Three weeks

What a difference three weeks makes. Three Saturdays ago I spent the day in hiking books and wide-brimmed hat picking up tornado debris from the monastery grounds. Helicopter blades spun repeatedly through the sky. Floating fragments of wood bobbed aimlessly along the shoreline of our small pond. Flashlights and candles were our sole evening light source.

Today I donned Sunday attire, charged up the camera batteries without a second thought about the power source, and strode out onto a pristine front lawn. This was our day to celebrate the blessing of our renovation project, and the only thing that shone more brilliantly than the morning sunlight was the joy in our hearts.

I think the only way our hearts can move so seamlessly from the incredibly hard work of the past three weeks to the buoyant joy of this celebratory day is the Psalter from which we daily chant. The Psalms express the breadth and depth of human emotion before God – from buoyant joy to deepest lament, from glad thanksgiving to poignant plea. Singing the Psalms in a four week cycle – day after day, week after week, year after year – implants and imprints the words of the Psalmist deep in our hearts. When we experience sorrow, the Psalmist’s lament comes readily to mind. When we experience joy, the Psalter gives us words with which to let our praise and thanksgiving resound.

The Psalms also form within us the deep realization that our human joys and sorrows are not only transient, but they are rooted in something that transcends the immediate situation. The Psalms help us learn to take all of our experiences and ground them in God, in something deeper than passing events and situations no matter how intense they may be. They also help us learn how to hold in our hearts simultaneous joy and sorrow – a combination that was certainly present today as tornado victims were repeatedly referenced in our ceremony of blessing.

The Psalms form us, teach us, and help us to see all of our human experience – from tornado aftermath to festive blessing – in light of the unsearchable riches of the wisdom and goodness of God.

Back to normal (sort of)

In most ways, things are back to normal at the monastery following the April 27th tornado. The electricity works. The phones ring. The internet connects. We’ve had retreat groups and school tours. We’ve hosted family and friends. The morning sun casts its usual gilded edge on the chapel roof. Afternoon sunlight still pours through western windows. Our monastic rhythm, never interrupted, has a more “typical” feel to it with organ accompaniment for liturgies, lights, our usual meal times, etc.

Other ordinary activities have resumed, too. Sister Lynn Marie and Sister Therese took part in the spring concert of Cantanti Della Donna, a local women’s chorus in which they both sing. The Liturgy Committee began its series of presentations to orient the Sisters to the new Missal translation. The Scholastics (myself and Sister Sara Aiden) had our scheduled Scholastic Day last Saturday. The entire Community has been in full swing preparation mode for tomorrow’s blessing of our renovation project. Routines have been resumed. Other typical activities have been engaged. Everything is back to normal.

Well, make that “sort of normal.” It is hard to feel normal when things look so different. There is sky where trees used to be. The ground is slashed from heavy tree-removal equipment. Stray shingles and boards still litter a few spots on the outskirts of our grounds. The final piles of debris are awaiting pick-up along the front curb.

But it is the trips into town that make one realize things are simply not normal even though the phones ring, the electricity works, and the internet connects. FEMA signs, piles of rubble, heavy equipment, shattered tree lines, a streetscape that looks like someone rubbed a giant eraser through the city… It is all a continual reminder that many are still coping with devastating loss.

Even as we have mostly recovered here at the monastery and are able to forge ahead with our usual business, it is not business as usual. We remain deeply connected to the suffering of our neighbors and the jarring impact of the tornado upon our dear city.


Postscript: Despite all the recent disruptions from the tornado, we are very excited about the upcoming blessing of our renovation project. If you’ve been to the monastery within the past year, you may have seen the project renderings we have had available for viewing. We now have them posted, along with a lot more information about the project, in the Capital Campaign section of our website.

Final report / First chapter

The headline in our local paper read, “Final report: 910 homes, 98 businesses damaged in city.” It may be the final report, but it’s just the beginning of the story.

I had occasion to speak by phone recently with two local business people, both of whom had businesses damaged and one of whom is currently displaced as a result of the April 27th tornado. They were routine business calls, but these days routine conversations invariably turn more personal. Both told me, one with still-shaking voice, the stories of how they and their employees reacted and survived the storm. One told me which door to use now that their main entrance is unusable. The other told me where she’s temporarily located while her business is rebuilt.

Nine hundred ten homes plus ninety eight businesses. It adds up to over a thousand narratives of fear, of survival, of taking stock, of rebuilding. The official tally may be important, but it’s the stories that tell the actual tale, the still-shaking voice that bears the real report of the storm. And the stories are just beginning.

Tonight at Vespers we recited Psalm 78, a Psalm so long that it is the only one recite instead of chant. It summarizes the story of the people of Israel up until the time of David. As we recited, I thought of the many stories that are being told, and will continue to be told, here in Cullman – stories of fear, survival, taking stock, rebuilding. I thought of the thousand stories, and so many others beyond our small city, for which the "final report" is just the first chapter in what may be a long and arduous narrative.

