NOW SHOWING: ALLELUIA COMES TO TOWN

(Note to patrons:  There will be no intermission in this performance.)

At Morning Prayer last Wednesday, one of the Sisters kindly asked how I am doing after a full year of more-than-usual challenges in work, family and other miscellaneous matters.   In the joy of that glorious Spring day and after the uplifting of common prayer, I replied that despite the rough patches it had been a year of great blessings and I wouldn’t change a thing.

            But maybe that response—heartfelt as it was—was not quite accurate.  It was a year of great blessings, but there are a few things from the past twelve months that I wouldn’t mind blotting out with a cosmic Magic Erase sponge, especially those moments when I saw the road sign that read “Christian Perfection This Way” and I chose to turn around and go That Way instead.  And as much as I rejoice over his entry into eternal bliss, I would dearly love to have a little (or a lot) more time with my friend and Abba.  That’s the way it is this side of Eden, though.  A lot of life happens between the Incarnation and the Resurrection—as in Jesus’ history, so in ours, as well.

            Still in all, I am a grateful and happy camper—feeling closer to Christ than ever I have before, trusting in the Loving Hand of God more than I ever have before and rejoicing in the strong bonds of our monastic community on a very daily basis.  Given the sum of these things, one could hardly keep from shouting a loud Alleluia!

Brother Mani lets his Alleluia spirit soar!

Which brings us to the topic du jour:   Alleluias in the Rule of Saint Benedict.

Chapters 8 through 20 of the Rule are commonly referred to as its “Liturgical Code.” This section follows directly after Benedict’s invitation to and explanation of the foundational virtues and practices of monasticism.  He sets the table and then brings on the meal with its various courses, textures and delights.  He gives us plenty of fiber but some tasty treats, as well.

Within the chapters on the liturgy of hours (the opus Dei or “work of God,” as Benedict calls it), we are provided with enough detail to make a non-liturgist’s head spin over what to say when, who goes where and how to do most everything at the common prayers.  He gives us instructions about praying at morning, praying during the day, praying at night, praying in the middle of the night, praying on ordinary days, praying on special days and anniversaries, how many psalms to pray and in what order to pray them, the proper attitude to carry in prayer, and yes, a chapter dedicated solely to instructions on praying the Alleluias.[i]

The version of the Rule that we in Saint Brigid’s Monastery use most regularly—RB 1980—begins chapter 15 this way:  “From the holy feast of Easter until Pentecost, ‘alleluia’ is always said with both the psalms and the responsories.” “Always” is a translation of the Latin term sine intermissione.  It is probably accurate to Benedict’s intent but, as is often the case, a different translation caused me to think differently about the passage:  “From holy Easter until Pentecost let the Alleluia be said without intermission, both with the psalms and with the responsories.”[ii]

What if we were to accept this more literal translation and adopt it as our Easter People motto, both in and out of the oratory?  “From holy Easter until Pentecost let the Alleluia be said without intermission!”  How would our prayers be changed?  How might we come to view the world differently?  And how would our everyday interactions with other children of God be affected?  Would they not be radically altered?  Imagine the most usual of greetings—“How’s it going?”—being met with a response—“Alleluia!”—that rocketed our perspective out of the daily mire into the truer Reality of God’s eternal embrace!

In the comings and goings and plodding and sameness of our days it is easy to lose sight of the fact that Jesus Christ in his loving self-sacrifice and triumphant defeat over the power of sin and death, changed not only our eternal prospects but our daily ones, as well.

“..the snare is broken,
          and we have escaped.
Our help is in the name of the Lord,
          who made heaven and earth.”

