Sabbath

On this beautiful Sunday morning I have been greeted by a harvest-hued palatte during an early morning walk, smiling retreat guests arriving for breakfast, golden ginkgo leaves blanketing the ground, the sharp crispness of the first really cool morning of fall...but the most beautiful experience of all was seeing lamplight glowing in various rooms of Ottilia Hall.

Ten Sisters are now living there, with the rest of us soon to follow.  Tomorrow, the moving will start back in earnest.  But for now we will enjoy a Sabbath rest.  Thanks be to God for His manifold goodness to us!

Beyond the image (broken into wholeness)

During these days of packing and moving, my life has felt like a cubist painting, full of odd angles and overlapping blocks of color and disjointed joints that somehow manage to form a coherent whole. One minute I am hanging shower curtains with Sr. Ursula and then I am hauling boxes with Sr. Michelle and then helping Sr. Emilie pack and then helping Sr. Margaret Mary unpack and then climbing ladders to dust upper cabinets and then ironing sacristy linens and then serving breakfast to a retreat group and on and on and on. These seemingly random blocks of activity with varying combinations of Sisters make the day resemble something only Picasso could concoct. But then again, maybe it’s more like the pointillism of Seurat or Pissarro with innumerable, individual dots of color coalescing to somehow form a recognizable, coherent image.

As I sat in prayer this morning, breathing the deep silence that lies within and beyond activity and form, I realized that these days are neither cubist nor pointillist nor any other description of color and image. Rather, the various fragments of my day are like bread that is broken, wine that is poured, my life fractured into innumerable, individual acts of work and prayer that are somehow gathered into a single image: a Benedictine Sister seeking to serve God and her community with a full and grateful heart.

In one sense, my labor and activity, my stillness and rest, are an experience and expression of brokenness. Yet the fragments lead me to the fullness and wholeness of life in Christ as my fractured, fragmented life is gathered up as an offering to Him who was broken for us. My work thus becomes for me a kind of icon, an image that leads me beyond the image itself to the One who dwells not in color or form, but in inexpressible light, “the image of the invisible God.” (Col. 1:15)

Postscript: These days have indeed been very busy. Far too busy for a monastic. But this is a unique and pivotal time in our community’s history and we are “all hands on deck” as we help each other through the hard work of transition. Besides, it is such an exciting time for us that I wouldn’t want to miss any opportunity to pitch in!  Sr. Michelle just stopped by the office and we talked about what a good day it has been. We both spent much of the day assisting our Sisters who live in the infirmary as they transitioned to their new rooms. They are now settled in and enjoying their first night back in Ottilia Hall.

We now have ten Sisters who have made the move - three yesterday and seven more today. Photos can be seen on our Community News page.

The photos at top are from the central stairwell between first and second floor, looking up toward second and third floors. The pressed tin ceilling around the light fixture is original to the building, as are the banisters, balusters, and newel posts. The top baluster rail has been reworked and refitted to its original state.  The bottom photo is the wonderful and welcome sight of Ottilia Hall lights on at dawn - evidence of occupation! 

A cleansing touch

During my first two years in the monastery, one of my routine labora assignments was to clean the chapel weekly. For statues and windows it was a stand-up job on ladders and stepstools. It became a kneel-down job when I got to the baseboards, choir stalls, and kneelers. Through this assignment I began to realize that you don’t really know a place until you have cleaned it, no matter how much time you may spend there.

In our current post-renovation, pre-move phase in Ottilia Hall, professional crews have come in to clean out the major construction dust and debris.  But we have followed along afterward with our own dust rags and mops. Last night, Sister Tonette and I took pails of sudsy water and some wash rags up to 3rd floor and spent the evening going room to room carefully tending to baseboards, the insides of cabinets and closets, behind bathroom fixtures, and generally wiping down any trace of dust or stray fingerprint we could find. As we methodically went from room to room, with me on the east side and Sister Tonette on the west, I began to realize that I wasn’t just cleaning, I was learning. In investigating every nook and cranny and corner and crevice of this new space I was getting to know the building in a much more detailed, even visceral, way than from merely looking.

