Home now.

Well, we arrived home safely the day before yesterday - both glad I think, to be back after a very busy and lovely visit to the UK.

I need not have been apprehensive about my visits to the monasteries where the sisters I had parted from 3 years ago were now living. The welcome I received moved me very much; it was warm and full of loving friendship and care. Also, one of the things I had not so much anticipated was that these visits enabled me to see other sisters whom I knew well and to share with them why it was that I felt I needed to leave my religious life. Most would have heard only second-hand and now at least, there was the possibility for them to ask questions if they wished or to engage in dialogue. It was for me altogether very healing and I am grateful. Not so many years ago leaving religious life was something done in secret without the opportunity to say goodbye - I am so grateful for the change and for the huge loving generosity of my sisters.

One of the things I also did was to turn up on the doorstep of the old monastery to visit the new owner and to see if we could look around the grounds at least. Here again though, we were given a lovely welcome and a tour inside and out.  It seems still to be a work in progress but it is so good to see what James and Tracey are choosing to do with the space and how lovingly everything is being undertaken. There are big changes but just the sorts of ones you would expect in returning the building to a private home. I was so grateful to see how beautifully it is being created anew, though of course memories came rushing back as each new space reminded me of a life and lives that had been lived there in such a different way. 

I think I have heard it said that old houses may have many memories somehow stored in their walls and I feel that might be especially true of this one. It is 126 years old and for only 27 of those was it a monastery. Otherwise it has always been a family house - the principal one of the village.  Still, I do feel that those 27 years infused the house with a very special gift of prayer and faithful human living that focused that 'space' on God . So I pray that James and Tracey and their family will imbibe that special gift and live happily and safely in it. 


Finally, I want to say what a joy it was to have this time with my niece Susan. She was a very attentive and generous companion. This was, in so many ways, my trip, into territory she did not know. She came without complaint and while I was visiting with the sisters she was left to her own resources, often in rather isolated rural areas. However, she also shared in some most unusual monastic experiences - things that most people would not see, so perhaps that will be a special memory for her. I am truly grateful to her.





 

Anticipation in the journey

Most people I know think that anticipation is a huge part of our journeys. We seem to do an awful lot of looking forward to things - events, trips, visits - at least I do. I sometimes then wonder if at these times I live more in the future than in the right now. If that is so, then for sure I think I miss a great deal that is the only reality there is - now, this minute.

I am thinking about this because of my much anticipated trip to the UK on Monday. I have been 'looking forward' to it for a long time. It will, I think, be my last trip there in part because I don't so much enjoy lifting big, heavy  suitcases all over everywhere any more and in part because I won't have the money. But there is also a certain sense of anxiety (I'm not quite sure if that is the right word but it will do) because I will see most of the sisters I left behind when our monastery closed and I am not sure how and on what terms, we will now relate. I think things will be okay but I am a bit apprehensive (maybe that is the word I want). We will see.

I do want to see the sisters because they were so much a part of my life over the thirty years of my religious life. I want to hear from them that they are at peace and indeed, happy. I want to see their faces and read there what I can of their well-being. We will see.

This trip is different though because I am going with my niece whom I am just getting to know again after all the years of absence. So there is some of the stuff that tourists do that I have not done for many, many years. We will see.

What I want to do more than anything though is just to live each moment. I hope to enjoy everything but to be here, now and not be thinking: what will we do this afternoon, what about the visit planned for tomorrow. I don't want to 'waste' a minute in that sense at least - (I do rather think there are a number of really good ways to 'waste' time but not by not living in the present). We will see.

Back to the blog at the end of the month I hope.

The end of the journey in cemeteries....

This morning I went walking in a nearby cemetery. I think the oldest stone is from the mid-eighteen hundreds and it is one of my favourite places to walk. Apart from the wonderful,very old and big trees, it seems to me to be full of lives lived as part of the history of our city.

I was looking for a particular stone: that of my landlords' mother who had owned the condo I now live in. One of her sons had shown me a photo of the new stone they had placed there. I believe that her life is part of my life now because I live where she lived. Perhaps something of her spirit remains - I don't know. I like to think of connections like that because it seems to me we are not just here, now, but part of a stream of humanity each of whom was a unique, identifiable person. I did find her stone and discovered too, that she was my age. I liked that. I wonder if there is anything else common to our journey?

