Perfect Strangers



St. Joseph Abbey Church
St. Benedict, Louisiana

 Let me begin with these beautifully personal words of St. Augustine which, though written in the 3^rd century, speak to each one of us as humans who share in the common experience of longing for God, something much larger than what we merely see around us: I implore you to live with me and, by believing, to run with me; let us long for our heavenly country, let us sigh for our heavenly home, let us truly feel that here we are strangers.  It is fitting that as another liturgical year comes to a close, we together as strangers celebrated the Solemnity of Christ the King during the last Sunday of Ordinary Time, recalling our very beginning and ultimate end in the Kingdom of God.  It is truly remarkable that while we are strangers, we are strangers together who, though in earthly exile, sigh for our heavenly home with one another.  In this respect, we are never strangers in the sense that we may not know one another personally, but we are strangers in that we are all unfamiliar with the physical realm we currently inhabit as we are not made for this earth.  By this common trait of ours, though we all may differ in regards to color, creed, or culture, the fact that we are on this earthly pilgrimage together means that we are all intimately bound to each other as one.

           

Christ tells us, The kingdom of God, does not come for all to see; nor shall they say: Behold, here it is, or behold, there it is, but the kingdom of God is within us, for the word of God is very near, in our mouth and in our heart.  It is very clear that by Jesus’ own teaching and followed by the living tradition of the Church, since we are all created in the image and likeness of God, the dignity we possess as creatures in the hands of our loving Creator is the same dignity bestowed on us as bearers of God, his dwelling place.  St. Teresa of Avila explains to her fellow consecrated sisters that the soul of the just person is nothing else but a paradise where the Lord says he finds his delight.  St. Teresa goes on to illustrate the interior dwelling of God within each of us as an immense castle where our soul progresses from room to room until it finds its rest in the royal chamber of our Lord and King, Jesus Christ.  This journey of our soul is indeed a way toward greater and greater perfection as the more perfect we are interiorly (i.e. the more our desires are rightly-ordered), the more inviting we become for the Spirit of God to find his rest within us.  Christ, speaking with the Father, wonderfully describes the blessedness of the faithful person with a well-ordered soul: We shall come to him and make our home with him.

But what is it to be well-ordered and prefect?  What supernatural, angelic being must we become in order to possess the entire immensity of the omnipotent Trinity within us, God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit?  No.  No, perfection is much simpler and within our reach than that, so simple in fact it must come from God himself; any complication in the matter is a mere pesky habit of human origin.  Let us understand, as St. Teresa tells us that true perfection consists in love of God and neighbor; the more perfectly we keep these two commandments, the more perfect we will be.  The simplicity of what it means to be perfect leads us to the simplicity of being perfect, which is quite simply love of God and neighbor.  By the very fact that we are not strangers with one another, in virtue of our heavenly origin, but rather brothers and sisters who journey together as strangers in a strange land, to be perfect is deeply rooted in the instinct we possess and the command we are given to love each other with the same love we have for God.

The endeavor to reach this perfection begins, as with any endeavor we undertake, with prayer.  Of all that has been written about prayer throughout the centuries, one thing remains constant: prayer is the conformity of our will with the will of God.  When writing his Rule for monks, St. Benedict instructs his brothers that every time you begin a good work, you must pray to him most earnestly to bring it to perfection. In whatever form our prayer may take, whether a group praying the rosary, a person meditating under an oak tree, a community praying together at mass, or a poor soul contemplating God while stuck in traffic, our prayer should come from and lead us toward the surrendering of our will, with all its desires, passions, wants, fears, anxieties, dreams, concerns, joys, etc., etc., into the trusting care of the God who made us, just as we pray in the prayer Jesus himself taught us: thy Kingdom come, thy Will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.  Again, St. Teresa illumines this point with words more authoritative than mine: Don’t think that in what concerns perfection there is some mystery or things unknown or still to be understood, for in perfect conformity to God’s will lies all our good.

As another season of Advent draws near, let us prepare ourselves to receive the birth of our Lord, Jesus Christ interiorly, who is truly God with us.  Although we as humans are citizens of a heavenly kingdom, continuing our journey home by each passing day we are blessed with, let us make use of the time we have on earth to welcome the Kingdom of God within us, a place where God may make his dwelling.  Let us never forget our task as strangers to prepare ourselves and one other for welcoming our King who humbly comes down from his heavenly throne to walk with us, to encourage us, and to be our strength.  This is the dignity in which we are created, and so it is through this same dignity that we live, treat one another as bearers of God, and pray with all the humility Christ shows us by his birth, his life, and his death.  Be perfect with the loving simplicity of your lives brothers and sisters, and the Kingdom of God will reign within you.

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.