First of all, for all you breviary addicts (I know you’re out there), two of my favorite young writers — Shane Claiborne and Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove — have joined forces with Enuma Okoro to develop Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals. This ecumenical/interdenominational resource offers a weekly round of evening prayers, along with a complete annual cycle of morning prayers, a mid-day office, and a selection of prayers for special occasions. Various saints and heroes of the faith are commemorated, ranging from Thomas Merton to Julian of Norwich to Martin Luther King, Jr. to dear Saint Benedict. As someone who has prayed the Roman liturgy for some time now, there are to my mind real limitations to this breviary: no office of compline, no structuring of the Daily Office to echo the cosmos and the human lifespan in each daily round of prayers. But I don’t this book is intended to replace existing liturgies like the Roman or Anglican offices. Rather I think it’s meant to be an introduction to liturgical prayer for a young generation of evangelicals, who have grown up in a church where singing contemporary praise music is about as liturgical as it gets. In that sense, I think this a brilliant and much-needed resource. And for liturgy snobs like me, it’s a wonderful addition to the library, with some wonderful prayers and commemorations geared toward a spirituality anchored in the call to justice. Another nice touch: each month the book features one of the “twelve marks” of neo-monasticism.

There are a lot of books available on Benedictine spirituality. Many of them are written by laypersons who may never have lived in a monastery (authors like Esther de Waal and Norvene Vest); others are written by monks but primarily for monks (Terrence Kardong, Adalbert de Vogüé). Please don’t misunderstand me — most of such books are wonderful, and I don’t mean to criticize the authors I’ve listed; I like works by all of them). But what makes Lessons from Saint Benedict: Finding Joy in Daily Life a noteworthy book is that its author, Donald S. Raila, is an oblate master at a large Benedictine abbey, specifically writing for oblates: men and women who are not monks, but who have placed themselves under the spiritual guidance of monks and who seek to conduct their secular lives according to the wisdom of Benedict. Buddhists talk about “taking refuge” as the initiation into the life of following the dharma; for Benedictine oblates (and their counterparts, lay Cistercians), there is a similar sense of “taking refuge” under the guidance of the monks at a particular monastery. As the master of oblates at St. Vincent’s Archabbey, Fr. Raila writes a quarterly letter to the oblates on an aspect of the Rule and Benedictine spirituality; this book gathers 26 of those letters. Raila’s writing is homey and down-t0-earth; he recognizes that the key to applying Benedictine wisdom is to see how it makes a difference in the most ordinary circumstances of life, from travel delays to hernias to a wristwatch that runs just a few seconds slow each day. Raila understands that spirituality is all about the slow and unglamorous transformation of every moment of life, and his thoughtful but accessible insights are ideal invitations to meditation and reflection.

The Sin Eater: A Breviary is not a liturgical work per se, but an anthology of poems and photographs evocative of a lost age of Celtic spirituality. Undertakers Thomas and Michael Lynch (father and son) share an Irish eye for beauty that can be found hidden in the most stark and unadorned of places; this cycle of carefully structured poems, each illustrated by a sombre black and white photograph, invite the reader into the life of Argyle, the titular sin-eater and perhaps Thomas’alter ego. The sin-eater is a liminal figure (neither pagan nor priest, neither therapist nor healer, neither magician nor mystic) who symbolizes — or, perhaps, sacramentalizes? — the borderlines between religion and spirituality, between culture and nature, between death and life, all situated in the hidden-away setting of the Lynchs’ancestral Irish home. Earthy, blunt language of death and decay — but also eros and irony — dance through these poems, where the  hidden presence of the Divine is found not through pious formula, but evoked by honesty and wonder.

