The man who hugged a pew



A few days ago, I saw a man hug a pew in a small chapel where I pray.  Seemed pretty strange at first, but it ended up as one of those “life lessons” that sometimes come unexpectedly.  Here’s how it happened. 

I get to pray in an adoration chapel attached to a monastery of cloistered Poor Clare nuns. (Here’s something about cloistered life.)  I pray in the late afternoon when the place is usually empty.  What a fellowship, what a joy, to pray with the Lord and the unseen nuns.  The picture is the monstery here in Cleveland.

A few days ago, there was a frail little man in the front pew on one side praying.  I had not seen him before.  He was bent over where he sat in that way that lets you know this fellow simply cannot sit or stand straight.  At one point, he took off a light jacket and I’m not exaggerating – it took three minutes just to get his arms out of the jacket and the jacket out from behind him.  I wasn’t “watching” him or anything like that, but when there are just two of you, it’s hard not to notice things. 

When he was ready to leave, this dear old man gathered himself and stood up.  Then it was like he sort of fell and grabbed the end of the pew and hung on.  He hugged the pew.  My reaction was that he was in trouble.  I almost stood up to go help him.  Then I realized what he was doing. 

The Church asks us to make a gesture of respect any time we come into or leave the exposed Blessed Sacrament.  Most people double genuflect.  Those who cannot manage getting down on both knees, and then up again, will make a profound bow from the waist.  Well, this little man couldn’t do either of those.  Balancing while he walked gave him trouble.  So instead, he hugged the pew and sort of slumped over it.  He bowed the best he could. 

This obviously is not a prescribed gesture of respect.  You won’t find hugging the pew in any of those pamphlets that tell you what to do in an adoration chapel.  Yet, I’m sure I have never seen a more moving or beautiful or eloquent posture in my life.

 He did what he could

Just before Jesus was killed, he was anointed by Lazarus’ sister Mary with perfume that cost a year’s wage for a working man.  It’s in the first part of Mark 14.  Everybody who was there were angered at such extravagance.  Except Jesus.  Part of what Jesus said in Mary’s defense was “she has done what she could”.

 That is exactly what that sweet, slumped over man did when he hugged the pew.  He did what he could.  I don’t doubt he would have preferred to be able to genuflect or give a profound bow.  But he could not do that, so he did what he could.  It may have occurred to him that what he did must look pretty odd, but that didn’t stop him.  He did what he could.

 It brought tears to me then and it still does today.  It was a grace to know this Christian had struggled just to get to the chapel (there are stairs), yet there he was.  It was a privileged moment to see a man give what he could, give everything he could, in a sign of respect for Jesus present in the Sacrament.  It was faith and love and hope that hugged that pew. 

 I reflect on how little it costs me to give Jesus what I give, then I think of the man who hugged a pew, and I am thankful for a God so good that he draws such devotion and love.  I am simultaneously humbled and encouraged and made to know that I am surrounded by saints.  And I resolve to do what I can, not merely what is convenient or cheap.

 For if the eagerness is there, it is acceptable according to what one has, not according to what one does not have.  II Corinthians 8:12

Why cloistered nuns?



To a person considering the Catholic faith, it may seem anachronistic or even useless that the Church still supports and encourages women and men to live a “cloistered” life, a life removed from ordinary society and perhaps spent in silence.  Sure, maybe in the 12th century this sort of thing made sense, but today in America?  What possible use is such a monastic existence?  It seems so Dark Ages and maybe even a reason to avoid a church that still embodies such things.  

Like everything else Catholic, cloistered life fits into a big system of thought

Catholics view the church differently than do most other Christian fellowships.  We understand the church in an organic, holistic sense.  We understand the church to span the ages and even to span varying realities.  

