Through the Narrow Gate: A Nun’s Story. Karen ArmstrongЧитать онлайн книгу.
to give up everything?” Mother interposed swiftly and, seeing me about to rush on, said, “No, wait. What about your family? Are you prepared to leave them?”
I thought for a moment. Yes, it was hard. I’d often felt that leaving one’s family was one of the hardest things about the religious life. But there was no option.
“It’s awful to think about it,” I said slowly, “leaving home for good. Nuns never go back home again, do they—even for a visit?”
“Some orders don’t,” Mother nodded. “We don’t.”
“After all, nobody knows you as well as your family does. And no one ever will—not in the same way. I feel bound to my family—closely tied up with them in all sorts of ways. It’s almost a physical bond.”
“Yes,” she said quietly, her eyes watching me carefully. “St. Teresa said that when she entered her convent and left her family she felt as though she were being pulled apart, limb from limb.”
I remembered.
“Would you be prepared for that kind of suffering?”
“There really isn’t any choice, is there, and in a way it’ll be even worse for them.”
We looked at one another. “Yes,” Mother Katherine said, “I know. My mother lost three of her children to the religious life.”
I nodded soberly. “You’ve got two brothers who are priests, haven’t you?” We’d seen them at the school when they came to visit her. “It must have been so hard for your parents. At least I’ll have chosen this, but my parents won’t have. It’ll just be pushed on them.”
“Yes,” she smiled at me, her eyes still boring into mine, watching my every reaction. “Your parents will share your sacrifice, but they’ll also share your joy eventually. I know my mother says that she’d never have it any different. But there are other things, too. What about marriage, children? Are you prepared to give up all that natural fulfillment?”
This was easier.
“I used to think that I wanted to be married,” I said, trying to choose my words carefully. “But lately I’ve not been so sure. For me it isn’t the answer to everything. You know, ‘The Prince married the Princess and they lived happily ever after.’”
“Go on, think it out carefully. You can’t go rushing into this without thinking over all the pros and cons. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Well,” I said, “can any one person fill all your needs? Every single one of them? A husband’s not like God Who is perfect, Who isn’t limited, and Who knows you through and through. You said that marriage is our natural fulfillment …”
“Yes,” Mother Katherine said, “for most women it is. Do you think it is for you?”
“It’s hard to tell,” I shrugged slightly. “How could one be sure? But even if I didn’t want to be a nun I’m not certain, really, that I’d want to get married. Husbands, babies—all that. I don’t think I’d be completely fulfilled being a wife and mother.”
“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?”