Consecration of the New Church

If construction is a nuisance, consecration is a glory.  Being shoe-horned into the cloister for over a year of liturgy was a bit much.  It’s not just that voices get squashed as well as bodies.  It’s that continual close quarters rasp the mind and compress the spirit.  In addition, we were singing (and trying to take meridian) to jack-hammers and concrete mixers.  There was dust all over everything, rain running down the walls of the make-shift chapel, and mistakes in the construction project.  Deadlines were missed and missed again, and our friends from outside kept making piteous phone calls: “When, oh when can we have our church back?”

But during practice for the Dedication, we couldn’t help thinking, “This is right.  We had to add in the frustrations of the exile—ours and our neighbors’.  If the church had flowed easily into place into place, something that should have been part of its consecration would not have been there.  The inconveniences, the nervous strain, the patience and good-will—they are part of the mortar.”The church was not complete when we moved in last March [1998].  Each new piece as it arrived was an event.  The ambo, the base of the altar, the base of the tabernacle-stand and the tabernacle itself are of inlaid burl wood.  In some lights this is reminiscent of marble, and again of chased gold.  Our architect was to explain that burl wood represents the wounded human world, since it is the result of the tree’s efforts to heal a lost limb.  From this wound emerges the most precious of woods, used only for very special purposes.  Now it would stand as the symbol of our broken humanity united to the redeeming rock of Christ.


The candle standards, the Paschal Candle stand, and the tabernacle sconce enhance the sanctuary with simple delicacy.  They are hand-crafted of wrought iron in New Hampshire—slim, matched pieces with typically New England basket-weave design.  The base of each is made of three gracefully arched feet.  The floor of the church was laid in blacks of gray and a dusky green slate.  The stone is uneven, and its natural patterning reminds you of the sea.  With the slightest effort of the imagination, you can feel that you are standing on the ocean.  “Master, bid me come to you over the waves.”  This stone floor does wonders for acoustics as well.  The roof is a louvered skylight, so we have rock to stand on and the sky to look up to.  At noon, blocks of direct sunlight climb the north walls, and all day long, the interior exults in natural light.


On the 21st [of April], riggers took more than two hours to bring four and a half tons of altar into the sacred space, and this was something to live through.  Gethsemani had given us one of their altars, in glorious dark granite.  We have used its mensa for the central altar, and its base as part of the tabernacle stand.  At the end of that day, we were cluttered up with two altars and two tabernacles, since neither of the new ones could be used until after the Dedication.  On the 25th, Father Gabriel celebrated the last Mass on the old altar, and removed the Blessed Sacrament.  The door of the new tabernacle was left full open.  At this point the new altar stood alone, the center and grace of the church.  The building is so constructed, and the altar itself so impressive, that the eye is drawn immediately into its monumental presence.

On the 26th, Cardinal Law arrived at eight AM to an overcast day.  Beginning the ceremony, George Razoyk, our architect, gave a magnificent exposition of the design.  We cannot begin to estimate how much we owe to this man’s capacity for listening and interpreting our needs, appreciating our contribution, and working and re-working a design into such perfect harmony with our Cistercian heritage.  He is more than an architect, he is a man of the Spirit.The Cardinal really anoints.  He used his bare hands to spread the chrism thoroughly on the surface of the altar.  “You have drawn near to Mount Sion, and the city of the living God…”  Dom Bernard and Fr. Gabriel anointed the consecration crosses on the walls.  The visual message here was of God’s embracing and permanent love.  Our walls are anointed as we are anointed, with a love that never yields us to our resistances, never gives us up to our own lust for contradiction, but holds us as these walls do—quietly, wholly, gracefully.

We had a hard rain during the incensation—as if in answer to our Veni Creator, since rain as well as incense is a symbol of the Spirit. During the Celebration of Lighting, we got to sing our most rousing hymn. (The singing was fun throughout, with so many monks and guests to join in.)  The altar was dressed in its baptismal best, all the church lights blazed, and the vigil candles under the consecration crosses were lit.  These crosses are made of wood from Gethsemani’s former choir stalls, lovingly crafted by Brother René as Stations for a daughter house we were unable to make.  The sconces for their vigil lights turned each cross into a mandala, before which the tiny candles were to burn all day.

After Mass, the Cardinal blessed Raphael’s Wing, our new assisted care facility.  (Two more hymns, please), and left permission for the reservation of the Blessed Sacrament in its lovely chapel.  The tabernacle here is the very first one used by the foundresses from Glencairn fifty years ago.  Our sick sisters will have the Lord at their elbow.Beauty and space and light are the words people use to describe the effects of the building project.  Grace, simplicity.  As we entered the church for Compline that night, the vigil lights hung against the walls like twelve small stars in the night.  We know we are blessed.