by Alice Taylor
To me they were a source of puzzlement and wonder. How did they survive and stay sane behind those walls and closed doors? I knew very little about them but I had come to the conclusion that there must be something going on in the lives of these women that was beyond my limited understanding. Or was it beyond all understanding? I was very curious.
Then I heard that a niece of Brother Matthew had joined the Poor Clares. This girl was no starry-eyed teenager with romantic illusions but a working girl out in the world, enjoying the good life. She had grown up on the family farm in the midst of a large family. In the usual Irish way her family and ours crossed paths at weddings and funerals, but apart from Brother Matthew, who was a bit of a one-off, we would never have considered them as very religious. In our house it was my mother who was the one who brought religion to the fore because the Taylors generally took a slightly less dedicated view of religious activities. One would think that we were not exactly a potential sprouting ground for a Poor Clare. So a Poor Clare in the family came as a big surprise. But also as a source of puzzlement. How was this going to work out? Was it a flash in the pan? Would she stick the pace? But stick the pace she did, and seventeen years after her profession she is the one to whom all requests for divine help and prayers are still directed when any trauma hits the family. Recently, when a younger member of our extended family underwent chemotherapy, she was encouraged and supported by her cousin in the Poor Clares and found that the letters of support and comfort sustained her through her ordeal.
With the decision to write this book came the time to meet up and find out about our Poor Clare. I wrote to College Road with my request and it was arranged that one afternoon I would visit her there.
I stepped into the little courtyard in front of their chapel and knocked on the door of the small lodge. The door was swept open by a pleasant-looking woman with a warm welcoming smile on her face, and she told me that Sr Anthony Mary was expecting me. This lovely outgoing secretary was obviously the order’s link with the outside world. She led me along a short corridor past a little walled garden where there was a statue of St Francis and into a bright airy room. At one end of the room was a low timber partition, about waist-high, and from there up to the ceiling ran some very open wrought ironwork in the shape of a dove holding an olive branch, a symbol of peace; it was quite decorative and not in the least bit suggestive of a barrier. I had thought that I would be peering in through iron bars!
At my side of the railings was a comfortable chair and table, and on the inside of the partition was another chair. My appointment was for half past two and on the dot Sr Anthony Mary floated in, wearing flowing brown robes, with her smiling face encircled in a gleaming white headpiece. I knew from family data that this woman had to be in her early forties, but I was looking into the clear-skinned face and sparkling eyes of a teenager. She exuded tranquility and delight.
After a warm handshake she freely answered my questions and told me, ‘The call to religious life came as quite a surprise to me and at seventeen the last thing that I wanted to do with my life was to be a nun! I attended school at the Mercy Convent in Mallow and during my final Leaving Cert year one of the young Mercy nuns talked to us about her vocation, and it was then that I felt the first divine prompting in my heart. Had I known Jesus at that time I think I would not have found it such a fearful prospect. I did my best to forget it and decided that it was not the life for me. My three older sisters were working at the time and one of them was preparing to get married. My friends too were all excited about the future, so the path to religious life seemed a lonely one to me and a bit different. I thought that I would be missing out on so much that I wanted from life and hoped that some day I would get married and have children.
‘So I tried to find my niche in the world and did a secretarial course and got a job. I loved sport and adored stylish clothes and sometimes shocked my mother by what I spent on an outfit. Once, after buying a lovely new jacket, I was driving Brother Matthew back to Cork after a visit home and my mother was in the back seat. He was bit of a rogue and said, “Eileen, that’s a beautiful jacket. How much did that set you back?” He knew well that my mother had her ear cocked in the back seat. So I fobbed him off and as we got out of the car in Cork he grinned at me and said, “You were too smart to tell me what you spent on that jacket with your mother listening.” “I knew what you were up to,” I told him.
‘Despite the fact that I was enjoying life I felt a certain emptiness and the inspiration to give myself to Jesus as a religious was always there at the back of my mind. Indeed, after my father died, the call became stronger. I always feel that those who are gone before us are not far from us.
‘Then one evening I popped into St Mary’s church in Mallow and sat quietly there, pondering over my life. I thought that there had to be more to life and felt that I was only living on the surface. I realised too I could not move on with my life unless I faced the fact that I could have a religious vocation. Was that what was missing in my life? So there and then, in the twinkling of an eye, I surrendered my life to God. I can’t quite explain what happened, but life has never been the same since. At that moment a tremendous joy and peace entered my heart and with it an inner strength and conviction about my faith. It’s as if a light had been turned on. I understood there and then that my life was part of a much bigger plan, which stretched right into eternity. My outlook on life changed and a whole new horizon seemed to open up before me. The fears I had of following Jesus disappeared. My faith, which had been dormant for years, was reawakened in that moment of surrender and I sensed new life bubbling up within me. I didn’t really know what would happen next. I trusted that everything would work out fine. I had discovered the meaning and purpose of my life in the blink of an eye.
