Saturday, September 27, 2025

Listening in on the Nuns’ Rebellion at Kloster Goldenstein

Bells, chants, prayers, the scrape of chairs at table, the hum of a vacuum, the splash of a sink being plunged: the soundscape of Goldenstein Cloister is equal parts liturgy and daily life. Layer onto that the laughter of eighty-something sisters sharing coffee, the creak of a chairlift, the slap of running shoes from Sister Rita’s daily 5K after prayer, and you begin to hear what’s at stake in Austria right now.

The Augustinian choir women of Goldenstein had spent their lives in this convent—decades of vows that they believed bound the Church as much as themselves. And then, dissolution. Closure. The doors shut on their home, the place where they had lived out obedience, prayer, and community. Their leader called it a “necessary act of care.” But care for whom? Care, in this telling, seems less about human dignity and more about ease of management. (There may be a plausible “other side” to the story, but when your church leader argues that orthopedic shoes are a violation of the vow of poverty, somebody hasn’t thought about how decisions about elders read in the broader universe.)

What these sisters assert is simple and radical: their vows were two-way. The Church has responsibilities here. And the sisters and their supporters are claiming them.The three Augustinian sisters—Rita, Bernadette, and Regina—repossessed their cloister earlier this month. That sparked a cascade of attention: a podcast episode, a BBC story, Guardian coverage, and a flourishing Instagram feed that pairs black-and-white habits with splashes of bright flowers and cheerful captions in German and English.

What I hear in all this isn’t only the sound of bells or the chant of the office. It’s the sound of determination, of voices raised in defense of their rights, of a community that has chosen to rally around them. On-site helpers showed up with brooms and mops to scrub the convent back into habitability. Supporters—English and German alike—comment on their posts, write emails, show up at Mass. And even when there is no priest to say Mass, the sisters sing the rosary together, because prayer continues regardless of who is willing to stand at the altar.

Why bring this story here?

First: because it’s a rare window into monastic life today, with all its joy, grit, and creativity.

Second: because some of you may want to follow them online or even donate. They’re @nonnen_goldenstein on Instagram, and their captions read like tiny table-prayers, interspersed with photos of a community refusing to fade quietly away.

Third: because it’s a living parable of resistance. For those of us who study monastic history, it’s not every day that we get a real-life #NunsOnTheRun story unfolding in our time. These sisters have claimed their right to remain, to pray, to belong. The least we can do is listen, and perhaps add our voices in support.

Their own social media team has a bouquet of hashtags: #nunsontherun #goldenstein #augustinerchorfrauen #churchfluencer #nonnen #klosterleben #elsbethen #fyp #gästebuch #guestbook #willkommen #youarewelcome. Give them a follow. Raise up your voice for the dignity and self-determination of those who have faithfully served. Support their renewed convent soundscape. After all, the soundscape of Goldenstein is not just liturgy or rebellion—it’s the sound of life insisted upon, carried forward, and sung into being.

RESOURCES: 

Bethany Bell, “Defiant nuns flee care home for their abandoned convent in the Alps,” BBC, 12 September 2025, https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c5y8r2gk0vyo

Kate Connelly, “‘We were obedient our entire lives’: the nuns who broke back into their convent,” The Guardian, 26 Sept 2025, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2025/sep/26/we-were-obedient-our-entire-lives-the-nuns-who-broke-back-into-their-convent

Kloster Goldenstein: 


Friday, September 26, 2025

Asian Sojourn 3: Living in Sacred Space – Kathmandu

My morning walks in Kathmandu (taken back in June 2025) had me thinking a lot about the ways in which spaces become sacred. Every fifth building seemed to be a temple or a stupa, and as I said before, my hotel window opened out onto the Atko Narayan Temple, and there was a ceremony there on Wednesday of my visit.

As a first-time visitor to Kathmandu, I would get up many a morning (yay, jetlag?) and walk around the Durbar Square complex, enjoying the sleepy pigeons and ringing of bells, or wander through the streets enjoying the mix of architecture, the bustle of cleaning and setting up for the day, and the visible and audible practice of faith. I peered through at many a Bahal courtyard, those monastic courtyards with small shrines, and went into a few if they weren’t a center of activity. I tried to remain unobtrusive, but also was drawn to the beauty and to the demonstrated care for this overlap of public space and private belief.

