Dancing, Death and Denial

I suspect that death is to our culture what sex was to Victorian England. It goes on all the time (after all, where did all those little Victorians come from?) but no one talks about it. Death is the ultimate taboo reality. But of course the irony is that death is the one thing we will all have in common, the fate that unites every single one of us.

This reality has become very concrete this last week at the monastery as we have experienced three deaths in the last couple of weeks as well as another death only a little over a month ago. Whatever denial we may have been able to maintain has been quickly stripped away in a flurry of farewells and funerals.

As this denial is stripped away we are left with the deeper understanding of St. Benedict’s invitation. “Day by day remind yourself that you are going to die.” (RB 4:47) Contrary to modern sensibilities Benedict did not have a morbid fixation on death, rather he knew that we have to face death head on, without flinching, if we are to truly live and appreciate life. When we remind ourselves that we are going to die then life becomes less of an entitlement, something we deserve, and more of a wonderful, temporary gift to be rejoiced in every day.

When we remind ourselves daily of death we are more aware that life and death cannot be separated, we only know life because of the reality of death. Death is not something to be denied but held and celebrated as the culmination of life. Perhaps death is the final gift from God. Benedict calls the monastery “the school of the Lord’s service,” and maybe it is in death we finally graduate from this school. Like the other graduations we have known death is a hope-filled, fear-filled leap into the unknown. In death we face the final letting go of all that is familiar into the hope of a new reality.

Of course what makes death so difficult and denial so easy is that death is the ultimate loss of what we know, what we control, of who we are. Part of our denial is the way we fast-forward to our expectations of eternal life and fail to be honest that most people fight death, that death is not pretty or nice, it is seldom easy and painless. We embrace the hope of eternal life but perhaps our hope is too facile, superficial and easy. Paul said: " ….Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience." (Romans 8:24-25) As we affirm hope in the midst of death perhaps we need to admit that our hope is something ultimately unknown, it is the deep, profound hope of letting go into a reality none of us has seen. Death is letting go of all that we have ever known. It is jumping into the darkness based on a promise.

But of course we will all have to make that jump eventually. All of us have the remarkable gift of this life as we walk along the edge of the cliff. On this journey Benedict reminds us not to pretend that there will be no end to the journey, that somehow we won’t have to look over the abyss, but he says keep that reality of death always in mind. Embrace it, walk with it, hold its hand. It is only in death that we have the gift of life. As we walk along the cliff let us dance because we have been give so great a gift, the gift of life, the gift of death that gives meaning to our hope.

This week in the monastery as we remember Aelred, Josie and Mercedes we know that they have entered into the darkness in hope, dancing with death as they are lead into new life. Their death, our death, which is daily before our eyes, is an invitation into the fullness of life.

What is Your Rule?

There is a stereotype or perhaps just a misconception that people come to monasteries to escape the world. However, not only has that never been true but increasingly people are asking how they can replicate the experience of the monastery in their lives in the “world.” People are increasingly coming to monasteries not to join them, nor to escape the world in any way but to take some sense of the monastery with them as they return home to families, jobs, lives that are hectic and where it feels hard to carve out time and space for God.

Perhaps people don’t realize that when they come to the monastery and then want to replicate monastic life at home they are really saying that they want to live by a monastic “rule.” A monastic rule isn’t a book of regulations like the driver’s handbook or a bureaucratic manual for a government department. A rule, from the Latin regula, is a guidebook. It is a guide for people who want to live a life structured around their desire to know God at the depths of their being, a guidebook for a life centered on God.

While there were other monastic rules at the time of Benedict in the 6th century, his became known as a very practical, moderate rule. While some other monastic rules were very short and inspirational they tended to be short on practical details for actually living out such high ideals. Other rules were extremely detailed, covering at great length exactly how a monk was to live. Benedict’s genius was to balance a clear explanation of the values and ideals of a life centered on God with the insights and wisdom of practical experience. Benedict knew that we need to articulate the most important values in our life and at the same time we need to know how we are going to live out those values. This balance of ideals and pragmatism resulted in Benedict’s rule that monastics still live by today.

