The last day of the year

The process of discernment leading to monastic profession is fairly simple and straightforward (well, except for all the interior anguish and self-examination). After a number of years, including at least three in which the monk professes vows for a limited time, he may petition the abbot to make his life-time solemn profession. The abbot consults his counsel; takes it to the conventual chapter (all the solemnly professed monks with stability in the house); they vote to approve or not; and the monk moves toward a Mass in which he makes his vows for life.

September 9, 2011, was the date I would normally present my petition. However, our abbot was attending the General Chapter of abbots and abbesses in Assisi. So, I waited for him to return. When he returned in October, he was sick. He needed to visit our daughter house in Venezuela to prepare for an election in December. I presented my petition at the end of October.

More sickness. More travel. Lots of seasonal work for Christmas.

The abbot did not meet with his counsel until just after Christmas. They approved me to be presented to the conventual chapter.

So, Thursday evening, December 29, 2011, the conventual chapter met. The junior master presented me (I was not actually present -- this is a virtual presentation.) Each monk in turn responded with his impressions of me. I will not be told what anyone said. This is purely about the house discerning.

Tomorrow, Sunday, January 1, 2011, each member of the conventual chapter will secretly place either a white marble or a black marble into a closed container. It takes a simple majority to be approved for solemn profession.

Last Friday

A week ago was our last day at our daughter house in Venezuela.

In the morning I was assigned to wrap packages. Lorenzo and I found all the toys that Juan Diego has bought for the children of the monastery's employees. Using colorful paper (that tore easily) and tape (that was brittle) and scissors (that were blunt) I managed to wrap tops, lotto games, dolls, and so on. My favorite were some little boxes that contained wiggly wooden creatures inside: a butterfly, a snail, an insect.













We left the monastery about 1:30 to return to El Vigia for a flight back to Caracas. This day the tunnels through the mountain were open, so the trip took us just over an hour. Quite a difference!

We spent the night in a hotel that was down the street from a dance club. Neither of us slept too much. The next morning we took the shuttle back to the international airport, managed to get on board with our stand-by passes, and returned to Atlanta Saturday afternoon.



A Venezuelan butterfly

Thursday's Election

Last Thursday, December 15, was the election of the new prior. This was the reason that we had journeyed to Venezuela. Six years ago, Dom Placido had been elected and his term was up.

So, this morning the four solemnly professed monks met with their father immediate (our abbot) presiding, Sister Ester as secretary, and two witnesses (Raul and another religious who serves as an advisor). Lorenzo and I had the morning to ourselves until the bell rang to announce the results of the election. After an hour, during which I did some laundry, the bell rang and Lorenzo and I went to the chapter room to learn that Dom Placido had been re-elected for another term.

At lunch we had a special birthday cake for Brother Tomas who had come for the day from the hospital in Merida where he is receiving chemo therapy. In the evening we had a special talking meal to celebrate the successful election.



Fr. Raul, me, Lorenzo, the back of Sister Ester, Dom Placido, Br. Juan Diego in the refectory for our talking celebration. The doors to the kitchen are at the back.

Wednesday in Venezuela: Juan de la Cruz

The backbone of any monastic day is the series of offices: Vigils in the dark of early morning; Lauds in the morning light; Mass; Terce, Sext and None, arranged in the center of the day; Vespers in the evening; and Compline just before sleep. Psalms are chanted at each office; scripture is read; prayers are offered. This is all part of the long tradition of "chewing" on the word; murmuring the psalms; when reading meant vocalizing words. We have made much of this interior -- we stop children from sub-vocalizing as they read, yet this was a characteristic of medieval monastic life, when the sound of monks reading in the cloister was like a buzzing of bees.

The offices at Nuestra Senora de los Andes are prayed antiphonally, each of two sides taking turns. The monks sit on benches with slanted lecterns in front of them. I sat on a bench between Lorenzo (the postulant) and Raul (from Chile). Behind us was Juan Diego (the busy cellarer who had many tasks that kept him in Merida). On the other side sat FM, Dom Placido and Br. Tomas, with Sister Ester on the bench behind.

