My Genesee Diary

While spending a week at camp during summer 2012, I read the book The Genesee Diary by Henri Nouwen, in which he documents the seven months he spent living as a trappist monk at the Abbey of the Genesee in upstate New York, 1974. I came across the book in an unusual way that made me feel as though it were meant for me, and after even a few pages I was confident it would be an impactful read. Nouwen writes the book during a difficult season of his life, and I felt and continue feel that I can deeply relate with the relational, spiritual, and emotional turmoil he so honestly describes throughout his journal entries. I know that these struggles are not specific to he and I, but are rather common realities of being human. That being said, his story and the wisdom of his then mentor John Eudes Bamberger, have taken on a deep personal significance in my life and it became my goal to at some point visit the Abbey. Last week, I took myself on a road trip to Piffard, New York where I retreated to the Abbey of the Genesee for four days of silence. 

Before I even crossed the border to America, the trip was welcome relief from my daily environment and schedule. It felt incredible to get in my car and just get away. The sense of freedom I felt being out on the road was restorative and brought me a sense of joy. I was in no rush as I took in the beautiful rolling farmland and quaint small towns that I passed along the way into the Genesee valley, making frequent stops to take pictures, meet locals, and check out small shops and markets. All of the stopping stretched out the trip, and by the time I arrived at the abbey, the sun was setting over the beautiful stained glass and stone steeple of the monastery. 

I had been previously instructed of the rule of absolute silence in the retreat house, meal times, and where I would find my room. As I pulled into the driveway, I was feeling slightly self-conscious about living in silence with strangers, aware of the reality that I did not have a clue what life is like at a monastery or how I would be expected to behave. I met the part time house staff in the kitchen and awkwardly introduced myself like a terrible charade - trying to gesture intentions while simultaneously whispering random words. The man smiled and responded, "welcome! I'm Tom, i'll show you to your room". So it turns out that talking to Tom is allowed . The house is wonderful. There is a chapel, library, lounges, and a dining room on the first floor. Upstairs there are bedrooms that are very simple, but comfortable. There is a balcony of the second floor, and a deck off of the kitchen on the first. Wrapping around the house there is a small pond, surrounded by benches and willow trees. Time and time again I thought how lovely a place it would be in the summer and fall, to be able to sit outside, or bike the greenway alongside the Genesee river. Regardless, winter has it's unique beauty and I was thankful to be there in the snowy coziness. 

I spent some time getting settled into my bedroom when I heard a bell ringing, which is used to call the residents down to dinner. I entered the dining room to find the tables set and eight men standing behind their chairs at place settings. Not knowing what to do, I followed their lead and assumed a spot. Tom led us in the sign of our faith and grace, and then invited us to eat. Meals turned out to be less awkward then I thought they would be. It is nice to have a meal without conversation, and the house staff put music on while we eat. My only challenge during dinner was that the selected music was Handel's Messiah, and it took everything within me to keep from singing along! I later found out from Tom that the rest of the men on retreat were priests and seminarians. So, naturally I fit right in. 

Upon my arrival I had been given a copy of the Divine Office, which outlines the official prayer of the Roman Catholic Church, and each of the various liturgical services the monks practice at the abbey throughout each day. There are vigils at 2 am, lauds and mass at 6 am, terce at mid-morning, sext at midday, none at mid-afternoon, vespers at late afternoon, and compline in the early evening. My understanding is that the monks participate in each of these every single day, although only vigils, lauds/mass, vespers, and compline were open to the public. I was struck by the structure and repetitiveness of monastic life, and I couldn't help but wonder if they get bored of the same old, day in day out. More on this later. 

