Growing

I received an email from Sr. Bernadette with a garden update from the monastery - squash, cucumbers, tomatoes, eggplant.... I wrote back and said "You are growing tomatoes. I am growing papers."

In my Mark class, I've got two short papers down and one very long paper still to go. As I thought about Sr. Bernadette's squash and eggplant, I realized the comparison is about right. Good soil, light, time, gestation, some sweat, and slowly a paper - or a tomato - is formed.

This time at Saint John's University is about growth, but it's not just about the papers. It's about grounding me more thoroughly in our monastic tradition, in theology, and in scripture. This is not the only way to get rooted in these areas, of course, but this is where the Initial Formation team at the monastery felt would be the best place for me at this time. I am hoping my school papers flourish as nicely as Sr. Bernadette's garden, but more importantly I hope that these studies help me to ripen in my monastic vocation and that they are fruitful not just for me, but for our monastic community.

Postscript: Sisters spend several years in Initial Formation prior to making final monastic profession (often called 'final vows'). Our formation is overseen by a Director and a Formation Team. Most of our classes are at the monastery, taught by Sisters who have Master's level preparation in various areas of theology. Occasionally there may be additional study away from home. While our studies are to help form us as individual monastics, our formation is not merely about personal or professional growth. It is always in service to something beyond us as we are formed to the total giving of self that constitutes the monastic way of life. (Thanks to Sr. Therese for the photo of this summer's tomatoes!)

Hearing the Word

In the normal course of daily life, have you ever had the experience of unexpectedly turning onto a street of gold, or of wandering past Monet painting in the park, or of realizing that the music streaming from the open window next door is that of Beethoven working out what will become his Ninth Symphony? Hyperbole aside, have you ever suddenly, inexplicably, found yourself in the presence of something wondrous and grand?

When I read that tonight’s Vigil of the Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity here at Saint John’s Abbey would also be the occasion of the Presentation of the Final Volume of the Saint John’s Bible, I knew it would be something special. But when I ceased my studies on this normal Saturday afternoon and walked toward the Abbey Church I didn’t realize that walking into Vigil would be like unexpectedly turning onto a street of gold. If you have known the heart-stopping feeling of being in the presence of something wondrous and grand, then you can imagine how charged the atmosphere was.

I won’t try to describe the feeling of watching the artist process toward the altar carrying the final folio. Or the breathless silence as the final cross was gilded by the Abbot and another monk. Or the applause that went on and on after the Abbot lifted the completed folio from the altar and held it aloft for all to see. Or the voices of the National Catholic Youth Choir that soared to impossible heights as they, and all of us, sang the Te Deum. Or the incense that enveloped the altar, the folio, the monks, the congregation, the choir...

But for all the beauty and solemnity and import of the occasion, the most affecting part for me was perhaps the simplest, the most ordinary, the thing that happens every single day in the course of ordinary liturgical life – the proclamation of Sacred Scripture. The scripture reading this evening was not read from a bound Bible, or from a lectionary marked at the proper place with a length of ribbon. Rather, it was read from the hand-written vellum of the Saint John’s Bible. As the Abbot read, and as in the midst of the reading he paused to carefully turn the two-foot-tall page, I realized I had never before heard scripture proclaimed from a hand-written manuscript. I immediately felt connected to the innumerable generations whose encounter with scripture was hearing it proclaimed from pages and scrolls produced and preserved by hand from within their, or a nearby, community.

As I type this, my Bible lies to my right, open to the Gospel of Mark, which is the class I am taking here at Saint John’s. The typeface is clear and easy to read. The binding is hardback and sturdy. I feel blessed beyond measure to have this sacred text so near at hand. I am also blessed beyond measure - we all are - by those who over the centuries have so carefully preserved for us the sacred Word of God. This evening’s Vigil reminded me that every encounter with scripture is a wondrous and grand occasion – better than a turning onto street of gold, finer than encountering Monet in the park – ever illuminating our hearts, and ever binding us to the innumerable generations who have, with expectant ears, listened to the proclamation of scripture, and to the generations of unnamed artisans and scribes who, with skillful hands and diligent hearts, have carefully penned for us the pages through which we encounter the Word of God, living and true.

All scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for refutation, for correction, and for training in righteousness...
II Timothy 3: 16-17


Postscript: If you are not familiar with the Saint John's Bible, you can link to the site here.

Amazed...

