Some say that the sound of music can be mentally, spiritually and emotionally diverting. This may be true in the case of a monk named Jonathan. Jonathan had always been reclusive since his earliest childhood. As the only child of Julia and Frederick Lindley, Jonathan spent most of his time reading or wandering the woods near his home in Jeffersburg.
Julia and Frederick were tolerant parents who encouraged their son's interest in music, literature and nature. Jon's first hobby was collecting unusual rocks. By the time he finished elementary school, his "rock collection" numbered over two dozen rocks in odd colors or those with strange striations running through like veins. His book shelves were full of literature unexpected for a young boy of ten years of age. His inclination to music came from Julia, whose love of the violin, enchanted him and Frederick who was a proficient pianist from his teenage years.
To create a full family musical trio, Julia encouraged Jon to learn to play the cello and also a vintage flute. Jon didn't need to be told to practice. His musical inclinations often drew him to pick up the cello or flute and play. He sooned learned that the sound of the vintage flute could attract birds in the woods.
The Lindley cottage was typical of the style of traditional cottages 1900s. Frederick and Julia selected two acres of land in an area of Partenborough that was removed from noise and cacophony of neighbors. Not that they were opposed to neighbors. Like their son, they just prized privacy and a tranquil atmosphere.
Perhaps, it was this early life of seclusion that led Jonathan to become a monk. Frederick and Julia were his teachers; but, they knew he would need to further his education in college. To their surprise, Jonathan announced he decided to spend his life as a monk just as he was about to graduate with his secondary degree in music.
"Jon, we are not religious people, as you know. Why would you choose life as a monk?" Frederick asked.
"Father, I thirst for a most contemplative life. There is a monastery located in Drosham. With your permission, I would like to join the monks there," Jon said.
"But, Jon...that is cloistered monastery. We would never see you again," Julia said.
"Mother dear, you have had enough of me in these past twenty three years. I promise you I will continue my studies. I just feel driven to a more reclusive life," Jon said.
"Son, haven't we provided sufficient seclusion? We feel we prepared you for greatness in a music career," Frederick said.
"And so you have, Father. You see a man before you now who must choose his own path forward as you always taught," Jon said.
Jon met with Abbot Paul Othem of the Abbey of St. Andrew. St. Andrew Abbey was a relatively understated brick and stone building built 100 years earlier by the first monks to inhabit the monastery.
"Good morning, Jonathan. Welcome to the Abbey of St. Andrew. I am Abbot here. My name is Paul Othem. I hope you will become a dedicated monk and reach greater heights of spirituality," Abbot Othem said.
"I am sure I will, Father," Jon replied.
"Jonathan, you know you are entering a cloistered monastery. Once you take your vows, you will no loner have need to speak, unless there is a sign of serious danger to yourself or the others here," Abbot Othem said.
"I understand," Jon replied.
"Do you have any reservations or questions?" Abbot Othem asked.
"Yes. When I arrived this day, I heard chanting. Is that the only breach with the call for silence?" Jon asked.
"Yes. At eventide, our community is allowed to take part in Gregorian chant for vespers. Can you sing?"
"Yes. I humbly admit my voice is not the quality of what I heard in chant earlier. I should tell you that my parents were not religious people. I was allowed to form my own opinions on spirituality and religion," Jon said.
"You will have plenty of opportunity to study both and to learn our evening chants."
With that, Jon was whisked away by a monk whom Jon barely heard enter the room. He turned briefly to look back at Abbot Othem.
"You will learn that silence applies to your every move," Abbot Othem said.
For the first few weeks, Jon was unused to rising at four in the morning, washing with icy cold water from a basin and donning the heavy woolen robe of a monk. He was given a "morning office" prayer book that he was to practice as soon as he was awake. All in what the monks called "mental prayer." Meaning, saying prayers mentally.
The monks at the Abbey of St. Andrew met for morning vespers and Mass promptly at 5 o'clock. By 6 AM, they were allowed to have their first of two meals a day. Less, during Lenten season.
The rule of silence seemed strange to Jon at first. Most of the time, the monks merely nodded their heads or found ways to employ a silent method of communicating. Jon began to see how this form of silent communication began to gravitate to a basic form of mental telepathy.
