"On the Feast of Stephen..."

Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the Feast of Stephen,
When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even;
Brightly shone the moon that night, tho' the frost was cruel,
When a poor man came in sight, gath'ring winter fuel.


Today, on the Feast of Stephen, is a good day to take a deep breath, and like Good King Wenceslas, take a look around. Here at the monastery, after yesterday’s great feast, I’ve taken a good look and have seen quiet skies, quiet corridors, quiet Sisters, quiet offices, quiet lawns… I’ve seen the shining lights of our several Christmas trees… I’ve seen the sacristy restored to its usual order after the intense and busy liturgies of these past days… I’ve seen Sr. Margaret Mary chopping veggies for tonight’s turkey soup, and Sr. Janet Marie preparing supper. I’ve seen Sr.’s Eleanor and Mary Ruth bundled against the cold on a trip over to Benedictine Manor, and Sr. Therese stepping out on a journey through the rain. I’ve seen Sr. Lynn Marie stooping to help me pick up scattered utensils when I dropped their container on the floor, and I’ve seen Sr. Regina stepping in to help me out when it was clear I needed a bit of assistance.

Today, and every day, is a good day to notice all that is around us, and to look to the example of Good King Wenceslas, who gazed not only upon the brightly shining moon and the crisp, even snow, but also upon the needs of the poor, stooping to help them in their need.

Therefore, Christian folk, be sure, wealth or rank possessing,
Ye who now will bless the poor, shall yourselves find blessing.


Postscript: Here is a link to a great rendition of this traditional carol. Here at the monastery we sing this carol each year at Lauds on the Feast of St. Stephen.

Don we now...our aprons

If there is one non-liturgical item that is absolutely indispensible for a Christmas celebration at the monastery, it would have to be the lowly apron. This humble garment is like the tie that binds one activity to the next as we move through the celebration of Christmas Day here at the monastery – Christmas Breakfast, Lauds, Eucharist, Christmas dinner, Christmas party with egg nog and snacks, Vespers, supper… We don aprons, and then take them off, and then don them again, as we spend the day migrating like pilgrims between the chapel and the kitchen, between praying and eating, between worship and fellowship...finding every way we can to celebrate together the birth of our Lord.

Before each meal, the kitchen is filled with Sisters stirring, serving, slicing, and pouring…each wearing an apron that she has pulled from a simple tree rack where they hang like ornaments festooning an otherwise barren corner. With the meal ready to serve, the aprons are put away. After dinner, another set of Sisters, or perhaps some of the same ones, head to the rack, don an apron, and begin washing, scrubbing, drying, and storing…

Underlying the beauty of our various celebrations is humble service to one another. As an apron overlays and protects a garment, humility safeguards love. It is a tie that binds. In loving service to one another – whether careful preparation of the chapel for Mass, or the meal for the table, or the room for the guest, or the music for the liturgy, or the bed for the sick – we become a community that is able to celebrate not only with beauty and dignity, but with genuine faith and love. This requires donning, like an apron, the humility of Christ, serving one another with humble joy, festooning our life with gladness.

The innkeeper

We never hear about the innkeeper, the nameless one who on a dark, desert night, long, long ago said ‘no’ to two weary travelers - one with his face creased with the worry and dust of travel, the other clearly pregnant. Perhaps he was too tired, or too busy, to find an extra spot in a crowded room. Perhaps the needs of demanding guests filled his heart with urgency and worry. Perhaps the pantry shelves were nearly bare. Perhaps the burdens of the day were balanced so precariously on his shoulders that he felt he could not absorb the weight of two strangers from afar. Perhaps.

Since that long-ago night, decades and centuries have tumbled and spun, and tonight we find ourselves again on the brink of celebrating the nativity of the One who was born on that desert night so long ago, who was born outside the inn, who was born – outside. As we gather around heart and home with family and friends, may we remember that this spinning earth is still full of those who wander in search of shelter, food, safety…and the earth is still full of outsiders. When one wanders our way – perhaps a neighbor in need, or perhaps a stranger from afar – may we lay down our burdens and open welcoming arms knowing that our Lord Jesus often comes to us in the guise of the lowly, the poor, the outsider. On this night of nights, and on every night, may we be ready to absorb the weight of Him whose yoke is easy and whose burden is light. May we be ready to welcome each of His - and our - brothers and sisters.


Postscript: An unintentional and unplanned Advent haitus for this blog is now over. I'll soon be back at it regularly - but first, let us celebrate! A most joyous and blessed Christmas to each of you... (You can check out our Community News webpage for photos our our celebration here at the monastery.)

