{"id":1200,"date":"2014-07-20T19:22:05","date_gmt":"2014-07-21T02:22:05","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/slisgroups.sjsu.edu\/alasc\/wp-descriptor\/?p=1200"},"modified":"2014-07-20T19:22:05","modified_gmt":"2014-07-21T02:22:05","slug":"a-time-to-keep-silent","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/ischoolgroups.sjsu.edu\/alasc\/wp-students\/a-time-to-keep-silent\/","title":{"rendered":"A Time to Keep Silent"},"content":{"rendered":"

A Time to Keep Silent<\/strong>
\n by Barnaby Hughes<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I knocked on the outer door.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome in!\u201d I heard softly from inside.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi, Father Abbot,\u201d I said as I entered his office.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease, have a seat,\u201d he said, indicating an ugly armchair that had probably been upholstered before the war. \u201cHow are your studies going?\u201d<\/p>\n

As a young monk, I was expected to meet with the abbot regularly, usually every Friday night before Vespers. It was one of his ways of keeping up with those undergoing formation. Of course, he also met with the older monks, but that was generally on an as needed basis. For example, Father Theophilus, who was in counseling, had to report regularly on his progress. Earlier that year, he had been recalled from Baslehurst for developing a rather amorous attachment to one of his female parishioners. Or the abbot might get an earful from Father Antony, a cantankerous old codger who was unable to accept his newfound retirement. He complained outrageously about the supposed failings of his successor as bursar.<\/p>\n

By contrast, I always felt that the abbot rather enjoyed his meetings with the novices and juniors. He had himself completed a PhD and devoted most of his professional life to research and teaching. As abbot, he was particularly concerned to raise the intellectual caliber of the community by sending his monks away to Oxford or Rome for further study. In my case, Father Abbot had thought best to keep me close to home, so I began commuting twice per week to St. Austin\u2019s.<\/p>\n

\u201cI really like my classes,\u201d I responded, \u201cbut it\u2019s hard for me to write my essays without better access to books.\u201d The crux of the problem was that I had no borrowing rights at St. Austin\u2019s. I could photocopy relevant materials, if they were on the shelf, but that only took me so far. The monastery had its own library, which was nearly as large as St. Austin\u2019s, but due to the age of the collection, did not often have the latest scholarship.<\/p>\n

Father Abbot, who also acted as monastery librarian, was supremely sympathetic. \u201cBuy whatever books you need. Once you\u2019ve finished with them, please give them to me and I\u2019ll add them to the library. Just be sure to save your receipts for the bursar.\u201d Every Saturday morning I had to visit the assistant bursar, Brother Stephen, and account for each penny I had spent that week. Only after he had collected all of my receipts and added them up could I get more money.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you have enough work to do?\u201d Father Abbot asked. He was not inquiring about studies now. Work, especially manual labor, is a cardinal virtue of monastic life. It is said outside the cloister that the devil finds work for idle hands. In his rule for monks, St Benedict says, Idleness is the enemy of the soul<\/i>. As a novice, I had worked in the gardens every afternoon raking leaves, planting bulbs, picking strawberries, or whatever else needed to be done. To my great relief, I was largely excused from that kind of work as a student.<\/p>\n

\u201cFather Bede keeps me pretty busy in the sacristy and Father Cuthbert always has me helping out with the guests.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI could use a little help in the library. Meet me there after lunch tomorrow and we\u2019ll get started. I won\u2019t keep you long,\u201d he added. I was grateful. Father Roger and I typically took long walks in the surrounding countryside on Saturday afternoons, if the weather was amenable.<\/p>\n

* * * * * * *<\/p>\n

The following day I met Father Abbot in the library. He gave me some new catalog cards to file. The monastery had no need for an automated system, since only monks were allowed to use the library. If you wanted to borrow something, you simply filled out a little slip, stuck it in a cardboard placeholder, and left it on the shelf where the book had been.<\/p>\n

On another occasion, the abbot asked me to put restorative wax on leather books. \u201cJust rub a little bit into the leather,\u201d he said, \u201clike this. And don\u2019t use too much. This is special book dressing that I got from the British Library.\u201d The wax was in an ordinary round tin that reminded me of a similar one at the bottom of my wardrobe. I had purchased it many years previously for my expensive Timberland boots, the ones I wore on my afternoon walks.<\/p>\n

Since the library was centuries old, there were hundreds, if not thousands, of leather books that needed waxing. Fortunately, I didn\u2019t have to tend to the rare books: early Renaissance editions of the classics, vellum-bound works by English Catholic recusants, large folio volumes of the Church Fathers, and a host of eighteenth century books on everything from botany to the travels of Captain Cook. Since they were stored behind locked doors, Father Abbot would take care of them himself. Even so, the project would take me months to complete. I didn\u2019t mind the work, though. In fact, I found it rather enjoyable because it gave me the opportunity to browse the entire collection.<\/p>\n

* * * * * * *<\/p>\n

On Sunday, following Conventual Mass, Midday Prayer and lunch, we gathered as usual in the calefactory for \u2018recreation.\u2019\u00a0 For monks, recreation chiefly consists of conversation, of small talk, since silence is such an important part of our life. We were seated on no-nonsense vinyl armchairs in a circle surrounding the fireplace, which is what gives the calefactory its name. In the days before central heating, it was often the only warm room in the monastery. Since the weather outside was cold and damp, Brother Stephen had kindly started a fire. As was our wont, conversation soon turned to a spirited critique of that morning\u2019s sermon.<\/p>\n

\u201cFather Andrew always puts me to sleep!\u201d complained Father Alcuin. \u201cAs soon as he starts talking about Buddhism, he loses me. I mean, what do Zen koans<\/i> have to do with lectio divina<\/i>? Or mantras with plainchant?\u201d<\/p>\n

Brother Stephen shrugged his shoulders. Interfaith dialogue held no interest for him. Christianity was the only true religion and that was that.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not just the content of his sermons, but his delivery that sucks,\u201d chimed in Brother Maximilian, the community\u2019s most junior member. \u201cIt\u2019s like he\u2019s trying to have a conversation, but he\u2019s really just thinking out loud. I wish he\u2019d organize his thoughts before speaking. It would probably shorten his sermon by half!\u201d<\/p>\n

Soon Father Abbot came in with a hot mug of tea and struck up a conversation with Father Bede. They began talking about some silk vestments that the sisters at Whitchurch wanted to donate to the community. In the far corner, Father Theophilus sat alone, ensconced in the sports page of the Times<\/i>. Every so often he would lean over and tap Father Cuthbert on the shoulder and share a particularly disappointing score or the latest upset. On the opposite side of the circle from Father Abbot, the rest of the community was engaged in a lively discussion about Middle Eastern politics.<\/p>\n

Not long after Father Abbot had finished his tea, he made his excuses and left the calefactory. I had begun to notice that this was habit, so I followed him out shortly afterwards and discovered him quietly working away in the library.<\/p>\n

I approached him hesitantly, my curiosity getting the better of me. \u201cFather, why do you love the library so much?\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye and said, \u201cThe books don\u2019t talk to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

March 2014<\/i><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/i>\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n

\"cla-photo\"<\/a>Barnaby Hughes lived in England for nearly ten years where he studied history, theology and medieval studies. As a MLIS student and former Managing Editor of the <\/i>SLIS Student Research Journal, he has a particular interest in scholarly communications and plans to write a thesis on institutional repositories. Barnaby has a passion for singing renaissance polyphony, and he writes about opera and wine in his spare time. Learn more about him on LinkedIn<\/a>.<\/i><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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