‘As I was leaving the church I visited a little side altar of our Lady of Perpetual Help and entrusted myself to her. I returned to work in the family business and later that day found an old picture of our Lady of Perpetual Help hidden away in a dark corner of a shelf. I felt that she was telling me that she would always be there to help me. The picture is now hanging beside my bed. That day changed my life and many of my friends noticed the change and remarked on it. I felt happy and confident with my decision.
I contacted Fr John Bosco, a Franciscan priest who was a friend of the family and also spiritual assistant to the Poor Clares. He arranged for me to visit the Poor Clares in Cork. I remember feeling very nervous, almost terrified, as I stood outside the monastery door, but when I met one of the sisters I immediately felt at peace as if I had come home. After a few visits it was decided that I would do a “live-in”’ for two weeks to see how I would feel about it. My “live-in” began on the 14th of June, which was the anniversary of the death of Brother Matthew, and ended on the 27th, the feast of Our Lady of Perpetual Help. Most of my family thought that I was going through a phase that would soon pass, a bit like a bad ’flu from which I would eventually recover. My mother was very accepting of my vocation, but the Poor Clares, she felt, were a step too far.
‘I was given a great hunger for the Lord and went to daily Mass and regular confession and wanted to spend more and more time with the Lord in prayer. The Angelus, which I had forgotten, was one of the first prayers that I was inspired to pray again, and the rosary too was beginning to take a central place in my relationship with the Lord. My old lifestyle no longer held any attraction for me.
‘Then I received a visa for the United States and to further test myself I headed off to Boston. My mother bought me a one-way ticket! I think she was hoping that the bright lights of America would side track me from the Poor Clares as she was finding it difficult to deal with their life of enclosure. My best friend was working in Boston and I lived there for a year, sharing a house by the sea with her and other girls. I got a job taking care of a lady with Alzheimer’s, which was a great blessing, and on my day off I helped out in a homeless shelter run by the Franciscans. Down the street from where we lived was a li
ttle adoration chapel and in there I continued to pray for the light of guidance of the Holy Spirit. The thought of the religious life never left me and I began to realise that the life I was living was never going to be enough for me. Gradually I accepted that only the Lord alone could satisfy me and that it was His will that I enter the Poor Clares. There are lots of things that I could have done with my life, but the Lord only wanted one thing. He has a plan for everyone. So I returned home and told my mother and family. My friends were more than surprised by my decision.
‘I entered on the 8th of September 1994, the Feast of the Birth of Our Lady, and received my Franciscan habit and the name Sr Anthony Mary of the Holy Family. Six years later, during the Great Jubilee year of the Incarnation, I offered my life to God in solemn vows of chastity, poverty, obedience and enclosure. The journey continues and God is full of surprises.’
As Sr Anthony Mary told her story with honest simplicity I felt that I had journeyed with her into the monastery. But having arrived there I now wanted to find out how the Poor Clares spent their day. She was more than happy to tell me.
‘The day is divided between prayer and work. It begins with a “little knock” on our cell door at half past five in the morning to which we reply, “God reward you.” The sisters assemble in choir (the monastic term for chapel) and at six o’clock we pray the Angelus and offer our day to God through the Morning Offering Prayer. We have daily exposition of the Blessed Sacrament from six in the morning to eight in the evening. The people can also share in this great privilege of Eucharistic adoration from seven in the morning to six in the evening in our public chapel. Throughout the day there is always a sister in prayer with Jesus while the Blessed Sacrament is exposed. Our entire day is centred on Jesus, who is truly present in the Blessed Sacrament. During those early hours of the morning we settle down to our first meditation of the day, which leads into Morning Prayer, a part of the Divine Office. The Divine Office is the Church’s official prayer and is composed of hymns, psalms, scripture readings, readings from the Fathers of the Church, intercessions and the great universal prayer, the “Our Father”. Six times during the day, and once at midnight, we come together to chant the Divine Office on behalf of the whole people of God. It’s a prayer of praise, worship, intercession and thanksgiving to God. Indeed, every possible human need finds an expression in this great prayer.
‘At half past seven in the morning, Monday to Friday, we attend Mass, the high point of the day, when we renew our self-offering to God, in union with Jesus. At weekends Mass is at ten. In the public chapel just to the left side of the altar a glass partition with an embossed chalice and host can be seen. This is opened before Mass, which enables us to join with the people in our public chapel for the celebration of Mass. After Mass we spend time in thanksgiving and then we have our breakfast.
‘After breakfast each sister has some time to attend to her duties – preparing the vegetables, cooking, sacristy work, sewing, gardening, letter writing, answering the doorbell, cleaning and other household duties. Our work is simple so that we do not extinguish the spirit of prayer and devotion but aim to be occupied with God alone in the silence of our hearts.
‘The next part of the morning is given to spiritual reading, a very important part of our daily spiritual nourishment. Each sister is free to choose a book. The Word of God is the most important word that we can read, or the life of a saint – anything that will help foster our relationship with the Lord. At a quarter to ten we gather in choir to pray Terce, the first of the three “Little Hours” from the Divine Office.
