Veni Sancti Spiritu
Gosh I hope the bus left already.
In the darkness before dawn I walked briskly across Plaza de Catalunya. The usual early train from Sarria was running late and the data on my phone had dwindled to a drip that I wasn’t able to warn my contact of my running behind schedule. It was a Tuesday morning. I was exhausted. If the bus was leaving when it was supposed to, I missed it. Rounding the corner to head toward Jesuites Casp I sighed out of relief and, admittedly, a little out of disappointment. Ten hours, ten! That’s how long I was going to have to sit in a fifty-seat coach bus from Barcelona to the French hinterland. Ten hours in a bus brimming with students who sang American and Catalan pop songs for 3/4ths of the time. Our destination was Taize, an ecumenical (meaning all faiths and creeds are welcomed and celebrated) monastery in Burgundy famous for prayer almost always sung rather than said.
Taize was a wonderful surprise, as the presence of the Holy Spirit usually is! To my young readers, when was the last time you were surprised? Truly surprised by beauty or the goodness of others?
Each day at Taize was structured around prayer in a hall of simple construction. Three times a day, before breakfast, before lunch, and after dinner when the sun had fallen behind the mountains to the west and the grounds enveloping the monastery went silent, frozen, dark-conditions at night proved the most conducive to prayer at Taize! There were few chairs in this holy space, a few wooden benches, large sets of stairs and small stools visitors could sit on with crossed legs resting on the floor. Most sat on the ground in various pseudo-yoga poses (resting lotus or something like that, right?). Some reclined, others leaned against the walls. In the middle sat about thirty monks in plane white garbs. They were a worldly bunch. Both Catholic and Protestant, they hailed from around the globe: Japan and South Korea, Spain and Nigeria, Venezuela and Des Moines, Iowa. One monk was designated to lead worshipers in song, another manned a piano or an organ or a small flute. Readings and the gospel were delivered in a variety of languages: Latin, English, Spanish, German, French, Italian. Songs were also sung in a different tongues.
I think it would be impoverishing to tell you what these different songs sounded like and to attempt to describe the inner movements they awaken within the heart. Rather, I wish to include some of my recordings for your enjoyment and to hopefully enrich your prayer. Additional links taken from YouTube are included either because the quality of my recording is crude does not do deserved justice to the song or because I did not have an opportunity to record a particular song. I must add that these hymns are very personal. They evoke profound memories and emotions, from melancholy and bliss, to sorrow and joy. Listen to them in a quiet space, allowing their sweetness to wash over you.
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After Prayer "El Senior"
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Bless the Lord My Soul
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Dona Nobis
Pachem Domine (?)
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By the third day at Taize I was either humming or singing different numbers to myself or with others. What a surprise! Normally I would be opposed, opting to listen. But these songs broke, if not crashed, through my defenses and seeped into my heart like a rush of water that softens and penetrates hard ground. As the week progressed, my soul became more porous to the energy and love imbued in these sacred sounds, an invitation to converse with the divine within myself and beyond my being. What a gift.
Living, eating and singing with others in community was balanced with solo, silent walks down empty roads that twisted and wound through the countryside beyond the periphery of the village. Stories in the gospels telling of Jesus withdrawing to places to be alone are many. How I was taken by the soft and hazy greens, blues and purples coloring the landscapes surrounding my concrete path. They reminded me of the paintings of Van Gogh I first laid eyes on during my undergraduate years studying art history at Canisius College: melancholy and wispy, yet flowing with a sublime intensity and transience that characterizes life itself, touched by the divine. The prayer and thoughts on those afternoon walks alone (well not exactly alone, there were numerous cows and sheep that mooed and bleated at me from their kingdoms behind wire fences) will remain close to me as I continue to look back at my time at Taize years from now.
Again I address my young readers who struggle to “know” what prayer is and how to do it. Prayer is not an intellectual exercise. It is an activity of the heart, of the imagination, of the spirit. Many of you in class have said prayer is scary or seems boring when considered. In ways that’s very true! For many it can be very scary because it requires vulnerability. I can relate with feelings of hesitation and coldness. But I say this: get on the bus. Close your eyes, sit in silence, slow down, walk and get lost, be alone, sing, draw your attention toward what lies within. Don’t worry about “doing it right,” just do it. And you’ll likely be surprised to find that the God who you’ve been wanting has really been there the entire time, waiting for you, listening to you, laughing with you, loving you!
Veni Sancti Spiritu! (Follow LINK)
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