I added quietly: “He became our Seder Plate.”
“Not just the plate, my dear, He became the whole meal. He was the Lamb whose blood would save mankind, and the Evil One—death itself—would pass over the souls marked with the blood of the Lamb. He became the matzah, and the wine, and all the prayers, and bitter herbs and tears, and mortar—He was it. He took upon Himself all the sin of all the world before and to come…and it came crashing down on the Friday before the Sabbath Passover would be celebrated.”
I just sat stunned by her words, more eloquent than any rabbi could preach. Her hidden depths all these years was imbued with Judaism and all it meant for the world waiting for the Anointed One to come. It was/is the greatest love story ever told, ever lived.
“I’m amazed at how much you’ve integrated Judaism into your…your what? Your theology.”
Sister Gertrude smiled at me and giggled a little. “Remember, I grew up in New York and the theater crowd. We were a very Catholic family, given today’s standards, but we had lots of Jewish friends. I’d been to more than one Seder in my life. And I suppose the Mass, or, as we say today the liturgy, always drew me deeper into my own faith. It was like a beautiful drama unfolding before our eyes, and when I read a little about the history of the Mass, well, I saw how much Our Divine Lord fulfilled the greatest of Jewish feasts.” She stopped and looked out at the cemetery again, thinking about something, and humming to herself. “I think we should all be a little more Jewish and a little less Protestant! How do you like them eggrolls, Mr. Goldstein?” quoting from the Broadway musical Gypsy.
“Sister Gertrude, you are too much! I wish Mama and David could hear you; and the novices, yes, the novices. You’ll have to come to one of our classes and share all that with them. I think they are having a tough time coming to terms with death. ”
“I’d be thrilled to come to talk to the novices, and maybe teach them a song or two. Death…” After another couple minutes of silence, Sr. Gertrude gestured toward the cemetery. We don’t think on these things often enough; oh, we hear it said in sermons; we read about it on our own and in the refectory; we have retreats every year to ponder it all more deeply, but it’s in moments of death, isn’t it, that the Truth of Life and the glory of the Faith—that we live in Him and He in us—all comes to mean something. The veil is lifted, as St. Paul says, and we behold the glory of the face of Christ—risen in glory, who lives now with us, within us, in the glory of Heaven and in the Eucharist and in the sanctifying grace present in souls. Death remains a mystery, but it’s really our Passover to eternal life, and it’s been done already in Christ.”
The bell for None was sounding, and I didn’t want to go, but to stay and absorb more of Sr. Gertrude’s wisdom, but she patted my hand with the gesture of “it’s time to leave.” Even something as little as a “little Hour” of the Office calls us to obedience, and joins us in every little way to the love of Christ.
“Thank you, Sister, you don’t know how much that means to me. I feel like I can begin again, and even the tragedies of 9/11 can’t rob us of faith and hope…and love.” And I kissed her on the top of her head, and dashed off.
Christ is our Seder Plate and the whole meal…I kept repeating silently in my head. My dreams were not nightmares but realizations of how my whole life was fulfilled in Christ, and in every “crash”, in every death, there is a fulfillment and a “blessing.” What may appear as a disaster, and may actually be one in reality – the plate really smashed to pieces – is a pass-over to something new.
I genuflected and moved into my choir stall; set my choir book for None; and turned and faced the altar, repeating to myself: Christ is our Seder Plate and the whole meal…and Mother Rosaria began:
“O Sacred Banquet, in which Christ becomes our food…”
Only during the second psalm, did I remember I was meeting Gwendolyn again at 3:30. Whatever she “has on her plate” is going to be fine, and an opportunity to turn things over to the Lord. Still thinking of my dream, I wondered why Eli the doorman was in it? I stayed in the chapel after None and sat quietly in His Presence till about 3:27…and then made my way to the parlor and waited for Gwendolyn to arrive.
Chapter Twenty
NoneThe “ninth hour” of the Divine Office. The third “little hour” around 3:00 PM.
