part monk, part two

the first night became simply wonderful in its simplicity. my fear dissipated after i contented myself to eat and read and fall asleep early. the meal was wonderful, just so simple and healthy. i sat at the desk provided and saw myself in the windows reflection, eating alone, and it was comforting to know that i was capable of this. i still remember the yummy bread i ate and the soup tasting so good. i spent the rest of the night finishing c.s. lewis' "the great divorce" which is basically now one of my favorite books ever and it only took me about 4 years to get through, with multiple stops and starts. i fell into a deep sleep and couldnt get up until about 9:30am, which was hard, since i missed the 7am service i had planned on attending. but my body wanted this sleep, craved it. it found opportunity to rest and forced my mind to let it be. i got up, got breakfast, read some more in my backyard, which was basically amazing, the view was unreal.

the 2nd service, the 11:30am "Eucharist", was a little easier to feel part of, since i had been to one already. this time one of the monks gave a message, which i cant remember the content of, except i remember thinking how different his perspective on life must be as one who lives in this kind of community and has committed to such a unique lifestyle, different than most american's will ever know. i was mostly struck by his sincerity and honesty. and i felt safe.

we then gathered into the adjacent circular simple room with the beautiful wood ceiling and cross and took Eucharist. it felt so sacred, and everyone took it very seriously and solemnly. as some of the monks sang and prayed and read from an ancient looking book, i felt like something weighty and holy was about to happen. i cant remember all the details, i waited too long to record this, but i do know i remember seeing them hold the bread and wine up, face turned into the natural light beaming down from the center of the ceiling, praying and acknowledging this holy act. we all lined up and one by one, took the bread from one of the monks, who told us as we bowed to the bread, "this is Christ's body, broken for you." we then went on to the next monk holding wine, which we bowed before, as he told us "this is Christ's blood, shed for you" and we sipped the real wine, so strong and smelling so rich.

as i walked away from the church, having taking communion with 22 monks and a handful of retreatants, it occurred to me that they do this every single day. i could see it feeling "special" even once a week, but every day, wow. they seemed to still have such reverence for it, such special attention paid, while i think once a month sometimes feels too often.

the afternoon was spent reading "how we are hungry" by dave eggers at the nearby beach and park, drifting in and out of sleep, the wind blowing, warm and cold, sunlight and clouds. little details felt significant and wonderful during this time. i found myself missing my parents cat for some reason when i was at the beach, and when i wandered over to the bookstore later on, a cat lay sprawled on the deck and we hung out. i have a deep love for cookies, and that cookie jar was always full in the monks kitchen. i took a shower and the water warm on my sandy cold skin was just about the best feeling i could have asked for.

the 2nd evening "vespers" spoke the most deeply to me, as i was really struggling to connect in a real way to God. working in ministry, i feel like i am saturated in "God" stuff, and connecting to it as if it were so "other" feels impossible, because of its seeming familiarity and my ability to somehow assume that the mystery of God can become mundane. as we sung, i didnt connect to the words, but the passion with which they were sung meant something to me. and as we ventured to spend another 30 minutes in silence, i began practicing some of the stuff yancey mentions in his new book "prayer"--

intentionally recognizing God's perspective and position as being all-seeing, all-knowing, the creator over all

intentionally recognizing ourselves as being part of His creation and not the ones who know it all... basically admitting our helplessness

intentionally thanking Him for creating and loving us and recognizing all He has done for us.

intentionally asking for His help in all the things we need Him for (basically everything)

And in doing this, slowly, bit by bit, i began to feel something wash over me. But it was so slow. I had felt this before, in little flashes, over the years. i just dont slow down enough to let it stay. here i was, though, in silence, with others in silence. and this was the time and place to begin trying. and so it happened that i felt God there, again, in the deepest part of my soul, realizing He never really leaves, and He never not listens. i just often cant sense these subtle things in all my rushing.

i imagined him, in front of me, taking my face into his hands - "i love you, kristin, i love you." and not that then he was next to me, but in me. and we spent time in silence there.

after, i got up and took a walk, sensing His presence that is never absent but often ignored, and we talked. i told him everything He already knew. it just felt good to say it out loud for some reason. and he showed me things.

the rest of the visit remained at the simple, slow pace i had settled into. i wandered the bookstore and bought things to help me be reminded. i met with a monk named john who understood and talked and prayed with me, just like any friend on this journey. i drove away sad to leave, but so grateful that i had had this here. i hope to carry this place around with me for the rest of my life.