A Vocation:

A vocation means a call from somewhere out there beyond, a favor received from heaven. Like the seed that falls on good ground, it is a voice deep inside that only the chosen ones can hear.

All those men and women who “wear the habit” were not always called by vocation to start with. They may have been attracted by a certain way of life, by withdrawal, by isolation, by flight either from responsibility or from a mundane life.

But no doubt they end up discovering the meaning of their faith, of their Christianity deep inside, of their attachment to the Church. But sometimes after disappointment, a sentimental jolt, a defeat or cause for despair, or after having been recruited as if to a barracks during the course of studies, they are led to give up their vocation, one after the other. So, from two or three or more promotions there often remains just one “Man of God” at most. There are highs and there are lows, there are golden ages and there are times of falling away. After every war one sees an increase in vocations, and monasteries and convents are crowded with young people who have been called in the name of the Lord (Matthew 22:8-18). Among those chosen, there have been great saints. I am not arguing about all this, simply trying to analyze certain situations.

During the recent events starting in 1975, one came across many who were carried away by religious enthusiasm, walking barefoot, wearing sackcloth, hair long, unwashed, a rosary hanging from their belt, a cross hung round their neck, and trinkets in their hands. I always showed them respect.

As the girls could not just wander around the streets wearing torn or re-stitched saris, they sought refuge in communities founded for the occasion, in orders or in sects. Some came under the care of the archdiocese, other under the care of whom I know not. A certain Zahra, flower in Arabic, came from a little town in the north, one of a large family. Her parents had decided to put her in an orphanage, although she was no orphan, having a father who was a skilled plasterer, working in a convent of Lazarist nuns, Sisters of Saint Vincent de Paul. He was helpful, very open, and an excellent worker.

The Sisters found him honest and likeable and, wishing to help him in return for his services to them, they asked him about his family. On learning that he had at least eight children, they suggested bringing Zahra, the youngest child, to their school. She became a boarder and her expenses were covered by the school and by charitable associations, Caritas and the official Social Affairs administration.

Zahra was a pretty little girl, full of life, intelligent, quite brilliant even, attractive, charming, obedient, and quick to learn. During the holidays, Christmas, Easter, and the like, she went home to spend a few days with her brothers and sisters.

The nuns for their part found that her name Zahra was not very suitable, it being a name commonly given to cows and goats and sheep, so they called her Florence, a name derived from the Latin word flora.

As she grew up, Flora became more and more beautiful, even provokingly so, and her hair drawn back into a “horse-tail” left open a profile that looked divine. During the holidays that she spent at home, she became the subject of much interest on the part of the neighbors. They spoke only of her, wondering from where had come down this little angel, from what heaven! She was well aware of her exceptional beauty, of her charm, and of the effect she had on others around her.

The nuns had never suggested that she should join them. They left her an absolutely free choice. In any case, she had never felt that she had a religious vocation or a need to enter the religious life. So far, all had gone well. Florence reached the end of secondary school, with embroidery, sewing, cooking, baking, and all the rest of it. She already had the means to follow a trade.

It was then that Beshara, son of the owner of the family house and now twenty-three years old, came back from France, where he had been pursuing his studies. On seeing Florence, he fell madly in love with her. He was completely carried away at first sight of her, he the very rich child of a family that considered itself well up in the world. Was he going to get caught in a wild adventure with the daughter of a poor workman who was more or less a servant of his family?

He got close to Florence and declared his love and affection for her, proposing to take her with him to France, where he was going to finally obtain his qualification as a civil engineer – he was full of promises to her! Florence remained doubtful, particularly as Beshara’s sister looked down on her. She even heard Beshara’s father say to his son, “Go and amuse yourself a little with our neighbor!” Truth to tell, Beshara was nor really serious, but he was carried away by the young girl.

In our country we give the name Beshara or Bashir to boys born on March 25th, the day of the feast of the Annunciation and the name Boshra if the child is a girl.

September came quickly. Beshara refused to return to France, wishing to enter St. Joseph’s University in Beirut to finish his studies. His father objected and there were endless arguments and disagreements between the father, the son and the sister, and also with the poor neighbors, until the point was reached where Beshara’s father decided to turn the whole family of Zahra out of their home.

What had gone on between Zahra and Beshara? Had they kissed each other? That is certain. Had he seduced her? What had been their relationship? Such questions I really cannot answer. What is certain is the Beshara had to bow to his father’s decisions, and go back to France, marrying two years later and so breaking off all relations with Zahra.

