PEOPLE

The Liberated Life Monastics in Arizona

Most of us are citizens of the Kingdom of Stuff. One opens a poem by Andrew Costello, displayed in the narthex of the Benedictine Sanctuary of Perpetual Adoration. It's an eloquent line, a sermon complete in 10 words. The scolding that follows isn't even needed. Standing here in the enveloping silence of this central Tucson monastery, I feel like a tourist with a passport from an evil empire. The Kingdom of Stuff. The poet has done something more, though, than make me feel chastised.I have been struggling to understand why a few dozen modern monks and nuns have chosen to spend their lives in the small archipelago of monasteries in southern Arizona. The discipline is so rigorous that to an outsider it seems like voluntary imprisonment - rising at 3:15 every morning to pray.

for example, or observing a rule of silence that allows talk only about work or spiritual concerns. Now I'm beginning to grasp what one Trappistine sister meant when she said she found the life "liberating." Giving up obsessions and attachments to material things to "stuff" can, indeed, be a precious form of freedom.

I understand this still better the next day in the dining room of the Holy Trinity Monastery at St. David. Steaming, aromatic clam chowder has come to our tables in large open tureens. It's been a long day, and I'm starved, but we can't begin to eat yet. The priest, Father Louis Hasenfuss, wants to give a reading. In 10 minutes, the chowder is cold, and I'm steamed why can't we all just do what we want, which is to EAT? Then I realize: of the two dozen people in the room, I'm the only one who's unhappy because I'm the only one addicted to the sensual pleasure of eating. They're free, and I'm irritated.

Freedom is one of the attractions of monastic life. Another, closely related, is simplicity. Less is more; the mind is left uncluttered for serious contemplation. Another is order. For some people, the monastery is a way to shut out a disorderly secular world.

However, a woman or man who takes monastic vows for what amounts to life-style reasons probably makes a mistake. The real point of life inside the monastery doors is a lifelong quest some would even use the word "struggle" to know and understand God. In doing so, they feel they not only find peace for themselves but serve mankind. As one Trappistine says, "When you spend your life in prayer, you're doing something for the world that maybe it doesn't have time to do for itself."

There are four Roman Catholic monasteries in Arizona: both the Sanctuary of Perpetual Adoration and the Holy Trinity Monastery are affiliated with the Benedictine Order, and the Santa Rita Abbey, just outside Sonoita, is Trappistine. The fourth is a monastery of only two priests, who have requested no publicity. "If we get publicity," they say, "we cannot achieve our monastic aims."

The essence of the monastic aim is found in the Greek root of the word: Monos, meaning "alone." The man or woman who takes monastic vows lives alone, or in a community largely withdrawn from the secular world, in an attempt to achieve the most complete union possible with God. Silence, intro-spection, regular prayer, and the complete surrender of self-will are its cornerstones. It has much in common with the asceticism and practice of meditation in Eastern religions, particularly Buddhism and Hinduism both of which predatedChristianity and which may have inspired Christian monasticism.

Like many forms of discipline, modern monastic life has been liberalized considerably since its origins some 1,700 years ago. There have been changes even in the last generation or two, and the brothers and sisters are grateful for them.

"When I entered the order 40 years ago, we would get up at 2:00 every morning," says Mother Cecile, the abbess of Santa Rita. "We now rise at 3:15, though on some days that's still difficult for me I admit it."

Sister Mary Josetta, prioress of the Benedictine Sanctuary, recalls that when she took her vows, she expected that she would never again walk out the doors of the monastery, never again see her fam-ily. She was 16. That rule was imposed in the 6th century A.D. by St. Benedict himself, who ordered that monasteries should be self-sufficient so that "the monks will not need to wander about outside, for this is not good for their souls." This rule, too, has been relaxed; the Benedictine sisters now leave for errands and family visits. Monastic life, however, always will remain withdrawn and closed to outsiders to some degree that is the nature of outside, for this is not good for their souls." This rule, too, has been relaxed; the Benedictine sisters now leave for errands and family visits. Monastic life, however, always will remain withdrawn and closed to outsiders to some degree that is the nature of monasticism. Except at Holy Trinity, a monastery in which visitors are treated in a way that at first seems paradoxical. We're welcomed with genuine warmth but not encouraged to mingle with the sisters or brothers or share in their communal activities except for worship. There is a wall between monastic society and the Kingdom of Stuff, and if it were to be completely breached, the former would lose its meaning.

