Find Joy Now

We are called out of ourselves.  We are called into new life.  We are called to become our true selves.  When we step out of being the people we thought we were, as we become our true selves, we find a joy we find nowhere else.  We find such joy because we have found new life, since we have been born into true life.  Then we feel great joy because we've become who we've always been meant to be, opening our hearts to expand.  

If we're awake then we recognize new life walking right through the door.  Recently when I was working in the bookstore here at the hermitage, in walked someone who, I later learned, ventured out into the world to find her true self.  She traveled to another country where she learned the art and practice of yoga.  She returned to the states applying the new knowledge she learned as she became a yoga teacher.  

When we reach a certain point in life, we reach a crossroads.  At some moments we must admit that the life we have been living has not been feeding us with the sustenance we need for the journey we are making.  Although it might seem unthinkable to continue while malnourished, nevertheless at times we do so.  Sometimes the thought of making a change can produce such fear in us that we become paralyzed.  Yet we're called to have the courage to step out of ourselves.  

There's making the change so we can start being fed how we need to be.  For some of us, we hear a call to learn a new trade, or to hone a talent we've been given but not been using.  When we start risking for the sake of our development, and moreso when we do so with love of others, we grow into who we're meant to become.  If our lives are not about evolving, if our lives are not about becoming more than we have been, then our lives are about nothing at all.  

Then there's the question of whether we're making a change that will only benefit ourselves, or whether we're shifting in a way that helps others.  It's easy to run off to another country for pleasure; it's a very different matter to go abroad to learn, then return and apply the knowledge gained for the sake of others' health, as with the yoga teacher I mentioned.  We are called to develop ourselves not only for our own sakes, but also so that we can apply our skills with love of our neighbor.  

When we give while providing a service which helps others come to fuller health, we help others to live in the way we're meant to live.  When we're channels through which life flows, we find joy.  When we help bring new life, we find the joy we've been meant to have, since God made us to take care of each other.  We were made to show each other the love we would like to receive.  When we embrace this duty of love, we find joy.  

We find this joy here, right now, in this life.  In this life as a monk that I've been living, I was privileged to have the joy of having Brother Joshua as one of my brother monks.  Some of you know that Brother Joshua unexpectedly passed away last month.  He had stressed that whenever he passed away, he wanted the celebration of his passing away to be an occasion not of sorrow and tears but of joy and laughter.  

Given his spirituality and his enthusiasm and enjoyment of life, Brother Joshua viewed his passing out of this life as an opportunity to rejoice, to revel in the countless blessings he enjoyed while he was alive.  Accordingly, not only during the funeral Mass yesterday, but also during the remembrances of him we shared after Mass, we happily and joyously recalled fond memories of him.  We celebrated his life here and the new life into which he has just been born.  

When we die, we're born into new life, a life that never ends, a life of joy since we are born into the eternity of the love of God, Who we will then finally see face to Face.  Yet we get glimpses of that great love now, when we open our hearts to become who God made us to be, taking the risk to become our true selves, to become conduits of God's love, as God loves our neighbor through us with the love God pours into our hearts.*  

* Romans 5:5 

Call Of Joy

When God has our attention we are in a privileged moment.  Yet we panic since it might not seem clear to exactly what God is calling us.  Despite uncertainty about vocational specifics, we find comfort and joy knowing God is calling us.  

Recently I spoke with a retreatant who has been pursuing certain training in her field.  Yet now she is feeling a strong pull elsewhere.  She has been feeling consolation, warmth and support from other sources, causing her some anxiety.  

When we simply notice a call there is a tremendous blessing.  How many people trudge along with no inkling God is calling them elsewhere?  To hear, to listen, to respond are gifts.  So is going forward in faith, to which we are all called.  

It's So Simple

I hope that all of you who are reading this post are well.  You might wonder why I am writing in this frank style.  I'll just come right out and say it: I am leaving New Camaldoli Hermitage.  My postulancy has already ended.  I will not be continuing on into the novitiate.  However, I am still here at this Camaldolese hermitage, and I do not have plans to leave here right away.  

Some of you likely are wondering at this point about my status here at the hermitage.  Therefore, I will take a few moments to clarify my current standing here; then I'll move on to explaining when and why I'm leaving, and why this lovely place and these remarkable people here are so important to me.  

WHAT IS DIFFERENT FOR ME HERE NOW

Since I'm no longer a postulant, I'm no longer in formation here.  Postulants and monks in simple vows, that is, temporary vows, are being formed, shaped and guided in adjusting to living this monastic life.  Given that I'm not in formation anymore, I won't be attending formation classes.  Nor will I be attending the roughly monthly formation dinner, which is attended by the monks who run the formation program, and by the men who are still in formation, when they're here at the hermitage.  Nor will I be attending a formation collatio, that is, communal lectio divina, for men in formation.  

Since I'm no longer a postulant, I am no longer wearing the light cream-colored smock which had been my signature piece of monastic clothing during Mass and the Liturgy of the Hours.  Thus I will no longer be fielding questions from retreatants, that is, our overnight guests, and other visitors to the hermitage about the smock!  People have often asked me why I had been the only one amongst the monks who was wearing a smock which only came down to my hips, while all of the monks were wearing habits which ended at their ankles.  One playful monk here, when in a mischevious mood, liked to answer that question for me by claiming that I had to wear the smock as a punishment!  I would then sometimes add that I had gone too far with my bad jokes and the monks were punishing me for my horrible sense of humor!  

To continue with what has just changed for me here at the hermitage, I am no longer sitting with the monks during Mass and the Liturgy of the Hours.  In the church, there are two sets of seats which face each other in rows.  In the innermost row on each side sit the monks.  When I was a postulant, I sat in one of those innermost rows right next to the monks.  Now I sit in one of the rows behind them, where the retreatants and our other visitors sit.  

I'm still on the work schedule.  So I'll still be working in the bookstore.  I still might be assigned to wash pots and pans and dishes.  I might still be assigned to clean the library or the monks' recreation room.  I could still be assigned to drive up and down our two-mile long driveway either bringing down our outgoing mail, retrieving our incoming mail, or carting our trash and recyclables to the dumpsters down there.  

