Fear

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  Did they not instantly, and like madmen fly to fires, swords, and gibbets? Did they not decide that their only security, was in arms and cruelty? Did they not instigate all ranks to the same fury? Did they not spurn at all methods of pacification? To this it is owing that a matter, which might at one time have been settled amicably, has blazed into such a contest. But although, amidst the great confusion, the judgments of men were various, I am freed from all fear, now that we stand at Thy tribunal, where equity, combined with truth, cannot but decide in favor of innocence.’ "Such, Sadolet, is our pleading, not the fictitious one which you, in order to aggravate our case, were pleased to devise, but that the perfect truth of which is known to the good even now, and will be made manifest to all creatures on that day. Nor will those who, instructed by our preaching, have adhered to our cause, be at loss what to say for themselves, since each will be ready with this defence: — " ’I, O Lord, as I had been educated from a boy, always professed the Christian faith. But at first I had no other reason for my faith than that which then everywhere prevailed. Thy Word, which ought to have shone on all Thy people like a lamp, was taken away, or at least suppressed as to us. And lest any one should long for greater light, an idea had been instilled into the minds of all, that the investigation of that hidden celestial philosophy was better delegated to a few, whom the others might consult as oracles—that the highest knowledge befitting plebeian minds was to subdue themselves into obedience to the Church. Then, the rudiments in which I had been instructed were of a kind which could neither properly train me to the legitimate worship of Thy Deity, nor pave the way for me to a sure hope of salvation, nor train me aright for the duties of the Christian life. I had learned, indeed, to worship Thee only as my God, but as the true method of worshipping was altogether unknown to me, I stumbled at the very threshold. I believed, as I had been taught, that I was redeemed by the death of Thy Son from the liability to eternal death, but the redemption I thought of was one whose virtue could never reach me. I anticipated a future resurrection, but hated to think of it, as being an event most dreadful. And this feeling not only had dominion over me in private, but was derived from the doctrine which was then uniformly delivered to the people by their Christian teachers. " ’They, indeed, preached of Thy clemency towards men, but confined it to those who should show themselves deserving of it.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  The other two, Henri de la Mare and Jacques Bernard, humbly besought the favor of Calvin, and begged him to return. A remarkable tribute from his rivals and enemies.607 § 94. Calvin’s Recall to Geneva. Literature in § 93, especially the Correspondence and Registers. Calvin did not forget Geneva. He proved his interest in her welfare by his Answer to Sadolet. But he had no inclination to return, and could only be induced to do so by unmistakable indications of the will of Providence. He had found a place of great usefulness in a city where he could act as mediator between Germany and France, and benefit both countries; his Sunday services were crowded; his theological lectures attracted students from France and other countries; he had married a faithful wife, and enjoyed a peaceful home. The government of Strassburg appreciated him more and more, and his colleagues wished to retain him. Melanchthon thought he could spare him less at the Colloquies of Worms and Ratisbon than anybody else. Looking to Geneva he could, from past experience, expect nothing but severe and hard trials. "There is no place in the world," he wrote to Viret, "which I fear more; not because I hate it, but because I feel unequal to the difficulties which await me there." 608 He called it an abyss from which he shrank back much more now than he had done in 1536. Indeed, he was not mistaken in his fears, for his subsequent life was an unbroken struggle. We need not wonder then that he refused call upon call, and requested Farel and Viret to desist from their efforts to allure him away.609

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  peri; th'" triavdo" [on the subject of the Trinity] you know, I have always feared that serious difficulties would one day arise. Good God! to what tragedies will not these questions give occasion in times to come: ei[ ejstin uJpovstasi" oJ logvo" [is the Logos an hypostasis]? ei[ ejstin ujpovstasi" to; pneu'ma [is the Holy Spirit an hypostasis]? For my own part I refer to those passages of Scripture that bid us call on Christ, which is to ascribe divine honors to him, and find them full of consolation."1051 Cochlaeus directed the attention of Quintana, at the Diet of Regensburg, in 1532, to the book of Servetus which was sold there, and Quintana at once took measures to suppress it. The Emperor prohibited it, and the book soon disappeared. Servetus published in 1532 two dialogues on the Trinity, and a treatise on Justification. He retracted, in the preface, all he had said in his former work, not, however, as false, but as childish.1052 He rejected the Lutheran doctrine of justification, and also both the Lutheran and Zwinglian views of the sacrament. He concluded the book by invoking a malediction on "all tyrants of the Church."1053 § 142. Servetus as a Geographer. As Servetus was repulsed by the Reformers of Switzerland and Germany, he left for France and assumed the name of Michel de Villeneuve. His real name and his obnoxious books disappeared from the sight of the world till they emerged twenty years later at Vienne and at Geneva. He devoted himself to the study of mathematics, geography, astrology, and medicine. In 1534 he was in Paris, and challenged the young Calvin to a disputation, but failed to appear at the appointed hour. He spent some time at Lyons as proof-reader and publisher of the famous printers, Melchior and Caspar Trechsel. He issued through them, in 1535, under the name of "Villanovanus," a magnificent edition of Ptolemy’s Geography, with a self-laudatory preface, which concludes with the hope that "no one will underestimate the labor, though pleasant in itself, that is implied in the collation of our text with that of earlier editions, unless it be some Zoilus of contracted brow, who cannot look without envy upon the zealous labors of others." A second and improved edition appeared in 1541.1054 The discoveries of Columbus and his successors gave a strong impulse to geographical studies, and called forth several editions of the work of Ptolemy the famous Alexandrian geographer and astronomer of the second century.1055 The edition of Villeneuve is based upon that of Pirkheimer of Nürnberg, which appeared at Strassburg, 1525, with fifty charts, but contains considerable improvements, and gave to the author great reputation. It is a very remarkable work, considering that Servetus was then only twenty-six years of age. A year later Calvin astonished the world with an equally precocious and far more