Zahra, or Florence, who was in her first year of university, felt crushed, revolted, deeply wounded and overstretched, even suffering from depression. She decided to go back to the nuns, not this time as a pupil but as one of them, taking vows and wearing their habit, all of which might seem a vocation of despair.

Now she would have to enter the noviciate, an important period before taking vows for getting initiated into the religious and community life. If the vocation is a true one, it is a matter of free choice, with no obligation, imposed. The decision must be taken from the depths of the heart, of one’s very self. It is an act of love, the greatest one can imagine. It means loving Christ and being united with him, with a love like that of the great poet and mystic Saint John of the Cross, of Saint Francis of Assisi, of the two Saints Theresa, of our saints of Lebanon, and of Saint Vincent de Paul, founder and holy patron of the order of Sisters that Florence knew so well.

She made sacrifices, fasted every day, spent whole hours kneeling before the Blessed Sacrament, the one bond that unites us to Our Lord after two thousand years of Christianity. Florence was an example for all, for rarely had such a nun been seen.

She took her first vows and, as she wished to continue her university studies, the Mother Superior decided to send her for a couple of years to Palermo in Italy to pursue her studies and do her noviciate. In her religious habit she appeared a goddess, a statue draped by Phidias, radiating splendor. She already spoke several languages and now in Italy she wished to do medical studies and so she studied how to give emergency treatment and did an internship.

After Italy she spent eight months in Barcelona and then went by train to Paris, where she spent the next two years. She became thoroughly familiar with every branch of medical care and discipline, wounds, sutures, fractures, reanimation, artificial respiration, injections, dietary, pediatric physiotherapy, operating procedures, and so on.

She could by herself take over all the activities of a hospital, not to mention its economics, finances, and general running. One could never take her in and her presence alone was enough to silence all argument. She never hesitated but gave her orders, undisputed and given with authority.

Once back in Lebanon, Florence was appointed to take charge of the noviciate. Here she was surrounded by young people who respected and feared her. She was severe, one might even say harsh, to such an extant that three young aspirants had to give up, being unable to put up with her demands. Florence had a way with her, a manner to make things go, to make herself clear, and to give orders. Before the end of the year she had received four postulants, this time ones having true vocations.

On her library shelf she had the history both in Arabic and in French of Hendiyeh, the nun who in the eighteenth century (XXXearly nineteenth???) during the time of Patriarch Hobaish provoked violent discussions, disputes, and accusations, until Rome intervened.

Let me add here an incident that happened five years ago and allowed me to garner some hitherto undisclosed information. My wife was in the St. George’s Greek Orthodox Hospital and was receiving the visits of her friends. I myself knew many nuns as a result of having given courses of study and revision gratuitously, and a number of these came to the intensive-care ward, where they offered their prayers.

Considering the perfection of the administration and the excellence of the care, my wife Georgette had the idea of going to see under what grave difficulties Hospital N… was working, without even any soap in the bedrooms, the result of five million or more dollars having once been taken by an absconding Sister Superior. The nun to whom she spoke told Georgette not to mention the subject, but her request had sparked off my imagination. I tried more than once to chat with the nun in order to extract as much information as I could, and I thus learned that she herself had been very intimate with Sister Florence.

She told me that the affair was closed and that all were under orders not to talk about it. Yes, they had had difficulties in equipping their hospital after the defection, but the order was able to make good the deficit and to get the hospital back into business.

Our good friend the nun told me of the friendship, even intimacy, that had existed between herself and Sister Florence, who had allowed her to enter her cell and feel at home there. The little room had a permanent odor of perfume. Several times she had surprised Sister Florence undressed, almost naked, before a full-length mirror. She was putting on make-up as best she could. She wore luxurious “signed” underwear as though she were a star getting ready for a ball or some similar event.

These were her moments of relaxation, during which she was much more at ease than in church. She admitted to the sister that it was a grievous disappointment that had pushed her to become a nun and that she would never be able to forgive those who had wounded her so deeply –“I am not Jesus Christ, you know!” she confided.

“I want to get my own back. I bear a deep grudge against that Beshara who abused me, against his father, against the whole family. You know, I am like those Shiites who commemorate Karbala and who do not pardon Moawiyya for having killed Ali, Hassan and Hussein. Christ from his cross pardoned, but I cannot pardon.

