The Cloisters, Canterbury Cathedral

Last summer I saw a tattoo unlike any I’d seen before.  It was on the young man’s neck, above the collar line.  There, where few collars could reach and hide it, were letters in stately German gothic script that spelled out a single word:  “Theresa.”

It was not the fine calligraphy that hit me, nor even the location.  Rather, it was the name itself.  Assuming that Theresa was not his name, it was likely the name of his beloved.  Obviously, she had made a deep impression on him; and just as obviously, he had declared his eternal love for  her in a way that said “I’ll never get this off, no matter how hard I scrub.”  Sadly, he had failed to remember that in modern America “forever” means a week or two, tops.  He was now stuck with this Theresa tattoo for the rest of his life.  And to him it would likely feel like a personal eternity.

Saint Benedict healing a child, glass from Abbey of Saint Denis. Now at V & A, London

David Brooks has pointed out that at nineteen or twenty all of us have to make decisions that determine the rest of our lives.  Unfortunately, at that age we lack the information that could really inform our decisions.  That information only comes later, after many years of experience.  In the meantime, we make our decisions, and we must learn to live with them.

Of course the young man with “Theresa” emblazoned on his neck did not have his entire future closed off.  If this one Theresa hasn’t worked out, there are certainly a lot more Theresa’s out there.  And he could even widen the pool by exploring the hyphenated name market.  It might not be so bad to find a descendant of the great Austrian Empress Maria Theresa, for example.  But if an Edith or a Rachel were ever to ensnare his heart, he could have some real trouble on his hands.  Or on his neck.

There are  other ways to deal with a situation like this, short of despair.  Several summers ago I was waiting at the tube station at Kew Gardens in London.  On the platform was a woman in a sleeveless dress, with a child in tow and a young man by her side.  At the top of her arm was the tattoo of a heart, with the words “Sue and Steve” inscribed inside.  Below it was another heart, inscribed with “Sue and Bob.”  A third followed.  And there were two companions on the other arm.  For all I know these were the names of her five children.  But since jumping to conclusions is my favorite form of exercise, I fished for the worst options I could think of.  Was this child a product of one of the hearts?  Was this guy on the list?  And did the list continue elsewhere?  I did not know.  But what I did know was that before me stood a person who refused to let previous relationships hem her in.  Instead of removing the first tattoo, she added on.  Her arms became her autobiography, and quite possibly it is still a work in progress.

The fact of the matter is, our lives continue to be works in progress as long as we choose to make them so.  We all made fateful decisions when we were twenty, but God gave us each a brain, and He expects us to use it.  Hopefully we’ve used our brains to adapt and grow.  Hopefully we’ve not let mistakes of the past paralyze us.  Hopefully we’ve not rested on the laurels of past success.  If we’ve used our brains well, we’ve learned from our own past, and we’ve been able to pick up our mats and walk on.

Abbot John VI of Steinfeld Abbey, Germany, ca. 1522. Now at V & A, London

Seldom do people live lives of uninterrupted happiness.  Such bliss simply does not exist on this side of life’s great divide.  And so, if we are to cope, we must make use of all the gifts God provides.  And no greater gift does God give to us than our brains.

There is a notion in some circles of society that when you enter the church to pray, you have to check your brain at the door.  But a mindless follower is the one thing that irritates God most, I contend.  God gives each of us a mind, and He expects us to keep using it, whether at nineteen or ninety.  It’s that mind that allows us to recover from poor decisions and mistakes.  It’s that mind that causes us to own up to our failings and sins, and it helps us move on to the next stage of life.  It’s that same mind that God has given us to make the most of life’s opportunities.

I’m still haunted by the  memory of the guy on the street with the Theresa tattoo.  If he were here, standing before me, I’d like to tell him that “Theresa” was not the end-of-the-line mistake he may have thought it was.  I would tell him that he is not consigned to a  life-time of dating women named Theresa.  Nor is he restricted to Maria-Theresa’s or Sheryl-Theresa’s.  If he just used his brain, he’d see the brilliant solution that could turn everything around.  If he just added “Mother” to “Theresa,” overnight he could become the most sought-after son-in-law in America.

Shrine of Saint Potentius, Steinfeld Abbey. V & A, London.

A Personal Note, and Reading

+On Sunday, February 19th, I presided at the community Eucharist at Saint John’s Abbey.  For the text of the sermon, you may connect directly to Speaking: the Key to Death and Life. or visit the section headed Presentations on the homepage of this blog.

+Lent begins in two days, and if you are looking for something to read for practical spiritual reflection, I would recommend Michael Casey’s Stranger to the City: Reflections on the Beliefs and Values of The Rule of Saint Benedict, (Paraclete Press, 2005.)  Fr. Michael is a Cistercian monk of Tarrawarra Abbey in Australia, and he has spoken on several occasions at Saint John’s.  His book provides an accessible and very interesting perspective on monastic values vis-a-vis the world.  I plan to read through this once again this Lent.

Cover of the Lorsch Gospels, Lorsch Abbey, 810. In the V & A, London

+If you are at all inclined to think that there is nothing new under the sun, you might turn the pages of Culture Wars: Secular-Catholic Conflict in Nineteenth-Century Europe, (Cambridge University Press, 2003.)  Editors Christopher Clark and Wolfram Kaiser have brought together twelve essays that detail the struggles of the Kulturkampf throughout western Europe.  I’ve generally assumed that this was primarily a conflict between Otto von Bismarck’s Prussia and the Catholic Church, but in fact there were local manifestations of it throughout Europe.  In certain locations the struggles even engulfed the established Protestant churches.  While I found the initial chapter rough going, the sections on Italy, Germany, Switzerland and Austria especially interested me.

In addition to their relevance to modern cultural conflict, the essays provide background for understanding the roots of monasticism in the United States.  Many European monasteries made foundations in the New World in the nineteenth century, which could serve as places of refuge in case the religious/political upheaval forced the monks and nuns into exile.

+Recently Loyola University Maryland acquired a set of the Heritage Edition of The Saint John’s Bible.  Last week officials dedicated the display that will house the Bible in the entrance gallery of the University library.  Visitors and students will be able to see all seven volumes, and one volume will always be open for reading.

Loyola University Maryland, library.

Canterbury Cathedral

A Canterbury Tale

The road to Canterbury has changed quite a lot since Geoffrey Chaucer’s pilgrims told their ribald stories en route.  For one, today’s generic naughtiness is far less imaginative than what fifteenth-century pilgrims dreamed up.  For another, our stories tend to be a lot shorter, which counts for everything in an era of brief attention spans.  But the real nail in the coffin is this:  the very notion that tawdry tales could be told in poetic meter is off-putting.  Today’s trash cannot  hold a literary candle to its medieval counterpart; and that’s just the way we moderns like it, thank you.

