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.

Horizons

We are entering the home stretch of renovation preparation. Contractors have been coming and going from Ottilia Hall doing their final pre-construction assessments. At this point, with actual construction not yet underway, the building remains accessible, and we Sisters still pass through freely. It has led to some interesting encounters between contractors and Sisters.

One such instance happened yesterday when I placed a bowl on the wide staircase leading up to the 3rd floor, a place that has long been a transient storage spot for items that one will soon come back to retrieve. A short while after storing the bowl, I returned to collect it only to find a contractor gazing up at the ceiling above it. When I walked up I offered a friendly “hello,” casually picked up the bowl and walked away. The contractor looked totally confused, and with a puzzled voice he asked if there was a leak in the ceiling. I paused, looked up, replied “no,” and walked away, as puzzled by his question as he was by the bowl. I later realized he must have reasoned that the only rationale for such an oddly situated bowl was to collect water. Yet for me, the bowl was situated in a completely logical location.

It was a very simple and somewhat amusing example of how differing horizons can lead to differing interpretations of the same experience, such as the presence of a bowl on a stairstep. A visiting contractor sees it, and looks upward for leaks, while a Sister within her home sees a household item in transit, and picks it up for the next stage on its journey.

In our monastic community, we have forty-four Sisters. We share in common the overarching horizon of our Catholic faith and Benedictine charism. Community norms and traditions also constitute a shared scope of practice and meaning. Nevertheless, when it comes to the ‘small stuff’ of daily life, we have forty-four different horizons – different backgrounds, different ways of construing the same event, different ways of doing things.

Even though our shared life leads to some shared practices, including informal ones such acceptable transient storage spots, we each still retain our own unique perspectives and it can lead to some interesting encounters. At times this is a challenge. At times it leads to humorous moments. At times it leads to frustration. But always, it is a gift. We need the vision and perspective of others in order to help us see beyond our own limited horizon, our own sometimes predictable perspective.

St. Benedict’s eighth step of humility instructs the monk to do “only what is endorsed by the common rule of the monastery and the example set by…superiors.” (RB 7:55) The monk is also exhorted not “to pursue what he judges better for himself, but instead, what he judges better for someone else.”(RB 72:7) Expanding our horizon to encompass the vision of another instead of insisting on the primacy of our own point of view allows us to receive the gift of insight and wisdom that comes from another’s perspective, and offers an occasion to show the mutual obedience to which St. Benedict calls us.

Sometimes the context is the small, occasionally humorous, stuff of daily life. Sometimes it is deeply serious spiritual insight or correction. In either case, the shared, overarching horizon of our faith and our charism encompasses all of our small, personal horizons – our divergent backgrounds, temperaments, interpretive frameworks and varied ways of doing things – and draws us onward in the mutual love and peace to which we are called.

A museum kind of day

From the moment my feet touched the floor around five o’clock this morning, it has felt like a museum kind of day, the kind of day where everything seems awash in the sort of beauty that makes one want to stop and take note. To pause, linger, appreciate. To attend to the unique character of the passing people, moments and events of the day.

When I awakened, exterior lights were still casting their glow through the muslin curtains of my windows. Soon enough, I was pouring water for the first pot of Retreat Center coffee. The aroma of bacon soon followed, keeping pace with the quietly emerging daylight.

From the hallway junction between Sisters’ and Retreat Center dining areas, I had a good view of the morning: Sister Mary Grace arriving first in the monastery dining room, soon followed by other Sisters. Meanwhile, three early-rising young men gathered in the Retreat Center Rafter Room, chatting quietly over cups of coffee.

After breakfast, Lauds, with open chapel windows and a subtle breeze, and then Mass, with the sprinkling of water, the Word of God proclaimed, the precious weight of the chalice in my careful hands...

Sisters, guests, retreatants adorned the day. Sister Kathleen strolled through during breakfast service, warmly greeting a ladies group that she has led in the past. Sister Magdalena stopped by and asked me to accompany on flute during Mass. Sister Emilie and I consulted together on a sacristy question. Sister Dominica greeted a former student, now here with a weekend group.

