A Poem for the Feast Day of Saint Brigid

Today is the feast day of St. Brigid, one of the patron saints of Ireland.  She is one of the early Christians, living from roughly 451-525 (AD/CE) who stood at the intersection of Christianity, Druidism, and the other pagan religions of Ireland.  This time period was also a time of societal collapse--the Roman empire was in slow (albeit sometimes spectacular) decline/collapse, and if I'm remembering my history correctly, Ireland and England were attacked by various tribes from the northern parts of Europe.  It would have been a difficult time.

Brigid is one of those extraordinary women who did amazing things, despite the patriarchal culture in which she lived.  She founded founded some of the first Christian monasteries in Ireland, most famously the legendary one in Kildare.  She also founded a school of art that focuses on metal working and illumination.  The illustrated manuscript, the Book of Kildare, was created under her auspices.  Unfortunately, it's been lost since the Reformation, so we know it by its reputation only.

Monastic, administrator, artist--it's no wonder that her story calls to me from across the centuries.

I didn't really know much about Brigid until about 2011 or 2012, when I read several blog posts about her.  In 2013, I drove all the way to Mepkin Abbey on her feast day.  I thought about her life as I drove across cold landscapes.  I finally wrote a draft of the poem that appears below.

Years ago, I wrote this:  "I will try to imagine Saint Brigid through a more realistic lens.  I will write a poem where she tells me that she accomplished all sorts of things along the way, while all the time struggling to create her great illuminated work.  I will imagine something that she did that we know nothing of.  I will imagine that she will feel sad when she realizes that modern people don't even know of her great work, but instead of her institutions at Kildare and beyond.

I will think about a woman at midlife 1500 years from now, a woman who reads about my life.  What will amaze her?  How will she see the ways that I did, indeed, live an authentic life, even as I lost sight of that fact in the daily minutiae?  If she blogged about me, what would seem important enough to include?  How would she finish this sentence:  In the last half of her life, Berkey-Abbott accomplished ______________  ?"

I have yet to write about Brigid's lost work, but I did write the poem that imagines Brigid through a more realistic lens.  It was published in Adanna, and I'm happy to repost it here.  If you want additional background on Brigid, see this blog post.


The True Miracle of Saint Brigid


You know about the baskets
of butter, the buckets of beer,
the milk that flowed
to fill a lake.

You don’t know about the weeks
we prayed for the miracle
of multiplication but instead received
the discipline of division.

I managed the finances to keep us all fed.
By day, I rationed the food.
At night, I dreamed of a sculpture
manufactured of metal.

I didn’t have the metal
or the time, but in the minutes
had, I illuminated
any scrap of paper I could find.

Lost to the ashes:
The Book of Kildare, but also
my budget ledgers, flowers
and birds drawn around the numbers.

Armistice Day with Monastic Poem

It has been many years since I was teaching the second half of British Literature in a Fall semester when Armistice Day/Veterans Day happens.  This year, I am.  We've already covered the material, although now we're discussing Mrs. Dalloway, a book which may be the first depiction of World War I caused PTSD in a novel.

I think it's hard for most of us to conceive of how many people died in World War I.  Even when I have my students imagine all of their male classmates going off to fight and no one coming back, I think it's hard to get our heads around the total.  I wish we could all go to the WWI cemeteries in France.  It's a visual that's tough to capture in a picture; it does make a very different impact.

Years ago, I was at Mepkin Abbey on Armistice Day.  It also happened to be near All Saints Sunday, the first All Saints Day after Abbot Francis Kline had been cruelly taken early by leukemia, and the Sunday we were there was the day of the memorial service for him. Part of one of the services was out in the monks' cemetery, and all the retreatants were invited out with the monks. I was struck by the way that the simple crosses reminded me of the French World War I cemeteries:

I took the above picture later from the visitor side of the grounds, but it gives you a sense of the burial area. I turned all these images in my head and wrote a poem, "Armistice Day at the Abbey."



 Armistice Day at the Abbey



The monks bury their dead on this slight
rise that overlooks the river
that flows to the Atlantic, that site
where Africans first set foot on slavery’s soil.

These monks are bound
to a different master, enslaved
in a different system.
They chant the same Psalms, the same tones
used for centuries. Modern minds scoff,
but the monks, yoked together
into a process both mystical and practical,
do as they’ve been commanded.

