From the editor

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This edition represents the completion of the first academic year of publication for "The Current." Beginning next week, we will move to reduced monthly summer issues for June, July, and August. This project has been a blessing for me personally, enabling me to reflect in a new way on life at Portsmouth. "The Current" has been created in conjunction with the larger communications effort being made by the monastery, centered in its various Web outlets. The monastery will continue to post ongoing news on its website, including updates on services, monastery news and events, the oblates, and more. Please also note the Facebook and Instagram presence, as well as the ongoing related information available through the School. Particularly in our moment of social distance, we hope these social media can help to bridge the gap. Our hope is that with "The Current," the monastery and its mission has been made more visible and understandable, to thus assist in evangelization and the passing on of the gospel message inherent in Benedictine life. It has been a remarkable school year, beginning with the celebration of precedent in our centenary, and ending with the unprecedented, in the suspension of liturgies. We echo our bishop's hailing of a "new beginning" with services reopening, and look forward to the precedented! Many thanks for reading, and for your ongoing prayers

I have gathered below, probably for my own benefit as much as for the reader, a survey of editorial notes this publishing year, representing for me a glimpse into a spiritual journey. I have been grateful for the opportunity to make this kind of weekly reflection and to try to capture some of this journey in words. - Pax, Blake Billings, May 22, 2020

On Welcoming, and Whitewashing / September 8, 2019
The pointed Mass readings from Matthew we were presented with this past month, particularly the list of “Woes” in chapter 23, are always a slap in the face. And once we catch our breath, we remember that a slap from the Righteous One is a blessing. As I was in the process of creating this newsletter, I was excited to consider how we might present to our readers the life of our community. Nice pictures, happy headlines... what a great place... Slap! Whitewashed walls! Clean cups! We have met the Pharisee, and it is us. I am reminded in a most harrowing way that I need a reality check here. If we live in an age of Fake News, mine is the Most Fake. This, it seems to me, is what I am warned about in these teachings, a warning echoed by the saint on whose feastday I write this – Augustine, architect of Original Sin – and resonating throughout the long Benedictine tradition. Benedict writes: Why don’t you try to actually be holy, before you worry about people calling you holy! Lest you be misled by our upbeat articles to think we are in some sort of paradise here - we are no less Pharisaic than the next guy. Because this to me is an essential requirement in interpreting all of these “Woes” of Matthew’s gospel: the enemy is us. The call to conversion is ours. The need for mercy and repentance is our very own. So perhaps I have it all wrong here in this newsletter – perhaps I should be highlighting cautionary tales and calling readers to change their sinful ways. This may well be true. But also true is that the call to holiness, while catalyzed by our own compunction, is also inspired by Example. Pray for our community, that we may exhibit in some way this call. Pray that we may truly evangelize with our lives. Pray that this newsletter and website initiative plant good seed in fertile ground.  Pax – B. Billings, September 8, 2019

Gratitude / September 22, 2019
We see around the grounds a sprouting of tents – a seasonal growth here typically associated with graduations or reunions, but now additionally evidence of something more. A tent on the Holy Lawn, for the Holy Mass of our centenary. The Mass program presents an image, standing before “Hall Manor,” of the lone figure of Leonard Sargent, harbinger of a community that even one of its very first brethren expected to be quite short-lived. We absorb this image as we sit under a glorious tent situated in the center of a campus and monastic grounds rivalling the beauty of any that one can find. Evidence of stability, success, blessing. And, simultaneously, we look to the future with its challenges: to preserve and to nurture, to take up the task Fr. Leonard started, facing many of the same questions he faced. But for me it calls to mind a theme I have heard echoed, particularly over the half of this monastery’s century that Fr. Ambrose Wolverton was a presence here with us: gratitude. And I realize again that gratitude goes, temporally, in two directions – drawn from the past and what has been provided, and to the future in the opportunities, albeit with struggle and uncertainty, that lie ahead.  Pax – B. Billings, September 22, 2019
 
A Greater Purpose / September 29, 2019
My own journey of this week led me to Washington, D.C., and a dedication service for a new memorial stone in Arlington National Cemetery. This stone commemorates the USS Thresher, then the lead ship of a new class of nuclear submarines. Thresher went down on April 10, 1963, with the loss of all 129 men on board. One of those men was my father, LCDR J. Hilary Billings. This memorial dedication, happening in the week of our centennial celebration at Portsmouth, led me to a longer term reflection on life, my father’s and my own. My father’s life of faith may well have shaped my own, as he was a devout daily communicant. His sacrifice definitely led me to Portsmouth, as it was through scholarships connected to Thresher that I was able to attend, following my brother Hilary ‘71 to the school. Any visit to Arlington is moving, and one feels personally drawn into the history of this country, which intangibly comes alive amidst the cemetery markers. St. Benedict, whose name was given to me by my father at my baptism, tells us to keep death daily before our eyes. My father’s death I surely do, a daily awareness underscored on this day. At Arlington Cemetery, thinking of fifty six years of living with the loss of the Thresher, and of the one hundred years of a Portsmouth faith community, I was led again to this interconnection of dying and living, and regained a sense of a greater purpose. Pax, B. Benedict Billings, September 29, 2019

“Oblate Diem!” / October 6, 2019
Our look at the oblates this week comes in anticipation of an Oblate Day of Recollection on October 13. These days are offered several times during the year, helping oblates regain their spiritual footing and foster their awareness of their chosen Benedictine community. While my own path to becoming an oblate was not vividly clear to me throughout my life, my interest in Benedict and his Rule has been a steady companion. I was drawn to the Christian faith while a student at the School. While in graduate studies in Belgium, I resided for one year in the Studium, a section set aside for students in Keizersberg (Mont-César) Abbey in Leuven, Belgium. Members of the Studium were committed to some practice of the Divine Office and community life. My study abroad also enabled me to make retreats at Downside Abbey and gain a closer knowledge of English Benedictines. This all set the ground for a continued interest in Benedictine life, and the gift of a return to Portsmouth as a faculty member. I cannot remember when I decided to inquire about becoming an oblate. I think for me it was more a decision to admit this is the life I am living, rather than a decision to take on something new. Kind of a “no-brainer,” I suppose: daily Mass here, frequent attendance at Vespers, teaching theology, middle name is Benedict. – what took me so long? I happened to overhear a tantalizing fragment of a student conversation while passing on the path this morning. One student had just asked, “Don’t you care if people like you?” The response was, “No, not really. They have to be able to handle who I am.” Indeed. The Rule of Saint Benedict in a nutshell, there. This community has somehow been able to do this, and I am grateful to have been accepted into it, as a (Jesuit) chaplain I know would often say, “warts and all.”
Pax, - B. Billings, Ob.S.B., October 6, 2019
 
