Today, the 22nd of September 2026, we laid to rest our dear Sr. Mary Clemens.
In her Last Will, she expressed her desire to be laid to rest in a simple and solemn way. Indeed, the day seemed to accompany our dear sister in a quiet and beautiful way. The sun was bright, the sky was so blue, and the cemetery was not far from the convent…only about a fifteen-minute walk. There was something peaceful about that short journey, yet for me, it became a journey of deep reflection.
As we walked behind the funeral car, I could not help but think of how quickly life passes. After we had laid Sr. M. Clemens to rest, we all returned to the convent, but I stayed behind and was the last PDDM, together with her family, to leave the Mausoleum. We had barely settled down and were enjoying our lunch together when the rain suddenly poured. It was as if the day had changed its face. The sunshine gave way to rain—a gentle reminder that life, too, has its changing seasons: sunshine and rain, joy and sorrow, presence and absence, life and death.
Sr. M. Clemens was confined to the hospital on the third of this month, and on the eighteenth, she breathed her last. Only fifteen days separated her hospitalization from her death. Who would have thought that she would not return to the convent alive? We thought there would still be time. Perhaps she would recover, come back, and continue her life among us. But God had another plan.
Her death made me pause and look at my own journey. These past months have been filled with many events and challenges. As I come to the last few months of my mandate as Provincial, I realize that Sr. M. Clemens is already the third sister who has been called home to the Creator during my term.
Three sisters have passed through the doorway of this life into eternity.
And I find myself asking: What is God telling me through all of this?
Perhaps God is gently reminding me that everything is passing, and that I am only a steward of what has been entrusted to me. My position, my responsibilities, my plans, even the people whom I love dearly are all gifts that I cannot possess forever. There comes a time when I must surrender everything back into the hands of the One who gave them.
Perhaps the Lord is also reminding me not to become too attached to my own plans for how things should unfold. I may have entered this term with expectations, dreams, and hopes for what I could accomplish. Yet life has taught me again and again that God’s ways are not always my ways, and His timing is not always my timing.
The words of Pope Leo XIV speak deeply to me today:
“It is indeed a grace to be God’s co-workers, to labor in his vineyard, to serve his Kingdom of justice and peace! There is no room for envy or division where God’s newness breaks forth.” (Angelus, September 20, 2026)
To be a co-worker of God is already a grace. My time as Provincial is not ultimately about what I have accomplished, nor about what remains unfinished. It is about having been given the privilege to serve. And now, as that season draws to its close, perhaps the invitation is simply to entrust the vineyard back to its true Owner.
Sr. M. Clemens’ death reminds me that our time is limited. There is no guarantee of tomorrow, and there is no certainty that we will finish all that we have begun. What matters is whether, in the time given to us, we have loved, served, forgiven, accompanied, and remained faithful.
The words of Isaiah become particularly meaningful:
“Seek the Lord while he may be found; call upon him while he is near; let the wicked abandon his way, and the evil man his thoughts; let him return to the Lord, that he may have mercy on him.” (Is 55:6–7)
Perhaps this is what the Lord is telling me:
Come closer to Me.
Seek Me.
Trust Me.
Let go.
Let go of what I cannot control.
Let go of what has already passed.
Let go of the sisters whom I have accompanied and now must entrust to God’s mercy.
Let go of my fears about what lies ahead.
Let go, too, of the need to understand everything.
And simply trust.
I look to our Blessed Mother Mary. She knew what it meant to walk with God without knowing the whole journey. She knew joy and sorrow, presence and absence, beginnings and endings. At the foot of the Cross, she stood in faith even when she could not understand God’s ways.
May our Blessed Mother Mary teach me to do the same.
As I approach the end of my term, I do not know what the next chapter will bring. I do not know what lies ahead, what joys or challenges await, or what God will ask of me. But perhaps I do not need to know.
I only need to trust that God’s ways are greater than my ways and His thoughts higher than my thoughts.
Today, as we placed Sr. M. Clemens’ earthly remains in the earth, I was reminded of the simplicity and truth of our vocation: we come from God, we belong to God, and ultimately, we return to God.
May our dear Sr. M. Clemens now rest in the loving embrace of the God whom she served.
And may her passing become for me not only a moment of grief, but also a quiet invitation—to live more fully, to serve more generously, to hold things more lightly, to love more deeply, and to surrender more completely.
LORD, let Your ways become my ways and Your thoughts become my thoughts. And when the time comes to hand everything back to You, may I do so with a peaceful heart, trusting that I have been only Your co-worker in the vineyard, and that the vineyard has always belonged to You. AMEN.
Srmagspddm