Their graves, as unadorned as their robes,
stretch out in rows of white crosses, reminiscent
of a distant French field. We might ponder
the futility of belief in a new covenant,
when all around us old enemies clash,
or we might show up for prayer, light
a candle, and simply submit.

The Feast Day of Saint James

 Today we celebrate the life of James, one of the 12 disciples, the first to be martyred (Acts 12:1 tells us by Herod's sword). He's known as James the Greater (to distinguish him from James the Lesser, James the son of Alphaeus). He's the brother of John. He was one of the first to join Jesus, and Jesus chose him to go up the mountain to witness the Transfiguration. He is the patron saint of veterinarians and pharmacists, among others.

Lately, I've heard more about St. James, as more people become aware of the pilgrimage that involves walking to his shrine in Santiago de Campostela in Spain from a variety of starting points. Walkers who cover 100 km or cyclists who cover 200 km get a compostela, a certificate, and a blessing.

St. James is associated with scallops, and if you look at a map, you'll see that the pilgrims arriving from a variety of beginning points to the same end point does look like a scallop shell. There are now travel agencies that will help pilgrims, but I've been told that it's not hard to set up one's own journey. There are all sorts of lodgings along the way, all sorts of support.

In 2023, I finally saw the Martin Sheen/Emilio Estevez movie, The Way, which features this pilgrim's path. I'd love to actually walk part of it, but it seems increasingly unlikely. But life has taught me never to say never. If I could go on the Santiago or Iona, I'd probably choose Iona, but who says I would have to choose.

I'm not the only one who finds the idea intriguing. In 1985, only 690 pilgrims made it to the end point, the Cathedral of Santiago de Campostela; last year 179,919 pilgrims completed the journey. The most hardcore pilgrims walk barefoot. I would not be one of those pilgrims.

A few years ago, one of my good church friends figured out how to walk part of the Santiago de Campostela, how to make sure her pets and children were taken care of for 2 weeks, and off she went with her husband. I found her journey so inspiring. She kept a blog while walking and has continued to keep writing posts in her "regular" life.

Let us remember that we're all on a variety of pilgrimages, even if we're not leaving the house. Let us remember that God is with us.

When Patients Pray for the Chaplain

Long ago, I had assumptions about what it meant to be a chaplain in a hospital.  I assumed that the chaplain would come along after the doctors had visited the patient, that the chaplain would do pastor type things, like praying and perhaps communion and last rites, depending on denomination.

At some later point, when I'm done with chaplain training and have more time in the mornings, I may write about what we've been doing as chaplains--it's much more intense than just praying, and in fact, prayer may not even be part of a chaplain visit.

In an ideal world, the hospital chaplain is not the only one giving pastoral care--the patient's pastor may be visiting too.  Of course, many people don't have a home church, and even if they do, the home church may not have a traditional pastor, who can make regular hospital visits.  For my parish, Faith Lutheran in Bristol, I can visit after Sunday worship, but that's it.  Fortunately, parishioners can fill in the gap, and they do, but not every church community is so lucky.

Yesterday, I had a variety of hospital visits, and the whole week has been one of variety.  I've had expected joys, like my own prayers, most of them silent.  I've also had unexpected joys, like when a patient offers to pray.   I don't know why I didn't expect to have people pray for me, but I have been surprised at my overwhelming gratitude when others pray.

I shouldn't be surprised.  I remember getting a Christmas card from Mepkin Abbey with this notation:  "The monks of Mepkin are praying for you and with you."  I burst into tears. 

I don't have the time to explore this idea in depth this morning, but I did want to record this joy so that it doesn't disappear into the mists of memory.

(This meditation will show as published on Saturday, June 28.  I actually wrote it on Friday, June 27, but forgot to hit "publish")

Part of a Prayer for Monastic Vocation

This week, I was part of a Zoom session, where, for closing prayer, the woman used part of the Mepkin Abbey Prayer for Monastic Vocation.  She reminded us that we could have an expansive view of that vocation.

I have been thinking about an expansive view of a monastery, something beyond the physical building.  Can our lives be a monastery?  I've written some poems about the heart as a monastery, although I can't find them right now.

I did find the Prayer for Monastic Vocation.  Long ago at Mepkin Abbey, the Abbot passed out postcards.  On one side was the prayer; on the other side, a picture of all the monks.  I put the postcard in the pocket of the winter lightweight coat that I rarely used in South Florida, and I was always delighted when found it in subsequent seasons.

