Much as I love the Easter Triduum and Paschal mystery I am puzzled why so many and devout Christians cannot move on from the suffering of Christ into a recognition that the suffering is now that of the people alive today. It is the mystical body, we as individuals, who are sharing in the suffering of Christ now.

Our Good Friday hymn is wonderful: ( Stanbrook Hymnal)

O cross of Christ, immortal tree on which our Saviour died, The world is sheltered in your arms that bore the crucified. From bitter death and barren wood the tree of life is made; Its branches bear unfailing fruit and leaves that never fade. O faithful Cross, you stand unmoved while ages run their course: Foundation of the universe, creation’s binding force. Give glory to the risen Christ and to his Cross give praise, The sign of God’s unfathomed love, the hope of all our days.

Today is the Saturday in which the silence from the tomb is unbroken. It is this day that the Church commemorates Our Lord’s descent into the underworld -Sheol, Hell - to be among the dead of all ages to redeem them, to bring them forth from darkness into light.

Easter Sunday. My clothes are still smelling of smoke. We had our Easter Fire outside the cloister door. The flames flowing in all directions, writhing like snakes.

Some days later

It is a most wonderful day of sunshine, birdsong and blossom - so why are so many of us verging on lethargy and apathy? A friend said "I feel really guilty that I am not full of energy and happiness when nature is so beautiful ... yet I feel tired and have to make myself do what needs to be done." This seems to be a prevailing affliction. We have short bursts of energy and then a form of depression nudges us.

I am gleaning some interesting information from ‘The Mandala Workbook’ Have you ever reflected on how important circles are in our life? Because our eyes are spherical, our visual fields are naturally circular. Just keep your head quite still for a moment and look towards a window. If you don’t see within a circle, you may see within an egg-shape, as Hildegarde of Bingen - in a vision - saw the whole of creation. Flowers, stalks, legs, sun , moon and stars, the movement of time, are all contained within circles - all is energy, constantly flowing within us and without.

A letter written later in the same week

Despite the marvellous unfolding of leaf and flower, and the cascade of birdsong early in the morning, we are in a period of waiting.

Sister A’s condition has deteriorated considerably, with the nerve pain from her spine making movement agony. I was called just before midnight some days ago to help. Even in bed the waves of pain washed over her with considerable intensity, and the night doctor was called in. We all received wonderful touches of love. While I waited with her during two hours of night, once the pain and anguished prayer had calmed, she looked at me and smiled. I was in my night attire, head uncovered. She said ‘You remind me of someone, a Sister in the community. I like you.’

Father P, our Capuchin Parish Priest, anointed Sister A. She was radiantly happy, smiling at the unexpected celebration, as all those closest to her from our Talacre days entered her small cell right at the top of the House. She beamed at Father Prins, whose wonderful smile mirrored her own. After the prayers and anointing we sang the Easter ‘Alleluia’, and then Father P. added ‘Regina Caeli’.

Over many days I have been reflecting on "Broken Wholeness". In an article written by a bereaved mother I read of her experience as she heard a museum curator saying : "Things that are broken and mended are more beautiful than things perfect". The talk was about the Japanese tea ceremony. In the fifteenth century a member of the Wabi reformed the ceremony into a ceremony which emphasised modesty, humility and imperfection, which revealed the true nature of life. Instead of a golden bowl , a cracked but beautiful ceramic bowl was used.

Clare Roberts later attended a play entitled "There is Nothing so Whole as a Broken Heart". This play was written by an Israeli woman who had lost her son during a terrorist attack in the occupied territories on the West Bank. She found the paradoxical contradiction intriguing - somehow it rang true.

" How can there be wholeness in brokenness? Can things that are broken be even more beautiful than things that seem perfect? ..... Maybe the brokenness, although unwanted and initially rejected, does heal. It heals from false ideas that life can be as I want it to be. It heals from the illusion of control and the delusion of self-centredness. It allows me to see suffering in a new way, not as something foreign to me which only happens to other people, whom I reject as separate, and better, but as part of the human condition, a part that touches me to the core."

"Suffering is widespread, deep, unavoidable ..... wholeness comes as I begin to see this and embrace it. And so I am more whole, corresponding to life as it is, and not as I would have it be. And this, paradoxically is more beautiful, and true to the way life really is. ..... This illness has broken me but also mended something in me, which is continually breaking open. My heart."

"Things that are broken and mended are more beautiful than things perfect".

Sister Anne died on 18th April - Sunday night - at 22.50.

AN APPRECIATION OF D. ANNE

As a regular visitor to Curzon Park Abbey I came to feel part of one ‘happy family’. Sister Anne always greeted me with her wonderful smile and a kiss. We would always find time for a chat and a cup of tea. She always showed interest and concern for me and my community. Our conversations never finished without her telling me of her great love for her Sisters and the kindness Mother Abbess showed to each nun. Never did one word of criticism pass her lips. (Sr H. F.)

What struck me about Sister Anne was her deep love of the Church, with a special interest in the recusant history of the catholic church in England. (It was our convert nuns of St Bride’s in Milford Haven whom she met at Talacre Abbey who had sparked her interest in their history.) She also had a deep love of Our Lady and said a prayer every day before the picture of Our Lady of Perpetual Succour for her family. Her main focus seemed to me to be the sacrifice of the Mass. Her deep, loving and prayerful attention during Mass was clearly evident. One could say that like St Teresa of Avila she was a true daughter of the Church. (Sr R. C.)

I particularly remember Sister Anne’s zeal for the Divine Office. She wanted to have a marker in every place to ensure that she could participate fully with mind and heart and not just ‘be there’. When she lost her place, she would ask her neighbours in choir to show her the right verse. (Sr C. B.)

During the thirteen years I shared monastic life with Sister Anne I noticed that her utter faithfulness to the entire monastic life never ceased. She never appeared to get bored or weary and retained her youthful zest for life. On the night of 18th April 2010 I noticed that a gardenia was in bud in our dormitory, just beginning to break. When I was told some hours later - it was past midnight by then - I saw that the white flower was in full bloom. It seemed to me a wonderful symbol of a ‘bud of earth’ becoming ‘a flower of heaven’. Our dormitory is still fragrant with that scent. (Sr M. M.)

Sister Anne always looked peaceful, and was gracious in her manner. She was gentle, revealing a nature bathed in the love of God. (Sr R. M.)

I remember her selfless generosity, always wanting to lend a helping hand. She was loyal in her friendships, warm-hearted, with a genuine interest and concern for other people. She was prayerful and devout, had a ready smile and a wonderful deep chuckle. (Sr C. C)

There was another side, too.

Years ago at Talacre Abbey an untrained newcomer was learning how to transfer the hot dishes from the kitchen to the serving trolley. It took quite a while. The postulant must have shown some reluctance about this duty. Sister Anne leaned towards her and said quietly: "Sister, we are here to serve!" Decades later Sister Anne was still following her own advice, until her death. (Sr. M. C.)

Dry humour was always there.

At about the time Sister Anne was one of the stars of SUBURBAN SISTERS, an Everyman Production, the following occurred.

"I wonder" she mused one day, rolling out pastry in the kitchen, when the community driver sped in with the shopping, only to run out again to take someone to the dentist, "I wonder whether that girl realised she had a vocation on wheels?" (Sr C. G.)

The greatest, surprising gift, she gave us all was concern for our well-being, her assurance of daily prayers, and the frequent hugs and exclamation of "I do love you!" She had the limpid gaze of a loving child and the perception of a wise woman. We were blessed to have her live among us.