Vietnam and Hong Kong again

 16 October, 2025

 

I’m back in Hong Kong after a quick side trip to Vietnam. My boss, the Abbot Primate, urged me to go to the meeting that is still being held right now, of the BEAO—Benedictines of East Asia and Oceania. The countries represented at it are the Philippines, Vietnam (of course), Taiwan, Japan, Korea, China, and Thailand, as well as one nun from Australia (hence Oceania). It was a relatively short smooth flight to Ho Chi Minh City and there was a young monk from one of the several Benedictine monasteries there to meet me with a sign that said “Monk Cyprian Consiglio.” This would be a running theme: on the doors of our guest rooms and our name tags everyone else’s read Fr. This, Abbot that, or Prior So-and-so, etc., except mine which read “Monk Cyprian Consiglio.” I suppose it is that they did not know if I was ordained or not. (I kind of liked it, actually.) 

 

All the information about my handling was apparently on a need-to-know basis. I kept asking where I was going and what my schedule was, but only little pieces were revealed along the way. Neither the monk who met me nor the one driving the car spoke very good English. (I am not criticizing them for this, but I had expected more and better English, for some reason.) I thought I was going to their monastery and that their monastery was the place that the conference was being held. But no. I was taken to a women’s monastery, a very meticulous and beautiful place, where I was fed a delicious lunch (almost force fed: I have found that Asian women are a force to be reckoned with when it comes to deciding what and how much you are going to eat). Many Filipino sisters had already arrived, and I was seated in a separate space with the abbess of one of their monasteries. As we started to eat the heavens broke up in thunderous rain for a few minutes which made the landscape seem even more exotic. I was then given a very clean little guest room to rest before our journey and was told to sleep. And then I was herded into a van with seven Filipino and two Vietnamese nuns (I was in the front seat with the driver) and we headed across town to Thien Binh, the men’s monastery where the meeting was actually being held. 

 

Thien Binh is impressive place. (I posted pictures on Facebook.) One of the monks who was showing me around, from another monastery, said, with a grin, “Very much money here.” I take it that it is like the mother house of four monasteries in Vietnam, which they refer to as the “province” with its own provincial, a term used by other religious congregations but not usually used among Benedictines. They have a large and it seems new guest facility with four wings, small but very clean plain rooms with en suite bathrooms and AC, and a large gathering hall for conferences and meals. I assumed the lingua franca was going to be English since all the communication had been in English, but outside of the Filipinas I was not hearing much English. That was when I started getting nervous about my talk the next morning and how it might land… 

 

The “soul” of this event is one Br Nicholas, an 84-year-old American monk from St Vincent’s, La Trobe, PA, who has been in Taiwan, a daughter house of St Vincent’s, for 50 years. He ran a tight ship and was very clearly in charge and used to being so. We had evening prayer together, led by the same Nicholas, separate from the local monastic community and most of the other Vietnamese monks and nuns, and then dinner. And then suddenly we started in on the introductions, 20 minutes or so earlier than was scheduled. I looked around and counted really only a handful of nuns and monks and wondered if that was it! Actually, many others were still arriving, including Abbot Jeremias and the other VIPs. But again, at that moment I was wondering about my hour-long presentation the next day and if it would land at all. However, over the course of the evening the rest of the gang arrived from various points, including +Jeremias and two abbot presidents (of the Subiaco and the Sant Ottilien congregations) and Abbot Bernard of Alliance Inter-Monasteres, whose board I serve on as he does on mine, DIMMID having started out as a sub-secretariat of AIM. And then the monks and nuns from Japan and Korea and China, so that by the next morning we were in full force. 

 

The translation issue had already been taken care of. +Jeremias’ very capable and resourceful secretary, who seems to go almost everywhere with him now, the American monk Fr. Patrick, sent us all a link for something called "Cuckoo,” an app (again the necessity of the mobile phone) that listens to the speaker and then transcribes a translation in whatever language you want. It took a few minutes to work the bugs out but it eventually functioned, as long as the speaker was speaking clearly into the microphone. And thanks God for that! I was still second guessing myself (as is almost always my wont) about how to best present my conference. The way I figure it is I only have one change to “sell it” and if I flew all the way to Vietnam for an hour long conference I was not going to waste the time and money. I decided just to give what I had (editing to much would have thrown me off) but I did shorten it a bit. (I was told that the apostolic delegate was arriving at 11:30 and I would have to trim down to 45 minutes.) I was remembering India when, first of all, they kept changing the time of my conference and then shortened it and warned me not to go over. Really, people, someone flies halfway around the world, and you can’t give him the courtesy to all for a a few extra minutes? But, you see, writ large by actions rather than words, how important (or not) interreligious dialogue is. And remember in India I had had that horrible experience of the priest from Kerala giving two fiercely anti-Islamic conferences before me. So, battle-scarred already.

 

So I just launched in, trying to speak slowly and clearly. I had my PowerPoint with all the major quotes which was very helpful. I was a little worried about it being too dense for the crowd, though I had assumed from the beginning a certain level of erudition. (I was even double checking my Chinese pronunciation of a Taoist term that I reference.) It was also the first time +Jeremias would hear my whole spiel as well as Bernard and the other abbot-presidents, for whom I could assume a certain erudition, though not necessarily in this field, as Bernard confessed about himself to me later. I think it went very well. I ended by saying, as I often do at retreat conferences too, that it was not important to retain all the facts and terms, but that I hope they could at least catch some of my enthusiasm and why I think it is so vitally important for us to be involved in this arena in this day and age. And the proof of it all was afterward and for the rest of the day; I had so many nuns and monks come up and talk to me, some of them barely able to speak English but stumbling around trying to ask questions, especially among the young Vietnamese. So many of them asked for my notes that I wound up sending the whole outline to Br Nicholas, the organizer, when I got back to Hong Kong. I was very happy and that certainly made it worth the long trip.

