Once again this morning, I walked the half mile up to the monastery, this time by myself. My retreat brothers and sisters, perhaps saner than me, opted for warm beds. It was a cold pre-dawn darkness, but once again there was a soft light from the half-moon still risen in the southern sky. Sounds just out of recognition filled the woods on either side of the gravel road and I added the sound of my breath and my boots crunching with each step. And just as the two mornings before, the priory bell rang through the darkness to announce that day's prayer.
I arrived at the chapel with the skin on my face refreshed by the cold air of the walk. The only other people in the chapel were two women up from Massachusetts we had met the evening before. The brothers came in randomly over the next few minutes. This morning the Sunday service of morning prayer began with Brother Alvaro lighting a taper in the rear of the chapel and bringing the light forward to several candles -- it was reminiscent of the Easter Vigil light ritual. This morning, we sang to Christ, light of our hearts and sign of God's love. The psalms flowed back and forth in easy chant.
The Gospel for this Sunday was the familiar, awful parable of the sheep and the goats (Matthew 25). "When did we see you hungry, naked......." the people ask and Jesus gives that most touching of responses: "Whatsoever you do to the least (the weakest and most "unimportant") of my brothers and sisters, you do to me." In a world of 99% and 1% class and economic divides, here's a reminder that God is not about effete abstraction, but about standing for the poorest and most undefended among us. And that makes us family with each human being.
These brothers of Saint Benedict are an intentional community of commitment and choice, an alternative kind of family. If "friends are the family we choose," this particular family has chosen to live a life up in these woods that is steady, modest and full of meaning. They are "perfectly imperfect" men whose witness to the gospel call is genuine and compelling enough to bring visitors and fellow pilgrims like us to share, very briefly, in their lives of faith and worship. They remind us all of what's important in a way that's not fussy or so strange that we can't see ourselves in them. I return to my own family blessed and strengthened by theirs. And I'm grateful.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Vermont II - Out On A Cold Morning
Once again this second morning in Vermont I walked out before dawn. Another man on the retreat joined me, and the two of us walked through the cold and dark. The light of the stars and a half moon created a wonderful soft light as we walked up the country road, woods on either side, with the gravel crunching under our feet. Once again, the sound of a bell flowed through the darkness, sounding the call to morning prayer.
The monks at whose priory we stay when on retreat sound that bell several times each day, all the year round. Whether or not outsiders come, and they usually do, these brothers of Benedict gather to sing and pray the ancient psalms and listen to the Word. Why? What might they be teaching us?
We met yesterday with two of the brothers. Our group's custom has been to determine a serious question we have about life and living, and then ask for any wisdom or insight the brothers might have. This year's question went something like this: how can I come to accept my dark side and so be more able to connect with others who may be hurting? How can my failings and imperfections actually draw me closer to others? It's a great question, and the two older brothers who gave us an hour of their time certainly rose to it. One brother (I swear he has "merry" eyes!) has always struck me as having something to say worth hearing, and he didn't disappoint this time, either.
The brother said that whenever he experienced conflict and division with his fellows, he liked to remember to go back to beginnings...... by that he meant the "why" of the relationship. He observed that each of us first experiences connection by feeling the heartbeat of our mother right in the womb -- not a word, but an experience of connection, physically felt. When he is in conflict with a brother monk, he told us he remembers the original commitment they made to each other -- to be brothers in the service of their spiritual calling. That's a beginning remembered, and helps sort things out. Not a bad standard.
What are the beginnings in my relationships? What do I need to remember? Most importantly I remember the choice of my wife (and hers of me); the choice to be a parent; my choice of profession as counselor, teacher and writer; and my choice of a spiritual path. All these beginnings remind me of what's important. If I've given my word to do or be something, that's a beginning that needs to be affirmed when life frays and sometimes tears like worn fabric.
What those Benedictine brothers stand for as they return to that chapel several times a day seems clear: connection, community and purposive commitment all matter and are worth celebrating. So it's also worth a cold morning's walk to witness and briefly join them in their way of choosing life and mending what's frayed.
The monks at whose priory we stay when on retreat sound that bell several times each day, all the year round. Whether or not outsiders come, and they usually do, these brothers of Benedict gather to sing and pray the ancient psalms and listen to the Word. Why? What might they be teaching us?
We met yesterday with two of the brothers. Our group's custom has been to determine a serious question we have about life and living, and then ask for any wisdom or insight the brothers might have. This year's question went something like this: how can I come to accept my dark side and so be more able to connect with others who may be hurting? How can my failings and imperfections actually draw me closer to others? It's a great question, and the two older brothers who gave us an hour of their time certainly rose to it. One brother (I swear he has "merry" eyes!) has always struck me as having something to say worth hearing, and he didn't disappoint this time, either.
The brother said that whenever he experienced conflict and division with his fellows, he liked to remember to go back to beginnings...... by that he meant the "why" of the relationship. He observed that each of us first experiences connection by feeling the heartbeat of our mother right in the womb -- not a word, but an experience of connection, physically felt. When he is in conflict with a brother monk, he told us he remembers the original commitment they made to each other -- to be brothers in the service of their spiritual calling. That's a beginning remembered, and helps sort things out. Not a bad standard.
What are the beginnings in my relationships? What do I need to remember? Most importantly I remember the choice of my wife (and hers of me); the choice to be a parent; my choice of profession as counselor, teacher and writer; and my choice of a spiritual path. All these beginnings remind me of what's important. If I've given my word to do or be something, that's a beginning that needs to be affirmed when life frays and sometimes tears like worn fabric.
What those Benedictine brothers stand for as they return to that chapel several times a day seems clear: connection, community and purposive commitment all matter and are worth celebrating. So it's also worth a cold morning's walk to witness and briefly join them in their way of choosing life and mending what's frayed.
