When I was losing my other “G-friend”, Gracie Price, I wandered into St. Vincent’s and found Christ…I wandered into Tea on Thames uptown, near Barnard College, and found Gwendolyn. She was there when Ezra, my only really close male-friend, came into my life when he came into Tea on Thames. Gwendolyn was my godmother when I came into the Church, and my anchor and support when I was a young Sister, worried about her little sister and her mother. Gwendolyn was my arms that hugged Ruthie and my eyes that watched out for her; it was Gwendolyn who brought Mama here when Ruthie died. It was Gwendolyn who kept the honor of my father alive for me—Ruben the Penguin King.
I know there were tears rolling down my cheeks and onto my guimpe when I finally looked up at her. “I will miss you.” That’s all I could say. And Gwendolyn who was never at a loss for words, was as mute as I was.
Minutes went by. There were no words to be found on either side of the grille. It’s when silence says it all. Broken by both of us sniffing and blowing our noses…Gwendolyn louder than me. “It sounds like a foghorn when you blow your nose, Lady Gwendolyn. Honk Honk, the Queen Mary is about to set sail.” And that did it. It started as a simpering giggle and burst into a roar of laughter.
“Well, you’re no nose-blowing prima donna, little Sister Barrrruuuucch. Once I thought you had brought in a shofar from Temple Emmanuel.”
We got hysterical laughing. I thought Gwendolyn’s penguins would come undone and go flying across the room. The bell calling me to Vespers brought our hilarity to a sudden sober halt.
“I’m not leaving till the new year…and it may not be permanent; I’m subletting my apartment here,” she said as she got up and straightened out her autumn shawl which was falling off. “You are a blessing, M.B., and she turned and swept towards the door. “Don’t forget your Falling Leaves.”
“I’ll probably choke on them…” And she fled out the door. Vespers came right in time to save me. . .from putting a whole Falling Leaf in my mouth. (St. Michael to the rescue again!)
I dropped off the Falling Leaves in the kitchen, resolved to take a batch to the infirmary, and made my way into Vespers. I carried Gwendolyn in with me, of course. We do that automatically. She was probably sitting back in a cab right now, crossing the Brooklyn Bridge heading into Manhattan, and we gathered all the world up in our Evening Prayer. May our prayer rise before You, O Lord, like incense in Your sight; the raising of our hands like an evening oblation.
As I settled into the sentiments of the evening’s Psalms, I realized it was the Divine Office, now called The Liturgy of the Hours, which was the charoset of our daily lives. Day after day, season after season, year after year – it holds us together. And every night the Church puts on our lips the Canticle of Mary: “My soul magnifies the Lord. My spirit rejoices in God, my Savior, for He has looked with favor upon the lowliness of His handmaid. From this day, all generations will call me blessed.” The light at the beginning of Vespers changes in choir when we end with our Deo Gratias. Our mood changes too. We can come into choir full of the day’s work and anxious about this or that, and leave at the end a little calmer. A little sweeter, perhaps.
We are so blessed. We are not conscious of that much of the time. We get caught up in the routine of the life, living out, not just an evening oblation, but a daily, every-minute-of-the-day oblation. And it all only makes any sense when the Lord Jesus is at the very center of it all. I’m so happy we keep the adoration of the Blessed Sacrament all day and night. He is the Host, the Victima, the one and only perfect oblation of love.
I think our awareness or consciousness of our oblation matures as we do, with every new substance added to our offering, like home-made charoset. The nervous young aspirant offers herself when she walks through the enclosure door and it all begins. Each step of the way marks a new oblation, a new “ingredient”: novitiate, temporary profession, Solemn Profession, and all that follows. We work, we play, we pray, certainly; and we do other things. Some may get terribly sick, or depressed, or misunderstood – it’s the stuff of what we offer today to the Lord. The young ones offer their youth and the years when they would probably be etching out a career, getting married, having children…that’s the most natural “path of oblation” and sacrifice. Others live in the world as single men and women, or widowed, and live out their faith with great devotion and selfless service to others; and there’s us, who offer ourselves with faith and hope, and love, whether we’re young and just beginning or elderly and getting near the end.