Likewise, we each have our own interior nooks and crannies. The nightly Examination of Conscience is a good way to expose the dust and debris of our hearts and seek cleansing and healing from our merciful Lord. But no matter how much we reflect we can never know ourselves as well as the One who, in the words of Psalm 51, is able to “wash away all my guilt, and from my sin cleanse me.”

In Psalm 139, the Psalmist writes, “Lord, you have probed me, you know me: you know when I sit and stand…” The Lord, indeed, knows us better than we know ourselves, no matter how much time we may spend in self-examination. Let us be humble and grateful in our dear Lord’s loving presence as we seek His healing, cleansing touch.

“Probe me, God, know my heart; try me know my concerns. See if my way is crooked, then lead me in the ancient paths.” Ps 139:23-24

“Cleanse me with hyssop, that I may be pure; wash me, make me whiter than snow.” Ps 51:10

Postscript: Tonight we’ll be back at it again, still cleaning – and getting to know – our renewed monastic home.

A seven year wave

A giant wave is crashing onto the shores of Ottilia Hall this week as we begin to move back into our newly-renovated main monastery building. This single, giant swell comes after a process so slow that at times one could barely discern that a wave was even forming. But now, after seven years of slowly building up to a crest, it is suddenly spilling onto the shore.

Over seven years ago, after informal discussion and preparation, our community began a formal process to ready ourselves to update our aging facilities. However our first call was not to an architect or structural engineer. Rather, our leaders called the community together to delve deeply into our monastic charism and to discuss what sort of physical environment we needed to support our Benedictine life. We dove into the Rule of St. Benedict together. We read Michael Casey, Charles Cummings, and other monastic writers. We talked and prayed together as a community – for well over two years. Then, and only then, did we call in architects, engineers, and other experts to help us assess our options and make the necessary decisions. We wanted our plans to grow from the depths of our monastic charism and not be dictated solely by the particularities of the structures themselves.

Once the experts had weighed in and plans were in place, we slowly evacuated Ottilia in a carefully planned sequence of moves that took place over many months. We tucked ourselves here and there into every possible nook and cranny across our various buildings. Then on February 10, 2011 – the Feast of St. Scholastica – Sister Lynn Marie and I were the last to vacate the building.

During the long slow cresting of this seven year wave, we’ve had one tornado, one auction, two mega-yard sales, and as many meetings as there are stars in the sky. Three new Sisters have entered. Five Sisters have died. Eight steps have separated the dining room from the building where most of us have resided, steps laboriously but faithfully navigated by even those with walkers. We’ve rounded the liturgical cycles again and again, hosted thousands of guests, and watched in awe as a parade of workmen has passed before us, each contributing some sort of little (or big!) miracle to Ottilia. And tomorrow, after seven long years of preparation and labor and nearly two years of 'exile,' we will begin the return to our home.

The sequence of moving back in is just as carefully planned as our move out, but it will happen nearly all at once over just a few days in a tremendous wave of energy and effort. There are a few of us who will linger just a bit longer in our temporary quarters, but not much longer. 

Waves originate not near the shore, but out in the far reaches of the ocean. They draw their energy from the wind. Our seven year wave originated from the depths of our desire to seek God within monastic community – and to do that as good stewards of what God has entrusted to us. The wind that has drawn us toward the shore has been the breath of the Holy Spirit as we have sought inspiration though prayer, study, and seeking God together.

The coming days will be filled with the challenge and hard work of transition. But our hearts are full of great thanksgiving and joy! Please rejoice with us and pray for us as we joyfully spill back onto the shore of our beloved home.


Postscript: Phases II and III of our project are still swells that are making their way toward shore. The completion of Phase II is not too far away and we anticipate 'landfall' sometime very early in the new year. Phase III, new Retreat Center overnight accomodations, will follow Phase II. As you rejoice with us over our return to our home, please keep these next phases, and the Capital Campaign, in your prayers.

The top two images are of the 3rd floor Community Room. The beautiful pine floors are original to the structure and were uncovered and restored as part of the renovation.  The bottom image is sunlight shining wave-like through the blinds onto the wall of Sr. Mary Vincent's room.  More images will follow here on the weblog, as well as on the Community News and Monastery Moments pages. 

