You will probably have surmised from my last blog-post that this stay at the Ashram is proving to be an opportunity for soul-searching. Which is fine, because the big benefit of any kind of retreat is just that: a chance to take a step back and re-evaluate one's life and plot the way forward.
My initial reaction on arriving was to give a huge sigh of relief at escaping the material consumerism of December back in the U.K. - or anywhere else around the globe, for that matter. My hut in the banana grove is simple and adequate; the food is South Indian vegetarian, which suits me perfectly, and the monastic programme is optional, but gives me a chance to enjoy meditation and liturgy. There were just four or five of us guests when I arrived; enough for conversation if I wanted to chat, and not too many for solitude if I chose to withdraw.
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| - and then there were 40 of us at mealtimes |
Then others arrived for the Christmas season, two large French parties, and several new faces from elsewhere in Europe. Some I recognised from previous visits, and it was heart-warming to meet up with people who had been here a couple of years ago when I became an oblate of Shantivanam.
But such an influx has a dramatic effect on the rhythm and balance of the establishment, and I found that I had to work harder to maintain the sense of peace and isolation which I wanted.
I did not enjoy the tour-group holiday spirit, and have become a bit of a recluse.
Every afternoon during the week, Brother Martin gives a talk on almost any aspect of theology, and the other day his theme was the meaning of Christmas. Ever since I went to work cooking for refugees and migrants in Athens 18 months ago, I have followed various related organisations on Facebook, together with local organisations operating in my home-town. As Christmas approached, the stories of hunger, deprivation and homelessness have proliferated, in harsh contrast to the promotion of luxury gifts and extravagant celebrations in all the media. People back in Lincoln were lonely, cold and hungry, and some were sleeping in the open. According to the most recent Government statistics in Birmingham alone, more than 9,000 will wake up on Christmas Day in tents, cars, trains and buses and on the streets.
Well, it doesn't add up, and as our new ashram guests started rehearsing for a jolly Christmas Eve celebration, I realised I was in the wrong place, and I won't come back here again for Christmas.
I know that I can make a difference to the Christmas of people less fortunate, and that gives me great pleasure. I don't need the church on December 25th to make it my Christmas Day. I am in the happy position of having 30-odd services being celebrated each week at Lincoln Cathedral, across the road from my apartment. I can enjoy those that attract a smaller congregation if I want a more monastic atmosphere, or I can relish the magnificent choral worship on High Days and holy-days.
I shall still come to Shantivanam every year, for as long as I am able. What draws me to the Benedictine community is precisely the reason why I will have a different kind of Christmas in the future. It's all about other people.
A friend who works with refugees in Greece wrote a simple poem to the meter of Away in a Manger. It's an uncomplicated message, and it's painfully relevant on December 24th.
Away in a kids’ tent
No chance of a bed,
Ten thousand cold people
With fear in their head.
The scars from the journey
Show words they can't say,
The grown-ups and war childs
Forced in hell to stay.
I see you, new neighbours,
And retch in despair
That though there’s warm places
The suits keep you there.
The snow is now falling
Clothes, food, - they are scarce,
The stars say go westward
But the law is a farce.
Please now, friends and neighbours,
Do something to act,
There’s people who need you
To keep life intact.
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| Lincoln Cathedral |
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