Cornerstone(s)

It seems like a riddle: What has a single cornerstone, and many cornerstones? Yet it’s no riddle, it’s simply the mystery of monastic community.

Over the past few days as I’ve looked over at Sister Florence’s former choir stall, her absence in choir is palpable. Downstairs, I no longer see her cleaning the serving area after dinner. During Mass, I no longer see her approaching the altar as Eucharistic Minister for the sick. When rounding the far corner of the monastery after a trip to town, I don't see  her out walking. Sister Florence was a mainstay of the community, and we are adjusting to life without one of our cornerstones even as she remains very present in our hearts.

While we have only one Cornerstone - Christ, the source and foundation of all that we are and do - within monastic community there is also a way in which we serve as cornerstones for one another, supporting, uplifting, and stabilizing in various ways at various times.

The photo above is a good image for this – all shapes, sizes, and angles of stones, joined together with a seamless bond and supported by a sure foundation. Imagine them as living stones that move and breathe, sometime supporting and sometimes needing support, sometimes leaning, sometimes being leaned upon, yet eternally bound together in the bond of Christ.

In the past week, those on Sister Florence’s row in choir have shifted down a place. Her prayer books have joined those available for guests. Someone else cleans the serving area each evening. We are moving and shifting, living stones, adjusting to life without her, yet remaining bound within the seamless bond of Christ.

The stone wall depicted above is from Mary Hall, which was built in the late 1940’s as a dormitory for Sacred Heart College. It now serves as lodging for the Retreat Center. The stones of Mary Hall are not only a good visual image, the building itself is a good descriptive image of the many ways in which monastics support one another over the long haul of years and generations. Mary Hall was designed by Sister Imelda, who also supervised its construction. Sister Therese now supervises it's maintenance.  Over the decades, many of our Sisters have lodged in Mary Hall as students, dorm prefects, retreatants, and retreat leaders. Sisters have both taught and taken classes on its lower floor. Sister Kathleen tends the flowers, which the rest of us pause to enjoy.  In my Retreat Center ministry I have done my share of cleaning in Mary Hall, and on Sunday evenings, after weekend retreatants have departed, I’m often making a run up and down its three floors, ensuring that doors are locked and lights are off. Yet I’ve also been cozy and comfortable as a Mary Hall guest.

It's not about buildings, of course. It's about the mystery of life in monastic community.  It’s about sometimes teaching and sometimes being taught.  Sometimes cleaning and sometimes being cleaned for.  Sometimes supporting and sometimes being supported. It’s about shifting and adjusting and moving as living cornerstones for one another, generation after generation, while always and evermore resting upon the One Cornerstone, Christ our sure foundation.

And so on...

Sister Florence could tell a story and I wish she were here to tell this one. I wish it was she recounting the tale of taking a hallway walk and collapsing under the weight of old age and the ailments of her final weeks.

It is so fitting that her death this past Monday occurred while walking. She loved a good walk. On the monastery treadmill she could out-walk nearly everyone, scaring the rest of us to bits with an all-out pace on a machine that didn’t seem to know how old she was. She took near-daily walks outside, rosary in hand, praying as she walked. She went down to the cemetery. She walked up and down the front drive. She walked to the guest parking lot to read the license plates. She walked up and down the chapel steps. She walked everywhere she could. She was 94.

She told stories like she walked. Up and down every drive. Around every corner. No detail of a license plate would be omitted. She could out-pace anyone with a story, and she told every story she could. She was still telling stories in the days before she died.

When telling a story, Sister Florence would often conclude a narrative block with the phrase “and so on.” She would then turn a corner and proceed headlong down the next stretch of the tale. She told stories just like she walked, rounding a corner and never breaking stride. And so on.

She left us on Monday, and she would be the first to put her monastic life in narrative perspective. She would weave herself into the long and winding story of this community with color and detail, yet with the long view that says “and so on.” There were Sisters here before her. We now survive her. Others will come after her. Rounding a corner. Never breaking stride. And so on.

She would weave herself into the long and winding storyline of Benedictine history in the same way. Rich with detail, long on perspective, she would describe herself as one of the countless individuals who have sought God through the monastic way of life. Many have gone in centuries past. Others are here now. Yet more are to come, with each character, every detail, as vital as the next in the never-ending narrative of seeking God.