Finally, I’d like to briefly mention a series of books published by Fons Vitae, celebrating the ecumenical and interfaith dimensions of Thomas Merton’s work. These collections: Merton & Buddhism, Merton & Hesychasm, Merton & Judaism and Merton & Sufism, gather together writings of Merton with relevant essays by Merton scholars exploring his relationship with each of four traditions outside his own. These books certainly will help to solidify Merton’s reputation as the patron saint of ecumenical and interfaith contemplatives. Grab the one that most appeals to  you — or if you are as intellectually curious as Merton himself, read all four.

The Abbey Church at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit. Image via Wikipedia

In the simple promises for the junior lay associates (Lay Cistercians) of the Monastery of the Holy Spirit, we promise, among other things, to live “life in simplicity and prayer.” I love that juxtaposition. Prayer and simplicity go together so beautifully, it seems to me, that one of the best ways to cultivate in our hearts the space for prayer is by allowing things to be simple. I don’t mean simple in the sense of not very smart, but simple in the sense of what Taoists call wu-wei, or “going with the flow” or “acting naturally.” It’s what some Christian thinkers call “second simplicity” — not the pre-rational simplicity of a small child, but rather the trans-rational perspective of one who has recognized that life is filled with and surrounded by mystery, and allowing such mystery to just be, liberates us to focus on the important things: cultivating fearlessness, and kindness, and compassion; love of neighbors, and fostering a contemplative stance, beholding God as not just something done for a half hour each morning, but as an ongoing way of life.

We can think ourselves into knots, especially around the propositional ideas within religion: “how can an all-good God permit suffering and evil?” “why would God require belief in one particular person, i.e. Christ, in order for us to be acceptable to him?” “how can we reconcile the concept of hell with an all-loving deity?” and on and on. By the time I was in High School, questions like this burdened my faith. Looking back, I see their importance, in that wrestling with these issues  helped me to move beyond the naive simplicity of childhood into an adulthood in which I learned to discern my own conscience, to think for myself, and to take responsibility for my own actions, not just motivated by a reward/punishment system. But I also learned that questions like these are spiritual tar-babies, threatening to mire us in never-ending spirals of doubt and questioning that lead only to deeper chasms of meaninglessness. At some point, we have to say “enough”! And then everyone faces a choice: to retreat into a dogmatic position (fundamentalism, whether of the theist or atheist variety), or embrace the not-knowing, leading to an openness and willingness to marvel at the mystery. Here our choices are secular agnosticism (which, while a position I disagree with, I find much more respectable than dogmatic atheism) or what I call “holy agnosis” — a willingness to remain open to the mystery of faith, the experience of God, and the intuition that love is more than a biochemical process, but indeed is the heart not only of the universe but of the Ultimate Mystery from whom the universe comes. This willingness to enter what in the fourteenth century was christened “the cloud of unknowing” is the beginning, it seems to be, of the contemplative life. And it is also the beginning of a life lived in simplicity and prayer.

So simplicity then, is a willingness to live in mystery, chopping wood and carrying water because such things are the necessary tasks at any one moment. It’s living in the present, what de Caussade calls the “abandonment to divine providence.” It’s not sweating the small stuff, while recognizing that even the small stuff represents opportunities to live in love. Prayer is likewise very simple. It’s not merely about saying prayers, although saying prayers can be an important element of prayer. Rather, simple prayer is about orienting and calibrating our lives toward seeking, and responding to, and listening for, the love that cascades over us from the heart of the Divine Mystery. So it’s an ongoing process. As Saint Paul said, “pray without ceasing.”

I hope each of us can find time to breathe deeply today, and remember that we are held by a love that is deeper than what we can seek, or ask for, or imagine, or experience. Many blessings to you.

N.B. These are forthcoming titles, but click on the book cover and/or title to pre-order from Amazon.