I am writing this post from Saint John’s University in Minnesota where I am taking a class on the Gospel of Mark. My course began last Monday, it is now Wednesday, and I’ve spent the last couple of days immersed in the world of Mark. It’s as if the entire set of Gospel readings from Year B of the lectionary has been distilled into a single, intense infusion of good news.

If you’ve never read Mark in a single sitting (I first did this a few years ago), you might be amazed at the rapid-fire pace of the narrative – that is, up until Jesus and his disciples arrive in Jerusalem and the narrative suddenly brakes to something akin to a frame-by-frame sequencing of Jesus’ final days and hours.

You might also be amazed at the gospel writer's frequent use of the word ‘amazed’ to describe the reaction of the people to the mighty works wrought by our Lord. The people are amazed. Astounded beyond measure. Filled with awe. Over and over again.

Their amazement caused me to realize, when I stop to think about it, how amazed I am to be here in Minnesota. How astonished I am at the works of God that brought me to Sacred Heart Monastery, to my various roles within the Community, to my current, though temporary, role as a student here at Saint John’s…

Whether we move through our lives at a rapid-fire pace or methodically take things in frame by frame, I think we can grow so accustomed to the people and places that surround us that we forget the wondrous works of God that led us to that place, to these people, to this work. We sometimes forget to notice that all around us, in many different ways, blind eyes continue to be opened and the lame continue to get up and walk. Often, the blind eyes are our own, closed to the awesome glory of God that fills the whole earth. Often, we are the mute, our mouths withholding the proclamation of the good news. Often, we are the lame, not willing to get up and “go into all the world.” We ourselves need the good news of Jesus to heal us, that we can go forth to heal in his name.

Whether through the slow, daily infusion of the lectionary cycle, or a single, intense immersion in the entire gospel, may our eyes and hearts be opened to the mighty works of God and the good news of Jesus. May they fill us with astonishment, amazement, and awe.


Postscript: I am here in Collegeville, MN, taking summer school graduate courses at Saint John's School of Theology. I will be here for a total of five weeks. More to come...

Springs of water

The most cleansing water on earth is that of baptism, but there are other waters that have their own cleansing effect, even if they make a mess in the process.

After Vespers this evening, a Sister came to tell me about a leak in the ceiling of the sacristy. A quick peek revealed two bulging ceiling tiles and a slow drip that I knew was a harbinger of a potential gush. It’s the season of condensation on A/C conduits housed in the ceiling, and with no recent rain, I knew that’s what the problem had to be.

I went on to supper – in silence since we are on retreat this week – and contemplated my next move, which I knew would have to include a Sister more mechanically adept than I. While I silently ate my dinner and contemplated saturated ceiling tiles, another Sister came to whisper to me about a broken A/C unit in a building for which I am responsible. I kept eating, now contemplating two sets of moves, because when it comes to mechanical things, I am better at contemplating moves than actually making them.

What to do? I wasn’t sure. So I kept eating. And contemplating. Meanwhile, a Sister more mechanically adept than I, seeing my contemplative stance in the face of necessary action, took a stroll over to the building with the broken unit and made a quick fix of a simple problem, one that perhaps even I could have repaired had I contemplated the possibility of something so simple.

Then, with dinner over, we verified the repair together and then headed toward the sacristy with trash bags, plastic garbage cans, good intentions, and high aspirations. But as we carefully removed ceiling tiles, our best attempts to control the inevitable rush failed. Water sprayed everywhere and wet tiles fell messily into our arms.

All of this happened between the conclusion of dinner and the beginning of our Reconciliation Service, held as part of our retreat. I was responsible for greeting arriving priests so did not have time to change clothes. Yet there is perhaps no better way to go to the Sacrament of Reconciliation than with evidence of failure clearly visible – in my case, a swath of fiberboard residue smeared across my shirt.

In monastic community, we come to know each other well. We know each other’s weaknesses and strengths. My Sisters know that I am not particularly adept with anything mechanical. They know that what might appear to be contemplation might just be utter perplexity about what to do, and so they pick up the pieces and save the day. But in turn, I know that utter perplexity is no cause for inaction. My job is to get up and try, even if it involves failure, or perhaps a big mess.

In our retreat conferences, we have been hearing about giving our all to our monastic commitment, about not holding back, about engaging fully in the ‘meat and potatoes’ of everyday life in monastic community. The routine events of life - the 'daily,' as we call it - are vitally important to a monastic because it is through them that we come to holiness. We get up and try. Perhaps we fail. We pick each other up. We begin again.

