Methodist Monastics

Updated S3 Presentation

2008-08-06T07:10:00.000-07:00

2008 Presentation slide 4

2008-07-26T19:23:00.000-07:00

sorry about reverse order...

2008-07-26T19:22:00.001-07:00

2008 Presentation slide 2

2008-07-26T19:21:00.000-07:00

2008-07-26T18:49:00.000-07:00

Prayers in the Mountains

2008-07-24T15:34:00.000-07:00

In early May, the Methodist Monastics geared up and headed to an area just North of Smoky Mountain NP near Hot Springs, NC. Over three days we completed our trek. At the scheduled hours we stopped for prayer using the Glenstal book as our guide.

We hiked in under the cover of near-darkness and found the only suitable campsite for several trail-mies. Morning light revealed the weightiness of our packs and several group members decided to scale down to necessities requiring a short trek back to the trailhead.

The up and down hiking provided a rhythm that was less welcome than the rhythm of the prayers. On day two, we pushed past our designated campsite in order to shorten the final day's hike. After a night at a beautiful campsite, we hiked out to enjoy some down time in Hot Springs.

A Great Trip

2008-07-05T20:00:00.000-07:00

June 2007 I traveled to Chicago in order to spend time at the Monastery of the Holy Cross. This by far was the best trip I have taken as a pastor.

Probably the most reluctant of the group to study monasticism I waited until the last minute to get serious about planning my trip. In the spring of 2007 as other group members went on their trips to monasteries throughout the United States I wondered why we hadn't chosen something different to study. Why were we studying the monastic lifestyle? Why hadn't we chosen something more exciting such as the similarities between Christianity and baseball or Christianity and fine dinning. Why was I going to a place where people did not talk on purpose? Furthermore why was I going to such a great city as Chicago in order to spend time with people who chose not to talk for large portions of the day?

I would not know the answer to these questions until I arrived in Chicago. Upon arriving I noticed a sign on the front door asking for visitors to just ring the bell once. I don't remember the exact words, but underneath that request were some words explaining that it might be a lengthy time before someone came to the door because of prayer. Well, that was different and oddly comforting. I rang the bell and no one came. What to do? In a world of instant gratification I was going to have to wait. One would think this to be a terrible inconvenience, but it was great! I had nowhere particular to be and I had rang the bell so there was nothing left to do. I sat! As I sat I couldn't remember the last time I just sat. It was great. I had flown all the way to the big city of Chicago just to remember how to sit. I thought back to my early childhood and all the evenings my family just sat on the front porch of Nanny and Papa's house. We used to love to just sit for a while.

It wasn't long before Brother Edward came to introduce himself and show me to the place I would be staying. Most days I am in charge of all my daily necessities such as food, comfort, and shelter. On this day God was taking care of these needs through Brother Edward and the monastery. Brother Edward explained that I could take a nap on the couch if I wanted or I could come to the next prayer time, it was totally up to me. I slept! With all my needs for food and a place to stay taken care of I slept good.

To make a long story short, the prayer times were great, the silence was golden and the hospitality was simple and appreciated. I communicated more with God on this trip than at any time I can remember. I filled notepads with thoughts I'm sure God had tried to communicate to me for months, maybe years.

While meeting with Brother Edward on the third day I asked why monks pull away from the world. (I knew so very little about monasticism.) He explained the origins of the orders and how monks would go out into the desert to do battle with satan in prayer. He explained that this battle was on behalf of the believers. Then he asked me a curious question, he asked why the church in our world doesn't look more monastic. That was a good question.

Now the question for me a year and a month later is why doesn't my life look more monastic? If this was the best trip I've taken since being a pastor why haven't I taken another like it? If waiting was so great why I am I so impatient? If allowing God to take care of my needs was so comforting why am I such a control freak? Those are great questions.

The Wandering of the Methodist Monastics Leads to the Mountains

2008-04-02T09:32:00.000-07:00

A journey is not really a journey when you start at the end. That's my philosophy anyway. After each spending time in a monastery, we are now planning a backpacking skeet adventure. The plan is to spend 4 days living in monastic-inspired community while backpacking and camping through the Smokey mountains. We will follow a pattern of prayer and silence while hiking, and setting up camp each day. Will we all survive? Stay tuned...

Getting Serious About Retreat

2007-07-21T16:48:00.000-07:00

I am the last Methodist Monastic to be un-retreated. That is, everyone else has done their thing in some way: Jacob to AZ, Mark to KS, Peter to KY (hee-hee), Tommy to DC, Chip to Chi-town. I alone have not monasticized. Well, enough. After a helpful group meeting last Monday to talk about our focus and re-focus, I decided that it was time to suck it up and find a trip.

I had really hoped to go to an Eastern Orthodox monastery since the rest of the crowd had gone the Benedictine route. However, it did not work out. I could not find one that felt right. So, I too decided to go Benedictine; it has become a de facto pillar of our S3 focus, I think.

I started out on Friday, armed with my home computer, DSL, and a search engine. In all I spent about three hours working all kinds of possibilities; researching monasteries, flights, costs, etc.... I continued to be frustrated with the reality that at all of the Catholic monasteries, I, as a non-Catholic (even though an ordained one), cannot receive holy communion. This is an awfully discouraging rift in the body of Christ, but I know we are all in conversation.

