Saint Training (8 page)

“No, sing some Beatles songs,” Gabriella insisted. She started humming one: “If I fell in love with you, would you promise to be true?”

“Hey, I didn’t agree to play any more,” Luke said, but he started strumming the tune to a Beatles song, and soon even little Johnny was dancing and clapping to the music.

It was amazing, the power that music held to bring them together, Mary Clare thought. It was practically a miracle. The kids could be fighting, her parents could be bickering, they could be squished together in the car, but music worked magic in bringing them together. It was an everyday miracle that was
part of their lives long before Mary Clare asked for a miracle. And it made her grateful every time.

Luke played a mixture of folk music and rock and roll—everything from Woody Guthrie’s “This Land is My Land” to Gladys Knight and the Pips. Luke ended with one of Mary Clare’s favorites, “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?”

By the time the singing was over, Mary Clare helped her mother lay out clothes for the little kids for school the next day. While Mom checked to make sure the uniform pieces were all clean and pressed, Mary Clare laid out underwear and socks. By the time she made it to the television, where the rest of the family sat, the closing credits were already flashing across the screen.

“Turn off the television, Anne. It’s time for you girls to start getting ready for bed,” Mom said.

As Anne reluctantly walked over to the television and switched it off, Mary Clare noticed that Margaret was slicking Johnny’s hair back with a huge gob of Dippity-do, the sticky, icky hair-styling gel.

“Mom!” Mary Clare cried.

Everyone looked over at Margaret and Johnny.

“It looks nice!” Margaret insisted, placing her hands on her hips. Johnny just laughed.

Chaos ensued: Whose was it? Where’d she get it from? Who was going to wash Johnny’s hair and get him into his pajamas?

“This is my whole life!” their mother said. “Cleaning up messes, taking care of everyone’s needs. I swear, being a mother saps any kind of intelligence or creativity right out of a person.” She began to cry. Mary Clare sighed. It was that Betty Friedan stuff again, making her mother so miserable.

Finally it was sorted out. Mary Clare admitted she’d bought the Dippity-do ages ago to help straighten her hair, and she
agreed to put it someplace where the little kids wouldn’t get into it and to never bring anything into the house secretly again. Anne volunteered to put Johnny in his pajamas after Mom said she’d wash his hair in the morning.

When she returned from the bathroom, where she had placed the jar on the highest shelf in the medicine cabinet, Gabriella was talking to their mother.

“I need a new pair of shoes for my First Communion,” Gabriella was saying. Mary Clare sighed. How could Gabriella be that oblivious to the family’s financial struggles?

“What about the shoes Mary Clare and Anne wore for their First Communion?” her mother asked.

“Those pinch my toes. Besides, I should have something new. I’m wearing a hand-me-down dress, a hand-me-down veil, even a hand-me-down
slip.’’

Mary Clare looked at her mother’s face. Her eyes were fogged over like they were looking at something far, far away. But Gabriella seemed oblivious. She kept right on going.

“Everybody else has something new. I want…”

Mother raised her hand in a “stop” motion. “Tomorrow. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

That night, when Mary Clare went to bed, she had to say two entire rosaries to stop thinking mean thoughts about her sister.

Saint Mary Magdalene Convent and School

1123 Good Shepherd Road

Minneapolis, Minnesota 55199

Mary Clare O’Brian

189 Jackson St.

Littleburg, Wisconsin 53538

May, 1967

Dear Mary Clare,

When I received your last letter, I was surprised, pleased, and somewhat concerned over how distressed you’ve become over your sins. I was surprised because it seems like such a change from the confident person you were in your first letter. I was pleased because it tells me how serious you are about pleasing God and becoming a nun. And I was concerned because you are making your life more anxious than it needs to be.

Remember that St. Theresa’s confessor told her she needed to stop being so scrupulous about her sins. If you worry about every little thing, it will make you crazy. I can’t imagine God wanting any of His children to go crazy. God is love, and that means that when God looks at you, He sees all that you do through loving eyes. When you examine your conscience before bed, try looking at yourself and everyone else through God’s loving eyes.