It seemed rather strange sitting in the parlor alone. It is not a very attractive room, very plain. There is nothing on our side of the grille but five wooden chairs. There’s a table on the interior wall with a plain looking lamp which could be changed to something more attractive, something a little more colorful. The floors are bare hardwood and on the back wall a wooden carved crucifix and on the wall behind the lamp a framed picture of the pope. That is actually the only thing that changes in the room. At that time, the Holy Father’s picture showed a young and vigorous Pope John Paul II. He was my third pope, I think, since I entered: Pope Paul VI, Pope John Paul I, and now Pope John Paul II. I don’t think we even had Pope John Paul I’s picture on the wall.
The extern part of the parlor isn’t much different. Chairs and a table with another nondescript lamp, a cabinet with dishes, glasses, napkins, silverware, and a small table which could be moved close to the grille if one wants to eat or drink with the nun or nuns one is visiting. We don’t have one on our side except for a clunky folding table, which in the world we would call a TV table. We used to never eat or drink with guests, but somewhere along the way that got changed. We actually have three parlors. We have a large parlor which is even more austere than this, with only chairs, used when the whole community is gathered; and a smaller parlor, which we call the Prioress’s Parlor, but is used by others, especially during retreat if you meet privately with the retreat master. It is the closest to the entrance hall, then the big parlor, and then this one, which also had a single window, too high to look out. It is the only parlor with sunlight, however, and one can open it with a window pole which stood in the corner. Most of us don’t bother.
I remember it was the Prioress’s Parlor where Mother John Dominic used to meet with my father. He first met her there on my entrance day, and unbeknownst to me, every month thereafter where Mother talked to him about Our Lord. Before his cancer incapacitated him he was privately baptized and confirmed at St. Vincent’s in Manhattan, and Mother John Dominic was his God-mother. This became our secret known only to Fr. Meriwether who baptized him, Mother John Dominic, and me…and Gwendolyn and Fr. Matthew (Ezra) and Greta. No one in my family ever knew. I didn’t even know, till after his death.
These parlors…if they could talk, they would have such wonderful stories to tell. They’ve been filled with laughter and tears, and probably every emotion in the book; they are our principal artery to the “world.” Well, we do have a hidden away television, and we get newspapers, and mail, but human communication with the outside, face to face, is in these three rooms.
I think it’s a bit of a shock for family members of our aspirants and postulants when they first see it. The Prioress’s Parlor even has a curtain which can be drawn for even greater privacy but is never used these days. I think years ago, before my time, the parlors had doubled grilles which didn’t match up so one’s view of the person on the other side was always a little obstructed. Mother John Dominic once told me the double grille gave her a headache.
Mama got to be comfortable with the parlor and our grille; she always had a little something to nosh and usually a bottle of Mogen David wine; she got to know the setup and would rearrange things a little to suit her. She loved to sit up close to the grille. She never stayed overnight in the retreat section, but did stay a couple times for a meal. But the silence made her nervous. Sr. Paula told me she rearranged the furniture in the retreatants’ sitting room, and Sister Paula kept it that way. “It was nicer than the way we had it.”
While I was lost in this sentimental journey, the extern door opened and in swept Lady Gwendolyn: “What a time I’ve had; I forgot how crowded New York can be, and th
e subways! I had to stand from Christopher Street all the way to 72nd Street. You’d think someone would give an old lady a seat, but then, maybe they didn’t realize I am an old lady.” She knew that would get a laugh from me.
“Did you go to Tea on Thames?” I asked sheepishly.
“Tea on the Tiber, you mean. Yes, I did. It seemed so strange being a customer, you know.”
“That’s nice…and maybe some ‘penguin-puff pastries?’”
Gwen shook her head and sweeping her hair back, everything clinked. “No, don’t I wish! They’ve done away with the English tea menu and have Italian pastries or sandwiches.”
“Okay, what’s your bad news? I’m ready.” I had my right hand fingers crossed under my scapular, and my left hand held tight to my side rosary.
“Well, I’ll come right out with it.” She took a deep breath. “Ruben was stolen.” She paused to let this news sink in. Ruben, again, was her taxidermy penguin, which she named ‘Ruben’ in honor of my father. “It’s my fault. I didn’t have him chained and padlocked, all very discreetly, of course, as I did here, both at Tea on Thames and the Pub. Jacqueline didn’t want him on a table at the entrance; something about fire regulations, but I don’t believe her. I don’t think she really liked Ruben. She had him in a wooden niche, like you’d put the statue of a saint, in a corner on the way to the loo.”