The Most Important Things / October 13, 2019
On the wall of my classroom hangs a framed picture of Pope Saint John XXIII. I purchased it at a giant yard sale at St. Barnabas Church here in Portsmouth, some fifteen years ago. Overpaid for it. At the time, I was not sure why I was buying it, though I knew I had always had a fondness for John XXIII – initiator of the Council, great sense of humor, so pastorally minded. I am grateful on October elevenths to rediscover him as a kind of visual patron of the class. This morning I was grateful for a letter of this saint shared by Abbot Matthew at morning Masson his feastday, the last letter of Pope John to his family: “Love one another, my dear children. Seek rather what unites, not what may separate you from one another. I take leave, or better still, I say, ‘Until we meet again.’ Let me remind you of the most important things in life. Our blessed savior Jesus, His good news, His holy church, truth, and kindness.” Pax – B. Billings, October 13, 2019
 
Traditioning / October 20, 2019
Our community life expanded this weekend with the arrival of parents for Parents’ Weekend. This was a special one for myself, as my youngest daughter is now a Sixth Form student, so the last of my Parents’ Weekends as a Portsmouth Parent. I noticed the interweaving of generations: I now teach the children of former students, sharing with former students the parent experience. I teach the friends of my children, and the children of my friends. I am old enough to be the parent of the parents of our students. It’s all rather confusing…  And over the years and through the generations, I find the thread of a shared history, interest, and attachment to this monastery and school. I had repeated encounters with alumni whose children are now taking up the Portsmouth heritage in a new way. I heard a recurring theme of thanks for the Saint Louis monks who have strengthened our monastic presence, and are opening a new hope for the future. There has been an invisible but undeniable thread of continuity tying together these years and generations, even as I feel all the more the absence of those dear monks whom we have lost in recent years. There remains a sense of communion. We are somehow sharing here a table, a fellowship, a familiarity. It is a present that comes with a past, and with a future. It is a passing of a baton, it is tradition in action, traditioning – yes, that should be a verb. I felt a certain sense of traditioning this weekend. Sort of rhymes with transitioning. Between who we have been and who we will be; between our possibilities and our actualities, and tied together in our hopes and in our prayers. Pax – B. Billings, October 20, 2019
 
Beginning / October 27, 2019
Saint Benedict advises the Abbot to listen to his community, inviting the counsel of all: “The reason why we have said all should be called for counsel is that the Lord often reveals what is better to the younger” (RB 3). In that spirit, I was struck by the remarks offered by Maddie Knudson ’19 this week, in her talk as part of the School’s “Church Assembly” series. Maddie talked about some of the experiences in her movement towards faith that came to change her assumptions and expectations: “…I began to take five minutes every day to just think; I told myself it wasn’t prayer but it was the closest thing I had ever had to it. This led to me using the time in church to think, which then turned into me actually paying attention and participating in Mass. Instead of looking to find every fault in the Catholic faith, I began to think of it as something bigger than myself. All the rules and regulations that people stereotype the church with slipped away.” Maddie’s advice to the seeker was spot on: “…When we have to sit in church, if you’re not Catholic or struggling with what being Catholic means to you, take the time we’re given to be in a quiet space to think. Think about where you are and how you’re feeling as a person. Or be completely silent in your mind and words. Take into account the amazingness and beauty of the people around you who have such a strong faith.” Much of what she says here recalled to me my own journey in faith as a student at the Abbey. I remember myself arriving at the School (way back in 1974!), an agnostic and self-satisfied sophomore, highly critical of all things church – until I started “actually paying attention” and stopped “looking to find every fault,” as Maddie said. I too encountered “something bigger than myself,” and saw my prejudices called into the light. I began to notice “strong faith” around me, not only in the example of the monastic community, but in the sincere religious search of some of my peers. And the opportunity to find “a quiet space,” and to “be completely silent” – this was a new and appealing horizon for me, one that the monastic space provided in good measure. This all reminds me of an ancient insight I gained just recently from Thich Naht Hanh, Buddhist monk, who speaks of “Beginner’s Mind” (“Soshin,” in Zen Buddhism). “Beginner’s Mind” is a precious treasure of inspiration, a kind of well one can return to for sustenance, to rediscover the initial inspiration still leading one, perhaps invisibly, along one’s chosen path. “The Lord often reveals what is better to the younger”: to the beginner, and to the mind of faith that does not forget it is always just beginning. I am grateful for Maddie’s insights and her sincerity, itself a reminder of how to begin to see what matters most.  Pax – B. Billings, October 27, 2019

Beatitude / November 2, 2019
What a day of gratitude. This day of All Saints, it is for me one of the most tender and gentle of holidays. It is a celebration of grace. Abbot Matthew’s story at Mass of Sister Raimunda’s encounter with Blessed Solanus Casey, continues to shatter my expectations, with grace - tender and gentle grace. Solanus had prophesied to that healthy and active woman that Jesus would ask her to suffer for a long time. And she did, for thirty years of utterly debilitating arthritis, bed-ridden, separated from the life of teaching she had loved. Yet she grew - in faith, in prayer, in love, in gratitude - and most visibly, in joy. The Beatitudes, which we read each year on this day - always devastating, always always a shock to the system. I have thought of an assignment for my young theology students. Let us start by counting our blessings - something many Americans are wont to do at their Thanksgiving table. Let’s compile our list. Let us see what we have chosen to highlight. What made the cut? Was it the times you were poor in spirit? Was it the opportunities you had to mourn? Did the times you were insulted and abused make your top ten? How about the times someone took complete advantage of you, and you did not exact revenge nor even demand justice, opting to be merciful? This road of blessing, of sanctity, of holiness, it has the topography of humility, as St. Benedict sees it - for each step down is an ascent. As the parables so resoundingly turn our world upside down, so too these Beatitudes. Suffering, even unto the cross - this we learn to celebrate at the table of thanksgiving. Blessings, these are all blessings, of the highest order. And what is a blessing? It is way in which our Lord touches us, makes us fruitful, and enables us to grow. These sorrowful mysteries! But how else do we truly learn faith, hope, and love unrelenting? Pax – B. Billings, November 2, 2019
 
