December 28, 2008
Father Seraphim
The superior told me to come see him at 10 pm the next morning.
I figured it would be a friendly chat about what I've done over the years and how I might be able to help out the monastery this week with my my writing gifts.
After Fr. Seraphim allowed me to speak for a few minutes about myself, my aspirations, and my strategies for self-actualization. He then cut to the chase.
"Theodore, you have forgotten what our Lord said we must do to follow him. It starts by denying yourself."
He then continued for quite a while on this not-so-lovely theme up picking up our cross and following Jesus to our life of suffering and death. As it went, I figured I wouldn't have to say anything more.
"So, what do you think about this?" he asked.
"It stings," I said. "I guess it's like medicine."
We talked more about issues like sex and relationships, which he apparently knows is what everyone is thinking about.
"Americans idolize the single life," he said. "But this is not only deceptive, but very wrong."
He explained that a man should either be in a monastic community or married, but singleness is a bad idea.
"Monastics are forced to live in relationship and are forced to sacrifice, compromise, and become more Christlike. Marriage also does this. So, marriage is good because without it, men--and women, for that matter--will never grow Christlike."
That was the first time I'd heard that take on marriage enrichment.
He then explained the Orthodox marriage service, a highlight of which is placing crowns on the heads of the man and woman.
"The crowns are crowns of martyrdom," he said.
| By chattabooks | 10:40 AM | Comments (0)
December 18, 2008
Work
Anybody who knows me well knows that work is a four letter word. I try to only do work that takes place between my two ears, which begs the question of whether it really is work.
I had heard they do a lot of work at monasteries and it wasn't something I looked forward to. But my first day went pretty well. Fr. Sergius took me to a workshop to do "Santa's elves work" as he called it.
The monks raise goats and make products such as goats milk soaps and hand creams, lip balm, a whole range of incense varieties and all sorts of other strange, crunchy products that would really jazz up the hairy-legged women at the Whole Foods grocer.
My job was to place three or four of these products in a box along with packing material, close it up, put a nice label on the gift box, then place shrink wrap around it. After a while I got the hang. I worked alongside Stuart, and learned more interesting tidbits about him, including the fact that he played defensive tackle in college and got kicked out of the monastery a couple years back for being too negative.
All in all, it was a pretty decent experience, and I was glad I persevered through the work aspect of the monastery.
After lunch, the superior, Fr. Seraphim, read a list out loud. At the end, he declared that I would be on clean up duty after the meal. More work. Cleaning the table, drying dishes, sweeping the floor.
During times of work like this, Fr. Seraphim instructs us to do the "Jesus Prayer." He doesn't want idle talk going on during work, so as I'm working around the kitchen, several monks are saying out loud as they work, "Lord Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me a sinner."
It's kind of weird. But I try to do it as well. Most of the time I forget. But it is indeed a great way to focus on Christ as you do whatever you're doing. Monks say this is a truly practical way to "pray without ceasing" as the Apostle Paul instructs. In fact, there are scores of monasteries across the world where this prayer is basically all they do all day, a traditional older than Protestantism times two.
I got all that work done and felt pretty good about myself. As I was putting the last bit of dirt and dust in the wastebasket, a monk came up to me and said, sternly, "No! That's holy trash."
I was then instructed to use another waste bin and not the one near the candles and incense. Finally, I was given the blessing to quit.
I was now free to grab some coffee, head to my cell, and surf the net a little and blog. But Fr. Seraphim caught me before I got out the door.
"Did you see today's obedience sheet, Theodore?"
Of course, I didn't, not knowing what such a thing was. He showed it to me and pointed out that he had assigned me to bathroom cleaning duty for the afternoon. I was to meet him at his office at 1:30 pm.
I trudged over to his office, resolving to be obedient but glad my visit is only for five days.
"I guess you didn't realize you'd be cleaning bathrooms in a monastery when you came to visit, eh?" Fr. Seraphim asked.
"The last shall be first," I said.
"That's it," he answered.
I was feeling pretty darn holy about that exchange, but of course, the plan in my heart is to continue to avoid cleaning toilets as long as humanly possible.
| By chattabooks | 3:05 PM | Comments (0)
Calvary
Dinner is the same routine as lunch. When the bell rings, the reading begins as we eat in silence.
As I mentioned, lunch was pretty good, nicely seasoned and tasty. The cabbage soup, rice, salad, and bread and water is monk's food for sure, but it was something I could handle.
For dinner, we had . . . the exact same thing.
Just before dinner, I met a guy working on one of the buildings, not a monk but a guy who lives in the area. He spoke with a tremendously thick accent.
"Hi, I'm Calvary," he said.
"That was my Daddy's name too," he said. Turns out Calvary, Sr donated land to the monastery.
"It means cross," he said, and left me to ponder the significance of a hillbilly named Calvary finding his legacy through establishing the Holy Cross monastery.
"I'm Theodore," I said to him. When you become Orthodox, you take on a saint name. I don't use it generally except in church or when I'm visiting a monastery. My saint was a general in the 3rd century who refused to recant Christ and worship Caesar in the traditional way by burning incense at an altar celebrating the emperor's deity. Finally, Caeser commanded Theodore to return from the field and burn incense in front of he and the royal court. The general obeyed, came toward the alter with his torch, and instead lit the building on fire and burned the entire court and himself to death--a Samson-like story.
