Previous Thoughts for the Week
Seven Sacred Spaces
I walked for hours with the old Abbot around the monastery on that
warm, spring afternoon.
He took me first to where he slept, prayed, lived his private life and time. His Cell they called it and in truth no jail could have been less welcoming, no less designed to make one feel that life was worth the candle. I asked him why? Why choose to live in such a draughty place, sleep on a rigid frame under a hessian-covered horsehair mattress no more than an inch thick? He answered “How can I live in luxury, when there are people starving throughout the world? How can I surround myself with comfort, when the Man of Sorrows died in agony for me? Is it not better that I remove as much distraction from me as I can, so I can be alone with God, to ask Him how best I can serve Him today” And then, softly, he asked me the question
“What is it in your “cell” that hinders you from being yourself with God?”
I thought: that’s a good question. What do I need to give up to be better able to be true to myself and to God? What would make me better able to face the challenges of the day, the way this man does?
†
He took me next through their Cloister. Other monks and community members greeted each other under the centuries-old arches, treading flagstones worn down by thousands of feet long past. To each man he gave a cheerful but respectful greeting that touched on something individual, something that they had discussed before. I asked him how? How does he know, remember what to say to each of his colleagues that will mean something to them? He has no idea who he will meet when, after all. He told me “how would I live with myself if I did not know all my fellow men individually in this small community – know what their worries were, what was important to them, and be able to talk with them, even in a chance encounter, about what we can do together, today, to serve the One who knows us all by name?
Remember that it is not a man’s faults that should concern us – they are God’s to know and to forgive, and after all, what we perceive as a fault in another is sure to be a reflection of a weakness recognised in ourselves.” And then he asked me:
“What to you ask yourself before you step out into the world each morning? You don’t know who you will meet that day, how they will be seeing their world.”
I thought: that’s true too. What should I plan to “be” when I start each day? How can I live my day in a way that shows others what it means to love and serve God faithfully, that it is more than just going to church and wearing a crucifix?
†
He took me to their Chapter room, where they held their formal meetings and discussed the business of the monastery. Plans of what to do next day, next month, next year, and always decisions to be made that ranged from the small and insignificant to ones that would have lasting implications.
I asked him what it was that guided them in making those decisions. He said to me “Son, the answer is simple, and it’s in the prayer I am sure you pray every day. What do you think it means when you say the words “Thy will be done”? Whatever His will is, it doesn’t happen automatically, you know”. While I was still reeling from that blindingly obvious but unrecognised fact, he hit me with another one:
“How to you interpret God’s will for you each day?”
I thought: ouch, that hurt. That’s starting to get to me, he seems to be able to see into my mind, my heart, my soul even. Yes, I pray each day, but what do I think is God’s will for me to do, to be, to accept or to challenge? How will the people I meet with today see their role in life? What will motivate them in a particular way, and how do I decide how best to bring His will into being for me and for us?”
†
While I was still absorbing that, he walked me to the Refectory, where they eat and drink their humble self-sufficient produce together. I had thought of this as just a simple place through which to pass and take on refreshment – a canteen, little more than a filling station for their bodies, but I remembered that the Abbot had said as we started our journey – “every part of this place I will show you is equally important”.
I asked him what it was that entitled a simple eating place to equal status with the rest of the monastery. He told me “this is far more than just somewhere we take on the physical sustenance that supports our day. All that we eat and drink here has come to us from God through the efforts of others in our community. They have laboured to grow it, prepare it, and cook it for us, and here is where we thank God for his bounty and thank them for caring enough to provide for us. By sharing in this hospitality we are reaping all those benefits, so isn’t it right that we come together in a spirit of happiness and gratitude?” I was still feeling suitably chastened when he asked me:
“Which of your God-given talents do you use to make better the life of your fellow man?”
I thought: well, I can’t harvest potatoes and carrots, grow grapes to make mead, or tend the cows that produce milk, but surely there are things I can make, create, prepare and contribute?
†
By this time, we had reached the doorway that led through to what I thought of as the library but I realised it was more than that, it seemed to combine shelves of information with discussion areas.
