A paler shade of joy

As I neared Cullman County last night following a visit with family in the Carolinas, I turned off Hwy 231 onto a narrow country road that serves as my shortcut to Hwy 278. After a few rises and falls, the road crested and hugged a ridgeline the rest of the way into Holly Pond, just east of Cullman.

It was nearing 8:00 PM, and winter darkness had long settled onto the hills and into the hollows of north Alabama. But looking from the ridgeline out toward the distant west, a pale streak of daylight hovered like an afterthought on the far horizon. It wasn’t the usual pink or orange of a proper sunset. It wasn’t even a glow. It was just a grey-white streak of pale, the barest reminder of the day that had been, and of the day that was to be.

This morning I awakened to steady rain and a colorless sky that bore no hint of the joy of Gaudete Sunday or the color of rose that would brighten our liturgy or the Mass readings that would exhort us to rejoice. I stared out the window at the blanched vista that seemed drained of life even as it drained the heavens of moisture.  The sky looked like a line from the old song "a whiter shade of pale."

The steady rain has continued all day and now into the evening. The sky is both dreary and weary. Our mood is subdued as we grieve the tragedy in Connecticut, as well as violence closer to home. A bucket is catching a percussive leak in the Retreat Center office.  Everything looks grey, grim, and damp.  But Sisters Therese and Michelle baked cookies this afternoon. Sr. Lynn Marie prepared a special treat for our tree-decorating party. The schola gathered to practice after dinner. And we gathered as a community tonight to decorate our dining room Christmas tree, sing for a bit, and yes, rejoice over the Daybreak that even now hovers on the horizon.

We are called to rejoice - sometimes against all evidence, and sometimes against all odds. Yet if we can climb the ridgeline and look to the horizon, we can find a hint of the sunlight that has been, and the Light that is to come.   And we can rejoice - even if it is a paler shade of joy.

Postscript:  For a previous post on Gaudete Sunday, including an explanation of Gaudete, please see the December 12, 2010 post in the archive above left ("We interrupt this color...") .

Instruction manual

Yesterday I picked up a old iron as I packed up an area of Annunciata Hall. Its heavy weight and fabric-coated cord suggested it was perhaps of 1960’s vintage. Next to the iron was the instruction manual which had accompanied the iron through the decades.

A consistent pattern I’ve noticed over these weeks of helping pack up and move various areas of the monastery is the presence of an instruction manual accompanying nearly any kind of device or appliance. It doesn’t matter the type of equipment or the age of the device. It could be a space heater, or a DVD player, or a microwave oven, or an iron, or even a sick call set from the early years of our community. If it is electric or must be assembled or has controls of some sort, an instruction or assembly manual is sure to be nearby.

If I had found just an occasional manual, I probably wouldn’t have noticed it because we keep them in low profile. But as I packed, their ubiquity became noticeable. It’s not that we aren’t able to figure out how to turn things on and off or how to operate a toaster oven. We don’t even necessarily use the manuals; many are still snug in their original plastic sleeves. But somehow, saving them just seems an appropriate way to be orderly and careful with the goods entrusted to our care, and to be considerate to those who may use them in the future.

I find something touching and tender in the presence of all these manuals, and after encountering them over and over I began to view them with a kind of reverence. I think their presence speaks to the way in which we’ve absorbed Benedict’s instruction to treat “all goods of the monastery as if they were sacred vessels of the altar.” I think it’s also a way to express care for one another, including those who will come after us who maybe, just maybe, will need to know how to replace the thing-a-ma-jig on the such-in-such. The manual will be at the ready to tell them how.

I think it is testament, too, to the ongoing quality of our life as a monastic community, with our current generation seamlessly integrated with those who came before us and those who are yet to come. We know that the various goods of the monastery came from the hard work and generosity of those who preceded us, and what we leave behind we want to bequeath in good condition.

All of this is witness to how we’ve absorbed the most ubiquitous and most important of all the instruction manuals here in the monastery – the Rule of St. Benedict. Daily we listen together to a reading from this ancient manual.  It teaches us that our reverence for God gets expressed in the daily interactions of life, including the reverent use of created goods, and reverence for one another. It is an instruction manual that for centuries upon centuries has never become obsolete.

 

Postscript: The photograph above was taken as we were moving out of Ottilia Hall prior to renovation.  The air conditioner was headed for our yard sale, but it went complete with its instruction manual! 

The Mayflower

The great migration of Sisters back into Ottilia Hall is now complete. I was one of the last scheduled to go. When I finally made my move yesterday after nearly two years in Joseph Hall, I felt as if I were stepping onto Plymouth Rock after a long voyage at sea, or as if I were Christopher Columbus finally dropping anchor in a Caribbean bay. We have been on this voyage for what has felt like a very long time, and we have eagerly anticipated stepping back onto the shores of Ottilia.

