Return to the White Crosses

One of my most treasured childhood memories is spending time with my extended family at the Sacred Heart Convent in Yankton. Surrounded by tranquil scenery and tall trees, the convent radiated a serene atmosphere that immediately made me feel at ease and welcomed. Three of my aunts were committed members of the convent community, often hosting our large family gatherings. I recall how the other sisters greeted us warmly, their smiles reflecting their gentle nature and strong faith. As we strolled through the peaceful corridors, illuminated by stained glass windows casting colorful reflections onto the gleaming floors, the entire place seemed imbued with a timeless sense of dedication and meaning. During these visits, I clearly remember wandering through the convent garden with my cousins. The cemetery there was marked by bright white crosses amid blooming flowers and fluttering butterflies. A paved walkway encircled the cemetery, featuring the stations of the cross carved in stone, depicting the fourteen significant moments of Jesus’ passion and crucifixion. These occasions not only strengthened our family bonds uniquely but also fostered in me a deep respect for compassion, spirituality, and the resilience found within a close community.

Returning to Yankton to attend college stirred vivid memories, as if stepping back into a treasured moment come alive. Mount Marty’s location, just a short distance from my aunts’ convent, created a comforting link between my past experiences and my present life. In the evenings, I often took walks along the well-known path around the cemetery, which brought back memories of earlier days spent wandering the convent’s serene gardens and hearing the soft tolling of the bells from Bishop Marty Chapel. Now, as a college student, this familiar environment offered a peaceful refuge and a source of inspiration amid the demands of academic life. Being near such a personally meaningful place transformed my college journey not merely into a new phase, but into a heartfelt return home filled with deep connections and new possibilities.

Over the years of exploring the Benedictine Convent Cemetery, I became eager to uncover its historical significance. The oldest grave, that of Sr. Frances Ohlinger who passed away in 1890, stands as a powerful symbol of the longstanding presence of the Benedictine Sisters, who devoted themselves to faith, education, and serving the community. This historic cemetery is far more than just a burial site; it embodies more than a hundred years of spiritual dedication and missionary efforts, reflecting the area’s rich cultural and religious heritage. Each immaculate white headstone narrates a story of resilience, compassion, and steadfast devotion, providing insight into the lives of the nuns who were instrumental in founding local schools, hospitals, and other vital institutions. As I walked among the graves, a deep respect and connection to the past always filled me, making the site not only a place of remembrance but also a source of inspiration and spiritual renewal.

Around the cemetery lies a serene path marked by the Stations of the Cross, each carefully crafted from weathered limestone. These sculpted stations, etched with intricate details, solemnly lead to a large depiction of the Crucifixion. As I strolled quietly along the path, I observed how the limestone monuments seamlessly integrated with the surrounding nature. Traditionally, walking the stations serves as a contemplative spiritual practice aimed at deep religious reflection, yet my experience deviated from this expectation. Rather than evoking grand theological insights, my mind filled with reflections on my own challenges tied to college life. As each station symbolized a moment of hardship and perseverance, I found myself drawing parallels to the pressures of academic deadlines, the weight of social expectations, and the challenge of carving out an authentic identity amidst the chaos. The slow, meditative pace invited a personal reckoning with my fears and uncertainties, turning the physical pilgrimage into an unforeseen meditation on resilience and personal growth. Rather than feeling distant or purely reverent, I found a deep connection to the broader human experience, demonstrating that faith, much like college, is less about certainty and more about facing adversity with bravery and hope.

At the age of twenty, I stood at a pivotal moment, searching for meaning and purpose beyond the everyday rush. Inspired by my aunts’ examples, I chose to join Sacred Heart Convent to explore monastic life. The convent’s peaceful atmosphere, rooted in ancient practices of prayer, reflection, and communal living, offered a stark contrast to the hectic world I had known. Immersed in daily rituals of chanting, silent contemplation, and devoted service, I aimed to discern whether this way of life could nourish my soul and illuminate my true vocation. Although my time there was brief, it revealed to me the deep tranquility and sense of purpose that monastic life can provide, profoundly influencing my perception of faith, commitment, and the search for inner peace.

In my first summer at the convent, I was given the responsibility of renewing the white gravestones in the cemetery. The process began by carefully removing the old metal nameplate from the center of each cross, followed by thorough cleaning of the entire surface. Afterward, I applied a special paint mixed with sand to the gravestone, before swapping the worn tin nameplate for a new polystyrene one. Although this task appeared straightforward, it demanded a careful combination of attentiveness and accuracy. The coarse texture of the mixture provided the stones with a durable, refreshed coating that shielded them from harsh weather, while also bringing back their immaculate look. Every brushstroke felt like a silent tribute, a subtle way of paying respect to the souls resting there. The repetitive nature of the work became almost meditative, giving me space to ponder the histories these gravestones represented. Though modest, this duty enhanced my respect for the convent’s tradition, commitment, and reverence.

Two of my aunts rest tranquilly in the peaceful Benedictine Convent Cemetery, their graves marked by the modest white crosses that I once cared for. This unassuming cemetery, surrounded by the stations of the cross, is a place where quiet contemplation blends with the vibrant greenery, blossoming flowers, and towering trees, all contributing to an atmosphere of solemn grace and comfort. The plain white crosses reflect the simplicity, devotion, and quiet resilience that characterized their lives. Whenever I visit my aunt, Sister Doris, I make a point to stop by their graves as well. As I pass Bishop Marty Chapel and proceed toward the sacred grounds, the deep sense of calm that fills the area continues to inspire awe within me. Traversing the stations of the cross and standing beside their grave markers serves as my tribute to their lasting legacies and a way to cherish the memories of the dear aunts I enjoyed visiting during my childhood.

Visiting again the very place that profoundly influenced much of my life’s path, I experience a deep bond not only with my family but also with something far more significant – a heritage of faith, love, and quiet resilience handed down through the ages. The Sacred Heart Convent stands as a refuge where the past softly meets the present, providing comfort and guidance amid the uncertainties of life. By honoring the memories of my aunts and the cherished space they once called home, I discover a renewed sense of purpose to emulate their example of compassion, humility, and steadfast devotion. Although time moves onward, this sacred ground reassures me that connections founded on shared history and sincere commitment endure eternally, nourishing my spirit as I forge my own way forward.