The Girl in the Monastery: An Unexpected Discovery

After a little over 12 hours in residence up at Holy Cross Monastery, I've discovered something I didn't think I would.  There are many different rules and customs that are quite outside my norms, and I expected to feel constrained to their slower pace and daily regulations.  What I have actually found is a unique sense of freedom.  First let me say that the atmosphere is absolutely beautiful.  I feel like I want to snap a picture every 5 seconds.

The View from my room

But my worries started when I read the signage posted in my accommodations.  There were signs about the room that spoke to the unwelcomeness of cell phones at all times.  That plus the page that said "The Great Silence begins at 8:30 pm and lasts until 8:30 am" and you can surely count me down as worried.  I'm not someone you'd normally associate with silence.  I live often in the loud and semi-chaos of life with middle, high, and college students and their world.  Their world doesn't ever stop or soften, and maybe that's a big part of the problem.  It was later stated to us here that we were most welcome to use our various tech and, if needed, speak quietly behind closed doors during the 12 hours of holy silence.  We are not expected to choose the life the brothers in residence have chosen, but their customs are here waiting in the silence of ancient tradition for all to try, if only for a bit.  This is a place of old customs, where many practices foreign to my routine are honed to cultivate a silence and encourage opportunities to engage personally, individually, and corporately with the divine.  These are not mandated for guests, but the fact that it is so easy to temporarily adopt them and enjoy the many fruits of their practice allows for a freedom of choice in fellowship and community.  While I'm looking forward to meeting more of my YASC applicant peers, it is nice to be in the presence of near strangers and not be burdened with fears of judgement or expectations of awkward conversations.  Without learning to be comfortable in the silence, where generations of believers have known the "still, small voice of God" to speak, how can we hope to connect with the divine?  By remaining in the constant tumult of "noise" in society, have we inadvertently chosen the sounds of creation over the sounds of its maker?

What I know is this: this is an opportunity that I love.  It is an experience that many friends, family, and co-ministry workers would love.  It is something the youth I serve would absolutely NOT love.  And because of this, it is something I cannot wait to help them experience second hand.  If I can potentially encourage consideration of this experience through sharing my exuberance and exhilaration at my own journey and opportunities, I will count it as a win.

It is not something I would consider for myself forever, but the opportunity is quite a lovely gift to be given.  This lifestyle is not always conducive with the ways I long to worship, and there is distinctly something missing.  Upon viewing the sunrise on the river this morning, my first urge was to hastily discard my holy silence, grab my guitar (which I don't even have with me), and pour my heart out in joyful songs to my maker until my fingers could play no more.  Along with the restraint on noise, there is a sad gap of one of the things I love most about my home church family: the absence of the joyful noises of infants and young children.  It would be completely inappropriate in this setting, but they always come complete with an unbridled enthusiasm and such joyful noises that, to me, add greatly to the entirety of the body of Christ in worship and fellowship.