A Monk’s Chronicle: 20 May MMXIII — The Tyranny of Things

Co-cathedral of Saint John, Malta

The Tyranny of Things

In 1961 Dom Jean Leclercq penned what has since become a foundational text on monastic culture.  A monk of the Benedictine abbey of Clervaux in Luxembourg, his Love of Learning and the Desire for God delivered exactly what the title promised, and it did so in beautiful prose.  So loving was his study, that it crossed the threshold from scholarship, to become spiritual reading.  It has since become far more than just another book about the learned monk and nun of history.

Books have been essential to monastic life, and there’s no denying that monks and nuns have had a great fondness for them through the centuries.  In the popular imagination they sat at their desks, first copying and then reading the books they’d crafted.  In the course of centuries they amassed the greatest libraries of their time, and small wonder that we gaze in awe at their work.  Manuscripts like the Book of Kells and the Lindisfarne Gospels still stir the imagination.  Likely, they always will.

The stereotype of the scholar-monk is useful, as far as it goes.  However, not everybody in a monastery was a scholar, and not a few of the non-scholars resented those who carved out time for books.  But before we canonize the academics as martyrs, it’s good to remind ourselves of the special challenges that they faced.  Chief among them, perhaps, was the temptation to private ownership.

Saint John Cassian wrote about “thoughts of things” — or better still, the “thoughts about the acquisition of things” — as one of the great distractions for everyone.  After food and sex, it ranked third on his ascending scale of “most frequent of daydreams.”  It should surprise no one that people in monasteries share the same sorts of thoughts as everyone else.  After all, despite what some may think, monks and nuns are people too.

And that brings me to the issue of books.  Given Saint Benedict’s caution about private ownership, you’d naturally assume that the library would eliminate the need for private books.  You’d be wrong.  For all sorts of very good reasons, monks have owned books, and they still do.  And I’m one of them.  But like anything else, too much of a good thing can come back to haunt you.  Just ask the monks who have lived in cells where the books became the monsters that took over their lives.

I speak from personal experience when it comes to owning too many books.  Through years of schooling and teaching, I amassed a respectable collection;  but the books finally began to assert themselves as master.  Then one day I awoke to the need to fight back.  I had lugged some of those books around for years, from one office and room to the next.  A few I had not touched since college.  Some were still boxed up from graduate school.  And each and every one of them had a countrpart in the library, three hundred yards away.  In a moment of insight, I realized I had no choice but to choose.  It was them or me, and one of us would have to cave in.  It was no longer a case of “love of learning.”  It had become a tyranny of things over my life.

I was reminded that others might share similar issues when I visited Malta recently, with a group of members of the Order of Malta.  The harbor at Valletta is a crossroads of the Mediterranean, and parked in one bay was the largest and grandest yacht any of us had ever seen.  Our guide pointed to it, and noted that the owner had two more, exact copies, parked elsewhere in the world.  Personally I would have opted for some variety if I had three yachts.  I would have made one a foot shorter, or color-coded them so I’d know where in the world I might be.   But maybe this guy had a thing about uniformity.  Regardless, I wondered whether it was the guy who owned the yachts, or whether the yachts had begun to own him.

Most of us won’t ever have the problem that comes from owning too many yachts, all of which are identical.  But we all have “thoughts of things” that run through our minds.  Some things are fun and frivilous; some are concessions to our place in a consumer society; and some are anxieties about our material future.  All are worth thinking about, but none are so important that we should allow them to take over our lives.

The tyranny of “things over people” has always been with us, but the struggle is especially intense for members of a consumer society.  When we define ourselves as economic units of consumption, then the amount we own is the measure of our greatness.  I gladly join with those who note we must consume things in order to live and thrive.  But when we value human beings in terms of what they own, or how much they buy, then we have gone into alien territory.  I would argue that you and I are far more important than the stuff we have stashed away in cupboards and garages and banks.  All those things have some value, but if they are what make us important, then life is not worth living.

From a Christian point of view, God did not give us life for the sole purpose of piling up more stuff.  Nor did God create us to think about acquisitions all day long.  Nor did God create us to be the servant of things.  Nor did God intend that we be consumed by anxieties about our material future.  All of that is easier said than done.  But God does not abandon us to wage our battle of interior wits alone.

As for me and my books, my battle is likely never to be finished.  It continues to be a work in progress, but in the last two years I’ve given an awful lot of them away.  And I’ve reclaimed for myself a major portion of my room.  But there have been surprises.  For one, I get to the library far more often than I used to.  I’ve since discovered that it has all sorts of wonderful books I’ve not met before.  And in a great irony, I’ve actually found more time for reading.  That suggests that I am actually using books as they should be, rather than they using me.

As for The Love of Learning and the Desire for God, that’s one book I intend to keep.  It’s a reminder of what life in the monastery can be like.  I need to let that thought run through my mind a little more often than it has in the past.

Notes

+On May 18th I gave a retreat day to members of the Order of Malta, who gathered in Pasadena, CA, for the occasion.

+Following our pilgrimage to Lourdes, I and nine other members of the Order of Malta spent five days on the Island of Malta.  Located fifty miles south of Sicily and a hundred miles from Libya, it served as the home of the Order of Malta from 1530 to 1798, when Napoleon conquered the island.

