Much, much love,
Sister Joanna
A week later her mother wrote back.
February 18, 1967
My dearest Joanna,
Your letter was just the reassurance I needed. You do sound happy—almost like your old self once again. These have been such heart-wrenching months for you. You can’t blame me for doubting this sudden decision of yours to become a nun.
I want what every mother wants for her daughter, and that’s your happiness. It’s been a struggle to put my own desires for your future aside and accept your wishes. If you’re convinced God is calling you to serve Him, then I have no right to question your vocation. But, Joanna, let me ask you for the last time: Have you fully considered everything you’re giving up? Are you sure you’ll never want a child of your own? You and Rick have brought me incredible joy. I hate the idea that you’ll never experience motherhood. Just be aware of what you’re going to miss out on if you go through with this.
FYI, I ran into Greg’s mother in the grocery store yesterday. She tried to pretend she didn’t see me, but I wasn’t letting her off that easily. I stopped her to say hello. When I mentioned that you’d joined the convent she was shocked. Apparently Greg didn’t say anything to her about it. (I still don’t think it was a good idea to write him, but that was up to you.)
I understand you’re only allowed to receive one letter a month. I’ll write a little bit every day so you’ll receive an extra-long letter from your family.
Your father and I love you deeply, and although Rick would never openly admit it, I know he loves you too. He misses you, just as your father and I do.
Please think about what I said.
Love,
Mom
The next six months passed in a blur of activity for Joanna. Although she’d entered the convent later than most of the other candidates, she was able to become a novice at the same time as her fellow postulants.
She mentally prepared herself for the year of silence. No letters from home, no contact with the outside world, nothing that would distract from her commitment to Christ. This was her year of contemplation.
Joanna recognized that for her, this would be a true challenge. She enjoyed talking with the others, especially when the postulants gathered around Sister Mary Louise during nightly recreation. That was one of the best times of the day.
Silence for a year. It wouldn’t be so bad, Joanna told herself repeatedly. At least it wouldn’t be a complete and total silence. Five to seven times a day there’d be singing and prayers. Then, for a half hour each evening at recreation, she’d be permitted to speak to her fellow novices.
One morning as she swept the chapel, Joanna started humming Bob Dylan’s “Mr. Tambourine Man.” It wasn’t a conscious decision. The music that morning had been melodic and lovely, but somehow the Dylan song had entered her mind and refused to leave. She didn’t know why a tune she hadn’t heard in ages was stuck there, but it was.
As soon as Joanna realized what she was humming, she stopped, shocked at herself. Although it hadn’t been intentional, she felt guilty. Humming Bob Dylan in the chapel was sure to be considered sacrilegious. Still, within minutes she was back at it, keeping her voice low so as not to be heard.
Her own rebelliousness upset her. Humming was bad enough, but breaking silence inside the chapel was that much worse.
Nights were the most difficult for her. After a full day of work, study and prayer, she often fell into a deep sleep without even trying. It was in her dreams that Greg came to her.
The first time she dreamed of him, she woke abruptly, terrified that she might have called out his name. That would’ve mortified her. Her mind waged battle with her soul as Greg continued to make frequent visitations while she slept.
The dreams disturbed her. During her waking hours she managed to suppress her anger with Greg but these dreams, in which he begged her forgiveness, told Joanna the truth about her emotions. She was furious with him and she couldn’t forgive him. It got to be so that she was afraid to fall asleep for fear Greg would show up. The memory of his betrayal would linger for hours every morning and she’d have to make an active effort to force it from her mind.
A month or so later, Joanna was summoned to Sister Clare Marie’s office. A shiver of apprehension shot through her. Perhaps one of the other sisters had heard her humming while she cleaned the chapel floors. Joanna wondered if her foolish rebellion was about to get her into trouble.
With pounding heart, she knocked politely at the door and waited for a response before entering.
“Sister Joanna,” Sister Clare Marie said from behind her desk. “Sit down.”
Joanna settled quietly in the chair. She folded her hands in her lap and lowered her gaze as required, although she longed to read the other nun’s expression.
“I imagine you’re wondering why I asked to speak to you.”
“Yes, Sister.”
The older nun waited a moment. “Sister, are you happy with your life here?”
“Very much so,” Joanna said in a rush. Her panic was immediate. Perhaps the convent was going to dismiss her, send her away.
“I’m pleased to hear that.”
Joanna closed her eyes and made herself relax.
“I’ve noticed a certain…restlessness about you in the last few weeks. Are you sleeping well?”
It would be so easy to blurt out her dreams and beg the older, wiser nun to tell her how to vanquish them. But fear held her back. Fear of rejection if she revealed this unforgiving part of her nature. Fear of what the dreams said about her.
Because the ugly truth was that Joanna wanted Greg to suffer. She wanted him to have a miserable marriage and an equally unhappy life. She wanted him to pay for what he’d done to her.
“Sister?”
Joanna looked up in surprise.
“Are you sleeping well?” the other nun repeated. “I’m afraid the answer is obvious. Perhaps you’d better tell me what’s troubling you.”
