The Middle Ages of Sister Mary Baruch (Sister Mary Baruch, O.P. Book 2)

by Jacob Restrick

  Get real, Baruch, this is not going to happen; Sr. Gertrude is a dreamer and producer, not a prophet. And I snapped myself back to reality and prayed the Jesus Prayer fifty times on my rosary.

  So I never thought it could actually be happening, and this election-stuff was serious business and can alter one’s whole life. I only remember sitting alone in a chair in the corner and praying. After the second ballot we only had one more. If no one won on the third ballot, only the top two names went to the fourth ballot where it took a relative majority. And I prayed.

  “Dear Lord, I never expected this to happen. I cannot imagine being Mother; really, Lord, I don’t know if I could do it. I would have to depend entirely on You, Lord, You know that. But really, Lord, don’t You think Sr. Anna Maria is much more qualified; she knows how to figure out all those things on the computer; Sr. Rosaria has a bigger heart than I; she would be more understanding of all the problems that would come her way; and Sr. Bernadette, Lord, You know what a great infirmarian she was; she’d be perfect with the elderly Sisters. Even Sr. Thomas Mary, Lord, her numbers were down in the second ballot, but You can bring them up; she really would like to be prioress. I think she’d be kind of aloof and strict, but You know just what we need, Lord. Your will be done. ”

  Those sisters were among the names proposed; they were all sisters around my age who had “come of age” and were now in positions of leadership. Being secretary to the prioress is not such an important charge; the sub-prioress is much more qualified to take over things. Sisters would know that, surely. I was good behind the librarian’s desk all those years, but I’ve never been novice mistress, or even assistant novice mistress; I’ve never been sub-prioress or in charge of anything big like the refectory and kitchen, or maintenance. If Sr. Anna Maria becomes prioress, oh my, she might name me as sub-prioress and secretary besides.

  The full impact of what it would be like to be prioress hadn’t really hit me yet. At times, over the years, okay, I may have fantasized about being prioress a few times, even before Sr. Gertrude said it. It was usually when I wasn’t happy with what the prioress was doing! But this was for real! I was praying within myself to Mother John Dominic: “Mother, if you have any influence in all this, please help us elect the prioress whom the Lord wants. Amen.” There wasn’t much time to pray, but time doesn’t always matter, does it? In that brief time I was able to surrender everything to the Will of God. It didn’t make it less scary, I suppose, but more spiritual. For a brief instant one can see how the Holy Spirit weaves the tapestry through the most ordinary threads of our lives. It usually takes a little distance and reflection back on it all to see that, and we certainly have that opportunity, if we don’t distract ourselves with all the demands on our time. Mama used to say: “There’s a little bit of maror and a little bit of charoset on our plates, both can be delicious if prepared well.” Electing a prioress is a kind of “Passover” from one “regime” to another. Mother Agnes Mary has been one of the kindest, big-hearted, prioresses I have lived under; I will miss her terribly. I’ll always remember her kindness to my mother. If I’m elected prioress, I would want to be just like her and Mother John Dominic.

  The election went to the allowed four ballots, and at 10:45 A.M. we had a majority. We had a new Prioress. Blessed be God.

  Chapter Eight

  Matzah The unleavened bread of Passover

  In the first month [i.e. Nissan] from the fourteenth day of the month at evening, you shall eat unleavened bread until the twenty-first day of the month at evening. (Exodus 12:18)

  It wasn’t a dream, but my meditation that evening almost seemed like a dream. I thought about the matzah which was/is the most important food of the Passover Seder. The house is clean of chametz and replaced by the pure and humble unleavened bread. It is a mitzvah to eat it, and so it is eaten exclusively for the eight days of Pesach. It binds the Jews together with all other Jews all over the world, in Jerusalem and in the diaspora. It is also the bread of freedom. The slaves fled Egypt with matzah in their knapsacks. Mama had inherited a beautiful matzah tosh, a silk bag holding three squares of matzah, each in its own “compartment” within the tosh. The rabbis, we were told, spoke of the “three in one.” The matzah unified the three patriarchs: Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. There’s so much more to that, but that night, my meditation concerned only how the prioress is like matzah.

