By now regular readers of my inspirational pieces know I have an appreciation for the life of monks and nuns. They have taught me they are not special simply because they took monastic vows and now live a cloistered life. Although Franciscans and Dominicans are not technically monks, I still put them in this category of “special people.” Again, I know a Franciscan would be terribly frightened if they thought they were special simply because they were trying to follow the way St. Francis of Assisi outlined. They would insist they are no more special than any other serious follower of Jesus.
In fact, this is one of the most important things I learned about monks when I first had some exposure to their particular way of life. Growing up as a Quaker, I never heard about monks. Actually, I knew almost nothing about Roman Catholicism, so knowing about monks would have been even more of a long shot. When I was young, I think most of the young Quakers would have laughed and acknowledged all serious Quakers were little old ladies. But in some way this was not far from the truth.
As I have aged, I certainly realized old Quaker guys can do pretty well at the spiritual journey, too. However, I would still assert that women have done better than men. This is probably a cultural thing that has nothing to do with Quaker spirituality. Maybe it takes men longer to get over their ego---assuming most of us can do it at some point! Maybe women are better at relationships and being willing to make others better. What after all, is love, but making others better?
All this was precipitated in my head when I re-read a chapter in Kathleen Norris’ classic book, The Cloister Walk. The book originally appeared in 1996. I am not sure when I read it, but it was fairly soon after it came into print. I had read an earlier book of Norris, namely, Dakota, and had liked that. Soon after the turn of the twenty-first century, I had the pleasure of inviting Norris to my campus and make three presentations. She was a wonderful presence for a couple of days.
I still use The Cloister Walk in a class I teach, so had to read again her chapter called, “Celibate Passion.” Even the title of that chapter is vintage Norris. When most folks think about celibacy, they don’t think about passion. Erroneously, we think people of passion could never take a vow of celibacy, like monks and nuns. Instead marriage is our only option. I am sure I would have thought that at one point. But it only serves to demonstrate how uneducated I was. Now I know better and Norris helped me learn.
Norris quips that celibacy means, to many people, “hatred of sex.” Clearly, Norris considers this bunk. Indeed, she uses a phrase like this to hone in on what she really wants to give focus. She claims, “celibacy practiced rightly is not at all hatred of sex; in fact it has the potential to address the sexual idolatry of our culture in a most helpful way.” Although Norris’ words were penned in the mid-1990s, they are just as true today.
As usual, Norris turns to her own experience. This is what endears her to me and makes her teaching so splendid for my own formation. She acknowledges one of the real gifts of her time spent with the Benedictines “has been the development of deep friendships with celibate men and women.” When I read such a line, I have a feeling I may know what is coming. I know that the Greek word for “friend” is one of the words for “love.” In Greek, at least, friendship is a form of love.
Norris gets right to the heart of the issue. Monks and nuns have sexual energy. All human beings do. But according to Norris, monks and nuns “manage to sublimate their sexual energies toward another purpose than sexual intercourse and procreation.” When she writes a sentence like that, I nod, “of course, that makes perfect sense.” She goes on making sense. Norris adds, “I’ve seen too many wise old monks and nuns whose lengthy formation in celibate practice has allowed them to incarnate hospitality in the deepest sense.” She concludes by noting, “In them, the constraints of celibacy have somehow been transformed into an openness that attracts people of all ages, all social classes.”
What occurs to me is that I found the reason why I find so many meaningful friendships among monks and nuns. The passion of their love is transformed into friendship with each other and with all the rest of us living outside the cloister of their vowed life. Unlike so many of us, the monks and nuns are open. They are free from the restraints of passion that is stuffed, bridled or repressed.
They are able to be open. Because they are free, they are open to the deep friendships which life affords. Maybe this is what makes them like the little old women (and men) of my early understanding. They have transformed passion into healthy urges of hospitality and friendship. No wonder our culture does not peddle this. It probably won’t sell the way our culture tries to sell sex via the various media.