 

I must say too that the Vietnamese, besides having the best food so far in Asia, were just lovely. I was to leave early on Wednesday morning, before everyone else had morning prayer and breakfast. I went to the dining hall at a little after 6 AM just hoping to find a cup of tea. But there were a few others milling about already, especially one monk and nun who had tried to engage me the evening before. I just wanted to grab a cup of tea and go back to my room, but they were not having it. The monk in charge of preparing the breakfast for everyone else insisted I sit down and he started bringing food to my table, fried eggs, some kind of noodles, fruit, a big bottle of honey, bread (they love their baguettes), and soon I was surrounded by a whole coterie. They wanted to sit and try to talk again, at times using Google translate on our phones. And if anyone needs to be “forgiven” for not speaking English (many of them were fluent in French), among the ones that I was speaking with the most, one is stationed at a monastery in Chang Mai Thailand and speaks Thai, another is in Taiwan and speaks Mandarin, and two others were studying Italian in preparation for going to support Monte Cassino for some years. (One of them sat next to me all the time and always wanted to speak in Italian, which didn’t go very well, but I saluted the effort.) They are eager missionaries, those Vietnamese, and I do hope I can go back and spend more time with them all. It would be great to do the whole course that I taught at Sant’Anselmo with and for them.

 

I often say when I go to a new place, “I don’t know what I was expecting but this was not what I was expecting.” With Vietnam I did kind of have some expectations, two different versions of it running in my mind. My friend Andrew had shown me some videos of his hometown, Dalat, and what stuck with me was the scene of a bunch of young folks in a very modern café and they were all speaking perfect English. On the other hand seared into my memory are gritty images from the evening news in the late 1960s and early ‘70s, and scenes from “Apocalypse Now”––napalm, the My Lai massacre, agent orange. I guess it was somewhere between the two. I was surprised at how little really good English was spoken––again, no judgement on that at all, it’s just that for so many Asian countries the level of spoken English has become so high. Also everything struck me as very low and close to the ground, as opposed to the forest of high rises in Hong Kong. Driving through the little streets on the way to the monastery I was reminded of the shops (so many of them coffee shops!) pressed in up against each other in India but it was all much more orderly than India. And the people themselves I found to be humble and eager to talk and make me feel welcome. It was odd to think of this too as a Communist country. And yet there they were, the banners marking the 80^th anniversary of the communist revolution in China hanging from light posts up and down the boulevards. I am not sure what that means anymore to be a Communist country, especially economically. I guess I was half expecting a good percentage of the population to be walking around dressed like Chairman Mao. Certainly in Hong Kong and China there is a lot of wealth around and very capitalist style business dealings. I suppose every authoritarian government needs to call itself something, like America will still call itself a “democracy” even as more and more rights are ceded to the executive branch.

 

October 28

Microsoft WORD stopped functioning on my iPad while I was in Hong Kong and I was unable to type and then I forgot that I had not finished this entry. 

I flew back to Hong Kong and embarked on the most intensive period of activity: I had a musical event every night for the last four nights. I still had a lot of most of my daytimes free and was availing myself of the gym membership each morning. Vivian Lee and her husband Daniel were perfect hosts and took me to a couple of choice places for quiet meals, including the American Club (I think that was its prosaic name) in the Financial District. I was particularly tired that day and had not slept well and I self-medicated with a delicious tuna melt with sweet potato fries open-faced on sour dough bread. And then the second to last night they took me to the Press Club, Vivian having been a journalist at one time. That place was very interesting, a big photo display, timely enough, of the most famous shots from the Vietnam war––the naked little girl covered in napalm, the villager getting shot in the head, etc.––with dark wood and leather booths, a real hangout of the press corps during the incursions into southeast Asia. It reminded me of the place my friends took me to in Bangkok, in a similar style, where there were brass placards proudly informing us that this was where the CIA used to meet to plan their invasion of Laos and Cambodia. It’s easy to forget that those countries were deeply involved in the whole horrific American military action in that region in the 1970s.

 

The musical events in Hong Kong (it would be so much easier just to call them “concerts”) were a big success. I continued to be impressed by how many people showed up, by how well they sang along, even when it was a largely Chinese speaking crowd, and how deeply they were touched by the whole thing. Whatever those events are, they are certainly wonderful vehicles for preaching the Gospel, perhaps offering a new way to understanding God and spirituality, as well as introduce the practice of contemplative prayer. I think it was especially the last two performances when the crowd did not seem to want to leave even after Vivian went up and thanked everyone for coming. There was another Chinese saying that was offered, something like, “The music kept circling around my head.” 

 

Very happy to be back home in Rome this past week. I had several days to both catch up and relax, and now in the middle of a very social time with lots of people converging on Rome for events around the anniversary of Nostra Aetate and other things. I’ll try to catch up on all that later. For now, may we continue to be a sign of unity and an instrument of peace!

Piercing heart and lung

 11 October ’25, Hong Kong

I am about halfway through my time in Asia by now. I had an overnight trip September 30 to Kuala Lumpur (KL) where I had booked myself a room in the new Holiday Inn near the airport.  This is my new practice that I just budget in: when I am traveling long distances, especially overnight flights to new time zones, find a reasonably priced hotel near the airport with a shuttle and hopefully a gym, and give myself a chance to recuperate and prepare. In Malaysia the American dollar is relatively strong and this was a great deal, with a nice gym and a super buffet for breakfast and dinner, $7 and $17 respectively. (I must admit, the prices would have been high for a Malaysian, so I was grateful to be able to avail myself of the luxury.)

My hosts sent a car for me to whisk me across KL on Friday morning to KLSentral (sic) train station where I met three women from the WCCM Malaysia, including Beth who had set the Malaysia stop up, and we headed northwest up the peninsula to the town of Taiping, where I had never been before. About three hours into the train trip, Beth was standing in the aisle talking to me when she suddenly got a phone call. She told the person on the other end that we had almost arrived at our destination when suddenly she realized that the train had stopped at our destination. So we had to make a mad dash to grab our bags––me with backpack, knapsack and guitar––and get off the train before it left for its next stop. We no sooner hit the platform when I realized that I had left my cell phone on the train. A moment of panic. As anyone who travels knows, it is now no longer a luxury; everywhere you go it is expected that you will be able to access things with your phone, fill in forms with your phone, your tickets are on your phone, etc etc etc. I leapt back onto the train as they were closing the doors and Beth put her foot on the train to let the conductors know we were not done yet and thanks be to God the phone was right there sitting in my seat. Phew!

 

As we left the station under the metal overhang it was pouring rain as hard as anything I have ever experienced in Big Sur or the monsoons in Tamil Nadu. We made our way in two taxis to the hotel. That’s right: this is not the first time that WCCM Malaysia has held their retreat in a hotel. This time there was a pretty big crowd, over 70 of us and so have a place that was easily reachable and big enough, this was the choice. We had a later conference room to ourselves plus and extra room that was used for Adoration (nice touch) and early morning “stretching and breathing” (another nice touch) led by me, as requested.

