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I’m Brother Elias, the novice director at Holy Spirit Monastery, and I would like to share with you a few memories from my life journey.
My most vivid dream occurred during an operation when I was a child. Its sole figure was an immense, majestic white swan, gliding slowly ahead over tranquil waters. The dream seemed to last for hours, and still visits me from time to time.
In my adult years I discovered that in a number of cultures the swan symbolizes the elegance of the dynamic spirit deep within us. When I read Byron Brown’s observation that this dynamism “flows,” I connected his remarks to my experience of the gently flowing motion of the great white swan in my dream, and of the waters beneath its body: for me,
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Bro. Elias spends time with each candidate to reflect on the meaning of a monastic vocation.
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symbolic of the living waters of the Spirit of Jesus.
All of which suggests that from an early age I felt much drawn to make conscious contact with my inner depths.
And yet certain experiences in childhood and adolescence led me to imagine God to be a dangerous, vindictive, abusive figure: a “crazy god.” At times the very thought of Christ -– or, more accurately, of whom I mistook to be Christ – terrified me. If madness involves a split from reality, then surely in this area of my life I experienced episodes of temporary madness. My misinterpretation of God made things religious a heavy burden for me to carry.
It was somewhat consoling to realize on occasion that I was not alone in these feelings. Even today people share with me similar experiences. Some of them have never recovered from these early negative impressions of religion, coming during a childhood in which they felt so raw, fragile and vulnerable.
The writer Brian Taylor is frank enough to admit publicly that – some years back – in terms of religion he acted like a “coin-operated robot” --- much as I had, going through the motions of being a pious churchgoer while feeling hopelessly trapped and empty inside.
As Taylor put it, eventually the raw edge of religious alienation softened. Starting from zero, Jesus and God began to make sense to him in a new, refreshing way.
As for me, it was as a teenage freshman at Notre Dame that I began to awaken spiritually --- and gradually to emerge from “religious madness” – as the raw edge of religious alienation finally started to soften and my journey into spiritual sanity begin in earnest.
One fall evening I took it into my head to stroll over to the grotto down by St Mary’s Lake. When I got to that replica of the one at Lourdes, a sort of roll started to unfold slowly across the lake. I glanced up at the sky: a full moon was moving steadily across the heavens, as though watching me down below ---- me, standing there alone, accompanied by an eerie quiet, with the eyes of the Madonna fixed on mine.
I smiled at my notions, half-shaking my head in disbelief: I had come to a religious spot voluntarily!
Just then something happened. I felt an irresistible urge to put my knees on the earth, and to close my eyes. Years later one of Thomas Merton’s books described what I could not at the time put into words. He said, of his own experience, that it was as though a trapdoor had opened inside me, and that he had fallen into space --- where everything was Love.
The prayer of one of our Cistercian ancestors – Aelred of Rievaulx – added a bit more to the description of a freshman who could find no words with which to say: “Look, this happened….”
 Aelred said: “You drew me to Yourself, Lord, and I discovered what joy there is in your love, what peace in your joy, what rest in your peace.”
My experience at the grotto definitely involved a personal encounter with Another. I was “down there,” at the level of the “swan” – but with Someone. I felt deeply connected with a mysterious, incredibly loving Being who seemed to have no beginning in time or edges in space. We remained unique and distinct, and yet it seemed as though there was only one of us.
Two, yet one.
The beauty of it all was that this Being bore no resemblance to the “crazy god” whose image I had carried around in my head for years. I felt immense relief. Like Taylor, the raw edge of religious alienation had softened. It was as though I was starting from zero and beginning to make sense of Jesus for the first time.
The next morning at the dorm I awoke at the usual ten to six, in time to get downstairs to sign in as part of our campus-wide tradition of “dawn patrol:” the Holy Cross Fathers’ ingenious solution to the challenge (or problem) of how to get the students up and into the chapel --- which, of course, we had to pass on our way to and from the sign-in desk.
To my surprise, instead of the customary retreat to my bed I chose to enter the chapel, and take part in the Eucharistic celebration --- with sincerity, even eagerness! From that point on I looked forward to “dawn patrol,” and the subsequent passage into that sacred space, the chapel.
Thomas Merton taught that the seeds of contemplation are sown into our souls at baptism. I feel that these seed began to germinate inside me during my spiritual awakening at the grotto. But I also feel that the seeds of a monastic vocation were sown into my soul as well on that occasion, for which I remain so grateful.
Thanks for listening, dear reader. All peace and blessings to you as you move forward in your journey. Our prayers are with you!
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