May we keep in prayer those who are now writing chapter one of a story of indeterminate length, a narrative they did not set out to write. May it be a be a narrative of hope and healing. And as stories helped the ancient Israelites pass their heritage from generation to the next, may the stories we tell help bind us together.


I will open my mouth in story,
drawing lessons from of old.
We have heard them, we know them;
our ancestors have recited them to us.
We do not keep them from our children;
we recite them to the next generation,
The praiseworthy and mighty deeds of the Lord,
the wonders that he performed.
From Psalm 78



At top is a book the tornado blew into our woods. Below are a few scenes from our fair city:

Beyond categories

Wood, metal, and shingles. Those are the three main categories of debris that we have gathered from our post-tornado monastery grounds. Then there are the subcategories. Painted and unpainted wood. Exterior and interior metal. Shingles in more speckled varieties than I thought possible.

Then there are smaller categories. Plastic. Glass. Sheetrock. And their subcategories of indoor and outdoor plastics. Clear and colored glass. Wallpapered and painted sheetrock.

And then there are the singular items that defy categorization. A child’s bicycle helmet. A junior high school yearbook. A spatula. A string of Christmas lights. A sofa pillow. Kitchen curtains strung in a tree. A decorative eagle, torn in half. A light switch cover. An insurance statement. A roll of red ribbon. A street sign from clear across town. A strand of beads. A picture frame. A torn novel, The Green Grass of Wyoming, lying in the green woods of Alabama. And so much more.

Our monastery structures were spared major tornado damage. But the tornado left on our lawns and in our woods the remains of structures that were not spared. Gathering the fragments of homes, garages, and businesses that landed on our lawn and sorting it loosely by type is like some kind of horrible exercise in Aristotelian categorization, the genus and species of tragedy. Yet picking up these pieces has been a deeply moving and humbling experience. Not only does one see at close range evidence of the force and strength of nature – splintered wood, bent nails, twisted metal, shredded shingles, all carried for who knows how far by fierce and mighty winds – but one is handling the treasured remains not just of houses and businesses, but of homes and livelihoods.

It has felt like a sacred duty, this task of collecting wood, metal, and shingles, the dispersed fragments of something that was once a singular whole – perhaps a home, a shop, a restaurant, a church, a dental office… I have gathered them not as shattered debris, but as fragments of homes and livelihoods. I have gathered them with reverence because I know that each fragment points to a person, a family, a narrative – a family without a home, a restaurateur without a stove, a dentist without tools, a lawyer without records, a grandmother without her favorite chair, a child without her bike helmet, a church family without their building, a locksmith whose locks have been blown away...

I have gathered the pieces with prayer for all whose homes and livelihoods were blown onto our grounds, praying that that which has been dispersed will be gathered, that which has been broken will be restored, and that fragmented and fractured lives will again be made whole, the pieces woven into a narrative of survival, of healing, of a wholeness that transcends categorization.


The Lord rebuilds Jerusalem,
gathers the dispersed of Israel,
Heals the broken hearted,
binds up their wounds,
Numbers all the stars,
calls them each by name.
Great is our Lord, vast in power,
with wisdom beyond measure.
(from Psalm 147)




Postscript: Our grounds are now fairly well cleared, with only the outskirts left to tidy up, thanks to the hard and heartfelt work of Sisters, staff, and volunteers.

Helicopters and honeysuckle

In these post-tornado days, the sound of helicopters and the scent of honeysuckle have been my steady companions as I have trod the monastery grounds gathering tornado debris. The helicopters are recurring reminders of the destruction the tornado brought to our small city. The honeysuckle, though, is a reminder of the sweetness that remains. And there has been sweetness in the midst of these difficult days – the generosity of neighbors providing hot showers and washing machines to those still without power, the camaraderie of Wi-Fi-users sharing tables and power outlets at local businesses, the passing of cell phones from hand to hand with landline service still disrupted, the sharing of food and shelter, neighbors helping neighbors, churches helping churches…

As the days have passed, the sound of helicopters has diminished. Today, I heard only a couple pass overhead. However the fragrance of honeysuckle still rides sweetly on the wind. Yesterday, the scent captured my attention yet again and I paused from picking up debris. I located the nearby vine, pulled off my work gloves, picked a few blossoms, and partook of their delicate sweetness.

The tornadoes that spun through our city destroyed much, but the fury of the wind did not carry away kindness and generosity. These have been ever-present, a sweet fragrance on the wind, a vine firmly rooted, a blossom ready to give forth its fruit…

The helicopters will soon be gone, off to follow the next news story. But the vine of kindness is rooted deeply here in Cullman. Its sweet fragrance is ever-present, riding gently on the quiet wind.