That is when I came across a very interesting possibility: an Anglican Benedictine order. Holy Cross Monastery in West Park, NY, has a very handy website that I discovered in my research. And it seemed like a godsend. Everything seemed perfect, including, of course, their open communion table! I explored the possibility and was excited that I would fly into NYC and catch a shuttle to Grand Central Station and from there take the Metro-North Railroad to Poughkeepsie, NY, before my final stop in West Park. It was looking very promising...until I called the monastery. The dates of Oct. 1-5, were booked solid and that was the only time the rest of this year I could go. Crestfallen is the right word.

But after a short break to get my chin up off of my chest, I went at it again. More and more searching I did. There were not any more viable Episcopalian possibilities, as much as that disappointed me. But, we are working on a $400 budget. Back to Catholicism. I poured through an online database of monasteries. Then, I found the Abbey of the Genesee, a Cistercian community in Piffard, NY.

My wife is from Rochester, NY, through which the Genesee River runs and which is about 35 miles from Piffard. She had mentioned this Abbey before; monasticism is something she explored, spending a month at St. Benedict's in Collegeville, MN, herself once. With my in-laws close by and reasonable airfare from Nashville to Rochester (which is remarkable, too, as Rochester is one of the most expensive flight destinations in America), things were shaping up. I was convinced. I would try the Abbey. I sent off an email to Fr. Jerome as listed on the Abbey's website and went to bed awaiting an early morning reply.

About 8:30 AM, I checked my email and got my reply. "The angels must be praying for you,"Fr. Jerome wrote, "I had one more room in the guesthouse for the time you requested. We'll see you in October." I emailed back to confirm; found a good flight on Northwest Airlines; and now I am really looking forward to this adventure. There's a reading list on the Abbey's website and some guidelines for preparing for retreat. So, I am squarely back in the fold with the Methodist Monastics. I am on board and ready to explore what the cloistered life may have to offer to us non-oblates. May Fr. Jerome's angels keep praying for me ;).

Another Mainliner "Flirting" with Monastacism

2007-05-26T18:30:00.000-07:00

Guys, I've heard about this book several times now, most recently on a podcast recorded at Columbia during a mainline emergent conference in January.I'm sure your bullpen of books is like mine, but I'm hoping to see what author Karen Sloan's experience has to say about our own.

Here's a link if you're interested.

Monastic Thoughts of Holy Week

2007-04-10T18:18:00.000-07:00

Like everyone else, the congregation I serve has made its way through Holy Week and Easter Sunday. I almost completely lost my voice thanks to allergies and weather change so that I had to scratch and croak my way through preaching and leading worship, especially for Holy Thursday and Good Friday. Nevertheless, I persevered and so did those who had to listen to me, and all told we had a very meaningful Triduum.

Actually, this was the first year I have planned and led a Good Friday worship service. It proved to be quite significant in our congregation's experience. Indeed, the two weeknight services seemed have especially profound effects on the worshipers.

On Holy Thursday we washed feet and celebrated Holy Communion. The footwashing was new for many of the congregants. I had placed a sign-up board out during the previous week and was thereby assured of at least a representative sample of washers. We had about nine in all out of a congregation of of near 90 worshipers that night. Following my sermon focusing on the powerful and intimate symbolism of this act of service, the participants and congregation displayed expressions ranging from silly and awkward laughter to solemn weeping. It was difficult for the congregation, as this was the first time it had been corporately in this church, I believe. But I think it will be a fixture in years to come. I believe it also added to the profundity with which the Eucharist was received.

We concluded the service on Thursday by stripping the church and veiling the cross. (These actions caused my five-year old daughter break down in tears asking my wife, "Why are they doing that to our church?" I think maybe she perceived the meaning of what was happening more than anyone else.) The bare church was a solemn witness as we moved to Good Friday.

On Good Friday, the service was very solemn indeed. The partially darkened sanctuary was focused on a starkly bare 7 foot tall cross that we brought to the center of the chancel. It loomed during the whole service. The deacon and I wore white albs with red stoles as our Book of Worship suggests. There were no paraments, obviously. The service consisted of scripture culminating with St. John's account of the Passion and a brief homily. We then moved to a time of silent prayer and reflection followed by congregational readings of Christ's Reproaches of His Faithless Church from the UM Book of Worship. During this last phase of the service, the congregation was invited to come forward and reverence the cross, touch it, kneel before it, pray at the chancel railing beside it or a combination of all of these. As people departed in silence, many were to the point of tears.

It strikes me that many of these practices are in line with monastic practices of worship and discipline. They are not the sole province of monasticism; however, some monastic communities surely have adopted, nurtured, and developed these kinds of worship acts. It seems to me that we would do well to focus closely on the practices of worship that characterize the various monastic traditions we wish to study and note with special interest the physically demonstrative practices we may encounter.

Blessed Easter season to all!

