Changing Habits (9 page)

That conversation stayed with Kathleen a long time. It showed her that despite her resolve to the contrary—and despite her own wrongful pride in her sacrifices—the world still held on to her heart. When Sister Clare Marie had first mentioned the lumpy mashed potatoes, Kathleen had felt a small surge of hope that she might be reassigned. Instead, she'd come away determined to perfect the peeling and mashing of potatoes. Because now she knew that each potato would bring her closer to God.

As the weeks progressed, the silence that had seemed unnatural in the beginning became the norm. Kathleen didn't know what was happening in the world. Little outside the convent gates made its way to her ears. Lyndon Baines Johnson had stepped in as president after the assassination of John Kennedy; she knew that much but was completely unaware of his policies. Whatever laws Congress had passed was unimportant to her. Secular music—oh, how she'd once loved the Beatles—movies and their stars meant nothing. Silence was her only reality. Everything outside the convent was alien. Never again did she want to become influenced and corrupted by the world's values.

That summer, just before Kathleen entered her second year in the Novitiate, she was allowed a visit from her family. As the long-awaited weekend approached, Kathleen grew apprehensive. It had been more than twelve months since she'd last seen her parents. Family was considered a distraction in the year of silence. Kathleen wondered if they'd recognize her. She'd changed from the immature teenager who had stepped through the convent doors two years earlier and even from the postulant of last summer.

Her mother and father arrived early and Kathleen nervously met them for a walk around the grounds. She kissed her mother's cheek, but took care to maintain the proper decorum.

“Kathleen,” her mother said, searching her face. She blinked back tears. “I always knew you'd make a beautiful nun.”

Kathleen lowered her gaze, uncomfortable with the comment about her outward appearance. “Hello, Dad,” she said, hugging him lightly. He looked older. His hair was almost completely gray and the wrinkles at his eyes were deeper and more pronounced.

“You seem well,” her father said.

“I am well.” She buried her hands deep in the sleeves of her gown. “How's Uncle Patrick these days?”

“Good,” her father assured her. “He sends his love.”

“He was in Ireland this spring,” her mother told her.

Her father chuckled. “He kissed the Blarney stone while he was there—not that he needed to.”

Her parents laughed at the small joke.

“How's Maureen?”

“Pregnant again. She and Robbie are good Catholics.” Pride gleamed in her mother's eyes as she said it. “So many young people are using birth control, but not Maureen and Robbie.”

“But Wendy's still a baby.” Kathleen didn't know much about family planning, but it didn't seem good for her sister to be giving birth to a second child within a year's time.

“Irish twins, that's what they'll be,” her father boasted.

Rather than belabor the conversation, Kathleen changed the subject. “And Sean? How are he and Loren?”

Her parents' eyes met.

Something was wrong, and Kathleen could tell they were hoping to keep it from her.

“Mom? Is everything all right with Sean and his wife?”

“Of course,” her father leapt in. “They're very much in love.”

Her relief was instantaneous.

“Sean enlisted for another hitch in the Army,” her mother said brightly. Her enthusiasm didn't ring true.

“Yes,” her father added. “Sean re-enlisted just in time to get shipped off to Vietnam.”

“Vietnam?” she repeated as a sense of dread settled over her.

Again her parents exchanged looks. “America's involvement in Southeast Asia is escalating,” her father explained.

“Sean's going to Vietnam?” Kathleen was shocked that more news of the war hadn't filtered into the convent. Vietnam had been a minor and faraway conflict when she became a postulant; President Kennedy had merely committed a few troops and military advisors. Surely Mrs. O'Halloran would have mentioned such a significant change in the military's role. The cook chatted endlessly, and Kathleen had learned to tune out much of her trivial conversation, finding the other woman's voice discordant and disruptive. Silence had its own beauty and listening to Mrs. O'Halloran distracted her. Still, she would've noticed and remembered news of this magnitude.

“It's not a declared war,” her father said.

“But the president's sending over American men to fight?” Kathleen glanced at her mother and then her father. She was most concerned about one enlisted man, however, and that was her brother Sean.

“Sean sends his love,” her mother said, and her voice trembled just enough for Kathleen to detect her worry.

“You're afraid for him, aren't you?”

Her mother nodded. “Loren is, too. She wrote to tell us that Sean's already been in one battle. The fighting was fierce… We don't know what'll happen. Pray for him, Kathleen. Promise me you'll pray.”

“Of course! Of course.”