But people don’t have to live in a monastery to live according to a rule. Most of us have an implicit rule we live by. If family is a key value in our lives then we make sure that we structure our lives in such a way that there are regular family meals, vacations together, regular contact. If there are conflicts that interfere with our family activities we still make family a priority if at all possible rather than letting other activities take precedence. If education is a value then other things will be sacrificed to make sure that this value is put first. Savings may go toward tuition rather than vacations, television may happen only if there is a high enough GPA. These are examples of how a rule of life works: structures are put in place to enable a person to live out their values.

The key value of any monastic rule is the desire to grow closer to God, to be transformed in God’s image. Other key values simply flow out of this. As monastics we value prayer, service, humility, community as ways of expressing our desire to grow in relationship with God. Monastic life then creates structures to make it easier to live out those values. Daily times of prayer, living simply with few possessions, deferring to the needs of the group rather than our own wants are all ways we structure our life to achieve our goals.

No way of life is easy, whether it is celibate life in a monastery, single life, raising children. But we can all use help to become conscious of the deeper purpose of our life. It is easy to simply make choices and take actions without reflection, without looking at the deeper meaning. But if we understand that we can live according to a spiritual “rule” then perhaps life begins to look and feel different. If I can articulate the deepest values of my heart, what is truly most important to me, then I can begin to ask what will help me live out those values. If relationship with God is my deepest desire then how do I structure my life to make that happen? How do I begin with small changes that become habits that become the structures of a life lived for God? In other words how do I become a monastic in the world? Perhaps a monastic rule is something for many people beyond the walls of a physical monastery.

Connections and Beans

It is canning time again at the monastery. Thanks to the great generosity of some Knights of Columbus members from Caldwell, Idaho we have boxes and boxes and boxes of fresh fruits and vegetables to eat, can and enjoy. We are also harvesting from our garden, this week is green beans and cucumbers. The old kitchen is a hive of activity, wonderful sights and smells as many people help out to make the work load lighter.

On special days there is an overlap between canning and baking. We bake all our own bread, fifty loaves a week of brown and white bread in our bakery. So sometimes there is an interesting overlap of smells. Beets and bread anyone?

This commitment to growing, canning, food preservation, baking and similar aspects of self-sufficiency are central to who we are as Benedictine monastics. In an era of agribusiness and huge factory farms it seems unlikely that home canned beets or homemade bread is cost efficient. But there is a much deeper value at play than simple economics.

All that we produce is a witness of a much deeper sense of connection. We know where the bread we eat came from. We picked the raspberries that went on the raspberry jam that went on the bread. We helped to prepare the beans and beets and canned the tomatoes, pears and peaches. We grew the squash and lettuce. We actively participated in much of what we eat, we know where it came from, who grew and harvested it.

We live in a world in which this kind of connection has become a rare thing. We hear the stories of children who don’t know where food comes from except from a grocery store. How many adults have actually seen their food come from anywhere but the grocery store? This disconnect in our society goes much deeper than food. Many of us do not know our neighbors, our families are distant, work is a temporary commitment.

In a world that is disconnected, alienated and disenfranchised, monastics try to witness a new/older reality. Benedict enjoined his monks to be self-sufficient, to have everything they need in one place. While we cannot do that anymore we can still live a life that emphasizes the value of deep connections. As monastics we see these connections and the fragility of connections in ways that most society does not.

When we grow our own food we are reminded that we are at the mercy of nature. The rain doesn’t come or comes in the wrong amount or at the wrong times, we won’t have the home grown food we enjoy. We witness our connection to the earth, our dependence on the earth, and in some very slight way know the joy and suffering of those who do not have the local supermarket as a backup for crop failure.

