Just 'Cuz I Love It

Eugène de Blaas
"God's Creatures"

Naturally, I love art that depicts nuns, and especially Dominican nuns. In my opinion, the Dominican habit is more "artistic" looking than any other habit, except possibly the Trappist/Cistercian habit, which is also black and white. The Dominican habit today is more white or ivory than cream; otherwise, it has changed very little over the centuries. However, some communities in warmer climates, such as Texas, have done away with the guimpe and forehead covering, retaining only the veil over a close-fitting cap. I do miss wearing the habit.

A Taste of Monastic Life

Just to refresh your memory: before a woman officially enters a monastery, she usually makes a visit called an "aspirancy," which lasts anywhere from a few days to a few weeks or even months. This visit, during which she stays inside the monastery's enclosure walls as a temporary member of the community, enables her to experience firsthand the monastic life, the customs and horarium (schedule) of that particular community; more importantly, it gives both her and the community a chance to determine whether or not she has a true monastic vocation, and whether she is a right fit for that community and vice-versa.

The following passages are taken from my journal.


25 February 2004

     Tomorrow I leave for Lufkin. I can't seem to sleep. Guess I'm too excited. Such a completely different life, a completely different world from the one I live in now! Most of my life has been spent working in a business in which everything depends on talent, praise, and criticism. You are either being judged, or you're judging someone else. Your job hangs on questions like, "How well does she play? Is she a 'conductor's pianist'; does she play 'orchestrally'? Does she know how to coach? Do the singers like her?" I suppose success in any profession depends on ability, talent -- in fact, that's one of the world's biggest truisms -- but that can get all confused with the person, and sometimes in dangerous ways. It seems to me that the focus on one's talents vs. shortcomings can become so intense as to cause that person to believe that those are the only criteria by which he/she is deemed valuable. Especially in today's society, where too often a person's job is his life.
     No, life can be better than that. Now that I know I am valuable in God's eyes, regardless of the gifts he's given me, I never want to settle for, or rely on, the opinions and judgment of men. If tomorrow I lose the use of my hands, I am still precious in his eyes. I no longer want to care about praise and admiration and applause. But I know, because I've cared about those things all my life, learning not to care will be the most difficult thing I'll ever try to do.
     I'm beginning to understand that this is part of what St. Catherine of Siena calls "true discernment" -- a knowledge of self, and how God works in you and through you; the honest appraisal of one's faults, the things that hinder one's quest for perfection and union with God.


