Sister Mary Agnes' Vocation Story

 

In 1990 we all wrote the story of our vocation.  On this day of our dear Sister Mary Agnes' birthday, her first celebrated in eternity, we publish her own story:

How I Became a Poor Clare Nun

Sister Mary Agnes of the Sacred Heart of Jesus

(1990)

 

            One cannot say when the seeds of her religious vocation were first planted.  In retrospect, after 35 years in the Monastery, one is aware of many influences and arrangements of Divine Providence that preceded the call, but it was not until the year 1953, the 700^th Centenary Year of the death of our Holy Mother St. Clare, that my spiritual awakening took place.

            It was then that I enrolled in evening classes at Siena College, a Franciscan Institute, in an urgent need to fill a spiritual and intellectual vacuum I felt in my life.  I had never attended a Catholic school, since there was none in the small town in which I was born and raised.  There were Franciscan Sisters of the Atonement attached to our parish church, who taught us the Catechism, prepared us for the Sacraments, and engaged us in parish activities.  I dearly loved the Sisters but never felt a desire to become one of them.  Years later during those blessed evenings at Siena College, the sound of the Friars’ habits and rosaries as they passed in the halls or entered the classroom would evoke childhood memories and nostalgia for the Sisters and my hometown parish.  Seeing a crucifix on the classroom wall where one would expect to see a clock made a deep impression.  The kindness and holy example of the Friars, the religious atmosphere, the joyful spirit of the College that I would later come to know as the Franciscan spirit, - all contributed to a sense of mystery and realization that something very special, something wonderful was happening.  It was the beginning of the re-discovery of my Catholic faith and of our Lord Jesus Christ. 

A whole new world of the spirit was opening out before me, especially as I came under the strong influence of my English teacher, Father Valentine Long, O.F.M., who imparted the love of God and spiritual values as he artfully introduced us to the classics of literature.  One could not help but hang on to his every word.  I was lifted out of myself and it was not long before I lost all interest in the social activities that had been part of my life since leaving high school and which seemed now a complete waste of time.  I especially regretted that my practice, understanding and knowledge of the Catholic faith had not progressed during those years.  But I began to pray much and to immerse myself in the college studies for which I had always longed.  Toward the end of the semester I was crestfallen to learn that another teacher would replace Father Valentine at midterm, but on the final evening of examinations, one of the Franciscans introduced me to FRIAR magazine, and my spirits soared again. 

            In that issue of the Franciscan magazine there was a beautiful article about our Holy Father St. Francis by none other than my beloved teacher.  Although I had lost Father Valentine as a teacher, I discovered him as a writer.  To my great surprise and joy, in his gracious kindness, Father Valentine sent me over the Christmas holidays, a gift copy of one of his books in congratulations on my work of the semester, with a note of encouragement to go forward in my studies.  By that time I was frequenting the Sacraments and, -  on lunch hours, after work, and eventually for daily Mass before work -  visiting the church close to the company for which I worked.  Reading and study absorbed the rest of my time.  My life now had meaning and purpose. 

One night, early in the second semester, word went around that Father Valentine would be giving a sermon at the Forty Hours Devotion in the chapel of Our Lady of the Angels.  As we hurried across campus that mid-winter night to the chapel, I could not know what would transpire or what further destiny lay before me.  When Father Valentine entered the sanctuary to address the gathered students, there was an aura of holiness about him and, as he spoke eloquently of the Immaculate Virgin Mary, suddenly from the depths of my being I heard myself say, “I am going to be a nun.”  I was stunned, shocked, shaken.  I, a nun? How could I ever be a nun?  Impossible.  I tried to put the thought out of mind as we left the chapel to return to classes, but the remembrance of that experience and the words I heard would not leave me.

            Divine Providence had still another grace in store for me a few weeks later.  At the beginning of Lent, I learned that a Friar from Siena College would be preaching a weekly Lenten sermon at the church I was attending.  To my great joy and wonderment, it was Father Valentine Long who was assigned.  “The Hound of Heaven” continued His pursuit.  In that huge, circular-shaped church, with pews in ascending tiers, Father could not possibly have known I was present in the large congregation, but for me it was like the electrifying air of the classroom and college chapel again.  He seemed to speak directly to my soul.  One night I waited afterward to greet him at the door and he exclaimed, “Ah, my friend.  I knew it.”  After our brief exchange I wondered how he had known.  Had he sensed virtue going out from himself? 

About that time I read an article in FRIAR magazine by a priest about the Poor Clare way of life.  Until then I had never heard of the cloistered life and felt repelled at the thought of it, yet admiration for those who could live it.  I was also reading beautiful poetry in that magazine by a Poor Clare Sister, Sister Mary Francis, which made me wonder.  Finally, after Easter, I went to speak with Father Valentine about my desire to become a Sister, a teaching Sister, I thought, for I did not think the cloistered life was for me.  He was pleased, but did not encourage immediate action.  Rather, he suggested I wait and pray.  He spoke with great enthusiasm about Sister Mary Francis’ poetry, when I mentioned my appreciation of it.  When I told him of my family responsibility, he said that it might be an obstacle to my vocation, but that we would leave this in God’s hands and pray.

            During the summer, I read more about the Catholic faith, spent much time in church, praying to know God’s will and how it could be accomplished.  The greatest struggle and question was how could I leave my family I loved so dearly?  During the Fall semester, I corresponded briefly with the superior of a Franciscan teaching community, but did not feel attracted.  Something held me back.  Later on, I read an article by Sister Mary Francis printed in FRIAR about life in the cloister, which gave me an entirely new perspective.  It was alive, joyful.  It sounded attractive to me.  “Each day lived for God is a rare adventure,” she wrote, and the words would haunt me.  In response to an advertisement in the same magazine, for plays written my Sister Mary Francis, I wrote to Mother Immaculata, abbess of the Monastery in Roswell, New Mexico, ordering the plays and requesting literature about the Poor Clare life.  Later I would learn that my letter arrived on March 6, then the feast of St. Colette.  There was not much information in the small pamphlet the abbess sent, but with her warm, inspiring letter of reply, it was enough.  It was like falling in love.  We continued to correspond, and I would watch for her letters with the eagerness of a lover.  “If God is calling you to the cloister, He will give you no rest outside it and will surprise you with the peace and joy you will find inside,” she wrote.

            He gave no rest, and the time came when I could no longer resist the call.  I found courage to tell my family at last.  We lived in northeastern United States, where there were Poor Clare monasteries, but the monastery of my desire was in the far southwest corner of our country.  My valiant Mother did not want to stand in my way, for her own mother had prevented her when, as a young girl, she wanted to become a nun.  But she told me that I might as well go to the moon as to New Mexico, for she would never be able to travel that distance to see me.  With reluctance, I reminded her that when she married my Father and had to come to America, she left her family behind in Italy.  It was painful to leave my family and I could only do it for God and by the power of the Holy Spirit, in the trust that the Lord Himself would provide for them far better than I by remaining with them, as time would quickly prove. 

            When I called Father Valentine Long on the telephone to tell him of my decision and destination, he was overjoyed and exclaimed, “I knew it!  I knew it!  It is the most beautiful vocation on the face of the earth.  I wish I were going myself.”  He had known, but waited for the Holy Spirit to reveal my vocation to me.  On August 25, 1955, I entered the Monastery of the Poor Clares in New Mexico, where I found, in the loving embrace of my new spiritual family, the peace and joy I had been seeking.