The trio of remaining sisters from Austria’s Canonesses of St. Augustine never truly settled into their assigned retirement residence. They found the rooms cramped, longed for their cherished garden, and, after six decades, were unexpectedly required to dine alongside men.
Just a short distance away stood their beloved former home: an ancient abbey nestled within a medieval castle. Adjacent to it, a cemetery wall bears the names of every sister who had lived, prayed, taught, and passed away at the abbey over the past 150 years. Sisters Rita, Regina, and Bernadette, known only by their religious names, were destined to be the last entries on that sacred list. This was, unequivocally, where they belonged.
Thus, during a reunion of their devoted former students, a daring plan was conceived: to liberate the nuns.
“From the very beginning,” Sister Bernadette confessed in an interview, “I simply yearned to go home.”
The sisters’ extraordinary tale quickly blossomed into a media sensation, sparking numerous debates. Was their relocation from the old convent truly forced? Was the abbey genuinely unsafe? And when they indeed re-entered their former residence, did they, in fact, break the law?
One thing remains undeniably clear: the nuns’ surprising exodus underscores the inherent challenges of aging, not just for individuals, but for long-standing institutions as well.
While the Roman Catholic Church holds significant cultural sway in Austria, its ranks of nuns are steadily diminishing. The number of nunneries in the country dropped to 102 in 2024, down from 120 in 2010. Similarly, the population of nuns decreased from 4,200 in 2010 to just 2,417 last year.
Sister Bernadette, now 88, recalls a time when 35 nuns resided at Goldenstein Castle abbey in Elsbethen, near Salzburg, when she first arrived in 1955. They shared living quarters in one section of the ancient edifice while teaching in another. Over decades, their numbers gradually declined, leaving only Sisters Bernadette, Rita (81), and Regina (86) for the past two decades.
In 2022, Abbot Markus Grasl, a figure the sisters recognized from his youth, assumed management of their convent. Citing a church regulation requiring orders to have a minimum of six living members, the abbot informed the nuns almost two years ago that they must relocate. Soon after, their cars mysteriously vanished.
The abbot’s spokesman maintained that the nuns had consented to the move, a claim the sisters vehemently deny.
However, there is no disagreement about their profound unhappiness in the new church-run retirement facility, located in a nearby town and shared with retired male clergy. Sister Rita wept upon her arrival, and Sister Regina, found by visitors confined to her small room, appeared to have lost her will to live.
Last October, during a class reunion, former students of the nuns convened and discussed their beloved teachers’ yearning to return to the abbey. Their decision was unanimous: they would break the nuns out.
“They were simply miserable,” stated Christina Wirtenberger, 65, one of the former students.
A pact of secrecy enveloped the intricate escape plan, a pact that both Sister Regina and Sister Rita inadvertently broke. Yet, it seemed, no one noticed or, perhaps, truly minded.
At 2 p.m. on September 4th, the audacious escape commenced.
Ms. Wirtenberger arrived at the senior center in a black Opel sedan, followed by a white moving truck and a swarm of reporters, all discreetly informed by the former students. Her hope was that this media presence would compel the abbot to accept their return.
The small convoy drove for about 15 minutes to the old abbey, which stood vacant. Power had been cut, and the showers lacked running water. However, the sisters’ dedicated helpers had arranged for a locksmith to grant them entry. The nuns ascended four flights of stairs to their former rooms, discovering that the electric stairlift they once used for their twice-daily prayers had vanished.
A video captures the heartwarming story: three nuns, discontent with their retirement home, devised a plan to reclaim the convent where they had spent decades of their lives.
Upon discovering the nuns missing, officials at the senior home alerted the police. Two officers were dispatched to the abbey, one of whom happened to be a former student. She warmly embraced the nuns. After the sisters denied any wrongdoing in re-entering the building, the police departed.
Just two weeks later, the once dark and damp corridors of the nunnery bustled with activity and upgrades, thanks to a network of approximately 200 supporters organized through a WhatsApp group by Ms. Wirtenberger. The lights were on, new refrigerators hummed, and security cameras had been installed in the stairwell.
The captivating story quickly drew international attention, with coverage from major news outlets. A reporter from a prominent German newspaper even prepared to spend the night at the abbey, mattress and all, to cover the unfolding events.
A continuous stream of supporters brings food and assists in cleaning their reclaimed home. An active Instagram account now shares short clips of the nuns residing back at the abbey, quickly gathering over 36,000 followers as of Wednesday.
During a recent visit, the sisters meticulously arranged their lunch table, unfurling a white tablecloth with a synchronized grace that spoke volumes of their many years of shared routine.
Sister Regina, a former math and calligraphy teacher and now the most delicate of the trio, peacefully dozed during the visit. Sister Bernadette, once a stern home economics instructor remembered by students as a formidable disciplinarian, appeared to have softened with time.
The nuns expressed appreciation for the newfound attention but emphasized their primary desire: to resume a peaceful, normal life within the familiar walls of their old home.
Perched at an antique wooden table on the abbey’s top floor, Sister Rita shared her hopes, particularly her ambition to restore the overgrown greenhouse in the garden. She also expressed a desire for reconciliation with the abbot.
“Despite everything,” she said, “I still hold affection for him.”
The Vatican remained silent on the matter. Harald Schiffl, the abbot’s spokesman, conveyed that church officials felt overwhelmed by the media frenzy. He noted their bewilderment as to why the nuns abandoned what he described as a comfortable retirement to return to an abbey he considered structurally unsound and a health risk.
Yet, he conceded, “it’s understandable that leaving a place where you’ve resided for decades is never simple.”
Mr. Schiffl confirmed that church officials had not engaged directly with the nuns and had no immediate plans for such a discussion.