Bells of Saint Meinrad

Many visitors to Saint Meinrad Archabbey are intrigued by the iconic bell towers of the Archabbey Church and the ringing of the bells inside them to call monks and guests to prayer several times each day. If you are one of those so interested, you may want to check out the first episode of Saint Meinrad's new podcast, "Echoes from the Bell Tower" (Click the title to the left or below, or the photo above, to access the podcast.) The initial, 23-minute episode, produced by our Development Office with the cooperation of several monks, is about the bells. Interesting insights and amusing stories alike are shared in the episode.

A few lines from the introduction to the podcast from the "Echoes from the Bell Tower" page:

The bells of the Archabbey Church are one of the first things you notice at Saint Meinrad. The bell towers themselves are a local landmark. The Archabbey is situated on a hill, so the towers are visible from some distance away. Even on a foggy morning, you can usually see the tops of the bell towers peeking above the mist. 

The bells ring every 15 minutes at Saint Meinrad, so we're pretty used to them. But if they don't ring at the right time or they ring at an unusual time, we take notice. 

In this podcast, hosts Br. Joel and Novice Tony explain the significance of the bells to those who live in a monastery. The bells and their rituals are woven into monastic life. 

They call the monks to prayer, mark the significant events in their life and, finally, announce their death. The bells have also been known to cause some consternation, as you'll hear in this episode.

Resurrection and life -- today

Jesus reveals himself at Emmaus. Guilded bronze panel by
Tom McAnulty from the Archabbey Church altar.

In John’s Gospel, Jesus says to his friend Martha: “I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” (John 11:25-26)

At the end of Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus both commissions and assures his disciples: “Go, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age” (Matthew 28:19-20).

These words of Jesus are meant for us today as well. The Resurrection of Jesus is not merely a historical event. Nor is it simply a promise to us—something we hope for ourselves in the future. It is an eternal, universal occurrence of inestimable proportion that unfolds daily in the lives of all believers—if it is genuinely accepted in faith, hope, and love.

Before he was crucified, Jesus said: “When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw everyone to myself” (John 12:32). He means you and me—today. We are drawn up into the Paschal Mystery of the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of Christ. Most of us—to some degree, at least—understand the Passion and Death elements of that mystery because we all experience suffering and death—or will. However, can we also identify the ways in which Christ’s Resurrection is manifested in our own lives—not merely as a historical event or a promise of future restoration and renewal, but as a present reality?

“I am the resurrection and the life,” Jesus said. “Do you believe this?”

Jesus’ Resurrection is manifested to us here and now through his Holy Spirit, with whom Christians are sealed at Baptism. Again, in John’s Gospel, he said: “The Advocate, the Holy Spirit that the Father will send in my name—he will teach you everything and remind you of all that I told you” (John 14:26).

This Spirit is the divine life breath of all Christians, first breathed into the Church (cf. John 20:22; Acts 2) at Pentecost, just as God “formed [the first] man out of the clay of the ground and blew into his nostrils the breath of life” (Genesis 2:7). Through this Spirit, we live and move and have our being (cf. Acts 17:28). It is the prayer, sacraments, and life of the Church that resurrect us and give us life—not only at the Second Coming but (partially, at least) here and now. Remarkably, Jesus, through the Holy Spirit sent in his name by God the Father, is more present to us today, and in more ways and places, than he ever was as a man walking this earth 2,000 years ago (cf. John 14:15-31; 16:4-15). Additionally, as St. Paul tells us, the Holy Spirit dwells within each and every one of us (cf. Romans 5:5; 8:9-14).

Through all these avenues, God offers us the resurrection and the life of Christ each day. Today’s Mass readings for Wednesday within the Octave of Easter (Acts 3:1-10 and Luke 24:13-35) offer us some specific, concrete, post-Resurrection examples. In the first reading, Peter and John (now filled with the Holy Spirit and boldly proclaiming the Good News) provide new life to a man crippled from birth (who had to be carried each day to the temple gate to beg for alms). Through their intercession, this man—who had never walked before—miraculously began “walking and jumping and praising God.” In the Gospel reading, the resurrected Jesus draws near to and walks (unrecognized) with a pair of “downcast,” “slow of heart” disciples on their way to Emmaus. Slowly, he interprets Scripture (the Word who is himself) for them and then blesses and breaks bread (the Sacrament of the Eucharist, who is himself) with them. Then, “their eyes were opened and they recognized him,” and they said to one another, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he spoke to us on the way and opened the Scriptures to us?” Spiritually revived and strengthened, the two returned to Jerusalem to share the Good News they had received.

In different circumstances, each of these persons was resurrected, given new life, through Christ—who was present to them in mysterious ways. Christ is no less present to us in our own times for those who truly believe. Through the gift of faith, we should each be able to recall occasions either remarkable or ordinary in which the Spirit seems to have breathed new life into us. From my own point of view, I can immediately recount several occurrences of the more remarkable kind: my own “spiritual reawakening”; my sobriety; my vocation as a monk, writer, and spiritual director; and the birth of my little nephew Evan in 2012. Those are just a few.

So, Easter is not over. For some, it’s just beginning. For all of us, the Paschal Mystery continues to unfold. The resurrection and the life who is Christ is looking for ways to surprise us, if we are willing to allow him. Here and now.

