My life began in Brooklyn, New York (pop. 2,500,000), on August 28,1943. I was the first of eight children born over nineteen years to Dorothy and Robert Maynard, Jr. I went to Our Lady of Angels Elementary School, the same school that my mother had attended. We even had the same first grade teacher. My Dad was an officer in the Navy, and when I was eleven, he arranged for my mother and me and my two little brothers, Robert and Jeffrey, to join him in Hawaii, where he was stationed. I attended Pearl Harbor Elementary School, where each classroom was in its own Quonset hut arranged in a circle around the flagpole. Each morning the entire student body gathered outside to pledge allegiance to the flag. I loved Hawaii and was heartbroken when we had to return to the mainland after eighteen months.
In 1954, my dad resigned from the Navy and moved the family to Chester, Pennsylvania, a suburb of Philadelphia. There we lived in a large five-bedroom home with a huge backyard. It was quite a change from living in Brooklyn. In Chester, my siblings and I attended St. Robert School. Since my dad continued to go to sea as a ship captain for Sunoco, he was only home every six weeks or so, for a month at a time. Four more “little kids” joined the “big kids” during these years (Christopher, Denise, Therese, and Matthew). I became, by default, my mother’s assistant. But I was also very involved in many of the after-school sports activities.
Shortly after I graduated from the eighth grade, my parents decided to move the family to Connecticut, where my paternal grandparents lived. Many of our summers had been spent there in the little village of Noank along the Mystic River. The view of the water from my bedroom window was beautiful, but I cried for a month because I missed my friends back in Pennsylvania. I attended St. Bernard High School, an all-girls’ school in New London. Again, playing on sports teams enabled me to transition to another “foreign land.”
It was at this time that I remember my mother’s commitment to the importance of a Catholic education. After learning that few openings existed in the parish schools in the area, she enrolled my three brothers in three different schools. Robert attended St. Mary’s; Jeff attended St. Joseph’s, both in New London; and Chris was enrolled at Sacred Heart in Groton, near the Submarine Base. Every day for quite a while Mom drove the one-hour circuit to deliver each of them to school with the younger children on board. She repeated the drill in the afternoon! School buses were not available at that time. Eventually a better solution was had.
Many of my teachers at St. Bernard’s were members of the Daughters of the Holy Spirit (DHS) Community, whose Motherhouse was in France. During the last two summers of high school, a couple of my friends and I volunteered at a nursing home owned by the DHS. It was the first time any of us had spent time with the elderly. We learned a lot about the needs of older people and a lot about ourselves. But the best part of the experience was our interaction with the young Sisters who had “volunteered” to spend a month assisting at the nursing home before beginning their first teaching assignment. Dressed in their beautiful white habits, each of them radiated joy and happiness. We quickly caught their spirit of generosity and kindness.
It was during this time that I started to consider religious life as a vocation. Before that, I had just planned to go to college. This period was also the beginning of my spiritual awakening, which I kept to myself until our priest-principal announced at the senior awards assembly that I might someday be the first Sister to join the Boston Celtics basketball team. Everyone, including my oldest brother, who was also at this assembly, thought he was joking!
In August 1961, the day before my eighteenth birthday, I entered the novitiate of the Daughters of the Holy Spirit in Putnam, Connecticut, where the Provincial House was located. We were a lively group of twenty-eight inquisitive postulants who knew very little about religious life.
We all loved our novice director, Sister Rita St. Onge. She was a warm, caring motherly woman. We received letters from our families twice a week (I still have most of the ones my mother sent me (sixty years ago) and our family and friends were welcome to visit us once a month (three of these friends who visited me eventually joined the Community). Our daily schedules kept us occupied every minute of the day. We learned the importance of keeping silence even during meals, and we became expert domestic workers. We also developed good friendships along the way even without breaking silence. Of course, those friendships were somewhat discouraged.
At the end of January, we were instructed to write a letter to the Provincial and her Council explaining why we wished to become novices. I had learned shortly before this time that my mother was pregnant, and our family would be increasing by one during the summer. When asked how I felt about this, I remember thinking it was great news, “the more, the merrier!”
In March I was surprised when I was called to the Provincial’s office and told that my mother was on her way to take me home. It seemed that my letter had not indicated strongly enough that I desired to become a Sister. They said that I had written something to the effect that if they wanted me to stay, I would stay, and if not, I would leave. “But that was two months ago,” I argued. “That’s not how I feel now. I love it here.” I was quite surprised when they told me that my mother had said the same thing when they spoke with her on the phone. She had told them that they were making a mistake.
