July 15, 2019
Seek the answer in God’s grace, not
in doctrine;
in the longing of will, not in
understanding;
in the sighs of prayer, not in
research;
seek the Bridegroom, not the
Teacher; …
darkness, not daylight;
and look not to the light but
rather to the raging fire
that carries the soul to God with
intense fervor and glowing love.
St. Bonaventure, Itinerarium Mentis
I’m staying at the McCartney Hermitage in Snowmass,
Colorado, about four miles from St. Benedict’s Trappist Monastery, elevation
8,700 feet surrounded by 13 to 14,000 foot peaks, still snow covered. There are
storm clouds passing to the west sending a cooling breeze through the windows
as I gaze out at Sobres Peak.
I got here last Thursday, having just come from three nights
and two wonderful days with my sister and her family in Grand Junction,
Colorado, about two hours east of here. I had driven there directly from San
Juan Bautista, well, actually staying one night in beautiful Barstow,
California. I kept saying that I was longing for solitude and the desert. And I
got it in spades as soon as I drove away from St. Francis Retreat House where I
had spend the weekend with our oblates and friends for our annual retreat.
Driving through the Mojave Desert and into Nevada was about as I had expected,
having made that trip once before. But then you leave Nevada, cross through a
little corner of Arizona and into Utah, and at that point, driving northeast
toward Colorado there is a hole lot of nothing for well over two hundred miles.
I kept passing sign after sign that announced the name of some village or town,
none of which I could ever see, that also announced “No Services.” The mighty Prius
was doing fine but it was untested on the long climbs that one had to make and
there was also no phone signal. I was relieved to finally come upon one big
service area about halfway across. I stopped for gas and a bathroom break and
said to the man behind the counter, “I’ve just driven through hours of
nothing!” And he responded dryly, “And you got another 100 miles of nothing
ahead of you. That’s why we let you drive 80 miles an hour.” I must say, I
drank in the stark beauty of the landscape. Having well shaken off prioral
responsibilities the week at Tassajara, by the time I left the oblate retreat I
was starting to feel pulled into the vortex of leadership and administration
again, but the long drive through the desert relieved me of that.
I arrived here on the feast of St. Benedict, symbolically
and not completely unplanned. The Abbot General Fr. Seamus, an Irishman, and
his secretary, Fr. Simeon from Spencer had also arrived from Rome that morning,
as well as the abbot of Tarrawara in Australia. They are all here for a meeting
of English speaking abbots. (Fr. Simeon, by the way, is an old friend of our
Fr. Isaiah who quotes him often in homilies, Simeon being quite a scripture
scholar as well as a linguist––hence his job for the Abbot General. He came and
introduced himself to me by his birth name, Erasmo, and reminded me that we had
met before at the Hermitage.) I arrived just in time for a festal
lunch––salmon, and dessert, wine and beer, ice cream and chocolate cake––with
the tables arranged in a triangle and silence lifted for the event.
It was nice to see all the brothers again, though I did not
get one single name right outside of the new and soon-to-be-consecrated abbot
Charlie. They have had equivalent loss to us here just the past two years. Fr.
Thomas Keating was here until being moved back to the infirmary at Spencer
shortly before his death. But the Abbot Joe who succumbed to a recurrence of a
swift moving cancer preceded him in death by only a week or so. Also three of
their younger monks have left, one in solemn vows, one in simple vows and a
novice. This is actually my sixth visit here, stretching back to about 1985
when the place was in its glory years. My host then and for my next two visits
(1990 and 1999) was the infamous Fr. Theophane Boyd, of Tales of the Magic Monastery fame. I distinctly remember Theophane
telling me about his encounters with Ken Wilber and an image that stuck in mind
(whether it was completely true or not). He said that Ken lived on top of a
tower in a big room that was divided in three parts––a library, a gym, and a
zendo. There it was––the very embodiment of integral spirituality! As a matter
of fact Ken’s relationship to this place does go back decades. It began with
his first wife who was a Catholic, and continued through many encounters,
events and podcasts with Fr. Thomas. Last time I was here Fr. Thomas
recommended Ken’s latest book to me, The
Religion of Tomorrow.
That last time I was here, in 2017, I had been invited to
offer the community their retreat. It was during that visit that one of the
novices, Eric, who has since left the community, drove me up here for the first
time to show this place to me. Even then the idea of coming here to use this
hermitage planted itself in my mind and I mentioned the possibility to Abbot
Joe who was very open to it. So as soon as I started planning this sabbatical I
wrote to the monks here and requested the same.
It’s funny; the monks are a little embarrassed about this
place. Apparently at one time it was little more than a hunter’s cabin and when
it came time to renovate it a bit whoever was in charge got carried away. It’s an
approximately 30 by 20 foot square brick one-room house on a solid foundation,
with a 15-foot pitched ceiling, totally fitted as any domestic dwelling would
be, including water, propane and tons of solar energy. One the monks said it
was more like an Aspen ski chalet than a hermitage, but that’s a bit of an
exaggeration. It is all carpeted, however, and there is a full kitchen and
bathroom, as well as a spacious covered front porch. The main feature is its
incredible view of mountains that surround it.
I am not embarrassed at all by the riches and am deeply
grateful and drinking it all in with joy. There are certainly remnants of
others having used the place––bits of food stuff and old jigsaw puzzles!––but I
am told it is not used very much at all anymore. I know Abbot Joe used to come
here, and I believe Fr. Thomas did as well. It didn’t take me long to turn the
house into a home. I spent the first afternoon rearranging the furniture and
adjusting the curtains and blinds just so. One of the nice surprises is a
framed giclèe of Emmaus’ popular painting of Romuald in ecstasy. There was an
old zabutan in the closet and I have
placed that right under the holy father. There is also an old stereo up here (I
am starting to get the impression from the microwave popcorn and light reading
material that this has actually been used more for a getaway then a hermitage…)
and I was of two minds as to whether or not I should make use of it, but I
succumbed and plugged my iPhone, which holds so much of my favorite music, into
the speaker and often play it softly in the background. It’s an odd thing that I
actually rarely if ever hear any of this music on anything but the small
portable speaker that I keep in my cell at home, so it’s a pleasure that I get
to hear it on real full sized speakers in real stereo! One little concession to
luxury... I can almost hear our Ignatius say, “Is there no end to the
decadence?”
Though this is bigger and much better equipped than my poustinia in Corralitos, I have felt the
same kind of lightness and freedom here that I used to feel there for the first
time in seven years. Of course there is the luxury of not answering to anyone
else’s summons––including no Internet or phone––and to be able to use that to
find my own rhythm of prayer and meditation, yoga and exercise, with only a few
books, my computer and my guitar, none of which are any distraction. It feels
as if both of my lungs are open.
