Separation, Cor Unum and communication

For many people, one of the hardest aspects of lockdown has been the enforced separation from their family and friends, whether through distance, shielding, restrictions or the logistical difficulties in being able to meet safely. Since March I have met only six of my work team-mates in person, and the only sisters I've seen are the ones who live with me, or up the road. The others I've had to meet online, along with dozens of friends and colleagues, but even the cheeriest zoomer will admit that, despite all their benefits, screens and apps have their limitations. They allow much, but can never replace hugs and holding hands, sharing cakes and sweets with friends or work-mates, non-distanced strolls in parks, or the uncomplicated fun of snapping group photos, and heads almost touching as we share confidences. 

Unsurprisingly, when I started to think about today's feast of St Philippine Duchesne, what bubbled to the surface were her experiences of distance, separation and communication. When Philippine left France in 1818 she knew she would be leaving not only her country, but also her beloved family and sisters. Everything that was known, everything that was an inextricable part of her life and experience thus far, and everyone she knew (except for the four sisters who travelled with her) remained beyond the ever-receding horizon. Her Atlantic voyage took two months, followed by a month on a Mississippi paddle steamer - and for many years after, ever single letter sent to or from France followed the same agonisingly slow route. 

Table in Florissant
Throughout this time Philippine remained a faithful correspondent - as faithful to her distant friend and superior, Sophie and to her family, as she was to the God to whom she gave herself wholeheartedly in her vows, lived in often very challenging circumstances. Inevitably, there were misunderstandings, or frustrating, hampering delays whilst awaiting a decision, or much-needed affirmation or advice... inevitably, once a letter did arrive, the situation it addressed had often changed, while any news was always two or three months old... but still Philippine wrote her letters, and still she waited for replies. 

Several congregations have been founded in such circumstances, their little pioneering group eventually losing touch with a faraway motherhouse, and effectively becoming a new, separate community in their new country. Who can blame them, if the local bishop beckoned, and the motherhouse receded, or seemed out of touch with the conditions they encountered? 

We praise Philippine for many things - for her prayer and perseverance, her wholeheartedness and commitment to mission - but can easily forget that one of her greatest achievements, surely, was to maintain unity with her unseen sisters in France, Italy and elsewhere. We talk about our Cor Unum; Philippine clearly lived it. She failed at many things, but succeeded in this.

And so today, Philippine speaks to me of relationships, of separation but especially of communication. She speaks of perspective when I think of the friends I haven't seen for several months, or the ones I fear I might be losing touch with, because it's a while since our last email, and they're not on Facebook so much. She reminds me of the importance of effort and commitment in my communication, but also that friendships can and do survive space and distance. And the Woman Who Always Prays is most certainly with all those who are desperately missing their loved ones, holding them, and all our anguish and needs in her spacious, generous heart. 

Happy feast everyone - and of who or what is Philippine speaking to you today?


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