The innkeeper

We never hear about the innkeeper, the nameless one who on a dark, desert night, long, long ago said ‘no’ to two weary travelers - one with his face creased with the worry and dust of travel, the other clearly pregnant. Perhaps he was too tired, or too busy, to find an extra spot in a crowded room. Perhaps the needs of demanding guests filled his heart with urgency and worry. Perhaps the pantry shelves were nearly bare. Perhaps the burdens of the day were balanced so precariously on his shoulders that he felt he could not absorb the weight of two strangers from afar. Perhaps.

Since that long-ago night, decades and centuries have tumbled and spun, and tonight we find ourselves again on the brink of celebrating the nativity of the One who was born on that desert night so long ago, who was born outside the inn, who was born – outside. As we gather around heart and home with family and friends, may we remember that this spinning earth is still full of those who wander in search of shelter, food, safety…and the earth is still full of outsiders. When one wanders our way – perhaps a neighbor in need, or perhaps a stranger from afar – may we lay down our burdens and open welcoming arms knowing that our Lord Jesus often comes to us in the guise of the lowly, the poor, the outsider. On this night of nights, and on every night, may we be ready to absorb the weight of Him whose yoke is easy and whose burden is light. May we be ready to welcome each of His - and our - brothers and sisters.


Postscript: An unintentional and unplanned Advent haitus for this blog is now over. I'll soon be back at it regularly - but first, let us celebrate! A most joyous and blessed Christmas to each of you... (You can check out our Community News webpage for photos our our celebration here at the monastery.)

Reading Ecclesiastes on the biggest shopping day of the year

Today, on “Black Friday,” the biggest shopping day of the year, our scripture reading at Vespers happened to come from the third chapter of Ecclesiastes. This being my week to read, I was the one to get up and speak the familiar lines: “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven…a time to plant and a time to uproot…a time to seek and a time to lose…a time to keep and a time to cast away…”

I savored the words, reading with a kind of languid, unhurried voice, wanting to linger on each glowing phrase even as I hastened straight away to the next verse and the next and the next, one of which read, “God “has put the timeless into [our] hearts…”

In the midst of what has become, in our day, a season of shopping, celebrating, rushing, and being very, very busy about many, many things, these verses remind us of balance, perspective, and of God’s ordered time and timelessness. They invite us to root the otherwise ephemeral and fleeting activities of the season in the timelessness of the Eternal even as we hasten straight away to what is next and next and next... They call us to linger with each passing moment, and savor the eternity that glows within.



I know that whatever God does endures forever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it; God has done this, so that all should stand in awe before him. That which is, already has been; that which is to be, already is; and God seeks out what has gone by. Ecclesiastes 3:14-15

Of tools and tethers

We’ve been busy these past few weeks adjusting to the various sights, sounds, and disruptions of living in a construction zone. Despite our high spirits and excitement over the launching of the renovation project, all adjustments carry at least a little bit of stress, and recently the time grew ripe for us to relax together and have a party. And so we did.

Four Sisters got together to plan, shop, and decorate, and then they invited the rest of us to the Rafter Room for Banana Splits, ice cream sundaes, root beer floats, and every kind of ice cream topping you can imagine. Sister Lynn Marie brought her guitar for some high-spirited musical entertainment, and I fired up the LCD projector for a slide show. The décor featured helium-filled balloons, anchored in place by the construction tools to which they were tied.

The tools were a clever thematic element. But perhaps they were more than that. Perhaps they illustrated metaphorically the degree to which work helps keep us anchored when we are tempted to let ourselves float away in thought, in distraction, in unending leisure, in unbounded pursuit of personal gratification... Work keeps us present. It keeps us engaged with the places and the people around us. It keeps us anchored in this beautiful, challenging, joy-filled, and poignant world.

And of course it’s not just mechanical tools that keep us anchored. St.Benedict, in his Rule for monks, devotes an entire chapter to The Tools for Good Works in which he describes the spiritual tools that keep us anchored in loving service to those around us, tools such as “relieve the lot of the poor…go to help the troubled…do not injure anyone…speak the truth with heart and tongue…”

The traditional Benedictine motto, Ora et Labora, or Pray and Work, evokes well this balance to which we are called – a balance that calls us to pause from our labors, and then rise to take up our tools again. A balance that keeps our ‘thought bubbles’ from rising infinitely in self-absorbed reverie…that keeps our tools from becoming idols...that keeps our prayer from becoming only a “me and God” affair disconnected from the needs of our neighbor... A balance that intertwins prayer and work in such a way that our work becomes a prayer, a prayer that is tethered both to God and the needs of the world, bringing heaven to earth, and lifting earth toward heaven.


Postscript: Prayer, always a constant in the monastic "toolbox," is keeping us well-anchored through the challenges of construction.

Contemplative construction

This morning, after a very quiet weekend, the throttles were humming again in the heavy equipment that surrounds (and inhabits!) the monastery. The engines revved up right after Lauds. It was as if our concluding verse – “Thanks be to God” – was followed immediately by “Gentlemen, start your engines.”

From the sounds and sights outside my office window, I sometimes wonder if I’m living in a monastery or at some sort of ‘monster truck’ mega-fest. But despite the noise, it’s not hard to know that this is unmistakably a monastery. The monastic atmosphere remains despite the motorized symphony of booms and beeps. It’s present in our good-humored acceptance of the inconveniences of construction. It’s present as we greet arriving workmen as we exit Lauds. It’s present in the Psalm verses Sr. Therese placed along the ‘tunnel,’ and in the scanned archival photos that also line the corridor reminding us of the Sisters who worked and prayed before us – and who lived through their own construction projects. Fidelity to the basic elements of our monastic life keeps us anchored through the disruptions, and keeps us steeped not in noise, but in the contemplative spirit to which we are called.

Yes, the idea of contemplation in a construction zone may seem a bit odd. But I’ve now experienced four weeks of living in the midst of it and can attest to the possibility. It’s kind of like any form of prayer, which at its core is simply being attentive to, and remaining in communion with, our dear Lord. And this can happen anywhere, anytime, even in the midst of noise and disruption.

This spirit of prayer helps us see the deep silence and hidden beauty at the heart of construction – the skill of the craftsmen, the beauty of light, the artful lines and contours of the design, the desire for God that animated all Sisters who have dwelt here, and that still animates those here now…

Indeed, there’s a lot going on. But so is our regular monastic life of prayer and work. We go right on with our life of mutual obedience under a Rule and a Prioress – just as centuries of monastics have done through millennia of construction projects – always seeking to build the kingdom of God.



Postscript: Much of the activity is taking place just outside the Retreat Center office, giving me a front row seat for much of the action and noise. There are quieter spots! The retreat center residential areas are a good refuge, as is Annunciata Hall. Work ceases during our liturgical prayer, and all is quiet on the weekend!

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!