I have met many good and saintly people in the course of my life, but I
suspect that I have been touched by the love of a saint as well. How to explain
Fortunately, the task of acquainting you with
If, in this introduction, I find that I must dwell upon my relationship with
Virginia began her journals when she was nineteen. By then she had graduated from high school, but was continuing to live in one of the dorms and teach at the school. The school was Saint Joseph's in Tipton, Indiana, operated by Sisters of Saint Joseph. As the reader will quickly discern, Virginia had an ardent desire to join a religious community. But that desire was to be forever frustrated so that God could accomplish others things in and through her life. At this time in her life Virginia could still upon occasion get around on crutches, but more and more she was becoming confined to a wheel chair.
But "confined" is not the appropriate word, for nothing ever confined Virginia; neither her illness, nor her dependence upon others, nor her less than happy childhood, nor her many disappointments. Any and all such limitations became for Virginia opportunities for transcendence, and, through the grace of God, transcend them she did.
I believe that Virginia was allowed to stay at the school only two years after her graduation. By the time I met her in 1965, she had been living at a nursing home for the elderly in Kokomo, Indiana for several years. It was the only place she could find that would take her in.
At the time I met Virginia, I was a junior monk at St. Meinrad Archabbey in southern Indiana. I knew of Virginia perhaps a year before I met her. She used to come to the monastery for visits and retreats, and had several friends and acquaintances in the community. I used to see her from afar from the vantage point of the choir stalls when she attended services with the monks: a lone figure, sitting in a wheel chair, down in the nave of the Church.
During Holy Week, 1965, I was appointed to oversee the guest house because the senior monks were on retreat that week. On Wednesday of that week, Virginia's father brought Virginia to the guest house, got her settled in a guest room and then left. I knew that the monks closest to Virginia were not free at that time, so I decided it was my "duty" to go over to her room and check in on the poor, unfortunate creature until her friends could free me of the obligation. That details roughly the state of my thinking as I made up my mind to pay her a visit. There was a sign I had to hang on the guest house office door, a sign with a clock face and moveable hands: "I will be back at such and such a time." I certainly didn't intend to stay more than five minutes, so that is what I indicated on the sign.
I went down to Virginia's room, knocked on the door, and my life changed forever. I don’t know exactly what I was expecting, perhaps some poor, unfortunate, lonely person, who was handicapped to boot. What I encountered was an intelligent, lively, funny, attractive young lady. Probably one of the first things I noticed upon opening the door was that Virginia was seated on the floor, leaning against one of the beds. She was unable to sit up straight without some such support whenever she was not in her wheelchair. I made an almost instantaneous decision not to stand or sit on a level above her. I sat down on the floor opposite her, and we began to converse.
I don’t remember after all these years what topics we may have touched upon in that first conversation, but I do remember that I couldn’t get enough of that kind of conversing. I remember also that the book she was reading when I first entered was by Paul Valery, and in the original language. Ten minutes became twenty before I realized that I had indicated on the office door that I would be back at the office long since. I returned to the office, waited around long enough to convince myself that no one was in need of my services, changed the time on the sign, and returned to Virginia’s room. I remember that I followed that procedure the remainder of the afternoon.
On that particular visit to St. Meinrad, Virginia stayed ten or eleven days. The events surrounding our meeting are the only moments with Virginia from that visit about which I have a clear recollection. I know for a fact that I visited her as often as I could during the days that followed. That Easter Sunday, a mere four days after meeting Virginia, I had what I can only describe to myself even today as a resurrection experience, a sense of affirmation accompanied by a euphoria bordering on giddiness. To analyze it beyond that is difficult, but I am quite certain that not only was I released from some sort of inner bondage, a bondage perhaps of my own creation, but also I was aware of that new freedom as well.
During Easter week our relationship continued to deepen. Again, except for one or two instances, I remember no specific conversations. However, I do remember another decision I had to make, similar to the decision I made not to sit on a level above Virginia. One day when none of her other friends from the monastery was available to take her to church for prayer service, the task fell to me. Of course, by then I was delighted to spend as much time with her as I could. I went to her room to get her. Before leaving for church she needed to use the restroom. So she began to crawl, or more properly "scooch" her way laboriously toward the washroom. I decided that even though I did not yet know her very well, I wasn’t about to force her into such a humiliating situation. I picked her up, carried her into the bathroom, deposited her on the floor, and then, when I was certain she needed no further assistance, left, closing the door after me.
I mention that occurrence not for the sake of titillation, but in an attempt to indicate some reasons why the relationship moved so quickly to the depths it did. Certainly, in terms of personality, we were a good fit. We enjoyed one another's sense of humor tremendously. We were also less than a month apart in age. We had some common ground in terms of appreciation of art, literature and music. But perhaps no less than any of the previous reasons was the fact that, when confronted with some tough choices about how to relate to her, it appears that I made decisions that Virginia appreciated.