Last week I had the opportunity to revisit Canterbury, which has always occupied a big space in my mental living room.  I hadn’t been there in years, largely because the train from London used to take forever — almost as long as one of Chaucer’s tales.  But the high-speed train from Saint Pancras now rushes you there in fifty-eight minutes — which to me seems nothing less than miraculous.

The Pilgrims' Window, Canterbury Cathedral

Canterbury has changed a lot since Saint Augustine and his monks settled there in 597.  Initially it was to be a temporary home, and the Roman missionaries carried with them an organizational chart that specified two archbishops in England:  one in London and one in York.  But the London part never quite worked out, and successive archbishops found it pleasant enough to stay put in Canterbury.  And that’s good for those of us interested in literature.  Andrew Lloyd Webber would have coopted “The London Tales” for himself, and Chaucer would be chided for not setting his poetry to music.

Since 597 the cathedral precincts have seen their share of drama, largely due to the figure of Thomas Becket.  His grotesque murder inside the cathedral shocked all of Europe, which was really hard to do in an age of pervasive social violence.  The act brought Henry II to his knees, literally.  And the lesson was not lost on Henry VIII.  The destruction of the shrine was high on his to-do list.  Today a simple candle on the spot of Becket’s shrine tells the tale, without any words.

The cathedral precincts had not changed much since my last visit.  The monastic refectory, kitchen and infirmary are still dreamy ruins.  The cloisters are still elegant and delicate, though many of the pillars seem on the verge of disintegration.  The chapter house, where the monks once met, is as striking as ever, though it might be a good idea to hide the folding chairs when they’re not needed.  And finally, the church itself simply overwhelms.  No wonder medieval pilgrims, used to humble villages and simple inns, thought they had passed through the portals of heaven.  In every respect, they had.

A few historians are hopeless romantics, and I don’t blush to put myself in their number.  While I have no desire to enjoy thirteenth-century medicine or hygene, I do appreciate the language of the monastic culture.  Initially, the cathedral and monastic precincts overwhelm.  But very shortly they embrace you.  They remind you that you are part of something greater than yourself.  You are one with the community of monks who once shuffled through these halls.  They ate and prayed and worked daily in these vast spaces,  much as modern monks do.  They welcomed guests and traded stories, just as we do.  And  they rest peacefully in the ground outside the church, awaiting the coming of the Lord, just as we will someday.  In sum, they lived full lives, just as we aspire to do.  And they left something of ultimate artistic value in the great church that welcomes modern pilgrims.

In a world in which we tend to think it is all about me, those stones preach that it is all about me, God, and my neighbors — past, present and to come.  And this is nothing less than the Church, writ local and small.

One last item brought this home very unexpectedly.  Like many historic churches in the United Kingdom, there is a not-cheap entry fee at Canterbury.  As I was about to pay, I asked if there might be a discount for Benedictine monks.  The young woman reacted as if she got this question every day.  ”No”, was her firm and unflinching response.  ”Benedictine monks get in free.”  And then she smiled and said “Welcome home.”

Ambassador Robert Shafer and friends at the Order of Malta Mission at the United Nations

Saint Thomas Becket window, Canterbury Cathedral

“Whenever we want to ask some favor of a powerful man, we do it humbly and respectfully, for fear of presumption.  How much more important, then, to lay our petitions before the Lord God of all things with the utmost humility and sincere devotion.” (Rule of Saint Benedict, c. 20.)

In the Abbey cloister

It’s no secret that monks spend a lot of time in prayer.  Some would contend that it is too much.  Still others would argue that any time spent in prayer is a waste of time.  If there is a God, then what could one person possibly do to influence His decisions?  If there is no God, why in the world would you spend even one minute in prayer?  Oddly enough, the answer to the first question is much more difficult than the answer to the second.  After all, if there is no God, then what business is it to anyone if  you choose to spend your whole day on prayer.  What else is there to do?

Whether we like it or not, prayer comes naturally to human beings.  From the child who pleads with a parent for some special gift, to the adult who turns in desperation to God, prayer is a reflex when we realize we don’t control our own world.  But therein is the problem.  How can a God who’s brought life to billions possibly care about one lonely soul?  And if God knows what we need, even before we ask, then why bother?

Petition is likely the most frequent form of prayer, but there are many more reasons to pray.  We praise God, though He certainly deosn’t need it.  We confess our sins, though God saw us commit them while we did them.  We pray for others, as though God has somehow overlooked them.  We pray in  thanksgiving, knowing that most of the gifts we receive are undeserved.  We pray in a myriad of ways, whether formally or straight from the heart.

But why do all this?  We do it, not because God needs to hear us, but because we need to pray for our own sake.  Prayer is not about a legal relationship between Creator and creature, but rather it is the expression of love between beings.  As in the case of the stoic husband who loved his wife so much that he almost told her, so we never realize the fullness of God’s love for us unless we speak with Him.  In prayer we build a vibrant relationship with God.  In prayer we open our souls and discover this isn’t just about asking God for special favors; it is the discovery of how much God loves us.

Do we always get what we pray for?  We certainly do, at least when we pray the Lord’s prayer.  After all, when we prayer that God’s will be done on earth as it is in heaven, that certainly includes his work in and through us.

A Personal Note

On several occasions I’ve noted Saint Benedict’s advice that the Abbot should seek the counsel of the young.  Sometimes even they have wisdom, he cautions.  Sometimes they have even more than that, as I learned last week.

I’ve not chatted much with our novices, so last week I welcomed the chance to sit across from one at lunch.  It was a very pleasant conversation, which did not surprise me.  What did stun me was his off-hand remark that I had taught his father when the latter was a student at Saint John’s.  What?!  When did I suddenly become so old?  I could scarcely process the meaning of this.  Had I been in the monastery so long that the son of one of my students had become my confrere?

This was a dose of reality therapy for which I was not prepared.  But on further reflection, the  thought comforted me.  For one, I had done at least something right over the years.  I had been part of a larger ministry that had a positive impact on father and son.  And if I was surprised at the outcome, imagine the reaction of the father.  Had he known as a freshman that someday his own son would be a monk at Saint John’s, how might he have handled that?

This episode reminded me of the particular vows that Benedictines make at profession.  While other orders promise poverty, chastity and obedience, we vow stability, a monastic manner of life, and obedience to the abbot.  Stability is anathema to our society.  For Jesuits and Franciscans, who move about regularly, it is an anchor they find abhorrent.  Stability means that we belong to one community, for life.  It means that we grow or decline in our spiritual life in the context of the same group of brothers, and we do it for a lifetime.  We have a stable yardstick against which we measure ourselves, and I at least consider that a positive.

