Sister Rosalind Gefre, 94, the Sister of St. Joseph of Carondelet who founded a massage school and rose to fame as the beloved masseuse of the St. Paul Saints, is receiving special recognition this summer. She will be honored at the Aug. 10 Saints game with an appreciation night, when the first 1,500 fans will receive a bobblehead called “The Massaging Nun.”
“You never know!” she said. “My life has been unbelievable –– for a farm girl with an eighth-grade graduation. God has been so good to me, and people are so good to me.”
Although Sister Rosalind no longer gives massages at Saints games, she occasionally massages friends. And she remains an ardent believer in the healing touch, dispensing hugs and kisses to everyone she encounters as she scoots around with her walker at Carondelet Village, the retirement center in St. Paul where she lives –– attending Mass, socializing in the dining room and working out twice a week on a recumbent elliptical.
Q) You grew up during the Great Depression, one of 13 kids, and helped run the family farm after your dad died.
A) I remember those dust storms. We would cover up the windows with plastic, wrapping two layers and pasting it around the ridges. But no matter how well you covered it, the dust could get in.
We wore jean overalls –– we called them prairie pants. They were almost always worn out and patched up. My mother would take the old patch off and put a new one on.
We had no running water or electricity, so we used kerosene lamps. We lived on the money we earned selling cream and eggs. One day my mom came to me and said, “Margaret, come, I want to show you: I hid $50. If I should die, I want you to know so you can use it for the family.”
I remember I was always cold. There’d be four of us in one bed. I’d crawl between the girls so I would be warm. We prayed before and after every meal. In the summers, we were always praying for rain. We’d get up early to milk the cows.
Q) Today we live in an age of excess, but back then, you lived simply.
A) We girls each had one doll –– that was our plaything. We usually didn’t play with it because we were supposed to keep it nice and clean. I remember one Christmas I got a beautiful, flowered handkerchief. That was my present. I treasured it. I showed everyone.
Q) Your faith took root on the North Dakota prairie.
A) When I was 10, on a beautiful summer day, I said, “Jesus, I’m going to be a sister and a saint.” I remember the sun was so beautiful. That was my desire.
Q) One thing stood in your way: a boyfriend. At age 19, you asked him to take you to the train station, and you boarded a train that took you to a cloistered convent in St. Paul, where you would enter religious life.
A) I just felt if I would’ve put it off another day, I probably would not have entered. We usually had a goodnight kiss –– a little peck on the cheek. That’s all we did. I feel that if I had given him that kiss that last time, I probably would not have left.
Q) He went on to marry your sister.
A) She wrote me a letter asking if she could start dating him, and I said, “Oh, yes! He’s a prince of a man!” I was so happy for her.
Q) You knew you had a different call. And though it took some time to adjust, religious life exceeded your wildest dreams, allowing you to become a nurse, found an acclaimed massage school, advocate for the profession and minister to the masses at baseball games. You were tireless, standing and massaging the entire game.
A) My hands are unusual. All that milking of cows.
Q) Some of those strangers at the stadium poured their hearts out to you.
A) It’s both a privilege, but it’s also hard, because after the game, you won’t see them again.
Q) You had a long run with the Saints.
A) I quit when the (COVID) virus started. I sort of regretted it, but I thought it might make some of the people here uncomfortable.
Q) Do you miss it?
A) Oh yes. I still do some massage for my friends here –– maybe they have a headache or a backache. Whatever they need. I don’t do table massage, but I do chair massage.
I still feel my life is rich. I go to Mass and say my private little prayers as I walk up and down the corridor. I pray a lot –– not formal, but just, “Jesus, I love you.” My life is basically praying all day.
I’ve been watching the Eucharistic Congress on EWTN. There are loads of priests! It is so beautiful and so orderly. It makes me feel so hopeful.
I’m sort of getting quite blind. And of course, the hearing is going. No matter how hearing aids work, they break, or things go wrong, and then I don’t hear at all. But I do what I can, and people are always good to me and helping me. I feel very blessed. I’m still alive, and my mind is still good. I’ve had an aneurism in my heart for 10 years. They’re dangerous. I’ve been waiting for it to burst. But I’m still here.
Q) Do you look forward to heaven?
A) Yeah, I think of it a lot –– to meet my mom and dad again. I was so young when (my father) died. I remember very, very little about him. I used to have nightmares, and I’d scream, and he’d come running to my bed and scoop me up and carry me over and lay me down between (my mother and him). I will never forget the warmth and loving I got.
Q) Maybe heaven will feel like that.
A) Oh, I could imagine! Our heavenly Father –– to be near him. Yes.
Q) What do you know for sure?
A) I believe that I am loved tremendously by our heavenly Father and by Jesus.
Many people are hurting. They’ve never been touched with love. When I walk by people here, I always pat them on the back or rub their arm or say something silly just to let them know there’s someone who cares. I remember one time I hugged a waitress and she broke down sobbing. She’d had a horrible day. In my mind, that is what I want to be: Be Jesus to others. And they are Jesus to me. Whatever I do to them is done to Jesus –– that, I have grown to be very aware of.
