With grateful hearts....that is the theme of our Sesquicentennial year. We had our opening celebration last weekend and it was wonderful. Honestly words hardly do the experience justice. I've been here for 3 months now (new record!) and I've learned so much in this short time and I am grateful for all of it.
As I have listened to the testimony of friends of this community, sisters within this community, and written chronicles of our past sisters, I am filled with awe and gratitude for this community. A few weekends ago I remember being overcome with emotion while listening to the testimony of gratitude from individuals who have interacted with the community over the years. They came and spoke of the warm hospitality, the genuine care and concern, and the life-saving encouragement they encountered from sisters in our community. In that moment I felt so unworthy to be a part of something so great, and yet I also felt a sense of pride/responsibility for and to this community to be the best person I can and do the best I can for others. I was unaware I could feel so many strong emotions all at the same time.
Fast forward through an overwhelming auction/fundraiser and the deaths of two sisters, and now to open the sesquicentennial year. I heard the testimony of gratitude from sisters of the community for the support they have received through their lifetime as a member of this community. Each spoke of the bonds and friendships they have experienced and the feeling of unconditional love and acceptance. They expressed exactly what I have begun to experience and what I hope to have throughout my life. By Sunday evening I was already overwhelmed by my love, admiration, and gratitude to this community. At our opening banquet those feelings only grew as we were reminded of the gratitude others feel toward us as a community. From being served a wonderful meal, the live entertainment, the testimonies, and the hard work put into the evening, the whole experience was beyond what anyone could have expected.
I am still exhausted from the weekend, almost from the sheer emotional exhilaration of it all. I am so proud to be a small part of this community and so incredibly grateful for the opportunity to grow with these women throughout my life.
With grateful hearts indeed...
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
The beauty of death
This weekend I was blessed to have a unique experience...I was witness to a community death.
Sunday evening was our annual auction/fundraiser. I spent the day helping set up for the event (unloading equipment and auction items, setting up computers, etc...). That afternoon as people were arriving, one of our sisters fell and injured her head. She was taken to the hospital but appeared to have only minor injuries.
I called one of the sisters that had gone with her to the hospital to see if she needed some dinner because they had left before dinner was served. It was then that I learned that our injured sister was dying. I was shocked because it had seemed to be a relatively minor injury. I was asked to help bring a car back to the event from the hospital. I checked in to let someone know I was leaving and then rode to the hospital to exchange the car. I asked to go up and visit and was taken up to her hospital room on the 4th floor. I don't know what I was expecting to see but I was surprised at seeing this sister close to death...a stark contrast to her appearance just hours prior.
I went in and stood on the left side of her bed. Her breathing was very sporadic and occurred infrequently. The nurses in the room were checking her vitals and were having a hard time getting a reading. The nurses left to give us some privacy and it was just the four of us. One sister placed her arm around her shoulder and began to talk to her. She told her it was ok to go and that it was time to go home. She talked to her about meeting God and about finding out if the old Irish legends were true.
She began to sing to her, starting with the Suscipe that all sisters sing at their final profession, "Receive me O Lord as you have promised that I may live. Disappoint me not in my hope". The other two of us joined in and we sung the refrain the traditional three times. We also sang the canticle and the blessing that had been sung at the event while she had been here in the hospital. I had been feeling so helpless standing there, but as we began to sing I realized my purpose...I knew these songs and could help us to sing them well.
I stood toward the end of her bed on her left side, and placed my hand on her knee as we sang. Occasionally, while we sang, she would take a breath and then go still. It wasn't until after we were done singing that I realized she had taken her last breath. We brought in the nurse, who then checked and confirmed her death. Phone calls were made and business conducted at which time I kissed her on the forehead and said goodbye. I left to return to the event and deliver the car to the sister that would drive the group home.
As I left, I cried...but I can't say that I cried tears of sorrow. I think the tears came from a flood of emotion. I was indeed sad to lose the presence of this woman...because I knew her to be kind, hospitable, insightful, and caring. The experience of this death was both peaceful and dramatic. There was no visible struggle with death and it came suddenly. The drama was the unseen knowledge of what had transpired. I had just witnessed someone's mortal life end.