Our voices sing out the praises of Israel and of Christ and His Bride, the Church. Christ has transformed the Jewish Psalms into His prayer; the prayer of the “new man.” We constantly listen to His Word, that it may dwell abundantly here, and we offer our prayers of petition…every morning and every evening. Like incense in Your sight; the raising of our hands like an evening oblation. Such a blessing.
Chapter Seven
MaggidThe second cup of wine and the telling of the story of Exodus
I was just taking a little snooze in Squeak before Sext. I had finished my morning correspondence for Mother, and was doing my morning spiritual reading in our cell, and kind of nodded off. My Three Ages of the Interior Life, by Garrigou-Lagrange was lying on the floor in front of me. Next to Squeak was my little bookcase, and a Rosh Hashanah card from Mama. I would be glad when 1999 was over. Being reunited with David was wonderful, but Gwendolyn’s leaving in a couple months had me a little down. I was missing Fr. Matthew too, that’s Ezra, who was back in Africa after a home leave of two years. His health was failing, but he begged his provincial to let him go back to Zimbabwe to finish his pet projects, especially his orphanage. I prayed for him every day. I knew he struggled with lots of things for lots of years. He will be sad to learn that Gwendolyn is leaving New York. And he will be thrilled and excited to hear about David, whenever I get around to writing him. I miss our talks we had during the two years he was back here. He was/is most like a brother to me.
And now I didn’t have anyone to talk to on the outside, except Mama, of course, and now David – but I mean someone to talk to about Mama and David! I missed Greta too, and thought how she would have known just what to say to David if he got off on religion.
Sr. Anna Maria was a very efficient and busy sub-prioress. We were able to chat a little in between things, but certainly not like her “laundry days” or my library days. Not to mention, that over the years the “observance” takes over, or has its effect on you without you knowing it. Silence becomes more ingrained and a natural part of one’s life. There are moments when I’m either sitting in the chapel or sitting in our cell when I think about all the noise in the “world.” We’ve also read a couple articles in the refectory on the prevalence of “multi-tasking” and how much technology is becoming the modern addiction. We thought it was a huge improvement when we got a computer in the library (that affected me the most) but also in the bursar’s office, and then in all the offices. Then we got pagers, which were a big luxury and change from the old bell system. If a Sister got a phone call, for example, or was being called to the parlor, the house bell would ring her number…twice. Sometimes it reminded me of shopping in Macy’s, but even Macy’s didn’t have long number codes. It meant one would literally have to stop and count.
Sometimes we can hear cell phones ringing or playing music or whatever they do—in the extern chapel. We’ve succumbed to house cell phones, if one is outside of the house, like at the doctor’s. But I think the biggest invasion of the enclosure has been the Internet and email. It’s like we’ve opened up a huge hole in the grille and let in the world. Maybe this is the twenty-first century challenge to enclosure.
The way that silence becomes a part of one’s life, so does the enclosure, and the mindfulness with which one does things. I have to think about it a little more, but I’m beginning to see that it’s invading our lives. These are the new challenges facing all of us. Is all this the wave of the future and I’m just resisting because I’m older and d
on’t like change?
Settled in Squeak, I put Garrigou-Lagrange aside, and picked up an old journal of mine that covered our first election in the new millennium. New Year’s 2000 did not come in with a bang for us; it was as any New Year’s was, more celebration of the Solemnity of the Mother of God really than the party-atmosphere of a New Year. We had a lovely baked ham dinner, which, I thought to myself, Our Lady would never have had! And breaking with all tradition, Mother Agnes Mary suggested a rich cabernet wine, golden yellow, and sweet enough for the approval of most of the community. Was this the wave of the future? I think I could live with this more easily than everyone having her own computer. We rarely had wine in the refectory, but the movement into a new millennium was something none of us would ever experience again. We weren’t “scared” like some religious articles we read about a computer blitz affecting everything; we didn’t store extra food, or build bomb shelters. We had a glass of cabernet in the refectory! It reminded me of the second cup of wine which marked the beginning of the Passover Story, the Maggid. Passing over to a new year and even more a new century, and a new millennium—wow—this was a real Maggid time.
