Sr Evelyn's Golden Jubilee

A jubilee is a day of joy and celebration, of gratitude for God’s blessings in the life of our Sister Evelyn.  After fifty years of fidelity to monastic life, we stop and look at all that has been given, and we rejoice with, in and for you.

We have just emerged from the Easter season, culminating in the great feast of Pentecost.  You chose to celebrate your Golden Jubilee on the feast of Mary, Mother of the Church, recently established by Pope Francis on Pentecost Monday.  Mary holds a central place among the apostles, having already been overshadowed by the Holy Spirit at the moment when Christ was conceived in her, and now receiving this overshadowing once again in company with the Church, of which she is the symbol and personification.  The season of many Alleluias may be over for this year, but we still hear the echo of the final ‘a’ playing on the wind as we go forward into ordinary time.

In Gregorian chant, jubilus is the term for the long melisma placed on the final syllable of the Alleluia.  It is like an extension of the joy of singing Alleluia – praise the Lord – by simply not letting go of the final ‘a’ until we are satisfied that joy has been fully expressed.  It is a joy that transcends words, like the groaning of the Spirit on Pentecost.

Sr Hazel used some memorable images to teach the chant.  One I always remember has to do with the Alleluia Modicum for the third Sunday of Easter.  She says that the jubilus is like a little girl in a summer dress, dancing in a field of wildflowers.  What a magnificent image!  And when we sing this chant, I can really feel the truth of it.  On the surface is seems like a puzzling juxtaposition, because the antiphon has an Ascensiontide theme: a little while and you will not see me, says the Lord.  Another little while, and you will see me, because I am going to the Father.  As if to increase the emotional tension inherent in such a statement, we omit the second part of the antiphon, so that it reads simply: a little while and you will not see me, says the Lord.  Then we break into the Alleluia with its blissful jubilus.  The little girl begins to dance.  What does she have to be happy about, we may wonder?  She is caught up in perfect joy, the simple joy of one who trusts completely in her Father.

This trust in God the Father has been a mark of your whole life, Sr Evelyn.  You shared with us that as an infant during the Second World War, you remember hearing bombs going off, but you weren’t afraid, because you knew that God the Father would take care of you.  Later, shortly after your First Holy Communion, you were a little girl in a yellow silk dress, roller-skating on the streets of Glasgow – streets that were still scarred by war damage.  If I remember the story correctly, you were approached by a local man who was known as a jailbird, and he asked you for prayers.  Even at that tender age, you had begun your vocation of intercessory prayer.  And this man knew somehow that you belonged to God.

I am reminded of a story told about St. Francis.  Once, in a conversation with Brother Leo, Francis explained what he called ‘perfect joy.’  The two friars were walking in winter from Perugia to the Porziuncola.  Along the way Francis repeatedly gave Leo examples of what perfect joy is not.  He said, “If the friars were to make the lame to walk, if they should make straight the crooked, chase away demons, give sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, speech to the dumb, and, what is even a far greater work, if they should raise the dead after four days, write that this would not be perfect joy.”  Eventually, Brother Leo asked Francis to explain what he meant by perfect joy.  Francis responded by describing how they might arrive at their destination after walking in the rain and cold and, upon presenting themselves as fellow brethren, would be accused of lying and turned away.  That, Francis said, would be perfect joy.  “And if we knock again, and the porter comes out in anger to drive us away with oaths and blows, as if we were vile impostors, saying, ‘Begone, miserable robbers, for here you shall neither eat nor sleep!’  If we accept all this with patience, with joy, and with charity, O Brother Leo, write that this indeed is perfect joy.”

This concept of perfect joy might seem confusing and counterintuitive to us.  How could we find joy in such an unpleasant situation?  We can because joy comes from inside us.  Joy reminds us that even when we are devoid of happiness, God is still with us and will always be there.  That is joy.  It is not the suffering, but the inner disposition of acceptance with patience and charity because of the capacity to find God even there.  Pope Francis has spoken of this as well: “Joy does not mean living from laugh to laugh.  No, it’s not that.  Joy is not entertainment.  No, it’s not that.  It is something else.  Christian joy is peace, peace that is deeply rooted, peace in the heart, the peace that only God can give.  This is Christian joy.  It is not easy to foster this joy.”

Sr Evelyn, your long monastic life has not been without hardships, trials, sufferings and periods of darkness.  But you have lived it with a quietly irrepressible joy, the true joy of the child of God who trusts absolutely in her Father, who is able to dance (or roller-skate) in a world of both beauty and brokenness because of God’s unfailing mercy.  In this you have been like a mother to the Church of Wrentham.  Your ongoing wordless song of praise, your dance of perfect joy through the vicissitudes of everyday life, in humble service and wonderful kindness, not to mention your side-splitting sense of humor.  Today we thank God for you, and we thank you for letting God possess you completely.
Alleluia!