Murky Waters Revisited

I’m resisting the temptation to go through my 2012 blog and write a “sister” blog, each corresponding with the topics I addressed at that time. If I do that, I think I might be constrained by what I shared previously and be less honest now.

That’s not to say that I don’t remember some of the blogs and I certainly refreshed my memory by reading through them when I was thinking about writing for the anniversary. Some of the blogs were very significant to me. One that stands out was called “Murky Waters,” which addressed the nature of faith. I want to write about this again as it the bedrock of my call, indeed, any call, to monastic life.

Some people have a very clearly defined faith: It’s X, Y and Z, which means you can be sure of A, B and C. I don’t believe like that. For me, the clearest thing is that faith is not knowledge. I know that 2+2=4. There are various means to demonstrate the accuracy of this fact. My belief in God is of a different order. It’s born of experience, the experience that there is something that is both within me and beyond me that is greater than I.  I draw closer, experience God more fully, the less I think and the more I open myself up in trust to mystery and darkness and not knowing.

Trust is crucial. I have to trust my instinct that the way to God is something which I can’t describe, can’t map out, can’t explain and can’t quantify. I’m struggling right now for words to convey what I mean and I’m failing to find them because God is more than I can encompass. Paradoxically, I can only become part of that “moreness” by accepting and letting the darkness of non-understanding flood through me and fill me with the Divine Presence.

In 2012, the waters of faith were murky. They are still murky in 2019. I expect them to remain murky and that is just fine.

Sister Karen Rose, OSB                                                      January 25, 2019

Happily Ever After?

Before I made perpetual profession in July 2012, I never thought about what it would be like afterwards. Everything in me was focused on the act of making profession. In theory, I knew it was not about that single act and that what I was doing was committing myself to a way of life. In practice, however, I assumed that I was simply taking the final step into “happy ever after.”

I want to make it clear that, right now, I am certainly not unhappy, but the journey to 2019 has been filled with good things and bad things, light-hearted things and challenging things. In other words, it’s been filled with life! Believe me, entering a monastery does not protect you from life’s ups and downs. You live them out in a particular context, but you continue to be called to live a real life which is by no means trouble-free.

In future weeks, I’ll be exploring some of the challenges and joys specifically associated with monastic life. This week, I’ll talk about some of the things that threw me for a loop because I’d moved a long way from home.

When I came, I imagined somehow that home would stay the same. The same people would live in the same places and it would always be there to go back to. Not so. People moved house and location; they started new careers, got married, had babies, got sick, retired; children grew up. Then people actually died. Two of my aunts and two dear friends have passed since I entered the monastery. It is hard when I miss celebrations at home, but I cannot begin to say how unspeakably difficult it is when someone close needs you and you are not there. It made me feel selfish. It seemed I’d come here and totally not considered the impact that might have on others.

I also found it difficult having no-one around who had known me as I grew up, no-one with whom I had shared memories, no-one who knew the places that were special to me. This gets better as time goes on because, having been here ten years, I’ve amassed memories and shared experiences with sisters and others who are now friends, but there is still that slight sense of loss and longing.

Conversely, when you live somewhere, you are affected by the issues and concerns of that place. I still keep up with a daily one-minute news video from the BBC, but I’m really conscious that I’m more aware of American events, politics and concerns than British ones. It’s not that I don’t care about what happens in my homeland, but I’m at one remove, I’m not experiencing it. That, too, creates a sense of loss.

Leaving Britain hasn’t been all good, but it’s certainly not all bad. I can’t say that I’m living happily ever after, but I’m certainly not living unhappily ever after. I would sum up the pluses by saying that moving to a different country has made me more sensitive as a human being, more aware of other people’s feelings and more aware of, and grateful for, the people in my life both sides of the Atlantic.

Sister Karen Rose, OSB                                                           January 18, 2019

Getting Reacquainted

On July 11, 2019, it will be ten years since I made first profession and seven years since I made perpetual profession. I decided to keep an anniversary blog on the monastery website. I shall also publish this blogs here.

SEEKING GOD: ONE WOMAN’S JOURNEY CONTINUES

Getting Reacquainted

My name is Karen Rose. I’m a Benedictine sister at Saint Benedict’s Monastery in Minnesota. I made first profession of monastic promises (vows) on July 11, 2009, and perpetual profession three years later on July 11, 2012. Before making perpetual profession, I wrote a blog for six months sharing my experience of why I felt called to monastic life and the ups and downs of the road. It’s now ten years since I made first profession and I decided to write a blog reflecting on my experience as a professed sister. I’ll be keeping it for six months again, so the last blog will be published on July 11, 2019.