I'll still continue driving one of the monks to his doctors' appointments, as I have been doing periodically for the last couple of months.  Incidentally, it is rather unusual for a postulant to be leaving the hermitage as often as I was doing.  If I had continued as a postulant, I would have started making fewer of those trips.  However, given that I am no longer going to be a postulant, I will continue driving him to his appointments as long as he needs me to do so, while I am still here at the hermitage, as one of my work assignments.  

At the hermitage there is a program called "Ora et Labora," which is Latin for "Prayer and Work."  Men who don't necessarily feel called to become monks, but who are interested in coming and living the monastic life here, may come here and work as volunteers and pray with the monks.  Essentially I'm in the status of a participant in the Ora et Labora program at this point.  It looks like at some point before the end of the year, I'll leave the hermitage.  I imagine that at least some of you are wondering what will be next for me.  

WHAT'S NEXT FOR ME, AND WHY

I have been feeling drawn to return to active ministry serving poor people.  Thinking back all the way to when I was a PCT (Peace Corps Trainee), during my first couple of months in Morocco, before I even became a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer), I remember saying to one of my fellow PCTs, Tory, that I was enthusiastic at the idea of volunteering over and over.  I've thought too of the time period soon after I had returned to the states from Morocco, as I was applying to volunteer programs in which I could serve poor folks here in the states.  I was excited to repeatedly volunteer.  After I had been accepted into the Lasallian Volunteers program and had started teaching 7th graders at a Catholic middle school in a neighborhood prone to gang activity on the south side of Chicago, I had a conversation with my sister which has been recently echoing in my mind.  She asked me what I had most enjoyed doing.  I knew that serving the poorest people, while living as simply as possible, was where I had felt most alive.  As I finished my year volunteering as a teacher in Chicago, I said to one of the Brothers of the Christian Schools, with whom I had been living in spiritual community, with a sigh of relief and relaxation, that I could just keep volunteering.  And then at numerous points during my observership and my postulancy, I often thought of volunteering again.  

I have enjoyed volunteering for many reasons.  I have served others.  In particular, I have served poor persons.  I've felt more and more satisfaction as I've served those who are more and more impoverished.  While volunteering, I have lived simply.  In volunteering, I've tried to humble myself.  As a PCV, I enjoyed much solitude, and, consequently, much silence and stillness.  I capitalized on that solitary, still, silent life to read the entire Bible and many other books, and more and moreso, spiritual writings, particularly Christian writings, given that I'm Christian, and, more specifically, Catholic.  I further plumbed the depths of my spirit by studying The Word of God and meditating upon it.   Thus I lived in conditions in which I was practicing spiritual disciplines which I not only greatly enjoyed, but which positioned me well to be able to listen to God with fewer distractions.  Thus as a PCV I enjoyed elements of my life which were essentially monastic.  

Thus I began considering whether God had been calling me to become a monk.  I began visiting monasteries.  Eventually I entered an observership here at the hermitage, in which I was observing this monastic life more closely, over a period of slightly more than two months.  I requested, and was granted, a postulancy, being able to live here as a postulant, that is, as someone who figuratively knocks and asks if he or she is indeed called to become a member of a specific religious community; in my particular case, I have been living here at this hermitage, and during my postulancy, I was inquiring if I was called to become a monk here.  

I have certainly enjoyed many aspects of the monastic life here.  The monks and I all live in our own separate cells, which are basically separate cottages.  Thus we live in solitude.  Consequently we live in silence.  Here one can sit in stillness for significant periods of time, in which one can be more attentive to God's presence and what God is trying to communicate.  While we live in solitude here, we also enjoy spiritual community here.  We celebrate daily Mass together and we chant and otherwise recite the Liturgy of the Hours together here.  We share lunch together everyday, which is a silent meal only twice a week.  We go on recreational outings together at least once a month.  I have greatly enjoyed all of these facets of this monastic life here.  

Yet I've been missing ministering to impoverished people.  Indeed, not only do I miss serving poor folks, I have come to acknowledge recently that a large degree of my passion rests in serving poor persons.  

WHY NOT A RELIGIOUS ORDER SERVING POOR PEOPLE  

You might be wondering why I don't look into joining a religious order which serves impoverished people.  I have.  

I contacted four orders which minister to poor persons overseas.  All four inquiries ended up with doors closed to me.  

I also looked into religious orders here in the states which serve very poor people.  In the religious orders serving impoverished persons where the monks, friars and brothers live the most simply, they also have age limits which I've already passed.  

Given that I'm no longer going to be in a religious order, which means that I'll no longer be taking a vow of chastity, I imagine that some of you might wonder if I'll get married.  I certainly think it's possible; I can see myself potentially married.  However, while I do desire connection involving intimacy, commitment, mutual support, understanding through shared values, and affection, I am conscious that I don't want those desires to rule me.  A much deeper, and much more profound, desire burns in me to live simply while serving poor persons.  

WHY AND HOW BEING HERE HAS HELPED SO MUCH

I've often wondered how to communicate the intensity of the energy and love I sometimes feel for various endeavors and people, including my love of impoverished persons.  I've also often wondered, after occasionally feeling bursts of such energetic and dynamic love, if I would ever harness that tremendous energy, if I would ever focus it, channel it, direct it and apply it.  Due to common misconceptions, I hesitate, and thus gingerly introduce the term "eros" here.  The word "eros" applies much more broadly than many people think.  Many people conceive of eros as applying solely to sexual energy.  Certainly eros encompasses sexual energy.  However, it also includes within its scope our creative energy.  It is in this sense of a powerful life-giving force which supplies us with our creative energy, that I will use the term "eros" here.  It is in this sense that I analogize to the eros in me when I think of the one horse with all of the energy, in the team of four horses working together, in the film "Ben-Hur."  I think of that one energetic horse as a symbol for my eros.  

Some people might wonder why I came here to this hermitage.  I definitely think that in coming here to the hermitage as an observer, and also returning here to the hermitage as a postulant, I did not make mistakes.  I was seeking monastic elements of life which I had enjoyed in Morocco.  Very recently I have come to see stillness and silence as counterweights to my eros, in effect moderating my eros, the passionate excitement and unbridled energy I have to serve poor people.  If we don't control, that is, focus and channel, and thus properly express our passions, they can undo us.  In my reading of the third-century and fourth-century and fifth-century spiritual teachers Origen, Evagrius, John Cassian and the Desert Fathers, for the classes I've taken as a postulant here at the hermitage, I've learned about the dangers of disordered passions, how to conceptualize them, and practical strategies for managing them.  Saint Romuald, the founder of the Camaldolese Congregation of monks, a half millenium later, wisely counseled, "Sit in your cell as in paradise."  Sit in stillness.  Be silent.  Listen.  Calm yourself.  Exercise discipline.  Moderate yourself so as to make wise, prudent decisions.  Over the last few years, I've increasingly come to focus more intensely on such interiority.  I've come to conclude that interiority is part of the proper foundation for doing anything.  Attend to the inner life, and the outer life will be properly ordered.  

