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Articles by Virginia Herbers
Am I my brother's keeper?
Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss. On Saturday afternoon, Aug. 3, I drove the eight-hour drive from eastern Pennsylvania back to Dayton, Ohio, following my annual eight-day retreat. While on retreat, I was completely cut off from communication with anyone other than my retreat director — no calls, texts, emails or social media. The homilist at Mass each day never mentioned what was going on outside of the retreat setting. There were no newspapers, talk radio or noise of any kind.
A conversion of heart and mind
I remember a time when I was in junior high and my older sister interrupted my struggle with social studies homework to have me "come look at something really neat." What she proceeded to show me was, in my estimation, not neat at all but completely repulsive.
Interruptions reveal our true mission
Interruptions. Most of the time I find them completely annoying. I'm in the middle of a task that requires a fair amount of concentration and someone pops their head into my office with the deadly question, "Do you have a second?" I know the right answer (both professionally and charitably) is, "Of course!" but I am sorry to admit that my immediate internal reaction is usually, "Right now?" I don't do well with interruptions most of the time.
The puzzlement of the empty tomb
It is rare that I have nothing to say. It is even rarer that I sit down at a computer and find myself without some kind of a reflection or train of thought happening at the moment. But as the deadline for this column crept closer and closer, I found myself waiting fruitlessly for the inspiration, insight or image to emerge. It has been an "early on the morning of the third day" experience where I sit staring at an empty page not sure what to do or which direction to go … even in this Easter season.
The Lenten journey is the journey home
Have you ever felt like you were being followed? I have a distinct memory of an experience I had when I was in seventh grade. I was walking home from volleyball practice on a November night, about 8:00, so it was dark but not too late. I had been slightly delayed because of a most intense 13-year-old conversation with my friend about a particular boy in our class.
It's the little things that count
It's the little things. I'm currently sitting on a flight from Connecticut to St. Louis, pondering a variety of minor occurrences that have recently happened in my life and marveling at the depth of their impact. Let's work backward chronologically. The steward on this flight just offered me the entire can of soda rather than just the 4-ounce drink typically provided.
Being loved into existence
You never know what might come from oversleeping. On a random Saturday morning several years ago, I missed my alarm and found myself scrambling to get to the convent carpool before they left for the last morning Mass in the area, about 5 miles away. By the time I got to the front door, the car was already gone. That left me with only two options: miss Mass completely that day or go to a funeral Mass at a neighboring parish.
Revolutionary act of reparative love
Maybe the time has come. For over 10 years, I have been researching, speaking about, writing about and praying with the topic of reparation as an outgrowth of my religious community's charism and mission. Because of its somewhat persistent antiquated and negative connotations, it never was a topic I felt I should write about for an audience beyond folks already familiar with my community, despite multiple suggestions to do so. Until now.
Riding out life's storms
I have the great privilege of being a spiritual director. This means that in accompanying another on her journey with God, I am invited onto that holy ground that is the meeting place of the Spirit and the soul. It is a sacred space, a spiritual landscape that requires me to "take off my shoes" before the power of God working in, with and through another. In my years of receiving spiritual direction, I know all too well how vital and comforting is the companionship of a good director.
Revolutionary relationships
I've been thinking a lot about relationships lately. As a vowed religious, I'm obviously not referring to relationships in the romantic sense, even if I do love a good romantic comedy, but simply in the most human sense. Me to you, you to me, we to them … until there is simply us, brothers and sisters created in the image and likeness of God.
A heart of infinite capacity
Have you ever noticed those signs on elevators that say something like, "Capacity: 1,200 pounds"? I remember one time when, upon looking at the sign and noticing that there were just two of us on the elevator, a friendly fellow passenger said, "Well, I guess we're safe." Thinking myself witty, I replied, "You have no idea how dense I am." We chuckled together, we two strangers. Capacity.
With Mary at the foot of the cross
As much as I lament the ways we have become polarized in the U.S., I myself participate in the creation of "information silos." But I recently took an opportunity to experience the vibrations at the other end of the spectrum.
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