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Vengeance is no Way to Live

It’s a classic story.  The obnoxious brother irritates his siblings for years.  Finally their chance comes, but at the last minute they back off from killing him and instead sell him into slavery.  Years later, desperate for food, they meet their brother, who has risen to power in a foreign land and graciously saves them.  With the entire family now dependent on him, he waits for his father to die, and then in revenge he tortures and executes his wicked brothers.

That’s the story of Joseph — except for that last bit about biding his time to take revenge on his brothers.  Had he done that no one would have begrudged him.  After all, what they did to him was terrible.

F97A70F8-2935-44A7-8276-95AE907949F3For the last few days in the liturgy we’ve read the story of Joseph and his brothers, and it’s one that’s larger than life.  No wonder it’s provided fodder for movies and a musical, but tucked within the drama is a story of character.  Joseph grew up a narcissist and found redemption through his own suffering.  It was an extraordinary turn of events, and the Joseph that his brothers met in Egypt was scarcely the same person whom they had sold into slavery.

The desire for revenge is unique neither to Joseph’s nor to our own times.  It’s tinged with a sense of justice, which can make it particularly attractive.  It can even provide a moment of satisfaction.  But it’s no way to live a life.  Vengeance may be the Lord’s, but when we dabble in it ourselves it has a way of eating away at us from within.

Joseph grew to forgive his brothers because he had grown into nobility of character.  This same character is what Jesus urges on us when he encourages us to forgive others as we would have them forgive us.  In that prayer is the recognition that we may at times be the injured party, but seldom are we entirely faultless.

18E5FBE4-9E54-45F7-AD17-9B68BF5FBDB3So it is that the Lord invites us to join with Joseph to rise above our hurts and grievances and become people who are blessings to all whom we encounter.  At the very least it is a better way to live, and the return on the investment can be truly extraordinary.

NOTES

+This was a busy week for me and many of my confreres.  On July 11th we celebrated the feast of Saint Benedict.  At that Mass our confrere Novice Jeremy professed his first vows, and I and five of my confreres renewed our vows on the anniversary of our profession.  It was a grand day, and I was happy to host as guests my two sisters, who had flown in from Oklahoma City, as well as several friends who attended the celebration.  After it was all over I could have slept for two days solid, but could only indulge myself for a day and a half.

+On July 14th the National Catholic Youth Choir completed its two-week residence at Saint John’s with a concert that preceded the abbey Mass.  Our confrere Fr. Anthony Ruff founded the choir twenty years ago, and the choristers always add a nice touch to our liturgies in the middle of the summer.

+The photo at top shows the chapter house in the foreground with the abbey church behind it.  Below that is the lower wing of the guesthouse, located to the east of the chapter house.  Next is a statue of Saint Benedict that is in the east cloister walk.  At bottom is a walk at the south end of the monastic garden.

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God Slips in through the Trap Door

In the back of a church which I once attended there was a ladder that reached from the choir loft to a trap door in the ceiling.  It wasn’t quite a real ladder, because the rungs were embedded in the wall, and it was pretty utilitarian.  One day somebody got the bright idea of turning it into Jacob’s ladder, and an artist embellished the rungs with ivy and angels ascending and descending.

For me that made visual and vivid the words of Genesis 28.  The mural reminded me first of all that that Jacob’s dream depends on the stereotype of God as someone “up there” somewhere, roaming around in the attic.  But at the same time the ladder stitches together heaven and earth.  God may be in the heavens, but it is the angels who signal that the earth is good and that it belongs to God.

If Genesis 28 describes a vertical relationship with God, it also reminds us of a horizontal relationship, and it does so through angels who are sent to touch our lives.  It’s the horizontal that Jesus stressed again and again, and it’s the concept around which Saint Benedict structures monastic life.  Theologically God may be “totally other,” but both Genesis and Jesus remind us that the Lord walks beside us and nudges us and even carries us if need be.

