Sister Claire Arlene Morrissey, CSJ

(Sister Lawrence Marie)

We Remember her in the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter

January 31, 1937 – January 4, 2026

In the 72ⁿᵈ year of her Religious Life.

Entered: September 8, 1954

Thirty-one years ago, Sr. Claire Morrissey wrote in her funeral request that she wanted this line from Psalm 42 as the antiphon for her responsorial psalm: “When will I come to the end of my pilgrimage and enter the presence of God?”

This text tells us of her longing to dwell in God’s presence, and reassures us that there is much to celebrate as we say goodbye to one we have loved. Images of total union with God and reunion with her longed for mother and other family members bring comfort to us.

Sister Claire Morrissey, a nurse among nurses in her family, and a nurse among teachers in her community, was the daughter of Arthur and Theresa Leahy Morrissey. She was one of seven girls; Claire grew up in Somerville alongside her sisters Mary, Theresa, Peggy, Flossie, Anne, and Judy. Nursing was a call that bonded them and it was as rooted in Claire as her desire to dedicate her life to God as a sister of St. Joseph. She became a proud member of the party of ’54.

In her various capacities in the health field, as a nurse, then a director of nurses at Bethany Hospital, and finally Health Facilitator for the State, Claire had high standards for herself and others. She was respected for her professionalism, fairness, insight, and dedication. As a beloved member of our community, Claire was valued for her commitment to our common life, her sense of humor, and her deep spirituality. A picture that hung in her room shows an image of a path through a forest of trees, with areas of sunlight and dark shadows. The direction is clear and focused, and the brightness overpowers the dark. It aligns with the closing words from a song Claire loved, “O God of loveliness”: ‘O Life by which I live, my truest Life above, to Thee alone I give my undivided love.’” Her path was always a quest for God, and her destination, the utter fullness of God.

For her life and for her fullness of life, we give thanks.

Reflections given by Betsy Conway, CSJ

January 13, 2026

Family Reflection…

It is an honor to share a brief reflection today about my Auntie Sister Claire, and it has been an honor for sixty years to be her niece and her namesake.

Claire Arlene Morrissey was born on January 31, 1937, the sixth of seven daughters of Arthur and V. Theresa Morrissey. She was the sister of Mary, Margaret (called Peggy), Theresa, Florence (called Flossie), Anne, and Judy. It is our extended family’s hope that Sister Claire has been reunited in heaven with her parents and her sisters Mary, Peggy, and Theresa, her dear friend Sister Borgia, and others who knew and loved her. Believing she is in the company of loved ones, and knowing she is in the presence of Jesus, helps to comfort those of us here who knew her and loved her — and still love her, so much. It also helps to know she is no longer suffering after a long and difficult journey through the emotional and physical pain of memory loss, cognitive decline, and dementia.

We are so grateful to those who walked on that path beside her, guided her, and comforted her — especially Sister Betsy Conway, Sister Rosemary Brennan, and Sister Brendalee Boisvert. Sister Claire was blessed to live in community with the extraordinary women of the Congregation of the Sisters of Saint Joseph for seventy years, spending the later years living at the Motherhouse in Brighton with her wonderful roommates Sister Rosemary, Sister Pat, and Sister Mary Ellen. Saint Joseph Hall and Bethany Health Care Center in Framingham became her final residences since 2022 — both environments are beautiful extensions of the Saint Joseph mission “to work for unity where there is brokenness and to help people become whole and holy, individually and together.” Sister Claire was instrumental in the establishment of Bethany as one of its founders and first nurses.

The sisters who live now at Bethany delighted in their sister Claire — she was great company, and they were great company for her. Among them, Sr. Peggy Rooney often played piano in the activity room and was a true friend. The Bethany activities staff, including Katherine, Arielle, Carol, Leslie, and Abigail, provided Claire with three years of music, merriment, movies, cookies, crafts, chats, and ice cream — all provided with love and laughter. The nurses and staff that cared for Sister Claire also loved her, and we her family are grateful to all of them. They cherished her humor; they brought her joy; and they guarded her dignity. Of those many earthly angels on the second floor, some were with Claire for years and some for only days, such as Serenity Hospice nurses Michelle, Yuliya, and Frances, who guided her transition that began on December 29. Then, and throughout her time at Bethany, the CNAs and LPNs ministered to Sister Claire with patience and kindness, especially Sandra, Leonor, Fatoumata, Jessica, and Clement — who I call St. Clement. May we all be blessed to be in the capable and tender care of someone like Clement in our final months and days.

