The Bank Manager in white
Paul Heppleston
The bank manager’s voice was strong, echoing upwards in the Great Space up into the roof.
“Amen!” with strength and power in a voice almost operatic in tone and quality.
Well, he looked like the archetypal bank manager - tall, upright, balding, glasses, about 60 years
old. But he didn’t work in a bank or for the board of some large financial institution. He worked for
God in a monastery in company with two dozen others - as a monk.
I sat listening to his voice (“Lord have mercy” - strong and secure). And, allowing my gaze to
wander upwards into the roof among the wonderful stonework of this abbey church, I didn’t just
see with my eye – or even my mind’s eye : I actually felt Strength, Stillness, Serenity, Stability and
Security resonating amongst the soaring pillars of pale stone.
The monks were gathered in their white (Cistercian) habits around the altar at Morning Mass. My
‘bank manager’ was a ‘priest’, rather than a ‘brother’ – in other words he had been ordained, as
had about half the community, so they formed a circle of white and red around the plain stone
altar echoing the table on which Aslan died.
But Aslan didn’t die; and neither did Jesus. He lives on in the lives of these monks who dedicate
themselves and their time and their singing with a level of commitment that far outshines most of
what us visitors could attain. Indeed one of the fathers entered this monastery in Charnwood
Forest (Leicestershire) at age 19; he is still there aged 74.
Their rhythm, the cycles of their days and years is unending and consistent, their dedication total
and absolute demanding a strength and conviction that comes from being secure in themselves.
That is not to say that monks never have doubts about their vocation or even their faith, for all
followers of Christ experience these dark nights of the soul from time to time. But far from optingout from society, their work is a true opt-in to that most demanding work – prayer.
Monasteries also have another role, that of hospitality, one they have exercised down the
centuries. Indeed the work of these modern monasteries, like the one in who’s abbey church I now
write, shares that ministry with early Celtic foundations – an opening of their doors to travellers
and those who seek rest and refuge. In our own lives we too can open the doors of a listening ear,
the healing touch of hand and heart, the gathering round a meal table. So in this way those of us
who venture on journeys find not only echoes of the early Celtic saints, but also the white-garbed
modern ‘saints’ who hold out their hands in blessing upon the bread and wine at Mass, who hold
out their hands in greeting at the doorway to guests – and who hold in their lives the Strength of a
building not made with hands. These are facets we can all touch, hold and offer to others.
The Mass was ending; the quiet voice of the celebrant rose in pitch as he reached the end of the
final prayer and as if the strength of the ‘living stones’ gave an under-girding to the assembled
monks they all cried out in loud triumph and conviction “Amen!”. It was an almost spine-tingling
climax to the service and one stood in awe……...in awe at the grandeur of God, proclaimed in so
many ways – in song, in silence, in each other and in all Creation.
I left the church and walked back to my room. Where else (I thought) could I have experienced
such depth of spirituality combined with a ‘real-ness’ of Christian faith, offered on behalf of the
whole of humanity. What words could describe my feelings -- humble? awed? enriched? inspired?
Then I knew : yes, all those qualities were touching me at that very moment, but above all were
the words enfolded and strengthened. And that was just what I needed for the days and weeks to
come.
Thankyou Mr Bank Manager.