The gift of a golden spike came as a surprise.
The heavy metal object was given to me by a friend when I renewed my temporary vows as a member of the Handmaids of the Sacred Heart of Jesus in 2022. He included a brief history lesson in his note, explaining that the eastern and western portions of the transcontinental railroad were linked with just such a golden spike in 1869, finally uniting the two coasts of the United States. The railroad was the completion of a long project and the realization of a dream. He wrote that he imagined such a spike might also be used in the making of a profound personal commitment.
I was touched by his gesture and felt illuminated by the historical snapshot, but initially the symbol stirred varied and even negative associations in my mind—think “a nail in the coffin,” insect specimens on a display board, or Jesus’ hands and feet pinned to the cross. Needless to say, it wasn’t my favorite image of commitment. Besides, these vows were still temporary!
In my congregation, a perpetual profession of vows comes after 10 to 12 years of initial formation. For women religious, the perpetual profession is akin to wedding vows—permanent and lifelong. The temporary vows, which we make every three years during initial formation, are like reaffirmations of the relationship over the course of a long engagement. A stake seemed like an awfully permanent symbol for temporary vows. I was happy as a sister, and my intention was to proceed toward final vows, but we weren’t there yet. No need to get ahead of ourselves! I thought.
Metaphors of movement are my preference for thinking about my relationship with God. I love to dance and walk and stretch, and very often I experience God’s action in my life as a flow of grace, which I’m invited to step into. Still, given its source, the gift had sentimental value and, I must admit, it intrigued me. I wanted to better understand what it was about that nail that made me nervous and what about it my friend saw as beautiful. So, as I sometimes do with things that I don’t fully grasp, I kept it close to me and waited for its significance to be more fully revealed.
Fast forward two and a half years to this July, when, on the feast of St. Ignatius, I made the leap—or drove in the spike, as my friend might say—and professed my perpetual vows in the presence of many of the people who are most dear to me. With my profession, I affirmed my deep desire and intention to, with God’s grace, live the rest of my life seeking to follow and serve Christ faithfully, guided by the Constitutions of the Handmaids of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and loving God and others through my vows of poverty, chastity and obedience.
My heart felt ready to burst as I looked out on the people who had gathered to celebrate the day and considered all that God had done and given me, so often through these people. Friends from elementary and high school, my college roommate and her husband who had lived two floors below me during freshman year at the College of the Holy Cross, my Handmaid sisters, my parents, aunts and uncles, cousins, and others who have been mentors and companions in many stages of life were present. Some of them are regular churchgoers, some are more comfortable in a forest than in a pew, and others are believers or searchers who, for different reasons, do not participate in a faith community. I have experienced God through each of them and, as I took in their faces, I could only give thanks that they existed and that our lives were woven together.
I desired with all my heart that this experience be one of encounter with the goodness of God for each person present. I hoped that somewhere in the poetry of the liturgy and the music, in the witness of an oh-so-human friend, they would catch a glimpse of something that stirred their spirits, something that stoked their hope and left them thirsting and glad, something that was real and relevant to their lives. It made me so happy that these vows could be an occasion of gathering in the name of this God who is worthy of the offering of a thousand lifetimes and who invites us into an adventure of love and fidelity.
That day brought to mind so many people who have stirred and strengthened my spirit along my path. Eleven years earlier, I had entered the congregation as a postulant, apprehensive but intrigued by an unsettling desire for more that had been brewing in me for years. A variety of life experiences had shaped my understanding of myself and of the world—family life, friendships, study abroad, a post-grad volunteer program, the Spiritual Exercises, faith sharing, dating, work and study that I enjoyed. They had all responded in some way to the sense that God was calling me to something that would unify and direct my energies and desires in a way that was for the good, even if that good felt a little vague at the time. I was looking for a way to satisfy the hunger I felt for meaning, connection, life, and a way to bear witness to the goodness that I had glimpsed and sensed was of God.
