Weston Priory, Vermont

It originated in 1953 with the simple vision of one man, Abbot Leo, who, operating on a shoestring budget, found an abandoned farm on the edge of the Vermont’s Green Mountain National Forest for sale.  And it became over the ensuing 60 years a thriving Benedictine monastic community: Weston Priory.  I was privileged to experience the community’s rich, gospel-centered life and hospitality for seven days this March.

View west from my room at Romero House at sunrise

The cold temperatures, deep snow, a room looking west, and a small clutch of books, set the table for a wonderfully rewarding week.  Add to that the warmly welcoming community of the 14 monks of Weston Priory, and it proved the perfect combination for inward reflection and soul-strengthening.  Unlike the vast majority of other monastic communities in the USA, Weston has established itself was a community of equals, in which decisions are made by consensus and hierarchy is almost completely absent.  Over the years, the monks have developed a rich musical style, with original songs accompanying each of the 4 or 5 liturgies throughout each day, beginning at 6am.  (You can sample their recordings at their website.)  I stayed with a few other men guests in Romero Guest House, located 1/2 mile down the road from the Priory, and the walks several times a day became a welcome discipline.  I also had the opportunity to participate physically in community chores, such as snow shoveling and wood hauling, which made me feel even more a part of the community life.  Shared meals in the refectory were a treat: simple fare, and nutritious, accompanied by the traditional Benedictine custom of book reading.  In this case, the book in question, portions of which were read during midday and evening meals, was an incredible selection: UNBEARABLE WHOLENESS OF BEING–GOD, EVOLUTION, AND THE POWER OF LOVE, by Ilia Delio.  Remarkably, the themes of the book tie in beautifully with themes from the sabbatical.  It’s a creative and provocative read, which I highly recommend.  Here’s one excerpt from chapter 7, Christian Love:

We humans are not transients, renting a home in the cosmos until we can move to a more permanent one.  Human life is not extrinsic to cosmic life, a strange species in an otherwise natural world.  We are the latest arrivals in an evolutionary universe; we emerge from the whole and are integral to it.  Evolution becomes conscious in us so that our task is not to leave the world but to see it in its divine depth, overcoming the forces of alienation that threaten to depersonalize culture.

The path to community

The biggest takeaway for me from my time at the Priory, and there are many, is the sense of a compassionate community, deeply connected to and loved by the local folk, which is living out its vocation in simple but profound ways.  My experience has given me much to ponder, and much to be thankful for.

The snow trail beckons

Our tour guide at Orchard House, the Alcott family home, was right.  She’d told us how Louisa’s sister, May, an accomplished artist, had been approached by the mother of a local boy who, from a young age, was putting knife to potatoes to carve figures, and who seemed to possess a native talent for sculpting.  Would May, she wondered, be willing to take the boy under her wing and teach him what he might be willing to learn?  The answer was yes.

That boy, Daniel Chester French, became, by the first decades of the 20^th century, one of America’s leading sculptors.  The Minuteman statue we saw adjacent to the North Bridge in Concord was his, completed for the 100th anniversary of the April 19, 1775 skirmish between British Regulars and Colonial Militia and Minutemen that sparked the war for independence.  And in 1922, he collaborated with architect Henry Bacon to create one of our nation’s best known works: the Lincoln Memorial.

Our guide had said we could see an exquisite example of French’s work at the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in Concord, a memorial to three brothers lost in the Civil War.  It was, she said, an extremely moving work, and perhaps the piece most beloved by French himself.  And so we went.

Mourning Victory by Daniel Chester French Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, Concord, Mass.

Mourning Victory is the name French gave his angelic, female figure, resolute and half clothed, who appears to be walking out of the stone, a victory bouquet of laurel leaves thrust outward in her left hand, while above her head her right hand pushes upward the folds of a shroud, as if to say, “death may have its day, but the final victory belongs to life.”

Standing in the snow in front of her I was deeply moved, and as I began reading the memorial attribution incised in stone below her, I had to stop.  Why the tears?  Was it because this memorial was dedicated by the surviving brother, James Melvin, to the three brothers lost in the Civil War, and as one of six brothers myself, I could intuit what such a loss might mean?  That was part of it, I think.  Was it because James Melvin had commissioned the sculpture from his boyhood friend, Daniel Chester French?  This, too, I found significant.  But it was the work itself that spoke most eloquently to me.  Even now as I write more tears, unbidden, come.

