I was confident this was a sign about a potential new career track—and a nudge in my spiritual search—it felt like killing two birds with one stone! I kicked into research gear and quickly affirmed that most US congregations of women religious were facing a precarious demographic cliff. I had a few sisters as (awesome) professors at college and I had kept in touch with my favorite one over the years, Sr. Clemente. In mid-September I emailed her asking if we could talk about my search for “how I can most effectively make a positive difference in the world”. When we spoke I was so excited to share my newfound fondness for Catholicism and how taken I was by this new pope. She agreed he was like a breath of fresh air in the Church. I inquired about how many new women were entering the congregation (answer: two) and what kinds of challenges that demographic reality presented for the congregation. Her answers were affirming that I might be on the right track.
I then described the crossroads in my life—the search for something more meaningful than my current career. I confessed to not knowing what my next step should be and my curiosity if there might be opportunity to serve them. Was there someone I could discuss that possibility with? To my thinking, the sisters must have someone like a program director or a chief operating officer who had a good handle on their efforts to plan for the future of their heritage properties. She affirmed that yes, indeed, there was someone. I should contact Jeri Cashman for a deeper discussion about my questions. Perfect! I figured his post-nominal letters “OP” alluded to some kind of professional certification related to programs or operations. This might be the right person to pepper with questions about how I might support their planning efforts. Perhaps this guy could help assess how/if my skills could serve them. The fact that Sr. Clemente connected us was the best foot in the door I could hope for!
Comedy of Errors
I quickly reached out to Jeri, feeling as if I was finally being lured in the right direction. He quickly replied to my email and offered to schedule a call. Alternatively, he wrote, they were hosting a retreat later in October which I would be welcome to attend if I preferred. That way we could also meet in-person and I would have the opportunity to visit with the sisters.
In my online research of Catholic congregations like these it was common to see spiritual retreats they were offering at their motherhouses. Talk about killing two birds with one stone! I could go for the weekend, learn more about their situation vis-a-vis planning for their future, maybe do a little business development with Mr. Cashman and the sisters, then attend the retreat to further probe this Catholic thing. I didn’t really know what a “spiritual retreat” meant or looked like, but I was super curious and eager to find out. It sounded like something I could seriously use!
A few days before my visit I received an email from Sr. Clemente telling me how excited she was that I would be joining the Dubuque’s Got Sisters retreat. Hmmm, I thought, Who is Dubuque? As I read the attached flier, three things became clear: 1) Dubuque is a city in Iowa, 2) Jeri Cashman was, in fact, a sister (OP stands for Order of Preachers, and 3) the retreat was for women interested in religious life.
Holy s**t.
I was in a cold sweat as all the blood rushed from my head. My anxiety kicked-into high gear and I felt physically sick. If I were to attend this retreat while also hoping for a consulting gig, the sisters would think it was a manipulative pretense to get their business. I started thinking quid pro quo…false advertising…nepotism… bribery…fraud. Whatever it was (an honest mistake), I damn sure recognized poor optics! I would need to cancel the trip, confess my intentions and come clean about the misunderstanding. What a disaster.
That was my intention when a little voice reminded me about the promise in this search of mine to not judge any opportunity that presented itself—to let every thread of possibility play-out rather than prematurely pulling the plug. I was interested in learning more about Catholicism, after all—just not in that way. Maybe, if I was brutally honest about who I am and what I am not, it would be OK to attend just out of curiosity? I mean, once they get a better read on me they would not want me anyway. Worst case scenario, I would learn about a super interesting, secret subculture and would simply explain after the retreat that it wasn’t a right fit for me. In retrospect, this was the miraculous moment—that I managed to talk myself down and remain open to taking the trip. Given where I was at that time it was an absolutely remarkable decision on my part.
The Arrival
That’s how I convinced myself to board the flight. However, while driving the rental car from the Milwaukee Airport to my destination at Sinsinawa Mound, a very different scenario emerged. I had stitched together a scene more akin to walking into a U.S. ARMY recruiting office in a strip mall to a stern nun making a hard sell. My interior-voice was yelling ABORT MISSION ABORT MISSION! I recited the things I would say or share—all of which were true—to scare them off and ensure that no nuns would have me.
I arrived Friday after dark, the night before the Saturday retreat. Sister Jeri was waiting alone at the front door. She hugged and greeted me so graciously and swept me into the massive complex with a relaxed, welcoming, and funny demeanor. She immediately put me at ease and I decided that this might be alright, after all.
We traversed a dark, quiet, expansive indoor terrain that wove through areas of the motherhouse that she briefly pointed out as we went. It was probably around 8pm, so all the sisters were up in their communities—there would be time on Sunday to meet them, she told me. It was a maze and I was utterly lost as she pointed out the “big chapel”, the Gathering Place, the library, the dining hall, the gift shop, the kitchen, the amigos parking lot, “apple alley” where the sisters peeled apples together, we passed through the “magic door” (it opened automatically for us) and entered the old Convent. Finally, we ended up in a small apartment-like quarters. Jeri was so proud of this cute little space that she had arranged specifically for women exploring religious life. Gulp.
She explained the plan for going to the retreat the next morning and introduced me to Mina, who was going, too. Mina was a South Korean theology professor at some nearby university who was “also” discerning religious life. She was about my age and seemed like a normal, professional woman with a good head on her shoulders. I took note that she intended to be at this retreat… then I quickly retired to my room to try to mentally process what was happening and to toughen myself in preparation for the next day. If there were crafty recruitment tactics I would not be receptive to them.
