7 Keys to Suburban Monastic Life

The word monastic literally means to live alone. I’m going to assume that for most of you, that’s not an option at this point. Living the monastic life in a suburban context is not without its challenges, but it is possible to live a life of beauty and simplicity that’s set apart from the culture-at-large.

1. See people as they are.

I’m by nature pretty judgmental and easily annoyed. It can be a real challenge to see people as people (the embodiment of a soul) and not strictly as things to be interacted with to achieve a desired result. To see people “as they are” acknowledges several things: People have rights, they have inherent dignity and worth, and all people are made in the image of God.

2. Practice the Presence.

It’s a simple sentence. A simple thought, but it takes a lifetime of dedication to this task. How does one practice the presence of God? To practice the presence of God is to deny self—to deny my agenda again and again. To wake up the next day and try again. That’s why it’s a practice.

3. Find God in your work.

Let’s “be real” for a moment. Being an adult and going to work day after day can really suck the life out of you. One of the things that I appreciate about the monastic tradition is the focus on dedicating all things to God—not just “worship” but doing even the necessary, menial tasks unto God.

4. Live in authentic community.

This is connected to Key #1. There are times that I don’t want to go to church; I don’t want to see people (what I mean, really, is that I don’t want to be seen). At the risk of using a very cliche term—living in community means being vulnerable. Are people selfish, judgemental, hypocritical? Sure. But so am I. So are you. People are also funny, quirky, beautiful, smelly, and delightful.

5. Cultivate space.

This may be the most difficult for a suburban monastic. Do you have a place—a place to read and write and pray, a place where you can be you? These days, often times, our space is digital. However, I’m talking about a real, physical place. The Bible makes much of consecrated space (think Moses, Isaiah, Jesus). Not to over-spiritualize, but we need a place that is separate, that is special, even if it’s a closet, a garage, or a corner table at Starbucks.

6. Consecrate time.

For all the talk in the Bible of consecrated space, there is also much made of consecrated time—or the idea of Sabbath. Not so long ago places of business were closed on Sunday. For modern American Christians the common-culture’s commitment to a Sabbath is nearly non-existent. We must carve out time for rest, rejuvenation and prayer. That may mean for you a literal day of the week, but beyond that, you should consider how to create quiet moments and quiet seasons (and they won’t come easy). God made the Sabbath for man, not the other way around.

7. Choose to see beauty.

Key #7 was originally drafted as “be mindful,” but it begged the question “…of what?”

In contemporary culture, ugliness and sentimentality abound. Beauty is not necessarily in short supply, but sometimes it must be sought out and cultivated. Don’t merely be a consumer and critic. Make beautiful things. Make things beautiful. And, don’t be afraid to share it when you do.

What is this?

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.

Camp

We dropped our firstborn child off for camp this morning. And now with only two kids in the house, we’re back to running a man-to-man defense, as opposed to our usual manic zone-defense. It’s like being on vacation.

[Sidenote: We recently took an actual vacation to Amarillo. I know; it’s usually a bathroom stop and not a destination. On the way home, we took the scenic route, and I managed to miss a turn. We ended up on the campus of some sort of separatist group.]

Dropping a kid off at camp takes a lot of trust. Trust in your kid, trust in their counselors, trust in the van driver, trust in the van itself, and trust in all the other drivers on the road—those sleep-deprived, judgment-impaired crazies operating heavy and fast-moving machinery, all while leveraging sophisticated communication devices.

I hope the camp pastor isn’t a religious wacko. I hope the camp cook isn’t the next Typhoid Mary. I hope there aren’t any “mean girls.” I hope there aren’t kids vaping in the woods.

Sending a kid to camp takes trust. Parenting takes trust.

It’s not hard to see why people move to compounds off the grid. isolation = protection.

I have to fight hard against my tendency to over-protect, over-parent. As parents, we have this peculiar task of not just feeding, clothing, and housing our children, but also framing their reality for them.

As I reflect on “letting go” this morning, my only advice was don’t forget to take the lens cap off your camera.