I asked him: isn’t this just like a modern college’s resources centre? The Abbot told me that was broadly true since Scriptorium – what a lovely word – is where knowledge is shared, learning acquired and passed on. “But with one big difference”, the wise old man added. “In your world, the world outside, a place of learning like this is mostly a one-way street, don’t you find? Here, we share everything, and that includes all of us – young and old, new and experienced – being ready to take on the mental and spiritual sustenance that supports us not just for the day but for our whole lives”. By this time I thought I was ready for the next challenging question but still it made me stop and think.
“Are you always as ready to receive and accept God’s learning as you are to give out opinion or challenge that of others?”
Yes, that is also true. In our places of learning it tends to be the teacher who teaches and the student who studies and I had to admit sometimes forgetting that all are entitled to put forward their views.
†
From the cool and shaded environment of these rooms with their lofty ceilings and their mighty purposes, we headed into the Garden. Here at last, I thought I am safe from these penetrating questions. Here surely is just a place to relax and admire all God’s things bright and beautiful. I should have been forewarned by what we had talked about in the Refectory. This garden had flowers certainly, but most of it was devoted to producing what the residents ate and drank plus a few things they sold externally in order to buy what they could not make for themselves.
I asked him: how can every member, however old or frail, work at least part of the time here? He told me it was within the capabilities of virtually every man to contribute in some way to what the Garden created. Even the least able can have some input, even if limited to a kind and encouraging word to a faltering Brother, or to an opinion about what planted where would, from past experience grow best, work best and best glorify Him who created that first great Garden. He invited me to think for myself along these lines:
“Which of God’s talents could you be using better in whatever part of God’s garden you now occupy?”
Now, that really made me think. Wherever we are, whatever our situation, however low we feel, there is no excuse for not making a contribution to His work.
†
We sat and talked in the Garden, drinking in the sights, smells and sounds of what was, as the Abbot had said, far from being a peripheral place limited to pleasure and relaxation: was an essential part of the monastery. Eventually, as the sun began to fade, we headed into the Chapel. Surely, I thought, here there could be no more questions, no more challenges in this most holy part of this most holy of settings. But this time he didn’t need me to ask a question. We just sat in silent contemplation for what seemed like an eternity. Then, as a bell tolled somewhere above us, he turned and said to me:
said, questioned, believed, learned, produced, been happy with, felt disappointed over, been tempted by, or felt lost about; we bring it all to the Lord in prayer. As in every other part of our lives we share here. We share our prayers, our thanks to God; we pray for guidance, and we delight in the joy of the Lord.”
Then, as I was preparing to take my leave and re-join that noisy, uncaring, and dissatisfied world in which we live, this amazingly simple yet complicated man with his seemingly simple yet deeply complex life asked me one last set of complex questions.
“Your life may be very different, totally different to mind, but you too have your seven spaces: your cell, your cloister, your chapter, your refectory, your scriptorium, your garden, and your chapel. Ask yourself my son: what is missing from each of them? Why is it missing? Why does that matter?
What are you going to do about it?”
I left my afternoon’s chance encounter with this truly Holy man with a new outlook on my life, my faith, my purpose.
I had walked for hours with the old Abbot around the monastery, that warm spring afternoon.
Written by Ian Holden
I walked for hours with the old Abbot around the monastery on that
warm, spring afternoon.
He took me first to where he slept, prayed, lived his private life and time. His Cell they called it and in truth no jail could have been less welcoming, no less designed to make one feel that life was worth the candle. I asked him why? Why choose to live in such a draughty place, sleep on a rigid frame under a hessian-covered horsehair mattress no more than an inch thick? He answered “How can I live in luxury, when there are people starving throughout the world? How can I surround myself with comfort, when the Man of Sorrows died in agony for me? Is it not better that I remove as much distraction from me as I can, so I can be alone with God, to ask Him how best I can serve Him today” And then, softly, he asked me the question
“What is it in your “cell” that hinders you from being yourself with God?”
I thought: that’s a good question. What do I need to give up to be better able to be true to myself and to God? What would make me better able to face the challenges of the day, the way this man does?
†
He took me next through their Cloister. Other monks and community members greeted each other under the centuries-old arches, treading flagstones worn down by thousands of feet long past. To each man he gave a cheerful but respectful greeting that touched on something individual, something that they had discussed before. I asked him how? How does he know, remember what to say to each of his colleagues that will mean something to them? He has no idea who he will meet when, after all. He told me “how would I live with myself if I did not know all my fellow men individually in this small community – know what their worries were, what was important to them, and be able to talk with them, even in a chance encounter, about what we can do together, today, to serve the One who knows us all by name?