Although my intention for my visit was a time of personal peacefulness and rest, I decided to attend compline on my first night to see what the monastery is like and how they practice. I had been instructed to bring a flash light for walking to the abbey, and so I assumed that limiting our car use was part of the deal to encourage silence and contemplation. I bundled up and took out into the snowy darkness. No matter what time of day, the air was always filled with the smell of cinnamon raison bread, baked fresh each day at the monastery. With just my light on the snow, I followed the half mile trail through fields and forest to the abbey. I made frequent stops to take in the stillness and the beauty of the stars until, realizing I was freezing, I continued on my way. I was met at the front doors by a monk, dressed in full habit, who informed me that seeing as the chapel was under construction, the services were being held in the dining room of the monastery. He led me through hallways until we arrived at a large dimly lit room with two long tables and chairs in the centre, and pews around the perimeter wall. He instructed me to take a seat off to the side which is the place for guests. I noticed that all of the other retreat guests had already arrived and taken their seats along the side wall, and so I found a spot at the back of the room, facing the empty space between the two long tables that extended in front of me. Shortly after I had arrived, bells rang throughout the room, and a long line of monks entered from the other end of the hall each dressed in the traditional habit: a black hooded sleeveless robe over a white robe, and leather belt around the waist. The men, all of whom seemed to be in their 50s, 60s or 70s entered the room in single file and each took a seat on the outside of one of the two tables, facing each other. Not being catholic, and having little to no idea how a service of this sort took place, I hoped to observe quietly from the sidelines. One of the men started singing. Then the rest of the men sang something in response to him. He then sang again, and this call and response singing continued. It was so beautiful! They sing in such unison that it sounds like one gentle voice. I realized that the rest of the guests were all singing as well and began to feel as if I had not received the memo. Nonetheless, it was so lovely to sit and listen to the music. A few times they stood, and I followed their lead. They finished a song and all was quiet in the room. Suddenly, the lights in the room were turned off and all of the monks and guests simultaneously turned to face me. I was aware that there was still a light somewhere, as I seemed to be glowing, and I turned to see that behind me there stood a large illuminated painting of the virgin Mary.  The monks began singing "Hail Mary, full of grace…" and I stood, wide eyed and horrified, realizing I was blocking some of the monks from being able to see Mary entirely. Though it is hilarious now, at the time I was so stressed out that I could feel beads of sweat on my forehead. Unsure of what would be more rude, standing in front of Mary, or moving in the middle of liturgy, I decided to stay put and focus my attention on trying to disappear. I am sure that the monks and priests would have been thrilled to know that while they sang to their Mary, I was channeling thoughts of Harry Potter and wishing I could have apparated. This part of the services seemed to last forever, until eventually the lights came back on and the monks filed out of their seating. Leaving the monastery, I noticed that all of the others had driven from the guest house, and I graciously accepted Tom's offer to ride with him. Although only in the car for a few minutes, Tom and I chatted for long enough for me to learn that he used to be a limousine driver and while he had not been to Hamilton, he had made several trips to Niagara Falls and one to St. Catherines. He also informed me that yes, John Eudes is still alive and living at the monastery. The second piece of news made my heart leap. Once arriving at the house, Tom let me know that he would be leaving for mass at 5:40 if I wanted a lift. Although in my mind I knew well that the probability of my rising at 5:30 am was quite low, I responded with a polite thank you. Everyone else in the house went to sleep (it was 7pm) and so I was alone to explore. After checking out the library and chapel, I returned to my room to read and paint until I eventually went to bed. 