It's still there!  Here's the passage that we used in closing prayer:

"We come before you now asking for the grace

To be faithful to our vocation

Striving to live in the communion of Love which surpasses all other gifts."

Feast Day of Hildegarde of Bingen

Today is the feast day of Hildegard of Bingen. I forgot, and now the day is almost over, the feast day of one of my favorite medieval mystics. In so many ways, that seems a metaphor for my modern life: I get essential stuff done, while sometimes forgetting aspects of what's important to me--so far, the forgettings have not been earth shattering, but my forgetting bothers me nonetheless.


Hildegard is one of those medieval women that makes me feel like an utter failure. We all face constraints of various kinds, and the life of Hildegard shows what could be accomplished, even during a time where women did not have full rights and agency. She was an Abbess, and because being in charge of one cloistered community isn't enough, she founded another. She wrote music, and more of her music survives than almost any other medieval composer. She was an early naturalist, writing down her observations about the natural world and her theories about how the natural world heals us. She wrote to kings, emperors and popes to encourage them to pursue peace and justice. She wrote poems and a morality play and along the way, a multitude of theological meditations.

She did all of these things, in addition to keeping her community running smoothly. Yes, I'm thinking about Hildegard as an administrator, a woman who could be efficient and artistic at the same time. It’s no wonder that I find her inspiring.

And it's no wonder that I feel like I don't measure up. During these times when I feel like I'm accomplishing NOTHING as an artist, it's easy to convince myself that I've peaked, as much as I was going to peak. It's easy to sink into a spiral of self-pity and despair: "I should have worked harder on this project, I should have followed through on this contact, I should have taken this job, I should have moved to that place." On and on I can go in this way.

I often wonder if those medieval mystics in charge of abbeys and monasteries chafed at those responsibilities. Did they wish they had more time for contemplation? And not the contemplation of how to keep everyone fed and clothed? Did they have a creative masterpiece that they never quite finished because people kept interrupting them?

And yet the sum of their days shows what can be accomplished even in small snippets of time. So let us use this feast day to recalibrate our efforts and commit to what's important.

Feast Day of Saint Brendan

Today is the feast day of Saint Brendan, often called "The Navigator" and "The Voyager."  If you're like me, you might not have grown up hearing about him.  You might not have ever heard about him.  I only discovered him when I read Christine Valters Paintner's Illuminating the Way:  Embracing the Wisdom of Monks and Mystics with a reading group--none of us had heard of this Irish saint.

To be fair, not much is known about him.  He lived from roughly 484-577, mostly in Ireland, although he did go on a voyage to discover a more Edenic place.  Some legends have him making North America.  There's the mythology:  celebrating Easter Mass on the back of a whale, not once but seven times.  Eventually he realized the place he'd been looking for was right at home.

Paintners gives him credit for the idea of the Earth as our original monastery.  She uses his voyage as a way to talk about how pilgrims need to be pilgrims in community, not pilgrims sailing alone.  She talks about pilgrimages being non-linear; Brendan and his monks often sailed to places they'd been before, moving in circles "spiraling again and again to familiar places from new perspectives" (p. 101).  She also talks about pilgrimage including times of waiting and not knowing what's ahead.

Saint Brendan shows us that pilgrimage is more of a mindset than a place/goal/destination.  For those of us who don't have the luxury of picking up and looking for paradise, it's good to remember.  We may have people counting on us, but that doesn't mean we can't take on elements of pilgrimage.  Zen folks might refer to "beginner's mind," which Saint Brendan seemed to adopt regularly.

We can too. 

A Poem for the Feast Day of Saint Brigid

Today is the feast day of St. Brigid, one of the patron saints of Ireland.  She is one of the early Christians who stood at the intersection of Christianity, Druidism, and the other pagan religions of Ireland.  She is also one of those extraordinary women who did amazing things, despite the patriarchal culture in which she lived.

She founded founded some of the first Christian monasteries in Ireland, most famously the legendary one in Kildare.  She also founded a school of art that focuses on metal working and illumination.  The illustrated manuscript, the Book of Kildare, was created under her auspices.  Unfortunately, it's been lost since the Reformation, so we know it by its reputation only.

Monastic, administrator, artist--it's no wonder that her story calls to me from across the centuries.

I didn't really know much about Brigid until about 2011 or 2012, when I read several blog posts about her.  In 2013, I drove all the way to Mepkin Abbey on her feast day.  I thought about her life as I drove across cold landscapes.  I finally wrote a draft of the poem that appears below.

