L'Arche de Cuise

Mattias:  what will you do after leaving Taizé?



me:  i have a plan to cycle to india.



mattias:  india, wow,  do you know what you will do there?



me:  i am not sure. . .  maybe just cycle around
       and meet people



mattias:  mm.  
               it might be a good idea to have someone from the country to stay with, at least initially.

               i spent a year living in india, living with a community l'arche - which looks after handicapped people - and it was only by living with those people and sharing their everyday lives that i really got to know them.  the indian way of looking at the world is so different from the european way.  they totally accept the caste system.  most of the people in the villages in the south of india have very simple lives - their houses are materially empty (apart from the television set, and the mobile phones everybody has), but they do not resent the people who are rich; they are not even interested in them.  their acceptance of their place in the caste system is part of their acceptance of whatever happens to them in life.     it took me a long time to get used to their gestures.  they wiggle their heads from side to side to say yes.....

the more mattias spoke and recounted his discovery of the indian way of looking at the world, the more i realised that i wanted to travel in that way; that is to say, not to remain an outsider, cycling my bike, wrapped up in my own world view, but to share the lives of others somehow, to be involved in their everyday.   the voluntary work maettias spoke of sounded interesting, and so when i heard from the sisters at Taizé that volunteers were needed at a l'arche community north of Paris, i decided to go there.
i wanted to be with the people.


there are twelve of us in our house: six young assistants and six personnes acueillis, which means guests, which means persons with a handicap.

Laurent's eyes widen with curiosity and wonder.  he points to himself and then thrusts his arm outward, pointing to some indeterminate place, unknown to everybody but Laurent.   "petit, badi"  - his own language, which he speaks with a tone of urgency.  his voice lowers "oooooh", there is alarm in his eyes,    then a sharp intake of breath, and renewed curiosity and surprise in his eyes.  sometimes his whole face creases into a huge benevolent smile, and he regards one of his companions with great tenderness.  at all moments of the day there is drool which dribbles slowly from his mouth to his chin and is caught by a hankerchief tied round his neck.

before mealtimes everybody holds hands and sings a little song of thanksgiving. 
after the evening meal it is the time to light the candle and sit around singing songs.  there is a time of prayer, which Marie-Astrid adroitly conducts, going round each guest asking them who they can pray for and encouraging them to be thankful for the day. 

the response from the guests is normally to pucker their lips, or let out low grunts, or point insistently to some unknown place, but sometimes an attitude of listening can be discerned.  there is an air of reverence round the candle. 

Sabine puckers her lips and makes a sound by making her lips vibrate.  that is her favourite sound to make.   she mostly wears a sleepy, unhurried look, but sometimes she throws her head back and lets out a shrill sound.   her mouth is open very very wide at that moment. Sabine loves to sit cross-legged on the floor.  if someone has put shoes on her she will try and take them off.  if someone has tied her hair with a little band she will try and take it off.   the only time her movements are unhurried are when it comes to eating, and that is why at the table there must be a buffer zone the length of her outstretched arm between her and anything edible. 

the guests have been alive for around 30 or 40, or in one case 58 years. 
however, looking after them is just like looking after young children.

if i ever wonder about the usefulness of my life activities, i do not wonder here.
it would be impossible for any of the guests to live independently.
they need the help of the assistants.

Marie-Astrid has been alive for 24 years. she has been in charge of the house for two and a half years.  her age is unindicative of how motherly mature she is or how she knows what needs to be done in every situation.   she is a veritable mother to the six guests, distributing care and concern and caresses or stern reprimands when they are necessary.  the household lives and respires under her watchful gaze.

life is a feeling.

what does it feel like to be alive?

Francine has so much energy.  she does not possess very much control over her arm movements.  when another person is near her, she writhes excitedly in her wheelchair.   she wants to touch you, make contact.  her eyes are wide and blue and full of feeling.   she makes a lot of different sounds, expressing a lot of different emotions, without ever forming any of our words.   i realise that Francine would love to dance if she could. 

life is a feeling.

what does it feel like to be with this person?