The DHS Provincial team then decided to have another council meeting. Much to my relief, they offered me an alternative: I would have to leave when my mother arrived, but if I wanted to return in August and begin postulancy over again with the next group, they would admit me. Consequently, I spent the next five months at home, missing my convent life every hour for a while and helping my mother with the younger children and the housework. Often, I would spend the afternoons sitting by myself at the nearby beach developing my own habits of prayer and meditation. As I look back at this time, I realize that God was becoming more present to me each day. I also now see how providential it was for me to be back home to drive and entertain the children after school while Mom prepared supper.
My youngest brother Andrew was born on July 14, 1962. I returned to the convent on the 26th of August, and I never looked back again.
After I had completed fifteen months as a postulant and ten months as a novice, we were told that the Church was encouraging religious communities to have two years of novitiate rather than one. This was not good news to my companions who were already anticipating their Profession Day. But I remember thinking, “What’s the problem?” We were going to begin our college classes during the second year, and I enjoyed living in the novitiate.
Fast forward to May 31,1965, when ten novices, dressed in our new white habits, left for St. Mary’s Parish Church in Putnam, which was large enough to accommodate our families and friends, the1st year novices, and many professed Sisters and clergy. The weather was perfect, the church was filled, and the music was magnificent as we walked down the aisle to profess our first vows to God and to the Community. We became “Daughters of the Holy Spirit,” quite a title to live up to. We teasingly wondered if we were among the wise or the foolish virgins that had been mentioned in the Gospel of the liturgy of the day.
In early June, we received our first official assignments to various schools in New England. I was sent to St. Joseph School in Waterbury, Connecticut, to teach the seventh and eighth grades. I was an English major, so I was assigned to teach math, science, religion, history, music, and art. My teaching partner, Sister Alice, was quite artistic and very gracious about trading some of her classes for my art and music classes. We had double grades, two of each level, which entailed a lot of study and preparation.
Many of the members of St. Joseph Parish were “d p’s,” which I quickly learned stood for “displaced persons” (refugees), who had fled from Lithuania during World War II. This proved to be quite a blessing for a new teacher. The students were hard workers, very supportive of one another, and extremely respectful of authority. And their parents always sided with the teacher when any conflicts arose. I later learned that my novitiate companions had not been as favored.
Eleven Sisters of various ages lived together in St. Joseph Convent, including a Sister cook who loved her ministry of caring for us. As a result, I gained twenty-five lbs. over the first four years and struggled for the next two years trying to lose them. (The chocolate milk at recess may also have been a factor!)
Coach Sister Barbara Maynard with St. Joseph School girls basketball team
Our girls’ basketball team won the diocesan championship three years in a row, even though I was the coach.
After six years, I was transferred to Cathedral High School, an all-girls’ school in Bridgeport, Connecticut. I was ecstatic to learn that all I had to do there was teach English all day! At first, I felt sorry for the junior high school teachers back at St. Joseph’s who had so many different subjects to teach each day. But eventually, as all the writing assignments piled up, I knew my time and life were in trouble. I had to reread all the novels and plays that the students were studying.
Once again, I “offered” to coach the girls’ basketball and softball teams, which required me to ride the school bus to all the away-games. I loved the actual games but was less happy with all the practices and bus rides. I also accepted the position of class moderator, before I discovered it was a four-year commitment that grew in responsibilities each year.
During these years, my days were filled with teaching, coaching, working on committees, planning various activities with the class of ’75, and living in community with ten other Sisters who also taught at the school. We were all in our 30’s or 40’s and spent a healthy amount of time together. Inevitably, I found myself in conflict with one of these Sisters. Differences in personality accounted for some of this, but we also seemed to disagree on almost everything. We did not express these feelings to each other, but I imagine the stress of it all affected both of us.
I decided I needed to find a spiritual director. I called the Vicar of Religious, Sister Patricia, asking for her suggestions, and she offered me her services. She was well-acquainted with the changes in religious life and the Church, having just completed two terms as the major superior of another Community. Sister Patricia and I related quite well.
During my winter break, I visited Sister Tonya Severin and four other Vincentian Sisters of Charity in their mountain house in western Pennsylvania. I met Tonya during my summer studies at Villanova University, and we had kept in touch by mail during the school year. After three days at Dunbar, the Sisters learned that an older Sister at the Motherhouse had died. The group decided to drive to Pittsburgh for the funeral.