                                       Ps 124:7b-8

  So, my beloved, let us take Benedict’s encouragement to heart.  Let us claim the great gift of our deliverance from all that detracts from our imago Dei-ness.  And let the grateful Alleluias sound from our lips sine intermissione! [iii]

Grace and much Resurrection Joy be with you all,

+Mary

   

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[i] Note: Benedict did not write in chapter and verse; these demarcations were the work of later editors.  Nonetheless, it is significant that he gave Alleluias their own special treatment.
[ii] Translation by Boniface Verheyen, OSB; Abbey Student Press of Saint Benedict’s College, Atchison, Kansas, 1923.

[iii] In case you feel like singing a few choruses, here are two videos to get the Alleluia juices flowing:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXh7JR9oKVE; and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZCFCeJTEzNU.

In Praise of Lament

(We Christians are an enigmatic bunch.)

Enter “Benedictine” or “Rule” into an internet search engine and you will find quite an array of topics to which creative authors have applied the guidance of Saint Benedict:  business leadership, parenting, sports, everyday life in “the world,” and so on.  A quick scan might make it seem as if he had something to say about everything.  While it is true that the wisdom of the Rule is timeless and to some degree portable, it won’t help you with your short game or earn you an “I ♥ MY BOSS” coffee mug.  And here’s a tip:  Don’t go looking to it for instructions on how to observe Holy Week, either; you won’t find any. 

If you consider the liturgical life of Benedict’s monasteries, however, you will find quite a bounty of material for marking the season.  One of the common practices observed by Benedictines—and other traditions, as well—is the chanting of Lamentations during the Triduum (pronounced “trih-doo-um”; literally, “three days”) leading up to Easter.  It is stunningly affecting:  A lone cantor standing before the assembly, singing clear and solemn.  Not rushed (one cannot hurry grief), no accompaniment—just a single, stark lament raised up for all who bow down in prayer. 

“How lonely sits the city that once was full of people!  How like a widow she has become, she that was great among the nations.” 

It is like the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, “Repent!”  “Prepare!”  In tone and meter, it reminds me of the keening of my Irish ancestors, a ritual cry of grief on behalf of all the suffering.  The Lamentations are a haunting report of desolation, as rightly they should be.

If much of the focus of our Lenten disciplines has up to now been on personal repentance and conversion, then the corporate lament of these three days ought to remind us that our individual journeys can never be divorced from that of one’s sisters and brothers.  All we like sheep have gone astray.  The whole creation groans as it yearns to be made new in Christ.

The witness of scripture casts us corporately into a great mystery, an inquisition before the gates of heaven:  Why was it that Christ had to die on the cross?  How could a loving God allow such a merciless fate to befall a blameless Son?  What part do our iniquities take in this passion play?

I recently heard a pastor assert from the pulpit that the sacrifice of Jesus was not an atonement for our sins because to require the shedding of blood for our repair would make God into some sort of monster; rather, he suggested, Christ died to model for us in a dramatic manner the way of self-giving to which all Christians are called.  While such an explanation might make the crucifixion more palatable to our contemporary sensibilities, it fails to take seriously either the testimony of scripture or the church’s tradition or the bald reality of sin and its consequences. 

The cross is hard stuff.  It is a stumbling block to those who look for signs that God will always intervene for the Righteous and it is foolishness to those who place mere human wisdom in a paramount place of their religion. [i]  But for those who believe…well…it is called the Paschal Mystery for a reason.  We embrace Christ’s act as our salvation, even when we do not fully comprehend why it must be so.

We will save a wider exploration of Christ as Savior in the Rule for another time.  (That’s a full meal, and I’m only serving side dishes today.)  Let this reminder suffice for now:  Benedict was not a systematic theologian.  He was not given to lengthy—or even brief—excurses on the philosophical underpinnings of the monastic life.  Rather, he followed that ubiquitous modern day advice: “Just do it.”

This is not to say that the Rule gives us no insights into the path we travel with Jesus toward Jerusalem.  For instance,

 

·         Benedict begins the liturgical journey with Easter, unlike his predecessor, the Rule of the Master, which begins with Lent.[ii]  For him, the most important consideration seems to be Christ’s triumph rather than our feeble striving.  It is as if he is saying to us, “The hard things are real and will be ever present,[iii] but there is glory awaiting us when we follow Christ (RB Prol. 50). Persevere in joy!”