The Oratory / November 9, 2019
We find in our calendar feast days for saints, for angels, and even for sacred spaces. As I write, it is the feast of the Basilica of John Lateran, an edifice constructed and reconstructed – even renamed – several times, made by human hands and dedicated to the service of God. Our own monastery is centered on the Oratory of Saint Gregory the Great. “The oratory ought to be what it is called,” Chapter 52 of the Rule of Saint Benedict tells us. As does Christ, in Matthew’s gospel: “My house shall be a house of prayer.” John Lateran is seen as “the mother of all churches.” So we may see our oratory as one of her offspring, sharing the same DNA, born of the same Spirit – a place of prayer. I am grateful for this oratory, which remains one of my favorite places on earth, and I’ve done some traveling. My own conversion, such as it was, happened during adoration here. My children were all baptized here. I do not come here seven times a day, sorry Saint Benedict, but typically at least two, and sometimes more. The physical beauty of the place, well, that doesn’t hurt. But spiritual vitality: this is what I have found within it, and it continues to draw me and sustain me. The opportunity to pray. So, simply, I express here my gratitude, for this church, and for its mother. And this, just in from Pope Francis: “Prayer always arouses feelings of fraternity, it breaks down barriers, crosses borders, creates invisible but real and effective bridges, and opens horizons of hope.” May you find your oratory, and may it be what it is called! Pax – B. Billings, November 9, 2019
 
Praise of Adoration / November 16, 2019
These editorial notes are intended as a kind of personal signature at the end of this newsletter, which to me is basically a kind of weekly greeting card. I sign this week’s greeting with a brief mention of an insight of the moment. The moment is myself now sitting at Divine Adoration, offered weekly on Friday afternoons in the Abbey church. The insight is this: there is no better way to spend time. If time is indeed spendable, this is the place to invest it. It is time I have never regretted. It is time when I have found solace, guidance, inspiration, peace. It is time when I have worked over the Chinese Puzzle, the Rubik’s Cube that is life, my life, and calmly discovered that a piece or two has fallen into place. I could try to explain why, theologically, catechetically, why this should be so. But the testimony of experience seems more readily acceptable to us in our day. There are just five others with me at this moment. Oh, and one Other. Part of me appreciates the intimacy of this small group. Part of me laments that more are not here, in this Presence. Perhaps they are overwhelmed by the Puzzle, perhaps distracted from it, or perhaps just otherwise engaged. They should find some time for this. They really should. Pascal wished we could learn how to spend time being alone. But here I begin to think that there truly is One who saves us from it. Pax – B. Billings, November 16, 2019
 
Resolutions / November 24, 2019
Sorry, this note is longer than I would like. I love making New Year’s resolutions - much more than keeping them. I do prefer thinking of them in light of the church calendar, rather than the secular. Christ the King is a good moment to consider them. We finish Year C and look toward Year A. Our eschatological readings and Christ’s sharp warnings direct us to the Advent of the ultimate Kingdom. While at Mass, a prayer was answered for me when I was given not only the inspiration for my resolutions, but the idea of what I should write in this editorial note. We have been learning in Basic Theology of the seven petitions contained in the Lord’s Prayer. These seven presented themselves to me as appropriate resolutions, and ones I could be reminded of each time I make this prayer. If I were to make a daily examen, a big if, I could use this prayer-resolution. (RB = Rule of Saint Benedict)

1. Hallowed by Thy name. To seek to actually be holy, not have a reputation for it, as Benedict says. There is one who rightly has the name Holy, Christ says. To meditate and pray on the significance of this Name. RB 4.62: Do not aspire to be called holy before you really are, but first be holy that you may more truly be called so.
2. Thy Kingdom come. To carry the emotion and insight of this year-end throughout the year: to keep our ultimate destiny in mind daily. RB4.47: Day by day remind yourself that you are going to die; 44 Live in fear of judgment day; 45 and have a great horror of hell.
3. Thy will be done. To consider my will and its yearnings and demands, and to ask if they are inspired and informed by the Spirit. RB 4.60: Hate the urgings of self-will.
4. Give us our daily bread. To be prepared to recognize and receive the bread, of the finest wheat, that God is providing each day. It may be in the form of labor, of suffering, of having to persevere: how is God nourishing my soul? RB 4.42! If you notice something good in yourself, give credit to God, not to yourself.
5. Forgive us as we forgive. To seek to grow in patience and forbearance. This strikes me as the gateway into the Kingdom. RB 4.29 Do not repay one bad turn with another (1 Thess 5:15; 1 Pet 3:9); 30 Do not injure anyone, but bear injuries patiently; 31 Love your enemies (Matt 5:44; Luke 6:27); 32 If people curse you, do not curse them back but bless them instead; 33 Endure persecution for the sake of justice (Matt 5:10).
6. Lead us not into temptation. To discern temptation, and to cast it immediately upon the rock of Christ. RB 4.10 Renounce yourself in order to follow Christ (Matt 16:24; Luke 9:23); 11 discipline your body (1 Cor 9:27); Prologue 28: He has foiled the evil one, the devil, at every turn, flinging both him and his promptings far from the sight of his heart. While these temptations were still young, he caught hold of them and dashed them against Christ (Ps 14[15]: 4; 136[137]:9). 
7. Deliver us from evil. To seek to realize, to discern, how God is liberating me. What so readily I confuse with restriction and limitation - is this liberation, making possible the conversion, the “metanoia” of repentance and new life? To understand how being bound, even bound to a cross, is deliverance - which even as I write, I kind of resist.  From RB 4.57-58 Every day with tears and sighs confess your past sins to God in prayer; 58 and change from these evil ways in the future.

May these resolutions, which as I have written them have led me to Chapter 4 of the Rule of St. Benedict and its more specific list, become the instruments for this year’s work in the workshop of community life. Be me resolved!  Pax - B. Billings, November 24, 2019

The End is Upon Us / November 30, 2019
Year’s end is upon us. In reading Luke’s gospel this morning (November 29), I noticed that after Jesus has described the terrible signs of the coming of the Kingdom, he compares them to the new growth of spring that we see on the fig tree, that tells us summer is near. This reminded me of the reversals and unexpected conclusions that saturate the gospel: the Beatitudes, parables like that of the poor widow, the cross. As we move to the darkest time of the year, we see its greatest light begin to flicker. Expect the unexpected, it has been said. Never say never; the end is the beginning. Blessed are the poor, he said. Rejoice in persecution. Death is new life.  And, funny, we now turn to a new season of this unexpected, with long standing traditions and practices followed for millennia.  Here at Portsmouth, we recreate the Advent wreath, we hang the banner of the Theotokos, we dust off the crèche scenes, we bring out the violet liturgical cloth. The familiarity of rites and practices intended to recall a gospel that seems forever unfamiliar to our world. We live in an age that fears that things will get worse before (or if at all) they get better. But as we again try to turn our hearts and minds to the long-awaited and unexpected, may we discern and believe: the worse contains the promise of the better, the cursed now holds the blessing of forever, and even death brings the hope of new birth to life eternal.  Pax – B. Billings, November 30, 2019