After we were seated in our places, the prayers and grace being said, and before the music for the meal, which replaced the usual table-reading, Mother stood holding up her glass of cabernet, like she was a toast-mistress at a wedding, and said: “Sisters, we have moved with Our Holy Father John Paul II into the new millennium. As he has crossed the threshold of hope may we join him with our prayers and hopes for this new year of grace. May Our Holy Father Dominic and Our Lady, Queen of Hope, intercede in a special way for us this year. God bless us all with His peace, unity, good health, faith, hope, and love. Happy New Year.”
We all lifted our glasses and said “Happy New Year” in a “refectory-tone” which was perhaps more joyous and amplified than usual. We smiled at each other, and enjoyed the meal, the music, the cabernet, and the company. It wasn’t contrived or overdone. It was us. As I glanced around the refectory, I thought of how each one must perceive this in her own way; certainly the eldest among us have a peacefulness and deep joy which the youngest will grow into, while they also have their joy and contentment too. I watched Sr. Catherine Agnes sip her wine, and smelling it for a second or two, her eyes closed for a moment, maybe relishing the moment or remembering something or someone from years past. And old Sr. Benedict, carefully bringing the wine glass to her lips with both hands; took a good gulp, and smiled with approval as she carefully put the glass down. The younger sisters all seemed to eat quickly, and drink quickly, while the well-seasoned-sisters took their time, and savored the moment. I think, maybe, that’s how they lived the life too…savoring the moment. Mindfulness.
I thought about Ruthie, as I often do, but especially at times of celebration when we seemed happy to be with each other. Ruthie used to think our life was sad, and I hoped maybe now she could see these moments we had. There was Sr. Alice Marie across the refectory from me who suffered from depression and never seemed to smile. I used to think I was invisible to her and couldn’t figure out why she didn’t like me, but that wasn’t it at all. Depression can be very isolating, I’m told. I’ll have to ask David about it, maybe he can help me understand why some people seem to retreat from life. I know she got help a few years ago, and she’s been doing much better. She saw me looking at her, and smiled. She tipped her water glass towards me in a silent toast. Sister didn’t drink; I don’t know if it’s because of the medicine she’s on or if alcohol was a problem, or if she just didn’t like it. I don’t know. I tipped my wine glass back to her with a big Feinstein smile, and hoped she’s happy now. She smiled back.
Even Sr. Jane Mary down the row from Sr. Alice Marie looked happy. She was never depressed, just very strict with us and with herself. She held things together when she was prioress, but lacked a human warmth, I guess. She wasn’t really charoset, like Mother John Dominic and Mother Agnes Mary. She was a good administrator and is still a good teacher. She gives the novices classes on the history of the Order; she’s amazing, actually, with names and dates. But maybe she’s overly intellectual and lives in her head. I think she’s happier being an older Sister-in-community, not in charge. The novices say she has a unique sense of humor. I’m happy to hear that because I never saw it in her. But maybe I’m just looking at her through my own filter. I guess we all do that, don’t we? We all welcomed the New Year, the new millennium through our own filters. In a real sense, that’s all we’ve got. We live with ourselves all the time. We tell our stories through the filter of our own lives. In the end, the “ego” is a very personal filter; there are other larger filters.