·         Our willful disobedience has separated us from God (Prol. 2), but the work of conversion through obedience and our abiding trust in the mercy of God (4.74) will bring us home again.

·         Lenten tears of compunction (49.4) will moisten our cheeks, but we should never allow them to wash away our joy in the Resurrection (v. 7).

·         The valley of the shadow of death is not our final destination nor do we sojourn through it alone.  Christ is our guide and he will bring us all together to everlasting life (72.11).

Monasteries—whether of the traditional, residential sort or of the dispersed variety, such as Saint Brigid’s—are faith communities in which the Cross stands plainly at the center.  We take the lament of Jeremiah and the cry of John the Baptist (sometimes said to be the prototype of the monk) with utter seriousness in season and out.  We are always and everywhere called to heed the Divine invitation: “If today you hear God’s voice, harden not your hearts.” (Ps 95:8; Prol. 10)[iv]

Monastics are not, therefore, enamored of a morbid fatalism or an unhealthy fascination with humanity’s penchant for sin; on the contrary, Benedictines are on the whole some of the most joyful people one would ever hope to meet.  It is precisely because we take sin seriously that we must take hope seriously; otherwise, the entire Christian endeavor is for naught.  The cross would have the last word and the tomb would gloat.

I encourage you to spend some lectio time with Lamentations during these Three Days.  Mourn that the world—that we—too often turn away from the God who made us and who loves us.  Raise up a cry for compassion to the One who promised to hear.  And look forward with every fiber of your believing being to the fulfillment of the promise of the Cross.  Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again!

Grace be with you,

+Mary
IOGD
   

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[i] 1 Corinthians 1:18-25

[ii] Terrence Kardong on RB 41.1:  “As in RB 48.23 [and 10.1], where he also begins with Easter, he shows that the festal season is fundamental to his thinking, with fasting an important but secondary complement.  For the Master, however, fasting is mentioned first (RM 28.3), and Lent is the first element considered in the horarium (RM 50.8ff).”  Benedict’s Rule (Collegeville, MN:  The Liturgical Press, 1996) p. 333.

[iii] Benedict goes so far as to say that when discerning a candidate’s vocation, “The concern must be whether the novice truly seeks God and whether that person shows eagerness for the Work of God, for obedience and for trials.” (RB 587)

[iv] And this beautiful word of truth:  “What, dear brothers and sisters, is more delightful than this voice of the Lord calling to us?” (Prol. 19)

Picture Not-so-Perfect

(“I believe in looking reality straight in the eye and denying it.”  Garrison Keillor)

Is it just me or does anyone else think their driver’s license photo doesn’t look like them?  When my new license came in the mail the other day, I stared at it and thought, “Well…in a certain light I can see a resemblance, but it definitely does not capture my essential je ne sais quoi.” 

It was about that time that a stroke of entrepreneurial genius hit me:  I could gather ten of my closest friends/donors and open a nationwide chain of glamour shot studios just for driver’s license IDs—passports, too, and maybe even mug shots.  The stores could be called something like Classy Pix 1 Minute Photos.  (Everything sounds much more sophisticated if it’s called “Classy.”) No 8”x10” glossies, just 1”x1” matte.  I’m telling you, it’s a fortune waiting to happen.  Now if we can only convince the DMV…

You might be wondering what in the world any of this fluff has to do with the Rule of Saint Benedict.  It concerns seeing the truth about ourselves.  You see, I knew that the average grocery store cashier would take one glance at my aspect on that license and never question that it is me in the picture.  Being connoisseurs of ourselves, however, we are much more discerning about the nuances of a portrait’s accuracy.  Some snapshots just don’t measure up in our own eyes even if they look like dead ringers to everyone else.  So if we sometimes disagree with other persons about that which is most apparent—i.e. our physical appearance—then how much more might we be at odds over that part of us which cannot be seen—i.e. our interior life?  In the chasm between the two echo Pilate’s Passiontide plea, “What is truth?”[i]