It took Jon an hour every night before bedtime to study the Latin language that prevailed at the abbey in various forms.
The only sound ever heard was the Gregorian chanting all of the monks obediently sang. Kneeling in the chapel pew with ten other monks singing Latin hymns that were not really part of traditional chants used in the mass. Jon wanted to know more about these hymns. He spent time in the abbey's library where some of the books and manuscripts were hundreds of years old.
Often, the matching of syllables to music notes made Jon feel dizzy. In particular, the hymns sung in part by Abbot Othem and responded to by the community of monks had the effect of making Jon's head reel. Such was the crescendo of this style of music without musical instruments. After a time, Jon saw the chants had the ability to be hypnotic.
Vespers began at seven every evening and lasted until final Benediction two hours later, finishing with "Adoro Te Devote." During Eastertide, the chant at Mass was "Pange Lingua."
Jon realized more than just the Gregorian musical structure, the sound of fifty male voices had the odd effect of sounding like one voice. He also noticed the exuberance of the younger monks and nearly ordained like himself.
More difficult for Jon was trying to control his thoughts away from memories of the past with his parents. Julia and Frederick were not practicing Catholics, although they often abided by fasting and abstinence, the traditions of Advent, Christmas, Lent and Easter in a minimal way.
His parents were raised Catholic by Jon's grandparents; but, they insisted they would allow Jon to choose his own beliefs. For the most part, Jon loved the tradition of the Advent wreath with its three purple candles and one pink, signifying Latare Sunday, the fourth Sunday in Advent. He loved to set up the manger and the small figures under his Christmas tree. The scent of balsam, his mother's gingerbread cookies and pastries added to the heady aura of the season.
Each year on Ash Wednesday, his parents dutifully took their son to church for the blessing of the throats on the Feast Day of Saint Blaise. He loved the idea of walking around with a smudgy cross on his forehead on Ash Wednesday. It always seemed there was something solemn about Lent. His parents chose to teach him sacrifice and minor deprivation through Lenten fast and abstinence. Jon got the message and was always glad for Easter Sunday to arrive when these restrictions would disappear.
In monastic life, these things were practiced in a spiritually deeper way. Monks spend many hours on their knees in prayer while their bellies gurgle from hunger from two days of fasting. Abstinence turns a monastery into a virtual vegetarian's paradise for the entire 40 days of Lent.
Still, Jonathan accepted this greater degree of deprivation as a refreshment for his soul. The only thing he missed sorely was non-liturgical music. In Gregorian chant, there are no musical instruments for accompaniment, only the sound of male voices on their knees in prayer before the crucifix that was an ever present reminder of the ultimate sacrifice made by Christ. There was no choir practice nor rehearsals for this. Only, monks studying the liturgical lyrics and raising multiple voices in a single sound.
During Lent, all of the statues in chapel are covered in purple silk and the Grand Silence permits only the wind slapping against stained glass windows or the creaking of aging roof and walls. Monks are not allowed to be distracted by this. Such is there depth of meditation on prayer.
Even if an unusual storm brought hurricane winds and tore the roof off the chapel, monks in the Abbey of St. Andrew would likely not notice. It is difficult to understand how the human mind can lock out the external world to the extent that it no longer exists and only meditative prayer replaces the superficial.
Jonathan adapted quickly to the rigors of monastic life. When Easter finally arrived, monks were admonished to maintain focus on the spiritual aspects of the Resurrection of Christ and not the bouyancy of an emerging world of budding trees and blooming flowers that removed them from their spiritual dimension.
By the time Brother Jonathan Lindley reached his second decade as a monk, he no longer recognized his former self. That Jonathan no longer existed. He moved robotically about the monastery following the prescribed rituals and the practice of Gregorian chant as the only diversion from monotony. Not that monks in the Abbey of St. Andrew were allowed to pass judgment or fall into the realm of feelings of monotony.
Yet, some deeper part of Jonathan Lindley struggled with the spectre of part of his old self that he couldn't remove. He realilzed this during chapel. The more he forced his mind to meditate, the more the thought that he was losing himself to an alien dimension. Now, he barely noticed the other monks even as they passed by. He kept his senses in complete control, his head bowed and his hands hidden beneath his dark brown robes, folded in prayer.