This first week, I thought I should reacquaint you with who I am. I come from the United Kingdom. I was brought up as an Anglican, but knew from the age of 12 that I wanted to be a Catholic. I took instruction whilst a student studying philosophy and theology, and was received into the Catholic Church when I was 20. Following my BA, I worked for 18 months as a nursing assistant at a hospice in London and eventually trained as a Registered Nurse. Most of my career was spent in healthcare research, concentrating on quality of life issues for patients and families. I obtained an MSc in 1992 and a PhD in 1996. I always saw work as being something which should flow out of my faith and convictions. I guess healthcare work fulfilled that theoretically but, while I have certainly experienced great satisfaction from some of the work I did, I always felt that something was missing. I wanted more.

By 2005, I had reached a stage in my life when I knew that I wanted to simplify it, pare it down and have more space for prayer and for God. I'll just pause at this point to say that I was, in many ways, very happy. I was blessed to have close, loving and supportive relationships, opportunities to travel and recreate in ways that I found satisfying and life-giving, and work that had the potential to help others. I wouldn't describe myself as being overly religious, in the sense that I wasn't very involved in parish life and had periods when I didn’t attend church. However, I spent quite a lot of time talking to God, made a retreat occasionally and was blessed with friends who, whatever their religious belief and practice, took their inner life seriously and with whom I could explore issues about faith and the meaning of life. There just kept being this inner "voice" that was saying, "There must be something more."

So, how did I get to Saint Benedict's Monastery? I will be honest and say that for the previous ten years the thought had come to me periodically that maybe I was called to religious life, but I NEVER wanted to be a nun, so I always pushed it away with a "Why would I want to do that?" I had certainly never looked for any order to enter. If I had, I would have looked in England, so the ideas of 'monastery-me-America' were not connected in my mind. I came for a two-week stay in the monastery’s Studium program (details at www.sbm.osb.org) in the summer of 2005 to work on a research paper and to investigate some healthcare questions comparing US practice to UK practice. I never dreamed that I was coming to what would turn out to be my new home.

Sister Karen Rose, OSB      

January 11, 2019

On the Altar

I'm both sad and happy to be writing be writing this last blog: sad because it is the last one, and happy because I have a sense of coming home as I reach this point in my life. I shall, however, be making a monthly contribution to our regular website blogs, so you can keep in touch there, if you'd like (www.sbm.osb.org). Also on the website, there will be a video clip of highlights of the profession Eucharist.

Well, July 11 was undoubtedly full of grace! During the past week, I'd been conscious of a nervous anticipation about making profession, but it was more about preparing for the ceremony and wanting it to be meaningful for  me and all those who attend, rather than about my choice. I was sure I was called by God when I entered in 2007. At first profession, in 2009, I was making a lifelong commitment in my heart, so my perpetual profession in 2012 is simply a confirmation of what I had already promised. Seeing perpetual profession in this light has enabled me to be fully present to each moment and to enjoy this very sacred time in my life.

So, what was the day like? I felt carried by the prayers of all those I knew to be praying for me and thinking about me wherever in the world they were. In the chapel, I felt entirely surrounded by good wishes, support and care. People, music, liturgy all conspired to lift my spirit toward the light. They didn't distract me at all; instead, they helped me to focus on God, and my experience was characterized by a sense of what I can best describe as sacred intimacy. At the same time, I was conscious that I was making profession in the name of the Church, which is something greater than individuals or single issues. In my profession, I consciously gave myself within, in the words of the Creed, "the one, holy, Catholic, apostolic Church" which Christ founded.

The highlights of the service were when I made the promises of stability, fidelity to the  monastic way of life (conversatio) and obedience, signed the profession document, sang the Suscipe ("Receive me, O God, as you have promised and I shall live/Do not disappoint me in my hope"), prostrated before the community to ask for their prayers, and was blessed and received by them. For me, however, the most profound experience was seeing the prioress lay my signed profession document on the altar where it remained throughout the sacrifice of the Mass, symbolizing how, in committing myself to monastic life, I had given myself over completely and unreservedly to God. Beyond that, I felt myself united with the mystery of the life, death and resurrection of our Lord, which we celebrate in the Eucharist. I didn't have a moment of understanding the mysteries of the universe (the waters remain murky), but I did feel myself to be at one with divine unknowing.

Pascal's Dice

I think I must have accidentally deleted the original of this, published July 4, so here is a copy.

A week to go before profession. I feel centered. I don't know what the rest of my life will hold, but I feel assured that I am called to live in this community according to the Rule of St. Benedict. In the words of the psalmist, "I am confident and unafraid."

Being confident and unafraid is not the same as being unaware. I walk towards July 11 still in the understanding that I am choosing to do this freely, and in the knowledge that I could be getting it wrong. I don't mean getting it wrong at the level of making a mistake about doing what's best for me, but getting it wrong at the deeper level about the primacy of the search for ultimate meaning.

