In his book, Silence and Honey Cakes, Rowan Williams tells the story of a young brother who sets out to learn from two of the Desert Fathers. The first, Abba Arsenius, sat with the young man in complete silence. Not a word was said. The other, Abba Moses, welcomed the young man warmly, sharing food and drink and talking freely. The story finishes with two large boats floating on a river. In one of them sat Abba Arsenius and the Holy Spirit of God in complete silence. And in the other boat was Abba Moses, with the angels of God: they were all eating honey cakes.
That picture captures well this time of sabbatical. It has, indeed, been a time of silence and honey cakes.
I have enjoyed all the unexpected joy of my new relationship with Lois – the wonder of our wedding and our honeymoon at Papamoa; the beauty of the Queen Charlotte walkway; the companionship of friends in Auckland, Dunedin, Wellington, Hamilton; meals and time with Lois’ family. A drink in the Inch Bar with Kristin and Steve; outdoor-cooked pizzas with Ian and Elaine; barbeques with Servants’ friends in Waikanae and Dunedin; the Ngatiawa Tea Parties, and so much more.
And I have enjoyed the peace and stillness of this place. The quiet rhythm of daily prayer. Sitting in the chapel of Tārore and absorbing the ever changing beauty through its many windows; quiet walks along the beach with Lois, enjoying the gentle silence together; or sitting with my feet in the water as the ever-flowing Ngatiawa tumbles past me.
Beauty and laughter, community and solitude.
The monastery itself is an expression of that wondrous juxtaposition. It is a messy monastery – not here will you find the neatly-tended lawns of St Beuno’s. A jumble of buildings thrown together like the jumble of trees in the surrounding forests. Rough edges to the furniture and the people. An amazing mix of characters, who somehow bumble along together, rubbing each other up at times, but forgiving, accepting, and moving on. And welcoming me into their mix.
It is a place of fun and laughter, of exuberant games, and haphazard mealtimes. The various toddlers and young children add to the chaos, disturbing the calm of the morning and midday prayers, but somehow, in doing so, adding to the sense of stillness.
John and Karen; Jacqui; Matt and Megan and baby Jonah; Ray; Ben; Stu and Gemma; Laura; Dave and Angie with Micah and Josiah; Courtney with Hannah; René and Kati. All different, all unique, all lovabl in their different ways. And all the various guests, like Lois and me, who come and go, each in turn receiving and contributing something to the community here.
I am so blessed to have been here, to have enjoyed the hospitality of this place and its people, to have learnt from their rhythms of life, to have rested in the stillness and beauty of Ngatiawa’s peace.
And now, as I leave this place and return to a new life back in Coventry, I pray that I might take something of that beauty with me; that my life might become one of silence and honey cakes.