We have been making much of late, with the involvement of the Manquehue movement in our monastic and School community, of the practice of lectio divina. It is, of course, an ancient practice, embraced fully by Saint Benedict, and practiced in various forms over the centuries. It is prayerful reading, believed, if the name is indicative, to be divinely inspired. Many students and faculty, myself included, have participated in sessions of lectio, finding them life-giving and fulfilling. I feel most grateful that this involvement has prompted me to pursue the practice in personal prayer, with at times vivid and powerful results. We have student leaders, faculty leaders, and a growing parent group dedicated to lectio. I encourage all to learn more about it.
 
I was prompted to write this note by this past Sunday’s new designation: Sunday of the Word of God, and through subsequently reading Friday’s gospel prayerfully. We learn in Mark 4:34 that the disciples of Christ were in the privileged position of not only hearing his parables, but of having them explained to them by him personally, “in private.” We, his current disciples, I have come to believe, are still in that position of privilege: we are placed in that position in prayer, in lectio. We find him available to us, if we have ears to hear - the ear of the heart that Benedict calls us to employs. We hear his voice, and are guided as he again opens the Scriptures for us.

Read more about lectio.

Pax,
B. Billings
February 1, 2020

I occasionally catch a moment to stop in to see Fr. Chris Davis, monk of Portsmouth in residence at The Grand Islander, a nursing home in Middletown. Less frequently, I make it “all the way” to Newport, to see Fr. Julian Stead at St. Claire’s. I had the blessing of checking in with them both this week. Fr. Chris has recently been elected President of the Residents’ Council. When I arrived they were just beginning a cocktail party, not of his initiative but surely meeting his approval! Fr. Julian continues apace with his reading and writing, having a room that offers glimpses of Newport harbor. I asked them about Effie Fortune: Fr. Julian referred to her as “Miss Fortune,” surely an un-fortunate homonym she must have had to contend with throughout her life. Fr. Chris remembers walking over to take her art class in her specially modified studio. He also referred to her harelip, a feature that various accounts indicate was a struggle for her. Fr. Julian remembered with delight her spunk, and recounted a visit with her in Sweden, coinciding with a visit to Bishop Ansgar. Neither Fr. Julian nor Fr. Chris had recollections of Esther Puccinelli, who remains more of a mystery for the Portsmouth archives.  I was grateful to see the two, and to more personally trace some of the vibrant and dynamic storylines that tie together the fabric of our history.  

Pax,
B. Billings
February 8, 2020

Sometimes the confluence of events comes together with a greater collective force, compressing, almost like it’s pushing down, like a gigantic thumb, maybe God’s – pushing you into the ground. That astronaut who just returned to earth after so long in space: feeling the weight of just walking around down here, maybe it’s something like that. Today, Valentine’s Day, we remembered two students who have died. One we remembered with a dress down day for a fund in her name: Ali Sacco, who died in 2003 from a congenital heart problem that took her from us while she was still a student here. The other we remembered with a Mass, for the first anniversary of his death: Michael Meads ‘18, who died in his freshman year of college, taken by surprise by an infection that took over his young, healthy, athletic body.
 
These difficult losses reminded me of other losses, and of a photo recently forwarded to me of the monastic community here in 2013. You see it below. Just three of these brethren pictured are now in residence here, and three in residence elsewhere. May the other five rest in peace – Francis, Ambrose, Philip, Damian, and Edmund. Keep death daily before your eyes, Saint Benedict directs us. Ha! I remember how during Vespers, at the phrase, “The dead do not praise the Lord,” Edmund invariably interjecting with an audible stage whisper his own rebuttal: “Yes, they do!” May it now be so, Father Edmund!
 
Even as I contemplate all of these losses, I also celebrate this day the 30th anniversary of proposing to my wife. Thirty years of awesome and wonderful blessings. This, as I am now in my 60th year. This, as my youngest child is soon to graduate from the school. This, as my mother approaches her 90th year. Time continues to accelerate, to expand, to contract – to compress. I also consider, with gratitude, our newer brethren: Br. Benedict and our Saint Louis monks – Fr. Michael, Fr. Francis, Fr. Edward, and Br. Sixtus – taking up monastic life with this community.
 
