kansas monks
November 2024
Dear Friends in Christ,
November is a sacred time when we bring to mind and pray for all the faithful departed. In this month’s articles, therefore, you will read much that I pray will bring you some sense of comfort and peace as we all confront the reality of death.
Benedictine monks, as all faithful Catholics do, embrace this season not with sorrow, but with hope, knowing that death is not an end but a passage to eternal life with God. We are called to reflect on our mortality, not with fear, but with the desire to live well—so that we may also die well, in the grace of God.
In this issue, our book-reflection series on The Art of Living continues (next page). At first glance, it may seem unusual to focus on “living” in a month dedicated to remembering those who have passed. But in truth, the art of living and the art of dying are deeply connected. St. Benedict teaches us to “keep death daily before our eyes,” a reminder that how we live each day prepares us for our ultimate goal: eternal life with God and his saints in heaven.
Here at the Abbey, we keep this perspective alive in our daily rhythms. During our evening meals, we read from the Abbey’s necrology, calling to mind our departed brothers. We honor the memory of the monks who have gone before us, confident that our separation is but a moment in time. We trust that these monks, having lived lives dedicated to Christ, now rest in his peace and fullness of life.
And in our final article, CJ Neumann introduces himself as the Abbey’s newest postulant. He calls his entry the “journey of a lifetime”, and CJ, like the rest of us, is spending his time of discernment preparing for the last things, not just the here-and-now.
I encourage you, dear readers, to join us in this preparation. By praying for your departed loved ones, you not only assist them on their journey, but also receive graces for your own path toward eternal life. When we pray for them, we unite our prayers with the communion of saints, and the saints, in turn, will intercede for us when our final moments come.
In a special way, we ask you to remember our beloved Fr. Benjamin Tremmel, O.S.B., who was called to the Lord this past June. May God grant him eternal rest and may we, too, prepare our hearts to join him one day in heaven.
In Christ,
IN THIS ISSUE
Feature | The Blood Evidence . . . . . . . . . pages 4 – 5
Science, Faith, and the Shroud of Turin
Up Next | The Art of Living .
Reflections on the Book, Part III of IX
. Page 2
Abbot James R. Albers, O.S.B
The Art of Living: Responsibility
Reflections on the Book
Part III of IX in a series about Dietrich von Hildebrand’s work on moral virtue.
By Reid Bissen
Imagine a seasoned navigator of a ship who looks to the stars to guide him and is able to recognize them with ease, knowing in what directions they point. In contrast, think of a green sailor who does not know how to read the stars in this way, and simply follows his gut when changing course. This latter sailor is unable to recognize and respond to reality. He is irresponsible, whereas the experienced sailor is familiar with the stars and each of their particular importance in the task of navigating. He follows something outside of himself, he has a posture of responsibility.
In the third chapter of Dietrich von Hildebrand’s dive into the foundations of Christian morality, our author takes a close look at where our sense of responsibility to do what is right comes from. Our moral lives work the same way as our two sailors. We must, like a
navigator, always look to the stars of truth, goodness, beauty, and justice to guide us in making decisions. This will make for easy sailing, providing us with great clarity in times of moral ambiguity. However, if we— like the inexperienced sailor—stick with our gut, we will soon find ourselves tossed about by the winds of our own fleeting desires. Perhaps the worst outcome of this mindset is not that we are more likely to run aground morally, but that we think we are still the ones steering the ship. We’re asleep at the wheel and don’t even know it.
So, how do we begin? Hildebrand suggests we cultivate a sense for the moral weight of our decisions. In our culture, we often enshrine being “nice” as the height of moral perfection. What we often mean by this is that a person does not blatantly harm others. But can that person, for example, say that he is deeply and consistently honest? That he, in thought, word and action, looks to the star of perfect and complete honesty to guide him? This person (me) is irresponsible to the moral ideal of honesty and justice. He does not respond to it, because he only feels it to be pertinent to impactful situations, people he cares about, or when his reputation is on the line.
