Br. Sixtus Demshock, C.F.X.

During a recent stint as the reader at evening meals in the monastery, I was nearing the end of a book by Bishop Erik Varden, OCSO, of Trondheim in Norway. Titled Entering the Twofold Mystery: On Christian Conversion, it comprises a series of talks and homilies given at Mount Saint Bernard Abbey in England where he was abbot in 2015-19. The book closes with a brief appendix consisting of a conference he was invited to give on the topic of ‘vision’ to the General Chapter of the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance in the summer of 2014. Early on in that talk, Bishop Varden writes in full disclosure, “In this assembly, I am a worker of the eleventh hour. Many of you, if not most, have been monks and nuns since before I was born.” Those two sentences gave me pause to stop and think about the parable of the workers in the vineyard, some hired early in the day, others taken on later in the day, at the eleventh hour (5:00 p.m.), but all receiving the same wages at day’s end. We’ve all heard and read that story in Matthew’s Chapter 20, we try to understand it, but how many of us are able to draw a parallel with a comparable episode in our daily modern lives? How many of us have ever been day-laborers in an agrarian society?

Growing up, I had a great-uncle named Andrew Emeric Demshock, the youngest brother of my maternal grandfather, Stephen John. Born towards the end of the 19th century in the anthracite coal region of Northeastern Pennsylvania, the boys were nine years apart. Stephen, the eldest of six siblings, was born in 1888 while Andrew, the youngest, came along in 1897. That very same year, on September 11, 1897, 18 striking coal miners were killed, shot down by sheriff’s deputies in what would come to be known as the Lattimer Massacre, named for a small village three miles from where the Demshock family lived.

The family story relates that during the 5½-month coal strike of 1902, 5-year-old Andrew was sent to New Jersey to live with relatives out of fear of escalating violence in the region. Remember, too, that this was still a time in our country’s history before the enactment of strict child labor laws, when young boys in the coal fields were used as breaker boys and mule drivers. It is not clear how long he remained away from home, but in 1913, at age 15, Andrew entered the Congregation of St. Francis Xavier, a Baltimore-based consecrated lay order known as the Xaverian Brothers. Founded by Theodore James Ryken in Belgium in 1839 as missionaries, they have been involved in the U.S. as educators since 1854. And thus, my great-uncle became a worker in the Lord’s vineyard beginning on the day he answered “the call” at the first hour, taking the religious name of Brother Sixtus C.F.X. until his death in 1977, after 64 years in religious life.

Golden Jubilee card

The trajectory of his life, and the remarks of Bishop Erik Varden, bring into focus the fact that I, too, “am a worker of the 11th hour.” My entrance into Saint Louis Abbey took place at age 52, some 37 years later than my great-uncle’s. I continue to strive to honor his memory after being allowed to take his name, an early Roman name, the name of five early popes, two of whom were later canonized as saints, Sixtus II and Sixtus IV. Although the latter is known for the Sistine Chapel, the creation of the Vatican Library, and the Ponte Sisto over the River Tiber, it is the former whom I had chosen as my patron. Sixtus II (or Xystus) was martyred in 258 during the persecutions of Emperor Valerian, along with seven deacons. The historical link to one of those deacons, St. Lawrence (or Laurence) of Rome gave me the Benedictine connection I desired. He is the patron saint of Ampleforth Abbey in Yorkshire, England, the founding motherhouse of Saint Louis Abbey. A beautiful reliquary inset into a wall of the ambulatory at Ampleforth holds relics of both St. Laurence and Pope St. Sixtus II. The name appears in our family tree not only for men in religious orders but was also given as a middle name to a distant lay cousin, James Sixtus Romanchek (1916-1996).

Nicholas Busken with Br. Sixtus on the Ponte Sisto (Rome, 2008).

Sixtus C.F.X. was the first person in the family to attend college, as far as I am able to ascertain, having been sent by the Xaverians to Catholic University of America. His degree allowed him to begin teaching at the private boys’ schools overseen by the order, primarily in the Chesapeake Region of historic St. Mary’s County in Maryland where he spent the majority of his life. He was celebrated on his golden jubilee in 1963 at Leonard Hall Junior Naval Academy where he lived and taught in Leonardtown MD. Ten years later, in 1973, I was blessed to attend the festivities with a large number of family members held at the same boarding school marking his 60th year in religious life. Following college, while teaching for 2 years at a college in Winston-Salem, NC, I had the privilege of more visits prior to his death in 1977. Forty years after he died, on a visit to the University of Notre Dame to attend the 2017 National Religious Brothers’ Symposium, I had an appointment with William Kevin Cawley, Senior Archivist and Curator of Manuscripts for N.D. He had recently accepted responsibility for all of the Xaverian Brothers’ national archives and I in turn ceded to them all of my great-uncle’s documents, certificates, teaching records, photographs and correspondence. These reflections were prompted by the fact that 2023 is the 110th jubilee year of my great-uncle’s life as a consecrated religious. The man was a strong role model in my life. On his annual summer visits with us, he impressed me and my brothers with the sense of a life well-lived as a worker of the first hour, his love of God and the Catholic faith, and his love astronomy. Many clear August evenings were spent out back in the garden learning the constellations.

Lately, more and more single men in middle- to later-life are seeking admittance to the vineyard at later hours, perhaps as a result of the Covid lockdowns and restrictions which gave them time for introspection and reflection on the religious life. As the Director of Vocations, I patiently field their inquiries, in whatever manner they choose. Some have had doors closed on them by other orders or houses or seminary directors, being told that the cut-off age is 35, 40, or 45. On telephone calls I often hear a palpable sigh of relief when I share with them the fact that I gained admittance at age 52. Be patient, I tell them, if hired, we all earn the same wages at day’s end.