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?
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?
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