Sister Florence lived her monastic life with the faithfulness of one tirelessly committed to her journey and with the enthusiasm of one with a great story to tell. She’s now turned a corner and reached the “and so on” of her own story. And how I wish we could hear her tell us all about it and listen to her say one more time “and so on.”

Postscript: The photo at top was taken this past spring in the retreat center parking lot.  As usual, her rosary was in hand.  The only thing missing is her whistle, which she usually wore when walking outside. 

The photo at table was taken this year on the Feast of St. Scholastica, one week after Sister Florence turned 94. 

At right, Sister Florence exits Ottila Hall in our Palm Sunday procession this past spring.  

And below, this past July 4th, Sister Florence received a Wii lesson from Sister Tonette.

A visit

Tonight, I wished that this was not a post but a visit, and that you could have been here with us on this relaxed summer evening full of long shadows and lingering light.

Here is what it was like…

Vespers sung with the attentive ease of a couple long wed. An unhurried trip downstairs for dinner. Quiet talk over a Southern supper of catfish, okra, corn bread, and fruit. A relaxed reach to help another Sister. A second slice of watermelon. Conversation about technology, word and gesture. Easy laughter floating from other tables. A couple of absent Sisters out attending a wake.

Those who needed help received it. Those who didn’t need it offered it. One Sister helped another with her plate. Someone took another’s turn at dishes. A Sister pitched in to cover one who was away.

After dinner, Compline. Familiar texts. Familiar responses. Quiet, unhurried prayer in the comfortable, comforting presence of God and each other. And then, as always, Salve Regina.

After Compline, a walk upstairs in careful lockstep with an elder Sister. A quick fix to her A/C unit. Then a brief walk outside. The summer sounds of tree frogs and crickets. The scent of magnolia. Arriving retreatants. Sister Bernadette strolling by. Then inside to type. Retreatants still arriving. Sister Magdalena stops by and we chat. I go to welcome the retreat group.

You aren’t here. You are reading this post. But consider it not a post but a visit, and imagine yourself here on a relaxed summer evening full of long shadows and lingering light and the infinitely tender goodness of God.

All is well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.

Mindful mowing

Now this is what I call doing one’s work with care and attention. I’m not sure who mowed this patch, but I was touched when I walked by the other day and saw a closely-shaved patch of earth with a solitary Lady Slipper left untouched by the mower blades.

It caused me to reflect from many angles… How carefully am I doing my work today? How am I exhibiting St. Benedict’s instruction to “regard all utensils and goods of the monastery as sacred vessels of the altar, aware that nothing is to be neglected” (chap. 31)? Am I treating those around me as the precious flowers of God that they are, or am I figuratively mowing them down with inattention and insufficient care, or perhaps with an inadvertantly sharp word?

Hmmm...A good examination of conscience from a bit of mowed earth.

Postscript – Mindfully NOT mowing: Here is the same patch of ground this past March. Each springtime, this spot of earth just south of Joseph Hall bursts into a riotous array of Star of Bethlehem flowers. We deliberately do not mow until the flowers have had their dazzling days in the sun and slowly begun to fade. Yet more cause for reflection… To everything there is a season..a time to mow, and a time to refrain from mowing…

The fullness thereof

The last two blog posts were marked by a big shift in tonality. First, there was the mournful tone of shared sorrow in “Oh, Shenandoah.” And then “Treasure,” with its serious meaning yet somewhat whimsical tone.

As I wrote and posted “Treasure” I felt the contrast and it was actually a bit difficult to post. Yet the contrast tells us something important about the nature of our life in monastic community. This monastic venture calls us to dive headlong into the fullness of a shared life in which we engage deeply with an entire range of tonalities, sometimes all at once. One Sister may have a soaring achievement just as another receives unwelcome news. We rejoice and mourn nearly with the same breath.

When we enter monastic community we have the challenge of weaving our personal tonalities – joy and sorrow, solemnity and whimsy, and everything in between – into the larger fabric of the community. We learn to make room for the warp and weft of other Sisters and of the community as a whole. This, of course, is not unique to monastics, yet our monastic commitment to stability means that we continually engage with the full spectrum of human tonalities in a very intentional manner for the long stretch of a lifetime.

