(This
is the third of four reflections from a group of us, based on our recent visit
to the Abbey of Gethsemani in Trappist, Kentucky over the weekend. Over the
course of the next few weeks, others will share their insights and revelations,
poems and epiphanies emergent from this adventure.)
The Tale of a
Totally Unsuspecting Traveler
This week’s guest reflection is by
First Presbyterian member, Pat Baker. Pat is a writer and poet at heart, a
retired schoolteacher by trade, and a lover of literature. She is the wife to
Joe and the mother to Amanda. A proud southern Illinois girl, Pat calls Lincoln
home and cheers for the Cubs when she isn’t reading William Maxwell.
I asked myself,
not for the first time, “exactly,how and why did I wind up
involved in a retreat to The Abbey of Gethsemani?”
In the letter
written by the PNC, introducing Adam and Teresa, I was pleased at Adam’s
mention of two authors, Wendell Berry, a favorite of a cousin of mine who was a
Catholic priest, and Thomas Merton, a vaguely familiar name due to Bruce’s many
references to him, 2 pastors, 2 interims, and 30 odd years ago. Soon after his
arrival, Adam and I came to discuss books and writing styles frequently. He
eagerly shared a few of his vast (he’s 29?) book collection. I enjoyed Rob
Bell’s Drops Like Stars and bought my own copy, but the first
Merton book I attempted to read left me more than a little confused and
uncertain. I saw disappointment in Adam’s eyes when I returned it saying, “I’m
not sure I ‘get’ his ideas on contemplation.”
Thankfully, Adam
didn’t give up there, and neither did I. Slowly, with help from Adam’s sermons
and books by Barbara Brown Taylor, Anne Lamott, and others, Merton’s words
began to open my eyes to a new way of exploring and expanding my faith. I began to envy Merton’s unmatched ability to
describe deepening his relationship with God. And I became very curious about
the place Merton chose to live for over 27 years and where he is buried, and
why this area in central Kentucky became so special to a man who had lived in
and traveled to many other countries.
In preparation for
this mental and physical journey, I made a list of terms I saw as central to
the trip:
·
silence—The condition or quality of being or keeping
still and silent. 2. The absence of sound; stillness. 3. A period of
time without speech or noise.
·
Contemplation—Deep reflective thought. 2. concentration
on spiritual things as form of private devotion.
·
Retreat—The act of giving up and withdrawing
or a time away in a quiet and secluded place where you can relax.
I then explored many websites seeking further information on the Abbey. Its
history is remarkable and impressive. Amid 2,200 acres in the hills of Nelson
County, Kentucky, the 166-year-old Abbey of Gethsemani is known for its peace
and tranquility. It is a part of the Order of Cistercians of the Strict
Observance, better known as the Trappists. Founded on December 21, 1848 and
raised to an abbey in 1851, Gethsemani is considered to the motherhouse of all
Trappist and Trappistine monasteries in the
United States and is the oldest monastery in the United States that is still
operating. Currently 42 Monks are in residence there.
The night before the trip, I felt well prepared. Our group
planned on having blocks of time for our own use. Reading was a priority for
me. I also wanted to keep a written record of what I saw and
experienced. I added a few tasty provisions to stave off starvation.
My former “teacher bag” was adequately filled with appropriate items for
the weekend ahead:
1). 2 books, Acts of Faith ( Book Nook
selection, about half read), An Invitation to the Contemplative Life,
by Thomas Merton, appropriate because he and his writings were the focal point
for the trip,
2). an issue of Martha Stewart’s magazine, Living
in case I had done enough serious contemplation for the day.
3). a travel journal
4). 3 pens and 2 pencils
5). my Daily Prayer Book, on which I’ve come
to depend
6). snacks, for a different kind of
sustenance
Sufficiently
equipped to make the most of every moment of the trip, boredom would not be an
issue. I had plenty of worthy reading material, and my journal contained many
blank pages that waited for my weighty words.
The drive was
filled with enjoyable conversation which allowed all of the travelers to get to
know each other better. Periodically, Adam, appropriately sympathetic, provided
a near photographic description of the many animals which met their untimely
deaths along the road.