Postscript: We've made wonderful progress clearing up the monastery grounds, etc. and consider ourselves to be in good shape. We're still without phone service at the monastery, so it still means a trip to town to check email, make a blog post, etc., but we are so grateful to have electricty. The city, too, is on its way to to recovery and rebuilding, thanks to the kindness, generosity, and hard work of so many.

Strong storm meets stronger community

The tornado that ripped through Cullman last Wednesday has been rated EF-4 by those who are experts in such things. Something about 175 miles-per-hour winds, the scope of destruction, and perhaps some other meteorological measures combine to give it a tornadic rating second only to the 200+ miles-per-hour EF-5.

I’m not a tornado expert, so I have to take their word for it. I do, though, have a good eye for observing people, and I’d rate our monastic community’s response to the tornado as EF-5, and second to none. Something about encountering 175 miles-per-hour winds with calm aplomb, the scope of constructive and prayerful reaction, and perhaps some other intangible monastic measures combine to give it the highest possible community rating.

I think our monastic community has weathered this EF-4 storm as well as it could possibly be weathered. We took the ‘heads up’ from the local news seriously. We knew where to gather when the sirens went off. After the tornado passed through around 3:00 pm, we did a quick initial survey of the buildings before we had to head back to shelter due to another round of sirens. Meanwhile, Sister Regina had prepared a simple dinner of scrambled eggs and biscuits in the darkened kitchen, Sister Lynn Marie had retrieved our Vespers books from chapel. We were well prepared for another stretch of sitting patiently in the hallway, praying Vespers by flashlight and listening to the weather radio. When the all-clear finally came, we helped each other up darkened steps, flashlights in hand. We awakened the next day and gathered for Lauds, just as we do every morning. Then we got to work.

The days since the tornado have seen constant activity related to the storm and its lengthy aftermath of power and telephone outages. Some Sisters have kept our liturgy going. Some have kept stove-brewed coffee flowing. Some have handled business-related issues. Some have kept in touch with civic officials and helped us participate in city-wide assistance efforts. All of us that are able have worked diligently to clear our grounds. Our Sisters on mission in Birmingham have lent a supportive hand. Our monastic administrators have provided secure and steady leadership. And most importantly, we have kept up our rounds of liturgical and personal prayer.

However the EF-5 rating doesn’t apply only to our monastic community because we have not weathered this alone. Our wonderful staff has been like a second family to us, pitching in in a thousand ways over the past week, often going heroically beyond their usual job descriptions. Golden Construction, ArchitectureWorks, and others have helped us quickly tend to repairs and keep the most essential equipment operating under generator power. Numerous family, friends, and other monastic communities have lent support

And then there is the City and County of Cullman, a community under extraordinary stress, that while suffering from a 38-mile EF-4 gash, has organized a wide array relief efforts, kept accurate communication flowing, adapted to evolving circumstances, maintained safety and security, and kept hope alive for many who have lost nearly everything. Much of this effort has been on the official level, but much has simply been neighbor helping neighbor. Various churches have provided free supplies of everything from diapers to food. A family in a pickup truck has driven around town distributing bottled water to anyone who looked thirsty. Local restaurateurs have been cooking free meals in the high school parking lot using food donated by townspeople. And so much more…

Something about encountering 175 miles-per-hour winds with dignity and composure, the scope of compassionate and skillful response, and other intangible civic measures combine to give our monastic community, our employees and friends, and the people of Cullman the highest possible community rating – EF-5. Second to none.


Postscript: I finally sat down with newspapers last night and caught up on several days of news. It seems like there are "EF-5 communities" scattered across Alabama, the Southeast, and beyond. Many have lent and organized much-needed assistance of all kinds. Our monastic community is so very grateful to all who have assisted, supported, and prayed for us and all those in our city and state during these challenging days. Please continue your prayers, especially for those who lost family members, homes, and businesses in this devastating storm.

On Tuesday afternoon, thanks to the efforts of the Cullman Power Board and TVA, power was restored to our neighborhood, including the monastery. We are still without landline phone service and internet capability. As soon as we are able to access our website software, photos will go up on the website. Meanwhile, we all remain well and in good spirits. Thanks be to God.

Storm Update

Thanks to so many who have emailed us of your prayers. As of Tuesday morning, we remain without power or landline phone service at the monastery. We have settled into a non-electric routine: hand washed clothes, candlelit meals, a prayer schedule adapted to the natural light in the chapel, etc.

Cleanup of our grounds continues and roof repairs are going well. We are hopeful we will have power restored soon. It has been restored in the northern parts of Cullman. I am writing this from a business that has both electricty and Wi-Fi.

All the Sisters remain well, and we remain in good spirits. Our prayer life continues without interruption. We will be glad, though, when the lights come back on!

Thanks for your continued prayers! Please especially continue your prayers for those who have lost homes, family members, and/or businesses. We remain very aware that the inconveniences we are experiencing are so minor compared to what so many others are going through.

Postscript: For an unknown reason, I am having trouble loading images. Will try again as soon as I am able.