1519E5C1-2DE2-4573-82F0-B65CF4864014Finally, it is true that once in a great while the Lord does walk right up and stares us in the face; but all the the same the Lord prefers to sidle up to us rather quietly.  It’s on those occasions when the Lord slips through the trap door of our minds to remind us that we belong to him.  That’s when he claims us for his own.

NOTES

+The highlight of this week in the monastery was our celebration of the 4th of July, with a picnic in the monastic garden.  Heavy rain earlier in the day gave way to a glorious afternoon.

+On July 6th we celebrated the Mass of Christian burial for our confrere Fr. Meinrad Dindorf.  We do funeral liturgies especially well at Saint John’s, and this one was no exception.  With all the rain we’ve had, the cemetery and our landscape in general are a verdant green.  As we gathered around Fr. Meinrad’s grave the loons sang and the squirrels scolded us, and it was a moving few minutes.

+At any given moment I juggle several books, reading each for a different purpose.  For example, I imagine myself to be one of the few people in North America not to have read J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.  A friend of mine recently loaned me the book, and it was a quick read on the plane because of Rowling’s wonderful prose.  Ron Chernow’s biography of U. S. Grant falls into a different category.  I have always enjoyed Chernow’s writing, and like his other books this one is thick and weighty and not the sort for toting through the airport and onto the plane.  All the same, I am enjoying it, and not just because U. S. Grant is quite different from Harry Potter.  After all, how could you not appreciate someone “so reticent that someone quipped ‘he could be silent in several languages.’”

EA6D9958-BEDB-4EEC-A543-B834F94DAE15+Today’s post is a sermon which I will deliver at the monastery Mass today.  The mural of Jacob’s Ladder to which I refer was in the chapel of Saint Thomas More, the Catholic chapel at Yale.  I had the opportunity to live and work there for three years while in graduate school, and from the altar I could glimpse the mural high on the back wall of the church.  Alas, the mural did not pass muster when the church underwent renovation, and so it exists only in the memories of the few people who ever looked up there to notice it.

+By its nature a chronicle narrates the past rather than speaks of the future.  However, on July 11th, the feast of Saint Benedict, I will celebrate fifty years of monastic vows.  On the day that Novice Jeremy will pronounce his first vows, I and five other jubiliarians will renew our vows.  I don’t know where the years have gone, but but there’s very little I would want to change.  It’s been a great experience, though I remain convinced that some of the best years are yet to come.

+The top photo in today’s post shows the link between the Quadrangle, where nearly half of the monks live, and the Breuer wing, where the other half lives.  For the moment the flower beds in the monastic garden are particularly nice, and the overlook of Lake Sagatagan is especially serene.

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Shaped by the Benedictine Tradition

Morning and evening prayer at Saint John’s Abbey may be as regular as clockwork, but summer provides almost daily surprises.  Those surprises generally have to do with guests who, as Saint Benedict pointed out, are never wanting in a monastery.  More precisely, the surprises have to do with the number of guests who join us in choir, and their number can vary dramatically from morning to evening and day to day.

It’s safe to say that while the roster of monks in most monasteries may be shorter than fifty years ago, the number of guests who show up at monasteries to join monks for prayer is up dramatically.  Part of that has to do with Latin, which in former times may have discouraged many lay people from attending.  Whether its absence matters today is debatable.  But of greater significance is the growing number of people who recite the liturgy of the hours on their own.  Not surprisingly that draws them to join us at prayer when they are at Saint John’s.

67A0E5EE-3905-428E-B895-BE9626FA724AAs a result, we monks at Saint John’s have learned to expect the unexpected when we enter the choir for prayer during the summer.  On some days there may be only a sprinkling of visitors.  But then there are days when there are more of them than there are of us.  Of course that can impact the quality of our recitation, but I personally contend that it’s a wonderful problem to have.

It’s also important to note the summer-time presence of a particular group of young men at prayer.  Unlike the other guests, they sit with us in the stalls reserved for the monks.  Dressed in distinctive black polo shirts with “Saint John’s Abbey” stitched on them in white thread, they are the incoming and outgoing members of the Benedictine Volunteer Corp (BVC).  For the new members their presence is a chance to experience a bit of Benedictine life before heading off to monasteries around the world for a year of service.  For veteran members it’s a chance to share their experiences of the last year, and we are always eager listeners.