Abide Keeping Vigil with the Word of God Macrina Wiederkehr, OSB September 2011 Price: $16.95	Wrestling with God Kilian McDonnell, OSB August 2011 Price: $10.95
The Radical Christian Life A Year with Saint Benedict Joan Chittister, OSB September 2011 Price: $15.95	The Road to Eternal Life Reflections on the Prologue of Benedict’s Rule Michael Casey, OCSO September 2011 Price: $19.95
Belonging to Borders A Sojourn in the Celtic Tradition Bonnie Thurston July 2011 Price: $14.95	Blessings of St. Benedict John Michael Talbot September 2011 Price: $15.95

Of course, the video that caught my eye teaches about the creation of the Book of Kells, set to the Beatles’Nowhere Man. Enjoy…

I’ve received a number of wonderful thank you notes from the monks and nuns who have received copies of the book for their libraries. Even though this book, written by a layperson, probably doesn’t tell monastics anything they don’t already know, the recipients have expressed gratitude for the gift.

If there is a community of monks or nuns who are important to you, would you consider donating a copy of The Big Book of Christian Mysticism to their library? You can have me send a copy for $16 (this is a special price, only for books donated to monastery libraries, please!) This price includes shipping to any monastery or convent in the United States (if you want to donate a book to a site outside the US, contact me for the cost). I can indicate to the receiving community who donated the book, or I can send it on behalf of you anonymously, whichever you prefer.

For more information (including a list of the monasteries and convents that have already received donated books), please visit this page: Would You Please Donate a Book to a Monastery Library?

"Of Gods and Men" — the monks of Tibhirine walk in the snow after being kidnapped by insurgents.

Of Gods and Men, the award-winning French film about Cistercian monks who lived at the Monastery of Tibhirine in Algeria and who were killed in 1996 during the Algerian civil war, will begin showing in Atlanta next Friday, April 1. I had the privilege to attend an advance screening sponsored by Sony Pictures today. The film has already been screening in New York, Los Angeles, and other major cities, so you can fairly easily find reviews of it online. And for the most part, it’s getting plenty of praise. Metacritic rates the film at 86% and Rotten Tomatoes scores it at 92%. Not bad for a film dealing with questions of faith! Meanwhile, over at the Huffington Post, Jesuit author James Martin calls Of Gods and Men “the best movie on faith I’ve ever seen.” That may seem hyperbolic, but I have to admit, I’m not having any luck thinking of a better one.

The film moves slowly, and is for the most part quiet and contemplative; at times it felt like I was watching the Cistercian answer to Into Great Silence, the 2005 German documentary about Carthusian monks. The film repeatedly takes us back to the liturgy (sung beautifully in French), just as the normal day in the life of a monk repeatedly returns to the prayer of the community; as the movie progresses, this continual returning to the liturgy functions almost like a refrain to the poetic unfolding of the film’s story. One thing that really makes this movie shine is how authentic it is in its portrayal of the humanity of the monks, warts and all. Several of them are irascible and downright ornery, at one point one utters an extremely not-nice word. His companion mutters “he’s tired,” almost as if to make an excuse to the audience. People who have romanticized notions about monks never wearing anything other than their habits and never ever leaving the cloister will find a much more realistic portrayal of the down-to-earth men who have chosen to live alongside, and truly with, the simple but loving villagers who depend on them for medical care and friendship. Their life as a community of monks, in all its simplicity, humility, and sheer ordinariness, is presented in a beautiful, understated, matter-of-fact way — which is why I think the film succeeds not only as great cinema but as a great testament to faith.

But of course, it’s a foreboding film, for the way it ends is pretty obvious even to those who may not know the true story upon which it is based. All but two of the monks are kidnapped and killed. But are they martyrs? They died for political more than religious reasons, pawns in a contentious civil war with social and economic as much as religious dimensions. The movie does a fine job of pointing out how the monks, especially their prior, Christian, are so accepting of Islam — and how the Muslim villagers return the respect and acceptance to the Trappists. Even one particularly tense encounter with insurgents on a Christmas eve is resolved in favor of interfaith understanding, to the point that the leader of the fighters apologizes to Brother Christian for disturbing them on their holy night!

