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As we prepare for a five night stay at Our Lady of Guadalupe Trappist Abbey, I am preparing for one of the great crises of our monastic retreats.

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There is a deep and painful irony in yesterday’s post that has not escaped my attention.

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It is not that the monks of Our Lady of Gaudalupe never speak. They talk when necessary and, at times, even chat, or occasionally tell a joke.

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A monk’s life is full of repetition.

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I suppose it would be possible to take my fine-toothed theological comb and go through each moment of the monastic liturgies at Our Lady of Guadalupe and find some obscure point about which to quarrel. But, theological arm wrestling seems a trivial waste of time in this place.

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This morning we pack our bags, clean our room, make up our beds with fresh linen, and, following Lauds, Mass and breakfast, get into our car and head down Abbey Road towards Port Angeles, the ferry and home.

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I wake up as if by some secret inner alarm at 3:00 a.m.

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The ferry pulls away from the dock. We move out into the dark waters of the Juan de Fuca Strait as we leave the shelter of the harbour.

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You have set my feet in a spacious place ~ Psalm 31:8

Pre-April 2010 posts: http://inaspaciousplace.blogspot.com/

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