Chapter 17
In former days, when a monastic answered the telephone in a monastery, he or she would not identify himself or herself, but simply mentioned the name of the monastery. This was an attempt to blend in, so to speak, to live in the background in anonymity. Today things have changed a great deal. There is much more emphasis on strengthening one’s identity in Christ, becoming more of a whole person as a result. At any rate, Sister Scholastica answered the ringing telephone by identifying the monastery and stating her name. The caller identified himself as the secretary to the Bishop of Scranton and asked to speak to Abbot Francis de Sales. Sister Scholastica’s pulse quickened as she explained to the cleric that Abbot Francis was on retreat but that he would be returning the next day. I’m too new here to be dealing with this sort of thing.
“The Bishop is quite concerned about the stories circulating in the newspapers the last day or two. He would like Abbot Francis to come in for a little informal chat, so to speak. That sounds ominous. Given the fact that Abbot Francis will be returning tomorrow, would you please have him call me as soon as possible upon his return? There is no need to disturb the end of his retreat. If he had a few more days of retreat left, we might have to interrupt it. The matter is very important.”
Sister Scholastica assured the Bishop’s secretary that he would be given the message and thanked him for the kindness of the diocese to the small community. The secretary defrosted a speck and asked for the prayers of the community, then they both said their goodbyes.
Meanwhile in contemporary times at the Kripalu Center in Lenox, Massachusetts, Brother Francis, Abbot of the Salesian Monastery, pulled himself out of an entire day of meditation by the lakeside across the road from the main grounds of the Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health. He let his campfire die as he got up and stretched, looking a little like a cat getting up after a long nap in the sun. Francis did several yogic asanas, postures that included the Tree, the Dancer, the Camel, Upward Dog, Downward Dog, the Sun Salutation, and the Moon Salutation. The Holy Spirit had enveloped the monk for hours and led him through many of the events of recent years in his life. It was as if he re-lived every experience, though at a deeper and more meaningful level. He traveled to Asia and back in his spirit. He felt confirmed and renewed in his vocation.
The tapestry of his life was threaded with beautifully colored strands. Though it looked tangled and knotted on one side, the other side created a beautiful picture. So taught one of his holy founders, Saint Francis de Sales. Though chronologically in his mid-fifties, the monk’s spirit was as young and vital as ever. His day of spiritual flashbacks to earlier experiences on his journey through life filled the Christian monk with gratitude for his present life situation and all that led up to it, the good and the not so good.
What a glorious way to wrap up my retreat. I know this is not the typical setting for a monastic retreat but it certainly refreshes me in body, mind, and spirit. In that spirit of refreshment I hear you so much more clearly, Lord. Thank you for being here. Thank you for also providing me with a number of wonderful spiritual directors over the years so that I am not leading myself, but being accountable to you through the ministry of others who listen to my life experience and provide valuable feedback and reverential guidance.
Brother Francis walked through the barren woods, which were whitewashed with snow at this mid-December time of year, toward the road that he would cross over to get onto the immediate grounds of the Kripalu Center. There were mounds of snow all around and the sky was filled with more. He hoped that he would be able to get home tomorrow as planned. The drive would take more than five hours, including a few stops along the way. He had several books-on-tape with him, borrowed from the local library, which speeded his journey back and forth in the car. Francis liked to listen to mysteries on long trips. Spiritual, medical, and psychological literature was fine for home but it did not engross him enough or pass the time as quickly for him while driving. The only problem with the taped mystery books was that Francis could easily miss a turn when he became absorbed in one of the “whodunits.”
The Visitation Monastery, which had moved after living one hundred years of monastic life in Wilmington, Delaware to the Berkshire Mountains of Tyringham, Massachusetts, was just about ten miles away from the Kripalu Center. It made it so convenient for him to attend Eucharist and some of the celebrations of the Divine Office with the nuns who formed part of his spiritual Salesian family. It is quite unusual to have religious orders of men founded by women. This is the case, however, with the Salesian family. Saints Francis de Sales and Jane de Chantal founded the Order of the Visitation of Holy Mary, a monastic community of women. The Visitation eventually founded the Oblates of St. Francis de Sales, an active order of religious brothers, priests, and sisters, and his little Salesian Monastery grew out of that order. This was his lineage.
There was still time left for a whirlpool and sauna before Francis was scheduled to leave Kripalu the next day. He could certainly use that, even though he had a yogic workout by the lake. The monk had just spent hours in meditation and would spend more hours in the car so he thought it a good idea to loosen up more completely.
Warm bubbling water whirled about him in the whirlpool. No one else was in the whirlpool at this time. Many of the other retreatants were at a concert consisting of Asian spiritual music in the main chapel. The massive building had a strangely quiet aura.
I wonder how things are at home. If any major appliances or cars are broken, Lord, we can handle it together. It is unlikely that dead bodies will be in the picture. We dealt with them not very long ago. I better get out now. I tend to stay in this thing too long and then get dizzier.
