The Nun Who Just Left

(A short story about a nun who just wanted to suddenly disappear from the convent. This one is a few years old.)

"Let us come in," cried the meek voice from outside the heavy oak door. "You haven't been to the gatherings as of late, Sister Beatifico. The Lord would like to hear your voice. He is waiting for your prayers." Silence. The cache of nuns scratched their heads and whispered soft incantations in hopes of somehow summoning the reclusive nun via the Lord's Word, the Logos, which calmly travelled through them like a steady breeze. The candles, neatly displayed down the dark hallway, tilted towards her door in tandem. "Sister? Sister return to us. Sister, return to the Lord."

After some time, the nuns walked back to their own rooms and immersed themselves in prayer. After prayer it was time for some light duties, and then it was time for some more prayer after that. But some nuns found it hard to prostrate themselves to a God that allowed Sister Beatifico to remain in seclusion. They were baffled that the Almighty--the patriarchal force that moved through the warp and weft of every nun with mysterious certainty and clarity--would cause her to lock the door, ignore the morning bell, stop eating, stop speaking, and altogether stop praying (an inference that was grounded only in the rumors they spread amongst one another). A few weeks later, fifty percent of the nuns couldn't pray anymore. A dour, uneasy spirit grew strong in them, infected every silence, mutilated every divine yearning. They wanted to hear Sister Beatifico sing or speak the Lord's prayer again, and they wanted to see her glorious face, a luminous visage greater than a thousand pink dusks. Something had to be done. Something had to be done in collusion with the Lord; a desperate, drastic act of savory benevolence.

The next dawn they met at the tabernacle and discussed their options. One nun wanted to use charisms--supernatural abilities--to affably force Sister Beatifico out of hiding, but others found that option to be too unrealistic and unattainable. "Do any of us know how to use a charism properly?" asked Sister XXXOOO, a wholesome old lady who loved to kiss the Lord's feet and hug the divine dais from where He, the Highest Father, spoke. All the nuns shook their heads. A sullen "No" on all fronts. An inane notion in the first place. Another nun, a nun who was constantly afflicted with stigmatic marks, suggested they pick the lock to her door. "Breaking and entering into the private sanctum of a Sister is a major transgression in the Lord's eyes, but surely it isn't as bad as allowing a sister to dwindle in solitude. It is the lesser of two evils." The other sisters silently mulled over the suggestion. After a few moments Sister XXXOOO said, "Sister Paraclete is right: we must act with compassion in mind. The welfare of a fellow Sister is infinitely more important than the welfare of a moral code. We must choose the lesser of two evils." The nuns nodded in agreement. "Then it is settled," said Sister Paraclete. "We will save a Sister by transgressing against the omnipotent Lord's moral code. Now let's pray that the Lord doesn't smite us for breaking and entering." They prayed by the tabernacle as the listless candles eagerly watched. For a brief moment, the candles once again tilted themselves towards Sister Beatifico's room. The spooky silence had dominion over everything.

Sister Agnosis picked the lock as the other Sisters watched in anticipation. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. When the door finally opened, a warm breeze exited the private sanctum and washed over them. They bathed in it, and then it moved down the hall, up the chimney, and out into a world ripe with sin. "Sister Beatifico?" asked the cache of nuns. Silence. And then Sister XXXOOO suggested that they move in and see what their Sister had been up to. They all took in a big gulp of air, as though they were going to swim to the coral reef in some limitless ocean. When they were all inside the diminutive quarters, they were all shocked (shocked while tacitly acknowledging their mutual transgression against the Lord). Nothing but books, a tidy bed, and a window that looked out into a garden. No Sister Beatifico. "Where did she go?" asked Sister Paraclete. "Why would she have gone anywhere?" asked Sister Agnosis. The nuns scratched their heads. But then Sister XXXOOO mused aloud over the abstruseness of it all. "Sister Beatifico simply left the Sisterhood. She left the Lord's path, and now she is with the outsiders. She is with the world, not with the presence of God. May we bless her, for now she needs our compassion even more." The nuns brought their hands together in prayer. Eventually they left the room. Sadness settled like snowflakes on the spires of their hearts.

The nuns never saw Sister Beatifico again, but they always thought about her. The nuns even liked to think that the candles yearned for her presence when they tilted towards her room in tandem. They thought the tabernacle yearned for her when it creaked. And yes, they even thought the omniscient Lord gazed at her from inside the confines of the monastery, and that He, the Almighty, shed a tear everytime He thought about her prayers, prayers second to none.