Speaking of St. Clement, young Claire and her sisters (and my father and his brothers) all attended St. Clements Church and St. Clements School in Somerville, steps away from the Morrissey home on Warner Street near Tufts University. Growing up, Claire shared a bedroom first with her younger sister Judy and older sister Anne, and then just with Anne right up until she joined the convent out of high school. Anne, my mom, was Claire’s “little” big sister (Claire was younger but much taller). Thank you, Mumma, for naming me after your sister Claire Arlene. Thank you for telling me and my siblings so many stories over the years about your parents and your sisters and your adventures with Claire — like when you accidentally lit the bedroom curtains on fire while sneaking a game of cards by candlelight, or when you were playing darts and struck Claire and she refused to remove the dart from her forehead until your parents came home. Thank you for making Auntie Sister Claire part of our family and inviting her to everything. You included her even before we were born, going to the convent right after your wedding so that she could see you in your wedding gown, be in your wedding photos, and share your special day. That says so much about your love for her and your close bond — a bond that lasted her entire life. I know how much you loved her, and how much she loved you.

Auntie Sister Claire and Auntie Margaret (our father’s sister) were at our home for every holiday and special occasion and Claire often visited in between. She made time for our family as well as her sisters Theresa, Flossie, Judy and their children. My brother John, my sisters Mary, Anne, Michelle, and my cousins —Lee, Kiki, Kevin, Michelle, Heidi, and Johnny Myles; Jack, Bob, and Judi Perry; Kelly, Kara, Kristen, and Chuck Laverty — all have joyful memories of times spent with Auntie Claire, and many of them are here today, so I hope all of you will seek them out to hear their stories. Our extended family collectively enjoyed her presence at weddings and at Auntie Judy’s family gatherings in Falmouth, including Claire’s Jubilee for her 50th anniversary as a Sister of St. Joseph. That was an incredibly special day, focused on honoring and celebrating Sister Claire, and I know many of you were there. Many of you were also at my sister Mary’s bridal shower that was hosted right here at the Motherhouse — yes, a bridal shower hosted by nuns — and it was a blast.

My many memories of Auntie Sister Claire revolve around the gifts of presence and listening and laughter. Presence requires both being there and really being there. I remember Auntie Claire always being there in both ways. Not only on holidays and important moments like my First Communion and Confirmation, but also for my college graduation in Connecticut and for plays I performed in or directed there and elsewhere. She liked to tell a story from when she came to see me perform in the Ice Show in Lexington when I was in elementary school. I had a brief solo that preceded the rest of the group taking the ice — I was so excited. But the night Auntie Sister Claire came, I fell down somewhere between a spin and some bunny hops, with the whole rink watching. Later Auntie Claire told me that she (and everyone) saw me mouthing to myself the words “don’t cry, don’t cry” as I got up and skated the rest of my little routine. Apparently, she and everyone else got a kick out of that. Today I find myself repeating that same mantra.

As recently as 2018 she came to MIT to see a production I wrote and directed, and it meant the world to me that she was there. Whenever Auntie Claire was there, she was really there. She didn’t just observe; she engaged, she participated, she relished the experience; she rejoiced, celebrated, and was proud. Those moments made me feel so special, so happy, so blessed, so lucky. And I know all of you felt that way in her presence too. Claire’s presence was real — it was genuine, generous, and joyful. She was interested in others’ lives — she asked questions, and she listened, listened not only with curiosity but with compassion, with charity, and she gave wise counsel. I turned to her in times of heartbreak and pain as well as times of joy, and I carried her words with me: phrases like “go gently,” “hold it lightly,” and “be kind to yourself.”

She also listened through letters — over the years, we wrote letters and cards back and forth wherever I was studying, traveling, or living. I cherish those letters, and I cherish her voicemails that are still saved on my phone. In one of them from 2018, when she had just received my invitation to the play at MIT in the mail, she said “I knew, I knew something good would come before my life was over, when somebody like yourself was named after me. I love you and I’m so proud.” I loved Auntie Claire’s sense of humor. She listened and she laughed. And she made other people laugh. She was funny and she was fun. Whenever I thought of her all these years—and whenever I think about her now — I see her laughing, smiling, huge smile, twinkling eyes, thrilled at whatever happy thing is being said or done. And I hear her gentle and melodic voice. Every time I visited her, her reaction was the same — sheer joy, an exclamation of “Look who’s here!” or “Mother of God!” or “It’s my namesake!” and laughing in delight with her hands excitedly tapping or rubbing her folded arms.

I wish I had a video of that.

On Thanksgiving Day when I was there, Auntie Claire was still able to answer simple questions like “how are you?” with a word or two in reply, but when I went to see her on December 6, she was non-verbal and her eyes were closed most of the time. When it was time to say goodbye, I hugged her and kissed her cheek and said into her ear over and over, “I love you, I love you Auntie Claire, I love you so much” and — after not speaking a word for two hours — she replied, “Okay, you love me!” Those were the last words I heard her say.

Auntie Sister Claire’s humor was irresistible; her heart was huge; and her faith in God was beautiful. While listening to music with her on her last evening, I thought about how these lyrics from the song “Faithful Friend” by Twila Paris and Steven Curtis Champan seemed to describe her, and they express what those of us here today would say to her:

I am one of many whose path has been made clearer
By the light you’ve carried faithfully as a warrior and a child
God has used you greatly to encourage and inspire
And you’ve remained a true friend all the while

We can all spread a little bit of Sister Claire magic, and keep her here with us, by following her example of letting God use us to encourage and inspire, by being a faithful friend, by being present, listening, and laughing. And by taking her advice to be kind to ourselves and go gently.

