THE NUN AND THE LAWYER

THE NUN AND THE LAWYER

Many years ago, I befriended a young, pretty  Nun, of the Paulinian Order, who was a professor of psychology in the College where I taught part-time. She and I were about the same age. I was a new lawyer, still learning the ropes,  she was a novice who just earned her Masters Degree.

How I ended up teaching in a school ran by the Nuns is unbelievable. I believe though it was By God’s direction.

The Dean of the College, who was a pleasant and kindly  Sister with a doctorate degree in education, accepted my application to teach part time, despite the fact  I’m not Catholic.

In my interview, she said, “Young man, because you are a Christian, albeit raised in the other side of the misguided Protestant fence, and you come from the finest but most secular University of  this country,  you’re  good enough for me, but in the name of the Holy Mother of God, don’t you ever teach religion in your class because your only business with us is to teach law.” She said she has enough Priests and Sisters to handle religion.

I gave her my word, and she could perish the thought of me ever disobeying her special edict, under pain of discharge, even excommunication.

So it came to pass that  I spent the most memorable years of my life with the wonderful Sisters in this school. A thing of the past which still remains in my memory.

I first met Sister Christine the pretty Nun, when the Dean summoned all the faculty for a Retreat. I had the good fortune of sitting beside her, prim, and immaculate in her Nun’s Habit. I didn’t particularly like spiritual retreats, but before I could ask to be excused,  the Sister Dean glared at me and said, “As for you Atty. Drilon, your being a Protestant bigot doesn’t exempt you from this religious exercise, who knows we might convert you yet to return to the fold where you originally came from, so stay.”

I noticed Sister Christine giggling red in the face trying hard to control her laughter.  I whispered to Christine if she finds my discomfort real funny, and she whispered back she does. In very low voice I said my business in this school is to teach boring law subjects and I was supposed to be off limits to religion, that was my deal with the big Sister now she wants me to Retreat.

Christine could no longer hold back laughter that she had to get out of the room on to the far corridors where she let go of choked off guffaw. I followed her and she was quick to regain her composure. She asked how in heaven’s name  a Protestant boy like me, could have strayed in this hallowed, rigid Catholic grounds. I told her the Sister Dean apparently likes me, though she disguises it with her display of disgust.

“I bet she does,” Christine agreed.   I took the chance to give her my name and she did give me her convent name which I know is not her real name. She said she was on her last term of teaching Psychology, to pursue her Doctorate.

That was the introduction to our very short friendship.  

Together we returned to the retreat room.

I listened to the long sessions of the entire Retreat, sitting close to my new found friend. I could feel her aura of pure unadulterated peace, which subdued my restiveness that a sweet calm came over me. I was lost as the Priest droned on, transfixed by the quiet presence of this innocent woman, smiling and assuring me that I would be fine. I wanted to hold her hand, but for her sake I restrained the thought. If I was off limits to her religion then I was off limits to her as well, this was the implied logic I suppose, of the Sister Dean.

The retreat ended but Fasting wasn’t in the agenda of the good Sisters who shepherded us to the long dining table where they fed the retreatants with the most delicious home cooked food.

I whispered to Sister Christine that I’m not much in matters of   retreat but would prefer to go on  the attack. The pretty Nun gave a puzzled look. She asked me to explain.  

I said we are through with the retreat and  I meant to attack the food.  She giggled and covered her mouth suppressing another chuckle. The Mother Superior gave grace for the food. I sat facing Christine and attacked the food. She remained quiet through out the meal wearing that amused, angelic smile.  

After the meal she asked me why I became a lawyer. I said it runs in the family, three of my uncles are, and when I saw Richard Harris delivering his speech in England’s  House of Commons  as Oliver Cromwell in that movie, I had no doubt I wanted to become  a benighted barrister.

Then she gave me that seductive wink in the eye and said, “You are doubtless still a rabid Protestant like your idol Cromwell, am I right?”  I was amazed she knew British history.  “No” I said, “I’m a rabid Christian. But don’t get me wrong, I adore St.Thomas More and he’s Catholic,” I said.

Then she looked straight into my eyes, and whispered, “No matter what, God loves you”. I thought I heard her say I love you. But no, I was hearing wrong. She gave me another wink.  She rose from the table and bid me goodbye. She walked away from my life, without glancing back, straight ahead in fluid steps her Nun’s habit flapping in the cold of the night. I never saw her again.