Four Methodist Monastics at the Bishops's Probationary Conference

2007-03-29T12:57:00.000-07:00

This week, four of us, myself, Peter, Jacob, and Mark all took part in the Bishop's Probationary Conference at the Scarritt-Bennett Center in Nashville. Pete and Jacob were there as probationers; Mark and I took part as small group leaders. This is the third such conference that the United Methodist Church has held. It is intended to give probationary clergy (those who've been commissioned as ministers but not yet ordained) some compass headings for vocational ministry.

I haven't yet taken the time and effort to explore it fully, but it seems to me, at least amorphously, that the kind of work our S3 group is interested in doing would translate to an event like the Bishops' Probationary Conference. There was much discussion about being reflective and thoughtful as one enters ministry. There was even a session that was named "Interiority," which sounds like an artificial word; however, the thrust of that panel discussion had to do with, of course, the inner life and how our inward spiritual condition affects our outward pastoral actions and decisions. This seems like fertile monastic territory. After a little time for reflection, I'd be interested for the others of you who went to the conference to chime in about that (Tommy and Chip can, to0).

Kansas Monks

2007-02-28T13:39:00.000-08:00

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.

Can God be found in Cleveland? (Sunday, 5:00 PM)

2007-01-30T06:45:00.000-08:00

I arrived in Cleveland at the Jesuit House; not what I expected.
Did I read the setting description right? It is most interesting. A fifty-seven
acre, tree lined retreat center among the streets of working class Cleveland. I
missed it going down the street. But, it is theological, I guess...Where else to put
a place for silence then in the middle of noise...Where else would you find a place
of Christ but in the heart of where people are in obvious need.

I, by now, am so accustomed to sterile-clean Franklin, TN.

I find myself restless.
I looked through the paper for movie times. Cleveland's Symphony is playing Beethoven's Ninth. That would be nice.

My time is to be spent being-not doing. I will not evaluate my time by how many
books I read, or prayers I say. There is no definition of success. Will I receive what God has prepared for me?

God, I pray that you soothe and quiet my restless heart.

I open myself to you and pray your will be done.

Sunday, 6:00 PM

My temptation is to run away from my heart. Escape. Temptation makes excuses in other towns-available money-no accountability to time and family.

I will not have this opportunity for silence and freedom at home. There, I run to the couch and T.V.

I have begun the mining of my soul-I thought. What is there that scares me so?

Monday, 4:30 PM

This is the place I should be; although I wish to be at Gethsemani. Gethsemani is like home-familiar-comfortable-Jesuit Retreat House is not; but it is especially where I need to be.

At Gethsemani, no one asks anything of me. Being selfish, I like that. The Spiritual Director and the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius asks me to continue to mine my heart.

I have just completed a season in my life where I could not read enough about contemplatives-prayer-Trappist/Cistercian order. I felt myself moving out of that season a couple of weeks before Christmas. I needed to clean my palate with a work of fiction. The retreat center library is sparse and irregular with its titles. However, I normally would have been content with the Merton titles available. Today, my mind/heart rejects the books.

The season in my life has changed. I believe there is a connection between art

and spirituality. The connection is coming together in my spiritual life. What does it do for the soul to write a poem? Plant a garden?

This morning, I completed the Spiritual Exercises assigned to me by the Spiritual Director; read the AA Big Book-from there my sole activity has been to watch the snow fall as I listen to Yo-Yo Ma's Cello Suites- A spiritual experience.

my time at Holy Trinity

2007-01-29T11:18:00.000-08:00

These are some of my musings and reflections from my 60 or so hours at the monastery. Forgive any grammatical errors or heresy found within. It was a weird, holy time. It's kinda long.