I’ve rooted my own work ethic in this commitment to stability.  Put pithily, I’ve always believed that if you don’t show up, you can’t play the game.  A bit more elegantly, if you regularly show up for work — and life — and if you give it  your best effort, day in and day out, then sooner or later a few good things are bound to happen.  Dogged determination is a logical complement to stability.

At Saint John’s we’ve always derived quiet satisfaction from the fact that four and five generations of families have studied and lived and grown at the Abbey.  I guess that’s a form of stability too.  So we should not be surprised that the son of a student might become a novice.  Nor should I be surprised to learn this simple bit of wisdom from the youngest monk in the community.

The Charlemagne Window, Chartres Cathedral

Cathedral of Aachen

Charlemagne, being an emperor, gets all the credit, of course.  But to give credit where it’s due, he really was a remarkable man.  Over the course of his career he conquered pretty much everything he could get at, and he used Christianity as a vehicle for the cultural unification of his realm.  He brought to his court at Aachen Alcuin of York to promote the study of Latin in the empire, and he established a territorial parish system, which ensured that everyone received pastoral care.

At his capital in Aachen he built the domed cathedral which one can still see today.  From the second-floor gallery he surveyed the congregation from his throne, which is still in place.  It is said that he was a good family man, and the fact that he maintaned four of them concurrently shows his dedication to family values.

Aachen is located near Cologne, on the German-Dutch border, and it’s well worth the visit, if you’re in the neighborhood.  His palace chapel is an octagonal adaptation of Hagia Sophia in Constantinople, and in imitation of the Byzantines he carried the title Holy Roman Emperor.

The Cathedral of Aachen

View from the Abbey Retirement Center

When Monks Return from a Journey

Last week as I sat in Terminal 5 at LAX, waiting for a connecting flight to Sacramento, I was startled by a phone call — from a number in Los Angeles, no less.  How in the world could anyone possibly know I was in town, and for only an hour at that?

It turned out to be from Chuck, who was with the baggage department downstairs.  He had called to ask where, by chance, I might be going.  He needed to know, because the luggage tag had fallen off my bag somewhere between Detroit and Los Angeles.  What he failed to mention was that the handle to which the tag was attached had also “fallen off” somewhere.  But that was a surprise to savor later.

I thought that might be the perfect lead-in to a reflection on Saint Benedict’s teaching on “When a monk returns from a journey.”  What better tale of woe than another piece of luggage mangled?  Well, a much better story awaited.

The Chapel, Abbey Retirement Center

Fr. James has recently returned from a journey as well, though his was considerably longer than mine.  For upwards of fifty years he had served in priestly ministry away from the Abbey, and last fall he moved home to retire.

A lot can happen in fifty years, and Fr. James was no longer the energetic man that many of the senior monks remembered.  Nor were we, I suppose.  For the few monks who live alone in pastoral assignments, the trasition back into the monastery can be daunting.  That homecoming entails the loss of independence, particularly when it means turning in the car keys.  They also discover that the monastery to which they have returned is no longer quite like the one they entered decades earlier.  Long-time friends have passed away or moved into the Retirement Center, while fresh but unfamiliar faces are there to greet them.  Even the abbot has become a youngster, by comparison.  All in all, everyone has to adjust a little bit.

With his earnest and sweet disposition, re-entry for Fr. James has been easy in many respects.  But his hearing aid has had a rough time of it, and it has screamed out at the most inopportune moments — like during the chanting of the Psalms.  We’ve been through this before, and we tend to take it in stride.  There are always many smiles around the choir when it does happen.  But I’ve always wondered why no avant-garde composer has ever taken advantage of this.  Why not write a concerto for strings and alto hearing aid, or a chamber piece for piano, hearing aid and two cell phones?  But that’s another story.

Madonna and Child, Abbey Retirement Center Chapel

Wanting to be useful, Fr. James signed up to read at table, likely for the first time in fifty years.  Last Thursday at dinner he picked up Bill Brysen’s Walk through the Woods, which we’ve toiled at for weeks.  In his deeply melodious voice he read slowly and very dramatically, almost poetically.  Unfortunately, it was clear that he did not realize that this book was supposed to be funny.  Pretty soon we were paying no heed to the book, because Fr. James had unintentionally stolen the show.  And we thoroughly enjoyed it.

Friday evening Fr. James resumed his place at the reader’s stand, and to our unbelieving ears he repeated the very same pages from the evening before.  He tripped over the very same long words, and once more he turned Brysen’s humor into a solemn narrative.  It was a real tour de force, like an actor in a play, back by popular demand.  He had us under his spell, and it was one of the most entertaining readings we’d heard in years.

After dinner one of the monks gently broke the news to Fr. James.  To his credit, Fr. James took it well, though he was astonished that he could do such a thing.  And for the rest of us, the good news was two-fold: both Fr. James and we had grown in mutual charity, and we weren’t going to have to listen to that passage a third time.

In his Rule Saint Benedict asks the monks to pray daily for confreres who are away on a journey.   One obvious aim is that the monk be safe, and a second is that the journey be a success.  Equally important, I think, is the hope that after fifty years a monk won’t return home crazy, only to find that his confreres had become impossible to live with while he was gone.

Actually, that’s not such a bad prayer for anyone — be they spouses or friends.  Happily, in the case of Fr. James and us monks, our prayers have been answered.  At least for now.  And that’s why we will pray again tomorrow.

Saint Thomas Aquinas, Private Mass chapel, Abbey Church

Monastery notes

On January 28th we celebrated the feast of Saint Thomas Aquinas.   Fr. Mark presided at the Eucharist, and his homily began with a bit of wisdom that we all accept:  people enter the monastery for one reason, but stay for another.  And the reasons for remaining evolve as we mature.  That, of course, is the secret to the success of any relationship, marriage included.  If you married someone because they were young and lovely at twenty-one, for example, it might be good to find some other qualities in your spouse for they day when they reach the ripe old age of twenty-two.

Fr. Mark then went on to point out what many don’t realize: Thomas Aquinas was not called to be a Benedictine at Monte Cassino, but his parents likely were.  They were the ones who brought him to the monastery’s school when he was five, and they expected that he would eventually become a monk, and in time the abbot.  His uncle was already the abbot, and in the days of nobility young Thomas could reasonably expect to succeed to that office.

But in the course of his education Thomas discovered that the monastery was not the place for him.  Against the wishes of his parents, he entered an upstart group called the Dominicans, and thus began a career in which Thomas developed as one of the leading intellects of Europe.