Because I know the psalms, I was easily able to comprehend the Spanish. I did not feel left out at all, but was able to join in with the fluid chant.

After Terce on Wednesday (the feast of John of the Cross), I was assigned work in the coffee business. I walked down the mountain with Lorenzo and Raul. At a fork in the road, Raul took me to the left, while Lorenzo proceeded on down the road to packing. Raul led me to a large cement slab between two buildings.

The buildings are arranged on a slope where a road winds around them along the mountain. A truck is able to stop beside the second floor of a building, unload coffee from the field. The conchas are removed with a machine on the second floor and the granos are then dropped down to the first floor. Here they are placed in wheel barrows or in piles just in front of the building.

The cement slab in front of this building is for drying the granos in the sun. This was my work for the day. Raul dumped barrows full of beans on the slab. He showed me how to use a large wooden rake to spread the beans, moving in ever widening circles. I had to remove my boots in order to walk over the beans. The beans were white.






We had about six or seven piles of beans to work. Every 20 minutes or so, we would rake through them again. The rakes are heavy. The beans resistant. It is hard work. During the breaks, Raul asked me questions about Conyers; I asked him about his home monastery. He was tolerant of my meager Spanish.




Mid-morning, we walked down the slope to the torrefaccion building where they roast, grind, and pack the beans. (Fr. TF from Conyers has stayed to help out on several occasions. He has trouble saying torrefaccion (roasting) and calls this building Torre-Londres (Tower of London). Lorenzo told me this, laughing.)We had some coffee with sugar. I watched Lorenzo and Pedro package some beans. Then, Raul and I headed back up to our work.




The packed coffee is sent to various places. It is rumored that President Chavez drinks coffee from Los Andes. However, the rules he has put in place do not make it easy to export coffee. The shipment we need in Conyers for Christmas mail orders is still sitting in a warehouse in Venezuela, even though all the paper work has been completed and approved.

Off to the side of the cement slab, just over the edge of the slope, a bird (a kite, I think) hovered in mid-air, held up on an up-draft.

About 11:00, we had to scoop back up all the beans and put them back into wheelbarrows to dump them against the building again. I scooped and bent and emptied and pushed and dumped the wheelbarrow and returned to scoop and dump and empty again and again.




When work was finished, I was tired. So, the walk back to the monastery UP HILL was an added humiliation.




After Sext we had lunch of rice and black beans. The sweet fruit, lechosa, grows all around on small trees. The fruit is large and looks inside and out like a mango. Its flavor is reminiscent of a mango. The monks are listening to a biography of Simon Bolivar.

After a meal, all the monks gather in the kitchen to wash and rinse dishes. On each side of a wide counter are two sinks. Two monks wash, two rinse. I was one who rinsed each day.

Tuesday in Venezuela

After sleeping a few hours, FM and I were awake and down in the lobby for the shuttle back to the airport. The terminal is long and has two sections, one for international flights, one for national flights. Today we were headed to the national flights.

We got in and found Laser airlines. Many people were gathered around, all speaking Spanish! We worked our way forward, got our boarding passes and headed to the gate. Laser tends to stay pretty close to schedule and we left only about a quarter hour late.

We landed in El Vigia about an hour later. Pedro, one of the monastery employees who had worked for a while in Conyers, met us and loaded us into a van. There is a tunnel through mountains to Estanquez that gets us to the monastery in about an hour. Because of recent rains and falling rock, the tunnel was closed, so we started on an alternative route that would take about three hours to travel.

First we moved through a grassy, wooded plain. Pedro explained that off to the right was Lake Maracaibo. If you look on a map you can see that we were to the east of the southern part of the large lake.