One of the other things I noticed in the cemetery that I hadn't before - or hadn't thought about before, was how people are identified on their gravestones. By far the majority of people are identified in terms of family. Women are wives, daughters; men are husbands, sons though by far the majority are spoken of in marital terms ( Harry beloved husband of... Mabel beloved wife of...). Why is that what we put on our gravestones? Is that the most important indication of who we are?

Interestingly, in the military section there are no parents or wives or husbands at all. There are roles (gunner, aircraftsman) and ranks (private, sergeant) and regiment, year killed or died (because some are in the military section who died after the wars) and age. I can remember too, that in our monastic cemeteries the identification was by year of profession, number of years in monastic life, year of death with no mention of blood family.  I wonder if there are other circumstances that change this relative importance of one's family status? Clearly, the military or religious life have taken precedence over blood family... or so it seems to me.

Of course the saddest parts of any cemetery are the graves of children - always a reminder both of the uncertainty of life ( we have no guarantee of life) and also a reminder of the suffering of families when a small child dies too soon - most often suddenly. It is often clear by the dates on the stones that there was an epidemic of some sort that took a lot of folks prematurely - again, the fragility of our lives. 


I recall too a small cemetery in Cornwall, England where there were so many stones of people who died young. They had died at sea in an age when boats powered by sail alone were pathetically vulnerable to the sea's whims. They too told their own story.


Anyway, it is all a reminder to me of the journey of each precious human being who has come before, whose life has touched mine. I hope that mine will do that too.

 

Silence along the journey

Once again, my 'friends' who come to the streetcar stop across the road and the folks I see in the park  are supplying me with a question for the journey: why do so many of us walk or jog with our ears plugged up with, I presume, music? My sub question is: is this music (or whatever it may be)intended to keep out the world or to keep out the thoughts in our heads or perhaps, both? 

Of course, I guess there is a third option and that is that people like music but if so, why on the street or in the park where there are other beautiful sounds to listen to?

I am guessing that since we live in an age of noise silence is a problem for lots of people. When I entered the monastery so many years ago I was confronted, of course, with many new and difficult things. But the most powerful confrontation was with the silence. Talk was kept at an absolute minimum, there was no radio or TV or music played (except occasionally at special times) and there were at least 2 solid hours of private prayer when one was alone with oneself and God. It was a profound and at first, distressing silence.

One of the first things I think we all faced was the coming to awareness of the stuff in our heads that we had pushed down, out of earshot as it were. This was stuff that maybe wasn't very pleasant (experiences of the past, realities of personal behavior, fears, angers and I guess the list could go on). Suddenly, in the silence it was there and there was no place to run: no earphones to fill the silence, no TV to get lost in, no pub to drown in. There were people there to help at this time, but it was the silence that brought this to the surface of awareness and it was hard. It was in those beginning months that many people left. In time though, the silence became rich and healing and beautiful.

So I guess I wonder if the people I see are really trying both to separate themselves in some way from human demands - even the demand of the other's presence - and also to avoid what is in the heart and the head. I can really understand that but I think by drowning out the silence we are missing a great gift. 

Random thoughts of journey happenings

'Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! you don't want to be the last!'. This, called out by the one of the adults to a group of very young children at the beach today. I can also remember that being said to me or to my friends - is it something that is always said to groups of children. But today I thought for the first time, ' what is wrong with being the last?'

Why, I wondered, do we think it important not to be the last? In this particular case little Ollie (as I discovered his name to be) was doing his own thing and that included not keeping up. I rather liked the look of Ollie - maybe that is why I asked myself the question. But I think too of my friends in L'Arche. Many of them tend to be the last or somewhere near and many of them are among the most interesting and caring people I know - perhaps because they are not so focused on keeping up?

That's all.

The other thought about little random things that are part of the journey also happened this morning. Across the street where the construction site is there was, suddenly, a lot of activity. This activity included several fire engines, a couple of police cruisers, yellow tape around the whole block - not just the construction site. No ambulance so presumably it wasn't someone who was hurt. But it was most certainly an out-of-the-ordinary occurrence and gained, needless to say a lot of attention. 

