God is so good, you guys.
I know I say that a lot on this blog, but it’s true. This past week was a stressful one for me. I had an anthropology presentation about the conflict between the neoliberal discourse on child labor and local contextual views (how is that for academic jargon) to give in class on Tuesday, and a seven page research paper for my special education class due that day as well. The research paper ended up being more like nine pages and not up to my normal standard of writing due to my struggle to gain access to relevant research on the topic I chose. However, , if you would like to know more about Montessori education and autism, I have nine extra copies of my paper that I accidentally printed out that you’re more than welcome to read. (Needless to say, Tuesday wasn’t my best day.) Later on in the week, I had a midterm for my intro to psych class, which is always trickier than it should be, two budgets for next year to fill out for the Student Budget Committee, and the rest of my normal extracurricular/leadership roles to juggle as well. Sometimes I think I’ve taken on too much.
But then, all of a sudden, it went away, or to be more exact, I went away. I cannot tell you how good it is to leave the Swat Bubble sometimes, even if it’s only for another bubble. On Friday afternoon, the second after my mini-seminar ended, I hopped in a van with the Protestant advisor and some other Christian students on campus and headed to a monastery in Upstate New York. It was bliss, you guys. So wonderful.
Ok. Maybe I should back up and say that at first it wasn’t. At first, I felt a little out of place with the unfamiliarity of the monks’ chanting, the complete silence we were suppose to keep for 36 hours, and the average age of the rest of the visitors. (Except for one woman’s son, I think I was the youngest person there.) But after reading a few chapters of Don Miller’s book Blue Like Jazz, and getting twelve hours of restful sleep (the best part about visiting a monastery: the Great Silence practiced after compline until the morning makes for perfect sleeping), I felt like I could handle a day and a half of no speaking. I did my anthropology reading on child consumerism, read more of Don Miller’s book (which I highly recommend to both my Christian and non-Christian friends), attended the midday service, and, most blissful of all, went for a run in Black Creek Preserve.
Words cannot describe how beautiful that run was. Luckily, I brought my phone with in case I got lost and needed to call someone, so I was able to take a few pictures. However, the quality’s not so great.
The monastery is right on the Hudson River, which I found out later from one of the monks is actually a fjord, at least in that part, and not a river. The Norwegian in me was so happy when I heard that. It’s been my lifelong dream to see a fjord, though I’m sure the ones in Norway are much better.
Anyways, I realized as I was running the three miles to get to that spot on the river that the things in life that make me truly happy –not smile on your face happy, but instead deep spiritual, “my life has meaning” happy — are actually some of the simplest, least commodified things around: running, nature, and solitude. Every time I find myself going alone on a run through a place really natural and beautiful, I also find myself falling more and more in love with Christ.
This is not to say at all that I want to live my life as a recluse, simply going on runs alone and trying to find God. In fact, I think what struck me most while being with the monks this weekend and reading Blue Like Jazz is the need for true community in the church (and in society in general). Not “a see each other for an hour on Sunday, leave right after the service, or maybe grab a cookie for 5 min. and then leave” kind of community where everyone returns to their separate, two-person suburban homes, but real, intentional, “the church is your family” community. I was struck by the idea of sacrificing one’s own personal interest for the interests of others, of tangibly experiencing the love of God by loving and being loved by others. It has often been said both inside and outside the church that monasticism is a tradition that is dying out. However, I think the reality of it is much more complex than that, and in my generation alone, people are finding there is a real need for deeper, more substantial relationships that give life meaning. I think monasticism is being redefined.
the quirkiness of the urban landscape 