Franciscan Sisters of Oldenburg

09/07/2026

SUNDAY REFLECTION for September 6, 2026
First Reading: Ezekiel 33: 7-9
Responsorial Psalm: Psalm 95: 1-2, 6-9
Second Reading: Romans 13: 8-10
Gospel: Matthew 18: 15-20

This reflection titled, “Is Love a Debt?” comes from Sr. Mary McGlone, SSJ via National Catholic Reporter (ncronline.org) She is a Sister of St. Joseph of Carondelet, gives retreats and days of reflection, and is a writer and interpreter/translator.

"Owe nothing to anyone except to love one another." Sure, we'll take care of that this morning and then this afternoon we'll take a stroll around the lake, OK?

Paul used the word "owe." But who has ever thought about love as a debt? We usually think of loving others as a kind and joyful response to those close to us and a hard-won virtue to practice with people who are disagreeable or antagonistic. Love of others, especially an enemy, seems like the greatest, most costly gift we can give.

Paul would say that acting as if loving were a choice and not an obligation gives us an address in the distant suburbs of God's reign. He says we owe love to one another. As Pope Francis used to say, "Todos, todos, todos!"

Ezekiel heard the description of his appointment as a prophet as a command to love his people by telling them what he heard from God. God explained, "You only have to listen to everything I say and tell the people exactly what I think of the way they are acting. Oh yeah, and be very attentive, because if you don't explain how I view the world and what I expect, you'll be responsible for everything that goes wrong among them." God was ordering Ezekiel to love everyone, most especially those who were doing harm to the community.

When Ezekiel was a novice prophet, God described his mission in less than promising terms. God sent him to stubborn, obstinate rebels and said, "Don't be afraid ... though you find yourself surrounded with brambles and sitting on scorpions" (Ezekiel 2).

God gave Ezekiel the mission to love everyone by letting them know where they were going wrong. God commissioned him to be a watchman, not as God's cop, but as a protector of the community, to keep them from destroying themselves.

In an oft-quoted bit of wisdom from the film "The Godfather," we hear, "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer." That's a distorted version of what Paul and Jesus tell us this week. In effect, the two of them say, "Love your own well and give your all for those who make themselves your enemies." That's a tall order.

In this week's Gospel, Jesus talks about forgiveness as not so much an act of pardon, but as a mission. For Jesus, the mission of forgiveness begins, as he himself began, by reaching out to the lost.

According to Jesus, when a community member offends, be it harming an individual or the community, a disciple is commissioned to seek that person out as a friend, perhaps a dinner companion. The whole point of going to the offender is to win him or her over. That's an act of inclusion in the model of the father of the prodigal son, who ran to embrace and welcome his derelict child.

Jesus outlines a four-step process to win back an offender. First, a one-to-one approach. If that doesn't work, engage a few people — which entails the risk that they may not share your point of view and therefore implies that you, too, may be called to a new attitude, not just the other person.

If there is no resolution with a few, then ask the "church," the gathered community, to enter into the process. Finally, if that doesn't work, treat the offender as a gentile or tax collector.

What does it mean to treat them like that? Jesus described his mission as one of inviting sinners into the fold (Matthew 9:13). By the time Matthew wrote his Gospel, gentiles were joining the Christian community; they were the primary recipients of Paul's ministry. Thus, to treat people like gentiles or tax collectors meant that the community regarded them as people to be invited in. Even if their previous way of acting was not within community values, they were invited into communion to share communal life.

Jesus was famous for his preferential option for the poor and vulnerable, so much so that he expected his disciples to be like them. In this teaching, he calls disciples to heroic greatness. He tells them that when someone hurts you, cheats or steals from you, ruins your reputation, or undermines or betrays the community, your vocation mandates you to try to win that person back.

He invites us to do the same. This is the paschal mystery, the call to give ourselves for others, to act in memory of Jesus by being the least, working on behalf of those who do harm and offering forgiveness.

It's not walking on water. It's a solid and demanding path to expanding communion in our world.”