Anyone who has ever felt misunderstood and then spent more than 30 or 40 seconds honestly reviewing that experience can testify that we are not always very good at seeing ourselves as other persons see us.  Sometimes we cling to exaggerated negative images of ourselves and sometimes we paint a rococo-ish portrait of ourselves as paragons of virtue.  Oftentimes we regard ourselves too much in relation to our perception of other persons’ faults or favors—how I stack up against so-and-so’s goodness or badness or talents or looks or bank account or [fill in your own personal yardstick].  All of these things say a lot about how we view ourselves and only a little about how our neighbor sees us.

And if we extend the self-examination to the spiritual plane, we might also admit that mostly we haven’t a clue how God views us. 

We are awfully, terribly, ingeniously clever about bending reality to our preferred way of seeing.  No news here.  Our Scripture-writing ancestors in the faith were acutely aware of the human propensity for self-deception.  That’s why the psalmist so earnest prayed for God to help us with our vision problem.

But who can detect their errors?

                        Clear me from hidden faults.

Keep back your servant also from proud thoughts;

                        do not let them have dominion over me.

Then I shall be blameless, and innocent of great transgression.

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart

                        be acceptable to you,

                        O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.

                                                            Psalm 19:12-14

            Benedict, being a man of The Book, knew well the durability of this trait within us.  In order to help us re-focus, he urged his followers to take full advantage of the Lenten season of introspection and repentance.  Our learned saint appointed some strong lenses for the task:  prayer, lectio, fasting, abstaining from some sleep and needless chatter or other forms of self-denial that receive the imprimatur of one’s abbot or abbess (RB 49.4-7).

It sounds like a lot of effort for churchy stuff.  Why go to all this trouble?  Here are the CliffsNotes:

·         How we see ourselves is important because it will inevitably affect how we see God and how we treat God’s children and good Creation; in other words, we treat others not only according to how we view them but how we (if only subconsciously) view ourselves.

·         How other persons see us is important not only because it affects how they treat us but it also gives us clues into how we are presenting ourselves to the world.

·         How our Creator sees us is the Reality which we creatures are intended to inhabit.  It is important to know this “true self”—i.e. our “image of God”-ness—so that we may give proper glory to the One in whose image we were so wondrously and mysteriously made.

In a nutshell, it is about humility—that is, seeing ourselves as God does, and then acting accordingly.  No virtue looms larger in the Rule.  Humility can thus be called the point of the whole monastic project.  By it we come to know who we are in relation to our Lord and Savior—he who did not despise the wretched death of Good Friday in order to bring us to the resurrected life of Easter.  It is a knowledge that ought to fill our hearts with an insatiable gratitude.  It is the basis of all true worship, for it is through humility that we learn what it means to “prefer nothing whatever to Christ” (72.11).[ii]

When Benedict sketched out the how-to’s of Lent in the monastery, it was his way of helping us clean our mirrors.  The monastic life allows no glamour shots for the soul.  What it offers instead is a good dose of spiritual Windex so that we can see ourselves as we really are, warts and all.  Lent wipes away the soul grime that keeps us from a clearer vision of ourselves.[iii]  Like the picture on my license, I’m not always happy with what the process reveals of me.  But if I’m willing to own up to some reality and scrub away the yuck, then eventually the face that I see looking back at me will be no less than the image of God.  Sounds like a pretty good deal when you think about it.

Grace be with you,

+Mary

IOGD

Brother Mani bravely takes a good, hard look in the mirror

 

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[i] John 18:38.