On the Feast of Ambrose  / December 7, 2019
The following was forwarded to me some time ago by my Abbey classmate Carroll Carter, who wanted to call to my attention this beautiful teaching of Ambrose, “the patron saint for one of our own beloved monks, teachers and mentors.” I hinted then that I would remember it on December 7. It is understandable that on this feast day many of us think of Dom Ambrose Wolverton, whose own preaching resonated with the same beauty and insight one finds here in the words of his patron: “Saint Luke narrated three parables in order: that of the sheep which was lost and then found, that of the drachma which was mislaid and was located, and that of the son who had died and was brought back to life. All of this so that, having been taught the lesson of the triple remedy, we can cure our wounds, for a threefold cord is not easily broken (Eccl 4:12). Who, then, is this father, this shepherd, this mother? Could they not, perhaps, represent God the Father, Christ, and the Church? Christ carries you on his shoulders, the Church seeks you out, and the Father receives you. One, because he is Shepherd, continues carrying you; another, as Mother, ceases not to search for you; and then the Father comes back to dress you. The first, as a work of his mercy; the second, looking after you; and third, reconciling yourself to him. Each one of them matches these qualities perfectly well; the Redeemer came to save, the Church assists, and the Father reconciles. The same mercy is present in all divine activity…”  From Saint Ambrose of Milan (Glimpses of the Church Fathers, Claire Russell, Ed. © 1994, Scepter Publishers, Inc. www.scepterpublishers.org.) Pax – B. Billings, December 7, 2019
 
Just Being There / December 14, 2019
I continue to return to one thing Alvaro Gazmuri said when I asked him about his experience with us. “Perseverance and just being there” had proven to be a key to success. This continues to resonate within me - and I take it in the spirit of Advent. Whether it be sitting at Adoration, as I am now, or going to Mass, or teaching students, or trying to do what is best by my family... I must remember the importance of perseverance and just being there. This typically does not seem like much. It would not make for an inspiring epitaph: “He was there.” But take heart. St Benedict makes much of perseverance. And those wise maidens, did they do much more than go and get a little oil, and wait? And after all, anything good in me, anything good I can do, it is actually from God. So, I’d best persevere, stay awake, be there, and wait on Him. Pax – B. Billings, December 14, 2019
 
Zachariah / December 21, 2019
I am Zechariah. We read of him this week, and the announcement of the conception of his son, John the Baptist. I identify with Zechariah - except for the part about being righteous and blameless (Lk 1: 6). The part about being deaf and mute because of my disbelief, that is the Zechariah in me. You see, Zechariah seems to have been deaf as well as mute – Luke 1:22 says he was “qophos” (deaf), and in verse 62, others make signs to Zechariah, so that he might understand. And I too am “qophos”: in ways of the Spirit. I have trouble hearing the Lord, and I feel powerless to truly express His message of Good News. And the source of my paralysis, again and again, seems to be a lack of faith. But maybe this affliction of Zechariah is not ultimately all that bad, though. It is temporary, at least, and Zechariah is healed with the birth and christening of his son. And during the period of his punishment, if that be what it was, he could still communicate. A bit of hand-waving can get you pretty far. So if I am Zechariah, perhaps I too can just pay more attention to body language, keep my eyes open, and send out a “Current” or two. And when the Lord sees fit that I might hear his voice, and speak His Word fully, then it shall be. Pax – B. Billings, December 21, 2019
 
Zechariah Revisited / December 24, 2019
Blessed be the Lord, Zechariah finally says.
 
Where do we make a home? Today, for morning Mass of the day before Christmas, we read in the gospel Zechariah’s prophecy and prayer. “Blessed be the Lord...” This exhortation reminded me of a trip to Chile, and a lectio activity that involved being given a phrase of scripture upon which to meditate. As I walked, I repeated, “Bless the Lord my soul.” It seemed not inspiring for some time, until it dawned on me: what does my soul bless, anyway, after all? What do I speak well of, what do I hope will grow within me, what do I nurture and give growth to in my life? Is it goodness, justice, love? Is it the Lord? The lectio became a powerful moment of reflection and correction: make of my soul a blessing of the Lord; make it a place for Him to grow, and nothing less. Make of my life, of my soul, my being - an opening for God. This home building is the project of Benedict. To enable his soul bless the Lord, and nothing less. To make a place, a community, a workshop, in which this blessing project can transpire and be nurtured. This is really the Christmas blessing - God with us, taking us on, entering our hearts, our homes.
 
But… I have been making a home at this Abbey for nearly three decades now – have I made it an opportunity for my soul to bless the Lord? Have I made this place not simply a home for me, but for Him? While this blessing-project for my soul was a powerful and true message, it was partial. Nathan’s message in the first reading today calls for a reality check on this – would you build a house for me? Our eucharistic penitential confession echoes this admonition: I am not worthy to have you come under my roof. Have I even offered Him a manger? My blessing-project is first a worthiness-project, and there is much work to be done. This work to be done, this Christmas blessing-project: it occurs to me, unworthy me, that I must allow God to do that work. For while I would like to think I am making a home for Him, it is He who makes a home in me. It is Christmas grace. God has come to His people, Zechariah proclaims. He sets them free. He has raised up a savior. Let me accept this Christmas gift. Let my soul bless the Lord.   Christmas Peace - B. Billings, December 24, 2019

An Afternoon Walk / January 11, 2020
My research into the journey of Father Gregory Borgstedt left me with a feeling of spiritual proximity and fellowship with the man, despite his departure from this community having happened nearly seventy years ago and a decade before my birth. I walked around the campus this unseasonably warm Friday afternoon, thinking about the physical evolution of these grounds, as well as our theological evolution. We still struggle to be able to pray as we ought. We still seek to reconcile the success–oriented aims of the school with the heaven-oriented aims of the monastery. And as his encounter with this community saw it move from dependency on Fort Augustus to independence, we see it still working on that independence, now in collaboration with St. Louis. Although we enjoy a marvelous new science building, I still teach in the chemistry building constructed in his day. My afternoon walk started there, and I walked along the western edge of the campus, bordered by that same Narragansett Bay. And I experienced an unexpected gratitude, simply for a shared journey and a fellowship in the search. Plus ca change, they say in French...  Pax – B. Billings, January 11, 2020
 
Conversatio / January 18, 2020
I am prompted to write this note by two events over the past week – Abbot Christopher Jamison’s homily on “Grievance and Gratitude,” and Father Michael’s autobiographical presentation to the School on his religious journey. Father Michael referred to conversatio morum, one of the three Benedictine vows, as pointing to a life of conversion. That got me to thinking, so I offer here what may be a somewhat unorthodox or overly creative interpretation of that vow, but let’s run with it for the moment.
 
