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. 

Dominion

Here in the South, I suspect that the spiral strands of our DNA must surely be shaped like the spiraling of a football through the autumn skies because everything here seems to revolve around the sport, especially the college variety, and especially here in Alabama, and especially on the day of the Iron Bowl, the annual game between Auburn and Alabama. This past Saturday, our entire state collectively paused for The Game, which is less a sporting event than a kind of secular Holy Day of Obligation with its own ritual colors and ceremonial customs. During these few hours, Alabama shops are nearly empty, streets are bereft of traffic, living rooms are filled with family and friends, and nearly everyone who is not actually at the game is at least within earshot of the broadcast.

Even in the monastery the game captures our attention, complete with team colors, chips and dip, and a small, stuffed Aubie Tiger that was subjected to a good-natured “kidnapping” during halftime on Saturday. But when it is time for prayers, we turn off the TV and proceed to the chapel, no matter what is happening in the game.

The game this year fell on the vigil of the Solemnity of Christ the King, a victor who wears not a championship ring nor a wreath of laurels but a crown of thorns.  As sacristan of the community, I prepared for the liturgies of the day along with Sr. Michelle and Sr. Brigid. We swapped out candlesticks, spread a festive altar cloth, made ready a beautiful white vestment for the priest, and made other special preparations for the liturgical celebration.

The preparations were not burdensome, and did not take a long time. They certainly didn’t compare to the immense energy and resources expended to both play and view the sporting events that were occurring all across the nation among arch rivals seeking domination on the field of play.

What does compare, though, is the immense effort each of us must expend to continually keep the Lord enthroned in our lives. Even as we celebrate Christ’s kingship with beauty and solemnity in our liturgies, in our individual lives it can be a hard, daily struggle to let the Lord have dominion over our hearts. It seems that internally a kind of Iron Bowl is always being played as trials and temptations beset us on the road to eternal life and we fumble the ball, or drop the pass, or draw a penalty flag as our “arch rival” seeks to dethrone the Lord in our hearts.

Struggles with sin beset all of us and we need constant vigilance against the enemy. We also need one another, working together like teammates, forgiving and encouraging one another with the good zeal and fervent love of which St. Benedict speaks (RB 72:3).

The zeal and fervor of viewing a sporting contest can be enjoyable, and a perfect, spiral pass settling into the hands of a receiver on an autumn Saturday in Alabama can be beautiful to behold.  But incomparably more beautiful is the love and zeal with which we uphold one another, and God's grace which upholds us all, as we "run on the path of God's commandments (RB Prol)" - sometimes fumbling the ball and sometimes making the perfect play - but always seeking to let His love have dominion in our hearts.

Giving thanks in the gap

I have recently been reflecting on Abraham Lincoln’s famous Thanksgiving Proclamation of 1863. It is a beautiful, noble, evocative – even tender – acknowledgement of the blessings that do not stop falling from the heavens and coursing through the land even as crushing tribulations rend bodies and souls.

Lincoln wrote in time of war, but even trials less rending than those of combat offer us their particular pain, however small, like a garnish of suffering on a plate of plenty.

The co-mingling of pain with plenty that we all experience to varying degrees can leave us not only uncomfortably struggling through the contradictions and complexity of our humanity but also poised in the betwixt and between of what has been and what we hope will be.

Our Thanksgiving celebration here at the monastery has taken place in such a gap. We are part way through our move back into Ottilia Hall after a long, sometimes challenging, exodus away from our main monastery home. Most of us are now back in Ottilia. Some of us have yet to move. About half of our kitchen equipment is in our future kitchen. About half remains in the current one that now looks sadly shorn and forlorn. Our library is packed in boxes and our offices are still in transition. The Retreat Center move is yet to come. The dirt and disarray of construction that has accompanied us for over a year will be present for at least the year to come as we move from Phase II to Phase III of our project.

It is not war. It is not the fury of fire or storm. And our challenges are often even awash in a golden sheen of joy and anticipation as our long sought goal unfolds before us. Nevertheless, in our own small way, we are poised betwixt and between, neither fully here nor fully there, living in a gap between what was and what will be.

It is, of course, part of the human condition. Every day each of us puts one foot in front of the other, leaving behind the surety of former footfalls and stepping over a chasm of mystery into the uncertainly of the footfalls beyond.

Strangely, though, this gap between what was and what will be can sharpen our sense of what is – both the pain and the plenty. Lincoln conveyed this sharpened sensitivity as he beautifully articulated the many blessings bestowed upon the country even as the land was still draped in the chaos of battle.

