Voices of the Western Dominican Province
ON BEING A BROTHER: THE FIRST CRISIS
By Br. Daniel Thomas, OP
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Brs. Daniel (left) and Andrew (right) 1959 |
It was 1959, I was eighteen years old. I had graduated
from high school in June and entered the Dominican Order as a brother in September. I had
only been shaving for a year. The thought of becoming a Dominican brother had been with me
for a long time and there were no doubts in my mind that I would walk through those
cloister doors and never even think about leaving. I had just graduated from high school
and had that kind of firm purpose, "Look out world! Here I come!" There were
three of who entered the Order that year. I'm sure we all shared some of these same ideas.
It didn't take me very long to realize that there was a lot more to becoming a
Dominican and a brother than I was able to comprehend. At my age, it was slightly beyond
my realm of understanding to grasp the significance of joining up with a group that had
been around and thriving - for more than 700 years. There wasn't a whole lot that had
changed in the Dominican Order in those years and the Second Vatican Council was just
beginning to rumble in the foundations of both the Church and the Order. The brothers that
I met in those first days certainly didn't show any signs that modern ways were about to
fall in on them. Little did they know that my arrival might be just as upsetting as the
impending Vatican Council.
The tempo of life in the Dominican Order in the late '50's had not changed much in as
many years. The Novitiate House - the place where "novices" spend their first
year - was located on a residential street in a little town 25 miles north of San
Francisco. Although technically it was in Kentfield everyone spoke of it being
"Ross" since the dividing line was at the edge of our property. Ross was also
where the post office was located. The Priory was a three story gothic building with attic
dormers poking through the slate roof. As the youngest and newest members of the
community, our rooms were in the attic and were unique in many ways. They were not part of
the original construction but had been made into individual rooms by dedicated, albeit
frugal, brothers years later. They were not well insulated and were overly hot in late
fall and cold in winter. The walls were unfinished press board which had the advantage of
allowing the entire room to act as a giant bulletin board. However, the slant of the roof
and the dormer windows limited the actual usability of the room.
For the first six months we were not actual novices but rather "pre-novices"
or "postulants". On my second night as a postulant it rained cats and dogs. The
sound of the rain beating down on the slate roof was enough to keep me awake half the
night. The leak that began around midnight did the rest and threw me into a quandary: the
drip was coming down right on my bed. Since I was sure we weren't allowed to move
furniture around in the night I quietly got up, fumbled around in my belongings for the
plastic rain coat that I knew was there somewhere. Working in the dark (I'm sure that I
also thought "lights out" was an absolute) I spread the rain coat over the bed
and spent the rest of the night listening to the drip, drip, drip resounding off the
plastic like some out of tempo cadence. The next morning the superior matter-of-factly
told me, "Oh, for goodness sakes, why didn't you call someone to help you?"
But that wasn't really the first crisis.
There were many other things that could easily have been "first crisis" like
getting used to the prayers and liturgical rituals. Latin didn't come naturally to me and
I had one heck of a time finding my way around the stack of prayer books and song books
that each of us had to juggle at our place in the choir. Choir stalls. That was another
new experience. The chapel didn't have pews like I was used to in all the other churches I
had been in. Here there were two rows of individual choir stalls that faced each other in
the nave of the chapel. Each choir stall had a little shelf to hold all the books and each
one had a hinged seat that could be raised up when you were standing. There were also
individual kneeling benches that could be moved in or out to more easily facilitate
kneeling. All of this would have taken a lot of coordination if that's all you had to do.
You also had to sit, stand and bow at appropriate times while keeping your place in the
prayer book. I remember the time that I managed to stand with everyone else and do a
profound bow while the closing prayer was said. The problem was that my hood fell over my
eyes and I couldn't see when everyone else stood up. An older Father moved over toward me
and nudged me up. How was I to know that they only bowed down for the first part of
the prayer?
Then, as if that wasn't enough you had to learn how stand up while raising the bench
using only the backs of your legs while at the same time catching the edge of the little
kneeler with your toe and pulling it forward without causing it to tip over or fall down
into the next row of choir stalls!