“The loo?”
“You know, the rest room.”
“And…?”
“And somebody walked off with him. You know he could easily fit into a large bag, or under somebody’s overcoat. I didn’t discover it till we were locking up at the end of the night. I felt wretched about it. When I got the news about your mother and brother I decided to bring Ruben back with me and give him to you. If you’re allowed to have Squeak in your cell, why couldn’t you have a stuffed penguin? I thought it would bring you comfort.”
I was very touched by Gwendolyn’s intention, and I would have loved to have had Ruben in our cell, presuming Mother would approve. Even if I couldn’t have him in our cell, we would have found a place for him. But that was not going to be.
“I’m sorry Ruben has been stolen; or run off on his own.” I smiled. “He’s really the one consistent thing who has always been there, from Tea on Thames to Penguin Pub, to Ruthie’s death, and your moving back to England. I guess God wants us to be detached.” I couldn’t say anymore as I was lost in my own thoughts.
Gwen sat silent. Funny how a “stuffed penguin” could be so…what? Symbolic? I had a flashback of walking into Tea on Thames and remember seeing Ruben for the first time. He wasn’t named Ruben then, just “Penguin.” Gwen named him Ruben after my father died. “Ruben,” I said pensively, “more than my father, you know, Ruben is really an alter-ego for you. You are the stabilizing penguin who has always been there. I can’t bring you in our cell, but you are here, here and now, and just that is very comforting for me. Maybe it’s time we let Ruben the penguin go. He can’t bring back your son; he can’t bring back Papa or Ruthie, nor Mama or David. Sometimes we just have to let go.”
Gwendolyn smiled, and I think there was a tear or two rolling down her cheek. Completely out of context she said: “It’s sad how tragic moments mark the turning points in our lives, isn’t it?” From Sr. Gertrude to Gwendolyn…the same meditation.
“I know. Death refocuses life every time.”
“You’re right, M.B., death and growing old. It’s like one night I went to bed and when I woke up, I was old. The Dowager Lady Putterforth, O.P.”
“O.P.? Have you become a Dominican?”
“No, that’s Old Person.”
“Or Order of Penguins.” And we both giggled, which turned into a chuckle, and soon a comfortable old fashioned laugh.
“Now, I have two things to show you if you sit tight; it’ll only take me five minutes to get to our cell and back.”
“Take your time, M.B., I’m going to visit the retreatants’ loo, and make a visit to the chapel. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
So that was our plan. I was able to speak to Sr. Paula and have a pot of Earl Grey brought into the parlor and a small plate of “biscuits.” I dashed to our cell and back again.
Gwendolyn was already there when I returned. She was delighted with the tea and afternoon biscuits. We sat down like old girlfriends would do. It almost seemed strange, as I didn’t have an old girlfriend to chat with, outside of the house. Maybe that’s one reason I like visiting the infirmary.
“Okay…first thing. I told you Sally said Mama and David both had wills. Mama knew I couldn’t inherit anything; it’s part of our solemn vow of poverty, but she had written in a little gift. Remember me telling you about our family night at the theater; Fiddler on the Roof. And when we got home, David presented two gifts from my brother, Joshua, who was killed in Viet Nam? Papa got a new Timex watch and Mama a beautiful brooch of old tarnished silver with five tiny flowers each with its own gem. These were sent to David from the Philippines. Mama loved it so much: she said right away that the five flowers were her five children.” Five little flowers, so little and yet so beautiful.”
Gwendolyn nodded. She remembered. “Yes, I remember, and it wasn’t a week after that that they got the telegram telling them that Joshua had been killed in action. And it was his death, really, that got you thinking about life and death…and faith…and God.”
“That’s right. You have a good a memory, for an O.P.” Gwendolyn scrunched up her face and looked at me cross eyed. “David has Papa’s Timex; Mama never wore the brooch again, but kept it in her high-boy, next to a photo of Joshua in his uniform. And here it is.”