Her parents left shortly after, and while Kathleen had enjoyed their visit, she discovered that she was more than ready to return to the growing familiarity of silence. Sister Clare Marie was right. With time, she'd learned to prefer silence to talking.

Her second year in the novitiate was everything Kathleen had hoped it would be. She excelled in her classes and enjoyed her studies on church history and theology. These were exciting times for the Catholic Church. In 1959, several years before Kathleen entered the convent, Pope John the XXIII had called for an ecumenical council, the first since 1869.

It took place in 1962. Twenty-six hundred cardinals and bishops from around the world had rallied to the Pope's call. So now, in 1965, Vatican II had already been in session for three years and the changes within the Church were gradually making their way down to the people.

Many outmoded customs and rituals were being set aside in favor of a more contemporary worship. For instance, the priest no longer faced the altar with his back to the congregation; instead, the altar was turned toward the people. But the most dramatic change for Kathleen was the translation of the Mass from Latin to the vernacular. It delighted her to hear Mass said in English. Others, including many of the older nuns, felt it was sacrilegious. They were certain these changes would create problems; perhaps they were right.

Only last Sunday, Mrs. O'Halloran told Kathleen that there'd been guitars and tambourines played at Mass in her local parish. A “folk Mass” she'd called it. At first Kathleen found it scandalous to think of such secular instruments in a church—but then again, perhaps it wasn't. After all, Christians were exhorted to “make a joyful noise unto the Lord.” What was more joyful than the sound of guitars and banjos and flutes? The more she thought about it, the more she liked the
idea. Perhaps in time, this kind of worship could be introduced into the convent's celebration.

Within a few weeks of saying her final vows, Kathleen learned that some religious orders had decided to discard the tradition of wearing habits, substituting secular attire.

To Kathleen, it seemed unbelievable that any woman who'd struggled to separate herself from the world would willingly wish to become part of it again.

“I know you've heard rumors of changes in our traditional habit,” Sister Clare Marie announced one afternoon. “After a recent discussion with Mother Superior, I can tell you that St. Bridget's Sisters of the Assumption will not be making any such changes for the time being.”

Kathleen was glad to hear it. She'd worked very hard for the privilege of wearing a habit and she didn't want to see it eliminated.

“Mother Superior feels that Pope John's intention was to open the windows of the Church and let in a breath of fresh air. He anticipated a soft breeze, not a tornado.”

Again Kathleen was in full agreement.

“We are a large order, one of the most populous in the United States. We welcome small changes, but anything this substantial will develop slowly for us. We have dressed in this same habit since 1840 and we are unwilling to let go of what is most familiar.”

Several heads nodded.

“However,” Sister said, “one change that might enhance our order has come to the attention of Mother Superior.” She smiled as though this was a matter close to her own heart. “Instead of taking a saint's name at the time you say your vows, you may retain your own name if you wish.”

That meant Kathleen could be referred to as Sister Kathleen instead of Sister Lydia, the name she had chosen as the first of her three alternatives.

“Think it over carefully and decide within the next week.”

As Kathleen deliberated on all the changes, she began to feel a sense of excitement. For three years she had struggled in vain to let go of her earthly family in order to be part of God's. Now she was given the chance to be part of both.

The first person she would tell was Sean. Of all her family, she knew her oldest brother would definitely approve. She wrote him a lengthy letter and, as she'd expected, his response was gratifying.

On August 14, 1966, a Sunday afternoon, Kathleen O'Shaughnessy said her vows. Her parents, four of her five sisters and her youngest brother were in attendance. They watched as the bridal veil was replaced with the full veil of a professed sister.

“Do you know where you're going to be assigned?” her mother asked anxiously. Kathleen knew her family prayed it would be nearby so they could visit on a regular basis.

“I won't find that out until later.” Kathleen was as curious as her family. She'd waited three long years for this moment. She'd entered the convent as one of thirty postulants, but over time eleven had chosen to leave. Their vocations hadn't been strong enough to hold them.

A week later, Kathleen learned that she was being sent to attend education classes at the University of Minneapolis. The following September she'd be teaching first grade at St. Peter's School.

Of the nineteen new sisters, she was the only one assigned to the convent in Minneapolis.

JOANNA BAIRD
1967 to 1972

“J
oanna,” her mother said, twisting around from the front seat of the 1965 Ford Fairlane to look her full in the face. “Are you
positive
that life in a convent is what you want?”

“Mom, please! I've already said it is. I feel God is calling me.” She stared out the window, at the softly falling snow.

“Sandra, for the love of heaven, will you leave the girl alone?”

