I did something this week that I haven't done in many, many years: I went to a big ecumenical service.
When I was young in the Order - say in the 60's and 70's - these things were the staff of life. This is a heavily Roman Catholic area and there were lots of religious communities around. We used to see each other a lot. The Week of Prayer for Christian Unity was widely observed, and we had big services to promote it. We invited each other to community celebrations and anniversaries. We had parties with each other. The local Catholic and Lutheran and Methodist churches were friendly and we knew the clergy, many of whom came here for retreat and or rest time. The scene was very alive and active and full of hope. Christian unity seemed just around the corner.
As you know, it's a very different scene now. The Week of Prayer for Christian Unity is hardly observed at all now, if anyone even remembers that it exists. The Christian Brothers moved their novitiate away from West Park, and that building is now vacant. Their property is looked after by a couple of retired brothers whom we never see. The Cabrini Sisters now have one sister at their school. The Redemptorists closed their seminary and used the building for a novitiate and then moved their novices to Toronto. The place is now a conference center, run by a handful of priests and brothers, whom we hardly know. The Marist Brothers, with whom we shared parties and conversations, continue to exercise their retreat and summer camp ministry on the property next to us, but we don't see each other much, with the exception of one brother who is a distinguished spiritual director, whom several of our brothers see. Our only really active relationship is with the Redemptoristines, a community of contemplative nuns about 3 miles from here, and who are, miracle of miracles, even smaller than we are. We have an affectionate and good friendship with them, and our lives go along together: we share anniversaries, and important services and educational opportunities. They even sometimes come to our Bach Vespers.
The parish scene has changed as well. The increasing conservatism and hard-line course of the Roman Church has made associating difficult. We haven't been invited to one of the local parishes in years. The Lutherans and Methodists with whom we were so friendly have disappeared as well - we're all having more trouble maintaining things now and priorities are different. Their place has been taken, interestingly enough, almost entirely by clergy and lay people from the Reformed tradition - Presbyterians, the Reformed Church (whose Dutch ancestry makes them quite strong in this area) and the United Church of Christ. But these are mostly not local friends but people who come to our guesthouse from various localities, both far and near, drawn by the sense of spirituality that we offer. Still, the relationships are good, and we value them. But we are in an ecumenical winter.
Then all of a sudden, right out of nowhere, comes the Church of St Paul the Apostle in Manhattan, wanting us to sing Vespers for them. What is this about?
It turns out that what it's about is that this past year as been The Year of Paul in the Catholic Church. (Did you know this? I hadn't heard of it until a month ago). The close of this year of celebrating the heritage of the Apostle Paul was last Monday, the feast of St Peter and St Paul, and after a year of special Masses, seminars, lectures and discussions, they wanted something special to close the year with. They thought a sung service of Evening Prayer would do nicely. But who would sing it? They wanted it to be chanted. Only they didn't know anyone who chants. No one they knew had any ideas either. The official position of the Roman Church is that Gregorian Chant can only be done with Latin words (something of a surprise to Anglicans, who have been singing it in English for a couple of hundred years), so their liturgical music tends to be simplified and modernized. It wasn't what they wanted. Didn't anyone know some group that chants?
Their new organist and choir director is, of all things, an Episcopalian. Not only that, but he's someone who is very familiar with Holy Cross and has been here from time to time. Yes, he said, there is a group who chants, and who does it well. But they are Episcopalians. Would that do? God bless the Paulist Fathers, they didn't even hesitate, they just got their organist to call us up and invite us.
So off we went in our van last Monday to sing Vespers at the Church of St Paul the Apostle, which is near Columbus Circle in New York. It is a huge church and very beautiful. It also provides quite a comment on how the religious scene has changed for all of us. It used to seat 2,000 people and had simultaneous masses, upstairs and downstairs, on Sunday mornings, every hour on the hour. Now they have renovated it and it seats more like 1,000. It has a beautiful baptismal pool and a free-standing altar, and lots of open space. They also now have one mass on Saturday afternoon and two on Sunday morning. The congregation seems to be largely from the Philippines.
They were the heart of hospitality. We were welcomed very warmly and after we had done some rehearsal time we were given a very nice tour of the church, complete with a history of the Paulist Fathers. Then we shared supper with the resident community in their refectory and then had Vespers.
And Vespers was no small thing, either. When Episcopalians say they don't know how many are going to turn out we mean is it going to be 20 or 25? When the Paulists say it, it turns out to mean how close to 1,000 is it going to be? And it was reasonably close, as it turned out. The church wasn't packed, but it was comfortably filled. And they sang very nicely, too, and joined in the chanting with ease. We chanted the Psalms and the Canticle, then sang the Magnificat. The sermon was by Fr Jim Kowalski, the Dean of the Cathedral of St John the Divine. They don't do things small at St Paul the Apostle! The whole event was warm and lively, and people seemed delighted to be there and were most complimentary about our singing. The reception afterwards was quite splendid, with wines (and alternatives) and bountiful food. In many ways it felt like the good old days. It felt like we were truly fellow Christians on the path to God, and that we could enjoy going there together.
And now, what of the future? Well, I'm always looking for the next opportunity to seize, so before we left I had a few minutes with the organist and said that he should keep us in mind if they needed more chanting. And I told him that my agenda was that, with the ecumenical movement in its present doldrums, I thought that any connection that felt real and lively was worth cultivating, and that this one did. He couldn't have agreed more and was grateful. Will anything happen? I don't know. It's a delicate situation right now. But if there's any opportunity for us to love one another (or even to like one another, or even to just know one another) I'll take it.
And... one of the people who was at the service was so intrigued by our existence that he came to the guesthouse this weekend to find out what we are all about. You never know.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
A Few Good Beads
Beads are pretty ubiquitous in religious circles. Most religions that have a developed tradition of meditation also have some form of prayer beads. There seems to be an irresistible urge to get your body involved in meditative prayer and beads fill the bill just right - they give you something to help with your concentration, and something to fiddle with, to deal with stray emotional energies.
I've been thinking for a good many months now about getting some wrist beads. They are a sort of bracelet that is worn just above the wrist. I've liked the idea of having beads so close to hand - literally. I've had tiny rosaries that you carry in your pocket, but they don't "do the job" for me - I just don't have my hand in my pocket that much, and I find myself carrying around forgotten beads most of the time. So I thought that the wrist model might do the trick. They certainly would be available, and also visible, and presumably having them on your wrist would keep them in the back of your mind.
There are Christian versions of these rosaries, usually with wooden beads strung on a flexible cord and with a little cross tied in where the two ends have been joined. We've even had them in our store from time to time, but we don't have any right now. However, I knew just where to find some. I have a friend who is a Tibetan rug weaver and he has a store in Woodstock that has bins and bins of wrist rosaries - Malas the Buddhists call them. So I popped into The Tibet Store when I was last in Woodstock about 3 weeks ago and said hello to Galla, and rummaged through his stock of wooden, plastic, jeweled and other miscellaneous types of malas. I picked up a few - you need to have a spare, because if you use a cord rosary very much it doesn't last long. The cords fray and break, and then you have to gather up the beads and restring them.
Wearing my wrist rosary has been a fascinating experience. Having used prayer beads in formal meditation for years and having carried some around in my pocket, I thought I knew pretty well what it would be like. But I didn't. For one thing, the wrist beads are more "insistent" than any other kind. You feel them all the time. They accompany you through every minute of the day, and since your wrist is a pretty sensitive part of your body, they don't go out of mind very easily. They call pretty insistently.
And I find myself answering the call pretty frequently. That's why I got them, after all. And they are so easy to use. A flip of a finger and they are in your hand. When you're done, an easy slip of the fingers through the mala and they're back on my wrist. And that very easiness of use has put them in my fingers more than I thought they would be. Standing in lines is a very good time to use them. Walking is also good. It is about 1/10th of a mile from one end of our buildings to the other, and I do that walk a number of times during the day, and often as not I'm by myself. So just in this short time I've found it pretty automatic: I start off walking and the beads are in my fingers, sort of all by themselves. Any kind of waiting time is also good. The beads seem to be doing their own waiting there on my wrist for an available moment to come along - before and after Offices, in silent moments at my desk, in the Incense workroom. And at more public times, when actually fingering the beads would feel pretty ostentatious or inappropriate, their gentle pressure is still there, asking for a little attention.