By my mid 20s, I had begun to make an annual retreat and had even spoken with a couple of sisters about my vocational stirrings. I would look up a congregation online and spend some time scrolling but would inevitably find something that I didn’t like and would dismiss the idea of becoming a sister—satisfied, for the moment, that I had “explored.” The wondering always returned though, and eventually, a pointed question from a good friend helped me to see that I was, in fact, avoiding the issue.
Another friend introduced me to my sisters, and after getting to know them from afar, I accepted an invitation to live with the community and discern closer up. At the end of that time, I entered as a postulant. I was still incredulous, but sensed that God was inviting me down this path, at least to check it out. I marvel, looking back, at the gentle and persistent work of grace. There were many moments early on in which I thought that, after I gave the convent a try, I would be satisfied to “return to normal life” (“What is that?!” my friends will rightfully cry). I wondered if a vow of chastity would be a nail in the coffin of intimacy, creativity, joy. I wondered if obedience would turn me into a pushover or a coward and if I could cultivate enough interior freedom from my things to profess a vow of poverty with any integrity.
These and other questions demanded real examination, prayer and growth. It was only gradually that I began to live into the answers. God and I went many rounds as I questioned and tested, trembled and prayed. It was exasperating at times, but I came to realize that this tug that I experienced was an invitation, and that the response involved both dancing and anchoring. I learned that God was a masterful lead, with a rhythm and timing that were often surprising. I learned that patience, humility and curiosity deepened the connection. My own dance steps felt clumsy and even scary at first, but I learned to keep showing up and found that my partner did the same, every time. In times of fierce struggle and deep joy, I found that consolation—that blessed sense of God’s nearness and goodness—always eventually came. There seemed to be no aspect of life that wasn’t drawn into the encounter, no experience, question or bit of my humanity that couldn’t find its place.
As I spoke the words of my perpetual profession, using the same simple formula that thousands of Handmaids before me had done, I held many moments of this dance in my heart. I thanked the quiet and insistent voice that had often whispered just keep going, and had murmured promises of growth and newness ahead. I thanked God for drawing me into deeper trust, and for the joy that welled up in me as I rooted myself in this commitment. When, as part of the Rite of Perpetual Profession, I was asked if I wished to strive “for the perfection of charity towards God and [my] neighbor, in the strength of the Holy Spirit, living the Gospel faithfully, dedicated to the work of reparation according to the charism of the Institute” (whew!), I felt so blessed by the call to strive for something so beautiful, something that would take a lifetime and God’s abundant grace to live into. I smiled from within as I responded, “Yes, I do with all my heart.”
After my vows, I moved 900 miles west, from my community in Philadelphia to another community of our sisters in St. Louis. I did not bring many possessions, but tucked in my checked baggage, wrapped in tissue paper and wedged between rolled-up T-shirts and my toiletries bag, was the golden spike.
The spike is still not my favorite image; it brings to mind a harshness. Still, perhaps because of this, I have come to appreciate the symbolism of my friend’s gift. It speaks to me of the paradox of love—not without pain, but still more durable than any evil and capable of offering beauty in even the most humble or mundane places: in a tiny piece of bread, in the simplest gesture of care. New associations have emerged. The beauty and solidity of the object reminds me of the tenacity of our gentle God, who calls forth courage and determination in those who desire to walk with him; the audacity of Mary, who said yes, not knowing what lay ahead and who, strengthened by love, never turned back; the quiet heroism of Joseph, whose steadfast presence warmed the ordinary spaces of workshop and family table.
Today, the nail speaks to me of the daring and persistent hope that undergirds a lifelong commitment. Similar to traditional wedding vows, the Rite of our Perpetual Profession includes an articulation of the desire and decision to profess and live our vows “at all costs,” come what may. The experience of faith rooted in love is the condition that creates the possibility of courage, audacity, holiness and hope. The golden spike has come to represent for me the infinite strength of God’s love for us, which empowers us to give ourselves over in a dance that will draw us out beyond ourselves, into God’s heart and out to God’s people.
