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Arriving, Leaving, Arriving Home...

 I am back at Holy Wisdom Monastery, at least until the morning. I was blessed to speak to the prioress for a short while after lunch, just the two of us. A meeting I had requested though I knew I wasn’t sure what all I wanted to say, needed to say. She was gracious. It was delightful to hear the many strands of seeding and nourishing unfolding here in the community. I felt the unbidden tears rise, grateful for the many ways in which this place has nourished me from afar. Just knowing this community/monastery is here, alive, in the world today, keeps some part of me vibrant, hopeful. I don’t get to be physically present in the community much yet, but if way opens, Brian and I will, some day.


I spent a week here in 2023, drawn by Annie Thorisdottir’s plausible final live competition at the CrossFit Games. I wanted to see my favorite CrossFit athlete perform in person. It was the last time the Games were in Madison. I remembered belatedly that Holy Wisdom Monastery was in Madison, which would offer a more accessible and affordable lodging for a week than any hotel. For integrity’s sake, I prayed with the sisters in the mornings, midday, then went to the Games in the afternoons and evenings. In hindsight, this was the only way Spirit could have gotten me there, here. A place where I could be both Christian and woman without stumbling over either, conflicted about either. Home, in other words. A place I’ve not experienced for nearly two decades. The final Sunday morning I was in town, I chose communal worship/Eucharist instead of the Games, finding myself in a messy-cry in the front row of chairs. I was home, a place I thought I’d never know again. Right before I was to drive back to Ohio and my life as seminary prof, preacher’s wife, author, and spirit-friend.


So what is it that feels home? I've had very few days here, after all, if two more now than before.


Of course there are idealizations at play, given I don’t know folks in the community nor the very human ways in which they are stewarding the gifts they’ve been Given to steward. I know there will always be fractures and unmet expectations, ideals of an ecumenical-Benedictine way of life and the realities that humans make of them. But even accounting for my idealisms...?


I know home the most in prayer, not surprisingly. A praying-the-hours liturgy of psalms sung in chant-form, readings, prayers. The smallness of the daily prayer community–the sisters, the occasional retreatant like myself, then tonight, an overnight retreat of a handful of participants. Nothing showy or overtly ‘successful’ in terms of congregational ministry. Just a remnant of human beings, participating in an ancient liturgy made welcoming of all. I could feel the tears of relief arising within me. Home.


The morning birdsong and prairie surrounding Lost Lake. I have (of course) been awakening early, being on East Coast time and deprived of the darkening-windows of my beloved’s recent efforts toward darkroom sleeping. This puts me into the lightening morning skies with a cup of coffee, sitting on a dew-damp bench overlooking the lake. I love feeling the quiet within amidst the burgeoning birds all around. Home.


I have delved into readings and library work like I’ve not done in a very long while. Body memory of the forgiveness books I found here last time? Simple timing, curiosity and drive to learn more about my radical Pietistic ancestors within books as well as within our ritual practice contact? I wonder…but feel at home.


And tonight, my final-night ritual (of sorts), enjoying a dinner out at the Craftsman Table & Tap restaurant across from the Metro Market here in Middleton. A salmon salad I want to make for Brian at home–grilled salmon, feta, cherry tomatoes, mixed greens, farro and lemon-herbed dressing. YUM. Chardonnay. Even a caramel-walnut vanilla ice-cream dessert with some decaf coffee…so I could stay at the table longer. Home.


And...I am ready to begin to pack up the car for my drive into the Driftless Region tomorrow, Red Clover Ranch, circling with spirit-seeking friends. A different kind of home.


All in all, I am confirmed with a sense of home, and the yearning to be a part of this community in ways I could serve, ways I could take great delight. Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, as we say.

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Wisdom Walker
I am a scholar, companion, friend, contemplative, wife, daughter, teacher, poet, and most importantly for this space, a writer. I learn best by entering into practice, listening deeply, and remaining open to those who will share their path and passions with me.

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