Well, of course the monks of Tibhirine are martyrs — but (and I believe the movie does a stellar job at communicating this message) their martyrdom arises not from how they died, but from how they lived. The word martyr simply means “witness,” after all — there’s no inherent necessity that a martyr is someone whose blood is shed, even though historically the Christian understanding of a martyr involves someone who is killed for their faith in Christ. But the monks of Tibhirine make choices in their lives because of their faith, and in the end those choices place them in harm’s way. But that’s not what really matters. What matters is that they loved their neighbors. What matters is that they refused to back down from their principles that the monastery was a place of peace, where anyone — of any political persuasion — was welcome, so long as that person respected the peace of the place. What matters is that they knew that to abandon the monastery, and their neighbors, was in a very real way a worse “death” than remaining faithful to their mission in Algeria — even though they knew the odds were stacked against their own safety.

The prior, Christian, at one point notes that staying in the midst of that war-torn region was absurd — “as absurd as becoming a monk,” he wryly notes. And this is the movie’s powerful moral. Making a choice to give our lives to God is what ultimately matters, at least to people of faith. And if we make that choice, then all other choices arise from, and can only be understood in terms of, the logic of that foundational commitment. The monks gave themselves to Christ, and they found Christ in their neighbors — even in a small village of impoverished people whose ethnicity, nationality, and religion differ from their own. But that doesn’t matter; loving their neighbors does.

I believe the story of these Algerian Trappists and their community is filled with hope for a future where Christians and Muslims can learn to live peacefully together, even though this particular tale ended tragically (read John Kiser’s wonderful book The Monks of Tibhirine for more insight into this). I had hoped that the movie would make a more forceful argument about recognizing the difference between ordinary people of faith (whether Christian or Muslim) and those who use their faith as an ideological weapon (which, alas, can be seen within both faiths). The point is made, just not as clearly as I would have hoped. But this is a movie that is anchored in understatement, so perhaps I should not harp on this for too long. It could have easily been ruined by politically-correct grandstanding, and thankfully it never comes close to that.

A couple of Muslim friends of mine in Oregon recently previewed the film and, along with two Catholic viewers (one of whom is a Trappist), offered their own response to the film, particularly in terms of how it addresses the question of relations between Christians and Muslims. They raise some good cautionary points, notably in how the film doesn’t tell enough of the back story, that the conflict in Algeria in the 1990s could only be understood in light of the sorry legacy of French colonialism. They all seem rather pessimistic in the film’s promise for fostering better relations between members of the two faiths. That makes me sad. Maybe because I’ve read Kiser’s book, I saw more hope in the film; Kiser does such a good job in explaining the back story that I went in to the film with at least a sense of the complex historical forces at work. So that would be my recommendation: see this film, but read the book, too. And pray, following the inspiring words of Brother Christian, that Christians may learn to see Muslims the way God sees Muslims (and vice versa). If we could all pray for this, and work to make it real, then I think we could say that the Cistercian brothers of Tibhirine did not die in vain.

The first one, Of Gods and Men is a French film that will be released in American theaters this February. The second one, Mysteries of the Jesus Prayer is available for rent or purchase from iTunes.

The Abbey Church. Photo by Haven Sweet.

An early snowy morning. Photo by Haven Sweet

Inside the Cloister. Photo by Haven Sweet.

The Abbey Store (where I work). Brrrr! Photo by Haven Sweet.

You can see more of the “Snow at the Monastery” photos at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit Facebook page.

If you like this blog, I think I can safely say you’ll love this movie. So go see it if you can, or at the very least, plan on renting or buying the DVD when it is released. Thankfully, Von Trotta doesn’t seem to have any axes to grind, which makes for a rich movie that I think could be enjoyed by both the convinced faithful and the thoughtful skeptic.

Below is the movie’s trailer, which will give you a sense of the lovely cinematography. I think the trailer plays up the idea of Hildegard as a proto-feminist and church rebel; thankfully the movie itself is much more nuanced in how it portrays Hildegard’s occasional conflicts with her superiors.