Normally the Volunteers are recent graduates of Saint John’s University.  A few months before graduation they apply, and in practice the program has been able to accept roughly half of those who wish to go.  This year 26 will go off to serve, suggesting that there was an applicant pool of 50+.

Those numbers may not seem like much, but with a graduating class of 400+ at Saint John’s University, it’s a big deal.  It means that 12% of our graduating seniors apply to live and work for a year in a monastery somewhere around the world, and 6% actually follow through and do it.  In a society that assumes that young people are not the least bit curious about religious life, these are pretty astounding percentages.  What college sends 6% of its recent alumni to do a post-graduate year in a monastery?

8257666A-5657-4307-AC5E-18D09BCEF2AFOur Benedictine Volunteers serve literally around the world, and it’s fascinating to hear about their experiences.  Over the years I’ve had the chance to visit Volunteers on site at Saint Benedict’s Prep in Newark, NJ, where life is very different from what they knew at Saint John’s.  Volunteers at Montserrat outside of Barcelona have taught English to the Catalan-speaking students in the choir school.  Topping the list for sheer courage was one Volunteer at Saint Anselmo in Rome.  His duties included driving the abbot primate to the airport and to appointments around the city.  Rome may be the eternal city, but the eternally insane traffic helps it to maintain the title.  And I and my confreres have listened eagerly to stories from returning Volunteers who have been in Tanzania and Chile and India.  Theirs are experiences beyond anything that they will likely have in their professional careers, and they are transformative, to say the least.

At Saint John’s we’ve been fortunate to maintain contacts with monks in communities around the world.   All the same, the Benedictine Volunteers from Saint John’s have added a new and lively dimension to this network.  If most of us never quite imagined this twenty-five years ago when Brother Paul Richards began the BVC, it’s happened nonetheless.

When Sant Benedict cautioned that “visitors we will always have with us,” he never foresaw anything quite like the BVC.  And as the program has developed, however, it’s brought into being a group of young men who certainly are not monks, but who are more than our average guests.  They are young men who for one year immerse themselves completely in the Benedictine tradition.  I have to believe that somehow it shapes the course of their lives from that year onward.  And while the Volunteers realize the value they bring to the places where they serve, they probably have little clue of the delight that they bring to us monks at Saint John’s.

89EFD1DD-9AF6-4267-914B-71EA5CFC053BNOTES

+On June 27th I hosted two visitors at Saint John’s from the East Coast.  Both are members of the Order of Malta and devote their energies to prison ministry.  We talked about that, and lots more.

+Last week was very quiet for me, and I did not go near the airport.  In fact, the furthest I went from home was a visit to an alumnus and his wife in Lakeville, MN, a town which I had never visited before.  As always in summer, the trip back on I-94 was interesting.  Two minor car crashes managed to create miles-long back-ups in both directions.  Among the artifacts on view was a boat that had gotten away from somebody and which rested on the shoulder of the road.  But the prize from me went to the couch that sat serenely and stately in the median of the highway.  It was as if someone had set it up for the benefit of people caught in traffic jams with nothing else to do.

+On Friday June 28th our community celebrated the Mass of Christian Burial for our confrere, Fr. Jerome Coller.  Abbot John’s homily was particularly witty, noting that when Fr. Jerome returned from graduate school at Cornell he was eager to apply his compositional talents to our singing at Saint John’s.  His first major effort was a hymn which we sang at the blessing of the first Abbot John in 1971.  “That was when we learned that the community was not yet ready for an atonal Te Deum,” he noted.  That brought chuckles, as did several other comments.  But Jerome went on to compose many songs that we regularly sing today.

EE808153-B55B-443F-BDDD-31EDF6638497+On the evening of June 28th our confrere Fr. Meinrad Dindorff quietly passed away after a short illness.  Meinrad was involved in many activities at Saint John’s, but I remember him best from my days in seminary when he taught theology.

+On 29-30 June we hosted visitors for Family Weekend for the monks at Saint John’s.