Being too scrupulous about your sins is itself a sin. If you’re that caught up in every little thing you say or do, you are forgetting that God is love and that He is forgiving. Instead, ask yourself the bigger questions: Am I a loving person? Am I kind? Am I generous?

I
am so happy that Pope John XXIII helped the Church refocus
on love instead of fear. Think of how much joy you will experience in your life when you stop thinking so much about sin and place your attention on being loving the way Jesus was!

Of course I’ll pray for you. I pray for you every day.

God bless you!

Mother Monica

M
ary Clare noticed that Sister Charlotte wasn’t at Mass on Wednesday morning. She usually sat in the nineteenth pew, directly behind the sixth grade class. She wasn’t out in front of the school where everyone gathered after Mass to say the Pledge of Allegiance, or anywhere in sight when the first bell rang. When the class filed into the room and took their seats, Sister Charlotte was still not there, and when the second bell rang, signaling the start of religion class, Tommy decided the class should give Sister a detention slip for being tardy. Gregory offered to take one from her desk and hand it to her when she came in.

Finally Sister appeared in the doorway, looking very different from the way she usually did.

“Wow!” Phil said when Sister appeared.

“Look!” Jen said.

“Sister!” the DeLuca twins said.

Mary Clare’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t think of anything to say.

“This is the new habit of the Sisters of St. Francis,” Sister said. She held her hands out so everyone could appreciate her new look. Her face was as red as an apple with so many eyes scrutinizing her.

Suddenly the whole class was on their feet, clapping and cheering and all talking at once.

“Please take your seats,” Sister said, laughing. “Then I’ll answer all your questions.” She moved some papers off the corner of her desk and sat on top of it, facing the class.

The new habit was an abbreviation of the old one. Unlike the old veil that hung midway down her back, this one only came to her shoulders and didn’t completely cover her hair. The girls, who had long speculated as to the color of Sister’s hair, could now see wisps of brown waves exposed under the veil. Instead of a wimple covering her neck, the new habit sported a white Peter Pan collar. Her neck was bare. Instead of the all-enveloping full-length sleeves in which the nuns hid handkerchiefs and God only knew what else, the new sleeves were three-quarter length with turned-up cuffs. She wore a black bolero-style jacket over a dress of the same fabric. Her dress fell just below her knees, revealing black tights and sensible black shoes. Mary Clare thought that Sister Charlotte looked completely modern—and even cuter than before.

The questions were coming at Sister hard and fast.

“No.” Sister said. Not all the other nuns were wearing the new habit. Only she and Sister Lucy had accepted the trial.

“Yes.” Sister said. The new design was directly related to Vatican II. Pope John, she said, thought that nuns should wear habits that were practical for the work they were doing. “The thing I like best about the new habit is that it’s so freeing,” she added. “The old habit weighed at least twice this much.”

Before Sister Charlotte finished the sentence, several students were standing in response to the sudden appearance of Sister Agony at the door. Sister Charlotte slid off the desk to a standing position. Her face looked like an apple all over again.

“Good morning, Sister Agnes,” the class recited in unison.
For a split second Sister Agony’s eyes narrowed as she took in Sister Charlotte’s new habit. Sister Charlotte diverted her eyes as if she were embarrassed. The air was thick with tension between the two nuns, giving Mary Clare a queasy feeling in her stomach. She had never considered that nuns might disagree or actually argue over anything. But from the looks of it, she had been mistaken.

“I’m sorry to disturb your religion class,” Sister Agony said, not looking at all as if she were sorry. “But this is important.” She looked down at the envelope she held in her hand.