1 March 2004, Lufkin

     I arrived at the monastery last Thursday around 12.30 -- a beautiful day, crisp and sunny. I was immediately taken by St. Mary Veronica to be fed in the guest dining room, but only after a few minutes I was summoned to the Peace Parlor to be greeted by Sr. Mary Annunciata (Prioress), Sr. Mary William, and Sr. Mary Jeremiah.
     The meeting in the parlor was brief. I was then escorted by Sr. Mary Veronica to the enclosure door. This was the moment I’d read about in so many nuns’ autobiographies! There, in a narrow hallway just beyond a small vestibule, was the majority of the community, lined up in 2 rows, faces smiling in welcome. I made my way through them, alternating from one side to the other, embracing each sister. Some, of course, I’d already met on my previous visits. I came to the only blue-clad figure among them, their postulant Adrienne. She just entered at the start of the year. She kept saying, “Oh, I’m so happy you’re here!” It must be very lonely, the first months as a postulant.
     After greeting everyone, I was shown into the oratory where I knelt before a statue of Our Lady of Fatima, and Sr. Mary Annunciata said a blessing. Then the novices, Adrienne, Sr. Mary Jeremiah, Sr. Mary William, and Sr. Maria Cabrini took me through the main building, out along the cloister walk, and to the novitiate building for a “get-to-know-you” recreation, just the 8 of us. I was happy to see a grand piano in the novitiate’s community room. It’s a brown Aeolian in fair shape, but needs tuning and voicing badly. There was class in the afternoon (they have class every weekday except Wednesday, at 4). Right now we're studying the Gospel of John -- my favorite Gospel; I’m so glad!
     After supper, I went with the novices to work in the kitchen. My job was to help dry pots and pans and large utensils at the “pot sink.” Dishes, cafeteria trays, glasses, and silverware are washed in the “dish room,” which has one of those super-fast, restaurant-style dishwashers -- you fill up a big rack with dirty dishes, push them through a sort of mini-garage door; just a short couple of minutes later, ed ecco! Clean dishes, piping hot!
     Then evening recreation, this time with the whole community in the main building’s community room. That first evening, they had a “circle” recreation in my honor: all the sisters sat in a big circle with me and the Prioress, Sub-Prioress, and Novice Directress sitting at the top of it; I told them what I could about myself, and they asked lots of questions. Of course, they were extremely interested in my work and the world of opera.
     Friday I helped peel and core mounds of Granny Smith apples. Saturday mornings are devoted to housecleaning. My assignment was the novitiate's community room and computer room -- dust, vacuum, and mop. They of course use old-fashioned hand-wrung mops, Swiffers with their disposable mopcloths not being ecnomical and therefore not in accordance with the vow of poverty. Never mind the fact that hand-wrung mops can be very unsanitary!
     Monday morning, kitchen duty. I prepared toast points for dinner (their big midday meal), buttering the bread, topping each triangle with two kinds of cheese and a tomato slice, then Sr. Mary Thomas grilled them. I'm very good with assembly line work.
     After kitchen duty, I was taken to the laundry where I was shown by Sr. Mary Rose how to clean and vacuum the giant lint trap from their enormous dryer. The amount of lint that came out of that thing was enough to weave a whole set of sheets! Then I had to vacuum the very large laundry room. Someone needs to donate new vacuum cleaners to these sisters. The one in the novitiate looks to be circa the Viet Nam war. The one in the laundry ain’t much younger. Adrienne mopped the concrete floor after I vacuumed, then I helped fold and bring clean stuff back to the kitchen and novitiate. We finished with about 3 minutes to spare before Midday Prayer. I was famished! When we went in to dinner, I looked proudly at my beautiful toast points. . . .
     Meals are eaten in silence (except on special feast days and “picnic days”); as you eat, you listen to the reader who reads a biography of a saint, or a book or article on Church History, or something on the spiritual life, etc. In this way, you are feeding both mind and body. The refectory in a monastery is regarded as a holy place, because every meal taken there commemorates the Last Supper. Therefore, it is also one of the places where silence is generally kept, aside from the reading at meals.


4 March 2004

     I had a long talk with Sr. Mary Jeremiah about this and that -- what one does with one’s bank account, property, etc. before entering, and about visits and correspondence.
     You usually keep your bank account(s) open until you take vows, just in case things don’t work out and you leave the monastery. Upon entering, you bring a dowry (money) which is also kept aside until you take your final vows, again for security in the event you should leave. One doesn’t want to go back to the outside world without money! If you do take final vows, making you a cloistered nun for the rest of your earthly life, then you can close your accounts.
     The correspondence part I’m sort of disappointed about, being an avid letter writer. But postulants and novices can only write to friends a few times a year; to family, twice a month. Visitors (family and friends) can be received, except during Advent and Lent. If one’s family lives far away and can only come once or twice a year, they may stay (at a local hotel at the monastery’s expense) for two days, and a sister may spend the whole time (except for Mass and the Divine Office) visiting with them in one of the parlors; she may even take her meals there.
     We also talked about how much more difficult it is for someone my age to give up the world and enter into a hidden life. She was very reassuring and comforting: “God knows how much you’re giving up. And he wouldn’t ask you to make such a sacrifice if he didn’t think you’d be happy. We sometimes forget that he wants our happiness.”
     But this morning I couldn’t help thinking of all the things I’m giving up. As I took my morning stroll, pacing up and down the path to the cemetery, I thought of my life -- all I’ve accomplished, how much I have to give as an opera coach, how I’d never see the English countryside that I’ve wanted to see ever since I can remember; or Venice and Verona, which are more recent dreams. And so, after Mass, I prayed very hard to Jesus and Mary to help me fight these temptations and to remember always that the Spirit put this desire to be a nun in my heart for a reason -- his reason, not mine.


