Jane Marie Bradish

Let's be honest, the world is kind of a scary place right now. So much is unknown and so many are struggling. There is usually a sense of safety in a hug, whether it's "I'm so happy to see you" or "I'm scared, hold me."

Three times in one week I encountered things from the "You're not supposed to be here" category, such as bunnies in a window well. I started to wonder about other experiences of "What are you doing here?"

High school students brainstormed what a world lived with a beatitude focus would look like. Among their proposed additions to the Beatitudes: "Blessed are the moody teens" and "Blessed are those who are toxic."

I was adamant — I was in no way like Judas! But when I decided to be completely honest with myself, I realized I am more like him than I care to admit.

How can we follow Jesus' example to highlight and change practices and structures for the good of all, knowing that in the process we will likely be as misunderstood as Jesus was?

Life is not all about me. It never has been and it never should be. God was very much present in the ways I needed; I simply wasn't liking it.

At the mere two inches of snow, I burst into tears and wondered, What the heck was I crying for? My tears had nothing to do with the broken promise of a snowstorm. Instead, for the first time, I cried for COVID-19.

Sisters don't have a direct line to God. But prayer requests highlight people trust me and find comfort in my actions when they need additional support.

I'm making a conscious effort to look for connection and unity instead of division. The School Sisters of Notre Dame and School Sisters of St. Francis may have been rivals once, but neither community started that way, and we aren't that way now.

Making changes to embrace conscious living is a struggle. Guidance comes from the story of Jesus overturning tables in the temple. Among other things he was disrupting the status quo of the times. Maybe that's what I could do in my own small way.

The thought of retirement has not even entered my consciousness yet. I've got a lot of life left in me – God willing. But I am getting older. For those who come after me: I have done what I can, I'm sharing what I can, and I'm letting you run with things now.

While I enjoy my varied liturgical ministries, being without them has brought new insights. After months of virtual liturgy, I've learned a lot. I am noting what has given me pause for the first time.

The pandemic has challenged all of us. We've missed milestone celebrations and more simple everyday encounters. From now on, so many people may always be questions for me. I may never see them again.

Maybe it's all the retrospectives happening, or maybe it's the coming Holy Week liturgies, but my prayer has brought this insight: This pandemic time has been a year of vigil.

With our school shuttered on March 16, 2020, my school administrative team has worked hard ever since to develop reopening plans for our students and staff. Teaching this way is definitely harder.

I'm not talking about "big stuff" or life-changing decisions — those seem obvious for responding out of faith and prayer and discernment. I'm talking about the everyday stuff, the routine, the automatic.

I found out the trees in our lot were dying. Wildlife lived within: Where would they go? I told my students about it, and connected it to our school's Thanksgiving Drive. Then something unexpected happened.

The ongoing global pandemic brings struggles but also learnings and maybe surprise blessings. My struggles and learnings during this time are closely related: politics.

All of us wonder, all of us ask others the same profound question Jesus asked his friends and followers: "Who do you say that I am?"

Benedictine Sr. Joan Chittister helps me find my voice and a broader and more global perspective. And as I age, I know how vitally important it is to let people know that they've helped me grow.