Through the Narrow Gate: A Nun’s Story

“But even so, that doesn’t mean that you have to be a nun,” she insisted.

“No,” I said, “but I was going to say that even if—and it’s a big if—marriage does fulfill most women naturally, there’s a supernatural part to all of us. Nuns are brides of Christ, aren’t they?”

She nodded and glanced down at the ring, shaped like a crucifix, on the third finger of her right hand. Her wedding ring. For a while she said nothing, twisting her ring round and round her finger, and for a moment I thought I saw a flicker of pain on her face. Then she looked up and smiled.

“You’ve thought it all out very carefully, haven’t you, dear?” she said quietly. “Good.” There was a pause. Then, “Is there anything else in the world that you think you might miss? You know, parties, high life, all that.” She gestured extravagantly with a wide sweep of her hand as if conjuring up a vista of glittering social occasions. We laughed easily together.

“Not really. When I go to parties often everything seems so empty, so pointless. People caring about their appearance, money,and so on. I mean, once you’ve seen that God exists, everything else—all these other things—seem much less important.”

“Yes, I know. It is a waste of time—and energy.”

“People get so worked up about all that!”

“Karen.” There was a warning in her voice. “It’s hard, you know. Christ’s way is the way of the cross.”

“Of course it’s hard,” I returned energetically. “It’s a challenge!”

She laughed. “You’re a great one for a challenge, aren’t you?” she said. “The harder something is, the better you like it. You’ve been like that ever since I’ve known you. Ever since the first year!”

I thought for a moment. “Yes, I suppose I have.”

“But becoming a nun is like signing a blank check,” Mother Katherine said. Her voice was a mixture of affection and concern as she looked keenly at me. “Tell me,” she went on. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

I thought for a long time. I could, I found, pinpoint certain events that had all pointed to my decision, a series of steps that, when I looked at them now, had started a long time back.

“I don’t know.” I pushed my hair out of my eyes and squinted across at her in the brilliant afternoon sun.

“Is the sun in your eyes?” she asked. I nodded, and she drew the blue curtains slightly, filling the room with dim, cool shade. I watched her quick, vital movements. For a long time I had admired her. Everything she did she flung herself into wholeheartedly. Everywhere she looked she found beauty; everything she touched she found significant. She’d given up the world for God and He had given it all back to her a hundredfold.

“I haven’t had a vision or anything like that. But gradually things have pointed that way. Step by step. It seems as though God’s been there always, giving me the odd nudge in this direction.”

“Yes, I think you have a true vocation. Thank God.” Mother Katherine spoke gently with a certain awe. From the playing fields the whistle sounded. Everything so ordinary. Just another afternoon at school. But for me the start of a new life.

“Have you got a lesson now?” She looked at the clock. Twenty-five to three.

“Yes, history,” I said and smiled.

“You like history, don’t you? Do you like it better than English now?”

“I don’t think so.” I paused for a moment. “I can’t stand the ins and outs of the wool trade!” We laughed. “And literature—books, reading—are very important to me, always have been.”

Mother Katherine looked hard at me for a moment. I wondered at the concern—almost fear—that passed over her face. Then casually she asked, “Which order do you want to join?”

“Yours.” The reply came instantly.

“Why?”

“Well, it seems meant, somehow. I’ve been at school here for eleven years, ever since I was five. I’ve gotten to know you all. I’ve gotten to know the Order well. It’s a teaching order; I like the idea of teaching. It all fits in. It seems natural.”

“And when do you want to enter? I mean, you’ll have to finish the Sixth Form; you’re not old enough yet. You’re a year young for your class anyway. Aren’t you still only sixteen?”

“Yes, seventeen in November,” I answered. “Another year at school. A-levels this time next year. And then I’d like to enter straight after that.”

“You don’t want to go to college first?”

“No,” I shook my head emphatically. “What’s the point? Now that I’ve made up my mind, why waste three years mucking about?”

“Yes, I think you’re right. After all, if you persevere in your vocation the Order will probably—though only probably; you can’t bank on it—send you to college after your religious training. To prepare you for teaching.” She thought hard. “Yes, I think you have a vocation. I think it’s for next year. September 1962. I think you should go to the Provincial House in Tripton then. You’ll be a postulant for nine months, a novice for two years. Then, if you stay, please God, you’ll make your vows. Up to then you can leave at any time, or we can send you home if you’re not suitable!” She smiled confidently. “But I don’t think we’ll do that. Then once you’ve made your vows, it’ll be for life.”

The bell rang and I got up to go.

“God bless you, dear.” Her voice was affectionate, almost tender. I walked to the door.

“Karen,” she said suddenly. I turned to look at her. Her face was solemn now and her eyes steadily commanded full attention. “Karen,” her voice was quiet. “Remember that blank check, won’t you?”

For a long, long moment there was silence. Mother Katherine was looking hard at me, trying to find the words—for what? I waited, looking at the apprehension in her face, wondering what was in her mind. Finally she spoke.

“It’s a very austere order, you know.”

“I want to be a nun.” Once more the words were out. But this time they fell into no welcoming acceptance. My parents froze with horror.

It was the summer holidays. We were sitting in the living room waiting for supper. Outside the hot sun blazed through the thin silvery curtains that softly muted its glare. My parents each had a drink.

“Have a sherry, Karen!” my father said. I refused emphatically. I could never be persuaded to drink. My ideas about Granny were more clearly formulated now. I was too like her ever to dare to take one fatal step down the liquid path to alcoholism. She had ruined her life by not becoming a nun, I thought. That too was a factor in my decision.

I had not intended to broach the subject that evening. We had been discussing my future. My mother asked me whether I was still thinking of staying on at school an extra term after taking my A-levels.

I knew only too well how much my parents longed for me to go to Oxford. Nobody in my family had ever gone there before and it seemed a paradise to them, a fairytale world of intellectual perfection.

“No,” I said slowly. It was no good allowing them to cling to this hope. I felt their disappointment sharply fill the room. “No, I don’t think I want to do that now.”

“But what do you want to do?” my father asked unhappily.

“I want to be a nun.”

In the silence that followed, I sat, trembling slightly, feeling sick and excited. I had dreaded telling my parents, but now, for good or ill, the die was cast.

“But why?” asked my mother. The question came out in a bewildered wail.

“I want to give my life to God,” I answered shakily. These answers had seemed quite in place in Mother Katherine’s study, but here they seemed thin and unreal.

“But you can do that quite as well in the world!” snapped my mother briskly. She had obviously decided on the no-nonsense approach.

“No, you can’t,” I said, “not really. I mean, honestly, how much time do we all have for God at the moment? Oh, I know we’re good Catholics and all that. We go to Mass every Sunday, we don’t eat meat on Friday, we go to Confession twice a month. But that’s not enough for me. We fit God into our lives but they’re crowded with other things.”

“But there’s nothing to stop you from going to Mass every morning if you want to,” my mother said. “You often do, anyway.” My father just sat there, turning his glass round and round.

“But even that’s not really enough,” I said. “Seeking God has got to be a full-time commitment. A profession, if you like. He’s too important for half-measures.”