Abbey Ruins

Well, there's a fine how-do-you-do. I had forgotten that Wordsworth's poem, "Tintern Abbey", has nothing whatsoever to do with abbeys. it is a fine hymn to the Natural World, but not a commentary upon ruined cloisters and monastic choirs. As one who lives like a Benedictine for about 1 1/2 hrs a day, and who has been blessed and formed by exposure to the rythms of life in at least 6 different monastic communities, it troubles me to behold the demise of such an impressive monastic institution. Was its community forced to dissolve against its will, the monks driven away from their prayers by Puritans with pikes? Or did its energy fizzle out over a period of years, its observances become perfunctory, its monks come to function merely as landlords in religious garb? What was it like in those first days and weeks after the last office had been chanted, the last bell rung? Did the monks gather furtively to recite their prayers? Did they climb the nearby hill in hopes to catch a glimpse of the beloved stones below? Or did they toss their habits in a ditch and wander off to seek wives and jobs? Did they watch from behind hedge-rows as the King's representatives hauled off stone and furniture and other valuables? Did the empty buildings just sit there as the walls sagged and ultimately fell? These are historical questions that could be answered by a few hours on the web or in a library. But my real issue is with the life of God, and how people may or may not gain access to it. Obviously, God can get by without the monks at Melrose, just as God can get by without a Davidic dynasty ruling Israel from Jerusalem. Whatever those old monks were chanting about and to in the past is just as real, or unreal, now as it was then. Was it worth the bother to construct that vast building, for those men to live out their vowed lives within it? I guess "bother" is what it's all about, whether you are a monk living at Melrose Abbey or a pilgrim from Michigan brooding over its ruins. So I guess the answer is "yes", it is worth the bother. Or, as that other guy put it: "...with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the heart of things." Wm. Wordsworth