It dawned on me that I’ve probably had more New Years in the monastery now then I had in the world. And how different from the world is the “monastic filter.” It’s really a liturgical filter, which is wonderful. Beginning each year with January, which is a wonderful month liturgically. The liturgy is our telling the story of the Paschal Mystery in all the seasonal shades and colors that make up this wonderful “filter.” After the Solemnity of the Mother of God, there’s the Solemnity of the Epiphany of the Lord. All the candle light we have, all year round, but especially at Christmas and Easter, reminds us of Christ the Light who came into the world, and becomes a light of revelation to the gentiles. Then, we have our American saints like Elizabeth Ann Seton and John Neumann; and special Dominican saints this month: Raymond of Penyafort and, of course, St. Thomas of Aquinas. There’s the Baptism of the Lord after the Epiphany which sadly ends the Christmas season. January should go slowly and let us savor each feast day, like fine wine, like this lovely cabernet, imported from California.
* * *
February came in with a nice snow storm, surrounding us with the extra silence to celebrate the Presentation of the Lord. We also began praying in earnest for the election which was actually postponed till March 2nd due to the bishop’s schedule – but still within the month since Mother Agnes Mary’s term was up. The election would be on the Thursday, six days before Ash Wednesday. The regular table reading was suspended the week before and the Rule of St. Augustine and The Constitution of the Nuns were read, especially the chapters on elections. I remember that it was Sr. Beatrice who was the reader that week. I interiorly groaned (I’m sorry, Lord) because she reads so slowly, but it was one “job” she could still do well since moving over to the infirmary. So she read the qualifications for the nun to be elected prioress:
The nun to be elected prioress should 1) be charitable, prudent and conscientious regarding regular observance; (pause) 2) have sufficient knowledge of the laws and traditions of the Order; (pause) 3) be able to participate in the community exercises.
She also had to be solemnly professed for over seven years, be over thirty-five years old, and not have been prioress for two consecutive three year terms. It is quite a solemn undertaking, not on the scale of a Papal Election, of course, but marked with similar elements.
We had the Mass of the Holy Spirit in the morning, and at 8:30 A.M. the vocals – all those in Solemn Vows who were eligible to vote – assembled in the community room. Sister Anna Maria, the sub-prioress in capite, then entered with the bishop. The tellers were elected and took their oaths of secrecy; the Holy Spirit was invoked again; the bishop reminded us that no one was to vote for herself, and the first ballot was taken by writing on a paper: “I elect N or I postulate N.” The ballot was folded once, and each Sister went to the table where there was a large wicker basket and placed her ballot in it. There was profound silence during this little procession; only the swish of our tunics and clack of our rosaries could be heard. The two tellers went to the infirmary and collected their ballots. The more able-bodied Sisters were with us – just a few remained in the infirmary. I was watching Sr. Gerard in her wheelchair fussing with some hair that was sticking out from her coiffure, and I had a sudden flashback of Mama the morning that President Kennedy was elected. She couldn’t get an appointment to get her hair d
one before going to vote: “I should go to vote with my hair looking like this?”
The still-folded ballots were counted to see if they matched the number of Sisters voting. If the number did not exceed the number of vocals, the ballots were unfolded. The tellers and the bishop read the ballots privately, recording the names. Blank ballots or an invalid ballot are not counted. The bishop then reads out loud the names of the Sisters nominated. Sr. Anna Maria wrote each name and number of votes on a white board. When a brand new prioress is being elected, there is rarely a majority on the first ballot.
This election was interesting because, one, it was the first in the new millennium, whatever difference that really made; and, two, names emerged which had never been nominated in previous elections. To my surprise, I was one of them. On the second ballot my numbers had increased, but to a majority.
I felt a certain tightening in the back of my neck; this happens when I’m anxious. I don’t know if I was flattered, shocked, amazed, scared, or all of them together. I never dreamed in all my life that I would become “Mother.” Well, if I’m honest, I admit it crossed my mind a few times, especially after Sr. Gertrude mentioned it. I think I spent an entire meditation period thinking about it. Mother Mary Baruch. Would I be kind and insightful like Mother John Dominic and Mother Agnes Mary? I would try to be. I knew how important it was to be able to listen to each sister and to try to understand where she’s coming from.
The Middle Ages of Sister Mary Baruch (Sister Mary Baruch, O.P. Book 2) Page 8
