BLOGGING FROM GETHSEMANE

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…longer than I’ve been ordained. And as is true in all of life—here a cycle has been set in motion of which we do not have control.

For the first time since I began my annual retreats here, this week I made my way out to the monk’s cemetery. Fr. Matthew and Brother Rene died in February and April respectively. Fr. Matthew was an exceptional homiletician—oh if I could preach half as well! He was humble, interesting and interested in anyone who sat in the chair in front of him. Brother Rene was the night-time Guestmaster. That means when I locked myself out of my room, going down to the kitchen for a midnight snack, it was on Brother Rene’s door that I had to knock to be let back into my room. He was always smiling in the middle of the night.

So perhaps this unseasonably cold wet week was a good thing. By its very nature, it helped me stop and remember these two lovely men whose presence I sorely miss. The grey skies were a witness that something was not quite right in this otherwise peaceful place. The extra time in my day spent indoors allowed me time to think of what is important—who is important and not to be taken for granted.

No, this wasn’t my usual time at Gethsemane. But it has planted a seed in my heart. I’ll have to wait and see what will be born from these losses. After all, God is in the business of making all things new. “unless a seed falls to the ground and dies…” What losses do you need God to be attentive to in your life right now? Have you brought them to God in prayer? I’ll join you in asking God to make beauty from what (or who) has passed away in your life. BLESSINGS AND JOY, THE CELTIC MONK