A Visit to Walsingham

I have been curious about Walsingham for a long time. In 1982 I was introduced to Our Lady of Walsingham in a New York City parish. Urban decline had robbed her of her fleur-de-lys staff and she had a sheen of city grime, and I felt the whole business of an English Nazareth pretty far away and irrelevant. In those days, the parish was championing the cause of those opposed to the ordination of women so I rather lumped Our Lady of Walsingham into that camp, never kissing her image as some enthusiasts did.

But then I met some people who were as liberal as me (!) and held deep affection for all that Walsingham is about. So I have had a desire to get there and see for myself. A year or so ago SSF established a tiny friary there, and this year, during my visit to the European Province I made a point of going to Walsingham. Below are Brothers Paschal and Maximilian in front of the Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham.


It is picture perfect, and early summer is the best time to see the beautiful gardens. I stayed in the bedroom used by the founder of the modern Shrine Fr. Hope Patten (upstairs in this house).


Yes, there are lots of people opposed to the ordination of women in Walsingham. But there were some women priests there, though not celebrating Mass. There were lots of school children and people of various races and social backgrounds. I had a chance to talk with the Warden, Bishop Lindsey, and he was quite emphatic in refuting my prejudices about Walsingham.

So, yet again I had to re-consider things. My spiritual journey has a well established pattern of adamantly held opinions gradually eroded away through exposure and prayer. I have an Anglican fault in that I make snap aesthetic judgments, and I can get quite worked up about "good taste." I didn't like the paintings in the Shrine so was ready to dismiss the whole thing. But then a small voice advised me to pray not criticize.

Sometimes I got a bit of a headache from all the prayer as thing after thing bothered me. Until I decided to live and let live. "Don't let it bother you, so!" I could friends' voices in my head.

In spite of myself I enjoyed the procession around the Shrine gardens during the evening, carrying candles aloft. Everytime we sang "Hail Mary" we hoisted the candles above our heads. I remembered our torchlit labyrinth walks at Little Portion Friary, and all the people from every faith and background who joined us on those pilgrimages round and round the labyrinth.


One of the themes that kept getting emphasized: "What has Our Lady given you in your pilgrimage visit?"

I wanted to disclaim: "I'm just here to visit the brothers! Not a pilgrimage!" But my journal is full of notes from a book I was reading at the time called "Reshaping Ecumenical Theology." I was especially intrigued with the idea of "reception." And the magazine on top of the shifting mound of papers in the brothers' common room in the friary had a long and helpful article about reception by Dame Mary Tanner--a theologian I respect. So I decided that this is what Our Lady had to teach me. Reception is the process by which the church welcomes change: slowly, and marked by integrity, humility and spiritual maturity. I read about the hundreds of years it took the Church to accept the Nicene Creed. Obviously it is about not jumping to conclusions, making snap judgments, adopting either/or, black/white positions. I thank God I am not an ecumencial officer of any denomination; but I am every day asked to give an account of the faith that is in me. If I hurt others, or diminish them, or write them off I am only demonstrating the insufficiency of my love and intellectual and spiritual stamina. To give up on other people is a sin.

Thank you Mary.

Visiting Alnmouth

Alnmouth is a tiny village in the far north of England, not far from Scotland. The brothers have lived here, in a rehabilitated house for a long time. I say "rehabilitated" because after it's salad days as a luxury home it became a night club ("and worse" as late Brother Edward might have said). You can just speculate about that...

As a friary it has been the staging area for missions throughout the North of England. Brothers are always coming and going out from this place, and it has hosted thousands of people seeking peace and quiet to sort through their life and vocation. Perched over the sea side it is a perfect place for mulling over the meaning of life.


But the friars don't let much moss grow on their feet. They are a busy lot, five of them hosting a steady stream of guests--cooking, cleaning, offering beautiful worship and attentive hospitality. The Franciscan flavor of it all is that there is no separation between guests and brothers. No separate guest house, no separate dining room, everyone included in the prayers and chapel life. Sometimes of course it can be a bit much, but as elegant as the surroundings are, it is all about poverty: no control over much of life, having to accept and thrive in the circumstances where we find ourselves, offering to God our longing to run away from it all and finding grace to be gracious--yet again and again. I admire all that they do.

Today, Sunday, we are getting ready for the annual Garden Open Day sponsored by the Rotary Club in the village. Rotarians are everywhere erecting tents and different games. It is a money making day to support various local charities. It's raining but everybody still expects a good turnout, as the English never let a bit of rain spoil their fun! The friars collaborate with the Rotary Club by offering the beautiful gardens as the site. So I have spent the week gardening: mowing the lawn, weeding, sweeping. I find these kinds of activities deeply healing, transporting me back to my adolescence when I worked as a lawn boy and all around jack-of-all-trades for various people. I lose myself in a dreamy state of mind, moving to rhythms of lawn mower and broom, bending, lifting, praying and giving thanks. Sometimes people express concern for my "busy life" not knowing it is only busy on paper. The actual living of it is slower than most peoples' lives. The only sacrifice is stability.

