Twenty

SOMETHING HAPPENED THAT spring, which was a really big first for our monastery. Sr. Trinity’s brother was ordained a priest for the Archdiocese of New York, and Sister and a companion were permitted to go to the ordination at St. Patrick’s Cathedral. That was really quite extraordinary! Her brother, Fr. Jablonski, came to the monastery for a Mass of Thanksgiving, and gave us all his first priestly blessing, and then we all had a recreation with him in the large parlor. Sister was so proud of him. Mother’s letting her go to his ordination had changed her opinion of Mother, which before wasn’t always so sweet. Sr. Trinity had not been reappointed Novice Mistress, but had been put in charge of maintenance, which was a huge responsibility but which Sr. Trinity thought was a demotion…she once called it “going from white-veiled novices to broken-down boilers and stubborn handymen.”

Sr. Catherine Agnes was now Novice Mistress. Sr. Anna Maria couldn’t refrain from rolling her eyes every time I’d mention it. Sr. Anna Maria and I figured that Sr. Trinity must’ve been in the running for prioress, or should have been, and maybe that put her in a negative disposition towards the new prioress. Again, who knows? I’m embarrassed to think of all the wasted time and energy, not to mention uncharitableness, we engaged in over such things. Sr. Trinity never said anything about it all, at least not to me or Sr. Anna Maria, and one couldn’t always read her face, so it was all cloistered speculation. But going to the ordination of her brother seemed to change her disposition toward the Prioress.

When I received in my Easter mail an engraved invitation to attend the ordination of Rev. Brother Matthew Goldman at the Cathedral in Springfield, Massachusetts…I wanted to go. There was a precedent now, after all, with Sr. Trinity and her brother. I was immediately distracted by my own fantasy of the whole thing. The really sad and stupid thing about my fantasies is that I am always the star. I was picturing myself coming down the aisle of the cathedral and greeting Gwendolyn and Greta and all the Goldman family, who were in awe of my being there. Even the bishop stopped in the procession to give a nod to me and thank me for being there, and of course, Ezra was overjoyed at my being there. I must’ve played with that fantasy in my head for a good ten minutes, and when I came back to earth, I thought, I’ve just got to be able to go. Sr. Trinity went, so there’s a precedent; we do that sort of thing now…in the spirit of Vatican II. I had to chuckle to myself, as I had more than once criticized a Sister for invoking Vatican II to advance her own agenda. “It can all be very subjective and manipulative,” I whined to Fr. Meriwether about a few little changes that I didn’t particularly like.

Before running off to Mother’s office, however, I waited till my Easter visit the next day with Fr. Meriwether, and told him I had gotten an invitation, and there was a precedent for going to ordinations, and what did he think? He was my spiritual director, after all, and I wouldn’t want to do anything that was really really against what he thought, but I knew he usually thought along the same lines as I did. Obedience was really at the heart of our life, the one vow we profess, and I “love it” except when it goes against my will.

And to my utter delight, Fr. Meriwether was very supportive and told me that he and Fr. Rayburne from Blessed Sacrament were both going. They were driving up and taking Ezra’s Aunt Sarah from the Upper West Side with them, and if Mother gave permission, there would be room in the back seat for me.

“And what about a companion? We only go out with a companion…”

“Well, it’s a large back seat, there would be room for all three of you.” (I was already secretly praying that Sr. Anna Maria could be my companion.) Father thought out loud, saying that he could pick me up at the monastery, and as he and Fr. Rayburne were staying at the Dominican Nuns’ Monastery in West Springfield, my companion and I would naturally stay there too, in the enclosure, and he would be driving to and from the cathedral, so we wouldn’t have to inconvenience anyone. He used to think about those things.

It was perfect. I was so excited in my head that I don’t remember anything else that we talked about in that visit. I was thinking about Aunt Sarah, whom I hadn’t seen in years, and I knew that Gwendolyn was planning to go according to her Easter card where she wrote that she would take pictures for me. She would be thrilled to know that I was going—presumably—and would probably be making something special and delicious for the occasion…probably a Penguin Priest Cake.

When Fr. Meriwether left, it was nearly time for Vespers, but I wrote a quick note asking to see Mother Jane Mary in the morning. I hardly slept that night as all I could do was think about the grand reunion with Ezra, Aunt Sarah, Gwendolyn, and hopefully Greta; I bet Ezra’s old roommates would be there too. And it would really be neat going back to the monastery in West Springfield this time as “one of them” and being welcomed inside. I also thought about how marvelous God’s Divine Providence had been in my meeting Ezra at Tea on Thames. I might not even be here had we not met and become friends. He was there for me when I broke the news to my folks, when I was baptized, confirmed, and received my Holy Communion. He was my godfather, after all. This would be a wonderful fulfillment of God’s Providence; I would be at his ordination, and he will be at my solemn profession.