Offerings of flowers and food, the ringing of bells, the tidying of shrines, the singing in group or alone: all these activities seemed integrated into a day, suggesting a much more physically engaged religion than the more staid practices of my Christian Science grandparents or my Lutheran inlaws. Likewise, the intermixture of regular housing, active business, and spots inviting active devotion is compressed relative to urban landscapes I regularly inhabit. That meant that cooking and commerce rubbed elbows with sacred practices, reminding me how thin the boundary might be between ordinary routine and spiritual gesture. I wonder if medieval practices of faith, before the emergence of confessional concerns, might have been just as colorful, as sound-based, and as kinetic as what I experienced in Kathmandu. Was Bregenz like this, a mix of street cleaning, setting up stalls with vegetables from the farms uphill, bells and clatter and clamour all mixing in with the chants of the hours and the calls of hopeful merchants? It would have been lively, if so!

The infrastructure of Kathmandu also strikes a notable contrast with the more familiar streets of Nashville. Transport is, as the tourist guidebooks remind us, often done in human-powered vehicles, whether that’s of people or of packages. Overloaded bikes like the one below impressed the stuffing out of me; I’m hard put to bike myself up a hill let alone contemplate carrying a bunch of packages. Not shown is the time we saw two people on a bike, the one in front balancing what was clearly a flat screen TV in its box. Holy moly! And then there’s the wiring. Yes, we did experience power outages. With that wiring spaghetti, it’s a wonder that there was power at all! 


But one cannot subsist on the sacred alone, and I’d like to give a shout-out to Kathmandu’s food scene.

I mentioned the Ginger Cafe, but I also got my share of street food and momos. I never did find my way back to the best shop, but everywhere I stopped, I always found the food fresh and the stall-owners friendly, forgiving of my linguistic inabilities. Momos are the easiest food the first time out (not only my first meal but my most frequent!), but the fried breakfast breads – and especially the Jeri Swari – were a special treat. Jeri Swari is cool: the “Jeri” is a deep-fried, sugar-coated flour batter which is shaped into intricate loops or coils and fried until crispy, then soaked in saffron-infused syrup. The “Swari” part is a flatbread which is both a wrapper and the justification: “I’m an adult eating a real breakfast and not just chowing down on a honey-delivery system.”

Watching your food being made is a delicious way to start any day. It’s also a reminder that in Kathmandu, even everyday meals are carefully crafted. The generosity and care of the cooks are as much a part of the experience as are the flavors themselves.

Sunday, September 21, 2025

Attention filtering – the voluntary earlid

An auditory distraction — a crying baby, a ringing phone — hits like a punch to the gut, instantly demanding our attention. But recent studies by Mandal and colleagues (2024) suggest that our minds may be better shielded than we think.

They introduce the idea of an “attentional earlid.” Just as eyelids can open and shut to regulate what reaches our eyes, our attention seems to have a mental earlid that blocks irrelevant sounds from interfering with other tasks.

To test this, Mandal’s team asked participants to do visual puzzles while irrelevant sounds — simple, pure sine-wave beeps — popped up in the background. These weren’t meaningful noises like a person’s name or an odd sound that stood out in context; they were deliberately boring. Surprisingly, the beeps didn’t slow people down or cause mistakes. In the face of noise, the earlid held.

But there was a catch. When the task included listening — for example, counting the number of time a particular sound occurred — the earlid opened, and the irrelevant beeps slipped in, pulling at attention. In other words, if your ears are already opened, stray noises evidently sneak through on the same pathway.

This fits with broader psychological findings: our brain has limited channels of processing, a bit like trying to carry too many grocery bags. Perceptual load theory (Lavie 1995 is the classic work) says we only have so much capacity. Mandal’s earlid idea adds another layer: when sound isn’t part of the job, our brains can shut the door on irrelevant auditory clutter altogether.

That has real consequences for musicological me. Much of my work relies on listening-as-study, but the background noise in our in-town property hovers around 70 dB. Out on the farm, on the other hand, it drops to the 30s or 40s (unless the turkeys are quarreling). Thus, in town, my earlids have to contend with a flood of competing input. At home, the quiet of the countryside acts like a protective layer, letting my attention settle on the music.

So here’s my observation: if the earlid is about shutting a door and closing off the sound entirely, then quiet spaces might work more like sound-glasses: they cut the glare of unwanted noise so my ears can adjust to what matters most. That may explain why listening at home, in relative silence, always seems to lead to better prep for the deeper analysis and meaning-making than the work I do later on campus. (Huh. I’d always just chalked it up to the distractions of a peopled landscape once I got to my office.)