Reflections given by Claire Conceison  

January 13, 2026

Tribute to Sr. Claire Morrissey
A friendship that continues to linger…

Thank you for the honor of being with you today — Sisters of St. Joseph and the family of Sr. Claire Morrissey. I can almost picture her now, feeling a wee bit uncomfortable that this day is centered on her. She never sought the spotlight, yet she had a beautiful way of shining it on her friends and her dear family. Today, Sr. Claire, it truly is all about you. 

In these next few minutes, I want to share the gift it was to be your friend, and the blessing it was to receive your friendship. 

In 1989, I lived in Brighton at your Motherhouse with other students studying at Boston College. Many evenings at table, you would ask, “So, what did you learn today?” At first, I wasn’t sure how seriously to answer. But you would say, “I want to grow my relationship with God, so I’m very interested in what you’re learning.” And so, we talked — often, deeply, and with great intent. 

When I was missioned to St. Kitts in the West Indies, I returned to Brighton each summer for six weeks over the next five years to complete a second master’s degree in Faith Development. It was during those summers that our friendship deepened. We visited one another’s families, shared stories, and wove a connection that lasted a lifetime. 

Today, I want to highlight three gifts I received from Sr. Claire. 

First, her gift of deep listening. 

Sr. Claire listened with her whole heart — without judgment, without hurry. She asked questions that invited truth, insight, and honesty. I always felt heard, and I always felt held in prayer. Our conversations were often soul work, rooted in a shared desire to grow into the people God was calling us to be. I tried to listen to her with the same reverence and openness. 

Second, her gift of faithful witness. 

Sr. Claire celebrates her 72ⁿᵈ year in Religious Life. She carried a deep respect for tradition, yet she was always willing to stand in the present and wanted to grow in welcoming the future. We often shared on articles from LCWR and reflected together on the summer reading books. Even in these last years, Sr. Peggy Rooney and I would meet in the lobby at Bethany and talk with Claire about how these writings challenged us or invited us to live the Gospel more fully. 

Claire often said, “I respond best to invitation, not so much to demand.”  

I believe our loving God found many ways to invite her to live her elder years with joy and patience, to welcome the new reality of her life, and to accept herself in this transformed way. She was a witness to me of someone who listened faithfully to her Creator and longed to grow into the fullness of who she was called to be. 

Her prayer was simple. Words sometimes eluded her, especially in these last years, but when they came, they were profound.  

They reminded me that God walks with us even when we have no words. 

Third, her gift of joy—expressed most clearly in her smile. 

Her smile lit up a room. It revealed her love for the Congregation, her Brighton community, her family, her nurses on second floor, especially Clement, and her friendship with me.  

On FaceTime she would sometimes say, “Oh, my Canadian friend…” — a greeting she kept right to the end.  

She cherished her relationship with her Councilor Betsy, her CSJ friend Sr. Rosemary, and her family and beloved nieces and nephews. 

When we vacationed together, we often began our mornings with faith sharing, then chose how we would meet the heart of God in the day ahead. We visited Weston Priory, sat by the pond, and opened our hearts to the joys, challenges, and invitations of being more contemplative.  

We walked quietly through wooded paths. 

I once asked her why she loved the image of a path through the woods. She said it reminded her that we, as religious, rarely know exactly where we are going — but the trees stand with us, offering presence and reminding us we are not alone. The trees represent our ancestors and the Holy One who walks with us always. 

Today, when I picture that path, I know she is now one of those ancestors. She walks with us in our woods. She is a presence of quiet companionship as we step into the unknown future. We are not alone. 

I close now — not because everything has been said, but because there is so much more that could be shared. What matters most is this: I knew the gift of being loved as her friend. I will miss that unconditional love. And I will continue to seek it in new ways. 

 I believe the veil between us and our loved ones is very thin. We must learn to listen differently as they continue to guide us, support us,  and encourage us to become our truest selves. 

Sr. Claire, rest in peace. Keep walking that path with the faithful trees. Continue to shine your light on those of us still committed to life here.  

Teach us to find your smile, your listening heart, and your faithful witness of a life lived for God. 

It was an honor and a joy to share these short thirty‑five years with you. I will miss you, but I refuse to believe you are gone.  

I will look for you in the faces of those who smile, who listen well, who show that aging is part of the call.  

Through them, you will continue to teach me to say my yes to a faithful God. 

Refrain:   

For your gracious blessings, we give thanks to God. 

For your loving kindness, we give thanks to God. 

For you are beautiful, and we love you dearly—more dearly than words can tell. 

Reflection by Sr. Brendalee Boisvert 

Antigonish, Nova Scotia 

Congregation Leader, Sisters of St. Martha 

Friend of Sr. Claire Morrissey