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Soul searching

A religious community in St. Leo lets women experience the lifestyle of a nun before making a lifetime commitment.

By EBONY WINDOM
Published November 1, 2004

[Photo: Erik Jacobs]

Sara Pisano, foreground, participates in vesper services at the Benedictine monastery in St. Leo with fellow retreat participant Irene Kruse, left, and, from left, Sister Margaret Mary Roberts, Sister Pudentiana Kirungo, and Sister Pauline Block.

ST. LEO - In July, Sara Pisano set out to find her path in life. She went on a weeklong retreat at Holy Name Monastery in St. Leo, where she and a small group of women sampled life as a nun.

She said she has always felt a tug to serve God.

"I figure, this retreat would be good for me," said Pisano, who flew from her home just north of Indianapolis. "I'll see if this is what God wants for me."

At first, her parents opposed the idea.

"They just (think) this lifestyle is not for me," Pisano said. "I told them, "I'm 23 years old, give me my freedom!' "

Finally, they did. And they even paid for her plane trip to Florida.

"My Dad said, "Go search it out,' " Pisano said.

She packed a suitcase, grabbed her Bible and headed out.

In early July, Pisano and a few others spent a week with the sisters at Holy Name in Pasco County. Their visit would include prayer, chores, fellowship and workshops.

Unlike some other Catholic orders, Benedictine sisters take a vow of "stability," which means the monastery becomes their home - for life.

"Monastic life is different, in that we enter here, we live here, and we die here," said Sister Lisa-Judene Erazmus, Holy Name's vocations director, who organizes the retreats.

At Holy Name, the guests were assigned rooms. Each paid for their travel, but the lodging was free. Pisano's room was a tiny space with a twin bed, sink and a desk. Eighteenth-century paintings of Benedictine saints decorate the walls on the first floor. The close-knit group of sisters meet for worship in a newly renovated chapel.

The three-story building boasts 60 rooms and is nestled near Lake Jovita. Orange trees are scattered nearby - they were a gift from one family, decades ago, in lieu of boarding school tuition. The school is long gone. Now, large fig and oak trees are sprinkled around the neatly manicured lot.

Holy Name offers retreats several times a year, so women can experience the lifestyle and get acquainted with like-minded others.

Michelle LaBrie, 17, Margaret Bannon, 52, and Irene Kruse, 49, joined Pisano on this retreat. Pisano quickly became buddies with LaBrie, a talkative senior from Clearwater High School.

The retreats have helped some women figure out if religious life is a good fit. Sister Erazmus, 39, was one. She was 20 when she attended one.

"When I walked in the door, I knew this is where God wanted me to be," said Sister Erazmus, who has been a nun for 11 years. But becoming a nun can take years. The candidates progress to different stages before making their final vows.

In the past, some candidates have chosen to enter other monasteries. Since 1993, only five newcomers have joined the ranks at Holy Name. Times have changed since 1889, when five sisters started the Holy Name Monastery. They set out to help educate young German immigrants in the area. By 1954, more than 60 sisters were living on site. That number has dwindled to 24.

The Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate in Washington, D.C., reports a severe decline in the number of religious sisters: from more than 120,000 in 1945 to just 79,876 sisters in 2000.

In the first half of the 20th century, opportunities for women were limited, said Timothy Matovina, who runs the Cushwa Center for the Study of American Catholicism at the University of Notre Dame. But joining the sisterhood helped women get an education and a leading role in the community, he said.

"If a young Catholic girl wanted to be a teacher, doctor or college president, the only way to do it was to be a nun," said Matovina. "Now, young women can do all those things without becoming a nun."

Then, the 1970s ushered in a more secular society, said Sister Mary Ann Walsh, spokeswoman for the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops in Washington, D.C.

"During the Vietnam War, there was a great questioning and denial of institutions: the Army, the church. And now, religious values have a hard time being heard," Walsh said.

And the rise of the feminist movement brought about a critique of the Catholic Church, said Lawrence Cunningham, professor of theology at Notre Dame. Catholic women are not allowed to serve as priests. Even nuns are not considered clergy.

Today, the average age of nuns is 69, according to Cunningham. Though some women choose religious life as a second career, young women are vanishing in some religious orders such as Holy Name. Sister Erazmus is the youngest one there. The oldest two sisters are 90.

"Some of these communities are not going to be able to attract young people," said Cunningham. "Because young people are not going to want to be among older sisters."

Some orders are using strategies such as Web sites, magazine advertising and weekend retreats to get the word out to the younger set.

But committing to religious life must first be a calling from God, Sister Erazmus said.

What's a monastic nun's day like? During down time, the group gathered in the common area to watch Seinfeld and Jeopardy.

"We're a pretty cool community," said Sister Erazmus with a grin. "We don't just sit around and pray all day." A picnic, fireworks and swimming were on the agenda. So was pizza.

But prayer does play a big part. Three times a day, a bell signals guests to pause and bow heads.

LaBrie, the youngest of the bunch, was dubbed the "retreat addict" because she had attended a dozen retreats in the past few years.

"On these retreats, I feel God is calling me to learn something," she said, clutching a hardback copy of Jesus Freaks, a book about Christian martyrs. But she's also interested in a military career.

She's an energetic teen who loves Christian rock music and wears jelly bracelets and flared jeans. A few of her friends would probably laugh at her interest in religious life, she said. So it's kept under wraps.