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  Germain by command of Catherine, to argue with Catholic theologians upon the use of images and the worship of saints. As before, the gulf between Protestants and Roman Catholics stood revealed, and the conference did no good except to show that the Protestants had some reason, at all events, for their opinions. Yet they did entertain hopes of maintaining the peace, when the news that on March 1 the Duke of Guise had massacred hundreds of defenceless Protestants, in a barn at Vassy, while engaged in peaceful worship, spread consternation far and wide. The court was then at Monceaux, and there Beza appeared as deputy of the Protestants of Paris to demand of the king of Navarre punishment for this odious violation of the Edict of January. The queen-mother received the demand graciously and promised compliance, but the king responded roughly and laid all the blame on the Protestants, who, he declared, had excited the attack by throwing stones at the Duke of Guise. "Well then," said Beza, "he should have punished only those who did the throwing." And then he added these memorable words: "Sire, it is in truth the lot of the Church of God, in whose name I am speaking, to endure blows, and not to strike them. But also may it please you to remember that it is an anvil that has worn out many hammers."1292 Civil war now broke out, Condé on one side and the Guises on the other; and Beza, although so unwilling, was fairly involved in it. In a lull in the strife the third national Synod of the Reformed Church was held at Orleans on April 25. Beza was present, and his translation of the Psalms was sung upon the streets. On May 20, 1562, the Prince of Condé sent a memorable answer to the petition of the Guises that King Charles would take active measures to extirpate heresy in his domains. The reply was really the work of Beza, and is a masterpiece of argument and eloquence.1293 The necessity of securing allies induced Condé to send Beza to Germany and Switzerland. He went first to Strassburg, then to Basel, and at length on Friday, Sept. 4, he arrived at Geneva. How earnest must have been the conversations between him and Calvin! How glad must his many friends have been to welcome back home the leader of French Protestantism! Beza resumed his former mode of life. Two weeks passed and he had just begun to feel himself able in peace to carry out his plans for the Academy and the Genevan churches, when a messenger riding post haste from D’Andelot, a brother of Coligny, and his fellow-deputy to the German princes, announced the fresh outbreak of trouble in France. Beza was at first inclined to stay at home, mistrusting the necessity of his presence among the Huguenot troops, but Calvin urged him to go, and so he went, and for the next seven months Beza was with the Huguenot army.

• From Introduction to the Hebrew Bible and Deutero-Canonical Books (2018)

  messianic hope for the future sometimes involved the expectation of an ideal priest as well as an ideal king (e.g., in the Dead Sea Scrolls). Leviticus is at pains to emphasize that the consecration of the priests is stamped with divine approval. At the end of Leviticus 8 we are told that when Moses and Aaron came out from the tent of meeting, the glory of the Lord appeared to all the people. (The glory, or kabod, is the standard way in which God manifests himself in the Priestly writings. It may be imagined as a luminous cloud.) Conversely, any improper use of the priesthood is presented as highly dangerous. When Aaron’s sons Nadab and Abihu “offered unholy fire” before the Lord (10:1-2), they were consumed by fire. We are not told what made their fire unholy. The point is that any neglect of proper ritual may prove fatal. Leviticus 8–10 is concerned with the consecration of the sons of Aaron as priests. There was, however, another class of priests in ancient Israel, the Levites. The Priestly account of the consecration of the Levites is found in Numbers 8. According to that account, the Levites (that is, the descendants of the patriarch Levi, son of Jacob) are set aside from other Israelites and consecrated to the Lord, but their position is subordinate to that of the Aaronide priests. They serve in the tent of meeting in attendance on Aaron and his sons. (The relationship between the Aaronide priests and the Levites is spelled out further in Numbers 18.) The account in Numbers 8 suggests that this was a harmonious arrangement, but there are indications that it was not always so. In Numbers 16 we are told that a descendant of Levi named Korah, supported by descendants of Reuben named Dathan and Abiram, rebelled against Moses and Aaron, saying: “You have gone too far! All the congregation are holy, every one of them, and the L ORD is among them. So why then do you exalt yourselves against the assembly of the L ORD ?” Moses responds: “Hear now, you Levites! Is it too little for you that the God of Israel has separated you from the congregation of Israel, to allow you to approach him in order to perform the duties of the L ORD ’s tabernacle, and to stand before the congregation and serve them? He has allowed you to approach him, and all your brother Levites with you; yet you seek the priesthood as well!” The dispute is resolved when the earth opens and swallows Korah and his followers. Here again the Priestly writers

• From Introduction to the Hebrew Bible and Deutero-Canonical Books (2018)