 

We had two full days, besides Friday night and Monday morning, all day Saturday and Sunday, which left me with seven conferences. We had many periods of meditation together, certainly, as is my wont, one after each conference, plus the liturgy of the hours, morning, midday, vespers and compline, and Eucharist. So it was a full schedule. I really like it when the liturgy of the Church plays a part in these retreats, especially to showcase the idea that meditation does not have to take us away from the regular spiritual life of the Church. I always describe it more as the missing mineral, like magnesium was for me. Both there and here in Hong Kong, from the options that I gave them, had chosen the kenosis theme, based on my book The God Who Gave You Birth. That is not a theme that specifically lends itself to silent meditation, but it was not hard at all to adopt a little and make the bridge. I have given this retreat several times now, twice to Benedictine sisters, once to the Trappists at Vina and then to the seminarians at St John’s in Camarillo and in Melbourne, but this is the first time to lay people. It was a little bit of a stretch theologically for them, but not too bad. I introduced it both times, there and here, by saying simply, “We need to mature in our understanding of who God is,” which is of course how I start the book, telling the story about seeing the picture of Zeus in D’Aulaires Book of Greek Myths and realizing that most Christians still think of God as if God were Zeus, not as Jesus introduces God to us. The folks were marvelously attentive, and the question-and-answer periods, which I always find nerve wracking, were a very deep sharing. Of course there is music for every session as well, and I think here in Asia that is more appreciated than anywhere in the world.

 

They also loved the “stretching and breathing” sessions in the early morning and I would guess 3/4 of them came both mornings. Two things about that, again, especially in this part of the world. One is that I just avoid the word “yoga” anymore for these kinds of retreats. It doesn’t matter what you call it, and I do not stick to a pure vanyasa of Ashtanga Yoga anyway. Besides that, for some Catholics it’s a real noisy buzzword. I don’t care what you call it––just do something with your body! And your breath. Invite the rest of you to your prayer life. And secondly, I have had this ongoing trouble with my shoulder for over a year now and have had to back off a lot on the normal asanas, but instead have been doing a whole new routine each morning that is more based on Tai Chi that I am really enjoying. It in this part of the world––especially in Singapore and Malaysia––that I was so moved watching people to Tai Chi in the park in the mornings, mostly older people, I think. And so I wanted to encourage them maybe to join that or to do their own form of that as part of their meditation practice. For me those sessions went better than ever, and I don’t get to do them often anymore––basically sharing my practice––, so I was well pleased.

 

After the retreat I was shuttled over to Penang Island, where I have been several times before, famous for their hawker food. I stayed at the Cathedral of the Holy Spirit, though the only other clergyman there was a retired priest who was a scripture professor in the seminary who is now in residence, and the permanent deacon, who lies off campus. When I hear “cathedral,” I tend to think of some higher standard of living, the seat of the bishop and all that… That does not apply in this part of the world. The rectory was a very humble even spartan (I have used that word a lot lately) affair by Western European standards. That is not meant as a complaint, by the way, just to point out that our middle to upper middle-class ecclesial expectations do not apply universally. Even the bishops here usually dress very casually, though they are treated with great reverence. I was there to do the first of a series of musical events––we are avoiding the word “concert”––songs leading to a period of me introducing the practice of meditation. It’s good and a fine format for me. I am pretty much sticking to liturgical songs as requested and seems fitting. We had a good crowd there in Penang Tuesday night, in the parish hall. I will have six such events here in Hong Kong over the next week.

 

Due to a scheduling and communication snafu, my fight to Hong Kong was through Singapore on Wednesday, at noon, which meant I needed to get from Penang to Singapore ASAP, which meant they picked me up at 3 AM to drive me to the airport for my 5:30 AM flight. Through various means they were hoping that my bag (I just check the backpack) could be checked all the way to Hong Kong (same company), but no… The young girl at the counter would listen to no argument for such an eventuality. And so, it was quite an adventure. For one of only two times that I can remember they would not let me bring the mini-Taylor on board, staying the Malaysian Airlines’ overhead bins are not big enough (they actually are). So I had to check the guitar in Penang which they told me would be at the gate in KL. It was not. So I had to go down to baggage claim and thanks be to God a nice young man found it in some corner with odd-sized baggage (maybe that means they hand carried it), none worse for the wear. I got it on the next flight no problem, but at Singapore I had to go to baggage claim to get my backpack which meant I had to go through immigration which meant I had to fill out the temporary visa forms––on my phone, of course. Which I did, and it went very quickly and smoothly. And then take the train to terminal 4 for my next flight and go through the whole thing again. But terminal 4, thanks God, was very sparsely populated and it went very smoothly, with enough time left for me to have two half-boiled eggs (with soy sauce and white pepper) and a soft bun. But the next thing was even more entertaining. At the Cathay Pacific gate as they saw me walking up with the guitar, two very polite young women came up to me and said, very concerned, “Sir, what is that?” A guitar. “You cannot take that on board.” Again I explained very carefully that it was a small sized guitar and I had traveled with it all over the world without any problem (a little fudging of the truth). Well then, they said, “we will let you go on with the early boarding but if they turn the guitar away on the plane, there is nothing we can do about it.” Fair enough. But not only did they have me go in with early boarding, they called me to come up and board before everyone! All by myself walking down the galley way! I was afraid to look up at the other passengers who must have thought I was some kind of celebrity with my little guitar boarding before everyone. I got a good giggle out of that, and of course I got a prime space for my guitar in the overhead––in row 73, not exactly first class, if there were any doubt.