It was the Emperor Charles V who gave Malta to the Knights, in return for an annual rent of one Maltese falcon.  In the course of time the Knights developed Malta into a giant fortress that protected its magnificant harbor.  So important was the British naval base there, that the Germans made it the target of their most intensive bombing campaign of World War II.

The first thing to catch the eye are the massive fortifications and walls.  You’re tempted to think that there must be more stone blocks in Malta than any place on earth.  One of our party marvelled that there was any island left after they quarried all that stone.  The second thing one notes are the magnificent buildings that the knights left behind.  Included among them are what was the largest hospital in Europe in its day, the Grand Master’s Palace, and a great many buildings that serve as offices for the government of Malta today.

The pictures in today’s post come from the co-cathedral of Saint John, which was the main church of the knights.  It is now  a World Heritage site, and a glance at the floor tells why. Nearly every square inch is covered with the inlaid marble tombs of members of the Order of Malta.  It’s just breathtaking.

A Monk’s Chronicle: 13 May MMXIII — On a Second Thought

On a Second Thought

American culture fancies itself to be the most liberated in all of human history when it comes to sex.  With shows like “Sex and the City” and a myriad of parallel productions, we’ve constructed a self-image that puts us opposite the stuffy Victorians on the social spectrum.  When it comes to sex, we believe we are without doubt the most enlightened people in human history.  And therefore we must also be the happiest people ever.

This is cultural narcissism, and I would maintain that it is a fantasy of the first order.  First off, we may be very aggressive in flooding our culture with thoughts of sex, but we are not the first to notice its paramount place in human life.  John Cassian, the 5th-century spiritual writer, posited that after the quest for food, thoughts of sex are the next most potent force running through our mental universe.  With a nod to those who cannot believe that someone from the early 400′s could know much of anything, you still must give Cassian his due.  He definitely was on to something — despite being a stuffy monk.

The fact of the matter is, in our society sex sells big, and it plays on our mental preoccupations as few other forces do.  Take cars for instance.  While we may resort to the little old lady from Pasadena to sell “pre-owned” cars, we recruit only the most attractive people on earth to sell new cars.  You see it in the marketing of cigarettes as well.  Seldom in the media will you see the elderly smoking.  Rather, it’s always the young and the sleek who smoke in the ads.  The message is clear: the true benefit from smoking is linked to sexual attractiveness.

When it comes to sex and the prescription medication industry, I’ve always been slightly amused by advertising’s resort to yet another human anxiety: the fear of missing out on something.  Ads for some prescriptions hint that you may be the only 16 or 95-year-old on the planet who’s celibate.  Horrors!  Who could possible want to be in that desperate situation?  How terrible it would be to defy the herd instinct and refrain from sexual activity, even at the most advanced of ages.  Or at the earliest of ages.  ”Everyone does it,” and there ought not be a single exception.

The fact of the matter is, our society is virtually evangelical when it comes to sex, and we are deeply suspicious of people who are celibate.  I would submit that those same anxieties apply to those  who are monogamous — for they too are celibate when it comes to anyone other than their spouse.  In the popular imagination, both celibacy and even monogamy can be seen as basic denials of human freedom.  In this case, it’s the freedom to do any and everything you might want, whenever you want.

When marketers and others parade sexual fantasies before our eyes, they are of course reaching deep into our own minds to manipulate thoughts that are among the strongest and most vibrant.  Long before there was television or the print media, and even before the internet, there were such thoughts.  Perhaps because of that vast experience, some have dared to suggest that the most creative and happy people in human history have learned to master those thoughts.  To their way of thinking it may just be better to master them than be driven by them  into a crazed frenzy.

There are any number of directions one could take this, but at the risk of seeming to be a Victorian, I’d like to make two points.

First of all, the need for social and spiritual intimacy is undeniable and good; but indiscriminate sexual activity is never a cure for lonelilness.  In fact, over time it may even create a pervasive loneliness.  Such activity becomes destructive, since it serves the self first and last, with little respect for others.  Ironically, then, there is no life-giving human connection in such indiscriminate relationships.  Genuine intimacy centers on the respect and love of the other, and that is true whether that other person is human or divine.

The second point has to do with commitment.  There’s no denying that we have a very difficult time making life choices and settling down.  We like to keep our options open, and God forbid that we make anything that smacks of a permanent commitment.  Such an act would violate our intrinsic freedom and independence.

But as in so many cases, not to decide is to decide.  When we opt for “freedom forever,” we eventually lose it, simply because we’ve never invested ourselves in a life-giving relationship with any one person, or with God.  In that sense chastity is less a deprivation than it is a gamble.  It’s a gamble that God and someone else may be worth our love, and it may justify the sacrifice of our unlimited freedom.  They are worth the risk of organizing our thoughts and words and deeds so that we direct ourselves to another.  Could that be better than being constantly distracted and ultimately left adrift in a sea of confusion and loneliness?

That may very well be what Jesus had in the back of his mind when he offered up his great conundrum.  ”Those who lose their life for my sake will gain it.”

Notes

+Post-script to Lourdes:  Still fresh in my mind is the pilgrimage to Lourdes which members of the Order of Malta completed a few days ago.  As I wrote in the post for May 7th, it’s an extraordinary experience, and if you’d like to read fuller descriptions that I wrote some months ago, please go to my posts of 31 October 2011, and 7 May 2012.

