Starting
Point The
choice to love is the cloister without walls
By JAMES STEPHEN
BEHRENS
I have met some interesting people
over the years. Actually, I believe that everyone is interesting, given the
time, place, heart and gift that goes into knowing someone.
I remember some I met at social gatherings. Barbecues, parties,
wedding receptions and the like. Funny, all these people we meet and chat with
and then the big train of life moves on, on to the next destination, where
there are more people. There are some who stand out. Even if it was just a
passing chat, something happened that makes me remember them.
A few years ago, I met John at an engagement party for a couple I
knew. It was a very festive night in the New Orleans home of the
bride-to-be.
John was into his third marriage. He had some problems. I had some
problems. He was looking for something in life and so was I. He had not yet
found it, and I had not either. Given time, I am sure that everyone in that
house that night could have shared plenty about their searches for the Big It.
Perhaps I was fortunate to get into the It with John.
At the party, he approached me with drink in hand and a warm,
satisfied look. He was on the plump side, 50 or so and balding. He introduced
himself and said that he had read some of my pieces and liked them. I thanked
him. He offered to get me a drink, and I passed. He then asked me what I did,
and I told him that I was a parish priest but was soon to enter a Trappist
monastery. He looked at me for a moment, gathering his thoughts, took a sip
from his drink and asked me if he could ask me something. Sure, I said.
How can you know about life behind those walls? I mean, real
life. Dont you think that a monastery is out of touch with reality?
Satisfied with the way he phrased the question, his eyes narrowed, and he
focused on me and took another sip.
I thought for a moment. Pretty heavy duty.
Whats reality? I asked him. Is it
something you somehow work with, or is it a place? Is it something you are
always in touch with, clearheaded about, surefooted? Something you can make
better? Or enter or leave?
He stared at me. Pretty good. Yeah, pretty good. I think I
see what you are getting at. Yeah, reality is complicated when you talk about
it.
The conversation changed direction. I think we then talked about
auto insurance. Or perhaps it was Cuban cigars.
Sure you dont want that drink? he asked.
OK, I told him. And he walked off and fixed something
for me. When he returned, we chatted again, and then parted ways. I never saw
him again after that night.
I think about John here. I liked him and hope he is doing OK in
dealing with whatever it is that is real to him. I hope he finds it
and it is something that is good for him and those he loves. He took a few
steps across a room and asked me about the real, and I responded. I hope he
takes those steps with those he loves -- those who live within the confines of
his life. I, too, take steps to raise questions as to what is worth living for
and know that an engagement with life involves walking outside of myself --
talking, praying, being open to what I cannot find in my own heart.
We are not our own creations. We need each other. We need steps.
Reality lays claim on every heart and every conscience. There is simply no
getting around dealing with it. And reality is no less or more here in the
monastery than it was that night in New Orleans.
Cruelty and grace exist within and without these walls. To deal
with reality in an honest, self-giving way is, to my way of thinking, the
Christian response that creates a new self. It is a way of life
that knows no walls. It is a way of life that reveals a true and shared reality
among all men and women. It is a way of life that keeps the conversation going,
rarely lapsing into the mist of Cuban cigars or the wreckage of auto insurance
claims.
There are times I still wonder who it is who really lives behind
walls, and who is in and who is out. It is something
with which we all struggle and it is a struggle that has little to do with
cloister walls. Here, the walls do come down. And it can be a painful collapse.
But there is a clearing, a place from which to hope for what is real and seek
it.
Perhaps the walls of a Trappist cloister simply define a space for
a certain kind of life -- not unlike the walls or the parameters of marriage,
fidelity or commitment. They are meant to define, not enclose. They border and
safeguard a freedom of choice, a choice to love and be in a certain place and
time and to better come to terms with those destructive walls that we build so
easily with the bricks of fear, prejudice and hardness of heart.
Trappist Fr. James Stephen Behrens lives at Holy Spirit
Monastery in Conyers, Ga. His e-mail address is
james@trappist.net
National Catholic Reporter, March 2,
2001
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