I usually use the Jesus Prayer to pray with my beads: "Lord Jesus Christ, Word of God, have mercy." A prayer to a bead, sometimes really focused, sometimes just as a sort of background accompaniment to the task of the moment. The beads draw my heart to Christ, and they serve as a way to intercede for the people around me and to express whatever is in my heart as I walk along. I have found that they have filled a lot of my day with prayer. Do you need to have beads to do this? Of course not! Do I need to have beads to do this? Well, the embarrassing answer would appear to be "Yes". At least a lot of the prayer I might have been doing didn't get done until I had them. How often do we say - even monks - that we can't find the time to pray. The beads are gradually teaching me that the time is there, just waiting for me to turn my attention and my heart towards God. Quite a lot of time, in fact, is there,in which God calls to us. The beads are a way to answer.
And they accompanied me on quite a journey this past week. On Wednesday afternoon I had dental surgery. It's been scheduled for quite a while because it was going to take a whole afternoon, and we had to find a day when the Periodontist had that much time in his schedule. I had to have a tooth pulled, and a good deal of accumulated infection cleaned out from my jaw and then the pocket had to be packed with bone fragments, which will act as a 'scaffold' on which my own bone will begin to grow back. I knew it would be quite a process, but I wasn't worried about it. The doctor is very skilled and I have a lot of intuitive trust in him, though he has never done this kind of work on me before. But I have had this sort of work done before, and, all things considered it isn't what I would choose to be doing on a Wednesday afternoon, but it's not the end of the world, either.
So I wasn't particularly anxious. Or so I thought. I sat there in the waiting room. And sat. And sat. This apparently was going to take some time. Four other people were there. One by one they went in ahead of me. Ok. I got the message. I slipped my beads into my hand and began to pray: "Lord Jesus Christ, Word of God, have mercy"..... The woman next to me had her attention on her book. A teenager was looking out the window. The woman across the room was wondering what on earth I was doing. "Lord Jesus Christ, Word of God, have mercy."
The first thing that happened was that my anxiety was revealed to me. I was carrying it around under a veil of denial, and one of the first things that meditative prayer can do is reveal what you are really feeling. There is was, a great lump of it, and it felt pretty overwhelming. "...... have mercy". But it was there, and I was there, so it seemed that we should get acquainted. I felt my anxiety in my chest, and my stomach and my throat. I felt my surprise that it was there. I just let it be there and kept company with it. "......... have mercy."
And then, surprisingly, in a very few moments, my heart opened wider and there was a feeling of spaciousness and calm - a nice big space to be peaceful in. And as that happened, the door opened and a nurse said: "We're ready now."
So into the little room, and into the usual dental chair. The paper bib. The mouthwash. The the nurse said: "Can I get you a magazine?" Obviously this was going to take some time. So out came the beads again as I refused the magazine and said: "Nope, I'll just use the meditation beads." And her face lit up and she said: "Wonderful" and went on her way. Maybe some day I'll find out what that was about.
By the time the doctor appeared I was ready. I really was relaxed this time, and confident. It's just as well. The procedure took 2 1/2 hours. That's a long time to keep your mouth open!
And you may not believe this, but it was also interesting. I had the most fascinating dialogue with the doctor as he did the surgery. When he discovered that I was actually interested in what he was doing and that I had a scientific background to back up my interest, he began talking with me about the operation and what he was doing. He described it for me step by step. He showed me the pieces of the tooth that had come out. He showed me the granulated bone that was going in and the little collagen blanket that he was going to spread on top. I even got to see some of the infection that he scraped out.
And then we had a long talk about which pain killer to use, and how to treat the site and what to eat (surprise! - no soup. Or, no hot soup. Only cold things. Ice cream is perfect. What a nice doctor!)
But there was so little pain. Nothing like I expected. In fact, most of the rest of the day was a breeze. At bed time I took a couple of Tylenol, and that was all I needed. I slept like a baby the whole night long.
Did my experience with the beads have anything to do with that? Well actually I hadn't even connected the two things until I sat down to write this. But now that I think of it, the connection seems pretty clear. I think probably it would have been a whole different experience if I had gone in there with all that unacknowledged anxiety to cope with. I think it might have been a very different 2 1/2 hours.
Especially since I didn't do anywhere near as good a job of being with my own unacknowledged agenda the next day, and I found it a whole lot harder. I had a lot of problem getting my strength back (why is this a surprise? After all, I'd been through a pretty long and traumatic experience the day before). I felt depressed and "complainy". I dragged through the day and didn't get anything much done. Wouldn't it have been better to let the beads do their work? Someday I may learn.
And so that's been my experience this week. I recommend beads. Even more, I recommend whatever will draw you to the prayer that's waiting for you and calling you. You'll have your own version. Some little idea will call to you. Some little prayer-invention is lurking around somewhere. It will come to you in good time. Just have your ears (or your heart) open.
I've been thinking for a good many months now about getting some wrist beads. They are a sort of bracelet that is worn just above the wrist. I've liked the idea of having beads so close to hand - literally. I've had tiny rosaries that you carry in your pocket, but they don't "do the job" for me - I just don't have my hand in my pocket that much, and I find myself carrying around forgotten beads most of the time. So I thought that the wrist model might do the trick. They certainly would be available, and also visible, and presumably having them on your wrist would keep them in the back of your mind.
There are Christian versions of these rosaries, usually with wooden beads strung on a flexible cord and with a little cross tied in where the two ends have been joined. We've even had them in our store from time to time, but we don't have any right now. However, I knew just where to find some. I have a friend who is a Tibetan rug weaver and he has a store in Woodstock that has bins and bins of wrist rosaries - Malas the Buddhists call them. So I popped into The Tibet Store when I was last in Woodstock about 3 weeks ago and said hello to Galla, and rummaged through his stock of wooden, plastic, jeweled and other miscellaneous types of malas. I picked up a few - you need to have a spare, because if you use a cord rosary very much it doesn't last long. The cords fray and break, and then you have to gather up the beads and restring them.
Wearing my wrist rosary has been a fascinating experience. Having used prayer beads in formal meditation for years and having carried some around in my pocket, I thought I knew pretty well what it would be like. But I didn't. For one thing, the wrist beads are more "insistent" than any other kind. You feel them all the time. They accompany you through every minute of the day, and since your wrist is a pretty sensitive part of your body, they don't go out of mind very easily. They call pretty insistently.
And I find myself answering the call pretty frequently. That's why I got them, after all. And they are so easy to use. A flip of a finger and they are in your hand. When you're done, an easy slip of the fingers through the mala and they're back on my wrist. And that very easiness of use has put them in my fingers more than I thought they would be. Standing in lines is a very good time to use them. Walking is also good. It is about 1/10th of a mile from one end of our buildings to the other, and I do that walk a number of times during the day, and often as not I'm by myself. So just in this short time I've found it pretty automatic: I start off walking and the beads are in my fingers, sort of all by themselves. Any kind of waiting time is also good. The beads seem to be doing their own waiting there on my wrist for an available moment to come along - before and after Offices, in silent moments at my desk, in the Incense workroom. And at more public times, when actually fingering the beads would feel pretty ostentatious or inappropriate, their gentle pressure is still there, asking for a little attention.
I usually use the Jesus Prayer to pray with my beads: "Lord Jesus Christ, Word of God, have mercy." A prayer to a bead, sometimes really focused, sometimes just as a sort of background accompaniment to the task of the moment. The beads draw my heart to Christ, and they serve as a way to intercede for the people around me and to express whatever is in my heart as I walk along. I have found that they have filled a lot of my day with prayer. Do you need to have beads to do this? Of course not! Do I need to have beads to do this? Well, the embarrassing answer would appear to be "Yes". At least a lot of the prayer I might have been doing didn't get done until I had them. How often do we say - even monks - that we can't find the time to pray. The beads are gradually teaching me that the time is there, just waiting for me to turn my attention and my heart towards God. Quite a lot of time, in fact, is there,in which God calls to us. The beads are a way to answer.
And they accompanied me on quite a journey this past week. On Wednesday afternoon I had dental surgery. It's been scheduled for quite a while because it was going to take a whole afternoon, and we had to find a day when the Periodontist had that much time in his schedule. I had to have a tooth pulled, and a good deal of accumulated infection cleaned out from my jaw and then the pocket had to be packed with bone fragments, which will act as a 'scaffold' on which my own bone will begin to grow back. I knew it would be quite a process, but I wasn't worried about it. The doctor is very skilled and I have a lot of intuitive trust in him, though he has never done this kind of work on me before. But I have had this sort of work done before, and, all things considered it isn't what I would choose to be doing on a Wednesday afternoon, but it's not the end of the world, either.
