May 15, 2012

I am walking in the dark. It's about 4:30 a.m. and I am outside – not on an errand or to accomplish anything at all, but in response to a movement awakened inside me after the monks and I finished praying “Vigils” together. I want to walk. I want to be outside; to feel the chill air on my face and savor the unexpected mingling of scents and sounds of nature. As I round the corner of the garage, the asphalt becomes aglow. Almost all the windows of the infirmary are illumined where Brother Paul Andrew and Lori, the nurse, have been attending to the older monks since 2:00 a.m. The thought of them in their beds is an impetus for me to venture deeper into the night beyond the light cast from the windows. I pass Brother Ephrem's wood chip bin from which an augur feeds wood ships to the boiler in the winter. But the bin and its augur are hugely still and silent in the dark. No heating need be provided now. It is Spring. Nature offers a gentle embrace to all who belong to her. As I make my way up a little hill, the huge South face New Melleray Abbey comes into view where the light from numerous windows on four floors peer into the night. The sight of the stolid structure reminds me I have taken this same walk literally hundreds of times. I reflect momentarily on the mystery of how every impression; everything taken in by my senses as I walk seems inexplicably fresh, exceedingly rare and precious. Following the asphalt around to the enclosure gate, I breeze past the “Monastic Enclosure: Do Not Enter” sign that glows faintly in the dark, and head down the drive way toward Monastery Road. What might appear an “escape” from the confines of monastic life is actually an early morning routine, something I've been doing for years. This adventure, occurring in the same place and in the same way day after day never gets old. I don't know why. As I feel the driveway slope downward under my feet and gravity draw me forward into benighted world before me, I take in a big gulp of the night air and wonder what kind of liberation this is I am enjoying. I wonder how a walk that has become so routine can feel to me now like a new experience; like the first day of creation. What a paradox is a monk's freedom! Inside the massive architecture of Catholic Tradition, the sacred liturgy, hierarchy, vows, rules and obediences, I feel as if I could fly. How to explain this lightness of being? It is freedom. It is simply the freedom won for us by Christ and His truth which make us free. As I reach Monastery Road, I look across at the driveway leading up to Holy Family Church where a tiny solitary light illumines the front steps, and I realize I am free. I am tasting the freedom attained only by committing oneself to the one law that liberates: the law of Christ lived in his church.