“It’s nothing,” Joanna answered, hoping to make light of her telltale hesitation.
Sister Clare Marie leaned forward. “The eyes cannot hide what is in the heart, my child,” she said gently. “Is this about the young man you’d once planned to marry?”
Keeping her head lowered, Joanna nodded reluctantly.
The Mistress of Novices released a soft breath. “I thought it might be that.”
“I’ve had…dreams about him.”
Sister sat back in the hard chair. “Dreams?”
She nodded again. “Dreams in which he wants me to forgive him for what he did—and Sister, I can’t make myself do it.”
“From your reaction, it appears that your inability to forgive him distresses you.”
Joanna wanted to weep. The anger was back and so close to the surface it demanded all the restraint she could muster to remain seated. This nun couldn’t know the pain and embarrassment Greg had brought her. Sheltered as she was, Sister Clare Marie couldn’t know what betrayal did to a woman’s soul.
“How often do you recite the Our Father every day?”
Joanna gave a quick shrug. “Ten times?”
“Ten times,” Sister Clare Marie repeated, then added in the same serene manner, “and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
In other words, Joanna realized, her inability to forgive Greg was hindering her own spiritual life. “You don’t know what he did to me,” she cried, pleading for understanding.
“But I do,” the nun continued undaunted. “I also know that you love him.”
“Loved,” she corrected. Joanna felt nothing but disdain for Greg now. Some days she thought she hated him, and that frightened her more than anything.
“No, my child, you’re still in love with him. Otherwise you would be able to release him from your mind.”
The lump in Joanna’s throat hardened. “Are you going to…send me away?”
Sister Clare Marie smiled faint
ly. “Not unless you wish to return to the world.”
“No, Sister, I want to stay right here.” She’d discovered what she’d been seeking behind these walls.
The comfort and love of her parents, the loyalty of her friends and her own righteous indignation had offered little compensation for her loss. Only when she’d accepted God’s call to become a nun had she found the peace and serenity she desperately sought.
“The convent isn’t a hiding place.”
“I know that, Sister.” Joanna took a deep breath. “I’ll forgive Greg if that’s what you want.” She choked out the words with a sob.
Sister Clare Marie’s eyes filled with compassion. “You’ve read me correctly, Sister. I do want you to forgive this young man, but not for his sake. You need to forgive him for your own.”
Joanna recognized the truth of those words, but she was emotionally incapable of acting on them.
“Unless you can find it within yourself to forgive this young man…”
Forgive. The word reverberated in her mind.
“…and release your anger and bitterness…”
Anger and bitterness clashed with forgive.
“…I fear you’ll be caught in a vicious trap. A trap that will make it impossible for you to progress in the religious life.” She paused. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Sister Joanna?”
“I think so. If I can’t forgive Greg, then the bitterness will eat away at me until I’ve lost the very thing I’ve come to seek.”
The Mistress of Novices nodded. “Exactly.”
“But how can I do it?” Joanna pleaded. Sister made it sound easy. “I pray for Greg, but I don’t mean the prayers. I can’t stop feeling that he deserves to be miserable after the way he humiliated me.”
“We all deserve misery for the sins we’ve committed,” Sister returned.
Of course that was true, but knowing it didn’t help Joanna deal with the sense of betrayal. She’d had the wedding invitations all but mailed. Her bridesmaids’ dresses had been ordered and paid for, and her own wedding gown with its overlay of Belgian lace had cost her father far too much money. Now it was tucked away in the back of the closet like a forgotten prom dress.
“Pray for him,” Sister Clare Marie urged. “Ask God to bless him, his wife and his family.”
Joanna swallowed hard. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t.
“You must.” Then bowing her head, Sister closed her eyes and her lips began to move in silent petition.
Joanna couldn’t hear her prayer but she felt the effect of it immediately. The resistance, the uncontrollable anger, suddenly seemed to leave her heart. Her eyes flooded with tears as she bowed her own head and asked God to make her willing to forgive Greg. That was the first step and a necessary one if she was to remain part of this life she loved.
When they’d finished praying, Sister Clare Marie looked up. “You may return to your duties now.”
Joanna wiped the moisture from her cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered brokenly and started to turn away.
“One last thing.”
Joanna turned to face her again. “Yes, Sister?”
“I was just wondering if a Bob Dylan song is appropriate music to be humming in chapel.”
Joanna’s jaw sagged. Sister knew. Had she heard or had someone told her? “No,” she managed to say.
“I didn’t think so myself.” Sister Clare Marie raised her eyebrows and dismissed Joanna with a nod.
Joanna left the office and leaned against the outside wall. After the shock of the question had dissipated, she began to smile. A nun who had a reputation for being strict and unyielding had treated her with genuine kindness.
Joanna was determined never to forget this conversation. It would be the turning point for her, she decided. The path to God had come to a crossroads and she’d chosen to follow Him. She’d chosen to discard the baggage that impeded her travels and move forward.
That night the dreams stopped. Greg had disappeared into some hidden corner of her mind—and she had Sister Clare Marie to thank for that. She hadn’t forgiven him, but she was now willing to believe it might be possible.
