by James Martin
28
One Sunday night toward the end of the summer at the Abbey of Saints Philip and James in suburban Philadelphia, the bell rang to announce Compline. The monks entered the church wordlessly and after making deep bows toward the altar filed into their seats. The twenty or so monks looked like unremarkable men. Take them out of their long black-and-white habits, and they could have been accountants or lawyers or plumbers or teachers or carpenters.
The abbot, a thin, middle-aged man wearing large black glasses, rapped a knuckle of his right hand on the wooden stall to signal that prayers were to begin. Next to the abbot was an older monk, stooped but with a full head of gray hair, who had parked his metal walker beside the stall.
The sun was setting, and the thick stained-glass windows admitted no light. Instead, the church itself was the source of light, and from outside the windows glowed a deep blue, almost violet.
“Let my evening prayer ascend before you, O Lord,” sang the presider.
“And may your loving-kindness descend upon us,” answered the rest of the monks.
In the rear of the church a scattering of six people sat in the visitors’ section. An older woman, a widow who had been coming to the monastery for several years, drawn by the physical beauty of the place. A college student who was thinking about becoming a priest or a monk, but was still years from deciding. A middle-aged couple, professors from a nearby college, both agnostic, who enjoyed the singing. In the back, closest to the door, sat two more people.
One was the abbey’s handyman and carpenter. According to the abbey’s phone directory, he was officially “Director of the Physical Plant.” Normally Sunday was his day off, but he had come by to finish staining a pair of maple bookcases he had built for the library. It was his most ambitious carpentry job yet, but he enjoyed the work.
The carpenter, a tall man with long sandy hair, was always welcome to the monastery prayers, but he seldom came. Tonight, however, with the summer drawing to a close and the weather turning cooler, the world had seemed so beautiful. A few hours earlier, as he was staining the shelves, he felt a sudden burst of contentment, of rightness, as if this was where he was supposed to be. Not much had changed in his life this summer, he had to admit. He still hadn’t found the right woman, as he had been hoping. But he was a little bit happier in his work. So he wanted to thank God. The man took off his sweat-stained Red Sox cap after he entered the church, sat in an empty pew, and closed his eyes.
Three rows behind him sat a tanned, middle-aged woman in a Phillies T-shirt and faded jeans. The carpenter couldn’t see her, nor would she tell the carpenter that she was there until a few days later, and they would both laugh about it. She had spent an enjoyable day weeding her garden and cooking a relaxing dinner for a friend from work. Just a few minutes before, she had visited the elderly monk with the walker, who had been a friend of her father and mother.
Were you to see this woman, you might wonder what brought her. You might suspect that she was a devout Catholic. Who else would spend a Sunday evening at a monastery? But she wasn’t. She was far from what anyone would call a churchgoer and couldn’t remember the last time she had attended Mass. You might think she had been coming here for years and so knew the monastery well. But that wouldn’t describe her either. She knew only a handful of the monks. You might guess that she was a kind of spiritual tourist, sampling this tradition and that, having recently discovered monasticism, she might move on once her interest waned. But that also wasn’t accurate. Her attraction went deeper. Finally, you might conclude that she was a lost soul, lacking any real connections in her life. But you’d be wrong about that too. She felt connected to her friends, to her late son, and now, in a new way, to her faith, or at least a faith. Like most people, she couldn’t be categorized easily.
Were you to look more carefully, though, you would see one thing clearly. As the monks sang their final prayer of the day, her gaze was drawn to an image of Mary holding Jesus, which stood on a table against a side wall of the church. Next to that table was a smaller wooden one, on which was placed a vase filled with purple snapdragons. The woman looked at the image several times during Compline.
You would also see that she was singing along with the monks. It was a song that her father used to sing, one that she had forgotten for a long time.
But now she knew the words, by heart.
Acknowledgments
This novel is based on a dream. So the characters of Anne, Mark, and Paul are not based on real-life individuals, except perhaps unconsciously. Also, although the conversations between the characters are grounded in experiences I’ve had as a spiritual director and as someone who has received spiritual direction, none is based on any one person or situation. Anne’s experiences, struggles, and questions are common in the spiritual life—as are Mark’s and Paul’s. Finally, the Abbey of Saints Philip and James is not a real place, but flows from my experiences with Trappist and Benedictine monks and monasteries in the United States.
I would like to thank readers of an early version of this manuscript who generously offered their helpful suggestions: Jim Keane; Ron Hansen; Kathleen Norris; William A. Barry, SJ; Janice Farnham, RJM; Kerry Weber; Dan Pawlus; Louise Murray; Liza Fiol-Matta; Paul Mariani; and James Palmigiano, OCSO. Thanks to a humble editor of this manuscript who wants to remain anonymous, but who improved the book immeasurably with her edits, comments, additions, and advice. Thanks to Joseph McAuley for cheerfully helping to input all the edits. Thanks to Heidi Hill, for checking all the facts and making sure the flowers bloomed in the right order. And at HarperOne, thanks to Roger Freet and Michael Maudlin for their encouragement and support, and to Noël Chrisman and Ann Moru for their wonderful care for the manuscript.
Most of all, thanks to God for the dream, and for everything else.
Also by James Martin, SJ
Jesus: A Pilgrimage
Between Heaven and Mirth: Why Joy, Humor, and Laughter Are at the Heart of the Spiritual Life
The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything: A Spirituality for Real Life
A Jesuit Off-Broadway: Behind the Scenes with Faith, Doubt, Forgiveness, and More
Becoming Who You Are: Insights on the True Self from Thomas Merton and Other Saints
Lourdes Diary: Seven Days at the Grotto of Massabieille
My Life with the Saints
Searching for God at Ground Zero
This Our Exile: A Spiritual Journey with the Refugees of East Africa
In Good Company: The Fast Track from the Corporate World to Poverty, Chastity, and Obedience
Together on Retreat: Meeting Jesus in Prayer (e-book)
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Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE ABBEY. Copyright © 2015 by James Martin, SJ. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
HarperCollins website: http://www.harpercollins.com
IMPRIMI POTEST: Very Reverend John Cecero, SJ
FIRST EDITION
Illustration by Julia Lonneman
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Martin, James.
The abbey : a story of discovery / James Martin. — First edition.
pages ; cm
EPub Edition August 2015 ISBN 9780062402141
ISBN 978–0–06–240186–1
1. Self-realization—Fi
ction. 2. Self-actualization (Psychology)—Fiction.
I. Title.
PS3613.A7789A63 2015
813'.6—dc23
2015009852
15 16 17 18 19 RRD(H) 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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