  JONAH The book of Jonah is unlike any other in the prophetic corpus. It is not a collection of oracles but a story about a prophet, and it provides an unusual perspective on the prophetic tradition. The subject, Jonah son of Amittai, is presumably the individual mentioned in 2 Kgs 14:25, who is said to have prophesied in the reign of King Jeroboam II of Israel in the eighth century B.C.E. From the passage in 2 Kings, we may infer that this Jonah was a prophet of hope who prophesied the restoration of the boundaries of Israel. The prophet described in the book of Jonah has nothing in common with this figure except his name. He is almost certainly a fictional character, invented several centuries after the reign of Jeroboam. This Jonah, indeed, is something of an anti-prophet. When the word of the Lord comes to him, bidding him go to Nineveh and cry out against it, he goes instead in the opposite direction, to Tarshish (Spain), to flee from the presence of the Lord. His adventures are the stuff of comic legend. When a storm rises at sea, the sailors cry, each to his own deity. Ecumenical to a fault, they urge Jonah also to pray to his god. This cacophony of prayer fails to produce the desired result, so they resort to lots to determine the cause of the storm. (We might compare the procedure followed by Joshua when he was defeated in his initial attack on Ai in Joshua 7. The assumption that adversity reflects the displeasure of a deity was commonplace in the ancient Near East.) The lot falls on Jonah, who confesses that he is fleeing from his God. He urges the sailors to cast him overboard as a human sacrifice to appease the deity. They are reluctant to do so but eventually comply out of desperation. The storm is calmed. Such an extreme sacrifice might be expected to be efficacious. Compare the story of the king of Moab, who turned the tide of battle by sacrificing his son (2 Kgs 3:27). Moreover, the miraculous result has the added effect of inducing the sailors to fear YHWH and worship him. Jonah, however, does not die, as might be expected. A large fish swallows him, and he remains in its belly for three days and three nights. Inevitably, this

• From Introduction to the Hebrew Bible and Deutero-Canonical Books (2018)

  JEPHTHAH The story of Jephthah is as gripping as any story in the Hebrew Bible. Jephthah operates in Gilead in Transjordan, and the adversaries are Ammonites. Like Abimelech, he is of dishonorable birth and is expelled by the legitimate children. He rises to prominence as an outlaw, however, and is recalled by the elders because of his prowess as a fighter. He agrees on condition that he will become ruler if he succeeds. (Compare the bargain made by the Babylonian god Marduk in Enuma Elish .) At first, Jephthah takes a diplomatic approach. His speech to the Ammonites is typically Deuteronomic, and makes sense only in the context of Deuteronomic theology. Both parties appeal to the story of the exodus, although they disagree as to which party wronged the other. When negotiations fail, “the spirit of the L ORD came upon Jephthah” (11:29). Here as elsewhere the spirit seems to impart superhuman energy and force. (Compare 1 Kings 18:46, where the hand of the Lord was on Elijah and he ran before King Ahab’s chariot.) Jephthah makes a vow to the Lord that “whoever comes out of the doors of my house to meet me when I return victorious from the Ammonites shall be the L ORD ’s, to be offered up as a burnt offering” (11:31). There is no doubt in the context that human sacrifice is meant. It would have been absurd to offer the first animal he met, whether fit for sacrifice or not. In the context of ancient Israel, such a vow was an extreme measure, indicating both the extremity of the crisis and the intensity of Jephthah’s devotion to YHWH. He evidently did not anticipate that the person in question would be his only daughter. Unlike Abraham, he is given no reprieve. Jephthah is often criticized for making a rash vow, but this criticism is not made in the text, where he appears to act under the influence of the Spirit of the Lord. Neither is he condemned in the tradition; in the New Testament he is celebrated as a hero of faith (Hebrews 11). In the biblical text, his daughter is more heroic than he. She urges him to keep his vow and asks only for time to bewail her virginity. The text is unambiguous that he “did with her according to the vow that he had made” (Judg 11:39). The medieval Jewish commentator

• From Introduction to the Hebrew Bible and Deutero-Canonical Books (2018)

  is told without much editorial comment. Readers are free to see for themselves how things were in Israel when there was no king. The conflict between Benjamin and the other tribes involves one of the “tales of terror” of the Hebrew Bible. Benjamin is not an obvious target for Deuteronomistic polemic as Dan is. Benjamin was the only tribe that remained with Judah after the division of the kingdom. It was also the home tribe of Saul, the first king, who was rejected in favor of David, and this may have given a Judean editor some reason to include such a negative portrayal. In this case, the conflict is entirely within Israel. The story begins with a Levite from Ephraim who took a concubine from Bethlehem who subsequently left him. When he was bringing her back, they found themselves near Jerusalem at nightfall. Since Jerusalem was then a Jebusite city, however, they pressed on to Gibeah in Benjamin. The assumption that it is safer to lodge among Israelites than among Gentiles proves to be tragically mistaken. The story that unfolds is very similar to the story of Sodom in Genesis 19. The men of Gibeah want to abuse the stranger. The man who has taken him in is horrified and offers them his virgin daughter and the Levite’s concubine instead. In Genesis Lot’s offer of his virgin daughters is rendered unnecessary by divine intervention. There is no such intervention here. The Levite’s concubine is sacrificed to the cause, raped all night, and found dead in the morning. The story is chilling, not only because of the wickedness of the men of Gibeah, but also because of the Levite’s willingness to sacrifice his concubine and the host’s offer of his virgin daughter. The callousness of the Levite is shown vividly in his words to the concubine the following morning: “Get up, we are going.” This part of the story reaches a grisly climax when he dismembers her corpse and sends a piece to each of the tribes. Later, in 1 Sam 11:7, Saul summons the tribes by killing an ox and cutting it up. The outrage of the Israelites against Gibeah is well merited. The conduct of the Levite is scarcely less outrageous but receives no comment in the biblical text. The fate of Gibeah is not as severe as that of Sodom. The Israelites defeat the Benjaminites, but only after initial setbacks. Eventually all but six hundred Benjaminite men are slaughtered. Even the animals are killed. When the