[ii] From St. Cyprian, “We prefer nothing to Christ because he preferred nothing to us”…an immensely touching regard for such lame creatures as we.
[iii] Note:  Even though Lenten asceticisms are part and parcel of being Benedictine, interior housework is ultimately a voluntary thing; no one can make us take it to heart.  It must be our own mature choice for conversio.  As I recently heard one preacher say, “If we don’t want to see who we are, we don’t stand in front of the mirror.” 

Memorial of St. Benedict

(A little prayer is in order, I think.  See Benedictine Daily Prayer, pp. 1828-39)

Gregory the Great's account of Saint Benedict's death:

http://www.osb.org/gen/greg/dia-39.html

And a prayer from the Breviary (p. 2246):

St. Benedict, you were a man of peace.  You walked the paths of peace your whole life long and led all who came to you into the ways of peace.  Help us, St. Benedict, to achieve peace; peace in our hearts, peace in our homes, peace in our sorely troubled world.  Through your powerful intercession with God help us to be peacemakers.  Aid us to work for peace, to take the first step in ending bitterness, to be the first to hold out our hands in friendship and forgiveness.  Beg God to let peace permeate our lives so that they may be lived in God's grace and love.  And at the end of our lives obtain for us the reward of peacemakers, the eternal blessed vision of God in heaven.  Amen.

Examenation Room

(That’s kind of what Lent is:  a time-room in which we are asked to take a good hard look at ourselves. Without even a flimsy paper gown to hide behind.)

This morning the Holy Spirit casually tossed in my path a review of a book on happiness.  Things seem to happen that way if we’re awake enough to pay attention.  Years of spiritual practice—and a couple of cups of Maxwell House—sometimes pay off with an obvious word from the Lord. 

Anyway, according to the reviewer, the author of the book contends that we are all born with a “set point” for happiness:  for some of us the glass is always half full, while others of us take a worried look at that glass and try to decide whether a quick trip to the nearest convenience store is in order.  (“I’d like a half-glass of happiness, please.”)  Regardless of circumstances, says the author, each of us hovers within a few plus or minus degrees of our personal set point.

I’m not sure how far down the road I am willing to go with this theory, although it has been true to my experience that when a group of folks are together on a sinking ship, some of us hide in our emotional cabins, peering out the portals and imagining only dark waters full of spooky-eyed sharks with nasty hangovers and a bad case of the munchies, while other folks energetically search the pantries and storage rooms for any little floaty objects that can be duct taped together in order to fashion a raft that will without any doubt in their minds safely carry them across the uncharted but friendly seas to their new happy home on the other side.[i]

Creations by Lilly © 9 December 2010

[One of the cats for whom I serve as chef, domestic aide and portable heat source made this kibble art for me the morning on which I was to be abruptly liberated from a very bad situation.  God’s fuzzy prophet speaks a word.]

The part of the theory with which I do whole-heartedly agree is that we cannot increase our happiness quotient by setting out head-on to be happier; rather, if we want to be truly and lastingly happy, we must focus instead on cultivating two pervasive qualities:  gratitude and forgiveness.  To this I shout a loud Amen!  While the book is not a “Christian” text, in this pronouncement it digs straight to the root of Gospel joy.

Joy in the Christian tradition is much more than mere happiness.  It is a manifestation of the Christ-life in us.  It does not wax or wane with how well our finances, career, relationships, garden or even our hair is doing.  It is not a Doppler radar image of what’s going on in our surrounding area; it is a more like a weather vane pointing where the Spirit blows inside us.

In chapter five of his letter to the Galatians, the apostle Paul contrasts the works of the flesh (best not to even mention them in a G-rated blog) with the fruit[ii] of the Spirit—and a lovely, multifarious fruit it is:  “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, ²³gentleness, and self-control” (Gal 5:22-3).  Note that all of these luscious layers of the fruit are outwardly directed, having everything to do with how we treat others in response to the Spirit’s indwelling, and not so much about how we feel inside. Christian joy is above all else a response to the glad tidings of the Good News, the acting out of our firm belief that Christ triumphed over death and sin, taking us right along with him to Salvation.