What a visitor to the Sanctuary of Perpetual Adoration sees on the outside is one of Tucson's most cherished architectural treasures a sprawling, pink, unabashedly romantic Spanish-Colonial Revival extravaganza. It is now 50 years old and sadly, has become something of a white elephant for the sisters.

"We do struggle to make ends meet,"

The Liberated Life

The self-consciously pious. Far from it — they're quick-witted and engagingly self-deprecating. In a long afternoon's talk with Mother Cecile and Sisters Beverly and Victoria, I ask what aspects of their lives are difficult. Sister Victoria doesn't wait for the abbess to answer; she fires back, “There are two aspects, and we're in this room right now.” We all laugh, but the quip also is a window onto monastic life. The sisters acknowledge that they don't get along perfectly; there are irritations and conflicts, just like you'd find in a college dorm or an office. The difference is that the conflicts are part of their spiritual trial.

“It's easy to love God in the abstract,” says Sister Victoria. “But to love Him in the form of a person you may find annoying is much more of a test. If you weren't here in the monastery, you might just ignore her. We can't do that.” The Holy Trin-nity Monastery is so unlike the rest that at times it hardly seems monastic at all. It spon-sors an art festival in the fall and a street-fair fiesta in the spring, drawing about 8,000 visitors. There's an art gallery, bookstore, RV park, and guesthouse on the grounds, and guests of whatever reli-gious persuasion — they've had Protestants, Jews, and Buddhists — are treated as part of the community. Until the United States govern-ment began imposing fines, the monastery provided sanctuary for Central Ameri-can refugees. Currently it helps support orphanages in three Mexican states.Father Louis, who founded the monas-tery in 1974, says that none of this is unfaithful to Benedictine principles. For example, St. Benedict wrote, “All guests should be welcomed as Christ.” Also, he says, Benedictine houses traditionally have been centers of culture; Holy Trinity sees that as an essential part of its mission.

“For example, the orphanage we help in Queretaro [Mexico] is desperately, desper-ately poor, but I would not think it wrong to bring a great painting and hang it there. People are uplifted by art. There is food for the mind as well as for the body.

“I suppose, with the festivals, there is some danger of the monastery becominga tourist attraction. But we are structured so that seclusion will always be available. We spend about four and a half hours every day in community prayer.” Like Santa Rita, it seems like a conducive place for contemplation. Its 93 acres are dotted with natural ponds fed by artesian springs. Hoary cottonwoods surround the largest pond, their immense size providing a feeling of retreat and security. Now and then a brown-robed monk will amble along a path around the pond, a platoon of ducks waddling after him in pursuit of a handout. It looks like a moment of comic relief in a biblical epic.

There are other unusual features of this monastery, and some of them would certainly surprise St. Benedict. It is, to borrow the secular word, coed. There is a community of sisters, another of brothers, and a third of lay people in permanent residence, some of whom are married couples — 22 men and women in all. Three years ago (October, 1987), Robert and Olive Rothman celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary and took their vows as cloistered oblates on the same October afternoon.

I ask Olive Rothman why they did it. “I wanted to belong to an extended family with a commitment to each other. Families used to be husbands, wives, aunts, uncles, grandparents. Then that splintered. When communes came along in the '60s, I think people were trying to find those extended families, but they failed because there wasn't the commitment. Here, we have a commitment of unconditional love.” As liberal as Holy Trinity may appear, there is discipline. As in all monasteries, the daylight hours parade by in a seldomchanging rhythm: pray, work, dine, pray, work, dine. No one complains.

On a frosty morning's walk, I ask Brother Henri, a handsome 32-year-old monk who made his commitment to Holy Trinity as a teenager, if he has any regrets about that decision. We walk on in silence for some time. “It's been difficult,” he says at last, “giving up a normal married life and having children.” I understand that, I say. But what about the larger picture — that of having not only your daily routine, but also your entire life outlined and structured for you? Haven't you essentially surrendered your freedom?

“Look at it this way: I freely chose to come here. In other words, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for me.”