Last week I watched The Bells of St. Mary’s on Christmas Day. Twice.

The heartwarming 1945 comedy-drama centers primarily on faith, compassion, and resilience, and was one of my grandmother’s all-time favorite movies.

As a convert to Judaism from Catholicism, I quit celebrating Christmas over forty years ago, which was one of the toughest things I have ever had to give up.

For over four decades, the Christmas season has always been a difficult time of year for me, primarily because the traditions surrounding Christmas Day meant so much to my grandmother, who played a significant role in raising me.

As a young girl, I lived with my mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. I didn’t realize it at the time, but these women were pillars of strength and resilience, and they knew a thing or two about struggle. I’d like to think it was, in large part, their faith that kept them all going.

You’re probably wondering what all this reminiscing has to do with The Bells of St. Mary’s, but the lessons I learned from the film, thanks to my grandmother’s wisdom, have stayed with me for a lifetime.

The movie starts like this:

(I am going to bold italicize the movie parts of this post.)

The easygoing Father O’Malley (Bing Crosby) transfers to St. Mary’s, a deteriorating Roman Catholic school, where he quickly finds himself at odds with the no-nonsense headmistress, Mother Superior, Sister Mary Benedict (Ingrid Bergman).

When I first saw the movie with my grandmother, I was in the fourth or fifth grade and attending an inner-city Catholic school. I watched it with her every year at Christmas until I was at least 14. I could relate to Father O’Malley because most of the priests I had encountered at St. Ambrose were laid-back, kind, and compassionate.

But the nuns? Not so much. Especially our Mother Superior, the headmistress of our crumbling school. The nuns were crazy strict and didn’t take any bull.

And yet my ingenious grandmother used the movie to teach me why the nuns—and Mother Superior—had to be so tough on me, and how, in many other ways, the film aligned with how she was raising me.

My illiterate grandmother couldn’t read or write in English, yet she used the movie so brilliantly to help me come to terms with the nuns, bullying, being from a broken home, the miracle of faith, and accepting illness.

Anyway, back to the movie:

Father O’Malley, who oversees the school, and Sister Mary Benedict, who reports to him, have more than their share of disagreements.

My wiser-than-wise grandmother used five of their diverging opinions and crafted a parable from each one as follows:

1) How to defend myself against bullies, 2) how to conduct myself so people would see me as the good person I was, not just the girl from a broken home, 3) to soak up every minute of the nuns’ teachings despite the deterioration around us and use them to my advantage, 4) never underestimate faith, and 5) how to come to terms with illness.

More of the movie:

Adding to the problems the crumbling St. Mary’s was already facing, Father O’Malley and Sister Mary Benedict also had to contend with Mr. Bogardus (played by Henry Travers, the unforgettable angel Clarence in “It’s a Wonderful Life”).

 Bogardus was a penny-pinching Scrooge who owned the building next door and wanted St. Mary’s condemned so he could tear it down and use it as a parking lot for his employees. Sister Mary Benedict believed that through faith and prayer, Mr. Bogardus would eventually gift the building to St. Mary’s, while Father O’Malley was utterly unconvinced.

After a fight between Tommy, a bully, and Eddie (Sister Mary Benedict’s pet pupil), Father O’Malley puts his foot in his mouth. He tells Sister Mary Benedict that he’s proud of Tommy for beating up Eddie because—”On the outside—it’s a man’s world,” a thinly veiled suggestion that Sister Mary Benedict, cloistered on the inside, has no clue about life on the outside or about men.

Sister Mary Benedict sarcastically asks Father O’Malley how the men are doing on the outside, and he answers, “They’re not doing too good, but sometimes a man has got to fight his way through.”

Sister Mary Benedict asks Father O’Malley whether he thinks she is raising “sissies” because she taught Eddie not to fight (which is why he didn’t lift a finger to defend himself against Tommy). Father O’Malley replies, “Yes,” in a direct and straightforward way,  as he walks away from an annoyed Sister Mary Benedict.

Determined to one-up Father O’Malley, Sister Mary Benedict buys a boxing book and teaches little Eddie how to box. The next time Tommy picks a fight with Eddie, Eddie wins.