 

And now I am in Hong Kong. I wish I could remember what year it was, but I was here once before, on my way back from India I stopped to spend a weekend with Ricky Manalo when he was here studying Chinese. I remember having a great time, we basically ate our way across the city and saw so much. I also remember being impressed by the size of the place, like a forest of giant buildings. But I must have only seen a small part of the city. This time I am seeing a lot more. It is the WCCM who has brought me here as well, but this time I am doing mostly musical events, as I did with Pat Por several times up and down the peninsula of Malaysia. I am staying again at the cathedral, that is actually part of a greater complex of Caritas and the diocesan offices, etc. The building I am in is 16 stories high, floors 13 to 16 are the Priests’ Quarters. There are retired priests, with an infirmary wing, chancery officials, some professors as well as the parish priests of the cathedral themselves, I am not sure how many. It seems to function more like an apartment building with a canteen and laundry service. (It actually reminds me of the old Jesuit residence in downtown Saint Louis, the birthplace of you-know-who.) It is not exactly spartan, but it is a bit ramshackle, at least my room is. My guess is that it is an extra room where they keep stuff that others have left behind. My host, Vivian, and I both were a little shocked to open the door and see furniture stacked up and piles of old things in the corner covered with a blanket. She later wrote me and said she wanted to find me a nicer place, but by that time I had made a little nest for myself here amidst the rubble and didn’t feel like moving. The view out my window is more skyscrapers, right here in the middle of the financial district. I will be busy and not here a lot and it is working out fine. Someone from WCCM got me a guest membership at a very nice gym and yoga club about a 15-minute walk from here, a very classy place, so that is a real luxury, and I have been three times already. To get there I have to walk past a whole block of bars, one after the other, and then just down the street it is teeming with life, restaurants and bars and clothing stores with high-tech screens and flashing lights all over. It is kind of fun to walk down there and back, but I do tend to scurry right back to my little nest here ASAP.

 

Yesterday I did two musical performances, without guided meditations, at St. Francis University, an old trade school started by a former bishop that has just been upgraded to university status with a handsome new campus. It was set up, with a very nice sound system and IT guy, in a common area in the main building, and the idea was to sing for the crowd on their way to 1:00 Mass and then sing for the students who were assumed to be hanging around after the 1:00 PM Mass. I imagined I would be singing and talking to myself trying to get people’s attention while they were rushing off to lunch. But no, a really nice crowd showed up––Vivian really did her foot work of advertising. I did my 50-minute set of the liturgical songs, but I had suggested to Vivian that perhaps I could do something a little livelier and more attractive for the young people who we expected to show up for the second set. Well, lucky I did, because almost no students came (as a matter of fact some were playing the guitar on the floor above me while I was singing!) but much of the first crowd stayed for the second set. And I really had fun. For as much as I am proud of my liturgical songs, especially the new ones, for concertizing the other stuff is more enjoyable to play. So I did “Awakening” and “Circle Song,” and “Walk in Beauty” and “I Will Lead You Into the Desert” from the new album, “Lead Me From Death Into Life” and “Compassionate and Wise.” But the piece they really loved, when I realized that I needed to fill in another seven minutes or so, was He Prabhu, really the first of the Indian bhajans that I adopted back in the mid 2000s. It was so fun to play and the mini-Taylor loves it. Vivian liked it so much she asked me to end the day with it again today at the retreat.

There is a certain way that people in Asia appreciate music, it’s almost as if they hear it in another part of their bodies, and I am always very moved by the reaction. Vivian told me that someone told her afterward that she liked the music so much that it “pierced her heart and lung,” which is apparently a common expression in Cantonese.

 

Today was the only teaching day, a one-day retreat for WCCM at a parish hall on the other side of Hong Kong Island, over Victoria Peak. A very nice sized crowd again, about 60 people, three conferences and meditation time. I must admit that sometimes I have wondered to myself if doing these retreats really makes any kind of lasting impact, even if a small one. But the feedback that I have gotten from both Malaysia and here has been so positive, even struggling a little with my American English and my “speculative theology,” as one of our monks used to call it. Apparently yesterday the crowd stayed with Vivian after I left and she went over with them some of the points that were a little harder to grasp (like, “Who was the Second Person of the Trinity before Jesus was born?”) but then she bought out Amazon’s stock of The God Who Gave You Birth.

 

I had two interesting little moments here. For background: Hong Kong, as you probably know, is now a “special administrative region” of China since it was handed back over by England in 1997. There are pro-democracy folks here (their color is yellow) and pro-China (blue). I was told by a reliable source that these days more and more formerly yellow folks are leaning toward blue, pro-China, because they are so disgusted with the Trump Administration’s policies and they think that Xi Jinping is doing a much better job of managing China, including the advances in alternative energy and technology.

 

After the pro-democracy demonstrations in 2019 there has been more pressure from Beijing and folks are more cautious than ever about what they say, especially in public. Vivian told me a couple of anecdotes to illustrate that. At one point while I was singing the new song, “A Candle in the Darkness” (I’ve snuck that in with my liturgical pieces at the end of the meditation) I sing, using Mahmoud Darwish’s words, “As you free yourself in metaphors / think of others (who have lost the right to speak).” And as I was singing I glanced quickly at Vivian, wondering if I could get her in trouble for a line like that. And then yesterday, when I was teaching about Prometheus stealing fire from heaven, I got to the section where I say how moderns and post-moderns have been captivated by this image of Prometheus stealing the fire from heaven, and have used it as a symbol of our grabbing power away from any kind of hierarchy and demagoguery. Quoting from my script…

 

There is certainly something valid about that instinct and that energy, and many of the modern movements seem to be about this––feeling cheated out of the promise of liberation, and no one is going to give it to us if we don’t own it and demand it and grab it. …  Is this not at the core of American values, enshrined in our Constitution, that we are “endowed by our Creator with the inalienable right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness”? The most obvious and perhaps purest example, of course, is the civil rights movement, rooted so deeply in the prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures.

 

And again I froze for a moment, worried mainly if I would get anyone here in trouble for saying that. I will have to ask Vivian later. It is one thing to put one’s own reputation on the line, it is a whole other thing to endanger someone else.

 

It’s Sunday now. I had the morning gloriously to myself and wound up “saying a private Mass” in the chapel here, as was recommended to me. It was the first day that I showed up in the canteen for lunch––and there was no lunch. Apparently I didn’t get that memo. I have a musical event this afternoon and then tonight I am meeting one of my collaborators from World Meditation Day, who teaches in Chicago but is back here in her hometown for some business. We have never met face-to-face before, so this will be interesting. I have another such meeting later in the week. Tomorrow morning I fly to Vietnam to present on DIMMID for the meeting of Benedictines of East Asia and Oceana, another new experience, and then back here until the 20th.

