Acceptance to the Novitiate

     The reception of the habit, a. k. a. clothing day, a. k. a. investiture, marks the end of a prospective nun's 9- to 12-month postulancy and the beginning of her novitiate, which for Dominicans lasts two years. As I approached the end of my own postulancy, I admit to having felt a bit apprehensive. The nine months since the day I entered the monastery had been anything but smooth sailing. I was 44 years old at the time, well beyond the average age; I had lived on my own for many years and so was set in my independent ways; I had come from a 30-plus-years-long career as a professional musician and had spent the last 15 of those years in the company of and working with the best and brightest in the opera world. The transition into the austere, confined, and humbling life of the cloister, and singing seven times a day with 27 women, most of whom had no musical or vocal training whatever, was, to tell the truth, Calvary for me. I had to die to my old life, and that death was slow and torturous. I had to adjust to the fact that I owned nothing and had to share everything. I had to ask permission to use, take, or throw out every object I wanted to use, take, or throw out. I struggled in vain to blend my operatically trained voice to the untrained voices of the others. I had to learn to be a pray-er who sings, rather than a singer who prays. I tried my best to close my musician's ears, squelch those instincts which had served me so well as an opera coach, and ignore the out-of-tuneness and incorrect rhythms that I heard every single day from my fellow sisters. I had to resign myself to the fact that I couldn't correct the out-of-tuneness or incorrect rhythms--I was a postulant; it wasn't my place. Nevertheless, I fixed my eyes on the day I could wear the habit and white veil of a novice, knowing full well that, although many graces come with the reception of the habit, Calvary was by no means over for me.
     It was in this frame of mind that I awaited word of my reception. All the professed sisters were gathered for Chapter and would vote whether I should be accepted as a novice. In my mind's eye, I saw one too many of those infamous black balls being cast into the box. While they voted, I sat trembling in the darkened chapel, the novices waiting with me, all of us in silent prayer before the Blessed Sacrament.
     I thought of the long battle with my novice directress over the selection of my name in religion. Now that sisters could choose their own names, rather than the superior choosing for them, the choice had to have some personal significance for the chooser. I had made my choice even before I ever entered: Sr. Maria Simona. Every Dominican nun must have the name "Mary" or some form of it, because Mary is considered the patroness of the Dominican order; but the other part of her name is up to the prospective novice. I chose "Simona" for three reasons: firstly, Simon of Cyrene. I identified very strongly with his story, his sudden and seemingly random calling. Secondly, Simon Peter, whom I love dearly for all his failings, but particularly because Jesus forgave him his vehement denial, eventually exalting him to leader of the apostles and the Church. Thirdly, my father's mother was a Maria and my mother's mother was a Simona, so I would be honoring my family as well. My novice directress, Sr. Maria Cabrini, objected to the fact that Simon of Cyrene is not a saint in the Catholic canon of saints (I've no idea why); but he is a saint to me, since he helped Jesus to carry his cross. Sister tried her best to convince me to take the name Peter. As I said, I love St. Peter very much, but I'm just not crazy about the name!
     Then there was the matter of my mystery, which is the second part of a nun's name and signifies an important aspect of her particular spirituality; for instance, my novice directress' full name is Sr. Maria Cabrini, O. P., of the Sacred Heart. ("O. P." stands for the Order of Preachers, official name of the Dominican Order.) Sister has a deep devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, so she chose that as her mystery. I had a tremendously deep devotion to the Passion and Cross, so my full name would be Sr. Maria Simona of the Passion and Cross of Jesus. Sister was concerned that I was perhaps a bit too fixated on the Passion, that I didn't look beyond it; but I assured her that wasn't the case at all--I was well aware that Christ rose from the dead!
     Sister also worried that because Simon of Cyrene wasn't a canonical saint, he had no feast day on the liturgical calendar. A nun's feast day, celebrated every year instead of her birthday, is the same as her saint's feast day; in the event that there is no such day, the nun chooses her feast day based on her mystery. My mystery was the Passion and Cross, but I obviously couldn't choose Good Friday (the most important days are of course sacrosanct); neither could I choose the Feast of the Precious Blood, because that was already taken by another of my sisters. So I chose the very beautiful Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross, September 14. After finally (albeit only partially) convincing Sr. Maria Cabrini, my name and feast day were handed in to the prioress, Sr. Mary Annunciata.
     The other important hurdle before being received for clothing was the written examination. This covers all the basic aspects of religious life. Luckily, I passed it with flying colors!
     All these things, plus my fervent prayers, passed through my mind as I waited in the dark, silent chapel. After what seemed an interminable time, Sr. Maria Cabrini came to escort me and the novices to the community room where all the rest of the sisters were assembled. We walked in, and the novices sat in their assigned seats while I approached Sr. Mary Annunciata, who, according to the rite of ceremony, asked what was my request. I then formally asked to be accepted for reception of the habit, and to my joy, Sister replied that my request had indeed been accepted! I then sat with the novices and listened to Sr. Mary Annunciata deliver a short talk in which she dropped hints as to what my name in religion would be (a fun tradition, causing the other sisters to try and guess the name, which would not be revealed until the actual clothing ceremony).
     As soon as Sister finished her talk, I went back to her to begin the "kiss of peace" round the circle of sisters, tears of relief and joy springing from my eyes. It was raining heavily outside, but I actually took that a good omen: rain is supposed to be God's blessings, and the Little Flower had rain on her Clothing Day.
     A date had to be set for the ceremony; I had to be measured for my habits, which would be sewn by the seamstress, Sr. Mary Magdalene; and I looked forward to a blessed 10-day retreat before being clothed as a novice of the Order of Preachers.