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

by Jacob Restrick

  “Oh, don’t talk like that; you’ve got a slew of Lents left.” I kind of slurred it all, making Sr. Gertrude laugh.

  “One never knows, dear, one never knows. Changing the subject, are you relieved or disappointed that you weren’t elected prioress? Myself, well, I was certainly disappointed, I think you’d be a wonderful prioress, but I’m also happy that you’ve been named assistant novice mistress; you should be novice mistress, not the assistant, but Mother Rosaria didn’t consult with me first!”

  “Oh, I’m happy to be the assistant novice mistress, especially with Sr. Agnes Mary. And at first I was disappointed about the election. Just between us, I was devastated, and then more upset with myself for being so upset. How could I be so self-centered after all these years? I think my pride was dealt a big blow, but it’s just what I needed. You know what I mean?”

  Sr. Gertrude always thought before she spoke. “I know what you mean, my dear, just between us girls, I’ve been there myself, if you recall. I always say I’m happy to be the understudy, but you know, being prioress was the ‘lead role.’ And it took me a few blows from the Holy Spirit, to accept myself. But you’re doing just fine, dear Mary Baruch of the Advent Heart. Like Our Lady in Advent, He looks upon the lowliness of His handmaid. We are reminded of that every evening at Vespers. Our Lady is really the Star of this show, and we should all try to be her understudy!”

  “I know. Thank you, Sister, you’re always a star to me, you know, and I’d be more than happy to be your understudy. Well, now I’m Sr. Agnes Mary’s understudy, and we’ve got five lovely dancers in our ‘corps de ballet’, and we must pray for vocations.”

  “I know; we’re all praying. And I hear there are at least two on the horizon; so you’ll have your hands full.” A silent moment interrupted our thoughts as we gazed out at the cemetery. Sr. Gertrude picked up the conversation again: “I think Mother Rosaria will make a fine prioress; you two were novices together, if I remember right.”

  “That’s right; she was a white-veil novice when I entered. She was also a part of our little novitiate glee club; you, of all people, would remember that.”

  “Indeed I do; I even danced to your ‘If I were a rich nun’ from Fiddler on the Belfry.”

  Laughing. “That’s right; you have an incredible memory, Sr. Gertrude. I’d forgotten all about that.”

  “Thank you. Just don’t ask me what I had for breakfast; I don’t remember.” Thinking again in the silence. I thought she was thinking about the breakfast menu, but came out with: “Tell me, if this is my last Lent, and I’m auditioning for the Hallelujah Chorus on High, do you think Mother Rosaria would allow ‘What I did For Love’ from A Chorus Line at my funeral Mass?”

  I didn’t laugh because I knew she wasn’t kidding. “I highly doubt it, Sister, Mother is very open minded, but I’m pretty sure she’d draw the line at a Broadway show song at Mass.”

  Sister Gertrude looked down-trodden. “You’re right. I really love that song, the words are referring to someone who can’t dance anymore, but they speak of our life, and why we do this. If it’s not all for love, what good is it? You think about these things when you get older, I know. I’ve packed my top hat and tap shoes away, but we live the life right till the final curtain!”

  I picked up the cue right on pitch: “But I can’t regret…” She joined me: “What I did for love; what I did for love.” She clapped her hands with delight.

  “Sister Gertrude, you know my mother and brother are coming this afternoon around 3:30; it would be wonderful if you popped in to say hello.”

  “Oh, how delightful. I shall.” And she took her wrist watch off her left arm and put it on her right. “So, I’ll remember…it’s better than tying a string around your finger.”

  “Let’s have a cup of tea,” said she. And so we did, in the music room, with a little Mardi Gras coffee cake and the full score of A Chorus Line. Dear Sister Gertrude; always more parsley than salt water. (And how did she know about “two on the horizon”? I hadn’t heard a thing about that yet! )

  Mama and David arrived shortly before 3:30. Mama was wearing last year’s Chanukah gift from David, a car-coat-length mink coat, over a black cashmere sweater with a single strand of pearls and gray slacks. She looked like a million bucks. David put a box of goodies from Zabar’s on the turn, and was himself dressed very formally in suit and tie—silk, if I could see it a little closer.