Reading Ecclesiastes on the biggest shopping day of the year

Today, on “Black Friday,” the biggest shopping day of the year, our scripture reading at Vespers happened to come from the third chapter of Ecclesiastes. This being my week to read, I was the one to get up and speak the familiar lines: “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven…a time to plant and a time to uproot…a time to seek and a time to lose…a time to keep and a time to cast away…”

I savored the words, reading with a kind of languid, unhurried voice, wanting to linger on each glowing phrase even as I hastened straight away to the next verse and the next and the next, one of which read, “God “has put the timeless into [our] hearts…”

In the midst of what has become, in our day, a season of shopping, celebrating, rushing, and being very, very busy about many, many things, these verses remind us of balance, perspective, and of God’s ordered time and timelessness. They invite us to root the otherwise ephemeral and fleeting activities of the season in the timelessness of the Eternal even as we hasten straight away to what is next and next and next... They call us to linger with each passing moment, and savor the eternity that glows within.



I know that whatever God does endures forever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it; God has done this, so that all should stand in awe before him. That which is, already has been; that which is to be, already is; and God seeks out what has gone by. Ecclesiastes 3:14-15

Of tools and tethers

We’ve been busy these past few weeks adjusting to the various sights, sounds, and disruptions of living in a construction zone. Despite our high spirits and excitement over the launching of the renovation project, all adjustments carry at least a little bit of stress, and recently the time grew ripe for us to relax together and have a party. And so we did.

Four Sisters got together to plan, shop, and decorate, and then they invited the rest of us to the Rafter Room for Banana Splits, ice cream sundaes, root beer floats, and every kind of ice cream topping you can imagine. Sister Lynn Marie brought her guitar for some high-spirited musical entertainment, and I fired up the LCD projector for a slide show. The décor featured helium-filled balloons, anchored in place by the construction tools to which they were tied.

The tools were a clever thematic element. But perhaps they were more than that. Perhaps they illustrated metaphorically the degree to which work helps keep us anchored when we are tempted to let ourselves float away in thought, in distraction, in unending leisure, in unbounded pursuit of personal gratification... Work keeps us present. It keeps us engaged with the places and the people around us. It keeps us anchored in this beautiful, challenging, joy-filled, and poignant world.

And of course it’s not just mechanical tools that keep us anchored. St.Benedict, in his Rule for monks, devotes an entire chapter to The Tools for Good Works in which he describes the spiritual tools that keep us anchored in loving service to those around us, tools such as “relieve the lot of the poor…go to help the troubled…do not injure anyone…speak the truth with heart and tongue…”

The traditional Benedictine motto, Ora et Labora, or Pray and Work, evokes well this balance to which we are called – a balance that calls us to pause from our labors, and then rise to take up our tools again. A balance that keeps our ‘thought bubbles’ from rising infinitely in self-absorbed reverie…that keeps our tools from becoming idols...that keeps our prayer from becoming only a “me and God” affair disconnected from the needs of our neighbor... A balance that intertwins prayer and work in such a way that our work becomes a prayer, a prayer that is tethered both to God and the needs of the world, bringing heaven to earth, and lifting earth toward heaven.


Postscript: Prayer, always a constant in the monastic "toolbox," is keeping us well-anchored through the challenges of construction.

Contemplative construction

This morning, after a very quiet weekend, the throttles were humming again in the heavy equipment that surrounds (and inhabits!) the monastery. The engines revved up right after Lauds. It was as if our concluding verse – “Thanks be to God” – was followed immediately by “Gentlemen, start your engines.”

From the sounds and sights outside my office window, I sometimes wonder if I’m living in a monastery or at some sort of ‘monster truck’ mega-fest. But despite the noise, it’s not hard to know that this is unmistakably a monastery. The monastic atmosphere remains despite the motorized symphony of booms and beeps. It’s present in our good-humored acceptance of the inconveniences of construction. It’s present as we greet arriving workmen as we exit Lauds. It’s present in the Psalm verses Sr. Therese placed along the ‘tunnel,’ and in the scanned archival photos that also line the corridor reminding us of the Sisters who worked and prayed before us – and who lived through their own construction projects. Fidelity to the basic elements of our monastic life keeps us anchored through the disruptions, and keeps us steeped not in noise, but in the contemplative spirit to which we are called.

Yes, the idea of contemplation in a construction zone may seem a bit odd. But I’ve now experienced four weeks of living in the midst of it and can attest to the possibility. It’s kind of like any form of prayer, which at its core is simply being attentive to, and remaining in communion with, our dear Lord. And this can happen anywhere, anytime, even in the midst of noise and disruption.

This spirit of prayer helps us see the deep silence and hidden beauty at the heart of construction – the skill of the craftsmen, the beauty of light, the artful lines and contours of the design, the desire for God that animated all Sisters who have dwelt here, and that still animates those here now…

Indeed, there’s a lot going on. But so is our regular monastic life of prayer and work. We go right on with our life of mutual obedience under a Rule and a Prioress – just as centuries of monastics have done through millennia of construction projects – always seeking to build the kingdom of God.



Postscript: Much of the activity is taking place just outside the Retreat Center office, giving me a front row seat for much of the action and noise. There are quieter spots! The retreat center residential areas are a good refuge, as is Annunciata Hall. Work ceases during our liturgical prayer, and all is quiet on the weekend!

