Praise and thanksgiving

"With praise and thanksgiving to Almighty God..."

These words comprised the opening clause in a handwritten document that I read aloud during Lauds yesterday morning. Not only was I the one who read the document, I was also the one who wrote it. As I wrote, I rendered each word with careful precision. I used permanent ink on linen paper. I aimed for lines as straight as a compass needle. I was very, very careful. And prayerful.

The words on the linen page comprised the text of the renewal of my vows, and I read them aloud in our monastic chapel before God, the Saints, my Prioress, and my monastic Sisters. With these words, I renewed my temporary Monastic Profession to this Benedictine Community. With them, I marked one of the final steps toward Perpetual Monastic Profession.

Slowly making one’s way toward perpetual profession (often called ‘final vows’) involves a lengthy period of discernment and formation. I am six years into what, in our Community, is typically a seven year process. During the final two years, one annually renews the temporary vows that were made some years earlier after completion of the Novitiate.

It’s serious business. It’s serious for the Community as they help a person discern a call and assess the individual’s readiness for a lifetime commitment to the monastic way of life. It’s serious for the individual who seeks to hear God’s call and respond in faith. And it is serious for the Church, because our vocations are not our own, they are in service to the People of God.

It was also serious for St. Benedict over 1500 years ago. Here’s what he had to say about receiving new members into his 6th century monastery for men: “When he is to be received, he comes before the whole community in the oratory and promises stability, fidelity to monastic life, and obedience. This is done in the presence of God and his saints…He states his promise in a document drawn up in the name of the saints whose relics are there, and of the abbot, who is present. The novice writes out this document himself, or if he is illiterate, then he asks someone else to write it for him, but himself puts his mark to it and with his own hand lays it on the altar.” (Rule of Benedict 58,17-20)

For centuries, monastic men and women have been drawing up documents of profession – hand written, carefully rendered, read aloud before God, the Saints, and the Community, and then placed upon the altar with one’s own hand where it is signed with the unique contours of one’s own name.

The search for God through the monastic way of life is serious, and joyful. The road is winding, yet the Rule points us straight toward our goal. The words of profession are ancient, but the contours of my name are uniquely my own. Through my monastic profession, and with praise and thanksgiving, I join the unique contours of my life to those of my Sisters - and Benedictines of every time and place - as together we sing a song of praise to God through our fidelity to the monastic way of life.


Postscript: Our song of praise continues tomorrow as we celebrate the Golden Jubilee of Sister Bernadette and the Silver Jubilee of Sister Karen Ann. Though perpetually professed, they, too, will sign renewal documents as this is traditionally done at these milestone points. Photos from the Jubilee Mass and the luncheon can be found on our Community News page.

Blueberry season

Five weeks of near-total immersion in graduate study at Saint John’s, delightful though it was, left me feeling a bit ‘heady' and I’ve spent this first week back home letting my hands - not my head - do the talking and listening. With renewed appreciation I have savored some of the simple, tangible aspects of ordinary life here at Sacred Heart - the familiar heft of familiar doors as my work carries me through the monastery, the precious weight of chalices and linens as I prepare for Mass, practiced fingers on my flute as I rehearse with Sr. Lynn Marie and Sr. Magdalena… These ordinary activities and routines have held greater resonance this week having been without them for over a month. But now, their familiar presence lets me know I am back home, back in my familiar places and spaces. Back home with my Sisters, my Community.

I really knew I was back, though, on Friday afternoon. We had been gifted that morning with six gallons of freshly-picked blueberries and they needed to be sorted, de-stemmed and rinsed. The call went out for extra hands in the kitchen and I was able to respond. For nearly an hour, I stood shoulder to shoulder around a work table with Sisters Emilie, Regina, Magdalena, and Therese as we removed stems and discarded the few berries that were a little under- or overripe. We talked a good bit. We laughed some. We occasionally worked for a stretch in silence. We chased down the occasional blueberry that jumped ship and rolled away. We each taste-tested a few. Our fingers slowly grew purple.

It was the most ordinary of monastery afternoons – a random group of Sisters, a random range of ages, an ordinary kitchen chore. When it was done, we each turned to our varied other responsibilities. And I turned to the deep certainty that yes, I’m home.

My school work at Saint John’s is directed toward an eventual graduate degree in Monastic Studies. But my real education is not the ‘head’ work of academics. It is here, in the monastery, shoulder to shoulder with my Sisters, engaged in our common work, immersed in the tangible world, my hands filled with sunlight and rain, my heart slowly ripening…it is here, in this ‘school for the Lord’s service,' that I learn and study and grow and live.


Postscript: The monastery is described by St. Benedict in his Rule for Monks as a "school for the Lord's service." (Rule of St. Benedict, Prologue, 45). No matter how many courses one may have on the monastic life, there is no substitute for the tangible reality of living it!

