Martin takes the listener back to his early days at Holy Trinity Grade School where he fondly remembers his teachers, all nuns of the order of the Sisters of Notre Dame. As his story unfolds he reveals that the greatest lesson he learned from them throughout the years while in their care was compassion. This is followed by a rich tapestry of quotes and poetry, spanning from Dickinson to Whitman and beyond. It’s an episode brimming with insight, reflection and discovery.
Martin takes the listener back to his early days at Holy Trinity Grade School where he fondly remembers his teachers, all nuns of the order of the Sisters of Notre Dame. As his story unfolds he reveals that the greatest lesson he learned from them throughout the years while in their care was compassion.
This is followed by a rich tapestry of quotes and poetry, spanning from Dickinson to Whitman and beyond. It’s an episode brimming with insight, reflection and discovery.
A complete list of the writers and poets from Episode 6 Discovery
The story “With Thanks and Praise” by Ramon Gerard Estevez AKA Martin Sheen is included here by granted copyright permission.
Consider This Ralph Waldo Emerson “To laugh often…”
“A Sight in Camp at Daybreak Gray & Dim” Walt Whitman
“Jerusalem” William Blake
“Blessed Among Us: Edith Stein” Robert Ellsberg
“Because I Could Not Stop for Death” Emily Dickinson
Consider This FDR “Books are weapons of freedom…”
“What to do with the Garden” Robert Bly
“Where the Mind is Without Fear” Rabindranath Tagore
Transcript S4 Ep#6 Discovery
Network Sting: MSW Media
Martin: Hello and welcome to the fourth season of The Martin Sheen Podcast with yours truly, Martin Sheen, of course. And I'm delighted to be back hosting this podcast pilgrimage where the destination is still and always will be the journey itself. Along the way, I plan to share stories and personal memories of some of the many people, places, and events that have helped to shape my lifelong happy and continuing struggle as an artist and a man to unite the will of the spirit with the work of the flesh. I also hope to explore poetry as a powerful form of expression and communication by proxy, as it were, and how poetry is such a vital and necessary component of our spirituality and our public discourse. And from time to time, I'll invite friends, fellow actors, poets, scholars and family members to join our pilgrimage and discuss what inspires their artistic journey. And so, friends, let us continue.
Martin: “With Thanks and Praise”
Throughout my eight years at Holy Trinity Grade School, we were all encouraged to pray for the canonization of Mother Julie Billiard, the foundress of the Order of Sisters of Notre Dame. And we were always happy to comply. Frankly, we would do anything for the sisters. So whenever I hear stories from angry or so-called recovering Catholics complaining about how cruel the nuns were in Catholic school, I'm left to wonder, just what order of nuns could they be referring to? Mind you, I can well understand having problems with the Catholic Church. I've had them all my life and still have some. But blaming the nuns, really? I can't speak for anyone else, of course, but I can assure you that the Sisters of Notre Dame were among the kindest, most compassionate people in our lives. For the most part, they were the daughters of working-class parents, just like our parents. So they really understood our circumstance. And if the student required discipline and we had our share, it was usually a boy showing off in class or a bully misbehaving just to see how far he could go. And the nuns would have to make sure he didn't get that far. But the punishment involved little more than a whack on the back or arm or hand. Just enough to get his attention. The guilty party knew he had it coming. And to be honest, we were always grateful to the Sisters for saving us the trouble. But as always, the worst part for the kid was, was the embarrassment he suffered in front of the entire class. There was never any cruelty or punitive punishment. On the contrary, the Sisters were always there for us while we were in their care. Anything more serious, such as a student's violent or destructive behavior or someone suffering an emotional or physical crisis or a personal injury or accident or sickness, the nurse was always called in as well as the parents, and the student would receive appropriate medical attention. The sisters were pious and paid close attention to the rules and regulations, of course, but all of them had a sense of humor as well. And when they assisted us with any problem, as they often did, for example, when they knew we could not afford a lunch ticket on any given day, they would hasten to issue one and always did it in private, so as to preserve our dignity in the process. We never knew if any of them had a college degree or a teaching certificate. We never even thought to ask. Suffice to say, all of them had unique teaching skills. And they knew the subject matter thoroughly, from reading and penmanship through math and social studies to American and world history and, of course, religious studies. That included the New Testament and the Baltimore Catechism. But, of far more importance, they taught by instinct, from the heart, with common sense, while projecting a quiet confidence. It took me years to realize that these extraordinary women were learning as much from us as we were learning from them about simply being human. Once, during a recent interview, I was asked if you could sum up the most important thing you learned in your life from the sisters in a single word, what would that word be? Without hesitation, I said, compassion. Oh, and by the way, our prayers were answered on June 22, 1969, when Pope Paul VI canonized Julie Billiard. Her feast day is celebrated on April 8, and St. Julie is recognized as the patron saint of educators and teachers. So there.
