I’ll begin with a non-traditional epigraph borrowed from Planes, Trains & Automobiles.
Neil: I have a Nieman Marcus card, in case you want to get a nice gift for someone. How about you?
Del: Chalmers’ Big and Tall. It’s a 7-outlet chain in the Pacific northwest. Great stuff. Unfortunately, it does us no good here.
Several years ago I read The Irresistible Revolution by Shaine Claiborne—great stuff, by the way. Since I couldn’t see myself moving to a distressed urban center to form an “intentional community,” I struggled to find the personal application.
Some time later, I read Deitrich Bonhoeffer’s classic The Cost of Discipleship. Again, I found myself rather frustrated. Perhaps if I lived at the time of Hitler, I’d have a real evil to fight against, I thought. [quick historical background: Bonhoeffer was a part of a failed attempt to assassinate Hitler.]
Where was my for such a time as this moment? Put in contemporary terms: Where’s my Oprah moment?
In recent days I’ve become fascinated by Monasticism, mostly via Thomas Merton (a Christian mystic and Trappist monk). Perhaps given my daily rituals of dropping kids off for school, making frequent trips to Chick-Fil-A and Starbucks between cello and dance practices, I’ve sensed a call to withdraw—not to drop out of life, but a call towards a different sort of life and way of thinking.
When reading Merton or the Desert Fathers, there’s a temptation to say that’s all well and good. Unfortunately, it does us no good here.
This blog is about what monasticism might mean here—in our present context.
How might the ancient text of the Bible inform the way we are to live, and how could the examples of the real monastics—with their lives of quiet work and contemplation—guide our own sense of community, calling and vocation.
The Suburban Monastic 