On the lighter side, Lourdes has all the challenges that any complicated gathering of people has.  Typical of this is the Sunday Eucharist, in the Basilica of Saint Pius X, which holds 25,000+.  With more than twenty-five nationalities present, language is always an issue.  At past gatherings of the Order of Malta the Mass prayers have been in French, English, Arabic and Italian.  The music comes from all language groups, while the readings have been in a variety of tongues.  The prayers of the faithful this year were in Dutch and German, but they’ve been in a dozen other languages through the  years.  This year the celebrant was Cardinal Sardi, patron of the Order of Malta.  He presided in Italian, while translations projected onto the big screens were in French and German.  (I read the French, hoping it would be nicer.)  Cardinal Dolan of New York welcomed poeple in English.  The multiciplicity of languages, and the sound of 25,000 singing in unison, impressed on me once again the vast stretch of the Church. It really is the gathering of peoples from the ends of the earth.

Four Benedictine chaplains of the Order of Malta were at Lourdes this year.  In addition to me, in attendance were Abbot Placid of Belmont Abbey in North Carolina; Abbot Matthias of Sao Bento in São Paulo in Brazil; and Fr. Henry from Glenstal in Ireland.

The unofficial motto of Lourdes ought to be Festina Lente.  While literally translated as “Make Haste Slowly”, in the case of Lourdes it is better rendered as “Hurry up and wait.”  Were there a Lourdes Olympics, the main events would include “The Stand”; the “Marathon Stand”; “The Walk Very Slowly” (done in teams of 5,000); the “Stand and Walk”; and my personal favorite, “The 100-Yard Sprint for the Exits after a two-hour Mass.”  (Best done with 25,000 people.)  Of coure there are always special awards and honorable mentions.  This year’s award for the strongest cart-puller went to my teammate Tom, who pulled his cart for thirty-five minutes with the brakes on.  ”Most-determined cart-puller” also went to Tom, for pulling his cart for thirty-five minutes with the brakes on.

For the second half of the pilgrimage the sun came out and it was glorious.  It made our outing to Saint Savin especially refreshing.  In today’s post are pictures from that visit.  This was a Benedictine abbey dating back to Carolingian times (ca. 800).  It sits at the entrance to the Pyranees, overlooking one of the passes into Spain.  Spain sits just on the other side of the snow-capped peaks.

A Monk’s Chronicle: 6 May MMXIII — Food: the Great Temptation

Food: The Great Temptation

It all started with Adam and Eve in the Garden.  Theirs was a perfect life, but they were not alone with their thoughts.  It was in Eden that they encountered what likely was the first major distraction on record:  the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.  Accustomed to a daily round of walks with God, plenty to eat, and camaradarie with the animals, everything seemed to be as good as it gets.  Who would want to upset that apple-cart?

It should come as no surprise that the first temptation recorded in the Bible centers on food.  It’s a basic need, after all.  You can’t go for very long without it; and if you do so, body and mind will insist on doing someting about it.  Not surprisingly, the early ascetics experienced this, and John Cassian writes of it as the entry-level preoccupation of the human mind.

Still, the Book of Genesis reports that Eve’s focus on that tree was less about food and more about the desire to go beyond her current state.  The story implies that she couldn’t have been all that hungry, despite the absence of soft drinks and fast food.  Nor was she aware of impending famine and the need to store up for the future.  No, by the time she plucked the first piece of fruit from that tree, something else was going through her mind.  This was not about fruit.  This was about power and self-esteem.  That’s what pressed her buttons that day.

In her book “Thoughts Matter”, Sr. Meg Funk reflects on John Cassian’s teaching about the  thoughts that run through the minds of us all.  Constantly, throughout our waking hours, a steady stream of thoughts prance through our imagination.  Who knows where they all originate, but thankfully our mental spam filter deletes a lot of it before it gets onto our agenda.  Yet, some still make it through into our consciousness.  There they disturb us and inspire us and incite us into further thought, word and deed.  In short, they press our buttons hard enough to take over our waking hours for just a bit, or for a long time.

Food certainly is the most basic of human needs, but it’s never as simple as it seems.  Sure, we all like to eat, and some of us love to eat.  Some of us even live to eat.  But when we think of that big bag of chips, or whatever it is that gets us going, it can become really complicated. Thoughts of hunger and the allure of food remind us of the need to eat to survive.  They remind us that food could run out some day, and it might be prudent to lay in a big supply to allay our fears about the future.  Those thoughts might remind us that eating some foods brings prestige to the diner, as do the select places where we might choose to dine. Thoughts of food also bring out the latent competitiveness in all of us.  In order for me to get more, someone else must get less.  Isn’t it better to get yours before all the greedy people get it first?  And on a more positive note, if I eat the right kinds of food, in proper balance, I just might live a longer and healthier life.