I’ll have to think about this more; I’ve mentioned in other earlid posts that in my own musical-listening practice, I see a linkage of left-brain intellectual processing and right-brain beauty-finding as a strong sound filtering mechanism. The rest of the world can fall away when I’m working in my musico-analytical space, and even Mandal’s content disruption – my name – can miss my attention on-ramp. (Sorry, kids!) I’m not yet sure whether I think that’s an “attentional earlid” or a “sound-glasses” type phenomenon – or a third thing altogether.

At any rate, today’s browsing in the literature was a bit dismaying to my prejudices. Maybe, just maybe, those noise-canceling headphones y’all carry around are actually important as tools to help manage both attention earlids and sound-glasses. If so, they could be essential, if unstylish, accessories for those thinking tasks that occupy my days.


REFERENCES:

  • Cyrus, Cynthia. “I am (not) a crocodile: Earlids and the thinking person” [Blog post]. Silences and Sounds, 15 Nov 2024, https://silencesandsounds.blogspot.com/2024/11/i-am-not-crocodile-earlids-and-thinking.html.
  • Lavie, N. 1995: Lavie, Nilli. “Perceptual load as a necessary condition for selective attention.” Journal of Experimental Psychology: Human Perception and Performance, 21/3 (1995): 451–468. https://doi.org/10.1037/0096-1523.21.3.451
  • Mandal 2024a: Mandal, A., Liesefeld, A. M., & Liesefeld, H. R. “The surprising robustness of visual search against concurrent auditory distraction.” Journal of Experimental Psychology: Human Perception and Performance, 50/1 (2024): 99–118. https://doi.org/10.1037/xhp0001168
  • Mandal 2024b: Mandal, Ananya, Jan Philipp Röer, and Heinrich R. Liesefeld. “Auditory Distractors Are Processed but Do Not Interfere with Visual Search of Any Difficulty When Sound Is Irrelevant.” Visual Cognition 32/9–10 (2024): 1067–83. doi:10.1080/13506285.2024.2397825.


Wednesday, September 17, 2025

The Perfect Time to Write


Are you caught in the trap of waiting for the perfect time to write? If so, I have bad news. The perfect time to write is now. Really. Just open up your document (or grab your notebook) and commit words.

Curiously, the words you commit don’t actually have to be on your project. The thing you need to do is break the impasse.

Sitting there fretting about writing isn’t helping.

Waiting for the right mood isn’t helping.

Cleaning your kitchen isn’t helping either, though that, at least, has some long-term benefit.

What WILL help is actually breaking into prose-generating phase. Get some words down. They can even be words on a side project.

And then, once you have words going, flip to that thing that you thought you were going to spend your morning on.

And write.

That’s what I’m going to do… because as I already told you,

THE PERFECT TIME TO WRITE IS NOW.

 


For other suggestions on jump-starting your writing, see:


Monday, September 15, 2025

An indulgence prayer for Mary of Swords

The Thalbach Prayerbook is not a tidy manuscript. It isn’t richly illuminated, and its pages don’t draw they eye with color and beauty the way we’ve come to expect from early modern devotional books. Instead, it is a deeply personal collection: copied mostly by a single female scribe in the late sixteenth century, filled with vernacular prayers and translated services, and clearly designed to sustain the “poor sinner” (sündarin) who gathered them together. Its very roughness makes it valuable, because it gives us a glimpse into the lived devotional practices of Bregenz during the Counter-Reformation.

One of the striking texts is the prayer to Mary as the "Schmertzensmutter"—the Mother of Sorrows (fols. 90–92). The opening strophe lingers on Simeon’s prophecy in Luke 2:25–35, where the aged prophet meets the infant Jesus in the temple. He declares that the child will be “a sign from God, but many will oppose him,” and warns Mary that “a sword will pierce your very soul.” The text imagines Mary’s dread at hearing this prediction,and repeatedly asks Mary to help the devotee share in the pain of various stages of her story of loss.

This prayer is, to my eye, particularly important in the context of the prayerbook as a whole because it echoes the woodcut chosen as paste-down at the very front of the volume: Mary’s heart being pierced by multiple swords, a visual shorthand for the Seven Sorrows. Its placement is also telling—it appears as a single but extended prayer between two Marian services, following the Advent offices and preceding the standard weekday prayers to the Virgin. In other words, we encounter it within a systematized framework of devotion. That element of ritual repetition is reinforced internally by its structure: every strophe ends with the Pater Noster and the Ave Maria.

