If you know nothing about nuns, know that they are a punctual people.
So when they say that evening prayer begins at 5pm, have no doubt, prayers will begin at exactly 5pm, which is how I found myself running through the monastery.
Spirituality, or how we engage with our spiritual self, is a lifelong journey. There’s always more to learn when you are paying attention to and prioritizing your soulful side. For me, this led to the sacred, spiritual home of the Benedictine Sisters of Benet Hill.
From what I’ve observed, many are handed a set of religious beliefs in childhood that they carry into adulthood with the occasional rebellious diversion during adolescence. This has been the exact experience of about half of my friends.
The other half is like me.
We were handed that same set of beliefs, but they simply weren’t big enough to contain the deeper experiences and bigger questions of our lives, which is how I ended up running breathlessly to evening prayer.
It wasn’t that the monastery was difficult to navigate. In fact, one might applaud the sisters for their superfluous and incredibly detailed markers. The problem was that every clock I had passed in the minutes prior was a few minutes behind, and with my phone stored at the bottom of a very full backpack, I had no indication I’d made a grave mistake.
By the time I reached the chapel doors, the nuns were seated in silence.
One of the sisters was standing outside, and in an effort to relieve the tension, I whisper-joked, “I am so late,” unaware that even whispered jokes travel audibly through the acoustics of a small chapel. All eyes were on me.
She handed me a book of prayers without so much as a snicker, no tension was relieved.
The belief system that I was handed during childhood fell short on my spiritual journey, but that didn’t stop me from seeking. I identify with Christian language and metaphor, so that’s where I’ve landed, but over the last six years, the details blur together.
There were days when leaving the comfort of my religious tradition didn’t feel worth it. Sure, I knew the answers weren’t behind me because I’d been there, but how on earth does one exist in such uncertainty? It is unbearable, especially when my previous tradition was built on complete confidence and absolute certainty.
I will say, I didn’t expect to adjust to the uncertainty. That was a happy turn of events. It came gradually, and when it finally did, I knew I would never be the same.
Did you know that it’s possible to fully acknowledge that you know almost nothing and, instead, trust whatever is yet to be known without knowing it?
I did not know it was possible.
If I could leave what’s comfortable behind in search of something more meaningful, if I could trust that nothing in the universe hinges on my personal certitude, if God is bigger than my beliefs and Divine Immanence has nothing to do with the way I think about anything at all, then there is nothing to be afraid of on this journey.
But I encountered another challenge beyond my own comfort with uncertainty:
Where does one find the spaces, people, and teachings to nurture this new spiritual awareness?
I found solace in the Lutheran tradition, they seem to believe that women and homosexuals and the earth and refugees are just as loved by God as anyone, eliminating hierarchy and damning judgements and convenient avoidance.
I also found a number of teachers who are miles ahead of me that have lit candles along the path, Richard Rohr, Jen Hatmaker, Rob Bell and Sarah Bessey to name a few.
But that day at the monastery, I was seeking something new—a subversion of religious traditions built on patriarchy, God as mother, the Divine feminine.
I found Her there in a thousand ways, like Mary in the grotto and an evening prayer said by women for women.
As I entered the chapel, I was sweating, breathless, and late enough to cause a delay. Thankfully, God seems to have all the time in the world, and the sisters seemed to know that.
One sister prayed for the victims of gun violence and those who carry guns, humans in need of grace on all sides. A prayer of inclusion, deeply subversive in a culture of either/or, a beautiful embodiment of a feminine spirituality.
I’ll never forget running through unfamiliar halls to get there; I’ll never forget how out-of-place you can feel when you don’t know the lay of the land, when you end up somewhere brand new hoping for more, unaware of the time.
My day at the monastery was ending, so as the service closed, they called me to the center of the round, red chapel that they call “the womb” and sang a blessing over me. I held back tears knowing just how much attention that might garner from a room full of spiritual women, but looking back, I kind of wish I hadn’t. I wish I had laid my heart out on the floor of that womb and trusted the women to care for it accordingly.
It’s terrifying to leave the religious tradition you were raised in, but when you have to step away from everything you know, I believe you can find your way back to something bigger and truer and more beautiful if that’s what you’re seeking.
As I left the chapel, a mosaic of the Black Madonna caught my eye, a powerful symbol of feminine spirituality and motherhood and equality.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” the sister asked me as she passed.
I smiled and held her question with me as I walked out of the monastery doors.