09/04/2026

Sister Bernice Stenger talks about her ministries and Mother Theresa Hackelmeier's impact.
https://youtu.be/HGqXgyCKvCI

09/01/2026

Experience an inspiring Sunday! Celebrate Mass with Archbishop Charles Thompson and the Sisters, then enjoy a beautiful choir concert and reception. All are welcome. We hope to see you September 27 at 2 p.m.

08/31/2026

💙 Serving Our Neighbors in Metamora 💙

On Saturday, the Sisters of St. Francis and a group of Volunteers were honored to serve our neighbors impacted by the flooding in Metamora, Indiana. 🙏❤️

In the midst of a difficult situation, it was a beautiful reminder of what can happen when a community comes together with compassion, kindness, and a willingness to help. 🤝✨

We are grateful for everyone who is giving their time, energy, and hearts to support those affected. Your generosity and love truly make a difference! 💕🫶 A special Thank You to the The Village Store Oldenburg and Langen Meats for donating food to help with the meal.

Please continue to keep the families and individuals impacted by the flooding in your prayers. 🙏💙

08/31/2026

08/30/2026

SUNDAY REFLECTION for August 30, 2026
First Reading: Jeremiah 20: 7-9
Responsorial Psalm: Psalm 63: 2-6, 8-9
Second Reading: Romans 12: 1-2
Gospel Matthew 16: 21-27

This reflection for the Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time comes from Sarah Probst Miller via U. S. Catholic (uscatholic.org) Sarah is a farm veterinarian and writer from Monticello, Illinois. She is a member of the inaugural cohort of PROCLAIM, a formation program designed to equip lay women as ministers of the Word. Sarah also serves as a church music minister and spiritual director, using music and storytelling and deep listening to help others notice and experience the divine in everyday life.

“Creator, Christ, enlighten the eyes of our heart so that we might know what is the hope that belongs to our call.

Fifteen years ago this week, I stood in the kitchen watching Nanny Robyn leave. She cared well for us and our little girls, and it was time for her to follow her call. It was time for us to let her go.

Hugely pregnant, I wept giant tears, my hand resting on my rock-hard stomach. The tears were for her, and me. My last child lay buried in earth under rock, his soul born straight into heaven, and I now felt scared to walk the journey of this wild hope of pregnancy without help.

And then, as if body needed to weep too, my water broke across the kitchen floor. Rock of stomach softened. My body was ready to birth a baby already named Samuel into this new time, this new place. Here I am. Here we are too, over and over, called, somehow, to miraculously birth what is unseen with hope.

Jesus was called: called to speak out, to suffer, to die, to be raised. There was hope in the last call, but Peter heard only suffering and death. Peter, who jumps from the boat to walk and then sinks like rock. Peter, who cries for help and takes Jesus’ hand. Peter is a human whose heart easily fires. Enkindled by fire of love, Peter speaks a rebuke of a “no,” with hope that the journey with Jesus will not end.

Jesus turns to him: “Get behind me, Satan. Get behind me, skandalon—stumbling stone, trap, hurdle in the road. You are not thinking as God does but as human beings do.”

Peter, called rock, becomes rock in the wrong place. He stands in front of Jesus’ call instead of behind. And Jesus does not cast him away. Jesus moves him: get behind me. Stay, but here. Close. Follow. Pray. I may need to lean on you.

Being asked to move is hard. Peter could have left. I might have. What would you have done? But Peter stays. Staying, too, can be a call. Staying can be as hard as rock.

In Scripture,
Rocks from which we are cut remind prophets of Abraham and Sarah.
Rocks receive sacrifice: meat, bread, blood, Isaac.
Rocks pillow dreams into heaven’s stairway and
Rocks bruise flesh, hip, bone while we wrestle angels.
Rocks shield Moses from God’s face and glory.
Rocks when struck, gush forth water for the thirsty.
Rocks receive commandments.
Rocks Babel. Rocks build.
David in exile while curled in crag of rock craves God and sings, “My soul is thirsting for you, O Lord, my God!”
In Deuteronomy,
Rocks father.
Rocks birth.
The psalms call God “rock of my heart.”
And human hearts, we know, can become stone.