Remember that it is not a man’s faults that should concern us – they are God’s to know and to forgive, and after all, what we perceive as a fault in another is sure to be a reflection of a weakness recognised in ourselves.” And then he asked me:
“What to you ask yourself before you step out into the world each morning? You don’t know who you will meet that day, how they will be seeing their world.”
I thought: that’s true too. What should I plan to “be” when I start each day? How can I live my day in a way that shows others what it means to love and serve God faithfully, that it is more than just going to church and wearing a crucifix?
†
He took me to their Chapter room, where they held their formal meetings and discussed the business of the monastery. Plans of what to do next day, next month, next year, and always decisions to be made that ranged from the small and insignificant to ones that would have lasting implications.
I asked him what it was that guided them in making those decisions. He said to me “Son, the answer is simple, and it’s in the prayer I am sure you pray every day. What do you think it means when you say the words “Thy will be done”? Whatever His will is, it doesn’t happen automatically, you know”. While I was still reeling from that blindingly obvious but unrecognised fact, he hit me with another one:
“How to you interpret God’s will for you each day?”
I thought: ouch, that hurt. That’s starting to get to me, he seems to be able to see into my mind, my heart, my soul even. Yes, I pray each day, but what do I think is God’s will for me to do, to be, to accept or to challenge? How will the people I meet with today see their role in life? What will motivate them in a particular way, and how do I decide how best to bring His will into being for me and for us?”
†
While I was still absorbing that, he walked me to the Refectory, where they eat and drink their humble self-sufficient produce together. I had thought of this as just a simple place through which to pass and take on refreshment – a canteen, little more than a filling station for their bodies, but I remembered that the Abbot had said as we started our journey – “every part of this place I will show you is equally important”.
I asked him what it was that entitled a simple eating place to equal status with the rest of the monastery. He told me “this is far more than just somewhere we take on the physical sustenance that supports our day. All that we eat and drink here has come to us from God through the efforts of others in our community. They have laboured to grow it, prepare it, and cook it for us, and here is where we thank God for his bounty and thank them for caring enough to provide for us. By sharing in this hospitality we are reaping all those benefits, so isn’t it right that we come together in a spirit of happiness and gratitude?” I was still feeling suitably chastened when he asked me:
“Which of your God-given talents do you use to make better the life of your fellow man?”
I thought: well, I can’t harvest potatoes and carrots, grow grapes to make mead, or tend the cows that produce milk, but surely there are things I can make, create, prepare and contribute?
†
By this time, we had reached the doorway that led through to what I thought of as the library but I realised it was more than that, it seemed to combine shelves of information with discussion areas.
I asked him: isn’t this just like a modern college’s resources centre? The Abbot told me that was broadly true since Scriptorium – what a lovely word – is where knowledge is shared, learning acquired and passed on. “But with one big difference”, the wise old man added. “In your world, the world outside, a place of learning like this is mostly a one-way street, don’t you find? Here, we share everything, and that includes all of us – young and old, new and experienced – being ready to take on the mental and spiritual sustenance that supports us not just for the day but for our whole lives”. By this time I thought I was ready for the next challenging question but still it made me stop and think.
“Are you always as ready to receive and accept God’s learning as you are to give out opinion or challenge that of others?”
Yes, that is also true. In our places of learning it tends to be the teacher who teaches and the student who studies and I had to admit sometimes forgetting that all are entitled to put forward their views.
†
From the cool and shaded environment of these rooms with their lofty ceilings and their mighty purposes, we headed into the Garden. Here at last, I thought I am safe from these penetrating questions. Here surely is just a place to relax and admire all God’s things bright and beautiful. I should have been forewarned by what we had talked about in the Refectory. This garden had flowers certainly, but most of it was devoted to producing what the residents ate and drank plus a few things they sold externally in order to buy what they could not make for themselves.
I asked him: how can every member, however old or frail, work at least part of the time here? He told me it was within the capabilities of virtually every man to contribute in some way to what the Garden created. Even the least able can have some input, even if limited to a kind and encouraging word to a faltering Brother, or to an opinion about what planted where would, from past experience grow best, work best and best glorify Him who created that first great Garden. He invited me to think for myself along these lines:
“Which of God’s talents could you be using better in whatever part of God’s garden you now occupy?”
