I love monasteries. I’ve been visiting them since my college days. I spent a half day at St. Procopius in Lisle today, with three dear friends. The building is all smooth lines – brick, glass, and concrete. I love modern architecture in a monastery: feels like there’s less of the past, dragging the community backward. Spiritually, it feels simple and open. (I’m sorry I don’t have any pictures.)
And Benedictines are so hospitable. The guest brother welcomed us, asked our names and where we were from, showed us where to get coffee and tea, and said with glee, “You’re in luck! We’re having cheese omelets for lunch today.” (It’s Lent, so they don’t usually have a lot of eggs or dairy.) Delightful. After noonday prayer, the Abbot came up to us and introduced himself.
This is in contrast to a small spiritual center, which shall go nameless here, where my church board spent a day on a leadership retreat together last month. The center is run by some nuns who were less than welcoming, shall we say. We were pointed down a hallway, not taken to our room. We had to sign in. No one smiled or asked us to know more about who we were. There were little signs, telling us the rules, everywhere. We were told to please not speak to any nuns at lunch.
I brought some books along, a few in the monastic vein, including Teaching the Dead Bird to Sing: Living the Hermit Life Without and Within, by W. Paul Jones. I’ve had fantasies about becoming a hermit or joining a Christian community of prayer for years, and Jones makes my heart sing, telling his story. He’s more plainspoken than Thomas Merton, although not as eloquent. Spending time with the book again today made me want to add a review to the Amazon page, since there was only one:
“A Riff on Merton”: http://www.amazon.com/review/RESSOX5HBCGAW/ref=cm_cr_rdp_perm