But what mendicant wants THAT?

Praise the Lord!

This morning we heard a rousing homily from a brother from Belfast on the need to praise God. It certainly captured my mood. There is much to be thankful for: a terrific week of meetings here at Hilfield Friary in Dorset, England, not forgetting beautiful weather (always remarkable here in England). The people, the setting, the sense of new things happening has inspired me.

The week began with a pilgrimage from the local nearby parish in Cerne Abbas to the friary. It is a yearly event, and very neighborly. About 40 people walked through the stunning countryside. Great fun, and a chance to show off their dogs,
the event is truly a pilgrimage, a visit to a holy place. The walk is punctuated with scripture reflections, and upon reaching the friary, a huge "cream tea" is set out, a collaborative effort between the parish and friary community featuring cakes and sandwiches. The event culminates in a lovely Evensong.

The theme of pilgrimage continued into the meetings during the week. The brothers had an historic meeting here, in which they decided to have an annual all brothers' Chapter. There was a strong sense that it was time for such a development in the province, and the brothers are eager to see this happen. As one brother pointed out, the community has traveled a long way, andenjoyed the guidance of the Holy Spirit. There is a high level of enthusiasm for sharing the responsibilities in the province. I was deeply moved by the seeming transformation among the group as they met in small groups and then came back to the plenary sessions eager to move forward. I was braced for cynicism, but there was none of it. The facilitator listened particularly well, and skillfully named the deepest longings of the group and framed the discussion. A very heartening process.

But it hasn't been only about the meetings. The community at Hilfield has also continued to develop and proceed on it's pilgrimage together. Both friars and other people have been living together at the friary, and it is great to see the things that were talked about before actually happening! The sheep are lambing, chickens are laying, the garden is growing. Patches of lawn are given over to wildflowers, encourage different insects. It really is about a conversion, learning to see and value things differently. I love neatly tended lawns but they are not always the most helpful to the ecosystem.

The Community of St. Francis, our First Order Sisters, are moving out of Compton Drville, their huge old manor house in Somerset. They are moving to much smaller premises. During a break in our Joint Chapter we moved some furniture out. The tone deaf piano enjoyed a last hurrah curbside.

We have had quite a busy few days: and Chaper is not even half over. Here we are all pictured with the Bishop of Long Island after Mass on Friday



One of the first things we did was to welcome our new novice, Br. James-Paul


Sister Jean, Minister Provincial of CSF spent a couple hours knotting the new ropes for the four brothers who were professed today.


At noon today, Br. Jude, the Minister Provincial of the Province of the Americas opened the liturgy where we professed four brothers; it has been many years since we professed four men at once.


From right to left, we professed Brother James, Brother Maximilian Kolbe, Brother Ambrose Cristobal, and Brother Simon. Pictured at the far left of the photo is Brother Jacob, one of our first year novices.


Here the Brothers are signing the documentation of the vows they have made.


Following the Profession (with an amazing sermon by Br. Richaard Jonathan the Novice Guardian, we all went upstairs for a terrific Mexican lunch of soup, salad and tamales! There was a huge cake.

And then it was back to work in the Chapter room; what an exceptional day it has been.

Thanks be to God!

Pay Attention!

One of the keys to a happy life is to pay attention to people and circumstances. Tripping obliviously along does not bode well for the spiritual life either.

But I don't always pay attention. Sometimes it is because I am tired. Other times I don't pay attention because what needs attending to is beyond my ken and unavailable to me.

For instance, Saturday I was returning from a short run and, relishing the golden sun on Mt. Sinai harbor, I decided it would be the perfect evening to inaugurate the canoe for this season. Br. Max was willing, so we wrestled the craft upside down onto our shoulders, hiding our heads, and bumbled like an enormous sow bug down the hill from Little Portion to the little bit of marsh which is our "beach." Cars slowed way down when they saw the four-legged green thing alongside the road.

We opted for the shortcut to the harbor, and blundered through sticker bushes, over fallen logs and through sharp bladed grass. Finally we reached the harbor.

"Uh-oh," said Max.

"What's wrong?" I asked peering from beneath the canoe.

"Tide's out."

"The tide?!" I stammered. "I never thought of that."

Being naturally impatient I tried to slog through the mud and grass to reach the water. Max held back, laughing. I sank up to my knees in viscous, odoriferous muck, only saving my shoes by clenching my toes tightly. I admitted defeat.

"But I am not carrying this thing back up the hill until we get out on the water," I vowed.

So we stashed the canoe in a bramble thicket, deciding that nobody would be inclined to grapple with it and the menacing vegetation. And if they were, they would be welcome to the boat.