Not missing a beat

The rhythm of renovation has been filling the air with an insistent, unrelenting, percussive intensity that somehow becomes strangely soothing after a while. When the noise suddenly stopped one day this week, two of us looked at each other with the same thought: “What’s wrong?” Nothing was wrong, except the sudden absence of the now-familiar, oddly-comforting soundtrack of beeps and thumps and whirrs.

Over three short weeks the persistent mechanical cadence has become nearly as steady as the rhythm of prayer, a rhythm to which we remain faithful through the twists and turns of construction. Despite altered routes, a half-lit chapel (temporary, thank goodness!), constant temptation to look out the window to see what is happening, and all the various inconveniences of living in a construction zone, our rhythm of prayer remains as steady as the rising and setting of the sun. And as steady as it has been for generations here on this good ground and in these sturdy buildings.

Earlier today, I scanned an old post card, probably from the 1930’s or early 1940’s, that depicted Ottilia Hall, Joseph Hall, and the Chapel. As the scanned image displayed on the screen, I noticed that the picture portrayed a yellowish/orange morning sky over the eastern trees, the same shade that captured my attention this morning as I stepped from my Joseph Hall room and gazed out the eastward facing window at the end of the hall.

Here at the monastery, our connection with the ceaseless rhythm of prayer is ever present. Roused by the same rising sun, gazing at the same eastern sky, we get up each morning and head to the chapel, just as generations of Sisters have done. The rhythmic sounds of renovation are mere backdrop to a stronger, deeper rhythm – the timeless monastic cadence of prayer and work, a rhythm in which we are not missing a beat.


Postscript: A local TV news story about the renovation project can be viewed here. Click on video at right (you'll need to wait through a brief commercial).

A Renovation Psalm

Praise the Lord all ye kabooms,

praise Him all ye thundering thuds!

Praise the Lord all ye trembling floors,

Praise Him all pipes and pillars!



Praise the Lord from the heights of cranes,

give praise with the sound of saw and drill.

Praise the Lord with the dance of boots,

with steel-toe and hard hat, praise Him!



Praise the Lord with careful hand,

with measuring eye, and watchful mind.

With ladder and hammer and strength of arm,

with all of your skill, praise Him!




Praise the Lord for his marvelous works,

for the earth He bids us creatively fill.

Let all who envision and all who build,

with all of creation, praise Him!



Amid swirling dust and resounding sound,

through corridors new, beside walls now gone,

through all that is, that was, and will be,

the Lord stands eternal. Praise Him!






Postscript: Praise the Lord that our renovation has begun! And thanks to Sr. Treva for the first line of this "Psalm" in her reply to my description of the sounds of renovation. More photos can be seen in the link from our Community News page

Shelter

On Friday, as workmen stretched orange fencing around Ottilia Hall, it appeared as if they were applying a giant bandage to a red brick heart. And while the building isn't actually 'injured,' it is in need of interior restoration - 'healing,' if you will – from the fatigue of over 100 years of continuous support of the life of our monastic community.

And now, Ottilia is finally closed to us, and its long-planned-for renovation will take place beyond our sight. Access is limited to those who are skilled in the crafts of restoring, renewing, and healing. Although the work itself will be marked by the noise of hammer and drill, there is a sense in which the building seems wrapped in silence, in the interior hush of growth and transformation. It is the silence of reverence for the healing work taking place within the heart of the structure.

As I watched the workmen unfurl the fencing and close off our familiar Ottilia Hall, it reminded me of how much of our internal growth and renewal takes place out of sight, and how each of us has (or needs) an invisible fence wrapped around the renovation zone of our heart. Externally, we may fine. But internally, all of us are in need of the transforming work of love. All of us need the shelter of a protecting but pliable veil that allows free rein (reign) to the One who knows how to restore, renew and heal.

Perhaps it is good for us to remember that each of us is a "construction zone" in need of the renewing love of Christ. May He hold us in his Sacred Heart, and may we regard one another with reverence for the work that is taking place within each of us, out of sight, wrapped in silence, enveloped in the interior hush of growth and transformation.



You who dwell in the shelter of the Most High, who abide in the shadow of the Almighty, say to the Lord, "My refuge and fortress, my God in who I trust." Ps. 90:1-2






Postscript: Please keep us in your prayers as our renovation begins. And please pray for the success of our capital campaign!

Beholding

Yesterday, I had a few spare hours between giving a morning Adult Ed program at a Birmingham parish and then attending an afternoon event at another parish in Birmingham. The rare, unscheduled block of time allowed for a trip to the Birmingham Museum of Art where I spent a couple of happy, leisurely hours getting lost amongst and within a Monet, a Pissarro, a Courbet, a Carot…along with a nice selection from the Italian Renaissance. Yes, I was happy indeed to lose myself amongst and within these works, if only for a couple of hours.

I felt somewhat mixed, though, about the Contemplation Station that greeted those entering the galleries. There on the wall was a large poster inviting museum-goers to a deeper look at the artwork, to look beyond the glance, to contemplate. A stack of laminate cards with instructions on how to contemplate a work of art stood at the ready to accompany museum-goers through their tour. Portable stools were also stacked for borrowing and carrying.