Martin: Consider This from Ralph Waldo Emerson.
To laugh often and much. To win the respect of the intelligent people and the affection of children. To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends. To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others. To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social, condition. To know that one life has breathed easier because you lived here. This is to have succeeded.
Martin: “A Sight in Camp in the Daybreak Gray and Dim” By Walt Whitman
A sight in camp in the daybreak gray and dim. As from my tent I emerge so early, sleepless, as slow I walk in the cool fresh air the path near the hospital tent. Three forms I see on stretchers lying brought out there untended, lying over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woolen blanket gray and heavy blanket folding, covering all. Curious, I halt and silence stand. Then with light fingers, I, from the face of the nearest the first, just lift the blanket. Who are you, elderly man, so gaunt and grim, with well grayed hair and flesh all sunken about the eyes. Who are you, my dear comrade? Then to the second I step and who are you, my child? And darling, who are you, sweet boy with cheeks yet blooming? Then to the third, a face nor child nor old, very calm as of beautiful yellow, white ivory. Young man, I think I know you. I think this face is the face of the Christ himself, dead and divine and brother of all. And here again he lies.
Walt Whitman was an American poet, essayist and journalist, as well as a novelist. He is considered one of the most influential poets in American literature and often referred to as the ‘Father of Free Verse.’ He was born in Huntington, New York, on May 31, 1819, and died in Camden, New Jersey, on March 26, 1892. Walt Whitman was 72 years old.
Martin: “And Did Those Feet in Ancient Time” by William Blake. And did those feet in ancient time walk upon England's mountainous green? And was the holy Lamb of God on England's pleasant pastures seen? And did the countenance divine shine forth upon our clouded hills? And was Jerusalem builded here among those dark satanic mills? Bring me my bow of burning gold. Bring me my arrows of desire. Bring me my spear O clouds unfold. Bring me my chariot of fire. I will not cease from mental flight. Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand. Till we have built Jerusalem in England's green and pleasant land.
William Blake was a poet, painter and printmaker. His more notable works were Songs of Innocence and of Experience. Blake's work was largely unrecognized during his life but highly regarded later by critics and readers for his expressiveness and creativity and for the philosophical and mystical undercurrents within his work. He was born on November 28, 1757, in London, England, and died there on August 12, 1827. William Blake was 69 years old.
Martin: We're going to take a brief pause now, but please don't go away. There's a lot more to come.
Martin: And we're back. Thanks for staying with us.
Martin: Now the following is a selection from the book Blessed Among Us by Robert Ellsberg. The book is filled with daily reflections that explore the lives of saints as well as ordinary men and women with extraordinary stories of courage and spiritual awakening.
Edith stein, known as St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, Carmelite martyr, Edith Stein was born into an orthodox Jewish family in Breslau, Germany. As a teenager, she rejected her family's faith and declared herself an atheist. A brilliant scholar, she completed a doctorate in philosophy at the age of 23. Increasingly, however, her studies prompted a growing interest in religion. In 1921, after reading the Autobiography of St. Teresa of Avila, she declared herself a Catholic. Though her conversion was a bitter blow to her mother, Stein felt that in accepting Christ, she had been reunited by a mysterious path with her Jewish roots. With the Nazi rise to power, Stein was dismissed from the university. She entered a Carmelite convent, took the name Saint Teresa of Benedicta of the Cross, and proceeded to write many volumes on philosophy and mystical theology. But the convent was no protection from the rising tide of persecution, and her sisters arranged her transfer to the presumed safety of a convent in Holland. After the German invasion of Holland, Stein was required to wear the yellow star of David on her habit. In 1942, all Jewish Catholics, including members of religious orders, were arrested and deported. “Come, Rosa,” she said to her sister. “We're going for our people.” At age 51, Edith Stein died in Auschwitz on August 9, 1942. She accepted her fate in solidarity with the Jewish people as an act of atonement for the evil of her time and a conscious identification with the cross of Christ. She was canonized as a martyr and a confessor in 1998 by Pope John Paul II. St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross’ quote, “In order to be an image of God, the Spirit must turn to what is eternal. Hold it in spirit, keep it in memory, and by loving it, embrace it in the will.”