Years ago, I wrote this:  "I will try to imagine Saint Brigid through a more realistic lens.  I will write a poem where she tells me that she accomplished all sorts of things along the way, while all the time struggling to create her great illuminated work.  I will imagine something that she did that we know nothing of.  I will imagine that she will feel sad when she realizes that modern people don't even know of her great work, but instead of her institutions at Kildare and beyond.

I will think about a woman at midlife 1500 years from now, a woman who reads about my life.  What will amaze her?  How will she see the ways that I did, indeed, live an authentic life, even as I lost sight of that fact in the daily minutiae?  If she blogged about me, what would seem important enough to include?  How would she finish this sentence:  In the last half of her life, Berkey-Abbott accomplished ______________  ?"

I have yet to write about Brigid's lost work, but I did write the poem that imagines Brigid through a more realistic lens.  It was published in Adanna, and I'm happy to repost it here.  If you want additional background on Brigid, see this blog post.


The True Miracle of Saint Brigid


You know about the baskets
of butter, the buckets of beer,
the milk that flowed
to fill a lake.

You don’t know about the weeks
we prayed for the miracle
of multiplication but instead received
the discipline of division.

I managed the finances to keep us all fed.
By day, I rationed the food.
At night, I dreamed of a sculpture
manufactured of metal.

I didn’t have the metal
or the time, but in the minutes
had, I illuminated
any scrap of paper I could find.

Lost to the ashes:
The Book of Kildare, but also
my budget ledgers, flowers
and birds drawn around the numbers.

The Feast Day of Saint Francis

Today we celebrate the life of St. Francis. Many congregations do this by having a pet blessing service. Here again, we see a powerful life story reduced to something significantly more mundane. I would argue that the church almost always does this reduction act--and why? Why give up the power of these stories that way? We see that in our approach to Jesus Christ, and in our approach to every other believer who has a dramatic story. Are we afraid of the implications?

Perhaps we tame these figures because we realize that if we follow the teachings of Saint Francis, or Christ before him, too closely, we'll be required to give up our comfortable lives. But we live in a time of plague and planetary collapse where many of us will be required to move to something different. Saint Francis shows us that giving up our privilege and comfort can bring us a new type of joy.

We often remember St. Francis because of his work, "The Canticle for the Creatures." Many people see him as one of the early environmentalists. I have no problem with animal rights crusaders and the environmental movement, but it's important to remember that St. Francis spent many years of his early ministry living with lepers and caring for them. He gave up everything he owned--and he was rich--in a quest for a more authentic life. He inspired others to follow the same path, and he founded two religious orders that still thrive (and one that has vanished). In his later years, he worked to end the Crusades. He also created the first Nativity scene, and he used live animals, so that visitors to the scene could more fully use all their senses.

In churches that celebrate the life of St. Francis, will we hear these parts of the story? I doubt it. Those are the parts of the story that are threatening to the social order. We can't have young people behaving in the way that St. Francis did. What on earth would happen then?

Our society would be transformed. And one of the ways that Christians have let down their faith, this is one of the most damning: we dampen the transformative message of the Gospel or we dumb it down into some sort of self-help drivel. The Gospel can transform us as individuals, sure, but then we are called to go out and transform our societies. God has called us to do redemptive work.

Here's a prayer that I wrote for today:

Creator God, we don't always take good care of your creations. Please give us the generosity of St. Francis as we wrestle with the best way to use our resources. Please open our hearts the way you opened the heart of St. Francis so that we can take care of the members of our society who are at the lowest levels. Please give us the courage to create communities which will allow the light of Christ to shine more brightly.

Twelfth Century High Water Marks of Female Power

September 17 is the feast day of Hildegard of Bingen, mystic, herbalist, musical composer, naturalist, and Abbess. Her life was full of accomplishments, an amazing feat considering she lived in the twelfth century.

Until recently, I had never thought of the twelfth century as a high water mark of feminism, but female monastics did amazing things during that time period. By studying them, I come away with a new appreciation for the medieval Church, where talented women found a cloistered kind of freedom. In many ways, the cloistered life was the only way for medieval women to have any kind of freedom. Cloistered life offered the only protection available to women who lived at the edges or outside the margins of society: widowed, artistic, not wanting to be married, weird in any way.