There was a series of small dorms on the third floor of the huge red brick building, dorms that Francis referred to as “steerage.” Three or four sets of bunk beds were in each large and clean room and it made the accommodations fee less expensive by choosing this type of housing. There was only one other retreatant in Francis’ particular dorm. He was a New England police officer who struggled between being a yoga teacher and a law enforcer. He seemed to do very well at both professions. The two occupants of the dorm wanted quiet and thus found the other one easy to get along with. The next morning Francis awoke and glanced at the clock, which displayed 4:30 in large red numbers. Francis liked this time of morning, when everything was still and in darkness. It was vigil time. He would keep vigil today by praying the psalms and readings, which make up the Office of Vigils as he always did, and also by doing some wholistic body-mind spiritual exercises.
The crisp clean air drifting in through the open window next to his lower bunk is what really awakened him. His dorm mate was still deeply asleep. Well, at least I won’t get arrested or get any tickets.
After a quick cleanup, Francis went down the stairs and out the large glass front doors to greet the dawn, which was just being signaled by the sound of a few birds. He began by practicing some qigong. His arms and legs seemed to lead the rest of his body through various flowing movements. Francis had mastered these dance-like movements long ago so that his mind in no way interrupted the flow his body was doing. Lifting the Sky, Carrying the Moon, Connecting Heaven and Earth—these movements were part of a meditation in motion suspended time and space for him.
The darkness began to give way to a hint of pink, orange, and just a tinge of red. The mountains slowly emerged from the darkness. Thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus, emerged from within the soul of the monk as he danced the day into being with the mighty help of his Creator. Now that it was near six in the morning, Francis returned to the building and made his way to the Forest Room on the second floor where he would spend another hour and a half doing yoga with perhaps about forty other people.
The yoga instructor this morning was one of his favorites. Her quiet voice and clear instruction drew him into another moving meditation. The first movements of his morning were of Chinese lineage; now these movements were East Indian in origin. His yoga mates were an interesting mix: a woman in her late thirties who was an advertising executive from New York City, a man from the area who had his own construction company, a college student from the Midwest who was here to rejuvenate himself and decide on his major before returning to school. Two young women from Iceland were there for a workshop and yoga training, as was a business executive from Germany who said that he was here on business and mixing it with some pleasure.
Meals at the Kripalu Center are all vegetarian and all delicious. Brother Francis filled his tray with steaming hot cereal, fruit, homemade bread and peanut butter, and Cafix--fake coffee--no stimulants allowed here. He went down the two flights from the dining room and back out the front doors he had used over three hours ago and ate his breakfast looking at the Berkshire Mountains and the steaming lake in front of him. Chipmunks came by begging for food.
For a while there had been a sign up asking guests not to feed the chipmunks because it makes them aggressive. There were a few people in his life whom he thought he might stop feeding and see what happened. Francis hadn’t seen them in years and thought that maybe they were not aggressive anymore. He tried to give people room enough to change. In this frame of mind, Francis recalled a friend who told him that chipmunks were nothing more than rats in tuxedos. He tried to get his mind back on more spiritual things. Then he wildly broke the rule, and threw out a few bits of toast on the lawn. He was immediately swamped with not only aggressive chipmunks but also with diving birds. There is a reason behind why signs go up! Community living made that very clear but we sill forget.
After breakfast, Francis strolled around the grounds for a while and digested his morning experiences. He next went up to the health services wing at the Center for a Chinese healing massage called tui na. Fortunately, the monk had no health problems but, since he was a Chinese medical specialist, he tried to live by the philosophy of Chinese medicine—live in such a way that you remain healthy and if you do, when you are ill, you are more likely to recover from it quickly.
A professional who was also versed in Chinese medicinal herbs treated Francis. His session lasted about an hour and a half and his twelve major meridians, the channels through which the qi flows, were opened and balanced during the treatment. Chinese bodywork is not always quite as relaxing as western bodywork, though it can be. There can even be some jostling around of the patient by the therapist. Francis was used to this from his trips to hospitals in China where he studied and experienced this type of treatment, along with the other forms of Asian healing which he studied. He was able to drift into a semi-sleep while he was poked and prodded, stretched and compressed. One more wonderful whirlpool experience and a vegetarian lunch and then it’s on the road for a beautiful drive back to the monastery. It is time.
Francis allowed himself to talk at the lunch that day, using the large dining room rather than the smaller one where retreatants maintained silence. The head of the kitchen staff, a woman from Asia with a wonderful sense of humor and a dazzling smile, came over and slipped a few large freshly baked cookies, wrapped in a paper towel, into Francis’ hand. She quietly mumbled: “put them away, put them away.” She couldn’t do that for everyone and didn’t want to call attention to her little gift or start a minor riot.
The retreatant stopped in the meditation room for about fifteen minutes, thanking God for the wonders of creation and for his life. He prayed also for all people in need and remembered his family, friends, and community at the same time.
The monk always felt full of life and joyful after an experience at this sacred place. He packed the car quickly and began his journey through the beautiful Berkshire Mountains, the forests of Connecticut, the green of New York State, and back to the hills of Pennsylvania. He spent the first hour in silence in the car and then popped in a murder mystery book-on-tape. It’s a good thing those murders we dealt with some months ago are behind us. All’s well that ends well.