“Mark, don't you see what's happening?” her mother cried. “How can you simply drive our daughter to a convent like this? She's overreacting to what Greg did. Can't you
see
what a terrible mistake she's making?”

Joanna wanted to clap her hands over her ears to block out the angry exchange between her parents. Her mother had been dead set against Joanna's entering the convent from the moment she'd mentioned it six months earlier. Her father, on the other hand, was all for it. His own cousin was a Dominican nun and he'd felt strongly that this was the right decision for Joanna. As her parents, he'd argued, it was their duty to stand by her and support her in whatever she wanted for her own future.

“She's doing this on the rebound,” Sandra Baird insisted.

“I'm over Greg,” Joanna said from the back seat. She rarely thought about Greg or the broken engagement anymore. He was part of her past. God was her future. Greg's wife had given birth to a robust and healthy daughter they'd named Lily. To prove there were no hard feelings, Joanna had mailed Greg and Xuan a congratulatory letter, in which she told them of her decision to enter the convent.

“Joanna is old enough to know what she wants,” her father continued. “You didn't question her decision to enter nursing school, did you? Now she wants to dedicate her life to God. Why are you against that?”

Her mother crossed her arms. “Why?” she cried sarcastically. “Because in my heart I know the convent isn't the place for our daughter, despite what you think.”

“If you're right,” Joanna said, struggling to remain calm, “I won't stay. Please, Mom,” she begged, “try to be happy for me.”

“I am, honey,” her father said, taking his eyes off the Boston traffic just long enough to send her an encouraging smile. “Your mother and I approve of whatever endeavor in life you choose.”

Her mother glanced over her shoulder and pleaded with Joanna one final time. “I'd be happy if I truly believed you belonged in the convent. Just promise me that if you ever decide you want out, you won't be too proud to leave.”

“I promise.” Joanna hated to be the cause of this struggle between her mother and father. Even today, when they were delivering her to the motherhouse, her parents continued to argue as if it were
their
decision instead of Joanna's.

Once they arrived at the convent, Joanna felt reassured. The quiet, serene atmosphere brought her a sense of peace and renewed her purpose. When it was time to leave, Sandra hugged Joanna tightly. Tears shimmered in her eyes as she released her, then hurriedly turned away.

“I couldn't be more proud of you,” her father said, as he handed her over to Sister Mary Louise, the Postulant Mistress.

Joanna didn't see her parents leave. Without another word, Sister Mary Louise directed her to the dormitory and assigned her a cell. The room was stark compared to Joanna's bedroom at home. There she had a canopy bed and a hi-fi set with stacks of albums. But she'd walked away from that life and was eager to embrace another.

“You'll need to change out of your clothes and into these,” Sister instructed, giving her the simple garb of a postulant.

“Are there any others entering this month?” Joanna asked. It was mid-January, and the majority of women seeking the religious life came in September.

“Just three. You're the last to arrive. Now I'll let you change into your new clothes,” Sister Mary Louise said.

Unexpected emotion swept through Joanna as she stripped off her sweater and skirt. A moment later she realized why. It was as though the sins she'd carried with her since losing her virginity were being stripped away as well. She didn't blame Greg; they'd both been virgins that first time. They'd led each other into sin. But now she was beginning anew.

When Joanna was interviewed by Sister Agnes in November, the head of the convent hadn't asked if she was a virgin. Grateful, Joanna hadn't volunteered the information, either. It was too embarrassing to confess to Mother Superior.

The sin of impurity had already been confessed to her parish priest. She'd received absolution and completed her penance. What she'd done with Greg was in the past and no one need ever know.

As Joanna donned the skirt, blouse, cape and veil, she experienced a feeling of release, a spiritual cleansing. She paused to close her eyes and thank God for His forgiveness and for this opportunity to serve Him.

Sister Mary Louise returned shortly and nodded with approval. “Everything seems to fit nicely.”

It was a nice fit in more ways than the obvious, Joanna mused, smiling.

That evening at dinner with the other postulants—both those who'd been there since September and the four who'd come today—Joanna was warmly welcomed. Three of the postulants performed a skit in which a confused new recruit arrives at the convent door. The humor made her laugh so hard, Joanna's sides ached. She hadn't known what to expect from the other postulants, and she was grateful for the laughter and camaraderie. Later, at Compline, the evening prayers, the four women entering as postulants stood before the priest. Joanna willingly surrendered everything to God, her first step toward becoming a bride of Christ.