But Hildegard's life shows that freedom was constrained, since women monastics answered to men. For years, Hildegard wanted to move her group of nuns to Rupertsburg, but the Abbot who controlled them refused her request.

We all face constraints of various kinds, and the life of Hildegard shows what could be accomplished, even during a time where women did not have full rights and agency. She was an Abbess, and because being in charge of one cloistered community isn't enough, she founded another. She wrote music, and more of her music survives than almost any other medieval composer. She was an early naturalist, writing down her observations about the natural world and her theories about how the natural world heals us. She wrote to kings, emperors and popes to encourage them to pursue peace and justice. She wrote poems and a morality play and along the way, a multitude of theological meditations.

She did all of these things, in addition to keeping her community running smoothly. Yes, I'm thinking about Hildegard as an administrator, a woman who could be efficient and artistic at the same time. It’s no wonder that I find her inspiring.

It's interesting to think about the different types of groups who have claimed her as their own. Feminists claim her importance, even though she didn't openly advocate equality. Musicians note that more of her compositions survive than almost any other medieval composer. Her musical works go in different directions than many of the choral pieces of the day, with their soaring notes. New Age types love her views of the body and the healing properties of plants, animals, and even minerals. Though her theology seems distinctly medieval, and thus not as important to modern Christians, it's hard to dismiss her importance as a figure from church history.

I often say that it's odd I'm drawn to monasticism, as I'm a married, Lutheran female who has all sorts of worldly commitments, and thus cannot fully vow obedience. But as I think about church history, I'm struck time and time again by how often monasticism has offered a safe space to women that no other part of society did. I shouldn't be surprised that it's a tradition that speaks to me still.

It’s a tradition that speaks to many others too: have you listened to the Hildegard of Bingen channel on Pandora?

Maybe today is a good day to tune in that medieval music. We could listen while writing letters to those in charge, letters which demand more work towards social justice. Or we could focus on other writing projects, as Hildegard of Bingen did. We could plant a healing herb garden.

Today, on her feast day, let us say a prayer of thanks for Hildegard of Bingen and other medieval matriarchs of Christianity.

Feast Day of Saint Bernard of Clairvaux

Today we celebrate the life of the 12th century monk, St. Bernard of Clairvaux. What an amazing man!

Those of us interested in monasticism owe a debt to St. Bernard, who was responsible not only for founding his own monastery, but for sending monks out to establish monasteries or to rescue already-formed monasteries from heretical directions. We give him credit for the founding of hundreds of monastic communities.

Bernard was also responsible for helping the church avoid schism at several key points. He also defended the church against various nobility who wanted church holdings.

We could give Bernard credit for moving the church towards a more personal faith, although I imagine he would be horrified at the manifestations of those ideas of a personal relationship with Jesus that many of us have. He's also responsible for elevating the status of Mary within the church.

I confess, as a Lutheran, the veneration of Mary always mystified me. Then I visited Mepkin Abbey, a Trappist order of monks. I found the references to Mary soothing, and the Compline service which included prayers to Mary as we faced a stone statue (very abstract in style) surrounded by candles helped me sink into a deep sleep.

As I research these monastics of older centuries, it's intriguing to me to see how ideas that we associate with later centuries were present even in medieval times. We see medieval thinkers wrestling with an emotional/mystical approach to faith (like Bernard of Clairvaux) and with an intellectual/rational approach to faith (like Peter Abelard). Throughout Christianity, we still struggle with the best way to integrate these two approaches.

Most people I know still wrestle with the  the issue of how to live an authentic life, one where all our values are in sync. In an earlier age, we might have found sanctuary in an abbey. Monastic communities are some of the most successful incarnations of intentional communities--how could we follow their models if we want to live an integrated life?

The Feast Day of St. Bernard of Clairvaux

 Today we celebrate the life of the 12th century monk, St. Bernard of Clairvaux. What an amazing man!

Those of us interested in monasticism owe a debt to St. Bernard, who was responsible not only for founding his own monastery, but for sending monks out to establish monasteries or to rescue already-formed monasteries from heretical directions. We give him credit for the founding of hundreds of monastic communities.

Bernard was also responsible for helping the church avoid schism at several key points. He also defended the church against various nobility who wanted church holdings.

We could give Bernard credit for moving the church towards a more personal faith, although I imagine he would be horrified at the manifestations of those ideas of a personal relationship with Jesus that many of us have. He's also responsible for elevating the status of Mary within the church.