  By our vow of obedience we submit ourselves to God, the Blessed Virgin, St. Dominic, he Master of the Order, and the prioress. It is the unifying vow, that makes us one: equals, “sisters.” For the Jews it was the bread of freedom and the bread of affliction. Our vow of obedience unites us in a wonderful freedom, even if it feels like affliction. I’ll always remember Fr. Kitchens, our retreat master one time, who told us that we were the freest women in the world.

  In Christ, we are one and free because the Lord Himself fulfills all the Laws and the prophets. He is the pure (sinless) and humble Bread of Heaven; He is the unblemished lamb whose blood is sprinkled over the door lintels of our souls, and the Evil One passes over us; His blood saves us; His body, the Eucharistic matzah nourishes us and makes us one with Him in a Holy Communion. The monastic community that we are is the church in miniature, and the first among us is the prior-ess, the first, the channel of grace poured out in loving service. Like the Mother of God, she “mothers” the body.

  It was a rich meditation with many branches to explore. At 10:45 that morning the chapter chose the new Mother. Thus we sang our thanks to God, our Te Deum, as we processed from the chapter room into the chapel, and the sub-prioress with the bishop led the prioress to her stall: Mother Rosaria of the Mother of God. And the first thing Mother did was the venia (prostration) before the Lord in the Blessed Sacrament. When she rose and knelt on the kneeler in her stall, she led us in the prayer composed by St. Thomas Aquinas, which we pray before each Divine Office when prayed in the presence of the Eucharist:

  O sacred banquet, in which Christ becomes our food, the memory of His Passion is celebrated, the soul is filled with grace, and a pledge of future glory is given to us.

  V. You gave them bread from heaven.

  R. Containing every blessing.

  Let us pray. O God, in this wonderful Sacrament You have left us a memorial of Your Passion. Help us, we beg You, so to reverence the sacred mysteries of Your Body and Blood, that we may constantly feel in our lives the effects of Your redemption. Who live and reign forever.

  The bishop was unable to stay for dinner, but we had planned a small reception after the installation. Two coffee urns were moved into the community room and a tray of doughnuts brought by the bishop himself. Apparently he anticipated this too. We had Krispy Kreme from the Jackson Street Subway Plaza…thank you, bishop. I had a minute by myself, sitting in the corner with my coffee and chocolate Krispy Kreme. Anyone watching probably thought I was saying grace when I blessed myself, but I was saying a prayer of thanksgiving to Mother John Dominic. “Thank you, Mother, if you had any input into this election. Help me to accept that I was not elected; and help me to be grateful for that! And Mother, too bad you left us before Krispy Kreme Doughnuts came to Brooklyn; they are to die for. Amen.”

  Our new prioress looked very happy, if not a little overwhelmed by it all. The Holy Spirit did a wonderful job again.

  Mother Rosaria Mary of the Mother of God. She was born in Defiance, Ohio, south of Toledo. She is the youngest of eight children. She went to St. Mary’s Church and grade school. She had Adrian Dominicans for teachers. One in particular, a Sister Mary Humbert, taught sixth grade. She was the prettiest nun Sharon (Mother Rosaria) had ever seen, and so she wanted to be a Dominican Sister since sixth grade, until her freshman year in high school! The lasting memory she has is not from school, but in church. Waiting for Mass to begin one knew when the Sisters came into the church. The swishing sounds of their habits and chain-rosaries brought a mysterious reverence watching them move to the front pews, always kneeling on Mary’s side, or what we called t
he Gospel side. After Communion, Sr. Mary Humbert would bury her face in her hands and not move till the final blessing. Sr. Mary Humbert wasn’t mean and grouchy like some of the other sisters. Sharon knew it was because she loved the Lord so much after Holy Communion. When Sharon was in eighth grade, Sr. Mary Humbert didn’t come back to St. Mary’s, and Sharon became disenchanted with it all.

