Chapter 34
August – December 1831
St. George’s Hill
Dublin, Ireland
Between the madness at the House of Mercy, Anna Maria’s brush with death, and now Elizabeth’s worrisome cough, I wasn’t sure who to be most concerned about. What I did know what that this new Mother Superior might honestly be the death of all three of us. She forced Elizabeth to work in a cold, damp underground kitchen without any heat, cleaning shoes and cooking utensils. I tried several times to explain to her why this was detrimental to Elizabeth’s health, but all I received for my troubles was a swift smack across the face and a week of eating only from others’ leftovers. Mother Superior’s only response was that if Elizabeth couldn’t handle the conditions, she wasn’t fit to be a nun.
When Anna Maria was sent to the infirmary, Mother Superior took her anger out on me by assigning me her work in the sacristy on top of my own sweeping floors and serving in the refectory. She took great joy in telling me that Anna Maria and Elizabeth would certainly be received for profession, but that she would see to it I was not.
Finally, the fateful day came when the Sisters voted on whether to allow us to make our final vows. We gathered in the chapter room as usual. Three clear glass jars were set on a table at the front of the room, each with a placard bearing one of our names. We were asked to sit behind the jar with our name on it.
Mother Superior called the meeting to order. “Tonight, we will decide whether our novices are ready to be received for profession, to take their final vows as Sisters of Mercy. I ask you to think long and hard about what you know and have observed about each of these women over the last year. Consider their faults and their strengths, and weigh them against the challenges you know to be part of religious life. Evaluate them individually, not as a group, and don’t be afraid to vote differently from one another. When you are ready, come forward and place a white bean in a woman’s jar if you believe she is ready for final vows or a black bean if not. I will go first.”
I nearly snorted at how backward this woman’s attitude toward everything was. A good superior would have cast her vote last so as not to influence the group. But that was exactly what this woman wanted to do. She likely would have said I should have kept my eyes down in deference and prayer for the will of God to be done, but I looked her—and every Sister after her—straight in the eye, so that they would know exactly whom they were allowing or condemning. To the surprise of no one, Mother Superior dropped a white bean in Anna Maria and Elizabeth’s jars and a black one in mine.
As the number of black beans in my jar mounted, I consoled myself that Archbishop Murray had promised me after I gave him a lengthy description of what life here was like, that he would receive me into religious life himself if the nuns wouldn’t admit me.
Finally, each woman had cast her vote. The jars were overturned so that no beans could fall to the floor or otherwise escape. Mother Superior came forward and counted each woman’s beans out loud so there could be no question as to the outcome. It was the work of seconds to see that Anna Maria and Elizabeth would be making their profession. My pile required much more sorting. In the end, my tally was tied and my fate came down to a single bean. Mother Superior and I looked down at the same time. It was white.
A huge grin spread across my face and I looked out into the faces of my fellow nuns who were cheering that they would soon have three new professed nuns in their ranks. I caught the eye of Sister Mary Clare, our first Mother Superior, who had been so kind to me, and she winked.
*****
On December 12, 1831, the chapel at St. George’s was decorated in white as though for a wedding. A pure white runner ran down the center aisle, and boughs of holly and ivy decorated each pew. The advent wreath was lit for the third Sunday, two purple candles and one pink glowing brightly.
We stood at the back of the chapel waiting for the appointed moment. Anna Maria, now much recovered, and Elizabeth, still nursing a cough, looked like brides in their white dresses, white veils, and crown of orange blossoms. Out of respect for my age—I was now fifty-three and would look quite silly dressed in white like a young bride—Archbishop Murray allowed me to wear a more matronly gown of a rich lavender brocade, though he insisted I wear a crown of hothouse roses over my white veil.
When the music began, we processed up the aisle, each with one of our teachers at our side. God must have a sense of humor, because it was Mother Superior who gave me into the arms of Mother Church, disgust and displeasure writ large all over her face. Anna Maria was given away by our Novice Mistress and Elizabeth by our Director of Postulants.
After the opening prayers of the Mass, we three prostrated ourselves on the ground in front of the altar on a special mat covered in rose petals, faces to the ground, arms outstretched in the shape of a cross to symbolize our total submission to God. We remained in this state until the nuns finished singing the Litany of the Saints.
The readings and the Gospel were then proclaimed, but instead of a homily, the faithful were asked to be seated while we remained standing. We declared our desire to serve Him faithfully as His brides and Sisters of Mercy and were accepted into the community.
Archbishop Murray then preached his homily. The ending was particularly poignant. “You who are present here today are witnesses to something momentous—the enrichment of Holy Mother Church by the creation of a new religious order. These three women are to henceforth be known as the foundresses of the Sisters of Mercy.”
Then the moment came for us to individually profess our vows. With Mother Superior holding out the formula of profession and my hand touching the bottom, I proclaimed:
“In the name of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and under the protection of his Immaculate Mother, Mary ever virgin, I, Sister Catherine McAuley, called in religion Mary Catherine, do vow and promise to God perpetual poverty, chastity, and obedience, and to persevere until the end of my life in the Congregation called the Sisters of Mercy, established for the Visitation of the sick, poor, and charitable instruction of poor females, according to the rules and constitutions of the Presentation Order. On this twelfth day of December in the year of Our Lord one thousand eight hundred and thirty-one.”
I signed my name and placed my profession on the altar.
After the others made their vows, our new black habits were blessed and, in the privacy of the cloister, we changed out of our wedding garments and into the habits of the Sisters of Mercy. When we once again knelt before the altar, the archbishop replaced the white veil we had worn for the last year with the black veil of profession. Then he held out a simple silver band engraved on the outside with the words Ad Majorium Dei Glorium,“to the greater glory of God,” and on the inside Fiat Volantis, “May Your will be done.”
“Receive this ring, for you are betrothed to the eternal King; be steadfast in faith with your Bridegroom so that you may come to the wedding feast of eternal joy.”
He slipped the band onto the ring finger of my left hand. With one final “amen” it was done.
I was a Sister of Mercy.