“Certainly,” Sister Charlotte said. She stepped away from the desk and leaned against the chalkboard behind her. Mary Clare looked from Sister Agony to Sister Charlotte, taking in the contrast in habits. The old habit that had always been normal now seemed excessive—too much fabric, the wimple too stiff and confining around the face, too old-fashioned. Sister Agony gave the class a rare smile. “I just received a letter from the diocese regarding the Vocational Essay Contest you all entered.” Sister Charlotte’s mouth fell open. She stood up straighter and approached Sister Agony, peering at the envelope Sister Agony held.

“It’s good news, I assure you,” Sister Agony said to the class.

Mary Clare forgot to breathe. She could feel several sets of eyes peering at her. And she was sure others were peering at Gregory. Finally, finally, finally she would get her sign from God. If she won, God would be telling her that she was meant to be a saint, and that He was going to help her family.

“Let me read the letter to you,” Sister Agony said. Mary Clare crossed her fingers. Then she uncrossed them. This was not about luck. It was about God.

“‘Dear Sister Charlotte,’” Sister Agony began. She paused and glanced at Sister Charlotte’s face.

Mary Clare took in a sharp breath as she watched Sister Charlotte bite her lip. The letter was addressed to
her.
It was Sister Charlotte who had submitted their essays. Why was Sister Agony opening and reading Sister Charlotte’s mail? Was she just trying to show Sister that she had more power?

“‘We received wonderful responses for the Vocational Essay Contest from 564 very talented sixth graders throughout the Madison diocese. The writing was so good, and the sentiments so dear, that the judges found it impossible to narrow the search to first, second, and third place winners.’”

Mary Clare felt her fingers curl into fists. It wasn’t fair. The rest of the letter sounded like it was coming through a long tunnel. She had trouble making sense of the words and their meaning.

“‘The judges have narrowed the number of potential winners to ten. We are asking the ten finalists to enter a one-page addendum from which we will select the three winners. I have attached a separate page concerning the content we are looking for in the addendum.

“‘Congratulations to St. Maria Goretti School in Littleburg, Wisconsin, for the distinction of being the only school to have two contest finalists: Gregory Kowalski and Mary Clare O’Brian.’”

The class clapped politely. She couldn’t make herself look directly at Gregory, but from the corner of her eye she could see that he was looking at her.

Sister continued the letter. “‘In consideration of the fact that this is the end of the school year, the finalists will not be required to turn in their addendums until September thirty. We realize that all our candidates will be in the seventh grade at that time. We apologize for any inconvenience this delay may cause, but we sincerely hope that our candidates will accept the challenge to submit the addendum. All finalists who submit an addendum will receive a minimum of ten dollars award money.’”

Sister Agony released the letter and papers to Sister Charlotte, who responded with a curt nod.

“Congratulations, Gregory and Mary Clare,” Sister Agony said, smiling in the general direction of each of them. She turned and walked out of the classroom.

“Yes,” Sister Charlotte said. Her face was still splotchy red and her lips were thin, but she offered Mary Clare and Gregory a wide smile. “I’m proud of both of you.”

The discussion of Sister Charlotte’s new habit and Sister Agony’s letter had taken the entire religion class. When the bell rang and students remembered the upcoming history test, there were more than a few moans.

Mary Clare was one of the moaners. She couldn’t imagine how she could possibly concentrate on a history test. She was still trying to digest the letter. It was such a disappointment that the judges hadn’t picked out a winner outright.
What does this mean, God? Are you testing me, putting me in the top ten but not letting me win? Is it that you want me to work harder at being a saint?
She was so frustrated she wanted to scream, but everyone seemed to think she should be happy with the results. I
think I know what you’re doing, God. You’re trying to make me humble, aren’t you?
And what was it supposed to mean that Gregory Kowalski, of all people, was one of her competitors?

Mary Clare and Sister Charlotte shared a private smile when Sister handed her the history test. Sister’s smile was probably meant to congratulate her, but Mary Clare’s smile was meant to comfort Sister Charlotte, to say she understood that Sister Agony had hurt her. Mary Clare reminded herself how lucky she was to have Sister Charlotte all day and not have to rotate classrooms and teachers like the public school kids had to. She got the best teacher in the world from morning through last period. She pulled out a pencil, wrote “JMJ”
on the top, as usual, for Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, and tried to concentrate.

