Changing Habits (8 page)

Angie had read about the Minneapolis convent in the brochure she'd received at the time of her high school retreat. The Sisters worked as nurses at St. Elizabeth's Hospital and teachers for the thriving Catholic schools within St. Peter's diocese.

Besides attending her classes, Angelina was required to fulfill housekeeping duties around the convent. Her first assignment was in the laundry room, situated next to the kitchen. After several weeks of bland meals, Angie could remain silent no longer, especially when she realized the cook planned to make spaghetti.

“Let me help,” she suggested. She'd already finished sorting and folding that day's clean laundry.

“Help?” The cook, an older woman hired from the community, looked up at her in surprise.

“I'm Italian. I know about herbs and spices.” She dipped a spoon into the bubbling red sauce on the stove and tasted it, then slowly shook her head. Her father would throw himself in front of oncoming traffic rather than serve anything this bland. “Bring me the basil,” she said with such authority that the lay cook hurried to comply.

Searching through the spice rack, Angie added a pinch of this and a handful of that, tasted, tested and wasn't satisfied until she had something that at least resembled the sauce she knew and loved.

That evening the sisters raved about the meal. The two nuns who'd drawn kitchen duty tried to explain that it had been Angie's work, but it was risky to give her credit. Angie had been assigned to the laundry, not the kitchen. Not once was she ever asked to cook, although the other postulants helped prepare meals on a regular basis.

Whenever the mail arrived, Angie searched for a letter
from her father, but she never found one. Karen didn't hear from her family, either. Angie's father could come up with no more effective way to discourage her. It was with a heavy heart that she offered up her disappointment to God.

At the end of her first year, in which she'd received only one terse letter from her father, Angie entered the novitiate. This was known as the contemplative year of silence. Speaking was allowed for only half an hour each evening, and all contact with family was prohibited. She never knew if her father wrote during that year but suspected he hadn't. He was still angry with her.

Nor did he write during her second year as a novice. She spent her days in prayer, studying Scripture and Church history and performing household tasks. The slow, peaceful days in this year of silence helped to shape her thoughts. They taught her patience and a willingness to yield her life to the dictates of God and Mother Superior. By the end of her time in the novitiate, Angie was approached by the Mistress of Novices regarding her new name as a professed sister. She was asked to submit three, but final approval rested with Mother Superior.

The Mistress of Novices stopped her one afternoon as Angie swept the dining room floor. Her eyes brimmed with sadness. “I understand you knew Sister Trinita?”

“Yes,” Angie said, keeping her gaze lowered out of respect for the nun's position. The term the convent used was “custody of the eyes.” “Sister Trinita was a favorite teacher of mine in grade school,” she explained.

“I thought you should know Sister passed on to our heavenly Father last week.”

“No,” Angie gasped and her hand flew to her throat.

“She'd been seriously ill for some time.”

“I…I had no idea.”

“Sister didn't wish to burden others. She was suffering
from cancer.” She paused. “You were a special friend and I thought you'd want to know.”

Tears welled in Angie's eyes but she refused to let them fall. The woman who had so greatly influenced her life was gone to be with God. Angie felt the loss as keenly as she had when she'd lost her mother.

“I believe one of the names you chose was Sister Frances?”

Angie nodded. Sister Trinita had long ago told Angie it was her given name before she'd entered the convent.

“I'll talk to Reverend Mother and do what I can to see that you receive the name Sister Frances.”

“Oh, thank you,” Angie whispered. “That would mean the world to me.”

“I can't make any promises, Sister.”

When she saw Karen during the recreation period after dinner, her friend knew immediately that something was wrong. “What happened?” she asked, squinting at the needle she was threading. All the second-year novices worked diligently on sewing their own habits, using three battered old machines and doing the finer work by hand. Until they spoke their final vows of chastity, poverty and obedience, their clothing was known as dresses or gowns. Only professed Sisters wore habits.

“Sister Trinita died…she had cancer.” Thinking back to their chance meeting on the convent grounds three years earlier, Angie recalled the hesitation in her manner. When Angie had asked about her latest assignment, Sister Trinita had passed over the question. She'd said “For now,” and Angie was convinced the nun knew about the cancer then.

“I'm sorry,” Karen whispered.

“I am, too… She was so wonderful to me.”

That same evening, Angie wrote her father. She expressed her love for him as she inquired about his health and the restaurant. She didn't give him an account of her life inside
the convent. It would only rub salt in his wounds. Neither did she tell him the news about Sister Trinita. He wouldn't understand why it affected her so intensely. Just as he didn't understand that the convent's rules and routines now filled her world, and everything she'd once known had faded away. Everything outside these gates represented the world she'd renounced.