We ought to reflect on the fact that Truth, Goodness, and Justice are “bigger” than we are. I will die. Truth will not die. I will not be remembered, but honesty will always be revered. These moral values are not manufactured concepts that we can play with and twist to fit whatever our desired course of action is. A posture of humility in our moral lives will free us from our superficial wants and free us for growth in virtue, so we can fulfill the meaning of our lives in Christ. Often we inflate the importance of other circumstances when faced with a moral decision, rather than looking
Camm, Dom Bede OSB. (1906). The Voyage of the Pax. London, England: Burns and Oates. Illustration.
to undying values like Justice. We rationalize away the adequate moral response with considerations like, “It’s too late to apologize,” or, “It’s just a white lie.” Furthermore, if I make a habit of making these circumstances my primary consideration, when I do choose to be just, it will not be because I have an awareness of my responsibility to Justice, but because I have decided that my circumstances permit me to act justly. Perhaps I don’t care—just this once—if a delayed apology makes me look bad so I decide to say it. My heart is not set on justice for its own sake. The emphasis is still on me and my own desires.
Another attitude that will help us cultivate a greater sense of responsibility in our moral lives is taking our daily tasks seriously. Often, I cut corners in my duties because it’s “not a big deal”. Actually, it is a big deal. It isn’t a big deal because of the nature of the task itself, but because of the high value of honesty that I disregard when I decide to do a poor or incomplete job. The same can be said of our thoughts and words. Even though they do not affect reality in the same way actions do, they cannot be undone. A slight error in navigation can set a ship off course by miles if not eventually corrected; but the correction does not change the fact that the ship was travelling in the wrong direction for days, extending its voyage. Being more responsible to the stars—these eternal, moral values—will help us to be more aware of God’s presence, who is Justice, Goodness, Beauty, and Truth. And more, acting in accordance with this responsibility will help us to know him better.
Reflection Questions:
• Reflect on a time when you faced a moral decision. What was your thought process like?
• To what excuses do I turn to escape doing the right thing?
• Where am I cutting corners in my daily tasks?
Reid (Br. David) Bissen was a junior monk of St. Benedict’s Abbey, who discerned out of our community in October 2024. We are privileged to have been part of his formation as a man of faith now reentering the world.
Next Month: Continue reading Reid’s series with Part IV of IX.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Recent research into the Shroud of Turin reveals how the Precious Blood of Christ left its miraculous image as a sign of the passion and resurrection.
A simple Benedictine hymn reveals more than you might imagine about life, death, and eternal rest with God.
Reflect on the readings for this month’s Sunday and Holy Day masses. In November, we. focus especially on how the poetic beauty of autumn is reflected in scripture
C.J. Neumann explains how the crossroads of faith brought him to our Abbey.
The mission of St. Benedict’s Abbey is to glorify God by seeking him through joyful self-sacrifice, by embracing fully the monastic and apostolic ideals, and by leading others to encounter Jesus Christ, who brings us all together to eternal life.
The Kansas Monks newsletter is a monthly publication of the monastic community of St. Benedict’s Abbey to help fulfill this mission. Read our archives at www.kansasmonks.org/newsletter
Live so as not to fear death. For those who live well in the world, death is not frightening but sweet and precious.
St. Rose of Viterbo
The Blood Evidence
Science, Faith, and the Shroud of Turin
The paschal mystery of Christ’s suffering, death, and resurrection continues to be unveiled by those who study the image on the Shroud of Turin. Read on to see the summary of recent scientific research on this holy relic.
The Shroud of Turin, an ancient linen cloth believed by many to be the burial shroud of Jesus Christ, holds a special place in the hearts of Catholics and other Christians worldwide. For centuries, this relic has been venerated as the very cloth in which the body of Jesus was laid to rest after his crucifixion. While skeptics point to gaps in its historical record—the Shroud’s known custody only dates to the 14th century—the findings of scientists, doctors, and historians increasingly suggest a different story. Recent research continues to affirm what believers have long held: this is the burial cloth of Jesus of Nazareth, the Son of God, who rose from the dead nearly 2,000 years ago.