So I wasn't particularly anxious. Or so I thought. I sat there in the waiting room. And sat. And sat. This apparently was going to take some time. Four other people were there. One by one they went in ahead of me. Ok. I got the message. I slipped my beads into my hand and began to pray: "Lord Jesus Christ, Word of God, have mercy"..... The woman next to me had her attention on her book. A teenager was looking out the window. The woman across the room was wondering what on earth I was doing. "Lord Jesus Christ, Word of God, have mercy."
The first thing that happened was that my anxiety was revealed to me. I was carrying it around under a veil of denial, and one of the first things that meditative prayer can do is reveal what you are really feeling. There is was, a great lump of it, and it felt pretty overwhelming. "...... have mercy". But it was there, and I was there, so it seemed that we should get acquainted. I felt my anxiety in my chest, and my stomach and my throat. I felt my surprise that it was there. I just let it be there and kept company with it. "......... have mercy."
And then, surprisingly, in a very few moments, my heart opened wider and there was a feeling of spaciousness and calm - a nice big space to be peaceful in. And as that happened, the door opened and a nurse said: "We're ready now."
So into the little room, and into the usual dental chair. The paper bib. The mouthwash. The the nurse said: "Can I get you a magazine?" Obviously this was going to take some time. So out came the beads again as I refused the magazine and said: "Nope, I'll just use the meditation beads." And her face lit up and she said: "Wonderful" and went on her way. Maybe some day I'll find out what that was about.
By the time the doctor appeared I was ready. I really was relaxed this time, and confident. It's just as well. The procedure took 2 1/2 hours. That's a long time to keep your mouth open!
And you may not believe this, but it was also interesting. I had the most fascinating dialogue with the doctor as he did the surgery. When he discovered that I was actually interested in what he was doing and that I had a scientific background to back up my interest, he began talking with me about the operation and what he was doing. He described it for me step by step. He showed me the pieces of the tooth that had come out. He showed me the granulated bone that was going in and the little collagen blanket that he was going to spread on top. I even got to see some of the infection that he scraped out.
And then we had a long talk about which pain killer to use, and how to treat the site and what to eat (surprise! - no soup. Or, no hot soup. Only cold things. Ice cream is perfect. What a nice doctor!)
But there was so little pain. Nothing like I expected. In fact, most of the rest of the day was a breeze. At bed time I took a couple of Tylenol, and that was all I needed. I slept like a baby the whole night long.
Did my experience with the beads have anything to do with that? Well actually I hadn't even connected the two things until I sat down to write this. But now that I think of it, the connection seems pretty clear. I think probably it would have been a whole different experience if I had gone in there with all that unacknowledged anxiety to cope with. I think it might have been a very different 2 1/2 hours.
Especially since I didn't do anywhere near as good a job of being with my own unacknowledged agenda the next day, and I found it a whole lot harder. I had a lot of problem getting my strength back (why is this a surprise? After all, I'd been through a pretty long and traumatic experience the day before). I felt depressed and "complainy". I dragged through the day and didn't get anything much done. Wouldn't it have been better to let the beads do their work? Someday I may learn.
And so that's been my experience this week. I recommend beads. Even more, I recommend whatever will draw you to the prayer that's waiting for you and calling you. You'll have your own version. Some little idea will call to you. Some little prayer-invention is lurking around somewhere. It will come to you in good time. Just have your ears (or your heart) open.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Chapter - and the Aftermath
Chapter (the annual community meeting of the Order of the Holy Cross) was a big deal. No surprise there. We had a lot of very high-profile stuff to deal with, most of which was occasioned by the California Tea fire and the destruction of Mt Calvary Retreat House.
We needed to talk about that, of course, and about the future of our ministry in California, but broader issues of our future, and what we are likely going to be able to sustain was part of the conversation, and what we want our life (and our monasteries) to look like came up for consideration. In addition we had a substantial amount of grieving to do for recent deaths in the community and for the loss of one of our most beloved houses.
To go straight to our conclusions, we made a formal decision to continue our Santa Barbara ministry, for the present, in the way it has begun to move since the fire. We are going to lease St Mary's Retreat House from the Sisters of the Holy Nativity and see if it will prosper under our direction. We need to see if a number of things can be made to happen, not the least of which is whether the ministry will be vigorous enough to be self-supporting. This will mean increasing the number of guests and cutting expenses, and the Santa Barbara brothers have already begun working on both those processes. St Mary's has a great deal going for it: it is very beautiful, with striking grounds and a wonderful view (not Mt Calvary's view, but then, what is?). It is also in a very historic area, right next to the Santa Barbara Mission, and it is quite easy to reach, which Mt Calvary was not. Whether the great affection in which Mt Calvary was held can be transferred to St Mary's and renewed there is what we will need to discover. We are going to give ourselves 3 to 5 years to find out.
One of the most interesting outcomes of our time together was our near unanimity in our desire to have our Benedictine roots express themselves more directly in our buildings. This is something that has been growing in Holy Cross since we acknowledged our Benedictine nature in 1984 and took up Benedict's Rule. We have a history of acquiring great old buildings and making them into retreat houses, with the guests occupying the bedrooms and the community in the servants' quarters. It works, in a way, but it directly mitigates against the development of a strong community life, and in one way or another we always find ourselves living around our buildings instead of having our life facilitated by them. This has been true just about everywhere we have been except West Park, which was built, and has been remodeled over the years, to directly express our life, and South Africa, where the same thing is true. It was clear that at this point we need to work to make this true in all of our locations. We need buildings that will support and nourish our monastic vocation first of all, and then to enable us to carry out the ministries to which we give ourselves. This is going to have direct repercussions in the future of our life at St Mary's, as well as in other of our houses. This is a very hopeful and welcome development in our lives.
The Mt Calvary property will remain as is for the present. It was bulldozed some weeks after the fire and now is grassland. We will continue to evaluate the future of that piece of property as our life develops at St Mary's.
We worked hard. We worked very hard, in fact. And you could see the effects of our days of work in the faces of everyone present. We didn't have the day off that has usually been a feature of our Chapters, and we felt the pressure of that. By the end of our time together, many of us were operating on sheer will power. But we are more united in our vision of our life and the direction in which we are moving. And, in a very hopeful sign for our future, during Chapter our Br Bernard told us he was intending to apply for Life Profession, which announcement was greeted with a hearty and prolonged burst of applause. With any luck, there will be several other such events within a few years.
You may not believe that any sensible person would behave in this manner, but the day after our meetings ended, I spent the day taking John and Andrew to Kennedy Airport to begin their journey back to South Africa. I was in a very curious state when I got back.
Since then it has been recovery time. The next morning I got up, had a cup of coffee, made myself breakfast, and then went back to bed and slept into the afternoon. I have slept well and long and still awakened each morning feeling like I hadn't rested much. I've been unable to make myself do anything productive for most of this time. I have had wonderful intentions, but my body has not been willing to cooperate. Others in the house have been in the same state. Fortunately the number of guests has been low, due to a mix-up in some of the reservations, so the demands on us have been minimal. This morning I woke up feeling rested for the first time. I assume I'm on the way back now.
Which is just as well. The guesthouse will be full beginning Tuesday of this week, largely with a Flute Master's Class, which is always great fun. So here we go again, on our way to summer. The extraordinary weather, with day after day of torrential rain and cool temperatures makes it hard to realize that it's the end of June. Surely that won't be permanent.
We needed to talk about that, of course, and about the future of our ministry in California, but broader issues of our future, and what we are likely going to be able to sustain was part of the conversation, and what we want our life (and our monasteries) to look like came up for consideration. In addition we had a substantial amount of grieving to do for recent deaths in the community and for the loss of one of our most beloved houses.
To go straight to our conclusions, we made a formal decision to continue our Santa Barbara ministry, for the present, in the way it has begun to move since the fire. We are going to lease St Mary's Retreat House from the Sisters of the Holy Nativity and see if it will prosper under our direction. We need to see if a number of things can be made to happen, not the least of which is whether the ministry will be vigorous enough to be self-supporting. This will mean increasing the number of guests and cutting expenses, and the Santa Barbara brothers have already begun working on both those processes. St Mary's has a great deal going for it: it is very beautiful, with striking grounds and a wonderful view (not Mt Calvary's view, but then, what is?). It is also in a very historic area, right next to the Santa Barbara Mission, and it is quite easy to reach, which Mt Calvary was not. Whether the great affection in which Mt Calvary was held can be transferred to St Mary's and renewed there is what we will need to discover. We are going to give ourselves 3 to 5 years to find out.
