The chairs are empty now, silent and still in the early-morning glow of daybreak. Soon, day two of our annual summer community meetings will commence.

Our meeting room is filled with ordinary objects, the kinds of things one finds in a conference space these days, and in days gone by – an LCD projector, a chalk board, paper and pencil, laser pointer, and microphone - an easy and comfortable blend of the old and new, mirroring the easy and comfortable mix of generations in our monastic household. At each Sister’s place is her own particular stack of notes and references, and maybe a coffee or soda cup.

It seems, for all appearances, like an ordinary sort of meeting space. But looking around the room, I know there is nothing ordinary about it. We are practical people, gathered to talk about practical things, but for a purpose that transcends practicality. We are meeting to plan our small part of building the Kingdom of God, helping to prepare the way of the Lord.

Before Jesus entered Jerusalem, he sent some of his disciples ahead to make preparation for the Passover. They were engaged in practical tasks – securing a room, readying places at a table, purchasing food for a special meal, arranging utensils and serving dishes, preparing candles to charge the dim light of evening, preparing the liturgical texts for the readings of that special night. But their purpose transcended practicality. They were preparing the way of the Lord.

Ever since the preparations in that upper room, Christians have gathered to prepare the way of the Lord. They have met in rooms small and large, in hiding or in grand arenas, in twos and threes or in thousands. They’ve used parchment and stylus, paper and pencil, LCD and laser.

This morning, we will soon gather for breakfast, and then move to the chapel to pray Lauds. Then we’ll settle into our chairs, wrap our hands around coffee cups or soda glasses, fire up the LCD, click on the microphone, and roll the chalk board into place. We’ll spend the day talking about goals, budgets, ministry roles, etc. But for all the talk about practical matters, our real purpose will be resonating plainly on the surface, like the vibration of a drum that sends sound cascading through time and space. It is the same purpose as that of the disciples of old, and of Christians through the centuries who have met to order their lives to the mission Christ. We meet to prepare and order our lives to the following of Jesus in faith, keeping lit the Light of Christ, the candle that charges the darkness of the world.


[Jesus] said, “Go into the city to a certain man and tell him ‘The teacher says, ‘My appointed time draws near; in your house I shall celebrate the Passover with my disciples.’” The disciples then did as Jesus had ordered, and prepared the Passover. Mt. 26: 18-19

"If it'll grow in a ditch..."

Now that my Final Profession ceremony is nearly here, folks are asking me all sorts of unexpected questions. Sr. Kathleen recently asked, “What kind of flowers would you like?” So startled was I that I couldn’t reply right away, but once I gathered my wits the answer came intuitively: flowers that will grow in a ditch. I went straight away to Sr. Kathleen and asked her not to order any roses, no tulips, nothing highly cultivated. Rather, I want wildflowers. I told her, “If it’ll grow in a ditch or on the side of a road, that’s what I want. Daisies, Black-eyed Susan’s…that sort of thing. I want it to look like someone ran their hand across a meadow in bloom and came away with a bouquet of beauty.”

In part, my response was about the sheer beauty of God’s creation without any cultivated interference from us, however well intentioned. But I think more importantly it’s about the ability to recognize and cultivate beauty in the most unlikely and ordinary of places, such as the ditch on the side of the road.

We strive for beautiful liturgy here at the monastery, and there is a place for roses, gladiolas, and the like. But as important as our liturgy is – and St. Benedict says that “nothing is to be preferred to the Work of God” – much of our monastic life is spent doing such ordinary activities as washing dishes, weeding, vacuuming…the “side of the road” stuff of life. This is where the nitty-gritty of monastic life plays out, and we are to bring beauty to all of it, or better yet, recognize the beauty that is already there.

St. Benedict instructs us to “regard all utensils and goods of the monastery as sacred vessels of the altar, aware that nothing is to be neglected (RB 31).” This, of course, relates to stewardship, with caring well for all that has been entrusted to us. But I see it as also pertaining to a sacramental view of life, of not constricting our vision of God’s glory to the altar, but having the vision of the Psalmist who sees all of creation as filled with the glory of God. St. Benedict, too, recognizes that “the divine presence is everywhere (RB 19).”

Rejoicing with the most humble of flowers is a way to embody Psalm 148 in which all of creation is summoned to praise the Lord. The flowers don’t exist for themselves. They exist to give glory to God.

We, too, were created to praise God, and I want to cultivate praise and thanksgiving in all situations, including in the simple, nitty-gritty tasks of day-to-day life. Whatever the time or place, I want to offer all of myself to God, and bloom like a beautiful flower on the side of the road, “that in all things, God may be glorified.”



“You mountains and all hills, fruit trees and all cedars; You animals wild and tame, you creatures that crawl and fly; You kings of the earth and all peoples, princes and all who govern on earth; Young men and women too, old and young alike. Let them all praise the Lord’s name, for his name alone is exalted, majestic above earth and heaven.” Psalm 148: 9-13

An extra page of forever

When my Vespers prayer book was bound together, one page was accidentally duplicated. The extra page occurs on II Sunday Vespers of Week IV, which we prayed tonight. After nearly seven years of praying from the same book, you’d think I might have removed the page by now. But every month, I turn it and keep going, because actually, I kind of like it. It’s familiar, almost comforting in its reliability.

I think I also like it because the duplicate page happens to be a portion of Psalm 136, a Psalm in which every line is punctuated by the phrase, “God’s love endures forever.” Somehow, turning an extra page of the eternal love of God seems fitting, as if the assurance of His mercy and love cannot be heard too many times.