• From Introduction to the Hebrew Bible and Deutero-Canonical Books (2018)

  impulsive. Why then should the author of Esther have conjured up the nightmarish fantasy of a plot by a Persian courtier to wipe out the Jews? The reason given by Haman for his plot against the Jews is that “their laws are different from those of every other people, and they do not keep the king’s laws” (3:8). The latter part of this charge is a calumny: Mordecai is a loyal subject of the king. But the perception that the Jews were a people set apart, who refused to assimilate fully into the Gentile culture, is a constant factor in conflicts between Jews and Gentiles in later times, beginning in the Hellenistic era. Most fundamentally, Jews, with relatively few exceptions, refused to worship the same deities as other people. They also had peculiar customs in the matter of food, which inhibited social relations. Because they were “a people set apart,” they felt, and were, especially vulnerable, even in a relatively tolerant culture such as that of Persia. If conflicts arose, such as that between Haman and Mordecai, the distinctive, alien character of the Jews made them an easy target for resentment and suspicion. Hence the fear of attack by Gentiles was present even before it became a reality. Some scholars use the word anti-Semitic with reference to Haman and other enemies of the Jews in antiquity, but this is anachronistic. Haman’s hostility is not based on any theory of racial superiority. It is rather a matter of conflicting interests and power struggles and the attempt of one group to secure its own advancement at the expense of another. The perception of Jewish difference is all the more surprising in this story, since Mordecai and Esther appear to be quite assimilated. Their names echo those of Babylonian deities Marduk and Ishtar. Esther has no qualms about entering the king’s harem, and there is no indication that she attempts to observe any distinctive Jewish laws. The only religious observances in the book are fasts (but no prayers) in times of crisis. Most strikingly, the book of Esther, as found in the Hebrew Bible, never refers to God (this omission was noted and corrected by the Greek translators). Yet Haman’s charge shows that the community at large must have observed distinctive laws. And while Mordecai encourages Esther to make herself available to the king, he is adamant on the need for solidarity with the Jewish people.

• From Introduction to the Hebrew Bible and Deutero-Canonical Books (2018)

  method of reception is different. The Hebrew prophets are often derisive about dreams (see Jer 23:25-32) and about Babylonian wisdom in general (Isa 44:25; 47:13). The book of Daniel, however, claims that Jews can outdo the Chaldeans in their own wisdom because of the power of their God. There is another issue raised in Daniel 1, however. Daniel and his companions refuse to partake of the king’s rations lest they defile themselves. Presumably, the reference is to the laws of kashrut, or purity, although these laws do not figure otherwise in Daniel. (Esther, in contrast, seems to have had no such scruples.) It may be that this introductory chapter was written in the time of the Maccabees when the food laws became an issue of principle because of the attempt of the king to force Jews to violate them. But Daniel’s abstinence has broader significance. It indicates his refusal to assimilate completely at the Gentile court. Even though Daniel and his companions are loyal subjects of the king, they retain this independence throughout. They also have an overriding loyalty to the God of Israel. The Jewish youths prosper on their vegetarian diet. The point, of course, is not to recommend vegetarianism, but to indicate that God looks after those who keep his laws. Equally, when the youths succeed spectacularly and surpass all the wise men of Babylon, this is attributed not to their native intelligence but to the favor of their God. Daniel 2 Comparison between Daniel and the Babylonian wise men is at the heart of chapter 2. The king has a dream and summons the Chaldeans to interpret it. (The narrative switches to Aramaic at this point.) He does not, however, tell them the dream, but demands that they prove their trustworthiness by telling the dream as well as interpreting it. The Chaldeans respond, reasonably enough, that no king has ever made such a request. In fact, the demand is, in human terms, impossible to satisfy. It creates a problem that can be resolved only by divine revelation. The episode thus becomes not a test of interpretive ability but of the power of the gods on whom each party relies. The king flies into a rage and orders that all the wise men be killed. This kind of hyperbolic reaction is typical of the portrayal of kings in these stories. The king is a stock figure, like a character in a fairy tale. The execution order applies even to Daniel and his companions, who have not been consulted at all up to this point. Daniel, however, manages to get a stay of execution so that he can attempt to resolve the problem. The Chaldean wise men, insofar as we are told, are helpless in the face of the king’s demand. Daniel, however, has a resource on which he can draw. He and his companions pray to the God of heaven, and the mystery is revealed to him in a dream or “vision of the night.”

