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Archive for November 3rd, 2014

imageThank God for All Souls Day

I’ve always thought that All Souls Day was a much better fit for monks than All Saints. And yet again I was confirmed in this conviction when we celebrated these two feasts this weekend, and it only took a few seconds to remember why.

First off, when it comes to All Saints (November 1st) and All Souls (November 2nd), we’re not talking mere shades of difference.  Whether famous or obscure, all the saints have it made.  These men and women have fought the good fight, have finished the course, and now reap the reward for all that effort.  And they do so for all eternity.

All Souls Day, by contrast, recalls those who have crossed the threshold from this life, but they do not as  yet enjoy the full sight of God, face to face.  For all of them there’s work still to be done.  Just around the corner there’s yet another lane or byway to walk on their pilgrimage to the Lord.

imageThat not so subtle difference is not lost on us monks, and it hints at why we might be disposed to identify with the poor souls in transit.  As most any monk will confide to you in an unguarded moment, the monastery is crawling with people who could do with a little more spiritual polish.  Contrary to popular opinion, the monastery is no express lane to heaven, as monks will ungrudgingly confide.  Walking those halls are confreres who are very much works-in-progress.  We definitely belong with the poor souls.

Then there’s the issue of humility to consider.  For many monks the appearance of humility can be an easy stretch, because so many of us came to the monastery with a hearty dose of introversion.  That natural shyness renders any limelight difficult to endure, so you can imagine how excruciating would be the whole business of canonization.  Furthermore, most monks I know would be horrified by the prospect that some Vatican committee on saints would come knocking at our door, doing an inventory of our good deeds and heroic virtues. That’s just not us, and most of us have neglected to keep a running tally of our miracles.  For that reason we’re less inclined to put ourselves in the ranks of the saints.

imageThen there’s the business of the rite of canonization.  The mere thought of 100,000 people gathered at Saint Peter’s to proclaim my holiness would send me reeling for the exit.  Faced with such an ordeal, I’d commit a venial sin just to get out of there.  I and most monks simply aren’t cut out for that kind of veneration.  Plus, with all the prayers for intercession that would be sure to follow, peace and quiet would quickly become a memory.  Heaven would be anything but heaven.  Like the Hebrews who longed for the flesh-pots of Egypt, I’d pine for the days when I was a small-potatoes sinner in the cloister.

This partially explains the relative scarcity of Benedictines in the recent stampede to canonization.  But they’re not the only reasons.   As any astute observer of the liturgical year can tell you, the calendar is chock-a-block with monastic heroes from the early and high Middle Ages.  However, at a certain point the influx of saints from the monastic cloisters pretty much dried up.  It’s as if all the abbots and abbesses got together and declared “Enough already!”  “We have more saints than we can manage, so give it a rest.”

imageThat’s one explanation.  But narrowing standards for canonization in the 12th and 13th centuries provide another.  Once miracles and stand-out virtue became requirements for canonization, the ground rules that had favored monks and nuns crumbled.  With a spiritual focus on the search for God in the ordinary things of life, monks and nuns were hobbled in the competition.  Virtue in the monastery consisted in the spiritual equality of all.  So it was that the spiritual exceptionalism that Saint Benedict had banished from the monastery became a badge of honor in the new age.  How could monks and nuns possibly compete?

The same was true for miracles.  I can only imagine the uproar in the monastery if one of the monks started working miracles without the abbot’s permission.  Knowing many abbots as I do, I can’t think of a single one who’d give such a permission.  But if they did, they’d never hear the end of it from the rest of the monks.  At the very least he’d have to insist that the miracle-working monk should do it privately, when no one might be looking.  If not, soon everybody would want permission to work miracles, and where would we be then?  No, the monastic regimen demands that either everybody works miracles or nobody does them.  It’s the only way to preserve peace, and that’s the way it has to be.

imageThat, in sum, explains why monks and nuns in the Benedictine tradition are inclined to stick with the poor souls.  Like the poor souls, we are seekers of God, but we do so imperfectly and rather quietly.  Like the poor souls we are works-in-progress, and we still have quite a ways to go before our pilgrimage is complete.  And like the poor souls, we’ll accomplish all this with some measure of anonymity, or at least with a smidgen of humility.

That’s what happens when you go looking for God in the small things in daily life.  When you take this route there’ll be no big miracles to impress the neighbors;  but on the other  hand, every now and again there will be the tiny little miracles that pull back the curtain that  hides the face of God.

This may not be a very dramatic pilgrimage, and it very likely won’t end up in the middle of Saint Peter’s Square, with acclamation by a crowd of 100,000.  But together with a host of other poor souls we’ll in time enjoy the fulness of God.  Along the way the company will very likely be a delight, however.  And together, at journey’s end, the face of God will warmly welcome us latecomers to the heavenly banquet.

imageNotes

+On October 31st some 185 guests from neighboring parishes joined us at Saint John’s for the vigil of All Saints Day.  Among the number was Bishop Donald Kettler of Saint Cloud.  All were served up with tours of the relic chapel, as well as the thirty-four private Mass chapels in the crypt of the abbey church.  Following the vigil service monks and guests gathered for coffee and cookies in the chapter house.  It was wonderfully crowded in there.

+On November 2nd, the feast of All Souls, we processed to the abbey cemetery for a short prayer service.

+Different cultures and traditions remember the dead in different ways, sometimes to the edification and even delight of those who come later.  In graduate school I and a few of my classmates took regular walks through the Grove Street Cemetery in New Haven, where we marveled at the tombs of the famous and the less than famous.  Among my favorite monuments was one of a well-known Congregational minister.  On it were emblazoned the words “Lord, how I love thy law.”  Since the whole business of the Reformation hinged on observance of the law, we appreciated the delicious irony here.

imageSince then I’ve always made a point to visit such places when I can, and among the most interesting has been the city cemetery in Lviv, Ukraine.  A couple of years ago I used a few photos from that scenic spot in one of my posts, and I’ve recently constructed a gallery of photos that gives the flavor of a park beloved by the local citizens.

+In the Middle Ages monasteries often served as burial sites, and sometimes the permanent residents of the church included the rich and the famous.  The Abbey of Saint Denis, located in the suburbs of Paris, is justly celebrated as the first gothic church in Europe, and its stained glass was and remains stunning.  But visitors come today to gaze on the tombs of the kings and queens of France, who reside in stately splendor.  The photos in today’s post portray the royal pantheon.

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