All of this had to be done while keeping on "pitch" with the singing of the
Latin psalms. I think that I failed on all counts for the first several weeks! There was
also the matter of the large, fifteen decade rosary which hung from the belts of our
habits. It was more than easy to get it caught in the hinged seat when sitting down or
standing up, and everybody was used to hearing the bang of the bench and sound of beads
scattering on the tile floor. With all these logistics to master it's a wonder any of us
ever got to even the first level of spiritual perfection.
But even all that wasn't the first real crisis.
We had classes in the morning which gave us an introduction to the life of Dominicans.
In between, we were each given some work duties assisting one of the older brothers. You
have to remember that this was in the era when the brothers did all the domestic work of
the Priory. There were four lay Brothers at the Priory when I entered.
Brother Matthew was the cook. He had entered the Dominicans from Minnesota where his
family had a farm. The Dominicans didn't have a farm but since they knew he was used to
working with the makings of food he was put in charge of the kitchen. I worked in the
mornings with him. It was easy work since Brother Matthew only had a seven day menu! I
always pealed some carrots and potatoes, and chopped onions. If we were fixing hamburgers
I knew it was Thursday. He once told me, "I never thought of myself as a cook and
would never have chosen that as a vocation but that's what they asked me to do and so...
here I am." As far as I can remember, Brother Matthew never did anything else in all
his long years as a brother. Years later I was in the room when he died. One of the quiet
saints.
Brother Andrew was in charge of the laundry. He had a thick, Scottish borough and since
he was missing several teeth in the middle of his mouth he always laughed with a tight,
round, "ho, ho, ho." One time I noticed that he had a scar on this forearm and
when I asked what had caused it he did his distinctive little, "Ho, ho, ho,
Dan'-el," and said, "That's from a silly youthful impulse." Somehow I later
found out that it was where he had a tattoo removed before entering the Dominicans. He was
probably in his late 50's when I first met him and he had entered the Dominicans in the
Chicago Province after coming to this country from his native Scotland. He was forever
fearful of drafts and always sat with his feet perched carefully back on the heals of his
shoes thus keeping most of his body out of direct contact with the damp floor.
He had an interesting turn in his own religious career when in the 1940's he felt
called to a more austere, contemplative life and joined the Trappists at
Gethsemane,
Kentucky. He didn't stay very long and told me a little of what it was like. Since he had
been in charge of laundry work in the Dominicans that's what they assigned him to do in
the Trappists. An older Trappist brother who ran the laundry had just died, and so, Bro.
Andrew was left to run the entire place on his own. He told me that not only did he have
to do all the washing and ironing, but he had to keep a wood -fired steam boiler going and
keep another watchful eye on all the conveyer belts that powered the machinery.
When the 100+ monks through off their heavy, woolen, winter habits on Easter Sunday and
sent them into the laundry Bro. Andrew was faced with mountains of work. It was while
lifting those heavy, sopping wet habits out of the washing machines that he decided his
vocation was not to be a Trappist.
When he came back to the Dominicans he was asked to re-enter and start over again. That
was the way they did it back then. From my perspective I think that showed the true
holiness of the man. I don't know if I could have done that. He came out west and joined
our Province and had just professed his final vows about the time I entered.
Then there was Brother Francis. His only duties were the care of a elderly priest who
was a double amputee. Fr. Olson was almost as old as the Dominican Order and had thick,
bushy eyebrows. He looked like a character out of a Dickens story with his wrinkled face
and hanging jowls. I was really frightened of him at first. I don't really know how old
Bro. Francis was at that time but his small frame was stooped and he shuffled when he
walked. He was the one who showed me how to heat the bed pain with warm water so that it
wouldn't startle Fr. Olson in the cold of early mornings.
You could always tell where Brother Francis was by the tinkling sound of the many
medals which were attached to his fifteen decade rosary. He sounded like a team of
reindeer in a Christmas parade when he walked down the hallway. When he wasn't running
back or forth or waiting on Fr. Olson he was in the chapel praying. He didn't follow the
Latin Chant but used the lay-brothers small, English prayer book and never missed any of
the "Paters & Aves" for the deceased brethren. He was my first encounter
with a living saint
In the afternoons I worked with Bro. Andrew in the laundry. Before the Dominicans came
to Ross there had been a type of nursing home or convalescent hospital on the property.