I confess, as a Lutheran, the veneration of Mary always mystified me. Then I visited Mepkin Abbey, a Trappist order of monks. I found the references to Mary soothing, and the Compline service which included prayers to Mary as we faced a stone statue (very abstract in style) surrounded by candles helped me sink into a deep sleep.

As I research these monastics of older centuries, it's intriguing to me to see how ideas that we associate with later centuries were present even in medieval times. We see medieval thinkers wrestling with an emotional/mystical approach to faith (like Bernard of Clairvaux) and with an intellectual/rational approach to faith (like Peter Abelard). Throughout Christianity, we still struggle with the best way to integrate these two approaches.

Most people I know still wrestle with the the issue of how to live an authentic life, one where all our values are in sync. In an earlier age, we might have found sanctuary in an abbey. Monastic communities are some of the most successful incarnations of intentional communities--how could we follow their models if we want to live an integrated life?

Possible Pilgrimage

Yesterday, I made this Facebook post:

"One of my seminary requirements requires credits in intercultural immersion, either done overseas or in the U.S. I just found out that in May of 2023, 2 of my professors will be leading an intercultural immersion trip to France where we will spend some time in Paris to recover from jet lag and then continue on to spend a week being part of the Taize community. The flyer says, 'Immerse yourself in monastic life at one of the world's most iconic sites of Christian pilgrimage.' Yes please!"

Immediately, many of my friends wrote to make sure that I knew that I should go.  Here is one of my favorites, from a friend I made through an online journaling class, a friend who had a similar seminary journey at midlife:  "I jumped on every chance to go somewhere as ‘intercultural’ work. I learned so much and met cool people. And i asked for credit for a trip to language school in Guatemala, and got it by journaling and reading some interesting books. Did you ever imagine what time and doors could open to you as you set out on this journey? Enjoy."

I found out about the opportunity because one of my seminary professors sent an e-mail of invitation to the whole class.  My first thought was that I couldn't go in May--and then I realized it's May of 2023.  Now, I could go in May of 2022, as I think about it; there's no full-time job keeping me here.  But it's easier to plan for May of 2023.

I hope to get class credit, but even if that's not possible, the trip itself seems reasonable in terms of anticipated cost:  $3,200 (Includes airfare, ground transport to/from Taize, meals, 3 nights stay in Paris, and the stay in Taize).  Even if I have to pay more to get class credit, it still seems reasonable.  I realize that I'm lucky; it seems reasonable because I have resources.  We've sold our house, so I have resources and fewer responsibilities.

I am also lucky in that I really love all of my seminary professors so far.  I completely trust their ability to lead this kind of trip and to make it even more worthwhile than it would be if I went on my own.  And I also feel lucky in that I really think that one of them meant it when she wrote to me, "I hope you can come!"

I hope so too.

Mepkin Abbey Reopening

This week, I got an e-mail that let me know that Mepkin Abbey is open to retreatants during the month of December.  I'm assuming that they're trying this approach in December, and if it works well, they'll continue to offer private retreats into 2021.

But it's going to be a very different experience.  Meals will be brought to retreatants, which will be eaten in each retreatant's room.  I could adapt to that part fairly easily, although I did like the feeling of being part of the monastery community when I ate in the refectory back in the pre-pandemic days.

The monastery chapel is still closed to all but the monks.  Eucharist, Lauds, and Vespers will be streamed to the library conference room. The actual elements for the sacrament of eucharist will be brought to the library entrance.  I've been in the conference room before, and worshipping there would be very different from being in the chapel.  I would REALLY miss the Compline service.

One set of rules that I read said that masks must be worn at all times on the grounds except when eating.  The thought of wearing a mask as I walked around the grounds--well, it would be December, so it wouldn't be as miserable as during the warmer months. 

Clearly, it will be a very different retreat experience.  I think back on all the reasons why I've loved going to Mepkin Abbey on retreat, and some of those reasons would still be there.  I have loved having time to focus on writing and reading, and that aspect would still be there.  I've loved having time to ramble around the beautiful grounds, and for the most part, that opportunity would still be there, although I do wonder if the experience would be different while masked.

But one of the aspects I have always treasured is the opportunity to be part of every worship service, all 7-9 of them.  I love the way the rhythm of the Psalms sinks into my brain because I spend so much of every retreat chanting them with the monks.  That aspect will be reduced and perhaps eliminated.

