At the Monastery

Matins

It is cold

And dark.

All night I have been anticipating this.

The appointed time is come.

I dress quickly and splash my face

For I have not allowed myself much time.

Dong.

The first bell.

I fasten my hair and slip on my shoes.

I open the door and enter the cold pre-dawn. Pausing,

I notice the stars.

Ah. Orion.

I do not normally see you in the summertime.

Good 3^rd watch of the night to you.

Dong. Dong. Dong.

The second series of bells begins.

I walk towards the sanctuary, open the door, and enter in.

I find a place,

I kneel,

I bow my head.

Lauds

After Matins I do not want to return to sleep.

That feels wrong.

So I stay awake and do what seems most natural:

Read scripture.

Your Word, O Lord, is a light.

My God, enlighten my darkness.

O Lord, my God, enlighten my darkness.

O Lord, my God, enlighten my darkness.

The simple song sings in my head.

It repeats itself,

Filling my whole body,

Infusing me with its melody.

Perhaps God is trying to tell me something.

Oh, yes. I know He is.

He is trying to bring the steel down.

He’s trying to remove the metal from the wall of my life;

The cynicism I cling to for comfort.

Very well, I’ll give it a try.

Lamentations 3.

Very good.

Commentary.

It is well.

Just as usual.

Perhaps I should read it again?

Interesting.

This passage stands out to me.

I know it was written regarding the exile but I can relate to this feeling of being

Abandoned by God and

Shunned by Him.

I like being the victim.

I focus on these verses, thinking that they are for me.

I re-read.

What’s this I find?

Verses of hope.

Okay.

That’s nice.

Too bad I didn’t feel that at the time.

(I’m caught up in the past).

I’m sleepy.

It’s dark.

Drooping eyelids.

Tired mind.

Beep! Beep!

It’s my watch.

I hold it up to my sister’s bed.

No response.

There’s the bell.

There are the stars.

I take my place, kneel, and bow.

Dawn/Terce

The sky has changed.

Still there are stars

But less.

The world is lightening.

I enter the house

And sit to write.

A division of self is the focus.

I wrestle with my identity.

I cannot be both at once!

Must I deny one for the other?

Insight.

No.

There are far greater things in store.

Redemption. Change. Transformation.

To what?

The real self,

That was already plucked from danger

And placed in the basket.

A journey of two gains a third companion.

The weight lifts

And I understand those lines of hope;

I experience them.

But this do I call to mind,

Therefore I have hope:

The kindness of the LORD has not ended,

His mercies are not spent.

They are renewed every morning—

Ample is your grace!

“The LORD is my portion,”

I say with full heart;

Therefore will I hope in Him.

I find myself outside.

I am walking, bouncing,

Hardly able to contain the joy within.

Nor do I want to.

Freely and gladly do I express my glee

To the sky,

To the trees,

To the rising sun.

I walk to the East

In excited anticipation

Of the world within

And the world without.

As the dawn breaks

I make my way back.

To the ringing of the bells

I enter the chapel,

Find a place, kneel, and bow.

Requiem Mass

“Today’s reading is from the Lamentations.”

I sit agape.

“Your mercies…new…morning…”

A double confirmation.

As if I even needed one.

Amazed.

I am amazed.

Going to the front,

I anticipate this holy meal.

We give each other the sign of peace.

“And also with you.”

“Peace be with you.”

“The body of Jesus,

The Bread of heaven.”

Amen.

“The blood of Christ,

Shed for you.”

Amen.

A mouthful of warmth

Courses through my whole body.

The wine strikes me in a way

To which I am unaccustomed.

We return to our seats.

The mass concludes.

We walk to the house,

Take seats at the table,

Give thanks,

And partake of the feast.