A Review of The Cloister Walk

WHEN BENEDICT WROTE the Rule for his sixth-century community, he could never have imagined that 1500 years later his image of communal living would still be relevant. Those of us living in the 21st century might similarly be perplexed about the application of an ancient hermit's musings to our contemporary lives. In The Cloister Walk, Kathleen Norris describes her participation at a Benedictine monastery and illustrates how very relevant the Benedictine way is to our own questions of how to live soulfully with others.

Norris' authority as a writer of Benedictine ways comes through various paths. The Cloister Walk describes her nine-month stay at the St. John's Abbey in Minnesota where she is an oblate, one who has offered herself to God. As a freelance writer she has interviewed monks and nuns on a variety of topics, and has researched the classical writings which inform Benedictine practice. As a Protestant she had only recently returned to her religious roots when she sought solace from vocational tensions in the discipline and rhythm of the liturgy. And as a poet, Norris is open to the wonder of the monastic liturgy that "plunges you into scripture in such a way that, over time, the texts invite you to commune with them, and can come to serve as a mirror."

The mirror that Norris holds before us in The Cloister Walk is a prophetic one. Early on, Norris parallels the role of poet and prophet; both are the "necessary other," called to "reveal the fault lines hidden beneath the comfortable surface of the worlds we invent for ourselves." Beneath the surface of our secular lives, full of choice and opportunity, lie untethered longings, a lack of direction and loneliness. Norris, the poet prophet, speaks the paradox to our modern, post-enlightenment lives that we have much to learn by submitting to centuries-old monastic traditions and teachings.

During the fall liturgy, the prophet Jeremiah calls out, "Stop wearing out your shoes." And those of us who easily roam from one distraction to another are reminded of the need to settle down and become connected to a place, a tradition. Most young adults love the freedom gained from losing the shackles of structure imposed by school, parents or religious authority. Tradition, however, suggests that true freedom is found not in keeping all our options open, but in responding to the call of inner authenticity. For monastics, the call to communal living removes surface choices, but deepens the freedom to learn one's intended path. Norris describes the shock of one monk upon being freed from the concerns of getting the right car, the right job and the right girlfriend. He spent years refocusing his concerns to learn who God wanted him to be. Similarly, we are invited to ask, "What would I find in my own heart if the noise of the world was silenced?"

One of the most difficult aspects of entering the monastery is adjusting to community life. People who come, one Benedictine sister related, have no sense of what it means to live communally. Similarly, we hear that one of our greatest problems as individuals in society is loneliness. Benedict wrote that the purpose of individual growth is to share with others, recognizing the importance of learning honesty, trust and a communal focus within the company of others. Although our culture can be bent on acknowledging individual success and worth, The Cloister Walk illustrates in various ways the value of being part of a community. Norris' many descriptions of feasts and celebrations, both monastic and secular, kindle our desire to share our lives with community. Even the comparison of communal life to a rock tumbler, suggesting the benefit of having the sharp edges worn away through relationship and accountability, draws one toward community. But the reflection that had the greatest impact on me regarding community life was that of the cemetery walk where Norris was introduced to "the rest of the community" as an accompanying monk told stories of the deceased. As Benedict knew 1500 years ago, our lives are bound up in each others'; learning to live with each other matters.

If she is a prophet, Norris may also be a modern mystic, learning, as Hildegard of Bingen learned, through what she sees and experiences more than through ideas. Norris is drawn to liturgical time, with its rhythms and descriptive forms, because it "fosters a way of knowing that values image over idea." It is a holy, rather than rational, view of time. Both the poet and the monastic value that holy other which cannot be seen: Spirit. The fourth-century desert monk Anthony said that perfect prayer is one you don't understand, a statement which seems to hold wisdom for our rationalistic time of measurable facts and certain knowledge. Huston Smith, a professor of religion and philosophy, describes Spirit as that which undergirds and brings forth matter. Norris' poetic descriptions of the unseen, the numinous, permeating the things we see all the time - a bitterly cold winter's day, a rainstorm, a group celebration, the laundry on the line - are, in an attempt to employ her imagery, as Spirit rain on parched ground.

Throughout her writing Norris employs images and metaphors to such an extent that I found metaphors replacing my usual thoughts during the time I was reading her book. In a hopeful moment, a flowering begonia accompanied my happiness, while a lonely time found myself on a wooded path. I was surprised by the richness that these images, both in her writing and those appearing in my thoughts, brought to the words or circumstances which they accompanied. Perhaps this is a testament to the unseen, to the Spirit which Benedictine, the Desert Fathers, the mystics and Norris seek to live in acknowledgement of. The Cloister Walk is, ultimately, this testament too.

The beauty of wisdom is its transcendent quality; what spoke to Benedict speaks to us. Similarly, just as we have seen these traditional truths transcend time, they also transcend place. Norris' writing stems from her experience at the monastery and her church, but truths regarding humility, love, worship and prayer are not limited to these institutional contexts. It would be helpful for those of us not drawn to the institution to remember Merton's definition of a monastic as one on the fringes. That which we give our heart to matters regardless of the context.

It's hard to really capture all that Norris does in this book. At times she is a poet describing a unique perspective on the morning's liturgy. At other times she is a researcher expounding on the history and current understanding of women martyrs or Gregorian music. As a spiritual seeker she shares intimate personal struggles with her identity and place in the larger community. Regardless of form, Norris describes normal people, including herself, who feel called as Benedict did to make a commitment to a community of love. In describing their and her choices, she challenges us to consider our own commitments.

Norris, Kathleen. The Cloister Walk. New York: Riverhead Books, 1996. 382 pages.