We turned on the mountain road and headed into the mountains. There were sheer falls off the side of the road, views of valleys stretching off into the distance, towns perched on the edge of the mountain with colorfully painted houses. We went through Tovar and Las Cruces. (You can find these on a map and see what a long way around this was, in contrast to the fairly straight and short connection between El Vigia and Estanquez. If you focus on Merida on the map, then zoom in and move about, you can find some of these places.)

At Estanquez we began the climb up the final mountain with a series of switch back turns obscured with tall grasses. I learned that drivers are very careful here and give way to oncoming drivers. Pedro knew just what he was doing. (I cannot imagine how I could make it up -- or down -- this road with a stick shift. I think I would burn out two or three clutches each journey.)






A final descent along an even bumpier road took us to the monastery, a beautiful white construction on the side of the mountain. It is a long structure with a bend along the way, all around an open courtyard. Tile floors. White walls. There is no heating or cooling needed -- although some extra blankets or sweaters are useful in the night.




Placido, the abbot, met us and showed us our rooms in the infirmary wing. Each of these rooms has its own bathroom, so they house short-term guests here.

The refectory is a spacious room whose large windows look out on the mountains across the valley. We had lentils, cauliflower, fried plantains, and fruit. The community is small with only 4 solemnly professed monks, one of whom is being treated for cancer in Merida. They have a young, pleasant, energetic postulant; a sister from one of our houses who is staying and helping out with work; and a monk from a Chilean house who has been here several times to help out.

The place felt damp. It is the rainy season and by the late afternoon the clouds had settled into the monastery. There were no mountain views from the windows, only cloud, dripping water.

A week ago: Leaving for Venezuela

A week ago, Monday, December 12, our abbot and I left to visit our daughter house near Estanques, in the state of Merida, in Venezuela.

Fr. Methodius drove us to the airport around 1:00 for a flight that was scheduled to leave at 5:30. We were on stand-by. We waited, watching for the list of names. We both made it on and took off, about an hour late, delayed because of an exchange of planes.

We arrived in Caracas around 11:00, went through customs, and found the shuttle to the Hotel Eurobuilding where we had a room reserved. We slept for a few hours and got up to take the shuttle back to the National airport for a flight to El Vigia on Tuesday morning.

Celebrating Birthdays

Yesterday at their regular monthly meeting, our Lay Cistercians celebrated Fr. Luke's 100th birthday along with Fr. Anthony's 80-something-th birthday.

Here is a picture of Luke blessing the cake adorned with images of each monk. Fr. Anthony is standing beside him.



And a shot of some of the gathered celebrants.

Sto lat

Today our last living founder celebrates his 100th birthday.

Our Fr. Luke is a Polish American from Buffalo and so we will be singing "Sto lat" (One hundred years) for him. Today we can be literal when we sing it.

PROJECT Trio

Kevin sent me some links to YouTube videos of PROJECT Trio. I have been looking at their work for a couple of days and figure I will share it.

Greg Pattillo plays beatbox flute. Here is an example.

How about a little Flight of the Bumblebee?

And the whole trio playing Bourree and Peter and the Wolf.

Back from Mississippi (or is that Iowa?)

I arrived back in Atlanta at 3:00 Wednesday afternoon.

After the week spent with the International Lay Cistercian meeting (you can read all about the week here), I spent several days at Our Lady of the Mississippi, a community of Trappistines on a bluff near the Mississippi River.

I stayed in their guest house. I cooked for myself -- one day I had macaroni and cheese and stewed rhubarb! I prayed with the community -- they have a beautiful liturgy, beautifully sung.

One day Sr. Myra took me all over their property. In the woods we saw a mine of Spain, an open pit, which was the opening to a lead mine dug by Spaniards in the 18th century. These pits are found all over the bluffs along the Mississippi. We also saw a fawn in the field, a tiny creature whose mother was nowhere near.

The weather was pleasant and breezy. Now I am back in the still oppressive heat. But the fans are on in church.