I've learned in monastic life, however, that death is not simply an end. To witness a death is more to witness a birth. The mortal life is ended, the body has taken its last breath. But unseen to us, is the reception of this soul into eternal glory. What I watched was the culmination of a life lived in service of God. It was the end of the journey, the final leg of the race. This woman had dedicated her life to seeking God and was now exactly where she had worked so hard to be...in heaven with God...the love of her life.
I guess in some ways I felt a pang of jealousy. She had endured the trials of life and had faced the ever present longing for more...and was now receiving the reward for a life spent in service. I look at myself at age 28 and think "I have so far to go" and it can be a daunting challenge. Yes this life holds many joys, wonders, and mysteries...but there are also many trials and sacrifices. While at times, when I am tired and weary, I think that eternal rest sounds so enticing...I also know that I am not ready. I have many things I want to do and many experiences I want to have...but most of all I know that I am not ready for eternal glory. I have work to do and, while I know I will never achieve perfection, I am ready and willing to face the challenges that lie ahead.
Sunday evening was our annual auction/fundraiser. I spent the day helping set up for the event (unloading equipment and auction items, setting up computers, etc...). That afternoon as people were arriving, one of our sisters fell and injured her head. She was taken to the hospital but appeared to have only minor injuries.
I called one of the sisters that had gone with her to the hospital to see if she needed some dinner because they had left before dinner was served. It was then that I learned that our injured sister was dying. I was shocked because it had seemed to be a relatively minor injury. I was asked to help bring a car back to the event from the hospital. I checked in to let someone know I was leaving and then rode to the hospital to exchange the car. I asked to go up and visit and was taken up to her hospital room on the 4th floor. I don't know what I was expecting to see but I was surprised at seeing this sister close to death...a stark contrast to her appearance just hours prior.
I went in and stood on the left side of her bed. Her breathing was very sporadic and occurred infrequently. The nurses in the room were checking her vitals and were having a hard time getting a reading. The nurses left to give us some privacy and it was just the four of us. One sister placed her arm around her shoulder and began to talk to her. She told her it was ok to go and that it was time to go home. She talked to her about meeting God and about finding out if the old Irish legends were true.
She began to sing to her, starting with the Suscipe that all sisters sing at their final profession, "Receive me O Lord as you have promised that I may live. Disappoint me not in my hope". The other two of us joined in and we sung the refrain the traditional three times. We also sang the canticle and the blessing that had been sung at the event while she had been here in the hospital. I had been feeling so helpless standing there, but as we began to sing I realized my purpose...I knew these songs and could help us to sing them well.
I stood toward the end of her bed on her left side, and placed my hand on her knee as we sang. Occasionally, while we sang, she would take a breath and then go still. It wasn't until after we were done singing that I realized she had taken her last breath. We brought in the nurse, who then checked and confirmed her death. Phone calls were made and business conducted at which time I kissed her on the forehead and said goodbye. I left to return to the event and deliver the car to the sister that would drive the group home.
As I left, I cried...but I can't say that I cried tears of sorrow. I think the tears came from a flood of emotion. I was indeed sad to lose the presence of this woman...because I knew her to be kind, hospitable, insightful, and caring. The experience of this death was both peaceful and dramatic. There was no visible struggle with death and it came suddenly. The drama was the unseen knowledge of what had transpired. I had just witnessed someone's mortal life end.
I've learned in monastic life, however, that death is not simply an end. To witness a death is more to witness a birth. The mortal life is ended, the body has taken its last breath. But unseen to us, is the reception of this soul into eternal glory. What I watched was the culmination of a life lived in service of God. It was the end of the journey, the final leg of the race. This woman had dedicated her life to seeking God and was now exactly where she had worked so hard to be...in heaven with God...the love of her life.