 

With every blessing, counting on your prayers and assuring you of mine, Cyprian

the way of the heart, the pursuit of peace

I've been reading this wonderful collection of essays by Bartolomeos I, the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople and friend of Pope Francis.  I underlined every line of two pages from the talk he gave at Fordham in October 2009. I searched online for the original but I could not find it, so this is my translation from the Italian. (If anyone can find it...) I was so disheartened to find out how badly some folks speak about Rev. Martin Luther King these days. Apparently Patriarch Bartolomeo is of the opposite opinion, putting him in the company of Jesus and Gandhi. This is another face of Christianity, one that is very important to show right now.

“As communities of faith and religious leaders, we have the constant obligation to follow and proclaim with insistence different ways of regulating human affairs, to teaching the refusal of violence and the pursuit of peace. … The pursuit of peace, however, demands an overturning of that which has become normal and normative in our world. It demands conversion (metanoia) and the will to become both individuals and communities of transformation. The classics of Orthodox spirituality identify the place in which God, humanity, and the world can coincide harmonically in the heart. The Philokalia underlines, indeed, the paradox constituted by the fact that one obtains peace through sacrifice (martyría), understood not as passivity or indifference to human suffering, but as the renunciation of selfish desires and the attainment of a greater generosity. The way of the heart is contrasted to anything that violates peace. When one awakens to the interior way, peace pours out as an expression of gratitude for the love of God toward the world. If our actions are not founded on love instead of fear, we will never win over fanaticism and fundamentalism.

In this sense, the way of the heart is a radical response that puts the strategies of violence and the politics of power profoundly in crisis. For this reason, the peacemakers – whether Jesus or Mahatma Gandhi or Martin Luther King – constitute a threat to the status quo. And truly, the Sermon on the Mountain gave form to the pacifist teachings of Leo Tolstoy, whose work The Kingdom of God is Within You was influenced by the writings of the Philokalia and in its turn profoundly influenced both the nonviolent principles of Gandhi and the activities in defensive civil rights of King. Sometimes the most “provocative” message is “love your enemies, do good to those who hate you” (Lk 6:27) Some proclaim “the end of faith” or “the end of history,” blaming religion for the violent aberrations of human behaviors. That notwithstanding, never has the peaceful protest of religion been more necessary than in our time. Ours is the beginning, not the end of faith or of history.”

(La via del dialogo e della pace, Edizioni Qiqajon, 15-16)

DIM Italia, back to Bose and home to Rome

 19 september 25

 

I’m back at Bose just overnight. The monks and nuns were very welcoming to me when we got back, and I ate with the community again in the refectory for both lunch and dinner instead of in the guesthouse. I was scurrying back to my room after dinner when three monks stopped me on the little road between the monastic quarters and the guesthouse and really wanted to engage in some conversation. It was very touching. I kept hearing over and over again, “Come again! Stay longer!” Fra Salvatore, the guest master invited me, if I wanted to, not to come to morning prayer if I wanted some time to myself. I was really torn because I really love the liturgy here and had a really powerful meditation time in the chapel before their gorgeous crucifix. But in the end the hermit won out and I happily did my meditation, prayers and stretches in my cell and repacked my bag for the trip back to Rome this morning.

 

The time at Matha Gitananda Ashram was really fine, and very interesting on a number of levels. First of all, as soon as we drove through the gates (it was well cut-off to the public; there was a sign outside the gates that said, in Italian, something like, “If you believe in life after death, come in and meet our dogs.”) I had trouble remembering where I was. It was like Mount Madonna Center, only it was more Indian yet, statuary all over the place and the entire community in bright orange robes except for the few aspirants all in white. Some of the folks in the monastic community actually looked Indian, though they were almost all Italian. Our main host was Hamsananda, a large friendly Italian woman who also spoke English, as many of them do, given that if they go to India to study they need to speak English. But most of the practical things were being handled by the younger staff, all of whom could not have been more gracious and eager to please. They have been in this remote location in the hills above Savona for more than forty years now as I understand it. There is a small temple and just recently a beautiful guest house and meeting room were added. That is where we stayed and held our meetings. It was because of that new guest house that they were able to host us, as a matter of fact, which got noted several times. The new place was also built to be sustainable and ecologically friendly, again reminding me of MMC.

 

Then the gathering of DIM (Dialogo Interreligioso Monastico) Italia itself… I had met a few of the participants at our event in Rome with the Thai monks, but of course this was my first time with the entire group that has been meeting for at least 15 years like this. An interesting feature of this branch of DIM is that the non-Christians are considered equally members of the group, not just guests of the Christians. This was very obvious at the official business meeting the second afternoon. As everyone was gathering there was obviously a deep friendship between them all; it seemed to me the nuns were especially very affectionate with all the others. I counted seven Buddhist monks (mostly Zen with two Tibetans), 15 nuns (Benedictine, several Poor Clares, and another cloistered congregation whose name escapes me), six Benedictine monks, three Muslim participants from a center in Milano, and five of the Hindu monastics were with us for most of our meetings. Fr. Santiago from the Dicastery for Interreligious Dialogue was also there for the first time. He was the only one of the staff at DID that I had not met before, and we were glad to get the chance. He is a Tamil with a specialty in the dharmic religions, Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, and Sikhism.

 

We were invited to participate in the aarathi in the temple three times a day. I only went twice, but I was impressed at the level of concentration and devotion on the part of the Hindu monks and nuns, though a little surprised at just how devotional and ritualistic they are. I do not mean that in any negative way. It’s just that I associate sannyasa with going beyond ritual and the world of signs. I was remembering the samadhi hall at Tiruvanamalai, how the brahmin priests were chanting of scriptures and performing the pujas and other rituals with the participation of many pilgrims, but the orange clad sannyasis, who might have helped pick flowers and set things up, just sat in the back of the temple and watched. I was also impressed by how many of the Catholic religious went to the temple services. Mostly we sat in the back while they chanted long mantras and then accepted the light and the colored powder for the bindi. As Hamsananda pointed out, the meaning of the words of scriptures (all in Sanskrit) are really secondary; it is the power released in the sounds themselves. I remember going through a long meditation on this years ago, again at Tiru, when I was trying to convince our young monks of the value of chanting the psalms.