What particularly caught Thomas’ imagination was Aristotle and the Arab and Jewish scholars who studied that pagan Greek philosopher.  In the thirteenth century scholasticism had begun to draw the leading Christian minds in the West, much to the dismay of monastic circles.  For a thousand years patristic theology had held sway in both the Orthodox East and the Latin West, and no more so than in Benedictine monasteries.  It was a wisdom tradition, and it relied for its inspiration on the writers of the early Church.  The rational approach of the scholastics seemed to them to destroy the mystery of God.  But even worse, in an age that revered tradition, scholasticism was new.  Doing anything new was enough to get you into a lot of trouble.

Had Thomas remained at Monte Cassino, he likely would have enjoyed a successful career as abbot.  But the odds of becoming Europe’s leading theologian were slim.  The Dominicans had stolen the theological thunder of the monks, and Thomas blossomed in that intellectual environment.

There’s no record as to whether the monks at Monte Cassino were sorry to see Thomas go.  His parents were certainly upset; but it wasn’t their life, and it wasn’t their vocation.  Thomas flourished, however, and today we revere him as a doctor of the Church.

Abbey of Montserrat

First and Last Impressions

You may have read the story of  the street musician who played in a D.C. Metro station in 2007.  To all appearances he was just another struggling artist, eeking out an existence on tips and an occasional word of encouragement.  That day he played six Bach pieces, as 2,000 people hurried by.  No adults paused to listen, and several children who tried to stop were dragged off unceremoniously by their parents.  At the end of an hour, he packed up his violin, pocketed $32 in tips, and walked off without a hint of applause.

Years ago, when I had the privilege of hearing Joshua Bell play with the Minnesota Orchestra, he got a standing ovation, and not just because Minnesotans are nice, and not just because he was dressed to the nines.  No doubt Bell had gotten the same response in Boston, where he had performed just days before his D.C. Metro concert.  And no doubt he played just as well in Washington.  But no one would pay $100 to hear a guy in a baseball cap and flannel shirt play Bach in a crowded Metro station.  It just wasn’t what you would expect.  No wonder the adults walked on by.

That experiment in Washington points up the conditioning that we all experience as we grow up.  In this instance it was the children who ignored the clothing and the setting, and they realized instinctively that they were hearing something extraordinary.  The adults, by contrast, were swayed by the packaging.  A life-time of advertising and peer pressure had prepared them for this moment.  Like most of us, they looked at the veneer and judged by appearances; and that day Joshua Bell looked every bit the down-on-his-luck street musician.

Obvious issues arise from this experiment, and not least among them is prejudice toward people we scarcely know.  How often do we close ourselves to others, to our own detriment?  How often do we let appearances dictate to us, rather than rely on our personal experience of someone?

Our Lady of Montserrat, in the cloister at Saint John's Abbey

“First impressions” are yet one more angle to consider.  In the monastery, as in life, we tend to pigeonhole people.  On the basis of one single encounter we consign people to a predetermined future.  ”This person will be great,” and “that person will never amount to anything.”  ”This woman can do no wrong,” while “that guy is doomed to be an inept failure.”  When we do this to each other, neither person grows.  When communities do this, the negative predictions are often self-fulfilling

One of my favorite parables involves the householder who goes to the storage room and brings forth old things and new.  I’ve always thought that those old and new things are often one and the same.  How surprising it always is when someone whom we thought to be a “no-talent” shines in a new situation.  What a shock it is when a good idea comes from someone we always considered dumber than dirt.  It’s only then when we realize how we constrain one another with straightjackets, and we make people wear them for a lifetime.  And sometimes we even put them on ourselves, and wear them proudly.

Saint Benedict encourages the abbot to seek counsel from everyone, and even from those deemed least wise (i.e.: the young.)  He never wanted any brother to be type-cast for a lifetime, because each brother has a stash of talents that someday might come in handy.

And that’s an encouraging note for us all to consider.  For those who think they can only do one thing in life, they probably need to go back to the storage locker and find out what other talents they have hidden in there.  For those who think they peaked too soon (at thirty?), they should wonder why God gave them all those extra years.  The answer is that God gives us those years to continue our voyage of discovery.  And when we find ourselves passing a world-class musician and fail to stop, then our time for growth may be up.  But then again, if we can become like little children, filled with wonder and curiosity and openness, we might just prepare ourselves to enter the kingdom of heaven.

The choir in the Parliament of Catalonia

Personal Notes

On January 20th I spoke as part of a program at the Hatcher Graduate Library of the University of Michigan, in Ann Arbor.  That evening a long-time friend of the University of Michigan presented a Heritage Edition of The Saint John’s Bible to the Library.  Coincidentally, members of the donor’s family had attended the monastery school of Tepeyec, the Abbey in Mexico City founded by monks from Saint John’s.

On January 22nd I celebrated Mass and preached at the Cathedral of the Blessed Sacrament in Sacramento, CA.  The following evening I spoke at a service in the Cathedral, marking a week of activities to promote Christian unity.

The Benedictine Volunteer Corps: The Abbey of Montserrat

The Benedictine Volunteer Corps was established several years ago to give recent alumni of Saint John’s University an opportunity to live and work in a Benedictine community somewhere in the world.  The volunteers assist in the work of those monasteries, and today the program supports volunteers in North and South America, Africa and Europe.  All complete the program with a cultural enrichment they never anticipated, and I am happy to say that four of our monks in formation are graduates of this program.

The pictures in this posting all relate to the Abbey of Montserrat, located just a few miles outside of the city of Barcelona.  This year alumnus Andrew Stevens teaches English to the students of the Abbey boyschoir, which is among the most venerable in Europe.

Montserrat was founded around 1025, and over time it developed as the spiritual center of the region of Catalonia.  It has been famous as a pilgrimage destination for centuries, and even today visitors flock to venerate the statue of Our Lady of Montserrat.

Montserrat has a long and distinguished history, and among the highlights was Abbot Garcias de Cisneros (1455-1510), an advocate of the spiritual practice called the devotio moderna.  While Ignatius Loyola visited Montserrat, he read the abbot’s book entitled “Exercises on the Spiritual Life,” and it had a profound impact on the Jesuit founder.  (You didn’t really think that he came up with the title of his own book all by himself, did you?)

During the Spanish Civil War twenty-two monks from the community were executed, a few of them while waiting on a dock in the harbor of Barcelona.  Following the war the monks of Saint John’s gave material assistance to the monks of Montserrat, and today a replica of Our Lady of Montserrat sits in the cloister at Saint John’s — a gift from our confreres in Catalonia.  Even later, the Hill Museum & Manuscript Library microfilmed the manuscript collections in the library at Montserrat.

