Saint Training (3 page)

T
he next morning, Mary Clare did a thorough money search through the house. She racked up some loose change (along with five white lies—venial, not mortal sins—because nosey brothers and sisters wanted to know what she was looking for). She searched under the frayed couch cushions and even moved the couch to look underneath (twenty-seven cents). She searched in all the inside suit pockets in her parents’ closet (ninety-two cents) and even under their bed. She couldn’t take the money on her father’s dresser, because that was stealing. The laundry room, her final stop, turned out to be worth her time. Two clean dimes shined up at her from the inside of the dryer, and she discovered another five cents when going through pockets in the dirty clothes.

Mary Clare counted her money in the privacy of the upstairs bathroom: $1.44. Pretty good for not doing much of anything. That added to her radio savings ($2.94) and penny loafer pennies meant she had $4.40 toward the bill. She had a lot more work to do. If only Matthew were home from the seminary this weekend. She could talk to him about all of it—another baby on the way and how depressed Mom was about it. How frightening it was to see Mom falling apart. Sister Agony being so mean
about Gabriella’s First Communion money. She might even be brave enough to tell him about destroying the bill Sister gave her. Matthew was smart. He might have some idea how to help.

“Mary Clare!” her mother hollered up the stairs. “Come help me make lunch!”

Mary Clare hurried to help. Her mother’s eyes were red-rimmed, and she was still in a nightgown at almost noon. But at least she was making lunch. Mary Clare gave her mother a quick hug and pulled out a butter knife to help with the sandwiches.

Together they made fourteen peanut butter and banana sandwiches, a family favorite. Mary Clare spread the peanut butter and her mother followed with sliced bananas.

“I think we’d better add a few peanut butter and jelly,” Mary Clare said, pausing to look out the back door. “Some of the Healy and Murphy kids are playing over, and I don’t think they eat peanut butter and banana.” Her mother nodded and set to work slicing a third loaf of the bread she’d baked yesterday morning.

“I’m not surprised,” her mother said. “It’s like June out there.”

Mary Clare slopped some jelly on her T-shirt. Her mother saw it and sighed. “You’re going to have to change that before going to confession.”

“I
will,”
Mary Clare snapped. Why did her mother have to say something about every little thing?

As she carried the plates of sandwiches out to the yard, she got to thinking about how many neighbor kids were always around. Why not have some kind of a sale—Kool-Aid, cookies, lemon bars, something like that?

“Come and get it!” she yelled once her mother put down red-checkered tablecloths on the two picnic tables. They’d added chips and Kool-Aid to the sandwiches.

The kids crowded around the table and devoured the food.
While they were chattering and eating, Mary Clare whispered her idea to her mother, who shrugged and nodded.

“As long as you pay for anything we don’t have in the house,” her mom said.

She made a quick decision on what to sell so she could catch the kids before they ran off to play. Mary Clare turned to the noisy group and whistled.

“Everybody, tomorrow afternoon I’m having a lemonade and cookie sale,” she said. “Spread the word!”

She answered the stream of questions that followed.

“Five cents,” she told Sandy Healy.

“Surprise cookies,” she told Anne. (“Surprise cookies” meant she had to find out what ingredients were in the house.)

“No, just two kinds of cookies,” she told Teeny Freeman.

“Two o’clock,” she told Margaret. “After church and Sunday brunch.”

After lunch and cleanup, Mary Clare helped get the little kids down for a nap. By the time everyone was asleep it was time to get ready for confession. She would be relieved to get all those sins off her soul—especially flushing the bill down the toilet.

“Is everybody ready?” Mary Clare’s father asked. “Boys, off that couch. Don’t think you’re getting out of confession.”

“Dad, other kids don’t have to go every single week,” Mark complained.

“You’re not other kids.”

Mary Clare and Luke mouthed their father’s familiar words to each other as they traipsed to the car.

“Move over!” Mark snapped at Mary Clare. He was a junior in high school, tall, dark, and handsome, and a star football player. But at home he could be really bossy, especially when Dad made him do things like go to confession every Saturday.