 

Each of the two mornings was given to a teaching led by Swami Hamsananda, on the theme of “living monastic space,” a topic they had begun discussing already last year. I was very impressed by Hamsananda’s knowledge of Indian philosophy and scriptures. One of the two Tibetan monks there, Sonam, was actually from Tibet, from which he escaped when he was 16, and is based in Dharamsala now. He comes to a center near Pisa for three months each year, directed to do so by HH the Dalia Lama himself, he told me. He spoke very little Italian, and I offered to translate for him if he needed it. They had a woman doing simultaneous translation with headphones for two of the major presentations, but she couldn’t make it the second day and I had to take over. I had no idea how much I had bitten off, but once I got into a rhythm it went pretty well, and he wound up wanting me to sit with him at meals too. I have done a bit of that before (namely for Alessandro when he came to the US, which was very easy actually), but this was a more of a challenge, various voices and no one slowing down for the sake of the translator, the session going on for more than two hours! As I always say, it was a good exercise.

The business meeting was very interesting. They discussed a number of practical things, the next topic, the next meeting and also new membership and criteria for the same. There was some heated exchanges, which surprised me but one never knows with Italians if that is just their way of expressing themselves. Matteo did have to remind them several times to avoid what we call “crosstalk.” Toward the end of that Matteo asked me to weigh in on what my experience had been like being with them. I had nothing but positive things to say, pointing out again that as far as I could see this is by far the most active commission in the world and a real model for others. I did point out one thing––and tried to make it as non-judgmental as possible: that I was coming into this as an American and the difference between their style and ours was very obvious: we would never go 2.5 hours without a bathroom break. (Actually, we had gone three hours by that time, as we had that morning as well.) They all laughed at that but thought about it too. I am used to that from our Chapter meeting at Camaldoli in the past. After three hours the non-Italians are starting to wither in their chairs, and you can see the Italians getting a whole new wind. I was teased a few times about my sense of time and punctuality, accusing me of being “Swiss,” and several times I heard the same thing I hear in every culture about the fluidity of “Mexican time,” or “Indian time,” or “Mediterranean time.” It made me reflect on my own sense of that and of course I just had to let go, as usual. It wasn’t a huge sacrifice.

 

Sunday, 21 Sept, back home

 

I did not choose my ticket well and wound up having an extra-long train trip home––all the way up to Torino first, and then direct to Rome on the Freccia Rossa, instead of through Milano which would have been shorter. Live and learn. But I got a lot of reading and napping done on the train. As always, I was so happy to be home in my own little room! The added incentive to get home ASAP was that a group of oblates was here from Incarnation in Berkeley. They were actually out the first evening so George left me in charge to preach for Mass and prepare, host and put away dinner for the three young guys and two women guests staying with us (I usually don’t go to the evening meal). Something about that felt very nice, actually, like it’s really my home. My friend and advisor Mark Hansen from Singapore is here with the group, and we got to have a nice long talk during a walk to Campo dei Fiori yesterday morning. George also asked me to preach for Mass today which we decided ought to be somewhat bilingual. It’s the first time that I’ve done a homily going back and forth between English and Italian, and I liked it a lot. Ironically, Mark asked me if I was posting my homilies anywhere like I used to. I told him no, because I’ve only been preaching in Italian. But funny he should mention that because… my young neighbor Francesco always checks my “script” for me and I asked him this time if he thought I could publish it. He said, Certo! So I was planning on (and did). Of course, this one is in both languages, which can wind up being twice the work. We shall see for the future.

 

It was also an interesting experience to be part of the team welcoming people from the US here to Rome. It really does feel like my home by now. They’ve all gone now, and I have got just over a week to get myself ready for the next trip, to Malaysia, Hong Kong, and Vietnam.

mammon(e)

(scroll down for English) 

L’altro ieri, come al solito, ho ascoltato il telegiornale quasi la prima cosa di mattina presto, sicuramente prima di leggere le letture della messa quotidiana––una pratica che non consiglio, a proposito. E mi ha molto stravolto ciò che ho sentito che il ministero delle finanze israeliano aveva detto il giorno prima, durante un vertice sulla riqualificazione urbana––uno dei titoli. Ha descritto la Gaza del dopoguerra come una “Eldorado”, una “miniera d'oro per investimenti.” E poi ha fatto riferimento agli Stati Uniti ––cosa che ha attirato la mia attenzione–– dicendo, “Ho iniziato una trattativa con gli americani––lo dico senza scherzare (lui ha sottolineato) perché abbiamo pagato moltissimo denaro per questa guerra. Dobbiamo dividerci come facciamo le percentuali sulla terra. Abbiamo completato la fase di demolizione, che è sempre la prima fase della riqualificazione urbana. Ora dobbiamo ricostruire, il che è sempre molto più economico.” 

Ciò non solo ha confermato pubblicamente per la prima volta quale sia il progetto di ricostruzione della Striscia di Gaza (e forse lo è stato da sempre) e come sia legato al progetto americano; ma dopo tutte queste morti ––68,000 persone, 66,054 palestinesi e 1,983 israeliti–– dopo tutte le accuse di genocidio, carestia, crimini di guerra, il tutto si riduce a una cosa così banale, una “fase di demolizione”, un progetto edilizio, una somma di perdite, una “zona di fiducia”.

 

Non sapevo se avrei dovuto piangere o urlare. E la frase che mi è venuta in mente––e perché sollevo l’argomento oggi–– era esattamente l’ultima riga del vangelo di oggi, non sapendo che sarebbe stato il vangelo di cui avrei predicato: Non si può servire Dio e la ricchezza.

 

Nessun servitore può servire due padroni,

perché o odierà l'uno e amerà l'altro,

oppure si affezionerà all'uno e disprezzerà l'altro.

Non potete servire Dio e la ricchezza.

 

La parola greca qui per “ricchezza” è in realtà mammona, un demone che personifica l’avidità––“La ricchezza terrena idolatrata; quindi, il principio della dannazione spirituale, cioè il demonio”. Ricordate che Paolo dice che l’avidità è in realtà idolatria. In altre parole, dice Dio, puoi adorare me o puoi adorare mammona il demone, che è in realtà il tuo vero dio.

 

Se avessi saputo quale sarebbe stata la prima lettura di oggi, mi poteva anche venire in mente (e in questo caso sento la voce forte profetica ebrea che non piange ma urla a squarcia gola): Ascoltate questo, che calpestate il povero e sterminate gli umili del paese… Certo non dimenticherò mai tutte le vostre opere. Perché, come sentiamo e cantiamo nel salmo responsoriale, Benedetto il Signore che rialza il povero. Queste due letture non potrebbero essere più tempestive e pertinenti. La Parola di Dio è viva e vera e, come dice Paolo nella Lettera ai Galati: Non lasciatevi ingannare: Dio non si lascia deride. Non dimenticherà mai tutte le vostre opere.