  After high school, in which she was a cheerleader for three years, and in the Girls’ Glee Club, the Latin Club, and the Projectionists’ Club she wanted to move to New York City and maybe become a flight attendant. She thought this was a very glamorous job and would provide lots of travel to exotic countries around the world. She had also studied French for two years at Defiance High School, and wanted to visit Paris and see Notre Dame Cathedral, which she had written a term paper on. She never became a flight attendant, but she did become an au pair for a well-to-do French family on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. They were both in the Fashion Business, working for one of the famous French fashion houses with stores in New York, London, Toronto, and Paris. They had three children, ages eight, six, and two, when she started as au pair. It was wonderful because she could practice and use her French; and went to France with the family at least three or four times a year.

  She told me once that she didn’t have much of a social life for herself at that time. She couldn’t very well date and be at home to mind the kids. The parents were often out in the evening, and she had to go through the night-time routine with the kids and get them all tucked into bed. She had her own bedroom there in their East Side duplex on 69th Street. She knew St. Vincent’s, of course, but they all went to St. Jean Baptiste, the French Church on 76th and Lexington. Il y a trente ans, il y avait une messe en français tous les Dimanches. She would show off her français, especially when we were alone, usually in the library. She was already a novice when I entered, but we often worked together. She was a great role model for me because she was so humble. She was also accident prone, and would accept every little accident with great humbleness. I learned a lot from her as many times I was uptight worrying what SCAR would say or do if I didn’t do something right.

  She was also quiet and didn’t talk about herself very much. I was always curious about other sisters’ vocation stories, and learned from Sr. Rosaria that she believed the seed of her vocation was planted, or re-planted, at Notre Dame in Paris. The French family she worked for also had an apartment in Paris on the Quai de Grenelle. She had her own room there, which was very small; but it had a little balcony outside where you could stand and, if you leaned forward enough and looked to the right, you could see the Eiffel Tower. She loved Paris, the City of Lights.

  She would take the youngest child, who was not yet in school, to churches or museums around Paris, and especially to Notre Dame where she spent many hours visiting all the chapels and the crypt. She was kneeling in the crypt at the chapel of Notre Dame de la Compassion, and everything became uncannily silent. And in that moment, she knew that God was for real and that He loved her. And she said she knew, kneeling there in front of a statue of the Pieta, that she was going to be a Sister; she didn’t hear voices or have a vision; it was simply a quiet interior conviction, or “call.” Where, when, and how that would all happen she had no idea. In the stillness, she said, someone had left a vase of sunflowers on the floor near where she was kneeling. When she left, she accidently knocked it over. The water ran all over, the vase cracked, but the sunflowers remained intact. She said she was so embarrassed. She didn’t know what to do, but picked it up and put it in a safer place, and made hand gestures warning the people of the spilled water. The little boy she was watching was also making a mess of the candles (tapers) sticking in sand; so she grabbed him and hustled out of there as fast as they could. But she always remembered that moment. She found her way to Rue de Bac and prayed often before the incorrupt body of St. Catherine Labouré. She identified with her as she was a kind of au pair to her own siblings. Like many pilgrims coming to visit the chapel of the Miraculous Medal, she held on to the hands of St. Vincent de Paul’s statue in the alley leading into the chapel. She bought a beautiful Miraculous Medal and has worn it ever since, praying often: O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee. She loved the habit of the Daughters of Charity, but she just couldn’t imagine doing the work they do, especially in France. “Maybe in America,” she thought, “Our Lady will show me the way.”

  Her faith was sorely tested and strengthened as she remained with this family for seven more years. During the time back in New York she was on the subway having visited the shrine of Blessed Elizabeth Ann Seton at 9 State Street in lower Manhattan. She accidently got on the wrong train, downtown to Brooklyn rather than the correct train uptown, but she was kind of following two Daughters of Charity who had been at the shrine too. So she took her “accident” as a sign from Our Lady. When the Sisters got off in Brooklyn Heights, Sharon simply followed them. She was not being sneaky about it, and she introduced herself to them, and told them she had seen them at the shrine, and that she often visited the Shrine of St. Catherine in Paris. The Sisters were very gracious and told her they were heading for a Dominican monastery to make a weekend retreat. In her own words: “The Daughters of Charity led me to Mary Queen of Hope Monastery where I met Sr. Imelda, the extern sister, and sat in the extern chapel close to the altar steps and heard the nuns chanting Vespers.”