Mary Clare obliged, but not until she added, “Now you have to confess being rude.”

Mark suggested she had to confess being a big mouth.

“Okay, everybody think about your own sins, and try being quiet like Anne,” Dad said.

Mary Clare wasn’t quite done thinking about Mark’s sins. She envisioned that awful picture of Dante’s Inferno Dad had in his office. It showed the horrors of hell—people burning, getting stabbed by pitchforks, freezing, their faces distorted in agony. She imagined Mark in hell, begging Saint Mary Clare to intercede with God for mercy. Since she’d be a saint, she’d have a direct connection to God. Mary Clare imagined herself in her light, heavenly body, looking down on Mark as he suffered. She didn’t want him to be in pain, but he
had
been pretty mean to her on earth. But here in heaven, she was filled with love. Just as she was forgiving him for his earthly transgressions, she felt a sharp pain on her arm.

“Move over,” Mark demanded. “You’re taking up too much space.”

Mary Clare squished over in the seat as much as she could to give him room, but she glared at her brother.
Fine,
she thought,
he can just rot in hell.

Suddenly it occurred to her that these thoughts were probably sins. Saints, most likely, didn’t enjoy images of their brothers suffering in hell. But, then, none of the saints had
her
brothers. She made a mental note to add this to her confession anyway.

When they arrived at Saint Maria Goretti Church, Mary Clare followed their father to a pew on the left side. They knelt to examine their consciences and prepare for a thorough and sincere confession. But Mary Clare was more interested in watching the people in line and figuring out which priest was in which confessional. It wasn’t hard. One look told Mary Clare
that Father Williams was on the left side and Father Dwyer was on the right. The line was short on Father Williams’ side, but it moved far more slowly than Father Dwyer’s longer line. When an elderly man Mary Clare didn’t recognize stepped out of Father Williams’ confessional, he looked stricken. Father Williams was old, cranky, and hard of hearing. He’d say, “What?” and, “Come again?” to the sweating penitent behind the curtain. Mary Clare remembered her experience with Father Williams. She had to speak so loudly she feared everyone in the pews and the next confessional could hear.

Mark and Luke had already gone to the other side of church and taken positions in Father Dwyer’s line when Mary Clare got up and followed. He was a young priest popular for his light penances and kind spirit. Mary Clare liked him a lot. Besides, her father had just gotten into Father Williams’ line and she wasn’t about to get behind him. He took forever in the confessional. And he would have to talk so loud she might hear his sins.

Mary Clare used to think her dad wasn’t as organized as she was. Maybe he didn’t have his sins written down ahead of time and had to think up each one while he was inside the confessional. She tried to imagine what his list of sins would be. He yelled too much, that was for sure. And sometimes he disciplined the wrong kid because he was too mad to find out what was going on. He fought with her mom a lot. But saying those sins wouldn’t take up all the time he was in the confessional. Mary Clare worried that people thought he was the biggest sinner in the whole parish.

The part she couldn’t explain was his penance. While Father Dwyer usually gave her a few Hail Mary’s and Glory Be to the Father’s to say, Mary Clare’s father prayed forever. The kids had learned long ago that part of their penance was waiting an eternity in the vestibule for their dad to finish praying.

When a sinner knelt in the confessional, a little light on the outside shone red. This meant it was occupied. But the minute the penitent stood to leave, the light turned green, which meant that the next person in line could go in. Now Mary Clare took her turn. Once inside, she closed the heavy curtain and Father Dwyer slid open a small window, leaving a grate between them. This way they could hear one another without the priest identifying the sinner.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was one week ago.” She removed the dog-eared slip of paper from her missal and began reading her list. “I talked in class approximately thirty-five times. I fought with my brothers and sisters three to five times a day, but mostly it was their fault, Father. I lied to my parents twice—but they were little white lies. I enjoyed imagining my brother in hell. I disobeyed Sister Agnes once but it was for a very good reason. And I opened up a piece of my parents’ mail.”

“Tell me about those last two, Mary Clare.”

Mary Clare took in a sharp breath and let it out along with all the rest of the breath she’d been holding. “How do you know who this is, Father?” She could hear Father Dwyer cough. It sounded fake.

