Kansas Monks

I left Nashville with mixed emotions--excited to dive into a new experience, and feeling a little guilty about leaving the family for the second week in the last four.

Going to Kansas is usually like going home. I spent the first 22 years of my life there but never had I travelled to the town of Atchison. Atchison is on the Kansas-side of the Missouri River, less than an hour from Kansas City. St. Benedict's Abbey is located right on the edge of the bluff next to the 4 year college they started years ago.

I sat in the make-shift lobby waiting to be let in. The mystery of a closed but unlocked door marked for entrance only by monks was almost too intriguing. After being shown to my room in the guest house, I waited for the guestmaster to finish up a music lesson. Father Blaine sat down with me and inquired about my reasons for visiting.

He asked me what I was reading. All I had brought along was a Henri Nouwen book about Spiritual Direction. Father Blaine didn't offer a response about my selection one way or another but he did loan me copies of "RB80"(not to be confused with UB40--also a great cultural influence), Rule of Benedict 1980, and "the Life and Miracles of St. Benedict" written by Pope Gregory.

There are a lot of things I don't miss about Kansas, but more frequent snowfall is one thing I do miss. My first night there, it snowed a beautiful 6 inches or so, it set the tone for a great three days. I think it was the snow that helped me quickly have peace about my surroundings for the next few days. It's nice to never be farther than a bell's ring away from community worship.

Mass on the first evening was a nice surprise. About 100 college students attended and all of us sat in the "choir" with the monks. As always, I enjoyed the familiar words of liturgy leading up to eucharist. It was great and meaningful to pass the peace of Christ with eager college students as I sat with them on one side and monks on the other. But when it came time to move towards the table of grace, I was physically in the way as students began to file to the bread and the wine. I quickly learned a routine for subsequent days that allowed me to get out of their way without causing a scene, but I wondered about the incongruity of offering signs of reconciliation and love and then not going to receive the ultimate sign of reconciliation together.

Then I had to force the 'off' switch on my critical inner-dialogue. "Why do you always have to be so analytical?" I had to ask myself instead, "what ARE you experiencing?" I noticed that as I sat alone in the seat I was really hungry--not hungry for a feast of extravagant foods, but hungry for bread and wine. That was a good feeling. Later, when visiting the convent across town, I told a nun that I was instead feasting on the community and hospitality of the body of Christ. I know that sounds trite, but it's all I have until the Kingdom comes and we can worship together in the real presence of Christ.


Down time is too easily wasted for me. But after the snowfall, I wasted my down time well. There were hundreds of Canadian Geese heading up and down the river making huge amounts of racket. I couldn't tell if they were excited or angry about the snow--whatever it was, they were talking about it. One 'V' seemed to be in a holding pattern outside my window. They looked like they were having fun, so I put on the coat I never get to wear in Nashville and walked in the snow by the river bluff.

To be honest, I was intimidated by the whole monastic experience at first. I couldn't understand how this seemingly rote way of life was appealing--I even wondered how our participation in it could be appealing to God. But on day two I finally noticed some of the novices (both in their 20's) joking around and relating to the guests before times of prayer. They had a general sense of reverence and realism that I hadn't seen earlier.

I've discovered a new appreciation for the crucifix. In the monastery and the guest house, there were few places you could turn and not see the image of Christ on the cross. I've been raised with empty crosses, supposing this means I have a stronger belief in the resurrection. But for me, at this time, I am reminded of the real presence of Christ in every room, at every turn. (Since returning home I have studied more closely the San Damiano crucifix. I was reminded of St. Francis as he listened to the crucifix in a run down church speak to him. St. Francis was instructed to rebuild the church...the Church. The San Damiano has a sense of victory to it--the empty tomb behind the Christ-figure--that tells me that Christ's victory did not result in absence.)

The monks of this order often work in the areas in which they live. Several have been teachers in the college. There is a covenant relationship with the convent across town (4 miles away) where a priest from the abbey will preside over daily eucharist. The morning of my departure was father Blaine's day to say mass. He invited me to attend with him and have breakfast with the ladies. The car was already warmed up for us, but it was snowing and we drove over the hills on snow packed roads.

The ladies were much more laid back then the monks. No habits, no robes. The "mother" was wearing a Kansas Jayhawks sweatshirt as she presented the elements for communion. They said they were having trouble attracting younger women to the life. They've noticed that convents that are growing are those that still wear habits. Either way, it was a great visit, and was grateful for the invitation.

I said good-bye to father Blaine and asked for directions to Lawrence. After I entered the city limits of Topeka (not in the direction of Lawrence) this life lesson occur ed to me: Do not ask directions from a monk. I made it to Lawrence and as I waited in Starbucks to meet my friend and pastor Gayla, I realized that this is as much "sanctuary" for me as the abbey--to be in the middle of life, people going different directions, saying hello, enjoying each other's company, feeling the sun on their face as they wait to cross the street--to be in the middle of all of that and have peace is a form of sanctuary I thrive in.