Last night, having unpacked and settled in, I leaned deeply into my rocker and looked out the eastward-facing window into the darkening sky. It was good to be back and be at rest in the room assigned to me by our Prioress. But even though I feel as if I have dropped anchor and set foot on shore, this room is really more Mayflower than Plymouth Rock, more Niña, Pinta and Santa Maria than a Caribbean bay. This is a room, a chair, a space in which I will set sail in a continual journey with God and with this monastic community, keeping my sails hoisted and my compass set, voyaging ever-deeper into the heart of our Lord.

Like a hand at rest

On Saturday, the color of violet spread silently though the monastery as we readied ourselves for the season of Advent. It spread like a hand unfolding into rest.

In the sacristy, I made the usual preparations of exchanging green vestments for violet and readying the lectionaries of the new liturgical year. Sr. Kathleen arranged the Advent wreath and candles in the chapel, and Sr. Priscilla prepared them for the dining room. Sisters Therese and Lynn Marie removed last year’s Missalettes from the pews and replaced them with the new. Sr. Magdalena placed her Advent music and liturgy files at the ready.  Sr. Brigid posted the annual reminder about our Advent collection for Catholic Relief Services.  Hardly a word was exchanged. Everyone just settled into doing what they knew needed to be done.

Advent is one of my favorite seasons and I think this year it will be particularly so. In the midst of this unusual time of transition for our community, the pensive quiet of this beautiful season will be especially welcome. Familiar hymns, familiar patterns, the familiar turning of the liturgical calendar…I think all will help us settle deeply into this season, these days that unfold like a hand at rest – quiet and still in wordless waiting, yet ready to light the lamp and spread the table as we watch for the coming of the Lord.

The story of the week

A Sister asked whether I would be writing a blog post about some of the “challenges” (read: semi-calamities) that we had last week at the monastery. I demurred, saying I wouldn’t dare try to describe the indescribable. But here I go…

If you can imagine a cross between an “I Love Lucy” episode, a Jackson Pollock painting, and a Special Effects seminar all set against the backdrop of Noccalula Falls…well, then you can imagine last Wednesday and Thursday. But that’s about the best I can do because I don’t think I can really describe the smoke that billowed from a toilet bowl as water sprayed over the rim like a really bad chemistry prank gone awry. Nor can I accurately portray the water that arced into the air from an open wall pipe as Sr. Regina and a monastery staff member tried with all their might to stop the flow by plugging their fingers in the wall. Nor can I describe carpet so saturated that water began spewing from a puncture at the top of the giant garbage bag that was holding it. It poured steadily and confidently, as if it thought itself the Tivoli Fountain. And I could never find the words to describe the drama of trying to get that bag outside without spilling a drop.

A certain number of renovation malfunctions and oddities can be expected. But Wednesday was one for the record books. It was enough to make you wonder if it was a full moon…except that it was mid-day.

But that’s only a small part of what went on. The main story of this week is that our life breath kept flowing, borne aloft on the wind of the Holy Spirit. Our hearts kept surging, marking time in the rhythm of eternity. The skies were bright and clear. The earth kept spinning underneath our feet. We sat in monastic silence at prayers and enjoyed conversation over meals. We prayed. We worked. We rested from our labor. We trusted in God. We leaned on each other. Peace prevailed.

As we prayed Psalm 112 together late in the week, I thought of the events that had transpired. The various dramas brought some quick reactions, hard work, and plenty of frustration. But still, we trusted in our merciful God. No matter what happens, God’s mercy and love is the real story of the week.

They shall not fear an ill report; their hearts are steadfast, trusting the Lord. Ps 112:7

World's Fair

The ingenious and sometimes complex adaptations that have been made over the years to our beloved structures on this beloved spot of land have sometimes confounded even the most seasoned of craftsmen. Yesterday I saw two workmen peering at some Annunciata Hall plumbing as if they were looking into an abyss. One of them said in wonderment: “I’ve been to two World’s Fairs and I’ve never seen anything like this before.” Indeed.

I’ve enjoyed overhearing comments of workmen as the construction has unfolded, and this comment was one of the best. It is testimony to the complexity of a 110 year old original structure, with adjacent structures subsequently added, and many of these structures adapted to various uses over the years – all of it done on a shoestring budget but with good materials and , if not done by professionals, then by very resourceful employees.

The various creative adaptations are sometimes ingenious, sometimes simply clever, and sometimes head-scratchingly perplexing. I think the workman yesterday encountered all three in one fell swoop.

The expressions of the men, not to mention the quote, reminded me of the mystery that each of us is to one another. Here in the monastery, we live in close proximity and see each other at close range day in and day out. Even though we live a life in common, we each approach this life with a unique personality and a distinctive manner of being. This variety can be beautiful, but there are times when another’s approach to something can be head-scratchingly perplexing and we ponder the mystery of their actions or ideas as if staring blankly into an abyss. We’ve “never seen anything like this before,” and it can be confounding, perhaps even frustrating.