If a monastery were just about obedience and stability, this would be not unlike a prison. School or work may feel like that, too. But if included in such a regimen is a commitment to being changed, a ray of light opens, and obedience and stability may set the parameters of conversion. They shape the walls of “the workshop of the Lord,” as Benedict calls the monastic enclosure. Conversatio morum, that puzzling third vow, then, is a dedication to allowing this workshop to become one of transformation, in which, “God must increase, and I must decrease” (to draw on the passage informing Abbot Christopher’s homily). Conversatio becomes a devotion to grace, that it may be allowed to have its full effect. It implies a commitment to listening, that cardinal rule of Benedict. Why is attentive and patient listening so difficult? That may have to do with authentic listening being a truly frightful thing – for it entails an openness to the possibility of real change, from the known to the unknown.

Conversion is about change - a fearful thing. But a life where fear is transformed into hope is a life in which conversion is embraced as an opportunity to find something good and desirable. This is how conversatio transforms obedience and stability. And if disobedience and instability is the way of the prodigal son, obedience and stability, by themselves, is the way of the elder son – but such a life is rife with tedium, resentment, and grievance. The elder son is as much in need of grace as the prodigal. The effect of that grace: my will is replaced with His; obedience and stability become a transformative serving that is not a servitude.  Obedience, perseverance, and renunciation are thus transformed into faith, hope, and love. Pax - B. Billings, January 18, 2020
 
Let There Be Light / January 25, 2020
Here we are, in mid-winter. My editorial note may sound uninspired. I was reflecting on this very fact, this lack of “je ne sais quoi.” – we march forward, really feeling to be in the midst of a marathon. Of course, I have never run a marathon, so what would I know what that really feels like? But I have run something resembling a sprint, and this does not feel like that. Miles to go before I sleep… Or, rather, miles to go, so let me sleep. Work in a high school typically does not lack for the presence of high-energy. But even a number of our young flock has the flu, or other winter-type ailments. It used to be that boarding students were required to write their weekly letter home. Well, let this week’s editorial be my little note from Camp Granada (yes, the younger generation may have no idea what that means – so Google it.) I look forward to next weekend’s celebration of the Presentation, with its emphasis on Light and Joy. Light at the end of the January tunnel! Pax – B. Billings, January 25, 2020

Lectio Divina / February 1, 2020
We have been making much of late, with the involvement of the Manquehue movement in our monastic and School community, of the practice of lectio divina. It is, of course, an ancient practice, embraced fully by Saint Benedict, and practiced in various forms over the centuries. It is prayerful reading, believed, if the name is indicative, to be divinely inspired. Many students and faculty, myself included, have participated in sessions of lectio, finding them life-giving and fulfilling. I feel most grateful that this involvement has prompted me to pursue the practice in personal prayer, with at times vivid and powerful results. We have student leaders, faculty leaders, and a growing parent group dedicated to lectio. I encourage all to learn more about it. I was prompted to write this note by this past Sunday’s new designation: Sunday of the Word of God, and through subsequently reading Friday’s gospel prayerfully. We learn in Mark 4:34 that the disciples of Christ were in the privileged position of not only hearing his parables, but of having them explained to them by him personally, “in private.” We, his current disciples, I have come to believe, are still in that position of privilege: we are placed in that position in prayer, in lectio. We find him available to us, if we have ears to hear – the ear of the heart that Benedict calls us to employs. We hear his voice, and are guided as he again opens the Scriptures for us.  Pax – B. Billings, February 1, 2020
 
Re-Collecting Our History  / February 8, 2020
I occasionally catch a moment to stop in to see Fr. Chris Davis, monk of Portsmouth in residence at The Grand Islander, a nursing home in Middletown. Less frequently, I make it “all the way” to Newport, to see Fr. Julian Stead at St. Claire’s. I had the blessing of checking in with them both this week. Fr. Chris has recently been elected President of the Residents’ Council. When I arrived they were just beginning a cocktail party, not of his initiative but surely meeting his approval! Fr. Julian continues apace with his reading and writing, having a room that offers glimpses of Newport harbor. I asked them about Effie Fortune: Fr. Julian referred to her as “Miss Fortune,” surely an un-fortunate homonym she must have had to contend with throughout her life. Fr. Chris remembers walking over to take her art class in her specially modified studio. He also referred to her harelip, a feature that various accounts indicate was a struggle for her. Fr. Julian remembered with delight her spunk, and recounted a visit with her in Sweden, coinciding with a visit to Bishop Ansgar. Neither Fr. Julian nor Fr. Chris had recollections of Esther Puccinelli, who remains more of a mystery for the Portsmouth archives.  I was grateful to see the two, and to more personally trace some of the vibrant and dynamic storylines that tie together the fabric of our history.  Pax – B. Billings, February 8, 2020
 
Compression  / February 14, 2020
Sometimes the confluence of events comes together with a greater collective force, compressing, almost like it’s pushing down, like a gigantic thumb, maybe God’s – pushing you into the ground. That astronaut who just returned to earth after so long in space: feeling the weight of just walking around down here, maybe it’s something like that. Today, Valentine’s Day, we remembered two students who have died. One we remembered with a dress down day for a fund in her name: Ali Sacco, who died in 2003 from a congenital heart problem that took her from us while she was still a student here. The other we remembered with a Mass, for the first anniversary of his death: Michael Meads ‘18, who died in his freshman year of college, taken by surprise by an infection that took over his young, healthy, athletic body. These difficult losses reminded me of other losses, and of a photo recently forwarded to me of the monastic community here in 2013. You see it below. Just three of these brethren pictured are now in residence here, and three in residence elsewhere. May the other five rest in peace – Francis, Ambrose, Philip, Damian, and Edmund. Keep death daily before your eyes, Saint Benedict directs us. Ha! I remember how during Vespers, at the phrase, “The dead do not praise the Lord,” Edmund invariably interjecting with an audible stage whisper his own rebuttal: “Yes, they do!” May it now be so, Father Edmund!
 