One of the latest developments comes from Giulio Fanti, a professor at the University of Padua, who recently published groundbreaking research focused on analyzing the blood particles embedded in the Shroud. Fanti’s findings add to a growing body of evidence that suggests the Shroud is much more than an ancient relic—it may be a direct witness to Christ’s death, burial, and resurrection.
Fanti’s study reveals a detailed analysis of the blood particles found on the Shroud, which provide key insights into the events surrounding Jesus’s crucifixion, burial, and the mysterious formation of his image on the cloth. One of the most significant findings is that the blood particles on the Shroud vary in size, shape, and distribution, characteristics that correspond to different moments of Christ’s suffering, death, and burial.
The research identifies three distinct types of blood. The first type of blood is described as post-mortem blood, shed after Jesus’ death, likely during his removal from the cross and preparation for burial. This blood has undergone significant shrinkage, likely due to a
combination of dehydration and exposure to burial ointments such as aloe and myrrh. What’s especially unique about this blood is that it shows signs of fluorescence under ultraviolet light, something not typically seen in ancient blood. This characteristic could be due to the breakdown of red blood cells and the formation of bilirubin, a product often released in cases of extreme physical trauma like that suffered during flogging.
The second type of blood, on the other hand, is pre-mortem blood, likely shed during Jesus’ crucifixion. This blood is darker and has coagulated, a sign that it was shed while Jesus was still alive. Unlike the first type, the second type of blood does not show fluorescence, and it retains more of its original crusted form.
The third type of blood is less well understood, but it consists of larger red blood cells and might represent blood that was shed earlier in Jesus’s suffering, before his body underwent the extreme dehydration that affected the other blood types.
In addition to these blood findings, Fanti’s research has uncovered patterns in the bloodstains that reveal Jesus’s body was likely moved several times after his death. The stains show different flow directions, possibly caused by movement during his removal from the cross and his placement in the tomb. Moreover, Fanti notes the presence of pulmonary fluid, which likely resulted from pulmonary edema—an excess buildup of fluid in the lungs. This is consistent with the severe physical trauma and respiratory distress that Jesus would have experienced, the fluid being dispersed in the wounding of his side.
Perhaps the most mysterious aspect of the Shroud is its image of Christ’s body. For decades, researchers
have puzzled over how this haunting imprint was formed. Fanti’s findings lend support to the theory that the image may have been created by a burst of energy or light at the moment of Christ’s resurrection, much like a divine “photographic negative” imprinted onto the cloth. The idea of an intense energy release is also supported by the Beta-activity detected in the blood particles, a form of radiation that may have played a role in the Shroud’s image formation.
Beyond its scientific intrigue, the Shroud has long captivated the faithful, especially with the evocative image of Christ’s face in the repose of death. Gazing upon this image, many have wondered what Jesus must have looked like in life, inspiring centuries of religious art and devotion. In modern times, this fascination has only grown, as technology offers new ways to explore the Shroud’s mysteries.
In fact, around the same time as Fanti’s research was published, artists using AI technology created a lifelike “photograph” of Jesus based on the Shroud’s image (pictured below). The result is a striking visualization of Christ’s face, brought to life through digital artistry, offering yet another layer of connection for believers contemplating the reality of the passion and resurrection.
While the Shroud of Turin continues to be studied
for its scientific value, for Christians, the message is clear: this is not merely a relic of an ancient crucifixion victim, nor simply the burial cloth of the man Jesus of Nazareth—it is a witness to the glory of the risen Lord. The Shroud stands as a powerful reminder of Christ’s victory over death and a sign of God’s promise to all believers. If this cloth indeed wrapped the body of the crucified and risen Lord, it serves as a profound symbol of the future resurrection promised to all who believe in him: “For if we have been united with him in death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his” (Romans 6:5).
As the research into the Shroud continues, it serves as both a scientific puzzle and a profound religious symbol. For Christians, it affirms the truth that Jesus Christ not only suffered and died for humanity but also rose in glory, offering the hope of eternal life. The Shroud of Turin, marked by the blood of the Savior, remains a powerful witness to the reality of the resurrection and a reminder of God’s promise to raise us up on the last day.