It was heartwarming to watch the Sisters greeting and hugging each other as we arrived. The spirit of Christmas filled the air as we gathered in the dining room after liturgy to celebrate the life of Sister Kevin. Of course, I met many DHS’ who all seemed to be friends of Tonya. A heavy snow welcomed us back to the mountain house where we enjoyed sitting by the fireplace sharing stories and thanking God for all the blessings of the week.
When I met with Sister Patricia in February, she told me that she had been thinking about me during the holidays and that she had concluded that I did have a religious vocation. She asked me if I had ever thought about transferring to a different Community. I responded that I didn’t even know this was a possibility. She asked me if I had ever visited another religious community where I felt at home. After I told her about my trip to Pennsylvania, she suggested that I inquire about a possible teaching position in Pittsburgh.
After months of prayer and consultation with both the DHS and the Vincentian leadership teams, it was decided that I would accept a teaching position at Vincentian High School in Pittsburgh, while living at the Motherhouse of the Vincentian Sisters of Charity located on the same campus. Since this assignment was exploratory in nature, I did not share the details with anyone, not even my family. My mother’s response to my move was simply, “That’s nice. I’ve never been to Pittsburgh.”
The Sisters and lay faculty at Vincentian High School were very welcoming, and I immediately felt at home. I was amazed how many Sisters I met reminded me of another Sister in Connecticut. Of course, the places were unfamiliar and more numerous, which added interest to this experience. After one year, I was asked to take a position as head of the English Department at a large high school in Steubenville, Ohio. I no longer coached student athletes, but student teachers from a nearby college, in addition to my regular classes.
The following year, on the feast of St. Vincent De Paul, 1980, I transferred my vows to the Vincentian Sisters of Charity Community at our annual gathering at the Motherhouse in Pittsburgh. I remained at Catholic Central High School in Ohio, for another nine years. Our local Community grew from three to six Sisters as we moved to St. Joseph Parish Convent in Toronto, Ohio, about thirty miles from the high school, and welcomed new Sisters to the elementary school. We all quickly became an integral part of the parish, enjoying wonderful relationships with the priests and parishioners.
As time passed, the use of computers at the high school became mandatory. Many of us had to apply ourselves to both learning and teaching computers at home and at school. The students took to this new medium much faster than did most of their teachers. While the internet was an amazingly quick source of information, it did create problems for those of us teaching research. The students struggled with learning how not to plagiarize.
When a position for an administrator at Vincentian High School became available, I applied and was named co-principal with Sister Camille Panich. We both began studying for a degree in administration during the summer months at Boston College. This move to Massachusetts proved providential because my family lived close by in Connecticut, and I was able to visit them before returning to Pittsburgh each summer. Because my father was ill, I studied at home for my final examinations. This was a blessing for both of us since we had not spent much time together most of our lives.
After some changes were planned in the structure of the high school administration, I asked permission to take a year to work with “the poor.” I didn’t know who they were or where they lived in Pittsburgh, so I began my search. (Actually, God knew their exact location.)
I had heard of Jubilee Soup Kitchen in the uptown area of the city. So, I met with Sister Liguori, who was about to open a family center next door to the soup kitchen. Had I waited one more day to visit her, the rest of my future probably would have been different because she left the next day on a two-week vacation after asking me to simply “stay around” while she was away to see whether I would be interested in working there.
I discovered that most of the people who came to Jubilee for a meal and for companionship were African American men. They were very funny and very welcoming and I enjoyed their company. By the time Sister returned, I was ready to say “Yes.” My job description revealed itself gradually as each day passed. I helped with the finances, assisted the three child specialists who taught the “Parents as Teachers” program in the family center, responded to the material needs of the families, and did whatever Sister Liguori requested. I loved being a part of a team again as we often had to respond to emergency needs of people. I felt at times that my entire life had prepared me for this ministry and I didn’t need to use a computer at all.
I learned so much from the men and women I met in the Hill District. They taught me patience, gratitude, courage, and simplicity. They did not demand help. They were accustomed to being without. Frequently they were asking for assistance on behalf of someone else. I felt blessed to have the opportunity to be a part of their lives.
During my fourth year at the John Heinz Family Center, the government began to change the requirements for welfare assistance. Mothers were required to work a certain number of hours each week, and childcare was not provided. This had an immediate impact on the family center. By the following year, it became necessary to transition to a childcare center. This was not what Sister Liguori had planned for or had wanted for the mothers.
