continuation of Remembering Convent Life

We were introduced to the Mother General (on our knees) who said some kind welcoming words. After we left her office we were ushered into the back of the most beautiful chapel I had ever seen. As the Eucharist shone down on us from its golden monstrance, I found myself hearing my father’s words of that morning, “God help you.”



Then we were outside in the garden on this lovely June afternoon. The parents and guests of the new postulants were trying to appreciate the sumptuous repast set out for their enjoyment. The click of cameras was an audible background as mothers were clinging to their daughters tearfully.

I could certainly understand it. While I had graduated college and taught a year, most of “my crowd” (as we were designated) hadn’t even graduated high school. There were over 90 of us – planning to be accepted by the Order after the six months of the Postulancy. . .I regarded it as a forever commitment, not just a try-it-out-and-see kind of venture. But that wasn’t the case for all. I heard many a parent (mostly the fathers) saying, “You just call me if you don’t like it here and I’ll come and get you right away.”

Well, we all start new ventures in our own way. As I had no parents or guests with me, I was passed and introduced from one group to another until there was a familiar face. A Kathy C., whom I knew from Florida before she entered, rescued me and we had a pleasant time catching up. She was looking forward to December and getting the habit. It grew late and the nuns went off to prayer, the postulants on sort of a sightseeing trip were led up the grand staircase to the dorms on the third floor.

Before we went up to the dorm, Kathy led me through the novitiate chapel. There must have been a dozen postulants stretched out, face down on the floor in front of the Blessed Sacrament – the host----in the golden monstrance.

It was rather a jolt and I just stood there, then genuflected, as Kathy lowered herself to the floor. I had no idea what was happening and, frankly, seeing all those black forms on the floor made me feel very uncomfortable. She remained there for a minute or two, then led me through to the stairs to the dorm. As the bell for the Grand Silence (no speaking unless in an emergency until after Mass the next day) my questions had to wait.

It was explained to us the next morning in the Postulants’ classroom. Sister MP sjpwed us how to perform the 'venia', beginning by kneeling down, kissing one's scapular (after we have the habit with the scapular) and then one makes a prostration on one's right side with the right hand 'pillowing' the head and the left hand flat on the ground."

There has been some discussion recently on the Dominican rite regarding the ritual prostration known as the 'venia', from the Latin for 'pardon' It is certainly a mark of profound humility as well as an act of penance. Howeve, like so many of the penitential exercises of the religious life, the 'venia' has fallen into abeyance.

We arrived at the third floor dorm and found those who had been first there, assigned to this floor, this dorm, were already in their bathrobes, holding their shower kits, and lined up for their turn at the elevator which would take them down to the shower room on the first floor.

I had been given a bed in the room just opposite the elevator, a room of 6 beds, arranged side by side, two, and three and one with curtains around it. Filled with questions and confusion about about the day and what life here was going to be like, it took me some time to fall asleep. The last thing I remember was asking myself the major question: How in the world did I end up here?
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