Part Two of my aspirancy coming soon. . . .













             

On Visiting the Dominicans

I had sent three religious communities a request to visit them and received a prompt reply from all three. I arranged to visit the Monastery of the Infant Jesus (Dominicans in Lufkin) in June of that year (2003); I would go to the Santa Fe Carmel and St. Benedict Monastery in Canyon in August.

Shortly before my Lufkin visit, I had a session with my therapist, S_. I told her of my impatience to have things "resolved"; that I feared the coming year at work was going to be very difficult, as it was already, what with not being able to go to Mass every day and having to focus so much of my time, energy, and thoughts on work—work that God gave me, yes, and I knew I should cheerfully do my best—but it was hard, when my heart and soul wanted to be somewhere else. I hadn't yet learned to do everything, no matter what it was, for the sake of God's glory, and so I felt torn in too many directions. S_ said that if I did get accepted to a monastery, then perhaps I could relax a bit and not feel so anxious. I would have something definite to look forward to, rather than wonder what my future held.

I also told her I'd been thinking a great deal about how I had gotten to that point, trying to see God's plan. I could now see that everything in my life did indeed happen for a reason; there was a pattern, a path. I saw the beginnings of my contemplative nature, the ever-present inclination toward reflection and solitude, as well as the deep need for the support of like souls. I saw God's hand in every step I took, every turn of my life, in decisions large and small, and in the things that just seemed to happen without my knowing the why or how of them. He had been there all along.

The following are excerpts from my journal written during my visit to Lufkin.

June 23, 2003, Lufkin.   My day began with an easy-paced morning of preparing for my visit to the Monastery of the Infant Jesus. I was a bit apprehensive about the kind of characters that travel by bus, until I saw among the people at the station an elderly sister in full black habit, who smiled in answer to my "Hello, Sister." I fgured it was a good omen.

The bus ride turned out to be quite entertaining, actually. Following L_'s advice, I sat at the front near the driver; behind me was a retired Viet Nam vet; across from him was an elderly lady with a Butterfly McQueen voice and Brillo-pad hair beneath a red knit hat. Both were regular bus travelers. The woman must know the names of everyone who has worked for the bus line in the past 20 years. She and the vet had a lively chat with the driver, a square-faced, rough-hewn, but amiable type with a crew cut and flinty eyes. He talked of everything from casinos to international relatons, tossing out his homespun philosophies in a voice fairly dripping with Good Ol' Boy syrup.

Upon arriving in Lufkin, I was met by a nice elderly couple who are friends of the sisters. It was just a short drive to the monastery. We pulled off narrow, tree-lined Lotus Lane into an even narrower private drive that wound through dense pines up to the visitors' parking lot in front of the main building. There I was greeted by the "outside" sister (they don't call it "extern" here), Sr. Mary Veronica, who showed me to the guest room which opens onto the front porch. We just stopped long enough to dispose of my suitcase, then Sister took me to one of the small visiting parlors, where I was to meet Sr. Mary William, the Vocations Directress. She was already there, smiling and standing with arms extended in welcome. There was no grille; just a low dividing wall between us. The Prioress, Sr. Mary Annunciata, came in a moment later and we sat for a get-to-know-you chat. I told them my history, a little about my family, and how I received my vocation. They put me very much at ease with their gentle smiles and soft voices, but I was a bit dazed -- it is rather an overwhelming experience, one's first interview with cloistered nuns. In fact, I felt dazed the rest of the day. Immediately after my interview we went in for Vespers. I sat in the public part of the chapel and just listened to the chanting and praying of the nuns. I couldn't see them, unless one of them came up to the sanctuary; the public section is perpendicular to the choir (the nuns' section), the two sections forming an L, with the sanctuary in the corner joining them. After Vespers I went back to my room to unpack, then Sr. Mary Veronica came to take me to the guest dining room for dinner -- salad, fried chicken, mystery beans, and homemade blueberry cobbler. Sister ate with me. She entered the monastery at the astonishingly young age of 16. After supper, I had another interview wih Sr. Mary William, then there was Compline and Benediction in chapel, after which was private prayer. I prayed a rather unfocused rosary. I hope tomorrow I will have gotten over this dazedness.