Duped, mocked, in our first reading, Jeremiah laments the pain of speaking out. “All the day, I am an object of laughter; everyone mocks me.” Jeremiah says he will not speak God’s name, just as Peter, in the terror of it, will deny Christ. But for Jeremiah it becomes “like a fire burning in my heart, imprisoned in my bones.” He cannot hold it in. Like Peter, Jeremiah’s heart is re-kindled. He must answer the call, and it brings both hope and lament, a rock and a hard place.

Peter was both: the one who trusted enough to walk on water and the one who doubted enough to sink; the one who answered the call and the one who tried to block it. Peter was doubt and Peter was hope. Like us, Peter was called forth and called back. And we are too. Hearts burning within us, hearts hardened into stone. We follow, and we resist. We hope, and we are afraid of what hope asks.

Then Jesus in the gospel speaks further, asking us to dive deeper into our own call, our own loving hope to continue the journey with Christ. “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny the self, take up the cross, and follow me.” And Christ asks, “What profit would there be for one to gain the whole world and forfeit life? What can one give in exchange for life?”

What would I give up to keep this one beautiful life? Home? Job? Pride? Could I give up control? Could I give up being in front and move behind Christ?

And what would I not give up? My child. My spouse. My hope. I pray not. But would I deny Christ, like Peter, with lips and voice? I probably would. Three times I would. I probably have. “Oh hope!” I call out. “Where are you hope?”

In the New Testament,
Rocks wait in hands ready to stone.
Rocks drop in mercy.
Rocks cornerstone, anchor, trip.
Rocks foundation.
Rocks stumble. Rocks support.
Rocks witness murder.
Rocks witness mercy.
Life and death.
Death and life.
Rocks deny, deny, deny.
Rocks cry out in praise, testimony.
Rocks roll.
Rocks roll.
Rocks roll open.
Rock birth hope.

Lazarus emerges. Jesus too. Women see. In the garden, she sees Raboni. He says her name. “Go.” Jesus asks her to go before him and “tell.” She runs to Simon Peter and says, “I have seen the Lord.”
When the eyes and ears of your heart are enlightened, do you see Christ? Where? And what are you told to tell? To whom? In hope, you are made miraculously and beautifully in the image of God. You are also called: called to move behind, to run and tell, to carry the cross, not alone, but with others, with hope.

Creator, Christ, enlighten the eyes of our heart so that we might know what is the hope that belongs to our call.

When we knew Nanny Robyn was called away, and we were called to stay behind, we prayed with the smooth rocks of a rosary for help to carry what we were called to bear forth. And when Nanny Jodi arrived with buttons, cloth, and scissors for my two girls to be creative together, we saw hope. I asked her: Would you walk with us? Would you help us carry it all?

This week fifteen years ago, after the rock of my stomach softened and water splashed on the kitchen floor, Samuel was born alive. Nanny Jodi arrived to help, a rock to lean on.

Together we carried. When he thirsted, she would bring Samuel to me so he could nurse. After a long meeting, breasts full like rocks, I would call out in hope and need. Nanny Jodi would answer my call and bring Samuel to me, place him in my arms. Then she would step behind, so he could drink abundantly. She stepped behind so another life could be nourished, so what was part of me, hard as rock, could miraculously become flesh again.

Amen and Alleluia. Alleluia and Amen.”

08/26/2026

After celebrating her 70th Jubilee on July 26, receiving the Sacrament of the Sick in the presence of her Sisters, and being prayed for and accompanied by our Transitus Sisters, our dear Sister Linda Bates was more than ready on August 22, to say goodbye to her earthly existence and to joyfully embrace eternal life with her God. I’m sure she was hoping to experience an everlasting party with deceased family members, friends, classmates and persons she had known in her many ministries.