Silently, imperceptibly...

Somewhere within the unfolding of new growth there is a moment in which, ah, yes, the new thing suddenly is. The flower has opened. The fruit has formed. The sediment is at long last a stone, or the stone at long last, sediment. But rarely is the process of change perceived. We don’t know what it is happening until we wake up one morning and suddenly there is fruit on the vine or a flower on the stem.

Interior growth – including monastic formation – is the same. Suddenly the seeds planted by scripture, by the Rule, by instruction, by experience, blossom. But the growth itself is unseen, the moment of flowering, unobserved. One day it simply is, having been quietly taking shape far out of sight. Silently. Imperceptibly.

During my weeks here at Saint John’s, a Sister from another Benedictine community has been a fellow student – Sr. John Paul of St. Marys, PA. It has been nice to have another Benedictine Sister around, and we’ve had a number of conversations about school, about monastic life, and about our approach to school as monastics. We’ve each noticed that, despite our very different personalities and our formation in different communities, we have some similar approaches that are distinct from our non-Benedictine classmates. Not better or worse, just distinct. In talking about it one day, together we realized, “We’ve been formed.” We didn’t notice the moment when it happened. It was silent. Imperceptible. But the Rule of Saint Benedict and the customs of our respective communities have gained a solid interior foothold, and suddenly, in this new environment, we each became aware that we had changed.

There is a certain amount of study involved in monastic formation. But mostly it is simply living the life, observing and absorbing, allowing oneself to be corrected and taught. It is not passive. Rather, one must be highly engaged. Yet the real conversion takes place out of sight until one day new life suddenly is, and in a moment of recognition one pauses to say, “Ah, yes,” before returning to the slow unfolding of quiet growth in the monastic way of life.

The proliferation of silence

“Take with you words,” wrote the prophet Hosea. His context (14:2) was confession and conversion, but the phrase somehow seems to capture the essence of compressing two graduate courses and an entire semester’s worth of words into five weeks. I have taken so many class notes that the ink has run out of two pens and I've had to purchase a third. My spiral notebook overflowed and I had to begin a second. With three papers down and one to go, I fear the laptop will soon overheat from overuse. Words have been proliferating prolifically, and when I depart Saint John's one week from today, I will take with me words.

But yesterday, with my third paper completed, I left my words on the shore and took a kayak out onto Lake Sagatagan. Another Sister accompanied me, and though we spoke a bit, we mostly paddled desultorily across calm waters and let the loons do the talking. The air was filled with reverence. The sun shone without need for comment. The translucent lake revealed quiet life beneath the surface. In the distance, a bald eagle circled, dived, and lifted prey from the water. A shoreline patch of lily pads gently tapped against the hull as I roused them from their afternoon nap. There were no words, no pens, no paper, no rat-a-tap of fingers on an overused keyboard. Just the proliferation of silence.

Over these past weeks, I have delighted in words – in class, in conversation, in prayer, in writing. But as the words have accumulated, I’ve also kept silent vigil within, letting the words of scripture settle deeply, proliferating in silence. No matter whether we are in school or out, may we all cultivate the fertile soil of silence in which the Word of God may "blossom like the lily, and strike root like the Lebanon cedar (14:5)."


Postscript: One more week here in Collegeville, then back home to Sacred Heart… Speaking of words, through letters and email the Sisters have kept me up to date on what’s happening at the monastery. For the latest word, here’s the link.

"First, you take a maple sapling..."

Conversation topics amongst the theology students here are often wide ranging. At dinnertime one night this week, as we moved from Heidegger to hunting (I am not kidding!), we stopped briefly on the topic of homemade snow shoes. One student actually knew how to make them and began, “First, you take a maple sapling and bend it into an oval.” The instructions went on from there, but I was already captivated by the initial image of a young tree that, instead of becoming protecting shade, becomes a protecting shoe that prevents one from sinking into the snowy depths.

The pliability of a young tree is such an appropriate image for the flexibility and adaptability required of monastics as we engage in the conversion of heart to which the Rule of Benedict calls us. This adaptability isn’t just the practical kind where you can shift your activities as easily as a conversation can move from Heidegger to hunting. Rather, it’s about the capacity to interiorly move and breathe and bend and grow as we are formed more and more into the likeness of Christ. To borrow words from Ezekiel, we exchange a heart of stone for a heart of flesh.

Today, on the Feast of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, we commemorate the expansiveness of Jesus’ heart, a heart that encompasses in love all being, all time, all creatures… A heart that provides shelter from heat and protection from the miry deeps… A heart that pours itself out in self-giving love... May our hearts beat, move and expand with and in the Sacred Heart of Jesus, encompassing in love all those to whom God calls us in service.