Even as I contemplate all of these losses, I also celebrate this day the 30th anniversary of proposing to my wife. Thirty years of awesome and wonderful blessings. This, as I am now in my 60th year. This, as my youngest child is soon to graduate from the school. This, as my mother approaches her 90th year. Time continues to accelerate, to expand, to contract – to compress. I also consider, with gratitude, our newer brethren: Br. Benedict and our Saint Louis monks – Fr. Michael, Fr. Francis, Fr. Edward, and Br. Sixtus – taking up monastic life with this community. I think of all this as I sit before the Blessed Sacrament, pondering what I might say in this editorial note. How much time do we all have, really? And what are we to do with it? What do I want to say?  “Out of the depths…”; “If I dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, You are there”; “I pour out my complaint before Him, and tell Him all my trouble…” – these are prayers we make routinely around here in the Divine Office. These prayers catch my attention. And I remember, “there is nothing new under the sun…” But I somehow thank God for that, because with all that is going on down here, well, it comforts to realize that God already knows. Our God, who says, “I am with you.”   Pax – B. Billings, February 14, 2020

(2013) Br. Francis Crawley, Fr. Chris Davis, Fr. Gregory Havill, Fr. Julian Stead, Br. Joseph Biron, Fr. Ambrose Wolverton, Ab. Matthew Stark, Ab. Caedmon Holmes, Fr. Philip Wilson, Fr. Damian Kearney, Fr. Edmund Adams (absent: Fr. Paschal Scotti).

A Lenten Revolution / February 21, 2020
When Brother Sixtus presented me with his lists of possessions, to help me with the short piece on monastic Lenten preparations, I suddenly felt quite wealthy. I think I have more stuff in the storage closet in my basement. His list was no Bloomberg nor Trump hundreds of pages; no lawyers nor accountants nor court orders needed in order to see it. Simply and humbly stated and offered – and I am not even his superior! And it led me to consider a Lenten practice that I may now include in my own considerations, and should do so more often in the rest of my life. What do I call “mine”? An economic examination of conscience.  These gifts of God, these elements in the fabric of creation, these opportunities to do His will, to spread His message. I must reconsider the meaning of “stewardship,” and the challenge it presents to “ownership.” Our school’s discussion of Laudato Si’ only strengthened this awareness, to see the global implications of my personal possessiveness. Tax time elicits a begrudging and protective calculus; would it not be a miracle indeed to turn this process into a spiritual practice? New item to consider in your tax code: not 401K – it’s RB 33. Pax – B. Billings, February 21, 2020

The Sick Need a Physician / February 29, 2020
We too here at Portsmouth are affected by the current global coronavirus crisis. Not only are many of our international students not able to travel home for the break, but we also put in place a set of rules to decrease the spread of flu, mostly the "B-strand" that eluded our vaccinations and made itself known on campus this winter. What to make of it all? How does faith play a role here? I myself, in turning to prayer in “lectio divina” about our current health crises, happened to open my Bible directly to Mark 1:40 – a passage that speaks of a man cured of a virulent skin disease. He asks Jesus, “on his knees,” to please cure him – “if you are willing.”  Jesus says “I am,” and cures him. Jesus then directs him to make the offerings prescribed by Moses. Now, if you turn to Leviticus 14, you will find something of what that meant. This was no quick stop at the temple, home for dinner. The chapter outlines such elements as an eight day, elaborate routine of sacrifices, shaving of the entire body, exclusion from the congregation until the priestly rituals are complete. In whatever form that may have taken in first century practice, it was, from start to finish, a demanding scenario saturated with a belief in our reliance on God, and an awareness of how our lives are to be understood and lived in light of His will.
 
Just after this same “lectio divina,” I opened my email to discover a brochure about our school’s wellness program. You know: “comprehensive, results-oriented well-being”; “a healthier and more productive workforce”; “an environment for positive choices.” It came with a “Well-Being Interest Survey.”  Question One: “Do you value your personal health and well-being and make a conscious effort to invest the time needed to take care of yourself?” It sounded a bit like an examination of conscience, though without the God’s will part. And the “time needed” certainly did not reflect anything like an eight-day period of prayer and sacrifice including two birds, hyssop, the shaving of the body and eyebrows, and the sanction of a priest. Our directives to avoid contagion include things like hand washing, covering a cough, and so forth. Our directives to give thanks for the recovery of health include… well, a break in our health insurance, I guess. Pilate’s hand washing would seem to be not the only one that carries the implication that we have no need of the Christ.

Anyhow, maybe this comment is just me, “just sayin’…” I support vaccinations, modern medicine, and the like. So yes: it’s “both-and” not “either-or” when it comes to faith and medicine. I get that. But that, in fact, is my point. I find myself taking well-being surveys more often than making examinations of conscience; looking over my charges and fees more often than asking if I have adequately expressed gratitude to my God; washing my hands more often than I cleanse my heart. In all of the commotion and angst, where is my faith? I think I should remember more often the centurion who said, “I am not worthy to have you enter my house”; the woman who said, “Even the dogs eat the scraps”; and the sick man who on his knees pleaded: “If you are willing.” Pax, and good health – B. Billings, February 29, 2020

My Lenten Obligations?  / March 7, 2020
Have I already forgotten my Lenten obligations? At the Angelus of the First Sunday of Lent, Pope Francis’ addressed the audience with the striking admonishment to, “never engage in dialogue with the devil.” Prompted by the gospel of the day, in which Jesus is tempted by the devil, the Holy Father noted that Jesus does not really engage in dialogue, but answers the tempter always with the Word of God. And the first reading of that day, from the book of Genesis, reminds us of just how well it went when Eve engages in a discussion with the serpent. This has given me reason to pause, and to feel duly chastised. We know the question the serpent immediately poses to Eve: “Did He really say…?” I have noted a remarkably similar phenomenon consistently affecting my Lenten resolutions. By week one, if not even by Ash Wednesday itself, I find myself asking: “So, what exactly were my resolutions?” Did I really say not any day, or just weekdays? Was that only for Fridays? And exempted on Sundays, right?  So I compose a list, a very short list, for myself. And still, when I actually check my actions against it, not always so good. Do I really say I would do that? Oops. And, of course, Eve got the answer a bit wrong: “He said don’t even touch it.” Nope, He didn’t. So what about me? Do I set the bar falsely high for myself? Do I allow insidious questions to undermine what I truly know to be true? Do I allow rationalizing to water down the claims of my conscience? Even from Week One, even from day one of Lent, it seems we enter not only a season of penance, but a season where we are reminded of the need for grace. I, for one, don’t seem to handle things all that well one my own. Maybe I allow a silent dialogue to happen within me that, as the Holy Father points out, I had best shut down immediately.  Pax – Blake Billings, March 7, 2020
 
All Shall Be Well  /  March 14, 2020
I had written some comments on our pandemic, but my mood and thoughts on the situation seem to change about as quickly as the situation itself. Having cut short my own travel plans and now living a self-imposed quasi-quarantine, there is a Lenten aspect to this crisis, for sure. The bishop of Providence has dispensed us from Sunday Mass, the School has extended our break – but this feels in no way like a Headmaster’s Holiday. There is an underlying buzz of stress accompanying all of this. I would say this, and just this: I have found moments of peace, hope, and encouragement in prayer. Quiet prayer, prayer that tries to return to the roots of my faith. And intercessory prayer, remembering that God is loving, merciful, and all-powerful. Perhaps you already have thought of Julian of Norwich: “All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.”  Pax – B. Billings, March 14, 2020
 
