Growing up, I knew nothing of God. Theater was my passion and my life revolved around the stage. It was my drama teacher at the performing arts high school I attended that first informed me that there is a God who loves me immensely and has an incredible adventure planned for my life. This teacher was unsparing in providing me with reading material to quench my curiosity, and the more she shared of her Catholic faith, the more intrigued I became. I fell head over heels in love with the idea of a God who longed to be united to his people.
One day she dropped the bomb, “You’re not going to become a nun, are you?” I was quick to reply, “I’m not even Catholic” to what seemed an audacious question. But deep in my heart, somehow I knew I would. If all that she shared was true, how could I not give all of me to this God of unimaginably tremendous love? If he was real, he deserved my heart for all my life.
Immediately after I graduated high school, I was privileged to attend a six-week dance exchange program in Surrey, England, where a friend invited me to Mass for the first time. I decided it was the greatest “show” ever, with highly intriguing choreography, costumes, script and songs. Though I couldn’t put my finger on it, I could tell that something very special was happening in this “show,” so I decided to attend as many of these “performances” as I possibly could, since no ticket was necessary.
The moment I pinpoint as my conversion occurred at the Shrine of the Miraculous Medal in Paris. At the time, it was just one more Catholic church at which to see a “show,” but little did I know that this show would have dramatically wonderful consequences for the rest of my life. The Catholics came back to their pews after receiving holy Communion, kneeling in thanksgiving, while I sat. Up until this point, every time I went to Mass, I would simply sit and wait to stand for the “last part of the choreography.” But on this particular day, the complete stranger kneeling next to me smilingly took my arm in her hand and gently pulled me down to my knees.
Instantly I realized the truth that this was not just a “show” and that the man nailed to the cross before me had outstretched his arms not just for “all these Catholics,” but for me too. I became thoroughly convinced that it was the woman represented by a statue in the front of the church with her arms extended toward me, whom these Catholics called Mary, who was leading me to her Son on the cross. Most of all, I knew with the greatest certainty that God was truly present in the little gold box I would later learn is called a tabernacle. I knew he was there welcoming me to himself and that only one thing was keeping me from receiving him: baptism. I wanted to be baptized more than I’ve ever desired anything else in life. Upon returning home, I attended Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults classes and was baptized, confirmed and received my first holy Communion at the Easter Vigil in 2000.
Because a vocation to the consecrated religious life is entirely rooted in one’s baptismal identity, it makes sense that in finding the faith I discovered my calling. God invited me to be his adopted daughter; could he be calling me to be his bride? Ever since the question was posed to me about whether I would become a nun, I felt that God had set me apart for himself alone. And as I grew in my faith, so did this desire to give myself totally in return.
A priest friend connected me with the Dominican sisters at Mount de Sales High School in Catonsville, Md., near where I lived. What are the chances that the day I called them, the vocation director was in town? I drove to the convent, preparing to interrogate the sisters to ensure their community had what I felt God was calling me to: a profound love for the Eucharist with the holy sacrifice of the Mass as the source and summit of every day; a true, filial devotion to Mary manifested by wearing the rosary and praying the rosary together daily as a community; and a love for our Holy Father with a great desire to spread the truths and teachings of our Catholic faith to the whole world, particularly to young people. When the sisters heard my “conditions,” they smiled and said, “we have them.” Only then did I agree to sit down and hear more.
The best decision I ever made was becoming Catholic. The second best decision I ever made was entering the convent. And God finds a way to put everything to good use. I thought that entering the convent meant I’d never dance again; little did I know that within days after entering I’d be donning my dancing shoes again to perform with other sisters for a feast day skit, and that one day I’d have the privilege of being a school’s music teacher, charged with choreographing the annual musical.
From the moment of my entrance to the day I professed my perpetual vows in July 2010, and to today, I have never once regretted my choice to give God everything. As my patron saint, Mary of Bethany, poured out her alabaster jar of precious ointment on the feet of Our Lord, so do I long to be extravagant in my love for him. Every day when I put on the holy habit of St. Dominic, I am awestruck by God who has truly poured out his goodness upon me, and I am filled with joy knowing that I am totally his.
Sr. Mary Bethany (Zeitler) grew up in Baltimore. She entered the Dominican Sisters of St. Cecilia Congregation in 2003 and made her solemn profession in 2010. She currently teaches elementary school music in British Columbia, Canada, and has served numerous summers at the Arlington diocese FIAT camp.
This article was adapted from the original that appeared in the November-December 2021 publication Religious Life and reprinted with permission.