A busy morning and early afternoon gave way to a quiet late afternoon. Our two retreat groups departed. An unexpected guest arrived. Daylight streamed. Kitty B roamed. Clouds whispered secrets in the sky. I took a stroll with the camera.

Then Second Vespers of Sunday, followed by an informal supper of crackers, peanut butter, and conversation shared around a kitchen table. And finally, a 'tear-jerker' movie with my Joseph Hall living group.

And now, exterior lights again illuminate the pale muslin that spreads across the windows of my room. The words of a Psalm we chanted at Lauds still linger – “This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice in it and be glad.”

The passing moments, events and people of this day have each been a gift, awash in the sort of beauty that makes one want to stop and take note. We don't need to visit a museum to encounter that which is exquisite, unique, beautiful. We just need to open our eyes to the beauty that surrounds us and the unique gift of each person and moment. Today, despite the busy-ness of my retreat ministry, I have paused and lingered, appreciating the gift of the day and all that is within it. I am glad, indeed.

Spheres

Last night, with the spherical glow of a nearly full moon overhead, I settled deeply into a backyard chair and listened to the night. My hands fingered rosary beads, slowly, methodically. As the sorrowful mysteries of the rosary unfolded, stars gradually took their place in the sky, appearing like vigil lamps held in the hands of angels.

Dew began to settle across the lawn. A dog barked in the distance. An airplane coursed overhead. I heard a monastery door open and close, someone else out, encountering the dark and the infinite mystery of night.

Meanwhile, the beads continued their path through my fingers, spheres of mystery spinning through hands in search of God. Words mingled with the beads: Our Father…Hail Mary…Glory be…each phrase a perfect pearl of prayer, formed of centuries of accumulated hope and sorrow, joy and tears, eons of calling upon the name of the Lord.

The hour grew late, and I grew tired. I headed back to my Joseph Hall room, drawn toward the music of Bach, the only music I know that approaches the music of the spheres. The hauntingly beautiful tones of the Kyrie from the Mass in B Minor played quietly in my room, redolent with mystery and the pensive mood of a minor key. Hearing its unfolding layers of soaring and descent was like listening to the night, to that which is particular and recognizable - a door, a dog, a plane - and to that which lies beyond our understanding.

The events and occasions that course through our lives like rosary beads in a searching hand are sometimes beyond comprehension, unknowable, a mystery. Yet we are held within the infinite sphere of God's mercy, held lightly in the palm of His hand. And we join our prayer to the prayers of the centuries, saying Our Father...Hail Mary...Glory Be...

Kyrie Eleison...Christe Eleison...Kyrie Eieison...

Labor Day at the Monastery, continued...

As a postlude to yesterday’s post, here’s how the rest of Labor Day went at Sacred Heart:

Unceasing rain throughout the day eventually led to rising water, and by late afternoon I found myself teamed with Sister Tonette in a complex operation involving buckets, a ‘wet vac,’ 5 giant trash cans, and repeated, headlong dashes across the lawn through the pouring rain. Side by side we worked, along with a a couple of other Sisters and a dedicated employee, until we were totally drenched and the workspace was finally dry.

Although the nature of yesterday’s task was atypical, the shared endeavor was not. Life in monastic community is an integrated life. Our common prayer does not exist apart from our common work. Likewise, our common work would not have its spiritually-formative character without our common prayer. And both our common prayer and the shared work of life in community lead us into the work of ministry.

Our shared work reflects the full range of human labor – from creative to manual to skilled to intellectual. The breakfast cook might go up to chapel after breakfast and serve as a cantor. The grass mower might come inside, get cleaned up, and lead a retreat presentation. The Tuesday evening dish washer might be a teacher by day, and perhaps assist with an elder Sister at night. This monastic endeavor calls us to give our entire self to the work of the monastery and to ministry, and not sequester ourselves into particular or isolated roles.

This is not merely about keeping community life functioning smoothly, nor is it just about helping individuals grow to their fullest potential, although it is likely to have those effects. Rather, it is about diverse individuals learning to live, work, and pray in peace and mutual charity as a sign to the world of the peace and love of Christ. It is also to embody together the exhortation of St. Benedict: “That in all things, God may be glorified.”

