It’s been two weeks since I came home from the monastery and I have yet to write about my experience. It was such a multilayered experience it’s hard to know where to begin.
First let me begin with a little bit about the monastery and the monks…Benedictine monks live by The Rule of St. Benedict, written in the sixth century. The rule book is small enough to slip into your back pocket, and following it demands your life. The monks are, in short, lovely men. They are gentle, kind, and surprising. For example, one monk made every effort to use gender inclusive language during prayers. Who knew a Roman Catholic monk would care about gender inclusive language?
Another monk had us laughing uproariously when he told us about his first day at the monastery. He’d been assigned to landscaping duty and the older monk on that task had tricked him into sitting in a pile of manure. Someone in our group said “it was compost,” to which he mouthed in reply, “no, it was shit.” His ability to laugh about it seemed to fit his vocation. Rooting oneself in prayer, solitude and silence for hours lengthening to days stretching into years, certainly negative thoughts and recollections arise. Living with the same small group of people every minute of one’s life, doubtless irritations develop. Being willing to sit in whatever shit you find yourself in and accept it for what it is would seem to be a job requirement for a monk.
Every day at the monastery has a rhythm which actually seemed busier than I’d expected. They perform five services per day: Vigils, Lauds, Eucharist, Vespers, and Compline. They maintain silence from after Compline until after Lauds, which is approximately twelve hours per day. And they speak very little in between. In between the prayers, study sessions and manual labor (such as bringing us our meals) keep them on their toes. I actually felt one of my primary reasons for not being able to commit to monastic life would have to be the demanding schedule; nothing is your own, not even your time. It would be a struggle to surrender personal property, but given that time is all I really count as my own anyway, it would be impossible to give that up. I admire their dedication, and I can see the dividends they have reaped in return. They are genuinely lovely, and loving, people.
Now as for my personal experience, it was intense. A few of my key issues had been stirred up immediately prior to starting the retreat, and then I was left to sit with them in silence for the next five days. We read Bernard of Clairvaux’s sermons on Song of Songs, which brought up other issues. In one of the first sermons we read Bernard said to be like a reservoir for God’s love rather than a canal. In other words, he advised letting God’s love fill you and nourish you, rather than just sending it on through and remaining untouched by in yourself. I’ve done a lot of inner work on my “stuff,” and when I read that passage I had the sense that although I have done the major portions of work, it was time to let God’s love fill the spaces in between, the spaces human hands can’t touch.
And that will be the topic of my next blog…
