Preferring Nothing to Christ

Jeremy Driscoll’s book, A Monk’s Alphabet, is a simple and engaging read. As we follow his path through the alphabet, we are offered theological reflection and a little quirky insight into the monastic mindset. He writes with an honesty that draws the reader in. I was so drawn in on first reading that I was inspired to start my own text. The framework of the alphabet helps to focus my thoughts. There is something contained and manageable about 26 entries. Although this project could take several years, from my present perspective it looks possible.

Attitude has become part of our modern vocabulary- to say that someone ‘has attitude’ implies a range of things from self-assured to arrogant. I have probably behaved in all of the ways which the word implies. A question keeps surfacing for me: Is there a monastic attitude? I am beginning to realise that there is an attitude which is authentically monastic. It is a disposition that involves assuming the good and believing that with God all things are possible. Monastic life is for the long haul and much can hang on my attitude. Allowing God to be the shaper of my attitude is both the challenge and blessing of my path.

I have been struck recently by how much time in the monastic day can be spent waiting. We assemble five times each day to pray, twice to eat and once for a period of recreation. At seven of these gatherings there is a ritualised way of waiting. Before some chapel services we assemble in a corridor known as statio, and there we stand, in order of seniority, before processing into the chapel. For other services we sit and wait in our chapel places. Our mealtimes in the refectory begin and end with a formal grace and here we stand and wait for the superior to begin the grace. Our recreation has no formal beginning, but sometimes we might wait for the whole community to be gathered before some announcement etc is made. Each of these times of waiting have a slightly different quality for me.

I have recently re-discovered the Jesus Prayer and this has the potential to transform all of the different forms of monastic waiting. The simple rhythm of the prayer can help to re-connect heart and mind. I have noticed that time can pass more quickly when I try to use the Jesus Prayer and sometimes I find I might have solved a little problem or got new courage for a situation.

What form does waiting take in your life? What can it teach you?

 The Jesus Prayer: Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner.

Every so often someone shares a video with me that sets me thinking about the potential for glimpsing God in the everyday events of life. The video below is one such video:

The Cup Song

I’ve watched it several times and each time have felt both uplifted and a sense of awe and wonder at the potential of human beings. The song is a Gaelic rendering of When I am Gone, from the film Pitch Perfect. In itself the song is beautiful and the percussion provided by cups makes it all the more so, but what draws me to re-watch the clip is the sense of unity created among the group. There is something very powerful about such a large group engaged in something so simple, something that unites and brings joy.

Present in this short clip are some of the elements that we might associate with contemplative prayer; focus, intentionality and deep joy.

People are often surprised that some of the nuns of Turvey Abbey are Facebook users. Social Networking sites are easily criticised for the influence they have, particularly on the young. Many see the use of such sites as opportunities for time-wasting, cyber-bullying and serious crime. The dangers are real and shouldn’t be dismissed too lightly. However, as a monastic, my experience of using Facebook has only been positive. There is something more engaging about sharing a picture and a few words of text or a video, than a straight forward email. I enjoy the mixture of profound, humorous and often challenging material that appears on my news feed. I don’t feel the need to update my status everyday, but I enjoy contact with those who are frequent ‘posters’. Over the years I have re-connected with primary and secondary school friends and have made new friends. It’s in this web of connection that I sense something of the Body of Christ. I am richer for these connections.

There is something too of the Body of Christ in the phenomenon of the Flashmob. It is to the faces of the onlookers that my attention is usually drawn. As they hold up their mobile phones to capture the moment, their faces show, joy, delight, wonder and often tears. There is something about the sponataneous singing and dancing that draws the onlookers in. There is a connection made between performer and onlooker and in this connection I sense the Body of Christ. That station concourse or marketplace will never be the same again. Both the performers and onlookers have sensed the sacred.

Do you have a favourite Flashmob?

I was struck recently by an article in the Church Times entitled ‘See the children’s bread from heaven’ Peter Hill,  the Arch-deacon of Nottingham outlines a diocesan motion to be put before the Synod that seeks to allow children to distribute communion. He writes of his own experience in informal settings of receiving bread and wine from the hands of a child; ‘it has always been a most natural and graceful act of sharing in Christ’s love and goodness.’