Holy Trinity Monastery
Monday, January 22, 2007
6:45PM
We spotted a huge cross from about a half mile away. That must be it. We pulled into the drive and found the guest house. It was closed, but stuck in the door was a piece of paper that said, “Jacob Armstrong, St. Scholastica, #2”. The simplicity of the note immediately reminded me of my first and only communication with the monastery thus far. After I had sent an email begging for more information about the time and nature of my stay, I received the response, “We have reserved a room for you. Blessings, Bill”. And now it seems that Bill had took and held my reservation and I was sent to the house named St. Scholastica, room #2. Rather sheepishly, I invited my brother and sister-in-law to stay with me for Vespers. After all my excitement and anticipation I guess I wasn’t quite ready to be left in the desert 3 hours from the safety and familiarity of their home. We went to worship. The chanting was off-key and the monks unimpressive. But, God was there. His peace was just beginning to chip away at the years of anxiety and impatience and fear that lived around my heart. It had been a while since I had heard that type of liturgy, and I wasn’t quite in rhythm with it yet. After half an hour of God’s word resounding off the wooden trusses of that small chapel, I hugged Andy and Bonny and asked them to please come get me in a few days.
It was freezing. I was in the desert and not only were the mountains around me covered in snow, there were still traces of frozen precipitation lingering on the rooftops of the monastery buildings. I turned up the heat in St. Scholastica hoping that my suite-mate Roy would not mind. I found my way to dinner and there met some very friendly faces. I was given a glass of hot tea, and was given some real hospitality and encouragement from a woman in her sixties. Her name…Mary. That works.
One of the monks stood to pray before dinner, and then announced that we would eat in silence. Meaning that all the questions that I was going to ask Mary would have to wait. I was left in the state of not knowing what was going on, but I was beginning to like it just a little. Dinner was a small bowl of broccoli-cheese soup and a simple salad. After I stopped wondering if we would get anything else, I bit into the home made bread and felt the warmth of the soup down to my toes. Father Bill put on some “music” of some other monks chanting Latin, and they made perfect harmony with the ting and cling of silverware on bowls and plates. The meal left me full, but not stuffed, satisfied but certainly not over-indulged. I sat there and finished my tea, which was now cold. I tend be a tea snob back home. This tea was perfect, I tasted every drop of it. After what seemed like an eternity and no dessert, Father Bill said “In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit” and we of course all said “Amen”. I was shown how to dispose of my dishes, and then I checked my watch. Dinner had lasted exactly 23 minutes.
If my retreat was anything like dinner, these would be a long three days, uncomfortably long at times, but they would be a full three days. I actually thought during dinner, actually noticed that I was chewing, and tasted my food. They would be a quiet three days, but God would make some headway on cleaning off my heart. This wouldn’t be utopia, but I’m quite sure it will be a life-altering experience. Because I’m going to have deal with myself. I’m going to have to listen to what the noise of my life usually hides. It doesn’t sound fun, but it sounds necessary; necessary if I’m going to keep on this set-apart journey of priesthood.
Coming out here has felt stupid, scary, and selfish. But I feel like I’m here for a reason. When the others here ask me how a boy from Tennessee ended up here, all I can say is I felt led to come here. It felt shallow to say I was a part of a continuing education group studying monastic spirituality, and I know that’s not the reason I’m here. I’m here because I need this, and a big part of me wants it. To spend some alone time with my beloved. It didn’t seem like too much to ask. Sometimes I feel with ministry as if I have gotten married and then spend every night away from my bride telling people about my marriage and teaching others what’s it like to be in a relationship. Where’s the intimacy? Where’s the connecting time? Does thirty minutes a morning really cut it?
And so I googled “Arizona monastery” and the third hit was Holy Trinity Monastery in St. David Arizona. Here I am. I’m here. Did I really have to travel four hours by plane and three by car to meet with God. Perhaps, yes. God is certainly available in Murfreesboro, He’s available anywhere. My availability on the other hand…I have to check my calendar to make appointments.
I’m not going to try to achieve anything, in the next few days. That will be hard for me. There is no to-do list. There is a to-be list. Be present with God. Be real with God. Believe that the one who made you wants to be with you.
Psalm 38.9-10, “all my longings lie open before you, O LORD; my sighing is not hidden from you. My heart pounds, my strength fails me; even the light has gone from my eyes.”
When I lie here a thousand miles from all my responsibilities, I wonder, “can they really survive without me?” From things as trivial as changing the church sign to things as crucial as my little girls. Can they really get along without me for a few days? Do I forfeit all I have worked so hard to be by taking this time apart? All my longings lie open before you, O Lord, my sighing is not hidden from you. My heart pounds. “O Lord, do not forsake me; be not far from me, O my God. Come quickly to help me, O LORD my Savior.” Psalm 38.21-22
8:30PM
I went to the service of Compline. I arrived early and no one else showed up until eight o’clock when several of the monks came. No other guests or laity arrived. The monks all sat in the chancel area, with me the lone congregant in the pews. I felt as if I was sitting in on a private service. Father Henri read a lengthy journal entry from an older monk. Then we prayed and chanted the psalms. I thought we were done and went to leave and was politely told there was one more prayer. We stood in the dark with only two candles burning and they sang in Latin a song which I think venerated Mary, but definitely talked about Jesus and the Holy Spirit too. It was holy to hear those voices, grown men singing together their love for God at eight o’clock at night in a tiny chapel in the middle of the desert. All that mattered was God, not how many people were gathered, not the quality of voice, just God. Then two of them extinguished the candles with a wave of their hand and they laughed at some Compline-Benedictine inside joke which I did not get. I laughed anyway. We left in silence.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
6:08AM
