And Then There Were Nuns by Jane Christmas Read Free Book Online

form of contemplative prayer. Lectio divina means ‘divine reading’—I’m sure some of you already knew that—and it’s as old as the hills but oh-so effective. Society bombards us with so much information that we speed-read everything and retain nothing. Lectio is the opposite: it is the slow, reflective reading of Scripture.”
    Lectio divina, she said, was practiced by the early monks and nuns not so that they could gain knowledge but so that they could directly encounter Christ. They memorized the psalms and read the Bible in small bites, meditating on the passage and whispering it to themselves throughout their day like a mantra so that their bodies were engaged in a continual conversation with God.
    â€œPrayer,” said Sister Jessica, “deepens your relationship with God, and the only way to get the most out of it is to show up and do it. In time, your life becomes a continuous prayer.”
    Teresa of Avila once said of prayer that it wasn’t merely about spending time with God; it was an opportunity to take off your mask. When you are engaged in deep prayer, you expose to God and to yourself your deepest fears and concerns.
    There are a gazillion prayers out there: some prayers leave you dry, others leave you yawning, but certain prayers resonate so strongly that you can almost feel your chemistry change as you say them. You might not even understand why they resonate; they just do.
    As Sister Jessica spoke, my mind latched onto those prayers that spoke to me. One was the Anglican Collect for Purity:
    Almighty God, unto whom all hearts be open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid; cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of thy Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love thee, and worthily magnify thy holy Name; through Christ our Lord.
    The words cleanse and secret seemed to speak directly to me.
    Sister Jessica closed her notebook. “Can I give you some advice? Don’t go out and buy a bunch of books about prayer. There are as many ways to pray as there are people, but no one can teach you to pray, dears. It has to come from here.” She knocked softly on her heart. “Find a quiet place, close your eyes, and listen for God. That’s it. Some people will rave about a new book about prayer like it’s a bestseller, but you don’t need that.”
    She paused, looked at the semicircle of women staring at her, and smiled broadly. “Are you having a good time here? We do keep you awfully busy; I’m sorry about that. But life is busy, even here. Let me tell you a few things about what it’s really like in a convent.”
    All nine of us leaned forward in our chairs. You could have heard a pin drop three rooms away.
    â€œSometimes the pace of life here is a bit more hectic than people think. We nuns get stressed out—oh yes!—and we need to take retreats. Oh, don’t be surprised. We’re not all floating around in a state of serenity with shimmering halos—you might have already figured that out. Life in a convent is much the same as life outside a convent. We drift off during chapel, just like you drift off in meetings; we get bummed out about not concentrating on prayer, just like you might have difficulty concentrating on writing a report or not paying attention to the sermon or the liturgy. We’re human. And we have to be reminded to go easy on ourselves and try not to be super-whatevers. Nuns have the same crises of mind and soul as you workaday dears.”
    Sister Jessica was born and raised in Glasgow, she told us, and had trained as a nurse. She never planned on becoming a nun, but when she reached her early forties, she found herself edging closer toward the sisterhood. “Me, called to religious life? I thought it was a joke!”
    She was now in her mid-seventies, plucky and fun, with a deep rolling laugh. The way she humanized religious life captivated us. Convent life was not the