I didn’t know whether to rejoice over the invitation and encouragement to contemplate, or to feel sorrow that we have so lost our capacity to behold that we require laminate cards with step by step instructions. Perhaps in our rush to be both here and there, we have forgotten how to simply be here, and how to behold that which is before us.

Perhaps we could learn from the artists the art of beholding, of turning trusting eyes to the landscape or still life or saintly profile, and letting that which is there change us so that what we return is not representation, but comprehension, not depiction, but understanding.

And the saints – artists of a different sort – can teach us to behold He who is beyond sight, and how to let our beholding transform us into the likeness of the One so lovingly and trustingly beheld.

Horizons

We are entering the home stretch of renovation preparation. Contractors have been coming and going from Ottilia Hall doing their final pre-construction assessments. At this point, with actual construction not yet underway, the building remains accessible, and we Sisters still pass through freely. It has led to some interesting encounters between contractors and Sisters.

One such instance happened yesterday when I placed a bowl on the wide staircase leading up to the 3rd floor, a place that has long been a transient storage spot for items that one will soon come back to retrieve. A short while after storing the bowl, I returned to collect it only to find a contractor gazing up at the ceiling above it. When I walked up I offered a friendly “hello,” casually picked up the bowl and walked away. The contractor looked totally confused, and with a puzzled voice he asked if there was a leak in the ceiling. I paused, looked up, replied “no,” and walked away, as puzzled by his question as he was by the bowl. I later realized he must have reasoned that the only rationale for such an oddly situated bowl was to collect water. Yet for me, the bowl was situated in a completely logical location.

It was a very simple and somewhat amusing example of how differing horizons can lead to differing interpretations of the same experience, such as the presence of a bowl on a stairstep. A visiting contractor sees it, and looks upward for leaks, while a Sister within her home sees a household item in transit, and picks it up for the next stage on its journey.

In our monastic community, we have forty-four Sisters. We share in common the overarching horizon of our Catholic faith and Benedictine charism. Community norms and traditions also constitute a shared scope of practice and meaning. Nevertheless, when it comes to the ‘small stuff’ of daily life, we have forty-four different horizons – different backgrounds, different ways of construing the same event, different ways of doing things.

Even though our shared life leads to some shared practices, including informal ones such acceptable transient storage spots, we each still retain our own unique perspectives and it can lead to some interesting encounters. At times this is a challenge. At times it leads to humorous moments. At times it leads to frustration. But always, it is a gift. We need the vision and perspective of others in order to help us see beyond our own limited horizon, our own sometimes predictable perspective.

St. Benedict’s eighth step of humility instructs the monk to do “only what is endorsed by the common rule of the monastery and the example set by…superiors.” (RB 7:55) The monk is also exhorted not “to pursue what he judges better for himself, but instead, what he judges better for someone else.”(RB 72:7) Expanding our horizon to encompass the vision of another instead of insisting on the primacy of our own point of view allows us to receive the gift of insight and wisdom that comes from another’s perspective, and offers an occasion to show the mutual obedience to which St. Benedict calls us.

Sometimes the context is the small, occasionally humorous, stuff of daily life. Sometimes it is deeply serious spiritual insight or correction. In either case, the shared, overarching horizon of our faith and our charism encompasses all of our small, personal horizons – our divergent backgrounds, temperaments, interpretive frameworks and varied ways of doing things – and draws us onward in the mutual love and peace to which we are called.

A museum kind of day

From the moment my feet touched the floor around five o’clock this morning, it has felt like a museum kind of day, the kind of day where everything seems awash in the sort of beauty that makes one want to stop and take note. To pause, linger, appreciate. To attend to the unique character of the passing people, moments and events of the day.

When I awakened, exterior lights were still casting their glow through the muslin curtains of my windows. Soon enough, I was pouring water for the first pot of Retreat Center coffee. The aroma of bacon soon followed, keeping pace with the quietly emerging daylight.

From the hallway junction between Sisters’ and Retreat Center dining areas, I had a good view of the morning: Sister Mary Grace arriving first in the monastery dining room, soon followed by other Sisters. Meanwhile, three early-rising young men gathered in the Retreat Center Rafter Room, chatting quietly over cups of coffee.

After breakfast, Lauds, with open chapel windows and a subtle breeze, and then Mass, with the sprinkling of water, the Word of God proclaimed, the precious weight of the chalice in my careful hands...

Sisters, guests, retreatants adorned the day. Sister Kathleen strolled through during breakfast service, warmly greeting a ladies group that she has led in the past. Sister Magdalena stopped by and asked me to accompany on flute during Mass. Sister Emilie and I consulted together on a sacristy question. Sister Dominica greeted a former student, now here with a weekend group.

A busy morning and early afternoon gave way to a quiet late afternoon. Our two retreat groups departed. An unexpected guest arrived. Daylight streamed. Kitty B roamed. Clouds whispered secrets in the sky. I took a stroll with the camera.