The Retreat
The next day Jeri, Mina and I crossed the Mississippi River into Dubuque, Iowa where the retreat would take place at the motherhouse of another group of religious sisters—four different communities of sisters were hosting this retreat together. I was a nervous wreck and layered on mental defenses on the ride there. I double-dog dare one of those sisters to ask me a question about my faith. They better be ready for some brutally honest responses!
When we arrived there were five sisters, including Jeri, who led the introductions. Four of them seemed like normal old women. The fifth one was the quintessential nun-type: a stern older lady who talked a lot about how Catholic she was, what kind of mass she preferred (that confused the hell out of me) and how important it was for her to be at this retreat. I deduced that she must be the lead screener and/or recruiter with some pressure tactics up her sleeve. I was totally on to that one!
Then the two 19 year olds from a nearby college introduced themselves as self-espoused “cradle Catholics” who decided to attend together for an “off-campus adventure”. They typically baked cookies together in the dorms on weekends and thought this would be a fun outing. I had never heard of cradle Catholics and was speechless as I pondered that young women like this actually existed in real life. I suspected they would make good nuns, but on the flip side, they didn’t sound very serious about it.
Then Mina introduced herself and said some things about looking for meaning and wanting to apply her gifts for a higher purpose. I was really appreciating this woman and the way she talked resonated—I could almost see myself in her, but she knew how to express things that were beyond me. Then I introduced myself. I don’t remember exactly what I said but it was some version of “Hi, my name is Quincy and I’m from New Orleans. I do not know what this is, nor do I belong here or understand why I am here. Nice to meet you.”
The retreat lasted about 8 hours which, for me, were super emotional and didn’t understand why. It felt like my heart was going to explode and I had to fight back tears multiple times so these women wouldn’t realize what a f**cking mess I was. Despite myself, I was able to absorb a lot of what these women were sharing about religious life and they were exploding my stereotypes at breakneck speed.
Takeaways
When I think back on that day, I remember a few a-ha moments that stood out:
Around mid-morning, the sisters suggested we take some time alone to pray and reflect on where God was calling us. I raised my hand and said that I did not know how to pray. While it was true, I was sharing it as a litmus test—pulling off the band-aid so they could know sooner-rather-than-later that I was not a serious contender. I don’t know if I expected pearl-clutching scandal, but I was definitely looking for a reaction. Instead, they seemed almost excited for me. They told me to “do my best” and when we all reconvened, they had printed out descriptions and pointers for entering into different styles of prayer. That was definitely not what I expected.
At lunch, I overheard the four normal nuns discussing the fifth, stern one and intimating that she might not be a good fit. Huh? At that point I started eaves dropping on their conversation and learned, to my amazement, that she was actually on the retreat and was not a sister at all! All I could think was: if she’s not a good fit, then who on earth were they even looking for?
I was fascinated by a process for women considering a future in religious life called “formation”. I learned that, after applying and entering a congregation there’s a two year period of living with sisters, doing ministry, and learning about the community’s culture—called a charism (kayr’-ism). Formation sounded pretty non-committal and was a kind-of prelude to making vows as a sister. Even those vows were only temporary (aka “first vows”). You had to wait at least another three years if you wanted to make vows for life (aka final or “perpetual vows”).
I realized that these women had carved out a unique and little-known subculture where they were collectively living out a radical, counter-cultural model of life. This religious life thing was legit! Not a bad way to live at all—the way they described it actually sounded pretty good. My wheels were turning—I bet a lot of women would be interested in this if they only knew it was a thing that existed!
Upon returning to the Mound I felt so raw and confused, extremely emotional and exhausted. I had been on the verge of crying the whole day and I had no idea why. That night, Jeri introduced me to Sister Mary Ann, the person who would accompany me through the formation process if I were to apply and enter. At that point I burst into tears and, when they asked if I was alright, rambled something incoherent. I could not understand, nor articulate, what was happening to me so I went to bed.
Meeting the Gals
The next morning, I was a bit more composed when Jeri set me loose to meet the sisters at breakfast. I was even able to name-drop “Sister Thomasine Cusack” to lend some legitimacy to my presence. I failed to mention in my earlier post that my great Aunt Evie was actually a Sinsinsawa Dominican Sister. She died before I was born, but growing up I knew I would get to study at Rosary College in Chicago thanks to her.
I made the rounds in the dining hall—a sea of darling gray hairs—and was treated like a frickin’ celebrity when word got around that I was her niece (and word got around fast in that dining hall). Sunday was a delightful blur of little old ladies named Mary and Patty—or some variation there-of—with glasses and short white hair telling me stories about this amazing woman who shared my genes but I knew very little about. I loved visiting with them and felt weirdly at home.
I did attempt to float some weak inquiries about planning for the future but it felt contrived and the responses were wildly different from the ones I was fishing for. They were more invested in trusting in providence than the type of planning skills I had to offer. I will never forget my goodbye with sweet Sister Alice Ann who whispered to me “Come back.” I felt a deep tugging.
On my trip home, an idea started to take shape and it felt like I was beginning to make some sense of this. This trip was definitely a piece of the puzzle. I wondered if, just perhaps, my new career was meant to take a drastic turn. I bet I could help these women as a recruiter or a promoter for formation! They had a well-kept secret and I could help women recognize the value of trying out this religious life thing. I felt sure there were so many women out there who’d be interested in this program if they only understood that it was an option! On the flight home, I settled back with the comfort of knowing.
Such rich sharing!
Ah, Q, you have me nearly in tears with laughter. I love Jeri Cashman!!