I took my final vows as a nun in June 1968. My father and his wife came from Ohio for the ceremony in the chapel, and I knew the night before that they had arrived at the hotel in Tarrytown where they were staying. For my part, although I didn’t know it, I was keeping my options open.
Those of us making final vows spent the preceding days in retreat, theoretically in prayer and meditation to prepare ourselves for this momentous step. What I remember most clearly was my meeting with Father Fox, a priest from the New York archdiocese who was active in the Hispanic community and whom many of us worked with in the Summer in the City program. Most people when they make final vows mean that they are vowing to spend the rest of their lives committed to the cause to which they are vowed. I can’t do that, I told him. I can’t promise I will never leave Maryknoll. Can I still take my final vows tomorrow?
My parents had driven from Ohio to be there. I had fought like a wild cat to be accepted by the community. I had waited until the 11th hour to ask this question. But I was prepared to leave Maryknoll that night if Father Fox had said that I could not legitimately take final vows if I wasn’t sure I could keep them. But he didn’t say that. He said nobody who knows themselves well can ever be sure they will never see things differently in the future.
So the next morning, amid the pomp and circumstance of the day, I took my final vows. Within two months I did see things differently and petitioned Rome to be released from my life’s commitment. Nothing spectacular happened during those two months that I can recall. In retrospect, I can only think that I was so oriented to success that I could not make up my own mind that I didn’t want to be there until I had succeeded in being accepted.
Last year, another ex-Maryknoller told me about a friend of hers who took final vows, and the next morning said “Good. Now I can make up my own mind.” She too left Maryknoll soon afterwards.
Leaving the convent, though, is not as simple as walking out the door. Psychologically I remained an “ex-nun” for some time.