Then Second Vespers of Sunday, followed by an informal supper of crackers, peanut butter, and conversation shared around a kitchen table. And finally, a 'tear-jerker' movie with my Joseph Hall living group.

And now, exterior lights again illuminate the pale muslin that spreads across the windows of my room. The words of a Psalm we chanted at Lauds still linger – “This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice in it and be glad.”

The passing moments, events and people of this day have each been a gift, awash in the sort of beauty that makes one want to stop and take note. We don't need to visit a museum to encounter that which is exquisite, unique, beautiful. We just need to open our eyes to the beauty that surrounds us and the unique gift of each person and moment. Today, despite the busy-ness of my retreat ministry, I have paused and lingered, appreciating the gift of the day and all that is within it. I am glad, indeed.

Spheres

Last night, with the spherical glow of a nearly full moon overhead, I settled deeply into a backyard chair and listened to the night. My hands fingered rosary beads, slowly, methodically. As the sorrowful mysteries of the rosary unfolded, stars gradually took their place in the sky, appearing like vigil lamps held in the hands of angels.

Dew began to settle across the lawn. A dog barked in the distance. An airplane coursed overhead. I heard a monastery door open and close, someone else out, encountering the dark and the infinite mystery of night.

Meanwhile, the beads continued their path through my fingers, spheres of mystery spinning through hands in search of God. Words mingled with the beads: Our Father…Hail Mary…Glory be…each phrase a perfect pearl of prayer, formed of centuries of accumulated hope and sorrow, joy and tears, eons of calling upon the name of the Lord.

The hour grew late, and I grew tired. I headed back to my Joseph Hall room, drawn toward the music of Bach, the only music I know that approaches the music of the spheres. The hauntingly beautiful tones of the Kyrie from the Mass in B Minor played quietly in my room, redolent with mystery and the pensive mood of a minor key. Hearing its unfolding layers of soaring and descent was like listening to the night, to that which is particular and recognizable - a door, a dog, a plane - and to that which lies beyond our understanding.

The events and occasions that course through our lives like rosary beads in a searching hand are sometimes beyond comprehension, unknowable, a mystery. Yet we are held within the infinite sphere of God's mercy, held lightly in the palm of His hand. And we join our prayer to the prayers of the centuries, saying Our Father...Hail Mary...Glory Be...

Kyrie Eleison...Christe Eleison...Kyrie Eieison...

Labor Day at the Monastery, continued...

As a postlude to yesterday’s post, here’s how the rest of Labor Day went at Sacred Heart:

Unceasing rain throughout the day eventually led to rising water, and by late afternoon I found myself teamed with Sister Tonette in a complex operation involving buckets, a ‘wet vac,’ 5 giant trash cans, and repeated, headlong dashes across the lawn through the pouring rain. Side by side we worked, along with a a couple of other Sisters and a dedicated employee, until we were totally drenched and the workspace was finally dry.

Although the nature of yesterday’s task was atypical, the shared endeavor was not. Life in monastic community is an integrated life. Our common prayer does not exist apart from our common work. Likewise, our common work would not have its spiritually-formative character without our common prayer. And both our common prayer and the shared work of life in community lead us into the work of ministry.

Our shared work reflects the full range of human labor – from creative to manual to skilled to intellectual. The breakfast cook might go up to chapel after breakfast and serve as a cantor. The grass mower might come inside, get cleaned up, and lead a retreat presentation. The Tuesday evening dish washer might be a teacher by day, and perhaps assist with an elder Sister at night. This monastic endeavor calls us to give our entire self to the work of the monastery and to ministry, and not sequester ourselves into particular or isolated roles.

This is not merely about keeping community life functioning smoothly, nor is it just about helping individuals grow to their fullest potential, although it is likely to have those effects. Rather, it is about diverse individuals learning to live, work, and pray in peace and mutual charity as a sign to the world of the peace and love of Christ. It is also to embody together the exhortation of St. Benedict: “That in all things, God may be glorified.”

As our Community Philosophy puts it, “We believe that God is here and can be found, and that a diversity of persons bonded into unity shows Christ to a divided world.” It is through praying and working side by side in all of life’s varied seasons and tonalities that we become bonded into unity in Christ and learn to glorify God through all of our work and prayer.

After our messy, drenching, and tiring manual labor last evening, Sister Tonette and I were in our usual choir stalls for prayer this morning. We then convened this afternoon for a scheduled meeting. It was a typical transition in the monastery – moving naturally between prayer, manual labor, and creative, intellectual work – all for the glory of God and the building up of His kingdom.

Labor Day at the Monastery

Here's just a bit of what has transpired here at Sacred Heart on this civic holiday:

A “Saturday schedule,” with Lauds a bit later than usual and Mass a bit earlier…

Prayers for all who labor, and scripture readings that focused on our stewardship of the earth and our dependence upon God…

Rain, rain, and more rain…

Outdoor grilling by Sister Bernadette and Sister Tonette, despite the torrent…

A festive indoor picnic, complete with beach-theme decorations by Sister Priscilla…

Four mission Sisters home for the holiday…

A quick huddle by the Liturgy Committee to schedule our next meeting…

A long pause on the porch of Benet Hall to watch rain splashing onto the lake...