• From Introduction to the Hebrew Bible and Deutero-Canonical Books (2018)

  wisdom. Linked to this “fear of the L ORD ” is a similar deferential disposition toward parents and teachers. “Hear, my son, your father’s instruction, and do not reject your mother’s teaching” (1:8). The student is warned repeatedly of the dire fate that awaits those who do not pay heed to authority: “At the end of your life you will groan, when your flesh and body are consumed, and you say, ‘Oh, how I hated discipline, and my heart despised reproof! I did not listen to the voice of my teachers or incline my ear to my instructors. Now I am at the point of utter ruin in the public assembly’ ” (5:12-14). Two themes predominate in Proverbs 1–9. One consists of repeated warnings against various temptations that beset the young. The other is the praise of wisdom itself. These themes reach a climax in chapters 7–9, where both folly and wisdom are personified in female form. The theme of warning is introduced in 1:8-19, in an admonition that is rather typical of the concerns of parents for their teenage children. They worry that the son (or daughter) may “get in with the wrong crowd” and so come to grief. The warning is typically dire. These “sinners” are plotting murder, and in the end they will lose their own lives. The real issue, both in ancient and in modern times, is one of control and influence. Will the young person be guided by his or her parents, or succumb to the pressures of the peer group? Such concerns are timeless and not peculiar to any historical period. They are, perhaps, more typical of urban than of rural society, insofar as the youth are exposed to more influences and less likely to be restrained by the force of tradition. Most scholars have assumed that these chapters were written in Jerusalem in the Second Temple (probably Persian) period, but the evidence is not conclusive. The “Strange Woman” The primary image of temptation in these chapters, however, is “the strange woman” ( ’ishah zarah ) . This figure is first introduced in 2:16-19, where she is associated with the adulteress: “You will be saved from the strange woman, from the adulteress with her smooth words, who forsakes the partner of her youth, and forgets her sacred covenant.” Again in 5:3-4 we are told that “the lips

• From Little Sister: A Memoir (2019)

  But on this morning, Mary Catherine, in her yellow and white flowered pajamas, did nothing but stare at her plate. I wanted to grab her fork and shovel the eggs into my own mouth, but I didn’t dare under the hovering presence of the Angel. I was sent back to my bed when I had finished eating, and a moment later I heard the Angel say, “What a good girl—you ate up all your eggs. I’m so proud of you.” I peered around the corner, hoping to give Mary Catherine a reassuring smile as she headed toward her bedroom. But she had gone only a few steps before a napkin stuffed full of scrambled eggs came tumbling out of the bottom of her pajamas. I watched in horror as she tried unsuccessfully to pick up the mess without being discovered. Her deception was out in the open, and it wasn’t long before Sister Catherine was summoned to the scene. “You’re a willful, horrid girl,” she yelled, her fury evident in the redness of her face. Then she took her powerful hand and whacked Mary Catherine on the arm before sending her, tearful and humiliated, back to her bed. I was stunned—Sister Catherine hitting one of the children? How could she be so kind one day, showering us with toys and books, and then turn so fearful the next? I started to dread her. As one of the first children to recuperate, I was moved from St. Francis Xavier’s House to one of the other houses at the far end of the property, together with other Little Sisters and Brothers who were no longer ill. For the first time in our lives, Mary Catherine and I were now living in separate houses, and it worried me that I couldn’t keep a constant eye on her. A week or so later when she was well enough to play outside, she confided in me. “They locked me in the cellar,” she said. I swallowed hard. “Was it because you didn’t eat?” I asked, but I was sure I knew the answer. She nodded her head, her lower lip quivering as it did when she was frightened. “Which cellar?” I asked “St. Ann’s House.” I shuddered. Of all the basements in the seven houses behind the red fence, St. Ann’s was the worst. It had a dirt floor and no lights. I imagined that rats lived there. Little by little, I elicited the full story from her. One of the Angels had forced her to sit on a stool in the pitch-black basement when she hadn’t eaten her dinner. That night I lay sleepless. Where’s Mary Catherine now? Is she possibly back in that basement? I thought of sneaking out of the house in the dark, tiptoeing down the narrow walkway along the red fence, past Blessed Sacrament House to St. Ann’s House. Then I could peer into the basement window, and if she was there, I could keep her company from outside.

• From Little Sister: A Memoir (2019)

  My Catholic wedding was indeed the best fiftieth birthday present. * * * As I entered my fifties, I reminisced on the uniqueness of my childhood experience and felt an urge to record my personal recollections as a legacy for my children and theirs. The Center of my childhood was now extinct, and within a generation or two, there would be no one left who had a firsthand memory of the life we had lived. In one small way, my story was the same as that of thirty-eight other children. But in reality, there were thirty-nine stories that could be told, and I could tell only mine. I was struck by how differently the thirty-nine of us approached life, religion, and relationships after the similarity of our upbringing, defined by the deprivation of parental affection and a regime of rules and punishments. Only two of the thirty-nine remain in religious life. Several others made a commitment to that life but eventually left in their twenties, thirties, and even sixties. Some of the thirty-nine remained resolutely Catholic, while others took a more laissez-faire attitude toward religion and more than a few abandoned religion entirely. There were marriages and divorces, as well as couples who chose to live together unwed. There were Ivy League graduates and those who did not attend college at all; straight and gay; financially successful professionals, with careers in medicine, psychiatry, engineering, and finance; and a few who struggled to face life’s daily challenges. Despite a staunchly conservative upbringing, there was a large contingent of Democrats, as well as some Republicans, Libertarians, and Independents. Some enjoyed gathering at an annual summer reunion in Still River, while others refused to speak to anyone at the Center again. In a way, we represented a microcosm of society in this country, notwithstanding the unusual circumstances of our early life. Thirty-nine children were raised in an experiment—part of the vision of a woman who believed she could supersede the “evil” forces of nature and mold human beings into a cadre of religious zealots who would follow her, in cult-like fashion, embracing a celibate way of life for God. Where was Leonard Feeney’s input in all this? He was the spiritual leader of the Center. Sadly, once we moved to Still River, his role as leader was titular at best. A romantic at heart, he needed to be admired and praised, and he sought the approbation of those who would give it. That weakness gave Catherine Clarke the upper hand, and despite the fact that she could not hold a candle to Feeney on matters of theology, she usurped his role. He was not strong enough to counter her. Was Catherine Clarke’s vision conceived in the moment of crisis that forced the Center into hiding in 1949? It seems more likely it was honed piecemeal as she became increasingly enamored of her own power.