One of the most interesting outcomes of our time together was our near unanimity in our desire to have our Benedictine roots express themselves more directly in our buildings. This is something that has been growing in Holy Cross since we acknowledged our Benedictine nature in 1984 and took up Benedict's Rule. We have a history of acquiring great old buildings and making them into retreat houses, with the guests occupying the bedrooms and the community in the servants' quarters. It works, in a way, but it directly mitigates against the development of a strong community life, and in one way or another we always find ourselves living around our buildings instead of having our life facilitated by them. This has been true just about everywhere we have been except West Park, which was built, and has been remodeled over the years, to directly express our life, and South Africa, where the same thing is true. It was clear that at this point we need to work to make this true in all of our locations. We need buildings that will support and nourish our monastic vocation first of all, and then to enable us to carry out the ministries to which we give ourselves. This is going to have direct repercussions in the future of our life at St Mary's, as well as in other of our houses. This is a very hopeful and welcome development in our lives.
The Mt Calvary property will remain as is for the present. It was bulldozed some weeks after the fire and now is grassland. We will continue to evaluate the future of that piece of property as our life develops at St Mary's.
We worked hard. We worked very hard, in fact. And you could see the effects of our days of work in the faces of everyone present. We didn't have the day off that has usually been a feature of our Chapters, and we felt the pressure of that. By the end of our time together, many of us were operating on sheer will power. But we are more united in our vision of our life and the direction in which we are moving. And, in a very hopeful sign for our future, during Chapter our Br Bernard told us he was intending to apply for Life Profession, which announcement was greeted with a hearty and prolonged burst of applause. With any luck, there will be several other such events within a few years.
You may not believe that any sensible person would behave in this manner, but the day after our meetings ended, I spent the day taking John and Andrew to Kennedy Airport to begin their journey back to South Africa. I was in a very curious state when I got back.
Since then it has been recovery time. The next morning I got up, had a cup of coffee, made myself breakfast, and then went back to bed and slept into the afternoon. I have slept well and long and still awakened each morning feeling like I hadn't rested much. I've been unable to make myself do anything productive for most of this time. I have had wonderful intentions, but my body has not been willing to cooperate. Others in the house have been in the same state. Fortunately the number of guests has been low, due to a mix-up in some of the reservations, so the demands on us have been minimal. This morning I woke up feeling rested for the first time. I assume I'm on the way back now.
Which is just as well. The guesthouse will be full beginning Tuesday of this week, largely with a Flute Master's Class, which is always great fun. So here we go again, on our way to summer. The extraordinary weather, with day after day of torrential rain and cool temperatures makes it hard to realize that it's the end of June. Surely that won't be permanent.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
A Matter of Perspective
This week I've had a couple of encounters that have enlarged my perspective about the current situation of the world. I, like many people, recognize the state we are in because of what we have done and are doing to our planet. Just living by the Hudson River lets me know, year by year, that we have participated in the changing of our climate and that the pace of that change is accelerating. Just going to a gas station lets me know that we are fast using up our resources. Taking a walk in our woods and seeing the small plants that never used to grow here is an indication that big things have already happened, and where that is leading is unknown.
And what to do? If I am like so many others in recognizing the changes we have wrought in the natural order of our world, I am also like many in wondering what on earth I can do about it. The possibilities I see are all so small. I'm a big believer in the reality of small things, but when it comes to our globe and our climate I wonder whether I've reached the limit of what I can imagine is being accomplished by small changes.
Then this week I was sent a copy of a speech. It was a commencement address given at the University of Portland by Paul Hawken, who is a well-known and much-published environmentalist. I really don't know why I read the speech. I get speeches and articles from friends and strangers alike, and I just don't have either the time or the interest to read most of them. It was probably a combination of the person who sent it to me and the way she described it in her email that made me take a look and browse through the paragraphs. One look and I was caught. He spoke right to the dilemma I find myself in. He says, in part:
And there it is: a fresh way of seeing, new faith, a way to go forward. My perspective altered.
And then on Tuesday I was at the Metropolitan Museum in New York at an exhibition of Korean Art from the 1400's and 1500's, It was Art With An Agenda, done in the service of a culture with a leadership that had rejected the Buddhist religion in favor of the simplicities of a neo-Confucianisist outlook. There in the midst of this art was a scroll painting. It showed a mountain scene with forests, waterfalls, rivers, flying ducks, clouds and mists. And down in one corner there was a tiny group of men seated in a circle on the ground. They occupied less than 10% of the total area of the painting. The title of the work was: "A Meeting of Government Officials." I called my friend Elizabeth who was with me and pointed out the scroll to her and she looked at it for a while and said: "Well, he has the perspective right." Can you imagine a European painting of a conference of government ministers? Do you think there would be any trees or waterfalls in it?
My most important job will be to keep my perspective right. If I can see the importance of my own agendas in the light of that perspective, I won't have any trouble seeing where my efforts belong in the struggle to save the earth.
Hawken also quotes an old rabbinical teaching that says that if the world is ending and you hear that the Messiah has arrived, first plant a tree and then go and see if the story is true.
Keep your feet rooted in the earth. Plant a tree. That will teach all of us what needs to be done. Today I will change one small part of my behavior. That is where I will begin. This is my path for now.
My post next week will be late. Our Annual Chapter happens this week and runs through Monday of next week. It's a big one for us as many of you know. It happens in the wake of the destruction of our monastery in Santa Barbara in the fires of last fall, and it has to do with taking stock of where we are and imagining our future. If you would pray for us we will be very grateful.
And what to do? If I am like so many others in recognizing the changes we have wrought in the natural order of our world, I am also like many in wondering what on earth I can do about it. The possibilities I see are all so small. I'm a big believer in the reality of small things, but when it comes to our globe and our climate I wonder whether I've reached the limit of what I can imagine is being accomplished by small changes.
Then this week I was sent a copy of a speech. It was a commencement address given at the University of Portland by Paul Hawken, who is a well-known and much-published environmentalist. I really don't know why I read the speech. I get speeches and articles from friends and strangers alike, and I just don't have either the time or the interest to read most of them. It was probably a combination of the person who sent it to me and the way she described it in her email that made me take a look and browse through the paragraphs. One look and I was caught. He spoke right to the dilemma I find myself in. He says, in part:
There is invisible writing on the back of the diploma you will receive, and in case you didn't bring lemon juice to decode it, I can tell you what it says: YOU ARE BRILLIANT, AND THE EARTH IS HIRING. The earth couldn't afford to send any recruiters or limos to your school. It sent you rain, sunsets, ripe cherries, night blooming jasmine, and that unbelievably cute person you are dating. Take the hint. And here's the deal: Forget that this task of planet-saving is not possible in the time required. Don't be put off by people who know what is not possible. Do what needs to be done, and check to see if it was impossible only after you are done.
When asked if I am pessimistic or optimistic ab out the future, my answer is always the same: if you look at the science about what is happening on earth and aren't pessimistic, you don't understand data. But if you meet the people who are working to restore this earth and the lives of the poor, and you aren't optimistic, you haven't got a pulse. What I see everywhere in the world are ordinary people willing to confront despair, power, and the incalculable odds in order to restore some semblance of grace, justice, and beauty to this world. The poet Adrienne Rich wrote, 'So much has been destroyed I have cast my lot with those who age after age, perversely, with no extraordinary power, reconstitute the world.'
There could be no better description. Humanity is coalescing. It is reconstituting the world, and the action is taking place in schoolrooms, farms, jungles, villages, campuses, companies, refuge camps, deserts, fisheries and slums. You join a multitude of caring people. No one knows how many groups and organizations are working on the most salient issues of our day: climate change, poverty, deforestation, peace, water, hunger, conservation, human rights, and more. This is the largest movement the world has ever seen.
Rather than control, it seeks connection. Rather than dominance, it strives to disperse concentrations of power. Like Mercy Corps, it works behind the scenes and gets the job done. Large as it is, no one knows the true size of this movement. It provides hope, support, and meaning to billions of people in the world. Its clout resides in ideas, not in force. It is made up of teachers, children, peasants, businesspeople, rappers, organic farmers, nuns, artists, government workers, fisherfolk, engineers, students, incorrigible writers, weeping Muslims, concerned mothers, poets, doctors without borders, grieving Christians, street musicians, the President of the United States of America, and as the writer David James Duncan would say, the Creator, the One who loves us all in such a huge way.
from Paul Hawken's 2009 commencement address at University of Portland
And there it is: a fresh way of seeing, new faith, a way to go forward. My perspective altered.