Fanti, G. (2024). New Insights on Blood Evidence from the Turin Shroud Consistent with Jesus Christ’s Tortures. Archives of Hematology Case Reports and Reviews. 9. 001-015. 10.17352/ahcrr.000044.
SCIENCE, FAITH , AND THE SHROUD OF TURIN
AI Generated Image based on the Shroud (Midjourney AI)
Both Holy and Serene
The Benedictine Prayer for a Happy Death
The monks of St. Benedict’s Abbey bring to mind their mortality in a beautiful hymn known as The Ultima. A staff member of the Abbey ponders how this hymn from the Benedictine tradition reflects our understanding of a faith-filled life, a good death, and what comes after.
By Seth Galemore
I joined the staff of St. Benedict’s Abbey a little more than a year ago. Despite years of working in Catholic faith-based settings, I still find myself pleasantly surprised at discovering new parts of the vast riches of Catholic devotional practice. The Benedictine tradition has opened my eyes to many prayers, rituals, and perspectives that have deepened my faith.
One of the more meaningful discoveries for me during the past year was hearing the Ultima hymn for the first time. The monks chant this hymn at the conclusion of their community meetings, as well as at burial services, invoking the Blessed Virgin’s intercession for the departed.
Here is the text of the hymn in Latin alongside a poetic translation into English:
Ultima in mortis hora
Filium pro nobis ora
Bonam mortem impetra
Virgo, Mater Domina.
When death’s hour is then upon us,
To your
Son pray that
he
grant us, Death, both holy and serene, Virgin Mary, Mother, Queen.
The Ultima is a simple yet powerful prayer, asking the Mother of God to guide souls to a peaceful death and to care for them afterward. Its words, though not ancient, draw from longstanding Christian devotion to Mary and reflect a deep trust in her intercession at the hour of death. The text is drawn from several lines in a sequence written around the time of the proclamation of the dogma of the Immaculate Conception in 1854. While its composition is relatively recent, it’s message for us is timeless.
The brevity of the text belies the deep theological themes it explores: the immortality of the soul, the intercession of the saints, and the hope of a holy death. It serves as a prayerful reminder that death is not an end, but a transition into eternal life with God.
The hymn embodies the Catholic understanding that Mary, whose life brought her so close to God, continues to care for all of us as a loving mother. She intercedes for those in need, guiding them toward the fullness of life in heaven.
Reflecting on this hymn relates to my own experience of maturing in my faith. I wasn’t raised Catholic; I was baptized into a Protestant church at the age of eight, and when my grandmother passed away shortly after my eleventh birthday, I began to seriously question what I believed about my Christian faith, or whether I believed it at all.
After that loss, my mother arranged for me to meet with our Baptist pastor. I expressed my worries for my grandmother’s soul, admitting that I didn’t know if she had gone to heaven.
>> Continued on page10 >>
Living the Liturgy
Commentary
on the Liturgical Year
Autumn Can Be Springtime for Your Heart
By Tom Hoopes
November is the kind of month that brings out the poet in people, as winter comes on and we withdraw into our homes and into ourselves.
Some poets have a sour feeling about it, like Thomas Hood in his poem “November”, which ends: No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds—November!
Emily Dickinson blamed her own memory for her November sadness, saying, The recollecting of Bloom Keeps making November difficult.
On the other hand, Robert Louis Stevenson made the best of a sad month by focusing on the bright orange colors that it produces—in the autumn bonfires burning up the dead remnants of summer sunshine. He wrote: Sing a song of seasons
Something bright in all Flowers in the summer, Fires in the fall!
But it takes a melancholic like Robert Frost to truly embrace the month. He wrote: Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days Before the coming of the snow.
Only a wistful misanthrope could love November—or a Catholic.
In November, the Church leans into the month, at least the way it is experienced in the Northern Hemisphere. As things die, we dedicate the month to praying for the dead. As the days get short on earth, the liturgy turns our eyes to the eternal light. Then, as the liturgical year draws to a close, the liturgy repeats dire warnings about the end of everything.