I was grateful for the three o’clock guard, as I couldn’t sleep anyway, but my meditation was hardly on the Joyful Mysteries, except my own anticipated joyful ones. After Holy Mass, I found a note in my box in Mother’s handwriting:

Dear Sister Mary Baruch,

I cannot meet with you this morning as I must go out for a doctor’s appointment, and of course, my afternoons are very full. I shall meet with you on Thursday, fifteen minutes after Mass. If this is a medical crisis, you should see Sister Subprioress. Blessed be God. Mother Jane Mary

Thursday! And this was only Tuesday. Oh well, that gave me two more days to plan what I should take; and could I make something special for Ezra, I mean, Brother Matthew? Two days was also a nice length to obsess over it! I was glad it was the Easter Season and we had lots of candy available on the dessert table and even in the community room. People are so generous to us and probably think that we never even eat candy. A lot of the time we don’t, especially not Godiva Chocolates. We probably had two dozen five-pound boxes of Whitman’s Samplers, which was always Mama’s favorite.

So I obsessed about it all, even during my prayer time, and work time, and time in between. I couldn’t keep it from Sr. Anna Maria and showed her the invitation, and told her that I hoped Mother would send her as my companion.

The two days finally passed, and I was on my way to Mother’s office, hoping my face wasn’t breaking out from too much chocolate. My guimpe was feeling a little tight and I was comfortable with my belt a notch looser. Mother’s door was open. She was sitting behind her desk, already working on something. She politely put down her pen and waited for my greeting: “Laudetur Jesus Christus.”

“Now and forever,” she smiled with a broad smile. (Ah, thank you, Lord, she’s in a good mood.)

“Sr. Mary Baruch, what is it? You look like the cat that swallowed the canary. Did you discover a first edition of the Imitation of Christ?” She put her head back and laughed like it was the funniest thing she ever said.

“No, Mother,” I tried to laugh, a little hysterically, realizing I was playing politics! But then I announced my tidings of great joy: “Oh, no, Mother, much much better.” And from under my scapular I produced my engraved invitation. “My best friend and godfather, Brother Matthew Goldman, is being ordained next month, in Springfield, Massachusetts; and Fr. Meriwether is going and has said he would be happy to pick me up and drive me to the ordination.” I had rehearsed it three dozen times since the Night Office. Ruthie couldn’t have done a more enthusiastic and authentic performance. I stressed again that Fr. Meriwether thought it would be a wonderful gesture for me to be there. “And….” Mother was no longer smiling. “And, I’m asking your permission to go.”

Without a moment’s thoughtful consideration, Mother said, “No! It is not our practice to go to ordinations.”

You could have hit me with a boulder. It took every ounce of Feinstein composure to remain cool, calm, and collected as a kosher cucumber. “But Mother, Sr. Trinity just went to her brother’s ordination and…”

“Sr. Trinity’s brother was ordained for New York, just across the river. She was there and back in four hours. She’s also a solemnly professed nun. Why, what would the nuns in West Springfield think if they ever heard of such a thing?”

“Fr. Meriwether said I could stay there with them. I’ve been there before, Mother, when I was discerning.”

“Well, it’s out of the question, Sister. Fr. Meriwether should have known better than to presume you could go and to get your hopes up. Of all people, he would know you needed to obtain permission first.”

I was sunk and speechless. I could feel the anger or hurt, mixed together, rising from my neck to my forehead. My face felt hot and red; I could feel the tears building up behind my eyes and a constriction in my neck. I had heard about “blind rage” but never experienced it till this moment. It’s like I stopped breathing and went into a conscious coma. I don’t really remember leaving Mother’s office, and vaguely remember falling into my stall in choir and silently weeping. My stomach was all in knots and I felt so utterly alone.

I came around when I felt a gentle hand on my arm. “Sister?” A soft voice roused me. “Sister? Are you alright, dear?” It was Sr. Catherine Agnes…Scar.

“Yes, Sister, I’m sorry. Was I making a disturbance?”

Sr. Catherine Agnes whispered, “No, Sister, it’s only the Lord and I here at the moment. Can I get you anything? You look wretched.” (That was her bedside manner, and it almost made me smile.)

“No, Sister, I’m okay…thanks.” My voice cracked. “I’m just very disappointed over something.”

