t say what they did or who they were. Having had concourse with several different orders of sisters and monks, I know that some take things very seriously, but most of them also display a lively sense of humor and many have a childlike delight in the world around them well into their later years.
One Christmas there were two monks from the Alverna Monastery who spent the Holiday with my family when I was 14 years old. Gathered around the Christmas tree that morning my parents handed out wrapped gifts, and there were ones for the Brothers as well. All six children received one toy and a pair of warm flannel pajamas. As the paper was ripped off we all exclaimed “PJ’s!” with delight. Then Brother Claver and Father Anthony opened their gifts and what did they find…”PJ’s!” For a moment they were children with the rest of us.
In 7th grade at St. Jude School there was a Sister who first noticed me straining to see the chalkboard and called my parents to make sure my eyes were tested. Another one was there to help me when my first menses surprised me in the girls’ room. Little things, possibly insignificant to them but of momentous importance to me.
Those who have a deep spiritual commitment don’t find the most joy in “things”, they find it in experiences and memories. Letters and cards from those whose lives they’ve touched take on huge importance and allow them to draw pleasure today from relationships and actions taken in the past.
They would not thank me for telling you this. Like those common foot soldiers, their chosen lifestyle focuses quietly on group accomplishments rather than personal fame. They don’t ask you to take time to remember them, so I will.
If they are still with us, send them a card or note. Remind them of who you are and include a personal touchstone, a memory of something they did or an interaction you had which will help them place you in their world. Go on and tell them a bit about your family, your job, your interest or how your life has evolved. Send it to them along with a picture. If possible visit with them. An hour of your personal time is the most precious gift of all.
If they have passed, send your note to the head of their order who can share it with the rest. Making it a part of their collective history swirls the plain grey headstone with wisps of life and color.
Battles they fought while tending the sick or molding the minds of the young are in the past. Their avenues for creating new memories have shrunk. These old soldiers continue to provide the world with aid through the only means left to them, their prayers.
Reach out and thank them for their service.
