Long Slow Journey “If you only knew who God is… and how much He deserves to have you study His unsearchable riches, His generosity, His extreme goodness, His love—and again, yes, always—His love, for love is the essence of His being.” —Gabrielle Bossis, He and I One of the blessings of getting older—despite all that one endures—is, for me, a great gift. When I was a young monk, I was strong, busy, and often driving for the community. It was good for me. Yet, learning to settle quietly in God’s presence took many decades, and not without much frustration. Working in the infirmary, caring for the elderly, helped me understand human weakness, especially in times of decline and vulnerability. Yet I also used that work, in part, to avoid deepening my relationship with God in any real way. Slowly, over the years, God worked on me—allowing me to struggle, fall, rise again, and gradually grow in trust. God’s mercy and love can seem harsh when we are confronted with inner realities we did not know we carried. My monastic vocation brought many of these to light. Yet even in that, there was grace. I still work. I remain Prior and Guest Master. By temperament, I am a good manager, so I am not overwhelmed. I have great respect for our Abbot and will serve as long as he desires, or until age no longer permits it. By God’s grace—and only by His mercy—I have come to love solitude deeply. I find myself drawn into the vast, bottomless ocean that is God. In times of both consolation and desolation, I am slowly learning that His love does not change. I pray the Chaplet of Mercy each morning before Vigils. Each day has its own quiet uniqueness. This morning, as I prayed slowly, I was drawn to contemplate Jesus washing the feet of the Apostles. Though He knew He would be abandoned, though He knew Judas’s intent, He still knelt before each one in love. Then, suddenly, it was my own feet He was washing. I recoiled inwardly—almost horrified by the turn my meditation had taken—yet I stayed with it. One of my sufferings in old age is my longing for God, alongside the painful awareness of how little I truly love Him. My heart remains guarded in ways that only grace can gently work open. God as servant—everything turned upside down. If I could weep, I would have. That, too, is a small sorrow I must carry and be patient with. I often feel like a moth drawn to light, continually meeting an invisible barrier—yet the pull only grows stronger. When I speak with guests, I often feel they are closer to God than I am. Perhaps that is why I am a monk. I need the community; I cannot do this alone. The Abbot understands me well. I have a tendency to isolate, which is not the same as solitude. He gently challenges me to remain connected. I am grateful for that, even when it stirs resistance in me. The resistance passes. On Holy Thursday, the Abbot washes the feet of the community, mindful of its meaning. This morning’s grace has deepened that meaning for me. In the Rule, we are called to be obedient to one another—not only to the Abbot. Yes, getting older—with all its burdens—may be the most important time of all, for those who are given the grace to receive it. —Br. MD
So many of your thoughts are my thoughts. I look for the solitude and meditation which takes me into contemplation. It is a ritual to be practiced and learned. My favorite psalm is 51 and I like to meditate on it. It’s the process of life , the petition, the remorse, the hope. Since I can’t live in a community, I travel over two hours once a month to be with my community. It fills me to get through the month in the secular world. It’s where God has called me. You are where God has called you. It’s a struggle but God puts you where he wants you. I would love to be a gate keeper, I would be handing out Holy Cards to every guest. But God did not call me for that. I am an artist, so I have to reach people visually. That is a challenge! We have all been given gifts and you are using yours! Praise be to Jesus Christ, now and forever.
Thank you for this profound look at the journey into old age. As katfalls says, your thoughts are very close to my thoughts but you express them so eloquently.
This brought back a memory to me. When I was camping in Castlewellan Forest Park sometimes when the Angelus Bell rang from the Church in the village far below. Such a haunting sound, so beautiful. It always made me heart ache a little. A longing at once to be sitting in the Church right away in front of the Blessed Sacrament or even to go home to heaven,. I never really noticed Church Bells in the city but here in the country I hear them all the time. One thing about the longing for heaven that the many of the saints teach us that they say they will not enter heaven but stand at the doorway to help others enter. \There is very,very great solitude here were I live. You could walk for miles without meeting anyone, or pause for days and weeks without talking to a single soul. But I read a comment from a priest who once worked around here. He said he could find the solitude soul searing. Such huge, huge loneliness. I don't think I could stick being here so alone unless I prayed constantly. Heaven grants constant company. But I think this kind of solitude is for very,very few people. I think it would drive most people nuts. It sounds great but it has its own difficulties and challenges. I would say one great difficulty is that you have nowhere to hide from your own lies and illusions. It is like looking at your face in a mirror all the time. Constant, constant , constant prayer is the only way to do it.
I will tell you a story I read many, many years ago from an American Carthusian nun which I found so haunting and beautiful. I think it was an old book I read so maybe this happened in the 1950's or even earlier. One of the sisters in the Monastery had just died. All the sisters in the Monastery regarded this woman as a saint. She said after the death the whole place was swept through with the strongest feeling of light and joy. All the other sisters knew the sister had gone at once to heaven in triumph. So beautiful a description of joy and light. But I would say of the Carthusian vocation if you do not constantly pray, pray pray you would be lost. Constant prayer is the only thing that makes solitude doable.
...Then, suddenly, it was my own feet He was washing. So thereafter, the Apostles were awash in their own tears. The older I get the more I must let go. Whether that be loved ones, responsibilities which were mine for many years, or even today when Geralyn and I signed over to a buyer the land on which sat the family camp. Twas a place of refuge, relaxation, laughter, and simple fun. No electricity, but a location for fishing, swimming, croquet, horseshoes, tetherball, midnight tag, etc... Sometimes wonderful attachments which the Lord had lovingly granted are the most difficult to let go of gracefully. So I stopped on the way home at the ancestral family's grave site: prayed for them and let them all know the latest developments. I'm sure they smiled lovingly.
Speaking of letting go, Geralyn and I just watched the sacred ceremony where a female friend of our youngest son, Daniel, was consecrated by the Bishop of Philadelphia as a forever virgin in the service of the Church -very moving. Some Latin and lots of solemnity. She is not connected to a religious order, but will serve in the Diocese of Philly. Her family was present. Beautiful! So many ways for us to entrust one's life to God! Most of us here are grown, many of us married. May the Lord continue to give us a true spirit of fidelity no matter God's particular calling for us! O Mary conceived without sin, place your Mantle of Maternal protection over this newly consecrated virgin, that she may remain faithful as you are faithful.
