Living the Benedictine BIG Life
In the midst of all the body bruising motorcycle exercises and muscle punishing weight training regiments, I thought a little spiritual enrichment might be good to round out my preparation for the Neale Bayly Rides: Peru adventure. So, I decided to make a 24-hour retreat at a monastery for some much needed relaxation and solitude.
When you embark on an epic motorcycle adventure, you understand that danger is always present and there is at least some chance ‘the worst’ might happen. I knew that very well so I wanted to have some time to center down and pray, not just for safety, but so that I wouldn’t miss anything along the way.
When it came to choosing the right place for a spiritual retreat, there were lots of intriguing possibilities. I have a friend who visits a Trappist Monastery a couple of times a year because he says he it’s the only thing that really quiets his crazy life. The Franciscans also interested me because Saint Francis was huge a lover of nature and he believed love should be an action before it was ever put into words.
At the end of the day, I find that many of the choices we make are more a function of serendipity than of wise reflection and determined action. As it turns out, Belmont Abbey, a Benedictine Order, is just across town from my house. So, when I began to look for a place to settle for a day of Spiritual reflection, the Benedictine’s won by virtue of proximity.
I was vaguely familiar with the Benedictine Order from my time in graduate school. Even then there was something I admired about the practicality and earthiness of St. Benedict. He is best known for writing The Rule of Saint Benedict back in the 6th century, a short collection of guidelines for monastic living. My favorite rule, which is actually only legend, pertains to visiting monks who were a bit unruly and disruptive to the monastic peace of the host Abbey. In such circumstances, Benedict says, “…if the brother will not depart, let two stout monks in the name of God, explain the matter to him.” I imagine two big guys in black cassocks, full-sleeve tattoos visible at the wrists, and an “I pity the fool…” look in their eyes, saying to the visiting monk, “Hey, brother Thomas, you got a problem? Now, you do …”
Crossing Over
Upon arrival at Belmont Abby, I was greeted by Brother Edward, a twelve-year veteran of the monastic life and the monk who was in charge of facilitating guest retreats. Brother Edward was dressed in the characteristic non-descript brown habit and had a baldhead that looked exactly like Friar Tuck’s on the Looney Tunes.
If the stereotypical demeanor of a monk is sad and somber, brother Edward is the polar opposite. He is a happy, humble soul, quick with a smile and effusively generous. Edward seemed genuinely glad to meet me and cared deeply about my reasons for coming.
Despite what I had imagined coming into this space, monastic days, though structured by short corporate prayer services, are very open and fluid to the rhythms of life. Through the liturgy of the hours, one is afforded a good deal of time to think, pray and reflect. And though the services are mandatory for the monks, visitors are simply encouraged to attend as they feel led.
The timing of my arrival was planned to allow me to begin the experience with noonday prayers. Since I have very little experience with the Catholic Church, I had no idea what to expect.
The Catholic Church does worship space right, in my opinion. When you enter a church you have a profound sense that you are truly in a sacred place. It’s not like most protestant churches, especially the big ones, where you might just as easily think you were in a performance auditorium or conference center as a church. The Belmont Abbey Basilica is a beautiful place, and everything from the sacred art to the architecture and from to the lighting to the incense give the space the distinct sense of being other-worldly.
What impacted me the most about the worship service was the chanting of the monks. This wasn’t the same feel as the wildly popular Chant and Chant Noel CD’s that flooded the music world back in the mid-90’s (I’ve often wondered if those guys took the proceeds and created a ‘new ministry’ in Fiji where they surf everyday as part of their spiritual discipline – because that’s exactly what I would have done). The chanting that I was privy to in this place was deeply affecting, as if resonating with the rhythms of the soul.
After service and a bit of lunch (the monks eat really well, by the way), I was off for an exploratory walk around the gardens and whatever else might catch my attention along the way. As brother Edward walked me down the stairs to point me in the right direction, he looked at me straight in the eyes and said, “Breathe In God.”
Breathe in God. B.I.G. The way he said it almost sounded like he was whispering the secret to the universe. “Breathe in God,” I repeated to myself and turned to begin my journey around the grounds.
