In the far eastern reaches of Zimbabwe, less than 100 miles from its border with Mozambique, lies an area of land which has been a religious refuge for almost 120 years.  Appropriately named ‘Monte Cassino’ by the Cistercian monks from South Africa who founded the mission in 1902, it is now home to the Benedictine monks of the Monastery of Christ the Word, or CTW.  September 2021 marks the 25^th anniversary of their arrival from Ampleforth Abbey in northern England in 1996, a journey covering close to 7,900 miles.

During my 16 years as a monk, I have been blessed to have spent two extended mission stints at CTW.  On the occasion of this silver jubilee, it was suggested that I share a little bit about the life of the monks there.  In addition, I have filled a display case in the School’s classroom building lobby which includes items brought back from that southern part of the African continent.  There is a selection of books, newspapers, colorful java wax-print fabrics, advertising items, craft objects, and a wonderful guide to bird-watching.

Signboards

How the Ampleforth monks of Yorkshire came to found a dependent house in Zim is an interesting story.  In 1991, at a time of political and economic stability, foreign investments and ten years of independence, the Catholic Bishops Conference of Zimbabwe felt the need for a strong monastic presence in the country in order to foster local vocations.  The invitation went out, not to found yet another school or parish, but rather to offer a place of rest and retreat, a spiritual oasis or, as one bishop called it, a ‘spiritual sanatorium’ for priests, religious and laypersons. 

I was vaguely aware of the existence of CTW in the early aughts through my close friendship with Abbot Patrick Barry OSB, the superior of Ampleforth from 1984 to 1997.  But it wasn’t until Christmas 2007 that the importance of the Benedictine missionary work being done there hit home for me.  I was on holiday out of Rome during a year of theology when, after a few days visiting friends at St. Michael’s Abbey in Farnborough, U.K., I took a train north to Yorkshire.  While perusing the Benedictine Yearbook 2008, I came across a piece titled ‘A Monastic Adventure in Zimbabwe’ written by Prior Robert Igo, the superior at the time.  (Because CTW is still a dependent house, it is led by a prior, not an abbot.)  Little did I realize that in six months’ time I would be heading south of the equator on my own monastic adventure in Zimbabwe.  

Later that evening over post-prandial beverages in the Ampleforth Calefactory, I had a conversation with Abbot Cuthbert Madden, one of Abbot Patrick’s successors, who was a medical doctor in his pre-monastery life.  He patiently answered my many questions about CTW, about the risks involved, and encouraged me to visit since I was already in the eastern hemisphere.  As providence would have it, I needed to decide on where to do a pastoral assignment later that summer to satisfy a requirement at my Roman seminary.  I broached the subject with him, his eyes widened, and we were off to the races.  Eventually I obtained the approval of my superior in St. Louis and my rector in Rome.

Br. Placid (in the middle) with the Altar Boys after Mass

After undergoing knee surgery near the Vatican in June 2008, acquiring the proper vaccinations, malaria medications and visa papers, I departed Fiumicino Airport on crutches (one crutch, actually).  I spent a night and a day in an Addis Ababa hotel binge-watching Law & Order on TV while icing my knee, and finally continued on to Johannesburg, Harare, and a long drive to CTW.  

I landed 3 months after the controversial presidential election in which the dictator Robert Mugabe lost to his opponent, and also just days after a run-off election which unbelievably, or believably, found Mugabe still in power.  Prior Robert wrote in 2008, “At present we live from day to day because we do not know what new form of madness and tyranny the government of Robert Mugabe will unleash.”  Near CTW were found shallow graves holding fifteen bodies of his political opposition leaders and workers.  Madness and tyranny, indeed.

In a refugee camp of displaced citizens outside of Harare where I helped Dominican sisters dispense medications (the blister-packaging of which rats had chewed), I spent time with a young man whose both legs had been broken.  While sitting together outside of his corrugated metal shack he told me that in the middle of the night Mugabe thugs attacked him to prevent him from voting in the run-off election.  The stench of gangrene hung in the hot air.  I still pray for him.

Most of the monks’ meals consist of ingredients straight from their gardens and from poultry and animals which they raise, including (clockwise from upper left) homemade bread, bananas, goat stew, boiled chicken feet, ducks and chicken, quail eggs, and roasted rabbit for Thanksgiving (to please the American monk).

Before entering the monastery, Prior Robert, too, was a trained medical professional, a background which gave him a grasp on the rampant HIV/AIDS epidemic that was ravaging the sub-Saharan continent.  In fact, in his 2008 article, he reported an estimate of over 3,000 deaths per week.  Part of my work was to accompany him, or one of the other handful of priest/monks, to a compound run by the Missionary Sisters of Charity who ministered to AIDS-stricken patients from their late-teens on up to middle- and old-age.  Early one morning during my second stint in 2016, I returned to the simple chapel in bare feet after a quiet breakfast following Mass celebrated by Fr. Robert.  We always removed our shoes or sandals upon entering the sisters’ chapel.  This time my shoes were missing from where I had left them under my chapel chair.  I would have been happy to go about the rest of my day in the city shoeless, but one of the sisters heard of the situation and scurried off through the compound.  She returned after a short while with a young man...wearing my shoes.  He and I sat down while he gave me the shoes back.  As he removed them, I saw how calloused and dusty his feet were.  Obviously, he needed the shoes more than I did but the good sister insisted he do the right thing.  He spoke no English, I spoke no Shona, and we both knew that he would be dead before too long.  We embraced for a long time, bowed slightly to each other and departed.  I still pray for him, too.

Young Boys in Lectio

Most heartbreaking was the orphanage for children stricken and suffering from AIDS, sponsored by a Christian group from Ireland.  As Fr. Richard and I tried to ease the old Isuzu pickup truck through the main entrance to the car park, we had to wait for a hearse to pull out with its latest young victim.  Inside the building, the children were quieter than usual, explained Fr. Richard, because they had just watched one of their own taken away.  We walked from room to room, prayed over the kids, he anointed them, and we took turns laying our hands on their tiny heads, trying to stay composed.

Tinashe Musarurwa (pictured here with Brother Sixtus) was a college student in Harare, the capital,
who spent time with us at Christ The Word Monastery on a vocation visit.

When new acquaintances find out that I spent some time in Zim, they regale me with their stories and of exotic safari trips to photograph the ‘big five.’  They ask how I liked Victoria Falls and where I stayed while I was there.  I never saw the falls.  Even my great-niece from Pittsburgh shared stories of her Zimbabwe visit, to Victoria Falls even, but hers was a side trip from Kenya with a-friend-who-is-a-boy where she and college classmates had spent a semester doing something ecologically good.

During that unforgettable summer of 2008 I did happen to know one person in the country, a native white Zimbabwean, a classmate from my seminary in Rome.  He was back home in Bulawayo, only six hours away, but it was six hours that I didn’t have, nor did he.  We communicated via handwritten letters couriered by nuns driving back and forth on their own missionary errands.

The monks of CTW persevere after 25 years.  Prior Robert is now Abbot Robert, but of Ampleforth Abbey, having been elected earlier this year.  And Robert Mugabe is now dead.  The desire and prayers for local vocations continue but as of this moment only one local village boy whose birth name is Simba has progressed to Solemn Profession.  Anyone who has seen any iteration of The Lion King knows perhaps that Simba is Swahili for lion, king, strong, “born leader” or aggressive (thank you, Google).  And my friend Simba is all of those things.  He is not afraid of the local boa constrictors.  Ironically, his religious name is Brother Placid.  Please pray especially for Br. Placid, Fr. Barnabas and Fr. Terrence.