I had often wondered why the Catholic parishes in the area were not involved with the people at Jubilee Kitchen. Was it because of their race or their religion? Or was it because the bishop and the parishes in the suburbs were providing so much support already with their volunteers and donations?
After I learned that Catholic Charities in Pittsburgh had just hired a new Sister director, I went to visit her and suggested that she add the people in other parts of the city to their list of clients. Probably because Sister Pat was new to the area, she offered me two part-time positions at Catholic Charities. I was added to the Information and Referral Department and to the Neighborhood-Based Services Department located in two different parts of the city. Since there were no funds in the budget for the first year, I would have to develop means of responding to the many additional requests addressed to these departments. Fortunately, many of the parish social ministers were eager to help, as were several Saint Vincent De Paul groups. I also had my first opportunity to assist refugees from other countries. I remained at Catholic Charities for four years.
My next ministry- challenge led me to serve the elderly throughout the Pittsburgh area, including places I had only heard about. These were men and women who had become wards of the state. The Ursuline Sisters had long sponsored a program to respond to this need. Their name was still attached to the organization, but Sisters from other Communities and laypeople were now providing the services.
I became a “guardian of persons” assigned to attend to the needs of twenty-four senior citizens whose daily well-being was somewhat dependent on my supervision. Most of these individuals were living in a personal care home or a nursing facility in different parts of Pittsburgh. A few were still in their own homes. Because they had outlived their family members or had no one able or willing to assist them, they were referred to the courts and assigned to an organization, such as Ursuline Services, or to an individual who would ensure their care.
Every month I would visit each person, treating them as I would my own parents. Some of them enjoyed wonderful care from the staff at the facility; others were sad, lonely, and in need of extra attention; and others were eager to go out for lunch and have a good chat. Often, I would ask their “guardian of finance” for money to shop for a particular need. (One gentleman “needed” Clark bars every month!) I attended care conferences at the nursing homes, helped with placement decisions, accompanied some to the veteran’s hospital for medical appointments, etc. I treasure the special memories of these three years and all the people that became a part of my life.
November 15, 2008, is a day engraved in my heart and soul as I and 109 other Vincentian Sisters of Charity gathered in our chapel in Pittsburgh with a large representation of the Sisters of Charity of Nazareth from Kentucky to formalize our transfer of vows to our new Community. This ceremony followed almost six years of discernment on the part of leadership and membership of the Vincentian Sisters with that of the Western Province of the Sisters of Charity of Nazareth. It was a happy day with moments of sadness as each Sister present recognized the sacrifices involved in such a generous decision.
The choir sang:
“God of Love, make us One and Unite us in Christ.
In our Hearts, in our Minds, in our Souls, and in our Spirits.
Make us One, God of Love.”
We now look back with deep gratitude over the eighteen years our God of Love has blessed this union of holy women. Our prayers have been answered far beyond our expectations as we see how good it has been.
After leaving Ursuline Services, I returned to the classroom as a substitute teacher at various elementary schools and at Oakland Catholic High School, a large all-girls’ school in the heart of Pittsburgh. I discovered that the world of education had changed drastically. My primary attention during these months was directed toward social justice issues, however, as I served as the Vincentian Sisters’ representative on the Diocesan Social Justice Committee. It was exciting to spend time with seven other Religious Sisters whose hearts and minds and Communities sought to address problems that faced the larger society. We focused on crimes of racism and human trafficking and attempted to address both issues with various educational projects.
One of the Sisters on this committee mentioned to me that her Community was beginning to work with undocumented immigrants in Pittsburgh. I offered to teach English to anyone in the North Hills area where I lived.
A month later I was introduced to two sixteen-year-old boys, William and José, from Guatemala, who attended a nearby middle school. Once again, God was inviting me into a wonderful ministry of service. I knew no Spanish, and they were struggling with the complexities of English. Over the next eight years, I enjoyed the company of so many immigrants who were eager to learn English and hoping to earn admittance to the United States. Most of them were at some level of court proceedings that would determine their future. In addition to assisting them with English, I accompanied them to court, not as a translator, but simply as a presence. When they needed medical care, I drove them to their appointments and often conducted our language class in the waiting room or even in the car.
Many women with young children were unable to attend class outside of their home, so we began home-based studies. They were so grateful for the help and companionship. We became like family and remain so today. What joy it still is to hear their voices on their cell phones as they continue to navigate their way through the unstable immigration system.
