The Eucharist: A Call Within a Call
by Sister Mary Dominic Pitts, O.P.

We often hear that God has a plan for our lives, the intricate pattern of which is most evident when we turn around and look at it, like a mountain climber who looks back to see how far he has come.

The immediate story of my vocation to St. Cecilia began when I went from my home town of Birmingham, Alabama to the University of Michigan. A scholarship became available to Queen’s University, Belfast. I applied and won the scholarship for 1979-1980 to study linguistics.

One weekend in December, Evelyn, a student who lived in my dorm, invited me to Derry for the weekend to help with the music at Mass. Though I was not a Catholic, I welcomed the invitation to be a part of the music preparations. When the parishioners began to line up for Communion, I simply looked on from the choir section. Then Evelyn leaned over and whispered, “Are you going to Communion?” Startled, I tried to process this question. My knowledge of the Catholic Church at this point could be summed up in two simple statements: 1) Catholics believe that the bread and wine became the Body and Blood of Christ, and 2) non-Catholics do not go to Communion in Catholic churches. Clearly, Evelyn was coming from some rule that I did not know. Even so, it seemed that it would not be right to take part in this without believing what Catholics believed. Suddenly, instantaneously, my inner debate was pierced with the realization that I did believe in the Real Presence with all my mind and soul! Since this belief removed the only obstacle that I was aware of, I took my place in line and received the Lord in the Eucharist. After Mass, Evelyn, a little nervous about having invited a non-Catholic to communicate, said, “You do know, don’t you, what we believe about Communion?”

“Yes,” I said, “and I believe it too.” I had taken the first step in my conversion.

A couple of months later I went to Mass with Evelyn again. This time, the Eucharistic minister at the head of my line was Evelyn’s uncle, who had prior knowledge of my “first Communion.” When he gave me the Host he whispered, “You shouldn’t be receiving this.” I was so crushed at the unexpected admonition that after Mass Evelyn took me back to the sacristy to speak to the priest. Father Paddy asked me gently, “Didn’t you ever think of becoming Catholic?” If I hadn’t thought of it before, I certainly was doing so now. Back in Belfast, I asked the Catholic chaplain at Queen’s to give me instructions in the Catholic faith. In addition to the Catechism, I also read books on John Wesley and Methodism, since I didn’t want to give up my spiritual heritage without knowing fully what this entailed. My family tree was deeply rooted in Methodism. Both my parents were the children of Methodist ministers. Gravest of all was the fact that my mother had just been ordained a United Methodist minister several months before. I did not want to cause her any grief, but everything that I read indicated that Catholicism was the complete Christian faith, especially in the sacraments. My mind was made up: I wanted to become a Catholic.

Since my scholarship had been extended for another year, I decided to wait to be received into the Church until I came back to Ireland. But two weeks before flying home for the summer, I went to Mass one more time. An unfamiliar priest processed in and introduced himself: “I’m Father Henry McDaid, and I’m from Birmingham, Alabama.” My home town! This coincidence was the bridge from Alabama to Ireland that joined my past, present and future. Too thrilled for words, I returned to Belfast at the end of the weekend and asked the Queen’s University chaplain to receive me into the Church right away. The one night he was free, the night before I was to leave for the States, I became a Catholic in the convent chapel of a community of Dominican sisters—without even knowing what they were!

After a second year in Belfast I returned to the States for the final year of writing my dissertation. I was restless, wanting to follow the powerful momentum of conversion even to the point of a religious vocation. I sent off for “discernment packets” and even visited a cloistered Dominican convent near Detroit on the suggestion of a priest “because,” he said, “of your education.” But in spite of all my knocking, no doors were opening. In the meantime, doors to jobs were flying open right and left. This must be what God wanted, I thought. I accepted an offer from Auburn University in my home state of Alabama and became an assistant professor on the English faculty, teaching linguistics.

Five years went by, during which time I had developed another agenda. Surely, in a university of almost 20,000 students with a faculty of hundreds, there was a Mr. Right waiting for me! But after four years, he had still not identified himself. One April, frustrated, I called Mother Angelica in Birmingham (she was still in Irondale at the time) and told her of my problem. Instead of giving me Ann Landers advice, Mother said, “How would you like to come work for me this summer?” It sounded like a nice break from teaching the Structure of English to teachers in the summer, so I temporarily moved into one of EWTN’s guest houses.

Mother wanted me to produce her Live Show, which meant researching guests, picking them up at the airport, and prepping both the guest and Mother before the show began. The greatest perk of the job was that I met all kinds of outstanding Catholics. One in particular, Fr. Jordan Aumann, O. P., a Dominican who has published many books on Catholic spirituality, gave me a compliment which would turn out to be a prophecy: “You’d make a good Dominican.”

Every afternoon after work I would go into the Poor Clares’ chapel and spend an hour before the Blessed Sacrament. At the end of that summer I made the hardest decision I have ever made: to leave my tenure-track position at Auburn and come to work permanently as a producer at EWTN.

When I had been a full-time producer for a month, Mother Angelica asked to see me. She was designing a new active women’s religious order who would run the EWTN Network. Mother Angelica wanted me to be one of the founding members of that new order. However, I had met a Dominican sister from Nashville who knew that I was discerning a vocation. Before making up my mind, she said, I should go to Nashville to visit the St. Cecilia Dominican Motherhouse.

One Saturday in early February the two of us drove up to Nashville, and the sister left me with the novice mistress, Sr. Mary Angela, and one of the young professed sisters, Sr. Catherine Marie, who showed me around. I particularly remember Saturday Compline. I watched all the sisters process to the statue of the Blessed Mother, led by the postulants in their black outfits and chapel veils. I remember distinctly thinking, “I’m going to be wearing one of those outfits soon.” I knew that this was the place that I had been seeking for so many years.

In August of 1987, having entered the Church in a Dominican convent, I entered a Dominican convent itself. A postulant, I wore the same black outfit and chapel veil that I had seen for the first time in February. A year later, I received the Dominican habit and the name Sister Mary Dominic. That was almost seventeen years ago, but I still ponder the marvels of the grace of Him Who knows the paths of our lives when we do not.