It would be hard to explain the accommodations unless you live in them a half day. They are adequate. There is nothing that I could go back and brag about except for the view outside my window. The bed was small and the sheets not too soft, but I slept well. The carpet is old and there are very few adornments, but there is nothing to distract. The bathroom is down the hall, but I have made it there in plenty of time for all my needs and it has accepted everything I gave it. The food was not spectacular, but it tasted good in the silence and warmth of St. Benedict’s Hall. The people here have been kind but not overly in my business as I have grown accustomed too with some southern hospitality; but I am not here to meet and talk with them really. My liturgics professor in seminary would be appalled at some of their practice of the office, but it lacks the tenseness and rigidity that I experienced at Sewanee. Everything is enough, so as not to make me worry about needing more towels, or needing more drink, yet not too much so I would focus on how luxurious are my arrangements. And so instead of wanting to offer great thanks and attention on my hosts here at the monastery, I have to focus on You and thank You. Thank You.
8:16AMJust some quick thoughts…
This morning we chanted “Here Am I, I have come to do your will”. Over and over we said the words and it did something deep inside of me. I feel like I might cry any moment, in a good way. Like there is stuff inside of me that needs to come out and crying might be the best way to expel it.
This morning at least three people remembered my name. One lady calls me Jake.
The preacher this morning was a very large monk with dark skin with a thick accent like Pedro from Napoleon Dynamite. He said our world calls people with gifts freaks or mutants. Anyone that is different is given strange looks. He said Jesus would have been thought of as a freak or mutant, He was extra-ordinary. He said holiness is being different. Coming to a monastery to live or for the week is different and there is something in it that is seeking to be holy. His insinuation of course, is that we’re a bunch of freaks. That’s easier to handle in community.
They laid hands on and prayed for a Presbyterian couple who were leaving this morning, and then sang a blessing over them. It was wonderful.
The Presby guy told me the wild pigs or javelinas come out at 10pm.
9:12AM
On my short walk down to the San Pedro river, I spied all kinds of splendid things. The many peacocks that roost in a tree near my cell were walking about talking to each other. There is one large male peacock who stays perched high in a cottonwood behind the chapel. I think he must be the abbot of the peacocks.
On my walk through what I pretended was middle-earth, because it looked like what I had imagined Frodo and Sam walking through, my feet fell on a soft bed of pecan shells. The sale of pecans is the primary way the monastery sustains itself. I saw all kinds of birds, species that I am unfamiliar with, except for the doves and quail. I also saw a hawk zooming over the frost frozen field. I was reminded of Barbara Brown Taylor’s thought that perhaps the dove that descended on Jesus at His baptism was actually a hawk. The Holy Spirit diving down with talons ready to grab and hold his prey. I feel grabbed by the Holy Spirit now perhaps in a way that I have never experienced. I feel happy and my mind is flooded with thoughts about God that relate to me now. Usually all of my God thoughts have to do with the future. I was recently given confirmation that this was a spiritual strength for me, to dream about what God holds in the days and years to come. I would have assumed that my thoughts here would focus on my dreams and callings to be a missionary, or start a church, or go back to school. Those are the desires of my heart, my dreams that I think God gave me. I have asked God to give me clarity on those things, even while I was here. Yet, the word this morning, was simply Here am I, I’ve come to do your will. Now. Here. It’s a different focus for me, but one that must be necessary. How can I serve God then, if I never learn to serve God now? The Holy Spirit is descending upon me like a hawk, grabbing, and pulling me up to see what is before me now, and probably, hopefully, to devour me as well.
11:45AM
After advice from others I resolved to not seek to achieve anything in my time here at the monastery. So I felt somewhat uneasy about my run this morning. Back home running is my get away, monastery time, but here it felt different at first. I was running a part of the current marathon training I am doing, which called for a10 mile run. So, in that regard it seemed like achievement. I decided not to be too neurotic and just go for a run.
The weather was perfect and the scenery something to behold. I found that on the 148 acre monastery there were at least 2 miles of soft packed trails. I was in paradise. Running next to the river in the cool shadows of old mesquite trees was grand, but when I came out of the forest into a beige open field, my breath was taken away by the view. I audibly said, “Oh, wow”. I tried to remember the brief geography lesson I had received from my brother on the way down. I think to my west were the Whetstone mountains tall and majestic mixed with browns and greens. To the north were the Rincon range with nine thousand foot Mt. Lemmon covered in snow somewhere behind them. And, to the east, what took my breath away, was the Dragoon mountain range stretching for miles that was home to Apache chief Cochise’s stronghold, his famous hideout. I could tell why it was now a favorite for climbers as it had large cylindrical rocks hundreds of feet tall coming right out of the ground. I no longer felt guilty about my run, I felt like I had been let in on a secret. I ran through that particular stretch of trail three times, just to make sure I wasn’t imagining it. The ten miles was a little much with the elevation being about 3500 feet higher than home, but I survived. I’m looking forward to lunch. It is supposed to be the main meal of the day. I don’t know what that means, but it sounds promising.
4:30PM I walked down to the San Pedro River bank after lunch. I found a grassy spot next to this river, what we might call a creek back home. The sun was sending down much heat and light, so much so that I took off my jacket and used it for a pillow in the sandy grass. For a good awhile I just lay there shielding my eyes from the sun with one of the sleeves from my jacket. High up the wind was blowing loudly through the sycamore trees, and with that sound mixed with the rush of the water and the cacophony of bird noises, I felt a great peace. I really settled in and prayed wordless prayer to the creator. That I guess would be the main difference between my usual prayer and the prayer I’ve prayed here. I know I have written some reflection here, but most of my talk with God has been deep unto Deep, spirit unto Spirit. I read some musing’s from Donald Miller and some of my Cormac McCarthy novel about two young men breaking horses in northern Mexico and all seemed to be right. I know all is not right really in the world, and I realize I am romanticizing the monastery experience. The monks do not seem to romanticize it, they are not overly smooth or even happy for that matter. I would guess giving up money and sex to eat below-average food and minister to mostly sixty-five year old women, does not leave one really excited. But they got something going, and they know it. Something better than good food, they are daily practicing the presence of God and once you get a taste of that, though it can be so dark and empty at times and joyous and full other times, you don’t give up eating that bread.
