COMMENTARY: There is a sacrifice in answering God’s call. This is the unavoidable, personal ‘cost of discipleship.’ It demands putting Jesus before everything else.
Our daughter was still in grade school when friends began suggesting she might have a religious vocation. We initially ignored these comments, but later realized they were compliments. At a young age, she was mature beyond her years, and it was obvious to anyone around her.
She was always a natural leader, a stand-up person, compassionate and empathetic. I remember that in the days following the 9/11 attack on the Twin Towers, she spent time alone in her room making small red-white-and-blue ribbon pins. Then she went around the neighborhood selling them, and sent her proceeds to the Red Cross.
She was born just hours after my mother died suddenly. It was a sorrowful and sacred time, and I think that God quietly transferred some of my mother’s finer qualities to our daughter. Their mutual love for the poor became part of my daughter’s inheritance. My mother was one of the founders of a local homeless shelter, and twice over the years I saw my daughter run after a homeless man with $20 in her hand, certain that he would somehow repay her.
Our daughter grew up and went to college, marking a new stage in her life. It was then that she did, in fact, start to feel a pull toward religious life. When she was home for her first Christmas, we kept up our pre-college habit of assembling the tree. She decorated it while I stayed on the couch, giving my suggestions. The tree routine had been her idea, and we both liked it.
That year was the first time she asked me whether I thought she had a religious vocation. She had only recently started dating someone, and she began crying. The question clearly upset her, so I replied that I didn’t think so.
The next two Christmases were much the same. She would put up the Christmas tree, and we would share what was on our minds. She hadn’t yet settled the question of a religious vocation, so we simply discussed what this might mean for her.
She was worried that she’d lose her friends. She knew that she’d never marry and have a family of her own. She loved her independence and wondered if she would lose it. She was also concerned about changing her name.
More importantly, she wondered aloud what it would be like to give her whole life to Jesus. What would he ask of her? There would be a sacrifice in answering his call. This is the unavoidable, personal “cost of discipleship.” It demands putting Jesus before everything else.
As a Christmas gift for her last year of college, we gave her a ticket to visit the convent where the sisters lived. She was uneasy and hesitant to go. She even shed a few tears.
We didn’t hear from her for four days. Then she phoned to tell us that she had loved it there. We were astonished. Our daughter, the great procrastinator, practically sprinted home to write her letter requesting admission. She received her acceptance letter by the end of the month.
I realized then, finally, that her vocation would have a cost not only for her, but also for my husband and me. We were literally giving her away to a world that we didn’t fully understand. It saddened me to know that she would be calling someone else “Mother.” She would no longer be decorating our Christmas tree. The list went on and on, and it would demand a sacrifice on our part.
One of the most humbling aspects of this experience was watching her give away all her possessions, including everything we had given her over the years. Night after night, she would go through her belongings, attaching a note to each with someone else’s name.
She gave away her baseball caps, movie ticket stubs and all of the mementos that she had collected since she was a child. They all went to special friends. She saved her most prized possession for last — her blue nail polish.
In the end, it was time to say goodbye. It was my turn to cry, and cry I did. I sobbed. The beautiful baby girl — now a beautiful young woman — that God had given us to soften the blow of my mother’s death was returning to work in his vineyard as Sister Maria Paris of the Religious Sisters of Mercy.
As I said, discipleship has a cost.
But I suppose the lesson here is this. Looking back on what I’ve just written, only one question really matters: Has the cost been worth the return, in her life and ours? To live the cost is to know the answer — and the joy.