In her last year as a novice, the world seemed to be in a state of chaos. It was 1968 and on April 4th, Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated in Memphis. Riots broke out across the country. Sister Agnes, the Mother Superior, asked for a day of fasting and prayer.
Then in June, Robert Kennedy was fatally shot in Los Angeles after winning the California primary. His death hit Joanna hard, and she wept openly. After the assassination of his brother less than five years earlier, it felt as though the world had turned into an ugly place. No one was safe, not the president, not the men fighting in Vietnam, not the country. More than ever, Joanna was grateful for the protection of the brick wall around the convent; it gave at least the illusion of keeping the world at bay.
The war in Vietnam was worse than ever and her mother wrote about her fear of Rick being drafted. He’d made it through his first year of college, but if the war continued, his draft number was sure to come up. Joanna worried about him incessantly.
With so many concerns, Joanna found herself on her knees more and more often, praying for the president and the country. After two and a half years in the convent, she felt separate and apart from world events, and yet aware of them. It was as though she was looking on from a distance. She knew from some of the older nuns that compared to even a few years ago, the world was encroaching on the convent and its serenity.
In August of that year, when she took her vows, her brother and parents arrived for the ceremony. Joanna waited with the other novices and prayed fervently that God would use her to touch lives. It had already been decided that she would continue with her nursing program over the summer, but not where.
The ceremony was as beautiful as it was simple. She knelt before Bishop Lawton and vowed to live a life of poverty, chastity and obedience. In her heart, she gave everything to God. She offered up all her romantic dreams and all her hopes for the future.
After the ceremony, her father had tears in his eyes. Her mother looked tired and worried. Rick seemed uneasy.
“Hey, it’s me under all these clothes,” she teased her brother.
“You don’t look the same,” he returned.
“I am.”
“Are you?” her mother whispered.
“Now, Sandra.” Her father placed his arm around her mother’s shoulders.
To her credit, her mother attempted a smile. “You look radiant.”
“Thank you, Mom.” Joanna gave her a hug. Even now—almost three years after Joanna had entered the convent—her mother held out hope that she’d change her mind.
“Do you know where you’re going to be assigned?” Rick asked. “Dad said you might come back to Providence.”
“I might.” But Joanna felt that was unlikely. “I don’t know where Mother Superior will send me.” It went without saying that she would go without question and serve wholeheartedly wherever Sister Agnes saw fit to assign her.
“When will you know?” her mother pressed.
“Soon,” Joanna assured her family.
The next week she received her orders. “Minneapolis,” she wrote her family. First to finish nursing school. Later, after she’d obtained the necessary credentials, she’d work at St. Elizabeth’s Hospital.
Part 3
LIVING THE VOWS
I have come that you might have life And have it abundantly
John 10:10
7
SISTER ANGELINA
1972
Angie was thrilled to be assigned to St. Peter’s. A progressive high school with co-ed classes, it was the pride of the Minneapolis diocese.
On the first day of classes, Angie entered her homeroom for her last period of the afternoon. She immediately noticed a teenage girl who sat on her desktop, uniform skirt rolled up at the waist and her blue eyeshadow screaming at the world to pay attention.
The cl
ass hushed as Angie moved silently toward the front of the class, her habit swishing softly against her legs.
“Good afternoon,” she said, tucking her hands inside the wide sleeves. “I’m Sister Angelina, and this is tenth-grade Health. If your class schedule does not show Health in sixth period, then I suggest you find the classroom where you belong now.”
She watched as the girl with the long thin legs and the vibrant eyeshadow read over two schedules and dejectedly shrugged her shoulders. She handed the young man she’d been speaking to one of the schedules. The boy reached for his books and slid them off the desk before sauntering out of the room.
“Very well,” Angie said in her best teacher’s voice. After ten years in the classroom, she’d become proficient at recognizing the troublemakers. Already she could tell that this girl was going to be one of them. At roll call she learned that her name was Corinne Sullivan.
Angie had just started to pass out textbooks when Corinne’s hand shot into the air.
“Yes, Corinne?”
“Are we going to learn about sex this term?”
Angie certainly hoped not. “Do you mean sex education?”
Corinne nodded eagerly and smacked her wad of gum.
Chewing gum was an abomination as far as Angie was concerned. Without so much as a pause, she picked up the wastebasket and walked down the aisle to Corinne’s desk.
“Regarding sex education, I believe there is a short introduction to the basic facts.” Angie held the wastebasket up for the girl, who stared at her blankly.
“Your gum, please.”
“Oh.” She spat the wad into the basket and Angie returned to the front of the room. “Does anyone else have questions about our curriculum for this term?” When no one responded, she murmured, “Good.”
Health class was Angie’s least favorite teaching assignment. She preferred the Home Economics classes where she taught food preparation and cooking skills. Her talent in the kitchen made her a favorite with the other nuns and often the parish priests. It wasn’t uncommon for Angie to deliver a bowl of her fettuccine Alfredo to the rectory on a Sunday afternoon.
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