Thus, I feel that in deciding to leave here with the fruits of this contemplative life, is, in a way, reflective of the approach which is often advocated by contemplatives.  Sometimes contemplatives encourage others to go into solitude, silence and stillness as they themselves do.  Then, out of their contemplative treasure trove, they bring the gems and treasures they have realized there, to be shared and applied and invested in a life of more actively ministering to others.  Thus I've come to analogize and see contemplative practices as analogous to the calmer, more steady horse of the four horses in the team in "Ben-Hur."  The contemplative tendencies in me moderate the unbridled eros which is being expressed in my excitement and eagerness to pour out myself in serving impoverished people.  

I've also thought recently of the Prophet Elijah journeying into the wilderness.  He lay down and, it seemed, was being not only counseled, but advised, even perhaps urged, by an angel of God, "Get up and eat, or the journey will be too much for you!"  He got up, ate, and drank; then, strengthened by that food, he walked forty days and forty nights to the mountain of God.  1 Kings 19:7-8.  I am again speaking symbolically.  Get up and eat.  Drink, absorb the silence, solitude and stillness as nourishment.  Inhale, take in, learn from the silence and solitude and stillness as tools you can use on the journey.  I feel as if God has told me, you need these tools, or else the journey will be too much for you.  

In the film "Ben-Hur," the main character, named Judah Ben-Hur, tells the horse with so much energy, "It is nine times around the circus," meaning there are nine laps to complete.  I've imagined that chariot race in which Judah guides the horses as an analogy to me repeatedly volunteering.  Each time the charioteers completed a lap, a large golden fish sculpture was turned over, signifying the completion of that lap.  I've imagined that as I complete a term of volunteer service, one of those fish is turned over.  I've considered how to properly channel the eros in me, the creative energy and excitement and ambition in me, so that I can complete all of the times around the circus, so I can finish all of the laps.  

I am not literally racing, against myself or anyone else.  However, St. Paul presents another excellent analogy.  He writes that in one's spiritual journey, one should run so that one may obtain the prize.  He further writes that athletes must exercise self-control.  1 Corinthians 9:24-25.  So too must we exercise control over ourselves so as to achieve the spiritual goals we wish to realize.  Thus, as St. Paul described of himself, I press on toward the goal.  Philippians 3:14.  

Sitting in contemplation, attending to my inner being, I am calmed.  In practicing the spiritual disciplines, I am led to properly control and effectively channel my passion for service.  I don't want to exhaust myself with overexcitement before I've delivered the service I wish to donate.  

A MORE HOLISTIC APPROACH NOW

Don't you see?  So much makes so much sense now.  It is true that many parts of me have been fed here.  I have been enjoying worshipping God and celebrating His many blessings here.  I've enjoyed the spiritual community here with the monks, workers and our guests.  My personality has suited me to being here.  I'm an introvert, in the sense that I recharge by spending time alone.  There's plenty of time alone here!  Yet I've also been drawn to spend time in solitude because I ardently desire to feel God's presence.  I seek God's face.  A monk desires nothing more than to see the face of God.  

I do indeed fervently wish to see the face of God.  It is in this vein that I feel that one of these wise Camaldolese monks framed a vocational question well for me. He asked me if I have an inner monk inside me the volunteer, or if I have a passion for service inside me the monk.  I have an inner monk, who needs to have his say at the table where all the different parts of me sit down and help determine how I am going to live my life.

Who else is also at this decision-making table?  Honestly, there's also my inner child sitting at the table.  There's my thirst for adventure.  There's my desire to serve poor folks and live amongst them.  There's my anima, that is, the feminine side of me, who is my muse, my inspiration.  All of these parts of me, and others as well, must have their say in what I do next, or I will be miserable, and will make others miserable, whether I am living in a community of monks, or back out there in the world again ministering to poor folks.  

In coming here to this hermitage and while living there, I have been feeding my inner monk.  Thus, in living this monastic life, I did not make a mistake.  I've imagined if I forced myself to become a monk here, and stay as a monk for my whole life, that once I passed away, God would very well say to me, "I put a thirst for living simply, and a love of living amongst poor people, and a love of serving them, into your heart, into your soul, into your spirit, into the very core of your being.  It brought you so much joy to live simply and live amongst, and to serve, poor persons.  Why didn't you use those gifts more?  It wasn't a task for you to live that way and serve them; it was just the opposite; you reveled in it; it made you feel alive.  I made it so easy for you to do so.  Why did you make it so hard for yourself?"  My mind hearkens back more than a couple of decades to one of my high school teachers.  I asked him to write a note to me in my senior year yearbook: amongst other scribblings, he succinctly advised me, "Never stop thinking.  Stop thinking so much."  

I recently concluded that I had been wondering and thinking too much about what my vocation is, rather than just realizing what my vocation is through how I feel.  I would have done poorly to stay here for a much longer time due to overthinking my vocation.  In contrast, I have felt that thus far I have well spent my time here.  In being here at this hermitage, I have been learning in a school of the service of the Lord our God.  I have had important lessons to learn here.  Having received the necessary instruction, then tarry not.  Leave in a timely manner.  Leave when it is appropriate.  

WHY I'LL LEAVE WHEN I'LL LEAVE

I do wish to stay here at the hermitage for roughly the amount of time to which I had committed.  Typically a postulancy here lasts from about 10 to 12 months.  I started the postulancy in February.  Thus I would like to stay here until December.  