Andrew reports that the view from his room is as breathtaking as these pictures would seem to indicate.  Also included is a picture of his students, on a visit to the chambers of the Catalan Parliament in Barcelona.

Christ seated in majesty, Abbey recreation room

A Drive through Country

I’m not sure when my love of country music first began, but it blossomed on my drive through the Nevada desert in 2003.  If you’ve never had the pleasure of that experience, you should, because the landscape there is hauntingly beautiful.  It can also be desperately lonely, and for miles on end a run up and down the radio dial can yield a grand total of one choice.  This choice invariably will be country, and this is a great blessing.  I have this nagging suspicion that as much as I might like Chopin, country music is a livelier companion on a desert highway.

I was reminded of my respect for country lyrics last Saturday, when I heard a refrain come belting over the airwaves:  “I turned out to be the only hell my momma raised.”  How could you possibly compare that to a current favorite from another genre:  “Baby, baby, baby, …baby. Baby.”  There’s no comparison at all, of course, and they’re not even in the same league.  Just put that baby song alongside this:  “I still miss you, baby, but my aim’s getting better.”

The latter was on a list of top country songs for 2007, and it was a close #8 to some other inspirational ditties:  “If the phone don’t ring, you’ll know it’s me”; and “I liked you better before I got to know you so well”; and “I’m so miserable without you, it’s like you’re still here”; and “My wife ran off with my best friend, and I sure do miss him.”  Still better is a personal favorite from another vintage:  “You were number one in my life till you number two’d on me.”  And then there’s the song about the woman whose successful husband ran off with a trophy wife.  She sued him, and “now she’s cryin’ those Cadillac tears.”  Can you imagine a pop song that took three sentences to make its point?

Human relationships aren’t the only topic of country, because there’s dogs and hunting, cars, alcoholism, trouble with the law, and unemployment.  If there’s an experience you’ve been through, there’s a song for you.  And therein is the inherent value of country music (besides the catchy beats, which I can count on to keep me awake through long stretches of the desert.)

In case you wonder what this has to do with prayer or the spiritual life, consider this.  All too often we think of religious life as all sweetness and light.  In fact, the truly religious person brings everything to God.  We’re not fooling God if we only pray about the good things and give thanks for how great we are.  God knows better, and so should we.

Saint Benedict, Abbey cloister walk

For centuries the Psalms have been the backbone of Christian prayer, and for still longer in the Jewish tradition.  But for those new to praying the Psalter, those bits of poetry can be off-putting.  Sure, there are moments of love and delight that show through, but there are also the cursing Psalms and those that reflect personal loss and anguish.  Some hesitate to recite them, as if they were unworthy of God.  But three thousand years ago they were an accurate reflection of human experience, and they remain so today.

In his Rule Saint Benedict recommends that his monks recite all 150 psalms in a week.  He’s aware of other traditions that prescribe the entire Psalter in a day, but I suspect he wanted monks to reflect on the words they recite, and let them speak to their own emotional experience.  You can take my word for it that there are sinners and saints in the monastery, just like everywhere else.  And more often than not, the sinners and saints are one and the same.

Some wags have suggested that the Psalms are a window into bronze age spirituality.  That may be, but there is no scientific evidence to suggest that our brains have grown in capacity in the last ten thousand years.  Nor have our emotional drives changed appreciably.  And so it is appropriate that we approach the altar of the Lord with our whole selves, warts and all.  We all bring to God a range of emotional experiences, and like the lyrics of country music, the Psalms speak to them all.

Path to the Guesthouse

Personal notes

We never did get the White  Christmas we had hoped for, and our brown Christmas was quite unlike what we used to know.  Throughout the Christmas season it was wonderfully warm in Minnesota – all the way through January 10th, when we reached a high of 52.  That day people played golf and ran outside in shorts and t-shirts.  Winter returned with a flourish the next day, and so did the snow.

The Crucifixion, by Jerry Bonnet, lobby of Abbey chapter house

Over Christmas two friends sent me the Christmas album of Libera, an English boyschoir whose music I find absolutely ethereal.  I first saw and heard them on the BBC program called Songs of Praise, which visits churches around the United Kingdom.  Unlike most other choirs of boys, this group will make use of orchestral accompaniment, and the result leaves  you breathless.  I recommend each and every one of their albums.  That combination of young voices and orchestra leads me to hope for other innovative partnerships.  In an age of fusion cuisine and jazz fusion, is it too much to pine for the day when the choir of Kings College Cambridge releases its sublime rendition of “I Met All My Wives in Pick-up Trucks”?

On February 24-26 I will deliver a retreat in the Abbey guesthouse entitled “A Path through Holy Week: a Meditation on Seven Days.”  For further informaton please visit the Abbey web site, go to the guesthouse, and look for Retreats.

The Lake Wobegon Trail: Highway to Excellence?

The Quest for the Ordinary

It has been many years since Garrison Keillor trekked to the studios of Minnesota Public Radio at Saint John’s.  In my first years in the monastery, Keillor was a familiar figure on our campus, and a Prairie Home Companion was a daily event.  Back then the sponsors were a bit more eccentric, but consistent through the years has been the character of Lake Wobegon, the mythic town which neighbors Saint John’s.  Then, as now, all the women were strong, all the men were good-looking, and all the children were above average.

I used to think that this must be an exceptional place, until I recently recalled its sister-city in New England, Stepford.  In Stepford all the women are lovely, all the children are obedient, and all the men are heavily bruised from pinching themselves all day.  Then the light bulb came on, and I began to wonder if average people are an endangered species in America.  If they aren’t yet, they will be soon.  The overabundance of superlative grandchildren argues that in our lifetime the average kid will go the way of the polar bear.

No business, no institution and no person wants to be thought of as merely average any more.  You need only look at the ubiquitous persuit of excellence to realize where we are headed.  Universities have Centers for Excellence in Everything, and companies have eighteen-point plans to achieve excellence in the mail room.  Excellence is the buzz-word which drives us all,  and it will continue to do so until someone points out that excellence has become the new Gentleman’s C.  Then we will all stampede in pursuit of some new fantasy of self-delusion.

The fact of the matter is, we are a people obsessed with image, and in the pursuit of persona we are subject to the same inflationary spiral that sometimes bedevils the economy.  To cite but one example, there was  a time when a young actress aspired to be a starlet.  Then “star” became de rigueur.  But one glance at the award shows reveals that it is the superstars that radiate above the galaxies of stars.  What’s next?  So far only Dame Edna has staked a claim to Megastar, but you see where this is headed.