It may not make logical sense, but this life of seeking God and the things of heaven actually pulls us deeper into our own humanity and the humanity of others. Even as we seek to become more and more conformed to the image of Christ, we are called to live fully our gift of life on earth, enter fully into our vocation, and encounter the fullness of God’s creation through creative work and self-giving ministry.

Experiencing the fullness of our humanity with its many tones of sorrow and joy, solemnity and whimsy, is not merely a matter of shifting from one to the other and back again. It also involves the important spiritual work of seeing one tone in light of the other. When I rejoice over the accomplishments of a Sister, I rejoice in light of the Sister who just received sorrowful news. My joy is not diminished. Instead, my heart is called to expand to encompass the sorrow too. Fullness of life in Christ calls us to an expansive and generous heart, and eyes which see the whole of life – with its warp and weft, its complex tonalities, and its hues both subtle and vivid – in light of the fullness of God’s transforming love.

The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof, the world and all who dwell there… Ps. 24:1


Postscript: A particular way in which we encounter the breadth of human experience is in our daily chanting of the Psalms in the Liturgy of the Hours. The language of the Psalms encompasses the breadth of human emotion before God – from the deepest of laments to joyful cries of praise. And it is the Psalms that help teach us to bear the often swift changes of current in our lives. Psalms of lament invariably end with an expression of praise, thanksgiving, and/or confidence in God’s salvation. Fullness, indeed.

Treasure

At 6:10 this morning I glanced at my watch. I was striding up the back chapel steps headed toward the sacristy to prepare vestments for our 8:30 Mass. I had already taken a walk, greeted an early-rising guest, and made the first pot of retreat center coffee.

And since 6:10? Well, there’s been breakfast service for guests, private prayer, Lauds, Eucharist, mid-day prayer, lunch… I’ve edited a letter with Sr. Marian, washed a load of clothes, chuckled over a microphone that failed at an inopportune (but not critical) moment, completed a bit of office work, and responded to an errant mid-morning chiming of bells that sent me rushing toward the infirmary thinking someone had died.

As I type this it’s now early afternoon. It sounds as if I have been busy, but the day has slid by quietly and serenely, filled with the odds and ends of a life spent seeking God in the midst of monastic community. It’s had a nice, gentle balance of seriousness and humor, work and prayer, solitude and community. Outside, the earth is wrapped in a robe of summer light and sky. Inside, the community carries on its monastic life with earnestness and zeal, yet with the gentle ambiance of a Saturday afternoon in the sweet, sunny South. Life is full. Life is blessed. Life is rich beyond measure, and the many gifts of this day spill through my fingers like doubloons in the hands of a seeker of fortune.

This morning, Sr. Therese received as a simple but fun birthday gift a hand-drawn treasure map. She followed the lines, the arrows, and the occasional “go west, go north” until she found a small tin box buried amidst some bricks. The box was filled with odds and ends: a rubber ball, a pencil, some marbles, a carpentry tool, a key chain, a hand-cut wooden cross, some old coins, a couple of arrowheads, a rock… Simple odds and ends, yet treasures all.

Now it’s nearing 2 pm and I’m again looking at my watch. I’m realizing how much the odds and ends of this day have been a treasure map, a treasure hunt, and the treasure itself all rolled into one bright, shining gift from God. These odds and ends – the prayer, the work, the earnestness, the humor, the silence, the activity – all bring us to one end which is our life in Christ, wherein our true treasure lies.

“Teaching from your lips is more precious to me than heaps of silver and gold…” Psalm 118:72, which we recited today during mid-day prayer.


Evening addendum: Sr. Lynn Marie returned this evening from Bristow where she attended the funeral of Sr. Denise (see previous post). She reports a beautiful celebration of Sr. Denise's life. We continue to hold in prayer the sisters who were injured in the automobile accident, as well as the entire Bristow community.

Oh, Shenandoah

Bristow, Virginia lies slightly to the east of the Shenandoah Valley. Nevertheless, the lyrics and melody of this plaintive ballad have come to mind again and again since we received the Sunday afternoon news that a Sister of St. Benedict's Monastery in Bristow was tragically killed in a motor vehicle accident. Two other Sisters were critically injured. Since then, our hearts have been heavy as we mourn with our Sisters in Virginia.