There are certain authors who write something which speaks to me profoundly, and however often I read it or think about what they wrote, it gives me a renewed sense of rightness, of having hit a primal truth. Blaise Pascal (1623-1662), French Catholic writer, philosopher, physicist and mathematician is one of these. In the Pensees, he speaks of how human beings are faced with a choice: to believe in God or not. Either God exists or God does not exist: there is no middle road. He likens our choice to a game of dice. The game is in play. You must bet, for or against God and, when you've placed your bet, everything, EVERYTHING hangs on the roll of the dice. That sums up how I feel at this moment. I am staking my whole life, for God, on the roll of the dice. I have no guarantees about the outcome. I am reaching for Infinite  but, because I am not infinite, I am always reaching forward into mystery and darkness. I am standing on the edge of a cliff and I understand I'm launching myself into darkness. To my great surprise, I don't feel anxious, I don't feel uncertain. On the contrary, I feel completely calm. The moment is at hand when I shall say a universal "YES!"

My resolve is firm, but it is also a great comfort to have the prayers of friends. I'd like to ask those of you who have been accompanying me on my journey to pray for me in these next days. You might be surprised at how large and diverse our "blog community" is. I have been. There have been over 3,000 hits since I started writing in January, coming from 36 countries across the globe. Thanks to all of you for listening and sharing my journey.

By the way, it might be Thursday next week (July 12) when I publish the last in the series. I think July 11 is going to be rather full ... of grace, I hope!

Personal Prayer

I have been somewhat putting off writing this blog, but there are only three more to go and I feel the moment is upon me. Personal prayer has, of course, been a vital part of my discernment. My difficulty is that that I don't have a method and I'm back in murky waters trying to convey anything about my personal prayer life. I don't have anything against methods, and I know many people find them helpful. For several years, I used to believe that if I could only find the right method a whole new world of certainty about divine mysteries would open up. I have, however, generally found myself either distracted by my consciousness of the method. Method thus became a barrier rather than assistance in my prayer life. The fact of needing a special method made prayer seem difficult.

One happy day, the thought crossed my mind that there was God, all-powerful, all-seeing, all-knowing, and here was little me, with none of those attributes, and exactly how hard was God going to make it for me? I steer clear of descriptions of God because our human perception and vocabulary can't describe the Infinite, but I do feel confident to say that God is not petty. This enables me to see my prayer life simply. Simplicity is the key. Everything about God is simple. We make the complications. We erect the barriers. Often that's a defence, because identifying complexity often means being able to argue that I would do what I think God is asking, but..., when God is actually suggesting simply that I DO IT.

This insight has really freed me in my personal prayer life. Sometimes I talk to God one on one (this includes complaining, asking, questioning, expressing gratitude, being angry, etc.); sometimes I just sit in silence and let whatever happpens happen: I let myself be in God. If my mind drifts, I offer the drift to God. In the last few years, I have re-discovered the value of devotional prayers, such as the rosary. I don't think God scores me on how I approach my prayer. I feel the important thing, as in so many aspects of life, is perseverance: keep on praying even when it's hard, when it's dry, when there is no answer. The purpose of my prayer is to help me enter more closely into the divine mystery and that means, frequently, praying into the darkness.

Obedience

I'm posting early because I shall be absent from my computer for a week doing some intensive study and reflection with my director. This means you will have about 10 days to ponder monastic obedience before my next post.

 It seems as if everyone has a view about what the promise of monastic obedience means. Usually it's seen as doing what you are told, and it's often implied that, in order to promise it, you have to be the kind of person who is unquestioning and quite happy to give up thinking for themselves. Well, it's not like that at all.

Firstly, it's important to see all the monastic promises as being made in the context of free will. As a consenting, adult person, I am choosing this life. I am choosing  to make these promises. I shall make them publicly on July 11, but every day of my life thereafter I shall be consciously recommitting myself to the choice and the promise. So, I am always freely obedient.

Secondly, monastic obedience isn't merely doing what you are told. It is not about being asked to suspend your intelligence and judgment. Essentially, it is about mutual listening. So, for example,  if you are asked to take on a new ministry, the question would only be put to you after the prioress or superior had prayerfully considered what the community needed and who might be the person to fulfill that need. The sister would then, in turn, be asked to discern the matter. The possibility exists to explain why you think this might not be a good fit, and to ask for it to be reconsidered. What I'm trying to show here is that monastic obedience is interactive and inter-personal. It's seminal to our life in community, which is underpinned by love and respect for the other. Therefore, it's not intended to negate anyone, but to enable the possibilities that flow from learning not to put ourselves first.

Finally, it's important to remember that, ultimately, our obedience is to God, and that always means taking a risk. In answering this call to make perpetual profession, I am certain that I am accepting an invitation from God and, in that sense, I think I'm right to do it. I'm right ... but in the dark. I don't know where it will lead, I don't know what the final outcome will be. But I am prepared to be obedient to it, trusting in God  that all shall be well: that through stability in the way of life, daily trying consciously to turn my life toward God (conversatio) and being obedient to what I hear God asking of me, I will become increasingly aware of the divine mystery permeating all creation.