I think of all this as I sit before the Blessed Sacrament, pondering what I might say in this editorial note. How much time do we all have, really? And what are we to do with it? What do I want to say?  “Out of the depths…”; “If I dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, You are there”; “I pour out my complaint before Him, and tell Him all my trouble…” – these are prayers we make routinely around here in the Divine Office. These prayers catch my attention. And I remember, “there is nothing new under the sun…” But I somehow thank God for that, because with all that is going on down here, well, it comforts to realize that God already knows. Our God, who says, “I am with you.”
 

Pax,
B. Billings
February 14, 2020

Portsmouth Abbey monastic community, 2013 (left to right):

Br. Francis Crawley, Fr. Chris Davis, Fr. Gregory Havill, Fr. Julian Stead, Br. Joseph Biron, Fr. Ambrose Wolverton, Ab. Matthew Stark, Ab. Caedmon Holmes, Fr. Philip Wilson, Fr. Damian Kearney, Fr. Edmund Adams (absent: Fr. Paschal Scotti).

When Brother Sixtus presented me with his lists of possessions, to help me with the short piece on monastic Lenten preparations, I suddenly felt quite wealthy. I think I have more stuff in the storage closet in my basement. His list was no Bloomberg nor Trump hundreds of pages; no lawyers nor accountants nor court orders needed in order to see it. Simply and humbly stated and offered – and I am not even his superior! And it led me to consider a Lenten practice that I may now include in my own considerations, and should do so more often in the rest of my life. What do I call “mine”? An economic examination of conscience.  These gifts of God, these elements in the fabric of creation, these opportunities to do His will, to spread His message. I must reconsider the meaning of “stewardship,” and the challenge it presents to “ownership.” Our school’s discussion of Laudato Si’ only strengthened this awareness, to see the global implications of my personal possessiveness. Tax time elicits a begrudging and protective calculus; would it not be a miracle indeed to turn this process into a spiritual practice? New item to consider in your tax code: not 401K – it’s RB 33.

 

Pax,
B. Billings
February 21, 2020

We too here at Portsmouth are affected by the current global coronavirus crisis. Not only are many of our international students not able to travel home for the break, but we also put in place a set of rules to decrease the spread of flu, mostly the "B-strand" that eluded our vaccinations and made itself known on campus this winter. What to make of it all? How does faith play a role here?
 
I myself, in turning to prayer in “lectio divina” about our current health crises, happened to open my Bible directly to Mark 1:40 – a passage that speaks of a man cured of a virulent skin disease. He asks Jesus, “on his knees,” to please cure him – “if you are willing.”  Jesus says “I am,” and cures him. Jesus then directs him to make the offerings prescribed by Moses. Now, if you turn to Leviticus 14, you will find something of what that meant. This was no quick stop at the temple, home for dinner. The chapter outlines such elements as an eight day, elaborate routine of sacrifices, shaving of the entire body, exclusion from the congregation until the priestly rituals are complete. In whatever form that may have taken in first century practice, it was, from start to finish, a demanding scenario saturated with a belief in our reliance on God, and an awareness of how our lives are to be understood and lived in light of His will.
 
Just after this same “lectio divina,” I opened my email to discover a brochure about our school’s wellness program. You know: “comprehensive, results-oriented well-being”; “a healthier and more productive workforce”; “an environment for positive choices.” It came with a “Well-Being Interest Survey.”  Question One: “Do you value your personal health and well-being and make a conscious effort to invest the time needed to take care of yourself?” It sounded a bit like an examination of conscience, though without the God’s will part. And the “time needed” certainly did not reflect anything like an eight-day period of prayer and sacrifice including two birds, hyssop, the shaving of the body and eyebrows, and the sanction of a priest. Our directives to avoid contagion include things like hand washing, covering a cough, and so forth. Our directives to give thanks for the recovery of health include… well, a break in our health insurance, I guess. Pilate’s hand washing would seem to be not the only one that carries the implication that we have no need of the Christ.
 
Anyhow, maybe this comment is just me, “just sayin’…” I support vaccinations, modern medicine, and the like. So yes: it’s “both-and” not “either-or” when it comes to faith and medicine. I get that. But that, in fact, is my point. I find myself taking well-being surveys more often than making examinations of conscience; looking over my charges and fees more often than asking if I have adequately expressed gratitude to my God; washing my hands more often than I cleanse my heart. In all of the commotion and angst, where is my faith? I think I should remember more often the centurion who said, “I am not worthy to have you enter my house”; the woman who said, “Even the dogs eat the scraps”; and the sick man who on his knees pleaded: “If you are willing.”
 

Pax, and good health -
B. Billings
February 29, 2020