ON BEING A BROTHER

Part I
Beginnings

Part II
The First Crisis

Part III
On Being a Brother: The Charismatic Years

Part IV
A Crash Landing

Part V
Kathryn Kuhlman and the Miracle Years

St. Benedict's at McKenzie Bridge has always been a special place for me since the first time I ever went there on my first vacation as a young brother. Each summer I would look forward to the time that I would spend at the Lodge. In the early '60's, there were still rules about "categories" which meant that student brothers, lay-brothers and priests were not supposed to fraternize. The good side to this rule meant that visiting priests and lay-brothers got the better rooms - the ones that are right over the river. I loved the sound of the river and would sleep with the window wide open. I also often "slept-in" since I figured that I worked hard all year long and deserved a good vacation. I never conscientiously thought of it as a vacation from God, but I must admit that I didn't get much prayer in during those days.

Then God sent a "Jonah" to me in the form of two San Francisco Hippies who had connected up with one of the brothers and "hitched" a ride on their trek north to Seattle. Peter and Jimmy - I don't know that I ever knew their last names - had all the markings of your typical street people of that era. I remember that we all went swimming on that warm summer night. I also remember that they didn't have swimming suits but that didn't seem to matter to them.

The odder part of this story, though, is that I actually got up the next morning in time for prayers and Mass. Jimmy and Peter were there. Both of them also went to communion which I thought might just be slightly irregular since I didn't know that they were Catholic! What turned out to be more surprisingly delightful was the fact that Peter played a most beautiful flute meditation and I found myself being lifted up to a level of peace and quiet that I hadn't known in a long time.

Later that morning some of us gathered at the swimming pool. There were some visiting sisters, several of the brothers, I was there, and of course, Jimmy and Peter who seemed to be the center of attention. The subject being discussed was "Charismatics"--which I didn't know too much about. However, when they linked it up with "Pentecostals," I thought I was more knowledgeable. In the first place I knew that they weren't Catholic! In the second place, if these two guys were "Pentecostals," they had profaned our Eucharist by receiving Holy Communion that morning at Mass. Of course, I wasn't saying any of this out loud but I was surely thinking about it in my head.

As the discussion went on, there were several things that caught my attention. Both Peter and Jimmy seemed to have a deep and real familiarity with the bible. They would quote a particular passage and then cite the chapter and verse and go right to it. I had always thought that these type of "bible-thumpers" just made up the numbers but these two guys were right on the mark. I don't know how long we all stayed there but eventually one of the nuns asked, "Why don't we have a 'Charismatic Prayer Meeting' right now? Just give us a little time to change and then we'll all meet over in the Chapel. OK?"

In my head I thought, "Whew! That'll give me the break I need. When they all get up to go, I'll just wander off in a different direction and nobody will be the wiser."

Once again, my "Jonahs"--like the people of Nineveh--thwarted my plans by announcing, "Why ask for a 'charismatic prayer meeting' when we've just come from the most beautiful prayer meeting possible? We've just sung the psalms of morning prayer and celebrated the presence of the Lord at Mass. What could be better than that?"

That hit me like a ton of bricks. All these years I have been going to prayers and Mass but never consciously thought of it as "prayer." These guys were making me nervous. They were causing me to actually think about what I was all about.

Then they said, "We don't have to get dressed up special or go anywhere. You know what it says in Matthew 18:20 'Where one or two are gathered in my name....' we can prayer right here!" Now I was really stuck! If I got up to leave it would look like I was against prayer. I didn't want to give that image. So I stayed.

What happened next has always been pretty vague to me. I know that people began voicing spontaneous prayer and there was a smattering of quotes from scripture. As I listened to the voices, which seemed to have a genuine and familiar love of God, I was thinking, "Why do these two gruffly guys have something that I'm supposed to have by virtue of being a 'professional religious!'" All of a sudden my mouth opened and I began, "Oh, Lord....." Then, like I was in some kind of a time warp I thought, "OK, Daniel, now you've done it! You've started something that you're not going to be able to finish. What are you going to do now?"

Somehow I must have gotten through a prayer. I only know that it must have been a jealous prayer along the lines of, "Why don't I have what these others have?" but I think the entire session must have ended shortly after that as we all got up to go to various other activities. As I walked into the kitchen where one of the older fathers was sitting, he said, "What happened to you? You look like you're walking on air and your face is flushed." I told him what had just happened and he responded in typical fashion, "Oh, don't worry. It'll pass. Anything that's just based on emotions never lasts very long."