There’s a whole bunch more to say about joy in the Scriptures—there are somewhere in the neighborhood of 422 references to it in the Old and New Testaments combined—but we don’t have the space to do it here.  For purposes of this blog, let’s turn to the Rule instead.  That will make a much quicker study because Benedict uses the word gaudium [joy] only twice in seventy-three chapters, both times in chapter 49 on “The Observance of Lent” (v. 6 and 7).  Not exactly where one might expect to see it.

1.    Verse 5 exhorts the monks to add more prayer and abstinence to their usual spiritual disciplines (Benedict calls these practices their “service”) during Lent.  He gives the reason for this extra effort in verse 6:  “so that each of us will have something above the assigned measure to offer God of our own will with the joy of the Holy Spirit.”  The Scripture passage to which he alludes provides us a hint that Benedict knows this offering will not be easy.  Here is the full text:  “You also became imitators of us and of the Lord, having received the word in much tribulation with the joy of the Holy Spirit” (1 Thess 1:6).

A friend of mine once told me about an old monk in his abbey who, upon learning that one of the novices had left the monastery, asked, “Why?”

“Because he wasn’t happy,” answered a Brother.

“What do you mean ‘he wasn’t happy’?”

“Well, he didn’t like it.”

“Like it?  Who likes it?!!”

Behind this humorous anecdote is the great truth that growing spiritual fruit takes labor—namely, prayer and some healthy self-denial.  And we can’t expect a good harvest with days that are only sunny and fair; a certain measure of rain is required, as well.  These latter are not typically our most enjoyable days.  Stick with it, though; they help the fruit become sweeter—plumped up with the Spirit’s joy.  Keeping in mind this crucial piece of information, we can, indeed, learn to receive the grayer days with a grateful heart.

2.    Verse 7 repeats the call for a brisk Lenten workout, ending with the motivation for all the effort:  so that we may “look forward to holy Easter with joy and spiritual longing.”  The Great Feast of the Resurrection celebrates Christ’s victory over all that is amiss in Creation and in God’s daughters and sons.  It holds out to us the offer of forgiveness and full union with the Godhead.  It models for us the forgiveness and communion which we are called to offer one another.  How eager ought we to be for such complete joy!

As good as they might feel, gratitude and forgiveness are not ends in themselves.  Nor is joy an end in itself.  Lent, either.  Their purpose is only to show us a glimmer of our love’s destiny.  Easter is the reason for the season of Lent.  What could possibly make us happier?

Get the Lead (or Ink) Out

Benedict was an imminently practical fellow, so as his disciple, I will try to follow his example.  Here is one small prayer practice[iii] you can undertake as a first step toward cultivating gratitude and forgiveness:  Get yourself a journal (an inexpensive spiral notebook will do nicely), a trusty #2 pencil or perhaps a favorite pen, then sit down every evening and write in your journal 5 Things for which you are grateful that day.  Then make a second list of 5 Things for which you need forgiveness that day—things that you have done or said or thought and/or things which you have failed to do or say or pray.  It is a good and manageable practice not just for Lent but for every season.

This prayer is a form of that venerable tradition of the daily examen.[iv]  When we take time to reflect back on our day, we begin to see the ways in which God has been present to us and the ways in which we have failed to make a loving response to that gift.  Counting our blessings is an obviously positive task; counting our sins sounds much more like a mental hair shirt.  But if we give it all back to God—the good, the bad and the ugly—then we don’t have to carry our own burdens, anymore.  Jesus will do it for us.  When our load has been thus lightened, we can truly “run on the path of God’s commandments, our hearts overflowing with the inexpressible delight of love!” (Prol 49)  Therein, my sisters and brothers, is the secret to lasting joy.

Grace be with you,

+Mary

IOGD

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[i] My sincere apologies for this sentence to every junior high school English teacher I ever had.  It is a bit much even by my loose standards.