Some of you might be wondering why my postulancy ended before eight months had elapsed, if a postulancy here is usually 10 to 12 months long.  I had said to my postulant-master, that is, the monk primarily responsible for mentoring me here, that although I supposed it was theoretically possible that my longing, to return to serving poor persons, could wane, and that I could shift to desiring to stay here, I thought that such a shift was very unlikely.  After my postulant-master shared this sentiment of mine with the other monks on the formation team, I heard that they explained that once a man reaches such a conclusion, usually the postulancy ends.  The postulant has discerned that he does not feel called to become a monk here, so the purpose of the postulancy has been achieved, and thus the postulancy ends.  Although the aim of the postulancy has been reached, still I wish to remain here for the approximate amount of time I had planned when I began the postulancy.  

In addition to wishing to stay here to fulfill my commitment to be here for the amount of time I had originally planned, I also want to leave in an emotionally and socially appropriate manner.  These monks, and the workers here and I have grown close to each other.  We have established emotional bonds with each other.  We're fond of each other.  So I don't want to leave abruptly.  As my mom is still in touch with the Discalced Carmelite nuns with whom she was a nun 50 years ago before she got married, I too see myself being in touch with these monks for decades to come.  Hence I have been emotionally processing my experience here.  I have felt that leaving here has a bittersweet taste.  I am excited to again minister to poor people, yet I have been sad that I am going to leave these wonderful people with whom I have lived, prayed and worked.  I have found my wistfulness to be moderated by knowing that I will be in touch with these magnificent people.  Also, hopefully, I will be able to come back to visit in between my terms of service to impoverished people, whom I so love to serve.  

THE PLACE GOD CALLS YOU...

So I am leaving here not to do a task.  I am departing here not to carry a burden.  Rather I enjoy living simply and serving impoverished people.  I recall once again the words of Frederich Buechner, who advises, "The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet."  

Also I recall the film "In America," even though I haven't seen it since it was released in theatres around a decade ago.  In it a married man asks another man, "Are you in love with my wife?"  

The other man replies, "Yes."  An uncertain pause ensues.  Then he continues, "And I'm in love with you."  He goes on to say how he is in love with this other person, and that other person, and so on.

In our culture, people who express themselves in such a way might be seen as not only unusual but also bizarre.  However, God does indeed call us to love everyone.  We are to love God and love our neighbor.  How?  Be yourself.  Do what God has called YOU in particular to do.  It's so simple.  Love is simple.  Amen.  

A Restless Heart

Today is the feast day of Saint Augustine, so today in the Catholic Church--as well as in the Episcopal, Lutheran and Anglican Churches--we commemorate this particular saint on this specific date on the calendar, as we do with other saints on other dates.  Yesterday was the feast day of Saint Monica, the mother of Saint Augustine, who prayed tirelessly for the spiritual welfare of Saint Augustine.  In recalling saints on their feast days, we remember them during prayers.  At Vigils, we hear ecclesial readings by and about these specific saints.  During Mass, the priest might mention the particular saint during the sermon.  As was the case today, the priest presiding at Mass devoted his entire homily to sharing about Saint Augustine.

Saint Augustine tirelessly sought the truth, including its origin, and the truth of his own identity.  In his book which he aptly entitled "Confessions," which he addressed to God, Saint Augustine asserts how wretched he feels he had been before he realized his true identity in God.  Last month I finished reading his "Confessions," which resonated in my being.  In his "Confessions," Saint Augustine contends, "You have made us for Yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in You."

I myself have sought to satisfy the deepest longings of my heart, my soul and my spirit.  I have continued craving a kind of satisfaction which never dissipates.

When I was a lawyer, I was dissatisfied.  Honestly I am grossly understating the state of my being during that period of my life.  As an attorney I was forcing myself for years to stay in a profession which I knew was not my vocation.  Back in those days I did not ask myself what my vocation was, that is, the particular pursuit to which God was calling me.  I merely kept being a lawyer so I could pay off my debt in what seemed to be the quickest way possible, and, as I thought of it back then, so I could get on to doing whatever it was that I was really supposed to be doing.

While I was a lawyer, even though I had read nearly none of the writings of the Trappist monk Thomas Merton, in essence I had already long felt the truth of many of Merton's statements about our spiritual identities.  Often I have thought of one of his statements which essentially communicates the sentiment that maybe I will be happy if I do what I think will bring me happiness, rather than continuing to try to do what others think will make me happy.

Thus I quit my well-paying job as an attorney where I had excellent benefits.  I joined the Peace Corps.  I moved to Morocco.  I moved to the desert.  There I enjoyed solitude, silence and stillness in the many hours when I had no work to do.  I spent that quiet time alone engrossed in spiritual reading.  I sought God.  In that silence, solitude and stillness, I felt I could better hear God.

Thus for years now I have been trying to listen to God.  I have been trying to follow His plan for my life.  It was in Morocco that I first wondered if God had been calling me to be a monk.  Following this potential invitation, I began visiting monasteries.  Continuing to respond to how God seemed to be calling me to become a monk, I became a postulant here at this hermitage.

The word "postulant" comes from the Latin verb "postulare," which means "to ask."  A postulant is one who asks to be admitted into a religious order.  Postulants are seen as knocking, asking for admission into monasteries and hermitages.  They are seeking permission to enter.  They are trying to determine if they have properly discerned a call to consecrated religious life in a particular religious order.

I feel that my consideration of my inquiry into the accuracy of my vocational discernment is brought into appropriate relief this week in particular.  Now, this week, the monks here and I are on our community retreat.  We have a week's time in which we are able to focus more on contemplation.  We continue to have Mass and the Liturgy of the Hours this week, for the most part as regularly scheduled.  However, the monks and I are not on the work schedule this week.  The employees of the hermitage and some volunteers are working here this week.  With the additional time freed up this week, I have been spending much time immersed in spiritual reading.  I have been spending more time alone, more time silent.  I have found myself more easily sitting still.  In the more intense silence and solitude and stillness, we are better disposed to listen to God.

Our retreat master, a Franciscan priest, is leading us through seminars covering Franciscan influences on Thomas Merton, including the medieval Franciscan priest Duns Scotus.  Scotus seems to have heavily influenced Merton's ideas about our true selves and our false selves.  Merton asserts that our true self is who God has always intended us to be.  Our false self is anything else and everything else.  Our false self is peddled to us by certain societal expectations, by various kinds of advertising, by anyone and anything which leads us away from what God has in mind for us.

People often trick themselves into thinking that they want and need things other than they truly, most deeply desire and require.  When in solitude, amidst silence and stillness, away from distractions, one can effectively plumb the depths of one's being.  In the deepest recesses of our souls, we can find the answer of what our truest identity is.