‘We are open to receive the public every day (except Monday and the first Sunday of every month) from half past ten to half past eleven in the mornings. Many people avail of the opportunity to call and ask for our prayers. The intentions are many and varied, and all find an echo in our hearts as we come before the Lord to pray.
‘At twelve noon we pray the Angelus together, followed by our second “Little Hour”, which is called Sext (Divine Office). Then it’s time for dinner and afterwards we do the washing-up together. At half past one we pray for the dead, including our benefactors, those who die tragically all over the world and all those recommended to our prayers. This is followed by our final “Little Hour” which is called None.
‘From two to four in the afternoon our parlour is again open to callers. During Lent, November and December, and when we are on retreat, we are not open to visitors. During these times we try to create a little extra space for the Lord – a space in the heart where each one is called to communicate with God. Each sister has her own time of Eucharistic adoration during the day, a time to worship God and be renewed by His loving presence, and also bring to Him the needs of our brothers and sisters throughout the world. During the day each sister will make time to pray “The Way of the Cross”, a traditional Franciscan/Poor Clare devotion. In the afternoon, we also have time for further study to deepen our understanding of our faith and Franciscan/Poor Clare charism. This time can also be used to develop a talent, for example playing a musical instrument.
‘At half past four we have our second meditation time of the day, followed by Evening Prayer, and then the public can join us for the rosary at half past five. On Sunday evenings at five o’clock we have Rosary, Evening Prayer and Benediction with the public, and to our delight many people join us. At six it is time for the Angelus, followed by supper and recreation. Recreation is our time of relaxation and we share some prayer requests received during the day, exchange family news and enjoy a chat at the end of the day.
‘Throughout the day the monastery bell is rung, calling us to prayer, and our final bell of the day is at half past seven, bringing us once more together around Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament to pray Night Prayer and the Divine Office. We retire at about eight o’clock.
‘We rise at twelve midnight to pray Matins (Divine Office) and have some quiet time for meditation, returning to bed at a quarter to one. During that time we hold in our hearts all those who work through the night – parents caring for newborn or sick children who may have to rise from their beds more than once during the night, young people out socialising, our emigrants, anyone in any kind of distress and, of course, the dying and those who watch with them. Our prayers reach out beyond the four walls to places and people where we cannot physically go ourselves. On entering and leaving our choir, we pray the prayer which has come down to us for over eight hundred years from St Francis:
‘We adore you O most holy Lord Jesus Christ,
Here and in all the churches throughout the world
And we bless you because by your holy cross
You have redeemed the world.’
As Sr Anthony Mary described the unfolding of their day she drew back a curtain and revealed a world that was very far removed from the world outside their walls. And yet, by their quiet prayerful presence, I felt that they are enabling many to cope with that world. In a recent survey done in America, it was discovered that violence decreased in a particular area where a number of people meditated, even though the violent and the meditators had no visible connection. During our time together in the quiet parlour, we had covered Sr Anthony Mary’s journey into the monastery and a day in the life of the Poor Clares, but now I was about to tread on very sensitive personal ground.
Her younger sister, Patricia, had recently died of cancer next door in the Bon Secours hospital and Sr Anthony Mary had spent some time with her. Patricia had a young family and had left behind a broken-hearted husband and grieving mother. It was also very difficult for Sr Anthony Mary and her family to lose their younger and much-loved sister. At the mention of Patricia’s death Sr Anthony Mary nodded her head slowly and said gently, ‘Even though the Lord had prepared me for Trish’s death I still hoped that she might be healed. I had all our monasteries praying for her. She would be such a loss to John and the children and she was so close to my mother. But God had a different plan and even though we don’t fully understand it now, we trust that
things will work out. There is a lawn separating our monastery from the Bons, so I was able to slip across quietly each day to spend some time with her in her final weeks.
‘The evening that she died, John had gone home to milk the cows; there had been no sign of change in her condition all that day. Trish passed away quite peacefully, shortly before John came back. It was hard for him, but our destined time is fixed by God alone. God’s ways are not our ways, as we were to find out. As the night rolled on, my family began to go home, but John stayed on and after some time my cousin Bernie and I joined him. As John began to reminisce about his life with Trish, the strangest thing happened: Trish’s face seemed to light up and a beautiful radiant smile spread across it. In fact, the more John talked about her and of their time together the more radiant the smile became. John noticed it, and leaning over her he said in a surprised tone, “Oh, she’s smiling!” Eventually John too went home while Bernie and I stayed behind to pray. As we were leaving, Trish’s beautiful smile had faded. It was as if her spirit had waited for John to come back and she wanted to share with him the comfort of saying goodbye.’
As I left the Poor Clare monastery that evening I felt very privileged that I had got a glimpse into what goes on behind their closed doors. These women are an invisible link between the human and divine, and while they may appear to be far removed from what is happening in the world outside they have their finger on the pulse of what is going on. They hear two news headlines weekly and read a newspaper on Tuesday, which is probably quite sufficient. But their greatest source of contact with our world is the people who bring every conceivable problem in their door, looking for help. The Poor Clares are a contributory factor in keeping our world a more bearable and saner place for many in trouble. They are truly inspirational women.
