My third and final monastic exploratory visit was in Canyon, Texas, at St. Benedict Monastery. This monastery is a foundation of St. Scholastica in Ft. Smith, Arkansas, the motherhouse of a teaching congregation.
Although St. Benedict is a contemplative house, the sisters are not cloistered. There is no enclosure wall around the property, and the sisters go out as they please. I have to stress that this is not the norm with contemplative houses. I thought I would give this, shall we say, "in-between" kind of religious life a look to see if it were more suited to me than the strictly cloistered life. When I visited them, I was able to live among the sisters, pray the Office with them instead of listening to them from the other side of the sanctuary, and take meals with them. The events of my visit are recounted in this letter I wrote to a friend:
Although St. Benedict is a contemplative house, the sisters are not cloistered. There is no enclosure wall around the property, and the sisters go out as they please. I have to stress that this is not the norm with contemplative houses. I thought I would give this, shall we say, "in-between" kind of religious life a look to see if it were more suited to me than the strictly cloistered life. When I visited them, I was able to live among the sisters, pray the Office with them instead of listening to them from the other side of the sanctuary, and take meals with them. The events of my visit are recounted in this letter I wrote to a friend:
11 August 2003
Dear C_ ,
Well! Here I am in Canyon, Texas—or, rather, just outside it—at St Benedict Monastery. I don't know exactly how far we are from town, but this feels truly isolated. Nothing but open land as far as the eye can see, but not all flat: just behind the monastery there's a bluff, so I guess I won't be walking out back in the dark of night!
The monastery itself is very comfortable, large, 2-storeyed, newly built, with a tin roof. There is a separate wing for guests and another wing for the infirmary. They have, at the moment, a visiting abbot who is staying in the guest wing, so I am in the infirmary (there are no infirm) along with two visiting prioresses from the motherhouse in Ft. Smith, Arkansas. I have a large room to myself, and my own bathroom; everything is so nice and comfy, I sort of wonder whatever happened to the vow of poverty! Not luxurious, mind you, but much nicer than one would expect, I suppose.
Aside from a few young saplings the sisters planted, there is nothing to break the wind or provide cooling shade. The panhandle sun beats down mercilessly on this parched land—they haven't had a decent rain since May. They've put out large containers of water for the thirsty mule deer, of which I've seen several since my arrival. There are other critters, of course, some of the not-so-Disney-cute variety. A dead centipede greeted me in the hall today, and I was told they've been pestered indoors by flying ants.
(12 August) Oy! I made the mistake of drinking leaded coffee at dinner last night, so I had the damndest time falling asleep. 5 a. m. came way too soon! I started the day by killing a spider—Critter #1. Then off to Vigils, followed in quick succession by Lauds and Mass, which the visiting abbot, Fr. Anselm, celebrated. I still cannot quite get the hang of the breviary—finding the right page at any given moment. Can't someone find an easier way to pray the Divine Office?! There are so many different colored markers, and you have to turn to one then the other and then to yet another, then back to the first one. . . . Oy!
After Terce I went out to the small vegetable garden with Sr. Marcella, who picks up whatever's ready for eating. They grow beans, okra, cucumbers, tomatoes, and canteloupe. Most of these sisters (there are only 6) are farm girls. So there I was, City Mouse, my light skirt billowing in the breeze, an old straw hat of Sister's tied under my chin, watching Sister in her old shoes and Laura Ingalls bonnet push aside the leaves to find the beans, and pull up these mysterious wild greens that are supposedly good eating. I don't know, it all sems so idyllic—until you encounter another one o' them Critters. (I killed #2 in my bathroom.)
There used to be two cows here, but they kept jumping the electric fence, so the sisters got rid of them. Now they have a horse, Rodeo, a retired roping horse (whatever that is). As Sr. Marcella and I left the cabbage patch she pointed to him standing by the fence and said, "See how his hind leg is curled up under him? He's sleeping." Oh. I knew horses slept standing up, but I didn't know they did it on three legs. City Mouse.
I don't think I would fit in here. I feel too young compared to these sisters, and much too citified! The Dominicans, whom I loved at first sight, are looking even better to me, as is their charism of study. I think I would be happy there. And since they wear the full habit, which these sisters don't, and are therefore less inclined to spend unnecessary time in the Texas heat, I wouldn't have to deal so much with Critters, except indoors. I think I'd love studying Church history and Scripture and the early Church Fathers.
The more I learn about monastic life, the more I realize what a unique and special vocation this is, not in the sense that so few are called to it, but in the sense that it is truly a great gift—and if one really comes to want it, then it becomes an even greater gift because when one says "yes" to it, God gives that person the strength necessary to follow it through. I'm not expressing it very well. He gives, you give back, then he gives even more. And the most anyone can give is oneself. All of oneself.
(14 August 2003) It amazes me how these women, some of whom, like Mother Rose in Santa Fe, have spent half their lives or more hidden away from the secular world, yet they can be so well-informed about the culture and society of today. But I was brought up a bit short the other day when I mentioned Dolores Hart to Sr. Marcella, saying that she was a well-known movie star who left Hollywood for the monastery. Sister said, "I don't know anything about that; must have been after I entered." And then I realized that these older sisters, especially the cloistered ones, didn't really experience the Elvis phenomenon, or the Beatles craze, and it makes me think of that old joke, "Where have you been, under a rock?" It's a bit hard to fathom how dfferent their experience is from ours.
After spending a few days here, I'm now convinced that I'd prefer a larger community. There are only six here. I think that would drive me a bit nuts. Lufkin has 25 or 26—not that large, but large enough not to feel as if you were constantly bumping elbows and stepping on toes.
I should close this letter. I only brought one envelope and one stamp!
In Christ's love,
Leticia
In my next post, I will reveal my choice! However, I think I've already given it away. . . .
You amaze me, sister! Love you so much!
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