Wind and Rain, Bless the Lord!

I had wrapped myself in my rain jacket and was walking as fast as I could from the seminary campus with my hood covered head dug tight into my soaked stiff chest.  It was still pitch black at 5:52 am with the only light coming from the orange lamps which illumined the front of the abbey church, reflecting a shine upon the sidewalk leading me toward dry refuge.  Hurricane Isaac had finally reached the North Shore of Lake Pontchartrain a few hours prior, bringing side sweeping sheets of rain and 75 mph wind gusts with him.  As I continued the journey I could see how the entire area of the abbey grounds was now entrenched by an inch deep puddle with the church building now resembling a sort of mighty ship emerging from the harbor waters, completely unshaken, unmoved.  By the time I had reached the covered doorway my pant legs were drenched and my muscles were still tightened from the work it took to walk against the blowing gusts.  Luckily my boat was firmly moored, ready for six o’clock vigils.

It took every bit of strength I had left to open the towering wooden doors; it seemed as though my spirit was being tested by the powering winds of heaven and earth.  As soon as I was safely within the walls of the church and the door was shut behind me, I quietly slipped off my jacket, hung it on the post, and quickly began whipping the droplets of water from the lenses of my glasses using the inside cloth of my front pants pocket.  Once I positioned them back on my face it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the solemn darkness within the sanctuary.  The only lights were those which hung above the altar revealing the two rows of choir stalls below: each facing the other, one of the north side, the other on the south.  The sanctuary lamp flickered a small candle light above the tabernacle; all is well, my Lord is here.

The abbey church is humongous; the prized pearl of the bayou.  It’s a good 50 yard walk to the choir stalls and by the time I had reached them, I quickly recognized the four early bird monks who are always there seated before I arrive each morning.  And this morning of all mornings, why should a silly hurricane keep me from attending prayer with the monks?  As I slipped into my cedar plank seat it had occurred to me that I hadn’t taken a breath since entering the church for fear I would disturb the monastic silence.  And so upon slowly exhaling I looked up to see the large fresco of angels circling above me, singing their celestial hymn.  When I looked down toward the wall opposite from my stall, I noticed the fresco of old father Abraham with knife in hand, all too ready to sacrifice his son Isaac at God’s command.  Luckily for Isaac, the hand of the angel of God is keeping Abraham from going through with the deadly blow, and luckily for me, Isaac is only blowing back as a category 1 this morning.

The wind can be heard swirling all around the outside of the church building as tiny droplets of rain sizzled loudly on the window panes much like bacon on a hot iron skillet.  As the remaining members of the monastic community begin to trickle in from the passage way which connects the church to the monastery building, a warm feeling of peace and security begins to overwhelm my entire body causing every one of my muscles to go limp.  The inside of the ship begins to creak and groan as it floats atop the troubled waters, or perhaps it’s the hard winds bellowing against the large wooden doors at the entrance.  The howling gets louder and softer and louder as the monks flip through the pages of their prayer books, all to ready to begin this day with thanks, praise, and prayers for the whole world.  As the abbot taps his wooden gavel signaling the brothers to rise, I know I must offer these prayers for those who are not as fortunate as I to be safely in the thick hull of this ancient abbey, those without shelter or who will be without shelter by the end of Isaac’s wrath.

Facing east towards the crucifix each monk crosses their mouth with their thumb while chanting:

Lord, open my lips…

And my mouth shall proclaim thy praise…

The cantor begins the intonation of the invitatory psalm:

Come ring out our joy to the Lord,

Hail the Rock who saves us;

Let us come before Him giving thanks,

With songs let us hail the Lord…

(Psalm 95)

Just another day’s work for the monk.

Love Unerring, Love Divine

 

Basilica de San Benedetto (Norcia, Italy)
Photo by Author



If we run away from the Truth, what happens?  Does something happen to us now, or in the hereafter?  Does this affect the spinning of the planets or cause the eagle to blink?  But would it even be possible to deny Him, since He has revealed Himself to us just by the act of creating us and keeping us alive?  Some may think they have chosen not to believe or follow, and sure we have our free will, but what’s to say salvation does not continue to aid and guide us all along our merry way?  He who is so rich in compassion, who IS compassion, could not possibly cease the focus of His watchful eye from caring for our every step.  Creation was not a single event in the history of our being but a continual process which encompasses every moment of our lives.  Creation is God's act of love, a God who created us and loves us who cannot deny us just as He cannot deny Himself.  As creation unfolds so too does Incarnation: the perfection of creation by the act of God becoming man, Jesus Christ.  And once Jesus comes into our lives to help us make sense of it all, to show us this isn't it, that enternal joy lies beyond our earthly lives, the rest is history.

No, I don’t think it’s possible to cease a journey we have once begun, this one we began from the moment of our conception.  To say it’s possible to quit on God, to say “I’m done seeking Him” would be the same as claiming you chose to no longer breath one more breathe.  Seeking God is the only constant we have as humans this side of heaven.  Someone may claim to be an atheist, may claim to not be seeking this God whom they don’t believe in, but little to their knowing, they are still seeking heavenly fulfillment, in whatever way, shape, or form.  When one does not wish to fill the void with God, the only person who can make us whole again, then all they are doing is using that which is insatiable to slake a thirst only God can quench.  What are the common insatiable means of achieving a self-defined nirvana?  Media, drugs, material things, other people, ourselves…basically everything on earth that isn’t God.  Every thing we have been given on earth will eventually foresake us; God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is all who remains in eternity.

 It does not require any special circumstance to begin an act of faith.  It does not matter how you were raised, what horrible things you have done, or who you believe you think you are.  All that is required is that you begin.  Do not believe it comes naturally for anyone or that it’s just easy for certain “types” of people.  Believing is hard and faith is not natural, it’s supernatural, it’s not easy for anybody.  But thank God for His grace, for faith is a gift which can in no way be achieved or earned by our own means.  Allow faith and hope to reign in your life, for when we reach heaven we will no longer require such gifts as we will behold God face-to-face; all that will remain is love.  And never be afraid, you have absolutely nothing to lose, for everything around you is temporal and already passing by its very nature.  Never stop looking up.  Never deny the instinct you have for searching for something which lies beyond this earthly creation.  One step at a time.  Believe.  One more step.  Inhale.  Take another step, and repeat.