The monk’s phrase wasn’t just a new spiritual app but a completely different operating system. I was so used to thinking about prayer as something you did, like eating your vegetables as a kid, not a quality of life that you breathed in and a response that you breathed out. I tried to wrap my mind around it. My mental computer didn’t have enough disk space and it was slowing the whole system down. Maybe that was brother Edwards’ plan all along. Breathe in God is a life you experience, not a simply a concept to understand. I’ll have to add cunning to the monks’ list of attributes.
Going Walkabout
With new meaning infused into my breathing, I ventured out of the Cloister to see what was around. The Abby itself is part of a larger complex that includes a college and a basilica all of which make for a bustling and vibrant community just outside the Abby wall.
From the private entrance of the monastery, I walked through the grotto, a large and rather lovely rock formation that was home to a statue of Mary and a popular place to pray. As I stood looking at the intricacies of the carefully placed stones I heard the faint giggling of a young woman. The longer I stood and gazed the louder the giggling became and soon I heard the excited chatter of a young man that, from the antiphonal cadence of the two voices, seemed to be the cause of the woman’s laughter. Suddenly, a directed voice came, “Sir, will you take a picture of us? We just got engaged and you are the first person to know!” I smiled widely, congratulated them, and then proceeded to take a series of Vogue Shots of the happy couple as they slunk around each others’ necks in various places throughout the grotto, with Mary looking on in the background. The contrast was arresting to me. A beautiful but sad-eyed statue of Mary set against the hopeful wide-eyed laughter of the newly engaged. The sadness of one woman facilitating a way for the happiness of the other. Breathe in God…
After a final exchange, I continued my voyage of exploration. And, after walking a few hundred yards through a wooded enclave, I came upon the Belmont Cemetery.
Perhaps it’s my penchant towards the spiritual but I’ve always found cemeteries to be interesting places. They actually feel alive to me, and not in a creepy way. It’s not morbid curiosity that I feel, but a real sense that, though death is a part of life, it is not the final word.
As I strolled through the rows of headstones I stopped to read an epitaph, Love is Stronger Than Death. Yes! That’s it! Breathe in God…
Belmont Cemetery will be the final resting place of all of the Nun’s and Monks who live and eventually die there. As you walk through the rows of headstones it becomes apparent that they are arranged in order by date, starting back in the 1830’s, when the place was founded, going right up to just a few months ago. Every one of these monks knows within a few feet, exactly where they will be laid to rest.
Some may find this depressing but I don’t. To me it says, Make it count. “Live every day with all my might while I do live,” is the way Jonathan Edwards put it. Just as there is a beginning to life, there will be an end - but not yet. Live BIG. Breathe in God.
From the cemetery, I made my way to the Adoration Chapel, a small, mostly glass structure that is oriented with a view of the thick green woods that surround the chapel on three sides. Since I’ve always been a back of the church kind of guy, I found an empty seat along the rear wall of the chapel.
I sat quietly for a while, just breathing and thinking about what I’d seen, looking up occasionally at the forest sanctuary just over the altar and through the window. Could breathing in God mean something like being aware of His presence always and everywhere around? Is God a personal loving presence that you become aware of? Breathe in God…
The rustling of feet drew me out of my self for a moment and I noticed a young girl in the pew in front of me. From my vantage point, she had the youthful hands and hair of early twenty-something college student.
The girl was perched in prayer position on a pew kneeler, elbows propped on the seat back and hands clasped tightly together. The rustling sound came from her feet, which were frantic, almost clawing with emotion. Her shoulders heaved up and down as her head lifted and drooped from her clasped hands with the pleadings of an aching soul. Was she bargaining with God against the cancer of a loved one? Was she pleading for strength against some passion she felt powerless to control? I wanted to help but I couldn’t. She hadn’t come here to see me.
After a few moments I went back the beauty of the forest that held that little glass chapel in bear hug. It was a peaceful, happy embrace. I wanted the moment to last, but the bells for vespers would soon ring and it was time for me to go.
As I got up to leave the chapel, I looked toward the girl who had been wrestling in prayer. I couldn’t hear any thing from her now. Her body was quiet. Her shoulders were at peace and her head rested gently on her folded hands. Her feet were calm, toes curling and stretching, slowly stroking the ground, the way your feet do when you first wake up from a long night of sleep and your sheets feel so good you don’t want to get out of bed. Breathe in God…
Vespers is an evening service that focuses on a couple of Psalms and a few prayers chosen to facilitate a winding down of the day and an entrance into the darkness of night. Everything in the monastic world is infused with meaning and metaphor. Life seems loaded and layered and infinitely interesting.