[ii] Note that “fruit” is in the singular.  Maybe it implies that where one quality is, the others will be also—albeit in different proportions at different times in our lives.  Both a comforting and an encouraging notion, I think.

[iii] Thanks for teaching me this one, LaurenMurphy!

[iv] For more on the examen, take a look at http://ignatianspirituality.com/ignatian-prayer/the-examen/how-can-i-pray/.

RB 49 NRSV

(In which I shamelessly paraphrase and elaborate upon chapter 49 of the Rule of our Holy Father Saint Benedict.  In my defense, sometimes putting new words to a familiar text can help us hear it in a fresh way.  And perhaps even begin to take it seriously…)

My dear Sisters and Brothers in Christ,

            It is clear from the words of the Bible, the instruction of the church throughout the ages and the testimony of our own experience that our lives need to be continuously reoriented toward God through repentance and times of renewal.  This constant striving to return our hearts and minds and all that we have and all that we are to the One who has given us everything is not an easy task.  There aren’t many of us who are up to taking on the weight of such a commitment day in and day out.  That’s why we need the encouragement that is gained from the entire community pulling together at the yoke.  Making things right is hard work.  We have a lot of mess to clean up in our lives.  And now is the time to get started on that project. 

Here is how we can do it:

ü  By not giving in to things that we know do not lead us to God;

ü  By giving ourselves wholeheartedly to our prayers and letting them work on us in our very core;

ü  By spending time with the life-giving Word in which God is truly present to you and me;

ü  By doing more than being sorry for our sins, but being ready and willing to change our ways for real and forever; and

ü  By temporarily giving up a few small things in order to remind ourselves that we are not the Source of our blessings and that we are called to share our gifts with those of God’s children who have to do without.

This stuff is really important, loved ones, so let me say it one more time in a slightly different manner:  During these forty days of reflection, try to focus on the state of your union with God by adding to the things—like prayer—that fill your True Need, and taking a few things away—like some food or drink—that only fill your fleeting desires.  If you go that extra mile because you want to rather than because you think you ought to, then you will be amazed at how the Holy Spirit fills you with joy!

I could say it again in yet a third way (e.g., give up some comforts and some frivolous behaviors that detract from your spiritual life anyway, in order to take a good, hard look at your priorities) but I think you get the point by now.  The Big Picture message is that even though this life provides an ample share of crosses to be borne, there is New Life at the end of the road.  We are an Easter People!  Thanks be to God!  We should hone in on that reality so keenly that it feels as if it’s the only thing we could ever possibly want!

Like I said at the beginning of this letter, it is a joyful path we have undertaken but not an especially easy one; therefore, we should help each other on the way.  Let me know what disciplines you plan to practice during these holy days so that I can pray with you in them.  If we launch out on our own in these endeavors, we might well be tempted to give ourselves the credit for being such terribly fine and wonderful people, and we might even deceive ourselves into secretly believing that we are doing God a favor!  So let me know what you’re up to, okay?  I am here for you.

May the grace and peace of God the Father and our Lord Jesus Christ abide with you throughout this holy season.  And may the Holy Spirit fill you with joy in giving!

Your Sister in Christ,

+Mary

IOGD

The Romantic Monk

(Herein is exhibited further proof that there really is neither rhyme nor reason to these blog postings.  If you are looking for some master plan or pattern, my advice is to abandon hope now.)

I have often said that the monastic novitiate is a lot like dating.  Not because it might sometimes involve a ’76 Honda Accord with Fleetwood Mac rocking out the cassette player (don’t ask), but because both enterprises are meant to be a protected space for “trying on” the relationship without the pressure of a lifetime commitment. 

