Into Great Silence

This one is not playing at your local cineplex, but I had the chance to see Into Great Silence the other night. It's a 3-hour exploration of life in a Cistercian monastery in the Swiss Alps, a beautiful film about a way of life that's probably as far from most of ours as we can imagine. (Check out a review here HT Prodigal Kiwis.)

There's a scene near the beginning of the film where two postulants are admitted into the monastery to begin the process of discerning whether they truly belong there. It's a very formal ritual in the chapel, with the whole community in attendance. The head of the monastery asks a series of questions, and the prospective monks give their answers. Then each one presents himself to every member of the community in turn, and is embraced. If all goes well, these newcomers will live out the rest of their lives in the company of those who embrace them. It's a daunting commitment, both for the community and for those who would join. Then the whole community marches up to the cell of the new man, installing him in the place that will be his home for most of the hours of every day.

The whole film is an attempt to somehow penetrate the asceticism and simplicity of the monks' life to reveal something of the interior reality, which is what the contemplative life is all about. It's not an easy thing to do, but we see glimpses. The induction of new postulants is one of the few places where we hear any word spoken -- and the conversation is about seeking God, being drawn by love, to know that God is. That's what the prospective monks commit themselves to.

Then there are the verses shown as titles between sections of the film. The one that rings in my head is "You have seduced me and I am seduced." It's a verse from one of Jeremiah's complaints, and I remember having to do a word study in one of my seminary classes -- is it seduce or deceive (which is where all the English translations come down)? The film follows a French translation (the monks speak French when they speak at all; we also see German and English translations). I suppose this verse reveals as much as anything about this life -- the heart is captured at the deepest level. This makes sense of the silence, the simple diet, the hours of prayer -- especially in the middle of the night. Without understanding that someone enters into this life because their heart has been captured, it's all religious nonsense.

Which makes me wonder about the religious nonsense I so easily take for granted -- and that from which I've had to take a step back recently. At root, it's the same human impulse to respond to God that brings some of us to chant the Psalms five or six times a day, and others to stand with arms uplifted singing "You are the air I breathe" to the strains of a rock band. At one level both make perfect sense to me, and I can also see how neither makes any sense at all.

Of course, the context in Jeremiah is complaint:

O LORD, you deceived ^[b] me, and I was deceived ^[c] ;
you overpowered me and prevailed.
I am ridiculed all day long;
everyone mocks me.

Jeremiah has been caught up in something beyond his own choosing; deceived, persuaded or seduced, he finds himself speaking words from God that no one wants to hear. He can't quit; he can't be quiet. He wrestles with God, with his calling. He argues and complains. In the end, of course, he obeys.

I suppose if something misses for me in the film, it's this -- the film-maker's implicit claim that once seduced into this life of silent contemplation, the monks remain happily, peacefully, seduced. The message is implicit in the serenity the radiates from every shot, and explicit in the head-on shots of various monks, who look straight at the camera, then off into some mystical distance, a flicker of a smile on their lips. The moments of solitary prayer we witness are without drama, a man alone, kneeling, then sitting, then standing.

I've read enough of the writings of the saints to know that their amazing lives of prayer were anything but once-for-all deals. They wrestled with boredom and distractions, temptations of every sort. The cell could be a place of battle as well as peaceful contentment.

I want to believe it, though. If you truly give your heart, let yourself be drawn in by that irresistable grace, everything is settled. There is no more doubt, no confusion or turmoil, only a steady progress in saintliness. If troubles intrude themselves, the question becomes how to get back to the good feelings of that season of glory in the past or how to claim the new thing that's right around the corner.

The only monk who speaks directly to the audience is an elderly blind man who talks about anticipating death without fear. At one point he says that that past and future are human experiences, but for God everything is present. It's clear that this is a person who knows how to live in the present moment, and there is no fear or stress in that -- even if the present moment is not necessarily one of great tranquility.