We’ve all known women priests. I am not talking about priests who attend to mysterious rites, holdovers from the ancient Roman cults that Christians adopted as they went mainstream, tripping over the anachronistic relics of a medieval culture of monarchy, lapdog aristocrats, retainers and hangers-on, making decisions from a privileged position. I am thinking more of women who’ve always done the holy work of following Jesus, holding congregations together, and performing the simple ceremonies that remind all of us about the obligations of faith.
When Sister Jacinta got off the bus, we knew the day’s difficult work had begun. She was always prompt. I think it was the 55 that dropped her a half a block from “The Center,” formerly “The Center for Spiritual Services.” It had been founded by two of the first Brothers of Charity in the US, a congregation for men founded by Mother Theresa of Calcutta. One of the founders was a gay man who decided to leave religious life as he got more in touch with his sexuality, and with that, the Mother cut her ties with the project.
But in the mid 90’s, HIV disease had started to wreak destruction in the minority communities, especially African American sex workers and injection drug users in Oakland. The group of religious and lay volunteers who’d been inspired by the original vision decided to try to keep it open. Our congregation was as large as most urban parishes, 200-300 people. Our work included providing professional support for drug and alcohol treatment, a daycare for the infants and young children of mothers with HIV, some also infected with the disease, transportation to and from doctors appointments, a hearty lunch every day so that clients had at least one good nutritious meal a day, and perhaps the most important part of the work was simply trying to take care of one another, creating the sense of community and friendship that helped people live as they were dealing with was what still at this point in the epidemic most probably an early death.
Jacinta lived in a very modest apartment with three other religious women in the Fruitvale neighborhood. They were members of a small congregation called the Sisters of the Holy Family that had been founded in San Francisco after the Gold Rush. Her habit was a plain dress that she bought off the rack in her neighborhood K-Mart with a simple cross around her neck. She wore a modest religious veil when she traveled, I think as a kind of protection. The bus ran through some of the most dangerous neighborhoods of Oakland. I don’t know for certain, but this was one time that she allowed the outward signs of her religious life to be a protection.
Sister Alice would already be at the front desk with her cheery “Good Morning and God bless you." Alice was the oldest of the nuns, probably in her late 70’s, a member of the Dominican priory probably 20 blocks away in an upscale part of town. She always wore her full habit. She didn’t do much else but welcome everyone. Unassuming and sincere, she definitely set the tone for our work.
Another nun, a large jovial no nonsense woman, ran the day care with an African American grandmother who’d lost two of her children to the disease and was taking care of their children. I don’t remember if Sister Pat wore any identifying garments. I think that she preferred loose sweat pants as she spent most of her day chasing babies with HIV and their slightly older siblings while their mothers did what they could to prolong their lives.
It didn’t take me long to recognize that Jacinta was the glue that held the place together. There were other people doing great work. There were two drug counselors, one of whom, an African-American woman was truly masterful. She’d been there and done the hard work of recovery. There was the driver who was as calm as God created a sunset. He was a big African American man with a powerful voice and a ready smile. He was also Catholic. If Jacinta was in the van, he began the trip by asking her, “Would you please offer a prayer for us, Sister.”
By the time Jacinta got into her office, and closed the blinds over the window opening onto the large communal area, there were already 3 to 5 women and occasionally one of the men sitting in chairs waiting to talk. Like confession. Their situation was dire. This is how she spent every morning. She visited every client who was hospitalized which occupied most of her afternoons. At least once or twice a week, she called us into the quiet meditative room and said the simple prayers of a memorial service. She was our priest.
My friend Jon Logan sat on the Center’s Board. He told me to never forget to mention that it was founded by Mother Theresa when I wrote any appeal for money. I followed his lead. Even if that was a stretch, it was true and helped. But it didn’t match the spiritual leadership of Sister Jacinta.
Sister M. Jacinta Fiebig, SHF November 15, 1928 – March 24, 2016
