Immoderation in High Places

The novice mistress in any convent has a staggering obedience: She must prepare postulants and novices for the making of first vows. To do this, they study the charisma of the founder, the history of the order, and the significance of living in community. In addition, they learn the specific regulations that have attached themselves—sometimes like barnacles—to that particular convent.

            Our class of eighteen befuddled the novice mistress back in 1958 and ’59. I so remember the time she seemingly despaired of our class ever becoming ready for making first vows. She called us together in the common room and told us we needed “jacking up.” She admonished us with our faults: We persisted in talking too much. We didn’t complete our work. We were noisy in chapel. We were a disgrace to the convent.

            We soon learned what her definition of “jacking up” meant. No salutation. 

            Translation?

            No talking at any time.

            The prioress as well as the novice mistress gave us salutation. That is, upon hearing either of them say, “Praise be Jesus and Mary,” we would all answer “Now and forever. Amen.” Then we had permission to talk.

            During this jacking-up period the novice mistress refused to give us salutation. For five weeks, we didn’t gather each evening for boisterous conversations in the common room. Instead, we sat there silently sewing or studying. When the bell rang, we silently filed out and walked to the choir chapel for Compline. Then we returned to the novitiate and to bed. The following day, we rose to the same silent routine. For five weeks we did this.

            When the prioress daily gave salutation in the refectory, we sat silent. We could hear the professed nuns at the other tables whispering among themselves, “What’d they do for her to take such extreme measures?”

            Finally, the novitiate assistant—the one who’d given me a butch haircut—spoke up. At lunch the next day, the prioress, as usual, gave salutation to the community. The novice mistress nodded imperiously and we began to talk. Whoopee!

            In my mind, this had been an almost laughable way of preparing us for vows. Indeed it would have been laughable if it hadn’t been so interminable.

            One other time the novice mistress proved to be as immoderate as I knew myself to be. She tacked up a list of faults on her office door. By each fault was the number of times she’d noticed someone being negligent.

            According to the list, she’d found a goodly number of straight pins on the floor. We’d dropped them, neglected to pick them back up, and hadn’t made culpa for this. How could we take a vow of poverty if we didn’t lean down and pick up lost straight pins?

            Some outlandish number of novices had gone up the steps without holding up the skirt of their habit. This frayed the hem. Poverty again.

            We’d failed to close the front door quietly and so perhaps disturbed the inner peace of a fellow novice.

            The list contained a variety of other faults. All culpa matters. All with a specific number. 
            Reading it, I simply shook my head.

            The list informed us that we’d receive no salutation or recreation until we'd come, individually, to her office, knelt down, and admitted our failings.

            One by one, my classmates did so. Two days passed and still the list remained with the numbers only modestly decreased. Finally I walked into her office, knelt down, and said, “I did everything on the list the total number of times you’ve indicated.”

            “Everything?”

            “Yes. I’m at fault for all of it.”

            “You certainly think you’re exceptional, Sister Innocence.”

            “I think we’re just human beings. We drop pins. We’re thoughtless.”

            “Are you going to work on that?”

            “I will.”

            “And silence? Will you work on that?”

            “I will,” I said. We looked at one another and a moment of real understanding arced between us.

            “And will you take down the list and accept that I did it all?” I asked.

            She rose, went to the door, opened it, and removed the accusatory list.
            I  do not think that my immoderate culpa made the difference. No. I suspect that other novices did the same thing. The audacity of our imaginative rebellion finally wore her down and she banished the list to her wastepaper basket where it belonged.  

            Ultimately I think she came to appreciate the resilience of our class, and we came to appreciate the monumental task the prioress had given her. We were raw recruits. She shaped us into women who graciously, eagerly, gratefully served others both in the convent and in the world. She was—and I say this with great gratitude—the person from whom I had the first inkling that I was One with all creation.

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