Well, it lasted certainly for the remainder of my vacation which turned out to be more like a retreat than anything else. I suddenly found myself waking up more than early enough to get to the Chapel for morning prayer and Mass. These liturgies which I had done for so many years almost by rote now took on a new freshness that I hadn't known for a long time. Something had happened to me on that warm, August day in 1968 while sitting next to the swimming pool at McKenzie Bridge. Two strangers briefly passed through my life and touched me in a way I will never forget. Contrary to the older priest who said, "It won't last," I can tell you that my life has never been the same since. Not only has it lasted, but it has sustained me through many ups and downs of my religious life and ministry.

There were the rough times right at the beginning when my effervescent enthusiasm overwhelmed the people I was living with at the House of Studies in Oakland. I had been a two-pack-a-day smoker and quit "cold turkey" at about the same time, unfortunately, as the house was reviewing its policy on the purchase of cigarettes. I was accused by some of being a "born again religious fanatic" who was out to force my newfound ways on the rest of the community and I must admit that I made a lot of mistakes in those early days. This was all so new to me. How was I to know what to do and how to do it?

Word of my "new life" quickly traveled throughout the Province and it was my Novice Master, the late Fr. Leo Thomas, who contacted me and we shared stories of our common experiences. He also put me in touch with others in the Bay Area who were involved in this "Charismatic" movement. Some were Catholic, many were Evangelical Pentecostals, and we split our time between Prayer Meetings at the University of San Francisco and gatherings in Oakland of what was called "The 120 Fellowship." The later had as its keynoter, the late David DuPlisses, who himself was often called, "Mr. Pentecost."

The next significant step happened at the Veterans Hall in Berkeley on a Tuesday evening. Fr. Leo Thomas told me that an Episcopalian Priest and his wife, Dennis and Rita Benet, were going to be speaking there. He and I, along with two other local Dominicans, all of us dressed in black suits and collars, got there just in time. I don't remember how we happened to end up in the front row of a crowd that numbered a couple of hundred people. There weren't too many Catholics and most of the people that I recognized were ones that I met through the "120 Fellowship."

It was a typical "charismatic gathering," and I was becoming more and more familiar with the terminology and "lingo" that was used. Words that I wouldn't have even known or used just a year ago were now a regular part of my vocabulary. There was always lots of singing with good, old fashioned Gospel Hymns like, "Shall We Gather At The River," "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms" and "How Great Thou Art." There was a smattering of "testimonies" where people told of the Holy Spirit's movement in their lives, and scripture passages that were usually spoken from memory. Some people gave "prophesies" which were always spoken in what I called "first person God" and usually exhorted the gathering to continue in the struggle toward following the Spirit. I had also become enamored of the collective "singing in tongues" which seemed to come in waves that swept over the gathering. It would rise and fall, crescendo to beautiful heights and then disappear just a quickly as it had begun. It was never in any recognizable language and even though it seemed to be orchestrated there was no visible director. In this area, I was a spectator and not a participant. But that would soon change.

At the end of the meeting, Rev. Bennet announced that he would be over in the corner to answer any questions people had about the Charismatic movement. His wife, Rita, would be up on the stage, where she would "pray over people" to receive the "gift of tongues." I stood right up, turned to face the other three Dominicans and said, "Well, I'm going up there with Rita. What are you guys going to do?" I don't remember if they came with me but there were about 75 people who sat and listened to Rita Bennett talk about turning your life over to God and letting the Holy Spirit be your guide. She talked about the "gift of tongues" being a way that the Holy Spirit speaks the prayer that needs to be prayed. She quoted Paul's letter to the Romans 8:26-27 "..... and when we do not know how to pray, the Holy Spirit expresses our plea in a way that could never be put into words...." She ended with a prayer that God would bless all of us in the ways we most needed and asked some of those present to gather around the rest of us to "lay hands" on us and pray with us.

In the brief space of time between her ending and the beginning of the prayers offered by those gathered to pray for me, I came to the following conclusions: first, it was evident that three quarters of the people that were up on the stage were what I called, "insiders." Secondly, I was in exactly that place that I wanted to be. It reminded me of the volunteers who were asked by the magician to assist with a trick. I never trusted them. They were probably in on it anyway. The only way I would believe was if I was asked to be the volunteer.