I did not wake up until noon the second day (sorry, Tom) and scrambled to get dressed and cleaned up as the bells rang for lunchtime. Lunch was served by a woman named Kathe, who is the full time house staff and the woman I had corresponded with to plan my visit. We chatted briefly after lunch and, like Tom, she had a spirit of kindness and gentleness. I spent the afternoon reading The Genesee Diary, and was overwhelmed by how special it was to sit and read in the very place Nouwen had written his journal 40 years earlier. I took a break and was walking to the bathroom when I noticed some papers tacked to the wall, one of which stating that spiritual direction meetings were available to retreat guests, and that the monk counselling this week would be… John Eudes. I could not believe it. The man who mentored Henri Nouwen throughout the book that was the sole reason for my being at the abbey was now available to meet with and mentor me as well. The sheet stated that sessions were each half hour from 1:30-3:30 and considering it was already 2, I grabbed my coat and rushed over to the abbey. Upon arrival, I saw that each of the time slots had already been filled by other retreat guests, all of whom had then returned and scratched out their names. I was therefore not only able to meet with him, but to stay and talk to him for the entire time period. It is a gift to have been able to learn from John in the book, it is an even greater gift to have been able to meet him and chat with him personally. Although the sessions are titled "spiritual direction" I spent most of the time listening to John tell me the story of his life. He told me about how he was a student of Thomas Merton's at Gethsemani in Kentucky, and what it was like to learn from such an extraordinary man. He told me what it was like to mentor and spend time with Henri. He told me about his upbringing, how he learned to speak Greek and Latin at the age of 13 and was attending medical school by 19. He told me about how he was a doctor in internal medicine but then decided to become a psychiatrist. We discussed mental illness and the role of psychiatry for a man to whom both science and spirituality were believed, understood, and valued. He shared with me stories of clients who had the greatest impact on him. We discussed schizophrenia. He told me about how he fell deeply in love with a woman, "an artist, a violinist.." but that he felt strongly that he was called to be a monk, and she similarly became a nun. That was that. He shared with me how he visited her several years ago and all of his feelings came back, but that he doesn't regret any of the choices he has made. He told me about how he was Abbot at Genesee for a number of years, and has since lived at the abbey as a hermit. He explained to me that this means he spends his days in solitude, only joining the rest of the monks for services on Sundays, and for the odd spiritual direction appointment, such as mine. 88 years old. Eventually our time came to a close. I thanked him, and said goodbye. I decided to spend some time outside, and before the sun set I went out for a walk. Words won't be able to articulate the beauty of this place, but as the colourful sunset stretched out behind me and I walked along the farmland, through forests, along creeks and rivers, I was overwhelmed with joy at the natural beauty of creation. I stopped walking every once in a while just to look around and take it in. At a few points in my walk I was aware of how alone I was, and pushed thoughts of coyotes and wolves out of my mind. It was only when I came across the carcass of a deer that I was motivated to turn around and head back for dinner. 

Later that evening I returned to the abbey after dinner for complines. After my meeting with John I realized that I had approached my retreat quite selfishly, and I felt far more interested in attending liturgy. I did not want to use the abbey solely for my own quiet reflection and to enjoy being at the site of one of my favourite books. I wanted to live the abbey, and ended up spending far more time at liturgy and with the monks than I had ever expected I would. When I arrived at the abbey I was greeted by the same monk as this night before. When I approached him he smirked and said, "not a morning person, are we?" Realizing he had noticed that I did not attend the morning mass, I laughed sheepishly and explained that I had been working nights and was not on a typical sleep schedule (like attending 6 am mass would be easy in any other circumstances! ha!) As we walked to the dining room, he shared with me about his time working for the Good Shepherd with "troubled" adolescent girls in Detroit. As we arrived at the room for liturgy, he pointed out the painting of Mary and laughed as he said to me, "you thought you could hide in the shadows and then, BAM. spotlight" It seems he had noticed my terror at last night's complines, we both laughed at this as I found a spot as far away from Mary as possible. The services was exactly the same as the night before, although this time one of the monks standing nearby noticed I was not singing and motioned to a red book near my seat. It was a book of the psalms, and he motioned to me to find psalms 4, 91, and 134. It turns out that what the sing is each of these three psalms, every single night. Singing along was a really neat experience. I was a part of the liturgy, and suddenly the monastic practice did not seem so boring and monotonous. I was reminded of something I had read in The Genesee Diary earlier that day: 

"The monastic experience attacks this type of attention drawing. It asks you to say, write, and do things not differently but the same. It asks you to be obedient to age-long traditions. What this place is calling me to be is the same, and more of the same. The same as the monks, the same as the saints, the same as Jesus. The returning rhythm of the day, the continuous repetition of the 150 psalms and the uniformity of dress, food, and place - slowly makes you aware of a powerful sameness that transcends time and place and unifies you with the one God who is the Father of all people, all places, all times, and who is the same through the ages unending. The monastic life is indeed very unsensational. I keep catching myself with the desire to do something special, to make a contribution, to add something new, and have to remind myself constantly that the less I am noticed, the less special attention I require, the less I am different, the more I am living the monastic life. Only through ultimate sameness was Jesus given his unique name. "

Throughout my visit I was astounded by the humility of monastic life. When they sing the psalms they sing as one voice, no one trying to draw attention or be the best. Even in my meeting with John, he described to me the incredible details of his life with a pureness of spirit and genuine disinterest in attention or praise. When I explained to him the impact that his words have had on me, it was as if he hardly heard me. Keeping in mind that the man is 88 it is possible that he truly did not hear me - but , you get the point! Humility. I stopped seeing the monks are boring and sheltered, and developed a significant sense of respect for them. 