+On 30 June I presided at vespers in the Abbey Church.

+It should not surprise anyone that the hours of standing in choir could tire medieval monks, and so they came up with a novel solution.  When the seat in a choir stall was folded up it revealed a small shelf underneath, and monks could perch on this while still appearing to stand.  This was called a misericord, or mercy seat, for obvious reasons.  Artists learned to take advantage of this new opportunity by carving all sorts of things underneath the choir stall, as these images from the cathedral in Toledo, Spain, illustrate.  Even today our individual stalls at Saint John’s have misercords; and while they are not decorated they provide the same service to monks who weary during long services.

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Corpus Christi:  The Meal that Transforms

Several years ago I saw a movie that has since become one of my all-time favorites.  Babette’s Feast is the story of a young woman who had fled the political turmoil in her native France.  She found refuge in a Danish village, and there she lived among townspeople who were generous in giving her shelter and work.  On the one hand, however, they were stoic and humorless, and outwardly they were oil portraits of upright people.  But there was another side to them as well.  They were the sort of people who never forgot a personal slight and would happily spend half a life-time nursing a grudge.

Babette’s escape from this dreary existence finally came in the form of a lottery ticket;  but to everyone’s surprise she didn’t leave after all.  Instead, in gratitude I suppose, she used the winnings to prepare for her neighbors the finest feast of their lives.

31C9C0F2-5576-4029-922E-D27A0B8B5383So she sent away for all sorts of expensive ingredients, and along with them came fine French wines and champagne.  And with each delivery the suspicions of her neighbors grew darker and deeper.  They became the embodiment of the definition of Puritanism that H. L. Mencken once provided:  Puritanism is “the haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be happy.”

Not surprisingly, the villagers fit the definition.  And so as the day of the dinner approached they agreed among themselves not to enjoy a single morsel of food or sip of wine.  They were determined to resist any temptation to slip into joy.

None of this worked of course, and their iron resolve melted away as they began to taste the first bite of food.  They soon began to savor the flavor, and the wine began to bring color to their cheeks.  Even more shocking, they began to warm to each other.  They owned up to sins they had committed against each other and asked forgiveness.  They also forgave long-cherished hurts.  And by the time the dinner was over they had become new people.  The meal had transformed them because the meal was Eucharistic.

I’ve recalled this movie to some of my confreres on several occasions, and I do so again today for two reasons.  The first is personal.  Twenty-five years ago, at graduation in this church, Saint John’s conferred an honorary doctorate on Christopher de Hamel, who is a noted manuscript scholar at Cambridge University.  In the intervening years I became good friends with Christopher and his Danish wife Mette, whose family owned the property on which many scenes from Babette’s Feast were filmed.  Sadly, Mette died a few days ago.  Mette never fit that Danish stereotype, because in fact she was the most joyful Dane I’ve ever met.  So I hope that along with me you will remember Mette in this Eucharist today.

BD31C927-EB5D-40B2-A407-C19E5BC7427BThat’s the first reason for recalling Babette’s Feast.  The second reason is liturgical.  Today we celebrate Corpus Christi, the feast of the body and blood of Christ.  In that context it’s worth recalling what the movie has to say about the power of any meal, and about this meal in particular.  A meal can transform the lives of the people who eat it, and no meal has greater power to do that than the Eucharist.

I don’t know about you, but for me there are days when participation in the Eucharist can seem routine and empty.  It can seem lifeless and even boring.  When that happens there is no sense of the sacred.  And when that happens it’s a bit of a tragedy, I think.  At the very least we have to wonder what else in our lives has lost its meaning.  Have we lost any sense of ourselves as sacred people created in God’s image?  Have we lost our sense of wonder and awe about ourselves and God’s creation?

So it is that today we celebrate the feast of Corpus Christ as a once-a-year reminder to take for granted neither the Eucharist nor anything else about life.  When Jesus gave himself for us he meant that gift to be life-giving and life-changing.  He meant it to be one of those moments when we pinch ourselves and realize what a privilege it is to savor life once more.  Life with all its gifts and opportunities and challenges is too short and precious to be wasted.  Every moment provides an opportunity to get the most out of the life we’ve been given.