In the spring of 1962, Angelina Marcello took the name of Sister Frances as she spoke her first vows. For three long years, Angie had waited for this, and it was a source of deep pain that her father had refused to share such a momentous day with her. The vows were said during Mass, followed by Holy Communion. Forming a procession, the novices came forward, each in a pure white gown and a veil like a bride. Indeed, Angie
was
a bride; she'd agreed to become the bride of Christ. This was a solemn betrothal.

“I am the bride of Him whom the angels serve,” Angie said in unison with the other novices.

At this point, the priest ceremonially removed each bridal veil and replaced it with the black veil of St. Bridget's Sisters of the Assumption. When he'd finished, the novices chanted, “As a bride, Christ has adorned me with a crown.”

When they turned to face the congregation, all wearing their black veils, Angie felt a surge of triumph. As of that moment, Angelina Marcello became known as Sister Frances.

Her first assignment was teaching in San Antonio, Texas. For ten years, Angie taught high school there, mostly classes in religion and home economics. She heard from her father only once a year on her birthday.

In 1969, after Vatican II, St. Bridget's Sisters of the Assumption were given the option of retaining their chosen names or reverting to their original names. Angie asked to be called Sister Angelina. Her father seemed pleased with her decision when she phoned to let him know.

At the end of the school year in 1972, Sister Angelina learned that she would be sent to St. Peter's High School in Minneapolis. After nearly fifteen years, she'd been assigned to the order's largest convent.

Her time in Texas felt like an apprenticeship, a preparation for this new and special task. And it
would
be special; she was sure of it.

KATHLEEN O'SHAUGHNESSY
1963 to 1972

K
athleen's send-off was a giant family affair with her sisters, aunts, uncles and a multitude of nieces, nephews and cousins all present for the farewell party. Her uncle Patrick closed the pub for a day and unashamedly wept as he hugged her.

“Your smiling face is going to be sadly missed,” he said, stepping back to get one last look at the girl he'd always known and loved. Shortly afterward she would no longer be his Kathleen but a nun. Tears glistened in his eyes as he gently clasped her shoulders. “You're making us all proud, Kathleen. God be with you.”

Her parents drove her to the convent. Her mother's eyes shone with happiness as Sister Mary Louise, the Mistress of Postulants, led Kathleen and the other young women into the motherhouse to begin their new lives. That first evening Kathleen was given her new garments and taken to the chapel for the welcoming ceremony.

She took easily to the change in lifestyle and enjoyed being a postulant. The concept of owning nothing wasn't new to her; after all, she and her sisters had always shared clothing, makeup, magazines, records—all the parapherna
lia of a 1960s teenager. She wasn't allowed to keep anything of her former life, not even the clothes she'd worn the day she entered the convent. Her dress was taken from her, washed and given to the poor.

“Everything we do and ask of you,” Sister Mary Louise explained early in Kathleen's instruction, “is for a reason. At times you will understand and agree, and at other times it will remain a mystery. It isn't necessary to understand everything. What
is
necessary is obedience.”

Owning nothing was liberating, Kathleen decided. She felt privileged to share everything with her fellow sisters, and her life became much simpler. She no longer wore makeup, had no radio, no books. Nothing. The temptations tied to having such possessions disappeared. It was as though she'd been born into another world.

Kathleen tried to be ruthless in her rejection of the world. She looked forward to emptying herself of all that kept her from loving God. Her sense of righteousness hit its first snag, however, when it came time to cut her hair—her beautiful, waist-length, auburn hair. For easier grooming, she and the others were told, their hair must be cut short.

This was hard. Much harder than any sacrifice Kathleen had made so far. She cringed as she saw several girls with their hair clumsily hacked off. Surely there was some way to forgo this. But when her turn came, she knew it was senseless to ask.

“Sister Kathleen.” Sister Mary Louise motioned to the chair.

Kathleen bit her lower lip as she sat on the hard-backed chair.

The Mistress of Postulants hesitated, scissors raised. She, too, seemed to regret shearing away such beautiful hair. “It's necessary,” she murmured.

“Yes, Sister,” Kathleen agreed as she felt the scissors along the side of her neck.

“Otherwise the bulk of our hair becomes too cumbersome under our veils,” Sister Mary Louise continued.

The first fat locks fell unceremoniously to the floor. Kathleen closed her eyes rather than watch and swallowed the lump growing in her throat. She felt the second strands drop onto her lap, and despite her best efforts, tears slid down her cheeks.