When I went to quilt camp, I knew that one of the advantages I would have is that I hadn't been to quilt camp before.  It was going to be a different quilt camp regardless.  Previous quilt camps had been offered during the same time that Asheville hosted an enormous quilt show, so there were trips to the convention center.  This year, the quilt show was cancelled.

I wouldn't have that advantage of not having expectations if I returned to Mepkin.  But I have wondered if Mepkin would ever reopen, under any circumstance, so I am grateful to see that they seem to be on that road.  I am also grateful that they are still protecting the health of the monks, many of whom are quite elderly.  

We need those monks praying for us.  We may not all realize it, but we do.

The Feast Day of Saint Francis in Our Plague Year

 If we made a list of the most famous saints, the ones that even the most non-religious are likely to "know," Saint Francis would be on the list, perhaps just under Saint Patrick.  Or maybe Francis is more famous, if we judge by how often he appears as a statue in our gardens or our birdbaths.

Born in 1181 or 1182, Francis didn't have to deal with bubonic plague or any of our more modern diseases.  He did work with lepers, so he had experience with contagion.

He founded an order not based in monasteries but in going out and being with the people who needed the friars most; the traveling friars would stay in church properties.  

In our current plague year, the idea of a cloistered monastery appeals to me more.

Our current pope is the only one who has chosen the name of Francis.  Francis is not a saint who is usually the favorite of those in power.  During his life, Francis did all that he could to challenge our ideas of wealth and power and who deserves riches--and what constitutes riches.

Traditionally, many churches would have a pet blessing service today.  How did Francis come to be associated with pets?  Our pets often lead more pampered lives than we do.

In a year in which we are already to Hurricane Gamma and the west coast burns, I think of Saint Francis and his commitment to the care of all creation, not just the cute pets.  We live in a society run by those determined not to see how interconnected we all are; it's a good time to return to Saint Francis.

In this plague year, I think about Francis and his fierce commitment to living an authentic life.  I think about his father, who beat him and left him bound and locked in a small storeroom.  I think about his mother who set him free.  I think about all the ones we love who so often act in baffling ways.

Here's a prayer that I wrote for today:

Creator God, we don't always take good care of your creations. Please give us the generosity of St. Francis as we wrestle with the best way to use our resources. Please open our hearts the way you opened the heart of St. Francis so that we can take care of the members of our society who are at the lowest levels. Please give us the courage to create communities which will allow the light of Christ to shine more brightly.

If Hildegarde Could Speak

Two weeks ago, I tried to write a poem that incorporated Hildegarde of Bingen, but I felt like I was just doing the same thing that I've done before, using the life of a medieval mystic (usually female) to contrast to the lives we're living now.

Tuesday  morning, I came at the poem from a completely different angle:  what can a medieval mystic teach us about how to live during a time of pandemic?  From cloistering to robes to ordering the day--if I lived a different life, a freelance writer kind of life, I'd write it up as an article and hope that I'd get my big break.

Maybe I'd even write a self-help book--but would it get published before there was a vaccine?  If there was a vaccine, would there be a need for such a book?

And now I'm thinking of my unpublished book length memoir project, a project which probably reads very differently now.  I haven't been working on getting it published. so I'm not broken hearted that it probably won't be published in our current time.

So many projects, so little time--what advice would Hildegarde give me?

Feast Day of Bernard of Clairvaux

Today we celebrate the life of the 12th century monk, St. Bernard of Clairvaux. What an amazing man!

Those of us interested in monasticism owe a debt to St. Bernard, who was responsible not only for founding his own monastery, but for sending monks out to establish monasteries or to rescue already-formed monasteries from heretical directions. We give him credit for the founding of hundreds of monastic communities.

Bernard was also responsible for helping the church avoid schism at several key points. He also defended the church against various nobility who wanted church holdings.

We could give Bernard credit for moving the church towards a more personal faith, although I imagine he would be horrified at the manifestations of those ideas of a personal relationship with Jesus that many of us have. He's also responsible for elevating the status of Mary within the church.

I confess, as a Lutheran, the veneration of Mary always mystified me. Then I visited Mepkin Abbey, a Trappist order of monks. I found the references to Mary soothing, and the Compline service which included prayers to Mary as we faced a stone statue (very abstract in style) surrounded by candles helped me sink into a deep sleep.