C4C998C1-9990-4556-B992-4700A13F1F3BIn the final scene of Babette’s Feast the villagers step out into the crisp night air.  Physically they leave the meal every bit the same people they had been when they stepped into Babette’s dining room.  But spiritually and emotionally the meal had transformed them.  Fresh from the experience, one of the diners glanced up to the stars and marveled at what she saw.  “The stars seem brighter tonight,” she said.  To which another responded:  “Perhaps they always were, but we just never noticed before.”

Just as in Babette’s Feast, in this Eucharist we take the body and blood of the Lord and let the experience of that eating transform us.  In doing so the Lord invites us to open our eyes to possibilities within us that perhaps we’ve never noticed or forgotten about.  He then confirms that he walks with us until the very last step of our earthly pilgrimage.  Then he reminds us of our power — our capacity — to use or leave on the table the gifts we’ve been given.  And finally he calls us to use those gifts for the transformation of each and every moment of our lives.

You and I are most certainly biological creatures, but in taking the body and blood of Christ we confess that we are sacred creations as well.  You and I are tabernacles of the sacred.  We are temples of God’s life in a world that needs constant awakening to the sacred.

It’s a noble calling that the Lord extends to us.  But with that call comes a promise.  The Lord promises to walk with us every day.  And so we pray that God, who began this journey with us, will bring us safely home to a new and even more wonderful life with Him him his kingdom.  Amen.

DA5261E1-B359-437A-90C5-20090B7EED86NOTES

+On Sunday June 23nd I presided at the abbey Mass.  It was the feast of Corpus Christi, and today’s post is the transcription of that sermon.

+On June 16th I flew to New York to attend a meeting and visit with some friends.  The trip there was fine, but the trip home was anything but.  One highlight was a four-hour delay at LaGuardia, followed by another 45 minutes on the runway.  When we arrived in Minneapolis the pilot noted that they had added insult to injury by parking another plane at our gate.  Thankfully I will now be home for several weeks.

+On June 22st our confrere Fr. Jerome Coller passed away after a long battle with cancer.  Fr. Jerome grew up in St. Paul and received his Ph.D. in music from Cornell University.  For most of his career he taught piano and composed music for our liturgies.

+On June 21st and 22nd I participated in the reunions at Saint John’s University and the College of Saint Benedict.  Happily I got to visit with quite a few friends and spoke to the class of ‘64 at their class dinner.

+The grounds at Saint John’s are particularly beautiful these days, and topping the list of rarities is a clump of ladyslippers blooming in the abbey garden.

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Wisdom Finds Delight in Us

Every now and again a passage from Scripture can surprise us with a meaning it did not intend.  Take for instance Proverbs 8.  It offers a sublime reflection on Wisdom, which from the beginning of time has hovered over creation.  Then, all of a sudden, it inserts what seems to be a rather snide reference to some people I know:

”When there were no depths I was brought forth, when there were no fountains or springs of water;  before the waters were settled into place, before the hills, I was brought forth;  while as yet the earth and fields were not made, nor the first clods of the world.”

My cynical side wants to argue that here God was being honest with this little aside;  but my sensible side argues that it may be time for an updated English translation.  Either way, though, Wisdom’s real thoughts are best reflected in the verse that concludes this passage:  “And I found delight in the human race.”  That I find truly amazing, because sometimes I don’t see that at all.

B3597EA0-AAE4-404D-BF0B-3FFA3036A53BIn the liturgy on most Sundays of the year we recite the Nicene Creed, and in it Christians profess their belief that God saw the world and saw that it was good.  That includes not only the few masterpieces among us but also the clods and idiots and all those other deeply flawed people whom we know.  Of course by the time that we total up the complete list it pretty much includes us all.  Coming to terms with that reality is one of the ongoing challenges of life — at least for me.