So it made me think of that very phrase about things that are 'out-of-the-ordinary'. These are things that are not what we expect, they may be a bit mysterious because we don't understand what is happening, they may be a bit shocking but it seems that the important thing is, we notice them because they are unexpected, different. Which implies a sense that we all have of 'the ordinary' which mostly fills our day and is, for the most part, the stuff of our time on earth. 

I wondered, if we paid more attention to 'the ordinary',  would we start to see in it too, more things that are extraordinary, out of the ordinary? I am going to try to look more carefully from now on.

What are the limits?

Yesterday I listened to a rerun of the CBC Radio 1 program: White Coat, Black Arts with Dr Brian Goldman. His interview was with a man who has Huntington's disease and who has chosen to determine for himself when he will die.

Huntington's disease is as far as I understand it, an inherited disease and it's progress (if that is an apt word) is inexorable and the dying is horrible: the whole body and mind is, essentially, destroyed. This man's father had the same disease and the family lived through it with him, watching him suffer in ways 'you would not wish any living being to do'. So, when Nagy (I think that was his name) discovered that he too had the disease he made a decision that when the time came he would kill himself rather than inflict his suffering on his family or, indeed, himself.

Nagy discussed this with his wife, his doctor, his neurologist , his lawyer and some others so that it would be absolutely clear that this was his decision made in full understanding and that no one would have enabled him or assisted him. The reason he did this is that on the one hand, as I understand it, it is not illegal to commit suicide but it is illegal to help someone to do it.

It was clear that Dr Goldman was very conflicted about this decision as he discussed the interview he had had with Nagy. And yet, to listen to Nagy was to listen to someone who had an absolute and peaceful certainty that this was what he needed to do. Dr Goldman's conflict was, I suppose, what the majority of people might feel: is it right to deliberately and clear-sightedly take one's own life even in the face of awful and untreatable suffering? His neurologist said she felt that all she could do was to listen and to respect his decision. She would not make a recommendation to him except to let him know what treatment options she could offer.


I found myself deeply touched by this interview. I guess as a Catholic I should not support what he wants to do. I should say that to take our own life is not in our control; that somehow the suffering will bear good fruit. That God gives and God takes away - and only God. But...


I can't help thinking about the distinctions we make all the time: we allow millions of people to die of starvation even when we could help; we kill people in war; we fail to make sure that millions of people have what they need for a decent life. So I found myself asking as I listened: how is it then wrong to ask someone who will die soon and whose quality of life is unacceptable by any human standard, who will suffer unbearably, to choose her or his own time to die?   I don't know the answer but I think we need to ponder it more and more thoughtfully and carefully and lovingly.

Pondering Jerusalem

This morning looking out my window I watched a flock of maybe 20 sparrows, I think they were, fighting over a piece of pizza crust that was lying on the road. Each one would get close and try to drag the piece away but it was too big and unwieldy and someone else would come and snatch it up. This went on for maybe 15 minutes before they gave up and went away. It was sad to me because I felt that if they would stop snatching then everyone might have got enough to please them.

After that I picked up one of the books I am currently reading: A History of Jerusalem by Karen Armstrong. It seems a well-researched and thoughtful book and, so far as I am able to tell, not particularly biased. And that issue of bias seems especially appropriate in speaking about the history of this particular city.

Almost from the very beginning, starting with Jews, then in time, Christians and then, finally the Muslims, the city has been considered to be a SACRED city. Each of the three religions at various times, claimed it as THEIR sacred city and usually, in the process, attempted to wipe out the shrines, temples and sacred memories of the others. 

It seems there has hardly ever been a time of peace there. Without courageous leadership - or so it seems to me - the city's inhabitants continually fought over their scraps of pizza - or the religious equivalent, and so no one very often, called them to try to live with one another and respect one another's gifts of spiritual insight. Everyone had to be right and therefore had to attempt the complete annihilation of the other. So much for sacred.

This book certainly helps me to understand the current state of tension in the city and the fighting over who should 'control' it. It is also quite discouraging because it is hard to see how it gets resolved when the hostilities are so deep and so long-standing. But I do believe that if there were courageous leaders who could stand up for attempting peace, there might be hope.