"At first I didn't think I could ever be a nun," said LaBrie while munching on a slice of pizza. "Nuns are these kind and caring people and sometimes I feel like I can't live up to those aspects. I didn't think I was spiritual enough."

Pisano is a first-time retreater. It's not unusual to see a nun on campus at Marian College in Indianapolis, where Pisano was studying to become a nurse.

Two years ago, while looking at a wedding album, Pisano told her grandmother that she was not interested in getting married. Kids were not in her future either. She wanted to dedicate her life to serving God. God was calling her to become a sister, Pisano said. The response from her family was lukewarm. Pisano decided not to mention it again. Then, she read about the Holy Name retreat in Florida Catholic. Bannon, a Maitland resident and retired real estate litigation attorney, said curiousity drove her to the retreat. Kruse said she had dreamed of becoming a nun since she was a little girl. She remembers turning a towel into a makeshift habit as a kid. For years she worked as a teacher's aide until she suffered a stroke. She lost her job and the use of her left side.

"Now I feel like I can't find my place," said Kruse, who lives in Sarasota. "And that's disappointing."

Guests were expected to earn their keep.

At Holy Name, everybody works. A handful of the sisters have outside jobs. Sister Erazmus teaches theology at a Catholic high school in Hudson. Another works at a thrift store. One sister is a counselor at a local domestic violence shelter. Sister Donna is a town commissioner.

Holy Name is self-supporting and doesn't receive funding from the Catholic Church. Each sister contributes her earnings to cover utilities and other expenses. Each one pulls her own weight.

"We have some 90-year-old sisters in this house, but they're still working," Sister Mary-David Hydro told the group during a workshop. "One (sister) has high blood pressure, but she was washing and folding the dish towels."

Pisano and the others rose at 5:30 a.m. each day for chapel services then quickly darted off for chores.

Jobs included vacuuming the chapel and washing dishes.

It took a team effort to tackle the largest task: scrubbing the monastery windows. The group gathered outside with a bucket of sudsy water and a hose, and took to the old-fashioned, crank windows. The visitors helped remove the dusty screens one by one and sprayed them down.

Later that day, the women tidied clothes racks at a thrift store.

Pisano is used to work. During the school year, she juggles her college courses with a part-time job at her dad's upholstery business. But sisterhood would be a new lifestyle.

Benedictine sisters vow to forgo husbands and families and dedicate their lives to serving God and the community.

Kruse doesn't fit the mold of a typical sister, she said. In the past, she had been turned away from other retreats because she is a divorced mother of three. Kruse's age was a major factor, too. Even at Holy Name, the retreat was only open to women ages 45 and younger. But Sister Erazmus was willing to bend the rules.

For the trendy Pisano, the vow of poverty would be a challenge.

"We basically live simply, in that, we have what we need and we try not to have excess," Sister Erazmus said. "And we share what we have. Everything is held in common."

Habits are not worn. Instead, sisters often don hand-me-downs from thrift stores.

That's a far cry from what Pisano is used to. She admits she's a brand-name junkie who doesn't think twice about spending $50 for a pair of designer jeans. Her sporty red Honda back home is souped up with $1,000 chrome rims and tires and a chrome tail pipe. And Pisano brought along her $100 Nikes.

"I have the nice stuff," Pisano said. "So, it would be hard to give that up because in the sisterhood you live poorly."

Pisano also is a self-proclaimed tomboy who grew up playing baseball and tinkering beneath the hoods of cars with her three brothers.

"I'm used to being around guys," Pisano said. "I'd rather hang out with guys than girls."

But, when it comes to romantic relationships, Pisano chooses to steer clear.

"I don't want to get married. I don't want to have a boyfriend," she said. "I don't feel like I need to have someone around me."

On the sixth day, the group observed Desert Day, a time set aside for prayer and reflection. Talking is frowned upon. The name refers to the Bible story of Christ's 40 days in the wilderness preparing for his public ministry.

Pisano meditated and read her Bible for a while. But she had grown used to chatting with LaBrie and watching TV each day. She quickly grew bored.

The next day, Sister Erazmus led the group in an activity. They used chunks of gray clay to create a symbol of God's calling to them.

Kruse crafted a baby inside a womb because she said God called her even before she was born. Bannon used the clay to create a Benedictine cross. LaBrie made a heart-shaped dish with symbols all around it. Pisano molded her clay into three hearts.

"I know that I want to become a sister," Pisano said. "The (retreat) confirmed to me that this is my calling."

At the end, the group exchanged phone numbers and promised to keep in touch.

During the week, Pisano didn't call home. She admitted she was nervous about what her parents would say.

When she returned to Indiana, Pisano found her parents were surprisingly supportive. But both wanted her to return to college to study nursing.

But "I just felt God tugging at me," she said.

Pisano decided against returning to college. At Holy Name, she had discovered that sisters are not allowed to have outstanding debt. Pisano's $5,000 student loan must first be paid. So, nursing school is on hold - indefinitely.

Pisano and her family have since relocated to Largo. Now, Pisano will focus on finding her place. She said she plans to research other religious communities. Sister Erazmus gave her a religious directory. She is in search of a mentor, known as a spiritual director, to help her find her way.

"When you become a sister, you're living your life for God," Pisano said. "You're helping other people. There is great gratification in that. That's what I want to do."

[Last modified October 29, 2004, 12:50:20]