I’ve only got a trickle of phone service (so no hot spot) and no Wi-Fi so I might not be able to post this for a few days, but I wanted to get these first impressions down right away––and I got plenty of time on my hands for the next three days. I’m in the town of, or at least in the region of, Bieniszew (biyeh-nyèh-chef), in western Poland but still about three hours from Frankfort which is right on the German border. In case you don’t know the story or these arcane Camaldolese facts…
First of all, two of St. Romuald’s first disciples, John and Benedict, were sent to establish a foundation here in Poland, an enterprise dreamed up by the young Emperor Otto, knowing that there would be a possibility of martyrdom since these were hostile barbarian lands. They, along with their three companions Mathew, Isaac, and Kristin, were indeed murdered by robbers. Hence making of them the Five Holy Martyrs, much celebrated here in Poland and of course dear to the heart of all Camaldolese. (Another of Romuald’s first disciples, the famous Bruno of Querfort, was also martyred with his companions a few years later, setting up the triplex bonum–threefold good of our congregation: solitude, community, and missionary-martyrdom. This spot is legendarily where the martyrdom of the Five Brothers happened, hence the name Eremus ss. Quinque Martyrum–The Hermitage of the Five Holy Martyrs. I am told that the major portion of their remains are not actually here, perhaps at a church in town, but just some pezzatini (“little pieces”), as I was told last night. More on that in a minute.
The other element of the story is that there are actually two extant branches of the Camaldolese. At one time there were three, but the group based near Venice, the so-called “cenobitic congregation” of St. Michael of Murano, got subsumed into the Tuscan Hermits in 1935. (Another long and kind of sad story…) A strictly eremitical branch was started by Paul Giustiniani, a Renaissance humanist who was instrumental at the Council of Trent, in the 16th century. They are known, at least by us, as the coronesi, because their original house was on Monte Corona. They are now very few in number, but I believe most populous here in Poland. (As a matter of fact, there was once a rumor that John Paul II was considering retiring back in Poland at a Camaldolese Hermitage.) This hermitage is a community of that eremitical branch. In all these years this is the first time I have ever been in a living Coronese community. Though our branch actually took over two former Coronesi houses in Italy, Monte Giove in Fano and San Giorgio on Lago di Garda. They are much more like the Carthusians and never entered into the Benedictine Confederation. When Fr. Prior introduced me to the brothers in the sacristy this morning, in Polska, about the only thing I understood was when he said, “O-s-b Cam.”
I’ve learned all kinds of interesting little facts about the history of Poland that play into the story of this place too. It was first begun in the early 17th century, but the church wasn’t consecrated until 1797, just a few years after Poland was chopped up by Russia, Prussia, and Austria. For a while this area was under Prussian rule but after Napoleon’s crusade it came under Russia. The hermitage did not thrive however and was dissolved in the late 1800s. The monks came back and reconsecrated the church in 1937, but then World War II erupted. Some of the monks were sent to concentration camps in Dachau and Ravensbruck, and the cloister and other buildings were occupied by the legendary Hitlerjugend (“Hitler youth”) who destroyed almost everything, even opening tombs and scattering monks’ bones in the nearby forest. It took 30 years after the war to reconstruct.
I didn’t mention the concert the night before. Nobody seemed to mind, but for me the day was really packed. The conferences were all scheduled for an hour and half (though I insisted on taking a stretch break after 45 minutes), then after our conference Saturday afternoon, we headed over to another location where we heard a talk from the director of the place. It was a fascinating venue, an old Jewish purification house, where bodies were prepared for burial in the cemetery which was directly behind the building. It had been built by a Jewish famous architect named Erich Mendelssohn and suffered all the ravages of World War II Poland and post-war neglect, before it was refurbished and is now one of the prides of the city of Olsztyn. It had a marvelous acoustic, for sure.