Here was lesson number one from my grandmother for me:

I was bullied by a much older, strong-as-a-bull girl named Barbara Titone. Her friends called her “Tit.” Tit bullied me on an unfortunately regular basis until the first time I watched The Bells of St. Mary’s. That’s when my grandmother told me to take a page out of Eddie’s boxing book. Fast forward to the next time I saw Tit. I beat her up pretty good—at least good enough that she never messed with me again.

Next:

Patsy, who is in the eighth grade and whose mother is divorced, is admitted to the school by Father O’Malley (against Sister Mary Benedict’s better judgment). Patsy’s grades aren’t up to par, and yet she has a quick mind. But Patsy is going through a rough time because she doesn’t know her dad, and her single mom is always out and about.

Sister Mary Benedict tells Father O’Malley she is worried about Patsy, given her broken-home background and failing grades. Father O’Malley takes Patsy under his wing and explains to her that she needs to be proud of who she is.

Despite Father O’Malley’s efforts, Patsy flunks out. He asks Sister Mary Benedict to pass her anyway, but she refuses. Even after Patsy confesses to Sister Mary Benedict that she was just pretending to be stupid to stay at the school another year and avoid high school, Sister Mary Benedict still refuses to allow Patsy to graduate.

This part of the movie served as my grandmother’s lesson number two about growing up in a broken home, although these are my words, not hers:

Don’t let what others say about you define who you are. Show them that you are not the sum of someone else’s opinions or mistakes. Above all,  have courage.

And my grandmother’s lesson number three about needing to make the grade and not making excuses:

Don’t let life’s circumstances stand in the way of doing what it takes to succeed in this world. Use your struggles, financial or otherwise, as motivation to do your best in school and in life. Confront challenges, find ways to overcome them, and learn from your experiences, or from any other misfortune that comes your way. My grandmother implored me to take advantage of every opportunity and shine like the star she knew I could and would be.

Back to movie time and mean old Mr. Bogardus:

St. Mary’s is soon to be condemned and needs a miracle—in a hurry! Sister Mary Benedict speaks with Mr. Bogardus and plants the idea in his head that donating his building to St. Mary’s will ensure that “His memory will live on long after he’s dust.” Mr. Bogardus, who has an ailing heart, likes the idea of being memorialized, but not enough to give up his building.

Sister Mary Benedict tells the skeptical Father O’Malley, “More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.”  

Father O’Malley chews on Sister Mary Benedict’s unwavering faith in prayer and wonders whether she might have a point. When he runs into Mr. Bogardus’ heart doctor, Father O’Malley tells him that doing good deeds can actually strengthen a person’s heart.

Bogardus’ doctor (who is also Catholic and a congregant at St. Mary’s Church) isn’t going to argue with a priest, so he repeats to Mr. Bogardus what Father O’Malley said.

Mr. Bogardus knows that his heart is failing quickly, so when he sees Father O’Malley on the street, he tells him that “He wishes he could live his life over, for he would change a lot of things.”

Wouldn’t we all?

Mr. Bogardus goes on to explain to Father O’Malley that “There is great beauty in this world if only we had the eyes to see it.”

IF ONLY.

Father O’Malley’s response to Mr. Bogardus is a famous quote: “I shall pass this way but once. If there’s any good I can do for anyone, let me do it now and not put it off, for I shall not pass this way again.”

Yikes, this quote hit me hard. As a kid, I didn’t remember this part of the movie at all. But on this past Christmas Day, I rewound it three times so I could write it down. Then I typed it out and placed it on my desk to remind me daily of who I aspire to be.

And now, as if I hadn’t already gotten more than my fair share of lessons from the movie…

HERE COMES THE PUPPY DOG!

Mr. Bogardus sees a cute but straggly stray puppy about to be hit by a car. He picks it up and takes it to the other side of the street. That is his first act of kindness seen so far.

He walks into St. Mary’s Church to pray, even though it’s been years since he’s been there. The stray dog follows him into the church. Bogardus takes this as a sign.