As I research these monastics of older centuries, it's intriguing to me to see how ideas that we associate with later centuries were present even in medieval times. We see medieval thinkers wrestling with an emotional/mystical approach to faith (like Bernard of Clairvaux) and with an intellectual/rational approach to faith (like Peter Abelard). Throughout Christianity, we still struggle with the best way to integrate these two approaches.

Most people I know still wrestle with the the issue of how to live an authentic life, one where all our values are in sync. In an earlier age, we might have found sanctuary in an abbey. Monastic communities are some of the most successful incarnations of intentional communities--how could we follow their models if we want to live an integrated life?

All the Narrow Gates of Mysticism

I've been meeting with one of my online journaling groups for a little over a year now.  It's a group formed by Mepkin Abbey, who organized all of the retreatents by zip code and encouraged us to meet when we're not at the Abbey.

In the beginning, we all listened to the same recording of a retreat with Don Bisson.  We journaled on our own, and then we met via Zoom meeting.  We discussed what we had journaled, and then we journaled silently during the Zoom meeting, and then we discussed.

This month, we're branching out from Don Bisson, and I am so glad that we are--not because I have anything against Don Bisson, but because our new resource is so amazing.  I spent the morning listening to the first presentation by Richard Rohr--it was recorded during a retreat called Following the Mystics through the Narrow Gate.  In the first presentation, Rohr takes us through a history of spirituality.  He traces the development of mysticism, along with other spiritual developments.

It was an AMAZING 75 minutes.  I feel like I understand more about world history than I did this time yesterday--and I know A LOT more about spirituality than I did this time last year.  Rohr did a great job of explaining the spiritual developments across the globe and talking about what's happening in the rest of the world at any given time.  For example, he talks about Alexandria as a site of intellectual and spiritual developments while Rome is busy taking over the road militarily.  He talks about Ireland being protected from Rome and other various invaders which meant that they could develop a more cohesive spiritual practice which would become the Celtic Christianity that so many of us know and love.

He also talks about how monastics through the ages have protected knowledge, furthered knowledge, and occasionally gotten in the way.

I hesitate to even use the word knowledge, since in our culture it has such a connection with intelligence and brain power.  Rohr uses it much more expansively.  He talks about the dualistic thinking that has been so damaging--that knowledge can only be associated with our brains.

When I first went to the CAC website to buy the DVD set, I was a bit aghast at the price:  $60, which is more than I would usually pay for a recording of a conference.  But based on this first 75 minutes, I'd say it's worth every penny.

The Feast Day of Saint Benedict

Today is the feast day of Saint Benedict.  If I had to pick the saints that have been most important to me, he would make the top 10 list.  Female medieval monastics who are saints would come to mind before Saint Benedict, but of course, their lives would have been very different if Benedict had never lived.

It is Benedict who taught us a way to live in community, and more importantly, Benedict wrote it down, thus preserving his ideas.  The Rule of Saint Benedict continues to be important, but if you were to look at it, having never looked at it before, you might say, "This?  This little book is so important to so many across so many societies?"

Yes indeed--it's only 73 short chapters, but it covers most of the important elements of how to live together.  The Rule divides the lives of the monastic community into work, prayer/worship, and sleep.  The Rule talks about how to be obedient, both to God and to the abbot, and what to do when one is not.  The Rule also talks about how to manage a monastery.

It was written in the year 516, and unlike many ancient texts, it still reads well, and the ideas still hold up.  It seems simple, but when one thinks through the implications, it's really not.  Neither is it hopelessly complex--it's not quantum physics.  Unlike many ancient texts, it still seems both brilliant and useful.

Benedict gets the credit for being the founder of Christian monasticism, and rightly so.  He created an order and a rulebook that kept communities together through some of the most difficult times of human history.

I always wonder if these ancient monastics knew that they were creating something so lasting.  I suspect not.  Wikipedia tells me that Benedict founded twelve communities, and he was probably most focused on their success, not in hoping that his brand of monasticism would last into the 21st century.  In fact, he might shake his head at the fact that we're focused on The Rule that he wrote, not on some other project, now lost to us, that was nearer and dearer to his heart.

Today I take courage from the example of Saint Benedict.  Today I am grateful for Benedict and for the monastic tradition he created.

Anchored

Our communal tables have gone dark.

We may feel like empty jars waiting to be filled.

We search the dark sky, searching for clues.

We look for signs that others have gone before us.

We hope for shutters that will open safely.

Filled with hope and dread, we anchor ourselves as we sing the Liturgy of the Hours, the way the ancients taught us.