For a long time I have been asking myself if I have been becoming more and more the person God has always meant me to be.  When I was much younger, I was asking the question less consciously.  These days I pose the question much more explicitly.

I have read, and, over time, I have come to believe, that God created us to love and serve and praise Him, and to love and serve our neighbor.  There are many ways to love and serve and praise God and to love and serve our neighbor.  I would suggest to all people that they should indeed inquire how to love and serve and praise God and how to love and serve your neighbor.  However, I urge all people to question themselves more specifically.  How is God asking you in particular, you, the specific person you are, to love and serve and praise Him, and how God is asking you in particular to love and serve your neighbor?  

God wants you to use the skills that God has given to you.  God wants you to be happy as you love and serve and praise Him and as you love and serve your neighbor.  Thus Frederich Buechner has opined that "the place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet."

I feel joy here.  It may very well be that I feel this buoyancy here because I am being who and what God wants me to be.  I hope that I am always submitting to, and living as fully as I can, the truth of who and what God has always intended me to be.  My Lord and my God, not my will be done, but Your will be done.  Amen.  

Heaven Right Now

Over the last couple of days I traveled up to the Monterey area and the peninsula in the San Francisco Bay Area with one of the monks from here for a couple of doctor's appointments.  We stayed overnight in the Bay Area.  I got to go back to Casa de Clara, that is, the San Jose Catholic Worker House, where I lived and worked in the latter half of last year.  I so enjoyed spending time with my friends, the Catholic Workers and the guests to whom they minister, there.  That night I visited, one of the women who used to live there as a guest, who since has moved out into her own place, was celebrating one year being clean from drugs and sober from alcohol.  In joyous commemoration of her recovery, we celebrated with a barbeque in the back yard.

Yesterday, on the way back to the hermitage, my traveling companion the monk and I stopped in Carmel for malted milkshakes.  As we sat on a bench outside enjoying our malts, some men we had never met were walking past us.  One of them greeted us.

"Hi, guys."

"Hello," I responded.

"Does it get any better than this?" he asked.

"No, it doesn't," I replied.

"You're right: it doesn't get better than this," he agreed.

"I like his attitude," I later shared with the monk sitting next to me.

"Me too."

We shape our experience.  Heaven can be right now if we want it to be.  

In You Alone

Every other Thursday evening at Vespers, amongst other Scripture passages, we sing the first six verses of Psalm 137.  Psalm 137: 1-6 reads as follows:

By the rivers of Babylon there we sat and we wept
remembering Zion.

On the poplars that grew there
we hung up our harps.

For it was there that they asked us, our captors for songs,
our oppressors for joy.

"Sing to us," they said,
"one of Zion's songs."

O how could we sing the song of the Lord
on alien soil?

If I forget you, Jerusalem,
let my right hand wither!

O let my tongue cleave to my mouth
if I prize not Jerusalem above all my joys!

After each verse or so, we sing the refrain "In you alone, Jerusalem, my joy!"  The Psalmist wrote these verses from the perspective of the Israelites, as a lament of homesickness over their homeland, over Jerusalem, when they were in exile in Babylon.  When reciting these verses, one is recalling the angst which the Israelites seemed to have felt at having been forced to leave their homeland and at their having been involuntarily relocated to live in another land.  Written to particular notes which seem particularly evocative of the melancholy which they understandably seemed to have felt, I have often brooded that the tune we sing which is set to these verses is especially apropos in expressing the anguish which the Israelites seemed to have felt.

However, during the most recent instance when we sung these verses, I felt them.  No longer did I intellectually, dispassionately conclude that these particular notes fit the words we sung.  Rather, I felt their place in my heart.

Why did I feel the emotion inherent in these specific verses?  I felt the truth of these words because this truth, in a certain, related sense, has abided in my heart, and I have increasingly come to realize this truth.  I have come desperately to seek this truth, which I have felt especially reflected by particular experiences in my life.  

For two years I lived in Morocco while I served there as a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer).  While I lived there, often I felt homesick.  I went to live in the desert there.  I lived in the desert in the literal sense.  I resided in the southeasternmost region of Morocco, in the Sahara Desert.  

However, I also lived in the desert in a figurative sense.  I was removed from much of what I knew, living in a culture significantly different from the one in which I had previously lived for decades.  Being presented daily with different customs and norms, I was constantly reminded that I was living in a foreign land.  

Not only was I always being reminded that I was away from home, I knew less of home while I was there.  I did not even hear the news as often or access the internet as much as I did when I had lived in the states.  Of course, while I lived there, I also saw less of, and heard less from, my family and friends in the states.  

Even amongst others living there who were also from my homeland, often I was isolated from other PCVs and other expats from the U.S. for much of the time I lived in Morocco.  During my Peace Corps service, at times other PCVs lived close to me.  However, during other periods, no other PCVs lived near me.  

Often it is during circumstances which we would not choose when God surprises us.  When we are deprived of what we expect, what we know, what is comfortable, often it is then that we learn, about ourselves, about what we can accomplish with God's help, who we are, and who God is calling us to be.  

When I was a PCV, I had a lot of time by myself.  I had much time which was not spent working.  I did my best to try to make good use of the solitude.  Being alone, consequently I also experienced much silence and stillness.  I spent much of my time in solitude reading.  As my service progressed, I read more and more spiritual writings.  Increasingly I sought God.  I strove consciously and deliberately to listen to God.  As I read the Bible, I began to crave reading The Word.  I felt God was drawing me closer.

While at times I felt like I was not being nourished, since I wanted to work more than I was working, simultaneously I felt nourished in the care and guidance I was receiving from God.  Despite my homesickness and solitude, I sought to embrace the circumstances in which I found myself.  I aspired to become who and what God was inviting me to be.

From this perspective, in hindsight, now I value and cherish this period in my life when I was faced with these challenging circumstances in Morocco.  Now when I consider this time of my life, which contained so much isolation and solitude, I see that through it God was drawing me closer, to become who and what God has meant me to be.  