Her weakness and vanity embarrassed her. It was just hair. It would grow back and later, as a fully professed nun, she could keep it any length she desired. Besides, with her hair hidden under the veil, no one would know or care what it looked like. For all the world knew, she could be bald.

God would find a way to compensate her for this sacrifice, Kathleen reasoned, and He did. With music. Seven times a day, the sisters gathered in the convent chapel to chant the Divine Office. These times of prayer, known as “Hours,” were such a spiritually uplifting experience that Kathleen felt transformed. She loved the simplicity and beauty of the music and reveled in the glory of worshiping with her fellow sisters. Losing her lovely hair—her one vanity—was a small price to pay.

That November, President John F. Kennedy was assassinated, and to Kathleen, it seemed like a personal blow. The entire convent reeled with the shock of his death. The president had been the nuns' ideal; not only was he a good Catholic, but he'd once lived in Boston.

Nineteen sixty-four was an eventful year. In February she received a letter—already opened—from her oldest brother, Sean. Although no one ever said as much, Kathleen knew all mail addressed to postulants and novices was censored. Sean wrote to tell her he was engaged to a girl named Loren Kruse. The wedding would take place early that summer, and Kathleen's parents, plus the three youngest O'Shaughnessys, were traveling to Seattle for the event. It went without saying that Kathleen would be unable to make the trip.

She held the letter so tightly that she crumpled it. Family had always been important to Kathleen, and Sean was her favorite. Although he was almost ten years older, there'd always been a close bond between them. He was the only member of her family to question her vocation, and although she'd dismissed his concern, she'd also appreciated it.

Sister Mary Louise knew right away that something was troubling Kathleen. “Distressing news, Sister?” she asked.

“Oh no, this is happy news,” Kathleen said and forced a smile. “My oldest brother will be married in June. The family's attending the wedding.”

“And you'd like to be there, as well?”

Hope flared inside Kathleen. “If I could… It would mean so much to me, Sister.”

Sister Mary Louise frowned, as though Kathleen's response had disappointed her. “Sister Kathleen, you have a new family now.”

“But…” She knew instantly that it was both wrong to interrupt and pointless to argue. “I'm sorry, Sister,” she said and her voice trailed off.

Sister nodded, accepting her apology. “I realize this is still new to you. You've only been with us for six or so months, and our way of life is still somewhat foreign. But by now you should be willing to make any and all sacrifices to serve God. You must release your family. You belong completely to God now.”

“Yes, Sister,” she said obediently. But she wanted to protest. She
had
made sacrifices, lots of them, and made them gladly. Her family, though…

“You must die to self before you can be born again.”

Kathleen swallowed painfully. She couldn't be with Sean and Loren on their wedding day, at least not in person, but she would be with them in her heart.

That night as she said her evening prayers, Kathleen's
conscience bothered her. Her attitude was all wrong. She couldn't allow herself to think she was being cheated because she'd been forbidden to attend Sean's wedding. She'd entered the convent in the hope of living a godly life. If she kept all the rules and obeyed and did whatever was asked of her, eventually she'd find the path that would lead her to God. If she struggled with something as unimportant as a family wedding, it could be years before she broke through the bondage of self. Before she became the kind of nun she truly wanted to be.

Summer passed and with it Sean's wedding. On the day he claimed his bride, Kathleen fasted and prayed and offered this sacrifice up to God. When she went to bed that night, her empty stomach growled and tears dripped from her eyes. As hard as she tried, as hard as she prayed, she couldn't suppress the feeling of loss. Of disappointment. This was a day for celebration, and she'd desperately wanted to share it with her beloved brother.

In August of 1964, Kathleen entered the Novitiate and began her year of silence. In addition to the seven times of prayer each day, which constituted the Divine Office, Kathleen spent a half hour in prayerful meditation, plus two examinations of conscience. Each morning she was required to recite the Rosary; each evening she spent a half hour on private prayer and spiritual reading. All told, her prayers outside chapel took up as much as five hours a day.

In addition to her prayers and her examinations of conscience, Kathleen was assigned kitchen duty. As if Sister Clare Marie, the Mistress of Novices, was aware of her distaste for cooking and meal preparation, Kathleen drew her least favorite task three weeks in a row. Because she was observing the year of silence, she wasn't allowed to speak to Mrs. O'Halloran, whom the convent employed as a cook, unless it was absolutely necessary. It seemed unnatural to
Kathleen to work with this woman and not be able to speak to her. The two of them bustled around in the kitchen, where they were sometimes joined by other sisters.