From there, the prayer walks through key moments of Mary’s suffering: losing the child Jesus in the temple, seeing him bound and beaten, watching him hoisted on the cross, and cradling him in death. The language is tender and anguished, but it is also functional. The prayer-giver suggests in strophe 3, for instance, that just as Mary sorrowed over Jesus’s captivity as he was beaten, she can help “protect me from the wickedness and vice of the evil spirit” (behalt mich vor der boßhait und läster der bößen gaist). Because Mary’s sorrows mirror the devotee’s struggles, empathy itself becomes salvific – a way to transform suffering into protection against evil.

What’s especially interesting to me in this context is the prayer’s ending. The penultimate strophe focuses on the individual, asking Mary to intercede for my most earnest soul and to help in “all my pain”, but the final petitions widen out to the collective: “release us from all our afflictions.”

du behaltest mynaller ermeste sel / … yn alem mynen schmerzen... // ... von aller unser trübsäl erlöß uns

This shift from “me” to “us” happens frequently in the Thalbach collection—by my impression, in about a third of the prayers. It suggests to me a devotional rhythm where private petition blends into communal concern, aligning the voice of an individual sinner with her monastic responsibilities to the wider prayer community. She’s praying for herself, in other words, but that prayer also addresses the needs of her peersbe they fellow monastics, fellow residents of Bregenz, or, as sometimes specified, “all believing souls.”

This prayer reinforces that shift from the personal to the communal intervention, for it is capped by a Collect that places Mary firmly in her intercessory role. The collect appeals to her “eingebornen Sohn”—her only-begotten Son—for mercy. In this way, the swords that pierce Mary’s heart do double duty: they are emblems of her individual grief, but also reminders that suffering binds a community together. The Thalbach Prayerbook, however humble in appearance, is saturated with this kind of imagery. Mary of Sorrows emerges as both intimate companion in suffering and powerful advocate before Christ, her pierced heart a channel through which the afflictions of “me” and “us” alike might be transformed.

NOTE ON TRANSCRIPTION:

I follow the (highly) idiosyncratic spellings of the source, but supply punctuation in my translations.

RESOURCES:

  • Indulgence Prayer ...von dem schwert des scharffen todes dines kind criste [INC: ge[g]rütz sÿestu ain müter Jesu crist EXPL: so befiechen mir uns verschmäch nit unser gebett yn unser nottürfigkait aber von aller unser trübsäll erlöß uns du gesegnet Junckfrow maria amen.], from the Thalbach Prayerbook, Bregenz, Vorarlberger Landesbibliothek Hs 17, fol. 90-92.
  • For a review of another prayer from the Thalbach Prayerbook, see https://silencesandsounds.blogspot.com/2025/09/the-verbal-vocative-change-ringing.html

Among the many studies of the Seven Sorrows, see:

  • Cynthia J. Cyrus, “Printed Images in a Thalbach Manuscript Prayer-book of the Sixteenth Century.” Journal of the Early Book Society 23 (2020): 173–82.

  • Dagmar Eichberger, “Visualizing the Seven Sorrows of the Virgin: Early Woodcuts and Engravings in the Context of Netherlandish Confraternities,” in The Seven Sorrows Confraternity of Brussels: Drama, Ceremony, and Art Patronage (16th–17th Centuries), ed. Emily Thelen, Studies in European Urban History 37 (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2015), 113–143.

  • Christiane Möller, Jacob Cornelisz. van Oostsanen und Doen Pietersz: Studien zur Zusammenarbeit zwischen Holzschneider und Drucker im Amsterdam des frühen 16. Jahrhunderts, Niederlande-Studien 34 (New York: Waxmann Verlag, 2005).

  • Carol M. Schuler, “The Seven Sorrows of the Virgin: Popular Culture and Cultic Imagery in Pre-Reformation Europe,” Simiolus: Netherlands Quarterly for the History of Art 21 (1992):5–28.

  • Carol M. Schuler, “The Sword of Compassion: Images of the Sorrowing Virgin in Late Medieval and Renaissance Art,” PhD diss, Columbia University, 1987.