Robert Ellsberg is an American publisher specializing in religious and spiritual exploration. He is editor in chief and publisher of Orbis Books. He lives and works in upstate New York with his wife.
Martin: “Because I Could Not Stop for Death” by Emily Dickinson Because I could not stop for death, he kindly stopped for me. The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste, and I had put away my labor and my leisure too for his civility. We passed the school where children strove, their lessons scarcely done. We passed the fields of gazing grain. We passed the setting sun. We paused before a house that seemed a swelling of the ground. The roof was scarcely visible, the cornice but a mound. Since then. Tis centuries, but each feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses heads were toward eternity.
Emily Dickinson was an American poet who embraced the style of dark romanticism in her many works. She lived much of her life in seclusion and wrote nearly 1800 poems, but less than a dozen were published in her lifetime. She was born December 10, 1830, in Amherst, Massachusetts, where she lived her entire life and died there on May 15, 1886. Emily Dickinson was 55 years old.
Martin: Consider this from President Franklin D. Roosevelt when addressing the American Library association in 1942, during World War II.
“Books cannot be killed by fire. People die, but books never die. No man and no force can abolish memory in this war. Books are weapons, and it is part of your dedication always, to make them weapons for man's freedom.
Martin: And for our final selection, “What to do with the Garden” by Robert Bly.
I'll just stay here. You go on. Leave me behind in this wrecked garden that Joseph forgot to tend. I have been here since my mother first laid out my clothes. A group of women keep reminding me whom I love. They stand with lifted arms in the orchard. They say, leave this ruined garden you love so much. I believe repentance no larger than a county can become a continent of forgiveness. I believe the seal has not been set upon this door. Perhaps even my feeble faith may gain me mercy. I do believe a pebble on the road can throw a shadow 100 miles long at dusk. Because I'm absent when I'm present and present when I'm absent, because I drop my eyes to the floor. I've had 70 years living in this ruined garden. Robert, give up your longing for a different childhood. You'll recall that Fabre, when he was 70, found for his insects one acre of stony ground.
Robert Bly, American poet, essayist and activist, was born on December 23, 1926, in Parley County, Minnesota. His best-known prose book is Iron John, A Book About Men, published in 1990, which spent 62 weeks on the New York Times bestseller list and is a key text of the mythopoetic men's movement. Robert Bly died Nov. 21, 2021, in Minneapolis. Mr. Bly was 94 years old.
Martin: I invite you to delve further into the works of the poets I shared with you, and I hope you seek out writers and poets whose work speaks to your hearts and minds with the power to inspire your life. if you've enjoyed what you've heard here, please subscribe to my podcast, The Martin Sheen Podcast, with your host, yours truly, Martin Sheen. Of course, wherever you find your podcasts. Yeah, I still have to say that.
You can find a complete list of the poets and titles of their poems that I've chosen at our website, themartensheenpodcast.com
I want to thank the people who make this podcast possible. Our producer and research assistant, Renee Estevez, whose explanation of the Internet really gets me thinking, “What's for lunch?” And our sound engineer and editor, Bruce Greenspan, the man behind these rich and seamless recordings with the much-deserved nickname the Sound Surgeon. And I especially want to thank you our listeners for joining me.
Martin: And so friends, we part with the prayer from Tagore.
We are called to lift up this nation and all its people to that place where the heart is without fear and the head is held high, where knowledge is free, where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls, where words come out from the depths of truth and tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection, where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sands of dead habit, where the mind is led forward by Thee into ever widening thought and action, into that heaven of freedom. Dear Father, let our country awake. Amen.
Renee: The Martin Sheen Podcast all rights reserved. No part of this podcast may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form without prior written consent of the author and TE Productions.
Renee: The story “Give Thanks and Praise” by Ramon Gerard Estevez, AKA Martin Sheen is included in this podcast by copyright permission of its author.
Renee: “Blessed Among Us: Edith Stein” by Robert Ellsberg is included here by granted copyright permission and we thank the author for this opportunity to share his work.
Renee: “What to do with the Garden” by Robert Bly was included in this podcast by granted copyright permission of his daughter Mary Bly, who we thank for the opportunity to use her father's work.