Pretty soon the mere thought of food can trigger all sorts of responses in us.  We can stop in our tracks to get some; we can eat beyond what is reasonable; we can eat beyond our means; and we can do the completely irrational.  That’s one reason I avoid the snack food aisle like the plague.  I know that one small bag of Cheetos is a nice treat.  But  I also know that if they manufactured twenty-pound bags of Cheetos, I’d get several.  I’d lay in a big supply, because you never know.  All the Cheetos factories could burn down.  Or someone might corner the market on Cheetos and drive up the price.  Anyway, that’s how Cheetos have the power to press one of my buttons and send me off into a chain of  uncontrolled actions.  That’s why I’ve always had a special sympathy for Eve.  She may have started with an apple, but in her mind it was about far more than that.

If our thoughts are complicated and savvy enough to catch our attention, they are also persistent.  The first Christian ascetics learned this early on, and we need to own up to that as well.  If early monks and nuns thought they’d leave their troubles at the cloister door, they always got a big surprise when they walked into their cell for the first time.  No sooner had they settled in, then the old familiar friends popped up in their imagination.  What they wanted before, they still wanted — but now with a vengeance.  Their experience explains why so many of us go to church and immediately start thinking of everything but church.  Know it or not, we all bring an awful lot of baggage with us, and the quieter the place, the sooner those bags get unpacked.

When I was a young priest I was always a little put off when people confessed to distractions during prayer.  In those heady years when I knew nearly everything, I tended to dismiss such comments as scrupulosity or fluff.  Now I’m not so sure, because my own mind wanders when I’m in church.  What kind of medicine should I be taking?

Through the years I’ve learned from many who are far more experienced in using strategies to deal with distraction.  The first point I’ve drawn from them is not to treat distraction as if it were sin.  Think of a distraction as a button that is being pushed, and then step back to analyze it.  What’s the point of this thought?  Where does it lead me if I follow through on it?  How best should I deal with this distraction?

One should also keep in mind that not all “distractions” lead us down the wayward path.  Some thoughts point straight to God.  Some thoughts lead us into doing the right thing.  Some thoughts tug at our imagination and help us prioritize our lives.  All this happens when we don’t let our thoughts run away with us.  Rather, we are better off placing our thoughts and preoccupations at the foot of the Lord, and he will help us sort them out.

So one day I prayed to the Lord about the Cheetos.  ”What about the Cheeetos?”  I asked.  ”Well, what do you think you should do about the Cheetos?” was the response I got.  ”Well, they’re nice enough, but I don’t live for them.”  And God said: “That’s what I was thinking too.”

Then I knew I was ready for the next big thought.

Notes

+This week I am in Lourdes with the annual Order of Malta pilgrimage.  It’s an extraordinary experience, and everyone should  consider it someday, whether they are a believer or not.  People come to Lourdes for all sorts of reasons, but spiritual healing ranks far above physical healing in the benefits that we all take with us when we leave.  Lourdes also reminds us of the contrasts between the sacred and the secular worlds.  At Lourdes one sees the sublime and the banal, and the edge of the shrine is the physical boundary.  On the other hand, one of the great lessons of Lourdes is that in all of our lives the sacred and the profane are not totally separate worlds.  They blend together in our own little world.  We also learn that one cannot live in a shrine forever.  You have to go home eventually, and you take a glimpse of the divine back with you to serve you at home.

Lourdes, like other pilgrimage destinations, is not all peaches and cream.  It rained for the first forty-eight hours after our arrival.  That was not fun.  But by far the biggest challenge to our psyche was our willingness to enter into sacred time and sacred space.  Upon arrival, quite a few people rushed down to the gates of the shrine to take it all in.  Meanwhile, a very unhealthy percentage of us (myself included) rushed to our rooms to turn on the wifi to connect with the world we had left behind.  The hotel wifi system promptly jammed for several hours.  I had to get up at 4 am to get access to the internet and get this posting out. Thank goodness all the greedy people were still asleep.

A Monk’s Chronicle: 29 April MMXIII — Do Thoughts Count?

Do Thoughts Count?

Pope Francis continues to provide heathy grist for our musings, and I especially appreciated his use of a comment from Saint Francis.  ”Preach always.  If necessary, use words.”

That’s an important point to keep in mind, particularly for those of us who spend a lot of time preaching and writing.  Both genres depend on words, and there isn’t a lot we can do to make up for that.  One could, I suppose, sing and dance in the pulpit, or use other ploys to hold a congregation’s attention.  But more often than not such stunts leave people amused at the ineptitude they’ve just witnessed.  Most walk out convinced that the performer really shouldn’t have tried it.  As for a blog, I suppose I redeem myself by using pictures, which in theory count for more than words.  Plus, I send something every Monday morning, thereby demonstrating reliability by my deeds.  So there may be some hope for me.

Still, there’s a serious message in the words of Saint Francis.  At the very least, they presume that we are, or ought to be, more than mere talk.  Within Christian tradition we’ve always recognized this, even if at times we’ve only paid lip service to the ideal.  In the Confiteor, for example, we speak of sins of thought, word and deed.  That implies that what we often use in a perverse direction can also be channelled for the good.  But what it also speaks to is the integration that should exist in our lives.  Thought, word and deed are not individual items with nothing in common.  They are, instead, expressions of the core of our being.  And you cannot specialize in one or two and forget about the other entirely.

