May 27, 2012

The transformation happens each time I cross over the two lanes of Monastery Road, as if its empty expanse was the dividing line between heaven and earth. Crossing the street with my back to the monastery, and my steps directed toward the vast openness of North Church Field, I am “leaving this world”, and where I am going, no man or woman can follow. Coming the other direction, having made my way around Holy Family's circular driveway, and arriving again at Monastery Road, my heart and my whole being experience a “re-entry”. My body, my heart and my thoughts are all returning to the abbey and to life in this world. The sky is gradually brightening, and as I ascend the steep driveway toward the monastery, it's hulking silhouette comes into view. My eye is drawn to the massive construction of the facade with it's peaked roofs and its high walls buttressed with limestone pilasters. The is God's house. It was built 150 years ago, this temple of the Lord, but it is much older than that. This house has appeared again and again over the centuries and has been home to generations of monks. It is no accident that it resembles a Medieval church – it was intended to. That is because the monks of New Melleray didn't just build it for ourselves, but for all those monks who have gone before us. It is our desire that they live with us. They are our brothers. It is not just for us – this is their house too. It would seem less than brotherly for us to build a monastery in a manner that was pleasing to ourselves alone. We could have “made a statement” expressing our own particular contemporary tastes and preferences. The power of a Medieval structure to transcend the contemporary scene consists precisely in the fact that it is intended to extend hospitality to the souls of our brothers who preceded us in the monastic life. Catholics believe, the saints live with us still. Monks count our Medieval brethren as members of our community. If they feel welcome and at home in our house, then they will come to the place and inhabit it, and we will feel their presence. They are present in the simple stone chapel, so much reminiscent of the chapel where they prayed centuries ago. They move with ease and familiarity around the grounds, under the trees and along the rows of Placid's garden, as though revisiting old haunts. Monks of all ages are drawn to this place as I am. Their presence here awakens in me a poignant awareness of the pull this life and this world exercises on the hearts of monks of all ages. They were laid to rest nine centuries ago and yet, from the massive limestone facade their voices whisper: “The world is only a million years old – it's life is just dawning. Can't we linger a little longer?”