The Cloister Walk - Kathleen Norris [126]
The heady talk has been stimulating, too much so. It is good to be sitting in silence, in the great abbey church, waiting for the feast-day Mass to begin. I seat myself in the choir with the other women as the monks gather in the baptistry. Soon they will sing an ancient chant, claiming their heritage as Benedictines. Soon they will emerge from the cave and process down the aisle, two by two, in a cloud of incense. We will celebrate, which is something Benedictines do exceedingly well. And I will be strengthened by another joyful liturgy, something to remember when my mind wanders or sinks in the slough of despond. Something to come back to.
A GLORIOUS
ROBE
Morning prayer, which can feel like sleepwalking, has an expectant air this morning. The faces around the choir seem alert, less drowsy than usual. Two black habits lie neatly folded by the abbot’s throne. After the opening hymn the abbot addresses the community: “My brothers, today we welcome Joseph and John into our community to begin the year of novitiate. Let us fervently pray that during this year of testing they may come to know more fully the God for whom we are all seeking.”
We recite the psalmody as usual: two psalms, a canticle, a sung psalm. The scripture text that follows, from the Book of Sirach, is read by the abbey’s director of formation, a lanky man with an affable air. “My son, from your youth choose instruction, and till your hair is white you will keep finding wisdom.” The image takes on a special poignancy in this context; although there are a sizable number of young monks here, men in their twenties, thirties and forties, most of the community has gone bald or gray.
This is a community of Benedictine men, one of over a hundred monastic houses in the United States—single-sex, or more rarely, coed, Protestant or Roman Catholic—who follow a way of life set down by St. Benedict more than fifteen hundred years ago. An anachronism to some, an object of romantic illusion to others, these people seem to me admirable bearers of tradition into the contemporary world, incorporating in their lives the values of stability, silence, and humility that modern society so desperately needs and yet seeks so relentlessly to avoid. Today this monastery celebrates the addition of two young men to its numbers. They have been living with the monks for three months as candidates, and as the community has recently voted to accept them for a year-long novitiate, we’re now engaged in a rite for the reception of novices, or what is sometimes called a clothing ceremony.
The reading from Sirach continues, warning that wisdom requires patience, discipline, and strength in the face of testing. But there’s plenty of romance as well; romance, and a promise of good things to come: “Search out and seek, and wisdom will become known to you; and when you get hold of her, do not let her go. For in the end you will find the rest she gives, and she will be changed into joy for you.” The reading concludes with an exalted image of clothing, of wisdom as clothing that no longer binds but frees and transforms us. “Her yoke is a golden ornament, and her bonds are a cord of blue. You will wear her like a glorious robe, you will put her on like a crown of gladness.”
After the reading, the two young men come forward with the formation director into the center of the sanctuary where they stand, backs to the altar and facing the abbot, who asks them, “What is it you seek?” That’s a fruitful question for any of us, one that resists an easy answer. The ritual answer is anything but easy: “The mercy of God and fellowship