For once this sacred notion has some good crossover with popular wisdom.  ”Talk is cheap,” and the need to “walk the talk” are but two examples of a commonsense parallel.  Both aphorisms point out the schizophrenia that results when there is a disconnect among thought, word and deed.  Even secular society sees the  hypocrisy in the person who is long on talk but lacks the ambition to translate that talk into action.

On the other hand, popular wisdom can also be self-contradictory.  Take as an example one phrase that we often lean on when deeds don’t materialize:  ”It’s the thought that counts.”  Does it really?  I hope not, because if it’s the thought that really counts, then a lot more of us should be going to jail.  If the thought does count, then there are far more serial killers around than anyone ever imagined.  And you and I might even be among them.  Thank God the legal code demands that we walk the talk before we’re convicted for murder and similar such deeds.

I write all this by way of introduction to a weighty but very succinct book that I am currently reading.  With a title like “Thoughts Matter” you would suppose that Sr. Mary Margaret Funk, OSB, was coming down firmly on the side of just one of the various choices we might consider.  But in fact she too argues for an integration in our lives, and she offers a much deeper analysis of the nature of the thoughts that flow through our minds.

Sr. Meg bases her work on the writings of the early 5th-century monk, Saint John Cassian.  Arguably one of the greatest authors in the spiritual tradition, Cassian knew the desert fathers and mothers personally.  He traveled widely, and systematically sought out hundreds of ascetics.  From his many interviews he distilled a series of reflections that went on to become a major source for Saint Benedict when he composed his Rule for Monks.

Sr. Meg writes about the thoughts that pass through our mind as chatter.  And as Cassian has outlined them, they congeal around eight common themes: food, sex, things, anger, dejection, acedia, vainglory and pride.  I’m not going to explain or elaborate on them now, because in coming weeks I want to attend to those themes individually.  But significant to all of them is the pull that they exert on our attention.  Each draws us in its own direction, for good and for ill.  And whether pope or nun, or layman or laywoman, that chatter runs through all of our minds.

If you’ve ever wondered whether you’re going crazy because of all the stuff churning through your mind, be assured you are not alone.  The ascetics in the Syrian and Egyptian deserts faced the same chatter.  All we’ve done is accelerate the pace.  While we watch the news on television, we’re also glancing at the headlines that stream across the bottom of the screen.  While we are listening to commercials.  While we are texting and thinking about email.  While we are listening to someone trying to compete for our attention.  While we are remembering stuff we should have done.  And worst of all, while we are driving.

Who has time for deeds when all this chatter is running through our minds?  Those who install a good spam filter in their mind, that’s who.

Notes

+On Sunday April 21st I spoke on The Saint John’s Bible at Saint David’s Episcopal Church in Minnetonka, MN.

+On Monday April 22nd it snowed another nine inches.  Happily, by the following weekend it soared past 70 degrees and much of the snow simply slipped away.

+While the maple syrup harvest is not yet complete, the cooks have made over 400 gallons.

+In anticipation of the annual Order of Malta pilgrimage to Lourdes, I escaped the snows and arrived in Paris on the 26th.  The early arrival gave me the chance to visit several medieval sites, pictures of which will show up in this blog in coming weeks.  I also had the opportunity to visit with one of my former students, who now lives with his wife and daughter and son in Luxembourg.  We met in Metz, which allowed me to visit that city for the first time. It also let me catch up on Jack’s life in Europe.  True to his imaginative approach to life, he and his wife have raised their two children in a bi-lingual household: English and Chinese.  But classes for the youngsters are in Luxembourgish, French and German.  What a world they will enjoy!

+There are many nooks and crannies around Saint John’s that reward the attentive explorer, and the most interesting collection of stained glass is to be found in Emmaus Hall, home of the School of Theology.  The pictures in today’s post all come from there, and they speak far more eloquently than my mere words.  But to show you this, it was absolutely necessary to use just a few words.

A Monk’s Chronicle: 22 April MMXIII — The Good Shepherd

Cloisters Museum, New York

The Good Shepherd

There’s something wonderfully appealing about the Good Shepherd.  Of course that figure has its roots in the Old Testament and the Psalms, and there they speak of the lord as a shepherd who leads the flock to green pastures and still waters.  But on a more visceral level it all harks back to simpler and gentler times.  It speaks of the security that comes from a good shepherd who protects the sheep from any and all dangers.

When Jesus spoke of himself as the good shepherd he summoned up all those bucolic images, and so powerful was that image that it became the model for ministry in the Church.  Early portraits of Jesus show him as a young man, with a lamb stretched across his shoulders; and out of that evolved the image of the bishop carrying the standard equipment of any and all shepherds — the staff.  Those later shepherds too would lay down their lives for their sheep, and through the centuries many have done so.  In the meantime, the staff served to remind those who held it that their position in the community was to embody a different kind of authority.  They were not to lord it over others, as the gentiles did.  Rather, they were to guide and to serve.  They were to follow in the steps of Jesus and themselves be good shepherds.

Saint Benedict, Monte Cassino

Through the centuries the analogy of the good shepherd has held up pretty well, especially when shepherds have taken their pastoral duties seriously.  Still, it’s fair to say that there are a few inherent weaknesses to be found in this image, when carried to the extreme.  For one thing, in a real-life pasture I don’t imagine that the sheep love their shepherd all that much.  But he certainly is a better alternative than the wolf.  And as for sheep-dogs, I suspect there is no love lost between them and the sheep.  After all, to the sheep those dogs look suspiciously like wolves.  That may explain why the sheep give those dogs such a wide berth.  They are not there to please the dogs, after all.