• From Little Sister: A Memoir (2019)

  On more than a few occasions, when my sash was sorely missing prominent badges, Brother James Aloysius would surreptitiously whisper a word of encouragement, for which I was immensely, albeit silently, grateful. One day, as I was passing Sister Catherine’s office, I heard voices from within. My curiosity was piqued, and I slowed my pace. Father’s voice suddenly erupted, loud and angry. Moving closer to the door, I could make out a muffled female voice, one that was not Sister Catherine’s. A moment later, a forceful man’s voice rose and I froze in panic—it was Brother James Aloysius. “You had no right,” he was saying and before he could continue, both Father and Sister Catherine raised their voices in response. “If you want to keep your faith…” That was Father’s voice. Terrified, I sped out of the library, past the porter’s desk, through the refectories, and straight into the chapel. Kneeling down, I shut my eyes, buried my face in my hands, and prayed with all my heart. Dear God, please protect Brother James Aloysius and Sister Elizabeth Ann. Don’t let Father and Sister Catherine kick them out of the Center. I had never before heard a fight between any of the adults at the Center and couldn’t imagine what this might signify. As the community gathered in the chapel and the organ signaled the start of Benediction, all I could hear in my head were those voices—my parents and Father and Sister Catherine yelling at each other. That was when the nightmare started. It was the same one over and over. I dreamed I was submerged in a pond of cold water covered with a thick layer of ice. Somehow, I remembered that between the water and the ice there was a tiny sliver of air. Get all the way up to the top , I told myself. You can do it. Find the air. With my heart pounding, I pushed my head as far back as I could and searched for the thread of lifesaving air. As my nose reached the ceiling of ice, I breathed. I had survived. And then gasping, I woke up. 30 Turning Twelve 1960 M y twelfth birthday was nearing and I was excited because, despite the fact that we no longer celebrated the event, it carried significance within the community of children at the Center. Sister Catherine allowed as how becoming twelve signified a migration from child to young adult, the primary evidence of which was I would be allowed to wear silk stockings and a garter belt instead of the blue knee-high socks that were part of our uniform. In addition, I would become the owner of a small wall-mounted mirror in my cubicle, something I had been coveting since Mariam had received one two years earlier. My birthday came and went, unmentioned of course, but not without my ensuring I received the treasured symbols I had been promised.

• From Little Sister: A Memoir (2019)

  Then in her bold soprano voice, Sister Maria Crucis led us in singing one of Father’s songs, the one we sang whenever we were feeling defiant. We all knew it by heart. Holy Michael, great archangel, with a bright sword at his side. Satan routed, while he shouted, “Who is like to God,” he cried! Light eternal, dark infernal—let the hosts of hell decide. Suddenly a priest burst through the sacristy doors, waving his hands at us as though to shoo us away like a flock of errant chickens. But Sister Maria Crucis raised her voice. “Children, hold on to the railing! Don’t let go! Keep singing!” Kneeling at the Communion rail, I grasped the wooden spindles with all the strength my tiny fingers could muster while doing my best to squeeze a note out of my vocal chords, which suddenly were paralyzed. Some of the younger children started to cry. Be brave , I told myself. “Get out!” yelled the priest. He was now breathing down on me as I knelt in frozen rigor. “No, we won’t,” Sister Maria Crucis shouted back. “Children, stay right where you are.” Just then, through a side window of the church, I saw the reflection of flashing lights and turned around to see a policeman coming up the aisle of the church. All the while, the priest and Sister Maria Crucis continued yelling. We’re going to be arrested , I thought in panic, and they’re going to throw us in jail. The policeman took the lead, and with his hand respectfully guiding the shoulder of the priest, they and the two Big Brothers, who were the chauffeurs on this ill-fated mission, left through the side door of the sanctuary into the sacristy and out of sight. In the meantime, Sister Maria Crucis, undaunted in her zealotry, led us in another hymn, her strong vibrato drowning out my own thin, shaking voice. I prayed frantically to my guardian angel, expecting to be handcuffed at any moment. After what seemed like an eternity, the Big Brothers returned without the priest or the policeman, and Sister Maria Crucis instructed us to rise. Together the thirteen of us stood up, genuflected, and in silence filed two by two down the aisle and out onto the sidewalk. We entered our cars, and we were taken home. My hands were still shaking when we drove through the massive gates to safety behind the red fence. 12 Sister Catherine 1956 F ather and Sister Catherine seemed like deities to me. I saw them only at First Breakfast and at meals, where they sat prominently at their own special table, which was covered in a white linen tablecloth. They dined on delicate china and drank from crystal goblets, while the rest of the community sat at long wooden tables and ate from sturdy melamine dishes. Their utensils were real silver, while ours were stainless steel.