I miss my family’s noise. I like that noise. But not yet do I miss Katie Couric or Dan Patrick or even Jerry Seinfeld. I’ve found myself talking to myself several times today, so I started reading aloud Psalm 40 in my room. “I waited patiently for the Lord, he turned to me and heard my cry…Then I said, Here I am, I have come…I desire to do your will…Do not withhold your mercy from me…You are my help and deliverer, O my God, do not delay”. Those words were not noise, but seemed to be feeding me in the empty parts. Those parts that usually hold anxiety and the desire to move, are not anxious or moving today, and God’s word is filling it. Wow. That sounds romantic, and I am in love with my God who would do that.
6:55PM
Strange occurrence at dinner. I wouldn’t call it a disillusioning experience, but certainly less romantic.
I’m not quite sure why at some of the community gatherings (i.e. meals, worship) there are a bunch of people and then at others there only a very few, like last night’s Compline (Jake and the monks). I don’t know which are the popular meals and entertaining worships, so I just go to everything.
Everyone must have known dinner tonight would be leftover eggplant lasagna from who knows when. In fact, meals here are a lot like a big family dinner, which means lots of leftovers. Anyway tonight there were only seven people at dinner. Two monks, four oblates, and me, the lone guest. This old monk who I have watched fondly was “in charge”. He is an elderly hunched over fellow who wears enormous hearing aids that are obviously not big enough, if size is how you judge the effectiveness of a hearing device. I do notice that he kneels long and low when walking past Jesus in the chapel, and he like me is at all the community events. Brother Shaun is his name.
Brother Shaun read to us about Francis somebody for about 8 excruciating minutes before dinner, and then announced that our meal would be with music and in silence. I think I mentioned before, every meal I have been to, has been with music and in silence. I kind of like it. His announcement did not sit well with the rest of my dining partners. While Brother Shaun fooled with the tape player, my table continued to talk. Finally it was apparent that Brother Shaun was not going to win the battle with the stereo and no one from my table was going to help. This early on in the game I did not have the courage to side with old Shuanny and help with the boom-box. So Shaun, obviously annoyed, says, “the meal is in silence, please cooperate.”
Well, the meal was in silence for Shaun, who sat at another table, only because the poor guy couldn’t hear that my table continued talking. It was strange to witness this rebellion from what I had only witnessed as a very compliant, submissive group. They talked about stuff that church people usually do, including complaining about other churches and glorifying old priests who had come before.
I wished that I was sitting with Shaun.
I sit in St. Scholastica now in complete silence. St. Scholastica has six rooms and tonight there is only one occupied: room #2.
In some of my reading today I actually ran across the famous story of St. Scholastica’s namesake. Scholastica was Benedict’s sister. One winter night Scholastica was awakened by a song bird. This was a strange sound, it being the middle of the night and all. She looked out the window of her cell and saw three naked men dancing in the monastery garden by the light of the moon. The one whistled like a song bird and this made her laugh. It seems, Scholastica found the experience a favorable one and enjoyed watching the naked guys dance, but she knew that morning prayer would come early, so she did what any good nun would do in this situation, she prayed. She suspected that the men were demons and prayed they might return to from whence they came. The story ends with Scholastica waking to the scent of roses and finding a rose bush where the men had been dancing.
I was hoping to see those javelinas tonight, but I think if I hear strange noises outside, I will keep my curtains drawn. I’m in no mood to see any naked guys dancing and I’m allergic to most flowers’ scents.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
6:48PM
After my readings this morning I have a strong sense of Jesus. Jesus being everything. The Purpose. The Hope. The Life. Paul wrote to Colossae, “my purpose is…that they may know the mystery of God, namely, Christ, in whom are hidden all treasures of wisdom and knowledge.” I have certainly sensed the mystery of God here. They worship different from me, talk about God some different from me, certainly behave differently than most of the Christians I hang around. But the mystery is the same to all of us, the mystery of God, namely Christ. In Him are all the hidden treasures of life. All the stuff that we are searching for, all the things that will take away our insecurities and give us peace are found in Christ, or better there is one thing that will do that work and it is Christ.
There is a refrain that we have sung in most of the worship services here. It is very close to being like a praise chorus, though I am sure that it is ancient. They sing very slowly, “Lord Jesus, Lord Jesus, Lord Jesus, Mercy. Lord Jesus, Lord Jesus, Lord Jesus, Mercy”. It takes my breath away to be caught up in that chorus. It reminds me that as Paul says to the church in Colossae, “I am alive with Christ”. He forgave me all my sin, canceled the written code with its regulations, that were against me and stood opposed to me, he took it away and nailed it to the cross.
And so as Paul says all these rules, the religion rules, and my self-imposed rules, they are all just a “shadow”. They are not the real deal. They should not be my main focus. The reality Paul says is “found in Christ”. The reality of life is Christ. It’s not what we think it is, what we can see and touch, the reality is Jesus, what I can’t always see and touch. But if I believe that I was created “by Him and for Him”, that should drastically change the way I think and behave. If I was created by Him, that means there is something in me that is of the image of God. There is hope for my holiness, because of my creator. That should change my self-image. If I was created for Him, that means my life, my day, my breath can all fulfill the purposes of my creator. That should change the way I behave. I am not created for my own purposes, but for His. This does not stress me, as one might think, but gives me peace. My life was created for Him, not for me, for Him.
One principle of the Benedictines is to welcome everyone as Christ. There is a man here who after each meal, takes my plate and washes it for me. I learned today, he is the bishop.
9:58 AM
I’m realizing now that I won’t have much to show for my time here at Holy Trinity. I have written a sermon yet. I haven’t memorized any Scripture. I haven’t heard from God where I’m supposed to go in June. And, yet something has happened, something is happening. I have easily learned more in this time than any other retreat I’ve been on.