Sister Therese relaxing with a book in the community room...

Sister Eileen and Sister Brigid enjoying a visit...

Sister Magdalena keeping an eye on Kitty B's needs through the rainstorm...

A wandering, rain-soaked hound dog that we reunited with its owner from one town away…

And now, a tranquil afternoon, filled with the fragrant aroma of leisure. All is quiet, except for the ceaseless cadence of rainfall which is filling, soaking, drenching, saturating, overflowing this dry and thirsty land.

Blessings of rest to all who labor, which is all of us!

A cautionary tale...of love

Once upon a time, in a small Alabama town, a historic monastery building was nearing an era of renovation. As the time for construction drew nigh, hardhats began to appear upon the land, worn by those who were readying the building and environs for the lengthy process of restoration.

Following the arrival of these craftsmen, notices began to appear, directing Sisters and guests to go THIS way, not THAT way. A door or stairwell or patch of earth would suddenly become bedecked in yellow ribbon that bade one NOT to enter. These messages told a tale, a cautionary tale, advising protection from the dust and dangers of the deconstruction that precedes reconstruction, and protection of the newly-exposed and now vulnerable workspaces from missteps by those inexperienced in the construction crafts...

Indeed, the signs and yellow tape have been multiplying around the monastery this past week. As I’ve watched the signs and ribbon go up, I’ve been reminded that for those who dwell here the monastery is always a place of renovation. Our monastic profession calls us to a lifetime of conversion of heart, which means that on a personal level we are always undergoing interior renovation and restoration as we seek to become more and more conformed to the image of Christ.

Although it is the grace of God that effects our conversion, the giving of ourselves to this process is often hard work - arduous, even - as our old self is swept away, unnecessary burdens unearthed, and all is made new.

We who have committed ourselves to monastic community continually dwell amongst each other’s spiritual construction zones. This can be true for those beyond the monastery as well. It is the work of love to treat one another with reverence, with respect, with a certain deference - or caution, if you will - knowing that for each of us, in one way or another, our heart is engaged in the spiritual labor of growth and conversion.

Today’s 2nd reading from Romans 13 begins: “Owe nothing to anyone, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law.” Spiritually speaking, the caution sign, or “law,” is not the caution of a barricade or of avoidance. It is the caution of reverence for the hard work required for genuine spiritual growth and the vulnerability of those who have opened their hearts fully to and for the love for Christ. It is a call to approach one another with tenderness, with gentleness, with reverence. It is a call to the work of love.



Postscript: We are growing more excited by the day as renovation draws nigh. Please keep us in your prayers as we continue the capital campaign and complete the final preparations to begin the first two phases of the renovation project. If you're not yet familiar with what we are up to, here are the details.

Earthly sight, heavenly vision

When Sr. Francine passed away early Saturday morning, she died like she lived – with her glasses on. Always interested, always curious, always wanting to keep abreast of what was happening in the community and the world, she kept her eyes open and her glasses on.

In one hand, Sr. Francine nearly always had a coffee cup, or her rosary, or a clutch of family photographs, or a stack of papers for recycling, or - in her final months - a walking cane. In her other hand, there was certain to be something to read – typically a devotional book, a magazine, a newspaper, or a report from one of the various charities and ministries for which she faithfully prayed. Always, her glasses were on, or at the ready on the table beside her.

Sr. Francine's interest in everything that was happening in the world was not rooted in mere curiosity. Rather, it flowed from a deep love and concern for family and neighbor, both near and far. She soaked in the daily news, and brought it all to prayer. She was truly a “prayer warrior,” constantly interceding for the needs of her family members, her monastic community, the students with whom she worked as teacher and librarian, her beloved hometown of Cullman, and the poor and needy of the world. Always, she was ready to report to the rest of us the fruits of her reading and the concerns of the day. Always, she was ready with a petition for those in need during our intercessions each evening at Vespers. Always she was full of loving concern and deep interest in the lives of everyone around her.

During her final illness, although no longer able to read, Sr. Francine insisted upon keeping her glasses on. Perhaps this was the lens through which she was accustomed to praying, the lens through which she saw and understood the needs of everyone around her, needs which she then took to God in prayer. I imagine her now in heaven, with glasses no longer necessary, but Sr. Francine wearing them nonetheless. That would be just like her, not wanting to miss a thing, wanting all the news, wanting to know just how to continue to intercede for us back here on earth. But then I imagine her taking her glasses off, and with perfect sight, absorbing the fullness of the beatific vision.

Now dwelling in the presence of God and the saints, may Sr. Francine continue to intercede for us.

Postscript: Funeral plans and a link to the obituary for Sr. Francine can be found on our Community News web page.

Appreciation Day

This afternoon, I had to run a quick community errand at the grocery store. When I drove into the parking lot, a large sign informed me that it was “Customer Appreciation Day.” It was definitely an Event with a Capital E – live music on the front walk, a parking lot tent, a clown...

