CHAPTER 4
Like many families do, the custom of the monastery was to clip a scrap of paper to the refrigerator with a magnet as an evolving shopping list. The nuns and monks simply wrote down their needs, or what was running low, and the shopper would pick them up on his or her weekly trip to the super market. Sister Scholastica dug deeply in the folds of her habit for her Cross pen, given to her as a Christmas gift, and nicer than the usual plastic Bics the community depended upon as writing instruments.
“I’m forever losing pens,” she mumbled to no one special—for no one was around. “I did pretty well in hanging on to my silver one from last Christmas. It will turn up. In the meanwhile, it’s back to Bics.” The small-framed woman scribbled “eggs” on the shopping list and went back to preparing the evening meal.
Some of the members ate meat, and some were vegetarian. Many of their meals included “fake” chicken, hamburgers, sausage patties, and hot dogs. The monks and nuns had become rather expert in these soy / tofu products. Some brands provided lots of mortification—death to one’s own will. Other brands tasted pretty good. “Morningstar Farms” was the universally agreed upon favorite for “fake” meat in the monastery. Tonight’s meal would include Morningstar Farms fake chicken patties with whole-wheat hamburger rolls.
After Evening Prayer, the community assembled around the dinner table. An audiotape of the now deceased Trappist monk Thomas Merton was playing as the community shared a meal in reflective silence. Merton, a pioneer in the area of East-West spirituality dialogue spoke to his novices on the tape about the monastic vow called Conversion of Life. He was not speaking of the avoidance of wrongdoing, which we struggle with to some degree all of our lives. Merton was talking about a purification of heart and the practice of virtue. It takes several large metanoias, or deep changes of heart, to sustain a monastic vocation. One conversion simply gets the monastic into the monastery; a few other major ones help to keep the person there when things get rough, especially during the early years in community. Not too different from marriage, when one thinks about it.
The Salesian Monastery welcomed guests for retreat from time to time. They simply joined in with the community to the degree that they wished. Some came for a day or weekend, others stayed for a week or even longer. Several men and women arrived shortly after Anthony began his Observership. One woman was from New York City and grateful for a little relief from the corporate world. A man from Lancaster County PA also arrived fatigued from his house painting business. A young man from New Jersey who worked in the family produce business was also at the monastery for retreat. He had lost his right arm in an accident of some sort several years prior and seemed to have adjusted well to the new challenges the situation presented daily. Fortunately, he had always been left-handed.
The first week of Observership went by uneventfully. The monastic community, Observer, and guests fell into a rhythm of life easily, thanks in large part to the monastery Rule and horarium, or daily schedule.
One evening during recreation, Anthony and Brother Matthew sat and chatted on the barn red porch of the white building that served as the main monastery building. They were surrounded by green vegetation splashed with color as fall continued to announce its arrival. Rain fell softly upon the rooftop and the foliage. A few birds did their evening exercise in the air prior to sleep.
“So, how are you making out Anthony?”
“I’m okay, Brother Matthew, still trying to fit in, you know.”
“I surely do. My Postulancy and Novitiate were a real struggle for me. Observership was easy, because I thought I knew what I wanted—this life. After making my entrance more formal by being accepted as a Postulant, however, something changed. The fact that, even though I was at a very beginning phase, I was now a part of the community and it gave me the willies! I had been engaged to be married prior to that but broke it off to enter here.”
“That surprises me, Brother. You seem so content.”
“I am content, Anthony, but that doesn’t mean that I have not struggled. If you really try to live life honestly then I think hard choices present themselves and one needs to respond, not just put them off. We have so many people who come here to discern their vocations but they really don’t want to commit. Have your cake and eat it too sort of thing. They are not open to really changing and becoming a monk or a nun—a lifelong process. That Conversion of Life thing Merton was talking about last week on our audiotape at the evening meal one night.”
Anthony fidgeted in his creaky old aluminum and wood folding chair and sounded a little angry. “I have my own personality and interests. Am I expected to give all of that up?”
Brother Matthew spoke gently. “Not all of it by any means. We each need to bring to the community our own unique gifts, talents, and personalities. It’s just that each monastery has a Rule of life and charism or spirit that it follows. I suppose the challenge is to see if the spirit of the monastery and our spirit are a good match—does living this life enhance who we are or does it stifle us. Listen to me, a youngster to this life and younger than you talking like this.”
Anthony spoke hesitantly. “That’s no problem at all. It really helps me. You see, sometimes a certain tension builds up within me and I fear doing something harmful.”
“You mean something that may weaken the desire you have to become a monk, or provoke us to ask you to leave the community?”
“Something like that,” the Observer mumbled with eyes downcast.
“Has anyone seen my Office Book? Not the ones we use in the Oratory, but the one I keep in my room,” questioned Sister Jane de Chantal one day after Daytime Prayer.
“You took it with you to Pocono Auto when you took the Olds in for repairs last week and used it while you were waiting there, didn’t you?” answered Brother Benedict.
“That’s right, but I thought that I had it since then and can’t seem to find it. It’s not in my room. I don’t think I left it at Pocono Auto, but maybe I’ll give them a call just in case.”
“Some mechanic is probably addicted to the Divine Office,” joked Brother Benedict.
“They are so nice to us over there, you may be right. I sometimes think that some of those guys would be a good choice for a doctor—lots of time spent with them—and all sorts of machines for diagnosing things.”
The retreatant from New Jersey joined in the lunchtime chatter. “I’ve had lots of doctors and mechanics during my life. I think it is the quality of the person that matters most. You know that if you are honest and try to follow through, eventually something good will come of it. If you are deceptive and don’t care, it only leads to frustration.”
“Lots of wisdom there,” added Sister Jane de Chantal with a smile. She continued: “Anthony, you look especially relaxed, or is it relieved?”
“I’m feeling good these days, Sister. Guess I’m starting to adjust to community life.”
“It never completely happens,” Brother Benedict added. “The life itself calls us to adjust continually. I suppose that’s what Saint Francis de Sales and Saint Jane de Chantal mean when they invite us to be like a ball of wax in the hand of God.”
The New Jersey guest retreatant commented, sounding like a New Yorker in his speech. “A ball of wax is a much gentler image than fire and brimstone. I would like to get to know more about your spiritual mother and father.”
“There are lots of books and tapes around here. I’ve been through most of them and now use them more for devotional purposes rather than educational,” mentioned Sister Scholastica, trying to be helpful to the guest.