• From Little Sister: A Memoir (2019)

  My life centered around the array of loving people that poured attention on my daily activities. It wasn’t until I was four that I started to become aware that we at the Center were different from the people who lived “out in the world”—that’s how we referred to everything that existed beyond our realm. That world presented danger and Mariam tried to explain it to me. [image file=Image00015.jpg] “The bad people hate us,” she said. “So, you can’t tell anyone that Father says Mass. If you do,” she warned, sounding every bit like a seven-year-old grown-up, “the police will come and put us in jail.” “Put us in jail?” The specter was terrifying. Father had been deprived of his priestly faculties, but that did not deter him from continuing to celebrate Mass for the community. His defiance, however, was a matter of secrecy and to ensure that no slip of the tongue inadvertently alerted the local church authorities of his continued insubordination, we devised code words to describe our religious activities. Mass was called “First Breakfast,” and the real breakfast that followed, we referred to as “second breakfast.” Benediction, which Father said each afternoon, was “tea,” and if we were to say the Rosary at Benediction, we were having “tea and biscuits.” Father heard confessions each Saturday, but we called it “cubiculo ,” the Latin word for “bedroom.” These terms and others became part of our vernacular and I knew them all by heart. [image file=Image00016.jpg] Around Christmas, 1951. My parents were now wearing the “religious” garb. I am in the snow suit, my sister Cathy is holding Dad’s hand, and Mother is holding David, who is about five months old. When the weather was sunny and warm, Father would celebrate First Breakfast on the rooftop of Sacred Heart Hall. I knelt in fear, convinced that the people on the street below would hear us singing our hymns and would call the police, who would come crashing through the doors with guns drawn and haul us off to jail, just as Mariam told me. Jail was never far from my mind, and with good reason. To raise money for their daily sustenance, the men and women of the Center peddled books that Father and Catherine Clarke were writing, books that stressed the doctrine of “No Salvation Outside the Catholic Church.” Each week, in groups of six men in one car and six women in another, they set out to places as far away as New Orleans, Chicago, and St. Louis. Bookselling was what we called it, and it was the primary source of income for the community. Even the parents went on those trips, except for the women who were expecting a baby, a common occurrence during those early years. The ecclesiastical authorities in Boston got wind of the bookselling and alerted Catholic parishes across the country to be on the lookout for us and to call the police if we were in town.

• From Little Sister: A Memoir (2019)

  We held marathon sessions of canning in August, during which we converted hundreds of bushels of fruits and tomatoes into applesauce, pear sauce, tomato juice, and jams and jellies to carry us through the winter. Shortly after the start of my junior year in high school, I received a summons to Father and Sister Catherine’s office. I was unprepared for what was to take place. Father sat in his usual, nearly supine position in the low red leather armchair, his feet outstretched on the ottoman. He looked feeble, with a tremble in his hands, in sharp contrast to Sister Catherine, who sat ramrod straight on her chair, her head held high. Father beckoned me to his side and I knelt on the floor, eye level with him. Taking my hands in his, he spoke, his voice tremulous. “Will you offer your entire life to God and be the bride of Christ?” he asked. “There’s no greater gift in this world, darling, and you have been chosen by God for this purpose. You won’t turn your back on Him, will you?” Panic struck me. I was trapped. What am I to say? In the silence, Father spoke again, this time raising his voice. “You will regret it all your life if you turn your back on God now. I can promise you that.” The frail man lying before me could still provoke fear. Now was not the time for questions. Now was the time to acquiesce, to accept my fate and say yes—particularly with Sister Catherine looking down on us from her throne. And that’s what I did. “Yes, Father,” I answered and felt my heart sink. He responded with jubilation, squeezing my hands with a strength that belied his frailty. Sister Catherine observed the two of us with an air of both approbation and superiority. “There is much you will need to learn,” she said, as though rebuking me. As I left the office, a pall of dread and anxiety enveloped me. I had just committed myself to God forever and must prepare myself for a life out of sight of the world. For the next few weeks, Sister Catherine intensified her spiritual instructions to us, the impending postulants. It was during one of our sessions that Father burst into the room. Sister Catherine bristled, as though she resented his intrusion, but he ignored her. “I want you to hear something,” he said, his agitation evident in his quavering voice as he waved a small transistor radio in the air. Turning first toward me, he put the radio up to my ear and held it there for about ten seconds. It was music for sure, but far from the classical chords to which I was accustomed. The sounds were cacophonous, and the men’s voices were harsh. “What do you think of it?” he asked. And without allowing me to answer, he proclaimed, “This is music of the devil.

• From Little Sister: A Memoir (2019)

