by Father Ken Molinaro, CSC
May 12, 2008

"There was a woman sent from God, whose name was Olivia. She came as a witness to testify to the Light … and many came to believe through her!"

Sister Olivia Marie of the Sisters of the Holy Cross: nurse, hospital administrator, congregational administrator, but most importantly of all, a consecrated religious, a woman of profound faith.

I had the privilege these past five or so years to journey with her as she brought together, integrating so beautifully, years of active service into a more contemplative awareness of the impact of God in her life – the presence of Divine Love.

The reading from Kings captures that journey so beautifully, for Olivia knew all about the great winds splitting mountains, the earthquakes and fires, as she served the congregation, the church, the people of God. But it was in these latter years, as the dust of so many years of faithful service settled, that she found herself in the quieting of her life, standing in the awesome presence of God.

And in that silence was perspective. All that had been part of her life was now seen as the blessing for which it was.

In our meeting shortly after learning that her days on this earth were reaching completion, Olivia raised the question: "Will I see this period of suffering as gift? And if, how so?"

Anyone who journeyed with Olivia these last years of her life knows that she was a true and faithful daughter of Blessed Father Basil Moreau – for the cross was before her always as she grew to embrace ever more fully the Paschal Mystery in her life. For she understood Ave Crux, Spes Unica, embracing the cross as "our only hope!"

"If you want to be my disciple, take up your cross and follow me!" Olivia understood that she could not get to the end of her journey on this earth except by going over that hill which they call Calvary. She came to see that it was only in her embracing the cross that she began to experience the outline of the risen Christ, present as Divine Love embracing her.

And in these last months she would often muse how, in the busyness of her life in ministry, she managed to keep God at a distance, not ready to fully accept the all-consuming truth of God's personal love. It was only in these last 10 years or so that she really saw herself as truly loved by God, and able to accept this love as gift.

Olivia would say that for so long she resisted as God continued to patiently pursue her. And in these final days, as we sat in the glider in her office comfortably conversing, Olivia would break into that gentle smile.

Looking back over her life, she would comment that she now realized that she has been so small in seeing the measurement of God's love in her life. And now, as she looked back, she found herself filled with such overwhelming gratefulness as she realized how strong God's love and grace has been present throughout her lifetime.

Olivia had a sense of the immensity of God's love: "God can't love me that much!" But she would go on to say: "The gift is love and so is the grace! All is gift, growing ever stronger! All is well!"

And in these final days Olivia would say: "All is now. The past is no longer important." She spoke of her relationship with God as "effortless … so much mystery." She found herself needing to be content, to simply open herself to the grace that was present. She spoke of the infinity of God that simply could not be grasped, that was boundless!

As I sat down to prepare this homily, I experienced such an inner tension because there is so much to say about this great woman of faith, so much that I learned from her, so much that she could teach us about the intersection of life and spirituality. In fact, I think I could do a series of conferences on the spirituality that shaped the life of Sister Olivia Marie – a spirituality that has much to say to you and me.

But let me simply offer a word to Sister's family, to the Sisters of the Holy Cross, and about her final surrender.

To Sister Olivia's family: She loved you so much and spoke of you so often. She was so proud of you. Sometimes she would smile and say that she was a "relic from the past, but a relic that was greatly reverenced!" In these final years, she spent much time reflecting on her own mother, her admiration and love growing ever stronger as she saw her mother as a woman of such great courage and faith. Olivia would say that it was her mother's faith that brought her to Holy Cross. Olivia said her mother always worried that Olivia would be taken by an early death. But how grateful her mother was that she was taken instead by Holy Cross. Holy Cross received her, shaping her into the person she was today.

To the Sisters of the Holy Cross: Olivia was filled with such gratefulness for her years of life and ministry in Holy Cross. Her passion and deepest prayer was that the congregation might enter ever more deeply into centeredness in God – to fully embrace the spirituality that underlies all of life and ministry. Her one hope was that the congregation might be rooted ever more firmly in a spirituality rooted in Scripture and embracing the Paschal Mystery. In fact, Olivia was so pleased with a recent letter from Sister Joy calling the community to greater prayer and contemplation. Sister Joy's appointment of Sister Olivia to a special committee on spirituality in preparation for the upcoming General Chapter was the fulfillment of a deep desire within her for the congregation. While she knew she would not be around to participate, she felt her prayers had been answered.

And now, lastly, a word about her final surrender. In the next-to-the-last meeting with Olivia, she handed me a picture that captured where she was in her journey. It was of a woman kneeling, reverently embracing a vase. She saw in that vase the offering of herself to God.

In my personal reflection following our meeting, I came across the following in To Believe in Jesus by Ruth Burrows:

God has given each of us the task of fashioning a beautiful vase for him which we must carry up the mountain in order to place in his hands. This vase represents everything we can do to please God, our good works, our prayers, our efforts to grow to maturity; all this God values most highly. Into the making of this vase, then, we put all we have, our whole self. It is for God we are fashioning it, we tell ourselves. When it is finished we begin our journey up the mountain.

When we reach the top a double shock awaits us. God is not there – there is silence, no response, when we make our arrival known. Secondly, the vase … it isn't beautiful anymore. There it is in our hands, a tawdry, common pot … the vase into which we had put our all. A deep instinct is telling us that if we want God we have to go over the other side of the mountain and one glance reveals a steep, mist-bound, featureless face. We can't go down there with anything in our hands; we must drop the vase, still precious though so disappointing. We must drop it even if it has lost none of its luster. Beautiful or not, we cannot take it with us, we must go to God with nothing in our hands.

I shared this with Olivia. And in our final meeting, she commented how this brought it all together for her – her final surrender to God – with open hands!

Later that day, she had guests coming from Utah … her final commitment. Following their departure, Sister Olivia took a dramatic turn as she entered into the final days of her surrender.

In journeying with Olivia these past months, I observed a growing weariness in her. Sister Rachel Callahan summed it up best in saying, "Being with Olivia was watching the gentle extinguishing of a candle."

But in that extinguishing of the candle, all is not darkness. For in the extinguishing of the candle on this end, she was greeted with the brightness of the risen Lord, bearing his gift of resurrection. Olivia now lives the truth of the Paschal Mystery!

No wonder she was joyful and at peace throughout her final days! For Sister Olivia knew that in her final journey was the fulfillment of her desire for God – her passage from partial knowing to entering into the fullness of God's love.

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