It’s close to Thanksgiving, and what are most thankful for? Hmm. Well, that’s a hard question, actually. We’re thankful about many things, to be honest, but most immediate is this! Tonight is the night we send out our first newsletter, and man are we thankful (especially Michael) that it is out the door. If you want to receive it via email, go here. We will try to send it out once a month, if not once a quarter. Grace and Peace from the Abbey!

I’ll own it. For all of us. I mean, August? Who are we kidding? Well, despite our apparent lack of enthusiasm for the world of blogging, there is change afoot at the Oak Grove Abbey. For the last month [or so] we’ve been spending time and energy putting together an electronic newsletter. Welcome to the World Wide Interweb. Interested in receiving the first edition in a couple of days? Email a house mate or go here and let us have your email address. Sit tight and we’ll have some internet movement yet! Until then, and as always, grace and peace.

The Austin American Statesman did a pretty big spread on various Christian faith expressions around town this morning.  The Abbey got a little story that was included.

In an effort to get back on the blogging horse, herein lies a brief report of last night’s dinner:

First, you should know that we’ve adapted our saint / feast night cooking calendar recently. Every Tuesday and Thursday is a “saint” night, instead of simply whenever someone we like happens to come up on the liturgical calendar. As such, we simply pre-select 8 saints per month that we are particularly keen to and place them somewhat near to their actual feast days. OK, moving on…

Although Jan Hus was martyred on July 6th, last night was our time for commemoration. This dogmatic Bohemian gained rapid local popularity for speaking forthrightly against various abuses to papal authority. Borrowing (one could even say plagiarizing) from John Wycliffe’s writings, Hus placed scriptural authority above ecclesiastical power and boldly spoke out against the right of popes to wage war (the rule of Christ being one of forgiveness and love) and to be inerrant. The papacy was already in quite a mess at the time (1380s-1410s), having two competing popes in Rome and Avignon, and even a handful of antipopes (later so-named). So when the Church set out to reestablish itself via the use of indulgences, they weren’t too keen to Hus’ public critiques. Hus was eventually arrested, whereby he pledged to recant his views if and only if he were shown their error through the wisdom of Scriptures (sound familiar? - hint: Martin Luther). Not interested in such things, the archbishop found it much cleaner to simply have him killed. The vocal and remarkable calm Hus was finally burned at the stake on July 6, 1415. Several versions of “Brethren” continue to worship together, citing Hus as their founder. 102 years after his death, Luther hung his 95 Theses and, quite conscious of the parallels, took back up the mantle of prophetic conscientious objection.

We ate pork tenderloin, Bohemian cabbage and homemade beer bread. Some of us “indulged” in aged Ten Year’s Alt beer from the Victory Brewing Company. Though it wasn’t a standard Czech pilsner, it was at least quite Bohemian and a better pairing for the food. Na zdraví!

Tonight at the abbey, we remember Oscar Romero, who, on March 23, 1980, was shot to death by an assassin while giving the homily during holy mass. Romero, who after the assasination of a fellow priest, became a supporter of non-violent liberation theology, which focuses on Jesus as the redeemer and liberator of the oppressed, was archbishop of San Salvodor from Febuary of 1977 until his death. During this time, he devoted himself to serving the poor and speaking out against government oppression of the poor and persecution of the church. Romero’s assasinaation occured after imploring fellow christians in the army to stop following orders to kill, and obey the higher orders of God, which he believed was an order of non-violence.

Well, if you’re within range, come on by the Abbey tonight for what will be the last of it’s kind at 1509 Enfield. That’s right - the 2nd Annual Oak Grove Abbey Saint Patrick’s Day Party. This year is even more special, as it also happens to be our house-Mate Andy’s birthday!  Apropriately, Andy has chosen Patrick as his adopted saint.  We’ll share the great story of Patrick amidst pints, and enjoy the unique talents of Hoots and Hellmouth, friends of Tacks that are here for SXSW.

Mikey took the trouble of throwing down a webspace just for the event. So, check it out, and get your Irish arse on over here!

One of the interesting things about oak trees is that their limbs rarely grow straight up.  In the winter, when the trees are exposed, the trees tell the story of their history.  Some seasons  must not have given adequate light or nutrients, and so the limbs actually begin to dip downwards under the weight of gravity.  Then, as the limbs continue to extend, they nearly always head back in the direction of the sky again.  These oaks have wrestled with nature, gone through literal ups and downs, before being restored.  You could even say that such oaks have a character that makes them more interesting than their predictably straight and obedient cousins, the pines.

Why am I telling you this?

Our “abbey” is for sale.

The wonderful old house that has been the host of our community dreams and realities is “on the market,” presumably to be levelled and turned into an enormous condo project.  This sad fact has given us Oak Grove dwellers much heartache and fear that our little family will likewise be either dismantled or reconfigured in less beautiful ways.  I, for one, am  wrestling with God, feeling the weight of gravity more profoundly than the strength of light and nurture.

A major part of me still yearns to branch upward, though, to rise above the present drought and to be like the trees in Jeremiah’s vision:

But blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in him. He will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit.

Ok, so I’m a bit late, as I cooked dinner in honour of the martyrs of Japan a while ago now. But I think I’m writing about it close to the time when their feast is actually celebrated. So there.

They were 6 Franciscan Friars, and 20 of their converts - Japanese Christians. Of the 20, 3 were Japanese Jesuits, and 17 were laymen, of which 3 were young boys.
Read the rest of this entry »

You won’t find him on any Catholic or Orthodox list of saints, but from our vantage point here at the Oak Grove, Menno Simmons is as deserving of a feast day as any other. Last night we had Dutch cheese, field greens, Mennonnite stew and an Argentine Malbec red wine in his honor. Read the rest of this entry »

Another great evening. The entire community made a showing for dinner - one of the few. Because of such a fine showing, I felt honored and humbled to cook for everyone. It was my second meal for January, and because the featured saint, St. Thomas Aquinas, was born in Naples, we had Italian food. Penne alla Puttanesca to be exact. A few things were substitued, specifically using artichoke hearts and capers as opposed to anchovies. Conventional wisdom has taught me that, in most cases, people don’t enjoy this salty sea sage. As we ate, I shared, minimally I might add, about Aquinas and his life. Gregarious certainly helped by adding to the dialogue. After dinner, to add to the theme, we all walked to Caffé Medici for espresso, and partook of “the golden drip” of Austin (as dubbed on CoffeeGeek.com). All in all, a wonderful night of community and camaraderie.

The most compelling thing I learned about Aquinas:
Approximately one year before he died, Aquinas stopped writing. The Father of Catholic Theology suddenly sheathed his pen, never to write again. Why? Aquinas had a mystical experience while celebrating Mass. At this point, he [stopped writing]. When asked why he had stopped, Aquinas replied,

“I cannot go on . . . All that I have written seems to me like so much straw compared to what I have seen and what has been revealed to me.”