Consequences of Naïve Decisions
An ongoing story…
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
Here I am now, the impulsive one, not exactly mindless because I did have a great goal (To acquire holiness). To be sure, I will find out that this goal is a faulty one based on misunderstood information, but it carried me through some long, puzzling and sometimes painful days.
Each of my convent days began at what I considered an “ungodly” hour. At the clanging of a loud alarm clock, we (about eight sleepers) arose from our beds with their thin, lumpy mattresses. Heavy white curtains separated our beds, giving us some privacy. However, they did not shut out the normal sounds that naturally arose from bodies that were very closely confined. I found out that nuns could snore and effluviate just like the rest of the human race. Here I had been trying to hold in every un-nunlike bodily emission that tried to escape. I even tried to suppress my sneezes, fearing that too was not allowed. No wonder I began to experience daily headaches! It is a miracle that I never “blew my top,” nor by bottom with these misconceptions of what is proper for a nun.
So the morning bell sounded at 5 am. We had to get up immediately, take turns washing at one of the five sinks in our dorm, hurriedly dress and be in the chapel on our knees by 5:30. There, one of the nuns took her turn reading morning prayers in French. We each had a copy of these French prayers so little by little I learned when to say fervently, “Ainsi soit il!” (Amen or translated literally “So Be It!”)
After our morning praise, we would all sit down in the quiet chapel where the Mother Superior would read aloud from a French book on some subject for meditation. We, to whom French was still by and large foreign, read from books in English. The content was intended to inspire us to become more obedient, docile and to “put on the mind of Christ”. Each morning, I would firmly resolve to sit up straight and pay attention. Alas, without fail, before ten minutes of the hour had passed, my head would be bobbing up and down, as I fell in and out of sleep. I was reproved by my superior morning after morning, and soon I was classified as incorrigible in that area of alertness during morning devotions.
Between morning prayer and the celebration of Mass there was about an hour in which we were to complete an assigned job, either cleaning the stairs or helping in the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the boarders.
There were many beautiful, well-waxed hardwood steps in this three story high building. They were always polished and shining no matter how heavy the traffic. My chore was often the sweeping of the outdoors stairs. I loved that job because it got me outside where I could let the wonderful fresh air refresh my sleepy head that had been rising and falling all through prayer. (I always claimed I was nodding “Yes” to what ever was being asked of me!) St. Catherine School Exterior pictured here
After Mass we had other cleaning chores, studies to complete and prayers to be recited. Day by day, we progressed as we studied the endless list of rules and became more sedate in our outward behavior.
As part of this process, I was to continue my high school education. Well, sort of! We were allowed to take one class in American History with Sister Zita as our teacher. We were not allowed in any actual classroom where the other students might sully us with their worldly ways. We listened to Sister Zita’s lectures from a little room off the main classroom. There was a small window just high enough in the wall to prevent us from seeing our teacher or any of the students but it allowed the sound of her voice to come through to us.
Sister Zita, a great historian, was legally blind. As might be expected, her discipline left much to be desired. She was never aware of the boys in that classroom who routinely stood on their desks and peered at us from that little window. They would take turns standing there, flirting outrageously with us, as we sat obediently listening and taking notes from Zita’s lectures. For some reason, Mother Guirec had always left us unsupervised in that tiny room. Neither she nor Sister Zita ever heard from us, about the terrible chaos that went on in that classroom. Needless to say, I didn’t learn much history.
We were not to have any contact whatsoever with the other students. We were taught “modesty of the eyes.” This was a virtue that a good nun acquires by keeping her eyes downcast as much as possible. I tried to practice this virtue but I still could not help but notice those good looking lads that found it such great sport to flirt with “nuns in the making.”
Friendships of any kind were discouraged even among members of the community. Those kinds of friendships were called “particular friendships.” It took me quite a long time to understand just what that meant. I knew that Jesus had friends while He was on earth. Peter, James and John were often singled out as His particular friends. Of course, He was God and He could withstand any evil temptations that the nuns seemed to imply were inherent in all such friendships. This concept was indeed very foreign to me. I loved to have fun, to play innocent tricks on my companions and to serve up mischief any chance I got.
Even though we had strict rules of silence during the day and night, I could not resist indulging in some innocent high jinx. Bounding up the stairs, two or three steps at a time with youthful vitality, recounting innocent jokes or jumping out from behind doors to scare Almira or Barb seemed blameless and entertaining to us. These kinds of actions were considered “levity,” and were always to be avoided. Almira and Barb were good sports and never snitched on me about my many infractions of the rules, though we were encouraged to inform on each other for the good of community living.
If nobody snitched on our sinful ways, we were taught to accuse ourselves in a monthly event, called “the chapter of faults.” On the last Sunday of every month, the community made a deeper silent retreat from their already conspicuous withdrawal from the world. After the Sunday Mass, everything was wrapped in solemn silence. Each nun was to spend her time, not in mundane things like correcting papers, planning classroom lessons, studying assigned school subjects, reading a good novel, or whatever was their usual occupations on other Sundays. Instead, much time was to be spent in the chapel, praying, meditating, examining one’s conscience, and reading inspirational treatises. Meanwhile, Mother Superior was in her office, privately interviewing the nuns one by one.
We postulants learned about this self-incriminating procedure early in our training. We were instructed to humbly enter her chambers, kneel in front of her chair, and confess all infractions of the rules that we had made during the past month. Her usually placid face would take on a more severe expression, set and determined, as she would instruct us about correcting our evil ways. Then she would impose a penance like kneeing during meals for a specified number of days. After questioning us about our spiritual progress, which was measured, for the most part, by our adherence to the rules, she sent us on our way to continue in prayer. As a child, I thought confessing to a priest was difficult; this was much worse. At least when confessing real sins to a priest, I had the consolation of believing that he had the power to assure me that my sins were forgiven by God. I knew that Mother Superior had no such power and was only training me to be submissive and to quake in the presence of her authority.
After Mother Superior had interviewed all the nuns, the chimes rang out and we would proceed to the dining hall where we knelt, waiting silently for her arrival. She would lead us in prayer and then each nun would bow low, kiss the floor in abject humility, and accuse herself aloud of her most grievous public faults. If anyone wished, they could accuse the nun of any faults that she had failed to mention. Talk about Chinese torture! This beat that all to hell and I believe it originated there and should have remained there! I hated and dreaded those last Sundays of the month. Obediently, I tried to put all unholy thoughts aside but they were always there broiling on the back burner of my mind. I was really having a very hard time attaining my much-desired degree of holiness. Link