When I entered the store, I was greeted with punch, cake and an announcement that it was time for something called a “Lucky Number Cake Walk.” Customers were to search for and then stand beside specially numbered signs, and the ‘lucky numbers’ would win a cake. Caught up in the spirit of cake and music and clowns, I wandered around with my cake and punch looking for numbers, surprising myself at how disappointed I was that each number I found already had a shopper beside it. Several minutes later, when it became sadly apparent that I wouldn’t be bringing a free cake back to the monastery, I finished my punch and cake and tried to remember what, exactly, it was that I had come for. It took me a moment.

Driving home, I felt a little chagrined at how easily I had gotten totally off track from my errand. I did, though, feel appreciated. Or something. At any rate, I was very aware of the extent of the store’s effort to thank their customers. Sure, there was some marketing involved. But in a town this small, I knew there was also genuine appreciation at play. As I drove, I wondered – how do I show appreciation? How well do I express gratitude? It doesn’t take an Event with a Capital E. Clowns and cake aren’t necessary. It just takes an awareness of how much our lives are touched by those around us, and making the effort to express our thanks.

So perhaps this is a good time to say "thanks" to all who read this blog about life in our monastic community. Even though I don't know exactly who you are, I am aware of the presence of readers. I can't offer you cake and punch. I've no clowns or balloons. But this is a small town. My appreciation in genuine. So let me say "Thank you" - with a Capital T.

More than we can imagine

Here in the Retreat Center office, it seems the phone just won’t stop ringing with people or groups wanting to come on retreat this month. We have revised the August calendar again and again to accommodate the calls. Our big dry-erase board in the office is now overflowing with multi-colored ink, arrows, and shorthand to help us accommodate the additions. But our structured, single-page printed calendar grew so dense that it simply wouldn’t take the names of any more guests. What to do? I simply decreased the font size, and suddenly there was room for everyone.

As I watched additional names – an entire week’s worth – suddenly appear on the computer screen, I realized that my heart, our hearts, can sometimes be like our printed calendar. We can be so structured, so bounded by borders that there is no room for more than we can imagine. We grow so accustomed to everything at its usual size and in its usual place that our hearts cannot accommodate the person who comes knocking in need, whether a neighbor from across the street, or a stranger from across the sea.

In decreasing the font size, the borders of the page did not change. But what happened within the borders did. With each letter engaging in just a small bit of self-effacement, of humility, of stepping aside to give another just a little bit of room, multitudes more were welcomed, and the page, paradoxically, expanded.

Through humility, we do not diminish, we expand. Through generosity, we do not become small, we become rich. The willingness to diminish, and paradoxically expand – or to give, and paradoxically receive – fills one with the fruitfulness of welcome, a multi-hued bounty in which we become more than we can imagine, and in which the blessings of shelter, food, warmth, safety, and the goodness of God’s rich abundance overflow to all.

For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me... Mt. 25:35

Sunday afternoon

It is Sunday afternoon. Weekend guests have departed. The monastery is quiet. The Community is enjoying a Sabbath rest.

Outside, a silent breeze is polishing the gilded afternoon. Inside, my pace has slowed after days of much activity and much speech.

But it is not yet slow enough.

I watch afternoon light leisurely descend the stairs of Annunciata Hall and I want to be that slow, that unhurried.

May we each make the time to be restful and still, to be unhurried, to be slow, to linger long in quiet prayer. And may we let the Light of Christ descend deeply into the silence of our hearts, filling us with the burnished glow of His presence.

Monday morning

It is 6:00 am and the monastery is stretching its arms and shaking off sleep. Some of us have been awake since 4:00 am. The rest of us have been arising one by one, each of us with an alarm clock set to our own particular early morning rhythm.

Like people everywhere, each Sister has her own unique pattern of waking up to open her prayer book and Bible, pour coffee, and tend to early morning chores. Right now, Sr. Mary Adrian has completed her ‘table-waiting,’ readying jams, bread, fruit, butter, juices, etc. for our breakfast after Lauds. Sr. Bernadette has picked up the morning papers and distributed them to their various spots within the monastery. Sr. Emilie is up in the sacristy preparing for the liturgies of the day. Several Sisters are already in their choir stalls, engaged in silent prayer or spiritual reading. Wherever we happen to be within the monastery, we are up, and ready for the day.

Outside, Kitty B is making her early morning rounds, awaiting Sr. Magdalena who will feed her after Lauds. The air is quiet. The pond is still. The sky is filled with beneficence. Flower baskets sway gently along the dining room porch. Exhausted trees rest after dancing freneticly through last night’s powerful storms. And I am on my way to chapel, to gather with my Sisters as part of the Body of Christ, to chant the ancient Psalms, and to remember in prayer all who, on this Monday morning, are suffering, weeping, thirsting... To pray for those throughout the world who are without bread, without jam, without home or family, who are exhausted from trying to survive through the powerful storms of life.