Dubuque, Iowa

I am sitting here in a dorm room at Clarke University in Dubuque, Iowa, where the International Meeting of Lay Cistercians is taking place. Every three years, just before the General Chapter of Cistercian monks and nuns (we are the only religious order that has men and women meet together for purposes of governance), the lay communities meet. You can read about this at this web site: http://www.cistercianfamily.org/ (For some reason I do not have the little button available to add a link.)

These meetings are an opportunity for groups from all over the world to share experiences. There are three major languages that are used and I am here to translate from French to English.

The weather has been comfortable, cool at night and warm (not hot) during the day. The grass is very green.

New Abbey Store

Here is a video of our new Abbey store:

Oink!

When Jean was here we had barbecue.



And here we are:

St Matthew Passion

Several weeks before Easter visiting choirs and orchestra from UGA performed Bach's St Matthew Passion in our church. Jean was visiting and took this photo from the upper reaches of our balcony.

Of Gods and Men

Here is a link to a review of the movie Of Gods and Men. The reviewer is a friend of this monastery; in fact, he is in charge of ordering books for our Abbey Store. The movie is showing in more theaters; it will be worth seeing, if it comes near you.

New Windows

Two stained glass windows have been installed in the historic barn, where our founders first lived when they arrived in 1944.

This is a poster that Mario has made of the images. On the left is an image of Our Lady holding a cruciform Christ child against a traditional Cistercian pattern. The other window is made from faceted glass, thick chunks of glass that are cut or fractured to offer rough surfaces to the light.

Spring cleaning

The Japanese magnolia in the southwest corner of our cloister garden has pink buds that are ready to burst. The Japanese magnolia in the southwest corner formed by two wings of the monastery is, as usual, well behind the other -- its buds are tightly closed.

I have packed four boxes full of books and figures. I have decided it is time to send copies of Pinocchio, along with my collection of Pinocchio figures to four needy families, one in Tennessee, two in Indiana, and one in Michigan. Each box will also include a copy of a recently published edition with lovely pictures by the Bulgarian artist Iassen Ghiuselev. They will be mailed once Amazon completes sending me the four copies the newer book.

My first copy of Pinocchio was bought at L.S.Ayres in downtown Indianapolis. It was a hardback copy reduced from &1.25 to 98 cents. I remember trying to read it by the streetlights as we headed north toward home. I loved it from the first words. "'Once upon a time, there was . . . 'A king,' my little readers will shout at once. No, once upon a time there was a piece of wood, an ordinary piece of wood that you would throw on the fire."

My fascination with puppets is rooted in my love of Leslie Caron, who had made several movies that I saw as a kid, including "The Glass Slipper" and "Lili" (which is the one with the puppets). When I watched "Lili" as an adult I saw how really cheesy it is -- but, for a kid, it was pretty wonderful. Of course, I claim that my love for French literature, especially from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, is rooted in "Gigi" -- another of her movies. Be careful of what you let your kids watch.

I will keep a couple of editions of Pinocchio (although the first one is packed in one of the boxes) and some figures for the four families to gather at a later date -- when they can also pick up my Teddy bear.

Of Gods and Men

On my former blog, I wrote about our Cistercian martyrs of Tibhirine, Algeria, seven monks who were kidnapped from their monastery and killed in May, 1996. A film of those events won the Grand Prix at Cannes this past year. It is now playing in the US.

You can watch the trailer on You Tube; you can watch the trailer at Sony; you can read the Sony presskit.

Next time you come for a visit, you can stand in our cloister garden near our memorial for the seven men: Bruno, Célestin, Christian, Christophe, Luc, Michel, Paul.

Two minutes

Here is a site I was sent the other day. It is a nice one to have bookmarked -- and to do what it invites.

Dusting and Scholastica

Walking through the cloister garden this morning, I realized the grass was covered with snow. The pavement was all shining wet, with no snow sticking.