Several other young men, working in the local restaurants, had only one hour for lunch available each day, so we devised schedules that made it possible for each of them to meet for class once a week. I would pick them up in my car and drive them to the library or to the nearby Catholic parish for class and then drive them back to work. There was so much for them to learn that class began as soon as they got into the car. I used to think of them as my brothers until one day a friend pointed out that they were more like my grandsons (because of our age differences).
A young couple, Jazmine and José, students from Mexico, arrived with a dream of opening their own bakery. After only four years, they were able to obtain the papers needed. Today they and their children live in their own home close to the bakery. They own their own vehicle, which they use to drive their two girls to dance classes and other places. Their American dream is now a reality. I am a welcome guest in their home and in the bakery whenever I am in Pittsburgh.
After noon Mass one day, I was blessed to meet a family from Rwanda. I introduced myself to the mother and learned that they had recently arrived in the United States and knew very little English. The two younger children were attending the public school, but the mother and older son needed help. The next day they came to the convent to begin studying English. Spending time with them was a teacher’s delight. Their gentle simplicity and dedicated efforts added so much to our class time as we laughed and teased each other while we explored the vocabulary words and their strange pronunciations. Eventually, I worked with each of them individually since one was advancing more quickly.
I am certain that our first encounter in church was directed from above. To me they represented the entire continent of Africa as I learned to love and respect our differences. Today, all of Annunciata’s children are college graduates working in various parts of the United States. Pacifique, the older boy, is a respiratory therapist in Erie, Pennsylvania, who has recently married a woman from Rwanda. His brother Justin is a computer programmer in Pittsburgh, and their sister Aleen, who studied business, lives and works in Maryland. Their mother Annunciata calls me periodically from her native country where she eventually returned to live with her husband who is unable to get a visa.
Their story is another beautiful reminder that God is truly with us all during our life journeys. The children have become citizens of the United States and are able to visit their parents and others in Rwanda regularly.
In 2021, after fifty-seven years in ministry, I began to hear and feel God’s call to “slow down.” Most of my immigrant students were at a stage where they understood English enough to continue learning on their own. I stopped accepting new students and prepared to leave Pittsburgh, promising to keep in touch with many of these families. Whenever they call, I feel like I am speaking to my own family.
I still had to inform one more group about my departure. It consisted of ten to fifteen women and men who had retired to our Vincentian Villa apartment building located on the same campus where the Sisters live. We met every other week for several years to read and reflect upon Scripture. They referred to themselves as “Sister Barbara’s Bible Study Class” and thought of me as their teacher. I considered them more like a second “faith group” since that is what we became.
A few of our members were from churches other than Catholic who could recite many of their favorite scripture passages by heart. The Catholic majority were much less familiar with both the format and the content of the text. But the excitement came when they began to connect the Word of God with their own personal lives. We learned so much about one another as we shared the past events of our lives, as well as the present. So often we felt the presence of God in the silence of the moment. Happily, one of the younger participants, who had been a teacher of nurses, accepted my challenge to keep the group together in the years ahead. She is doing a fine job, according to my 104-year-old student/friend, Jean, who keeps in touch.
In June of 2022, I moved to the SCN Motherhouse at Nazareth, Kentucky, with Sister Tonya Severin, who was also ready for part-time ministry. I quickly volunteered my time to help in the Congregational Archives because of my love for history and my desire to learn more about the beginnings of the Sisters of Charity of Nazareth.
Working with Kelly Mc Daniels, Director of our Congregational Archives, has been another gift from God. She not only knows almost everything about the SCN Community. but she also loves sharing this information with anyone interested in the people and events of the last two centuries, including each of our international foundations.
When asked how I like living in Kentucky, my immediate response is: “I feel like I died and went to heaven.” Everyone who is new to our campus will usually say they can see why, referring to the beauty of the property.
But my love of Nazareth encompasses the entire history of the SCN Community which began with a nineteen-year-old young woman named Catherine Spalding, who dedicated her life to the education of young girls, and continues to grow as I learn how her spirit has permeated the lives of so many women here in the United States, India, Nepal, Belize, Botswana, and Kenya.
I often wish Mother Catherine could return for a day to hear about all the good that God has brought to life through the love and dedication of those who followed her. While I do look forward to life everlasting, I am so grateful to be waiting here in this holy place to receive my final call, Home.
50th Jubilee Anniversary
80th Birthday Celebration