Sunday, September 7, 2025

The Verbal Vocative: Change-Ringing Patterns of Marian Address in Der Herr ist mit dir


Imagine a prayer that goes on and on (and on and on), praising Mary in every imaginable wayher virtues, her role in salvation, her intercessory powerlayered up with both Latin and the vernacular. That’s exactly what a sister of the women’s convent of Thalbach in Bregenz copied into her Prayerbook during the Counter-Reformation. This prayer isn’t merely words on a page. It's designed to be a rhythmic, repetitive, almost musical meditation intended to draw the devotee into an intimate encounter with Mary. Short vocative lines pile up while the regular Latin refrains echo repeatedly, creating a devotional experience that teaches both prayer-giver and her audience by the shaping of affectthrough rhythm, phrasing, and structural repetition. What follows is a closer look at how this multi-section Marian prayer works, how it structures attention, and how it combines reflection, rhythm, and affect to bring the devotee closer to the Virgin.


In the last third of the Thalbach Prayerbook (Bregenz VLB Hs 17), there are ten folios devoted to a single multi-section prayer to the Virgin (fol. 237–247). It’s a rosary prayer, centered on eleven (!) recitations of ten statements each of the Ave Maria, plus another dozen at the very beginning, so by the end, the devotee will have spoken 122 of them.

In between, the compiler provides “meditations” in strophes of seven to ten lines, each offering anaphoristic variants of Mary’s virtues. Strophes 1–4 establish Mary’s status and role in salvation history (Queen, Virgin, New Covenant); strophes 5–9 emphasize her participatory suffering and intercessory power, and the collect at the end pivots to a direct intercessory “ask.” Thus, like many rosary prayers, the sequence of strophes adopted here creates a pedagogical rhythm. First the devotee experiences awe, then empathy, then personal petition, with the culmination in the Collect with its request for personal salvation.

To my ear, the framing of the prayer is much like a litany, in which the call-out to each of the saints ends each and every time with an “ora pro nobis,” pray for us. But here, instead of the “pray for us,” an ask, the prayerful punctuation at the end of each line serves as a reminder to Maria of her connected status with the divine. The phraseadopted and repeated 84 times (plus another 122 times in the refrain)comes from the Ave Maria itself, as Gabriel reveals to her that “the Lord is with thee” (der her[r] ist mit dir):

o kaiseryn und ain künigin aler künig der her ist mit dir

o du lob aler gelobiger sohn der her ist mit dir

o du aler übertreffenlichste künigin der himel der her ist mit dir

o aler tůgenden vol der her ist mit dir...


O empress and a queen of all rulers [kunig], the Lord is with you

O you tribute of the praiseworthy son, the Lord is with you

O you exquisite queen of heaven, the Lord is with you

O you who are full of all virtues, the Lord is with you...

In that first strophe, notice that the devotee repeatedly addresses Mary with the intimate “du” form; this is a Mary seen in deeply personal terms as an intimate of the prayer-giver. Moreover, the similar beginnings and endings of lines make for an almost meditative incantation. As we see further down, the prayer consists of slight variations on a set of common themes. One or perhaps two lines per stanza might vary the form, but once a stanza establishes a pattern, the other lines tend to reinforce it. (See Table 1, below)

The effect is like change-ringing in a bell tower, where a set of fixed patterns is subtly shifted with each repetition to create movement and variation within a strict structure. Each line both mirrors and modifies the last, so that the rhythm feels familiar yet never static, drawing the devotee’s attention deeper into the text. This interplay of repetition and variation turns the prayer into a dynamic, almost musical experience, in which the voice, the mind, and the imagination are guided through the nuances of Mary’s virtues and roles.

Table 1: Marian Attributes and Repetition Patterns in Der Herr ist mit dir (Thalbach Prayerbook, fol. 237ff)

As Table 1 shows, the various strophes work their way through elements of the Virgin’s importance. First, she is important and highly placed, serving as empress, queen, intermediary (Strophe 1). She became so as a Virgin (Strophe 2). Her presence was predicted by the prophets, and can be analogized to the good things that sustain human existence – house, city, garden, fountain, fruit (Strophe 3). She is the beginning of the new covenant, as witnessed by the announcement of the Angel Gabriel (Strophe 4).

Here, the devotee is asked to pause and meditate on what that announcement of Gabriel meant. To support that contemplative moment, the vernacular translation of the Ave Maria is provided.

bis gegrußet vol genad der her ist mit dir / du bist gesegnet ob aler frowen und gesegnet ist die frucht dines lieb Jhesus cristus.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. / Blessed art thou among women, / and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus Christ

That becomes a moment of sectional pause as well, while the devotee recites two decades of Ave Marias, ten in Latin and another ten recapitulating the vernacular version.

