During our postulancy, we were introduced to the concept of spiritual warfare, guided by a priest identified as the Exorcist Priests within our order. Regular deliverance ministries became a part of our daily routine, where we not only observed but also received deliverance as a means of protection and healing.
We were taught about hexes and curses, which in the context of religious life, are seen as forms of spiritual affliction or malevolent influences that can affect individuals and families. These negative forces are believed to stem from unresolved conflicts, negative intentions, or spiritual imbalances. Within many faith traditions, the practice of penance—acts of repentance and atonement—is emphasized as a way to cleanse oneself from such influences. Engaging in penance can foster spiritual healing, restore harmony, and deepen one's relationship with God.
The notion of deliverance involves seeking liberation from these afflictions through prayer, rituals, and the intercession of spiritual leaders. By embracing penance and seeking deliverance, individuals can free themselves from the burdens of curses or hexes, while also protecting and healing their families. This holistic approach underscores the significance of faith, community support, and spiritual resilience in navigating challenges and fostering a peaceful life.
However, there was an undeniable sense of fear instilled in us postulants. We often found ourselves questioning whether our shortcomings were the result of such spiritual afflictions. I distinctly remember struggling with sleepiness during prayers. With only four hours of sleep allowed during postulancy, we were told that sleepiness could be a sign of a hex, adding to the turmoil within us.
As I grappled with these teachings, I sought understanding from our superior, only to find myself facing what felt like more penance-related situations than the average postulant. Monthly manifestations with Fr. John and our mother superior became routine, and looking back, I realize their intent was to get ahead of any potential crises.
In our context, a “crisis” referred to a postulant questioning their vocation or expressing a desire to leave. These situations were not taken lightly; those in crisis were often isolated. Moreover, we were encouraged to offer additional penance or sacrifices for those struggling, reinforcing the idea that our obedience to our superiors was paramount. We were taught that if a superior directed us to do something contrary to God's Will, they would ultimately be accountable in God’s eyes.
As I reflect on these experiences, it’s evident that obedience was framed as the answer to our vulnerability and suffering. This shaped how we approached both our actions and our questions, with the notion of God’s Will serving as a constant guiding force. In this environment, the lines between obedience, fear, and genuine spiritual growth often blurred, leaving us to navigate a complex landscape of faith and doubt.
Our postulancy was initially intended to be a year-long journey of faith and growth. However, after eight grueling months filled with a rigorous schedule, stringent penance, sleep deprivation, and the weight of holy obedience, we found ourselves slowly acclimating to an unsettling new norm. This experience ignited a flame within us—a fear of missing out on our vocation and the gnawing anxiety of becoming a misfit.
For those who know me well, you understand that I am not one to surrender without a fight. I refuse to accept something simply because it’s presented as truth. If you tell me there are two apples on the table, but my senses insist there are two oranges, I won’t be swayed by mere words. My strong will has always been my armor, and I believed it would shield me from the pressures that surrounded us.
Yet, in this environment, my resolve became my greatest challenge. The strict adherence to silence was stifling; open communication was discouraged, and any hint of gossip or sharing struggles was met with severe consequences. The community believed that isolation would cultivate obedience, but instead, it often felt like a suffocating silence that amplified our individual burdens.
After eight months, we were informed that our postulancy would be shortened and we would be assigned to our novitiate destination. They claimed it was because we were "advanced" and ready for our discernment manifestation with Fr. John, where he would guide us toward the order we were meant to join—whether it be the LIHM, the SITH, or the COTH. But instead of excitement, I felt a deep unease.
The idea of being pushed further along this path, without the chance to reflect or question, felt like a betrayal of the very essence of discernment. I wrestled with the fear of what lay ahead, knowing that my strong will might lead me to ask questions that could further distance me from the community. The prospect of being labeled a misfit loomed over me like a shadow, threatening to extinguish the flame of curiosity and truth that burned brightly within.
As I stood on the precipice of this decision, I realized that my journey was not just about obedience or conformity—it was about staying true to myself. Even amidst the fear and the pressure, I knew that I had to seek clarity and understanding, not just for my sake but for the sake of my spirit. My heart ached for the freedom to explore my faith without the constraints of fear, to embrace the uncertainties that lay ahead, and to trust that my path would unfold as it was meant to.
After my manifestation, I found myself assigned to the SITH—the Secular Institute of the Two Hearts. To put it in military terms, the SITH were like the marines, while the LIHM represented the air force. As I received this news, a wave of disappointment washed over me. I had been led to believe that my path would take me to the LIHM, where I imagined a different kind of service, a different kind of calling.
Shortly after this revelation, my postulancy superior informed me that I needed to prepare for a manifestation with Mo. Agnes. For context, Mo. Agnes was the General Mother Superior, the highest authority within the SITH. She was also Fr. Bing’s personal assistant, his right hand man so to speak-accompanying him on his travels around the world as he conducted deliverance and healing retreats. The weight of her role loomed large, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of intimidation that settled in my chest.
I remember the first time I encountered her presence; it was almost palpable. While she had a soft voice, her words carried a weight that commanded respect and attention. Many spoke of her with a mix of reverence and fear, and I quickly understood why. She was deeply involved in our community, more aware of its inner workings than I had realized. It felt as though she could see right through the surface, piercing to the depths of my soul.
Yet, despite the initial intimidation, there was something magnetic about her. Mo. Agnes drew me in with promises of motherly care and a sincere desire to help me fulfill my highest calling. Her intensity was both comforting and challenging; she had a way of making you feel seen and heard, while also pushing you to strive for more. In those moments, I felt as if she genuinely cared for my spiritual journey, as if she wanted to nurture the potential she saw within me.
Her motherly love was a card she played effortlessly, and it resonated deeply with me, filling the void of uncertainty that had lingered since my assignment. I felt a flicker of hope ignite within me, a sense that perhaps this new path, despite my earlier disappointment, could lead to profound growth and transformation.
In her presence, I began to understand that the SITH was not merely a designation but an invitation to embrace a mission that transcended my initial expectations. It was a call to dive into the depths of service, to engage with the world in a way that could impact lives and bring healing. I realized that this journey was not just about where I ended up, but about the heart and spirit I brought to the work ahead.
As I stood on the precipice of this new chapter, I felt a mixture of apprehension and excitement. Mo. Agnes's motherly guidance offered a glimmer of reassurance, reminding me that I was not alone in this journey. I was ready to take a leap of faith, to embrace the unknown, and to discover what it truly meant to serve with love and purpose.
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