Now, that really made me think. Wherever we are, whatever our situation, however low we feel, there is no excuse for not making a contribution to His work.
†
We sat and talked in the Garden, drinking in the sights, smells and sounds of what was, as the Abbot had said, far from being a peripheral place limited to pleasure and relaxation: was an essential part of the monastery. Eventually, as the sun began to fade, we headed into the Chapel. Surely, I thought, here there could be no more questions, no more challenges in this most holy part of this most holy of settings. But this time he didn’t need me to ask a question. We just sat in silent contemplation for what seemed like an eternity. Then, as a bell tolled somewhere above us, he turned and said to me:
said, questioned, believed, learned, produced, been happy with, felt disappointed over, been tempted by, or felt lost about; we bring it all to the Lord in prayer. As in every other part of our lives we share here. We share our prayers, our thanks to God; we pray for guidance, and we delight in the joy of the Lord.”
Then, as I was preparing to take my leave and re-join that noisy, uncaring, and dissatisfied world in which we live, this amazingly simple yet complicated man with his seemingly simple yet deeply complex life asked me one last set of complex questions.
“Your life may be very different, totally different to mind, but you too have your seven spaces: your cell, your cloister, your chapter, your refectory, your scriptorium, your garden, and your chapel. Ask yourself my son: what is missing from each of them? Why is it missing? Why does that matter?
What are you going to do about it?”
I left my afternoon’s chance encounter with this truly Holy man with a new outlook on my life, my faith, my purpose.
I had walked for hours with the old Abbot around the monastery, that warm spring afternoon.
Written by Ian Holden
Praying the Lords Way
Why do we need to say: Lord teach us to pray?
Why don’t we just carry out the Lord’s instruction and simply say the prayer he gave us?
Yes, we are faithful in saying the prayer; but over-familiarity can easily dull its dynamic message. It so easily becomes the picture we hardly look at on the wallpaper of our lives.
The Our Father becomes the full stop prayer of our daily office. We are happy skimming over our lives with a smoothing prayer; and with our spiritual fingers crossed, that all praying will be well. Surely we need to go deeper into the meaning of the sacred words.
So the more we use it the more we need to say: Lord teach us to pray.
When prayer times are dull, boring or seem empty: Lord teach us to pray.
When life seem so unfair - when the innocent suffer and the evil go laughing on their way: Lord teach us to pray.
When we can see our cross but fail to discern our resurrection: Lord teach us to pray.
When we put all our eggs in a future heavenly basket: Lord teach us to pray.
Despite the mess we make of our lives, or of our church or of our world: (or more likely the mess we think other people have made): Lord teach us to pray.
Lord only you can give us the grace that will enable us to live the words we say, that will allow your spirit to penetrate our daily actions, that will enable our lives to be a constant response to the one prayer that you gave us - Lord teach us how to pray and how to live…Our Father…….
Why don’t we just carry out the Lord’s instruction and simply say the prayer he gave us?
Yes, we are faithful in saying the prayer; but over-familiarity can easily dull its dynamic message. It so easily becomes the picture we hardly look at on the wallpaper of our lives.
The Our Father becomes the full stop prayer of our daily office. We are happy skimming over our lives with a smoothing prayer; and with our spiritual fingers crossed, that all praying will be well. Surely we need to go deeper into the meaning of the sacred words.
So the more we use it the more we need to say: Lord teach us to pray.
When prayer times are dull, boring or seem empty: Lord teach us to pray.
When life seem so unfair - when the innocent suffer and the evil go laughing on their way: Lord teach us to pray.
When we can see our cross but fail to discern our resurrection: Lord teach us to pray.
When we put all our eggs in a future heavenly basket: Lord teach us to pray.
Despite the mess we make of our lives, or of our church or of our world: (or more likely the mess we think other people have made): Lord teach us to pray.
Lord only you can give us the grace that will enable us to live the words we say, that will allow your spirit to penetrate our daily actions, that will enable our lives to be a constant response to the one prayer that you gave us - Lord teach us how to pray and how to live…Our Father…….