Thus now when I think back to the day I arrived to start permanently living in the town in which I lived for two years, I understand how apropos the soundtrack was.  After I arrived in that town on the bus, I was carrying my duffel bag as I walked past a cafe.  In the cafe, through a stereo was playing the song "Sacrifice" by Elton John, which sounded all the way out to the street where I was walking.  As I heard the lyrics, "It's no sacrifice; it's no sacrifice at all," I thought, 'It's very appropriate that this song is playing as I walk by this cafe right now, but I can't articulate why it's so fitting right now.'  I suspected that with time, it would become clear why that song was so appropriate.  

Now I think, "Of course I went there.  Of course I moved to Morocco."  I went to live in the desert, yes, literally, but more importantly, figuratively.  Amidst the challenges of life there, I opened my heart to God.  I sought to listen to God, to follow The Way God set before me.  I have aspired to follow God's will for my life, yet submitting to God's will is much more of a joy than a burden.  

From this vantage point, presently I consider it to have been no sacrifice at all to have searched for my true identity, to become who God has always meant me to be.  It is no sacrifice at all to try to be true to myself and true to God: all of these endeavors are one and the same thing, if one is truly seeking God and is truly being honest with oneself.  I seek my right relationship with God, with who God wants me to become.  God wants me to be myself, since God wants me to be happy.  

Thus I truly feel it when I sing, "Let my tongue cleave to my mouth if I prize not Jerusalem, [my God, who loves me infinitely,] above all my joys."  I am so grateful to know of God's undying love for me, to know that God is calling me, that God wants me to be happy, that God is simply calling me to be myself.  

Knowing these truths, I pray, let me not speak unless I am, directly or indirectly, serving or praising God, or serving my neighbor.  I hope that all that I think, say and do is to the service and praise of God, and to the service of my neighbor.  To God be all glory, praise and honor, now and forever.  Amen.  

Listening To God

As I've previously mentioned on this blog, here at the hermitage we follow an ancient monastic practice toward the Bible called lectio divina.  Monks engage in lectio divina individually in their cells, or rooms, here at the hermitage.  We also host communal study of Scripture called collatio.

Lectio divina consists of four facets: lectio, meditatio, oratio and contemplatio.  Theoretically one follows these four stages in this order.

On the face of it, lectio is reading the words of Scripture.  However, when done properly, one rests upon the words so as to more likely absorb greater significance of them.  

Meditatio is meditating upon the Word.  During meditatio, ideally we are open to letting the Word grow in our hearts, to transform us into more than we have been.   

In oratio, we pray to God.  However, through oratio, we pray without words.  We pray in an attempt to open ourselves to what God is saying to us.  

During contemplatio, we sit silently in the presence of God.  We enjoy the stillness which is conducive to embracing and feeling God's presence.  

As I mentioned above, in addition to individual lectio divina in private, we also host collatio, a communal lectio divina.  We invite our retreatants who stay with us overnight to join us for collatio.  

As a postulant, and thus as someone in formation, being formed, shaped and molded in this monastic life, I also attend a separate, generally smaller collatio for myself and the monk in simple vows here.  Monks who are our mentors organize this collatio.  They, the monk in simple vows and I take turns leading this formation collatio.  

Recently I led this formation collatio.  I led the collatio on Proverbs 2:1-9 and on Matthew 19:27-29.  The text of Proverbs 2:1-9 is 

My son, if you take my words to heart 
and lay up my commands in your mind, 
giving your attention to wisdom 
and your mind to understanding, 
if you seek her out like silver 
and dig for her like buried treasure, 
then you will understand the fear of the Lord 
and attain to the knowledge of God; 
for the Lord bestows wisdom 
and teaches knowledge and understanding.  
Out of his store he endows the upright with ability 
as a shield for those who live blameless lives; 
for he guards the course of justice 
and keeps watch over the way of his loyal servants. 
Then you will understand what is right and just  
and keep only to the good man's path[.]  

The text of Matthew 19:27-29 is 

Peter said, "We here have left eveything to become your followers.  What will there be for us?"  

Jesus replied, "I tell you this: in the world that is to be, when the Son of Man is seated on His throne in heavenly splendor, you My followers will have thrones of your own, where you will sit as judges of the twelve tribes of Israel.  And anyone who has left brothers or sisters, father, mother, or children, land or houses for the sake of My name will be repaid many times over, and gain eternal life."  

A couple days after I was leading this formation collatio on these two Scripture readings, these same Scripture readings were going to be read during Mass.  On that particular day at Mass, we were going to be celebrating the feast of Saint Benedict.  We were going to be remembering and commemorating Saint Benedict, who, as the founder of the Benedictine order of monks, is widely seen as the father of western Christian monasticism.  

Once I started reviewing these Scripture readings in preparation for this formation collatio, I began to get excited.  In these Scripture passages, I was hearing echoes of the Rule of Saint Benedict, his set of guidelines for abbots and priors who run monasteries and the other monks who live in monasteries.  In the Prologue of the Rule of Saint Benedict, Saint Benedict writes 

Listen carefully, my son, 
to your master's precepts, 
and incline the ear of your heart (Proverbs 4:20).  
Receive willingly and carry out effectively 
your loving father's advice, 
that by the labor of obedience 
you may return to Him 
from whom you had departed by the sloth of disobedience.  
To you, therefore, my words are now addressed, 
whoever you may be, 
who are renouncing your own will 
to do battle under the Lord Christ, the true King, 
and are taking up the strong, bright weapons of obedience.  
And first of all, 
whatever good work you begin to do, 
beg of Him with most earnest prayer to perfect it, 
that He who has now deigned to count us among His children 
may not at any time be grieved by our evil deeds.  
For we must always so serve Him 
with the good things He has given us, 
that He will never as an angry Father disinherit His children, 
nor ever as a dread Lord, provoked by our evil actions, 
deliver us to everlasting punishment 
as wicked servants who would not follow Him to glory.  

Both the second chapter of Proverbs and the Prologue of the Rule address the recipient as "my son."  The Rule continues this relationship of parent and child, indicating that the guidance in the rule is "your loving father's advice," and advising the recipient to serve God well so that He will not disinherit us as an angry father would.  

Yet Saint Benedict was analogizing when he spoke in the words of the parent-child relationship.  He was not literally speaking of a father and son relationship between human beings.  Indeed, in the reading from the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus calls us to love and serve God first and foremost.  Jesus tells us that if, for the sake of loving God and our neighbor, we move away from our earthly families, and leave them so we can better love and serve others, we will greatly benefit.  If we sacrifice more, give much more for the love of God and of our neighbor, God will reward us.  If we give up what we have, we inherit from God.  We become more than we have been.  