Vermont I - The Chapel and the Sweat Lodge
As I write this, I'm on my third annual "conscious contact" retreat of folks in recovery at the beautiful eastern Vermont location of the Weston Priory. We're in the Green Mountains and out beyond my window at the desk where I write this is a small mountain (a 'monticello!"), getting clearer to my sight and more defined as the morning light rises. The clouds, just a few minutes ago mauve in the dawn light, are now an array of grays and beiges and whites. They scud across the little mountain top, pushed from the north as they journey to unknown parts south.
It was just over a year ago that I began this blog at this same desk, looking at this same mountain and the surrounding woods. It's been a momentous year in part because I nearly lost my life to a virulent staph infection. But it's also been a year of blessings, especially in the people who rallied around my wife and me, Just as I wrote that sentence, I looked up and saw an immense cloud, bathed in sharp, pink light, move across the mountain top. It was followed by outlier clouds, russet and violet against a deepening blue sky. The trees at this time of morning take on tones of white and gray and green, and the whole scene changes from moment to moment. It's dynamic, powerful and peaceful all at once. The fullness of it all is surely a metaphor.
The morning began before dawn, just a couple of hours ago. A few of us walked up the road towards the priory, a collection of buildings that recall a Vermont farm, but with a difference. Halfway up the wooded country road, bells rang out through the darkness, calling the monks and any willing lay folk like ourselves to the ancient morning prayer of the Church. In a few minutes, we arrived and entered the chapel which was mostly in darkness. The chapel looks and feels a bit like a Zendo, but with the flickering light of a eucharistic chapel off to the right. The prayer begins with a rainstick, drums and the light of a few candles, then proceeds to sung psalms, readings and prayer. "Let the heedless get the trouble they need!" went one sharp petition.
The darkness dispelled by low light, an ancient language (Greek in the Kyrie) and the drum recall another sacred space I am privileged to attend regularly, a sweat ceremony on the land of the Shinnecock nation not far from where we live. In that ceremony, two medicine people, Shinnecock and Kiowah, respectively, lead the people in prayer, chant and ritual actions, much of which is in the ancient language of the Lakota nation. At the priory we sang the ancient words, "In the shadow of your wings, my heart rejoices." In the sweat lodge there comes a moment where people experience the sensation of eagle wings circling inside the lodge -- a contact the Creator grants as a gift to the men and women struggling in the intense heat to pray more open-heartedly. As the heat rises from the "Grandfathers," the stones glowing red from the fire in which they lay for a few hours, the people in the circle of the lodge cry out, "Pity, me - pity me!" hoping for help in enduring the heat for the sake of their prayers. No such endurance is called for by the chapel-goers, except perhaps the struggle to stay awake at this hour of the morning.
A little over an hour later, writing at this desk, the sun has come up a ways, with the ridges and valleys becoming clearer and more defined in the beautiful cold sunshine. I think of the two spaces, chapel and sweat lodge, and how they connect and complement each other in my life. I feel blessed to share in the experience of each one. "Kyrie elieson (Lord, have mercy!)" and "Mitakuye oyassin (All my relations!)" join in my heart and make me full.
It was just over a year ago that I began this blog at this same desk, looking at this same mountain and the surrounding woods. It's been a momentous year in part because I nearly lost my life to a virulent staph infection. But it's also been a year of blessings, especially in the people who rallied around my wife and me, Just as I wrote that sentence, I looked up and saw an immense cloud, bathed in sharp, pink light, move across the mountain top. It was followed by outlier clouds, russet and violet against a deepening blue sky. The trees at this time of morning take on tones of white and gray and green, and the whole scene changes from moment to moment. It's dynamic, powerful and peaceful all at once. The fullness of it all is surely a metaphor.
The morning began before dawn, just a couple of hours ago. A few of us walked up the road towards the priory, a collection of buildings that recall a Vermont farm, but with a difference. Halfway up the wooded country road, bells rang out through the darkness, calling the monks and any willing lay folk like ourselves to the ancient morning prayer of the Church. In a few minutes, we arrived and entered the chapel which was mostly in darkness. The chapel looks and feels a bit like a Zendo, but with the flickering light of a eucharistic chapel off to the right. The prayer begins with a rainstick, drums and the light of a few candles, then proceeds to sung psalms, readings and prayer. "Let the heedless get the trouble they need!" went one sharp petition.
The darkness dispelled by low light, an ancient language (Greek in the Kyrie) and the drum recall another sacred space I am privileged to attend regularly, a sweat ceremony on the land of the Shinnecock nation not far from where we live. In that ceremony, two medicine people, Shinnecock and Kiowah, respectively, lead the people in prayer, chant and ritual actions, much of which is in the ancient language of the Lakota nation. At the priory we sang the ancient words, "In the shadow of your wings, my heart rejoices." In the sweat lodge there comes a moment where people experience the sensation of eagle wings circling inside the lodge -- a contact the Creator grants as a gift to the men and women struggling in the intense heat to pray more open-heartedly. As the heat rises from the "Grandfathers," the stones glowing red from the fire in which they lay for a few hours, the people in the circle of the lodge cry out, "Pity, me - pity me!" hoping for help in enduring the heat for the sake of their prayers. No such endurance is called for by the chapel-goers, except perhaps the struggle to stay awake at this hour of the morning.
A little over an hour later, writing at this desk, the sun has come up a ways, with the ridges and valleys becoming clearer and more defined in the beautiful cold sunshine. I think of the two spaces, chapel and sweat lodge, and how they connect and complement each other in my life. I feel blessed to share in the experience of each one. "Kyrie elieson (Lord, have mercy!)" and "Mitakuye oyassin (All my relations!)" join in my heart and make me full.
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