For reasons that are often beyond me I feel a kind of beneficent breeze every time I go out to St.Peter’s Abbey, in Saskatchewan.

But there is nothing romantic about this monastery. Most of the twenty five or so monks who remain are old, many are tired, and a couple are infirm. Young monks enter, but it’s unlikely their numbers will overcome the attrition rate.

Brother Pius

Sometimes it feels to me that perennial winter has set in on the Abbey. And yet they remain, living together, wearing their black habits, working at their given tasks. And then at the sound of the bell, five times each day, from Lauds to Vigils, they drop what they are doing and walk to the chapel for another half hour of chanting and praying the Psalms. And it is prayer they hope to be shaped by.

Brother Francis, afflicted with Alzheimer’s towards the end of his long life, was, until his death, always wheeled to the chapel by the brothers for prayer. He would often startle visitors by suddenly shouting out bits of the Psalms. The Psalms remained when everything else was gone.

It’s this counter attitude that attracts me and keeps bringing me back to the monastery. I am more than curious by their belief that being cloistered within a monastery, while sharing everything and owning nothing, is a freer way of life, and that before anything else it is a good way of living the gospel.

I too long to be schooled in love and service, as St. Benedict rejoins in his Rule. I too long for emancipation from the unspoken dictates of culture and its slavery to fashion and "correct thought". But I’m not that stable, open to conversion, or obedient (the three vows). Just thankful for the guys in black scapular’s who are.

With Father James in his hermitage

My mentor, Father James OSB

Technorati Tags: St. Peter’s Abbey, Benedictine, Christianity, Peace, Religion, Spirituality

To navigate is to know. There is no knowing beyond the bounds of what has been navigated. But there are shadings, outlines, possibilities.

I’ve been navigating the monastery for six years–four years as an Oblate. And this weekend I’m here at St. Peter’s Abbey for another "Oblate day."

Summer at St Peter’s Abbey

Here’s my overly romantic notion of the monastery:

For me St. Peter’s Abbey is a little ship. It slips in and out of ports, staying clear of the clutches of commodification. It usually only docks at night. And so its silent inconspicuous presence is only noticed by lovers that might be strolling the harbour or the moonlit shores.

Lovers are there because as lovers they have taken time to slow down their souls and seed their passion. They see the ship…still and berthed.

The little ship leaves just before dawn, long before the malls open. It is missed by most. There’s no memory of its stay on the surface of the salt water. It only lingers in the minds of the lovers who later that night will tell their friends in the café.

Technorati Tags: St. Peter’s Abbey, Oblates, Benedictine, Christianity, Spirituality