retirement.’ Want to sit me in a corner, let me
darn torn sheets until I just stop one day.”
She looked at Mickey shrewdly. “Your
retreat, it looked like it was hard.”
Mickey felt her cheeks grow hot. She just
nodded.
“Good,” Sister Linus said approvingly. “If
they’re easy, there’s no point. God isn’t easy.”
Neither was the Novitiate, as the new
novices were finding out. While they continued studying Latin, they
began studying the history of St. Bridget’s which had been founded
in 1820 by a group of Scottish nuns trying to escape the
persecution of Catholics by Protestants determined to make Great
Britain entirely Protestant. “And to think, if we’d waited just
nine wee years, we could have stayed in Scotland,” Sister Josephine
joked in her Scottish burr which had softened after twenty years in
the States, but was still present. If Sister Rosaria had been like
an elderly maiden aunt, strict and stodgy, Sister Josephine was the
younger, roguish aunt – one who had probably gotten into plenty of
trouble herself, with laughing green eyes and a ready sense of
humor. Mickey suspected there was red hair under that wimple.
“Our vows are not just some promise we make
to then lay them aside,” she told the five new novices and the two
second-years. “They must become part of the fabric of who we
are.”
She invited debate and argument as they
began reading and discussing books and papers on religious vows and
monastic life in general.
“None of us is a completely open book,” she
told them, “but keeping secrets is a form of pride, a reliance on
self instead of community, and it’s one of the most dangerous
things to a cohesive community.” She scanned the group quizzically.
“How do you deal with pride?”
“I pray for humility,” said Sister Miranda,
one of the second-years.
“Ah, and how will you know if you get it?”
Sister Josephine asked.
Sister Miranda looked puzzled.
“Praying for humility can be a bit tricky,”
Sister Josephine warned them. “It tends to come to us through
humiliation which is not usually what we have in mind when we ask
for humility.”
Mickey smiled, remembering several instances
where she had learned that painful lesson.
“The other thing about humility that makes
it unique is that if you ever realize you’ve attained it, you just
lost it.”
“But then,” Tanya frowned, “how are we to
become humble?”
“Good question,” Sister Josephine replied,
and dismissed them.
Though the novices were not yet under vows,
they were expected to begin living as if they were, and poverty was
one of the first things Sister Josephine tackled as they were
required to make their first inventory of their belongings,
something they would henceforth do yearly. “It should be simple,”
Mickey wrote to Jamie, “all we have to wear are two habits and two
nightgowns and our underwear,” but “you will be surprised how
difficult it is to give up other things,” Sister Josephine warned
them. “Five books may not seem like many, until you realize you
started with three and then it grows to eight and soon you will be
hoarding. You may keep three books,” she said to Jessica, “and the
others will be available from the library when you want to read
them.” Mickey had laughed at the thought that any of them could be
accused of hoarding until, “how many pens do you need, Sister
Michele?” asked Sister Josephine as she looked Mickey’s list over.
Beautiful pens had been the one thing that Mickey had collected. “I
can’t help myself,” she said to Alice so many times when she came
home from an antique shop with another fountain pen, but the four
she hadn’t been able to part with had been gifts. The memories
associated with each – one from Alice for the completion of her
residency, one from Jamie, one had been her father’s, one from a
patient – made them all precious to her, but “you may keep two,”
Sister Josephine said gently, “so you have
darn torn sheets until I just stop one day.”
She looked at Mickey shrewdly. “Your
retreat, it looked like it was hard.”
Mickey felt her cheeks grow hot. She just
nodded.
“Good,” Sister Linus said approvingly. “If
they’re easy, there’s no point. God isn’t easy.”
Neither was the Novitiate, as the new
novices were finding out. While they continued studying Latin, they
began studying the history of St. Bridget’s which had been founded
in 1820 by a group of Scottish nuns trying to escape the
persecution of Catholics by Protestants determined to make Great
Britain entirely Protestant. “And to think, if we’d waited just
nine wee years, we could have stayed in Scotland,” Sister Josephine
joked in her Scottish burr which had softened after twenty years in
the States, but was still present. If Sister Rosaria had been like
an elderly maiden aunt, strict and stodgy, Sister Josephine was the
younger, roguish aunt – one who had probably gotten into plenty of
trouble herself, with laughing green eyes and a ready sense of
humor. Mickey suspected there was red hair under that wimple.
“Our vows are not just some promise we make
to then lay them aside,” she told the five new novices and the two
second-years. “They must become part of the fabric of who we
are.”
She invited debate and argument as they
began reading and discussing books and papers on religious vows and
monastic life in general.
“None of us is a completely open book,” she
told them, “but keeping secrets is a form of pride, a reliance on
self instead of community, and it’s one of the most dangerous
things to a cohesive community.” She scanned the group quizzically.
“How do you deal with pride?”
“I pray for humility,” said Sister Miranda,
one of the second-years.
“Ah, and how will you know if you get it?”
Sister Josephine asked.
Sister Miranda looked puzzled.
“Praying for humility can be a bit tricky,”
Sister Josephine warned them. “It tends to come to us through
humiliation which is not usually what we have in mind when we ask
for humility.”
Mickey smiled, remembering several instances
where she had learned that painful lesson.
“The other thing about humility that makes
it unique is that if you ever realize you’ve attained it, you just
lost it.”
“But then,” Tanya frowned, “how are we to
become humble?”
“Good question,” Sister Josephine replied,
and dismissed them.
Though the novices were not yet under vows,
they were expected to begin living as if they were, and poverty was
one of the first things Sister Josephine tackled as they were
required to make their first inventory of their belongings,
something they would henceforth do yearly. “It should be simple,”
Mickey wrote to Jamie, “all we have to wear are two habits and two
nightgowns and our underwear,” but “you will be surprised how
difficult it is to give up other things,” Sister Josephine warned
them. “Five books may not seem like many, until you realize you
started with three and then it grows to eight and soon you will be
hoarding. You may keep three books,” she said to Jessica, “and the
others will be available from the library when you want to read
them.” Mickey had laughed at the thought that any of them could be
accused of hoarding until, “how many pens do you need, Sister
Michele?” asked Sister Josephine as she looked Mickey’s list over.
Beautiful pens had been the one thing that Mickey had collected. “I
can’t help myself,” she said to Alice so many times when she came
home from an antique shop with another fountain pen, but the four
she hadn’t been able to part with had been gifts. The memories
associated with each – one from Alice for the completion of her
residency, one from Jamie, one had been her father’s, one from a
patient – made them all precious to her, but “you may keep two,”
Sister Josephine said gently, “so you have
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