  But from the corner of my eye, I examined the man closely. The stubble on his face that I hadn’t noticed when he first pulled over now gave him the appearance of being unkempt. There was dirt under his fingernails, and the smell of cigarettes hung in the air. Suddenly he looked creepy to me. Then we missed the turnoff to Harvard Square, and panic hit my stomach. I swallowed hard before saying, “You missed the exit.” “It’s okay,” he replied. “I’m going around this other way I know.” His answer was plausible, so I let our intermittent conversation continue, attempting to mask my anxiety that was swiftly turning into panic. But within a minute or two, it was evident that the car was not going to Harvard Square. We were now in North Cambridge on the feeder road to Route 2, the highway that headed west from Boston. My throat became dry, and I was afraid to speak lest my voice betray my fear. Suddenly images of the figures of death leapt into my mind—the names of fiends who had engaged in killing sprees over the last few years: Charles Manson, Richard Speck, and Albert DeSalvo, the Boston Strangler. Could this be my fate? The car was now on Route 2. Soon there would be little traffic around us and no way to escape. My mind was working in frantic overtime. How do I get out of this car? Should I just throw open the door and fling myself on the road? We’re going more than sixty miles an hour. I could be killed . I knew the road intimately, having traveled it dozens of times. There was only one more set of lights before it opened into a broad four-lane highway. If the light was red, I could jump out. But what if it’s green? I thought. Then I’m done . The gruesomeness of what might happen flashed before my mind. No—no way was I going to die. I wouldn’t let myself be murdered by this thug. The image of my parents, my three younger sisters, and my brother came to my mind, and in that instant I felt a surge of power rise from deep inside me. My fear was transformed into rage. Glaring straight at the man sitting two feet from me, I yelled at the top of my voice, “You turn this car around right now and drive me into Harvard Square.” The driver looked at me but didn’t respond. He seemed stunned. “Do you hear me?” I screamed. His voice was oddly quiet. “Sure,” he said, “if that’s what you want.” We were approaching the light, and it was green. “Make a U-turn here at this light.” I said making my voice as steely and cold as I could. And that’s what he did, exactly as I told him. Slowing the car down, he turned around and headed back in the direction we had come.

• From Little Sister: A Memoir (2019)

  Those were the only books in our library. It was pleasing to observe the comfort of the room and to imagine him enjoying himself, much the way I remembered those evenings when we were still a family together—the seven of us. [image file=Image00026.jpg] The Little Brothers in 1963. My reverie was interrupted when one of the Angels tiptoed into the room and whispered that we could stand and stretch our legs. She escorted children on quick trips to the bathroom. I made sure to be among them, curious about what my father’s bathroom looked like. Then the whispering began. “Did you see anything?” someone asked. “There were men outside,” came a barely audible reply. “I think I saw a gun,” whispered one Little Brother. It was close to noon when we were allowed to return to the refectory. There were no vestiges of the mysterious and frightening episode that had erupted a few hours earlier. The blinds were open and, miraculously, the breakfast dishes had been washed, the tables reset, and the sixteen-quart pot of soup was in its usual place on the serving table. As we ate in silence, the door opened and Sister Catherine appeared. The tension that had been so evident in her body when she marched through during second breakfast was gone. She now wore her motherly look. Glancing around the room, she called out in a gentle voice the names of five Little Brothers. “Louis, Maurice, Patrick, Magnus, and Brendan,” she said. “Would you please come to my office?” In a flash, I pieced the puzzle together. All five Little Brothers were Richard Cullinane’s sons. Whatever happened that morning had to do with him. In the eighteen months since he’d left, we’d heard nothing more about him. And then this crisis. Sister Catherine led the five Little Brothers out of the refectory toward her office without speaking to the rest of us. It wasn’t until she made her usual appearance in our refectory during dinner that she shared with us some details on the morning’s events. Richard Cullinane, whom she now referred to as RC, was suing to take the five Little Brothers away from the Center and their beloved mother, Sister Laura, she said. He had come that morning with a sheriff. Sister Catherine’s voice became stronger. She rose up on her toes, her steely green eyes blazing, and proclaimed in a fearsome voice, “He is a traitor to Our Lady and her cause, and we will fight him with our prayers and in the court.” What was not shared was that, eighteen months prior, Richard Cullinane had entreated his wife to leave with him so that together they could once again be a family and raise their five boys. She had refused, and he had then taken legal recourse. [image file=Image00027.jpg] The Little Sisters in 1963. I am on the far left in the back row. In the darkness of my cubicle that night, I replayed Sister Catherine’s words in my head.

• From Little Sister: A Memoir (2019)

  “I know the way,” the man replied as he started off. And for a few minutes, all was fine. The driver made small talk. “Do you live in Cambridge?” he asked. “Yes,” I replied, careful not to tell him where. “How long?” “All my life,” I said, wanting him to know that I knew my way around. I did my best to sound nonchalant, as though hitching a ride was nothing out of the ordinary for me. But from the corner of my eye, I examined the man closely. The stubble on his face that I hadn’t noticed when he first pulled over now gave him the appearance of being unkempt. There was dirt under his fingernails, and the smell of cigarettes hung in the air. Suddenly he looked creepy to me. Then we missed the turnoff to Harvard Square, and panic hit my stomach. I swallowed hard before saying, “You missed the exit.” “It’s okay,” he replied. “I’m going around this other way I know.” His answer was plausible, so I let our intermittent conversation continue, attempting to mask my anxiety that was swiftly turning into panic. But within a minute or two, it was evident that the car was not going to Harvard Square. We were now in North Cambridge on the feeder road to Route 2, the highway that headed west from Boston. My throat became dry, and I was afraid to speak lest my voice betray my fear. Suddenly images of the figures of death leapt into my mind—the names of fiends who had engaged in killing sprees over the last few years: Charles Manson, Richard Speck, and Albert DeSalvo, the Boston Strangler. Could this be my fate? The car was now on Route 2. Soon there would be little traffic around us and no way to escape. My mind was working in frantic overtime. How do I get out of this car? Should I just throw open the door and fling myself on the road? We’re going more than sixty miles an hour. I could be killed. I knew the road intimately, having traveled it dozens of times. There was only one more set of lights before it opened into a broad four-lane highway. If the light was red, I could jump out. But what if it’s green? I thought. Then I’m done.