A New Lent / March 20, 2020
One of the aspects of my life that has been radically challenged by the current crisis has been my spiritual life. The abrupt cessation of liturgies, the reduction of community contact, the “social distancing.” I keep thinking of the desert. For this situation is surely a kind of desert experience. This in itself draws us to Lent. A friend of mine pointed out to me how the word “quarantine” began in the 17^th century, referring to a period of forty days isolation for ships suspected of carrying disease. Forty days and forty nights… I am somewhat comforted to think that even if my initial Lenten expectations and plans have changed, what now is happening carries with it a radically Lenten character. We are all living Lent now, like it or not. And with that desert come both temptation – away from God, to self-reliance or worldly interests – and grace: God working in our lives. This week, as Laetare Sunday arrives, my new plan is to carry the stresses and struggles of this time to God, lift up in prayer all who now struggle, and remember my hope in the Easter grace that awaits, and is even now upon us. Pax – B. Billings, March 20, 2020
 
Spiritual Communion  / March 27, 2020
Our Lenten lives have been dominated by adaptations to our current crisis, concern for our loved ones, our world, and ourselves, and the news, the news, the news. I have found some moments of serenity: going into the church; walking the grounds; the rosary. Though I must admit, my prayer, like everything else in my life, suffers from the constant companion of distraction. We on campus, with the rest of the planet, have moved to more virtual communications. Despite my reluctance and doubt, I was surprised and grateful to find the viewing of a Santa Marta Mass deeply edifying, producing a sense of truly universal communion in this shared struggle. The adoration and benediction at the end of that Mass provided a profound sense of “spiritual communion,” and great consolation. And I am more grateful than ever for the prayers of the monastery, more keenly aware of the need for them, and of the sustaining hope they inspire. Pax – B. Billings, March 27, 2020

Prayers in the Desert  / April 4, 2020
I continue to be grateful for the varied online options we have in this time of “liturgical distancing.” Our monastery’s availability of Mass and Vespers continues, and Brother Benedict has graciously, and ambitiously, a plan to make the principal Triduum services available through live broadcast. The Santa Marta Mass available through Vatican News continues to sustain me – I very highly recommend it. My own practice of late has been to advance to the homily of Pope Francis, after myself having prayed the morning’s readings. His unscripted preaching in these Masses is both intimate and universal. And the combination of these two qualities in this period of crisis is remarkable. One feels directly and personally present with him, his prayers, his gospel life. And one also feels the universality of this moment, of our suffering, and of our faith. At least I do! After the homily, I advance to the minutes of Adoration at the end of each of the Masses. This silent prayer before the Host, shared over oceans and over cyberspace, delayed and pre-recorded, nevertheless offers a profound sense of communion. May you, also, be finding ways to find spiritual sustenance amidst our present desert. With prayers: Pax – B. Billings, April 4, 2020
 
A Note on Good Friday  / April 10, 2020
This day brings a threefold reminder of death for me. On April 10, 1963, my father lost his life with the loss of the nuclear submarine USS Thresher. This year, in the year of our Lord 2020, the date coincides with Good Friday. And thirdly, with no reminder needed, there is the news. We know that Saint Benedict directs us to “Keep death daily before your eyes.” This day, of all days, death falls front and center. We continue to climb the statistical ascent of data charts showing COVID-related deaths, while our spiritual world this day is saturated with the death of our Lord. It is a day difficult to regroup and to put it all in perspective. It is a day where many things become more difficult. But – do I see the faint outline of grace here: it is a day, it seems to me, where inauthentic prayer is also difficult. There is indeed much grace in that. There is the grace, as Saint Benedict repeatedly emphasizes, of tears. There is the grace of repentance, the grace of being rebuked by a righteous man, the grace of having a clearer picture of who and what I really am. And we believe in the supreme grace that He shares our sufferings, “carries our burdens.” Pascal famously wrote: “Jesus will be in agony even to the end of the world. We must not sleep during that time.” And yet, the greatest grace, if we read just a little further in his Pensées: “Jesus, while His disciples slept, wrought their salvation.” Pax – B. Billings, April 10, 2020

“Anapsuxis”  / April 18, 2020
“Repent, therefore, and be converted, that your sins may be wiped away, and that the Lord may grant you times of refreshment.” (Acts 3:19-20) This verse from Thursday’s scripture touched me, in its reference to “times of refreshment” – so sorely needed in our day. Such refreshment was in fact one of the motives inspiring the piece appearing in this month’s Wisdom section, “The Wisdom of Chant.” In our School’s “distance learning” mode, the student Schola has been given primarily listening assignments, in hopes that absorbing some religious music they might yet discover the spiritually sustaining power of the songs they cannot presently sing together. The links to chant provided in “The Wisdom of Chant” have a similar intention. But a closer study of the verse deepened its impact on me. The Greek for “refreshment” (anapsuxis) actually means “to recover breath.” This moved me doubly. First, I considered my own struggles with “spiritual communion,” and the desire to fully return to the practice and vitality of my faith, which now feels so stifled. My prayer life – dominated by video screens and distance – feels a need to be able to open its lungs more fully, and be refreshed by Christ Himself. But secondly, and more painfully, it led me to consider those thousands struggling so mightily with the disease of our pandemic, on ventilators or otherwise finding the very act of breathing so difficult. How we pray that God might grant them “anapsuxis,” that they might regain their own vitality. Turning to God, transforming our minds, choosing the good: this is the path Peter directs us to in this scripture verse. This opens up our means of profound and eternal refreshment. “Even now, turn to Him…” (Joel 2:12). May God, in the Divine Mercy we remember this Sunday, help us to do so. Pax – Blake Billings, April 18, 2020
 