Given all this hoopla over excellence, has the Church made a terrible mistake when it begins Ordinary Time on January 10th?  Is it not demeaning to invite an entire population of overachievers to live in ordinary time?  Just hours after Saint Valentine has banished Saint Nicholas from the stores, and when the Easter Bunny is only days away from hopping down the bunny trail, has Christianity once again failed to stir the imagination?

In his Rule for Monasteries, and in his biography by Gregory the Great, it is the ordinary which seems to grab Saint Benedict’s attention.  He doesn’t schedule any big Christmas bashes; and as for Lent, he writes that our entire lives should be a Lenten obsevance.  While he certainly is aware of the cycle of seasons and the liturgical year, it’s the daily grind that transforms us.  It’s the task of seeing Christ in one another, on the weekdays, that is life’s biggest challenge.  It is the monotony of showing up for prayer and work, day in and day out, that is far more taxing.  That’s what really tests the metal of the monk.  It’s on those days when we see any real progress in the spiritual life; while the feasts are merely the bookends in life.

So what should be our resolution for Ordinary Time?  I would contend that it is the ordinary which is most important.  It is in the ordinary that we see the hand of God stirring the pot, whether it be in our neighbor or in the routine of our lives.  To discount these moments in favor of the few super-blowout-days in the year is to miss the greatest gifts God has in store for us.

But what about the pursuit of excellence?  Well, I for one have chosen to exit from the overcrowded highway to excellence.  In 2012 I’ve set my sights on nothing short of eminence.

The Nativity, icon by Aidan Hart, Abbey church

Monastery notes

Today, January 9th, marks the last day of the Christmas season, no matter what the malls may have said last week.  By sunset the trees in the monastery will be down, and the decorations will once again be in storage.  The three magi will have made their visit to the new-born savior, and many of us will begin our atonement for the cakes and candies that modern magi have brought.

On January 2nd, the feast of Saints Basil the Great and Gregory Nazienzen, I celebrated the Abbey Mass.  While Basil in particular was an important influence on Saint Benedict, I opted to preach on the gospel of the day from John 1: 19-28.  You may read that sermon, Who are you? John the Baptist’s Response, in Presentations.

The Epiphany, Abbey church

During the Christmas holidays we began a new book in the Abbey refectory: Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods: Rediscovering America on the Appalachian Trail.  For those  unfamiliar with Bryson’s work, I’m happy to say that you have some wonderful reading ahead of  you.  I had already read this book, and before that I had gone through two others by Bryson:  The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid: A Memoir; and I’m a Stranger Here Myself: Notes on Returning to America after Twenty Years Away.  From my perspective his dry wit and spare writing style are nothing short of hilarious at times.  While Saint Benedict discourages laughter in the monastery, one evening the reader choked on his own laughter, and soon most of us yielded to uncontrolled laughter.  At that point the abbot rang the bell, and that was the end of table reading for that evening.  I recommend Bill Bryson highly, but merely for your reading pleasure and not for your spiritual edification.

Years ago someone ruined my Christmas holiday by giving me Ken Follett’s Pillars of the Earth.  I spent all of my free-time reading it, only to emerge bleary-eyed for church and for meals.  I spent this Christmas in 18th-century Russia, reading Robert Massie’s new book, Catherine the Great.  I had enjoyed two of his previous books: Peter the Great, and Nicholas & Alexandra, and this book is equally fascinating.  When a German-born empress (Elizabeth) names her German-born nephew (Peter) her heir, and then marries him to a German-born wife (Catherine), you logically assume that you would not be in Russia.  Wrong.  Though Catherine did close several hundred monasteries, that’s as close as this book comes to the topic of monastic spirituality.  But if  you want to be glad you’re alive today, read this terrific book.

Our Lady of Tenderness, icon by Fr. Nathanael Hauser, OSB

Resolutions for a New Year

The new year got off to an auspicious start for me.  My short list of resolutions had included promptness at prayer, and there I was, walking into the Abbey church at 7 am, just as the bell tolled.  But the world was not ready for this, and neither were my confreres.  The church was dark and the choir stalls were empty, because morning prayer was scheduled to begin at 8:30 am.  I know that now because at 7:02 I read it on the bulletin board.  I realized only then that I should have added “awareness of the schedule” to my list of resolutions.

New Year’s is the one time when we permit ourselves to act  utterly ridiculous for a little bit, and it’s also the time when we indulge in those resolutions that we forget about in a day or two.  This is all rather sad, because some of those resolutions can be really useful.  If, for example, I had added “remember all my passwords” to my list a year ago, I would not have had such a bad day last Thursday.  That was the day my cell phone emailed me with the cheery reminder that my data plan was set to expire.  But all would be well if I just keyed in my password and filled in the required information.  How simple is that?

As generally crafted, New Year’s resolutions are a bit of a Trojan horse.  In theory, good things should always happen, if we follow through on them.  But since we generally ignore them, the one really consistent reward we get is guilt.   And so it might be wiser to make resolutions that take into account the likelihood of failure.  Why not capitalize on that tendency and create a win-win scenario?  How about a resolve that reads: “Gain a few pounds”?  If you do gain weight over the next twelve months, at least you can take satisfaction from your successful follow-through.  And if you fail miserably and even lose weight, well, at least you tried.  In that spirit lots of good resolutions come to mind, like “Procrastinate more” or “Be a little less reliable.”

Of course one drawback is that such resolutions don’t fit into a corporate mentality that insists we adopt goals that are measurable.  So perhaps we can go a step in that direction with a commitment to eat fast food at least six times a week.  Or not eat brussels sprouts  — not one, ever.  The latter would set me up for sure-fire failure, since they are my favorite vegetable.

But while we’re at it, might it be even better to formulate these in the language of corporate goals?  How about if I were to adopt sloth as a core value this year?  What harm would that do, especially if you fell far short of success?  Or what about poor hygene as a core value?  Have you ever wondered why corporations and institutions deliberately exclude cleanliness from their core values?  Is it because of its long association with Godliness?  Do they fear offending the agnostics in their ranks?  This year why not adopt personal sloppiness as a core value, just to please the company.  And if you fail, well you can just resign yourself to a life of cleanliness and be a religious martyr at the same time.

New Year’s resolutions are an alien concept to Saint Benedict, I suppose, because his new year began with the First Sunday of Advent.  The liturgical calendar was far more important, but even then the time for introspection was Lent.  Life was to be a Lenten observance, and the central goal was an intense self-awareness.  In the 14th century Thomas a Kempis in his Imitation of Christ proposed a daily examination of conscience, again for the purpose of sharpening one’s sense of progress in the spiritual life.  His was among the first of the self-help manuals in western culture, and like Benedict the goal was not to load people down with guilt because of failure.  Rather, they both sought a vitality that led to greater union with God and love of neighbor.

