The Eastern Orthodox call Mary the Theotokos, (theos ‘god’ + -tokos ‘bringing forth’). Well, my Benedictine responsibility this week is to be the Java-tokos, “the bearer of coffee.” I am to carry gallons of steamy black coffee, cold creamers, sugars, and skyscrapers of paper cups, from the refectory to the classrooms. The goal: to provide rich black coffee for all the seminarians as sit through the morning’s classes. To be the Java-tokos is a sacred privilege at Nashotah House, and for this reason it is listed on the chapel rota, right up there with Bell Ringer and Choir Singers.

Yesterday we were able to don our surplices for sung Matins in the morning, and a sung Mass in the evening. Despite the fact that I am a wild-haired Minneapolis songster and poet at heart, this outfit makes me look like I just stepped out of the Middle Ages.

It does something to you. To stand and sing hymns in a chapel packed with men and women, all wearing their cassocks and surplices, all kneeling and crossing themselves profusely, all lifting their prayers to God changes you. You might think singing hymns is painfully awkward, banal, or for grandparents. But let me tell you, when you hear a chorus of voices booming and thundering, O Worship the King, all gorious above! O gratefully sing his power and his love! Our shield and defender, the Ancient of Days, pavilioned in splendor, and girded with praise!, and when you get to sing along with all your heart, you begin to see that our grandparents were actually badasses (in the “formidable, excellent” sense of the word). You can see the fear of God on your peer’s faces, or the joy of the Lord, or humility to the point of tears. Two days ago, while singing hymns, I could not maintain complete stoicism, and started crying before Christ.

I didn’t know it, but I love hymns. You think what you want is a U2 concert, but you don’t. Since I’m a folk-singer, guitar-hammering rocker, I cannot believe I’m saying this, but when sung by people who care, and when song boldly and with great joy, hymns make our contemporary lyrics and rock ballads sound like Junior High band practice (although, contemporary worship can sometimes also be amazingly beautiful and rich). Maybe it’s because “the lyrics” are so often genuine poetry. Or maybe it’s because the human voice remains the most beautiful instrument on earth. Because it is the only instrument made by God Himself, and not man, some medieval Christians forbade instruments of any kind in the sanctuary. Regardless of the reason, the singing of hymns here at Nashotah House has been for me a surprising form of spiritual formation.

Thy bountiful care what tongue can recite? It breathes in the air; it shines in the light; it streams from the hills, it descends to the plain, and sweetly distills in the dew and the rain!