Merry Benedictine Nuns Celebrate Gospel by Being Clowns for Christ

At Mount St. Benedict, an unobtrusive priory where nuns pray and preach for peace and justice, the expression of faith often takes a colorful, circus-like twist.

The Benedictine Sisters of Erie are “fools” for Christ, good-will ambassadors in clown outfits who spread and celebrate the gospel through gentle humor and mercifully tender tricks.

“The traditional Christian message seems to get boxed in. What we attempt to do is to break down some of those barriers,” said Sister Peggy Pilewski, 39, otherwise known as “Bubbles.”

“There is an underside and you can laugh in the context of prayer,” she said, showing off her yellow clown outfit and antennae. “It’s OK. It’s part of the human experience as well as being very stern and very solemn-faced.”

“It’s important not to take life too seriously,” said Beth Adams, 29, a postulant whose trademark is garish suspenders and a yellow back scratcher.

For a religious order whose protests for peace, justice and women’s rights have stretched from the steps of Erie’s courthouse to the White House, donning clown costumes and painting faces for special services, retreats and benevolent outings is a particularly welcome change of pace.

“It’s real easy . . . to go from one vigil to the next,” Sister Anne McCarthy, 30, said. “You can easily get stuck in a position where you’re saying ‘no’ all the time. ‘No, we shouldn’t bomb Libya. No, we shouldn’t fund the contras. No, we shouldn’t be involved in Central America. No, we shouldn’t be building this weapon system.’

“To see the same group have clowning as part of prayer and part of worship integrates it. It all ties together, but I don’t think people always put those together and I think it’s good for them to see.”

In fact, the nuns’ liberal views and frequent demonstrations have made their venture into clowning that much easier, at least as far as public acceptance is concerned.

Only a handful of Mount St. Benedict’s 150 nuns wear habits. The rest wear everyday clothes to their jobs on and off the 60-acre priory, located seven miles from Erie along Lake Erie’s shore.

“Our community in general receives a lot of criticism for various things that we do. This (clowning) is the least of them,” said Sister Carolyn Gorny-Kopkowski, 46, or “Mumsie.” Her comment prompted a burst of laughter from her clowning cohorts.

“I’ve had different people say, ‘Boy, you’re the happiest bunch of nuns I’ve ever seen,’ ” a grinning Sister Paula Burke, 50, added, generating still more laughter.

Mount St. Benedict’s efforts are part of “a new resurgence” in clowning, mime, storytelling and other art forms in all religions, said Jorja Davis, executive director of Phoenix Power and Light Inc., a nonprofit group that holds annual clown ministry conferences.

Church clowns are not just clowning around. The contemporary clown ministry movement dates back to the 1960s, although the concept has been around since the time of Christ, regarded by practitioners as the ultimate “fool” for sacrificing his life for others.

In 1985, the National Conference of Catholic Bishops’ Committee on the Liturgy denounced clown ministry as inappropriate in liturgical worship.

The panel’s statement appears to have had little effect on those who consider clowning a legitimate alternative to presenting religion more traditionally.

“The fad of it may have reached a peak, but the depth of it has not,” said Margie Brown, who teaches clown ministry at the Pacific School of Religion in Berkeley.

Mount St. Benedict’s nuns were hoping to enrich their spiritual lives when they formed their clown troupe nearly four years ago after attending a national clown ministry conference.

Their decision to add clowning to their endeavors didn’t come easily, even though they were no strangers to the stage and had long since shrugged off obscurity.

Members of the priory appeared in full habit on Ed Sullivan’s television show in 1966 as Sisters ‘66, a singing group. They shared the program with the Rolling Stones.

The nuns were back in the national spotlight in 1980 when, faced with soaring fuel costs, they struck natural gas in their back yard.

Despite their unconventional past, some of the more conservative nuns in the 130-year-old Benedictine order had “severe reservations” about their colleagues performing as clowns, according to Pilewski.

“Even as a (smaller) group, we questioned whether or not clowns belonged in chapel, whether clowns belonged in the setting of a liturgical worship,” she said. “We worked through those questions as a group. ‘When should we clown? When should we mime? Is there a difference?’ ”

After considerable debate, the priory agreed to give clowning a try. About eight nuns immediately volunteered, adopting the name “Fools on the Hill,” borrowed from a song by John Lennon and Paul McCartney.

The clowns made their debut at a birthday party for Sister Joan Chittister, Mount St. Benedict’s prioress, on April 26, 1983. Over the next year, they gathered regularly to practice miming as well as dramatizing parables based on Bible stories.

Before long, the clowns were participating more and more at daily prayer services, as well as at weekend retreats, enacting rather than reading the Scripture. Their performances soon were expected, even anticipated.

Now, for example, the nuns “all run to chapel to get a good seat” when they learn the clowns will be performing, according to Burke.

The clowns occasionally escort the other nuns into the chapel in brightly colored costumes, skipping down the aisle to circus music, blowing bubbles through wands and handing out balloons and flowers. But the mood turns calm and meditative once prayer begins.

Because of the nuns’ expanding repertoire, requests have begun streaming in from the outside. So far, the clowns, who now number 19, have held public workshops and have traveled throughout western Pennsylvania to homes for the elderly, state environmental conferences and relief centers for tornado victims. They charge no admission, but accept donations.

One of their latest efforts, a vesper service in mid-October at a home for senior citizens 60 miles south in Hermitage, brought smiles and occasional tears to a sea of tired faces.

In addition to handing out cards entitling the bearers to free hugs and twisting balloons into animals and apples, the nuns presented their own light-hearted interpretation of the Creation.

In the skit, God gives Adam first a cow and then a duck to keep him company, but the animals can’t play catch with him. So God creates Eve, a union that the miming nuns conclude is “very good.”

For Noreen Benedict, 34, a postulant, it was a first attempt at clowning--serious clowning, that is.

“I used to clown to get myself out of trouble,” she said, giggling and twirling her yellow visor after the service. “Now, it comes from a different angle. It’s totally from the heart. It’s putting on a mask but taking off another mask.”

“Deep down inside, there’s a clown in everybody,” said Sister Carolyn Lange, 37, who calls herself “Ling-Lang.” “You’re touching something deep down inside of them that may somehow want to come out and a person doesn’t know how to get that out. You’re giving that person permission to go along with you and what you’re doing.”

Almost always, it is a group effort.

“We see ourselves as working together,” Pilewski said.

Even the personal satisfactions are shared.

“It’s a very affirming experience no matter what we do or where we go,” Sister Jennifer Ritter, 23, said. “It seems like we give it our best and people are appreciative.”

The group probably would be less successful with a more traditional ministering approach, according to Chittister.

“These sisters of ours are not doing slapstick. They’re doing genuine human exploration of feelings,” she said. “It’s designed to strip away all pretense and past explanations. You can’t achieve this kind of simplicity any other way.”

Despite the growing demand for their services, the clowns have had to turn down invitations because of their already full schedules teaching at Erie’s St. Benedict Academy, running a food bank and soup kitchen, and working at the priory.

They’ve also taken care not to let their appearances interfere with their struggle for peace and justice, even though they view the two efforts as being closely intertwined.

“I see it (clowning) as a sign of hope in a sometimes hopeless world,” Pilewski said. “Somehow we turn around and laugh and say, ‘Hey, life is worth living. Our life is worth living, and so is yours, and I want to share this bit of happiness and hope with you.’ That’s the Christian message I feel.”