Linda was born in Rushville, Indiana on October 2, 1939, the oldest of five children. Her parents, Lawrence and Anna (Trader) Bates both worked at Fort Benjamin Harrison in Indianapolis. In her very brief autobiography, Linda describes her life and her family as uninteresting and not what anyone would want to read about. However, she does list several of her school-age jobs including childcare, soda jerk and secretary for an uncle. It seems that she already possessed some of the many gifts, talents and interests for which she was later known and appreciated.

The Sisters of St. Francis taught Linda at St. Mary’s in Rushville, IN. She fondly remembers one of her favorites, Sister Emmett Lawrence. After a few years at Holy Spirit School in Indianapolis with the Sisters of Providence, she was again taught by Oldenburg Franciscans at Scecina High School. Downplaying her vocation to the Oldenburg community, she says that the Franciscans were “handy” when she decided to enter the convent.

Linda began her rich and diverse ministry career as a teacher. She was always upbeat, joyful and fun in the classroom. The children knew she was serious about learning, but also that she cared about them and their families. After only six years as a teacher, she became a principal, serving in two Indianapolis schools for a total of twelve years.

Having earned a Masters Degree in Pastoral Ministry at Seattle University, she launched another phase of her ministry journey as a Pastoral Minister, serving in parishes in Iowa, Michigan, West Virginia and Indiana. Add to this her ten years at Marian College (now University) as campus minister and we can see that Linda’s was a life of service, wherever she felt called and with whomever she encountered.

While serving in Iowa City, IA, Linda became very involved in and committed to an ecumenical group of nineteen area churches. She served as secretary to the group and later as chairperson. They sponsored prayer services, a Christmas store and other activities throughout the year. She also volunteered with the R**e Victim Advocacy Program. After receiving training, she realized that she had many relational skills that transferred to this additional ministry, allowing her to be a support and encouragement for women in crisis.

In 2018, Linda returned to the Motherhouse where she continued to be a joyful presence. As she aged, she remained young at heart and a pleasure to be around. Linda was always frank and honest. She would not hesitate to tell you exactly what she thought, even sometimes using very colorful language.

As a resident of St. Clare Hall, Linda participated in many activities, especially enjoying parties. She read the newspaper faithfully every day to keep up with people and events near and far. We thank the nursing, pastoral care and activities staff and all who ministered to Linda. We extend our sympathy to her family, friends and classmates. We will miss Linda’s smile, her laugh, her honest opinions, her friendship and her love. We pray that she is now delighting in the richness of the heavenly banquet.

In loving memory,
S. Maureen Irvin for the Leadership Team

SISTER LINDA BATES (formerly Sister Claudia)
Birth: October 2, 1939
Entered Religious Life: February 2, 1957
Entered Eternal Life: August 22, 2026

MISSIONS WHERE SISTER LINDA SERVED:
1960-1963 St. Lawrence, Indianapolis IN
1963-1965 St. James, White Oak, Cincinnati OH
1965-1970 St. Gabriel, Indianapolis IN
1970-1977 St. Christopher, Indianapolis IN
1977-1979 St. Athanasius, Roseville MI
1979-1982 St. Rita, Indianapolis IN
1982-1983 Seattle University Student
1983-1987 St. Mary, Iowa City IA
1987-1995 St. Thomas the Apostle, Ann Arbor MI
1995-2004 Marian University, Indianapolis IN
2004-2005 Sabbatical
2005-2011 Christ our Hope, Harrisville WV
2011-2013 St. Nicholas, Ripley City IN
2013-2014 St. Charles, Milan IN
2013-2014 St. Pius Parish, Ripley City IN
2014-2016 St. Charles, Milan IN
2016-2026 Motherhouse, Oldenburg IN

Funeral arrangements have been entrusted to Weigel Funeral Home – visit their website to view Sister’s online memorial, and if desired, an online condolence may be left on the site to share with her family and the Franciscan Sisters – www.Weigelfh.com.

Memorial Donations in Sister’s memory may be given online at www.OldenburgFranciscans.org