Then the latter part of the prayer picks up Mary’s story with her role as mother (Strophe 5) and as co-sufferer or “Mitleiden” with Christ with implications for her salvific role (Strophe 6). She is that “Veritable Virgin” who witnessed the stages of Christ’s suffering, with his flogging, thorns, and crucifixion iterated each in a single line (Strophe 7). Plus, she is the mother who had to handle her own son’s body, who attended to its anointing and then was consoled through recognition of him as arisen again (Strophe 8), Thus, she is the veritable mother of the recognized Christ, positioned through events to intercede in his judgment (Strophe 9).

Having laid out the whys of Mary’s existence – her special status as Virgin, as new covenant with God, as enduring mother who walked the road of the Passion with her son – the devotee is now prepared for the Collect.

The collect, as expected, pivots to the intercessory ask: “ that you will shield me and protect me from the pain of eternal damnation and make me to be conveyed into the eternal joy of eternal bliss.” But before that, it amps up the rhythm of repetition with fifteen very short apostrophe lines:

o du gebenedieste / o du aler süsseste / o du aler tugenhaffigiste / o du aler erwirdigiste / o du aler senffmütigeste / o d[u] aler edleste / o du aler kostbariste… junckfrow maria

o you most blessed / o you all sweet / o you all-virtuous / o you all knowledgeable / o you all gentle / o you all noblest / o you all precious… Virgin Mary.

These short vocative lines, stacked one after another, build a kind of rhythmic crescendo, until at last Mary is called upon as “the giver of God now” and at the time of judgment, hence her capacity for intercession.

ASSESSMENT:

The use of vernacular alongside the familiar Latin refrain suggests a teaching and contemplative function for the Thalbach prayer. It seems designed to help the devotee internalize not only the words but also their meaning, a practice encouraged in late medieval lay devotion. Moreover, the prayer repeatedly reveals Mary as full of enumerated virtues, unfolding them in a rhythmic sequence that combines intimacy of address with theological weight. The prayer must also have been fun to write; one can imagine dreaming up lists of closely-related concepts about Mary and then sliding them around in the structure until they fit nicely.

Structurally, the prayer resonates with rosary practice while also standing apart from it in somewhat quirky ways. The eleven recitations of ten statements resemble the praying of multiple decades, though the Thalbach version is unusually elaborate, and yields 122 invocations in total. More striking still, the prayer suddenly shifts the devotee into the vernacular for part of her Hail Marys, only to return again to the standard Latin. This bilingual pivot is not typical of the rosary prayers I’ve seen, and it hints at a distinctive local or pedagogical aim.

Similarly, the alternation between Mary’s virtues and her life events recalls the early Dominican “Psalter of the Virgin,” in which repeated Hail Marys were paired with meditative reflection on her life (Winston-Allen). Yet the Thalbach prayer differs in its form: nearly every line concludes with “the Lord is with you,” creating a cumulative effect more akin to a litany than to a conventional rosary decade. The proliferation of epithets, brief apostrophe lines that acclaim Mary in superlative terms, further intensifies its litany-like quality. We hear nearly the same thing over and over and over again.

I see this prayer as a hybrid devotional tool. To my eye, the prayer functions both as rosary AND as vernacular meditation. Its repetition works on several levels. It reinforces memory, so that the words lodge themselves in the mind. It shapes affect, drawing the devotee into contemplative intimacy with the Virgin (du...du...du). And it creates an important verbal rhythm, guiding voice and body into patterned devotion, one which speeds up like an orchestral codetta at the end.

This prayer from the Thalbach Prayerbook thus reveals how rhythm, repetition, and affect interwove in late medieval piety. Prayer practice, as exemplified here, is more than a recitation of words. Instead, it employs rhythmic and formal structures to shape the voice, the mind, and the heart toward a more intimate knowledge of Mary and her intercessory power.


NOTE ON TRANSCRIPTION:

I follow the idiosyncratic spellings of the source, but supply punctuation in my translations.

RESOURCES:

Der Herr ist mit dir [INC: o kaiseryn und ain künigin aler künig der her ist mit dir EXPL: von dinem lieben sun Jhesu criste der da regirett mit got dem vatter und mit got dem hailigen gaist und du Junckfrow maria mit ym yn der ewigen glory amen.], from the Thalbach Prayerbook, Bregenz, Vorarlberger Landesbibliothek Hs 17, fol. 237–247.