I guess in some ways I felt a pang of jealousy. She had endured the trials of life and had faced the ever present longing for more...and was now receiving the reward for a life spent in service. I look at myself at age 28 and think "I have so far to go" and it can be a daunting challenge. Yes this life holds many joys, wonders, and mysteries...but there are also many trials and sacrifices. While at times, when I am tired and weary, I think that eternal rest sounds so enticing...I also know that I am not ready. I have many things I want to do and many experiences I want to have...but most of all I know that I am not ready for eternal glory. I have work to do and, while I know I will never achieve perfection, I am ready and willing to face the challenges that lie ahead.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Still in the desert
So, as I mentioned last time, we've been doing a lot of reading and discussion on desert spirituality. Particularly since Monday was the feast of St. Teresa of Avila, I've also been doing more exploration and reading on the "Dark Night of the Soul". The book I'm reading talks about the spirituality of a "dark night" as explored by Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross.
Anyway, as I'm learning about these concepts, my own current experience in a "dark night" or "desert" inspired me to do some writing. The other day before Vespers, I was suddenly struck with the urge to write down my own visual and emotional representation of the "desert" in my mind.
Here is what I wrote:
I close my eyes and and I am transported to the desert.
I stand in the middle of a wasteland so bare that not even the sun can touch its terrain.
As I take in my surroundings I feel a sense of life attempted and yet failed.
At my feet lay the remains of a shrub that has been beaten down by wind, defeated by heat,
and starved of life giving water.
I fear that my fate might be as such if I do not act swiftly.
It is not night, yet I am in a grey darkness.
The painfully dry air squelches any hope that this cloud cover might send rain.
I look to the horizon and see an overwhelming vastness that has no end.
To my right and left are rocky cliffs that offer no possibility of escape.
They loom above me, forbidding and confining.
Behind me is a vastness identical to the one that lies ahead of me.
Though I have no recollection of my journey to this point, I somehow know
that I am at a midway point between my point of origin and my destination.
As my mind begins to grasp the conditions of my exile my body suddenly recognizes the cold.
I am now painfully aware of the pervasive chill in the air.
Before I am able to decide my next course of action the wind begins to pick up speed.
The cold in the air now seeps into my very core.
I pull my sweatshirt around my body to protect myself, not only from the cold,
but from the sand now whipping and stinging the exposed skin on my face and body.
Unable to endure the pain and cold, I sink to my knees, curl up within myself, and pray.
Despite the cold and pain of the desert, I find that there exists no feeling of despair.
It is uncomfortable, empty, and very lonely...but somehow not despairing.
Somehow, in the cold and dark, there is a warm light though dim.
It exists as a beacon to guide me along this journey.
As I sit, curled within myself, I hear a sound behind me.
It sounds like a twig snapping in the woods as someone walks.
I look up and around, hoping to find the source of the sound.
I am, all at once, excited by the thought of another presence
and perturbed by the interruption of my solitude.
I feel a sense of hope that perhaps I will be rescued from this wasteland
but also a disappointment at the prospect of ending my mysterious and solitary journey.
If I were to give myself over to a "rescuer" in the desert, then I will never complete my journey.
I will always wonder what beauty and secrets God might have revealed to me throughout the desert.
I will continue forward, trusting that dim yet loving and warm light as I journey through the dark.
Anyway, as I'm learning about these concepts, my own current experience in a "dark night" or "desert" inspired me to do some writing. The other day before Vespers, I was suddenly struck with the urge to write down my own visual and emotional representation of the "desert" in my mind.
Here is what I wrote:
I close my eyes and and I am transported to the desert.
I stand in the middle of a wasteland so bare that not even the sun can touch its terrain.
As I take in my surroundings I feel a sense of life attempted and yet failed.
At my feet lay the remains of a shrub that has been beaten down by wind, defeated by heat,
and starved of life giving water.
I fear that my fate might be as such if I do not act swiftly.
It is not night, yet I am in a grey darkness.
The painfully dry air squelches any hope that this cloud cover might send rain.
I look to the horizon and see an overwhelming vastness that has no end.
To my right and left are rocky cliffs that offer no possibility of escape.
They loom above me, forbidding and confining.
Behind me is a vastness identical to the one that lies ahead of me.
Though I have no recollection of my journey to this point, I somehow know
that I am at a midway point between my point of origin and my destination.
