my monastery heart

I went to the Abbey again this week, with a sister this time.

I wanted the peacefulness, the stillness, the view from the mountain down into the valley. The ability to step away from everything for a moment.

It is beautiful.

I sat, breathing in the morning air, gazing out over the countryside, listening for God, quieting the mind, waiting for my heart to catch up with my body.

And my thoughts came back to the questions that have been following me like a shadow for a while, questions around myself, my heart, my soul, my emotions. Like Why are my feelings so muted lately? Why don't I let many people in? Why do I feel more disciplined than ever and yet still distant? 

I sat and breathed with a furrowed brow.

And in a still, small thought came the phrase, I've turned my heart into a monastery.

What?

But I started to think about it.

In so many ways, I have turned my heart into a monastery.

My heart, like the monastery, is known as a peaceful place, generally uninterrupted by the chaos of emotions and interactions. It can be a restful peace, but even I know that it is not a fully true peace. My heart, like this monastery, will not find peace by simply trying to avoid the disruptions of the world. Stillness, maybe. But the kind that becomes frozen by fear.


My heart, like the monastery, can be a beautiful place to retreat, to reconnect with myself and with God. But retreat cannot be the end game. I must go back down the mountain, like Jesus did, to the real world full of real people who my soul was made to be with. My heart must be more than a monastery - perhaps it is a tent that comes down the mountain with me!


My heart, like the monastery, delights in systems and traditions to ensure me that I'm doing things right. I implement inner rituals to reassure myself that I am on the right path, to preach to myself the truth again. With each added practice and discipline, I feel one step closer to being perfect, one step closer to being good enough. Good enough for a God who already told me that there's no need to earn his love, but I keep trying anyway. In my own monastic heart, I attend morning prayer. I keep my vigils in my pocket all day long. I compline at night.

I set up my inner critic as my priest, and she chastises me more than pardons me.

My monastery heart is set up on a mountain. The view is lovely. But the people are few. I built the monastery where only some would have the strength to climb, and even then find that many of the buildings are not open to the public. I moved away from the activities of the valley, claiming to be seeking God. And I have found him little by little. But perhaps it is down the mountain where he was meant to be found, in the people that he said he was in.


And so, as much as I love the monastery and the moment of solitary solace it offers, I am gently reminded that the mountain is for learning and equipping to go back down. To engage. To touch. To be affected. To walk amidst the chaos. To feel it all. To ache for heaven. To grow the kingdom. To heal and be healed. To teach and to learn. To find God in all his children.

I hardly claim to understand half of what I have written. I have no idea how to decipher the way forward, but I am learning to let go. I will let him take control of my monastery heart, and watch him transform it, watch him lead it down the mountain. That is all I can do.