I think our community has also experienced that sharpened sensitivity as with the rest of the country we paused for a day of Thanksgiving to the Lord for what has been, what is, and what will be. God’s goodness showers upon us daily – even in the midst of construction, which is itself a manifestation of God’s manifold blessings.

Characteristic of the Psalms of lamentation is that they incorporate a note of praise or thanksgiving. It seems odd, doesn’t it? But I think the Psalmist was writing from within the gap, poised between surety and uncertainty in a gap called faith, a faith that sees blessings falling from the heavens and coursing through the land even in the midst of tribulation - whether the rending of body and soul or simply a garnish of suffering on a plate of plenty.

Gratitude is not a feeling of happiness for good fortune. It is a stance of humility before the mystery of manna that falls ever gracefully across even the fields of our failures. And it is a stance of faith as we hover, even if fleetingly, across the chasm of mystery that lies between one footfall and the next.

Lincoln uses the word “acknowledged” to describe the act of giving thanks for the “gracious gifts of the Most High God.” Such acknowledgement is rooted in humility and in faith as we turn our gaze away from ourselves and toward God as the source of all “such singular deliverances and blessings”

For all the blessings that were, that are, and that will be, thanks be to God!

Postscript: Remembrances of those in Syria, Gaza, the Northeast U.S., and all those suffering in such dire and dangerous situations have not been far from our thoughts and prayers during this Thanksgiving weekend.  May peace prevail.

Send in the cavalry!

Imagine a phalanx of Sisters striding purposefully down the hallway, each pushing a wheeled conveyance topped high with teetering boxes. Then imagine that each Sister has a floor lamp or curtain rods or some other such contraption in her other hand as if it were a javelin ready for the throw, and well, you’ve got the picture of a cavalry charge. About all I can do in the face of such an onslaught is to press myself against the wall and hope for the best! Except that I’m just as likely to be part of the cavalry, trying hard to steer my “steed” and not knock over anything or anybody along the way.

When it comes to getting the contents of thirty-something bedrooms, three community rooms, numerous offices, several parlors, a dining room, an infirmary, and a conference room from one building to another, you can’t imagine the creativity of a bunch of Sisters and monastery staff as to how to get it there. We’ve used kitchen carts, little red wagons, a flat-bed cart pulled with an old knotted rope, an upright push cart, and a home-made plywood platform complete with rubberized edging nailed along the side. And then there’s my favorite – a Hoyer Lift from the infirmary that an employee converted into a flatbed handcart. It can be stacked high, higher, and highest with boxes of library books or blankets or book cases or coffee tables or whatever happens to be next on the list to move. And all that’s just the small stuff. For a few days we also had professional movers handling the big stuff.

It is times like this that renew my amazement at the strength, creativity, cooperation, and just plain ole’ determination and hard work of our Sisters. When something needs to be done, we somehow get it done. But if we need help we are not afraid to ask for it, and a project of this scope definitely requires help. Our monastery employees have been invaluable partners in getting us moved, not to mention the tremendous assistance we’ve had to get us to this point in the renovation project – benefactors, architects, contractors, carpenters, painters, and on and on all the way to the cement guys who have the job of sloshing around in wet cement wearing oversized boots and rubberized leggings and making me nervous as I watch and wonder what will happen if they stand still in the concrete for too long.

Between us all – whether professional contractor with clipboard and cell phone or generous benefactor or elderly Sister with a couple of boxes stacked on her walker – we are all the cavalry charging the hill to return us to our monastic home. It feels great! Like climbing an endless mountain and finally rounding the bend to see the most beautiful vista ever – this wonderful house planted on God’s green earth which holds us in its generous embrace.



Postscript: When not pulling a wagon, the conveyance of choice for most Sisters is a kitchen cart, which we call a “sparky.” No one here knows the origin of this mysterious term, not even our eldest Sisters. I once asked Sr. Mary Wilfred about it. She first come to Sacred Heart in the 1920’s as a very young boarding student and always knew everything about the background of such matters. Now deceased by several years, she was in her late 90’s at the time I asked her. But she didn’t know about this. “Well, it’s just always been a sparky,” was her matter-of-fact reply. It’s as if long ago the community took in a motherless word and gave it an orphan home in their kitchen. And years later, it still has a home.

(In)convenience

New telephones are being installed this week in Ottilia Hall, planted like row crops up and down the corridors. This will give us plenty more phones than we had before the renovation and will enable us to make and receive calls without the inconvenience of a long, long walk to answer a phone that is far, far away.