What I mean by “organic” is that Catholics understand a phrase St. Paul often uses to be an accurate description of the entire church, not just the local congregation.  St. Paul says the church is “the body of Christ” and he uses this way of speaking to illustrate various functions within the church.  As far as I know, all Protestants consider this to be a description of how a local congregation carries out practical ministry.  The idea is that some people preach and teach, others help poor people, another group takes care of finances – and thus at a congregational level the functions of the body of Christ are accomplished with different folks doing different work. 

Catholics do, of course, see the legitimacy of this Protestant understanding of the idea of the body of Christ.  It is exactly what goes on at a parish.  But we also understand the body of Christ is more extensive than the local congregation and has a significance apart from simply summing up the local congregations.  The Catholic Church has an existence and work whose context is the whole Church.  Tasks of magisterium and formation and universal call are given the Church as a whole, not to any parish or even to all-the-parishes-summed-up-as-a-whole.  The earth is leavened not only by the local congregations, but also by the entire Catholic Church as the body.  Not even time or death limits the Church in its role as the body of Christ.  Saints in heaven continue to pray for the church on earth at a given time in an ever-increasing intensity of intercession. 

Here’s what that has to do with cloistered religious life

Cloistered life is part of this “whole Church” role. 

Nuns and brothers (called “religious”, with the word used as a noun) who live a cloistered life spend the larger part of their time praying and contemplating God.  In some cases they engage in perpetual adoration of the Blessed Sacrament (in other words, they pray with a consecrated Host displayed in a monstrance).  Silence may be the daily rule.  Many of these nuns and brothers do not go out into secular society.  They almost surely wear a habit.  Each day and all of life is given over to God in prayer and contemplation and in whatever work the group uses to support itself. 

Religious undertake what are called the Evangelical Counsels.  They promise chastity, poverty, and obedience to their superior.  In a progression of promises to God, the religious enters into full dedication to God.  Religious orders promulgate rules to regulate daily life for the members of the order. 

This is how the website CloisteredLife.com describes things:

Cloistered life is a formal way of life recognized by the Church to invite men and women to find within the hidden life of the monastery a place where they can experience the loving exchange of hearts with Christ Jesus. In this enclosure, they find their true selves and experience a foretaste of Heaven!

 

These people not only pray the prayer of the Church, in a sense they are the prayer of the Church!  Think of it – at any given moment, tens of thousands of Catholic religious are praying for the Church, for her work, for those lost in the world.  They praise God and adore Jesus in the Sacrament.  The world-wide body of Christ has this group of people separated from ordinary life and dedicated to helping you and me and every other soul alive do the will of God. 

This is from the 1999 document Verbi sponsa

‘The pilgrim Church is by very nature missionary.’ Cloistered nuns fulfill that mission by dwelling at the missionary heart of the Church, by means of constant prayer, the oblation of self and the offering of the sacrifice of praise. Their life thus becomes a mysterious source of apostolic fruitfulness and blessing for the Christian community and for the whole world.

 Where I pray

Several times a week, I go to a monastery of cloistered Poor Clare nuns to pray.  The monastery provides a chapel where the public can pray.  About ten feet up the front wall of the chapel is the Blessed Sacrament in a monstrance.  On the other side of the wall there are always nuns praying.  To hear them singing and reciting – to know they pray for me, even though they don’t know my name – to know that their lives are wholly given to God in this particular way.  To know their order has existed in just this way for centuries.  To know their prayer fulfills the promise of James 5, “the fervent prayer of a righteous person is very powerful”.  These things sometimes fill my heart almost over-full as I join my prayer and heart to the nuns I cannot see.  It is a sweet, pure, odd affection that somehow makes me want even more to bury myself in the will of God.  I do not doubt I am carried by their prayers.

 This is not something from the Dark Ages.  This is the eternal Church of Christ praying from her heart for the whole world and for you and me.  I thank God for a church that calls men and women to a life of cloistered prayer.

The prayer of cloistered religious is at the heart of the Church.

The Catholic Church holds holy a life dedicated to prayer and the Evangelical Counsels.

We should never believe the work of the Church is done only in public ways.