After vespers, I was set free once again, to do whatever seemed good. Brother Edward invited me to watch the 8pm movie with he and a few of the other monks. “What’s on the schedule?” I asked. “The Mission”, he said. “Why is that not surprising to me?” “No, it’s a really good movie…you know, the one with Jeremy Irons and Robert De Niro.” “I know. It is really good. I’m just messin with you.”
As much as I love that movie, I decided not to watch it with the brothers. The day had been so full and so rich with meaning that I wanted to go back to my room and make a few notes.
As I walked back toward the dormitory with Edward next to me, we passed a small lounge that had a TV where a few monks sat reclining and watching the evening news. Surprised by the presence of the TV, I asked, “So are you guys allowed to watch anything other than news? “Yes”, he said, “we just use discretion.” “Well, have I got a show for you”…and I began to tell brother Edward all about Neale Bayly Rides: Peru and my upcoming epic motorcycle adventure that would culminate in a visit, resources in hand, to a catholic orphanage for disabled children.
“That’s amazing, James” said brother Edward. “I’m so glad you told me about that. We will definitely watch the show and will pray for all of you. That is so cool.” I looked at him for a second and thought, “This guys is amazingly normal.”
I loved the idea of brother Edward and the rest of the Benedictine Brotherhood praying for me and the Neal Bayly Rides team during our journey. It would be like they were riding with us. I imagined the brothers riding on the back of the bikes, holding on for dear life with one hand and griping a rosary in the other. I could see their habits flapping in the wind, their pale skin being pelted by Peruvian desert sand, and their baldheads being scorched by the summer sun.
I smiled to myself and thought about how much I appreciated Brother Edward’s genuine and very much appreciated promise to pray for us.
I spent the evening relaxing in my sparsely furnished room, reflecting on the gracious encounters I had had throughout the day.
A Benedictine Care Package
Morning Prayer came at 6 AM and was immediately preceded by a seemingly incessant ringing of the basilica bells. I thought, if they really wanted me to get up for church this early they should have rung the bell half an hour ago so I could get there on time. Since they hadn’t done that, I decided it was okay to sleep in. Plus, there was another service coming around in a few hours so I would just go to that one.
After Morning Mass, brother Edward invited me to enjoy a special Sunday brunch with the brothers before completing my retreat and returning home. And, he said, we could use the time to visit together and reflect on my experience. I was quite happy to oblige him in his kind request.
As I gathered the few belongings I had brought with me and prepared to leave the monastery, brother Edward popped his head in the doorway of my room and asked if he could have a word. “Sure”, I said. “I want to give you something to keep you safe on the ride. It’s a 3rd Class relic from Father Solanus Casey.” I am not exactly a relic kind of guy so I didn’t know what to expect. I was hoping it wasn’t a finger wrapped in a handkerchief or something like that. “Ummm…okay, whatcha got for me?”
Brother Edward handed me a small plastic case that contained a watercolor painting of Father Solanus and a small fragment from a cloak that touched his casket. Edward explained that he had become a proponent of Father Solanus’ and the grassroots movement to have him sainted. “Father Solanus was a simple man who loved God and cared for the poor. He was a very holy man and everyone who knew him loved him,” he said. “Take this with you. It will keep you safe.”
As he walked me toward the door he said, “James, I have a feeling we’ll be seeing you again, and not just on TV.” “I expect so, brother Edward,” said I. So, with a final handshake, he blessed me, we exchanged the peace, and I headed out the door and back into the world of adventure motorcycles and orphanages full of disabled kids.
Exactly two weeks to the day after I walked out of the Benedictine Monastery, on a lonely stretch of the Pan-American Highway, somewhere between Paracas and Ica, with the twilight of a fallen sun barely visible on the far horizon, the Neale Bayly team and I rode out into the darkness. With the love of God and in the prayers of the Benedictine brotherhood, we blasted through perilous patches of sand that had blown onto the roadway and darted around stray dogs who were going only God knows where at that time of night. In that moment, I realized that I had been given the unimaginable gift of a BIG life and that gift would lead us, all the way home.