Such are the types of guidance one seeks in lectio divina.  We aim to still and silence ourselves so as to better listen to God.  In lectio divina, we aspire to be open to what God has to say to us, how God wants to direct us, counsel us, nourish us, and help us evolve into people better than we have been.  Through His Word, God seeks to strip away all which would separate us from God.  

Once we have tried to listen to the Word of God, ideally we have been purified by the Word of God.  Having purified hearts, we can bring such joyous contentment into our functioning throughout our day.  Having listened well to God in lectio divina, we are thus prepared to listen to Him well as we progress through the rest of our day.  Listening to the Lord well, we are thus also prepared, indeed, properly equipped, lovingly to listen to, and to serve, our neighbor.  One should not mistake such benefits of active ministry as being more valuable than such foundational contemplative transformation.  Having been thus transformed through, with and in the Holy Spirit, it becomes less important what we do: we are more importantly living in communion with Him, a relational foundation which we must have for anything and everything we do, if what we do is to have the meaning which God wills it to have.  

Who Am I?

Who am I?  Why am I here on this earth?  Many people ask themselves these questions.  Some people more specifically ask what God is calling them to do.  Every person is called by God to a particular vocation.  A person can define his or her vocation as the specific ministry, work or pursuit to which God is calling that particular person. 

Last weekend here at the hermitage, we had a retreat for persons aged 18 to 30 who are trying to discern their vocations.  Father Raniero, Brother Bede, Father Cyprian and a lay religious teacher led the retreat.  I was able to sit in on the sessions and offer some thoughts during some of the discussions. 

People could sign up for this particular retreat while discerning various vocations.  Those who attend this vocation discernment retreat might wonder if God has been calling them to marriage.  Another participant might feel called to consecrated religious life as a nun, monk, friar or priest.  Yet another attendee might be discerning whether to apply to graduate school. 

As usual with preached retreats here at the hermitage, participants arrived on Friday afternoon.  During the Friday evening session, Brother Bede offered some general thoughts on discerning one's vocation.  Attendees received some brief excerpts on vocation and spiritual identity to read in anticipation of the next morning's session.

During the Saturday morning session, Father Cyprian guided our guests through a couple of the writings.  We discussed the reality that each of us has a choice.  We are given many chances to decide whether we are going to do what is common and what is expected from others.  At times doing so may be necessary and other times superfluous.  We decide whether we are going to do what nourishes our souls.  We can choose to try to listen to God, who is calling us to utilize the gifts He has given us, to glorify Him and to serve our neighbor, and thus pursue genuine joy.  We can elect to try to be who we are meant to be, who God has intended us to be and has planned for us to further become. 

In the afternoon, participants had opportunities to receive spiritual direction from monks.  They got to speak with monks about their discernment, consequently receiving spiritual accompaniment with attendant insight and questions to guide them and spur further thought, to aid them in their discernment. 

Later in the afternoon, these retreatants learned about lectio divina, a monastic practice toward reading the Bible and listening to God through the Word.  Insofar as God speaks to us through the Word, and seeks to guide us through the Word, lectio divina is helpful as one proceeds in discernment of one's vocation. 

On Saturday night, we got to know the vocation discernment retreatants a little better during a social gathering.  Over fruit, cheese and crackers, we talked about our spiritual journeys and whatever else happened to come up as we socialized. 

In the final session on Sunday morning, our guests shared with us what they learned during this vocation discernment retreat.  Amongst thoughts we heard expressed, we heard some say that they feel called to pray to God.  We also heard the realization that one can't go it alone, that one can't rely on oneself.  As is often the case when people stay here at the hermitage, we heard hopes too of, upon leaving here, continuing to feel some of the peace felt here. 

After someone experienced peace, he wanted more peace.  What we wish, we seek.  What we seek in the praise and service of God, we will find.  "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you.  For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened."  Matthew 7:7-8.  

Are we asking, and if so, for what?  Are we seeking, and if we are searching, for what are we longing with the deepest recesses of our souls?  Are we knocking on the doors of our innermost being?  If we launch on such inquiries, we find that God is calling each of us to a special endeavor specifically intended for each of us.  God is inviting all of us to something extraordinary.  

God is at the door for each of us.  God is saying to every person, "I stand at the door and knock.  If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with Me."  Revelation 3:20.  Let us ask, seek and knock, and let us open the door to God when He knocks.  In asking, seeking, knocking, and answering the door when God knocks, let us become more than we have been.  Let us experience true happiness.  Amen.  

Surprise!

This morning here at the hermitage we gathered in the church for Vigils, the first instance of each day of the Liturgy of the Hours.  The bell at the top of the church tower rings at 5:15 a.m., giving the monks, and anyone who would like to join them, enough time to get ready and make their way down to the church.  At 5:30 a.m. we stand and recite selected Psalms and listen to a Scripture passage and hear another spiritual reading.  Since today is the feast day of St. Benedict, on which we especially remember and honor him, this morning we heard a reading about how St. Benedict can be a fine example for us in how he lived his life. 

At the end of Vigils, the monks turn toward the altar, then process toward the altar, two by two.  Each pair bows together toward the altar, then walks one behind another toward the back of the church.  Since I sit with the monks, I process out with them.  We make our way toward the back of the church and perhaps put on our ski caps or other clothing, and then go back to the silence of our cells until the bell rings again at 6:55 a.m. for the next instance of the Liturgy of the Hours, that is, Lauds, which is at 7:00 a.m. 

This morning after Vigils as I was about to exit the church, I looked down the hallway and saw someone smile at me.  I thought, "That woman looks like my friend Alyssa."  Then I looked at the next person walking behind her, and I thought, "Wait, that's my friend Laryn!  So that is Alyssa!"  I walked over to them and we hugged each other.

One of them asked if they're allowed to talk to me.  I nodded.  This is generally true.  However, from 9:00 p.m. until just after Lauds the next day, we observe the Grand Silence, a period of more intense silence which is more closely followed than the silence which generally pervades the entire day here.  Hence my nodding rather than speaking.

