As I mentioned last week, I recently returned from some retreat time in Colorado. As I hiked among spruce and bristlecone pines, I found myself reflecting on their stationary status. I’d traveled far to spend time in their midst, but they had to stay put.
In fact, most plants must, as the saying goes, bloom where they are planted. They don’t get the chance to move around, seeking greener pastures or better opportunities. In stark contrast, many animals migrate thousands of miles across continents or oceans in seasonal search of better food sources and/or safer spawning grounds.
That contrast put me in mind of the ancient monastic vow of stability—of making a commitment to a place and a community and sticking it out, no matter what. Monks and nuns committed to a particular place and group of fellow pilgrims—to living in community, even in the tough times, for the sake of internal growth and commitment to their spiritual life. I think of it like the refiner’s fire, where what is not gold is burned away until only the purest part of the self remains.
Of course, that vow of stability was the ideal—and it didn’t always play out. There were a few monks I knew at the SSJE monastery who eventually left, even after taking vows that were meant to last a lifetime. Circumstances do change, and so do we. Sometimes, our assumptions about living faithfully must be revised under the refiner’s fire of our lived experience.
And we are fortunate that we can begin again. For us humans, that can include uprooting and planting ourselves in a more nourishing environment. Sometimes that’s across the country or the world, but other times it’s just across town. While I love the mountains of Colorado, my discernment about where to live after my divorce eventually landed me not far from where I’d already been living. I’ve been a desert dweller since I was five years old. Somehow, my version of stability includes staying close to desert landscapes.
Are you always seeking greener pastures, or are you rooted in a particular place or type of environment? Are you perhaps wedded to a rhythm of migration that provides what you need to thrive? What does stability mean for you?
Stability means staying in my home at 82 as long as I can with the help of my step-daughter and step granddaughter.
Oh, Nancy, what a poignant and powerful illustration. Thank you!
Peace,
Shirin
This speaks to me so powerfully Shirin. We left the desert a year ago. It had been my home for 20 odd years but new to Konrad in 2013; we became snowbirds. We left primarily for economic reasons. We returned to the green of PA, a paid-for home, closer to my husband’s family – even tho we are not particularly close. We came back with a “two or three year plan” – to then reevaluate and see where we land. Year one is done. We have not seriously looked at anyplace … are we staying or returning or going someplace brand new? Do we have the energy for that as we creep closer to 80? I live with this question daily. Do we invest in making this home an even more permanent place or do we do just the basics – knowing we will leave? I love the green – tolerate the snow – miss the desert – dislike the intense heat and constant dust. This is a mutual discernment process at its most complex as we wonder, what is mine to do, where do we do that?
NO sense of stability – which I did not realize until I read your post. My family – including two young grands – are in CA and I miss them terribly. I am aware however that being closer geographically does not necessarily mean more involvement in their very busy lives. As a Benedictine Oblate, “always we begin again” has been a principle I have loved – but now sometimes find it overwhelming to think about beginning again! Thanks for helping me refocus my ongoing prayer through a lens of stability.
Oh, Joyce, thanks for this heartfelt response. I hear you—such decisions are so complex, and the factors change over time, including our capacity for change! May your ongoing prayer reveal the right answers for now…recognizing that later a new plan may unfold….
Peace,
Shirin
Where to begin.
Taking a vow of stability seems to be at odds with discernment about what I’m called to now, in this moment. I had vows and yet, knew they were not what was meant for me.
I told my better half that I’d never move again in 2016 and six years later, we moved.
We yearn, well, I seem to yearn, for stability… but the message of life itself is that of seasons and impermanence. I like your friend’s comment… we begin again. Repeatedly.
Thank you, Damien! We do begin again, many times…sometimes internally, sometimes geographically. I appreciate you drawing attention to the contrast between vows and discernment…even the need for vows seems something that can change over time….
Peace,
Shirin
This is something I needed to read today especially after joining my sister in WA State to celebrate her 95th birthday. My sister and I are originally from the Bronx, she has been thriving in the NW for 28 years and I still can’t feel as if Tucson is “home” after 26 years here. It is an uncomfortable feeling not knowing where I belong. Perhaps some are meant to ‘stay the course’ and learn to be satisfied …appreciate what and where the root is spreading in the process?
Thank you, Mo, for sharing your mixed feelings about where you live. Perhaps it is about becoming comfortable with where God invites us…even as we recognize that we sometimes hunger for something different or more….
Peace,
Shirin