Sunday Br. Derek announced: "High tide at 12:45." We were learning to pay attention to new things.

Unsurprisingly, the canoe was still there. We slid it easily into the water and glided out across the grasses to the open water--several feet above the muddy sea floor. There is a line in Kenneth Grahame's "Wind in the Willows" at the very beginning, when Water Rat says to Mole as they set out in a boat: "Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing--absolutely nothing--half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats. Simply messing," he went on dreamily: "messing--about--in--boats; messing--" So begin their adventures and misadventures together. Reading them today I am reminded of the friars sometimes. But that line of Water Rat's has stayed with me from childhood. It expresses the epitome of pleasurable leisure.

So we paddled lazily, sometimes bumping into things, watching egrets, herons, ducks, geese and swans. Max saw a school of fish. We marveled at a jelly fish. We speculated on the happiness of the people who lived in the huge water-side mansions compared with ourselves in our canoe. Surprisingly (but why should it have been?), we knew some folks on one of the lobster boats and shouted greetings.

"Look at that!"

"Look at that over there!" we told each other. There was much to see and pay attention to.

Sometimes being told to "pay attention" can be threatening or chastening. But as we prepare for Pentecost this Sunday, it can be an invitation too. Consider yourself invited to take note of the breath-taking beauty around you, unimagined riches right in our back yards.

Alleluia. The Spirit of God fills the whole earth; holy widsom, herself unchanging, in Christ makes all things new. Alleluia.

Little Portion Friary

Home again, home again!

When I arrived late Monday evening, I pushed open the door of my room, to discover the unmade bed just as I left it in a rush in January. The half-full coffee cup on the bedside stand. The bathtowel at the foot of the bed.

No photos of that!!

A bit Dickensian: Miss Havisham came to mind. Since I left in winter the room had been left shut up tight, and the stale air reinforced the sense of possible spiders and dust everywhere. The only change was the presence of five huge packing boxes in the middle of the room: my drum, a favorite painting, a few books, and a suitcase of sweater and liturgical garments.

So Tuesday was devoted to unpacking, changing linens, getting organized.

Wednesday I washed windows: always try to reintegrate in friary life as quickly as possible!

The rest of the week has been bits of this and that. The highlight was the Confirmation of my friend Terry (she is the secretary at Little Portion).
It was great fun going off to the Cathedral and standing next to her as the Bishop anointed her and said a prayer. I was full of memories of my confirmation. Was it 1971? My word. A former curate from our parish was my sponsor. I was extremely nervous and keyed up. In those days Confirmation was also First Communion. We'd gotten some pretty heavey duty instruction on the significance of it all. So when the moment came to receive Communion I was holding my breath. Trying to drink from the Chalice I coughed explosively, spraying myself and everyone else with wine. Which made me laugh with mortification, and earned me a lecture to take the Sacrament seriously from the Rector. What a memory. Terry survived the day with great aplomb.

Later we had a delicious red velvet cake!!

Entertaining Angels Unaware

Every Friday night the brothers go out with a team from St. John's parish in Sao Paulo to distribute food, water, dry socks and blankets to the homeless. Nine of us squeezed into a VW van, which was loaded with huge vats of soup, plastic bottles of
water. we sat on folded blankets. They follow basically the same route in and around the neighborhood near the Anglican/Episcopal parish of St. John, stopping at every heap of refuse or muddle of blankets to shout "Good Evening!" Soon enough a beaming face would appear, and the team busily gave them basic survival supplies. Twice we were warned off with an expletive; but nobody blamed them--sleep is precious enough in a noisy place like Sao Paulo. The amazing thing to me was how delighted most of the people were to see us. One man wanted his picture taken with us. By 2:30 a.m. we'd given away all we had. We learned that other outreach teams have been visiting the same people; welcome news in one way, but it will mean a revised strategy.

Brothers are involved in direct service to the homeless in every SSF province around the world. Some are also involved in citizen's organizations that work to end poverty. In New Zealand I was asked if my vow of poverty meant I liked poor people
to be poor. Far from it. Degrading poverty is a sin. Religious poverty is about radical sharing. At every meal I pray: "...and make us mindful of the needs of each other and the poor." Some people have challenged us about enabling addicts; we
should be getting them to face the consequences of their actions and pushing them towards sobriety. Yes; but if they are dead from exposure or starvation, what is the good in that? In my own work with homeless people since 1983 I have learned that for
every "hopeless case" there is another ready to do the necessary hard work to get out of the bind of homelessness. But you just can't tell which is the one when you first meet.

We got up at noon, and I was feeling drained by the crazy sleep schedule. Then the door bell rang and three of Br. James' friends from across the street swept us off for a meal. Laughing, teasing, joking.
I felt I could have been in New York or
San Francisco--just got to crack the code of their lingo. But the bond of friendship, the joy of giving and receiving brightened the day.

As it did the night.