“I see.” Scar stared off into the distance for a second, remembering something. “You stay here for a few minutes with the Lord, will you? I need to go out for a moment.” And she handed me a clean handkerchief and quietly left the choir.

I was so upset I couldn’t think straight, and at the same time I was so moved by Scar’s kindness. She didn’t probe into why I “looked so wretched” or correct me for weeping out loud. She was so kind to give me her handkerchief; I wouldn’t dare blow my nose in it.

I looked up at the grille, and there in utter silence and hiddenness was the Lord in our beautiful sunburst monstrance…the same Lord who touched my heart ten years ago that autumn morning at St. Vincent’s. The Lord of the Golden Tabernacle…the Lord whom Ezra and I visited in all the churches we could visit in Manhattan…the Lord who called me to Himself and to whom I said, “Yes, Lord, I will be obedient.” And I smiled and breathed in a deep breath of acceptance.

“So be it, Lord. I offer it all for Ezra; it’s my gift, in gratitude, Lord, for all You have done for me through him, and all you have done for him. Make him to be a happy and holy priest. And Lord, please don’t let Mother be mad at Fr. Meriwether.” I closed my eyes and let myself go to my inner space where I always knew peace, and a gentle peace seemed to settle over me and over the choir. Oddly enough, I thought of Mama and remembered how she closed her eyes and prayed the prayer welcoming the Sabbath, praying for all her children and her husband. I could almost hear her voice murmuring the prayer.

I may have dozed off a bit, but before I knew it, the sisters were coming in one by one and preparing their books for Sext. I likewise fixed my book and stood for a moment facing the monstrance as sisters passed to get to their places before Mother knocked and we knelt for the O Sacred Banquet, which we were now praying in English. I liked that little change. “The soul is filled with grace,” and so, I realized, we were…all of us at that moment, filled with His grace in His holy presence.

Looking back, I have to say it was all a miracle, that morning. It was an action of grace, for I had never felt so disappointed or angry at “the life” since I had entered. My normal reaction would have been to hold on to the grudge for days or angrily try to change Mother’s mind; at worst, of course, I would have packed my bag and left to show her how sorry she would be not to have let me go to the ordination. But I didn’t do any of those. The miracle was that God gave me the grace to accept it without resentment or revenge, as if I were even capable of that! I was also happy just to be here, with these sisters, schlepping into choir like they do… and perhaps the biggest miracle of all…I had found a new friend…Scar.

It had been a very hot and humid summer that year. I was proposing air conditioning for the library, for the sake of the books, which were beginning to smell musty, especially those in the dank corners where nobody seemed to go. There were books which had never left the shelf; never had their binding broken or their contents read by an interested reader. They were not popular. Many of the books on philosophy and theology were not touched either; they looked impressive on the shelf, but no one seemed enthralled enough to read them. The popular shelves were biographies and “spiritual reading books,” books on prayer and meditation and a few on religious life and the vows. Under Mother John Dominic we had begun a section of mystery novels and secular biographies, as opposed to the lives of the saints. These were very popular too, and seemed to be a pleasant enough “escape” for some.

We were also getting, thanks to my suggestion, audio-books. These were mostly for the elderly sisters who couldn’t read the small-print books anymore. They could listen to a book, with earphones on, making it as loud as they needed. We also had a whole closet, almost like a little room, with a huge collection of tapes. I think we had every retreat, every conference, every word spoken by a lecturing Dominican priest since the invention of magnetic tape! Sometimes we listened to former conferences in the refectory, at supper mostly. Cataloguing them was a huge project which I had begun but had to stop when the hot weather stifled me too much. It’s nice winter weather work.

One tends to perspire in the habit during the long humid days of summer, but we never complain. Interestingly, Advent and Lent, the penitential seasons, are both in cool climates, even snow. But summer perspiration is a great penance for me…perspiration at any time is a penance for me. Humidity is worse than humility, but without the lasting effects. I don’t know why I have an aversion towards perspiring. Somewhere in my youth and childhood I must’ve been told it was unladylike for a girl to sweat. I’m not complaining now, but reflective about the irony of it and hope that I’ve helped many souls in Purgatory with each saturated bandeau and wet hair under my veil of tears.

The summer of 1974, however, was unique in the perspiration department. By July 4th, I was to present my letter requesting solemn profession. I thought of the irony of that too…the day we celebrate our independence, I requested to be allowed to be dependent until death. Of course it’s wonderful dependence. It’s a dependence on God’s mercy, and that of the community. I knew more and more that that’s exactly what it has been—God’s mercy and theirs. There were a few times over the past five years when I wanted to pack my bags and throw in the towel.

