July 6, 2024
Last week, a great tree was felled at the edge of our Motherhouse lawn. Having stood for decades near the Guardian Angel, it had shaded many generations on their way to Mercy: students, staff, visitors, and the Sisters themselves on their many ins and outs to this common home.
The whole community which gathers here daily felt a pang at the hewing, knowing that we had shared the very breath of this tree for so long. Its leafy embrace offered us a place to cool in the present, a way to remember the beauty of the past, and a security about the future. Seeing it disassembled by necessity gave a bittersweet pain. But there was a peace in knowing that our tree had come to completion with honor and dignity.
We drew so much from the presence of that tree, but perhaps we can draw even more from its absence. The lines of Gregory Norbet’s hymn “Hosea” come to mind:
Trees do bend, though straight and tall.
So must we to others’ call
Long have I waited for your coming home to me,
And living deeply our new life.

Our tree, even in its retreat, still speaks to us – a truth becoming profoundly evident these days as we mourn the passing of our sister and friend Marie Ann Ellmer. She stood straight and tall among us, but another call came precipitously in the early morning last week.

When a beloved dies, one with whom we drew the same breath and hope, part of us dies. Whether a great tree or a magnanimous soul, they take something with them of the life we shared. When we mourn them, it is that which is taken that we pine for. But as we fold their lives under Love’s eternal blanket, it is that which they have left us that gives joyful peace.
That glorious tree and dear Marie Ann seem to be one now in the solemn aura that follows death. Both, in rare beauty, brought others to the precious gift of Mercy. Both remain treasured in its Everlasting Power. And both have given back to Creation the blessed graces that made them shine among us.