Today we remember Benedict's sister Scholastica with this bit from Gregory the Great's account of Benedict's life:

Scholastica, the sister of Saint Benedict, had been consecrated to God from her earliest years. She was accustomed to visiting her brother once a year. He would come down to meet her at a place on the monastery property, not far outside the gate.
One day she came as usual and her saintly brother went with some of his disciples; they spent the whole day praising God and talking of sacred things. As night fell they had supper together.
Their spiritual conversation went on and the hour grew late. The holy nun said to her brother: "Please do not leave me tonight; let us go on until morning talking about the delights of the spiritual life." "Sister," he replied, "what are you saying? I simply cannot stay outside my cell."
When she heard her brother refuse her request, the holy woman joined her hands on the table, laid her head on them and began to pray. As she raised her head from the table, there were such brilliant flashes of lightning, such great peals of thunder and such a heavy downpour of rain that neither Benedict nor his brethren could stir across the threshold of the place where they had been seated. Sadly he began to complain: "May God forgive you, sister. What have you done?" "Well," she answered, "I asked you and you would not listen; so I asked my God and he did listen. So now go off, if you can, leave me and return to your monastery."
Reluctant as he was to stay of his own will, he remained against his will. So it came about that they stayed awake the whole night, engrossed in their conversation about the spiritual life.
It is not surprising that she was more effective than he; since, as John says, God is love, it was absolutely right that she could do more, as she loved more.
Three days later, Benedict was in his cell. Looking up to the sky, he saw his sister's soul leave her body in the form of a dove, and fly up to the secret places of heaven. Rejoicing in her great glory, he thanked almighty God with hymns and words of praise. He then sent his brethren to bring her body to the monastery and lay it in the tomb he had prepared for himself.
Their minds had always been united in God; their bodies were to share a common grave.

Raintree County again

I mentioned that I was reading Raintree County. I have been thinking about writing about it here and have not summoned the courage. A friend just asked me whether I was finished with it yet and whether I thought she would like it. Here is how I responded:

I have not yet finished it. I am not sure that I am enjoying it all that much.

It is over-written, over-organized, over-constructed, just over done.

He plays with time. It is a day in the life of one man (July 4, 1892) interrupted with flashbacks of his past. The flashbacks are the real story, but they are told out of order -- so he creates suspense by telling most of the events in a space of pages, but leaves the climactic event until near the end of the book. (Thus, in 1863, Susanna leaves home with their 2-year-old son and he tracks them to Indianapolis. Then he follows them back to Freehaven. We skip a week and he is off to war, Susanna having left to return to New Orleans. Not until many many many pages later -- I skipped ahead to look -- are we told that Susanna set fire to their house; the boy was killed. And in another section we learn of Susanna's later suicide.) He has an elaborate system of symbols about earth and water and swamp and river; he overlays all kinds of mythic elements.

The movie tried to tell the central story, but botched it badly in order to make a happy ending.

Monday

When I got to the refectory about 3:20 this morning, Basil was running the dishwasher. I did not shave because I do not shave on Mondays, Wednesdays, or Fridays. When I entered church, I saw that Louis was not seated at the organ, because we chant Vigils a capella on weekdays. It is Monday.

Flex time

When I awoke this morning, I realized it was Monday and thought through my day, which includes a Work Council meeting. Usually I leave the plan for the novices' work in Br. Augustine's mail drawer on Sunday afternoon. I knew I had not done that yesterday afternoon, so I planned to get in before Vigils, which would still give him time to review it before the council meeting at 8:30. I made my bed and went down through the refectory. I was surprised to see that Basil was not running the dish washer even though it was already 3:20. He is usually doing that on weekday mornings. I checked the calendar by the reading room to see whether he was taking a second January retreat day. If he was, I would need to assign a novice to wash breakfast dishes after Mass. He had not written in a retreat day, so I figured he must be ill or sleeping late, both of which are rare for Basil. As I was preparing to shower I noticed that the white boxers I usually wear on Sunday were still in the clean basket. I figured I would wear them this Wednesday when we have a special Vespers and dinner with the archdiocesan consecrated religious. I showered, but did not shave because I skip shaving on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. I dressed, drank my grapefruit juice, put on my cloak and headed to church. The lights were on early and Louis was at the organ. That was odd -- we sing Vigils a capella on weekdays. I checked the hymn ordo for another unexpected solemnity. Only then, after nearly an hour of being "awake" did I realize it was Sunday. I shaved after Vigils.