Giving other people the benefit of the doubt, forgiving them, and owning up to our own faults are what make life so challenging.  They’re also what make life potentially so creative.  On any given day we all endure a tug-of-war between our better selves and the temptation to view others as Satan would have us view them.  From his perspective people are pretty much nasty, brutish, and a bunch of clods.  But of course that is not really the case.  Each of us, as a creation of God, carries some spark of divine life that drives us forward.  Certainly there are moments when we tend to come off as clods, but that’s not who we really are.

Sooner or later we all confront the temptation to write off our neighbors as hopeless causes.  But of course they are not.  Nor are we.  So whenever that inclination starts to well up within us, it’s worthwhile to recall God’s own delight in us.  If God sees in us what we can’t quite see, then perhaps it’s time we look again.

38005A36-26B0-49FE-8465-1A417DE4C3B9NOTES

+On June 10th I flew to Phoenix for a meeting and a series of visits with friends of Saint John’s.  Back in March, when I scheduled this, a trip to Phoenix sounded like a terrific idea.  Once I landed I had only one regret.  Save for Tuesday, when the temperature plunged down to a balmy 108, it reached 111 every other day.  It was not what I had hoped for, and in retrospect I should have gone sooner.

+On June 16th I received welcome news from Fr. Petrus Nowack, the librarian of the Abbey of Maria Laach in Germany.  For some time we have been in communication regarding the gifting of a set of the Heritage Edition of The Saint John’s Bible, made possible by Mrs. Hella Hueg, a friend of Saint John’s and native of Heidelberg.  Shortly before her passing she expressed the desire that her set be sent to an institution in Germany, and she welcomed the thought that it would go to Maria Laach.  We at Saint John’s have had a long relationship with the monks of Maria Laach, though we do not go back to the 11th century as they do.

+The translation of the passage from Proverbs that I’ve quoted in today’s post is from The New American Bible, which Catholics in the United States currently use in the liturgy.  It has its shortcomings, and recently the American bishops decided to abandon the current translation in favor of something more congenial.  They illustrated their decision with several passages from that translation in which the English has evolved to mean something other than what was originally intended.  Among them was one passage that recalled the Israelite conquest of a particular Canaanite town, after which “they paraded around with their booty.”  Seniors hear one thing and their grandchildren hear another when that passage is read.

+Wisdom is associated with the Holy Spirt;  and given that Sunday was the feast of the Trinity I searched for photos that might illustrate the Trinity.  At top is a piece of stained glass (ca. 1520) from the Cistercian abbey of Mariawald, near Cologne, and now housed at the V & A in London.  Below that is a glass panel of the Trinity (early 16th century), now housed at the Schuntzen Museum in Cologne.  The next photo shows The Saint John’s Bible and its case made at Saint John’s, positioned in the library of the Abbey of Maria Laach in Germany.  At bottom is a wooden Trinity, early 16th century, also housed at the Schuntzen Museum.

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The Acts of the Apostles:  We’re Part of the Story

On Saturday the last chapter from the Acts of the Apostles supplied the first reading for Mass.  In that text the author of Acts leaves St. Paul in Rome, settling in to what sounds like a comfortable house arrest while he waited for his day in court.

It’s an abrupt ending, and I’ve always found it unsatisfying.  For one thing, it leaves readers completely in the dark about some of the most dramatic scenes in Paul’s life.  I would love to read about his trial before the emperor and his execution.  But no, there’s not a word about any of that.  Nor does the writer grab at the chance to craft a happy or sad ending.  The curtain comes down on Paul almost in mid-sentence, and then that’s that.

After Mass, over lunch in the refectory, my confrere Fr. Hilary shared his own feigned disappointment with the ending.  “Now we’ll never know whether Paul went to Spain!”  True;  and had Paul gone to Spain there would have been enough material for several more chapters.

FD591DA4-60A9-4978-AFBA-1047E2393B89His comment got me to thinking.  We know of course that Paul wanted to go to Spain, but did he actually make the trip?  Someday perhaps somebody will find Paul’s name in a first-century hotel register from Barcelona, but for now we’re free to speculate.

