‘Sister Rosie’ has sought to widen her ministry
02/18/01
MARINA PARR
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Barely out of high school but firm in her faith, Robles marched down the aisle of her Los Angeles community chapel with other young women, launching lives that would wed them to the Catholic religion they grew up with. They were, in essence, brides of Christ. Within minutes, they would change out of their white gowns. Their hair was cut and tucked behind a white headband and they were dressed in the long, sweeping cloth of a nun’s habit.
Thus was Robles’ marriage to the church cemented in the most profound and ceremonial of ways. Her name was Sister Rosalie. She was a nun with the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet.
That was who she was for 34 years, although most knew her later as Sister Rosie. It was a life filled with prayer and a kind, gentle voice for those who needed it most. There was singing and guitar-strumming and words of wisdom proffered from the Bible. There were intense talks with parishioners and always, a nudge — to help them do the moral thing, the right thing, the thing that would please God.
“That was my life. My whole life. I was dedicated to the Catholic Church,” Robles said.
She was also dedicated to the people who sat in the pews, attending their weddings and their funerals.
In 1981 she arrived in Skagit County from Eastern Washington. Although some nuns are content to stay on the sidelines, Robles wanted to be where the action is — in a hands-on ministry. That took her to the pulpit when she was assigned as a parochial minister.
She preached in churches throughout the Skagit Valley, filling in for priests who nowadays are in short supply. Always, she comforted people and inspired them as a Catholic sister. But Robles strained at the strictures of the church. There were things she wanted to do but could not as a nun.
This is a delicate point for Robles, even four years later. At age 55, she is ingratiating and energetic and an ardent Catholic.
But she is no longer a nun.
“It’s hard at my age to be starting over,” Robles said.
Hard or not, that’s what Robles is doing. She is fashioning a new life for herself in the secular world, where heating bills come due and car payments must be made on her Nissan Pathfinder.
She has a Web site now and business cards. She performs civil weddings and offers solace at funerals. Occasionally, she draws portraits for people using a smudge stick and artist’s chalk. She gives motivational talks.
For Robles, all of this is a way to earn a paycheck while being true to her faith.
Her biggest fear: That people will have forgotten her or wondered if she has left the church.
“I disappeared,” she said. “When I run into people, they say ‘Where are you? Where have you been?’ I’m still here and I still care for them.”
Someone to talk toIt’s a weekday morning and cold, winter light pours through the curtains of Robles’ living room.
Inside all is warm and conversational as a handful of women sit in a huddle of chairs and on a couch. A candle flickers beside photos of people to pray for, including one woman’s 13-year-old grandson who is battling a tumor.
Robles sits on a mushroom-shaped stool in front of the TV, leading a discussion on grief and loss. Many of the women who attend the session each week are Catholic, although Robles opens her door to anyone, of any faith.
The women, in their 60s and 70s, talk about what it’s like to wake up in the morning with no one to talk to. Dealing with the death of a husband is never-ending, it seems. There’s no one to share your day with. No one to sit with in companionable silence.
Thank goodness for e-mail, says one.
“Somebody is there to say good morning,” said Joyce Nagel, a 71-year-old woman from La Conner, her gray hair fashionably cut into a pouf of waves. “Somebody knowing I’m alive.”
Robles talks through the story of Ruth, which centers on a woman who faces hardship and her husband’s death but is ultimately uplifted by her daughter-in-law. The women’s discussion group is a sisterly bonding that comes across as slightly New Age, even as it hearkens back to a passage of the Bible.
Small, dark-haired with brown skin and laughing eyes, Robles seems younger than her years — enthralled by possibilities yet reassuringly calm.
“This hour means a lot to us,” said Carol Luvera, 65, of Mount Vernon before she heads out the door. “It’s peace. It’s quiet.”
Later Robles will say, half in amusement, that all sorts of people, including the ladies who visit her home each week, would like her to preside over their funeral.
“I’m going to be the last one to turn the lights out,” she said.
A life of faith
Rosalie Robles was born in Los Angeles, the second of four, to a
Mexican-American family. Her father was a custom furniture designer and
her mother worked with him at the family business.
Robles also is first cousin to Richard “Cheech” Marin, the
Mexican-American comic of “Cheech and Chong” fame who now stars on the
television show “Nash Bridges.”
Family photos line Robles’ mantel. Some of them are pictures of
Robles and Marin as cherubic-faced kids. But a photo of Robles alone is
far more telling. In that picture, she’s about 3 years old, dressed in a
plaid shirt and overalls, with her hands on her hips and an obstinate look
on her round face.
Her mother had called to her, telling her to come inside and put on a
dress. Father Thomas, the family’s priest and close friend, was coming
to dinner.
“I was defiant even then,” Robles said.
Four years ago, soon after Robles had stopped being a nun, she
published a 27-page book on football. Her father, who had played semipro
ball, was part of the inspiration for the slim volume on how women could
better understand the game and have better marriages as a result.
“The premise behind it was ‘there are so many things that already
cause tension in a marriage. You don’t need that to be one of
them,’” she said.
The book was a public relations touchdown. Robles was profiled in a
number of newspapers and an L.A. television station paid her airfare for
an interview there. She sat next to Ricky Martin, who was just about to
make a name for himself as the king of Latino pop.
Robles’ connection with Los Angeles is still strong, despite living
20 years in Skagit County. She serves as a consultant for a department in
the Los Angeles Archdiocese and has been flown down five times in the past
year.
Locally, she has performed weddings and officiated at funerals as a
member of the Federation of Christian Ministries. The organization was
started by priests who left the Catholic church because they wanted to
marry. In the 1980s it was expanded to include a more diverse membership,
although the bulk of the members have ties to the Catholic church
including the group’s current president Bridget Mary Meehan, a Catholic
sister.
Robles’ new business cards read: “Ministry to ALL without
distinction.”
A good friend
Many people in Skagit County have taken Robles up on her new,
broader-based ministry. Her services tend to attract those who grew up
Catholic, absorbing the church’s culture as much as its religious
specifics.
She also appeals to couples of mixed religious backgrounds and to
people who may not be regular churchgoers but want some spirituality
infused into weddings and funerals.
“She seemed like the perfect fit for how we wanted our ceremony to be
conducted,” said Gary Christensen, 43, a county planner who married his
wife, Holly, in October. “My wife is Catholic and I’m Methodist. We
didn’t want to pick one church over the other.”
Robles is a frequent presence at chapel and graveside services in the
Sedro-Woolley area, working with Lemley’s Funeral Chapel.
“She’s just very personable and knows how to interact with
people,” said Chuck Ruhl, the funeral chapel’s owner and director.
“If the deceased and the family have a background in Catholicism but
aren’t active members of a parish ... this is where she fits a very
positive need.”
Last summer, Robles officiated at the funeral of Elenora Gordon, an
elderly woman whose family owns a local car dealership. Gordon’s
granddaughter, LuAnne Burkhart, 40, had heard of Sister Rosie even though
Robles wasn’t a sister any longer.
Robles came to the family’s home, swapping stories and memories.
“She was able to incorporate all the nuances and special times she
heard us speak about,” Burkhart said. “She just really captured that
spirit, the positive note we were on.”
“She’s a good friend to have in your corner,” she said.