It would be a delicious temptation to get sidetracked into the misuse of power throughout the history of the Church.  After all, staffs long ago evolved into gem-encrusted croziers, and in the hands of some bishops and abbots and abbesses they became pretty intimidating weapons.  Rather, it might be better to consider the symbiotic relationship that should exist between shepherd and sheep.  If the shepherd is negligent, the sheep suffer, just like in a real pasture.  And if the sheep wander off and scatter, as can happen in any congregation, then the shepherd has proven he really isn’t much of a shepherd.  Apart from each other, neither shepherd nor sheep are going to be all that successful.  Together, they build a relationship in which everyone is nourished and flourishes.

Saint Benedict, Subiaco

I’m also aware of the need for maturity among both shepherds and sheep.  For the moment I’ll leave the shepherds to themselves and focus instead on the sheep.  If sheep start to believe that it’s only the shepherd that matters in the relationship, then they forget what the whole enterprise is about.  The shepherd has not come to make them dumb and docile. He has come to lead them to green pastures where they will flourish and grow.  It is their responsibility to eat, to grow fleece, and to produce lambs and cheese and chops.  In doing so they serve to build up the flock, as well as the shepherd.

In his Rule Saint Benedict writes that the abbot is believed to hold the place of Christ in the monastic community.  For that reason he carries a staff, which he uses symbolically in service to the welfare of the monks.  Ironically, he exists for the monks, and not the other way around.  But it is the monks who have the task of responding to his leadership.  They are to flourish in the community that they themselves create, along with the abbot.  And if  they don’t create the community, no one will do it for them.

Saint Benedict, Saint Paul’s Outside the Walls

Pope Francis has created not a few stirrings in the Church already, but I was heartened by his decision to carry the staff that Pope Paul VI once carried.  At the top of it is the figure of the crucified Christ.  Whatever else this may say to people, it suggests to me that his ministry is about preaching Christ crucified.  It’s also a reminder that he is called to be a good shepherd.

I hope that I and the rest of us can respond to this symbolic language in kind.  Our lives are about Christ crucified; and we need to act in the belief that Jesus really is the good shepherd who lays down his life for us, his sheep.  As sheep, however, our job is not to be dumb or docile.  Too much is expected of me and you.  Jesus leads us to green pastures.  And in the pastures of our homes and churches he calls us to flourish and to create his Church.  No pastor, and no one else, can do that for us.

Saint Lambert of Liege, Cloisters Museum, New York

Notes

+On April 16th I was in San Francisco, CA, where I attended several meetings with the president of Saint John’s University, Michael Hemesath.

+On April 18th I visited Bishop O’Dowd High School in Oakland, with Saint John’s University alumnus Glen Hentges.  Glen serves as the chair of the board of directors of the school.

+On April 19th it snowed almost another foot at Saint John’s.  No pictures, please.

+On April 19th I attended Saint John’s Day, an annual event that gathers benefactors of the University.  This year the Abbey and University bestowed on Fr. Richard Frechette, CP, the Pax Christi Award.  It honored his many years of service in Haiti.

Saint Lawrence presents the Poor. Cloisters Museum, New York

+For my personal reading I am nearly finished with David McCullough’s The Great Bridge: The Epic Story of the Building of the Brooklyn Bridge.  In his tradition, it is a very long book.  But like  his other tomes, it is wonderfully engaging — even if you are not an engineer.

+On Sunday April 28th at 3 pm, my confrere Fr. Bob Koopmann will perform a recital entitled Music: A Pathway to God.  He will play at Saint Vincent Ferrer Church in New York (located at 869 Lexington Avenue — at 66th Street.)  He will present works by Rachmaninoff, Franck, and Brahms, in addition to his own sacred improvisations.  I encourage readers of this blog to attend — if you happen to be in the neighborhood!

A Monk’s Chronicle: 15 April MMXIII — The Dictator and the Doubter

The Dictator and the Doubter

Travel has its surprises, and certainly one of the biggest for me happened on a trip to Albania three  years ago.  Our small group had come to Albania more as an afterthought than as a destination, and it did not fall short of our expectations.  Albania may have been a vibrant place once upon a time, but Communist dictator Enver Hoxha had taken care of that.  In his forty-year reign he had convinced his citizens that their country was the envy of the world, and he left the countryside dotted with pillboxes and airfields to defend against invaders coming from every direction.  He also left the country impoverished and dispirited.  But during his rule the isolated citizens knew no better, and the cult of his personality allowed for no other domestic or foreign gods.

Sewing a gathering of folios

When our guide announced a visit to the National Museum, we balked.  There we’d see an exhibit on “the most famous Albanian of all time,” she promised.  We expected the worst, and we steeled ourselves for a half-hour of mindless  propaganda.  You can imagine our shock when we entered the galleries, and there, staring down at us, was a portrait of Mother Theresa of Calcutta, “the most famous Albanian of all time.”  Our guide smiled.  Behind that smile was an unspoken joy and pride.  Plus, she had fooled us, royally.