He sees Sister Mary Benedict in the church, and that’s when Bogardus decides to gift his building to St. Mary’s! (Although ever the miserly tightwad, he notes that it will result in a massive tax write-off for him.)

Oh, and for those of you wondering, he keeps the stray dog.

My grandmother’s lesson number four about faith:

She likened faith in God and prayer to filling up at a gas station. You have no choice but to fill your car with gas when your tank is empty. A car is like a soul in need of help. Without gas, there is no car, i.e., no faith in God and prayer, no chance for a miracle, and zero chance for a salvation fill-up.

Weird analogy—I know—but I never forgot her words.

It seems that all is now well at St. Mary’s, right? WRONG. Unfortunately, the film takes a sad, twisty turn.

First, for the sad part:

It turns out that Sister Mary Benedict has a bad lung due to tuberculosis and needs to move somewhere warm and dry, like Arizona. She will also require lots of rest to have any chance at all of beating her lung disease, so Father O’Malley orders a transfer for her to head up a convalescent home in Arizona, without the pressure of a school full of kids, even though working with children has been her life’s blessed work.

Father O’Malley has been instructed not to tell Sister Mary Benedict that she is sick—the consensus is that if she knows she has a near-incurable disease, she won’t have a chance in hell of getting better. (Maybe hell is the wrong word to use here, but I have every good faith that Sister Mary Benedict is NEVER going there.)

Sister Mary Benedict, who has come to like and respect Father O’Malley, thinks he has kicked her to the curb because he doesn’t share the same warm fuzzies for her.

Of course, Sister Mary Benedict takes the cataclysmic news like a trooper, but she is clearly devastated. She earnestly prays to God to “Remove all the bitterness from her heart” because she is furious at Father O’Malley.

Hang in there for the twisty part because I’m almost at the end of the movie:

Father O’Malley finds Patsy’s father, who turns out to be a piano player, a really decent guy, and a regular Joe (which is also his name). Joe and Father O’Malley break into a song called “In the Land of Beginning Again,” a tune about going to a place where broken dreams come true.

Patsy eventually tells Sister Mary Benedict that she flunked out on purpose because she was afraid of the future and lacked the courage to move forward without Sister Mary Benedict and Father O’Malley in her life. Sister Mary Benedict decides to pass Patsy and allow her to graduate.

Patsy meets her father for the first time and is thrilled and deeply grateful to no longer be from a broken home and to now have friends who will accept her.

And now, drum roll, please, for the twist:

Sister Mary Benedict is heartbroken to be sent away from everyone and everything she loves. She is angry at Father O’Malley, yet she is trying her hardest to live in faith and God’s grace.

She says her final goodbye to Father O’Malley, who feels awful about not telling Sister Mary Benedict the truth. As she walks away, heartbroken but resigned to start her new chapter/God’s work, Father O’Malley yells for her to come back. That’s when he tells her she has tuberculosis.

Sister Mary Benedict is ecstatic, not because she’s sick and probably dying, but because she now understands why she was transferred and sent away from everything and everyone she loves.

She thanks Father O’Malley for telling her the truth and is now confident she will get better.

The following was my takeaway from my grandmother’s lesson number five on incurable illness:

While suffering from a deadly disease is tragic, God’s ultimate purpose is divine and good.

Enduring suffering with grace deepens one’s relationship with God and offers an opportunity to demonstrate resilience to others. Illness can also prompt reflection on one’s life and a re-evaluation of one’s priorities.

Finally, that illness is beyond human comprehension. Physical suffering should be seen as a sign from above that, while we may not understand why God has chosen this path for us, there is a larger plan He will reveal when the time is right.

Her lesson on illness was essential to me because it prepared me for a future catastrophe. I didn’t know it then, but years later, my grandmother also developed a bad lung, and despite having it removed, it was the end for her and for us.

But maybe not for Sister Mary Benedict, because faith is all-powerful.

Confident that my grandmother was in the house last week on Christmas Day, I ran to my computer to write this blog post dedicated to her memory, her love of The Bells of St. Mary’s, and the many lessons I learned from her during our short time together here on earth.

And that, dear reader, is the end of my New Year’s Day blog post.