"...As we progress in this way of life and in faith, we shall run on the path of God's commandments, our hearts overflowing with the inexspressible delight of love." (Rule of Benedict, Prologue, 49)


Postscript: I remain here at Saint John's with two more weeks of class yet to go. Then home to Sacred Heart!

Growing

I received an email from Sr. Bernadette with a garden update from the monastery - squash, cucumbers, tomatoes, eggplant.... I wrote back and said "You are growing tomatoes. I am growing papers."

In my Mark class, I've got two short papers down and one very long paper still to go. As I thought about Sr. Bernadette's squash and eggplant, I realized the comparison is about right. Good soil, light, time, gestation, some sweat, and slowly a paper - or a tomato - is formed.

This time at Saint John's University is about growth, but it's not just about the papers. It's about grounding me more thoroughly in our monastic tradition, in theology, and in scripture. This is not the only way to get rooted in these areas, of course, but this is where the Initial Formation team at the monastery felt would be the best place for me at this time. I am hoping my school papers flourish as nicely as Sr. Bernadette's garden, but more importantly I hope that these studies help me to ripen in my monastic vocation and that they are fruitful not just for me, but for our monastic community.

Postscript: Sisters spend several years in Initial Formation prior to making final monastic profession (often called 'final vows'). Our formation is overseen by a Director and a Formation Team. Most of our classes are at the monastery, taught by Sisters who have Master's level preparation in various areas of theology. Occasionally there may be additional study away from home. While our studies are to help form us as individual monastics, our formation is not merely about personal or professional growth. It is always in service to something beyond us as we are formed to the total giving of self that constitutes the monastic way of life. (Thanks to Sr. Therese for the photo of this summer's tomatoes!)

Hearing the Word

In the normal course of daily life, have you ever had the experience of unexpectedly turning onto a street of gold, or of wandering past Monet painting in the park, or of realizing that the music streaming from the open window next door is that of Beethoven working out what will become his Ninth Symphony? Hyperbole aside, have you ever suddenly, inexplicably, found yourself in the presence of something wondrous and grand?

When I read that tonight’s Vigil of the Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity here at Saint John’s Abbey would also be the occasion of the Presentation of the Final Volume of the Saint John’s Bible, I knew it would be something special. But when I ceased my studies on this normal Saturday afternoon and walked toward the Abbey Church I didn’t realize that walking into Vigil would be like unexpectedly turning onto a street of gold. If you have known the heart-stopping feeling of being in the presence of something wondrous and grand, then you can imagine how charged the atmosphere was.

I won’t try to describe the feeling of watching the artist process toward the altar carrying the final folio. Or the breathless silence as the final cross was gilded by the Abbot and another monk. Or the applause that went on and on after the Abbot lifted the completed folio from the altar and held it aloft for all to see. Or the voices of the National Catholic Youth Choir that soared to impossible heights as they, and all of us, sang the Te Deum. Or the incense that enveloped the altar, the folio, the monks, the congregation, the choir...

But for all the beauty and solemnity and import of the occasion, the most affecting part for me was perhaps the simplest, the most ordinary, the thing that happens every single day in the course of ordinary liturgical life – the proclamation of Sacred Scripture. The scripture reading this evening was not read from a bound Bible, or from a lectionary marked at the proper place with a length of ribbon. Rather, it was read from the hand-written vellum of the Saint John’s Bible. As the Abbot read, and as in the midst of the reading he paused to carefully turn the two-foot-tall page, I realized I had never before heard scripture proclaimed from a hand-written manuscript. I immediately felt connected to the innumerable generations whose encounter with scripture was hearing it proclaimed from pages and scrolls produced and preserved by hand from within their, or a nearby, community.

As I type this, my Bible lies to my right, open to the Gospel of Mark, which is the class I am taking here at Saint John’s. The typeface is clear and easy to read. The binding is hardback and sturdy. I feel blessed beyond measure to have this sacred text so near at hand. I am also blessed beyond measure - we all are - by those who over the centuries have so carefully preserved for us the sacred Word of God. This evening’s Vigil reminded me that every encounter with scripture is a wondrous and grand occasion – better than a turning onto street of gold, finer than encountering Monet in the park – ever illuminating our hearts, and ever binding us to the innumerable generations who have, with expectant ears, listened to the proclamation of scripture, and to the generations of unnamed artisans and scribes who, with skillful hands and diligent hearts, have carefully penned for us the pages through which we encounter the Word of God, living and true.

All scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for refutation, for correction, and for training in righteousness...
II Timothy 3: 16-17


Postscript: If you are not familiar with the Saint John's Bible, you can link to the site here.