The Celtic Monk

It’s Thursday evening after dinner and before Compline which begins at 7:30. My Monday through Friday week at Gethsemane is coming to a close, and as always it has seemed like the shortest week of the year. This year, a spring cold snap has kept me from some of my usual outdoor rituals at the monastery. I didn’t walk the wooded path to the statues that depict the sleeping disciples and the praying Christ of the Garden of Gethsemane. Nor did we take our usual walking loops after Compline, around the long rectangle drive. Most years I spend a couple hours a day walking trails that I never laid eyes on this year. I missed those things. But they are not why I come here. This week I still joined the monks as they chanted their way through their readings from the Psalter. I still made my way to the talks Fr. Damien gives in the morning, just for retreatants. I still sat quietly in the sanctuary several times a day in prayer. I’ve been coming to this holy place for a very long time…longe