We then watched a beautiful film based on Andrzej’s photo essays of India and only after that did I do my musical performance. I was already pretty tired by then. I had carefully laid out this program which I am going to use in Germany and at Oxford as well, but given the lateness of the day and the length of time the audience had already sat through other things, I shortened it by three songs. I was singing very well too, I must say, and playing pretty well, but the guitar was fighting me a few times. Don’t know if it’s that the strings are old or because of the humidity of the place, but the strings felt really mushy. My fingers did forget a few things, but I recovered quickly and probably no one knew. Having a little more time to prepare myself after teaching all day would have been optimal. Anyway, the folks really loved it and sang along very well in spite of it being in English.
By the time that was over I was exhausted. There were several people who wanted to talk with me every free moment I had, some of whom were staying with me at the retreat center, and that was getting very tiring for me. My introverted side was aching. So, with Alicjia’s help I slipped through the crowd back to the center and took some food back to the solitude of my room.
Sunday, we started the day with Mass at the cathedral around the corner. The original plan, which I had just skimmed and not really thought through, was to have Mass ourselves. When I realized that and pointed out to Andrzej that I did not speak Polish and not many people would know the responses in English, he said “That’s alright. We can have a silent Mass” as I take it they do sometimes with Fr. Laurence with the WCCM. I think he thought I was being hyper-careful not to cross the Vatican when I objected to that, but what I meant was that that would go against everything the Second Vatican Council had fought for (i.e., participation!), and it was not good to model that to folks. That’s when Andrzej and Alicjia came up with the idea to go to the cathedral instead and I agreed to “concelebrate.” (Life is a “word event” and that’s another term I have lots of issues with…_
Again, it was interesting to be somewhere and not speak a word of the language, although there was a deacon who was also attending our retreat who helped translate. The rather young parish priest came in and didn’t say a word to me even with a translator, just shook my hand and got business. And I sat mutely on the side and put my canonical hand(s) out at the appropriate times. My impression from that Mass as well as conversations with some of the folks on retreat is that Polish Catholicism is conservative and devotional. All men on the altar, the servers dressed in clerical back and white. Although you didn’t have to use it, there is still an altar rail and many people knelt at it to receive Communion and many people, even those who were not kneeling, received on the tongue instead of in the hand. The music was nice enough, a very fine organist and singer, and there was definitely singing on the part of the assembly. No idea about the homily.
We then had a Q&A period back at the center. I had expressed surprise that so much time had been allotted for it––1:45!––but Andrzej said, “Wait and see.” And sure enough, we went the whole time and could have gone longer. Normally those sessions make me nervous, but I felt very much at ease this time. Of course, Andrzej was translating, and we had developed a really good rapport by this time, which led to some very humorous moments teasing each other. And wow, the questions were great––even such fundamental things such as “what does salvation mean and how does karma play into that?” and reincarnation and the role of authority in the Church, the meaning of the Eucharist. A few times they asked me what Fr. Bede thought about this or that. I was hesitant to answer without really going back to look at his writings, but it was always acceptable for me to answer from my point of view. It’s funny how conservative I am in a situation like that, meaning careful and wanting to be precise. I told them that I get teased for having footnotes in my homilies, but that I am about the only person I know who can quote Pope Benedict XVI and Ken Wilber in the same paragraph, both approvingly.
After the closing Q&A and a final meditation we met a few of the folks for lunch at a local traditional restaurant. I have found the food a little on the heavy side, lots of fats, cream sauces and cheese (the latter of which are delicious). At the restaurant a little wooden container of lard was brought with the bread, which was apparently delicious. Apples, potatoes, potato pancakes, and of course dumplings. I do have to watch my intake because I do love cheese and butter and hearty bread. Then A&A drove me here, an almost four-hour drive through the beautiful countryside. I slept in the car at first and was also struggling to stay awake while Andrzej was telling me about more of his adventures around the world, his history with WCCM and India, and more about his amazing life, and by the time we arrived here I had a pretty bad headache too.