I took the silver box out of my pocket, opened it, and took out the brooch with the five delicately set flowers.
“Oh, M.B., it’s so beautiful. Those are real stones in there too.” I don’t know how Gwen could tell that at first glance, and through the grille, but she was the jewelry expert, not me.
“Mama left it for me. I told Sally she should take it, but she refused. She said she had lots of Mama’s things, and Mama wanted me to have this. I don’t ever wear it, of course, not even under my scapular, although I was tempted! I keep it on my ‘prayer shelf’ in our cell, and am praying what I should do with it. It might look very nice in the base of a chalice, but I’m not sure.”
I put it gently back in its box. And savored a few swallows of Earl Grey.
“And now—are you ready?” I reached under my scapular to my belt…
“Look it.” I held up a rather worn stuffed penguin with yellow feet. The day I entered the monastery, it was Papa, Greta, and Gwendolyn who came with me. Gwendolyn was very emotional about “goodbyes” and couldn’t stay for the opening of the enclosure door, she handed me this little stuffed penguin with yellow feet and told me to sneak her in with me, and dashed off. On her way out she called back, “her name is Vicky. She always wanted to be a nun since her husband died!” It was Greta who guessed correctly that her husband’s name was Albert.
“Oh my goodness, M.B., you still have her. Vicky. I’d forgotten all about her. Is she still in mourning for Prince Albert?” And we laughed like high school girls.
“Yes, I still have her, and she’s been in my cell the whole time I’ve been here. She’s lived on my bookshelf, in a drawer, on the window sill, and sometimes under my pillow.”
Gwendolyn was duly moved, and I think quite comforted, even if Ruben had disappeared. We drank our tea and gabbed about old acquaintances and how much the Tea on Thames neighborhood had changed. And Vicky sat there silently taking it all in. She brought back years of memories.
Chapter Twenty-one
New Year 2003
Give thanks to the Lord for He is good. His steadfast love endures forever. (Ps. 107:1)
The new year, 2003, came in with a nice blanket of snow on the ground which always brings a greater silence into the house and a peacefulness or warmth which other times of the year don’t have. We welcomed it with our own regular little celebratio
ns after a subdued but lovely Christmas Octave.
Sr. Agnes Mary spent most of the last week of Advent and the Octave of Christmas in the infirmary. The novices and postulants would visit her there several times a week, and she always welcomed them, but felt so weak and tired afterwards. And so it was the day after the Solemnity of the Mother of God, January 2nd, that Mother Rosaria called me into her office.
“Shanah Tovah, Sr. Mary Baruch!” Mother was beaming with joy because she knew the Hebrew greeting for the new year, and could greet me with it.
“Shanah Tovah to you too, Mother. Such a blessing, the new year.” And we both laughed.
“I suspect you know why I’ve called you in. I’ve had several good talks with Sr. Agnes Mary over the past week, and I agreed with her, that she should step down from being Novice Mistress. Her health is not up to the demands of the job, as she put it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that; she always gives the novices such a wonderful example of being a happy nun!”
“And she can continue to do that, for all of us really. But it’s time for you to become the official Novice Mistress. You have worked closely with the postulants and novices, and you are yourself, you know, a wonderful example of a happy nun.”
“Oh, dear. Thank you, Mother, I’m very humbled by that. Most of the time I feel like such a ‘schlepper’, but I am a happy nun, although I don’t say that very often to myself. I don’t know if I’ve ever said it out loud! Maybe it sounds strange for us to talk like that. But, you know, there is no place in the whole world where I’d rather be than right here. I want to love the Lord more and more, and …well, this may sound very strange, but there are times when I wish I were a novice again and was beginning all over.”
“My dear Sister. We have been through it together, you know, and I’m with you. I think often about the effect of 9/11 on all of us. I am not a native New Yorker, as you know, but all my adult life has been here, as an au pair, or a nun—with lots of accidents in both lives, but in the end, it’s the Lord who is our happiness, and He has poured out His mercy on both of us…us ‘schleppers.’”
The Middle Ages of Sister Mary Baruch (Sister Mary Baruch, O.P. Book 2) Page 21