“You’re my only parishioner who defends her sins while confessing them.” He paused. “It’s hard to make a good act of contrition when you’re arguing.”

“Yes, Father,” Mary Clare said.

“Now, back to disobeying Sister and opening your parents’ mail.”

“Well, it’s actually disobeying Sister
by
opening my parents’ mail. I wasn’t sure if that counted as one sin or two. I thought it would be safer to get absolution for both.”

“Go on,” Father said.

“Well, Father, Sister Agnes gave me a bill for Gabriella’s First Communion stuff. But I couldn’t give it to my parents because—because they don’t have money and it would just make Mom cry again and Dad pace up and down. So I flushed it down the toilet. I don’t really think it’s fair to count this as a sin at all, because I did it for a worthy cause.”

“How much was the bill?” Father asked.

“What?” Mary Clare returned.

“How much do you need for Gabriella’s First Communion things?”

“The bill is $12.50,” Mary Clare said. She could hear Father rustling around behind the wall. Suddenly the little trap door in the middle of the grate opened up and Father slid several dollars and a quarter through to Mary Clare’s side.

“Here you go, Mary Clare. Some money toward Gabriella’s bill. It’s all I’ve got on me. Now, I absolve you of your sins. For your penance say three Our Fathers, three Hail Mary’s, and three Glory Be’s. Make a good Act of Contrition. And for heaven’s sake don’t argue with God while you’re doing it. And don’t go spreading it around that I gave you money.”

Mary Clare floated out of the confessional and levitated to the nearest pew. She couldn’t believe what Father had just done. She opened her missal and counted the money. Six dollars and twenty-five cents. Mary Clare’s smile filled her entire face. God was going halfsies.

Saint Mary Magdalene Convent and School

1123 Good Shepherd Road

Minneapolis, Minnesota 55199

Mary Clare O’Brian

188 Jackson St.

Littleburg, Wisconsin 53538

April, 1967

Dear Mary Clare,

I
received your very interesting letter and have been giving it prayerful thought ever since. In that letter you indicated that you wanted to become the Mother Superior of the order. You asked how you could apply for my job, you gave me a list of your qualifications for the position, you commented on how much you liked our habits, and you mentioned your hurry to get into the convent right after the eighth grade. I will do my best to respond.

There are several steps a young girl takes when she enters Mary Magdalene Convent. She begins as a postulant, learning about the religious life. Then she becomes a novice. After two years she takes temporary vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience and receives the habit. Final vows are taken three years after that, when she knows she is truly ready. In her early training she is mostly silent as she listens to God and learns His will.

Our sisters are working nuns. We teach, we nurse, we do missionary work. St. Mary Magdalene Convent, as you already know, works with troubled girls who are unwed mothers. We take care of the babies until we find good families to adopt them.

Each year we get hundreds of inquiries about the application process, but I must say, in the twenty-one years I’ve been Mother
Superior, I have never had anyone ask me how she could take over my job! The mother superior is elected by the other sisters. She is usually a seasoned nun
—
age forty or over. Candidates are nominated by the other sisters and after prayerful consideration we hold a vote. In the history of our convent, no one has ever campaigned for the position. Because we pray, we trust that God has a hand in choosing the mother superior and that she will make decisions according to God’s will. But the skills you’ve developed in campaigning may be useful in serving God in other ways.

Like you, I am quite fond of St. Theresa the Little Flower. Did you know that she wrote an autobiography called
The Interior Castle?
You might want to try reading it. She has much to teach all of us about serving God humbly.

You must ask yourself, Mary Clare, what makes you want to become a nun? What do the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience mean to you? Pray to God for a sign that you have a vocation. Then listen in your heart for the answer. Pray for greater humility and a deepening of your faith. Then after high school, if you feel God’s calling, you can apply to a convent of your choice. St. Mary Magdalene Convent only accepts candidates who are at least eighteen years of age. In the meantime, it’s fine for you to like boys. If you have a true vocation, you will know if God is calling you, even with boys in your life.