Downtown Monks
Page 14
Another sign of the messianic age is the bringing together of all the peoples of the earth. In the very last chapter of Isaiah, the Lord proclaims, “I come to gather the nations of every language; they shall come and see my glory.” In the second chapter of the same book is this beautiful canticle,
In the days to come,
The mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established as the highest mountain,
and raised above the hills.
All nations shall stream toward it; many peoples shall come and say:
“Come, let us climb the Lord’s mountain,
to the house of the God of Jacob,
That he may instruct us in his ways
and we may walk in his paths.”
In those days we will no longer hate our brothers and sisters for having skin that is a different color from our own. We won’t feel threatened by neighbors who were born in a different country, nor despise folks for speaking with a foreign accent. As one great family we will all stream to our home downtown and crowd into the city on top of the hill.
St. John writes as if the New Jerusalem were already here, and the victory already won. Although we may be living in it, the Holy City is not yet complete. There is clearly a lot more work to be done. And for this God needs our hearts and hands. Each of us is called to build the City of God through a life of love, of humble openness toward others, and generosity toward the poor and the needy.
Traditional monastic theology often speaks of the monastery—optimistically, I suppose—as a head start on heaven, a foretaste and model of the Kingdom of light and peace. As monastics, then, one of our tasks is to spread the vision of the New Jerusalem to our brothers and sisters, encouraging them, by our life of community, poverty, and prayer, to take up the gospel challenge to transform creation. Building the City of God is a pretty intimidating task for all of us, whether inside or outside of the monastery. We can all use the encouragement of John’s image:
In the Spirit, he carried me to the top of a very high mountain, and showed me Jerusalem, the holy city, coming down out of heaven from God. It had all the glory of God and glittered like some precious jewel of crystal clear diamond.
I walk slowly, with my eyes cast downward, keeping half an eye out for broken bottles. There’s an empty Sprite can and a couple of Burger King wrappers in the gutter.
Do we have the eyes St. John had, to see the New Jerusalem breaking in around us? Do we have the will to work at building it in our own lives, in our homes and monasteries, in our parishes and cities, in our nation, and our world?
At the top of the hill now we turn right, and the procession starts to wind its way toward the church’s open doorway.
Standing at the entrance Fr. Theodore, holding the lighted candle up high, sings into the cavernous dark, “Light of Christ!”
The rest of us, standing out on the sidewalk, reply, “Thanks be to God!”
As I start up the steps I smile at the vision of our city’s people all living in harmony and peace as one united family, and King Boulevard paved with diamonds. Still a little work to be done here!
Inside the church we pass the flame from the single paschal candle, each of us lighting our own little taper. As the white walls of the church start to glow with the steady brightness of a hundred tiny lights I pray an Easter prayer for Downtown Monks:
Lord, give our little abbey on the hill the eyes to see your new creation breaking in on us right here in Newark. Grant us the courage to work for the day when the vision of peace will be a reality and all downtown will glow with the glory of your eternal light. Amen.
SCRIPTURAL REFLECTION
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,
“See, the home of God is among mortals.
He will dwell with them;
they will be his peoples,
and God himself will be with them;
he will wipe every tear from their eyes.
Death will be no more;
mourning and crying and pain will be no more,
for the first things have passed away.”
And the one who was seated on the throne said, ‘See, I am making all things new.’” (Revelation 21:1–5)
Are there any signs that the new Jerusalem has been breaking into your life recently? What new things has God been doing in your life? Are there any new things that you know are about to happen (a change of address, a new job, a birth, or perhaps a death)? How do you feel about this newness? Do you resist it or welcome it?
Identify two or three of your gifts that could help to build the City of God on earth (the Kingdom of peace, justice, kindness). What specific course of action could you take that would make use of one or more of your gifts for this purpose?
WISDOM OF ATHANASIUS
“Christ was humanized that we might be divinized.” (Saint Athanasius, “On the Incarnation,” 54.3, cited in Aelred Squire, Asking the Fathers [New York, Paulist Press, 1973], 24.)
EPILOGUE
I’m so glad you were able to spend some time with us. Let me walk with you back to Broad and Market.…
The cars in front of the monastery? They belong to parents waiting for their sons to finish up at sports practices or study hall. Later tonight, there will be even more cars—there’s a lecture at seven, part of a series on racism that the abbey is sponsoring.
Yes, the kids at the bus stop are ours. The buses are less crowded now: most of the commuters are already gone. In another hour it’ll be just us and our neighbors.
Let’s turn down Market Street now. That’s Otis waiting for the light in front of Burger King. Haven’t seen him around for a while, but he looks like he’s okay.
Look over there, across the street in front of the furniture store. See that Latino couple with their two boys and teenage daughter? I wonder if that’s Maritza. She’d be about that age by now.
If you glance into the video arcade as we go by, you may spot William, killing time. He’s probably hoping that maybe darkness won’t fall tonight—even though he knows that it will.
Well, here we are: the corner of Market and Broad. That distinguished-looking old gentleman standing by the newsstand looks a lot like my friend from the food pantry, the one with the icy hands. Wonder how he is.
All these folks belong to our extended monastic family: our neighbors, the students of our schools and their parents, our alumni, faculty, and coaches, the Sisters of St. Joseph who work with us, our benefactors and lay Benedictine Oblates, the parishioners of St. Mary’s, people who come for the lectures or Sunday Vespers, and those who stop by for noonday mass or five o’clock community Eucharist, as well as the dozens of local youngsters who play “Brick City Soccer” on our fields on Saturdays. Recently our family has grown even more with the help of the Internet—people have started visiting us at all hours at our website, www.newarkabbey.org.
Looks like we have just a few minutes of daylight left now. You know, most of the city around us seals itself up after dark. The stores slam their steel roll-down doors and shrivel behind them. Even these tall glass towers that are reflecting the orange sunset will close up and shrink, too.
Funny, but the abbey does just the opposite. Did you know that at night a monastery’s walls dissolve and extend outward? The boundaries of our peaceable kingdom, for instance, stretch themselves way up the hill to embrace the jail, the new townhouses, the hospital, the little store-front churches, and the thousands of people asleep in their beds, from right here out into the suburbs. The monastery expands down the hill, too, enfolding the office buildings and stores, the railroad station and the Hispanic and Portuguese neighborhood, reaching right on over through Jersey City to New York. It’s hard to explain, but at night, it becomes a little easier to see that we all belong to one community.
Well, I know you’ve got to get going. God bless. Thanks again for visiting with us, and don’t forget to pray for us downtown monks.