I'm new at this. I took my vows from a Brother who doesn't even live in this country. There are days that I kind of forget who I am now. Because that's what I did, by taking vows I altered who I am. Ask any physicist, potential is just as much a defining characteristic of something what it is actually doing. I cut out a big chunk of potential when I became a monk. More than that, this isn't a well-established order where I can just go sit in a monastery and run a garden while becoming fluent in Latin; I'm part of the New Monasticism. We're trying to alter the definition of 'Monk' here. And, I'm the youngest member of the order! By almost a decade! Nevermind that I'm the only practitioner of the order on the West Coast. In many ways, I'm making this up as I go, with the truth of scripture and the testimony of the Celtic Saints as my point of reference. Technically, because I'm not involved in the main community's infrastructure (because I don't live in Scotland), I'm a splinter group of Community. And by 'I', I mean 'me'; all by my lonesome am a splinter of an obscure monastic order. That, my friends, is talent!

So, this is me (...on the raggedy edge), fresh out of college, unemployed, dedicating my life to a doctrine in which I have no mentor, maintaining focus on my goals in the face of impracticality... My life has no shape, right now. Monasticism, traditionally, brought a fairly rigid shape to your life; but I'm striking out on my own with this. But, then again, the word 'Monk' actually means 'alone'. They don't tell you about this stage, not in the Bible, not in the histories. They never mention that time when Paul went "What the smeg am I doing?" or when St. Patrick thought "Hold on... this is stupid." Nope, we hear about dedication and resolve and having reached the goal. Why not? Why wasn't I warned? Because it doesn't matter.

All the doubt, the uncertainty, the stumbling around in the dark; none of this matters. Dedication matters, faith matters, resolve matters. Everybody doubts and falters and wonders if they made the right decision. What's special, what's extraordinary is believing. It's when we stand on the picnic bench with our back to our friends and fall backwards, straight as a pencil, that we've done something special. The Bible doesn't have a book about doubt and how it's normal. We have whole books about faithand why it's weird. Because weird is the point! If it isn't weird, abnormal, extraordinary, it doesn't count. Because those things happen completely by accident; there's no work involved in doubt, there's no effort in second guessing.

This, I think, is the heart of monasticism: to dedicate yourself to conscious effort. The plowman and the farmer are not plants. Where the missionary breaks ground and the pastor cultivates, the monk is the plant who grows the way that all the plants are supposed to grow, only taller. The visionary, the teacher, the paradigm. It's a higher standard, to be set up as the example; not the shepherd, but the leader of the herd, dedicating yourself to discipling others. And Heaven only knows why I got called to it.