Sherrie Schmidt, Arizona State University, examines sewn gatherings

Mother Theresa came to mind on the second Sunday of Easter, when we read the gospel of the doubting Thomas.  It’s the story of the one apostle who remained unconvinced of the resurrection of Jesus.  Unless he could touch the wounds of Jesus and see for himself, he would not believe.  Until then, he would remain a skeptic.

It seems a bit blasphemous to put Mother Theresa in the category of a serious doubter of the divine.  She who did so much to help the poorest of the poor — could she have ever doubted? Of course she did.  And she said as much in her diary.

Italian leather for binding

When her diary appeared in print it caused a major sensation.  After all, if anyone was a true believer, it had to be Mother Theresa.  To question her faith seemed disrespectful, to say the least.  But in those pages, in her own words, she wrote of the years when God seemed to be not just distant, but entirely absent.  Could there possibly be a God in the midst of such grinding poverty and meaningless death?  If there was a God, where in the world might that God be?

This certainly has been the experience of many a saint, including John of the Cross, whose Dark Night of the Soul details his own suffering at the absence of God.  And it certainly was the experience of many Jews in the Holocaust, who wondered in their hearts why any God would allow a people to suffer so.  Mother Theresa was scarcely unique in her experience, and a truckload of biographies will attest to that.  It should come as no surprise, then, that many of us should find ourselves kindred spirits with her and with all the other notorious skeptics who have gone before us.

Religious doubt afflicts the best of believers, sooner or later.  And it does so because of a lively mind.  Who hasn’t thought about all the evil in the world and wanted to despair?  Who hasn’t felt lonely and wondered if there was no one out there who cared?  Who hasn’t felt just a bit worthless and insignificant as we gaze at the expanse of the universe?  Who hasn’t succumbed to the material allure of the world, in the belief that such things give us meaning?

Saint Thomas Aquinas once included among the attributes of God the good, the true and the beautiful.  And it strikes me that once we know what to look for, then it is a little easier to push our doubts aside and forge ahead in faith.  Have you ever seen someone do a random bit of kindness that somehow renewed your faith in humanity?  Have you ever seen beauty and innocence in the eyes of a child?  Have you ever marveled at the structure of the universe?  Have you ever surprised yourself by the urge to love or help someone in need? If so, you’ve been privileged to glimpse the face of God in the faces of those around you.  What you’ve come to see, in them and in yourself, is nothing less than the presence of God.

It’s natural to doubt, because we have critical minds that God has given us to use.  But if doubt produces a life-time of fence-sitting, then we’ve made a poor choice indeed.  If we conclude that doubt equals disbelief in God, then our reasoning is a little off.  Doubt is healthy, but it doesn’t take us off the hook from responsibility for our lives.  If we opt for materialism or the quest for power or nihilism, so be it.  But from my vantage point those are choices that ultimately yield neither personal meaning nor much of a return.  As for me, as much as I may have my own personal doubts, I see the irresistible logic of throwing in my lot with the good, the true and the beautiful.  If they prove illusory, I’ve really lost nothing at all.  If they prove to be that glimpse into the eternal, then I could very well be the big winner, both now and in eternity.

Meanwhile, I remain amused by the contrast between those two Albanian icons.  Together, in fact, they are almost allegorical in their meaning.  Enver Hoxha convinced everyone in Albania that they were wealthy and the envy of the world.  He was a skilled marketer, but at the end of the day the Albanians were not rich, as any naive child could point out.  Meanwhile, Mother Theresa collected the refuse of humanity off of the streets of Calcutta.  They were her riches, and in them she saw the face of God.  That’s not such a bad way of looking at creation, and I think I’ll keep struggling on in that view, despite my own occasional doubts.

Doubt is natural, because we are thoughtful and questioning  human beings.  Indecision, by contrast, is failure.  For better and for worse, I think that the good, the true and the beautiful are the better choices.  For me they are the poetry and the mathematics that make life worth living, and eternal life worth seeking — both now and hereafter.

Fr. Eric (l), and Mike Roswell

Notes

+On April 10th I presided and preached at the Abbey Mass at Saint John’s.

+On April 11th we were surprised to receive nearly a foot of snow.  Actually, “crestfallen” and “disappointed” might better describe the reaction of most of us.  Once again I had to shovel out my car.  This time it was the heavy wet snow of early spring — the kind of snow that gives the omnipotent shoveler a heart attack.  If this were January, I would have taken pictures and posted them.  In April such snow tends to be both prettier and far less attractive at the same time.  I have chosen to spare you (and me) the agony of looking at it.

+On April 11th our beloved confrere Brother Gregory Eibensteiner died peacefully.  For much of his life in the monastery he worked in the carpenter shop.  And his great hobby was building the birdhouses that served as home for the purple martins.

Volumes ready for delivery

+While in Arizona a few days ago I had the opportunity to visit Roswell Bindery, where the pictures in today’s post were taken.  It is there that the volumes of the Heritage Edition of The Saint John’s Bible are being bound.  Second-generation owner Michael Roswell led the tour, and we were joined by Sherrie Schmidt, Director of Libraries at Arizona State University.  One set of the Heritage Edition now calls ASU home.

