Pre-game rituals

It’s a pretty big football night here in the state of Alabama. And how are we spending game-night here at the monastery? Well, our pre-game rituals are probably different from nearly everyone else in the state, because no matter the fervor with which we root for the home team, fervor for our monastic life comes first. No matter whether we plan to watch the game or not, our pre-game rituals have been just what our rituals are every night – Vespers, supper with the community, and then Compline. After Compline, four of us handled a community task involving flashlights and tennis shoes while Sr. Bernadette and Sr. Priscilla started the supper dishes. Sr. Lynn Marie and I then finished up the dishes while Sr. Benita readied the dining room for breakfast.

Right now, with kick-off a few minutes away, some Sisters are gathered around a TV, some are reading, some are relaxing with needle and yarn, some are tending to various evening tasks, some are catching up on e-mail correspondance… It’s just like every other evening here at the monastery – except for Sr. Lynn’s Roll Tide t-shirt, Sr. Ursula’s LSU garb, and a few cheers that will soon brighten up the night.

Meeting at the star

A time-honored tradition here at Sacred Heart is ‘meeting at the star,’ the star being a wooden inlay right in the center of Ottilia Hall’s first floor. The original star was in tile, and for generations served as a central meeting spot, as in “I’ll meet you at the star.” The star’s importance as an internal landmark is such that when the tile was replaced with hardwood some years back, the star was retained, this time in inlaid wood. It remains an important landmark.

Two thousand years ago, there was a far more important star, and a far more important meeting at that star – the star that beckoned the magi who asked, “Where is the newborn king of the Jews? We saw his star at its rising and have come to do him homage.”

Although the liturgical celebration of Epiphany is now behind us, perhaps the star can remain a landmark on our interior horizon, a reminder that we are continually called to seek Christ, to come into His presence and give homage, and offer to Him all that we have and are. We are daily called to journey to ‘meet Him at the star.’


And behold, the star that they had seen at its rising preceded them, until it came and stopped over the place where the child was. They were overjoyed at seeing the star, and on entering the house they saw the child with Mary his mother. The prostrated themselves and did him homage. Then they opened their treasures and offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Mt. 9-11

Epiphany

Tonight, as I walked from Vespers to dinner, the lights of the dining room shone like flares in the desert and the moon stood sentry in the eastern sky as if guarding a revelation. The moon was nearly full, but not as full as my heart, a heart that searches as if it were empty even as it is full to overflowing.

I opened the door to the dining room, to my Sisters, to guests, to the warmth of Christian community. I opened the door to the presence of Christ within and among us.

Seeking the Christ Child – in our hearts, in one another, in Scripture, in the Sacraments, in the endless ways in which He comes to us – is a never-ending journey of ceaseless arrival, of continually searching and finding.

May our desert eyes be ever on the eastern sky, our hands ceaselessly opening the door to His presence, our hearts ever ready to recognize the revelation of our Lord. May we search as if we are empty, even as we are full to overflowing.

Folk song

On the Feast of St. John, early in the morning, I turned a monastery car eastward on Highway 278 and headed toward the Carolinas to visit with family for a while. The sun lay tucked behind a veil of grey sky, the road fell and swelled with the undulating earth, and the gentle landscape of northern Alabama slowly gave way to the piney woods of central Georgia, and eventually to the Spanish moss-draped oaks of low country Carolina. Along the way, towns and cities rolled by like verses to a folk song being sung by endless generations. I passed through towns in which family members are buried, towns in which I’ve blown out birthday candles and ridden bikes, towns in which I’ve worked and lived and earned a paycheck… each town marked by the variegated tonalities of life – not just my life, but the lives of millions of souls who have sighed and sung their way across the land and the years.

Once here in Carolina, a family member put on a CD of American folk songs, songs with tonalities that ranged from whimsical to sad to heartbroken to festive. There were stories of courting and dying…of soldiers off to war and wayfaring strangers…of valleys and flowers and shady groves and landscapes of longing and love and loss and labor… The collection of songs, with their homespun lyrics and memorable melodies, was so evocative of the range of human experience that it made me homesick – not for the Deep South of my childhood or for the well-worn refrains of familiar tunes. It made me homesick for the monastery.