Gerard has a wide peering distrusting look in eyes.  he slumps in his wheelchair and he cannot help shaking his head from side to side.  he communicates by finger gestures or by answering yes no questions.  when he makes an eager breathy exhalation, it means 'yes'.   when he makes a less eager, lower breathy exhalation, it means 'no'.  
nobody can tell when the moment will come.  the moment comes sooner or later and Gerard breaks into a loud gleeful laugh.   his is always a contagious glee.  it comes as a relief after his reticence.

some mornings, wandering cries can be heard from the bedrooms down the stairs.  it means that soon it will be time to get the guests out of bed, give them a bath, dress them, have breakfast with them, brush their teeth and begin the activities of the day.

Jean-Claude meanders into the sitting room with his wheelchair.  he is the grandfather of the house.  his capacity to communicate with words is the greatest, but he often keeps his choice of words to a minimum. often he surveys the situation and murmurs, "bon, bon", and then, louder but shielding his mouth with the back of his palm, "Merde"
Jean-Claude's use of the word merde is different from that of other people's.   mostly he means hello, he draws attention to himself, he extends himself in an act of convivial communication.
he comments on the weather every morning.   "il fait beau"   :it is a fine day.
when he mumbles "brouillard", it means that the weather is overcast.

Jean Vanier, who founded the first l'arche community in france in 1964 says, i believe that each person, in his or her unique beauty or worth, lives out a sacred story.

each person is a sacred story, whether handicapped or not.

Gégé loves most of all to sit holding an object between his fingers and watch it swing back and forth.  any object will do.  it is usually a little cuddly toy, but it could be somebody's slipper, a piece of straw left over from the christmas nativity scene, or a paper serviette from the mealtime.
he penetrates with his gaze.  when it alights on you, you know that he has intellectually beheld you.    Gégé never speaks, but in moments of contentment he emits a low growling purr, a large smile on his lips.


each person is a sacred story.
it is good precept on which to found a community, with which to approach any human encounter.

have a monastic time

Joost laughed and said:  meeting up with a girl is not the best reason for going to a monestary.






after a pause i said:  meeting up with you was the main reason i came to this monestary.

the monestary was an orthodox one, Saint Antoine le Grand, hidden at the end of a wooded valley ringed by towering cliffs in the Vercors region of France.  i would have felt a little daunted, i think, by the orthodox way if it were not for Joost and his words before i went into the church on the first night i arrived.  he said:  there are certain ritual gestures to observe; you'll pick them up; just copy what everyone else does; that is what everybody does all through life anyway.

the gestures were bowing low to touch the ground in front of icons of Mary and Jesus at the front of the church.   and then making the sign of the cross, and then bowing again, making the sign of the cross again, then kissing the icons, and making the sign of the cross again, and touching the ground again, and making the sign of the cross again.   the church had a dome in the centre from which hung an enormous glittering chandelier, studded with candles, which was made to swing round and round by one of the monks with a long pole half way through the service.  the gestures were to bow low and make the sign of the cross when the monk came near who walked solemly round the church shaking the bells and at the same time releasing sweet-smelling incense.  Joost said the purpose of the incense was to purify the sins of those congregated.  the reason for the bowing was to show that one has come humbly before God; one even bowed before the oldest monk with the big white beard and kissed his soft white hand - that was also to show one's humbleness.  one older woman wore a skirt and a shawl and was particularly devout she spent the whole time bowing and touching the ground and making the sign of the cross.   the few permanent monks who remain at St Antoine le Grand have long beards which are silhouetted against the few candles distributed around the church.  the candles are periodically put out and relit.  the light conditions inside the church are nothing other than dimness.  every interior wall or roof or dome is covered in icons - large paintings depicting scenes from the bible.  i read that in total St Antoine has 600 square metres of icons - the largest quantity in Western Europe.  the monks gather round a lectern and sing and chant for hours.  sometimes call and response liturgy, sometimes one monk does a solo, his voice warbles, oscillates, he is not afraid to go off-key, his voice is joined by the others and a plaintive harmony fills the whole church.  the refrain from the liturgy which i most often heard was:  "Gloire au Pere et au Fils et au Saint Esprit maintenant et toujours pour les siecles des siecles Amen".   they pronounced amen ameen.  they often raced through the words as if they wanted to pronounce them as fast as possible.  it made me understand how the phrase religious mumbo-jumbo came about.   the first night i arrived it was an unusually long service - something over four hours, i think - although i lost my habit of keeping track of the passage of time, and let my sleepy tending-towards-subconscious-way-of-thinking merge with unusual sensory experience of being in that church.  the plaintive harmony of those words along with the dimness, the candles, the incense, the silhouettes of the long beards, the great solemnity of all their movements, the bowing and the making the sign of the cross in the dimness filled me with fascination.  my question was:  Why have these monks decided to dedicate their lives to chanting in the dimness in the church like this?

