When asked which I thought would pose the greatest struggle for me, I said stability. Not that I thought obedience and conversion would be easy, but given my generation's generalized love of being non-committal and fear of making decisions, it felt like saying "Yes" to one group, one place, and one way of being was an overall daunting idea.
Stability is not just about choosing one monastery, or place, to pitch my tent; it's about stability of heart, and not wanting to flee the first moment something goes wrong. This, as someone who likes things neat and tidy, posed a bigger problem in my brain.
About two and a half years into living these monastic vows, I gained a new perspective on the beauty of what stability can be when lived authentically.
While at the Texas/Mexico border at the beginning of the month, we were sitting around the dinner table one evening. Around that table sat Sr. Ursula (a Benedictine from Boerne, TX who runs the ministry where we worked), my Benedictine sister from Erie with whom I was traveling, a Honduran mother and her two sons living in the home who were awaiting their court hearings for asylum, a 20-year woman from Honduras in the same situation, the friend of one of the sons, and a Methodist couple from Texas who were in the area doing volunteer work.
It was certainly the most diverse table at which I had even eaten. I sat there, sort of stunned. Because Ursula has been planted in this community for over twenty years, she has place to welcome and to extend hospitality in a unique, loving, and Christ-like way, which she would not be able to do otherwise.
Being rooted where you are, in humility and in heart, makes such a difference in being able to offer yourself to others. If you are not constantly scrambling to figure out where you are yourself or where you want to go next, it can help you to become a peaceful presence in the world.
A beautiful vow, it is—that stability.
Let us walk in the holy presence.
A home being built out of pallets in Mexico
