The Monastic Life

Discipline. Robes. Chanting. Prayers. Psalms. Chastity. Poverty. These are things which characterize the life of a monk or nun--those who commit to a monastic way of life. Since the time of the Reformation, Protestants have abandoned monastic traditions. Language about spiritual discipline and devotion, however, remained in Protestant traditions and it seems the monastic tradition has resurfaced in different ways.

My own religious private school retained key monastic contributions. Prayer, chapel, a biblical thread in every class, and uniforms are the obvious connections. Most striking is the canonical hours of monastic liturgy (there are eight of them) that nearly matched the times for the eight class periods each opening with 10-15 min of prayer. The spiritual formation ingrained into me--the structure of devotion and prayer--left a deep impression on my education. I was a good southern baptist until I encountered critical thinking in biblical studies. I was a good, structured, devout Christian until I engaged in a community lacking spiritual disciplines. I am still devout and consider myself engaged in high level of spiritual formation, but the discipline of my earlier religious education is missing. Being a divinity student who thinks deeply about the Bible and theology seven days a week, the simple rigor of the monastic tradition is beyond my reach.

A Walk in the Woods

Every city has its natural escape. A walk in the wooded hills of Nashville is one of the few graces of a land-locked, cold place. The trees still suffer the death of winter, but a slow resurrection is coming--a transformation into the green freshness of spring-summer. Since moving to Nashville, I have come to appreciate the full cycle of seasons despite my loathing of all things connected with winter. The beauty of the dead trees is the imaginative expectation or remembering of the once green place. Sitting on a rock in the middle of the forest one can remember how the green changed the scene yet see far deeper into the trees than possible when leaves hinder the view. The death of winter allows one to see far deeper within the forest... and maybe the self, too. When the forest is so quiet without the humming of insects or rustling movement of chipmunks, distractions are few and inner meditation is more pronounced. The walk in the forest is more delightful when a friend comes along. Something good can come out of the stillness in winter....despite the bitter cold.