Raised By Nuns

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When I mention that I was raised by nuns people look at me funny, like I just confessed that I grew up with wolves. It’s true though, I spent ten years in a boarding school that was part of a convent of the Salesian Sisters.

A beautiful small village called Dietramszell, in Bavaria, population of around 3,000 in the 70s. The convent no longer exists. Nuns are almost extinct for many reasons. I suppose living the hard and strict life of a sister might not be very appealing to the youth, although, families have fewer children and daughters are no longer ‘given to the church’ or being forced to join a convent. Nowadays a woman can live a single life without getting married, that was not an option only a hundred years ago.

Today, only three remaining nuns still live in the closed-up (the convent) part that we were never allowed to enter. Sister Killiana, back then a young nun who I could not stand, is now the oldest and Sister Superior.

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The convent had 64 sisters and four novices. We, the pupils only saw all of them in church but even there they stayed hidden on the balcony behind a screen. 2/3 of the nuns lived in an area we were never allowed to enter. A large wooden door, right beside the entry of our main dining hall, was kept closed and locked, hidden behind a heavy velvet curtain. Every sister who interacted with us girls had a large key on a string underneath her apron, so they could come and go to join the other sisters.

1978, in the morning hours, our breakfast got interrupted when Sister Theresa, the superior nun then, and also a Professor for Mathematic entered our dining hall. We all feared her a bit -or maybe we just respected her a lot. She was a no-nonsense nun. Fair, but also very strict. She had no sense of humor that we could detect and she didn’t waste her time interacting with any of us girls until we were sent into her office for mostly no pleasant reasons.

That morning we fell silent when she entered. We stopped eating and wondered what had happened.

“The Pope died last night,” we got informed. The school would be in mourning and we would join prayers until his funeral. Sister Theresa’s face didn’t give any emotions away, but Sister Hildegard, the chubby kitchen nun, who made sure we were fed every day, started sobbing.

We were asked to meet for prayers before school, and we obeyed as we always did. Back then the sisters had permission to punish us as needed. The physical discipline never happened, but the knowledge that they could end our lives the same way my grandma could, kept us in line.

A dead Pope? What did it mean and why was it so important? Did it matter who the next Pope would be?

When you live so close to nuns you get a very good look into their lives and beliefs. They are after all human and sometimes it shows. There is jealousy, dislike, and liking, and sometimes the temper comes through. We witnessed arguments between the sisters and we saw them laughing so hard, we thought one of them would pass out. Sometimes there were tears. They even played pranks on each other – and on us – and then giggled just the way we did. Sisters are as flawed as we all are, but, and I say this will admiration, they work harder on themselves than an average person.

In all honesty, nuns are underestimated. A group of women who especially during the Middle Ages had immense power. In the Middle Ages, people were firmly convinced that God answered the prayers of the nuns. This gave them a special status that manifested itself politically and economically, in any case socially and culturally.

Life in the monastery was therefore highly attractive to the women and their families as an alternative to marriage and motherhood. The joining of a convent “enabled” the girls to access scholarly education and a career in responsible leadership positions.

My boarding school housed 300 girls and 64 nuns. Four of the sisters were teachers, one was our nurse, two of them were ‘cooking nuns’, one was responsible for music and singing, and six of them were our group sisters, which means they spent the time before and after school with us and they watched over us during the nights, which of course didn’t work. Every boarding school student shares stories about secret nightly parties and meetings. Looking back I have to wonder if the nuns knew about it as well and just let us proceed.

In a large convent full of females -only two teachers were male- the emotions could run high, especially when the girls reached puberty and the sisters entered menopause. We were a moody bunch, and that’s the understatement of the century.

The sisters prepared us for the ‘afterlife’ (the life after attending school, commonly known as adulthood). They gave us an education that we all would treasure later.

The news of the death of a Pope however was something we never had to deal with before. The sisters were not just sad, they were nervous and anxious, something we did not understand right away -and how could we. The nuns had lost their leader and over the next two weeks, between mourning and the papal funeral, and then the conclave, we learned about the importance – and the politics- of a pope.

Politics! “It’s a man’s world,” we were told and we were raised with the knowledge that things could change, but we should not be disappointed if we still would ‘only’ be women. “You will have to work like a man and harder, but you will never get the same respect or the same pay.” Sister Martha, my favorite nun, made sure that we understood. “Most men don’t like well-educated women,” another feminist (?) statement from a nun in the 70s, who was also a teacher.

There was no bitterness in their statement, no judgment, they were simply saying what they had learned and let’s be honest. It’s not a women’s world, is it?

