I Miss Nuns

I miss nuns. I miss long black and white robes speckled throughout the crowd, gray hair and wrinkles made from either laughing and smiling or scowling and condemning. Once, I couldn’t go a day without at least seeing a nun in passing, or more likely having a conversation with one. Some were our teachers, our lunch supervisors, neighbors and other everyday figures. Sister Mary Ann taught junior and senior religious studies, Sister Beth stood at the school’s entrance and showed me pictures of quilts she made, Sister Tamara warned me to stop wearing nonuniform striped socks but never actually gave me detention. 

Now, nun sightings are restricted to spring and fall Saturday mornings. I didn’t realize how comforting two or three nuns behind a table cramped with pastries and baked goods could be until that first farmer’s market trip. I don’t quite remember the freshman orientation group I went with but I certainly remember the sisters. A few other students whispered in surprise, a few giggled and many didn’t even notice. But I knew exactly what my first stop would be. Sometimes I buy something even when I don’t want anything just to talk to one of them.

There is something about nuns that puts people on edge, like they are being watched and judged. They probably are, but I think that is part of their charm. The laughter that overtakes you when a nun walks past your table during a conversation about mpreg is unparalleled. Swearing in front of a nun gives a dumb sort of feeling of rebellion that could never be achieved with a regular teacher. Even if you don’t particularly care about God or sin there is an accomplishment in getting a nun to like you. Like, if heaven does exist, this is a point in your favor. I think about nuns more than is probably normal, even for someone raised Catholic. I wish it were more common to see nuns in everyday secular life.

Featured image: Claire Winter ’28