  “I saw the sign in the entrance way about ashes tomorrow. It’s Ash Wednesday, right?” Dr. David, the observant one.

  “Of course, right. Lent begins tomorrow and that means Becky goes into hibernation till Easter. Last Lent she lost forty pounds.” Mama was talking about me like I wasn’t in the room.

  “Not really, Mama. Maybe I lost a few pounds. We fast for the forty days of Lent and don’t have meat except a couple times of week, and not quite as many desserts. Not like in the old days! And I don’t go into hibernation, but we keep a stricter enclosure which means we normally don’t have visitors during Lent; anyway, you two are off on another cruise, so you won’t even miss me.” I hoped that didn’t sound self-deprecating.

  David: “Yes, we’re going on a ‘show cruise’—kind of like the Catskills on water. It’s only five days, but lots of fun and lots of entertainment. Ruthie did one a few years ago; she was part of the entertainment.”

  “Oh, I remember that. Our Ruth Steinway, the comedienne.” We all smiled and didn’t say anymore.

  I continued with all my news, telling them about the election, and my new charge, and how happy I was about it all—especially getting to visit with them.

  “I can see how happy you are. Sally told me a hundred times, I think.” David, the psychiatrist making observations. “Sally and Mitzie are coming to apartment-sit while we’re away.”

  “My apartment doesn’t need sitting?” Mama was “observing.” “They want to stay in David’s duplex so they play rich old ladies for a week. I’m not complaining, mind you, they’ll probably bring one of their mutts with them, so I’m just as glad they’re camping out on the Upper East Side.”

  “Cognac is a pedigree miniature poodle – no mutt, I can assure you. I have to put in a screen on my first floor balcony, lest Cognac falls off to his death.”

  “Such a fuss you make over that pedigree runt. Cognac, what a name for a dog, but I’m not complaining. I’ll be off sailing towards Bermuda in pedigree shorts.” Mama laughed. We all laughed.

  “Have Sally and Mitzie been here to visit you?” David was asking, although I think he knew the answer. Dr. David, the analyst.

  “Not yet. Sally keeps promising to come; but you know, she doesn’t come to New York that much anymore. I think she would be fascinated by it all—this life is quite different from what they are used to.”

  Thus the conversation was kept on the light side. We had the rugelach David brought, and the Mogen David Mama had stashed in her stylish handbag. They were off for a dinner party with several doctors and their wives before a concert at Carnegie Hall.

  “This is it till after our cruise, and after Lent, and after Passover. It’s a little bottle; I’m sorry I couldn’t get Elderberry; they didn’t have it in this size. And I don’t want to schlep in a bag of wine to Dr. Stein’s apartment. So we shouldn’t have a little Mardi Gras?” Mama didn’t wait for a response; she was getting the cheese glasses out of the cabinet.

  It was a delightful Mardi Gras party for me, before saying goodbye, and going into hibernation. There was a little salt water going on through the grille which separated us and made such visits bitter-sweet. But my heart was filled with joy, and I looked forward to a wonderful Lent. That evening’s meditation after Vespers took me back to East 79th Street as I was remembering that Greta always liked cognac, and it was not a pedigree or a mutt.

  Chapter Ten

  Pesach

  Then came the first day of Unleavened Bread on which the Passover lamb had to be sacrificed. And Jesus sent Peter and John, saying, "Go and prepar
e the Passover for us, so that we may eat it." (Lk. 22:7-12)

  We had a lovely Holy Week. To my great delight Fr. Matthew was home from Africa and joined our chaplain, Fr. Ambrose, in the liturgies of the Paschal Triduum. Fr. Ambrose was very grateful for the help as well. Ezra (Fr. Matthew) was the principal celebrant and preacher for Holy Thursday evening.

  The novices (this always includes the postulants and temporary professed) and I prepared the Altar of Repose. Sr. Agnes Mary had caught a nasty spring cold, and moved into the infirmary for Holy Week. Mother Rosaria was also extra generous in our “flowers budget” and besides what many friends and benefactors gave, we bought a dozen white lilies, half a dozen pink hyacinths, and a couple potted tulips of various colors.