Anne Winston-Allen, Stories of the Rose: The Making of the Rosary in the Middle Ages, Penn State UP, 1997.


Saturday, September 6, 2025

When the Gestapo Came for the Sisters

In June 1945, just weeks after World War II ended in Europe, Bishop Paulus Rusch of Innsbruck wrote a sworn account of how Nationalsocialism had targeted the Catholic Church in Tyrol and Vorarlberg. Buried in the Nuremberg Trial records, his testimony gives us a stark glimpse of what happened to nuns and other women religious under Nazi rule.

The crackdown began early. Already in Spring 1938, the ever-popular Corpus Christi processions were banned, and over the course of the summer Catholic schools shuttered, and priests began to be jailed. This crackdown extended to charitable work. One priest was imprisoned simply for giving bread and coffee to two hungry Dutch prisoners. Such gestures of compassion were deemed “favoring elements foreign to the race.” But by 1939, the regime turned directly against convents.

The Nazis expelled the Dominican Sisters of St Peter’s in Bludenz, closed their convent, and partly demolished the interior of their church. The Innsbruck Sisters of Perpetual Adoration fared worse; they were dragged out of their cloister one by one by Gestapo officers. Their church was seized and turned into a military installation.

This parallels actions elsewhere; Convent churches were closed, desecrated, or turned to military use. In Bregenz, the Abbey of St. Gallus saw its church gutted; at Mehrerau, the abbey and sanatorium were seized. And yet one local consultant, a Josef Gschwilm, thought it was funny; he liked to dress up as a priest and get himself photographed during these monastery closures (Pichler 253).

Layfolk were impacted just as dramatically. Across Vorarlberg, 348 Catholic associations and congregations were disbanded (Pichler 252).

Even schools for girls -- the lifeblood of these communities and the social safety-net for orphans -- were dissolved. In Bregenz alone, the three girls schools of Thalbach, Marienburg, and Riedenburg were all forced to close. In short, the infrastructure that had sustained Catholic belief and practice for generations was systematically dismantled.

These stories remind us that the Nazi assault on faith was not abstract. It reached into classrooms, chapels, and convent walls, stripping women of their vocations, demolishing sacred spaces, and silencing communities of prayer.

What Bishop Rusch called “the fighting of Nationalsocialism” was, for these sisters, a fight simply to exist. And yet, exist they did. Though their convent walls were broken and their schools closed, their witness of faith and service endured beyond the war years -- a quiet defiance that outlasted the regime that tried to silence them.

NOTE ON SPELLING:

I follow the one-word, no-hyphen spelling of “Nationalsocialism adopted in the Nuremberg Trial documents.

SOURCES:

Meinrad Pichler, Das Land Vorarlberg 1861 bis 2015, Geschichte Vorarlbergs Bd 3. Wagner Universitätsverlag, 2015.

Bishop Paulus Rusch, “The Fighting Of Nationalsocialism In The Diocese Of The Apostolic Administration Innsbruck-Feldkirch, Of Tyrol And Vorarlberg,” translated and published in Nazi Conspiracy and Aggression, vol. 5, aka the “Blue Series” of the Nuremberg Trials (1945), books.google.com/books?id=iGN2rIerJR0C&pg=PA1077



Monday, September 1, 2025

Writing with scissors and tape

Today was a good reminder to me of my own childhood training as a writer. I was taught the sunflower approach to paper organization: a series of notecards arrayed in a lovely pattern surrounding my seat on the floor. Ah, beauty. At the center, I sat with the thesis. Topics ran along each of the outward-bending rays. I could sort the order within each line of cards before picking them up to move to the typewriter. What emerged was (supposedly) a logical progression of ideas – happily generated by the simple act of sorting.

You would think in these days of computer-assisted writing practices that I would have outgrown such practices, but at heart, I’m a geographical thinker. I like to put things into spaces where they belong. This piece belongs on THAT side of the table. (Yes, I’m older now; I sometimes use a table and chair instead of sitting for hours on the floor. Not without some regret.)

I have learned to work faster in at least some ways. I come at that whole “gathering of information” with a different set of tools – notes in files, especially spreadsheets (see my notes on managing bibliography by spreadsheet); rough drafts on computer with comments in the margins; slidedecks and tables for managing visual information, and so on. I sometimes write (in ink) on cards the size of business cards, but not the 3x5 card, my once-upon-a-time most favorite tool. In other words, my information comes in various sizes and textures, and you would think that I’d just plug each bit into a proper outline and move on.