 

Abbiamo bisogno di più di queste voci profetiche forti ai nostri giorni.

 

In questi giorni sto leggendo una raccolta di saggi del Patriarca Bartolomeo di Costantinopoli, il caro amico di Papa Francesco, e una frase che lui ha scritto mi ha trafitto il cuore e in qualche modo riassume il lavoro che spero di svolgere nel mio proprio ministero, e la lascio con voi come uno sprone per riflettere e sfidarci:

 

La verità è che il messaggio evangelico è tanto semplice quanto radicale:

siamo chiamati a schierarci con l’amore laddove vi è odio,

a predicare compassione laddove vi è ingiustizia,

e a insistere nel dialogo laddove vi è divisione.

È così, quanto meno secondo la parola degli insegnamenti che abbiamo ricevuto,

(è così) che andrebbero riconosciuti quanti si fregiano del titolo di cristiani.

 

Preghiamo per questa grazia oggi, qui al convito della Parola e del Sacramento.

 

* * *

 

The day before yesterday, as usual, I listened to the news almost the first thing in the morning, certainly before reading the readings for the Mass of the day––a practice I do not recommend, by the way. And one of things I heard was what the Israeli finance ministry had said the day before, during a summit on urban redevelopment, and it really got me very upset. He described post-war Gaza as a “bonanza,” a gold mine for investments. And then he referred to the United States ––that’s what caught my attention––saying, “I started a negotiation with the Americans––I say this without joking,” he pointed out–– he’s dead serious––“because we paid a lot of money for the war, so we need to share percentages on the land sales in Gaza. We’ve completed the demolition phase, which is always the first phase of urban redevelopment. Now we have to rebuild, which is always a lot cheaper.”

 

This not only confirmed publicly for the first time what the reconstruction project of the Gaza Strip is (and maybe has been all along), and how it is linked to the American plan; but after all these deaths ––68,000 people, 66,054 Palestinians and 1,983 Israelis––after all the accusations of genocide, famine, war crimes, for this guy it all boils down to something so banal––a demolition zone, a building project, a sum of losses, a “zone of trust”.

 

I didn’t know if I should scream or cry. And the phrase that came to mind was exactly the last line of today's gospel ––not knowing that it would be the gospel that I would have to preach on: you cannot serve both God and wealth.

 

No slave can serve two masters,

for a slave will either hate the one and love the other

or be devoted to the one and despise the other.

You cannot serve God and wealth.

 

The Greek word there is actually “mammon,” who is a demon that personifies greed. Remember that Paul says in the Letter to the Colossians that greed is actually idolatry. In other words, you can worship me, or you can worship him, the demon who is actually your real god.

 

If I had known that it was going to be the first reading, I could have easily thought of that too, and this one I can hear the prophet screaming a full voice, not weeping: Hear this you who trample upon the needy and destroy the poor of the land. Never will I forget this thing you have done. Why is that? Because as we heard and sang in the responsorial psalm, Praise the Lord who lifts up the poor. These two readings could not be timelier and more relevant. The Word of God is living and true and, as Paul says in the Letter to the Galatians: Do not be deceived: God will not be mocked. Never will God forget this thing you have done.

 

We need more strong prophetic voices like this in our day and age.

 

I am currently reading a collection of essays by Patriarch Bartholomew of Constantinople, a dear friend of Pope Francis, and one sentence has pierced my heart and somehow summarizes the work I hope to do in my own ministry:

 

The truth is that the evangelical message is as simple as it is radical:

we are called to align ourselves with love where there is hatred,

to preach compassion where there is injustice,

and to insist on dialogue where there is division.

This is how, at least according to the word of the teachings we have received,

those who boast the title of Christians ought to be recognized.

 

Let’s pray for this grace today, here at the banquet of the Word and Sacrament.

cyprian 21 sett 25

changing our hearts and speaking bravely

14 September 2025, Monastero di Bose, Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross

I just realized the other day that I had completely forgotten about my blog/travelogue. Why? Hmmm… All my writing energy has gone toward conferences and articles, and any free writing (and reading) energy––and there has not been much these last months––has been dedicated to Italian. This visit to Bose and the killing of Charlie Kirk this past week have me facing something that, as my friend Stephen Copeland would say, I need to write my way out of.

 

Almost since I arrived in Italy, but surely since January when I finally settled into my room in Rome, I have been trying to get here to this famous monastery up in the Piedmont region of northern Italy. Founded in 1965, it is known for being both ecumenical and mixed (women and men). Its founder, Enzo Bianchi, has become somewhat infamous now because of a Vatican visitation some years ago after which he was forced to leave the community, but he was undoubtedly first and foremost a fine scholar and visionary. The monks here are also known for their publishing house which carries a superb catalogue of books on spirituality, the fathers of the church, monastic and biblical themes. It is for all those reasons I wanted to visit, but my proximate reason is Br. Matteo Nicolini-Zani is here. He is the head of Dialogo Monastico Interreligioso here in Italy, the most active branch in the world as far as I can see. We organized a visit of Thai Buddhist monks together at the end of June, and now I am going to attend DIM Italia’s annual meeting at an ashram near Savona from Monday night until Thursday. It looks to be a great program with Buddhist and Hindu representatives involved. There was to be a Muslim participant as well, but he already informed us, with regret, that he cannot attend.

 

My experience here at Bose has been really fine. The monks and nuns have been very welcoming and gracious. I did not realize how central hospitality is to this community. They took over an old farming village, complete with its buildings and then added their own structures to it as well over time. The elegant simple church is only from 1995, and the last buildings including the new foresteria where I am staying are from the earlier 2000s. I had heard that they were influenced deeply by Taizé with whom they have a close bond of friendship, and I expected their liturgy to be similar to Taizé’s, but it is not. They get a lot of music from French Cistercians, so I was told. There is a lot of Byzantine influence, with the sumptuous four-part harmony, like the liturgy of the Community of Jerusalem, but also a lot of plainsong. It is very rich in scripture for sure and deeply recognizable as monastic. They certainly have some elements proper to them––parity between the genders, even with women reading the gospel, certain additional acclamations and/or alternative texts during the Eucharist––but nothing wild. There is also tasteful art scattered all over the property. It is so refreshing after being inundated with the dreary Roman rococo and Baroque pageantry for the last year. I am so glad that this movement has not been squelched by a heavy-handed bishop. And certainly it seems so far under Pope Leo that we can all finally breathe a sigh of relief that the much maligned “spirit of Vatican II” is safe. I was talking to Br. Matteo about how sad I have been watching a return to devotionalism over liturgical spirituality in Catholicism, not only in the States but all over the world. It is something like this place that provides an antidote to the many examples of the Novus Ordo purely executed.

