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| Always something new scheduled on our many bulletin boards |
The times and activities can be seen on any of the weekly
schedules (always with some inevitable variation). The schedule exists,
however, not for it’s own sake, but with the continuous call to something
greater.
7:30 – Breakfast
Each day begins with breakfast in silence. Even for me as a
morning person, this is such a wonderful start to the day. While I may have
been awake and already gotten ready for the day, it is a joy to eat quietly
knowing that I will not become intellectually comatose from being socially
obligated to chitchat. It should also be noted that, “The Great Silence,” is
respected from 9pm to 9am each day. This means, as one might expect, that talking
and noise is kept to a minimum, and one is likely to be left alone until after
Morning Praise. This slow yet methodical start helps ease me into the day,
setting the pace for the rest of the day as productive and deliberate, without
a frenetic energy.
8:30 – Morning Praise
Each prayer begins with a series of chimes and bells, gently
calling all to prayer. The essential feature of this call to prayer is that it
comes ten minutes before the start time, allowing ample time for everyone to
arrive calmly, ready to pray rather than skidding in at the last minute,
frenzied and distracted. There is one other benefit to arriving sooner rather
than later, for if one is sitting quietly before prayer begins, one might
notice the special quiet that emerges as people have settled. The feeling of a
unified calm yet expectant anticipation becomes apparent from within the quiet,
awaiting the transformation of our individual prayers becoming communal. No
longer does the individual exists within or even as the self, but there is a
merging and melding together, creating a greater whole. I can only describe
this experience as truly becoming “one body,” for our prayers are for the whole
world, honoring and giving voice to all.
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| The literal call to prayer, using the speakerphone |
11:30 – Eucharist, Dinner
After morning praise, everyone attends to their work and
responsibilities, stopping when the bells again call us to prayer. As Sr.
Teresa Jackson has said in one of her explanations of the daily schedule,
“Prayer doesn’t interrupt work. Work interrupts prayer.” I try to remember this
phrase as I grumble to myself about never seeming to have enough time to finish
any of my tasks when I would like. Then I remember that there is a time and a
place for everything, and right now, it is time to pray. Everything else can
wait; it will be there when I return.
What I find remarkable in this celebration of Eucharist is
the ways in which the community interacts. I see a surprising tenderness from
the Eucharistic Ministers, heartfelt signs of peace, and a dedication to each
member by ensuring that everyone will be able to come and go from Mass. This dedication
entails that several sisters help guide the sisters of the Sunshine Wing (also
known as the infirmary) back to their rooms. This is how I see the Gospel lived
out – through these small gestures that reveal Christ in each of us. When I
worked at St. Francis
Inn, a soup kitchen in Philadelphia, there was a sign on the inside
of the main door. It was rather faded, and looked as if it had been there for
years (and is still there today), but the message was and is still as clear as
ever: Under a smiling face was written, “SMILE, Jesus is at the door.” - a constant reminder of the respect,
kindness, and humility with which everyone deserves to be treated. It seems
that, even over 2,000 miles away, this message is clearly active here as well.
I am not surprised that our main spiritual meal is directly
followed by our main physical meal of the day. It would be as if the rest of
the day was wiped away and if our entire day existed in just these few hours,
it would be enough. Life would have meaning, purpose, and practical sustenance.
To further emphasize this point, dinner begins and ends with grace and
thanksgiving for what we have. Our actions in prayer would sustain our lives to
attain physical nourishment, which would feed us enough to continue to pray,
and in this way can we change the world.
5:00 – Evening Prayer, Supper
Again the bell calls us to prayer. I thought I would escape
such an authority once I graduated high school, and yet here again do I find
myself spurred into movement by another bell. This time, however, there are not
the same consequences. I do not have to go to prayer. No one will say anything.
I could finish another chapter of the book I am reading, or watch tv, or get a
head start on supper, if I really wanted. Yet day after day, I come to prayer.
Why? Besides the reasons I have previously mentioned, there is something to be
said for the tradition. Benedictines have been praying for 1500 years. One of
the women here continues to remind me of this, and she says, “If I choose not
to go to prayer, if we all chose not to go, who will?” There is tremendous
intentionality in our prayer, but it is quite easy to lose sight of why we are
there.
Evening prayer has become my favorite prayer time as the
daylight hours continue to diminish, for there is a certain atmosphere that
occurs when it is dark. Even more meaningful for me is the Advent tradition of
holy darkness. During each week of Advent, we begin each evening prayer in darkness,
singing part of the hymn, “Holy Darkness.” When I say “in darkness,” I do not
mean with lights dimmed or lots of candles or something like that, I mean real
darkness. The lights are all shut off and for a moment there is no source
of light at all. That is, except one. The candle near the tabernacle, known as
the sanctuary lamp, is the only candle lit in the darkest moment, perhaps
designating this time and space as sanctuary for the world. Soon, the Advent
candles are lit and a cantor comes to the podium. Each week, a different verse
of “Holy Darkness” is sung, but the refrain (sung by the whole community)
remains the same: “Holy darkness, blessed night, / heaven’s answer hidden from
our sight. / As we await you, O God of Silence, / we embrace your holy night.”
While we continue to sing about holy darkness, the Advent wreath reminds all of
us of the growing light of the hope in the coming Jesus.
I suppose part of the reason I have come here would be to
try and see “heaven’s answer” for myself, seeking meaning and understanding for
my life. Now I might say that is a bit presumptuous to demand and search out
such answers, but I am continuously reminded of the God of Silence, with the
gentle call to embrace the nights of meaninglessness, knowing the light of hope
continues to shine softly, and that someday, the dawn will come again.
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