A Monk’s Chronicle: 30 January MMXII — When Monks Return from a Journey

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.

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A Monk’s Chronicle: 9 January MMXII — The Quest for the Ordinary

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.

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