John Singarayar SVD
We see them in chapel, moving quietly through their days of prayer and service. We notice the sisters teaching in our schools, the brothers working in hospitals, and the religious running retreat centres and social programmes. We call on them when we need something—a letter of recommendation, help with a parish event, or support for a community project. We assume they will be there, ready to serve. But how often do we stop to think about what their lives actually look like?
A consecrated religious does not go home at the end of the day. Their family is us—the community they have committed to serve. They have given up the possibility of marriage and children to become spiritual mothers and fathers to everyone who needs them. That is a sacrifice most of us cannot even begin to imagine.
Their days start early with prayer, followed by whatever work their community does—teaching, nursing, social work, or administration. They are at parish events, school functions, and community meetings. They visit the sick, counsel the troubled, and show up for people in crisis. This is what they signed up for, yes, but it is far more exhausting than most of us realise.
Here is something you might not know: when you donate to a religious order or congregation, very little goes directly into the pockets of individual sisters or brothers. They do not earn salaries. They receive what they need—basic housing, simple food, essential clothing—and that is about it. Want to take a vacation? They are scraping together money from birthday gifts and small stipends. While we are enjoying our paid time off and benefits packages, they are figuring out how to afford a new pair of shoes or a visit to the dentist. So when Sister does not immediately respond to your email or seems stretched too thin, cut her some slack. She probably is.
Religious communities move their members around too. A sister might spend years building relationships in one school or hospital, only to be reassigned across the country. She starts over—new faces, new challenges, new community dynamics. And through it all, she is depending on volunteers and the goodwill of laypeople to help keep everything running.
When you hear someone badmouthing a religious sister or brother—complaining that they are too strict, too old-fashioned, or not responsive enough—think twice before piling on. Gossip about consecrated religious spreads like wildfire and cuts deep. Yes, there have been problems. We know about abusive situations in some schools and institutions run by religious orders. Those cases demand accountability and justice, absolutely. But we cannot paint all consecrated religious with the same brush. The overwhelming majority are pouring themselves out in faithful service, living on next to nothing, and trying their best under impossible circumstances. They deserve to be seen as individuals, not stereotypes.
These men and women are more vulnerable than we often acknowledge. Many are ageing without the family support systems most of us will have. They face loneliness, health problems, and the same emotional struggles we all do, but often with fewer people checking in on them. Think about the elderly sisters in nursing care who rarely get visitors because everyone assumes someone else is taking care of them. Think about brothers who have given fifty years of service and now live in shrinking communities as younger members become harder to find.
What does it look like to get called at midnight because a student is having a mental health crisis? To spend your Saturday driving across town to visit homebound parishioners when you have not had a day off in three weeks? Who brings soup when Sister catches the flu? Who drives Brother to his medical appointments? Too often, the answer is nobody—because we assume they are fine, that their community takes care of everything, and that they do not need what the rest of us need.
We can do better than this. Remember their birthdays. Acknowledge the anniversary of their final vows. Notice when someone looks worn out or troubled. Invite them to family dinners occasionally—yes, they can say no, but the invitation itself matters. Offer practical help when you see a need. Sit with them when they are grieving. When they make a mistake or let you down, resist the urge to write them off. They are human beings trying to live out an incredibly demanding commitment, and they are going to fall short sometimes.
When they mess up, offer grace instead of judgement. When they do something wonderful, actually tell them. When they are alone, reach out. These small gestures mean more than you would think.
Think about the consecrated religious who have been part of your life’s most important moments. The sister who taught you to read or helped you discover your gifts. The brother who ran the youth group where you found community. The religious who stayed late to talk when you were going through something hard. The ones who have been praying for you and your family for years without ever mentioning it.
They have given their entire lives to this. The least we can do is see them as real people who need support, friendship, and basic human kindness. Our consecrated religious need care too. They need us just as much as we need them.