I knew that nobody had told me anything about this "speaking in tongues" so I was totally free of any extraneous pressure. Soon there were people putting their hands on my shoulders and head and praying that I would be open to the presence of the Holy Spirit. Little clusters of people praying were all over the stage. Every once in a while there would be a burst of praise from one corner or another and the energy level would rise as someone began to speak in tongues. Even as I had my head bowed, I could peek out between my fingers to see what was going on around me. All of a sudden a phrase seemed to light up on the inside of my forehead. It was like I could see it even though my eyes were closed. I could read it very clearly but it made no sense. I thought about it for a while and then said to myself, "I might as well try saying it out loud and see what happens." So I quietly spoke it, "car-de-lee-ando, fasch-shil-lee-ando" and the people around me seemed pleased so I tried it again, this time saying it the other way around, "fasch-shil-lee-ando, car-de-lee-ando!" Those around me were convinced that I had received what they called the "Baptism of the Holy Spirit" and all I knew was that, now for the second time in my life, something had happened to me that I couldn't explain and if this was "praying in tongues" then I had received the "shorthand edition" since I didn't get any more than the above two word phrase. I don't know if anything happened to the others and we soon left the Veterans Hall in Berkeley and stopped on the way home for some pizza. The next day, I was still on a high although my "praying in tongues" hadn't increased beyond that short little two word phrase.

A few weeks later we were making plans for a gathering of Dominicans who were interested in knowing about this Charismatic Movement. We invited our own Fr. Joseph Fulton to come down from Seattle to speak to us and encourage us in developing our own prayer meetings. It was felt that we should have the meeting at a location other than St. Albert's probably since I had gotten so many people riled up in my enthusiasm. So we set a date to get together at St. Mary Magdalen's in Berkeley. I was excited about this gathering and was looking forward to it until I overheard some of our Dominicans talking about how crazy the whole thing was. I got so mad when I heard one of them say, "Sure, I'm going to go to that meeting but I'm going to point out how crazy the whole thing is and end all this silliness before it gets too deeply rooted."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I was so excited about what we were doing and had such a positive attitude about this and religious life and the future that I couldn't fathom that someone would want to destroy it. I walked out of the room, went straight to the Chapel and threw myself on the floor in the center of the sanctuary. If there was any power in the prayer that I was just beginning to grasp I wanted God to rain down fire and brimstone and thunder bolts on the priest who wanted to wreck what was just beginning to get started. I knelt there for a few moments but couldn't get any prayers to come out. It was as if I had been struck dumb. Try as hard as I could, no words came forth, no prayer was formed. It began to scare me and I was starting to tremble so I quickly got up and went to my room. I was still shaking partly from anger and partly from the fact that I had been unable to pray. I knelt down next to my bed and said, "Oh, God. What am I supposed to do? Is this what you are going to let happen?" All of a sudden I began to pray, but not in words of my own. Beautiful, hymn-like words began flowing out of me. I had no idea what I was saying but it didn't seem to matter. A prayer was being uttered in words that only the Holy Spirit understood and that seemed to be what mattered.

The close of this story came when we all got together at St. Mary Magdalen's Parish Hall. I forget how many of us gathered there--it might have been as many as 40 or 50 people. Fr. Fulton was there and he was such a beacon of joy and love and I was so happy that we were going to get a good, solid beginning for our own prayer meetings. All of a sudden, the priest who was going to bring it all crashing down came in the door. Fr. Fulton went right up to him with his arms out stretched and said, "Oh, Steve, my boy," it was one of Fr. Fulton's favorite expressions, "I'm so glad you're here. Come," he grabbed hold of his hand and led him over to a chair in the center of the hall, "sit right here besides me. I want you to hear my whole story and you'll be so glad you came."

Once again, I don't remember what all happened but I do know that the Holy Spirit, perhaps working through Fr. Fulton who loves disaster out of existence, accomplished a great work that night. I do remember Fr. Fulton saying that he hated "movements" and didn't like calling it the "Charismatic Movement" since movements had the possibility of coming into existence and fading out again. He wanted it to last and become a regular part of a Christian's everyday life. I know that Fr. Fulton's prayer has come to pass, at least in my life.

That experience of thirty years ago has stayed with me and sustained many areas of my life and ministry. But that's another story which I will continue next time when I talk about "The Kathryn Kuhlman Miracle Years."

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 third article in the series "On Being a Brother." He can be reached through his email.

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November 1, 1998