Whilst it is hard to imagine the Catholic Church discussing this motion, it nevertheless raises for me some important issues regarding children and how we see their contribution to our worshiping communities. Madeleine Simon, in her book, Born Contemplative, sees children as natural contemplatives. Watch a child at play and you will glimpse something of Madeleine Simon’s understanding. Children have an innate capacity for awe, wonder and reverence. When I think back to the children whom I taught, I can name several who would, without any training, have made very reverent ministers of the Eucharist. Maybe one day our church will discuss this too?

Church Times 16 November 2012

Today’s Gospel passage for the Feast of St Andrew begins;

‘As Jesus was walking by the Sea of Galilee he saw two brothers, Simon, who was called Peter, and his brother Andrew; they were making a cast in the lake, for they were fishermen.’

Jesus calls two men, two men who shared the same upbringing and then the same trade. They both respond to something in Jesus, they both make a decision to leave behind the familiar for the unknown.

It’s fairly common in monasteries and communities of religious to separate siblings, to find a place where each can be themselves. The wisdom of this seems to be that the presence of a sibling may make adjustment to monastic life more difficult. Yet Simon Peter and Andrew had to rub along together. I can’t help but wonder just how this worked out. Did Andrew live in the shadow of Simon Peter’s rather impetuous way? Or did Andrew quietly support him?

Today is the feast of St Mary Magdalene, sometimes known as the apostle to the apostles because the Risen Christ asked her to proclaim the good news of his resurrection to the other apostles. It is a favourite feast of mine because it calls us to rediscover the joy of resurrection in the long stretch of ordinary time, which can seem so mundane.

The hymn below, which we sing at Lauds, sums up the joy and the invitation of the feast for me.

Mary in the early morning
Walks the road Easter dawn;
At the tomb she stands in mourning:
Where has now our Rabbi gone?
Alleluia, come with God’s new light
Alleluia, light from light!

She awaits a new creation
In the shadow of this tomb.
Hope and trust and expectation,
From it will a vision come.
Alleluia, come with God’s new light,
Alleluia, light from light!

Here God’s Spirit trembles, hovers,
A new world creates for us:
In the garden she discovers
How in Jesus God loves us.
Alleluia, come with God’s new light
Alleluia, light from light!

Where is God inviting you to rediscover the meaning of resurrection in the ordinariness of your daily life?

Text © Turvey Abbey, Image: Tanya Torres

Since the beginning of Lent we have journeyed with the Israelites through the wilderness, and struggled with the author of Hebrews to understand what Jesus has done for us; we have wondered with Isaiah over the ‘suffering servant’ and lamented with Jeremiah.  And through all of this the light of Resurrection has continued to shine… even in the darkest hour.

A phrase that I read halfway through Lent has stayed with me:  There is hope within his hopelessness; there is obedience behind his doubt.  This is the scripture scholar Tom Wright trying to come to terms with the problem of Jesus being truly God and fully human.  He speaks of Jesus, as he goes to his trial and execution, as no longer desiring, but ‘intending’ to do God’s will.  Lord, if this cup may not pass me by, but I must drink it, then Thy will be done.   Here, he says, is the clue.  Jesus was tested in all ways – all the doubts and temptations that we share, he shared – and yet he did not sin.  He remained obedient – always listening – to the Father.  For those of us steeped in the Rule of Benedict we cannot hear the word ‘obedience’ without also hearing the word LISTEN.  Jesus, above all, was obedient, always ‘listening’ to the Father, and listening, again with the force that Benedict gives it, of ‘doing’ his will.  Listening for Him is both contemplative and active, all of a piece.  In his doubt he remains obedient.

In His hopelessness he holds on to hope.  As St. Paul says: nobody goes on hoping for something which can already be seen.  But having  hope for what we cannot yet see, we are able to wait for it with persevering confidence.  Jesus’ hope is the flower of his love for the Father.  It is not that he can see beyond the cross or the tomb.  Again we hear echoes of our Benedictine heritage: Receive me, Lord, according to your promise and I shall live.  Do not disappoint me in my hope. 

Jesus has died, and risen, he has entered into the Father’s presence, into the ‘holy of holies’,  into the very heart of God, … accomplishing for us  a redemption that lasts forever.  Jesus, the pioneer of our faith, has entered, through our baptism, that deepest core of ourselves, where we really are who we are.  Christ is in us, healing, redeeming and setting us free. 

And may he lead us all together to everlasting life!