November is a time to focus on the Four Last Things: Death, Judgment, Hell, and Heaven. It’s appropriate that the month begins after the scary hellscape of Halloween brings us to the brink of Advent, where God reaches down to begin gathering us back to himself. In between, in America, comes Thanksgiving—a banquet of love where we gather with loved ones in an image of heaven, giving God a grateful account of the year.
The Church in November teaches us that this is what lasts. There is a supernatural reality that is neither arbitrary nor immovable. Death is inevitable and tragic, but it is not the end, and that what happens to us matters more than what happens to the leaves, plants, and animals outside our window.
And so, when my daughter invited the family to the dining room table recently and instructed us that she was leading a poetry contest about our favorite season, I wrote this:
Autumn strips all things away
Except the things that last.
November tells you “Love will stay Long after life is past.”
If you let dead things all depart.
Fall can be springtime for your heart.
It even rhymes! Like I said, November makes us all poets.
IMAGINE HEAVEN NOW
November 1 | All Saints Day
The month of the dead begins with a celebration not just of the saints on the calendar, but all those in heaven, canonized or not. The first reading invites us to imagine them: “A great multitude, which no one could count, from every nation, race, people, and tongue … before the throne and before the Lamb.”
That’s a vision of what life is like, right now, in the eternity of God—and in the hearts of saints. The saints are those who have the imagination to see what is really real, beneath the surface of the world, and the habit of acting accordingly.
“We are God’s children now; what we shall be has not yet been revealed,” writes St. John in the Second Reading at All Saints Day Mass. “Everyone who has this hope based on him makes himself pure, as he is pure.”
That is an invitation to imagine the world from God’s perspective. Imagination fuels habit, and habit fuels holiness. The beatitudes in today’s Gospel say the same thing: From Blessed are the poor in spirit to Rejoice and be glad when people insult you, Jesus’s message is that the final victory belongs to those who realize that they are citizens of heaven running a race on earth.
NO ONE IS FORGOTTEN
November 2 | All Souls Day
All Souls Day is dedicated to all the faithful departed. If All Saints Day celebrates those whose imagination sustained their vision of eternity, All Souls Day has been threatened by bad imagination for some time now.
In secular circles, when a benign belief in the afterlife persists, people believe we merely pass into a higher existence when we die. Our loved ones are “in a better place”, “looking down on us”, and “always with us”. That is highly problematic, since Jesus warns that the way to heaven is narrow, and St. Paul says to “work out your salvation with fear and trembling” (Phil 2:12).
At the same time, well-meaning spiritual misunderstandings about the afterlife depict something unintentionally horrifying. In one popular movie, the dead who aren’t remembered are erased—a vision which dooms everyone but the famous.
The truth is, we should remember our loved ones, but even if we forget them, God won’t. The Vatican Directory on Popular Piety recommends the proper way to honor the dead: visit cemeteries, provide support for the relatives of the dead, and pray and sacrifice for the dead “through alms, deeds, works of mercy, fasting, and applying indulgences.”
Angelico, Fra. The Last Judgement (1435). Paint on poplar panel.
LOVE LIKE MOSES
November 3 | 31st Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year B
Jesus identifies the two greatest commandments in the Gospel this Sunday and the two other readings describe them.
The greatest is: “You shall love your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.” The First Reading, from Deuteronomy, says that, first of all, this love is the love of a superior, not the love of an equal, and so it has to start with reverence and awe—“fear of the Lord”. Second, Deuteronomy says to “keep, throughout the days of your lives, all his statues and commandments”—so it is a love that moves the will not just the emotions. Third, it says, “The Lord is our God, the Lord alone”; so this is a love that doesn’t allow for other competing priorities.
The second greatest commandment of Jesus is: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” The Second Reading, about the priesthood of Christ, is a high example of how to love your neighbor this way—by sacrificing yourself for their good, making them as a high a priority as you make yourself.
