VISIT TO A TRAPPIST MONASTERY

Press, Volume XCII, Issue 27736, 13 August 1955, Page 9

VISIT TO A TRAPPIST MONASTERY

[Specially written for "The Press”!

[By

GARDNER MILLER.]

The news that eight Cistercian I monks will join those who have been I here for a year founding the order o in Hawke's Bay is of great interest ' to those who know something cf the E influence of the monastic orders * through the centuries. The Cistercian ; order goes back for 800 years ' Kentucky is famed for its horses, its ? blue grass, and its whisky. To that I very limited list must be added that f Kentucky is the birthplace of Abra- I ham Lincoln without whose name < America’s roll of illustrious citizens i would be sadly impoverished. Then i too, in Kentucky is a place called Fort * is a notary reservation of 33,000 acres. Within the fort and buried deep in the ground are < bars of gold worth millions. It is ? guarded by soldiers, and a poor Briton 1 cannot get a glimpse of his own I money. It is a sardonic commentary 1 on the affairs of nations and men that 1 gold comes out of the earth and is ( then buried deep in the same stuff £ thousands of miles away and ’ guarded. As the old Quaker said to ’ his wife, “all the world is queer ex- 4 cept thee and me, and even thee is , a little queer.” Of near-fame is a building in the ’ heart of Kentucky known as the < Abbey of Gethsemanae, a Trappist < monastery, founded in 1848. Its situa- ' tion is beautiful, and beauty added to i the leisurely pace of life in Kentucky * makes the monastery a mecca not only ! for the tourist but also for those whose 1 objective is .more serious and per- 1 sonaL The monastery belongs to the Cis- . tercian order, which came into being in France in the early twelfth century. The order is 1 a very strict one, the monks having one vegetable meal daily and ! abstaining from literature and from ! speech except for urgent purposes. I do not know if the diet is improved nowadays, but from what I saw there was certainly no appearance of luxury, even of comfort. The refectory was a long, bare hall, with tables and benches, without cloth or cushions. Each monk had a wooden plate and a wooden spoon; there were no table napkins and I imagine there wouldn’t be any second helping. This would be no place for Oliver Twist \ The Professor and I I was accompanied by a learned professor (a New Zealander), dean of a great college in Kentucky. We had motored along a magnificent highway, with fields of blue grass on either side. The grass, of course, is not really blue; nature is conservative about clothing the fields with green grass, but when e gentle breeze blows there is a quite discernible shimmer of blue as the grass curtseys to the wind. The impression of blue does not descend down the stalks but only upon the grass tips. The blue grass is for horses. They seem to thrive on it, judging by the beautiful animals roaming the great paddocks. Sir John McKenzie, our esteemed fellow-citizen, visited Kentucky and brought some blue grass seeds back to New Zealand. He told me that our soil wouldn’t take kindly to the visitor. Trust New Zealand to be independent. When we arrived at the monastery we saw an old, mellowed building, standing serene amidst the blended colours of a summer afternoon. One’s imagination conjured up mediaeval days when the doorkeeper would ask your business before admitting you.

and a habited a bald pate and keys w?J l^nJ!5a from a c °r, ded Portly waist, we found an open door leading to a hookroom presided over by a ® an , oheery brother who was obvih o PI K to talk about ‘he monastery- Brothers are not monks. The Rvrt? ar ? no l on view to visitors. 2?. ■ rules of their order they only j£ at ?l nise w ? th fellow monks and that, t° r most part, without speech. The brothers do not take the vows of the °„ ar . but perform the manual work 2^?i? saary E . u ? b as farming, cheese making, cooking and tasks that make an austere life at least palatable. ... Our Guide -e .<SL wa,t * n « . for a little, and a group of sight-seers having collected, our guide came along to take us through the building. He was a brother and Sr- evidently just come from the bam. He badly needed a shave, and his nands and finger nails were grimy. I i? n • be cared for his job jof snowing curiosity-mongers round. He wouldn’t look at us, and mumbled something that nobody heard and then, walked off and the group followed sheepishly. On the tour there were certain acts of devotion in which, although we did not participate, we were not made to feel unwanted. The corridors and the cells were bare, no concession being made to the flesh. The professor and I were keen to meet, if possible, one of the monks known as Father Louis. This monk has forsaken the world, and in so doing has become ohe of the best-known men of our day He is none other than T nomas Merton, the outstanding writer. Thomas Merton comes of New Zea-land-American parentage. I think he has a connexion with a Christchurch branch of his family. Educated in French and English schools and at Cambridge University, and also the great seat of learning in New York, Columbia University, he entered the Trappist monastery in > Kentucky and received the habit in 1942 and was ordained priest His ; books are read the world over. It is i strange that tl|e restriction of the order to abstain from literature should • have produced a master in that realm! “ L° vers . of S° od writing will applaud ; the wisdom that found a way to let , this monk speak through the printed word. After all, a writer can keep his vow of silence and he doesn’t need to read even his own work. I But Thomas Merton was not to be f seen. He has made the monastery 1 known to tens of thousands and it is , good publicity to hedge him round r with an air of mystery and sanctity.

Laymen’s Retreats On the occasion of the monastery’s centenary celebrations in 1949, a letter was received from Pope Pius XII in which he mentioned that about 2000 men come annually to spend weekends in retreat. This is very significant. I have a copy of the programme of one of these retreats and believe me it is pretty strenuous. The discipline of having every hour marked off for a certain duty and the discipline imposed by silence must make impressions that do not easily wither. There is a waiting list of men wishing to enter the various monasteries in America. To question the sincerity and purpose of men who wish to leave the world of action for a life of contemplation would be unfair. My own opinion is that you do not conquer by seeking seclusion. “But to every man there openeth a High Way, and a Low. And every man decideth the Way his soul shall go.”