We are all in need of mercy, and the repeated phrase of Psalm 136 is reassuring in its repetition, like viewing a mountain vista in which the peaks seem to go endlessly into forever. My extra page is like an extra glimpse into the endless horizon of God’s merciful love.

It's a reminder, too, to be abundant in showing love - turning the extra page, going the extra mile, giving the extra time to bear witness to the infinitely enduring love of God.

Picking up the pieces

A new altar appointment arrived today, one of two new candleholders we have purchased. It arrived in a very big box that I opened tonight and found to be jam-packed with newsprint so finely chopped that it looked like it had been through a food processor. The candlestick was buried at the bottom, so nothing to do but dig, which meant pulling out nearly every bit of the newsprint. I wound up with a huge mess of sliced and diced paper all over the sacristy floor. With the pieces too large to vacuum and too small to easily grasp, nothing to do but get on my knees and start to pick it all up. It took a very long time.

It was one of those moments where you start to wonder why you went to graduate school. But it was also one of those moments when you realize that a master’s degree in picking up the pieces is really more important than a master’s degree in theology. If we can’t approach the unexpected tasks and toil of life with a loving and patient heart, what good does it do to know the finer points of the Filioque Controversy?

I left the sacristy, and on the way back to my room I found something else unexpected that needed to be tended to by running a fan. Nothing to do but find a fan, get down on my knees, and crawl under a desk to plug it in…

It feels as if I have spent the entire evening on my knees, but isn’t that what we are called to, prayerfully tending to that which is broken with a loving, humble heart? I enjoy studying theology and deeply appreciate my education, but to help build the Kingdom of God I pray for a master’s degree in picking up the pieces with a loving and prayerful heart.

Blackberry season

It’s berry season here in the South, and lately I’ve taken to covering my arms with long sleeves, pulling goggles over my eyes, tugging a ball cap onto my head and plunging fearlessly into the blackberry briars.

It’s serious business, the pursuit of blackberries. There are head-high tangles of briars to contend with, stinging bees, the risk of snakes crawling through the thick underbrush. I take a hoe with me, all the better to pull back the briars, and perhaps to defend against a snake should I encounter the dreaded foe. Mostly, though, I don’t think about snakes and don’t mind the briars because spread before me, ripe for the picking, are sour-sweet berries ready for my eager hands.

It’s easy to tell when they’re ripe. The first and obvious clue is the ink-stained hue, but mostly the clues reside in how they feel – pliable and soft under the press of my fingers, and so ready to be plucked from the vine that they fall into my hand with barely a tug, kind of like when you know your heart is ready to fall into the hands of God.

My heart has been in its own blackberry season since early January – the point at which I knew I was ready to shift from ripening on the vine to being plucked by the hand of God, no longer just an ink-stained fruit who for all appearances seemed ripe but was still firmly stuck to the vine. Now my season had arrived, my heart was pliable, and I was ready to fall into final vows with barely a tug.

Monastics are rarely in a hurry, and even less so with something as important as final vows. It’s serious business. But when the season comes, we know it, and so these past months have been spent getting ready for perpetual monastic profession. I hope you will rejoice with me as my profession date in August approaches.


Postscript: As challenging as it is, the whole blackberry-picking effort has been made a lot easier by Sr. Bernadette who has stamped out some paths through the tangles. Mostly I just follow in her footsteps, while foraging in a couple of other spots as well. And that’s what my monastic elders have done for me in these years of initial formation. They have shown me the path stamped out by centuries of monks, and have taught me to how to defend against the dreaded foe. And they have shown me that the pursuit of God is worth encountering the occasional tangle because, as St. Benedict puts it, “What could be sweeter than the voice of the Lord calling to us?”

Independence Eve

It’s Independence Eve, and here in the monastery none of us is being particularly independent.

Sr. Magdalena has been up in the darkening chapel, rehearsing some patriotic organ fare to share with us tomorrow. Our Postulant Michelle and a visiting Sister are in the kitchen, their sugar-dusted hands orchestrating a symphony of diced strawberries, lemons, and flour. Sr. Priscilla has her red, white, and blue table decorations ready, with help from some others. After supper, a few of us walked through the new infirmary renovation with an elderly Sister who had not yet seen it. Sr. Janet and Sr. Bernadette expertly guided her around barriers and over power cords. After the tour, I engaged in a shoe shine project with Sr. Tonette. And after that, I stopped to visit with Sr. Lynn for a while.

Just from these few instances on one particular evening, it is clear that in no way are we really independent. Even in celebrating independence, we are not independent. It takes all of us. We were created for family, for community, for sharing our gifts with and for others. Even in the darkening chapel, Sr. Magdalena wasn't really alone. She was preparing to celebrate with all of us. And I was there too, readying the sacristy for tomorrow morning's Mass.

Monastic life calls us to recognize our interdependence in a particularly intentional manner. St. Benedict refers to this in several ways: “mutual obedience,” “good zeal,” “the good of all concerned,” and similar phrases. He writes that monks are not to pursue what they judge best for themselves, but instead what they judge to be “better for someone else.” (RB 72:7)

I’m so happy and grateful to celebrate the Independence Day of our country and rejoice over the many freedoms we enjoy, but I’m even happier that we can celebrate together, foregoing independence even as we celebrate independence. With sugar-frosted hands, freshly shined shoes, patriotic song, and festive décor, we will help each other celebrate a dandy yankee doodle of a day.

Happy Fourth of July to everyone!