“Do you believe this?”

Creeping things...

We had all kinds of visitors for the Easter Vigil in the Archabbey Church on Saturday evening. The black feline in the above photo (taken by a human guest) decided to stroll prominently through the open main doors (through which the rest of us entered minutes earlier, after the blessing of the fire and preparation of the paschal candle) and then among the guests and monks.

This cat began hanging around the monastery a couple months ago. A number of monks have named her Bakhita, though I've heard some guests call her Raven.

In any event, her timing was impeccable. Into the church she sauntered as the lector (unseen in the photo, but to the left) was proclaiming God's command in the first reading from Genesis: "Let the earth bring forth all kinds of living creatures: cattle, creeping things, and wild animals of all kinds."

Curiously enough, though I was sitting in the first row of the choir stalls, I missed the whole thing, and didn't hear anything about it until someone mentioned it this morning!

Many thanks to whomever took the photo (forwarded to me by Br. Zachary).

"I am the resurrection and the life."

"To everyone who conquers, I will give permission
to eat from the tree of life that is in the paradise of God."

Revelation 2:7

A lifeless body in a tomb.

Alone.

Defeated.

Wrapped in burial cloths of misery, fear, and failure.

A decaying grain concealed in darkest land.

Mystery awaits the morn.

Thin light spreads over a horizon unaware
of what the earth cannot contain.

The soil is soaked with divinity’s dew.

The seed of humanity sheds its rotten garments.

The wound within opens.

A tender shoot appears.

It emerges above the soil.

Pulled toward the rising sun, it is green, full of sap.

Roots crack through and discard the seed’s hard but fragile casing…

… surge through and clutch the earth…

… drink from the brimming river.

The stalk grows thicker, taller.

Stems become branches.

Buds blossom and leaves unfurl.

Within them the birds of heaven sing their song.

Hanging there is ripened fruit.

Good for food.

Pleasing to the eye.

Desirable for gaining wisdom.

Fruit better than gold.

A woman enters the land.

She seeks a burial plot, and finds the tree.

She is amazed at what has arisen there.

Taking some of the fruit, she eats.

Urged by an angel, she shares it.

Naked again, eyes are opened.

Wrapped in the light of faith, hope, love.

Triumphant.

Together.

A vibrant body in a garden.

Planted in the house of the Lord.

Still bearing fruit when they are old.

Surrounding the Tree of Life.

Singing Alleluia!

HAPPY EASTER!

"I am reckoned as one in the tomb."

"It is finished."

In the days when Christ was in the flesh,

he offered prayers and supplications with loud cries and tears 

to the one who was able to save him from death, 

and he was heard because of his reverence.

Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered; 

and when he was made perfect,

he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.

Hebrews 5:7-9

The immensity of small

God’s love for humanity is so big, so immense, and so high, that he makes himself small, insignificant, and low to lift us up. In John’s Gospel (13:1-15), we are told that Jesus, the Word made Flesh, at supper before the feast of Passover, “got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself,” and then began washing the disciples’ feet.

God stoops down, literally taking the form of a slave, to cleanse those enjoying the banquet with him. In doing this, he strips himself of divine privilege and wraps himself in the towel of humanity.

However, Jesus does much more than simply wash the disciples’ feet. This action symbolically illustrates what he will do in reality on Good Friday, when he will be stripped of his garments and nailed to a cross to cleanse and free humanity—just as the slaughtered lamb at Passover saved the children of Israel in Egypt. In doing so, he offers all a seat at the heavenly banquet (cf. Exodus 12:1-8, 11-14; 1 Corinthians 11:23-26).

All this, of course, echoes the famous Christian hymn in St. Paul’s letter to the Philippians (2:7-8):

     He emptied himself,

     taking the form of a slave,

     being born in human likeness.

     And being found in human form,

     he humbled himself

     and became obedient to the point of death—

     even death on a cross.

With this posture in mind, during the celebration of the Evening Mass of the Lord’s Supper on Holy Thursday, we recall in a special way God’s self-sacrificing love for us as we commemorate his Passion, Death, and Resurrection. God stoops down to us, allows himself to be broken and shared among us, so that we who are so broken may, together, become the whole Christ, blessed and shared with all.

Like Peter, who at first won’t allow Jesus to wash his feet, we who are small want a God bigger than us—perhaps because that would “let us off the hook” in so many respects (because if God is not human, then we humans certainly cannot be expected to model the divine!). Though God is bigger, he becomes small enough to be placed in our hands and on our tongues in the Eucharist. Kneeling before his disciples at the Last Supper, stripped of all dignity on the cross, and in the form of bread and wine in the Eucharist, the Son of God gives us his very self so that we may live in him, and he may live in us.

Then, Jesus asks us, as he did the apostles:

“Do you know what I have done to you?”

Our honest answer must be: “No, not really.”

However, our honest prayer can be: “Not yet. Wash me.”

Sometimes growing in spiritual maturity means merely recognizing our capacity for it—and being small enough to ask for it. Stooped down, broken and shared in love for the life of the world, we are raised as the Body of Christ higher than we ever imagined.

Excerpted from Grace in the Wilderness:

Reflections on God's Sustaining Word Along Life's Journey

by Br. Francis Wagner, O.S.B., Abbey Press, 2013