Birgitta the Nun

Book 2, Part 12 - The Chapel

The chapel was crowded. It was a small building easily brimmed with bodies, but its high ceiling offered room for every lingering voice to be heard. Placed upon a hill some distance from the monastery, the chapel constituted its own little island. Its coarse stone structure revealed a mess of uneven bricks and crooked pillars. It was a wonder it stayed together. It shouldn't have. But perhaps Mother Nature made an exception—perhaps she let go of gravity just about this corner of the Earth, at the same time giving away free amounts of friction? But the holy crowd inside didn't notice. They trusted the Heavens, and if this were the chosen building, then let it be so.

At the front, behind the pulpit, the abbess was orating with conviction. Before her a myriad of colleagues lent her their ears, and raised their voices, only if absolutely necessary, to interrupt the revered speaker.

A council was taking place, a meeting in its highest form, to make clear the regulations and doctrines of the parish. The nuns, priests, prioresses, and the like, were a strict association, however sometimes also a distracted one. Some mixing up of the rules would take place, not to cause any harm to the community but a great deal of confusion. Once in a while the confusion would lead to some fantastic designs; pink vestments, champagne instead of the traditional communion wine, and memory-foam pillows for their stiff bunks - only to name a few - were all mentally disoriented regulations that had to be reversed. Even allowing cats to hoard a monastery was a fabricated principle of behavior, but eventually an approved and established one. Also, an exotic cook, like Petra, had to be thoroughly tested and analyzed, before being allowed to establish her employment at the monastery.

At certain moments one could sense the presence of a higher meaning, a perfect agreement, uniting the now arranged crowd. The abbess was very proud to be the dignitary of the occasion and she enjoyed seeing the holy gathering all eyes and ears, all focused on her and her esteemed words.

But something was wrong - the abbess faltered and a murmur rose from the audience.

"Excuse me your Highness," one priest interrupted, "I didn't really understand. What are the 'Dogs of Seven?'"

Several matrons lifted their heads an extra inch, putting a hand behind their ear, obviously very eager to hear the answer.

"God of Heaven!" the abbess replied, trying not to raise her voice in the wrong way. "You can't take your dog to heaven mother, everyone knows that!"

"I'm sorry Mistress," the priest apologized. "I just didn't apprehend the information. I won't interrupt you again."

The abbess continued her declaration, trying to forget the mishap. She tried not to perceive the concentrated and squinting eyes of the congregation, narrowing more and more as her speech advanced. Her words were important but they came out as a jabber, not really suiting the solemn occasion. It was apparent the audience was making an effort, trying hard to comprehend her every word, but failing terribly.

Finally, another priest couldn't help but interrupt the abbess, "So, is it alright for a modern nun to get married? As it is for some modern priests?"

The abbess closed her eyes, then slowly opened them to repeat what she was saying, "It's alright for a modern nun to be MERRY!" She tried to articulate, "We're not flagellants anymore. A convent is a sacred place indeed, but we never abandon hope."

The matrons nodded and struck their foreheads, totally agreeing with the speaker, as if just now seeing the obviousness of the moral.

But the abbess had lost her patience. She cut the sermon short and let the holy gathering go. It would be a year until their next meeting but this would have to do for now. What could possibly go wrong? Some anarchy was always to be expected, but that was alright. Without anarchy their annual meetings would be completely superfluous. And so what if some nun got married? Or some dog got into heaven? What of it? They would have to wait things out and take new action next year.

Watching the venerable crowd scatter - a gray, brown, black and white sea seeping through the hall and escaping the chapel - the abbess let her shoulders sink. Her loss of words had made her vulnerable. She had stammered, she had hesitated in the face of the convention, thus in the face of the Creator. The matter was small really, no one would remember it, no one but the abbess, but that was shameful enough.

The abbess stepped on some leftover popcorn and left the chapel. Snacks being a new invention, she noted, but at least this year the balloons had been left out. One could never know with the excited matrons, sometimes mistaking the congregation for a picnic.