When you embark on an epic motorcycle adventure, you understand that danger is always present and there is at least some chance ‘the worst’ might happen. I knew that very well so I wanted to have some time to center down and pray, not just for safety, but so that I wouldn’t miss anything along the way.
When it came to choosing the right place for a spiritual retreat, there were lots of intriguing possibilities. I have a friend who visits a Trappist Monastery a couple of times a year because he says he it’s the only thing that really quiets his crazy life. The Franciscans also interested me because Saint Francis was huge a lover of nature and he believed love should be an action before it was ever put into words.
At the end of the day, I find that many of the choices we make are more a function of serendipity than of wise reflection and determined action. As it turns out, Belmont Abbey, a Benedictine Order, is just across town from my house. So, when I began to look for a place to settle for a day of Spiritual reflection, the Benedictine’s won by virtue of proximity.
I was vaguely familiar with the Benedictine Order from my time in graduate school. Even then there was something I admired about the practicality and earthiness of St. Benedict. He is best known for writing The Rule of Saint Benedict back in the 6th century, a short collection of guidelines for monastic living. My favorite rule, which is actually only legend, pertains to visiting monks who were a bit unruly and disruptive to the monastic peace of the host Abbey. In such circumstances, Benedict says, “…if the brother will not depart, let two stout monks in the name of God, explain the matter to him.” I imagine two big guys in black cassocks, full-sleeve tattoos visible at the wrists, and an “I pity the fool…” look in their eyes, saying to the visiting monk, “Hey, brother Thomas, you got a problem? Now, you do …”
Crossing Over
Upon arrival at Belmont Abby, I was greeted by Brother Edward, a twelve-year veteran of the monastic life and the monk who was in charge of facilitating guest retreats. Brother Edward was dressed in the characteristic non-descript brown habit and had a baldhead that looked exactly like Friar Tuck’s on the Looney Tunes.
If the stereotypical demeanor of a monk is sad and somber, brother Edward is the polar opposite. He is a happy, humble soul, quick with a smile and effusively generous. Edward seemed genuinely glad to meet me and cared deeply about my reasons for coming.
Despite what I had imagined coming into this space, monastic days, though structured by short corporate prayer services, are very open and fluid to the rhythms of life. Through the liturgy of the hours, one is afforded a good deal of time to think, pray and reflect. And though the services are mandatory for the monks, visitors are simply encouraged to attend as they feel led.
The timing of my arrival was planned to allow me to begin the experience with noonday prayers. Since I have very little experience with the Catholic Church, I had no idea what to expect.
The Catholic Church does worship space right, in my opinion. When you enter a church you have a profound sense that you are truly in a sacred place. It’s not like most protestant churches, especially the big ones, where you might just as easily think you were in a performance auditorium or conference center as a church. The Belmont Abbey Basilica is a beautiful place, and everything from the sacred art to the architecture and from to the lighting to the incense give the space the distinct sense of being other-worldly.
What impacted me the most about the worship service was the chanting of the monks. This wasn’t the same feel as the wildly popular Chant and Chant Noel CD’s that flooded the music world back in the mid-90’s (I’ve often wondered if those guys took the proceeds and created a ‘new ministry’ in Fiji where they surf everyday as part of their spiritual discipline – because that’s exactly what I would have done). The chanting that I was privy to in this place was deeply affecting, as if resonating with the rhythms of the soul.
After service and a bit of lunch (the monks eat really well, by the way), I was off for an exploratory walk around the gardens and whatever else might catch my attention along the way. As brother Edward walked me down the stairs to point me in the right direction, he looked at me straight in the eyes and said, “Breathe In God.”
Breathe in God. B.I.G. The way he said it almost sounded like he was whispering the secret to the universe. “Breathe in God,” I repeated to myself and turned to begin my journey around the grounds.
The monk’s phrase wasn’t just a new spiritual app but a completely different operating system. I was so used to thinking about prayer as something you did, like eating your vegetables as a kid, not a quality of life that you breathed in and a response that you breathed out. I tried to wrap my mind around it. My mental computer didn’t have enough disk space and it was slowing the whole system down. Maybe that was brother Edwards’ plan all along. Breathe in God is a life you experience, not a simply a concept to understand. I’ll have to add cunning to the monks’ list of attributes.