Listening

The first word of St. Benedict’s Rule is “Listen.” The instruction is directed to all of us – from the youngest to the oldest. Much of this listening is the silence of listening to God in prayer. Some of it is simply the careful attention that we pay to one another in the course of everyday life in community. Some of it is listening to the needs of the world around us. And some of it is the listening of pondering and discussing together important aspects of our life in common. All of it encompasses the deep spiritual listening that is characteristic of the monastic charism – listening “with the ear of your heart,” as St. Benedict puts it.

Periodic community meetings are one of the ways in which we listen together. St. Benedict devotes an entire chapter to “summoning the community for counsel” (RB chapter 3). He begins, “As often as anything important is to be done in the monastery, the prioress shall call the whole community together and herself explain what the business is; and after hearing the advice of the sisters, let her ponder it and follow what she judges the wiser course… The sisters, for their part, are to express their opinions with all humility…”

Following St. Benedict's advice, we set aside three times a year in which the entire community gathers specifically to discuss important business of the monastery. The longest of these is the summer meeting which we held last week. Over the course of four days, we covered everything from routine business matters to planning for the future to topical concerns of the day.

Our prioress led the meetings, but we all participated. And we all listened. We heard from the leaders of our corporate ministries. Committee chairs gave reports. We heard from experts outside the community, as we occasionally do when we need input from those with specific expertise in a given area. We had some small group discussion, and discussions amongst the entire group of sisters. Each of us had a chance to voice questions or opinions.

No matter the topic, community meetings offer the opportunity for us to all hear the same information at the same time and ponder it together, each of us voicing that which we “hear” through our listening. Even though there is a strong practical dimension to community meetings, there is a deeper dimension at play. Meetings are an opportunity for us to express together the fundamental monastic virtue of listening as we open ourselves to the voices of our sisters. It is a chance to practice the “good zeal” of which St. Benedict writes: “No one is to pursue what he judges better for himself, but instead, what he judges better for someone else. To their fellow monks they show the pure love of sisters; to God, loving fear; to their prioress, unfeigned and humble love. Let them prefer nothing to Christ, and may he bring us all together to everlasting life.”


Postscript: An issue of particular importance to which we listened as a community last week was the anti-immigration law which was recently enacted in our state. In considering our response to this important issue we listened to Sacred Scripture, to the needs of our Hispanic brothers and sisters, to facts about the law, and to one another. We also listened to the Rule of St. Benedict which reads: All guests who present themselves are to be welcomed as Christ, for he himself will say: I was a stranger and you welcomed me (Mt 25:35)... (Chapter 53,1). For our statement on this issue, please see our Community News page.

Remember when...

In a monastic community, the fragrance of memory rides on the air that we breathe. It is not stale air. Not even close to stale. Whether we’re honoring an early monastic saint or chuckling over something that happened last week, the fragrance is infused with the lively vigor of seeking God with all of one’s being. The call that led our Benedictine ancestors to seek God through the monastic way of life is the same call that animates us here at Sacred Heart Monastery. It is a summons that resounds through the ages, and we deeply feel our spiritual kinship with ancient holy men and women who heard the call, just as we deeply feel our kinship with one another today.

These past days have been full of lively memories of spiritual kinship. With the Community gathered for our annual summer meetings, followed by a Jubilee celebration, stories abounded even as new stories were being formed. These stories are not just stories. They are the fragrant memories of seeking God together through shared prayer and work, memories that have helped mold and meld us as one. They are memories that help carry us forward toward future years of prayer and work and yet more stories, memories, fragrance. They are memories that help form a single community from the otherwise unrelated stories of our individual lives – a common call, a common life, united and anchored in God.

We remember our monastic ancestors through stories, through their writings, through images on holy cards and stained glass, and especially through the liturgy. But we also remember them through our lives here today. The day-to-day life in our monastery may differ in some material ways from that of long ago, but animated by the same charism and call, the essence is the same – a group of individuals called to seek God through a common life under a Rule and a Prioress. In other words, we seek God together, through community – and there can be no community without memory. And so we “remember when…” and “remember who…,” breathing deeply of the fragrance of living memory that rides on the wind, memory that helps carry us forward in this ever-ancient, ever-new charism and call.




Postscript: In the monastery, "the lively vigor of seeking God with all of one’s being" entails not only prayer and ministry, but also the shared tasks of life in community - from the profoundly spiritual to the tiresomely mundane to the festive and fun. For seven of us, the decoration of these cupcakes for some guests last week will certainly form a "remember when..." Decorating cupcakes may seem like far too mundane an activity for a spiritual pursuit such as monastic life, but the “daily” is the stuff of which our life is made. It is the medium within which we live out our call to serve one another and others, and it is the matter out of which our memories – and bonds – are formed. Even in just the few short years I have been at Sacred Heart, many memories are already implanted deeply – painting a community room with Sister Tonette and Sister Therese, walking across a frozen pasture as part of a funeral procession, helping Sister Regina in her rose garden, many adventures with Sister Madeline… These activities have become memories, bringing me into the on-going story of this community and into the long lineage of those who have sought God through the monastic way of life.