Jonathan realized with every breath he took, he was in prayer and his mind was in that meditative dimension. What remained of him was a moving object that tread with deliberate softness until he could no longer hear his own footsteps.
When Abbot Othem passed on to meet his Maker, the monks held a twelve hour long prayer vigil in chapel. Abbot Othem's body lay in state in the chapel for only one day before the monks removed it to the grave yard at the rear of the abbey.
The sound of the Gregorian chanting by the monks in chapel for Abbot Othem's reception of Last Rites felt like a drill pressing through Jonathan's brain.
Since personal thoughts of illness were not allowed, Jonathan bore the pain of the sound as part of his penitential sacrifice for his sins.
By the end of the twelfth hour of prayer, Jonathan's mind went into blackness and his body into a rigid state. None of the other monks noticed, as they wouldn't be allowed to do. When they filed out of the chapel for the night, hungry and exhausted with voices hoarse from chanting and their knees causing grievous pain, Jonathan didn't move. He remained stock still.
Brother Damian was first to notice as he tried to nudge Jonathan to take his place in line to exit the chapel. Brother Damian raised his hand, maintaining his silence to attract the attention of the other monks.
Still, Jonathan didn't move. The new Abbot replacing Abbot Othem, Abbot Timothy Rawlen, was summoned to Jonathan's side.
Abbot Rawlen nudged Jonathan silently. He walked around to the chapel pew in front of the one in which Jonathan was kneeling. Abbot Rawlen saw that Jonathan's eyes were wide open and he was breathing. He grabbed Jonathan gently by both arms. Jonathan didn't move. It was as if Jonathan had turned to stone.
Abbot Rawlen bid the other monks leave the chapel.
As soon as the chapel was empty, Abbot Rawlen slapped Jonathan's face hard. Jonathan didn't move.
Abbot Rawlen knew he couldn't break his silence. He didn't know what to do. He knew he couldn't leave a monk in a chapel pew as if he'd turned into a statue.
Abbot Rawlen hurried to his office. He summoned Brother Michael to fetch a doctor.
When the medical doctor arrived, he was led to the chapel.
He could find nothing physically wrong with Jonathan.
"By all appearances, this monk has gone catatonic," the doctor said.
Abbot Rawlen had no idea what that meant. The doctor realized the abbot didn't understand.
"Sir, you need a mental professional to help this man. Shall I call for one?" the doctor asked.
Abbot Rawlen nodded.
The doctor was thoroughly disgusted with the abbot refusing to break silence even to responding to a simple question.
"I will need a telephone," the doctor said.
Abbot Rawlen shook his head.
"I must call a mental health professional. Where is your phone?"
Abbot Rawlen knew to break his silence would mean penance before he could be absolved of his sin. He also knew the doctor didn't understand.
Abbot Rawlen pointed toward the doctor's pen and note pad. The doctor handed these to him.
Abbot Rawlen wrote, "There is no telephone here in the Abbey."
"Oh for heaven's sake!" the doctor exclaimed.
The doctor advised Abbot Rawlen to have one of the monks stay with Jonathan and that he would arrange for a mental health professional to come to the Abbey of St. Andrew and examine Jonathan.
Dr. Karl Arrafors arrived one hour later and examined Jonathan. He had never seen a case such as this.
"How long has this man been in this kneeling position?" Dr. Arrafors asked.
Abbot Rawlen, prepared to write his answers, noted: "Fifteen hours."
"Fifteen hours?"
Abbot Rawlen shook his head in ascent.
"I am afraid this man has become catatonic. Do you know what that means?" Dr. Arrafors asked.
Abbot Rawlens shrugged to indicate he didn't know.
"It means his can no longer react to things around him. It is as if he has gone into a coma, a long, deep state of unconsciousness. He must be removed to a proper hospital for further examination."
Abbot Rawlen shook his head "NO" firmly.
"Then, you must deal with the consequences."
Abbot Rawlen wrote: "How long will he remain like this?"
"I cannot say. He could die if he doesn't get adequate food and drink."
Abbot Rawlen wrote: "We will take care of him. I assure you."
Brother Jonathan Lindley refused food and water. His bodily functions ceased just as his mind had done. When the monks returned to chapel for evening vespers and began the Gregorian chant, Jonathan let out a single wailing sound and fell over dead.
