Lyrically Speaking

Two weeks ago one of the COR members, Charlene, sent an email to me via our Fearless Facilitator, Greg. The email contained the lyrics to a song. Commenting on the Chittister quote I mentioned last week, Charlene wrote, “I highlighted the portions that reminded me of things [Vikki] spoke of.”

These are the lyrics, in part:

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.

I loved the lyrics, but I didn’t pay attention to the song title. When I had more time I asked Charlene for the title and the author and did an Internet search. As some of you may already know, the song is “Anthem” by Canadian singer/songwriter and poet, Leonard Cohen.

I had heard Cohen’s name before, but had never consciously followed his music. I remembered seeing his name come up in the newspaper (he had won a Lifetime Achievement Grammy in January and had been inducted in to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2008). When I searched YouTube for a hearing of the song, I was enchanted by his mournful voice (once described as a “vampire baritone”)—somewhat like Bob Dylan, but more tuneful and poetic.
(See http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_e39UmEnqY8&feature=related)

I watched video clips of not only Cohen in performance but also his back-up singer, Sharon Robinson. Over and over again. I was captivated by their music and his poetry. I also noticed that Cohen had written the song “Hallelujah” which many of us with children recognize as the song sung by Rufus Wainwright in the first “Shrek” movie. I had adored that song from the moment I heard it and had wondered who had been inspired to write it. Now I knew, but I wanted to know from where his inspiration flowed.

Given my journalistic tendency toward immersing myself in a subject, I read as much as I could about Cohen. I was almost not surprised to discover that he, an observant Jew, had spent five years in a Zen Buddhist monastery in Los Angeles, before touring again at age 74.

One New York Times article I read notes:

… Mr. Cohen appears to see performance and prayer as aspects of the same larger divine enterprise. That may not be surprising, coming from an artist whose best-known songs mingle sacred concerns with the secular … “There’s a similarity in the quality of the daily life” on the road and in the monastery, Mr. Cohen said. “There’s just a sense of purpose” in which “a lot of extraneous material is naturally and necessarily discarded,” and what is left is a “rigorous and severe” routine in which “the capacity to focus becomes much easier.” … About the meaning of those songs, Mr. Cohen is diffident and elusive. Many are, he acknowledges, “muffled prayers,” but beyond that he is not eager to reveal much. … Zen has also helped him to learn to “stop whining,” Mr. Cohen said, and to worry less about the choices he has made. “All these things have their own destiny; one has one’s own destiny. The older I get, the surer I am that I’m not running the show.”

(From http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/25/arts/music/25cohe.html?_r=1)

Cohen’s obvious discipline inspired me. Last week after I confessed in this blog that my Rule of Life was in disarray, I sat down with the notes I had written in my journal and the sticky notes plastered to its pages and actually typed out a more orderly Rule. Then I loaded it into my PDA, sent it to myself at two different email addresses and printed it out. I now have my Rule in three different forms. I no longer have any more excuses to ignore it. It’s not perfect (but that’s not the goal) and maybe not even complete (and maybe never will be), but I’m allowing it to shape my life.

And because Charlene reached out and connected with me via Cohen’s song, four of the things I wrote in my Rule came to fruition. I discovered a new source of beauty in Cohen and Robinson’s work that I will be sure to spend many happy hours exploring. I feel as if I have found another kindred soul not only in Cohen but also in Charlene. Today my apartment was a more hospitable place for me because it was filled with the music that I too often forget to play. And when I stepped outside in the larger world, the harried Metro bus driver received, instead of my usual distracted acknowledgment, my smile and kind words.

I believe Saint B would be pleased.

My first encounter with Saint B

The Rule of Benedict begins with the words, “Listen carefully, my son …” Already you can see my problem. Apparently this isn’t meant for me.

When I first heard of Saint Benedict and his Rule six years ago in a seminary church history class, the whole idea repulsed me. But as someone who has had an almost lifelong love/hate relationship with organized religion, at the same time I was enchanted.

Benedict formed his community as an antidote against the decadence around him, according to Benedictine nun and scholar, Joan Chittister. Institution-weary as I was when I entered seminary, that was something I could somewhat relate to. In that class I also found out that Benedict had a sister, Scholastica, whom he seemed to treat as a full partner. That made me a little more kindly inclined toward Saint B, as I have come to call him.

But still I had to get through what appeared to me to be the kow-towing to abbots and priors, apparent monk-abuse (beatings were allowed), and the monastery fashion police who allowed monks only two garments (however these garments were supposed to be “fitted to the wearers”—that was a plus), described in the Rule.