“It’s true that according to Saint Luke (ch. 23, v. 24) Jesus said, ‘Father, pardon them, for they know not what they do.’ Likewise when being stoned and dying, his disciple Saint Stephen, in Acts ch.7, v. 60, said, ‘Lord, do not hold this against them!’ But for me it is different,” added Sister Florence, “I cannot understand why the wrongdoing of these people should not be punished here below! They have money, they have a good time, they cheat people, they despise them, and for themselves they have everything, while their victims get nothing, nothing! I simply cannot bear to think of it!

“In any case, one sees that God did avenge the death of his Son, for he sent the army of Titus to ravage the city of Jerusalem in the year 70, forty years later, indeed he did! (Mark ch. 12, v. 19)

“Very well, I too am going to get my own back! These people despised me because we were poor and were in their service. I am going to make a success of my life to show them that I am better than they are.’

“They never earned any diplomas or qualifications despite their social rank and their wealth … Yes, my vocation with the Sisters was my way of avenging myself and showing how much I despised the family. I admit it.”

“I was anxious about her,” said my friend the nun. “She was so beautiful, so perfectly proportioned, and everything was in proportion, her dazzling eyes, her body vibrant with life and beauty, her complexion, her hair, and her gait. Was she a film star, a goddess, or a nun? And who said that a nun could not be beautiful and attractive? I had so much to think about and I wondered whether Sister Florence was going to remain in our order. It was strange that she should ever have been a member. But she was able to keep her emotions and her reactions to herself.

“Against whom did she bear a grudge? To begin with, I could have no idea. It was only later that I suspected some former love affair, broken up and failed. It turned out that there had been one with a young engineer, a childhood neighbor, a certain Beshara. She bore a grudge against him, against his father, against all the family and their likes. She truly had the heart of a woman who has some secret to avenge.

“She put some perfume of hers on me which took me aback, or rather she just gave a whiff of it on my ear.

“When Moawwiya withdrew beaten from the battlefield, he sent the Caliph Ali a message saying that he would send him a whole army of men with the hearts of women. Ali failed to understand what Moawwiya meant and wanted to see what these soldiers ‘with the hearts of women’ were like.

“So he called his chief minister and said to him, ‘Go and kill your wife and I will give you my own sister as a bride and in this way you will be the brother-in-law of the Commander of the Faithful himself!’ The Minister accepted the offer and promised to bring him head of his wife the very next day. During the night he took his sword but then he saw that his two little sons were asleep on the arm of their mother, and he said to himself, ‘How can I possibly deprive these two little ones of their tender mother? No, I refuse to cut off her head.’ He sheathed his sword and the next day told the Caliph Ali, ‘What you asked of me is hard, and I could never kill a mother and deprive her children of her love.’

“A month or so later, Ali sent for the wife of the minister and said to her, ‘You must cut your husband’s head off and then you will marry my brother; in this way you will be as close as is possible to the Commander of the Faithful.’ And the very next day she brought to Ali her husband’s head in a sack.

“Then Ali understood what his rival meant and took every precaution. He understood that a woman can go further than a man once she is taken with an idea. Dear Joseph, everything seemed to have changed, but the feelings remained the same. Sister Florence was deeply obstinate, without any pity, and that was the reason why she had made such a success of everything in all the positions that she had occupied.”

The good nun told me so much that I finally went to visit the home of Sister Florence. In fact I had a nodding acquaintance with her brothers and her parents. They were no longer hard up and some members of the family had emigrated to Australia. Everything had changed, everything except the heart of Florence who when she was alone with herself remained this vengeful tigress who never pardoned.

She led a double life, she was two persons, one who managed business brilliantly and another who woke up at nightfall and kept vigil all the hours of darkness. She wished to destroy this prison in which she had locked herself. Did she really have a vocation? Was she sincere in what she was doing? Did she regret the good life, the life that she, so beautiful, lively, gracious and enchanting, could have led? Deep inside her there was internal conflict, a self that was torn in two. She really passed through difficult moments.

At the hospital there was a doctor who was a close relative of hers and there was another doctor who found Sister Florence beautiful, and who understood what was going on inside her. Now he was tempted by the devil.

This doctor had charm, was handsome and was a clever talker. The result was that he and Florence became very close and she appointed him together with her relative to the committee that ran the hospital, for with her strong personality she was always able to get what she wanted. Now, with two who supported her blindly she was in an even stronger position.