I would also be the first to acknowledge that we each filled a very deep need that the other had. Because of her living arrangements at the time, living as she did in a nursing home, Virginia had few friends her own age. She had a huge correspondence, was very close to many families, and had many adult acquaintances, both religious and lay. But at that time in her life she had no one her own age with whom to share significantly. Some time before Virginia and I met, a priest friend of hers said to her that she needed someone with whom to share "Peanuts" cartoons. Of course, by "Peanuts" cartoons he meant the whole gamut of sharing that such a relationship implied. It was a very insightful comment. It was my great good fortune to be that person. A short time later, Virginia relied upon the strength of that relationship and others, to assist her in the final assent to Calvary.
My needs at that time of my life were almost beyond telling. I was a young man who, by the sheer force of will power alone, was attempting to live a way of life for which I was ill suited. I was attempting to win a place in heaven, so to speak, by absolute observance of law. My relationships with others might never have had much depth or warmth, but they were always proper. I am no psychologist, but I suspect there must have been an element of self-loathing present. If not that, there certainly was present intense pride and anger; anger directed at myself because I had chosen so poorly my course in life; but too much pride to ever admit to anyone else that I had made a mistake.
Indeed, it was only much later, perhaps during her visit the following September that she told me that she had seen me in the guest dining room the Christmas prior to our first meeting, and had thought to herself at that time; "there would be a hard person to love!" First of all, anyone who knew Virginia would have found it incredible that she would have entertained such a thought, since her entire ministry was to bring the love of Jesus to all whom she met, whatever their situation. And secondly, it provides stark insight into the miserable state of my being at that time. This was the person who came knocking at Virginia’s door that Wednesday in Holy Week, 1965.
The love I experienced in the presence of Virginia absolutely transformed me. But I know that the sharing we experienced had a profound effect upon her as well. She told me in a very humorous fashion how, during the summer after we met, she would consult with her spiritual director, Father Keith Hosey, to whom she refers in her journals as her co-missionary, to talk about some development in her thinking or in her life. And upon being questioned as to how long she had been experiencing whatever it was she mentioned, she would suggest a time span, and his reply was invariably: "that was Easter!" She said that she had had several conversations in a similar vein with him during the summer, only to be reminded each time, "that was Easter!"
By the time I met Virginia, she had long since realized that her vocation was not to the religious life. She was, however, living a consecrated life, having taken vows privately. She came to the conviction that her calling was to BE WITH, or perhaps more accurately to BE FOR whomever invited her into their homes or lives. Thus, she was always on the go, ready in an instant to pack up and spend time with anyone who sought her company. It was for this reason that she was lovingly referred to as, and often called herself, "God’s little hobo." She is also known as Little Virginia of Jesus.
She was greatly attracted to the religious community known as the Little Brothers and Little Sisters of the Incarnation. This was a religious community founded in France upon the example of Charles de Foucauld. Members of this community live among the poorest of the poor, in slums, in prisons, among pagans, among Muslims, among Christians. Their apostolate is to give witness to the Gospel not by preaching and teaching, but by prayer, service and example. The symbol of their community is a heart at the top of which is a cross.
The frequent mention of "Charlies" in her "Letters to Mother" is a reference to friends of hers who also attempted to follow the example of Charles de Foucauld. And of course, the phrase "Charlie heart" is either a reference to the symbol of that community, or to someone whose life manifests the virtues required by that kind of life. The last couple years of her life, every outfit that Virginia owned had that symbol sewn into it. It is visible on the jumper she is wearing in the picture on the main web page.
Among the facts that I learned about Virginia during that first visit was that she kept a journal. But it was no ordinary journal. Her entries were all addressed to Mary, the mother of Jesus. She referred to them as her "Letters to Mother." Mary was a very important person in Virginia’s life. Mary became, to some extent, the mother that Virginia never had. But her devotion to Mary was not of the cloying, sentimental variety. It was a tough, pure appreciation of the important place that Mary holds in the Catholic tradition. But she also had developed a very personal relationship to the Blessed Mother, and I am quite sure that the reader of her "Letters" will discover both.
We corresponded frequently during the months following her Easter visit. I recall that my first letter to her was six pages long. We didn't see each other again until the following September, when she returned to the monastery for a visit. By then I knew that I not only loved Virginia, but that I had fallen in love with her as well, and the realization of that fact alarmed me considerably. This was most assuredly the topic that we first discussed when we had the opportunity to talk privately.
By the way, finding opportunities to talk privately with her was no mean feat. There was a constant stream of visitors at Virginia's door, even when she was visiting the monastery. Monks, others guests, people in the local area who had met Virginia, were all vying for her time and attention. She did her absolute best to accommodate them all.
At that time I shared my feelings about Virginia with another close friend of mine, Gabriel Mulnix, who is now a Passionist priest. Through conversations with Virginia and Gabe, I was able to resolve the tension created by these feelings, and, as a result, the friendship between Virginia and me continued to deepen immensely. I loved her for the beautiful person she was, but it was a love whose only goal was to support her in her effort to live for God alone.
