Report on visit to St. Augustine's House

I arrived in time for Terce.  There were four in attendance from the monastery, three professed, one perhaps a care taker. Their chant differed from St. Gregory's in that it was a bit louder, and quicker, though they made up for that by pausing in the middle of each couplet.



It was the feast of St. Bede the Venerable and the took time for a nice reading about him, and dedicated a hymn (sung) to him as well. They read well, with emotion.

Eucharist followed. We were all invited forward at the time of distribution. They had white wine, but real wine at least.



They have some brand new living spaces, that they are in the process of furnishing for their busy summer retreat schedule. The old guest house currently serves as their refectory, so one kitchen serves the whole monastery. I sat in on their chapter meeting and had coffee with them afterwards.

Comparison with St. Gregory's

Their carpet is less gaudy and much smaller.

They also have a Fr. Jude.

Seat cushions are available for the chapel.

Rather than monastery cats, they have a dog, who was away at the obedience school where he attends on Fridays.

The Dark Night of The Soul

St. John of the Cross
translation, Chris Hooton

On a dark night
With anxieties and love inflamed
Oh happy chance!
I went out unobserved
My house being now at rest

Into the dark, secure
By the secret ladder, disguised
Oh happy chance!
Into the dark, vieled
My house being now at rest

In the happy night
In secret, in which no one could see me,
Nor did I see a thing
With no other light or guide
Aside from that which in the heart burns

There I was guided
More certain than in the light of midday
To where was waiting
The one who knows me best
In the place where no one perceives

Oh guiding night!
Oh night kinder than the dawn!
Oh night that unites my lover with his beloved
The beloved in her lover transformed.

On my blossomed breast
Which entirely only for himself he kept
There he stayed sleeping
And I him caressed
And the air gave up
   the breeze of the cedars

The air over the ramparts
As I ran my fingers through his locks
With his peaceful hand
My neck he wounded
And all of my senses he suspended.

I stayed myself, and forgot myself
My face I reclined on my lover
Everything ceased, and I let go myself
Leaving my cares among the lilies
Forgotten.