It was dark when
we drove by the Abbey and arrived at the Bethany Spring Retreat House. Our
curiosity would have to wait until morning. We were greeted by the owner and
shown to the various bedrooms. After getting settled and exploring the large
old farm house, we began to gather in the living room for an enjoyable and wide
ranging conversation. Plans for the next day were determined by the Abbey’s
schedule of prayer services, the liturgy of the hours:
3:15 am – Vigils; 5:45 am - Lauds; 7:30 am –;
12:15 pm – Sext; 2:15 pm – None; 5:30 pm – Vespers; 7:30 pm – Compline. 7:30 am
seemed like a reasonable starting point for the next morning.
Night 1 – no reading, no writing.
We woke to an overcast
and foggy day, and soon traveled about a mile down a narrow, winding, black
topped lane. Our first glimpse captured the Abbey and its surrounding hills shrouded
in wisps of fog and mist. It was captivating in a truly timeless way. The stark
white of the Abbey walls sat in simple contrast to the muted colors of the
trees and harvest ready fields of corn. The sacredness was perceptible even
before the stillness and tranquility made themselves known.
Gethsemani was a
very special place indeed.
There were signs
that guided our way and requested silence as we entered the walkway.
When we entered
the Abbey, the lighting was fittingly dim, the reverence almost tangible as we
joined approximately 20 other worshipers. Soon doors began to open as men in long
white robes with black scapula entered quickly, quietly, and with familiarity.
Two or three yawned. The chanting began, and there were points in the liturgy
for responses, but I was satisfied to simply take it all in. After 15 minutes
the service was over, as simply as it began, and the Monks silently filed out.
At this time we
were fortunate enough to meet and spend a few minutes with one of the Monks,
Brother Paul Quenon, OCSO, who Adam had met while he was a student at
Bellarmine University. Brother Paul is an established poet (excellent haiku)
and a photographer. His easy smile and
wise guidance touched us all. Our gifts of the books Billie Dyer, by
William Maxwell, and Links, by Rev. Bruce Allison, and an excellent
bottle of red wine were warmly received. As he turned Bruce’s book over and
looked at his picture, he commented, “Ah, I like his face!” I imagine Bruce
would have liked his too.
The rest of the day saw many
of us attending five more prayer services, each one different, but their pattern
soon became reassuringly familiar. We broke up in smaller groups and read or
wrote or explored on our own. Later Adam led us on a pathway through the woods
that passed several stunning sculptures, looking perfectly at home among the
growth of the forest.
The more I observed and
sensed, the clearer Merton’s attraction to this place became. The quiet,
reverent, stillness became addictive as I considered all that I had heard and
experienced.
Compline was the final
service of the evening, and it was quite special. Conducted in complete darkness save for one
candle, their prayers and hymns were especially comforting. The power of the simple service was surprising
and sustaining.
Before the ending of the day
creator of the world we pray
that with thy gracious favor thou
wouldst be our guard and keeper now
From fears and terrors of the night
defend us Lord by thy great might
and when we close our eyes in sleep
let hearts with Christ their vigil
keep.
O Father, this we ask be done
through Jesus Christ thine only Son
who with the Paraclete and thee
now lives and reigns eternally.
Amen.
“Every day, seven
times a day, day by day, week by week, year by year, beginning the day after
they first arrived from France in 1848, and continuing until the end. In
a wild, sordid, noisy, violent world, we sing, we sing ancient songs, rich in
history, graced by God, for our healing and the healing of the world.”
Night 2 –totally
inadequate descriptions were added to the travel journal.
The next day, as
we prepared to drive home, I laughed as I lifted my bulky teacher bag.
Two days before, I had smugly arrived certain that my bag held all that I would
need, but in reality it held nothing I needed. As I left, the bag was overflowing
with lessons learned, practices begun, and a heartfelt appreciation for what is
alive in the quiet of time.
The how and why I
became involved in this journey had been made clear. “God is always there for
us,” to quote a wise Monk. It is the intentional and unguarded listening that
makes us aware and receptive. Thomas Merton described the Abbey as a place
apart “to entertain
silence in the heart and listen for the voice of God—to pray for your own
discovery.” Thank
you Gethsemani, you are a special place indeed!
Thoreau said,
and I think suggested, “Many a forenoon have I stolen away, preferring to spend
thus the most valued part of the day; for I was rich, if not in money, in sunny
hours and summer days, and spent them lavishly; nor do I regret that I did not
waste more of them in the workshop or the teacher’s desk.”
