My wife, the lovely Robin, and I spent this past weekend on a silent prayer retreat at
St. Meinrad Archabbey in south-central Indiana (near Evansville). St. Meinrad monastery was founded in 1854 by monks from the thousand-year-old Swiss abbey of Einsiedeln, where St. Meinrad lived and died. Today, it is a thriving community of ninety or so monks which also includes a seminary (more than a hundred seminarians studying for the priesthood), theological school, publishing house (Abbey Press), gift shop, and extensive grounds.
The archabbey church is a beautiful place, with a Christus painted in 1943 by Fr. Gregory de Wit, a monk of Mont César Abbey in Belgium, who while visiting the abbey also painted the chapter room.
Accustomed as I am to prayer retreats at another famous monastery (see
here), it took some getting used to (and getting over myself) to sing the songs and chants (and the updated
Gloria) that are used at St. Meinrad's (see
here for information about the extensive liturgical music program there).
The many works of art in and around the archabbey church include this triptych (above) depicting the life of St. Meinrad, a ninth-century monk, priest, hermit, and saint.
St. Meinrad's is a beautiful place to retreat, pray, worship, and be. More information is available on their website (yes, monks have websites), www.saintmeinrad.org.
Walk Through A Darkened Church
ReplyDeleteDraw near your beds,
The time has come,
Sleep the sleep that makes us one
Come and rest your weary heads
As Nathaniel did at Justin's hand
Draped in the robe of poverty,
Where he would there the poorest be
Before he did that hill descend
To bathe within the placid deep
On the Eve of the New Year
To finally weep his lasty tear
So he could sleep that peaceful sleep
Yet speak ye not of peace to him
Meinrad was never such a place
And though it is the place he lays
He cannot rest; the bells still din
As you your hours still do pray
To make hypocrisy complete
Forgetting to watch for Rich and Pete
Returning with their wooden stakes
Or hear a voice cry from the soil
Of pious riches; of sacrifice
Paid out to silence victims twice
The secret price of wicked toil
And so his tomb hides your misdeeds
Covers up your sin, not his
For you're the one brought him to this
And speaks of your false charity
And so a curse does follow sin
A curse that issues from the past
A scourge to bring you to your last
For all that you have done to him
For just below that darkened church
There he lies beneath black towers
The victim of unholy powers
Lying there within the earth
Dig up his heart! Turn it to ashes!
The donor's soul is black as night,
See what's hidden from the light,
'Twas made dark by their blacken masses
Mix it with water! Drink it down!
This will be your last defense
When they come for recompense
From you black hoods above the town
Where Rich and Pete will find you there
In your sacred mausoleum
In your grandiose museum
And fall upon you unaware
While chanting your familiar chants
Before Meinrad your burnished saint
On Stars of David to meet your fate
Faced by these two strong revenants
Two sons come home to find their rest
With those who made them face the flames
With those who cursed their very names
And then their graves did dare to bless
Think not of life for you are dead
Exchange your habit for mort cloth
A candle circled by a moth
Will be placed at your foot and head
And they will carve your epitaph
Inscribe them with your evil deeds
The truth that you did fail to heed
While candles dwindle fading black