The glow of welcome lasted all week. But because she was unfamiliar with the rules, adjustment was a bit difficult those first few days. The Grand Silence, which lasted from after evening prayers until breakfast the following morning, proved to be the most challenging. Joanna didn't realize how hard it would be to stay quiet. Each day there seemed to be so much she wanted to share with the others, questions she longed to ask, but there simply wasn't time.

In her first letter home, she wrote confidently about her new life.

A week later her mother wrote back.

The next six months passed in a blur of activity for Joanna. Although she'd entered the convent later than most of the other candidates, she was able to become a novice at the same time as her fellow postulants.

She mentally prepared herself for the year of silence. No letters from home, no contact with the outside world, nothing that would distract from her commitment to Christ. This was her year of contemplation.

Joanna recognized that for her, this would be a true challenge. She enjoyed talking with the others, especially
when the postulants gathered around Sister Mary Louise during nightly recreation. That was one of the best times of the day.

Silence for a year. It wouldn't be so bad, Joanna told herself repeatedly. At least it wouldn't be a complete and total silence. Five to seven times a day there'd be singing and prayers. Then, for a half hour each evening at recreation, she'd be permitted to speak to her fellow novices.

One morning as she swept the chapel, Joanna started humming Bob Dylan's “Mr. Tambourine Man.” It wasn't a conscious decision. The music that morning had been melodic and lovely, but somehow the Dylan song had entered her mind and refused to leave. She didn't know why a tune she hadn't heard in ages was stuck there, but it was.

As soon as Joanna realized what she was humming, she stopped, shocked at herself. Although it hadn't been intentional, she felt guilty. Humming Bob Dylan in the chapel was sure to be considered sacrilegious. Still, within minutes she was back at it, keeping her voice low so as not to be heard.

Her own rebelliousness upset her. Humming was bad enough, but breaking silence inside the chapel was that much worse.

Nights were the most difficult for her. After a full day of work, study and prayer, she often fell into a deep sleep without even trying. It was in her dreams that Greg came to her.

The first time she dreamed of him, she woke abruptly, terrified that she might have called out his name. That would've mortified her. Her mind waged battle with her soul as Greg continued to make frequent visitations while she slept.

The dreams disturbed her. During her waking hours she managed to suppress her anger with Greg but these dreams, in which he begged her forgiveness, told Joanna the truth about her emotions. She was furious with him
and she
couldn't
forgive him. It got to be so that she was afraid to fall asleep for fear Greg would show up. The memory of his betrayal would linger for hours every morning and she'd have to make an active effort to force it from her mind.

A month or so later, Joanna was summoned to Sister Clare Marie's office. A shiver of apprehension shot through her. Perhaps one of the other sisters had heard her humming while she cleaned the chapel floors. Joanna wondered if her foolish rebellion was about to get her into trouble.

With pounding heart, she knocked politely at the door and waited for a response before entering.

“Sister Joanna,” Sister Clare Marie said from behind her desk. “Sit down.”

Joanna settled quietly in the chair. She folded her hands in her lap and lowered her gaze as required, although she longed to read the other nun's expression.

“I imagine you're wondering why I asked to speak to you.”

“Yes, Sister.”

The older nun waited a moment. “Sister, are you happy with your life here?”

“Very much so,” Joanna said in a rush. Her panic was immediate. Perhaps the convent was going to dismiss her, send her away.

“I'm pleased to hear that.”

Joanna closed her eyes and made herself relax.

“I've noticed a certain…restlessness about you in the last few weeks. Are you sleeping well?”

It would be so easy to blurt out her dreams and beg the older, wiser nun to tell her how to vanquish them. But fear held her back. Fear of rejection if she revealed this unforgiving part of her nature. Fear of what the dreams said about her.

Because the ugly truth was that Joanna wanted Greg to suffer. She wanted him to have a miserable marriage and an
equally unhappy life. She wanted him to pay for what he'd done to her.

“Sister?”

Joanna looked up in surprise.

“Are you sleeping well?” the other nun repeated. “I'm afraid the answer is obvious. Perhaps you'd better tell me what's troubling you.”

“It's nothing,” Joanna answered, hoping to make light of her telltale hesitation.

Sister Clare Marie leaned forward. “The eyes cannot hide what is in the heart, my child,” she said gently. “Is this about the young man you'd once planned to marry?”

Keeping her head lowered, Joanna nodded reluctantly.

The Mistress of Novices released a soft breath. “I thought it might be that.”

“I've had…dreams about him.”

Sister sat back in the hard chair. “Dreams?”

She nodded again. “Dreams in which he wants me to forgive him for what he did—and Sister, I can't make myself do it.”