Sister Eloise Rosenblatt

Sister Suzanne Toolan wrote the hymn “I Am the Bread of Life” within a few years of my joining the Sisters of Mercy in Burlingame.

We were a group of biblical graduate students from Jerusalem, fortunate on our trip to Egypt. Our guide was the renowned French Egyptologist Father Henri Cazelles.

I was on a transcontinental flight in 2003, two years after 9/11. A man seated next to me worked at the Federal Bank in Kansas. Two of his colleagues had died in the terrorist attack that brought down the Twin Towers in New York, killed 3,000, wounded thousands more, devastated the city, and shocked the world. The national trauma had touched him personally, even though he lived a half-continent away.

I just came back from a “ladies lunch” with six parish women. Readers of a certain generation will smile at the notice, that of the dishes shared, there wasn’t a single molded Jell-O salad. One was remarried after divorce, and six of us were single – four as widows, one a divorcee, I a celibate – which is likely a gift to the men who didn’t marry me. But the fact is, women through years of heroically and silently supporting family members through crisis after crisis, ordinarily come to the wisdom of knowing they don’t have to wait until the next life to live without marrying or re-marrying. So the Gospel addresses a question men have: Who will be the owner of the female body? Is she reproductive property to be seized and claimed? Margaret Atwood strung out this scenario in the dystopian novel, “A Handmaid’s Tale.”

I pass the homeless – or the hand-out seekers – any day I’m driving across town to the post office, the market or the freeway ramp. The hand-lettered signage on the ratty fold-up cardboard torn from boxes has evolved. The signs used to say, “Down and out, no money,” or “Will work for food,” or “Help a veteran. God bless.” Now it’s “Anything helps” or no sign at all. The guy just stands there with a giant-slurp plastic cup, and if a car slows down with window rolled down, he leaps into the lane, grabs the bill, and shoves it into his back pocket. The handout seekers – are they homeless? – present an ever-increasing population.