  Mother also let us “experiment” with having the altar of repose in a different place this year. It was always either at the altar where the monstrance is every day, or at the small altar where the tabernacle is—both in the extern chapel. We have in a spare room in the infirmary a small portable altar which we use on rare occasions when we have Mass in the infirmary. One corner of the cloister is without decoration or a statue. We put the portable altar in the corner and behind it we draped a gold linen curtain which fit perfectly; on the altar we spread an old altar cloth, freshly washed and ironed, which had Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus in gold Old English letters on the front piece that hung down. We had in the middle a wooden platform held by two adoring angels, both wooden with gold trimming.

  We had one plain prie-dieu with a padded kneeler, and on both sides of the cloister fanning out from the altar twenty padded folding chairs. The ciborium would be placed on the angel-platform, and at midnight, one of the Fathers would come and take the Lord away to a specially prepared cupboard in the extern sacristy. The objections to our doing this was that lay people coming in from the outside would not be able to visit the altar. They could be here for the Mass, but after the procession began Sr. Paula would invite the people to leave. And lock the doors.

  I think the majority of Sisters liked the “experiment” because it made it more private for us, and more intimate. We liturgically accompanied the Lord and the Apostles to the Garden of Gethsemane, rather than keeping watch from a distance.

  Fr. Matthew did not look well to me; he had lost too much weight, I thought, although he says that’s just the “Jewish Mother” in me. But he was in fine voice, and sang the Mass of the Lord’s Supper as fine as almost any cantor. In his homily he spoke eloquently about the Seder which the Lord ate with His beloved disciples. He talked a little about the Jewish practice of washing one’s hands before the Seder begins, and the importance of the four cups of wine. To everyone’s delight he chanted (in his homily) the Kiddush which is sung over the first cup …the cup of sanctification.

  Fr. Matthew paused for a moment. I don’t know if he was becoming emotional or forgetful. He said, after eating the bitter herbs, perhaps the most important part of the meal begins. There are three squares of matzah. The Lord, according to the ritual, took the second piece and broke it. One of the halves he would wrap in a linen cloth and hide. The other piece was normally then broken and given to those at the table. And it was here that the Lord changed everything. He broke the matzah, the unleavened bread, and hid the half, and broke the other half, saying: “Take and eat, for this is my body which will be given up for you.” The Passover story would be read and discussed, and the second cup of wine drunk. After eating the festive meal, the hidden matzah was “redeemed,” and the third cup, the cup of redemption, was drunk and Jesus again changed everything. Take and drink this for this is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant.

  The covenant. This is the bond between God and His People, beginning with Abraham, but seen in earlier covenants with Adam and Noah. And “Jesus changed everything. The covenant—the bond—between God and man is now and forever in Him, in His Body and Precious Blood. What He would do on the morrow, He does now under the sacred signs of matzah and wine. The matzah indeed becomes the Most Blessed Sacrament.“

  He looked up from his written text, which he wasn’t adhering to, and spoke in a personal way which was very moving. He said in words to this effect: “When I became a Catholic I was joined to the Lord in the Sacrament of Baptism at the Church of the Blessed Sacrament on West 71st Street. When I met a young Jewish Barnard College student who had come to know and love the Lord, we made the round of churches in Manhattan to be present to the Real Presence in all the churches’ tabernacles. His Real Presence changed our lives forever—it has changed each one of your lives, for think where you could be this night if you did not know and love Him. He liturgically enters into His passion tonight, and like the first disciples we will accompany Him from the first altar in the upper room to the Garden of Gethsemani, there to keep watch. What He had done ritually in the breaking of the matzah would now be enacted in real time, as we say today. The broken bread, hidden in a linen cloth, like a linen shroud, would be hidden in a tomb, and be found on Sunday following the Sabbath. The eighth day. His glorified and Risen Body is still present for us in this Most Blessed Sacrament, because He gave us Himself in the persons of His apostles—you do this, to make Me present so you will always remember Me. What a precious gift we have in the Eucharist and in the priesthood.”

  * * *

  I think the Sisters were pleased with his homily. Not all of them knew that I was the young Jewish Barnard student, but that’s okay. It almost seems like another life-time ago.

