25 March 1987
Paris, Mother House

Mother Duzan, Father Lloret and my dear Sisters,

An English Catholic lady, who was a poet, wrote at the beginning of this century a short poem in which she imagined that the end of time had come. The hour for the general judgment had struck, and all humanity was gathered together in readiness for the enactment of that scene which is recorded in chapter twenty-five of St. Matthew's Gospel. The Son of Man is about to come to separate the good from the evil, the just from the unjust, those who cared for the poor from those who did not. A moment before the Great Judge arrives we learn that there were people on other planets and that before the first sentence is passed, each planet will be called upon to tell the story of how God dealt with it. We listen to several other planets as they tell their story, and then it is our turn to speak, the turn of the tiny planet earth. We begin with those great phrases of our Creed: "I believe in one God.... God from God, light from light... through whom all things were made." These resounding phrases pass, and then the stupendous truth is enunciated to the other planets, "Who for us men and for our salvation came down from heaven and was incarnate of the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary..." There is an awesome silence among the people of the other planets, for God has not dealt thus with them. We, of the planet earth, however, cannot hold our heads high for long, as we go on to tell the tragic story of how the Word of God came to His own people, as St. John wrote, "but His own received Him not." (Jn 1:11). Our story has a happy ending as we go on to recount the Resurrection, the sending of the Holy Spirit, the gift of the Eucharist and the other Sacraments, as well as the kind gesture by which the Eternal Word of God left His Mother to us to be also ours as we make our way back to Him, "mourning and weeping in this valley of tears."

At the end of our account of God's dealings with us, our sentiments would be ones of honor mixed with shame. We would feel honored by the intense personal love shown to us by God, and shame that we had responded so feebly and so ungenerously to such love. Such mixed sentiments are often ours in moments of deep reflection. I often think of a Daughter of Charity who was dying and who was asked if she was afraid. She replied: "No, I am not afraid. I just feel ashamed." The Sister could only think of the unmeasured personal love God had shown her during her lifetime, and the very measured and half-hearted response she had given to God's loving invitations. "No, not afraid, just ashamed."

This Renovation Day is a day neither for fear nor for shame. For today God has given you the strength to respond with a yes to His invitation to love Him as a young bride might her husband. Renovation Day is the day when our Prodigal Father runs to us, clasps us in His arms and kisses us tenderly. (cf. Lk 15:20). It is the day when we once again ask our loving Father to take us at our word and to make us servants in His house, and servants, too, of His poor.

For many Sisters this Renovation Day is the latest in a long series of such days that stretch back through the years. Perhaps that thought is a little disconcerting, bringing a little blush of shame to your cheeks. There have been so many new beginnings and such little progress made on the road of holiness. Do not be disheartened. The truth is that there are immense deposits of love within your heart. Does not St. Paul assure us that "the love of God has been poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit Who has been given to us?" (Rom 5:5). Just as the earth unfailingly brings forth each year a new harvest of fruits, so, too, does your heart bring forth those fruits of the Spirit of which St. Paul speaks: "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, forbearance, gentleness and self-control." (Gal 5:22). It is an annual miracle that the dark earth can yield up such riches year after year to delight the sight and taste of humanity. Renovation Day is no less a miracle, when so many silent and hidden hearts of Sisters bring forth fruits of tenderness and love to console and delight so many thousands of the world's poor. Your vows, my dear Sisters, are a way of living. More importantly, they are a way of loving. At first sight your vows may seem limiting rather than liberating. But your own experience will testify that your vows are something that must be felt as limiting before they become liberating. Your vows follow that law of Christ Who said that we must lose our lives if we wish to find them. The cheerful acceptance of the limitations, at times very painful, which chastity, poverty, obedience and service of the poor impose on you, must be seen as the condition of liberating the energies of love that lie hidden in the depths of your hearts.

A secularized society will tend to concentrate its sight on the limiting, rather than on the liberating, effects of your vows. Neither must we be surprised if in a secularized society many people do not understand the meaning of the consecrated life nor see its value. For that reason it is important that we do not allow society to impose all its standards on us. A vowed life is a different life, and the difference comes from the mind and lifestyle of Jesus Christ Himself. Be convinced that it is not society but Jesus Christ Who gives value to your consecrated lives. It is He Who takes the little drop of water, which is your life, and places it in the chalice which bears the rich wine of His life and death, and transforms all into an offering for the glory of God and the salvation of the world.