by Cookie Curci
It was the spring of 1950 when I first met Sister Mary Katherine and Sister Mary Agnes Ann, two Catholic nuns teaching Sunday school classes to a group of us kids from Lincoln Glen Elementary School. Willow Glen was a small, growing community back then and much in need of its own Catholic church to serve the influx of postwar families moving into the area.
Until the parishioners could raise enough money for the construction of St. Christopher's church, a temporary church was established in a double-car garage on the south end of Lincoln Avenue. Use of the garage was generously donated to the church by parishioner and local rancher Joe Costello. It was there that I took my Sunday school lessons from Sister Mary Agnes and Sister Mary Katherine in preparation for my first Holy Communion. Like most of the kids in my group of 8- and 9-year-olds, I stood in complete awe of the two nuns, hooded and caped in black. Wearing their religious order's traditional black-and-white habits that concealed everything but their hands and face, the two sisters were a source of curiosity to their young students.
I constantly wondered just what the nuns' hair looked like under their black hoods, but the color, style and length would forever remain a mystery, as the sisters never removed their headgear in our presence.
Sister Mary Agnes was the older of the two and the most imposing. She was a strict disciplinarian, and her well-set jaw and stoic expression rarely featured a smile. Her sharp, clear blue eyes seemed to look right through us whenever she pointed her ruler in our direction and asked whether we'd studied our lessons. We could never lie to the sisters, so we made sure we studied our catechism.
Sister Mary Katherine, the younger of the two nuns, was blessed with large, twinkling brown eyes that warmly gave away her grin--when she wasn't permitted to smile. At 8 years old I fantasized about being a nun just like Sister Katherine, and someday wearing that curious black-and-white uniform.
Classes began early on those spring mornings, and the garage was always frosty cold. The sisters kept a wood-burning stove crackling in the corner of the room. Every morning before class, I'd help Sister Mary Katherine collect twigs and branches from the surrounding prune orchard.
It was during this time together that Sister Mary would tutor me in my catechism lessons. The tutorials were much-needed, especially with the tougher questions Sister Agnes would be asking on our final exams. Knowing that Father Healy would soon be asking me my final questions before making my Holy Communion, Sister made doubly sure I knew the right answers.
After months of learning and relearning our lessons and prayers, my group of young Catholic parishioners eventually made our first Holy Communion.
Thanks to the sternness and tenacity of Sister Agnes Ann and the gentle compassion and guidance of Sister Mary Katherine, the young children of Willow Glen all made their first Holy Communion and walked proudly down the aisle of the makeshift church.
There were no stained-glass windows or elegant trappings in our temporary church, but what we lacked in decorations we more than made up for in devotion and spirit. The boys looked angelic in white jackets and ties, and the girls, in white veils and satin white dresses, resembled little brides as we strode down the church aisle.
As our long line of children filed past the two nuns who so diligently taught us our lessons, I could feel their sense of pride in our accomplishment. Most of all, I remember their faces. For the very first time, to my recollection, both nuns couldn't conceal their emotions and were grinning from ear to ear.
It took a while for Willow Glen to get St. Christopher's Church under construction, but before long, the beautiful church was finished, and it has served its community very well through the years.
But sometimes it's nice to look back and remember a time when we attended a church service in a garage and two caring nuns taught me my catechism lessons so many years ago, lessons that I can still recite to this day, just in case Sister Mary Agnes ever asks.