As unsatisfying as the conclusion to Acts might be for some, its silence on Paul was intended to speak volumes.  Acts was never meant to be the definitive biography of Paul, because it meant to set the stage for something else.  The postscript to Acts is really about all those nameless people who finally did take the good news of Jesus to Spain, and then on to places like France and India and finally into our own towns centuries later.  In other words, the Acts of the Apostles as a text is in no way complete until we figure out how we fit into the story.

If Acts ends with a variation on “to be continued”, the writer wants us to realize that we are the people meant to continue the story.  Certainly the Acts of the Apostles provides useful information on the apostles, on Paul, and on those who succeeded them in leadership.  But the story is presented for the benefit of those for whom the message of Jesus was intended;  and as near as I can figure it, that includes me and you too.

DEBC65F1-D12F-4095-9CAD-DC71CFD2354FThat has profound implications for our role in the Church.  Whenever I learn more about the shortcomings of leaders in the Church, it naturally gives me pain, if not a big dose of anguish.  But then I try not to stop there.  That’s when I remind myself that “Church” is not nor has it ever been co-terminus with its ministers and leaders.  The Church includes all the baptized, and all the baptized must do the equivalent of “pick up our mats and walk.”  All of us share in the mission to take the gospel to the ends of the earth, or at least to the end of the street where we live.

At Pentecost Jesus sent the Spirit for our inspiration, our consolation, and to be our constant travel companion.  With that gift comes the call to share in the commission that the Lord gave to his first followers.  Thankfully the work didn’t stop with them, and as a result a bunch of people had the gumption to take the gospel to Spain.

Others went even further afield, and so I’m left to wonder what the Lord expects of me on the feast of Pentecost.  Should I take the Spirit home with me?  To work or to the market?  At the very least I should take the Spirit to heart.  After all, the Lord meant that gift for me, as well as for you.

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+The farthest I travelled from home this week was to Minneapolis.  I drove down with one of my colleagues on June 6th, to meet with an alumnus of Saint John’s University and to attend a reception in the evening.  For lunch we stopped at Emily’s, for which I gladly give a plug.  It is a Lebanese cafe that has been a fixture in northeast Minneapolis forever.  Across the street is Saint Boniface Church, which the monks of Saint John’s Abbey staffed for over a century.  A block away is a Ukrainian Catholic Church, and between them is Saint Maron’s Maronite-Rite Church.  Since my colleague had never been to Saint Maron’s, I suggested we go in.  Once in the sanctuary he spied the Heritage Edition of The Saint John’s Bible, which a donor had given to the parish.  On the way out we bumped into the caretaker, and I casually asked if Bishop Sharbel happened to be in.  Before I could stop him he called the bishop, and shortly he came out and we had a nice visit.  I attribute all that to the work of the Holy Spirit.

22CEC028-EB08-43E6-8464-06659B5A027A+Following the retreat that I gave in Malvern, PA, last weekend, I returned to catch the last part of our own community retreat at Saint John’s.

+I continue to get interesting comments on the geography post I produced three weeks ago.  In it I wondered how New London, MN, had gotten its name, speculating that it might be named for London UK or even New London, CT.  A friend of mine did the research and reported that New London MN is named for New London WI (who would have thought), which in turn had been named for New London, CT.  (Who would have thought.)

+Summer has finally arrived in Minnesota, and in addition to the weekend lake traffic going by on I-94 we have enjoyed the lush green landscape.  Save for the lilacs, the flowers are not yet in serious bloom, but we do have our first peonies, which is perfect timing.  They are also known as the Pentecost rose.

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From Tiny Acorns

When some people think of monks what generally pops into their minds are cowls, cloisters and books.  Eventually they think of chant, but then that’s it.  They’ve exhausted their imagination.

So it is that most people have little awareness of the importance of music in the monastery, and that goes especially for instruments like the organ.  Part of this is Saint Benedict’s fault, since he didn’t have one in his chapel.  But by the later Middle Ages most monasteries had at least some variation of that instrument at their disposal.