As my mind begins to grasp the conditions of my exile my body suddenly recognizes the cold.
I am now painfully aware of the pervasive chill in the air.
Before I am able to decide my next course of action the wind begins to pick up speed.
The cold in the air now seeps into my very core.
I pull my sweatshirt around my body to protect myself, not only from the cold,
but from the sand now whipping and stinging the exposed skin on my face and body.
Unable to endure the pain and cold, I sink to my knees, curl up within myself, and pray.
Despite the cold and pain of the desert, I find that there exists no feeling of despair.
It is uncomfortable, empty, and very lonely...but somehow not despairing.
Somehow, in the cold and dark, there is a warm light though dim.
It exists as a beacon to guide me along this journey.
As I sit, curled within myself, I hear a sound behind me.
It sounds like a twig snapping in the woods as someone walks.
I look up and around, hoping to find the source of the sound.
I am, all at once, excited by the thought of another presence
and perturbed by the interruption of my solitude.
I feel a sense of hope that perhaps I will be rescued from this wasteland
but also a disappointment at the prospect of ending my mysterious and solitary journey.
If I were to give myself over to a "rescuer" in the desert, then I will never complete my journey.
I will always wonder what beauty and secrets God might have revealed to me throughout the desert.
I will continue forward, trusting that dim yet loving and warm light as I journey through the dark.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Journey through the desert
So it seems that, by some bizarre chance, most of my classes seem to be converging on one topic...the desert. We are studying the lament psalms in my Psalms class and most of the laments focus on the dark side of spirituality and persecution. In my Seeking God class we are working on spiritual awareness and unmasking distortions in our false selves. Then finally in my formation book discussion at the abbey we are discussing specifically, desert spirituality.
I am actually very glad to be discussing these topics because I definitely seem to be "journeying through the desert" in a spiritual sense. Though my transition into community life is by far easier this time around, I am definitely experiencing some trials that I did not anticipate. A large part of that difficulty is letting go of part of my own "false self".
I find that this journey through the desert is very much something I have never experienced before. There is absolutely an emptiness and loneliness present, but with a glimmer of hope. Something I read in "Silence, Solitude, and Simplicity" by Sr. Jeremy Hall is that the desert is a journey to go through, not somewhere permanent. That has really stuck with me and is definitely part of that glimmer of hope. I recognize that this dark night of the soul experience I am having is meant to teach and to purify. Somewhere in this is God's everlasting love and mercy and, despite the emptiness, God is always present holding me in His arms. The challenge then is to always remember that and not let the darkness overwhelm me.
My mantra these days: "O God come to my assistance, O Lord make haste to help me"
I am actually very glad to be discussing these topics because I definitely seem to be "journeying through the desert" in a spiritual sense. Though my transition into community life is by far easier this time around, I am definitely experiencing some trials that I did not anticipate. A large part of that difficulty is letting go of part of my own "false self".
I find that this journey through the desert is very much something I have never experienced before. There is absolutely an emptiness and loneliness present, but with a glimmer of hope. Something I read in "Silence, Solitude, and Simplicity" by Sr. Jeremy Hall is that the desert is a journey to go through, not somewhere permanent. That has really stuck with me and is definitely part of that glimmer of hope. I recognize that this dark night of the soul experience I am having is meant to teach and to purify. Somewhere in this is God's everlasting love and mercy and, despite the emptiness, God is always present holding me in His arms. The challenge then is to always remember that and not let the darkness overwhelm me.
My mantra these days: "O God come to my assistance, O Lord make haste to help me"
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Aaaannnnd...I'm back!
Well, I know I've been absent from this blog for over a year now. For those that did not know, I left the monastery last October. The transition was very difficult for me and I was a bit overwhelmed by the sudden change in lifestyle and mindset. I took some time back home to think about it and decided that I wanted to give it another try. Therefore, here I am!
I am now coming up on 2 months into my postulancy (2nd round). So far I am much happier and much more content in my journey. This time around I have a classmate and a new living arrangement which has made the transition much easier than before. My daily schedule is very similar to that of last year...work in the morning and class in the afternoon. I am taking most of the same classes as last year but I definitely feel I am learning something somewhat different this time around.