During our Reconciliation service, I made my confession, my shirt smeared with failure. The priest's words of absolution washed over me, their musical cadence like a flowing rush of living water, like a benediction, like a blessing. Returning to my seat at the rear of the chapel, I saw my Sisters arrayed before me in the pews. We daily see each other’s failure. We daily see each other’s beauty. Part of this beauty is the compassion with which we greet one another's normal human failings, helping each other in our perplexity, weakness and pain, as together we journey to God, as daily we begin again. The compassion falls like a gentle spring rain. Musically. Beautifully. Like a benediction. Like a blessing.




Postscript: Each year, our community pauses our usual ministries to take time out for a week-long retreat. Our meals are in silence. Our pace is quiet. Our steps are unhurried. It is a week of spiritual rest, refreshment, and more sustained time for prayer. This year, Sister Karen Joseph, of Monastery Immaculate Conception in Ferdinand, IN, is leading our retreat conferences. She is offering to us some wonderful food for reflection based upon the Rule of St. Benedict and the wisdom she has gleaned from her many years of living this life. Her wisdom has been a blessing!

Car #5

I returned today from South Carolina following a week of visiting family. I drove car #5, one of our monastery cars. It is a gray sedan that drives well and is perfectly functional, safe, and well-maintained, but is not quite the car I would buy were I buying a car for myself. But then, as a monastic, I wouldn’t be buying a car for myself.

In a monastic community, we don’t have personal possessions per se. A hallmark of monastic life is that the “goods of the monastery,” as St. Benedict calls them, are held in common. This common ownership is perhaps the principal way in which monastics express poverty, along with holding our needs in balance with those of our Sisters. We defer to and rely upon resources which are held in common.

Our practices are not about efficiency or economy of scale or any such practical considerations. Rather, they are about relating rightly to one another and to created things. Dependence upon the common resources of the community rather than the strivings of our personal will and effort is an act of humility in our independent, self-sufficient culture. It expresses in a very tangible way the spiritual reality that everything we have is gift.

When I get into car #5, adjust the seat and rear view mirror from the settings of the previous Sister, and take off down the road carrying gas cards that are not my own, any prideful illusion of self-sufficiency falls away. Even in the days before I entered the monastery and I owned my own “stuff,” I was not truly independent. I was part of a web of family, friends, colleagues, neighbors, storekeepers, bankers, bakers, and so on. This interdependence gets masked, though, with an illusory veneer of self-reliant autonomy. In the monastery, however, the reality of our interdependence is both clearly articulated in the Rule and readily experienced in daily life.

This interdependence is not a passive stance of dependent helplessness. It is a powerful spiritual stance of tangibly and humbly expressing our basic human situation of being in need – of God, of one another, of our daily bread. It also powerfully provides for the mutual expression of love, of caring, of meeting one another’s needs in the name of Christ, of taking responsibility and doing our part to provide for the needs of the community.

The manner in which we handle the goods of the monastery also expresses a spiritual stance of reverence for one another and for the gifts we have been given. We all work hard to make sure that car #5, and all the goods of the monastery, are in good shape and ready for the next Sister. St. Benedict exhorts us to keep the goods of the monastery “clean” and to not treat them “carelessly.” Indeed, he tells us to “regard all utensils and goods of the monastery as sacred vessels of the altar, aware that nothing is to be neglected.” (see Rule of St. Benedict chapters 31-34).

You could say that car #5 got me to Carolina and back, but that is a narrow way of looking at it. It was really the entire community that got me to Carolina and back. Even as I drove down roads far from Cullman, it was the community that had cared for car #5 and prepared it for my use, and it was for the community that I cared for it well while it was in my charge.

Within an hour of pulling into the monastery parking lot late this afternoon I was already participating in the life of the community. I greeted a familiar guest, assisted an unexpected guest, lent a brief hand with a need in the infirmary, admired the newly-blossomed day lilies, and answered a sacristy question. In other words, I was back. But then, I had never really left. Car #5 – and the community behind it – was with me all the way.


Postscript: The sharing of our common resources helps us learn to distinguish our wants from our needs. For instance, if I need to run an errand, but another Sister needs the car for a medical appointment, I defer to her greater need. We also learn to moderate our personal preferences, etc. for the good of all, and to recognize the wisdom that comes from others. Perhaps if I were living by myself, I might have purchased a different car based upon my own preferences, but our administrators choose cars based upon what is best for the Community as a whole. I am grateful to drive one that is comfortable not only for myself, but for many.