Jesus perfectly fulfilled both these commandments: He loved his Father with reverence such that he went to his death to conform his will to his; and he loved us as he loved himself, sacrificing himself for us.
THE WIDOW’S MIGHT
November 10 | 32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year B
This Sunday’s Gospel passage is known as the “Widow’s Mite,” and celebrate a woman whose gift of a tiny amount of money attracted the praise and attention of Jesus Christ himself.
She is reminiscent of the widow in the First Reading, whose generosity with Elijah is repaid with life-sustaining food. The repayment the New Testament widow gets is far greater, but it is not as immediately obvious.
After encountering Christ, she remains a poor widow. But the Second Reading, from Hebrews, explains what happens later: “Christ, offered once to take away the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to take away sin, but to bring salvation to those who eagerly await him.”
At her judgment, the widow will get what she eagerly awaits—heaven—because her deed showed how mightily she trusted.
HEAVEN AND EARTH
November 17 | 33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year B
The First Reading this Sunday says something truly terrifying: “Many of those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake; some shall live forever, others shall be an everlasting horror and disgrace.”
The acclamation before the Gospel doesn’t let up, exhorting us: “Pray that you have the strength to stand before the Son of Man.” Our position would be hopeless, except for one important factor: The Second Reading tells us that we have Jesus Christ, the “one sacrifice for sins [who] took his seat forever at the right hand of God.”
Jesus says at the end of this Sunday’s Gospel, “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.” He will remain with us, when everything else dies away. But make no mistake: Everything else will die away.
CHRIST THE KING
November 23 | Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe, Year B
The Gospel Acclamation for Christ the King says something very curious: “Blessed is the kingdom of our father David that is to come.”
It is quoting words from the the crowd during Jesus’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem. It’s curious because it switches tenses, saying, “Blessed is this past kingdom— which is a future kingdom.”
It’s a reminder that Jesus’s kingdom fulfills the promise made to David through the prophet Nathan, that he would receive a kingdom that lasts forever. In the time of Jesus that kingdom was thought to be imminent—in part due to the popularity of the prophet Daniel, who saw the Kingdom coming soon. The First Reading is his vision of the Son of Man receiving “everlasting dominion.”
In this regard, the two readings for Sunday provide a nice contrast: Daniel expected the Jewish warrior Messiah who saves by power and might. St. John in the Book of Revelation has seen the radical new way our king saves: He “has freed us from our sins by his blood.”
Our king is the king who faces Pilate in the Gospel today, and acts like Pilate’s superior, not his prisoner, as he quietly refuses to say he is innocent, because he isn’t. He has made himself guilty of our sins.
That’s our king.
Both Holy and Serene
>> Continued from page 6 >>
“I think she was a good woman,” I confided, “but I know she was a sinner, too. What if her sins held her back from being with God?” I asked him whether I should pray for her soul.
I admit I was surprised by his response: “If we believe in the saving power of Jesus, we should never pray for the dead. Your grandmother was a Christian, so she’s in heaven. Stop worrying about it.”
While he meant to comfort me, his dismissive tone toward the idea of praying for the dead left an impression. In reflecting on it now, I see that the frustration in his voice was targeted at longstanding disagreements among Christians about the nature of grace, salvation, and the afterlife. But in that moment, I felt hurt and confused. What I felt I needed to do was to pray for my grandmother. I wanted to help her in some way, to feel connected to her even after she was gone.
As I continued to study scripture and Christian history, I came to appreciate the Catholic belief in the communion of saints and the practice of praying for the dead. In Catholic tradition, death is not a hard break between this life and the next—where God instantly transforms us into something better and more glorious than we had been in our earthly life. Death is a transition into a different stage of our formation as children of God, if we choose to accept his grace. We don’t just “start over” as perfect beings—we grow in holiness even after death. God reshapes us, purges us of our sins and worldly attachments, and prepares us to fully enter into his presence.