There are similarities in the first flower of most every human relationship:  Sometimes the parties click right away and sometimes there is an awkward, pimply “getting to know you” phase; sometimes it feels like kismet and a perfect fit right from the get-go but then life creeps in and the two parties drift apart (a probable sign that at least one of the parties has ceased working very hard at the relationship).  It’s the same deal with becoming a Benedictine.  Monasteries are made up of people, not angels.  We need to get to know one another before—and after—any particular pledge of devotion is made.

Like dating, there is a certain amount of romantic optimism that is associated with the beginnings of monastic vocation.  Just as we can be attracted to the appearance of another person, so we can be drawn to the look of historical monasticism:  the robes and habits, the majestic liturgies, the aesthetic appeal of the buildings, the “smell” of something so solid, enduring and ancient, the sheen of holiness that surrounds the whole package.

As relationships mature, though, the glories of those first enchanting encounters will probably fade or fray a bit.  Donning the habit—whether a literal or a metaphorical one—can become mere habit.  Routine settles in and brings with it a relentless predictability.  Not that the beaten path is necessarily a bad thing; familiarity can breed content as well as contempt.   A reliable rhythm can serve to take the focus off the sauce of external manifestations and place one’s attention on the meat of internal motivation.

Still in all, there are times when a re-kindling of the romance can be a darned welcome thing.  When we go to prayer and find ourselves muttering, “What?!! Psalm 51, again??” or when a Sister steps on our last nerve in the dish room or a Brother pulls out that joke you’ve heard him tell at least fifteen times, it is then that memories of our first breathless encounter with monasticism help us to recall why we wanted the relationship in the first place.  An old spark fanned to flame re-warms us for the hard work of daily togetherness and can lead us out of discouraging doldrums.

That is one of the benefits of heightened occasions like our annual community retreat.  Putting faces to voices for the first time is always exciting. An almost chemical reaction takes place among us—like atoms bonding together to make something wonderful and new and stronger than the individual particles could ever hope to be.  The sensory impact of praying with the other more established Benedictine communities in this locale is undeniable:  the seeming effortlessness of trained voices chanting in harmony with one another, the habits, the incense, the accoutrement of the contemplative life…  It’s as if we are at summer camp for grown-ups, except that rather than canoeing on Lake Granada, we are swimming in the stream of centuries of monastic tradition.  It is invigorating.  It should encourage us to strive for greater fidelity to our Benedictine identity.  It should not, however, become idealized to the point that it is an idol.

I have lived in and worked around Benedictine monasteries for the majority of my adult years.  In that time I have witnessed some of the best of what the life can make of persons.  And I have seen what it can become when the relationship is at its worst.[i]

The best in monasticism, as in any Christian walk, has its origin in whatever clings to Christ.  This past Sunday’s Gospel (Matt 6:24-34) admonished us believers to put our trust wholly and solely in God.  We ought not to get so caught up in the provisions that we forget the Provider; rather, we must “strive first for the reign of God and God’s righteousness” and leave the rest to the One who is ever merciful, ever faithful, ever loving.  We are called to absolute fidelity in this relationship.  No other attraction—no matter how good or beautiful—should distract us from The Main Thing.  As John Wesley so strikingly proclaims in his commentary on Matthew’s passage, “whosoever seeks this first, will soon come to seek this only.”[ii]  

When we prefer nothing whatever to Christ (72.11), then we are the truest of whom we were created to be.  That is why a woman or man can be a “real” Benedictine with or without a bricks and mortar cloister or a habit or any other of the external symbols of monasticism that have developed over the centuries.  It’s not about the edifice of the institution; it’s about the sanctification of the soul.

Saint Benedict did a fine job of mapping a Gospel path.  Let us never forget, though, that it is Christ himself who is the Way, the Truth and the Life.  Love being Benedictine, my Sisters and Brothers, but be in love with the Lord.

Grace be with you,

+Mary

IOGD

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[i] As to the latter, I will hold to Benedict’s counsel, “It is better to keep silent than to speak of all these and their disgraceful way of life.” (RB 1.12)

[ii] Notes, Matt 6:33.