The encounter with the mystery of the other is part of what is at times lovely and at times challenging about monastic life. We each bring to this common life our whole complex self – gifts, weaknesses, temperaments, unique ways of being, adaptations we’ve made over the years – and yes, our brokenness. Our challenge is to gaze at the mystery of the other not with judgment but with compassion and wonder, knowing that we, too, are a mystery that others may find perplexing, and perhaps even frustrating.

There is a kind of “World’s Fair” quality to community life – all of us gathered together from different places and with various backgrounds and each of us a unique, wondrous sight to behold. For each one of my Sisters it is true that “I’ve never seen anyone like this before.” I pray that I can see them with eyes open to the wonder of their being, ingeniously created, formed, and cherished by God.

Postscript: Some of the interesting non-construction-related items uncovered in the course of renovation were classroom chalk boards that had been covered over by subsequent walls.  We've seen the remains of old Latin lessons, directions to a rerouted Algebra class, and other such finds.  Above is a chalk board drawing of more recent vintage but which nevertheless had been relegated to an unseen corner of the basement - that is, until we cleaned the basement out.  It was drawn by Sr. Therese for a retreat group about ten or so years ago. 

For a previous blog post about the creative genius of some of our employees, see the September 2, 2012 "Wonderland" entry in the archives above left.

"We just keep on living..."

When one of our Sisters was recently asked how we were coping with living in the middle of a construction zone, she replied, “We just keep on living…” She shrugged her shoulders as she spoke, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to have a masonry saw screaming outside one dining room window and welding sparks flying outside another while quietly eating a monastery lunch on a paper plate because another unmarked water line just got hit and there is no water with which to wash dishes.

Through it all we just keep on living. Our liturgy hasn’t missed a beat. We have never ceased welcoming guests. We say the same mealtime prayers at the same mealtimes. Our vocation program continues to welcome newcomers into our life. Sr. Kathleen keeps tending the plants. Sr. Regina keeps watering the gingko seedlings. Sr. Jane keeps gathering pecans from the lawn and shelling them with Sr. Emilie. Sr. Magdalena keeps doting over Kitty B, with the rest of us not far behind her in our level of affection for our dear little cat. Sr. Brigid keeps bringing in the mail each day. Sr. Bernadette keeps picking up the morning paper. Sr. Kathleen Christa keeps us all up to date with prayer requests that are sent to us. We greet the ever-present workmen as we pass them in the corridors or on the grounds. We direct guests toward the latest iteration of the monastery entrance. And on and on.

Indeed, we just keep on living. We pray a lot. We laugh a lot. We pray some more. We express our gratitude for what is unfolding before us and for those who are making it possible even as jack hammers hammer away and phone systems get turned inside out and another unmarked water line gets hit and routes get re-routed and then re-routed again as the construction zone subtly shifts over time like an inchworm slowly making its way toward paradise. In the midst of whatever the current challenges happen to be, the big picture remains before us, along with the knowledge that these inconveniences and disruptions are so minor compared with the tragedies and disruptions and violence of all sorts occurring around the globe.

So we just keep on living. And we keep on living like Benedictines, seeking God by living under a Rule and a Prioress in the midst of all circumstances, even the circumstances of a real live bona fide living color surround sound construction zone. But I think the things that keep us grounded the most are our spirit of gratitude, the fact that we are going through this together and are able to help one another through challenging times, and the knowledge that this is no ordinary construction zone. It is the house of the Lord, and we are so grateful to witness, and yes experience, the much-needed improvements that we trust will bring glory to God.

No matter what the construction process brings for us on any given day, the sun still rises and the sun still sets, its golden glow casting a paradisiacal sheen on mortar and brick, on sheetrock and steel. Even with dust and disarray and unexpected hits on yet another water line, the construction zone is already a strange kind of paradise as we watch the skill of architects and workmen unite with the prayers of the Sisters and the generosity of benefactors as we just keep on living

this Benedictine life of ora et labora, prayer and work, all under the beneficient gaze of our Lord.


Postscript: One can never really anticipate what a day will bring, and some days bring some very unwelcome surprises. Today was one of them. It’s all too long, too multi-faceted, and way too complicated to explain – but I can assure you the word “paradise” was not on anyone’s lips today. The big picture does help though, but what helps the most is our support of one another as we inch our way there.  Good leadership also helps us keep it all in perspective and keeps us organized, on track, and our monastic life intact as we work our way through all these transitions.  Thanks be to God for our Prioress and her team!

Photo at top: Sr. Kathleen has kept the planters planted throughout, even at the edge of the construction zone.

Middle photo: View from our dining room a few months ago.  This building (new kitchen and Retreat Center dining) now has its second story and is nearing completion.

Photo at bottom: A portion of our back yard at dusk.  Our carport at right has co-existed with the construction zone at left and the construction trailers in the distance.