It’s rather odd that people today will haul all kinds of self-help tomes home from the bookstore but hesitate to engage in regular self-inventory.  Maybe that’s why we are so reluctant to follow through on the resolutions we make.  And it’s ironic, becuase when it comes to an investment portfolio people will glue themselves to the daily financial reports.  And corporations will keep daily if not hourly tabs on their sales.  And so at the end of the day Target can tell you how many tubes of Crest with Extra Whitener they sold that day.  Meanwhile we are too tired or don’t care to see the point of reflecting on our own life that day.  But to paraphrase the gospels, is not your life worth more than one tube of toothpaste?

Monastery notes

On January 1st we celebrated the feast of Mary Mother of God – Theotokos in the Greek tradition.  The members of the community were delighted to see the enthronement of a new icon, painted by our confrere Fr. Nathanael Hauser.  It was carefully placed on a stand at the foot of the abbot’s throne, and even from the back of the church one’s eyes easily caught the figure of Madonna and Child, outlined in gold.  Known as Our Lady of Tenderness, the icon adds a fine touch of solemnity to our path through the Christmas season.

Fr. Jonathan (with saw), Br. Benedict, and fallen maple

Last summer’s storms sent one large sugar maple crashing to the ground near the monastery.  That was a not so subtle hint that we should never take the health of our trees for granted, because they can do great damage when ignored.  In the ensuing weeks the arborists began a careful examination of the trees in the monastic garden.  This last week several trees got severe prunings, but one old maple was deemed too far gone to save.  It had stood with its twin, framing our view of the lake, since they were planted around 1895.  Both were majestic, but one had to go after losing a giant limb last summer.  Sadly, a number of squirrels have lost a good home and an ample source of food.  But we have plenty of other trees for them, and for at least a little while the trunk, measuring four and a half feet in diameter, will provide a great perch from which to view the lake.

In November we observed the fifth anniversary of the dedication of the Abbey guesthouse.  By any measure it has been a great success, exceeding our fondest hopes.  Since its opening over 19,000 guests have spent the night there, while others have come for quiet days of reflection, for spiritual direction, or simply to enjoy the serene beauty of the surroundings.

The Guesthouse patio, with a touch of new snow

Basilica of the Nativity, Bethlehem

Christmas at the Abbey

What do monks do at Christmas?  This likely won’t come as a surprise, but we spend a lot more time in church than we normally do.  First of all, in the space of about twenty-eight hours there are three Masses:  Christmas Eve morning; the Christmas Vigil Mass; and the Mass of Christmas Day.  There are three major times for the Liturgy of the Hours, including Vespers on the 24th, and morning prayer and Vespers on the 25th.   All that’s a good start.

Basilica of the Nativity, Bethlehem

Then there are all the hours spent in choral practice and decoration.  This year the Abbey schola and the Saint John’s Boys Choir sang several pieces that were new to them, and the long rehearsals obviously paid off.  As for decorations, it takes a lot of work to make the Abbey church look green and bright and warm on the shortest and darkest day of the  year.  But the monks involved in this did a great job.  And rounding out the roster, there were those who prepared the worship booklets, those who were ministers at the services, those who ushered, and those who made sure the church looked clean and tidy each time we entered.  All in all it’s a huge investment of time and effort, but the key ingredient — at least from my perspective — is goodwill.  Without a healthy dose of goodwill, not only is this not fun, it can descend into chaos and acrimony.  Yes, even monks can be acrimonious (read: testy) when they are overwhelmed.

Sanctuary, Abbey church

With that in mind, this was the short sermon that I delivered at the Abbey Mass on Christmas Eve morning.  The gospel passage was Luke 1: 67-79, and it relates the prophecy of Zechariah.  This is the familiar canticle which we say every day in the Liturgy of the Hours, and is known as the Benedictus.

“In his prophecy Zechariah speaks of the witness that his son John will make in anticipation of the Messiah.  He will go before the Lord to prepare His way.  He will give his people knowledge of salvation by the forgiveness of sins.

“Today, what testimony will you and I make with our lives?  To what values and beliefs will we be witness?  The next few hours will be very busy for most of us, and there’s no better moment than now to summon up the example of John the Baptist.

Christmas creche, the Abbey church

“If today we harden our hearts, then we certainly do witness to a set of core values.  If we make today a display of short tempers, a day of huffs and puffs of self-importance, a day of non-negotiable grandstanding over all sorts of trivial things, then our celebration of Christmas will be a hollow postlude.  If today you and I go before the Lord to prepare his way, if our lives offer even the faintest glimpse into the salvation which Jesus Christ brings, then John the Baptist will have accomplished a great deal in us.”

That sermon was for Christmas Eve day in the monastery.  But it’s something to remember if you are going to be part of the mall wars this week.  It won’t be pretty with all those people returning stuff that they wouldn’t be caught dead wearing or using.  It won’t be serene as people battle savagely for post-Christmas bargains.  My unsolicited advice is this: if you go to the mall this week, remember  your Christian dignity.  And witness to values that you won’t regret owning later in the week.

The last big event on our Christmas calendar takes place in the Abbey refectory.  Following noon prayer, the monks gathered in the refectory for a festive lunch, followed by coffee, cookies and other choice morsels baked by a few of the monks.  The schedule is so arranged that the monks who serve nearby as pastors and chaplains are able to join us.  Also dining with us is the small crew of kitchen staff who have stayed behind to make sure that we and a few students on campus are fed.

After lunch it’s time for a siesta or a walk.  But a few monks do manage to travel to visit with family and friends.  Those of us whose relatives live at a distance stay behind to savor the quiet.  I am in the latter category, and the stillness of Christmas afternoon is the best gift that anyone could have.

One last feature is worth noting.  We may have been dreaming of a white Christmas, but we got a brown one instead.  It continues to be quite mild in Minnesota, and what snow that had remained from an early winter storm has long since melted away.  “Warm”, I realize, is relative.  We in Minnesota revelled in our version of warmth.  It was warm enough for walks in lighter clothing, but not so warm as to melt the ice-sculpted angel that greeted people at the doors of the Great Hall.

Thank you and merry Christmas!

This is the last posting of 2011, and I am grateful for your interest in what I have to write.  A year ago I never imagined a weekly blog, and now it has become a valued part of my routine.  To those who have relayed their continued encouragement, I express my deep gratitude.  And I wish you all a very blessed and joyful Christmas season.

Stella Maris Chapel, Saint John's Abbey

There are two times a year when people flock to church in droves:  at Christmas and at Easter.  It’s an amazing phenomenon, as predictable as the swallows’ return to San Juan Capistrano.  But unlike their feathered counterparts, the Christmas and Easter swallows don’t always return to a universal welcome.  The fact of the matter is, those overcrowded pews at Christmas are the incarnation of the parable of the prodigal son.