By this point I had begun to figure that they are here for the yoga retreat which began last night, which continues today, and concludes tomorrow.  In the Camaldolese charism, namely, what makes this religious order different from other ones, are solitude, spiritual community and mission.  We live the third facet of our charism by ministering to others mostly by giving retreats for them.  Mostly at this point these retreats occur on weekends, following a schedule similar to the schedule for this retreat.

Yet since I do my best to observe the Grand Silence, I didn't speak my question to them.  Rather I pointed to them and then to the room where the retreats are given, and then quickly attempted to improvise a yoga pose, which would likely make people laugh if they practice yoga and aren't my friends.  My friends nodded, confirming my suspicion that they are here for the retreat.

I was so happily surprised to see my friends today!  I am looking forward to seeing them in a short while for Mass and later in the weekend.  Many of you who know me also know that I enjoy surprises.  So feel free to stop by the hermitage and surprise me!  Of course, feel free to let me know you're coming.  However, if you decide to make a trip here on the spur of the moment, you might not be able to get in touch with me before you get here.  In any event, it's much more likely than not that I will be here.  For the most part in this monastic lifestyle, we are here at the hermitage on any given day.  And so it is on this day, when I was pleasantly surprised to see my friends here! 

Assurance Of Love

Recently at Mass we heard the Gospel reading of the return of the Prodigal Son, from Luke 15:11-32.  Since it is a good reminder of the expression of God's steadfast love for us, here it is: 

Jesus said, “A man had two sons, and the younger son said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of your estate that should come to me.’  So the father divided the property between them.   

After a few days, the younger son collected all his belongings and set off to a distant country where he squandered his inheritance on a life of dissipation.  When he had freely spent everything, a severe famine struck that country, and he found himself in dire need.  So he hired himself out to one of the local citizens who sent him to his farm to tend the swine. And he longed to eat his fill of the pods on which the swine fed, but nobody gave him any.  

Coming to his senses he thought, ‘How many of my father’s hired workers have more than enough food to eat, but here am I, dying from hunger.  I shall get up and go to my father and I shall say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you.   I no longer deserve to be called your son; treat me as you would treat one of your hired workers.”’   

So he got up and went back to his father. While he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son, embraced him and kissed him.  His son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you; I no longer deserve to be called your son.’  But his father ordered his servants, ‘Quickly bring the finest robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.  Take the fattened calf and slaughter it. Then let us celebrate with a feast, because this son of mine was dead, and has come to life again; he was lost, and has been found.’ Then the celebration began. 

Now the older son had been out in the field and, on his way back, as he neared the house, he heard the sound of music and dancing. He called one of the servants and asked what this might mean. The servant said to him, ‘Your brother has returned and your father has slaughtered the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’   

He became angry, and when he refused to enter the house, his father came out and pleaded with him.  He said to his father in reply, ‘Look, all these years I served you and not once did I disobey your orders; yet you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends.  But when your son returns who swallowed up your property with prostitutes, for him you slaughter the fattened calf.’  He said to him, ‘My son, you are here with me always; everything I have is yours.  But now we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.’”

In the parable, the father represents God.  The younger son is a person who ignores God's will and goes off and seeks pleasures for himself or herself.  The elder son is someone who has been faithful to God for years.  When the younger son asks for his share of the inheritance, the father gives it.  That is to say, God gives us our freedom; he gives us free will.  He lets us do as we please.  When we come back to Him, even after years of focusing on our own pleasures, God gladly welcomes us.  The elder son, that is, the faithful servant of God, might be resentful of joyous celebration of such events, after having been so dutiful for so long.  God and the angels in Heaven celebrate at such a marvelous, wonderful turn of events: he or she who was once lost, is now found.  Someone who used to be concerned so much with his or her own pleasure, is now much more concerned with serving God and his or her neighbor. 

Although I don't feel like I particularly identify with the elder son in the story, when we were listening to this Gospel reading that day during Mass, my tear ducts opened when I heard the father in the story say, "Son, you are always with me.  All that is mine is yours."  Even though I don't especially feel that the elder son in this parable resonates with me, I think that I felt so touched by these words because the words still speak to me.  Furthermore, I believe I had that emotional reaction because of who in the story was speaking them.  I was interpreting them as God's message to each one of us, and, consequently, to me.

I write this blog post from a position of relative comfort with my vocation, with my calling to the monastic life.  I know, both intellectually as I evaluate my reasons for beginning a postulancy, as well as spiritually, just in terms of how my spirit feels nourished and warmed in being here, that I have discerned well my decision to live a monastic life here.  However, already during my postulancy, there have been periods when I have felt spiritually dry.  At times God has seemed to be not close to me.  Sometimes I have prominently felt deprived of the spiritual nourishment and encouragement and guidance from the Holy Spirit which I felt on previous visits here.  Thus when I heard, in this Gospel reading, that God is always with me, and that everything He has is mine, I knew that God has been assuring me of His presence and warmth and love and guidance, even when He has seemed far from me. 

I also thought of this Gospel reading in another significant way in the last couple of weeks.  Although I don't focus on the interpersonal conflict between the two brothers in this story when I hear it or read it, I think that the dynamic between them can exist to various extents in any interpersonal relationship.  We are always at risk of becoming jealous of others, rather than sharing in the joy of their triumphs, whether it be their realizing their true vocation, or their overcoming a personal challenge.  We always have the choice of insisting on our own perceptions of a situation, rather than trying to view circumstances from their point of view.

Accordingly, I felt a certain choice I recently had to make was clear.  During Lent, we offer additional prayers.  Thus in Lent we meet in the church on Sunday evenings and say Compline, which we normally don't practice in our recitation of the Liturgy of the Hours.  Just before Compline starts, here at the hermitage there is a brief reading about the lives of some of the Desert Fathers.  Normally the novice monk here at the hermitage reads this excerpt, but on this one particular night he wasn't going to be present, so he charged me with selecting and reading a quotation.  In looking through the book before Compline, given the interpersonal tension we had just reviewed in the Gospel reading of the return of the Prodigal Son, I immediately chose the following reading when I came across it.

Two brothers would often argue.  Finally, one of them said, "What are we going to do?  We are always arguing."  The other replied, "I know what we will do.  From now on, I will argue your side, and you will argue my side."  They followed this practice for the rest of their lives. 

- paraphrased from "By Way of the Desert: 365 Daily Readings"
compiled and modernized by Bernard Bangley