This place is pretty isolated and remote––not like Big Sur remote, but definitely out in the woods down a dirt road. There is an imposing wall around the place and a huge door with literally no handle on the outside, if you know what I mean. We had some trouble getting anyone’s attention with the various bells and buttons, but after a phone call to the local priest who called somebody on the inside, the big door finally creaked open to reveal a tall long-bearded gentleman in a white Camaldolese habit complete with the long white cape, who introduced himself as Prior Stanislav. He did not speak any English or Italian but assured me through A&A that there would be someone who did. He helped me carry my things in, and I was anticipating some kind of a raised eyebrow about my rolled-up yoga mat or guitar, but nothing. We left A&A behind, and Prior Stanislav ushered into what I would later figure out was the outer cloister, into church, where I sat in a pew and listened to the monks recite/sing Compline in the choir behind the high altar and tabernacle (like Monte Giove and San Giorgio) in a kind of recto tono, that is, all on one note. (Well, there were a few other, shall we say, harmonic overtones in there…) It really struck me as sounding like Tibetan chanting, very low and guttural.
Then came the funny part. Prior Stanislav came out from choir with a portly younger man with a big beard named Mattia who was dressed in lay clothes, who turned out to be a Jesuit who has been living there with the monks for some time now, “for spiritual reasons,” he told me. He has studied in Rome some years ago and spoke some Italian. It was akin to a comedy routine, us trying to communicate, Mattia trying to remember his Italian vocabulary, Stanislav trying to pull out a few words of English (“super” and “great”). Mattia kept using the formal lei with me, though I told him to please use the informal tu, and he kept saying “Come si dice?” and point to something or act it out. They couldn't have been more gracious, and Stanislav especially has very kind eyes, a gentle voice, and a kind of wry sense of humor. He keeps calling me “maestro” for some reason. I don’t know if that means something different in Polish. When they figured out I liked honey and would like some for my morning tea (my one Polish word––miod) which they actually produce here with their own bee hives, Prior Stanislav took me to the warehouse where all the honey is stored and he showed me all the different varieties, telling me which one was “super-duper.” They then led me to my cell in the guest wing in the outer cloister with a little bag of fruit and bread, cheese and butter and left me to my own after explaining everything the best they could in charades.
It has been established (I think) that, since I don’t know Polish, I will only join them for Mass a little after 6 AM. Prior Stanislav himself will come and knock on my door when it is time (as soon as Matins ends). There are several other non-monks here who were concelebrating Mass. One appears, by the ring he wears, to be a bishop, another, when he took off his chasuble was wearing the black of a Conventual Franciscan, and another, who later brought my food, introduced himself as Don Giovanni, a parish priest from Krakow. Other than that, about seven monks.
And now I have the rest of the days to myself. Stanislav did ask me, through Mattia, if I wanted to eat like a guest or like a monk. I said like a monk, and I think that means less food or simpler food than usual. I thought that meals would be brought to me three times a day in a tiffin kit like we use at the Hermitage, but the man who brought my kit this morning, with bread and cheese and butter and jam, said, in Italian, this is collazione, pranzo e cena. I asked if he spoke Italian and he said, “Un poco…” Funny for Italian to be the default language, but I guess that’s religious life in Europe, and again I am so grateful for it. I had asked too if I could go for a walk in the countryside (I think going through the cloister in my running shorts would be too much) and the response to that was somewhat vague. But just a little while ago Stanislav knocked on my door and presented me with a fob for “electric door” and then motioned “opening” with his hands. I assume that is the big gate at the driveway.
The silence here is as deafening as the darkness last night was nearly complete. And I am so happy to be here for a few days.
P.S. The food has been sumptuous and is coming three times day. This morning I sent back several pieces of bread and an unopened wedge of brie. So I am glad I’ve discovered the long walks. The place is not quite as remote as I thought, though it is still protected by a high wall all around and lots of warnings about not breaching the klauzura. Very relaxed, reading, writing, napping––could almost wish for a few more days. My phone suddenly is producing a hot spot so I will post this.