For those of us called to the monastic life, this is the place in which – and the community with whom – we sing the lyrics of our life. When we enter monastic community – a wayfaring stranger, each of us – we don’t forget the valleys and shady groves of our past. They are part of what made each of us who we are. Nor do we cease to walk through new valleys and fresh groves. We each weave our story with those of our Sisters, creating a community in which the variegated tonalities of life – joy and sorrow, labor and loss – can be experienced and lived with mutual support and love.

The daily praying of the Psalms anchors our stories. The Psalms convey the timeless human tonalities of longing and love and loss and labor. They convey the depth of human sorrow and the heights of human gratitude and joy. As our days fall and swell with the undulations of time and the rhythms of the earth and sky, the Psalms of the ancient Hebrews – better than any folk song, more memorable than any familiar refrain – are the song that we continue to sing.

Soon I will turn the car westward, traveling from the mountains of North Carolina back to Highway 278 and the gentle hills of northern Alabama. My refrain will be that of the Responsorial Psalm for today, the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God: May God bless us in His mercy. It is a refrain that has anchored the songs of millions who have sighed and sung their way across the land and the years. It is the refrain at the heart of every song of longing and labor and loss and love.

In this new year, may God bless us in His mercy.


Postscript: When we travel, we do not cease praying the Liturgy of the Hours. We each take a prayer book (or books) with us - one of mine is depicted above - and continue the daily liturgical cycle of prayer.

"On the Feast of Stephen..."

Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the Feast of Stephen,
When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even;
Brightly shone the moon that night, tho' the frost was cruel,
When a poor man came in sight, gath'ring winter fuel.


Today, on the Feast of Stephen, is a good day to take a deep breath, and like Good King Wenceslas, take a look around. Here at the monastery, after yesterday’s great feast, I’ve taken a good look and have seen quiet skies, quiet corridors, quiet Sisters, quiet offices, quiet lawns… I’ve seen the shining lights of our several Christmas trees… I’ve seen the sacristy restored to its usual order after the intense and busy liturgies of these past days… I’ve seen Sr. Margaret Mary chopping veggies for tonight’s turkey soup, and Sr. Janet Marie preparing supper. I’ve seen Sr.’s Eleanor and Mary Ruth bundled against the cold on a trip over to Benedictine Manor, and Sr. Therese stepping out on a journey through the rain. I’ve seen Sr. Lynn Marie stooping to help me pick up scattered utensils when I dropped their container on the floor, and I’ve seen Sr. Regina stepping in to help me out when it was clear I needed a bit of assistance.

Today, and every day, is a good day to notice all that is around us, and to look to the example of Good King Wenceslas, who gazed not only upon the brightly shining moon and the crisp, even snow, but also upon the needs of the poor, stooping to help them in their need.

Therefore, Christian folk, be sure, wealth or rank possessing,
Ye who now will bless the poor, shall yourselves find blessing.


Postscript: Here is a link to a great rendition of this traditional carol. Here at the monastery we sing this carol each year at Lauds on the Feast of St. Stephen.

Don we now...our aprons

If there is one non-liturgical item that is absolutely indispensible for a Christmas celebration at the monastery, it would have to be the lowly apron. This humble garment is like the tie that binds one activity to the next as we move through the celebration of Christmas Day here at the monastery – Christmas Breakfast, Lauds, Eucharist, Christmas dinner, Christmas party with egg nog and snacks, Vespers, supper… We don aprons, and then take them off, and then don them again, as we spend the day migrating like pilgrims between the chapel and the kitchen, between praying and eating, between worship and fellowship...finding every way we can to celebrate together the birth of our Lord.

Before each meal, the kitchen is filled with Sisters stirring, serving, slicing, and pouring…each wearing an apron that she has pulled from a simple tree rack where they hang like ornaments festooning an otherwise barren corner. With the meal ready to serve, the aprons are put away. After dinner, another set of Sisters, or perhaps some of the same ones, head to the rack, don an apron, and begin washing, scrubbing, drying, and storing…

Underlying the beauty of our various celebrations is humble service to one another. As an apron overlays and protects a garment, humility safeguards love. It is a tie that binds. In loving service to one another – whether careful preparation of the chapel for Mass, or the meal for the table, or the room for the guest, or the music for the liturgy, or the bed for the sick – we become a community that is able to celebrate not only with beauty and dignity, but with genuine faith and love. This requires donning, like an apron, the humility of Christ, serving one another with humble joy, festooning our life with gladness.

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.)