Three months away from my wedding, I am reading about monasticism.
Don’t get me wrong; I have no intention to run off to a monastery. Author Kathleen Norris, in fact, was years into her own marriage when she wrote The Cloister Walk. She is an oblate at a Benedictine monastery, which basically means that she has affiliated herself with this particular monastery as a layperson (non-nun) and vowed to follow their Rule as closely as she can. Norris is a poet, long-lapsed as a Protestant until she discovered the Benedictines, and her memoir roughly follows the course of a year through the frame of liturgy.
This is the second time I’ve begun the book since a good friend recommended it during college, but this time I’m going to finish it. Reviewers call it “a remarkable piece of writing” and call Norris “a Midwestern, late-20th century mystic.” This is quite a strong statement. What I remember from reading half the book three years ago is pretty much in agreement with these reviewers. I found the writing lovely, the observations astute, the perspective fascinating.
On this reading, sadly, I am finding the tone a bit pretentious. Norris takes every chance she gets to remind her reader that she is a poet, which soon grows annoying. Perhaps my irritation is partly due to my reading environment. The last time I started this book, I remember sitting in a lot of quiet coffee shops; now I read during my commute, which is anxiety-fraught and full of people. Less space for the words to breathe, or something. I know many more people who would say “I write poetry” rather than “I am a poet”—that title is pretty saddled with assumptions and judgments in our culture today. (Something Norris very much thinks as well.)
I took a brief hiatus from the book at one point, trying to erase my assumptions, because when I am able to get over myself, many of Norris’s observations intrigue me. The fact that one of the most traditional approaches to faith is what drew her back to the church makes for a conceptually fascinating story. Her return was almost one hundred percent connected to the liturgy: the words. Benedictines read the psalms every day, and it’s through these outpourings of emotion—poems—that Norris finds a version of religion that resonates with her wordsmith identity, the way she makes sense of the world.
When I studied abroad in England, I visited several Anglican churches, and I found the ceremony of it, the chants and the incense, intriguing. It’s mysterious, which makes it beautiful and holy. But the same mystery can also have the opposite effect. On a visit to New York City ten years ago, I looked up at the Gothic spires of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, shadowy and knife-sharp in the night, and felt small and terrified.
By focusing on the words of the tradition rather than the “smells and bells,” Norris both experiences and depicts monasticism in an earthy and level-headed way. She portrays Benedictines as real people who don’t take themselves overly seriously; much of their Rule is focused on how communal life can best function. The issues she mentions are things like meals being served cafeteria-style rather than family-style—people serving themselves rather than sharing among themselves—and how the undertones of community and togetherness are affected by each approach.
Overall, this book allows me to peer into the lives of people who primarily exist in the popular imagination as stereotypes. And the things I’m seeing are surprisingly relevant to my very non-monastic life. Norris writes, “For me, participating in monastic lectio has meant rediscovering a religion that consists not so much of ideas or doctrines but of song and breath. It’s encountering the words of scripture in such a way that they become as alive as the people around me.”
Words, people, community, faith. I want more of all of these things. This time, I’m going to finish this book.
After graduating with an English degree, Amy (Allen) Frieson (’10) moved to New York City and spent several exhilarating years working in children’s book publishing. Now, she works as a career consultant and has much more time for writing, reading, wandering the city, cooking non-vegetarian meals (a new thing), dreaming about apartment renovations, and leading worship along with her husband at their NYC CRC.