There were a few times that I was being observed with greater scrutiny than I realized. One big scrutiny followed my request to go to Ezra’s ordination and my reaction to Mother’s refusal to let me go. Mother Jane Mary was not happy with either my request or my reaction. It could easily have been the straw to break the camel’s back about whether I would be accepted for solemn profession or not. Mother was concerned about my lack of docility and whether this was indicative of a psychological hostility to authority. And that raised a question in her mind as to whether I could live under holy obedience for the rest of my life. There was an independent streak in me that was both a blessing and a curse.

This would all be discussed discreetly at the Council Meeting which would make or break my fate, in a way. One is voted on by the entire Chapter after one first passes the positive vote of the Council. One is never privy, of course, to the deliberations of the Council. And needless to say, I was very nervous. I knew they could also tell me that they didn’t think I was ready yet and that I should renew my temporary profession for a year or more. That would be fine, I thought to myself. But what if they simply said I didn’t have a vocation and should leave immediately? I couldn’t defend myself very well regarding my maturity or lack of docility or whether I could be obedient forever, so I didn’t know what I would do, if that were the case. All I knew was that I had learned over those few years to trust in the Lord’s Providence and to be resigned to whatever happened as God’s will. It was all out of my control. I had learned from Sr. Anna Maria that that day I was upset and weeping in the choir, when Sr. Catherine Agnes spoke to me, and then left me there alone, that she went to see Sr. Anna Maria, and asked her what the trouble was. Anna Maria didn’t know, of course, and only mentioned that I had received an invitation to Ezra’s ordination and was asking Mother’s permission to go, hoping that she, Sr. Anna Maria, could go with me. All Scar said was, “I see,” and left.

I learned much later that Scar had gone to Mother to suggest that I might be permitted to go to the ordination, since there was a precedent, and since I had no real family supporting me all these years, and Br. Matthew was like a brother to me. Mother was unmoved by Sr. Catherine Agnes’s pleas and rather displeased that she would interfere in the situation, and blamed me for going to her (Sr. Catherine Agnes) to beg her case.

“Sr. Mary Baruch has no idea I am here. I have left her alone and weeping in the choir. She is one of our finest young sisters on the cusp…on the cusp, Mother…of solemn profession. I would hate to see her leave on this account.”

Mother mellowed a little, I’m told. “I respect your concern, Sister, and share your good sentiments about Sister; I would not want to see her leave us either. One does not come to this life, as you know, to carve out a career for oneself, or to have one’s will catered to. We have embraced the Cross, and it comes to each of us in a unique way. Will Sr. Mary Baruch surrender her will or will she resist?”

Sr. Catherine Agnes did not answer that question. Only later in the day when she passed me in the cloister, normally a place of profound silence, she took me by the arm and whispered, “Trust in the Lord, Sister, and embrace His holy Will as cheerfully as you can.” And she smiled at me with a warmth I never knew she had.

“I have, Sister, I have…at least, I hope I have.” And I smiled back and squeezed her hand still holding onto my arm. “Thank you, Sister, thank you more than you’ll ever know.”

The Council and Chapter both accepted me for solemn profession on November 1st, All Saints’ Day. However, the Bishop was unable to come because of the Holy Day and his obligations at the Cathedral.

Mother Jane Mary announced at Chapter that the bishop would not be coming. However, she had been able to get a priest to come as principal celebrant. Celebrating my Profession Mass would be Fr. Matthew Goldman.

I closed my eyes, lest anyone see the tears waiting to roll down my cheeks. I was so happy, and in my joy I remembered my Sacred Heart statue of Jesus in priestly vestments… like Ezra would be.

The Chapter Reading that evening was from our Constitutions, read at the request of Sr. John Dominic:

Called by God, like Mary, to sit at the feet of Jesus and listen to his words they are converted to the Lord, withdrawing from the empty preoccupations and illusions of the world. Forgetting what lies behind and reaching out for what lies ahead they are consecrated to God by public vows through profession of the evangelical counsels of chastity, poverty, and obedience. In purity and humility of heart, in loving and assiduous contemplation, they love Christ, who is close to the Father’s heart.

When I went to our cell after Compline, someone had left a single rose at my door. I still have it pressed in my old New Testament.

I went to bed that night full of joy and gratitude and anticipation.

Oh, Lord, will it really happen? Will it all come to pass? Is this really Your will for me? Mother of God, be my Mother now and obtain for me the grace to say yes. Solemn profession as a cloistered Dominican Nun…such a blessing. Amen.