the first sentence of the laminated sheet of paper in the room they gave me read (in other words):  a monastery is a place where men get together to look for God.

i was interested in the word choice
chercher Dieu
they were searching for God - the candles, the incense, their low quavering chants - were focussed on the God element of life, the part nobody can put their finger on but which they feel compelled to glorify nonetheless.

i wondered why they had chosen to cloister their lives in that secluded valley like that, instead of looking for God in the streets and paths of the world; in human encounters.  they were very welcoming towards me with my desire to witness their church liturgies and also sit with them at mealtimes and eat in silence.   one monk in particular had eyes which twinkled with friendliness.  he had an engaging presence, mixed with a somewhat timid reverence.   he reminded me of mister tumnus the fawn.  although i realised that their monkish ways would only fill me with fascination for a certain limited period of time, i saw the goodness of such a relentlessly God-focussed establishment, where they welcome visitors from the world who wish to refocus on the Essential of life without the distractions of the world.

human relationships are the essential element of life, people have been telling me, i have been thinking

i would never have discovered the orthodox monastery if it were not for wanting to meet up with Joost.   meeting Joost was a little bit like meeting myself in another body - we are so similar in our gestures and ways of talking and then letting the words subside and then only saying things with the eyes.   in the kitchen the coffee filterer became blocked and when it spilled over and made a mess on the floor we both stood there wondering what to do. we both regarded the mess on the floor for a while, wondering what to do.

one afternoon we decided to go for a walk and climb up to the top of the cliff which was the only part of the valley which was sunlit.  we followed the tumbling crashing burn for a while stopping often to say things like "we are like water molecules whose river journey will be over when we reach the sea".  we picked our way over fallen logs through trees draped with luxuriant green moss and began to ascend a large loose scree slope which led to the top.   at the top we sat still on a big rock with our eyes closed for a long time and then i began to hum the Taizé song

de noche iremos, de noche, que para encontrar la fuente
solo la sed nos alumbra, solo la sed nos alumbra

(by night, we will go by night, to find the source
 only our thirst lights our way, solo la sed nos alumbra)

first of all i found that song overly sombre, but then i realised that thirst was an essential motif for that which drives us in life, that which gives our actions motivation and sense.

first of all i met joost's mother when she walked into the kitchen at Taizé.   as i was showing her how to make tea she was giving me a look of profundity and as we talked and she told me that she was Dutch and that she used to be a teacher before her illness, she continued to give me a certain look of profundity and then at one point she said:  you remind me so much of my son.
he is nineteen.  he is tall and has a thick black beard and little dreadlocks.  he is on a big walk from Holland to Spain, staying at lots of monasteries en route.  maybe he will arrive at Santiago de Compostela one day.   as she was telling me these things about her son i realised that i would like to meet him.  she also described him as 'lost' but after i had met him my only thoughts were that he was truly seeking and that in fact it was nothing but good not to get distracted by the ways of the world, and instead to go searching for something that you know you have to search for.