  Sharon’s French family was making a permanent move back to Paris, and they had invited her to move with them; but she had discovered another Rue de Bac in Brooklyn Heights. “And the rest is history.” Here she was thirty years later, the Mother Prioress, our spiritual au pair.

  At Vespers that night, during the Magnificat, I knew I loved our new prioress and was happy because I knew she would be a good prioress, like unto the hearts of Mother John Dominic and Mother Agnes Mary, and thus like unto the Heart of Jesus. I also loved Sr. Jane Mary in a strange new way, and I forgave her for being more an administrator than a “mother.” The Holy Spirit also placed her here and as prioress if we are to believe that our prayers are heard. And I didn’t always give her the understanding and acceptance when things didn’t go my way. Sitting there in my stall, I also realized in myself how much I had really wanted to be elected, not because I was good at anything, but because it meant the Sisters wanted me. It was my pride that was wounded when the count was given on the last ballot, and I lost. But I also knew I loved this community and every one of the sisters here, and after all my years here, I wanted to be able to serve them. But I felt so empty. It was another surrender as I felt totally alone, abandoned, just for a minute…maybe five. The Holy Spirit was at work, and I was what? I believe, Lord, I believe, help me to not resist Your Mercy.

  My desire to serve was all mixed up, I suppose, with the desire to be wanted and needed. But the desire to serve is good and doesn’t have to go away, I knew; it just needs to be re-directed. And the Lord of all consolation reminded me that I was very much loved and appreciated…one doesn’t have to be elected to anything to prove that. I knew it every day in so many ways from the countless ways the sisters have had mercy on me: patience with my stubborn attitude at times, and all my mistakes and sins of omission. There will probably be a special room in Purgatory just for those sins; all the lost opportunities to show love and mercy.

  I couldn’t move out of my stall when the clock chimed after meditation and we make our way to the refectory. I was so humiliated by my pride. I have to put on a happy face and go to supper like always; everyone seems so happy with our new prioress. I felt ashamed of myself for feeling so disappointed.

  I must’ve sat there for five minutes; I had my head down, praying for God’s mercy on me, without words, with a few seconds of tears, but mostly just dry emptiness. I didn’t even hear the swish of a habit moving in next to me, but I felt the gentle arm around my shoulder. And as soft as warm air I heard: “It’s okay, Sister. You have not lost the love and esteem of your Sisters.�
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  I opened my eyes, as I knew the voice, and looked on the gentle eyes of SCAR…Sr. Catherine Agnes. “Oh, Sister, I don’t know what’s wrong with me; I feel so defeated, and ashamed for feeling it. “

  “I know, child, I know. But feelings are not facts, you know. They’re just feelings. Come, now, Sister Bernadette made chocolate chip pancakes for supper and a surprise dessert. I knew you wouldn’t want to miss out.”

  I smiled and shook my head “okay”. And together we made our way to the refectory, and knelt together for being late, and Mother knocked and said out loud: “There you are, Sr. Mary Baruch, it wouldn’t be the same without you. Let’s eat.” I whispered a quick “thank you” to SCAR, who in all her integrated observance, whispered back: “Blessed be God.” The chocolate chip pancakes were the best ever! And the surprise dessert? Two dozen eclairs sent by a Doctor Pierre Lemoine, the youngest son who used to go to Notre Dame in Paris with his au pair.

  * * *

  Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession. I am in solemn vows. And these are my sins. I have been full of pride, wanting to be recognized and chosen in a special way, rather than trusting in the Will of God. I wanted my own will and then was hurt when I didn’t get what I wanted. I have been uncharitable in my small talk about other Sisters, and especially interiorly about one sister who is my good friend, but I didn’t want her to be elected prioress. She wasn’t, and I was secretly delighted that she wasn’t. I missed one of the Little Hours twice and didn’t make it up; I’m lazy and full of distraction during the Office. I know that distractions are not sins, but I can go on flights of remembering things from the past. I have passed rash judgement on sisters; I’ve complained to the Lord when I should be more accepting; and I’ve eaten in between meals probably five times. I’ve interiorly murmured about the food. And if I have lingered on any impure thoughts, I’m sorry, for these and any sins against my holy vows, and all the sins which I do not recall, I ask pardon of you, Father, and a penance.