Coming together to harvest and preserve food is a reminder of those who work in difficult, underpaid jobs to provide the food we take for granted. As we work together we know that we cannot take our food for granted, that it does not appear magically on the table but as the fruit of much work and God’s bounty. When we work together we remember that we are community, we are committed to one another in good times and bad, with the ones we like and the ones we don’t. We are connected, we are committed for life in an impermanent world.

It doesn’t look like much at first, the piles of beans and cucumbers, the boxes of peaches to be canned, the bread cooling on racks on bake day. But there are deep lessons that come from the gift of the most simple things. In the beans we come to know how deeply we are blessed, how intimately we are connected with all things and are reminded of the call to serve those without.

Monastic Prayer: For the World

What happens when monks pray? It is easy enough to simply say: that is what we do. We gather multiple times a day to pray in common because that is what Benedictines have been doing for over 1500 years. But of course that begs the question. What does this prayer mean? What is happening as we come together several times a day, day after day, year after year, with the same Psalms, the same prayers? Benedict isn’t much help. He outlines precisely which Psalms and other readings to prayer at precisely what hours of the day, but he doesn’t do too much to explain what is happening when monks pray.

Maybe it is helpful to simply start with the experience of praying. Multiple times a day a bell rings and the world shifts. When the bell rings the world no longer revolves around me and my needs. I am called to give up being the center of my own private little universe and come in silence, in openness, to a place that is only about prayer, a place where all of us come to sink into the presence of God, to open our hearts to the needs of a hurting world.

I may come into our chapel, the oratory, place of prayer, as an individual, but I become part of a community of God-centered people, a community that jokingly calls itself a “motley crew.” Together this motley crew gathers to enter into the presence of God, of one another and the world. In stillness we become present, allowing ourselves to let go of all that has come before and will come after. We enter the reality of prayer.

In this reality we strive to be one voice, our “minds in harmony with our voices.” (RB 19) The Psalms and prayers become one mind and one voice lifted together in praise, in supplication, in despair and joy. In the Psalms we pray words that that have been prayed across three thousand years, throughout our world, across religious traditions. In prayer we lift up to God words and feelings that may not be our own at the moment, but may be the words of people who have no words, people who do not know how to pray, people to engulfed in despair to pray. For these people we chant and recite words calling to God from the depths, words imploring God to act and bring about justice where there is only injustice and suffering. In the midst of our comfortable world we enter into the pain and despair of people we will never know lifting up our voices as their voices, praying for healing and justice.

In coming together in our prayer we recite the Psalms that remind us how much bigger our world and our God is than our limited ability to imagine. We come together to stretch our hearts in proclaiming the tremendous joy of the Psalmist in praising the God who is creator, sustainer, source of all life and power. The confines of our flat, gray universe are shattered as we join in a wild, exuberant dance of life and energy celebrating the God who reigns and sustains our universe. Our joy becomes the joy of all who celebrate, hope and come singing to the mountain of the Lord.

When we come together we enter into the world of prayer where the deep hurts and divisions of our community are brought to a truce. Together as we pray the Psalms, the prayers of an ancient community, and the Our Father, the prayer of our Christian community, we experience a tentative reaching out to one another, a holding of hands, the beginnings of healing. We come into prayer as broken people, as the stubborn, stiff-necked people of the desert, the Pharisees who have safely domesticated God, the people who cannot see their own limitations and lack of forgiveness. Here in prayer the people of hardened hearts are given another opportunity to receive a heart of flesh, to forgive and be forgiven. We do it for ourselves, we do it on behalf of people who have no such opportunity to come together, in community, to pray multiple times a day, to have their hearts broken open.

And so the rhythm continues, day after day, year after year. The bell rings, we drop everything, come to the place of prayer and silence. Together we pray ancient words, ancient prayers. We pray for those who cannot pray, for those who have no words. We pray for ourselves, lifting up our brokenness in order that our slow, painful healing may be offered for a hurting world. We pray in joy, present and hoped for, that the world may see a glimpse of the Reign of God breaking into the world.

Together we pray.