i was also glad to have some more monastery time after finding out that Taizé closes down for the christmas period.  before leaving Taizé my friend Xavier came to see me there and it was freshening to see the Taizé chants and sitting in silence as i imagined they were seen through the eyes of someone with has had no contact with religion whatsoever.  it was the last night before everyone left and so we got together for a big dance session to the music of Marie on the accordion and Fiona with her balkan folk inspired clarinet improvisation, everyone enchanted to learn the steps of the good fun dance which is maybe called the grand old duke of york.  other people taught the steps to other traditional group dances, and it was only at the end of the night that i could remember how the gay gordons went but by then everyone was too tired to learn another new dance those still with energy went jigging round the room anyway, Maria always on the accordion.



it was lovely to be part of Xavier's family christmas meal at his grandparents' place.
it was also strange, to be the observer of a family gathering.  i was reminded of how unique family relationships are.   i could feel all the connections which linked everyone, everyone sharing a common upbringing many moments spent together so many things that do not need to be said because everybody understands everybody so well.  brimming communication in between all the words.  when it came to the jokes and the puns i was lost because all my efforts are still geared towards how to speak french correctly, nevermind playing with the language.   everyone wanted to know a scottish joke but all i could think of was the bear that walked into the bar, and when the barman asked what he wanted he said:














a pint of beer, please


and the barman replied:
why the big paws.




that joke didn't work in french, however.



then i remembered the man who walked into a fish and chip shop and said:
fish and chips, please.

and when he was asked if he wanted salt and vinegar he replied:

no, its okay; i've got my bike.



is the point the fact that there is no point?
mmm, it makes you think though.
(the search for causal relationships)
the point is there is no point
maybe it is the scottish humour...


when i decided to leave saint antoine le grand monestary i really did want to return north to the monastery in Saint Jodard and meet up with Katie la canadienne.  i had met Katie in Taizé and she had told me with enthusiasm about the six months she spent studying philosophy at the monastery in Saint Jodard.  her blue eyes are the brightest and most engaging eyes that i have ever had the fascination of looking into.
but when i arrived she had already left, and it was only a few days later in paris after about a nine hour lift in the old car of Clement who loved only to roll slowly stopping in villages en route for a coffee he did not understand the modern fast cars and their urge to arrive as fast as possible on the motorway it was only after such a lift that i reached paris late at night and was able to meet Katie for a coffee the following morning before she flew back to canada.

i was glad anyway that she had brought me to la communauté de saint jean where they teach philosophy to the student monks in the little village of Saint Jodard.   apart from the shelter while the rain fell for a whole day, there was meeting Philip-Thomas, a young english trainee monk who loves scotland and bike trips and with whom i could speak candidly about all things.  one afternoon we went for a big exploratory ramble across the other side of the river Loire.  he told me that he had observed me receiving the eucharist during mass.  i had told him about all my doubts and he said that in fact the eucharist was a special ceremony, full of significance, only for those who Believe.   during the eucharist the Catholic priest evokes powers which transform the bread into the body of Christ, so that Christ's actual body is made present.     here and now.    and the catholic eats it, and it becomes part of his own body.
and for me the mystery of the Christ thickened.

i stayed up by candlelight till late reading the book Les Trois Sagesses which the dominican founder Pere Phillipe wrote.  the fascinating thing is that his mind remains ever full of curiosity (questions-as-yet-unanwered) in considering the philosophical question of being - the question that philosophical thinking is - while at the same time being fully committed to a life of faith in accordance with the ways of the catholic church.

fascinating.

father phillipe says that a lot of modern philosophy and question-posing is more focussed on answering the question how instead of the more fundamental why?

a lot of concerns in life are focussed on the process of doing things, instead of asking the question:

what is the point?