Laundress for 28 Nuns, Part Two

     When I received the habit and was told that, as a novice, I would have to take on the duty of laundress, I was at first horrified. The thought of washing clothes and linens for 28 people sounded like a nightmare to me, surpassed in horror only by the thought of cooking for 28. My novice directress, Sr. Maria Cabrini, assured me that it was a very popular job among the sisters, mainly because it afforded the laundress much time alone in a separate building; it was very quiet (the sound of the machines notwithstanding) and the laundress could spend a lot of time reading between loads. The delicious prospect of solitude finally sold me on the idea.

     Nuns don't have a vast wardrobe: each sister has two everyday habits (changed weekly), several cotton undershirts (changed daily, because the habit is only changed weekly), a work habit (only worn when doing heavy work, like painting or clearing tree limbs after a storm -- and how often can that be?), a special habit that is worn only on Christmas, Easter, and the day of profession (it looks exactly like the everyday habit, but is made of a slightly fancier grade of cotton/poly), two petticoats, two nightgowns, two work aprons; plus socks and unmentionables, which are washed in personal net swish bags for convenience as well as privacy. That is the extent of whatever each sister wears on her person. But when you add to that every week: bathtowels, bed linens, cleaning rags, kitchen aprons, kitchen towels (which number in the dozens), and take into account that each habit has three parts (excluding cap and veil, which each sister washes herself) -- you've got a lot o' laundry!

     Monday morning is the busiest, as this is when habits are washed and "spotted," and for spotting, the laundress is aided by the other novices, postulants, and novice mistress. Though the sisters are responsible for taking spots out of their own habits, the Monday morning team checks all the habits again after the laundress washes and dries them, removing even the tiniest pinhead-sized spots with a wide array of chemicals found in dry cleaning businesses.

     Tuesday morning, the laundress rises extra early because Tuesday is steam press day. The monastery possesses one professional steam press, which to my mind resembles a large panini press in the shape of an ironing board. In fact, I often wondered if it could be used to grill enough sandwiches for the whole community's dinner -- 28 panini in one fell swoop! But I digress. The laundress must rise extra early in order to light the steam press' pilot light. This is not as easy as it may sound. The pilot light is in a small utility closet, very close to the floor, hidden underneath and behind various pipes. The laundress, armed with her handy long-reach torch lighter, all but turns herself upside down to find the pilot, even using a hand mirror if need be. Once lit, it takes the steam press about 20 minutes to heat to the proper temperature.

     Pressing the habits is done in shifts: tunics, then scapulars, then capes. The first sister on pressing duty comes in at around 5.20, giving her half an hour before Morning Prayer to press as many tunics as possible, hopefully getting most if not all of them done so that the second sister, who takes over immediately after Morning Prayer, can move on to the scapulars, getting as many of those done as she can before Mass, so that the third and final sister, taking over after breakfast, can get to and finish the capes before Midmorning Prayer. After Midmorning Prayer, all the novices and postulants, and the novice mistress, come into the laundry to fold scapulars and capes. The tunics are hung on rolling racks. Folding must be done and everything taken to the seamstress sister's workroom by Midday Prayer. The seamstress sister puts all the habits in order, according to laundry number, in the long hallway closets where they may be picked up by their owners by Saturday evening.

     Now, you may be wondering why, if the fresh habits aren't picked up till Saturday evening, they have to be washed and pressed by Tuesday midday. I often wondered that myself. I do know that the steam press, which uses a great deal of power, can only be used one day a week for only a few hours (in the morning, so that the temperature in the laundry won't be so unbearable). But why Tuesday? Beats me. I tried not to ask too many questions. But getting all the hardest work over with early in the week makes the rest of the week very easy for the laundress. After Tuesday, she can revel in all that promised solitude between loads of linens, kitchen towels and swish bags. And believe you me, I did.

On Receiving the Habit of Religion

     The date was set for my clothing day, and I couldn't have asked for a better or more appropriate one. In the year 2005, May 29, a Sunday, fell on the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ. Since I had chosen as my mystery the Passion and Cross of Jesus, this day was perfect; but it was made even more perfect by the fact that May 29 was Sr. Mary William's birthday. Sister, who died in December of 2004, had championed my vocation indefatigably and was my role model and spiritual mother. I was very sorry that she didn't live to see me receive the habit, but, being clothed on her birthday, I felt she was blessing and looking down on me from heaven.

     I was very excited to be measured for my habits (one to wear, one for spare). The Dominican habit is, I've always thought, one of the most beautiful of all religious habits: a loose tunic, creamy white, with long, deeply cuffed sleeves, and cinched with a black leather belt from which hangs a large black rosary; over that, the white scapular -- a panel in front and a panel in back, sewn together at the shoulders, the sides left open, a sort of over-long bib; over the scapular, a short white cape, ending just above the elbows, with a stiff stand-up collar; a white cap, shaped like a bathing cap; and over the cap, the waist-long veil -- white for the novice, black for the professed. Underneath, a full cotton petticoat skirt. The best thing about the petticoat is that it has two over-sized patch pockets that are accessed via slits in the sides of the tunic. A nun could keep all her wordly possessions in those pockets (which, I realize, is not saying much; nevertheless, they are huge pockets). White knee socks and black shoes or sandals complete the outfit.

     Before her clothing, a postulant takes a 10-day retreat. I spent much of mine taking long, meditative walks in the woods, talking to Jesus in my heart. I found pieces of petrified wood, many small enough to be used in the making of a mosaic cross, which I had in mind to make by Lent the following year. I spent extra time before the Blessed Sacrament, contemplating the face of my Beloved, and wrote poetry and long letters to Jesus in my journal. A clothing retreat may or may not be directed by the novice directress; I opted not to be directed, since solitude was still a very important part of my personal spirituality. In fact, I was beginning to feel there was too much "togetherness" in the novitiate - recreating together, having class together, working in the laundry together, having adoration time together, putting up Christmas decorations together. . . . The effects of all my years of independent living were not so easily erased. I heartily wished the monastery had a real hermitage for sisters to use on their retreats and monthly Moses Day. However, I knew that, once a sister is professed, has moved out of the novitiate and is living in the professed sisters' dorm, she enjoys a bit more solitude.

     Time was, the reception of the habit was a public event that took place in the monastery chapel, very much like a wedding: invitations would be sent and the sister would wear an actual wedding gown. After the preliminaries, she would then go into a private room to have her hair cut off, be dressed in the habit, and re-enter as a novice. Nowadays, the ceremony is closed to the public and takes place in the chapter hall with only the sisters to witness; the big public events in the chapel are the profession of temporary vows, when the sister takes the black veil and becomes an actual nun; and the beautiful profession of solemn (final) vows, when the bride of Christ receives her ring from the local bishop and symbolizes her death to the world and to her former life by lying prostrate before the altar.

     On the day of my clothing, the sun shone bright and warm, the infamous Lufkin humidity settling like a heavy blanket over the town. I remember very little of the actual ceremony, being in a kind of daze. I had struggled so hard to arrive at that day. My hair, which had grown past my shoulders during my postulancy, was tied into a pony tail; Sr. Mary Annunciata cut it off with little trouble. Then Sr. Maria Cabrini took me into a small room and helped me put on my crisply pressed habit and white veil. When I went back out, the closing statements of the rite were pronounced by Sr. Mary Annunciata, and my new name was revealed: I was now Sr. Maria Simona of the Passion and Cross of Jesus.

(Photo by Sr. Mary Jeremiah, O. P.)

 

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.