Crucifixion

Here is a window I designed and completed the other day. I made two of them -- they are about the size of a regular sheet of paper.

Raintree County

I have had the novel Raintree County sitting by my bed for months. Because it is over 1000 pages, I wanted to make sure I saw a stretch of time I could devote to reading it. Such a stretch seems to have opened.

A web site has a lot of information about this best-seller from the late 1940s. Set in a fictional Indiana county, the novel tells the story of John Wickliff Shawnessy -- and of the American nation in the middle of the 19th century. It has an experimental form with chapters telling the events of one day (July 4, 1892) alternating with chapters telling of past events.

The movie version, with Montgomery Clift, Elizabeth Taylor, and Eva Marie Saint, is very much a simplification of the novel. During the filming of Raintree County, Clift had a car accident that damaged his face. You can see the difference in the movie. Here is a bit on the making of the movie. And here is the trailer. Nat King Cole sang the theme song.

No one in the cast managed a Hoosier accent -- even though characters comment on it. (And Elizabeth's speech, as a Georgia belle, is excruciatingly inexact. Maybe it is better no one tried a Hoosier accent.)

But, so far (about 100 pages) the novel is interesting in its evocation of the Midwest in the 1840s and 1850s. I'll see how it develops. . .

Vocation Awareness Week

This morning we heard this bit from No Man Is an Island by Thomas Merton:

Each one of us has some kind of vocation. We are all called by God to share in His life and in His Kingdom. Each one of us is called to a special place in the Kingdom. If we find that place we will be happy. If we do not find it, we can never be completely happy. For each one of us, there is only one thing necessary: to fulfill our own destiny, according to God's will, to be what God wants us to be.

We must not imagine that we only discover this destiny by a game of hide-and-seek with Divine Providence. Our vocation is not a sphinx's riddle, which we must solve in one guess or else perish. Some people find, in the end, that they have made many wrong guesses and that their paradoxical vocation is to go through life guessing wrong. It takes them a long time to find out that they are happier that way.

In any case, our destiny is the work of two wills, not one. It is not an immutable fate, forced upon us without any choice of our own, by a divinity without heart.

Our vocation is not a supernatural lottery but the interaction of two freedoms, and, therefore, of two loves. It is hopeless to try to settle the problem of vocation outside the context of friendship and of love. We speak of Providence: that is a philosophical term. The Bible speaks of our Father in Heaven. Providence is, consequently, more than an institution, it is a person. More than a benevolent stranger, He is our Father. And even the term Father is too loose a metaphor to contain all the depths of the mystery: for He loves us more than we love ourselves, as if we were Himself. He loves us moreover with our own wills, with our own decisions. How can we understand the mystery of our union with God Who is closer to us than we are to ourselves? It is His very closeness that makes it difficult for us to think of Him. He Who is infinitely above us, infinitely different from ourselves, infinitely "other" from us, nevertheless dwells in our souls, watches over every movement of our life with as much love as if we were His own self. His love is at work bringing good out of all our mistakes and defeating even our sins.

In planning the course of our lives, we must remember the importance and the dignity of our own freedom. A man who fears to settle his future by a good act of his own free choice does not understand the love of God. For our freedom is a gift God has given us in order that He may be able to love us more perfectly, and be loved by us more perfectly in return.

Speculum caritatis: Aelred of Rievaulx

And because there is no division in unity,
let there be no outpouring of the mind in various directions,
but let it be one in the One,
with the One,
through the One,
around the One,
sensing the One,
savoring the One --
and because always one,
always resting,
and therefore observing a perpetual sabbath.

from The Mirror of Charity, translated by Elizabeth Connor

Et quia in unitate nulla divisio,
nulla sit ibi per diversa mentis effusio,
sed sit unum in uno,
cum uno,
per unum,
circa unum,
unum sentiens,
unum sapiens;
et quia semper unum,
semper requiescens,
et sic perenne sabbatum sabbatizans.