When I think back upon our friendship, I am amazed at how little time Virginia and I actually spent together, and how long were the expanses of time between visits. After the visit in September of 1965, I didn't see her again until sometime around either Christmas, 1965 or early January, 1966. She also visited the monastery during Holy Week of 1966, and in August of 1966. And finally, I spent a day with her in late December or early January of 1967, about a month before she died.
During those last few visits, I was, through the love we shared, drawn more completely into her sufferings. The physical exertion required of her to cope with her growing disabilities, coupled with the demands of her vocation, were beginning to take their toll. I remember very clearly bringing Virginia back to her room in the guest house after the Good Friday services in 1966. By that time her body was beginning to react violently even to small periods of time in the wheel chair. I released the straps used to hold her in the chair, picked her up and sat down on the bed, still holding her. Her body was immediately racked by spasms that lasted at least twenty minutes; at times, her arms outstretched in a cruciform manner. I remember thinking, as I held her, that I was privileged to be allowed to witness her own living out of Christ's death on the cross.
By then, our communication involved fewer and fewer words, which is just as well, since speaking required of her so much energy. Our time together was marked as much by love-filled silence, as by words or laughter. Even her notes to me spoke volumes in their utter simplicity. One of her "letters" to me--sent to me while she was in the guest house and I was busy in the monastery--was simply a crude drawing of a small "Charlie heart," done with a ball point pen. In the center of the heart was written the letter "Q." I understood her completely. It said everything she ever needed to say about our relationship, and about my role in helping her live out her vocation. Perhaps it expressed more than words could ever say.
Over Christmas time, 1966, Virginia was steadily declining in health. She was in fact, dying. The Kiefer family of Elwood, Indiana took her into their home at this time. It was about this time that Ruth Kiefer wrote me to ask if there was any way at all that I might get permission to leave the monastery for a day or two to visit Virginia. Virginia was dying, and she wished to see me one last time. Mrs. Kiefer's request was honored by my superiors, and I was allowed to visit Virginia. I was able to spend about twenty-four hours with her.
One room on the main floor of the Kiefer's house had been turned into Virginia's room. She was situated in a hospital bed that could be manipulated to contour the mattress. At the foot of Virginia's bed was an altar. I recall that I contributed a rough-hewn cross for the altar. I arrived about mid-afternoon at the Kiefer's, and visited with Virginia and the family until late into the night. Virginia at this time was quite weak, but still very alert, very lovely. The next morning, a Sunday, a priest friend of the family offered Mass in Virginia's room. Shortly after that, my ride came, and I had to say my good-byes.
I received word on February 3rd , 1967 that Virginia Cyr, Little Virginia of Jesus, God's little hobo, had finally arrived home. It never occurred to me to pray for the repose of her soul. Upon hearing of her death, I began praying to her, for I knew that the best friend I had yet had in my life was now a saint in heaven.
Not too long ago a friend of mine, someone whose opinion I value and trust, told me that the Spirit's gift to me is Peace. That may well be so. And if it is, I know whom it was God chose to deliver the gift to me.
A Word about her "Letters to Mother"
As I mentioned, Virginia stayed at St. Meinrad about ten or eleven days that visit during which I met her. Before she left, she entrusted all of her journals to me. She told me that she knew that I was the person who was supposed to have them. And as future "Letters" were written, she always directed that they were to end up in my possession. Thus it is that I have come by the complete set of her "Letters to Mother." It is these "Letters" that I here make available to all who are interested.
Considering the volume of Virginia's correspondence, the amount of time she spent visiting families (and thus, separated from her typewriter), the short span of years devoted to the "Letters" (February, 1962 - November, 1966), and the limitations to dexterity imposed by her handicap, the size of her journal is truly amazing. The nine volumes I possess come to almost 1000 pages.
It is my intention to present here a lightly edited version of the "Letters" to acquaint the reader with the life, vocation, personality, and example of Virginia, for she truly was a remarkable person. Some, myself included, would not hesitate to say that she is a saint.
On one level, her "Letters" deal with the typical kinds of trivial events that consume most of our waking hours. They reveal the usual joys and disappointments of a young woman totally involved in life and involved with the people in her life. But at the same time, on an entirely different level, these same "Letters" reveal a young woman on a spiritual quest, for Virginia was a young lady who had decided to give her life over totally to the will of God. What the "Letters" reveal is how Virginia, with single-mindedness of purpose and unbending will, accomplishes that goal in the context of down-to-earth, day to day living. I see that as one of the great lessons of the pages that follow. Virginia did not attempt to become a saint by escaping this world. No one loved life more than Virginia, but she loved God even more.
And that, by the way, is one reason why Virginia is truly a saint for our time. She shows us how it is possible to achieve sanctity in a hectic world, a world filled with distractions and interruptions. So too, in a world that places such a high premium on instant gratification, Virginia, who relied so heavily upon others, and who, as a consequence, had to resign herself to their schedules, reveals to us that there truly can be something virtuous about having one's life "put on hold" so frequently. Somehow she was able to use all such occasions as a means toward the accomplishment of her ultimate goal, the total gift of herself to God.
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