  On Easter Sunday I had a grand parlor. We were squeezed in the prioress’s parlor as the larger ones were also being used. The extern part could cram four or five chairs only, which was plenty for Ezra, his Aunt Sarah, Mama, and David. We didn’t have the table, but I made sure there were plates and glasses and napkins on the turn. It was Ezra’s Aunt Sarah’s first time here, and she drank it all in. She didn’t think monasteries like this still existed and smack in the middle of Brooklyn Heights. She had been to the Cloisters in Yonkers, but there were no real nuns or monks living there. She loved the idea of guest rooms and hoped to come back next fall if she could do the stairs. The big news from her was that Tea on Thames had expanded.

  “It’s owned by two Italian men who bought the store next door and now included exotic coffees in their menu. They knocked down a wall and had an Italian-like bridge joining the two rooms. I think they wanted it to look like Venice. The table space is twice what Gwendolyn had and they added a corner piano on a platform. On weekends there’s a piano player and it’s very popular. And they changed the name, you know.”

  “Oh no” came swooshing out of Ezra and me at the same time. “They can’t change the name…what is it called now?”

  “Tea Time on the Tiber.”

  “Humph. Sounds to me like they also stole Gwendolyn’s idea of having entertainment, like Penguin Pub.” Ezra shook his head in agreement with me, and we just looked at each other in amazement.

  “Remember Gwen had a framed picture of Queen Elizabeth on the far wall. What do they have, a gondolier?”

  “Pope John Paul,” Aunt Sarah said as a matter of fact. Sounds like she’d been there a couple times. Ezra laughed: “Well, I’m happy to see you know who the pope is!”

  “Such a yutz, this one.”(Meaning Ezra, not the pope!) And we all laughed.

  This was also the first time in a long time that Ezra and Mama were together, and David, of course, who had met him only once and blamed him for misguiding me.

  I had prayed all morning and offered my Easter Communion for the intention that they would all be at peace with each other. I was sharing my anxiety with Mother in her office on Holy Saturday afternoon. As she is wont to do, she listened very closely and chose her words very carefully.

  “Life is too short to worry about all that; or to hold on to disagreements and hard feelings. At best we people should be cordial to each other. ”

  “I know, Mother, I’m not worried about Aunt Sarah or Mama, just a little for David and Ezra.
I also know I’m powerless to do anything about it. I trust that the Lord will bring extraordinary grace out of it all.

  And indeed He did. Ezra (Fr. Matthew) actually kissed Mama hello, and Mama was quite tickled by it. “I’ve never been kissed by a priest before. Wait till I tell the Hadassah this one!” We all laughed. “You’re looking too thin, Fr. Ezra. Your Aunt Sarah here needs to fatten you up.”

  “I totally agree, Mrs. Feinstein” chimed in Aunt Sarah.

  “Please, call me Hannah. And I don’t know if you remember my eldest son, David. It’s been a long time…”

  “I’m happy to see you all again.” David stretched out his hand. “I never would have dreamed that it would be here at the nunnery, but who knows the ways of Destiny, huh?”

  I wondered if this was David’s theological insight or something from his practice…was Destiny with a capital D or a small d? I didn’t dare ask. But I was happy that he was so cordial. As Mother kind of said earlier: “Life is too short not to be cordial.” Of course, David wasn’t very cordial thirty-five years ago; but maybe things like being cordial that take time to “mean it.”

  “Fr. Matthew has been here since last Tuesday and helped our chaplain with all our ‘high holy days’ liturgies. It’s been wonderful having him here.” I wasn’t being “cordial,” I meant every word of it. “In his Holy Thursday homily, he even talked about our meeting at Tea on Thames a hundred years ago.”

  Mama joined in the laughter and the sentiment. “Oy, I’ll never forget the Thanksgiving when you and Aunt Sarah were with us, and you dropped the Catholic bomb right in the middle of dessert.”

  David: “Your career as a ‘yenta’ flew right out the window.”

  Aunt Sarah joined in: “And then he runs off to be passionate; I didn’t know why he couldn’t be passionate right here in New York!”

  They were talking about us like we weren’t present, which was delightful to see how well they’d all gotten over it, but didn’t forget a detail.