No mail in snow

Yes, it is true. We had no mail because the mail truck could not get into Conyers. (Please stop laughing, Michigan nephew.)

Here are some pictures of our snow at the monastery:

The world stops

There is enough snow to cover the grass. It is still falling.

No one ventures out on the roads.

I can see my Michigan nephew shaking his head in bewilderment.

However, it is a perfect day to wear those fur-lined boots I received at Christmas from California!

Another new novice

Today in our weekly chapter meeting after Sunday Mass, we clothed another novice, the second one in 2 weeks. We now have a new Brother Antony. Last week we added Father Brendan.

In our abbot's talk he mentioned that this vocation is a rare one. There are only about 3000 Cistercian monks in the whole world. He recalled a picture in our calendar a couple of years ago that showed our novice master with 7 or 8 novices. I am the only one of the group who is still here. That rate of attrition is fairly normal.

I am not quite sure what it takes to stay. Most of what is found here -- prayer, quiet, simplicity -- can be managed in other ways away from here. In fact, I think I am part of a rather large carbon footprint -- my part being much larger than the carbon footprint I was leaving before I entered.

Over and over in my journal I have written about the necessity of accepting crazy decisions or weird processes or just general insanity. That certainly is one of the elements of a monastic vocation: this particular collection of men, with all their idiosyncracies and quirks and irritants, is really a means of leading toward God. In learning to love this irritating guy just as a person worthy of love I am an inch closer to loving God.

It all gets down to finding peace with the other. It is so easy to want people to be like me. Can I actually accept, affirm, welcome, and love those who are so wackily different?

30-day challenge

I read yesterday about 30-day blog challenges: post once a day for 30 days. I looked at some of the challenges and their suggestions for the daily posts: post a picture of yourself, tell about your favorite song, what's your favorite movie? -- and so on.

I have decided not to accept any of these challenges.

Glass

I took over many small stained glass pieces to the store today: several of our crosses, several of our mothers with child, and a lot of random shapes, some with painted designs, some plain.

I am working on a new design. So is Mario. We will see what comes of them.

We finished the cartoons for four large windows for a church in Grendada: Saint Andrew (with Caribbean species of fish -- the church is dedicated to Andrew); Saint Dominic (the church was founded by Dominicans); Mary (in a Dominican habit, holding some nutmeg, which is grown in Grenada); and Christ. Methodius took them up to Statesville where they will be cut, assembled, and packaged for shipping by our sub-contractors.

Here is window that our stained glass studios designed and installed in an Atlanta church several decades ago. It is the baptism of Jesus, which we will celebrate this coming Sunday. Look carefully at all the painted lines that create the patterns.

Christmas cheer

Since I stopped posting in part because I had so much trouble posting pictures here, let me try one today. If it works, it will be a photo Fr. James took at our Christmas Day festive meal:

Happy New Year

I am not making a resolution to post here more regularly. If I made such a resolution, I would not keep it.

I am merely posting today -- and I do have the intention to post a couple of times a week. But, it is just an intention, not a resolution. Don't confuse the two.

I went to bed by 9:00 last night -- as I have for years, even before I came to a monastery. I slept through midnight, as I have for years. Mark tells me that some of our neighbors lit a lot of firecrackers at midnight. They were so loud, he thought they were in our back yard. But I heard nothing.

At Vigils I had to sing a responsary for our Third Nocturn. It was one of the loveliest melodies we have: "O most pure and holy Virgin, how can I find the words to praise your beauty!"

The homily that Augustine preached at Mass today was lovely. I suggest you look for it on our web page It is not posted yet, but you can listen to some of Fr. Matt's from this past week, if you want. Or try an earlier one of Augustine's -- he is always very thoughtful and makes very clear links to our life here.

Happy New Year!