The call to the monastic setting

The mystique of the monastic setting draws people. Have you ever questioned why? Is it the architecture, the place, the people? Partly. But much of the mysterious attraction we feel comes from something deeper inside of us, something that calls us to put our cares aside, and spend some time in just being.

I believe that attraction comes from the unique silence found in monasteries. We do not know this type of silence in our busy and noisy world, because this silence is more than a mere absence of noise. It is a silence born of wonder, of awe, of awareness of someone.  It permeates a monastic setting, filling its halls and fields with a divine presence.  We go to monasteries because we can “feel” that presence and hope to immerse ourselves in it. 

Having lived many years in a monastery, I can readily identify with this ardent longing. I used to go back to my own monastery once a year to make a retreat because I needed to steep myself in the atmosphere of quiet and prayer, in presence and awareness, in awe and beauty. I would slip down for night prayer, a time when all doors were locked and I would be the only one in chapel. I would quietly take my place and listen to the chanting of night prayer. And as I sat there, time would melt away and I could remember my many years of silence, of sitting in stillness. I would let presence fill my soul, and lift me up above myself.  It was a time I deeply cherished.

But I gradually learned, I need not go to a monastery to find that presence. I too can make a cell within my own soul, a place of solitude, silence and awe. I can pray in that space, and immerse myself in that silence, in memory, and in awareness. 

Jean-Marie Howe, in Secret of the Heart, speaks to the ability we have to immerse ourselves in living prayer, writing: This interior transformation, this birth of spiritual being that takes place silently and secretly, in the very heart of our obscurity…is no mere ideal to which one can aspire but a mystery that can become a reality. 

Who would not like to “own” a monastery garden, where one could sit and contemplate within the beauty and spirit of the monastics? Who would not like the freedom to visit such a monastery gardeny, and be lifted up by the spirit of the Divine. It is not that far away. It is within each heart, though the silence of wonder, the awe of consciousness, the practice of living prayer within the chapel of our own soul. God waits there for us. It is his call that makes our hearts long.   

The Agony toward Divinity

As a novice in the monastery, The Practice of Christian Perfection by Alonso Rodriguez was required readings for all of us. One particular story stands out in my mind, his interpretation of the story of Garden of Eden, of Adam and Eve eating the forbidden fruit. He said Adam and Eve ate of the fruit not in defiance of God or his commands, but because their hearts longed to be like God.They mistakenly thought that if they ate the fruit, they would obtain what they longed for.

We all have an inner longing to be like God, whether we are aware of it or not. The Gospel of John 10:34 Jesus says Is it not written in your law "I said, you are gods?" Since the dawn of creation, we humans know we are made for something bigger than life, and that life as we know it is only half the story.

Our soul moans and yearns for divinity every single day. Half of our struggle in life is discerning this agony of heart within us, why we long so, and what for. We have to learn for ourselves that image of God. We are made to become as gods, St. Therese says. That is our destiny. We become gods when we reflect the Divine Image.

The Divine Image is before us. It is our task to see, to reflect, to mirror. It isn't something as simple as eating fruit. It is a life-long practice of faith and love. It is accepting the agony of longing knowing it cannot be fulfilled except by more longing. In time, this longing transforms us, and we find that we have fallen in love with the Divine.

To fall in love with God. It does happen. We can seek the Divine to the extent that it means the world to us, that we receive our greatest joy in his service, in singing his praise, in imitating him. It doesn't take our longing away. Instead, it turns us to focus on the desire of our heart, giving us a destination and a Someone.

Value of Vulnerability

We know we are on a quest in life. Yet, we do grow tired of the seeking. I think one of our problems comes from our culture. We like to possess, to accomplish, to arrive. And yet the very nature of quest is longing, seeking, journey. I find this in myself, the desire to "arrive" and find myself sometimes stressed with continued seeking, especially when things are dark.

Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee speaks to this kind of attitude, attributing it to our masculine vs feminine side. He notes our quest is goal-oriented, and that masculine values even dominate our spiritual quest: we seek to be better, to improve ourself, to get somewhere. We have forgotten the feminine qualities of waiting, listening, being empty (24). I find these words ring true for me.

Perhaps some of these problems stem from our concept of waiting. For us modern people, waiting is more of a punishment, an inconvenience, a test. Waiting implies some sort of failure to arrive. Possession is seen as our accomplishment. And not to have possession implies emptiness.

Yet, much happens in waiting. We do more self-reflection while waiting than in possession. We are more attentive, more alert, more filled with desire. Waiting also increases our yearning. Vaughan-Lee  says longing awakens us to our own need,a need which we can never satisfy, and so we become infinitely vulnerable, exposed to this need.

 None of us like to be vulnerable. Yet, isn't that our true state? The secret to accepting vulnerability is to stay aware of our protector, the all-present ALL. Only then will yearning bear fruit. Only then will we see value in waiting.

Longing Isn't Enough

I often talk on this blog of longing and of seeking on our journey. For me, it is the difference between a spirituality of contentment and a spirituality of never enough. But the "never enough" isn't helpful unless we realize where this discontentment springs from: our longing for the Ultimate.

Vaughan-Lee speaks to this in his book Love is a Fire: Just as Love is the Essence of the path, so is longing its agent of transformation. Vaughan-Lee reminds us that though we are born for God, we forget. We lose sight of our Ultimate, we get distracted. And then life gets messy. We get promptings of our lost: dissatisfaction with our job, our career, our present stature in life. Having all, but feeling empty. Wanting more, but not sure what "more" is. And, he says, sometimes people brush it aside; the last thing they want is to be distracted from their outer goals, their achievements, and to be taken into the vulnerability and need that are within them.

It's not just fear of the unknown. It's unknowing as well. We aren't trained for the spiritual journey, nor are we prepared for it by our culture. It is almost the "secret" we find, the treasure hidden in the field. And though we want it, the way to it is obscure and shrouded with mystery.

So how best to deal with out longings? To accept them, to look inside, to wait in silence, to seek the more through good counsel. One step at a time. One longing at a time. If it were easy, every seeker would have it. But it is only given to those who persist, who don't give up the search, who know that whatever I have spiritually now, it isn't the Ultimate. It isn't enough.

The Fear To Thirst

I love this quote from Lautréamont: According to what I am told, I am the son of man and woman; This astonishes me...I thought I was more.

We all want more than mere birthright. We all long for something we think of as more. But as much as we long, so true too is the fact that this longing is unsettling, disturbing, difficult. Often we don't know how to fill the void inside, or simple, that void, that unsettling feeling, that thirst hurts too much. And so, as Bernard Bro says, as much as we long, we also fear. This is the tragic aspect of the grandeur of the mind. Each of us succeeds perfectly, if she so wishes, in suffocating the questions that disturb her, in anesthetizing them...we have a thirst for happiness, but we are afraid of being thirsty.

Timothy 2:12 says, Let our lives be honest and holy in this persent age, as we wait for the happiness to come...

This is what Advent means. This is true preparation.