I Am With You  / April 25, 2020
“...the Lord worked with them, and confirmed the word through accompanying signs...” (Mark 16:20) At the end of Mark’s gospel, Jesus departs, creating the greatest of social distances, that between heaven and earth. We seem to feel the gravity of that earth more heavily these days: difficulties of isolation, stresses of close family living, even to the increase in abuse, a seemingly paradoxical fatigue that accompanies doing less. Yet on this feast of Saint Mark, we read in his gospel of our Lord “working with us,” our faith “confirmed by the accompanying signs...” And I do find that my faith is still able to be “confirmed In accompanying signs.” I see the flowering of online efforts to communicate hope, seen here in the website efforts of Brother Benedict and Brother Sixtus. I see in the Portsmouth Institute’s “virtual retreat” the call by Father Wetta to find hope through the core elements of Benedictine life, so well-suited to times like these. Even just hearing the bells of the monastery, and remembering the community’s ongoing life of prayer. And in the news, I see health care workers, social workers, so many others witnessing to hope in the way they carry on. For me, the opportunity to encounter Pope Francis, particularly through his morning homilies, has been deeply edifying. Today, on this feast of Mark, he spoke of faith as fundamentally missionary, as a sending out, as leading us out of ourselves in service to others, as not a doctrine we hold but a gift we give. The vitality of faith is in the going forth to others. While such a going forth feels so difficult now, it is still and ever before us, and hope seeks how to express it. And the testimony of Mark: the Lord works with us. This is an explicit pledge in Matthew’s gospel: “Lo, I am with you...” (Mt 28:20) May you be confirmed in the signs that accompany you now, trusting that He accompanies you across even the greatest of social distances. Pax – Blake Billings, April 25, 2020

Holiness / May 2, 2020
What makes for holiness? This difficult question crossed my mind as I explored the life of Ansgar Nelson this week. Many have worked with the poor, many have helped to direct dioceses, many have preached, even healed – yet for only a select few do we promote the cause. Of all the brethren who have committed themselves to the consecrated life, even should we be prepared to grant the presence of sanctity in there somewhere, there seem to be those who stand out in sanctity. Even within our own lives, of all the good deeds we have done, should we be so generous as to list any, how many could we call saintly? Why, exactly? Individuals, special moments, unusual acts – how do some gain whatever it is that might lead us to speak of holiness? What is the “secret ingredient,” the “je ne sais quoi,” the strangeness – that makes for “holy”?
 
I have had strange thoughts this week – these are strange times. So these comments may just be the lockdown talking. But there was something strange in Thursday’s gospel. Jesus says: “No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draw him,” and, “Everyone who listens to my Father and learns from Him comes to me.” I have heard this before, of course, but a strangeness in it struck me. What does it mean that we are drawn to Jesus only by the Father? Why are we not drawn to Jesus directly – through His words, through his actions in their own right? May we say that to be drawn to Jesus – to his sacraments, to his eucharist, to his church – is actually to find holiness present there? Is that holiness actually the Father – God Himself? The secret ingredient? The Father who draws: is this the sanctity that is his substance; the invisible source; the God of all this is, the hidden One?
 
In my own life, I have always felt strangely drawn to the eucharist. But just what it is at the center of that attraction? I have always felt it difficult to articulate that. Maybe the core of that attraction is essentially unutterable, invisible. Maybe it is God the Father. Maybe it is His silence, speaking volumes. And whose humility is greater: the Son who will only defer to the Father, or the Father, who remains hidden? Or is the Spirit yet more humble – for we know not where it comes from, nor where it goes? The strange absence of the hidden God reminds me of a competitiveness that St Benedict encourages in his Rule: to outdo ones brother in humility, devotion, and service to the other (RB 72). Is there a kind of competition going on here between the Father and the Son, to demonstrate more fully humility before the other, more service to the other? Christ who defers; the Father who withdraws.
 
Anyway, if I may return from the ethereal air of such speculative theology... I started by wondering just what it was about Bishop Ansgar. His unique place in this community; his reputation; his presence. To say it is holiness seems bold, presumptuous, overstating. But there seems to have been this “je ne sais quoi,” a secret ingredient. Is this the attractiveness of holiness; a being drawn by the Father who is holiness? The secret ingredient still lingers, decades later, in its strangeness. But it certainly attracts.  Pax – Blake Billings, May 2, 2020
 
Believe the Works / May 9, 2020
Like myself, you may perhaps be “road weary,” as we continue along our journeys of isolation. Rhode Island has begun a slight opening this weekend, even as numbers of cases rise. It has been a time of loss, and a time to recognize how much I have taken for granted. My youngest daughter and her classmates of 2020 contend with their loss of “senior spring” and its various rites of passage: prom, spring weekend, Commencement. For many families: missing first graduations, last graduations, graduations or Mother’s Days present with our older family members. These are, of course, just the tip of a deep and heavy iceberg of loss – many so much more serious than these. But I have also experienced gratitude for the efforts many have made that have been shaping our quarantined life, enabling us to find touchpoints of community. From the monastic community: Brother Joseph regularly sending out videos, stories, and other messages to faculty and staff. Brother Sixtus reaching out to oblates and sharing their messages and petitions. Brother Benedict tending to the website which blossoms like an online garden. Father Michael sending out notes for next year, a reminder of a future. The other brethren here: Edward, Paschal, Francis, Matthew, Gregory – continuing their dedication to the Divine Office visible online, and offering their witness in homilies at Mass. I think of the gospel this morning: “believe through the works” (John 14:11). These works continue to manifest God with us, all along the way.  Pax – Blake Billings, May 9, 2020


The Spirit of Uncertainty  / May 16, 2020
As we move forward, I note the accentuated sense of uncertainty that characterizes our existence these days. We are able to take fewer things for granted, and we realize how much of our lives has been predicated on givens that we may not necessarily assume. We need to check the local news almost daily to see where we can go, when, and how. We need to carry a mask, or consider the physical proximity we have to others down to the square footage. We need to make decisions based on variables that very really might change so as to render the decision moot, invalid, or greatly miscalculated. I also note the corollary that emotional triggers are more sensitive, more quickly exposed. Whatever the realities of our lives are that lead us to feel emotions, they seem to automatically carry with them a greater force. Can this uncertainty lead us to better grasp the experience of the early Christians, whose uncertain adventures we have been reading about these weeks in the Acts of the Apostles, as we make our way towards the Pentecost? And so, can we learn more directly from them? Paul has a dream, and suddenly he has to plan to go to Macedonia. He and his companions carry on a relentless travel schedule. Where will they stay? Who can they trust? Where next? Peter struggles to “connect the dots” and grasp the full implications of Christ’s teaching, resurrection, redeeming death, trying to shepherd the nascent church. And all along the way, the list of the persecuted and the martyred begins to grow. This Resurrection Life seems even more riven by uncertainty than the simpler life of fishermen many of the apostles knew. I don’t know; I am just talking off the top of my head here – but perhaps a lesson for now, discerned in the early Christian experience, is that uncertainty is radically transformed by grace. Faith is deepened; hope gains substance; “agapeic” love is more fully elicited. Maybe this is just the trope about “when the going gets tough, the tough get going.” But when the certainties of this world crumble, with plans called into question and emotions high, perhaps we also see there cracks through which the Holy Spirit can enter.  Pax – Blake Billings, May 16, 2020