I didn't tell Calvary any of this.
"Theodore?" he asked. "I know who that is. He's one of the Chipmunks."
| By chattabooks | 10:13 AM | Comments (0)
December 17, 2008
Cyril and Stuart
Lunch and dinner are also eaten in silence. One of the brothers reads from the life of the saints while the rest of us eat.
First, we stand at our chairs and pray before the meal. Then Fr Seraphim hits this little bell to signal for the reading to begin. Everybody starts passing food back and forth (you pass food across the table, not to the guy beside you, for some reason).
The first meal was cabbage soup, rice, salad. Really wasn't too bad, with a decent amount of seasoning. There's always bread and peanut butter on the table in case you need more.
Once that little bell rings its all silence except the guy reading out loud. You wouldn't dare say something out loud. Sergius told me the story of a old black hillbilly in these parts who somehow became orthodox and attended services and meals at the monastery a few years back. His saint name was Cyril, and he couldn't hear very well. Once the bell would ring, he started up loud conversations: "No where'd you say you're from, fella?"
A few minutes into the meal, I noticed everyone was done eating but me. I had sort of noticed that they all ate really fast. Then, the bell rang again. The guy stopped reading and everybody stood up. The meal was over, and I then realized why everyone devoured it so quickly. The next meal, I caught on and starting slurping things up quickly, just like that scene in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Heck, I grew up with three older brothers so I know how to play this game.
Time for some work. Fr. Sergius had me packaging up handmade organic soaps from goats milk and such that the brothers make from scratch (they have goats). Working next to me was Stuart, who promptly apologized for saying something the other night about how I shouldn't talk during silent hour. Someone had apparently bent his ear.
"Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. Nothing personal," he said.
I assured him it was fine.
A few minutes later, he walked over to me again. "Look, I just feel like we got off on the wrong foot. I didn't mean anything by what I said. I really just need to worry about myself, not anyone else."
I again assured him I was fine, but did silently note that the apologies were becoming more annoying than the original offense. He walked over to me again.
A few minutes later, wanting to let him know I cared about him, I asked, "Are you a monk or a novice?"
"Me? I'm nothing, man. I'm a screwball."
"They don't have a category for me," Stuart said.
| By chattabooks | 10:07 PM | Comments (0)
The Blessed Community
When the bell rings, I wake up, put on some clothes in about 40 seconds, and head to the chapel which is about 30 yards away.
When we finish morning prayers, we head to the dining room/kitchen building about 20 yards away. Then I head to similarly close building to help with some gifts to be mailed throughout the country.
The simplicity is lovely. No car. No public transit. No trip to the grocery store.
Morning prayers, which begin at 5 am, take place in a very dark building lit only by a few candles. The 11 monks serve and chant and worship in the main section of the chapel. A small section in back is reserved for scrubbs like me. We stand. There are no chairs, although a few benches in back do allow the weak to sit once in a while. Every now and then, the service calls for bowing down and prostrating on the floor. This is not like watching Direct TV on the couch.
Two of the monks chant a good bit. The tones sound Byzantine, in two part harmony, not three part like the Orthodox Churches I attend. Also, one of the monks will often sing the same note over and over again while the other one moves around. It's haunting but also moving.
Much of what is chanted in the hour long morning service is Psalms. The prayers are a cry from the soul, and, as someone fascinated with things historical, it amazes me that what David wrote three thousand years ago remains extremely relevant today. Christ, the descendant of David, took his forefathers prayers as the foundation of the new kind of house he would build. David's house continues to be a house of prayer, just as Christ zealously proclaimed it should.
After morning prayers, we move to the dining area for breakfast. This meal you grab yourself, continental style if you will. But it is done in silence. And it's weird. Probably the part about monastic life that has most taken me by suprise is this concept of silence. I don't understand it, really, and I kind of really don't like it. I'm sure it's my problem, but I am too social not to have a lot of conversation going on.
| By chattabooks | 4:45 PM | Comments (0)
Home Sweet Cell
The bell rang at 4:50 am.
They ring it once every 30 seconds until 5 am when morning prayers begin in the chapel. I quickly dressed and headed out the door.
Fr. Sergius had directed me to my room (cell) the night before. It is about the size a large walk-in closet, except the roof slants down, so you can only stand on one side of the room.
In the high corner is a prayer corner with icons and a stand with prayer books and a lamp and a little incense burner. There is one small box spring and mattress--no frame--and one soft arm chair by the single light bulb by the door.
It sounds sparse, but by golly it is all I need. It's all I've ever needed, really. Never been a good housekeeper. Never wanted much stuff. I like to pray, and read and think and dream and scheme and create. Well, the pray stuff doesn't happen as much as it used to, but all the other stuff is pretty much what I do. And I don't need more than a little room to do it.
Of course, these days I do need a laptop and wireless to live my happy life in a closet. Well, waddya know? The monks have wireless.
A couple other things make my cell hum like a top. They left me a towel for a shower (community bathroom on the lower level), an alarm clock (but the big bell does the job anyway), and a couple of hooks for my coat and hat. I'm good.
| By chattabooks | 3:07 PM | Comments (0)
