CLARE AND HER SISTERS: LOVERS OF THE POOR CHRIST. By Madeline Pecora Nugent (Pauline Books, c. 2003). $22.95. Order information for this book on this link.

Sample Chapter:

41

Sister Amata di Martino

Oratory, San Damiano

(October, 1230)

            With the other well sisters, petite Sister Amata knelt in the oratory, her harsh garments in stark contrast to her delicate young face.  A thousand distractions were interrupting her prayer.

            To Amata's left knelt Sister Beatrice, Clare's blood sister and Amata's cousin.  When childless Beatrice's hus­band had died last year, Beatrice had entered San Damiano to be with Clare and Ortolana.  Beatrice was kneeling, her head to the floor so that she resembled a plump, gray biscuit.  Obviously, Beatrice was thinking about only Jesus. 

            Why couldn't Amata keep her mind fixed on Christ?

            Amata concentrated on the little silver box in the wall niche to the altar's left.  In that box reposed Christ, truly present in the Consecrated Host.  Amata pictured Jesus smiling lovingly at her.  Then the silver box reminded her of a larger silver box she had left behind at Correggiano, a gift on her twelfth birthday from her father Lord Martino di Ugolino di Offreduccio . . . 

            Poor Father!  How Amata had distressed him two years ago by abandoning her wedding plans and coming here to join her cousin Clare and blood sister Balvina! Clare had asked God for a special grace so that Amata would neither be deceived by the world nor remain in it.  Her husband to be was now courting another lady and . . .

            Oh!  She was trying to imagine Jesus!  Why couldn't Amata pray without distractions! 

            The silver box.  Jesus enclosed there as in the womb of His Mother.  How did birth cramps feel?  Were they like hunger pains?  With the friars gone, the sisters had less food.  Amata's flat, little stomach was pinched.

            What was she thinking of?  Yes, the Blessed Mother, pregnant.  Amata's mother had died.  How long ago was that?

            The bell rang in the bell tower, ending the period of silent, morning prayer.  Amata was grateful to begin work.

            In the dormitory, Clare was propped in bed, spinning.  Near her sat Sister Venuta, her eyes intent on the hand held loom in her lap.  The loom was a simple wooden frame with nails at the top and bottom over which was looped fine linen thread that Clare had spun.  Deftly, Venuta was weaving a weft thread of linen, threaded through a needle, over and under the warp threads.  After each pass, she used a wire comb to push each weft row com­pactly against the row beneath it.  When the corporal was napkin size, Venuta would remove it from the loom to hem on all four sides.  The rhythmic, measured swish of the comb and the whir of the spindle made a lazy cadence in the quiet dormitory.

            On a wooden stool near Clare's bed, Amata found the sturdy sheet of heavy paper, about a foot and a half square, and the swath of white silk that she had cut yesterday to fit its outline.  With fine, delicate stitches, Amata began to stitch the silk to the paper.  When she completed the stitching, she would fold and stitch the paper to make a flat box to hold Venuta's corporal.  Before sending the corporals to area churches, the friars used to take them to the Bishop of Assisi to bless.  Now the serving sisters would have to do the task.

            Ringing broke the silence.  Amata went to see who was at the speaking grill.

            "We have come from Perugia," an agitated female voice said.  "Our son has a film over his eye.  We have heard that Lady Clare sometimes cures the ill.  Could she pray over our boy?"

            Touched by the pleading, Amata slipped back the curtain.  The wide eyed, dark skinned mother was neat and clean, dressed in lazzo, the cloth of the poor.  The black haired child playing with her toes could have been two or three years old.  When the child cocked his head toward the grill, Amata was startled at the pale sheath covering his left eye.

            "I shall see if Sister Clare can come down­stairs," Amata said to the woman.

            But Clare's legs had been weak and wobbly for years.  She asked a serving sister to bring the child to her. So Giovanna did.  Clare blessed the child, touched his eyes, and signed him with the Sign of the Cross.  Smiling, the child took from his mouth a half eaten chestnut and offered it to Clare.  "For you.  Eat it."

            "Grazie!"  Clare took the piece and lay it beside her.  "Chestnuts are very tasty."

            Amata smiled at the smiling child, his eye still clouded. 

            "Ask my mother to pray over him," Clare instructed Giovanna.  "Mother's prayers are powerful."

            Ortolana would be sewing in the refectory.  Giovanna carried the boy out as Amata resumed stitching, Clare returned to spinning, and Venuta removed the corporal from the loom.  Long minutes later, Giovanna returned breathless, with the child.

            "Look, Sisters!  Sister Ortolana blessed the boy, but nothing happened.  But on my way back here . . . !  Look!"

            The child's eyes were both totally clear.

            "Mother's prayers have done this!" Clare proclaimed.

            "When I saw the miracle, I hurried to show Sister Ortolana.  She said your prayers healed him."

            "God be praised in either case!" Clare sang.

            With a dull thud, the half eaten chestnut dropped from Clare's bed and bumped the floor.  As the boy struggled in Giovanna's arms, she let him down.  He popped the chestnut into his mouth as the sisters burst into laughter.

            "Come, time to return to your mother," Giovanna beckoned.  Carrying the child, Giovanna approached the monastery door and the staircase leading to the world outside.  Quite spontane­ously, Giovanna waved to someone outside.  Amata could hear a deep male voice.  Brother Cappellano? 

Grinning widely, Giovanna turned toward the sisters.  "The friars have returned!  When Lord Pope heard how you sent the friars away, he changed his mind and told the Minister General to have the friars serve us as they had been doing."

            "God has answered our prayers!"  Clare's breathed.

            Amata's insides were tingling at the dual miracles of the child's healing and the friars' return.  Both the little boy and the Pope had clouded vision, but prayers had healed both.  God could heal Amata's clouded spiritual vision, too, if she . . . 

            A thought pushed into Amata's consciousness.  You must become like little children.  Amata's distractions were as unsavory as half eaten chestnuts, but maybe if she offered them to God with the candor of a child, God would accept them, because, right now, they were all she had to give.

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To learn about a disciplined, Catholic, joyful Rule of Life that can help you draw closer to God while living in your own home, consult the Home Page of the Confraternity of Penitents, linked to in the link box at the top of this page.

Thank you and God bless!