THE PRISE DHABIT (TAKING OF THE VEIL)
She shall be brought unto the King in raiment of needlework: The virgins, her companions that follow her shall be brought unto Thee. With gladness and rejoicing shall they be brought: They shall enter into the Kings Palace. Ps 45.
Aside from the many holidays celebrated by the Catholic Church, seminaries, monasteries and convents, they also commemorated two very important events: The taking of the veil and the pronunciation of the vows. After a year of study as a postulant, the day came for the vesture, or the taking of the veil. It began with three days of total silence, fasting and praying. The whole convent became a frozen cocoon suspended in a silent world: no music, talking, cooking, even the daily mass was silent for those three days. Because of the newness of the habit and of the veil, each postulant was assigned an older sister to help in the transition from a postulant to a novice and help with the many layers and different stages of the dressing.
The morning of the ceremony slowly emerged the convent from the deep silence that it had been buried under for three straight days. As a result of the long fast, I was so hungry that I was light headed, and I felt like I was moving in slow motion. The whole place was highly decorated, and the chapel was like a ballroom lit by a thousand candles. I could smell the aroma of the burning incense mixed with the intoxicating perfume of roses and other flowers of various kinds that occupied almost every available space. The Cardinal and high Priests all arrived from the city, and the older nuns, who represented the choir, together with the second year novices shined in their new, crisp white habits.
For the postulants, the ritual started. We sat absolutely still, numb and close to starvation while our hair was shorn to the scalp as a sign of renouncement of our sexual identity. We barely felt the inevitable small cuts as our nails were trimmed to the flesh. Out of modesty and humility, but mostly as a sign of total obliteration of self, there were no mirrors in the convent world, and we were prevented to look upon one another until after the ceremony when we were safely veiled.
For the first part of the ritual, we were adorned in wedding attire: shimmering gown, diadem, tulle veil, high heel shoes, and pearl necklaces. As we advanced solemnly to the center aisle, holding our bouquets of white roses mixed with lilies high, to the front of the altar where the Cardinal awaited, a rendition of Mendelssohns Wedding March played. Someone nudged me and whispered, Voici ton pere (Your father is here). I looked down toward the gate, and there he was, with the same suit I had known all my life and his prosthetic right arm so well fitted it looked real. Powerful and unknown emotions gripped my throat, but joy was the ultimate feeling, undiluted joy. It had been a year since I kissed him goodbye at the bus station, and I was moved to see him, happy to watch him step into my own environment, happy he would be a part of my world even for a day. I still craved his approval, but there was no time to ponder over his presence in the convent. The wedding march could not be interrupted. Each bearing a long, white candle in one hand and a bouquet in the other, we proceeded toward the altar where the Cardinal was waiting, ready to officiate.
When we reached the altar, we prostrated on the floor, our faces pressed to the ground and our arms open wide imitating the cross of Jesus, while the Cardinal sprinkled ashes over us as an offering, Ashes to ashes.
He proclaimed in a high and nasal voice, Do you renounce the world and its attractions? Do you renounce its vanity and its fame?
We renounce.
Do you renounce its pleasures?
We renounce.
Do you renounce the lust of the flesh?
We renounce.
Do you renounce the pride of life?
To each question, we responded in chorus, Yes, we renounce.
As we rose from the floor, the fourth chapter of the Song of Salomon resounded gloriously against the high ceiling of the chapel, Behold, thou art fair my love. Come with me my spouse. Thou art all fair my love, there is no spot in thee.
The chant never ceased as we discarded the wedding gowns for our heavy, white habit and affixed our veils and rosaries. We walked back to the chapel in a single line and lit our candles from the main lamp burning on the Altar, chanting the thirteenth verse of psalm forty-five, The Kings daughter is all glorious within. Her clothing is of wrought gold; so shall the King greatly desire thy beauty; for He is thy Lord, and worship thou Him.
Deeply moved by the magnificent ceremony and the glorious chants, I was covered with goose bumps as I struggled to swallow my tears and finish the song. The Psalmody resonated in my heart long after the day was over and the whole place was already surrounded with shadowy and peaceful silence.
We joined our families at the gala following the ceremony. My mother and father were sitting together at my table. Unknown to us, Mother Mistress had made arrangements for our parents to be part of the ceremony. My mother was so proud that she couldnt take her eyes off me nor utter a sound. The three of us sat around the table, awkward and gauche, with nothing to say, like the total strangers that we really were. We ate, trying hard to socializing. Even as I was conscious of the awe in their eyes, probably born from the solemnity of the ceremony and my new appearance, I realized that no matter how I loved my father, I did not know what to say to him.
|