Aotearoa in 20: Catholic nun Barbara Henley has kept her promises for over five decades
Wednesday, 2 September 2020
The summer out of high school, an 18-year-old from Eltham decided to pack up her things and begin a life of sisterhood. Barbara Henley shares her story for Aotearoa in 20, a Stuff special project.
It’s hard for people to know now, looking at me. We no longer have the outward signs like we used to have. We all wore the same uniform. I still wear my cross. I’ve had that from the very beginning. I try to wear it every day.
I grew up at the foot of Mount Taranaki in a little town called Eltham. I went to school there alongside my brothers and sisters. We were all very competitive and loved the outdoors. Our parents gave us a good grounding in prayer and service to the community. I had two aunts who were religious sisters, and two uncles who were priests.
We were fairly poor, and in our school holidays we often ended up staying in presbyteries or convents. I met these wonderful missionary sisters who talked about their adventures overseas. The idea of lions, tigers, mission, excitement and adventure challenged me. And so I entered religious life.
I went to a sister school in Christchurch at 18. My brother called me a baby nun. We had a novitiate on Ferry Rd. I was just out of school, had met a few young men and still decided that I didn’t quite know how to handle all of that. The unknown and the mystery invited me in. My dad was very weary. He thought I was far too young. My mum was excited and thrilled. I did lose opportunities. But then we weren’t pushed in those days. In some ways I didn’t know where I was going to be honest. This was something I was invited into and accepted.
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In the convent, there were about 80 boarders, about 40 professed sisters and 20 of us in the novitiate who were training. We just accepted the rules and regulations, which I don’t think young people today would. It was a very hierarchical organisation. You weren’t living in fear, but it was a strict regime. You didn’t want to upset the top superiors. You were being monitored. We lived together, ate together, prayed together, prepared meals together. I loved that.
The community aspect was very important, and they were trying to teach us the value of prayer and how God is important in our lives. That was the mystery, or part of it. We had our own concerts and entertainment, because we didn’t go out anywhere. We wrote many operas, songs. Practically every weekend we had something to celebrate.
But there was no freedom really. We had routines and programmes. We all had a roster of activities. Morning was preparing meals, ironing, laundry, church activities, preparing the chapel for prayer. And the afternoon was recreation. We relaxed together. Then we had lectures and time on our own to meditate and for personal prayer. I was always a bit of a mischief-maker, so there were ways of being disciplined – very traditional. But I have good memories.
The essence of all religion is three vows: poverty, chastity and obedience. The obedience means together with your superior and God you discern what’s good for you. They help you do that. Just the name superior indicates there were choices made for you. They were intimidating, but there was always somebody different. It wasn’t so bad. They just kept you on your toes and motivated. These were all women respecting women.
But some girls couldn’t handle it, they didn’t like being told what to do. They didn’t survive in that system. In the early days they often left quietly. There was no big farewell, which was sad. They left without us knowing. But they all made their way in life.
That was for three years. After then, we went up to Auckland to training college, then we were out into the big wide world. I couldn’t wait to get out. I wanted to save the world with the enthusiasm of youth. In language class, we were taught to give kids new experiences: take them out, listen to the specialists then go back and write your poems, songs and stories. It wasn’t about classroom-based learning, it was wider and experiential.
1970 was my first year of teaching. I taught right through the 80s and 90s for nearly 40 years. That included India, and at secondary and primary schools throughout the North Island. I have past pupils all around the world. Teaching was a great career. I taught at Sacred Heart College in Hamilton and New Plymouth, and at schools in Ellerslie and Pukekohe. I taught English language and literature, PE and religious education. I wasn’t the best teacher, but my kids probably had the most fun.
We were a missionary order, so I really wanted to experience an international mission. Not that really we had any say, we were sent. But I was offered the opportunity to go to Samoa, which I accepted. On Savai’i, we drove the pickup truck every time we went down to the village. Beyond us there was the prison. Inevitably as you’re driving down the road there would be men walking, sometimes women. And you’d always pick them up and drop them off. My friend would say, ‘he’s a prisoner, he’s a murderer, he’s a thief!’ We’d be picking up all these people, and they’d say, ‘thank you sister’ for the ride.
When I came back to New Zealand, the whole education system had changed. That's when I did my degree in theology and a bit of counselling, and I went into a new ministry. That took me to Mt Eden Correctional Facility where I was the prison chaplain for five years.
I didn’t continue beyond then because of my personality. I just couldn’t cope with all those guys being locked up. I wanted to free them, release them. Half of them were there not through their own fault. It costs thousands to keep them there.
I kept thinking, if they were given a few thousand they could turn their life around. Often it was poverty that brought them into the prison, or deprivation of some type. That was eye-opening for me. But I realised my teaching career had finished.
I looked around for something that would challenge me, because we’re always encouraged to have a working role. This was available, so I came to the Kāpiti Coast as supervisor for this retirement village, and here I am 16 years later. I’m 72 now.
This time in my life is different, but it’s no less important. Now the biggest shock for me is living on my own. I find my God on my own now rather than being in a community routine. And my own personal prayer life has changed. I don’t so much read gospel prayers as I might just write my own prayer and sing my own song. So it’s different. It’s probably easier now. I’ve got to do everything for myself now: plan my menu, plan my day. In some ways it was very easy having that all done for you. There are pros and cons in both systems, but we still must focus on the essentials in life.
Looking back, I think I'd be a bit more assertive about my own dreams and direction. I think I gave up a bit along the way. I probably had some creative talents – I’m an ideas person. I think I’m quite discerning. I can read people, tell when they’re genuine. I’d like to have made more things happen. I might have still taken the same path.
But I’ve had fun. I used to swim in the Whanganui River in the middle of summer, it felt holy. Eight years ago, I walked the Camino, which is a sacred pilgrimage from France over the Pyrenees to Spain. You stay in hostels, meet people and share experiences. I was in awe of God’s presence then.
Sometimes I wonder about marriage being the only choice for women, though it’s not of course. I’ve given up a relationship with a partner. I’ve given up children. At this stage, my friends are looking after grandchildren and I’m not. I’ve given up a lot in that area. But it’s not the only role in life. I’ve just had to accept and love my role. I met that challenge with love.
I have been attracted to lots of people along the way – men, women. A lot of people have been attracted to me that I was unaware of. I’ve just held firm. This is what I wanted. I wanted to be sister Barbara, I wanted this religious life for myself. I didn’t want to fail, I guess. I’m not very proud of saying that, but I don’t like failure. I wanted to prove this was my life, and God was in it for me. It was God's choice for me, and I was happy with it. I’ve learned a lot from other people. You’ve got to love yourself, believe in yourself, do for yourself. Because in a way, no-one was going to do that for me.
Now this village community is my life, my role. I want people to be happy. This is their final years. My aim is to help them be at peace, be safe, be comfortable and enjoy life. Some people are confused around here about the ageing process; distressed. It’s easy to think about death and dying when you’re a bit younger.
I don’t have any fear of death. I think death is the end of a wonderful journey for me. That’s how I’ve lived my life – that I look forward to my death. I still have things I want to do: go to Vietnam and help the sisters there with their English language skills, and to be comfortable and happy here. I want to go back to Whangamatā, the best beach in New Zealand, and meet more of my family. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I die. But I have a feeling all will be well, as St Julian of Norwich would say. That I will be with God.
As told to Andre Chumko for ‘Aotearoa in 20’, a Stuff project.