Jesus had every reason to say that we should adore God and not Mammon, that is to say the money that belongs to Caesar. But now that Florence had millions of dollars in her hands, the temptation was too strong for her.

She had fallen in love with this man, this playboy doctor. At the same time she wanted to be honest, and refused to disgrace her religious habit. But there again, she was madly in love, dying of love, which made her capable of doing anything even if she was a nun.

What could she do? Abandon the order and her vows to lead a new life elsewhere, something which is possible for nuns after prolonged counseling and study by the authorities? God does not want anybody in his service who has no conviction. Finally she preferred to leave her habit and return to the world, depending on her doctor, to go to other surrounding to satisfy her dreams of wealth, ease and reckless spending.

There were in the hospital accounts some millions of dollars, of which she could dispose freely. Two signatures were enough to withdraw the money she needed and could dispose of as she wished. She had it all. It only remained to take the decision. The higher authorities in her order accorded her full confidence.

What might one say of Saint Theresa of Lisieux, of Bernadette of Lourdes, of all the holy men and women saints of Lebanon? And what could be done about this vengeful heart, this false vocation, this evil that tortured her, all the sleepless nights? How could she suffer the consequent exposure and what would people say about her, about she who was so rigorous and demanding and was such a brilliant administrator?

What about the conferences and the discussions to which she convoked all the doctors every week? And the love and esteem in which the public held her? How could she resist the winning ways of Doctor Pierre? How could she resolve this quandary and face up to this interior struggle that gnawed at her heart?

My new friend the nun continued: “One morning, Sister Florence had disappeared. First it was thought that she was visiting her parents, but without leaving behind any orders, notes or directives.”

The second day, Sister Florence, who had always been in the habit of inspecting every corner of the hospital, was no longer there. She was nowhere to be seen and her telephone remained unanswered, as did her beeper. What had happened? Doctor Pierre was also absent, but this wasn’t noticed until later on. The other doctor, the relative of Florence, had also disappeared. “I started to have my suspicions,” said my informer, “about what had come to pass.”

On the third day the higher authorities took action. The Provincial Superior and her assistants entered Florence’s cell and found that in fact Florence had left, taking much with her. There were urgent discussions and the police were informed. Then the hospital’s bank declared that a large sum had been withdrawn from the account, some millions of dollars, it was said, perhaps even ten millions.

Now all became clear. Florence had fled with the two doctors without leaving a trace, taking with her this fabulous sum which was set aside for equipping and administrating the hospital. How was this done? False passports? False documents? But the plot had been well prepared and well timed.. Friday, Saturday and Sunday made up the weekend and that Monday was a public holiday.

The religious authorities refused to file a lawsuit against Florence their sister, or even against the doctors. “God will render justice,” said the Superior, “God has given and we will pardon.” I learned that several benefactors and clergy had come to the help of the nuns.

My informant continued: “If you want to know any more, you have only to contact Mrs. Alice, who has just come back from Australia, where they happened to meet.”

I begged the good sister to accompany me to Batroun to see the lady any day she wished and this she kindly did. We rang the doorbell and went inside without previous appointment. On seeing the nun who was with me, Mrs. Alice straight away said, “I can guess why you have come here, is it about Sister Florence?”

We were warmly welcomed. In short, Mrs. Alice told us that there were many rumors about this trio which had settled at Newcastle, near Sydney, where she herself lived with her family, but where the trio had not been very welcome. The two doctors had faced considerable difficulties before finally getting work in a Newcastle hospital.

After three years, misfortune began to dog them. Dr. Pierre was involved in a terrible accident and there was no hope of his recovering. There was nobody, or next to nobody, at his funeral. His wife Florence lived now in a state of depression and was handicapped. She had other problems of inner conflict torturing her ego which she could no doubt never solve. The doctor who was her relative had disappeared somewhere to the west of the country. There was never any news of him. Florence was in a retirement home, isolated and lonely. What had the Lord in store for her?

Surely she could repent and obtain pardon from Jesus for the harm done to the hospital that she robbed. She could become once again like the child in the manger at Bethlehem. Will she find some kind soul who can restore her moral health, who can reconcile her to herself and to life, and who can help her find the road of love?

Joseph Matar
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Translated from French: K.J.Mortimer