To labor is to pray, and the goodies go on eBay

National Catholic Reporter, Feb 25, 2005 by Tim Unsworth

Recently, when wife Jean bought an old marionette on eBay, I decided to investigate what that magic resource would have by way of religious goods (or goods made by religious). I discovered a bonanza of goodies, a veritable Wal-Mart of products, made and marketed by religious--mostly contemplatives--who support themselves through these products.

In seconds, I found enough good food to turn a monk into a Friar Tuck. There were jams and jellies, nuts and honey, vinegar, herbal oils, fruitcakes, cookies, coffee and tea, cheese, candy and fudge--enough to give credibility to the old monastic chantey: "Would You Rather be a Trappist Filling Jelly Jars?"

I found artwork, candles and incense, pottery, stationery and bath and body lotions. There were printer cartridges, fax supplies, rubber stamps and signs. One could order altar breads, anointing otis, vestments and altar cloths. Of course, there were books, audio and visual tapes. (I think I could have found the Little Flower live and on tape, along with John Paul II leading the rosary in 69 languages.)

There were enough religious medals to cover a Russian general's chest, together with rosaries and scapulars--even little pillows for carrying wedding rings. (I don't know who makes watered silk boxers for bishops, but I'm sure there is a cloistered religious out fit somewhere who stitches them up.)

NCR can boast of a regular religious columnist, Fr. Jeffrey Behrens, a Trappist monk, from Holy Spirit Monastery in Conyers, Ga., who not only writes inspirational columns but also tends to a flock of temperamental bonsai trees that the monastery sells to devout botanists in order to support its praying community.

I could have shopped all night and still had room for more.

It all brought back memories of my sainted but cynical father who was director of production for a large baking company and who made quantities of bread for a large monastery under the supervision of a dedicated monk who was a former GI and veteran of World War II. My father needed only to pass his nose over the bread to determine that it was reliable GI bread, not a centuries-old formula. (Dad was ecumenical. His company also baked Jewish rye for an upstate New York resort--all blessed by a rabbi.)

Anyway, it appears to be all good stuff, supported by reasonable prices and honest advertising.

There is nothing new in all of this. Monks have been making things for centuries. They planted the vines of Europe and brought the fragrant roots to this country. They turned books into Free art in the scriptoriums. They built and opened schools and pioneered farming methods in Europe. They left a deposit of art that now fills the exhibit rooms of great museums. Indeed, it's not likely that Europe would have survived intellectually without the labor of the monks.

Most monasteries are a prudent balance of monks and cows, located on a hill outside of town. The Monastery of the Holy Cross is located in an old urban neighborhood in Chicago, not far from where the Cubs play baseball. Surrounded by houses that all look like they were built by the third little pig, the monastery rests on the bones of an old ethnic (German) parish that dates to 1883 and which was closed in 1989. (The church is still in use. It draws some 50 souls each Sunday--people who love the sound of Gregorian chant and a liturgy spiced with Latin.)

In 1990, a handful of Benedictine monks arrived at this urban desert from Barnesville, Minn. Prior to the late Cardinal Joseph Bernardin's invitation, they had been turned away by the archdioceses of Atlanta, Santa Fe, St. Louis, Detroit, Minneapolis-St Paul and Milwaukee. There are now seven black-robed brothers there. They are determined contemplatives who gather seven times each day to pray.

The monks support themselves by running a bed and breakfast, a retreat house and--uniquely--a casket showroom.

The monks are distributors of about a half-dozen models of wooden caskets made at St. Meinrad's Abbey in Indiana. (Once numbers increase, the small band of monks will make their own.)

It's slow work. Some local funeral directors can be as slick as Fuller Brush peddlers, although most are happy to receive a monk-crafted casket or urn. With Costco now offering caskets in their superstores, not far from the lawn mowers, the Benedictine option is to be preferred.

In any case, for the monks and nuns for whom to labor is to pray, there may be hope for a sunnier future.

[Tim Unsworth, an NCR columnist, writes from Chicago. His e-mail address is rjunsworth@sbcglobal.net.]