Something that has made this transition easier has been my prior knowledge of the lifestyle. While I initially thought my leaving the monastery was a mistake, I know realize that it was what I needed on this journey. Had I stayed last year, I doubt I would have ever really been able to experience the lifestyle because of my own struggles and trials. This year I entered with a much better understanding of the lifestyle and, most importantly, what it was about my life and my mindset that might need to change.
I feel like last year I attempted to change so many things about myself right from the start. I immediately recognized aspects of my life and my thoughts that would need to change in order to really live monastic life and I immediately set out to make those changes. I was unaware of how difficult that would be and just how much time that would take. It was too much too soon and I overwhelmed myself.
The most valuable thing I have learned about this life is that it is just that...a LIFE. It is a life that takes an entire life to live and I have an entire life to try. It is difficult to wrap my mind around striving to achieve something that I will ultimately never master. This life is not a series of checkpoints that I will cross off as I "accomplish" them, never to look back. It is a life in which I will strive to better myself through the wisdom of others and, ultimately, with the help of God. I will fail, over and over again. I will one day take 3 steps forward and the next 5 steps back. But most importantly, I am discovering that I am not on a linear journey...there is no straight line to the finish, and that is enough for now.
I am now coming up on 2 months into my postulancy (2nd round). So far I am much happier and much more content in my journey. This time around I have a classmate and a new living arrangement which has made the transition much easier than before. My daily schedule is very similar to that of last year...work in the morning and class in the afternoon. I am taking most of the same classes as last year but I definitely feel I am learning something somewhat different this time around.
Something that has made this transition easier has been my prior knowledge of the lifestyle. While I initially thought my leaving the monastery was a mistake, I know realize that it was what I needed on this journey. Had I stayed last year, I doubt I would have ever really been able to experience the lifestyle because of my own struggles and trials. This year I entered with a much better understanding of the lifestyle and, most importantly, what it was about my life and my mindset that might need to change.
I feel like last year I attempted to change so many things about myself right from the start. I immediately recognized aspects of my life and my thoughts that would need to change in order to really live monastic life and I immediately set out to make those changes. I was unaware of how difficult that would be and just how much time that would take. It was too much too soon and I overwhelmed myself.
The most valuable thing I have learned about this life is that it is just that...a LIFE. It is a life that takes an entire life to live and I have an entire life to try. It is difficult to wrap my mind around striving to achieve something that I will ultimately never master. This life is not a series of checkpoints that I will cross off as I "accomplish" them, never to look back. It is a life in which I will strive to better myself through the wisdom of others and, ultimately, with the help of God. I will fail, over and over again. I will one day take 3 steps forward and the next 5 steps back. But most importantly, I am discovering that I am not on a linear journey...there is no straight line to the finish, and that is enough for now.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Coming up on a month
Well I am quickly approaching my one month mark....whew. So far (and by so far I mean today) everything is going well. I am content, busy, and able to keep perspective...but like I said....that's today. Basically I literally cannot think about more than one day at a time. For example...several days ago I was in a wonderful mood. Everything was going well, I was very happy, I even managed to start thinking about the future a little without having a panic attack. I actually thought that I might maintain this state for a good length of time...and of course I was wrong. It can happen in an instant: I make a mistake that upsets me and suddenly I feel the very real and very painful strain of this transition and suddenly my good perspective is lost and I find myself fighting the urge to run the other direction.
Obviously I have not run yet, nor do I intend to, but it is a difficult process. I'm learning more about myself than I ever thought possible...which is saying something considering how self-aware I presumed myself to be. I wouldn't say I'm learning anything about myself that I didn't already know, but rather I'm learning about myself in regards to things like selflessness and most of all humility. I'm learning how to be a member of a community and to restructure my own identity from someone who was defined by what I did into someone that is not defined by any specific pragmatic ability, but rather by what personal traits can be used to help the community in their constant search for God. I think the most challenging is learning to change my view of myself and my entire perspective on what constitutes a "successful" life in monastic terms. Another very challenging concept, and one that I understand I will struggle with until I die, is that of humility. Finding that balance between humility and accepting ourselves and our gifts but not becoming prideful, is something I will probably never quite understand, but should continue to attempt to obtain.