June 24, 2003.   Today I had another interview, this time with the Council, comprised of the Prioress, Sub-Prioress (Sr. Maria Guadalupe), Sr. Mary William, and four other solemnly professed sisters. It was a very lively chat, just to get acquainted, really. After Vespers, I met Fr. Michael Monshau -- the sisters are currently on their big annual retreat, and he's their retreat master this year. I introduced myself, and we sat down on the porch to talk. He was a tremendous help. One of the things he told me, after I said I'd heard about many other orders besides the three I'm interested in, is that at this point in my discernment it's probably not a good idea to overload on information; too confusing. The other thing he said, after I told him of my growing resentment of my job's deands, is that this time of conflict may be God's way of telling me it's time to make a decision.

But before making my decision, I still had to visit the Santa Fe Carmel and St. Benedict in Canyon. . . .

On Saying "Yes" to My Vocation

     Having accepted God's invitation to serve him in religious life, I then proceeded to the next phase: finding out which order he wanted me to join, and which monastery within that order. As I discussed in an earlier post, "On My 'Reversion' and Religious Vocation," there are basically two kinds of religious orders in the Catholic Church—active orders (also called "congregations") and contemplative. From the very first inkling of my call, I knew God was asking me to be a contemplative. I believe unswervingly in the power of prayer, and I have a deep desire to pray for, and in the stead of, those who cannot or will not pray themselves. I also believe unswervingly in the "white martyrdom" of the cloistered contemplative life, the freely given offering of one's own worldly life in reparation for the sins of the world. I can't bear the thought of anyone using their free will to choose evil over good and, having chosen it until the moment the soul separates from the body in death, being deprived forever of union with God. If, as I believe, prayer can save one soul from that particular destiny, then I wanted to give my whole life and being to prayer. Contemplative orders are also necessary to the active orders, the orders that devote themselves to some kind of public service in the world.  The prayers that arise continuously from contemplative monasteries help to support those sisters and brothers who remain in the world to teach, nurse, and do missionary work. Monasteries are the "powerhouses of prayer" in the Church.

     After exhaustive research, reading countless books and perusing countless websites, I narrowed my choice down to three orders: the Carmelites, the Benedictines, and the Dominicans. I was very much attracted to the austerity of the Carmelites, their great poverty and humility, and their equal balance of solitude and community. The Benedictines, whose motto is Ora et Labora ("prayer and work"), work the land and keep animals; they put great emphasis on the Liturgy and, in the larger monasteries and abbeys, are known for their expertise in Gregorian chant. The Dominicans are great students. They place emphasis on the pursuit of Truth (their motto being Veritas) through the study of Scripture and the writings of the Church Fathers. However, they are more community-oriented than the Carmelites.

     I also decided to begin my search for the right monastery in my part of the country. If God willed, I wanted to remain within easy distance of my family. I stumbled on the website of a Dominican monastery in Lufkin, just two hours north of Houston, called the Monastery of the Infant Jesus. Surprised that my spiritual director, who was a Dominican priest, did not mention this monastery to me, I asked him about it. He said he purposely didn't mention Lufkin because he didn't want to influence me toward the Dominicans.

     An opera stage director I knew put me in touch with the prioress of the Carmelites in Santa Fe, where she had done research for a production of Dialogues of the Carmelites. Then I found a new Benedictine monastery in Canyon, Texas with the help of a vocational placement service. This house was founded by a large active Benedictine teaching congregation in Arkansas that wanted to found a contemplative community.

