The Book Of The Dun Cow revisited

The Book of the Dun Cow by Walter Wangerin, Jr.

My review

rating: 5 of 5 stars

I had to reread this book after Peter Scazzero made reference to it in Emotionally Healthy Spirituality Unleash the Power of Authentic Life in Christ. I love the rhythm of the Liturgy of the Hours as it is prayed in the monastic setting. The power of Chanticleer's Canonical Crows in the fight against evil was not something I saw the first time I read it. That was long before I began my journey with praying the psalms. The book took on a new and richer meaning for me this time around.


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Day four on retreat, Feast of the beheading of John the Baptist

Today I slept too much. Yesterday I slept every chance I could get. I was feeling a little bad about it. But then the Prior fell asleep during meditation and was snoring loudly.

Father William woke him up after a few minutes. He later said that there is a story in the Benedictine tradition that told of a monk who fell asleep during church and instead of waking him up his superior put his head in his lap so he would sleep more comfortably.

“But,” said father William, “if a straight boy wakes up with his head in another man’s lap he’s not going to sleep well for a while.”

The schedule here must have worn me more than I realized. I couldn’t fall asleep easily last night. I laid in bed from 8:30 to about 10:30 thinking about the Psalm that said, “I lie down and sleep comes immediately” and silently gave God a hard time because that wasn’t the case.

This morning I got up for matins at four and afterwards went back to sleep. I set the alarm to wake me for lauds but I forgot to turn it on.

I slept hard. So hard it hurt. I had bad dreams: one each of Ella and Foster near death. I woke up to find I had missed Lauds, Terse and the Eucharist. The Eucharist!

Part of why I couldn’t get to sleep last night is that I was writing a monastic rule in my head for a pentecostal family order that would have eucharist seven times a day! I love the eucharist!

I said terse from my prayer book in my room and went down to the refectory (the dining hall) for pittance (coffee and cookies).

Father William saw me and said, “Someone made the baby Jesus cry this morning!”

“I cried my self when I realized it,” I replied. From then on the day progressed. My Canadian friends left for home. My love goes with them and my other fellow retreatants.

After dinner tonight I took a row boat out on the small lake. It was half serenity itself and half struggling through rotting peat.

Today was the feast of John the Baptist’s beheading. Happy decapitation! For lunch they broke out some meat! A delicious salmon, mashed potatoes and broccoli. Feast days are special.

Day two on retreat

Thank you, dear God, for your consolations today. I woke up this morning to your stars shining in the sky. I marveled at your creation on the way to the chapel. The sweet smell of the sanctuary greeted me as we who had gathered sat in your presence offering our solemn and subdued praise. In darkness we sat, keeping watch with Christ. Thank you for your continual watch and protection.

As I left in the calm of your presence I saw your stars again. I laid down on a bench and gazed up at them. Thank you for hanging the stars in their place. Thank you for being bigger still. Thank you for loving me.

Thank you for two pieces of toast and a shower. Thank you for the opportunity to pray with a community of brothers twice before the sun rose.

Thank you for eucharist with real wine.

Thank you for work periods of reading with me about spiritual direction. With your presence on my shoulders, your arm around my neck and the smell of frankincense and myrrh still in my senses, the warmth of the spiritual director’s relationship was abundantly clear.

Thank you for lunch and introducing me again to the prayer of examen. I wonder how open I dare be in blogging my prayers and how much I must hide away.

Thank you for seven times today praying the hours to the dulcet chants of the brothers.

Thank you for a bowl of cabbage soup for supper and listening to the history of Hotels in america being read to us.

Thank you for the sweet dreamlike peace you have given me today.

Thank you for the consolations of the animals. The ridiculous sounds of shrieking dear and cackling turkeys; the friendly cats who jump on any available lap, and for the humming bird that visited me.

Still amidst the joy I have felt some disquiet as well. Even as I thanked you that the humiliating events of yesterday didn’t cause me shame - the suggestion that I play the guitar outside didn’t cause me to be at all defensive, that the whole dinning hall was waiting for me to finish an apple before saying a closing prayer, or the fact that my pants had split when I fell over at vespers didn’t even make me blush - but even as I thanked you today for your grace at those times, I felt the empty sting of shame.

As I walked down to the library I passed a young woman, and I noticed an anxiousness. I wanted to be seen as attractive to her. For that reason I felt embarrassed and avoided her.

My thoughts wandered often today, thank you for bringing them back to you. When fatigue and boredom set in (that was a lot of reading!) the feeling of your presence left me. Thank you for being there in spite of my feelings.

I realized when I was first thinking about examen that I spent as much time using the rosary ring I made as I had hoping someone would notice it and ask about it. So I took it off. There was a rosary in the chapel by the statue of your mom. Did miss having it once when I longed for you and didn’t have your likeness to touch.

Thank you for what you have shown me today. Give me grace for tomorrow to live with you and avoid the mistakes and missed opportunities of today. Be with my family at home and bless them. Thank you for bringing Foster and Ella to mind as we prayed compline. I thought of all the times we prayed those psalms together in their room. Maybe next time I’ll chant them. What a nice lullaby.

Day one at St. Gregory’s Abby

I slept some as the train trundled over its tracks, swaying slightly, rocking me. When my eye lids spread apart, my gaze was captured by the mists that hung over the low hills. Young Dawn’s fingers streching out to gild them - making them shine in sacred twilight.

My mind was still cloudy, sleep was a forgotten lover and the day ahead a stranger. My mind all too readily remembered my true love left on the train platform, our children in her arms waving to me. I remember Foster’s body trembling like a leaf after a freight train roared by the waiting passengers, a bully taunting us with its icy wind.

“Daddy, I don’t want to ride on the train any more, All right?”

He couldn’t come this time anyway. This journey was for me alone. Just me and God - a solitary retreat. Do I really want to do this? I asked myself, thinking of home and family. No, I’d go home if I could, but I’m on my way.

A brother from the Abby met me at the train station. If my misapprehension frightened me on the train, his driving taught me to trust God completely.

Today I’ve prayed the hours with the monks. They chant so softly that I am amazed at the breath support required. Times in the chapel are peaceful, so wrought with the presence of the Holy that I shutter, like Foster before the might of the freight train.

The meals are simple an slight. We sit in silence listening to a reader regale us with the history of Hotels in America. That the monks would engage such an unrelated subject, reminded me what I had studied on the train, that Spiritual Direction is about finding God in all things.

After vespers and supper I hiked around the lake with my guitar and a book. I finally settled in the cemetery on a bench. I sang “This is my Father’s World” as wild turkeys and deer circled. As I was reading my book I heard a twig snap and turned to see a young deer looking at me. My face, the flash of my glasses, so startled it that it screamed and ran away. It actually screamed. It would then creep up on me, when it was within about 10 yards it would stare at me and scream repeatedly. It was like a barking dog. It was the strangest thing I have ever seen from a deer.

It is 9:30 and I am going to bed as soon as I pray compline. Matins are at 4:00am!