The wind here at the monastery has swirled and whirled with activity of all kinds over these past weeks. Renovation of Ottilia is skidding to a close in a final flurry of punch lists and a last dance of ladders. Boxes are being stacked into ever more teetering heights as we pack and prepare to move out of our temporary quarters and back into Ottilia. Guests upon guests continue their steady flow through our Retreat Center doors. Sister Michelle Renee has stepped into her new status of Novice and been clad in her new name and new white cuculla. Sister Margaret Mary has been to China and back. Sisters Tonette and Mary and Lynn Marie have each traveled to conferences this week. Family members have visited. Our Oblates joined us for a weekend of fellowship and retreat talks. And on and on… All the while, our usual rhythm of work and prayer, ora et labora, has kept us firmly anchored in our monastic routines of liturgy and community life.

Like the rest of us, I have been swept into the swirling activity like an autumn leaf in a whirl of wind. But despite the external activity, there is a stillness in the center of my being. It is steady, like a heartbeat. It is still, like breathless wonder. It is the place where I dwell in quiet communion with Christ, with Love who drew me here.

For those with a monastic vocation, there are many elements of monastic life that may initially draw one into the monastery, just as a leaf is drawn into the wind by something outside itself. Perhaps it is liturgical prayer, or the ideal of community living, or perhaps the community members themselves, or the balance that is characteristic of monastic life… There are many monastic practices and ideals that may attract one to this way of life. But as important as it is to have a basic compatibility with and attraction to monastic practices in order to live this life joyfully, the inner core of monastic life is a relationship of love with the One who called us to seek Him through this way of life. Without this deep center, the external rhythms and practices of monasticism have no real meaning.

Monks can get busy just like anyone else. Sometimes too busy. And these recent weeks here at Sacred Heart have certainly been filled with more than our usual activity. But within the swirl of activity is a core of stillness where I am at rest with the One who drew me to this life. And while I can’t speak for any other Sister, I feel sure something similar is the case for each, although they might use different words to describe it. But for me, it is Christ who drew me here, and Christ who keeps me still with breathless wonder – even as ladders and boxes and guests swirl around me like leaves on a gust of autumn wind.

Postscript: Here's the latest on our community news - including photos of Sister Michelle Renee's entrance into the Novitiate and Sister Margaret Mary's mission trip to China - and of course the construction updates!

Kinfolk

Last night over a simple Labor Day supper, four of us got into a vigorous discussion about a perennial topic among Southerners: genealogy, or as we sometimes simply put it here in the south, our kinfolk. Most Southerners can describe their family tree better than they can describe the magnolia that branches just east of their porch swing. Sometimes they can even explain their friends' and neighbors' genealogy as well as their own. For instance, our conversation focused on the family of just one of the four of us, but the other three could probably have patched the story together since we each knew elements of it – all except for grandma and grandpa, that is. We hadn't heard their story before. But now we know about the trip from Germany to Pennsylvania to Alabama. And then after that story, Sr. Magdalena asked, “But what about your great-grandparents…” And so it went.

During the conversation, Sisters Mary Grace and Regina patiently parsed for me the distinction between 2nd cousins and once- and twice-removed cousins, a distinction I can never remember despite my grandmother’s endless explanations. As we talked – four Benedictines hailing from Georgia, Kentucky, Alabama, and Mississippi – I thought about the monks of old: St. Anthony, St. Meinrad, St. Gertrude, St. Mechtilde, and on and on. I do not feel once-removed from them, but rather feel connected as a sister. I have heard their stories and have told them. I know that I share in the same Benedictine charism and belong to the same Benedictine family.

Each monastery carefully preserves a formal listing of their deceased members. Most communities, probably all, remember their deceased on the anniversary of their deaths. Additionally, both informally and formally, we keep telling our monastic stories – both the stories of our own community and stories of the monks of old. We know our Benedictine heritage. We know from whence we came. We know that we are not "once-removed" from those who preceded us in this life. We are the sisters of those whose names we read aloud on the anniversary of their death, and the sisters of those who will someday stand in the chapel and read our names, and the sisters of the monks of old.