I am attracted not only to the idea of deep friendship, but I am attracted to the experiences of real friendships like this. I am open. And I want to be free for the depth of this most truly authentic love---the love of friends.
In fact, this is one of the most important things I learned about monks when I first had some exposure to their particular way of life. Growing up as a Quaker, I never heard about monks. Actually, I knew almost nothing about Roman Catholicism, so knowing about monks would have been even more of a long shot. When I was young, I think most of the young Quakers would have laughed and acknowledged all serious Quakers were little old ladies. But in some way this was not far from the truth.
As I have aged, I certainly realized old Quaker guys can do pretty well at the spiritual journey, too. However, I would still assert that women have done better than men. This is probably a cultural thing that has nothing to do with Quaker spirituality. Maybe it takes men longer to get over their ego---assuming most of us can do it at some point! Maybe women are better at relationships and being willing to make others better. What after all, is love, but making others better?
All this was precipitated in my head when I re-read a chapter in Kathleen Norris’ classic book, The Cloister Walk. The book originally appeared in 1996. I am not sure when I read it, but it was fairly soon after it came into print. I had read an earlier book of Norris, namely, Dakota, and had liked that. Soon after the turn of the twenty-first century, I had the pleasure of inviting Norris to my campus and make three presentations. She was a wonderful presence for a couple of days.
I still use The Cloister Walk in a class I teach, so had to read again her chapter called, “Celibate Passion.” Even the title of that chapter is vintage Norris. When most folks think about celibacy, they don’t think about passion. Erroneously, we think people of passion could never take a vow of celibacy, like monks and nuns. Instead marriage is our only option. I am sure I would have thought that at one point. But it only serves to demonstrate how uneducated I was. Now I know better and Norris helped me learn.
Norris quips that celibacy means, to many people, “hatred of sex.” Clearly, Norris considers this bunk. Indeed, she uses a phrase like this to hone in on what she really wants to give focus. She claims, “celibacy practiced rightly is not at all hatred of sex; in fact it has the potential to address the sexual idolatry of our culture in a most helpful way.” Although Norris’ words were penned in the mid-1990s, they are just as true today.
As usual, Norris turns to her own experience. This is what endears her to me and makes her teaching so splendid for my own formation. She acknowledges one of the real gifts of her time spent with the Benedictines “has been the development of deep friendships with celibate men and women.” When I read such a line, I have a feeling I may know what is coming. I know that the Greek word for “friend” is one of the words for “love.” In Greek, at least, friendship is a form of love.
Norris gets right to the heart of the issue. Monks and nuns have sexual energy. All human beings do. But according to Norris, monks and nuns “manage to sublimate their sexual energies toward another purpose than sexual intercourse and procreation.” When she writes a sentence like that, I nod, “of course, that makes perfect sense.” She goes on making sense. Norris adds, “I’ve seen too many wise old monks and nuns whose lengthy formation in celibate practice has allowed them to incarnate hospitality in the deepest sense.” She concludes by noting, “In them, the constraints of celibacy have somehow been transformed into an openness that attracts people of all ages, all social classes.”
What occurs to me is that I found the reason why I find so many meaningful friendships among monks and nuns. The passion of their love is transformed into friendship with each other and with all the rest of us living outside the cloister of their vowed life. Unlike so many of us, the monks and nuns are open. They are free from the restraints of passion that is stuffed, bridled or repressed.
They are able to be open. Because they are free, they are open to the deep friendships which life affords. Maybe this is what makes them like the little old women (and men) of my early understanding. They have transformed passion into healthy urges of hospitality and friendship. No wonder our culture does not peddle this. It probably won’t sell the way our culture tries to sell sex via the various media.
I am attracted not only to the idea of deep friendship, but I am attracted to the experiences of real friendships like this. I am open. And I want to be free for the depth of this most truly authentic love---the love of friends.
Comments
Post a Comment