And then on Tuesday I was at the Metropolitan Museum in New York at an exhibition of Korean Art from the 1400's and 1500's, It was Art With An Agenda, done in the service of a culture with a leadership that had rejected the Buddhist religion in favor of the simplicities of a neo-Confucianisist outlook. There in the midst of this art was a scroll painting. It showed a mountain scene with forests, waterfalls, rivers, flying ducks, clouds and mists. And down in one corner there was a tiny group of men seated in a circle on the ground. They occupied less than 10% of the total area of the painting. The title of the work was: "A Meeting of Government Officials." I called my friend Elizabeth who was with me and pointed out the scroll to her and she looked at it for a while and said: "Well, he has the perspective right." Can you imagine a European painting of a conference of government ministers? Do you think there would be any trees or waterfalls in it?
My most important job will be to keep my perspective right. If I can see the importance of my own agendas in the light of that perspective, I won't have any trouble seeing where my efforts belong in the struggle to save the earth.
Hawken also quotes an old rabbinical teaching that says that if the world is ending and you hear that the Messiah has arrived, first plant a tree and then go and see if the story is true.
Keep your feet rooted in the earth. Plant a tree. That will teach all of us what needs to be done. Today I will change one small part of my behavior. That is where I will begin. This is my path for now.
The great oak watches the Hudson - Originally uploaded by Randy OHC
My post next week will be late. Our Annual Chapter happens this week and runs through Monday of next week. It's a big one for us as many of you know. It happens in the wake of the destruction of our monastery in Santa Barbara in the fires of last fall, and it has to do with taking stock of where we are and imagining our future. If you would pray for us we will be very grateful.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
A Craft Is..........?
I regret not posting last week. It got caught up in a complicated series of events involving a birthday party on Sunday that I was going to, but never actually got to. It was over in the Catskills, a couple of hours away, and we learned shortly before the event that 200 people had said they were coming. I was in a fair state of exhaustion, which my friend Elizabeth saw the minute I walked into her place (we were going to ride over together). She saw how tired I was, and confessed that she was almost that tired herself, so we had to decide if we wanted to drive that far for a party that was going to be so mobbed - the place it was being held in is not large. In the end we opted for a day of naps and an evening of Chinese food. A day or so later we discovered that 300 people had actually showed up for the party and that people were just grateful that we had decided not to add to that number. We'll go over and see our friend later in the year and wish him a happy 90th. We'll all enjoy it more that way.
But I kept looking all week for an opportunity to get my post on and the general level of work around here at this time of the year simply prevented it. It happens every now and then. Apologies and regrets.
This week I've been thinking about crafts and crafters (if that will do as a gender-neutral form of 'craftsmen'). This is probably because on Monday I went to the Ulster County Crafts Fair at the Fair Grounds in New Paltz, our local town. There were people from all over the country exhibiting, and there were some wonderful pieces of work - pottery, art, jewelery, furniture, weaving, canoes, and on and on. Of course I bought a mug. I always buy a mug, whatever the occasion. I collect mugs, and I have altogether too many of them, but there it is. It's a fascination of mine. Almost all of my mugs are hand-made. I have a couple that I've bought in department stores, and they are quite lovely, but I don't have the same feeling for them that I have for the others. There's something about the connection with the artist that makes the piece attractive to me. The mass-produced ones just don't do it, no matter how good they are. I suppose that it's this feeling about the connection of a person to something he or she makes - the sense that something of the person resides in the work - that makes Craft Fairs so popular. Even with the economy the way it is, we heard reports of good attendance and good sales from a number of the exhibitors.
So I've been thinking about crafts and people's relationships to them. And it was in this atmosphere that I had my latest haircut. My last post was about my last cut, and it's hard to think that a month has gone by and it was time for another. I deliberately picked the day and time to coincide with what I knew of Joe's working hours at the Hair Palace. I wanted to see if what had happened before was a fluke. Maybe he'd turn out to be the ordinary barber after all and I had just hit a lucky day.
Well, if that's true, I've hit it lucky twice now. He didn't have me in his chair very long before he knew that I'm not a fluke, either; I really do have an interest in his great fascination, and he was off again. This time he talked about days when his customers' hair fights back. Either they want him to make them to look a way that their hair doesn't want to be, or they have hair like mine, which grows in several different directions. That's a particular difficulty, because you can't cut the hair the same way all over that head. It has to be different in different places, and getting that to blend together is a demanding and it takes skill.
I also made him a bit nervous because I mentioned that he'd given me a really great cut the last time I was in. It was then that I found out that there's as much luck as there is skill involved in this. He never knows when a cut is going to be really great. He can have off days and on days. And if he has to "perform" for someone who wants something special, that can be a particular problem. And he knew, even though I never said it, and would have denied it if confronted, that I was expecting something special. True, I was after the conversation and the meeting of minds and hearts that I find in talking with him about hair. We have a connection that is, as I said in my last post, essentially spiritual, and I don't find that often at the Mall. I wanted that, especially. But of course, I wanted a really special job on my hair. Of course I did, no matter what I said, and he spotted that before the words were half out of my mouth. The thing he doesn't know yet - or maybe he does - is that I value what we have found in common more than the actual haircut.
Because............ and this is what I realized this week........... he really is a craftsman. Hair cutting is his craft, not just his job. There's a sense of respect in him for what he does and how he does it. He pays close attention to his customers' hair and to the way that hair is going to respond to scissors and clippers. He gets joy out of making people look good. I don't have any idea of what his inner state is while he's doing that, but I know that mine is a lot better for having the contact with him. He's not just a hair cutter. I respect the fact that cutting hair is a craft for him.
Was this cut magic, like the last one? In a word, no. It's a good cut. Good enough that people have commented on it. But it's not the last one, which was extraordinary. And that's ok. He can stop being nervous. It's fine. And I really will be interested in seeing the ups and downs of this hairy relationship.
The other thing that was happening this week is that it was time for me to be refectorian again. Time to get the coffee made and the tables set and the food served. 30-45 guests all week, and that takes time. Lots of time. All my time. It's a demanding job, and we all wrestle with it, especially on weeks like this.
And this week was different. I'm sure it has something to do with my having taken the time and the effort to work at sharing my reaction to this job. Because I'm basically an extrovert, I don't figure things out by just thinking about them. I have to talk about it to know what I really feel, so some stuff has happened that wouldn't have happened if I hadn't blogged about being the refectorian.
Essentially the transformation that I've wanted for many years actually happened. Being refectorian really became a craft for me. It was work, and it was a lot of work, but it was more than that - it did reach down further into me than I have experienced before. The rhythm of it got into my bones. The value of it (well I'm feeding people, after all!) got into my heart. I cared about it. The change has to do with having become conscious of the link of this task to meditation - the eternal return to what is here and now. Put aside what else you have to do. Draw away from the fantasies of what else you could be doing. Just be there, where you are, and when you notice that you've drifted away, come back, gently, firmly and without recrimination.
And then, as with hair cutting, as with mug making, as with the fashioning of incense, my heart can open. I can do the job because it's a good job, well worth doing. Feed your brothers. Serve your guests. Is that not deeply worth the effort?
So I wasn't even particularly wanting the week to end - and that is a big change, believe me. Yes, knowing that I have some of my time back is a relief, and some stuff that has been put to one side can now be reclaimed. But I could also have gone on quite happily. It would have been worth doing. It was my craft.
I'm glad that people like reading this blog, and people have said that it has been a revelation to them in different ways. Now I discover that it's a revelation to me, too. It helps keep me where I need to be, in the stuff of my life. Good stuff. Good life.
You know what this means, of course. This blog is my craft, too.
But I kept looking all week for an opportunity to get my post on and the general level of work around here at this time of the year simply prevented it. It happens every now and then. Apologies and regrets.
This week I've been thinking about crafts and crafters (if that will do as a gender-neutral form of 'craftsmen'). This is probably because on Monday I went to the Ulster County Crafts Fair at the Fair Grounds in New Paltz, our local town. There were people from all over the country exhibiting, and there were some wonderful pieces of work - pottery, art, jewelery, furniture, weaving, canoes, and on and on. Of course I bought a mug. I always buy a mug, whatever the occasion. I collect mugs, and I have altogether too many of them, but there it is. It's a fascination of mine. Almost all of my mugs are hand-made. I have a couple that I've bought in department stores, and they are quite lovely, but I don't have the same feeling for them that I have for the others. There's something about the connection with the artist that makes the piece attractive to me. The mass-produced ones just don't do it, no matter how good they are. I suppose that it's this feeling about the connection of a person to something he or she makes - the sense that something of the person resides in the work - that makes Craft Fairs so popular. Even with the economy the way it is, we heard reports of good attendance and good sales from a number of the exhibitors.