Most of those buildings were taken down when the new priory was built in the '30's. The
one building that was left standing had been used as the morgue. We were now using if for
the laundry! It was cold, damp and dark and hadn't had much done to it by way of
improvements. The laundry equipment was old and didn't seem to have been placed in any
kind of logical order. Being young and still full of "worldly ways" I used to
make suggestions to Bro. Andrew about how we might 'streamline' the operation. He would
just look up at me with a "been there before" look and say, "Ho, ho, Ho,
Brother. Now what's the hurry. " Then he'd stop his work on the small mangle, pull up
the collar of his jacket to keep a little warmer and open his prayer book. He prayed the
'Little Office,' like most of the older brothers. Bro. Andrew was a holy brother. Soft
spoken, gentle and kind.
None of the older brothers went in for idle chatter and all of us were supposed to keep
a certain "simple silence" during work periods. Communication was pretty much
limited to necessary conversations and instructions.
Bro. Raymond was closest in age to me and his duties centered around keeping all the
public parts of the house in order. Shortly after my arrival at Ross, Brother Andrew went
away for his annual retreat. Bro. Raymond took over in the laundry in his absence. I was
still assigned to the laundry in the afternoons. That's were I had my first crisis.
One day after lunch, while Bro. Raymond was observing the ancient custom of afternoon
siesta, I got over to the laundry early. I walked in, looked over the place and thought,
"now to get this place in order and running efficiently!" Being a recent high
school graduate I took it for granted that I had the upper edge on these
"other-worldly men of God." I looked over the pieces of equipment that were
bolted to the floor or were otherwise too big to move and centered my attention on the
work tables, sorting areas and clean laundry storage bins. I worked fast since I wanted it
all completed before Bro. Raymond came in for the afternoon. Not that I at all thought to
do it in a devious way. I just wanted to surprise him by my fresh ingenuity.
When I saw him coming down the path from the Priory I had finished most of my
rearranging work. I stood there waiting for him to come in and tell me that I had done the
most incredible reorganization since the foundation of the Dominican Order in 1216! What
happened, though, is that he came through the door, took one look and said, "What in
God's name have You done!? What made you think that you could come in here and change all
this from the way it was? I've seen so many people - just like you - enter the Order with
their hot-shot-ideas and not last through the winter. People like you have come and gone
and if I let every one of them reorganize my life I'd be crazy!"
I was shocked! I had thought that I had done something great that might even be written
up in future histories. And here I was almost being called an angel of Satan. Bro. Raymond
turned toward the door and said, "get it back the way it was. I'll be back in an
hour." and slammed the door as he left.
I went into the back room where the blankets and sheets were kept and burst into tears.
"How could I have presumed such a stupid move that these obviously holy men of God
could see right through." In their wisdom had they spoken a prophetic word that would
purge me from their midst? I had only been a postulant for about three weeks and it seemed
as if I had blown it already. Is this all the chance I was going to get? Years latter,
however, I would be able to see that this was the first step in my coming to a deeper
understanding of what religious life is all about. It's not about imposing or getting your
way in matters as simple as laundry arrangements.
As I said before. These were men moving toward holiness and their faith on that journey
must have allowed them to really see through me and to see that there was something
of worth in this "young kid from Oakland."
I made it through my six-month postulancy, learned my way through the myriad of prayers
and customs and especially learned that you have to make decisions as to which battles are
worth fighting. God never calls us to develop a better mouse trap but only to love better.
I continue on my own journey to holiness thanks to the wise, quiet presence of those
men who did their best to point me in the right direction right at the start. All of them
but Bro. Raymond are gone now and I have the confidence that they are there before the
throne of God, still praying their "Paters and Aves" for all of us still plowing
the fields.
Was there a second crisis? Let me tell you... I don't have fingers enough to count all
the crises in my life. But let me also tell you I don't have enough fingers or toes to
count all the blessings.
At the time of this posting, Br. Daniel Thomas was the
Director of St. Benedict Lodge, a Dominican
Retreat and Conference Center in McKenzie Bridge, Oregon. This is his second article in the series "On
Being a Brother." He can be reached through his
email.
Would you like free information on becoming a Dominican Brother? Contact our Vocation Director.
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