A writer never knows where or when an idea might strike: An overheard conversation on a bus or in a shop; a detail in a painting glimpsed in a gallery; a line of poetry; or the gait of the person walking in front of you; all can ignite a story. My idea for A Flight of Saints sprang from a newspaper article about a group of nuns who, having fled their Italian convent alleging abuse and overwork, were being taken to court for breach of vows by their Mother Superior.
Having spent some time with nuns in convents, the story got my attention. Before I entered the convent to discern a religious vocation, someone told me that of the three vows that a nun makes—poverty, chastity, and obedience—obedience would be the toughest. He was right. Once you’ve lived an essentially free-range life, obedience goes against one’s grain. I’m not talking about the interior obedience we all possess, the inherent nature that directs our daily lives to be decent people, but the kind that comes from other; about being told what to do and where and when to be at every point of the day. I like to think that I’m pretty good at following the importance rules, but I like being ordered about, even when asked nicely. Most Christian monastic communities follow the Rule of St. Benedict, a set of 73 brief 148the foundation of which states that constant prayer and work are integral to communal living. Written in a sixth century by Benedict of Monte Cassino to keep his monks in line, it outlines the duties and behaviours of those called to religious life. It addresses prickly relationships and the busy, often physical work that are part and parcel of communal living. Like the nuclear-family model, everyone has to pull their weight.
I don’t doubt that many of the nuns and monks I know have from time to time considered ditching their vocation in order to have their own space, their own routine. Religious life is tough. As I found out, being a nun doesn’t involve swanning around a pillared cloister all day with a book of poetry or scripture in your hand, but neither does it involve being on your knees with a bucket of soapy water scrubbing a floor.
Back to the news article. As I read further into the story (and it was a disappointingly brief one as I recall), a host of questions flew up: How bad were the conditions that these nuns had to flee? What was the straw that broke the camel’s back? If they conspired to escape as a group, how did they manage it? Many convents operate under strict rules of silence, its members are so attuned to one another’s tics and nuances that it can be difficult to contain a secret. So how did this particular group do it? Outside help? Did they flee in the middle of the night or broad daylight?
Perhaps fleeing a convent is not so unusual. After all, the Church can be a harsh boss and it’s never been known for its transparency. It stands that those in the thick of it who can’t handle its politics, intrigue, and restrictions must leave it behind. For nuns, it’s even tougher. They are the handmaidens of the Church. I’ve witnessed how the patriarchy expects them to cater their every need, to organise an event and clean up after it. Nuns have, historically, had to weather disdain and criticism. In the past, they were often regarded either as witches; today, nuns face off against bully bishops and priests. Witness these events in just the last fifteen years: a group of Spanish nuns breaks with Rome; US nuns are silenced by their bishop; the Vatican orders a crackdown on “radical” nuns; the Nicaraguan government banishes all nuns from the country. You never hear of monks rebelling or escaping or being banished; perhaps the patriarchy protects its own.
In A Flight of Saints, we witness the Church hierarchy flexing its muscle when Mother Elena is seized by the bishop’s men and whisked from her convent, replaced by cruel, sycophantic Mother Clothilde who knows how to work the system.
Still, in the 12th century, a convent was the safest place for a woman. They were educated, and taught self-respect and initiative. When Lucia and her fellow novices are subjected to abuse, starvation, and thoughts of suicide, it’s a testament to their early nurturing that the girls don’t succumb. As strong as their faith is (or was before Mother Clothilde arrived) so is their determination to survive and repudiate the evil flung at them. They have something that can’t be starved or beaten out of them – faith in themselves.
As for those real-life nuns who escaped their Italian convent, I wish I knew what became of them. As for their Superior, Mother Tekla Famiglietti (aka The General, and considered the most powerful woman in Rome), was found guilty of the nuns’ allegations, and was forced into retirement. She died in 2020. No word on whether the escapees ever returned to the convent.