By Larretta Rivera-Williams, RSM
Although I was baptized in the Catholic Church at six weeks old, I attended St. Stephen Episcopal Church with my mother and grandmother when I was younger. With great anticipation I awaited the moment Father Smith would raise the large host above his head and break it in half as he recited, “This is my body broken and given up for you.” The loud snap of the host was mesmerizing.
Having a desire to emulate Father Smith’s actions, my childhood friends would often join me in playing church prior to hopscotch, jack rocks, dodge ball, climbing trees or riding our bikes. I would use the stepladder chair from the kitchen as the altar, a few saltine crackers for hosts, a clear plastic cup and cruets from my grandmother’s China cabinet as vessels for water, and Welch’s Grape Juice.
I am convinced that early church experiences and cooperative playmates were instrumental in planting seeds for my vocation. None of my family, friends or high school classmates was surprised when I told them I was entering the convent.
The first consecrated religious I encountered lived a block away from my home and taught at the Catholic elementary school. I was intrigued as a child watching them from my front porch sweeping their porch, raking leaves and planting flowers. The white sisters were strict and rarely showed signs of affection for the African American students they had been sent south to teach and apparently to discipline.
In high school, I had an overwhelming desire to return to the Catholic Church with my father, perhaps because the Sisters of St. Joseph from Chestnut Hill, Pennsylvania, had a kinder and more influential impression on me. It was also the first time a religious sister had said to me, “I think you have a vocation to religious life.” Those words opened my mind and heart to what would become a lifelong commitment.
Prior to meeting the Sisters of Mercy, I considered attending Chestnut Hill College. A friend from high school encouraged me to visit Sacred Heart College in Belmont, North Carolina. After a weekend visit to Sacred Heart, I was captivated by the friendly nature of the students and the amiable spirit of the Sisters of Mercy, as well as the closer proximity to my home.
In college, I had considered entering the convent. Several college friends were on the path to entering the Sisters of Mercy. After college I returned to teach at my high school where once again the Sisters of St. Joseph became a part of my life. Some of the sisters who taught me were still there in ministry.
After a few years of discernment and remaining in contact with the Sisters of Mercy, it became clear that Mercy was where I was supposed to be. The process of entering was welcoming, encouraging and exciting.
However, in my first week of formation in 1982, I was disillusioned and soon found myself in a cycle of microaggressions that I endured for years. It has taken quite some time to heal, to regain my voice, to revitalize my inner strength, to fearlessly speak my truth, to recover my integrity and to realize that I have always been good enough for this life.
I have had numerous opportunities and achievements. I’ve cherished good friends and treasured memorable moments. However, three rapid recalls have kept me faithful to my vocation:
- Prayer: God called me to Religious Life; God is always with me; God is my all!
- “Remember they are women first, nuns second.” – Elizabeth Rivera Ervin, my mother
- “Whatever you do don’t let them try to make you white.” – Joseph Gossman, former Bishop of the Diocese of Raleigh
My motto is Have Courage in Memory of Me. I was asked by a sister why I needed courage to be a Sister of Mercy? Perhaps I will write an article, entitled Why it Takes Courage?
Until then, to God be the glory!