This is a good thing, I know. But as I watched workmen plant cords into jacks like seeds into earth, I found myself mourning the loss of that lengthy walk. It is one more example of the many ways in which inconvenience is disappearing from our culture. We shop at the click of a mouse, and a package soon arrives on the doorstep. A single, big-box store offers an endless inventory and the ease of one-stop shopping. Vegetables arrive pre-peeled and pre-sliced. It seems our entire consumer culture is oriented toward convenience.

I wonder whether the loss of inconvenience is part of what makes us thirst for that which no fast food soda fountain can ever provide: silence, wonder, and the sense of the passage of time that one feels when expending real effort and real minutes in the pursuit of something good. I also wonder how on earth we can cultivate the virtue of patience in a world marked by the tyranny of the urgent. And discernment becomes a lost art as nearly everything becomes possible, and easy.

The inconvenience of a back road, the long way home, the hand-written note, the home-cooked meal…each has value beyond itself. Moments (or hours!) of inconvenience are moments into which silence can slip in, unexpected encounters can enliven, frustration and failure can blossom into growth, and we can realize that our illusion of control is just an illusion. Inconvenience can also alert us to a greater sense of the real cost – in time and in effort – of what we are striving for, perhaps calling us to discern whether what we are seeking is truly worth being sought. You might say that inconvenience has the capacity to grace our lives with holy labor, holy leisure, and wisdom – if only we are open.

Each night, we preface Compline with a brief prayer to Our Lady of Prompt Succor. It includes the petition “hasten to help us.” For me, this is both a prayer and a way to reframe the sense of urgency that seems to dominate our culture. Is the 'ready at hand' a convenience that will bring succor, solace, beauty, goodness, and/or help? Or will it merely tempt us to jump into the stream of urgency that dominates our lives at the expense of silence, leisure, attention, and good honest labor?

The new crop of phones will make our steps more efficient and shave moments, sometimes minutes, off the task of answering phone calls. But this isn’t just about efficiency or urgency. It is a way of caring for those Sisters for whom a long walk down the corridor poses a challenge. It is also a way to greet callers with greater courtesy and respect. In both these cases, the new phones allow us to “hasten to help.”

I’m a back roads kind of person who typically prefers the slow lane. But I can certainly fall prey to haste and the prioritization of convenience.  When I do seek the convenient route, I pray that it not be under a false sense of urgency and importance, but rather in the service of beauty, goodness, and yes, prompt succor to those around me.

Election Day / Tuesday of the 31st Week in Ordinary Time

On Election Day, various ones of us pull up in front of City Hall off and on throughout the day. We generally go to the polls in twos, threes, and fours, trying to be economical with our trips.

In a town this size, we’re likely to see someone we know on any random trip out the door. Most of us know at least one or two of the poll workers and perhaps some of the other voters, so there is typically some friendly chatter as we show our ID’s and take our ballots. Or we may greet an acquaintance or two on the sidewalk in front of City Hall.

Before the big day, we’ve usually done plenty of reading on the issues and candidates, especially regarding the more obscure local races. We have copies of Faithful Citizenship and other statements from the Bishops’ Conference. If there are amendments on which we’ll be voting, Sr. Lynn Marie will give us the run down ahead of time on any obscure amendment language. In general, we are pretty well-informed voters. And faithful to our responsibility to vote.

A few Sisters are highly interested in the returns and will stay up late watching states turn blue or red or purple and balloons fly and bands play and pundits pundit. Others will go contently to bed at their usual hour and find out the next day (hopefully!) who won, what passed, and for whom we will be praying for the next four years.

No matter which category we fall into – early to bed or up late with the TV – we will all wake up tomorrow knowing we are lovingly held not in the arms of a President or Congress or Court, but in the arms of our dear Lord, whose glory fills the earth, to whom all praise is due, yet who “humbled himself, becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross.”

Today’s first reading for Mass, the hymn from Philippians 2:5-11, is a paradigmatic reading for all Christians, including, and perhaps especially, those in leadership.  In fact, with the Gospel reading from Luke, both of today’s Mass readings are near-perfect Election Day texts. Together they form a picture of leadership and a vision of the Kingdom of God in which servent leaders invite all of God’s children to dine at the banquet – “…the poor and the crippled, the blind and the lame,” people from the “highways and hedgerows.”

Streaming through City Hall today is a cross-section of the citizens of Cullman, both the high-born and those of the “highways and hedgerows.” No matter where we are from or how we vote, we are all brothers and sisters, improbably called to dine in the Kingdom of God.

Today’s Responsorial Psalm refrain reads, “I will praise you, Lord, in the assembly of your people.” At City Hall, in the voting booth, at all times and in all places, let us remember the one who calls us to dine, and praise the name of the Lord our God.