Going Walkabout
With new meaning infused into my breathing, I ventured out of the Cloister to see what was around. The Abby itself is part of a larger complex that includes a college and a basilica all of which make for a bustling and vibrant community just outside the Abby wall.
From the private entrance of the monastery, I walked through the grotto, a large and rather lovely rock formation that was home to a statue of Mary and a popular place to pray. As I stood looking at the intricacies of the carefully placed stones I heard the faint giggling of a young woman. The longer I stood and gazed the louder the giggling became and soon I heard the excited chatter of a young man that, from the antiphonal cadence of the two voices, seemed to be the cause of the woman’s laughter. Suddenly, a directed voice came, “Sir, will you take a picture of us? We just got engaged and you are the first person to know!” I smiled widely, congratulated them, and then proceeded to take a series of Vogue Shots of the happy couple as they slunk around each others’ necks in various places throughout the grotto, with Mary looking on in the background. The contrast was arresting to me. A beautiful but sad-eyed statue of Mary set against the hopeful wide-eyed laughter of the newly engaged. The sadness of one woman facilitating a way for the happiness of the other. Breathe in God…
After a final exchange, I continued my voyage of exploration. And, after walking a few hundred yards through a wooded enclave, I came upon the Belmont Cemetery.
Perhaps it’s my penchant towards the spiritual but I’ve always found cemeteries to be interesting places. They actually feel alive to me, and not in a creepy way. It’s not morbid curiosity that I feel, but a real sense that, though death is a part of life, it is not the final word.
As I strolled through the rows of headstones I stopped to read an epitaph, Love is Stronger Than Death. Yes! That’s it! Breathe in God…
Belmont Cemetery will be the final resting place of all of the Nun’s and Monks who live and eventually die there. As you walk through the rows of headstones it becomes apparent that they are arranged in order by date, starting back in the 1830’s, when the place was founded, going right up to just a few months ago. Every one of these monks knows within a few feet, exactly where they will be laid to rest.
Some may find this depressing but I don’t. To me it says, Make it count. “Live every day with all my might while I do live,” is the way Jonathan Edwards put it. Just as there is a beginning to life, there will be an end - but not yet. Live BIG. Breathe in God.
From the cemetery, I made my way to the Adoration Chapel, a small, mostly glass structure that is oriented with a view of the thick green woods that surround the chapel on three sides. Since I’ve always been a back of the church kind of guy, I found an empty seat along the rear wall of the chapel.
I sat quietly for a while, just breathing and thinking about what I’d seen, looking up occasionally at the forest sanctuary just over the altar and through the window. Could breathing in God mean something like being aware of His presence always and everywhere around? Is God a personal loving presence that you become aware of? Breathe in God…
The rustling of feet drew me out of my self for a moment and I noticed a young girl in the pew in front of me. From my vantage point, she had the youthful hands and hair of early twenty-something college student.
The girl was perched in prayer position on a pew kneeler, elbows propped on the seat back and hands clasped tightly together. The rustling sound came from her feet, which were frantic, almost clawing with emotion. Her shoulders heaved up and down as her head lifted and drooped from her clasped hands with the pleadings of an aching soul. Was she bargaining with God against the cancer of a loved one? Was she pleading for strength against some passion she felt powerless to control? I wanted to help but I couldn’t. She hadn’t come here to see me.
After a few moments I went back the beauty of the forest that held that little glass chapel in bear hug. It was a peaceful, happy embrace. I wanted the moment to last, but the bells for vespers would soon ring and it was time for me to go.
As I got up to leave the chapel, I looked toward the girl who had been wrestling in prayer. I couldn’t hear any thing from her now. Her body was quiet. Her shoulders were at peace and her head rested gently on her folded hands. Her feet were calm, toes curling and stretching, slowly stroking the ground, the way your feet do when you first wake up from a long night of sleep and your sheets feel so good you don’t want to get out of bed. Breathe in God…
Vespers is an evening service that focuses on a couple of Psalms and a few prayers chosen to facilitate a winding down of the day and an entrance into the darkness of night. Everything in the monastic world is infused with meaning and metaphor. Life seems loaded and layered and infinitely interesting.