Although these Sisters live hundreds of miles away, they are family to us. Many of our Sisters know various Bristow Sisters. Some of us have spent time in Bristow. Some of their Sisters have visited here. Yet even beyond these personal connections, a Benedictine bond is present that connects us to the Bristow Sisters and to Benedictines around the world. We are family. A very large family, but a family nonetheless, and when one mourns, we all mourn.

In Matthew 18:20, Jesus tells us that "where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them." There is a kind of Benedictine corollary. Wherever one of us travels, the rest of the community is with them in a kind of spiritual presence rooted in spiritual kinship. When I attended the recent workshop at Annunciation Monastery in Bismarck, I felt the prayers and support of my Cullman community so strongly that it was almost as if they were present with me. When Sister Lynn Marie attends the funeral of Sister Denise later this week, the Bristow Sisters will know that she is not there just on her own behalf, but that the love and support of our entire Sacred Heart community is present with her.

Our connection is deep and real, rooted in our common faith and in our rich Benedictine heritage. We have a bulletin board filled with the newsletters of other Benedictine houses, as well as announcements of their professions, deaths, and other significant events. When one rejoices, we all rejoice. When one mourns, we all mourn.

Ultimately, though, this Benedictine connection is not merely insular. Our common faith and love for God impels us ever outward, to embrace the joy and suffering of the entire world through our monastic prayer and the needs of our local communities through our work and ministry.

And now, we rejoice in the life, the faith, and the loving ministry of Sister Denise. We mourn her tragic death. We hold the injured close in prayer. And always, we walk humbly through this life - sometimes through a verdant valley like Virginia's Shenandoah, and sometimes though a vale of tears - yet always walking together, with our Lord here among us.

Postscript: The lyrics of Oh, Shenandoah, while not religious per se, nonetheless convey well the sense of longing we Christians would see as a longing for our heavenly home, for the courts of the Lord, for the loving embrace of God with which Sister Denise was surely welcomed...

"Oh, Shenandoah
I long to see you,
And hear your rolling river...
[and] see your smiling valley..."



(Note: First and third photographs are from the Shenandoah Natl. Park website - used per site permission.)

Art project

The workshop I recently attended in North Dakota included an art project. Even though I am not very ‘arty,’ I gamely picked up a paint brush and over several days periodically wandered into the monastery studio to work on my project. Gradually my work took shape and eventually I realized I was enjoying it. The finished product was pretty rough around the edges, but nevertheless it conveyed something of my experience of the prairie.

During our community meetings last week I was asked to present a reflection about my experiences at the workshop and I had to decide: do I or do I not show my not-very-good art project to my monastic Sisters? Gamely, I pulled out my project and propped it on the table beside me as I spoke. Although I intended to use it to help illustrate my words, it occurred to me that it was an illustration of something deeper. I realized that the act of sharing with the community my rough around the edges project was somewhat similar to the monastic enterprise itself.

When we are called to monastic community we commit ourselves to being formed and shaped within a particular community for the rest of our lives. The goal of this on-going formation is to become more and more conformed to the image of Christ. Benedictines typically refer to this as “conversion through the monastic way of life.” No matter how multi-talented, finely wrought, spiritually mature, wise, or loving any one of us may be, we all remain rough around the edges in one way or the other and we all have to work at the lifelong task of conversion. Our vowed stability, an element of religious profession that is unique to monastics, allows for the constant rubbing of shoulders in work and prayer that helps smooth our rough edges as we become transformed more and more into the likeness of Christ.

I know that my unskilled ‘artistic’ efforts were appreciated by my community, and especially my willingness to share them. It's part of allowing my community to know me - rough edges and all - as we walk together day by day, seeking to have our 'roughness' smoothed and our hearts transformed through fidelity to the Gospel and to the monastic way of life. The Rule of St. Benedict and the Gospel of Christ call us to no less.


Postscript: It has been a busy week around here! We had a wonderful celebration last weekend when Sr. Sara Aiden made her first monastic profession. We then had a great week of community meetings, followed by a celebration yesterday of Sr. Brigid’s 25th Jubilee. Yes, we’ve been busy, but oh, so blessed. Photos of Sr. Sara Aiden’s profession are on our Community News web page, with photos of Sr. Brigid’s celebration to soon follow.