Ave Maria (hostess at the Emmaus Monastery, part 2)
By Simone Venderbosch
Exactly one day ago I drove this way. Now I’m sitting in my room and looking out my window and see how the corn is being threshed, hear the ducks quacking, the heating is pumping and suddenly I feel empty. After my arrival yesterday, I have been constantly busy with or for others. It was fun and everything went well. But now it’s quiet and there’s a void.
The pilgrims are on their way again, everyone has finished their morning rituals and the dust is swirling down in the monastery. The yellow key rings are still dangling from the keys of the room doors here in the hallway, the nameplates are on the door, the kale stew is defrosting on the counter, next to it my deliciously scented stuffed apples from the oven are cooling, the tap is still dripping in the hollow kitchen, candles have been blown out, Doors closed and the voices and footsteps faded. Everything is tidy and fresh, waiting for the new guests. And all of a sudden, I feel my back, my feet and sleep throbbing behind my eyes. I crawl under my woolen blankets and relax.
When I arrived yesterday, it was a bit chaotic. There was a group eating in the refectory, the coordinator had 2 conversations, another volunteer came and another and coffee had to be made at 14.30 or 15.00 or 16.00? What was it again? The doorbell rang and I received the people, the pilgrim who arrived got coffee, a room key and I tried to get an overview. At a certain point, everyone was happy in their own role and there was a moment of peace. Together with another volunteer, I drank tea and we had a nice conversation. Strolling through the garden, we picked dahlias for the chapel and in the refectory, I listened to her story and in turn she encouraged me about my first moment of meditation. It was a heartwarming moment.
When she left, I decided to light the stove in the refectory. It’s cold and hard to heat, a monastery. With the many people going in and out, the heat quickly dissipates. And I think it’s important that the place where we sit and eat together feels like a warm and welcoming place for the guests. After that, I wanted to help cook in the kitchen. But the bell rang, heralding the arrival of the last guests. I received them, showed them the sitting room and toilet and indicated that I was going to start meditation in the chapel in a few minutes. No more time to help in the kitchen and not to come to myself before starting. Then so be it.
In the chapel I opened a page of the book of trees I had with me and put it between the candles. A spotlight magically illuminated the picture of the forest and I started. I started with the poem that I was the first to hear in this chapel. At the first paragraph I was still very restless, but then I felt the words coming in as I spoke and the peace descended on me. As a speaker, I stood/sat at the front of the chapel, in a place where I would never sit down myself and I felt a bit watched. But I knew it was all in my head, because the guests were palpably introverted. For the first time, I was turned into myself with my eyes open, because I had to keep an eye on the clock. But it was good. The flame of the candles, the picture, the knots in the floor and finally staring into nothingness, made me able to come to myself. It is therefore difficult to have to be the one to break the silence. After my closing words, I let my guests take their moment to get back into action and walked slowly and silently to the kitchen.
Somewhere halfway down the dark cool hall, I switched back to everyday reality, helped serve the food and then joined the guests at the table. It takes a while to find your role in all this. On the one hand, I am a hostess, to serve, but on the other hand, I was also part of this club. So I tried to listen as much as possible and ask inviting questions, told something myself and then withdrew a bit. Of course, there was a lot of talk about walking. There was a nice atmosphere and everyone seemed to be at ease. After washing the dishes, we had coffee together in the living room, with a resident of the house. Now that I came to a stop, I felt overwhelmed by fatigue and I noticed that it was suddenly enough.
After cleaning up and closing everything, I could go to my room. I was messing around a bit awkwardly, couldn’t really bring myself to do anything. With a large cup of tea, I settled down at the desk. There I spread out my sources of inspiration for tomorrow morning’s meditation. I tuned in to the guests and thought about what they would need tomorrow morning. The choice was quickly made. And then I was done. I walked down the cold hallway to the showers, realizing that the guests behind the doors were also finishing their own day and maybe going through tomorrow. I smiled contentedly to myself. How nice, tomorrow a new walking day awaits you!
The next morning I walked cautiously from my building where I slept to the back entrance of the monastery. I enjoyed being alone in the monastery that was still at rest. But also to give the guests a good welcome. So I turned on the outdoor lamp so they could find the entrance, woke up the kitchen, lit the candles, put on classical music in the chapel, set the table and sat down on the wooden bench by myself with a large cup of tea. The warmth of the tea and the music made me completely relaxed. A little before half past eight I rang the bell, waited with the Ave Maria in the background for the guests who trickled in subdued. This time I could really enjoy my meditation on this beautiful morning, in this nice place. The blessing for the road was well received by the guests. Afterwards I recognized the melancholy and the somewhat embarrassment about starting a new walking day in the eyes of the guests. How beautiful to see!
I left the chapel quietly and smile when I notice that the guests, like me, still carry the silence of contemplation with them when they enter the refectory. At the breakfast table, the energy slowly returns. Thermos jugs are filled, packed lunches are made and the booklet of the Walk of Wisdom lies expectantly on the wooden table waiting for the day ahead. These actions and this feeling are so recognizable. So nice to be able to be a part of this. I consult them with a smile. When we say goodbye to each other, I wish them a nice day. Here they go. Hail, Ave, Ave Maria.
You can read the first part about being a hostess in the monastery here: ‘To serve you’
Text: Simone Venderbosch
I love hiking and writing. My hiking stories are personal, simple and descriptive. Sometimes profound, sometimes with a grain of salt. Just the way I am.
