As you may have noticed from my weekend writing, I recently spent some time in a Benedictine (Roman Catholic) monastery. To the Conservative Baptists among whom I grew up, such a forray into Catholic territory might have been considered a step outside the faith: paying homage to Rome's Evil Institution, allowing a part of the money spent for my accommodations to go towards "statuary, and buying the souls of pagan babies, and buying diamonds for the Pope's shoelaces" (to quote from the ubiquitous Midwestern humorist, Garrison Keillor).

I, however, thought my time at the monastery was a wonderful experience which really brought me closer to God.

Granted: the Catholic monastic experience had both its joys and its difficulties. For instance, I genuinely enjoyed the push back to an appreciation of the simple elements of faith, seeking God, depending upon God, cutting myself off from distractions and focusing purely on God. And because of the monastery's focus on these elements, I ultimately decided to stick with the full cycle of the monastic rhythms (7 prayer services per day). At the same time, however, I noticed (and noticed some irritation at) the cultural differences I experienced.

The morning prayer services got to feel very long and laborious. Their liturgy used a very limited Scriptural pallette (almost entirely chapters from the middle part of the Psalms). And perhaps most notably, I felt bothered by the emphasis on formality and hierarchy, particularly in the daily celebration of Mass. I've never understood the apparently-varying levels of access to God's grace: first to the bishop, then to the father of the monastery, then to the other brothers from the monastery, then to other clerics from the church, then to other Catholic believers, and only then to everyone else (including me). I don't understand why I should be excluded from sharing in the Body and Blood of Christ (though I could have easily faked my way through the line, if I had wanted to). These things don't make sense to me.

Even so, I can appreciate the solemnity and ceremony of the Catholic culture of worship. I admire the way that their traditions tie in so directly with the ways Christians have been worshipping for thousands of years. I enjoy the multi-sensory worship experience, utilizing sight (beautiful robes, a simple-yet-magnificent sanctuary, a white haze of incense smoke), sound (singing, speaking, the clinking chains of the censer), smell (incense), taste (the Eucharist), and touch (standing, kneeling, sitting, holy water, and crossing oneself). Furthermore, I really appreciate the sense of holiness that pervades Catholic worship. At the monastery, all of the monks bowed deeply before the cross on the altar, both upon entering the room and upon leaving the room. The priests all bowed before the Eucharist at (what they believe to be) the moment of transubstantiation. They administer the mass from behind the altar, so that Christ gets top billing. And in this I can see that, for all their issues with formality and hierarchy, they've at least got that much right: Jesus is King. He deserves to be treated with some degree of reverance and respect -- probably more than our church in Amsterdam typically gives Him. So as much as I can be irritated by the cultural differences, I can also appreciate them and let myself be instructed by them.

In the end, I really came to appreciate the monks' rigorous traditionalism: wearing the robes, singing in Latin, maintaining the Benedictine rhythms... I felt glad, actually, that some Christians feel so strongly led to maintain these traditions. I do wonder, though, about the future of these traditions. I reckon that the youngest of the monks at the Benedictusberg was in his 40s, and a couple might even have been in their 80s. With only 12 of them on-site, how will the traditions continue into the future?