After vespers, I was set free once again, to do whatever seemed good. Brother Edward invited me to watch the 8pm movie with he and a few of the other monks. “What’s on the schedule?” I asked. “The Mission”, he said. “Why is that not surprising to me?” “No, it’s a really good movie…you know, the one with Jeremy Irons and Robert De Niro.” “I know. It is really good. I’m just messin with you.”
As much as I love that movie, I decided not to watch it with the brothers. The day had been so full and so rich with meaning that I wanted to go back to my room and make a few notes.
As I walked back toward the dormitory with Edward next to me, we passed a small lounge that had a TV where a few monks sat reclining and watching the evening news. Surprised by the presence of the TV, I asked, “So are you guys allowed to watch anything other than news? “Yes”, he said, “we just use discretion.” “Well, have I got a show for you”…and I began to tell brother Edward all about Neale Bayly Rides: Peru and my upcoming epic motorcycle adventure that would culminate in a visit, resources in hand, to a catholic orphanage for disabled children.
“That’s amazing, James” said brother Edward. “I’m so glad you told me about that. We will definitely watch the show and will pray for all of you. That is so cool.” I looked at him for a second and thought, “This guys is amazingly normal.”
I loved the idea of brother Edward and the rest of the Benedictine Brotherhood praying for me and the Neal Bayly Rides team during our journey. It would be like they were riding with us. I imagined the brothers riding on the back of the bikes, holding on for dear life with one hand and griping a rosary in the other. I could see their habits flapping in the wind, their pale skin being pelted by Peruvian desert sand, and their baldheads being scorched by the summer sun.
I smiled to myself and thought about how much I appreciated Brother Edward’s genuine and very much appreciated promise to pray for us.
I spent the evening relaxing in my sparsely furnished room, reflecting on the gracious encounters I had had throughout the day.
A Benedictine Care Package
Morning Prayer came at 6 AM and was immediately preceded by a seemingly incessant ringing of the basilica bells. I thought, if they really wanted me to get up for church this early they should have rung the bell half an hour ago so I could get there on time. Since they hadn’t done that, I decided it was okay to sleep in. Plus, there was another service coming around in a few hours so I would just go to that one.
After Morning Mass, brother Edward invited me to enjoy a special Sunday brunch with the brothers before completing my retreat and returning home. And, he said, we could use the time to visit together and reflect on my experience. I was quite happy to oblige him in his kind request.
As I gathered the few belongings I had brought with me and prepared to leave the monastery, brother Edward popped his head in the doorway of my room and asked if he could have a word. “Sure”, I said. “I want to give you something to keep you safe on the ride. It’s a 3rd Class relic from Father Solanus Casey.” I am not exactly a relic kind of guy so I didn’t know what to expect. I was hoping it wasn’t a finger wrapped in a handkerchief or something like that. “Ummm…okay, whatcha got for me?”
Brother Edward handed me a small plastic case that contained a watercolor painting of Father Solanus and a small fragment from a cloak that touched his casket. Edward explained that he had become a proponent of Father Solanus’ and the grassroots movement to have him sainted. “Father Solanus was a simple man who loved God and cared for the poor. He was a very holy man and everyone who knew him loved him,” he said. “Take this with you. It will keep you safe.”
As he walked me toward the door he said, “James, I have a feeling we’ll be seeing you again, and not just on TV.” “I expect so, brother Edward,” said I. So, with a final handshake, he blessed me, we exchanged the peace, and I headed out the door and back into the world of adventure motorcycles and orphanages full of disabled kids.
Exactly two weeks to the day after I walked out of the Benedictine Monastery, on a lonely stretch of the Pan-American Highway, somewhere between Paracas and Ica, with the twilight of a fallen sun barely visible on the far horizon, the Neale Bayly team and I rode out into the darkness. With the love of God and in the prayers of the Benedictine brotherhood, we blasted through perilous patches of sand that had blown onto the roadway and darted around stray dogs who were going only God knows where at that time of night. In that moment, I realized that I had been given the unimaginable gift of a BIG life and that gift would lead us, all the way home.