Disavowed: a woman's journey through three religious communities

Chapters 9 - 16

CHAPTER 9: HOPE FOR THE HOPELESS?

There were several things I particularly liked about the Holy Cross Ministry Corps.

It was all-women, the members living together in a separate wing of the Motherhouse of the Daughters of the Holy Cross, and had its own, separate kitchen and sitting room. It was only about 20 miles from my parents' house. Although there was a sister in charge, there seemed to be little sister-contact. There was no feeling of being rushed, since the next cycle didn't start until the end of the summer.

They told me they could use someone who wanted clerical work or manual labor with as little people-contact as possible. I got my references and paperwork together and finished out my last few months at my job. I threw away about fifty pounds of diaries and boxes of old memorabilia. When the end of summer came, I was ready.

I learned a lot about interpersonal dynamics from communal life. I never realized that there are “morning people” and “not morning people”, though in hindsight I suppose I could have observed this in my own family of origin, where it was my job to wake my sister up on school days. In convent life, it's a blessing to be a morning person and a curse to not be; everything starts early, and depending on the local community I lived with, morning prayer was as early as 5:15. In non-convent life, being a morning person is more of a drawback, and not just because we morning people poop out before the good TV shows come on. In 1985, I was just clueless. I couldn't understand why I got so many grunts and growls in response to my cheery morning greetings.

At the Motherhouse, our wing was a straight hallway forming one of the three sides enclosing a courtyard. It had been the postulant wing, and the identical floor above had been the novitiate. In 1985, it was the Ministry Corps wing, and the floor above was the retreat wing. I went to community college and had never lived in a dorm, but our wing had what I imagine was a dorm-like atmosphere.

When you walked in through the swinging double doors - and we found out that the retired sisters living on the other two sides of the courtyard had a distinct preference that we not let those doors bang (it was no surprise that our hallway bowling game didn't go over well) - you passed a small laundry room just big enough for a washer, dryer, laundry sink and ironing board. On the other side was a storage room that was locked and not for our use. Next to that, two bedrooms had been broken through to make a little kitchen and eating area. On the other side of the hallway, two of the tiny bedrooms had been broken through to make a small TV room, furnished with a vinyl-covered couch that appeared to have been retired from some doctor's office, and a couple of wooden chairs.

From there to the end of the hall, that side of the wing had six bedrooms. The other side had three, because the end of the wing had the multi-stall communal lavatory, and a communal bathroom with two tub enclosures and a shower stall. Everything was tile and flat, industrial strength carpeting, very 1960s construction.

I liked my room. It was about 8' x 10' and had a sink in the corner. There was a built-in closet that was about three feet wide, with some drawers and shelves, very dorm-like. The furnishings consisted of a twin bed with, yes, those round doll-bed metal headboards, and a school desk and chair. My window looked out over the courtyard.

I was also surprised to learn that there are people who resent the fact that birds sing in the trees in a courtyard at sunrise.

I thought it was lovely, simple, private, peaceful and serene. I left my room as it was, to the point that it was sometimes mistaken for an empty room. Just an expression of my personality, thanks.

It's a good thing I liked the room, because I was to spend quite a bit of the next twelve years living at the Motherhouse.

]