So I've been thinking about crafts and people's relationships to them. And it was in this atmosphere that I had my latest haircut. My last post was about my last cut, and it's hard to think that a month has gone by and it was time for another. I deliberately picked the day and time to coincide with what I knew of Joe's working hours at the Hair Palace. I wanted to see if what had happened before was a fluke. Maybe he'd turn out to be the ordinary barber after all and I had just hit a lucky day.
Well, if that's true, I've hit it lucky twice now. He didn't have me in his chair very long before he knew that I'm not a fluke, either; I really do have an interest in his great fascination, and he was off again. This time he talked about days when his customers' hair fights back. Either they want him to make them to look a way that their hair doesn't want to be, or they have hair like mine, which grows in several different directions. That's a particular difficulty, because you can't cut the hair the same way all over that head. It has to be different in different places, and getting that to blend together is a demanding and it takes skill.
I also made him a bit nervous because I mentioned that he'd given me a really great cut the last time I was in. It was then that I found out that there's as much luck as there is skill involved in this. He never knows when a cut is going to be really great. He can have off days and on days. And if he has to "perform" for someone who wants something special, that can be a particular problem. And he knew, even though I never said it, and would have denied it if confronted, that I was expecting something special. True, I was after the conversation and the meeting of minds and hearts that I find in talking with him about hair. We have a connection that is, as I said in my last post, essentially spiritual, and I don't find that often at the Mall. I wanted that, especially. But of course, I wanted a really special job on my hair. Of course I did, no matter what I said, and he spotted that before the words were half out of my mouth. The thing he doesn't know yet - or maybe he does - is that I value what we have found in common more than the actual haircut.
Because............ and this is what I realized this week........... he really is a craftsman. Hair cutting is his craft, not just his job. There's a sense of respect in him for what he does and how he does it. He pays close attention to his customers' hair and to the way that hair is going to respond to scissors and clippers. He gets joy out of making people look good. I don't have any idea of what his inner state is while he's doing that, but I know that mine is a lot better for having the contact with him. He's not just a hair cutter. I respect the fact that cutting hair is a craft for him.
Was this cut magic, like the last one? In a word, no. It's a good cut. Good enough that people have commented on it. But it's not the last one, which was extraordinary. And that's ok. He can stop being nervous. It's fine. And I really will be interested in seeing the ups and downs of this hairy relationship.
The other thing that was happening this week is that it was time for me to be refectorian again. Time to get the coffee made and the tables set and the food served. 30-45 guests all week, and that takes time. Lots of time. All my time. It's a demanding job, and we all wrestle with it, especially on weeks like this.
And this week was different. I'm sure it has something to do with my having taken the time and the effort to work at sharing my reaction to this job. Because I'm basically an extrovert, I don't figure things out by just thinking about them. I have to talk about it to know what I really feel, so some stuff has happened that wouldn't have happened if I hadn't blogged about being the refectorian.
Essentially the transformation that I've wanted for many years actually happened. Being refectorian really became a craft for me. It was work, and it was a lot of work, but it was more than that - it did reach down further into me than I have experienced before. The rhythm of it got into my bones. The value of it (well I'm feeding people, after all!) got into my heart. I cared about it. The change has to do with having become conscious of the link of this task to meditation - the eternal return to what is here and now. Put aside what else you have to do. Draw away from the fantasies of what else you could be doing. Just be there, where you are, and when you notice that you've drifted away, come back, gently, firmly and without recrimination.
And then, as with hair cutting, as with mug making, as with the fashioning of incense, my heart can open. I can do the job because it's a good job, well worth doing. Feed your brothers. Serve your guests. Is that not deeply worth the effort?
So I wasn't even particularly wanting the week to end - and that is a big change, believe me. Yes, knowing that I have some of my time back is a relief, and some stuff that has been put to one side can now be reclaimed. But I could also have gone on quite happily. It would have been worth doing. It was my craft.
I'm glad that people like reading this blog, and people have said that it has been a revelation to them in different ways. Now I discover that it's a revelation to me, too. It helps keep me where I need to be, in the stuff of my life. Good stuff. Good life.
You know what this means, of course. This blog is my craft, too.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
An Angel With Scissors
Suzanne Guthrie says that I have to blog about my last haircut. Well, she knows about spirituality, so here's the story.....
My hair is unruly. Always has been. Over the years I've learned that because it's thick, and it's curly and that it grows in several different directions. It's not easy hair to have and it's not easy to cut. Over the years I've developed some instructions for whoever cuts my hair (#3 clipper on the side, scissors on the top, short, thin it at the upper sides, etc.) I give high marks to the people who actually listen to what I say - and they don't always.
Bad-hair-day Monk
Originally uploaded by Con Ryan
Anyhow my hair had gotten to the stage where its unruliness was about to get out of hand, which is the usual sign that it needs cutting, so on a Wednesday when I had some time, I went off to the mall in Kingston to the Unisex Hair Palace (should a monk get his hair cut in a place called the Unisex Hair Palace?).
Paul, who usually cuts my hair, wasn't there, but Joe was. I've seen Joe around, but he's never cut my hair. However, he was what was on offer if I wanted a guy to be my hair cutter, which is what I was feeling like, so Joe it was.
He asked what I wanted and I told him. "Yes," he said and nodded sagely. "That's right for hair like yours." Zounds! He not only had listened to what I said, but paid enough attention to my head to have my hair scoped out already. This did not appear to be the usual barber.
So we had a little conversation about hair, and about my hair. He said that you have to pay attention to hair, and it was obvious as the talk proceeded that he not only did that, but took some real pleasure in doing it. "After all," he said, "it's my job to make you look good." He talked about hair like mine and said that there are 2 ways to do it: 1) keep it short so it can't cause trouble, or 2) let it get really long so the weight of it will control what it does. "Anything in between will be a problem." It took me 60 years to figure that out! And here is this guy who has my head figured out in less than 5 minutes.
He talked about his whole philosophy of haircutting, which has to do with careful observation, to attending to the way that hair wants to grow, and about respecting what he's presented with. He talked about dealing with balding men, a particular problem. He said: "For instance, if you have a receding hairline, like mine, you don't let your hair grow long. That just draws attention to the situation. You cut it pretty short, and then it looks OK. It doesn't make people focus on it." I couldn't believe it. I had noticed that his hair looked really good - short, and really suited to him. I would never in a million years have thought to describe him as "balding". But when I looked, there it was; yes, the male pattern receding hairline. On him it looks good. He respects his hair. I told him that. He smiled and said: "Thanks."
So on we talked of hair and its ways. He pointed out a spot above my left eye which never blends in with the rest of my hair. He said that it's a place where my hair grows in a different direction and I shouldn't brush it the same way I brush the rest of my hair. That one spot needs to be brushed forward, because that's the way it grows. And presto - when he did that it blended right in. I often talk to barbers, but seldom of anything significant. And here we were, having a fascinating conversation about the life of hair.
And then a completely unexpected thing happened. There was this nice feeling, slightly above my stomach. Felt good. Felt like this conversation was an important thing. It took some reflection afterwards to unpack what was happening, but then I realized that I had to describe it in the famous phrase of John Wesley. I was feeling my heart "strangely warmed." It crept up on me without my knowing, but here I was, reacting as though I was having a spiritual conversation of particular significance. I read about spiritual conversations and I've often felt slight guilty that I don't really know how to have one. I know it sounds whacky, but the Life of Benedict by St Gregory talks about Benedict and his sister Scholastica being caught by a storm and spending the night "talking of the joys of heaven." I've often wondered how one goes about having a conversation like that. And here I was, talking to Joe about hair, and my heart was open and alive and joyful.
Well, of course! We were talking about mindfulness and respect and attention. We were talking about all the stuff that makes meditation effective. We were doing what I spend so much time teaching, just attending to what is before you, knowing that the heart of wisdom is there, wherever you are, and that God is always at the center of that. Imagine, having the Holy Spirit descend in the right-hand alcove of the Hair Palace!
When we were done I knew I wanted to give some signal that this had been a really good time, not just a haircut. One doesn't hug the barber just out of nowhere and I had to consider the occasion, and the fact that he was not (probably) having the same experience that I was. So I did give him a good handshake, which is unusual enough at the end of a haircut. But this hadn't been the usual haircut and the handshake was enough for us to signal to each other that we both recognized something of the significance of what we had exchanged.
