On a Sunday evening during Lent, a group of Episcopal nuns gathered in their softly lit library, engaging in conversation, knitting, and admiring an unexpected altar: an orthopedic dog bed supporting their old mutt, Jennie, who was healing after ACL surgery.
Vespers had concluded, as had dinner, which included spring rolls, liverwurst, and potato chips. The time for the nightly Great Silence, a 12-hour period of stillness that heightens the sounds of nature surrounding the convent in Mendham, N.J., was approaching.
But first, they needed to say the final prayer of the day, taking turns reading passages. “Blessed be the air” felt like a humble sentiment in the warm light of the room. As they recited “Teach us to be at peace with what we have,” Jennie let out a sigh and adjusted herself on the cozy gray bed, the only contemporary piece in the century-old convent, a gift from a fan of Sister Monica Clare’s TikTok account.
Picture Maria von Trapp as a successful nun, and you’ll have an idea of the 59-year-old mother superior, who started @NunsenseForthePeople in 2020 and has a memoir titled “A Change of Habit” set to release on April 29.
She began her TikTok as a way to promote awareness about progressive religious communities like the Community of St. John Baptist and possibly to draw in new members. Having previously worked in Hollywood, she understands the influence of social media.
“To connect with young people, you have to go where they are,” Sister Monica Clare mentioned. “They aren’t at the roller rinks or bowling alleys.”
Her pandemic videos featuring a mischievous wild turkey transitioned into content about living in seclusion and, by popular request, her skincare routine. As her account grew, now boasting over 200,000 followers, many began to ask: Who is this charming nun with a Southern drawl and a knack for lighting? What prompted her to leave her marriage, budding comedy career, and stable job for a life of devotion? And, honestly, who was aware that Episcopal nuns even existed?
To grasp what led Sister Monica Clare to embrace convent life, it’s helpful to understand her fellow sisters.
Despite the old-fashioned atmosphere—think dumbwaiters and sewing rooms—the nuns firmly engage with the modern world. They advocate for progressive issues, livestream their Thursday prayer sessions, share cars like Priuses and Subarus, and even own a treadmill and iPhones. During my visit, one nun sported a hoodie over her habit while another wore Crocs. Four community members were married before joining.
Sister Monica Clare’s journey to sisterhood was intricate and surprising, completely contrasting with her life close to fame in Los Angeles.
“I attempted to resolve it in therapy,” she reflected. “I tried to brush it off. I learned to keep it under wraps. I kept asking others, ‘What are your thoughts on me becoming a nun?’ Yet, I always received negative feedback.”
Claudette Powell, as she was once known, grew up in a Southern Baptist environment in Rome, Ga., with a troubled con-man father and little stability. The church served as her refuge amid chaos. Nuns, according to her grandmother, were a different kind altogether—Roman Catholics destined for hell. However, during the post-Vatican-II period, as strict nuns were replaced by those performing folk songs, young Claudette found herself captivated by “The Nun’s Story,” “The Flying Nun,” and “The Sound of Music.” She quietly dreamt of becoming a nun.
She pursued acting at New York University, where she discovered she would always play the supporting role and never the lead. She joined an improv group called Sterile Yak, where Mo Willems was a member, and took on a nanny position with a family that eventually relocated to Los Angeles. There, she attended comedy classes with the Groundlings and was selected for their introductory troupe alongside Cheri Oteri and Jennifer Coolidge.
“I thought to myself, I will join the main company and get on ‘Saturday Night Live,’” Sister Monica Clare recounted. “That was my goal.”
Oteri remembered her friend as a kind, composed individual, describing her as “an amazing straight man.” She noted, “Many actors struggle with surface-level neuroses. Claudette didn’t.”
However, Sister Monica Clare never made it to the main company, partly due to her involvement with the man who would become her husband. “I focused too much energy on trying to salvage my relationship,” she said. “It was doomed from the start.”
She recalled a moment of revelation after attending Jimmy Fallon’s birthday party at the Château Marmont, which felt odd to recount while dressed in her habit.
“I stumbled out the door, burst into tears, and realized I just couldn’t continue,” Sister Monica Clare expressed. “I didn’t belong. People thought I was strange. Why was I trying so hard? That was my turning point.”
She subsequently worked at IMAX and then for a boutique firm that managed publicity for events like the Berlin Film Festival. Her marriage ended after “two long, challenging years,” and she recalled, “I still remember lying in bed when a piece of scripture entered my mind: Get up and set your house in order.”
Sister Monica Clare joined All Saints’ Episcopal Church in Beverly Hills and was immediately embraced. Disenchanted with Hollywood, she started to think about a life devoted to faith. She dismissed going to seminary since she needed a full-time job and eventually made the decision to finally become a nun.
However, there was a challenge: Sister Monica Clare needed to clear $150,000 in debt to join the convent (there wasn’t a work-study option; she inquired). The whole process lasted a decade.
Needless to say, joining the sisterhood is not just a simple agreement. You must select a community, and they must choose you too. You are required to make commitments of poverty, chastity, and obedience, which are not typical goals for most individuals.
The Community of St. John Baptist spans 85 acres in Mendham, including a former orphanage repurposed as a retreat house (which was recently used for filming scenes for an upcoming Steven Spielberg movie), along with various outbuildings, gardens, and even a labyrinth. Upon my visit, I was amazed by the place, then taken aback by the contrast between its online representation and reality.
These old structures were surrounded by bare trees, and the convent’s stucco appeared worn out. The empty parking lot exuded a feeling of solitude along with a sense of calm.
Currently, the convent is home to ten sisters, a decline from 33 just a few decades ago. Their ages range from 32 to 89, with most being older. Unlike some religious communities, Episcopal nuns do not receive direct support from the church; instead, they sustain themselves through legacies, donations, real estate ventures, and a retreat ministry that attracts over 2,000 visitors annually from various faiths and backgrounds.
