Duc in Altum

Sister Brigid Mary Meeks, RSM

When I was 10 years old, my mom took me and my bible study group to Walburga Abbey. I remember one of the Sisters stopping the tractor and asking me over the fence, “do you think this could be you some day?” I looked at her tractor, looked at the dirt and said, “no.” Despite that conviction, that same year, I recall journalling, “Lord, I know what I want for the rest of my life: You. I want You. I love God!” The Lord has answered my prayer more than I could have ever imagined.

Those initial desires became confused as I got more competitive in soccer and school and as these two commitments consumed my dreams. Thankfully, the Lord in His kindness made sure to answer my prayer, no matter my wandering heart. He sought me in all I pursued. When I played soccer, I carried holy water with me and would pray before each game, “Lord, let me glorify you.” While my version of glorifying Him meant scoring a lot of goals, He nonetheless used soccer to teach me about Himself and to set my heart free to run to Him. I played Division I soccer for Davidson College, where I watched my heart out-run my body— I was pushing myself physically and mentally beyond what I could carry on my own, and my body began to suffer: I broke my collar bone my freshman year; tore my ACL, PCL and MCL my sophomore year and broke my radial head my junior year. When I broke my radial head, our team doctor held up my x-ray and said, “it’s as if God Himself broke it for you. It’s perfectly aligned, which never happens with these breaks. You’ll be fine; you just can’t play soccer.” That sentence began my new journey— who am I, if I will be fine not playing soccer?

That summer, I went to the Republic of Georgia for an internship at an international business law firm. I planned to continue training for soccer so my senior year could be all I had lost in the years previous. I did not know what God had in store for me that summer. I had never experienced such profound poverty, and I could not shake this growing hole in me that seemed limitless. Nothing could fill it. After a couple months of trying to fill it with comforts and soccer, I finally asked my host family to take me to Church. I had not gone once the whole time there. It was the feast of Saint Peter and Paul, in the Year of Saint Paul, and my host mom took me to the Church of Saint Peter and Paul. Had I known any of these details, I would have known something major was about to happen for me, especially since my childhood parish was Saints Peter and Paul, and I had a sweet affection for them. But, oblivious to these realities, I went to the parish. It was poor; the pews were sticky from grime. I could barely sit on them, and the people who sat next to me smelled. Not touching the pew, not moving my nose any direction and breathing minimally, I was there. The pastor began his homily, “I want you to look to the person to your left; I want you to look to the person to your right; I want you to touch the pew you’re sitting in.” I could hardly believe it; it was as if he was speaking right to me! I did all he asked, he continued, “I was the pastor here during Soviet rule, and I watched a comrade soldier come in each Sunday with a clipboard to take down the names of all who attended. We all knew that when the parishioners returned home, they’d find their homes ransacked, elderly grandparents missing and that they themselves might go missing. Yet, each Sunday, they came back, and for those who didn’t, it was not because they did not want to return but because they could not return.” Then, he said the words that changed my life forever: “Somebody died to sit in the pew you are sitting in. What are you doing with your faith?” I returned home that summer, and while it took time for that mustard seed to grow, I knew: everything was different.

After I graduated, I returned to the Church in full force, going to daily Mass and daily adoration. During this time, I asked the Lord, “tell me who I am.” I realized that while a soccer coach, for the most part, soccer and academics had come to an end, yet, I was still alive. So, I obviously was more than a soccer player and more than a student. “Tell me who I am,” I asked. However, I wanted to be sure that I did not make up whatever God told me, so, I journaled, “don’t tell me I am beautiful, don’t tell me I am your daughter, etc.” After writing some things He was not allowed to say, I heard back, “are you finished?” I was; I could not think of anything else He could not say, “yes,” I replied. And I heard back, “alright. You are mine.” I knew that He had said what I never thought to exclude. Jesus was calling me to be His very own. Not even knowing the word “vocation,” I looked up at Him before me in the Blessed Sacrament and said, “you mean, this could be my job?” I shared with my mom, and she asked me whether I wanted a family and children. “Yes, I do,” I said, “but I don’t just want 3, 4, 5, 6, 12 children, I want to love the whole world for my children, and I don’t want a roof over my head, even a large roof seems too small; I want the sky to be my roof, and I want to go where I am sent and to give up all I have whenever I am asked, to do whatever is needed for the proclamation of God’s generosity. This would be reckless if I were called to be a natural wife or a natural mother.” When I said this, I was suddenly crying for joy, and my mom said, “well, honey, it seems clear where God is calling you, then.”

Bishop Conley was my treasured spiritual director at the time, and I met with him after I had talked with a Religious Institute that I did not end up entering. It was made clear to me that I was not called to that community, and I felt confused, lost and sad. Rather than join me in the pity party, he spread his arms wide and grinned, “duc in altum! Cast into the deep! Look, Our Lord has been chasing you your whole life; now, He is giving you a chance to chase Him. Don’t miss the opportunity.” Bishop Conley then gave me a list of communities I was to research, the first being the Religious Sisters of Mercy of Alma, Michigan.

I had wondered what love at first sight would be. I discovered what it was for me, when I first met Jesus in my future community. While meeting with one Sister over coffee, I learned about the foundation of our community, about our Fourth Vow of Service and how my entire life, even my mind, could be given to the Lord in service to His Bride the Church. It was like every door in my heart flew open and this sweeping breath of life was coursing through me. I felt like I was skydiving in God. I cast into the deep Heart of His Mercy, and I found Him; rather, He found me, and now He is giving me the greatest adventure of casting into the deep every day, searching for Him and letting Him search for me, all the while knowing, I am His, and He is mine.

On August 16, 2021, I was given the privilege to profess perpetual Vows to Our Lord. He answered the prayer I made so long ago, and He has given me Himself for the rest of my life. My offering is only possible because of His initiative. The inscription on the inside of my ring is “Quoniam Voluit Me,” which is translated as “because He delighted in me” and is taken from Psalm 18 “and he brought me out to a place of freedom; he saved me because he delighted in me.”

Throughout my formation, the Lord has been so tender and persevering in proclaiming His love for me, and He gave me this motto now as a reminder forever— I am His, and He delights in me. I chose the images from the Cathedral in Saginaw, because Bishop Cistone had reconsecrated the Cathedral a few years ago after restoring it. At the reconsecration Mass, I remember seeing him process in like a triumphant groom, taking His lost bride back. The choir sang, “this is the feast of the victory of our God.” I wept. I knew then and have grown to understand even more since that the Cathedral represented me in many ways. Holy Mother Church has taught me how to present myself to my Groom, showing Him all the areas that need restoration, and trusting that with each crack, each dirty spot, each faulty foundation, He will redeem me, and bring me to the splendor He has in mind for me. It is His work, and His glory and His love. In heaven, I look forward to meeting that priest from Georgia and thanking Him and telling him, “this is what I did with my faith.” May God, who is merciful, be delighted.