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.