Mourning Victory.  Resolute strength wrapped in vulnerability.  French has caught her in midstride, as if she’s about to leave the monument—and death itself—behind forever and stride into the light of that Bright Day.  Inscribed at her feet, these words:

In memory of three brothers born in Concord

who as private soldiers gave their lives

In the war to save the country

This memorial is placed here by their surviving brother

himself a private soldier in the same war

“I with uncovered head

salute the sacred dead

who went and who return not”

The North Bridge, Concord, Massachusetts

Ralph Waldo Emerson

After we heard the Word and were fed at the Table, Christ touched us once more through hands of Blessing.  And then, a celebration!  With a cake that read:

Via con Dios,              Au Revoir,                  Ta Ta,                      Ciao,                          Until We Meet Again.

Our hearts are full!  Thank you for your love and blessing!  We’re off!

It started, innocently enough, as a seemingly random conversation about shoes.  But it didn’t stay there.  We were at REI in June, picking up a few items for summer travels when Chris fell into a conversation with the woman in the checkout line next to her (Mary by name) about the sturdy shoes the woman was wearing. By degrees that conversation between Chris and Mary about shoes became a conversation about our hoped for Sabbatical, and when that happened, it moved onto holy ground.

Mary: WHERE MIGHT YOU GO FOR SABBATICAL?

Chris: Europe.

Mary: WHERE IN EUROPE?

Chris: Among other places, Scotland.

Mary: AND WHERE IN SCOTLAND?

Chris: A small island off the West Coast called Iona.

Mary: I JUST RETURNED FROM IONA.  I LEAD PILGRIMAGES THERE, AND HAVE WRITTEN A BOOK ABOUT HOW TO PREPARE SPIRITUALLY FOR A TRIP TO IONA…

Chris: [Jaw drops]

A few days later we received an email from Mary, affirming our serendipitous meeting:

“I truly delight in these sorts of exchanges and, since you have already engaged the pilgrim’s path, you now walk in a way that no encounter is happen-chance or without deep import!  Even when simply asking a stranger in line at REI about her shoes!!”

Oh, how thin is the veil between the mundane and the sacred!  In days that followed we came to see our encounter with Mary as providential and a great affirmation of what we were hoping to do.  In fact, that encounter with Mary led us to conclude that even if Christian Theological Seminary (CTS) turned down our Lilly grant application, we would somehow summon the resources necessary to continue with the portion of the sabbatical vision that included Iona.

Fast forward to August 15…We knew CTS would be communicating its decision during the final weeks of August, but we didn’t know how it would come—via mail, phone, or email.  After losing sleep over it, I finally contacted CTS via email to ask how their decision would be disseminated.  Five minutes after hitting SEND, the reply came to my INBOX:

“Letters went out by USPS yesterday and will arrive at your congregation’s mailing address any day now!”

That reply guaranteed more sleepless nights as we waited for the letter to arrive.  Then, finally, on Saturday the 17th, while working with a crew on the Little Free Library project at Peace, I spied the approaching mailman and intercepted him as he headed our way. Among that handful of mail I spotted the return address of Christian Theological Seminary on two letters—and my heart skipped a beat.  I immediately went inside to let Chris know it had arrived. She ran up the stairs and we both took refuge in my office.  Sitting at my desk, I stared at the envelope with my name on it, my hands shaking.  I wanted to say something, to utter a prayer, but could not.  The power of the long journey leading to this moment, the investment on the part of so many, and my own deeply held dreams all combined and I was overwhelmed.

As Chris held me, I gestured for her to pray, and from her mouth came the most beautiful and eloquent prayer of thanksgiving and release—affirming that whatever the outcome, we knew our lives would continue to rest in God’s hands.  Then, reaching for the scissors, I slit open the envelope, opened the letter, and read:

“Dear Pastor Kindem, It is a pleasure to inform you…”  Oh!  Those sublime and long awaited words!  THE ANSWER WAS YES!!!

Our plans and those of the congregation would be fully funded.  Gathering our kids and holding each other in a circle, we shared the news.  Hugs and joy and dances all around…

The gift is so astounding; we are humbled as well as energized.  We know that many other letters bore news of a different outcome, and so our elation is coupled with a heightened sense of responsibility to steward this marvelous opportunity in fullest measure.