     All three houses were willing to consider older vocations, which was essential for me, being 43 at the time. The usual age bracket for acceptance is 18 to 30 or 35. But with the relatively recent phenomenon of the young "career woman" and the general opinion that a woman just sprung from school should enjoy some years of independence before marrying and having a family (if indeed she ever eventually does so), the notion of a religious vocation is often not seriously considered or even entertained until later in life. Gone are the days when the options open to young women were pretty much limited to teaching, nursing, secretarial work, marriage, or the religious life. The luxury of choices now available to them tends to lure many of them away from the religious calling they may actually have. More and more religious communities are realizing this, and have adjusted their age limit of acceptance accordingly.

     And so, I wrote to the three monasteries I finally chose, asking to make a visit, and awaited their answers. . . .

On My "Reversion" and Religious Vocation

     Some of my friends have asked me to recount how I received my religious vocation and the journey I took from there to entering the cloister. Though many books and articles have been written specifically about "the call" and how different people experience it and respond to it, I can't think it's an easy thing for anyone to discuss. It certainly isn't for me, mainly because it was such a complicated thing that happened in two stages. The first stage unfolded so subtly and over such a long period of time—the course of many years—that I was hardly aware it was happening. The second stage was more like the proverbial thunderbolt, or, to use a more contemporary vernacular, a boot in the rear.

     I can only say that an ever-growing restlessness and dissatisfaction with life as I was living it in the 1980s and '90s prompted me to re-examine the need for a spiritual center, which I once had as a child and adolescent, but in my late teens had pushed down and buried deep inside me while I pursued my musical career. In the beginning of that career, my talent was not to me "a gift from God"; it was simply something I was born with, and I developed it with a purely selfish, vain ambition and ruthless competitiveness. I loved my talent because it was mine (so I believed), and I loved that others admired and respected me for it. I found success and did indeed have a good career in opera, but eventually selfishness and competitiveness led, as it always does, to dissatisfaction. Dissatisfaction led to anxiety; anxiety led to the search for, as I defined it then, "something stronger than myself."

     Once I acknowledged there was something stronger than myself and my ambition, something that I couldn't control but could rely on always, then, and only then, was I open to the gift of faith. I was given the grace to question, to explore, and to learn. I was given the grace to see beyond myself and the ephemeral world I lived in. For this, and for my subsequent return to the Catholic Church, I must give some credit to my beloved mother, who prayed for me constantly during my years of faithlessness. She was my own personal Saint Monica, and I am forever grateful to her.

     In my quest to find a parish in Houston I felt at home in, providence led me to Holy Rosary, a parish run by friars of the Order of Preachers (commonly known as "Dominicans"). At the same time, I was also beginning to feel an inexplicable pull toward religious life. To this day, I have no idea specifically how or when it started, but suddenly—and this was the "boot in the rear"—I was reading everything I could lay my hands on about religious life.  I learned there are basically two kinds of religious orders: contemplative and active. Religious in active orders are sisters (technically not "nuns"). Their apostolate is teaching school or nursing, or doing some kind of charitable  or missionary work, and sometimes they live "in the world" while doing these things, or sometimes they live in convents. Mother Theresa's order, for example, is an active order. Religious in contemplative orders are nuns, but are addressed as "Sister" (or, for those who hold office, "Mother"). They live in monasteries called cloisters and their only apostolate is prayer and contemplating the word of God, which is why they are called "contemplatives." Nuns only venture outside the cloister for the most essential things, such as doctor's appointments or the death of their immediate family members, or for conferences and workshops. In the simplest terms, active sisters are "Martha"s and contemplative nuns are "Mary"s—and both are necessary to the Church and to the world.

     To say I was not bewildered and frightened by this pull toward religious life would be a lie. Frankly, I was scared out of my mind, and many were the times that I tried to convince myself it was just a passing fancy.  My life at that time was so settled into my work at the opera house; to give up everything for which I worked so hard for so many years and to which I had become so accustomed was unthinkable, akin to madness! Finally, I consulted both a therapist (who, thankfully, was a very faith-filled woman) and one of the priests at Holy Rosary. Both encouraged me to explore this mysterious and frightening thing that was happening to me, but they also cautioned me: "Take it slowly. Don't jump into anything without a lot of examination and (my priest told me) prayer."

     And so, I began my discernment in earnest. . . .