The next day I woke at 5:30 and made my way over to the abbey for lauds and mass. The greeting monk was wearing a special white hooded robe which I assumed was for mass, he looked like a ghost standing outside the doors of the monastery in the darkness of morning. As I approached I shrugged my shoulders at him so as to say "here I am", he threw his arms in the air smiling and said "it is a miracle!" We laughed and made our way to the dining room. The mass service was different than the other liturgy, we sang different psalms than complines and then several of the monks read scripture and one in particular did a brief teaching. I returned to the guest house as the sun was rising and, with a deep appreciation for the discipline of monastic lifestyle, went back to bed. I spent almost the entire day reading The Genesee Diary and writing in my journal. It was so special to read about Henri describing their building of the new church, having walked through the doors of that church just hours before. He describes spending time with John Eudes in salt creek, pulling out stones that would be used for the pillars of the church, pillars I had inspected the day before as they make up the walls of the beautiful monastery chapel. I read about he and John out birdwatching, as he describes the red bellied woodpecker, which in fact has a grey belly and a red cap. I felt a surge of gratitude and amazement when, while reading, I looked out the window of the guest house to see a red-capped woodpecker on the side of the tree next to the building. I was astounded and laughed to myself, thinking perhaps this was the very same bird Henri and John had seen 40 years earlier. Then I got sidetracked thinking about the life span of a woodpecker and realized that was likely impossible. Nonetheless, a special moment. 

I met with John again that afternoon as I continued to for each day of my visit. He explained to me the importance of solitude, contemplation, prayer, time in quiet. He listened to me describe some of my challenges and things i'm working on in my personal life. He listened to me describe my experiences with mental illness, as both a consumer and provider of services. He listened as I talked about identity, and the challenge of identifying a true sense of self underneath relationships, urges to please, societal influences, etc. We both laughed when he quite bluntly said to me, "who says that the judgement of other people is any better than your own? … That's pretty stupid". We talked about human behaviour and nature vs. nurture. We talked about the evolution of different languages, and how linguistics and translations influence the interpretation of scripture. We talked about the grammatical structure of Greek and John described many facts about Greek subjunctive form that went right over my head along with many other things he said. But I managed to keep up with him for the most part. We talked about canon law, civil law, just war and incarceration. We talked about domestic violence. We talked about Carl Jung and Erik Erikson, and attachment theory. We talked about self worth. 

That night I sat in the same brown reclining chair in the library of the guest house where I spent the majority of my visit. By Friday night, most of the other guests had left and there were only three of us staying in the house. I read, painted, and journaled. I reflected on the time I had spent at this place and what it meant to me. I had felt wonderful during my time there. I had rarely thought of my phone, and even if I did, I had no desire to turn it on or check whether or not I had messages. I thought of my friends and family, but did not feel insecure about what people might be doing and whether or not I was a part of it. Things that would typically be painful for me. I felt completely content to be where I was. In fact, the only anxiety I experienced was in regards to going home. I reflected on the incredible people I had met. On the gentle hospitality of Tom and Kathe, on the kind good humour of the host monk, on the wisdom and humility of John Eudes, on the sweetness of brother James who stopped and talked to me while delivering bread to the store. He explained that he used to be one of the farmers for the monastery and was responsible for planning the crops, and caring for the fields. I saw a beautiful picture of him standing in a field of sunflowers, beaming. He pointed out a book to me, which I later bought. I thought about brother Christian, who could hardly stand up straight and yet was available at the desk of the front lobby to help guests with anything they need. Always saying hello with joy and asking how he could be a help to you. I thought of how he had called John Eudes from the desk  the first time I was meant to meet with him, and laughed thinking about how John had pulled a ringing cell phone out of his habit pocket in one of our meetings, and I could hear brother Christian's voice hollering that someone was here to see John. I guess they keep up with the times. I thought about how John had challenged me to think about how I spend my time and whether or not that is how I want my life to be. How he had encouraged me to create space for quiet and meditation in my day, trusting that it would become fruitful with discipline and time, that it is the only place to encounter your true self beneath the chaos and various roles we play in our lives.

I loved everything about my time in that place. I have more to say now that I have been home for a week and had the time to reflect on and process some things. But this post is quite lengthy, so hopefully I will follow it up with more thoughts soon. If you have made it this far in reading, thank you! That means a lot to me.