For reliable church-goers, who tend to think of the parish church as “theirs”, this sudden influx is a mixed blessing.  Not a few of the regulars are delighted fathers — thrilled to see all these prodigals back.  And they hope against hope that this is the year when they will stay rather than wander off again.

But there are also the older brothers from the parable, those who begrudge the warm welcome given to the absentees.  For the elder brothers in our midst this is a matter of justice, and justice should not always mean a sweet smile and a pat on the back.  They are under no illusion that these swallows are here because of a change of heart.  When Christmas is come and gone, so will be these prodigals, until Easter of course.

While I enjoy throwing stones at sinners as much as the next guy, I have to confess that I find myself on both sides of this issue.  Like the other monks, I am delighted to see the Abbey church filled to overflowing at Christmas.  But at the same time I wonder what these people do during the rest of the year.  That’s when I need to recall that Jesus told the parable of the prodigal son with me in mind — and perhaps He meant it for you as well.

In that parable Jesus stresses two things we all need to practice, on a regular basis.  First, he encourages Christians to be hospitable when it comes to sharing their faith.  This can be a challenge to do gracefully, especially in a culture which tends to privatize religious observance.  But we should not fool ourselves by saying that this authentic hospitality used to be so easy, because it never really was.  And that’s because of the judgementalism to which we and the older brother are prone.  We may feel justified in dismissing the tepid observance of the Christmas swallows.  But when we’re done trashing them, we reflexively turn on those who come as often as we.  They too are unworthy, if the truth be known.  Suddenly you  see where this goes, because hypocrisy has raised its ugly head.

St. John the Baptist, from The Saint John's Bible

One of the familiar figures of Advent is John the Baptist.  He preached in the desert, and he practiced a water baptism for the repentance of sin.  What’s curious is that he did not preach in the temple precincts, and it was not because they were short on sinners there.  Rather, he preached to those estranged from the temple, and he urged them to return and  be reconciled.  He wanted his converts to become observant Jews and to resume their places in the worshipping commmunity of Israel.

In a few days the Christmas swallows will return to the Abbey church and to churches around the country.  Those of us who are regulars will be tempted to wonder why they’ve come, but our sole business is to welcome them.  The rest we leave to God.

But let’s indulge in speculation for just a moment anyway.  Perhaps they’ve returned because the embers of faith still glow, deep within their hearts.  Perhaps they’ve returned because they still search for God, just as we do.  But perhaps they also come because they know our Christmas would be incomplete without them.  Maybe we need them as much as they need us.  It just may be that when prodigal sons and elder brothers and welcoming parents share crowded pews at Christmas, then our chances of seeing Christ go up enormously.

The Abbey Church of Saint Denis, Paris

The calendar

On December 9th I made a brief foray into southern California, where I spoke at a convocation at Pepperdine University.  Its library recently acquired a set of the Heritage Edition of The Saint John’s Bible, and I lectured on several illuminations from the Bible.

On December 5th the Hill Museum & Manuscript Library at Saint John’s was awarded the National Medal for Museum and Library Science at a ceremony in Washington, DC.  HMML was one of ten institutions to receive the award, given annually for innovative approaches to public service, community outreach, and for the advancement of global cultural understanding.  Present to receive the award were Executive Director Fr. Columba Stewart and Dr. Getatchew Haile, cataloguer of the Ethiopian collections at HMML.

Many of us were saddened to learn of the passing of Cardinal John Foley on December 11.  For twenty-five years he narrated for American viewers the annual Christmas Mass from Saint Peter’s, and tens of millions knew his mellow voice.  In recent years he did great work as the Grand Master of the Order of the Holy Sepulchre.  Abbot John, Fr. Bob Koopmann and I are members of the Order, and all of us had had the chance to hear Cardinal Foley speak on several occasions.

Monastic History: Readings

The royal tombs, Saint Denis

I recently completed William C. Jordan’s “A Tale of Two Monasteries: Westminster and Saint-Denis in the Thirteenth Century,” (Princeton University Press, 2009).  The focus of Professor Jordan’s tour de force centers on two contemporary and very similar abbots:  Richard de Ware of Westminster and Mathieu de Vendome of Saint Denis, outside of Paris.  Both were gifted monks, diplomats and royal administrators, and both led their respective monasteries at crucial times in their histories.  They knew each other and likely counted each other as friends; but while Richard visited Saint Denis in the course of his travels, Mathieu seems never to have repaid the courtesy.  Beyond that, neither monk came from noble families.  Yet they both became prominent as advisors to their respective kings.

In twinning the abbeys of Saint Denis and Westminster, Jordan obviously evokes Dickens’ “A Tale of Two Cities”, but the 13th-century drama is of a different piece altogether.  Both abbeys had to defend themselves against rapacious barons who costantly infringed on their lands and rights.  Both had impressive building complexes at the edge of the two capitals.  Both were pantheons for the royal families.  But there were also a few differences.  While Saint Denis was financially more secure, Westminster always seemed to struggle with debt.  And while Westminster secured itself as the locus for royal coronations, Saint Denis never managed to pry that privilege away from the cathedral at Reims.

The royal tombs, Saint Denis

Time has better served Westminster Abbey, and hordes of tourists visit there every year.  Saint Denis, meanwhile, has had a more precarious existence.  At the time of the French Revolution Parisian mobs vandalized the royal tombs, and the government dispersed the monastic community.  To complicate matters, the suburban neighborhood in which the abbey sits is not exactly genteel today, and your average American tourist simply never goes there.  And that is a shame, because the abbey church, begun by the revered Abbot Suger in the 12th century, was the first Gothic-style church in Europe.

Readers looking for a book on monastic spirituality will be disappointed, since Jordan’s research moves in another direction.  In fact, the first half of the book is a narrative drawn from the very extensive archives of both abbeys.  While the pages may be tedious for some, they actually serve as a reminder of significant social change in medieval Europe.  Both France and England may seem lawyer-ridden and highly litigous, but it is a huge improvement over the days when most disputes were settled with knives and hatchets and swords.   The latter era provides lurid grist for Hollywood, but the age of legal disputes allowed for more tranquil daily life for everybody.

The second half of the book yields many interesting insights into the lives of Abbots Richard and Mathieu, and for the novice reader in medieval history it is much easier reading.  While Jordan pitches his book for the amateur and professional historian, the text can be daunting for those approaching the subject for the first time.  Still, for those interested in a glimpse into two great monasteries with gifted and long-lived abbots, Jordan’s story is a challenging and yet rewarding read.