God is such a surprise. I always say that the spiritual things that happen to me never happen when I'm meditating. My life grows and transforms, but I don't see that in meditation - it always happens somewhere else, when all of a sudden my eyes open and I realize that something has happened or is happening. Scripture talks about this sort of occasion as an encounter with an Angel, and the word "angel" just means "messenger". A little brush with Reality: someone comes along in your path and your eyes open and God is a little more real. So you pay the angel the usual 12 bucks for the haircut and go on your way, with more depth to your life, knowing that God can meet you anywhere at all - even in the Unisex Hair Palace.
And by the way - speaking (as I was) of Suzanne Guthrie, she has a really cool web site that some of you may enjoy. It's called At the Edge of the Enclosure (the name reflects the time she has spent here at Holy Cross and with the Sisters of the Holy Spirit with whom she and Bill now reside). It's an exploration of the ways in which the Liturgical Year is a reflection of the way the soul grows along the mystical path. It has a set of meditations for each week, and wonderful art and different little things to help you along in the spiritual journey as it we encounter it in the church's liturgy through the year. You can even subscribe and it will come to you every Monday. It might even be your angel!
My hair is unruly. Always has been. Over the years I've learned that because it's thick, and it's curly and that it grows in several different directions. It's not easy hair to have and it's not easy to cut. Over the years I've developed some instructions for whoever cuts my hair (#3 clipper on the side, scissors on the top, short, thin it at the upper sides, etc.) I give high marks to the people who actually listen to what I say - and they don't always.
Bad-hair-day Monk
Originally uploaded by Con Ryan
Paul, who usually cuts my hair, wasn't there, but Joe was. I've seen Joe around, but he's never cut my hair. However, he was what was on offer if I wanted a guy to be my hair cutter, which is what I was feeling like, so Joe it was.
He asked what I wanted and I told him. "Yes," he said and nodded sagely. "That's right for hair like yours." Zounds! He not only had listened to what I said, but paid enough attention to my head to have my hair scoped out already. This did not appear to be the usual barber.
So we had a little conversation about hair, and about my hair. He said that you have to pay attention to hair, and it was obvious as the talk proceeded that he not only did that, but took some real pleasure in doing it. "After all," he said, "it's my job to make you look good." He talked about hair like mine and said that there are 2 ways to do it: 1) keep it short so it can't cause trouble, or 2) let it get really long so the weight of it will control what it does. "Anything in between will be a problem." It took me 60 years to figure that out! And here is this guy who has my head figured out in less than 5 minutes.
He talked about his whole philosophy of haircutting, which has to do with careful observation, to attending to the way that hair wants to grow, and about respecting what he's presented with. He talked about dealing with balding men, a particular problem. He said: "For instance, if you have a receding hairline, like mine, you don't let your hair grow long. That just draws attention to the situation. You cut it pretty short, and then it looks OK. It doesn't make people focus on it." I couldn't believe it. I had noticed that his hair looked really good - short, and really suited to him. I would never in a million years have thought to describe him as "balding". But when I looked, there it was; yes, the male pattern receding hairline. On him it looks good. He respects his hair. I told him that. He smiled and said: "Thanks."
So on we talked of hair and its ways. He pointed out a spot above my left eye which never blends in with the rest of my hair. He said that it's a place where my hair grows in a different direction and I shouldn't brush it the same way I brush the rest of my hair. That one spot needs to be brushed forward, because that's the way it grows. And presto - when he did that it blended right in. I often talk to barbers, but seldom of anything significant. And here we were, having a fascinating conversation about the life of hair.
And then a completely unexpected thing happened. There was this nice feeling, slightly above my stomach. Felt good. Felt like this conversation was an important thing. It took some reflection afterwards to unpack what was happening, but then I realized that I had to describe it in the famous phrase of John Wesley. I was feeling my heart "strangely warmed." It crept up on me without my knowing, but here I was, reacting as though I was having a spiritual conversation of particular significance. I read about spiritual conversations and I've often felt slight guilty that I don't really know how to have one. I know it sounds whacky, but the Life of Benedict by St Gregory talks about Benedict and his sister Scholastica being caught by a storm and spending the night "talking of the joys of heaven." I've often wondered how one goes about having a conversation like that. And here I was, talking to Joe about hair, and my heart was open and alive and joyful.
Well, of course! We were talking about mindfulness and respect and attention. We were talking about all the stuff that makes meditation effective. We were doing what I spend so much time teaching, just attending to what is before you, knowing that the heart of wisdom is there, wherever you are, and that God is always at the center of that. Imagine, having the Holy Spirit descend in the right-hand alcove of the Hair Palace!
When we were done I knew I wanted to give some signal that this had been a really good time, not just a haircut. One doesn't hug the barber just out of nowhere and I had to consider the occasion, and the fact that he was not (probably) having the same experience that I was. So I did give him a good handshake, which is unusual enough at the end of a haircut. But this hadn't been the usual haircut and the handshake was enough for us to signal to each other that we both recognized something of the significance of what we had exchanged.
God is such a surprise. I always say that the spiritual things that happen to me never happen when I'm meditating. My life grows and transforms, but I don't see that in meditation - it always happens somewhere else, when all of a sudden my eyes open and I realize that something has happened or is happening. Scripture talks about this sort of occasion as an encounter with an Angel, and the word "angel" just means "messenger". A little brush with Reality: someone comes along in your path and your eyes open and God is a little more real. So you pay the angel the usual 12 bucks for the haircut and go on your way, with more depth to your life, knowing that God can meet you anywhere at all - even in the Unisex Hair Palace.
And by the way - speaking (as I was) of Suzanne Guthrie, she has a really cool web site that some of you may enjoy. It's called At the Edge of the Enclosure (the name reflects the time she has spent here at Holy Cross and with the Sisters of the Holy Spirit with whom she and Bill now reside). It's an exploration of the ways in which the Liturgical Year is a reflection of the way the soul grows along the mystical path. It has a set of meditations for each week, and wonderful art and different little things to help you along in the spiritual journey as it we encounter it in the church's liturgy through the year. You can even subscribe and it will come to you every Monday. It might even be your angel!
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Meditation Retreat
I'm a bit late posting this week because over the weekend I was conducting a meditation retreat with my friend and colleague Mary Gates and it didn't end until lunch time on Sunday. The afternoon was for a nap and in the evening several of the brethren went to a local Mexican place where we found ourselves the only Anglos in the midst of a birthday party for an elderly woman. Great fun and the food was terrific. Then we made a pilgrimage to the new Star Trek movie - definitely a spiritual occasion!
If you aren't familiar with our Guesthouse offerings, these meditation retreats are designed to teach the meditative traditions of Christianity, and Mary and I have been conducting them for about eight years now. They had their origin in a crisis: at the time our Guesthouse was hosting several meditation retreats a year in the Insight Meditation tradition (Vipassana), which is one of the Buddhist meditation techniques.
The leader of these retreats had a daughter who was going off to college and he found out very close to the date of one of the retreats that he had to be at the parents' weekend at that time. So he couldn't do our retreat, but canceling it was going to be a considerable financial hardship for the Guesthouse.
That summer Mary and I were both taking a class in Buddhism with Jose, the leader of the meditation group that I talked about in my post last week, and at the class one Monday evening we were were talking about the situation. What could we do? It was Jose who said: "Why don't you do it yourself? You could certainly do that." And so the Christian Meditation Retreat was born: a Buddhist teacher authorizing 2 Christian students to conduct a meditation retreat in their own tradition. This must be America!
The retreat was designed to be an introduction for those who had very little experience with meditation, or who didn't know much about the meditative traditions of Christianity. We were pleased and not a little surprised when the retreat, even though it was advertised at the last minute, attracted a substantial enrollment. It looked like we had an audience.
Those who came were very enthusiastic, and were soon asking for more. So several years later we added a sequel; a version of the retreat for those with some previous meditation experience which would be a bit more rigorous and would have more time for meditating and less talking/teaching. So this has been the pattern for several years now: the introductory retreat in the fall and the retreat for those with experience in the spring. Eight years later both retreats continue to be popular.
The spring retreat is a typical meditation retreat. We meditate for most of the time. The sessions alternate between times when we sit in meditation and times when we walk. In the afternoon there is a conversation time when people can ask questions, share experiences and get some guidance on what to do. In the evening there is some teaching and a further opportunity for sharing or for questions. The rest of the time is for silence, with a very small amount of comment from the leaders. It is a demanding retreat: people are at our sessions for most of the time while they are here. There is an hour or so of free time after lunch. Otherwise we meditate. All day, all evening. Except when we're in the Church for Offices or at meals, we meditate.
