She possesses an undeniable feminine strength that captivates those around her.

This power is something she embraces, showcases, and celebrates.

Her movements are filled with elegance and intention, making her one of the most graceful individuals I’ve encountered.

On the streets and in our workplace, she draws attention effortlessly.

She embodies a vibrant spirit and an authentic joy for life, exuding warmth that can be felt even in crowded spaces.

Her energy is contagious, and when she engages with you, it feels as if you are the sole focus of her world.

It’s a striking experience.

She makes you stop and rethink your daily assumptions.

Her voice, rich and inviting, beckons you to listen closely.

Dressed with a flair that blends modesty and bold colors, she is the epitome of a truly self-assured woman.

Though we are colleagues, I find myself drawn to her in a way that feels like admiration.

This is not what you might expect.

I’m referring to Sister Juanita, an African-American Catholic nun.

Just a couple of months after graduating college, I embarked on my first professional journey at an experimental Catholic radio station in Cleveland, Ohio.

At 22, I was at the peak of my youth, navigating life quietly, all while praying the Rosary alongside listeners.

There’s a lot to unpack there.

It takes a particular kind of audacity to complain through Catholic schooling and then intentionally choose a Catholic college, culminating in selecting a Catholic radio station as a career launchpad.

I didn’t plan it that way; theater had consumed my thoughts, leaving me to forget about post-college career preparations.

A recommendation led me to this opportunity, which felt like a lifeline. In truth, I would have been content doing any job that allowed me to pursue theater in the evenings.

Though it paid minimum wage—typical for radio work—I was “working in my field” while indulging my passion for acting.

I assisted with news segments, organized music playlists, and managed call screening for talk shows.

The highlight of my day was running the board for Sister Juanita Shealey’s radio show, where she would connect with listeners and share uplifting messages.

I wasn’t quite her sidekick, but it was an enjoyable experience.

By the mid-90s, she was already a recognized media figure, arriving at the studio just minutes before her show, seamlessly stepping into her role, performing her magic, expressing her thanks, and swiftly heading off to continue her impactful work elsewhere.

Though she had set aside the traditional habit, she still donned a veil—sometimes black, often blue—complemented by colorful scarves and stoles, or even a full powder-blue habit.

She would call out my name with enthusiasm. “Joseph,” she would proclaim, “do you know how much I adore the name Joseph? I specifically chose the Sisters of St. Joseph as my order, so you are aptly named!”

Sister Juanita had a disarming presence. It’s not every day that the public encounters a vibrant and kind African-American face beneath a Catholic veil.

One day, she recounted a humorous encounter:

“Joseph, as I was walking here, a man across the street shouted at me. Do you know what he yelled? ‘Hey, Sister Act!’ We couldn’t stop laughing. Aren’t people amazing?”

If you revisit my initial description of her, those familiar with Catholicism might think I’m joking—a nun characterized by deep confidence and love? Joyful and affectionate? Someone who dresses with style and embraces the spotlight to uplift others during challenging times?

I understand your skepticism.

As someone who distanced myself from the Church and harbors doubts about organized religion, I could readily compile a list of grievances against the Catholic Church.

Yet, when I think of individuals like Sister Juanita, I find myself pausing. There are those who have always been on the front lines, tirelessly assisting others through their genuine struggles.

While the Church often emphasizes a narrative of guilt and sinfulness, Sister Juanita exemplifies a different message—one that celebrates the inherent worth and beauty of individuals.

Navigating her path as one of the few African-American women in the Church during the early 1950s must have been challenging. More than her race, being a woman likely led to biases that sought to diminish her contributions and encourage her to stay in a subordinate role.

Perhaps I’m projecting. Yet, even within the radio station where she was cherished, there were moments I sensed that some men were uncomfortable with a confident woman—a nun—who refused to conform to their expectations of modesty and deference, instead embracing her gifts and actively pursuing opportunities in media.

Some people struggle with the presence of a truly self-assured individual—a woman, a nun—who understands her beauty and significance.

Life continuously reminds me that authentic expression—often coupled with courage—is essential for making an impact and effecting change.

However, after learning about the widespread child abuse scandals that many within the Church sought to conceal, my faith was irreparably shaken, a decline that had been in process since I was 15.

Yet, even the most jaded skeptic can be moved by Sister Juanita’s sage voice. Opportunities for young Black women were scarce in the late 1940s, yet she boldly embraced her vocation and lived it on her terms. Would she make the same decision today? That’s uncertain.

Every faltering institution has its leaders who perpetuate wrongdoing alongside passionate advocates who genuinely serve the community, striving to do good. While I may be critical from my enlightened vantage point, I cannot help but respect those who forge ahead with acts of kindness and a sincere love for humanity.

Eventually, after mustering the courage to leave the radio station in late 1997, I relocated to California, and we lost touch. However, her influence remained with me, and I have searched for her online for the past 15 years, anticipating the sad news of her passing. Yet, it has never come.

Recently, I stumbled upon a video interview produced by her diocese, celebrating her seven decades as a nun. I realized with surprise that she must be in her early 90s now.

There she was, without a veil or glasses, sharp and witty, reflecting on her life in Cleveland—whether on air, on television, or in person.

If you search for it, you’ll find a somewhat stiff production, but delve deeper into the 49-minute segment, and her vibrant personality shines through as she discusses racism, her calling, and her zest for life.

Here are a few quotes that capture her spirit, in case you don’t have time to watch:

“I felt that I was beautiful, that I was wonderful, that I was talented, because my mother always told me so. And my father and the neighbors too. So when you went out into the world it was too late for somebody to try and hurt you, to really hurt you, because you were strong enough to know that you were beautiful… that you could accomplish anything.”

“When I’d complain about someone being mean to me, my mother would say, ‘Not everyone was raised the way your father and I are raising you—teach them, in how you react to them.’”

“I remember the day I received that beautiful long habit, I thought I was a queen! I loved that big black habit… and I just thought I was beautiful.”

“A lot of boys liked me because I was a dancer, and so we could win all the dance contests… there were plenty of boys, but the Lord had his hand on me already.”

“I’m of African-American ancestry, I am a woman who is proud to be a native Clevelander and an American, and I love being a woman.”

And once again, I find myself with a lump in my throat.

I have distanced myself from the Catholic Church and sought spiritual fulfillment in other ways.

Yet…

I am moved to tears as I witness this passionate woman, still dedicated to goodness, still believing that she can make a difference, one person at a time. A true gift to the world and an exemplary figure of someone who embodies authenticity.

A testament to an exceptionally self-assured woman.