The World is Their Cloister

The following is an excerpt from a letter I wrote to a friend toward the end of my aspirancy in March of 2004.

Dear C_ ,

    You know what it is about this schedule? Nothing lasts more than an hour. Except for Sunday evening recreation, which is an hour and half. So you feel as if you barely settle in one place before you have to go someplace else. Kind of like high school. Here's a typical weekday for a postulant/novice:

  

5.20   Rising bell

5.50   Office of Readings, followed immediately by Morning Prayer (in chapel)

6.30   Private meditation (anywhere)

7.20   Mass, followed by private thanksgiving

          Profound silence ends

          Breakfast (pick up when done with thanksgiving)

8.45   Spiritual reading

9.20   Bell for Midmorning Prayer (chapel)

9.45   Work, as assigned
10.30  Study

11.30  Bell for Midday Prayer (chapel)

           Dinner  

12.55  Recreation in novitiate

1.30   Quiet time/nap

2.25   First bell for rosary

2.40   Rosary in common, followed immediately by Midafternoon Prayer (chapel)

3.15   Novices' allotted time for Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament (chapel)

4.00   Class (novitiate)
5.00   Bell for Evening Prayer (chapel)

          Supper, followed by dishes (as assigned)

          A few minutes' free time
6.40   Recreation with professed sisters in main community room

7.30   Bell for Compline, followed by Benediction (chapel)

          Private meditation (anywhere)

8.30   Showers/baths may begin

9.30   Profound silence begins

10.30 Lights out (unofficial)

     Yet there is a calmness to the day. If you had to follow such a tightly-packed schedule out in the world, you'd probably feel stressed. What makes it different here? First of all, the relative silence. Secondly, and more importantly, everything is done in prayerful recollection (hopefully), so that the whole day is spent in awareness of the presence of God.

     I took a stroll this morning before Mass to do my meditation. The sun had just risen, and the few clouds in the sky were golden. I went first to the cemetery, then to the woods. The paths had dried up a bit, so I went a little further than usual. The sun, still low in the sky, peeked through the straight, tall pines, making them seem like an army of angels marching in solemn triumph before the glory of God. The air was very still and cool and slightly damp, and there was on the ground a delicate silken network of webs, glistening in the golden rays. Walking in those woods, I feel very close to God.

     I went for another walk in the woods this afternoon during quiet hour. Every time I go out there, I look at the enclosure wall and think, "There is the boundary of their world. Beyond that wall, they hardly ever venture." It's an awesome, slightly chilling, thought. Can I really live witin these stone walls for the rest of my mortal life? Only by the grace of God! Since He seems to be asking me to try, I can only trust that He will also give me the strength. I look at the sisters and novices who are far younger than I, who are at an age when most young women begin to find ther lives, and marvel that they have made this choice. What courage, what genoerosity, what love they have for God! I've already tasted and experienced what I'd be giving up; they never had the chance to do even that! Who has the greater difficulty? Is it better not to know, is ignorance truly bliss? Or is it better to have known, then given it up? There are as many answers to that as there are people whom God calls to this life. As the fingerprints of our hands are unique, so are the blueprints of our souls; and God alone, the Master Builder, knows how many nails are needed, how many walls and windows, to build the temple within each of us. Make mine doubly strong, dear God, because I know the slightest wind of temptation could threaten to destroy it.

     This is a life of little things -- well, aside from the obvious big thing -- but I mean, it's the little things that touch my heart and put into sharp focus the beauty of this hidden life. When I enter the woods just after sunrise and see coming toward me the white-clad figure of a novice, habit and veil flowing in the chilly breeze, her face serene with the joy of Christ within her, my breath catches in my throat, and I think, "How beautiful that is!" Or when I go to the cemetery and watch an elderly sister, habit completely covered with her work apron, bending over the flowers she's tended so lovingly for God knows how many years, I think, "This is her world. This is her life. It's enough for her, because it's everything for her." Within these walls is a reality so deep and so true, all other "reality" shrinks beside its pure light. These women are living for God, with God, in love with God. That is their reality, and for them there is no other.

     My talk with Sr. __ was very wonderful, moving, and sad. She told me she developed fluid in her right lung in December; they drained it, but she then had pneumonia, and they had to drain it again. They told her she had probably six months more to live. It's very hard for me to talk or write about this -- all I can say is, I've never before seen ayone so cheerful and hopeful in the face of death. She's doing all she can to prepare herself to meet her Bridegroom, and she's awaiting her new beginning with such joy, I just can't be sad for her. This is what she's waited for -- what all the sisters wait for -- at last, to see God and be with him forevermore. I wish you could know her. She is a great soul, truly holy, yet so very comfortable and approachable and warm. She's taught me, in the short time I've known her, how to strive for holiness, and now she's teaching me how to die.

Upon my return to Houston, the hardest months of my life began. . . .