This belief is beautifully expressed in the Ultima hymn. We ask Mary, who is alive in heaven and intimately united with God, to intercede for us and help guide souls toward a holy death. Through her intercession, like the prayers of all the saints, we trust that the departed are cared for and that we, too, are readying ourselves for eternal life. The veil between life and death still lets us engage with the full communion of saints: the Church on earth striving towards salvation, the holy souls in purgatory yearning to be at one with God, and those saints already perfectly adoring the face of God in the glory of heaven.
In hearing the monks chant this hymn, I feel connected to a faith that spans millennia and to a tradition that teaches us how to live well and die well. At this time of year, especially, I take comfort in such thoughts.
Francisco de Zurbaran. Virgen de las Cuevas (1644). Oil on canvas.
The Journey of a Lifetime
Our Newest Postulant Introduces Himself
My pilgrimage to the Abbey began nine years ago at Texas A&M University. On a summer Sunday morning, I had a choice to make: will I attend Protestant services or the Mass? Raised in Dallas by a Baptist mother and Methodist father, I never considered this question. College, however, brought with it a freedom to choose. Though the religious traditions of my parents rested before me, a voice from within encouraged me to walk a path only recently set out before me. In the four years prior to this dilemma, I had attended Bishop Lynch Catholic High School, which introduced me to a faith that lived its dogmas in the liturgy and did so with joy. At this crossroad of faith, I stood ready to embark upon the journey of a lifetime. That Sunday, I chose to go to Mass.
As I ran across campus to my first Mass in College Station, Texas, I felt the sun shining brightly on my freshly shaved head; as a new member of the Corps of Cadets, student seniors had taken turns shaving the head of each “fish” or freshman. “Fish Neumann”, as I was called, had no interest in joining the military but enrolled in this student organization as a means of fraternity.
While rising through the cadet ranks and transitioning from studies in engineering to economics, I met
By CJ Neumann
a most loving and kind young woman. We dated for almost two years before our relationship collapsed near the end of my sophomore year. In the months spent sorting through the rubble, I came to the shocking realization that my life is not about me. In this first conversion experience I abandoned plans to become a lawyer and assumed plans to become a lieutenant. More importantly, I assessed my tepid faith life and began RCIA. In 2018, almost three years after my first step on my journey of a lifetime, I took another step forward to receive the Sacrament of Confirmation during the Easter Vigil.
By 2020, only one year after commissioning in the army, I sensed an incompleteness in my call to serve. Acknowledging that my life is not about me was a significant but half-baked revelation. I had yet to ask myself the next question: If my life is not about me, then who or what is it about? Still unsure of the answer, I nonetheless knew God called me to greater intimacy with the Church.
Nearing the end of my three-year stint in the army, I began applying for Catholic high school teaching positions in the state of Tennessee, where I was living, and my home state of Texas. During the job search I met a wonderful woman working out of Fort Riley, so I added Kansas to the list of prospects. I accepted a position in Topeka after some deliberation and continued discerning marriage. As the career transition came to end, so too did our relationship, to my dismay at the time. Yet, the calm spiritual desert of Topeka transfigured my gloom into an enduring peace. I underwent a second conversion experience calling me to abandon all my plans and look for God’s plan for me.
After a phone call with Brother Maximilian and a retreat led by Prior Leven, I finally had an answer to the question, “Who is my life about?”
Standing at the doorway of St. Benedict’s Abbey, I knew the next step on the journey of a lifetime.
Thank you.
From Abbot James Albers, OSB, and the monks of St. Benedict’s Abbey, thank you for your incredible generosity in getting us halfway to our million-dollar match in our Journey of Stability, Forward Together capital campaign! Know of our gratitude and prayers for you every day.
To learn more and donate to the Journey of Stability, Forward Together visit www.kansasmonks.org/journey-forward
KANSAS MONKS
EDITORIAL TEAM
Editor-in-Chief - Abbot James Albers, O.S.B.
Managing Editor - Seth Galemore
Art Director - Olivia Wieger
Editorial Advisors:
Fr. Matthew Habiger, O.S.B.
Br. Timothy McMillan, O.S.B.
Seth Galemore
Josh Harden
Dwight Stephenson
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