As our Community Philosophy puts it, “We believe that God is here and can be found, and that a diversity of persons bonded into unity shows Christ to a divided world.” It is through praying and working side by side in all of life’s varied seasons and tonalities that we become bonded into unity in Christ and learn to glorify God through all of our work and prayer.

After our messy, drenching, and tiring manual labor last evening, Sister Tonette and I were in our usual choir stalls for prayer this morning. We then convened this afternoon for a scheduled meeting. It was a typical transition in the monastery – moving naturally between prayer, manual labor, and creative, intellectual work – all for the glory of God and the building up of His kingdom.

Labor Day at the Monastery

Here's just a bit of what has transpired here at Sacred Heart on this civic holiday:

A “Saturday schedule,” with Lauds a bit later than usual and Mass a bit earlier…

Prayers for all who labor, and scripture readings that focused on our stewardship of the earth and our dependence upon God…

Rain, rain, and more rain…

Outdoor grilling by Sister Bernadette and Sister Tonette, despite the torrent…

A festive indoor picnic, complete with beach-theme decorations by Sister Priscilla…

Four mission Sisters home for the holiday…

A quick huddle by the Liturgy Committee to schedule our next meeting…

A long pause on the porch of Benet Hall to watch rain splashing onto the lake...

Sister Therese relaxing with a book in the community room...

Sister Eileen and Sister Brigid enjoying a visit...

Sister Magdalena keeping an eye on Kitty B's needs through the rainstorm...

A wandering, rain-soaked hound dog that we reunited with its owner from one town away…

And now, a tranquil afternoon, filled with the fragrant aroma of leisure. All is quiet, except for the ceaseless cadence of rainfall which is filling, soaking, drenching, saturating, overflowing this dry and thirsty land.

Blessings of rest to all who labor, which is all of us!

A cautionary tale...of love

Once upon a time, in a small Alabama town, a historic monastery building was nearing an era of renovation. As the time for construction drew nigh, hardhats began to appear upon the land, worn by those who were readying the building and environs for the lengthy process of restoration.

Following the arrival of these craftsmen, notices began to appear, directing Sisters and guests to go THIS way, not THAT way. A door or stairwell or patch of earth would suddenly become bedecked in yellow ribbon that bade one NOT to enter. These messages told a tale, a cautionary tale, advising protection from the dust and dangers of the deconstruction that precedes reconstruction, and protection of the newly-exposed and now vulnerable workspaces from missteps by those inexperienced in the construction crafts...

Indeed, the signs and yellow tape have been multiplying around the monastery this past week. As I’ve watched the signs and ribbon go up, I’ve been reminded that for those who dwell here the monastery is always a place of renovation. Our monastic profession calls us to a lifetime of conversion of heart, which means that on a personal level we are always undergoing interior renovation and restoration as we seek to become more and more conformed to the image of Christ.

Although it is the grace of God that effects our conversion, the giving of ourselves to this process is often hard work - arduous, even - as our old self is swept away, unnecessary burdens unearthed, and all is made new.

We who have committed ourselves to monastic community continually dwell amongst each other’s spiritual construction zones. This can be true for those beyond the monastery as well. It is the work of love to treat one another with reverence, with respect, with a certain deference - or caution, if you will - knowing that for each of us, in one way or another, our heart is engaged in the spiritual labor of growth and conversion.

Today’s 2nd reading from Romans 13 begins: “Owe nothing to anyone, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law.” Spiritually speaking, the caution sign, or “law,” is not the caution of a barricade or of avoidance. It is the caution of reverence for the hard work required for genuine spiritual growth and the vulnerability of those who have opened their hearts fully to and for the love for Christ. It is a call to approach one another with tenderness, with gentleness, with reverence. It is a call to the work of love.



Postscript: We are growing more excited by the day as renovation draws nigh. Please keep us in your prayers as we continue the capital campaign and complete the final preparations to begin the first two phases of the renovation project. If you're not yet familiar with what we are up to, here are the details.