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.