BCB3589D-D80A-4D53-8E8B-B830610E4ED4I’ve been fortunate to see a few early organs, and no doubt my favorite is the 15th-century instrument at the abbey of St. Savin, south of Lourdes.  It’s small and stubborn in its own way, which explains why it is among the oldest surviving organs in France.

In early modern times organs really came into their own, both in parish churches and in monastery chapels.  Some were astounding both in design and sound, and I count myself fortunate to have walked in and under one of the finest — the organ at the abbey church of Weingarten in Germany.

That brings me to the organ in the abbey church at Saint John’s.  It’s been nearly sixty years since the church was finished, and until now the organ has remained unfinished.  That explains why so very few people ever see it.  Through all those years a red cloth has screened the pipes from view, and first-time visitors often have to ask where all that sound comes from.  Soon enough they will wonder no more.

We monks finally decided to complete the incomplete organ, and later this summer designer and builder Martin Pasi will begin to install the pipes that will transform the organ into something truly extraordinary.  As a bonus, the abbey woodworking shop has been fashioning some of the largest pipes out of lumber harvested from our forest.  Not only have some of those acorns grown into mighty oaks, but a few select boards have become pipes weighing as much as 750 pounds.

52102235-048C-4854-8733-C1AF2DB3FDC9Last week some of us monks, donors and other guests gathered in the woodworking shop to watch as Abbot John blessed some of the largest pipes.   The staff also revved up a blower to pump air through two of them, and the deep tones literally shook the building.  Who knew the power of wind and wood!

In the common imagination there’s a lot about the monastic world that seems pointless and uneconomic.  Why would anyone want to search for God in relative obscurity in some cloister in the woods?  Why would anyone engage in an economically pointless exercise like prayer?  Why would anyone devote time, energy and resources to a musical instrument whose sole purpose is to transform air into sound, and all for a fleeting moment?

I’m not sure I have adequate answers for any of that, though I do have a question to counter the question.  “Why not?”  For centuries monks and nuns have devoted themselves to prayer.  They’ve worked and served guests.  And they’ve also devoted themselves to the pursuit of some very ephemeral experiences like music.  In the belief that traces of God can be found in the good, the true and the beautiful, Benedictines both ancient and modern have devoted their lives to that search.

115F89A8-F3DB-4D39-A56F-03B453A34350All things being equal then, the reasons for finishing the organ outweigh the reasons for not doing so, at least in my mind.  Not least of them is that its completion is a sign of hope.  There’s hope that in its majestic music we will catch a glimpse of God.  There’s hope that those pipes will inspire future generations of monks and visitors to thank us for the gift of music.

Finally, I should not forget to point out one practical benefit.  At long last the organ will be so large that the new pipes will flank the red screen that has always obscured the old pipes.  No longer will visitors have to ask where the pipes might be.  They’ll be obvious.  For our part we’ll be able to save some of our breath and devote it to singing the praises of God.

D204A134-8625-4A98-B94A-DDB55AD1A512NOTES

+On May 27th, Memorial Day, an honor guard from the local American Legion gave its customary salute to our deceased monks and neighbors who served in the military.  I find that service in the abbey cemetery to be a poignant ceremony, though the startled squirrels usually disagree.  I am always amazed at the number of our deceased monks who served as chaplains or soldiers in the military.

+On May 29th I gathered in the carpenter shop with fellow monks, friends and neighbors for the blessing of some of the pipes that will be installed in the organ in the abbey church beginning later this summer.  At the ceremony Fr. Bob Koopmann, who has led this project, spoke, as did Fr. Lew Grobe.  Fr. Lew and his colleagues in woodworking have had the honor of crafting some of these extraordinary pipes.

+On 30 May I flew to Philadelphia, and from that day through 4 June I am participating in the annual retreat of the Subpriory of Our Lady of Lourdes of the Order of Malta.  This particular group comprises members from the American and Federal Associations, and the retreat has taken place at Malvern Retreat House, located outside of the city.

+Three of the photos in today’s post show scenes from the blessing of new pipes for the abbey organ.  Included among them is a signature board which will be fixed to the largest of the pipes.  The bottom two photos show the organ from the Abbey of Weingarten in Germany.

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