November 18, 2011
Benedictine Sister Beata Mehling
Reflecting on a life spent serving the disabled
In an undated photo, Benedictine Sister Beata Mehling and Lisa Hahn enjoy a hike near Lark Community House in Siberia, Ind. Sister Beata worked as a house parent there from 1992 to 2005. Click for a larger version.
By MARY ANN HUGHES (Message staff writer)
Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are the meek: for they shall possess the land.
Blessed are they who mourn: for they shall be comforted.
Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after justice: for they shall have their fill.
Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.
Blessed are the clean of heart: for they shall see god.
Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.
Blessed are they that suffer persecution for justice’ sake for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Editor’s note: This is one of several stories published this year on people who are living examples of the Beatitudes.
Benedictine Sister Beata Mehling remembers reading a quote by Henri Nouwen, a Dutch Catholic priest who worked with mentally and physically disabled persons.
Nouwen wrote that it was in doing that work when he most felt like he was doing what God wanted him to do.
It was an “ah hah” moment for Sister Beata who has spent the majority of her lifetime working with young children and adults who are mentally and physically disabled. “They,” she said, “changed my whole life.”
She explains, “They don’t look to power, or position, or prestige. They are content if they are cared for and loved — and you get it right back.”
Her life as a Sister of St. Benedict wasn’t one she planned when she was a young girl growing up on a farm in Spencer County. In fact, she remembers, “It was the last thing on earth I was going to do. I was not going to box myself in four walls and never get out.”
And even though her mother had a dream that one of her four daughters would become a sister, the young girl was determined “it’s not going to be me!”
Then one morning as she was sitting in church waiting for Mass to begin, she watched the priest process in and heard a nudging, “If he can do it, why can’t you?”
“It changed me completely,” she said, remembering the realization that the nudging “had to be from God. I never questioned it.” She was attending Dale High School at the time, but graduated from the academy at Monastery Immaculate Conception in Ferdinand.
Today, she says of her religious vocation, “this is where I should be. I thank God daily for calling me to this monastery.”
In her early days, she worked in the laundry. It was hard work, but “manual labor didn’t mean anything to me.” Coming from the farm, “manual labor was part of my life.”
Then she had an appendicitis attack, and as she recuperated from the surgery, the prioress told her a teacher was needed in a parish school in Starlight, Ind. “In 1950, on the feast day of St. Scholastica, Mother Clarissa sent me to teach.”
The next year, the young nun was assigned to St. Theresa School in Evansville. A few years later, she and Benedictine Sister Mary Mark Graf traveled to St. Coletta School in Jefferson, Wis., to learn about educating developmentally disabled children.
When they returned to southern Indiana, they founded Marian Day School in Evansville and she became a teacher in the new school. It was a good fit. “I just enjoyed what I was doing,” she said. “I loved the students, and they loved you back.”
She learned that special needs students “respond to what they are given,” explaining, “If you love them, they love you back.”
In 1969, she and Sister Mary Mark went to Memphis, Tenn., to found Madonna Day School there, and in 1973, Sister Beata returned to Marian Day School. From 1974 until 1992, she was its principal.
In 1992, she was asked to serve as a supervisor for adult residents in a group home in Siberia, Ind. She agreed “because I did not like what happened to students when they left Marian Day School.” Many were placed in institutions or in nursing homes.
The families of the residents had approached parishioners at St. Martin Church in Siberia, requesting the use of the empty rectory and convent there. “The parish council greeted us with open arms,” she said, remembering the invitation to “come and use the homes.”
When the parishioners were asked to vote “yes” or “no” they were unanimous in their invitation. “We had to pay utilities and upkeep, but there was no rent.”
She served as house parent, and there were four adult residents. “We called it Lark House, because we were happy as larks. It was a place they could really enjoy being.”
As she worked with the adults, she found, “They only respond to what you give them. If you treat them with love, they respond with love to others and to you.”
On the grounds at Lark House was a large garden, and Sister Beata and the residents canned their own food. “There was a lot of laughter, and we went to summer socials and church picnics. They enjoyed being with each other.”
In 2005, the group moved to Jasper so the residents could be closer to their jobs.
This fall, as Sister Beata was leaving church, she fell and suffered a concussion and four broken ribs. As she was recuperating, the 83-year-old began to wonder if “maybe it was time to retire. I thought maybe God is calling me back to the monastery.”
She has since returned to Ferdinand, and as she considers her life’s work, she says, “It’s been a blessing how God has called me to different places to do the things he wanted me to do.
“It wasn’t always easy, but there was always such great support from the parents. I still have students calling me and writing me.”
She mentioned one man, now in his fifties, who was born with an open palate. “People couldn’t understand him, and I worked with him giving him speech therapy after school.
“From September to December, he didn’t make any progress, but after January he just took off. It was a delight!
“His dad said, ‘Sister, now that you have him talking, how do I shut him up?’”
She smiles as she remembers how well he did in high school and then in college. “He comes to visit me about every summer.”
And she has tender memories of the adults she worked with in the group home. One man, a new resident, was told to make his bed. He answered, “I never make my bed.” She suggested, “Would you like to make your bed here?”
“Now he makes his bed,” she said with a smile, noting small victories.
“It’s interesting to see them adjust to things they’ve never done before, and become part of the group.”
She says Henri Nouwan was one of the few role models she had in her work, and she often read about the work he was doing with the disabled in Toronto. “We were alone in what we were doing.”
She said her name, Beata, means “happy and blessed.” It matches her life. “I’ve been very blessed and very happy in the work I’ve been doing.”