09:56 AM CST on Friday, January 20, 2006
In the dead of winter, behind cloister walls and farmhouse fences, papayas and bananas are growing at the Carmelite monastery in Clearwater, Kan. The roses are in bloom. They are visible manifestations of an invisible life that seven nuns live in a nondescript white house a half-hour southwest of Wichita. Rising at 5 a.m. to pray, turning in at 11 p.m. to sleep on blanket-covered boards on the floor, the cloistered Carmelites follow a way of life that is probably the most austere and demanding of all religious orders in the Catholic Church. (In North Texas, there is also a small Carmelite monastery in south Arlington, not far from the border with Mansfield.) No meat on their table, no socks on their sandaled feet, the nuns belong to a branch of the Carmelite order called "discalced" – meaning barefoot. Here they are growing lemons and peppers in the winter, organically, in a greenhouse where they also raise tilapia. "We have figs year-round," said Mother Mary of the Angels, the prioress of the Monastery of Divine Mercy and Our Lady of Guadalupe. The first "Carmelites" were hermits who settled on Mount Carmel – home of the Old Testament prophet Elijah – in the 12th century. The order's most famous member is no doubt St. Therese of Lisieux, "the Little Flower" who lived in France in the late 19th century. The nuns live a hidden life, keeping silent except for two hours' recreation a day. They seldom if ever leave the cloister. In their tiny chapel, they worship from behind vertical blinds. The nuns choose, even embrace, the strict life – the closed existence, the silence, the austere quarters – as a form of deep prayer. They view themselves not as deprived, but as joyous brides of Christ. "They don't have a job and a means of income that's consistent. ... Most people are intrigued by people who depend totally on God for survival," said Janet Kellerman of Wichita, one of a band of laypeople who take food and supplies to the nuns and who help with maintenance and other chores around the monastery. "I got acquainted with them behind a wall. You can't see them," she said. In a rare interview, a few of the nuns spoke recently with a reporter, talking softly from behind a grille in a parlor reserved for special visits. "St. Thomas Aquinas says grace builds on nature," said Sister Theresa Margaret, explaining why the nuns try to grow things as much as possible without chemicals. "We have to be good stewards of nature because that's gratitude." The Carmelites came to Kansas in 2000 from Gallup, N.M. They were forced to relocate after the bishop there was unable to provide a priest to celebrate Mass at their remote monastery. Eugene Gerber, then bishop of the Catholic Diocese of Wichita, said he'd been praying that a contemplative order of nuns would locate in the Wichita area. "Their presence ... is a strong witness, it's a countercultural witness, it's a religious witness," said Bishop Gerber, now bishop emeritus of the diocese. "And beyond that, they're praying and sacrificing for the church – especially for the diocese they're in." The sisters moved into a house owned by the diocese in Clearwater. They have since acquired 80 acres a few miles to the south, where they plan to build a proper monastery. Bishop Gerber, who lives in a farmhouse on the property, serves as the nuns' chaplain. While the nuns rely chiefly on the generosity of benefactors, their work does bring some income. Through laypeople such as Ms. Kellerman, they sell their organic salsa, pepper relish and granola ("made with love and prayers for you") at church craft fairs. The salsa and relish are also served by at least one area restaurant. The granola is made daily, and the sisters have learned to keep a supply on hand for visitors who arrive asking for it. Three pounds cost $13. Their greenhouses are a model of organic efficiency. Water from the fish tanks fertilizes and irrigates their plants, growing in baked clay. The water is then filtered and returned to the fish tanks. They even make fish food, cakes that are baked and preserved with vitamin E. They hope to market their tilapia one day, but their planned move to more permanent quarters has made them reluctant to install more tanks in the meantime. The oldest of the Clearwater Carmelites is 71. The youngest is 33. Most are in their early 50s. Mother Mary of the Angels, the head of the monastery, is 53. Six of the nuns are from Mexico originally. The seventh, Sister Theresa Margaret – the resident green thumb and fish-equipment engineer – is from Louisiana. The youngest, Sister Mary Teresa of Jesus, made her final vows in July. A few local women have tried the cloistered life – for a couple of days. Those who want a longer trial can stay six months to a year. If they decide to become Carmelites, it will be six years before final vows. The nuns' tiny chapel, which seats perhaps eight people on benches, is open to the public. Mass is celebrated daily at 8:30 a.m. Visitors approaching the monastery door see a sign advising them to ring a bell and wait. Soon, the rustling of a long wool habit and the clinking of rosary beads signal the arrival of a nun – who remains unseen behind a turn. "Praised be Jesus Christ," she says in greeting. The nuns say their isolation brings them closer to God – and that's something that brings laypeople closer to them. "Sometimes they write and tell us their problems," Mother Mary of the Angels said. "We take their families into our hearts. It helps them very much to talk to someone who they know is very near to our Lord. ... We share their joys and their sorrows. We are not here to be isolated from them." Ms. Kellerman said many area Catholics take comfort in that. "It's wonderful to know if you call them during the day with a prayer request, they're on it immediately." The nuns don't know how their new monastery will be built. They have no formal fundraising plans in place. "They ask hardly anything for themselves. They just depend on divine providence," Bishop Gerber said. Distributed by Knight Ridder/Tribune Information Services