In many respects the process of binding a book has scarcely changed over the centuries.  But the Heritage Edition harks back to an earlier time of intensive labor and quality materials.  From the hand-sewn gatherings, to the Italian calf-skin that covers the quarter-inch maple boards, each volume is a real work of art.

A Monk’s Chronicle: 8 April MMXIII — Rights and Responsibilities

The National Arts Club, New York

Rights and Responsibilities

It was a verdict worthy of King Solomon.  In its issue of March 6th The Irish Independent recounted an amazing courtroom exchange between Judge Alan Mitchell and the lawyer for a fifteen-year-old boy from Galway.  The crime?  The youth had missed 91 out of the last 114 days of school.  Both son and parents had ignored a previous summons, and the defense was as earnest as it was simple.  As for school, reported the attorney, the boy “had no wish to be there.”

Ceiling by Tiffany

While such an excuse might carry the day elsewhere, everyone in that courtroom was about to learn that it carried no wieght there.  ”If every teenager could direct whether to go to school or not,” said the judge, “there would be anarchy in this country.”  And the judgement handed down?  The boy was directed to choose which of his parents would go to jail for twenty-one days, and which parent would get probation.

That story left me breathless, for two reasons.  First of all, for years one of my most reliable excuses has been a variation of the one the boy had used.  Of course it has taken more elegant forms, like “I’m tied up today,” or “I already have a commitment.”  But in my own mind there is no denying what a good friend “I don’t feel like it” has been to me through the years.  That said, I had always been sparing in my resort to that excuse.  Never for a minute did I have the courage of that kid.  Imagine using it 91 times in a row!  And on something as important as missing school!  I’m a piker by comparison.

The second thing that stunned me was the willingness of that judge to call a spade a spade. In an  era of no-fault car insurance and victimless crimes, we naturally assume the priority of personal freedom to do any and everything we want.  That far outweighs any responsibility we might have to one another.  This judge, by contrast, had the nerve to suggest that this boy’s life mattered.  He mattered to his classmates and to his parents;  and his actions would someday impact not only them but society at large.  What better way to teach that boy the importance of his actions than by letting him send one parent to jail.

When we weigh rights and responsibilities, we tend to put the emphasis on the former, at the expense of the latter.  We are individuals with certain inalienable rights, as the Constitution affirms.  And so we are.  We expect, then, to be respected and left alone to pursue our private happiness.  But we also presume that someone should be there to help us when we fall, and to pick up the pieces when our lives fragment.  It’s the least that society owes us.

Ironically, such a self-absorbed universe discounts our own self-worth.  While we may assume that society owes us a great deal, it implies that we have little or nothing to give in return.  It even hints that we have nothing of intrinsic value to offer, so why should we show up?  Why should we even try to help others?  Horribly, if enough people started to believe this and act on it, the fabric of our community and our family would unravel.

The fact of the matter is, most of us sell ourselves short in many ways.  We each have something — even if not a lot — to offer other people.  Our very presence, even if silent, makes some difference to others.  Our perspective on some things may be exactly what someone else needs to hear.  And the wonderful truth is this:  each and every person can make a difference in the life of someone.

You can fault the Irish judge for placing too much responsibility into the hands of a fifteen-year-old.  On the other hand, he made it clear that they boy’s actions can and will impact others, and not just the lives of his parents.  And just as his absence will diminish the lives of his classmates, so will his presence add something of value.  When is there a better time to learn this than at age fifteen?

In short, this judge paid this boy the supreme compliment.  In fact, he told the boy that his life matters.  His participation in the life of the community matters.  What he chooses to do, and what he chooses not to do, matters.  And the same is true for us.

(L-R) Mrs. Ellen Shafer, Fr. Eric, Ambassador Robert Shafer, Fra’ John Dunlap

Notes

+From April 1-5 I was in New York City for a series of meetings, and on April 2nd Saint John’s University president Michael Hemesath and I visited with several alumni and friends of the University.  Among the highlights of that trip was the chance to have breakfast with Fr. Bob Koopmann, past president of Saint John’s, who is on sabbatical.  This semester he is living with the Dominican community at Saint Vincent Ferrer on Lexington Avenue.  Before leaving New York at the end of May Fr. Bob will be giving a concert at Saint Vincent, open to the public.  Details will follow.

+On April 3rd I attended an awards ceremony at the offices of the Mission of the Order of Malta to the United Nations.  Hosted by Saint John’s alumnus Ambassador Robert Shafer, I was delighted to have the chance to visit with several friends of the Order, including Michael and Cecelia Grace, members of the Western Association.

(L-R) Fra’ John Dunlap, Honoree, Mr. Michael Grace

+On April 4th Saint John’s University alumnus John Thavis spoke at Saint John’s on his new book The Vatican Diaries.  As I wrote in an earlier post, the publication of his book could not have been better timed, and it was gratifying to see the windows of bookstores in New York featuring his tome.

+On April 5th I flew to Phoenix.  While there I will be fortunate to visit the bindery where the Heritage Edition of The Saint John’s Bible is  being completed.

+While in New York I got to visit the National Arts Club, one of my favorite spots in the city.  Built ca. 1840, it was rebuilt by Governor Samuel Tilden as his townhouse around 1870.  Today it fronts on Gramercy Park, with much of its original decoration and design intact.  The first pictures in this post are from that gracious home.