Some years ago, my dear friend Patricia and I, while living in Spain, decided we were in need of a holiday. We didn’t have a lot of money, so we investigated the possibilities of inexpensive accommodation and came across the address of a convent that took in guests. We duly made our reservation and set out to find the place.
The convent turned out to be situated atop a hill, a little way outside a fairly large town, and had amazing views of the surrounding countryside. The rooms were simple, spotlessly clean, and overlooked the rooftops of the town and the distant mountains. Beautiful!
We stayed a few days there and enjoyed the peace and quiet. In the course of conversations with Sister Margarita, the youngest of the nuns at around fifty or so, we discovered that the congregation was considerably diminished and that the following week the remaining nuns were to be moved to other convents around the country. A group of contemplative nuns from South America were due to arrive soon and take up residence in the building. The last day of our stay was to coincide with a farewell Mass for the nuns who were leaving and we were cordially invited to attend. We had been so welcomed and well cared for that, although we were not regular churchgoers, we decided we would accept the invitation.
The nuns had clearly been very much loved and appreciated in the town and hundreds of people climbed the hill to attend the service. The church was packed and we found a seat at the back. As we waited for the Mass to begin, my friend and I were talking to each other in Spanish, which we both speak with South American accents—she, because she is from Peru, and I because I had lived in South America for many years. I sensed a mild buzz of interest coming from some of the ladies in the pew next to me and eventually one of them whispered to me, “Are you the ones who are staying here?” I (mis)understood her to mean were we in the guest house and said yes. The buzz became more intense and began to spread around the church. People began looking round at us, nodding and smiling. Perplexed we nodded and smiled back. How kind of them to be so welcoming to us just because we were staying in the convent. The Mass proceeded and the smiles continued to come our way from nearer and nearer the front of the church and finally we realized that my neighbor had heard our accents, put two and two together, and came up with forty-seven! Mistakenly, I had confirmed her assumption and now everyone thought we were “the ones who were staying here”! The new congregation of contemplative nuns from South America!
The Mass ended and the congregation began to file out of the church. As they passed by us they shook our hands, welcomed us, and hoped we’d be very happy there. At first we tried hard to explain the confusion but no one was listening, so in the end we gave up and graciously accepted all the good wishes while trying very hard not to laugh at the total incongruity of being mistaken for contemplative nuns who rarely, if ever, leave their convent and certainly don’t wear makeup, jewelry, perfume, jeans, and sleeveless T-shirts—as we did!
When we told Sister Margarita later that evening what had happened, it seemed she might explode with laughter. She thought it was hilarious and called in all six of the remaining nuns to hear us recount all the details. They, too, were highly amused—and we were a little relieved that we weren’t threatened to burn at the stake for heresy!