We would leave the school with the highest possible education. We would be young women in a world run by men who often still believed (until today) that all women belong in kitchens and behind a stove. We had heard some older men in church say that the education was wasted on us girls.

Some of us had just witnessed discrimination by a Cardinal, who later on would be known to the world as Pope Benedict XVI.

Our nuns had been glistening with joy when our school choir made the finals. With nine other choirs, we were invited to sing in at the St. Mary’s Cathedral in Freising where we would meet Cardinal Josef Ratzinger himself, who would overlook the judging of the choirs.

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The Sisters rehearsed with us for hours and we were instructed on how to behave. “We will meet the Cardinal. What an honor to finally meet him.” Their joy and enthusiasm was contagious. We understood what the meeting meant to OUR nuns. We also understood what it meant to be the only girl’s choir in the finals. We were up against the “Tölzer Knabenchor” a very famous youth choir -boys only. And of course, the Monks of St. Uitilien would also would show off their Boy’s Choir.

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A big rented bus with a driver was waiting for us on the morning of the choir competition. Now we felt finally nervous as well. We wore our school uniform with pride. We had been allowed to wear lip gloss but had been ordered to let go of all kind of other makeup (which we only wore on Fridays when we went home anyway).

The time before the singing competition is a blur in my memory. There was lots of chanter in the bus, a few times the bus pulled over because a girl had gotten sick. We all had butterflies in our stomachs. So much was at stake – for the nuns.

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After our performance, we went back into the basement, a very cold large gigantic room under the Cathedral. We remained there with the other choirs, all nervously awaiting the result. The judges were citizens of the town and also the mayor of Freising but the cardinal would have the last say. After all the winner would perform at the Cathedral for months to come.

Cardinal Ratzinger came down to visit us. We were right in the middle, sandwiched between the boy’s choirs. The nun’s faces were glowing. They all showed their emotions and their joy so openly. Red cheeks, beaming with anticipation.

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And then Cardinal Ratzinger, who had just spent at least five minutes talking to the boys’ choir beside us, passed by our group. He gave us a nod, but he didn’t stop to talk to us, and neither did he speak to ‘our’ nuns. He continued walking and took a pause to talk to another boy choir across from us.

We were not just overlooked, we had been dismissed and downgraded. We were the only ones he did not talk to.

We girls didn’t care at first but it changed when we saw the faces of the nuns. Their disappointment and their hurt showed as openly as the joy before. Sister Charitas, the youngest – and prettiest – nun started crying and walked away.

They didn’t say anything on the way home. There was no complaining, no judgment on their part, just hurt.

It’s a man’s world, all of a sudden made sense. The first three choirs got a price, the last two were not even mentioned. Telling us that we had come in last was not necessary, we knew.

Back at school, we all were quiet. We didn’t know what to think. “Your performance was outstanding and angelic. You did not deserve that. ” Sister Martha said. Later on, I heard one girl whisper, “Neither did they,” and the girl was right. The Sisters didn’t deserve to be treated that way.

It was the first glimpse into gender discrimination I ever witnessed. I graduated one year later and I saw it a few more times in my life. As a matter of fact, it hasn’t stopped. It’s still existing. To be judged differently because of your gender leaves you feeling worthless and helpless. Any kind of discrimination hurts. Doesn’t everybody know?

Twenty-seven years later, when Cardinal Ratzinger stepped out to be introduced to the world as the new Pope Benedict the XVI, I knew that a very conservative area would be ahead of us. What is often called “religious traditions” or what is frequently described as “old values” means often nothing more than older (White) Men ruling over everything else.

Back to 1978. The nuns prayed every night for the new pope and we joined them. “With the right Pope, the world will be kinder.” The nuns believed it and we just shrugged our shoulders.

Just like now, we waited for the white smoke to appear. We were allowed to watch the evening news on special occasions. We heard phrases like “a modern Pope” and we learned that the election of a Pope is as political as it can get.

The leader of the Catholic Church might have no say in modern politics, but he still can lead the spiritual way, either back into the Middle Ages or into a brighter and peaceful future.

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When the white smoke appeared in 1978, Pope John Paul I, who quickly became the nickname “The Smiling Pope” was elected. He was known for his welcoming demeanor and ability to connect with ordinary people. His nickname was widely adopted by the media due to his photogenic smile and approachable style.

He passed away only 33 days later, which of course gave people ground for many conspiracy theories.

I am now 61 years old – or young – and I don’t practice religion anymore but still I hope that the right Cardinal will be named to be the next Papa.

I doubt my front-runner will win the election -they never do. 🙂

May kindness and an open heart (and mind) lead us the way.