It won’t be something easy to communicate, but I hope that it shows in my eyes. I hope it shows in the way I love my wife. I hope it shows in the way I talk to people in my office. I hope that it shows in the pace of my day. I hope that I spend more time outside than I do under fluorescent light.
I will leave here being really excited to be a child of God. I’m also excited to eat a cheeseburger, maybe a milkshake.
3:39PM
I spent another afternoon on the banks of the San Pedro River. I think that is what I will remember most when I look back on this trip. Being totally alone and totally at peace with some books, a can of green tea, and God out there in that tan grass and deep brown sand.
It is the same river that Coronado came in on when he was exploring Southwest America. I can’t imagine a conquistador and all his companinos coming in on that little river, but I bet there were at least a few of them, who like me when they got in the shadows of those mountains, praised God in their hearts. I learned today that Coronado is not the only one who has used that river as a passageway into a new land. Years ago before politicians like Bob Corker donned their Timberlands and walked the border promising to secure it, brothers and sisters from Old Mexico would walk the 70 miles down the banks of the San Pedro to the pecan groves on the grounds of monastery. The Benedictines treat everyone, even or especially a vagabond as if he is Christ and here “illegals” could find a warm meal, a warm shower, and no condemnation. The monastery wasn’t running a racket, but they did love without prejudice.
I, too, have been received in the Benedictine way this week; offered hospitality and a place to refuel and warm up. I haven’t had trouble with the silence like I feared. It has not bothered me once. I haven’t longed for TV or radio or surprisingly even for my guitar. I have enjoyed the solitude as well. I miss my family a lot, and I am really looking forward to seeing my brother and sister in the morning, but knowing the time will come, I have coped fine. The part I have had trouble with the most is no to-do list. It rules my day at work, and on off days I have plans for my family’s recreation. I had a flare-up today of the “have-to-do-something syndrome”. I checked a book out from the monastery library on Benedictines and devoured 200 pages in an hour just like I used to in seminary. Not really reading everything, but now able to have a discussion and pass a test if need be. I can carry on an intelligent, even academic conversation if I need to, to prove I learned something. It seemed absurd that I had come here with only an elementary understanding of the people I was living and worshipping with; how could I explain to people that I came here just because God told me to come here? So I read the book and I can tell you all about the rule of St. Benedict, and the role of the abbot, and the five principles that govern a monk’s communal life.
I eventually took a deep breath, grabbed my Bible and went to walk the perimeter trail again for the fourth or fifth time. When I got to the field where I said “oh wow” yesterday, I opened up my Bible to the next chapter I would read. Colossians, chapter 3, “Rules for Holy Living”. Yes! That’s what I wanted, some rules. O.K. I read, “your life is now hidden with Christ in God”. I hit my knees on the hard pack earth, in the middle of that field, in view of Cochise’s stronghold, knowing that I wasn’t the first to do such a thing. I prayed through those Scriptures changing Paul’s “you’s” to “I’s”. “I will put to death whatever belongs to my earthly nature, sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed. I will rid myself of anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language. I will clothe myself with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. I will forgive as the Lord forgave me, and over all these virtues I will put on love. And I will let the peace of Christ rule in my heart.” I was then led to pray for my wife and my little girls. I prayed for others in my family. I prayed for the members of my group, Mark, Chip, Bryan, Tommy, and Peter. And then I prayed for my church. I prayed His will be done. In some of these prayers, those tears finally came which did seem to expunge some of my cruddy-ness. It was time for chapel, and I made it in time to sing, “Lord Jesus, Lord Jesus, Lord Jesus, Mercy. Lord Jesus, Lord Jesus, Lord Jesus, Mercy”.
I won’t have a lot to show for my time here, some trinkets from the bookstore to give to those I love, some random facts about Benedictines, and a few funny stories. But in my heart I will know, really know, that it is by grace that I have been saved, Jesus’ mercy, not by works, so that I can’t boast about it. I can’t brag about my monastery experience because I’m blessed enough to have a job that allows a week off, that doesn’t count for vacation, to go get intimate with God. There’s nothing I can boast about, but I’m saved. I’m saved. It’s all because of Jesus, created by Him and for Him, and He chose to save me. He saved me from my sin. And I think He saved me this week from 30 to 40 years of church ministry that probably would have meant a lot to other people, but wouldn’t have meant that much to me, because all I was doing was checking things off a list.
6:37PM
It has been an excruciatingly wonderful experience of grace and a long two-and-a half days. I feel like I have been here six months. I am ready to go home. Not that I couldn’t sink in and stay longer, but if I did I fear it would really mess me up for what I have to go back to.
I will miss the peacocks’ magnificent colors. I will miss the grove of cottonwoods near the trails that look as if they have been reaching towards the heavens since the heavens were created. I will miss my little spot on the bank of the river. I will miss the rhythm of the liturgy and the way the Scriptures stay in your head when you leave. I will miss feeling as if bumped into Orion when I leave the chapel at night, and the way the stars dance from one horizon to the other. I will miss the view of Cochise’s stronghold and the sense that those native people still lay claim to this land. I will miss the silence, which scares you, then surrounds you, then holds you closer to the mouth of God speaking in a still, small voice. I will miss being able to walk slowly with no destination in mind. I will miss feeling like I’m praying, even when I wasn’t intentionally praying.
And God reminds me, there are birds at home, and trees, and trails, and rivers. There are places to worship me, Scriptures which speak of me, and stars that are shining in Tennessee. There is silence if you seek it and cultivate it. There are times to take walks and very dear people to take them with. God is there, speaking and calling. Will I be listening?
There was a guy at dinner who looked like a gray-headed Steven Seagal with a couple days growth on his chin. He was emanating the weird vibe and drinking a lot of coffee. I have this fear that he will be my roomie in sweet St. Scholastica. Unfortunately in my time here I have not been working on my kick-boxing (oh wait that was Jean Claude Van-Damme), so I’m praying I don’t come “under siege” tonight.

