I’m reading Cloistered: My Years as a Nun by Catherine Coldstream, which I mentioned in my last post. It’s very well written, and I am enjoying this look inside the monastery where Catherine lived with the Carmelites, a silent, contemplative order descended from the early Christian hermits who lived in caves in the desert.
I always wondered about the Carmelite nuns who lived inside the pink stucco walls in Santa Clara, California where I spent much of my young life. What went on in there? Who were these people? I am grateful to Catherine Coldstream for showing us what’s inside the walls.
The Carmelites are not the only cloistered religious order for women and men. Read about a few others here. Members of other religious orders are more active in the community, serving as teachers, nurses, social workers, or musicians, or operating small businesses. But the Carmelites’ only job is to connect with God through constant prayer and self-denial.
Although I always expected to be a wife and mother, I have thought about becoming a nun, especially after I was widowed. I was single, with no kids. I liked the idea of women living together, helping each other, working in the community.
When I interviewed the nuns at a convent in Los Gatos, California for a newspaper article, it seemed like a great gig. They were so friendly, and the convent looked like a wonderful place to live.
This was not a contemplative order like the Carmelites; I wouldn’t survive two days there. The sisters I met wore regular clothes and worked as teachers. But I had a husband, a live-in stepson, and a busy job as a newspaper editor then. That was a pretty good life, too.
Most orders of nuns no longer wear the heavy dresses and veils of the past. In some orders, I could keep doing my music and my writing, maybe adding some teaching or choir directing. I would hate getting up and dressed before dawn to pray, but I wouldn’t mind sharing the chores to keep the convent going.
I could deal with the vow of poverty—I spent most of my life pinching pennies anyway. Chastity would be a little challenging. As for obedience, yeah, that one would get me kicked out. I like to do things my way. I can hear myself saying, “What? No! I’m not doing that.” And Sister Sue would be kicked out.
The idea of not being able to leave makes me claustrophobic. I understand the concept of releasing all distractions, but I think sometimes choosing the cloistered life is a way of running away rather than dealing with the difficulties in one’s life. For Catherine Coldstream, who has since left the Carmelites, the cloister was a way to escape her dysfunctional family and the unbearable pain of her father’s death.
I have certainly wanted to hide from everything and everyone at times, but I think God means for most of us to get out and live in his beautiful world, to use the gifts he has given us in all kinds of different ways.
I can’t imagine being in Catherine’s position as a Carmelite nun. After growing up in an artistic, well-to-do family in London, she is crushed when her father dies. Seeking solace and a new connection with God, she decides to convert to Catholicism and become a nun in the most extreme order she can find.
The Carmelites don’t go out into the world and can only talk to visitors through a grill. No hugs! For much of the day, they don’t speak, except for chanting and singing psalms and religious songs every few hours. Meals are sparse. Their days are all work and worship.
When Catherine was there, they wore layers of heavy, unattractive garments and head coverings. As she wrote, the only way to tell them apart was by height and gait.
The idea is to give up all trappings of the outside life, shedding their past history, individuality, and free will. They are married to Christ and will never share a life with a man, have children, or pursue a career.
Carmelite nuns don’t live alone. They spend their days in community with the other Sisters, their only truly private times in their cells/bedrooms. But it must feel lonely to be surrounded by people and not allowed to talk to them or do anything together that is not part of the prescribed activities of the order.
I’m halfway through the book. In the early pages, Catherine is overjoyed to be part of this sisterhood. Now, almost three years in, she is starting to have questions as she approaches her permanent vows. I am anxious to read what led her to leave the order and return to secular life. These days, she is married and busy with music and writing.
Most of the ex-nuns I know left to marry and have a family. I think it’s understandable if the original calling gives way to a more traditional life. These days, fewer women are feeling called to the religious life, but the Carmelites do continue their secluded lives of prayer.
Might joining a convent or monastery where you live surrounded by your “sisters” and “brothers” be a viable alternative to the “Golden Girls” dream so many of us harbor about sharing a home with our friends so we wouldn’t have to live alone? It’s just a thought.
Your turn
I know most of you are not Catholic. But have you ever considered a life purposely separated from other people where it’s just you and your contemplative mind? Is anyone out there a former nun? Or a man who has been in a religious order? I would love to read about your experiences.
Considering the discussion in my last post of people alone being considered sad, mad, or bad, does the hermitlike life of a Carmelite nun appear to be at least one of those things? What sets it aside from joining a cult? With all deference to those of my faith who would be horrified at the suggestion, it’s worth pondering.
I welcome your comments. Please go easy on the Catholic bashing.
Read/watch/listen
About Us - About Carmelite Nuns - Sisters of Carmel
Daily Schedule – Discalced Carmelite Nuns in the Archdiocese of Portland in Oregon
Terrific video: Breaking Silence: Inside the closed world of Carmelite Nuns
Catherine Coldstream interview with Terry Gross on NPR’s “Fresh Air”
I am still coughing, “barking like a seal,” as my mother would have said. Combine that with still-sore ribs, and I’m pretty tired of it. How long is this supposed to last?
I did make it to the Florence Festival of Books last Saturday. I sold books, reconnected with friends, and made some valuable new connections. I read some of my poems for an appreciative audience. I suspect the long day set my recovery back a bit, but it was worth it. And no, I didn’t feel lonely or self-conscious in that crowd because I already knew so many people. The ones I didn’t know were writers peddling books like me, so it was easy to converse and make friends. Even for those of us who dread entering big rooms full of strangers, if you start small, meet people, and nurture the connections, it gets easier.
How did I end up alone? My first marriage ended in divorce. My second husband died of Alzheimer’s after we had moved to the Oregon coast, far from family. I never had any kids, only dogs. Now I live by myself in a big house in the woods. You can read our story in my memoir, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s, available at your favorite bookseller. Visit https://www.suelick.com for information on all of my books.
When a relative visited from Italy, a devout Catholic, she wanted to go to that Carmelite Cloister. I’m not sure why she wanted to go there because we were sight seeing. But even being here in the Bay Area, I was not aware of the place you mention in Santa Clara. But I am not a Catholic either. My Catholic friends never mentioned it. You’ve asked about cloistered living in your article. In a way, Covid did that for all of us. We found ways to connect, but I believe Covid and Social Media have had a profound effect on our national culture to the point it has separated us into tribes. We have to make a great effort to unite again and tame the elixir of social media. We are all addicted to our phones and devices.
I never wanted to be a nun, but when I was young, I was fascinated by monks. To live remotely, read, study, to make jams or fudge or booze or honey, and be in community without ever caring how I looked or what I weighed was the freedom I wanted.