But our spiritual family goes beyond our monastic community and our Benedictine family. We are sons and daughters of God Most High, or as St. Paul puts it, “co-heirs with Christ.” We are not once-removed from each other, but are brothers and sisters in the household of God, called to care for all whom God has created as His own, each of them our kinfolk, each created, like us, in the image and likeness of God. May we not remove ourselves from the call to care for all God's children.


Postscript: One of the wonderful aspects of monastic life is that we get to know one another’s families, often quite well. As Sr. Janet Marie told my family on the day of my monastic profession, “You aren’t losing a daughter and sister, you are gaining 40-something daughters and sisters.” Our families visit us here at the monastery, staying in guest lodging. And each of us makes periodic home visits to stay in touch with our loved ones – or as we sometimes simply put it here in the South, our kinfolk.

The image at top is one of the structures that was on our property when it was purchased in 1902. It housed several Sisters during the construction of the building we now call Ottilia Hall. The second image is from our Book of the Dead. In addition to remembering each Sister on the anniversary of her death, we display this book in the chapel throughout the month of November.

Wonderland

If you can look past the beauty of the monastery grounds, ignore the antique woodwork in Ottilia Hall, turn down the volume on the chanting of Psalms, and take a really good look around, you will see that the monastery is a veritable wonderland of galvanized pipes.

They are seemingly everywhere, in creative uses that have nothing to do with plumbing. For the most part, they are tastefully hidden in utilitarian areas traversed mainly by Sisters and staff. But if guests look closely, they, too, will see a bit of piping popping up here and there.

There is the handrail that goes up the back kitchen steps…the T-shaped anchor of a clothesline…work tables crafted from sheets of stainless on frames of galvanized pipe…a modest fence that ushers pedestrians along a sidewalk instead of across a bed of wildflowers, and on and on… It is like a master craftsman’s gallery exhibit of pipes put together with elbow joints, y-joints, t-joints, and joints so unique that they may not even have a name.

Although it is a wonderland of ingenuity and steel – most if not all of it crafted by a maintenance man who worked for the community for decades – it is truly barely noticeable. It’s simply the handrail that you grab as you pull yourself up after sitting on the steps petting Kitty B. Or the clothesline pipe with the small bird nest just inside the open end and Sr. Eileen’s hanging basket dangling from the other. Or the quirky lines of the up, sideways, and down railing between Mary Hall and Joseph Hall. Or the galvanized legs that support tables upon which gazillions of vegetables have been peeled and sliced...

None of this piping is particularly noticeable. It is just there – reliable but unassuming, strong but humble. One set of table legs is so strong that it can support the weight of dozens of pots and pans with only three of its four legs actually touching the floor. It wears its miracle strength with such quiet dignity that it is not even noticeable that one leg stops about 2 inches shy of the others. The frame doesn’t even wobble.

This wonderland of galvanized steel is not so much about the creative adaptability of a thrifty craftsman (working for thrifty Sisters!). Rather, the wonder is the quiet strength that supports our day-to-day life with such humility, like an eternal understudy content to let the light fall on the beauty that surrounds it.

It’s kind of like the quiet strength that underlies monastic life. What others may notice is the external beauty of liturgical prayer and the joyful witness of ministry. Yet for each of us Sisters, our true ‘wonder world’ – that which quietly supports everything else that we do – consists of the humble hours of solitude that each of us spends in prayer, in devotion, in scripture study, and in spiritual reading. This time apart with God is unseen, unnoticed, but it is truly the ‘structural steel’ that undergirds our life and ministry.

The eye may be drawn to the beauty of the monastery and the ear to the sounds of chanted prayer. But if you can look past the beauty of the grounds, ignore the antique woodwork, turn down the volume, and take a really good look around, you will see that the monastery is a wondrous world of the simple, humble strength that comes from a lifetime of prayer and praise. We are understudies to God's strength, letting His light, power, and beauty shine forth in this hurting, fractured - yet wonderful - world.