The year is 1960; I am a postulant and an image is etched deeply in my memory. Two Sisters climbing the steep hill from Bishop Dunn Memorial to the motherhouse building here at Newburgh. One, a petite 4’ 11” and the other slightly under six feet tall. Each afternoon these two would make their weary way up that hill in time for evening prayer in the chapel. This is my earliest recollection of Sister Mary Alice McAteer and Marie Jeanne Dionne, both of whom I would come to live with at St. Mary’s Convent in Gloucester. Little did they realize that I, a young postulant wondering what the future of my religious life would hold, was witnessing this daily trek and being deeply impressed by this unassuming portrait of day-in, day-out fidelity to the ministry of educating the young students they faced.

We gather here today to pay tribute to that tall Sister (in more ways than one), to a truly valiant woman who, in life, who would shun any kind of special attention. Born Irene Bernadette on February 16, 1910 in Providence, Rhode Island, to Tancrede Dionne and Marie Jeanne Grenier, Sister Marie Jeanne entered the Dominican Sisters of the Congregation of the Most Holy Rosary on September 8, 1931 at Newburgh, NY. After her formation years, she began her journey as an educator “par excellence.” I use the word “educator” rather than “teacher” because of its richer connotation. Taken from the Latin e-ducare, meaning one who draws forth from, she was the embodiment of this. She was not only concerned with imparting knowledge; she was one who drew forth from her students the potential hidden within them by their Creator God.

Her shadow fell over students in Pleasantville, NY, Larchmont, NY, Paterson, NJ, Newburgh, Poughkeepsie, Danbury, CT, and Gloucester City where her students fondly called her Ma Soeur. Like Dominic himself, she took to the road as an itinerant preacher and teacher.

No one ever got to know her without also getting to know her family for whom her love was so deep and so strong - Herve, Alice, Henry, Arthur, Germaine, Gabrielle, Raymond, Marcel, Clinton and Jean (our own Mary Janice). Those of us who lived with her felt that they were members of our families - that’s how descriptive she would be in sharing the latest stories.

Those of us who knew and loved her can attest to her always gracious manner, her prayerfulness, her deep love for her community and her untiring and unflagging readiness to attend to others’ needs in spite of the incredible suffering she endured from arthritis. I can remember suggesting to her one day, when her pain was so evident, that perhaps she should sleep in a little late in the morning once in awhile. She wouldn’t hear of such a thing. Her response was: “The day I give in to this pain is the day I give up.” Obviously, she never gave up!

As with all of us, she, too, had her little quirks. So often in the evening we would gather to watch TV together as a community. Sometimes we would be deeply engrossed in an episode of Columbo, Perry Mason, or some other crime-fighter, and anxiously waiting for the whole puzzle to be solved within an hour - who was the perpetrator or murderer. While the rest of us would be sitting on the edges of our seats, Marie Jeanne would - about ten minutes before the end - simply stand up, say goodnight and blithely leave the room to go to bed. Aaaagh! How could she do that? Well, she never explained to us. And now I’m wondering if that wasn’t truly part of who she was. Life didn’t have to be cut and dried, crystal clear to her. She probably knew that one of the signs of spiritual maturity is the ability to tolerate ambiguity. Was this evidence of that ability? I guess we’ll have to wait for the answer.

And, then there’s that other mystery - her numerous names. I thought I had the corner on that market - having been John Maureen, Maureen, Margaret, and finally Peggy. But, no. Shakespeare, in his play, Romeo And Juliet, poses the question: “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet.” I always wanted to get to the bottom of this riddle. She was born Irene, was given the religious name of Antoninus, and is fondly recalled as Marie Jeanne. What’s in a name? Shakespeare asked. Much! How providential that our dear Marie Jeanne should be baptized Irene. Irene, the goddess of peace and serenity. And, was she not the essence of serenity?

I was puzzled by all these names, and so I contacted Janice who herself was baffled. Here’s the story. In preparing for first profession, she had requested her mother’s name: Marie Jeanne. But, this was not to be; she received the name Antoninus, which would cause future students untold grief as they stumbled to get it right. When name changes were finally allowed, she took her mother’s name, Marie Jeanne.

How beautiful and how appropriate. During this week when all our attention is focused on the Passion of Christ, and we witness the numerous characters in the drama, our minds and hearts are fixed on two people nearest and dearest to Christ: Mary and John. Marie and Jeanne, faithful friends to the end, these two stood beneath the cross and endured the pain with Jesus.

Yes, Marie Jeanne, you too have stood beneath the cross more than once in your lifetime and remained faithful to the end, a true friend of Our Lord. God must be smiling as you are greeted with the sacred words of Sirach: “A faithful friend is a sturdy shelter; whoever finds one finds a treasure.”

Goodbye, dear friend. For you, the earthly journey has ended and we will miss you. But, we will be consoled in knowing that for you “The strife is o’er, the battle done. Now is the victor’s triumph won; O, let the song of praise be sung. Alleluia!”

Peggy Devlin, OP

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