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Silence and Belief - Judy |
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written
by jwang3 / 10.24.2005 |
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| Silence and Belief |
1 of 1 |
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Assignment |
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From the moment I entered the cloister of Santi Quattro Coronati, I was pleased by the serenity of the environment. Hushed whispers and soft footsteps were the only sounds audible to my ears. My eyes were drawn towards the center of the cloister, to the non-functional fountain, still capable of receiving light from the open ceiling above. I walked around the cloister, taking note of the beautiful shades of orange and brown, the smooth marble fragments scattered about the floor and embedded in the wall, and the gentle echoes of each sound in the room.
As I sat between columns on the outskirts of the garden scribbling furiously in my journal, I could not help but once again note the silence surrounding me, despite the images I had just accumulated in my head. As time passed, however, the silence became more and more oppressive. The more I considered the thought, the faster my heart began to beat. What was this place that even the birds and ambulance sirens did not disturb?
My eyes drifted away from my journal and up towards the windows overlooking the cloister. I began to wonder: who are the women who live here? These ones who have decided to give their lives to God – how did they come to this decision? How can they thrive in this type of environment, when all I want to do is to scream?
A few weeks ago, the class took a trip to visit some cemeteries. I remember being particularly affected by the British Military Cemetery. Located just within the wall of Rome, it stood amidst all the chaos of the city – yet when I walked it, I felt a sense of sanctity. The linear arrangement of all the graves, the symmetry in the tombstones, and the heartfelt etchings on each stone – these were the memories I took from that experience.
In retrospect, I wonder why the silence of the cloister bothers me so, yet I find serenity in the silence of the cemetery. Evidently, the silence of the dead should be more disturbing than that of the live.
Perhaps I find peace in the cemetery because in it exists a sense of finality. It is dedicated to these soldiers from WW2 and causes us to honor the sacrifice they made for their country. What troubles me, then, about the nuns on Santi Quattro Coronati, is the application of this sense of finality. They, too, have sacrificed their lives – they have given their lives to God. I admire them, yet I am terrified by them. I love the Lord, but the thought of spending the rest of my life in one building, speaking only when necessary to others in my cloister, and praying all day long for the sake of humanity seems an impossible feat. To be so confined and limited forever – this cannot be what God wants. He commanded His disciples, “Feed my sheep.” Surely this commandment must encompass more than living in isolation, praying for humanity.
When I think again about the windows overlooking the cloister, I try to envision myself standing in one of them. It’s not possible. I am not like the women who live there and who have decided to make this sacrifice. The completion of my life must be more than that.
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