Unfortunately Mrs. O'Halloran was a talker. Even knowing that Kathleen couldn't respond, the cook chatted away.

“I saw my son off to school today,” she said as Kathleen entered the kitchen for her chores one September afternoon. “Off to Junior College my Kevin went. He's the first of my brood to take college classes. His father, God rest his soul, would've burst his buttons with pride.” She paused in her chatter and dumped a ten-pound bag of potatoes into the sink, then handed Kathleen a paring knife.

Kathleen nearly groaned. Of all kitchen tasks, she hated peeling potatoes the most. Another sacrifice, she mused, her forehead creasing in a frown.

“We're going to have to come up with the money for tuition,” Mrs. O'Halloran prattled on. “But from what I make here cooking for the sisters, plus what I collect from the government for Social Security—God bless Franklin Delano Roosevelt—and Kevin's janitorial job, we should be fine.”

Kathleen smiled and reluctantly reached for a potato.

“Being a widow all these years, I've learned how to pinch a penny, I can tell you that.”

After peeling the first potato, Kathleen dutifully picked up the next.

“You tell me when you've finished with those, Sister, and I'll set you to work cutting up lettuce for the salad.”

Keeping the silence with Mrs. O'Halloran was definitely a struggle, but Kathleen managed. Barely. She found the work mundane and unchallenging. She hadn't entered the convent to peel potatoes, she thought rebelliously. She possessed an active and inquisitive mind.

In the middle of her first year in the Novitiate, Sister Clare Marie asked to speak to her.

“I noticed that the mashed potatoes with last night's dinner were lumpy, Sister. I understand you were the one responsible.”

“Yes,” Kathleen admitted. If she peeled one more potato she'd scream. Mrs. O'Halloran's favorite side dish was potatoes in one form or another. Kathleen had peeled potatoes every day that week and she was sick of it.

“Do you consider working in the kitchen beneath you, Sister Kathleen?”

“No, Sister… I just don't seem to have the knack for it.” Her sewing skills were much better and she was fortunate in this regard because several of the other novices had difficulty constructing their clothes.

“You've always done well in school, haven't you?”

Kathleen lowered her gaze, following the tradition known as custody of the eyes. She was pleased that Sister Clare Marie was aware of her high grades. She'd worked hard to achieve her academic standing and it seemed like a waste not to be partaking in some kind of study, other than simply learning the requirements of the religious life.

“Do you know why you aren't in the classroom this year, Sister?”

Kathleen nodded. “Because of the year of silence.” One glance told her that she'd only partially answered the question. “And because mundane tasks help free one's mind for God,” she added, knowing this was the answer the Mistress of Novices sought.

Sister Clare Marie seemed to carefully measure her words. “You're answering with your head and not your heart,” she finally said. “You seem to think that is what I want you to say, but I want much more from you, Sister Kathleen, and so does God.”

Kathleen hung her head. How right Sister was.

“Performing these mundane tasks
is
important work. It is
while you are peeling potatoes that you learn to set aside your own will and your own selfish desires. It is while you're holding a peeler in your hand that the demand for self is broken. Remember, only when you are broken can God truly use you.”

“But Sister Janice loves to work in the kitchen.” Kathleen didn't know why she was arguing. She knew it was wrong to raise objections or to contradict the Mistress of Novices. Kathleen's reaction revealed to her how far she had yet to go.

“You think it would be easier for Sister Janice to work in the kitchen and for you to serve elsewhere. Is that what you're suggesting, Sister?”

Timidly Kathleen nodded. If she could've erased her earlier remark, she would have done so.

Sister Clare Marie sighed heavily. “That's where you're wrong. It's far better for Sister Janice to face her own struggles with a task that challenges her will. I have assigned all of you to work in areas I know you actively dislike. You think this is punishment, don't you?”

That was exactly what Kathleen assumed.

The Mistress of Novices shook her head. “Let me assure you, Sister Kathleen, it isn't. I'm working hard to help you be a good nun.”

“But Sister, I'm failing. It's a losing battle. The potatoes are winning.”

Sister Clare Marie smiled. “Those potatoes have brought you to the point of frustration and boredom, haven't they?”

“Yes.”

“Then you're exactly where you need to be before you can die to self.”

Kathleen let the words sink in. Her confusion started to clear and Sister Clare Marie's statement found a home within her heart.

“I feel you've made significant progress this afternoon,” the older nun said warmly.

Kathleen felt she had, too. What had seemed a burden and a pointless task earlier now made sense. The convent was using those mounds of unpeeled potatoes to shape her into a malleable, useable instrument of God.