But no, that doesn’t fit with how my brain works. No, I like to use externalities to represent the internalities of my thinking. Which brings me to this morning.

I have a continuity draft of a collaborative article – the complete article, with footnotes, and I am fairly sure that I agree with our conclusions. (Always a positive step.) The argument, however, tended to spin from idea to idea since they all intersect with one another. Clarity? Missing in action! Bits of detail would pop up in one part of the discussion, and we’d have to mention them again over there. Bah. I’ve read plenty of articles like that, but would prefer not to inflict one of my own on the reading public.

To be honest, I put two afternoons into trying to tackle our edits in a mature scholarly way – with comment boxes and line edits. I’ve had dental surgery that was more fun.

So I gave into my impulses, pulled out the coffee pot, and hefted my lovely kitchen scissors. I took our draft and cut it into strips. Each sentence or two became a “thing,” and the “things” moved around the table. I got to about page four and realized that I actually could start seeing a shape to it.

I grabbed some of those business-card blanks and started jotting notes. Again, it was one note per card, so those could join the fray, moving hither and thither. I looked. I pondered. And then I grabbed my computer and wrote up the hook paragraph. It *resembles* the first paragraph that we’d had in the rough draft, but it gets at the content with a different tone and a clearer purpose.

I celebrated this early-morning productivity with a social-media toot, as one does, and then took my walk and tended to the day’s weeding.

In the second sit-down of the day, I moved a bunch of papers around. The completed bits went face down on the table, and then moved down to the bench. I sorted out content areas and used my lovely blue felt-tip pen to write cards about our findings. What were key topics? What caught my eye? What phrases stuck in my memory? This was largely an “away from the draft” process – my goal was to understand what my morning brain thought was most important about what we’d done. 

I think this kind of process is important. They say the devil’s in the details, but I wanted to know the choreography of the paper, not its flutter of words and details. For instance, a large chunk of the paper was represented by the word “Chart.” Right? I know exactly what content that covers, and what it does for the paper. I didn’t need to workshop its words, or even its paragraphs. I just wanted to know where in the paper it needed to emerge for the reader’s attention.

So I played a weird kind of scholarly solitaire, moving this strip onto that card, and shuffling those three cards into a different order, and looking through the remnants for that fact that was cool but didn’t belong but could illuminate this bit over here. I didn’t do the whole paper – like I said, I’d stopped cutting strips around the end of page 4. But I felt like this gave me control over the broad outlines of what we were doing.

At this point, I did two things. First, I made a list in an open document about what points I thought were mission critical, in the order in which I’d decided they probably should go. Now if a windstorm came up and blew through my open screen door and messed up my beautiful collage – which wasn’t yet taped down! – I would still have a record of the morning’s work.

Next, I wrote the framing paragraph. So and so has done this; that other person added that. We build on this by doing these things. Strategically, this paragraph defines the state of the scholarly conversation and the gap we are filling. Plus, it provides a bit of a road-map to what is about to follow. I didn’t polish this paragraph – I still have reminders like INSERT SCHOLAR K and QUOTE / RESPOND as placeholders. (The shouty caps are important. You never want to leave those reminders in a draft at the moment of submission!) But the reminders are just pointers to details, and most of that information already exists in extractable form in the continuity draft. That kind of cut-and-paste can come later. The goal for the day was simply to start creating the pathway for the reader – to onboard them to what they’re about to read.

And then it was time to turn to other things, the regular meetings and emails and urgent questions from students that are to Monday what peaceful murmurs are to hiking. True, I’d rather be hiking, but as Mondays go, I’d call it a success.

The take-away? Returning to your writing roots can be a remarkably soothing way to break through a paper-writing hurdle. As they say, writing is hard. The trick I used this morning was to avoid “writing” by reframing it as a slicing-and-sorting task. I *like* slicing and sorting. It was a pleasant way to get 777 words up and on their way. Of course, my co-author will need to sign on. But I think she’ll like it. After all, clarity counts!

And, at the end of the day (or at least the end of the morning), it turns out that scissors and tape weren’t just tools for rearranging text, but for restoring perspective. My humble kitchen tools turn out to be a tangible reminder that clarity in writing often begins with clarity in thought.


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