Sister Charlotte began her rhythmic walk between the aisles, checking on the progress of each student and looking, no doubt, for cheaters. She would give time reports as she walked: “Fifteen more minutes, ten more minutes.” When she paused in front of Mary Clare she smelled like Ivory soap and peppermint. “Five more minutes,” she said, wrinkling her forehead as she examined Mary Clare’s paper. Mary Clare had two essay questions she hadn’t even started on. Sister locked her hands behind her back and continued patrolling the classroom.

“Anyone who needs extra time on the test can stay in during recess to finish,” Sister said. It was a rare and generous concession. Mary Clare, who had almost written the test off for lack of concentration, began to tackle the questions in earnest. When the bell rang she hardly noticed students handing in their papers or the inevitable noise in the hallway as they rushed to get outside. Only when she completed the last sentence of the last essay question did she notice that she and Gregory were the only two people left in the classroom. Apparently he hadn’t been able to concentrate any better than she had.

Gregory beat her to the front of the classroom, where he placed his paper on the top of the stack and waited awkwardly for Mary Clare to hand hers in.

Sister handed each of them the sheets that described the addendum they were to write. They read silently.

Vocation Essay Addendum Guidelines

Finalists should submit a one-page, double-spaced paper that includes but is not limited to the following: their personal prayer life and that of Religious, the meaning of the vows they take as well as the sacrament men receive when they become priests. They should include something
about the service they see themselves providing in the order they are considering.

The original prize structure will remain in effect: fifty dollars for first prize, thirty for second prize, and fifteen for third prize. We hope all the finalists will continue in the contest by submitting an addendum in September.

Gregory grinned. “Congratulations,” he said as they walked into the hallway.

“Congratulations back,” Mary Clare said. Just as Mary Clare was about to make an excuse and race ahead, Gregory touched her arm. “How come you wouldn’t look at me before?”

“When?” she asked.

“Before—when Sister announced we were in the top ten.”

Mary Clare shrugged. “I was just surprised.”

“Surprised that I was in the top ten? Or surprised that you didn’t win outright?”

“Both,” Mary Clare blurted.

Gregory burst into laughter when Mary Clare grimaced at her own mistake. “That’s what I like about you, Mary Clare. You don’t pretend to be modest about your talent.”

Mary Clare glared at Gregory. “I can be modest!”

Gregory roared with laughter. “You can be, but it sure doesn’t come natural.”

“It’s just—I didn’t know you were so religious!” she said.

“Maybe I’m not,” he said. “Maybe I just know how to sound religious in an essay.”

Mary Clare glared at him. She raced ahead to the girls’ bathroom, where he couldn’t disturb her and where she could consider the delicious possibility that if Gregory wasn’t religious, maybe he still liked her.

Mary Clare O’Brian

188 Jackson Street

Littleburg, Wisconsin 53538

Sister Monica, Mother Superior

Saint Mary Magdalene Convent

1123 Good Shepherd Road

Minneapolis, Minnesota 55199

May 9, 1967

Dear Reverend Mother,

Your last letter gave me the answer that I was looking for in one of my first letters—whether or not you were an old-fashioned nun or a modern-day nun. You are definitely modern-day! I feel a lot better not focusing on sins so much.

Is your convent getting new habits? Two of our nuns, out of seven, have new habits they’re trying out. Sister Charlotte said that Franciscan nuns may eventually do away with habits altogether. I hope not. How would nuns get the respect they deserve without the habit? I hope the Good Shepherd nuns don’t make too many habit changes.

Sincerely,

Mary Clare

P.S. I have a question. Why is the Virgin Mary always crying? Whenever I close my eyes to say a prayer, I see an image of her crying. It makes me feel guilty, like I’ve done something wrong.