In other lighter news...my first class is today...more on that later :)
Obviously I have not run yet, nor do I intend to, but it is a difficult process. I'm learning more about myself than I ever thought possible...which is saying something considering how self-aware I presumed myself to be. I wouldn't say I'm learning anything about myself that I didn't already know, but rather I'm learning about myself in regards to things like selflessness and most of all humility. I'm learning how to be a member of a community and to restructure my own identity from someone who was defined by what I did into someone that is not defined by any specific pragmatic ability, but rather by what personal traits can be used to help the community in their constant search for God. I think the most challenging is learning to change my view of myself and my entire perspective on what constitutes a "successful" life in monastic terms. Another very challenging concept, and one that I understand I will struggle with until I die, is that of humility. Finding that balance between humility and accepting ourselves and our gifts but not becoming prideful, is something I will probably never quite understand, but should continue to attempt to obtain.
In other lighter news...my first class is today...more on that later :)
Sunday, August 21, 2011
One week down...
Well, I've survived my first week as a postulant. It's been interesting and very overwhelming. I'm so used to having a complete handle on my schedule and what I'm doing, and now I have to constantly ask questions and be told what to do and where to go. Not only that, but everything is scheduled for me and I haven't really settled into a rhythm of life here so I'm never sure what is ok to do and what I shouldn't do. Like today, I discovered that I'm not really supposed to do any housework today since it's Sunday. I don't think I've ever experienced that. So, I'm allowed to do whatever I want for the most part...but I have no idea what to do!
I think the hardest adjustment has been giving up my freedom and independence. I never realized how important those things were to me. Every aspect of my life is somehow monitored and scheduled, and it is terrifying at times. As frustrated and upset as I might get I am determined not to make any judgements or decisions yet. It is only my first week.
I start my "labora" schedule this week. So in the mornings (after 6:30 prayers and 7:15 mass of course) I will be working in various places in the monastery. I will be helping in Bethany (a guest area), sorting and delivering house laundry, and then working with any other sisters who happen to need some extra help. I'm scheduled to work in the liturgy office and the development office but those appointments don't officially start until October. In the afternoons, starting after labor day, I'll be taking classes. I'm taking a class on The Psalms, Benedictine Values, and the History of Mount St. Scholastica.
In addition to that schedule I also have some sacristy work I will be learning and will do whenever I can find the time and I am in charge of cleaning the two bathrooms in my living group. I also do dishes on Saturday nights and Sunday afternoons. It's such a strange schedule to get used to and especially since none of my jobs right now are very permanent. I show up, I learn how to do whatever needs to be done, and then I am done with that job and move on to something else. My brain is so full of information that I can't possibly try to organize it!
One day at a time....
I think the hardest adjustment has been giving up my freedom and independence. I never realized how important those things were to me. Every aspect of my life is somehow monitored and scheduled, and it is terrifying at times. As frustrated and upset as I might get I am determined not to make any judgements or decisions yet. It is only my first week.
I start my "labora" schedule this week. So in the mornings (after 6:30 prayers and 7:15 mass of course) I will be working in various places in the monastery. I will be helping in Bethany (a guest area), sorting and delivering house laundry, and then working with any other sisters who happen to need some extra help. I'm scheduled to work in the liturgy office and the development office but those appointments don't officially start until October. In the afternoons, starting after labor day, I'll be taking classes. I'm taking a class on The Psalms, Benedictine Values, and the History of Mount St. Scholastica.
In addition to that schedule I also have some sacristy work I will be learning and will do whenever I can find the time and I am in charge of cleaning the two bathrooms in my living group. I also do dishes on Saturday nights and Sunday afternoons. It's such a strange schedule to get used to and especially since none of my jobs right now are very permanent. I show up, I learn how to do whatever needs to be done, and then I am done with that job and move on to something else. My brain is so full of information that I can't possibly try to organize it!
One day at a time....
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