 

This is my first outing for the new “season.” As a matter of fact, I am in the midst of my one-year anniversary: I got here to Italy September 1, 2024, I was introduced to the Abbots and Priors Congress September 18, and officially became Secretary General on October 1. Since then, Donald Trump came storming back and has consequently already substantially changed the entire culture of my country of origin (USA) as well as upturned the global order (at least financially), Pope Francis died and Pope Leo was elected, and now, just days ago, Charlie Kirk was heinously murdered, an event which may mark a real turning point (if you will excuse the unintended allusion), at least for the USA. It has been fascinating to watch it all from this shore, especially that last event. I kind of let the first year unfold in front of me.

 

Of course, the new position started in the middle of my sabbatical year and the one just folded into the other, which was some of the rationale for such a quick discernment about whether or not to take the role: what I was doing was already what the job called for, or at least it seemed to be that what I was doing and had wanted to return to after my term as prior––music, meditation retreats, interreligious dialogue and explorations into alternative spiritual practices––could all fall under the mantle of this role and would be a fine way to incarnate it. I have not changed my thinking about that.

 

But, as I said, I did sort of let the work unfold in front of me, going where I was asked and doing what I was asked to do this first year, especially anything asked of me by Abbot Primate Jeremias, to whom I answer directly, or anything for Sant’Anselmo, the seat of international Benedictine monasticism. This coming year I have been more intentional about my itinerary and work. There will still be a lot of travel between now and next summer, but I think I have it laid out well so that there are good periods at home in Rome to rest and renew in between commitments. This trip up here to Bose and the DIM meeting is the first little trip and then I will be back in Rome for ten days before I head to Asia for three weeks.

 

More immediately, every day this week I feel more upset over everything surrounding Charlie Kirk’s murder. First and foremost, I was and am appalled by yet another act of political violence and the death of a young husband and father.

 

I was also surprised at how out of touch I am: I barely knew who Charlie Kirk was. I’ve gone back now and read and watched and listened. He was a very good debater for the most part––or at least better prepared with facts than most of his opponents were, as a good debater ought to be. (Though he does seem to have gotten bested at Cambridge.) I am sure that he would have made mincemeat out of me in a verbal spar. I am just floored by much of what he said in public though, about Black people, about Muslims, even about Jews. His death was a horrific act of violence, but how do those things gets twisted into someone “defending Christian values, the moral right,” as an evangelical friend described it to me. There is simply no way I could excuse let alone justify the kind of rhetoric he used, especially in such a public forum. And then there was his Christian nationalism, his support of the January 6^th attack on the capital, his denial of climate change and his embracing of the replacement theory. Again, there is no justification for murder, but how do those things get turned into “conservative values”?

 

My evangelical friend said it well: “I think the crux of it comes down to what shapes your vision. Does your vision of right decide your Jesus or does your vision of Jesus decide your right? Too many shape their vision of Jesus around their view of reality, myself included, but that’s the value of being in scripture regularly and allow it to inspect you.”

 

And at the same time again and of course, of course, of course, without a doubt his murder was a heinous act. I listened to a Christian therapist the other day who said that it is okay to, and sometimes we have to, hold two seemingly conflicting sentiments at the same time.

 

I read Bishop Barron’s post on Facebook, and it was nothing but praise for Mr. Kirk. Not a word about how the teaching of the Catholic Church would not support his stances. It also had comments added, thanking him for posting it, and the first ones I saw were from people I actually know, one of whom I think of as a friend. My heart sank. There was also one commenter, respectful (thankfully), who said she was a faithful Catholic, telling Bishop Barron that she could simply no longer follow him after all these years because of his support of the president, that he had “lost his way.”

There is a great divide and I confess I absolutely do not know how to bridge it except to keep preaching the Gospel and trying to be the presence of Christ, like yeast in the dough. From what I am reading, that slice of the American population––white evangelical Christian nationalists, etc., etc.––, like the US president, seem to think that everybody who does not agree with them is the enemy, plain and simple, and that there is a spiritual warfare taking place. I agree that there is spiritual warfare taking place, but what they espouse I do not recognize as the beautiful face of Jesus in the Gospels. I am still asking the same question I was asking last February: whose Christianity? I am sticking with Pope Leo and the teaching of the Church (and also Cardinal Perolin, the Vatican Secretary of State), and first and foremost with the Beatitudes, the Sermon on the Mount in general. That is where my allegiance lies.

 

I will not be debating these folks. It is not in my skill set to do so. But at any rate this is not a victory that is going to be won by a battle of words. (That’s why I am not convinced that apologetics as we know it is really efficacious.) Einstein warned us already in the mid-20^th century that the problems we face are not going to be solved by the same consciousness that created them. He also accentuated that “the real problem” is in human minds and hearts anyway: “We will not change the hearts of other [people] by mechanisms, but by changing our hearts and speaking bravely.” Only then, Einstein thought, when “we are clear in heart and mind––only then shall we find courage to surmount the fear which haunts the world.” If it is a matter of being “clear in heart and mind” then what is needed is a transformation that can only come about by the deep work that accesses and can transform the deepest level of human consciousness, a work that is also brings about a rediscovery of the underlying unity of all that is and all those who are. My whole ministry is dedicated to greater and greater inclusivity, what “people have in common and what draws them to fellowship,” as Nostra Aetate states, the very opposite of what I perceive the followers of Mr. Kirk (may God rest his soul) to be doing. They are not my enemy, but I can state unequivocally I think they are terribly misguided in their understanding the Good News of Jesus.

 

One of my silly tautologies is “You don’t need peacemakers when there are no wars.” And of course, we wouldn’t need interreligious dialogue if all the religions got along. There’s a book on Charles de Foucauld and Islam here which I am going to buy. He is surely one of my hero-saints and has been for many years. And another book by Pope Francis’ friend and collaborator, Patriarch Bartholomew of Constantinople, on ecumenism. Just do it. While others are dividing, someone has to do the opposite, even if in quiet little ways.