From the beginning we have taught principally in two of the most familiar of the Christian traditions. I teach the ancient discipline called the Jesus Prayer, which I have taught for many years and about which I have written. Mary teaches Centering Prayer in which she likewise has many years of experience as practitioner and teacher. Over the years we have also experimented with including the form called Christian Meditation, associated with the name of John Main, and with the Labyrinth, since we have a labyrinth here that is large enough for groups to use, but in this version of the retreat we concentrate on the forms we know best.
For those of you not familiar with these ways, the Jesus Prayer is a form of prayer that goes back into the early centuries of Christianity and which had been mostly elaborated and practiced in Eastern Orthodox Christianity until the last century when Russian refugees brought it to Western Europe and then to America after their Revolution. It is a phrase: "Lord Jesus Christ, Word of God, have mercy."
It's used in many different ways, but when used for meditation it is done in the traditional way; the prayer is said, silently or aloud (sometimes even sung), often being timed with the breathing, and simply repeated over and over with attention. When attention drifts away, you bring yourself back, and the meditation is an endless series of returns to the prayer. Eventually the prayers carves out its own space inside you and becomes part of your life and of your breathing.
Centering Prayer is more formless. It is essentially a prayer of Intention. You simply sit with the intention of being with God, and of being open to God and to God's action in your life. You choose a word that expresses that intention, like "love", or "peace", and use that word to draw you back to your attention when you have drifted away. It too, has the power to transform your interior life.
Sounds simple doesn't it? Simple, maybe - easy, not! It is amazingly hard work, and the people who come to these retreats always talk about how worn out they are at the end. But it's good work. Meditation sets you on a journey into your own depths, and in those depths you encounter yourself, God and the rest of the world. Meditation puts you on the road to major change in your life and the journey to compassion. It's the beginning of a journey that has a goal but no end; it's journey into the divine.
Many begin this journey. The number of people who continue it is much smaller. The journey does involve a rigorous discipline, and that turns out to be more than many people bargain for. It involves encountering difficult things about yourself as well as the delightful stuff. Like Christianity itself, it ultimately asks for the gift of your whole self in the service of God. It asks for you to become Love. It is no small thing.
This group worked hard - very hard. The reward was a very pronounced atmosphere in the room where we sat; an atmosphere of depth and of peace. The retreat finished in a burst of joy. The retreatants were very full of what they had given and what they had gained. Each time I help to lead on of these retreats I emerge really tired and really contented. I get much more than I have given.
The experience of working hard to seek God with a group of people is quite amazing, and very fulfilling. To hear the stories of the yearning that people bring with them and of the ways in which their yearning is answered is reward enough in itself. It also makes it quite clear that the goal of meditation is the opposite of the self-absorption that many people identify with deep prayer. It really is a call into God into order to love the world and the people in the world. Being called to do this work is a very great privilege and one which I don't take lightly.
I'll be happy if these retreats go on for a long time. It's an experience that doesn't get boring with repetition. It's a grand thing to be able to offer as one of the fruits of this kind of life, and those who come for these retreat frequently end up as good friends of the community. These contemplative retreats and our work with the poor people with AIDS are two poles around which our life circulates, and that is a very stimulating and exacting call.
If you aren't familiar with our Guesthouse offerings, these meditation retreats are designed to teach the meditative traditions of Christianity, and Mary and I have been conducting them for about eight years now. They had their origin in a crisis: at the time our Guesthouse was hosting several meditation retreats a year in the Insight Meditation tradition (Vipassana), which is one of the Buddhist meditation techniques.The leader of these retreats had a daughter who was going off to college and he found out very close to the date of one of the retreats that he had to be at the parents' weekend at that time. So he couldn't do our retreat, but canceling it was going to be a considerable financial hardship for the Guesthouse.
That summer Mary and I were both taking a class in Buddhism with Jose, the leader of the meditation group that I talked about in my post last week, and at the class one Monday evening we were were talking about the situation. What could we do? It was Jose who said: "Why don't you do it yourself? You could certainly do that." And so the Christian Meditation Retreat was born: a Buddhist teacher authorizing 2 Christian students to conduct a meditation retreat in their own tradition. This must be America!
The retreat was designed to be an introduction for those who had very little experience with meditation, or who didn't know much about the meditative traditions of Christianity. We were pleased and not a little surprised when the retreat, even though it was advertised at the last minute, attracted a substantial enrollment. It looked like we had an audience.
Those who came were very enthusiastic, and were soon asking for more. So several years later we added a sequel; a version of the retreat for those with some previous meditation experience which would be a bit more rigorous and would have more time for meditating and less talking/teaching. So this has been the pattern for several years now: the introductory retreat in the fall and the retreat for those with experience in the spring. Eight years later both retreats continue to be popular.
The spring retreat is a typical meditation retreat. We meditate for most of the time. The sessions alternate between times when we sit in meditation and times when we walk. In the afternoon there is a conversation time when people can ask questions, share experiences and get some guidance on what to do. In the evening there is some teaching and a further opportunity for sharing or for questions. The rest of the time is for silence, with a very small amount of comment from the leaders. It is a demanding retreat: people are at our sessions for most of the time while they are here. There is an hour or so of free time after lunch. Otherwise we meditate. All day, all evening. Except when we're in the Church for Offices or at meals, we meditate.
From the beginning we have taught principally in two of the most familiar of the Christian traditions. I teach the ancient discipline called the Jesus Prayer, which I have taught for many years and about which I have written. Mary teaches Centering Prayer in which she likewise has many years of experience as practitioner and teacher. Over the years we have also experimented with including the form called Christian Meditation, associated with the name of John Main, and with the Labyrinth, since we have a labyrinth here that is large enough for groups to use, but in this version of the retreat we concentrate on the forms we know best.
For those of you not familiar with these ways, the Jesus Prayer is a form of prayer that goes back into the early centuries of Christianity and which had been mostly elaborated and practiced in Eastern Orthodox Christianity until the last century when Russian refugees brought it to Western Europe and then to America after their Revolution. It is a phrase: "Lord Jesus Christ, Word of God, have mercy."
It's used in many different ways, but when used for meditation it is done in the traditional way; the prayer is said, silently or aloud (sometimes even sung), often being timed with the breathing, and simply repeated over and over with attention. When attention drifts away, you bring yourself back, and the meditation is an endless series of returns to the prayer. Eventually the prayers carves out its own space inside you and becomes part of your life and of your breathing.
Centering Prayer is more formless. It is essentially a prayer of Intention. You simply sit with the intention of being with God, and of being open to God and to God's action in your life. You choose a word that expresses that intention, like "love", or "peace", and use that word to draw you back to your attention when you have drifted away. It too, has the power to transform your interior life.
Sounds simple doesn't it? Simple, maybe - easy, not! It is amazingly hard work, and the people who come to these retreats always talk about how worn out they are at the end. But it's good work. Meditation sets you on a journey into your own depths, and in those depths you encounter yourself, God and the rest of the world. Meditation puts you on the road to major change in your life and the journey to compassion. It's the beginning of a journey that has a goal but no end; it's journey into the divine.
Many begin this journey. The number of people who continue it is much smaller. The journey does involve a rigorous discipline, and that turns out to be more than many people bargain for. It involves encountering difficult things about yourself as well as the delightful stuff. Like Christianity itself, it ultimately asks for the gift of your whole self in the service of God. It asks for you to become Love. It is no small thing.
This group worked hard - very hard. The reward was a very pronounced atmosphere in the room where we sat; an atmosphere of depth and of peace. The retreat finished in a burst of joy. The retreatants were very full of what they had given and what they had gained. Each time I help to lead on of these retreats I emerge really tired and really contented. I get much more than I have given.
The experience of working hard to seek God with a group of people is quite amazing, and very fulfilling. To hear the stories of the yearning that people bring with them and of the ways in which their yearning is answered is reward enough in itself. It also makes it quite clear that the goal of meditation is the opposite of the self-absorption that many people identify with deep prayer. It really is a call into God into order to love the world and the people in the world. Being called to do this work is a very great privilege and one which I don't take lightly.
I'll be happy if these retreats go on for a long time. It's an experience that doesn't get boring with repetition. It's a grand thing to be able to offer as one of the fruits of this kind of life, and those who come for these retreat frequently end up as good friends of the community. These contemplative retreats and our work with the poor people with AIDS are two poles around which our life circulates, and that is a very stimulating and exacting call.
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