Because of my inability to enter the cloister where the monks spend the majority of their time, that place seems mysterious to me. I wonder what is behind the wall. I wanted to see, to touch, to be one of them.
The yearning for God is part of the Christian life. The inability to attain all that we want exactly when we want it is part of our fallen world. All humans yearn for what we cannot have. It is vital to occasionally say no to a child when you are parenting or that child will become troubled when they encounter the difficulties and challenges of the real world. They must understand that human life has limitations and requirements, that discipline is to be embraced.
The early Christians trusted in baptism as the initiation to the Christian faith. Catechumens or learners of the faith were told to leave after the Peace. They were not even allowed to see the consecration of the body and blood of Christ. The priest would shout, "The doors! The doors!" The catechumens would be escorted out and the doors were literally shut in their faces. The initiation process was difficult and time-consuming. They studied and fasted for forty days before their baptisms on Easter as the sun rose. And yet, the church grew and grew, for people long to be given a goal, a way to come closer to God.
We no longer close the doors of church to the unbaptized. We no longer ask more than just a simple meeting with a priest or perhaps a class prior to baptism. We invite all people to the altar rail and give the unbaptized a blessing. It has become so easy to receive the body and blood of Christ. I wonder, did the early Christians, in asking their new converts to work so hard to be baptized, give them a clearer understanding of the immensity of the gift that they were about to receive?
Now the Episcopal Church is considering open communion. We would give communion to all, without requiring anything, without baptism. This is born of a loving instinct, to include all people, not to judge, to love all. But what are the eventual ramifications of this? Will we be handing out communion to those who do not want to take the time to come to church at all? Will we do fast food Eucharists or drive-through communion, for those who cannot take the time but deserve it just as much as those who attend church? Where will we draw the line?
The word sacred or holy in the ancient Hebrew means set apart. The sacred has been set apart from the beginning of recorded human history, as a sign that God, though present in all things, transcends the ordinary and the mundane. That is why churches have been built, as signs of the holy presence of God, set apart and uplifted.
If we want to show Christ's love to the world, we must ask ourselves, "Does love always say yes? Does love never ask for discipline? Does love have no boundaries?" Americans resent being asked to wait, to yearn, to long for something. But perhaps holding up baptism as a rite of entry into the Christian life, though frustrating for many, increases our understanding of the need for humans to make a visible commitment to God. I know that many of the devout in my congregation long to be given requirements, long to be told how to become a member of the church and what is expected of them if they do. "What must I do?" they ask. "How can I draw closer to God?"
I will never forget the face of a young woman who waited all of Lent to be baptized at the Easter Vigil. At the moment of her communion, she experienced the holy, for she was invited to participate in something set apart. She had waited for communion, just as we wait for the coming of Christ in Advent. Her waiting itself was holy. She was truly included in the body of Christ and she was able to catch a glimpse of the immensity of that gift.
If boundaries and requirements are not loving, then the Trappist monks are not loving, for I have never seen as many rules as I do here. And I have never experienced such love as I do here, standing behind a cloistered wall, yearning to come inside.