EdwardWisnerThe3rd's My Name Don't Wear it Out

2006-04-10T15:04:00.001-07:00

Talk about feeling like a boob! I signed in and then read all the serious stuff and felt completely stupid. What's even better is that I cannot figure out how to change my name. So for the time being its EdwardWisner to you! I promise that even in the mist of my stupid sense of humor that I will offer myself to this learning experience.

Let me offer a token of seriousness in an attempt to save face. Last night I preached out of Romans 6. That chapter talks about Christians being Baptized into the death of Christ. It seems like ministry is about connecting people to that powerful sacrifice so that they might live. However, much of my time is spent managing the church business. I find myself becoming less radical about sharing the love of Jesus with others and more logical church leadership. I don't remember many board meetings from my last appointment, but I do remember spending time with people and sharing the love of Christ. It may just be me but its seems like the "church" thinks a good leaders is someone who can do a terrific balancing act, keeping everyone happy, offering great programs, working out differences, and generally keeping the thing in the road. I am always afraid that the other shoe is going to drop. Someone is going to get mad about something and we are going to have a war on our hands. I find that my desire to make church people happy and my fear of what not making them happy would look like, keeps me from leading with an authentic faith. How about you guys?

Oh, by the way. It is my understanding that this blog is just for us. Am I correct?

Portion of S3 Application

2006-03-30T11:54:00.000-08:00

Can you name that group?

d. Briefly describe your group. (15 words maximum)
Six United Methodist pastors from TN seeking to refine vocational leadership through spiritual disciplines.

e. Describe your group’s idea for a collaborative learning project. (75 words maximum)
We will pursue the study and practice of spiritual disciplines through two particular approaches: (1) our Wesleyan heritage of covenant discipleship and (2) the monastic lifestyle (both historic and contemporary).

We will construct a hermitage on property in Arrington, TN to be used for Sabbath retreats.

We will visit at least two monasteries to further explore aspects of the monastic life.

We will attend a conference

f. How does your project address the broad themes of the S3 Project: Sabbath, Study, and Service? (75 words maximum)

Sabbath—
• Practicing silence at hermitage and monasteries
• Recreation of common interest

Study—
Invite speakers to address our focus. Attend a conference on New Monasticism/ Monasticism

Question to Study: What is the possible relationship between a Wesleyan approach to spiritual disciplines and monasticism? How could these practices impact our own leadership?

Service—
Provide programs on Monasticism and Silence to other Pastors who are looking to reconnect to ancient practices of spiritual discipline.

2006-03-21T06:33:00.000-08:00

In my prayer time this morning, I was impressed with the thought that what we are doing might just be a holy thing in spite of the 6 that are involved. What I mean is what I couldn't communicate yesterday because of my insatiable (though often unsuccessful) desire to say something funny is that I think God has led us to something of meaning, something that will inform and restore our ministries. I need some more quiet. I need a more sure foundation that I think a more spiritually disciplined life can provide. I am excited to see how God uses what we learn, the accountability we gain, and the Sabbath we experience to further His Kingdom. I just felt like this morning, God assured me that He was involved in this, for that I am grateful. Then a baby started crying, my silence and prayer was broken, and the day crept in!

New Monasticism

2006-03-20T13:34:00.000-08:00

"the restoration of the church will surely come only from a new monasticism which has nothing in common with the old but a complete lack of compromise in a life lived in accordance with the Sermon on the Mount in the discipleship of Christ. I think it is time to gather people together to do this" –Dietrich Bonhoeffer

I think maybe Chip's comments this morning might have eventually led us to this question as well- how does this experiment in monasticism inform our pastoral leadership towards living out the sermon on the mount? It seems that our service aspect is geared towards hospitality (inviting others in the conference to use the space)--which is great, but one of the desired results might also be some measurable(?) way that our ministry within churches is impacted. Thoughts?

Look at this website on New Monasticism if you haven't already.