News & Events > Calderhead Essays > A Visit to Saint John's
 

A Visit to Saint John's

By The Reverend Christopher Calderhead

It was night by the time my plane landed in Minneapolis. Carol Marrin [the director of The Saint John’s Bible] was at the gate waiting for me—a welcome sight after hours in the air. We trundled downstairs to baggage claim, grabbed my bags, and headed off into the night. When we arrived at the campus, the familiar bell banner was lit up, welcoming us to Saint John’s, beckoning us up the drive. I found my room in the monastery, and settled in for a good night’s sleep.

Tuesday 17 April 2001
There was a slight tension in the air when I walked into the Centenary Room, Quad 264. It was no wonder; this would be the first unveiling of finished pages from the first volume. In the room, people stood in different postures. A small group of men were bent over the committee table, working on sound checks of the microphones. Donald and Mabel were talking near one of the cases. Sally and Olivia looked on, theirs brows slightly furrowed. Donald frowned as well, with a slightly distant look, as he thought about how he wanted the display to come together. Others came and went. A wiry man with gray beard and hair in a neat ponytail concerned himself with the cases. Later I would discover he was a member of the monastic community, a book repairer and binder by trade. In his blue jeans and t-shirt he looked every bit the superintendent or handyman, the sort of person you could always rely on for a technical solution to a mechanical problem. He was that as well.

It was a long day, but finally, by five o’clock in the afternoon, the display cases were filled, and the display took shape. Donald was satisfied. The monastic community was delighted.

Wednesday, 18 April 2001
Fr Michael, going slightly gray at the temples, is a vigorous man; as we speak in the Centenary Room, I sense a kind of nervous energy. As he answers my questions, his words tumble out quickly. He listens intensely, his eyes occasionally darting across the room, and he answers just as intensely. "The exciting thing," he said, "is to see the theological briefs come to life. Look at the Luke page—" He pointed across the room to the full page illumination of Luke’s nativity passage. "It contains everything we said in our brief." Speaking rapid-fire, he explained each feature of the beautifully gilded page.

As we talked, nuns came and went, their soft conversation blending with the sound of the television monitors. Many of the sisters looked long and hard at the illuminations, their noses close to the plexiglass cases. "The illuminations are not illustrations. They are spiritual meditations on a text. It is a very Catholic approach to the Scriptures. It says: ‘look at this.’ It is rich, decorative, colorful." As he talked, he explored how important it was to create a Bible which was grounded in the Roman Catholic experience of reading the Scriptures. He was about to launch into another thought when he looked up. "Oh. I gotta go. The next group is here; I have to do my presentation for them." He popped up, and walked to the middle of the room, where he launched into his spiel again.

Friday, 20 April 2001, 12 noon.
Brother Dietrich Reinhart walked me down to the student dining hall. As president of the university, he’s had a huge influence in getting The Saint John’s Bible started. His manner was friendly and easy-going; he was quick to smile. As we walked into the dining hall, he greeted undergraduates and staff as they passed by. We sat down with our trays and he asked me how my visit was going, about my own career, about how I found life in my parish church. I found myself chatting amiably about my own hopes and fears, my desires for the future, my journey of faith. Twenty minutes into lunch, I suddenly stopped and said, "Wait a minute: you’re doing a fantastic job of interviewing me!" He smiled back. "It helps me feel at ease," he said, and I realized it made us both feel at ease.

We began to discuss how the Bible project had come about, as well as its impact on the community as a whole. In the midst of this, he remarked, "As a historian, I don’t want to live in the past." This project was about big, living issues: "What would happen if we took seriously what we say: I can treat every person I meet as Christ. If we took that literally, think how transforming it would be. Each person I meet has a word of salvation for me." He paused to let that thought sink in. "But the thing is, we’re guys. We’re living a middle class lifestyle. We’re part of a mainline tradition. So we don’t like to wear our faith on our sleeves. We need props: we need vestments and an altar to say sacred words; we need a curriculum to discuss ethics. But when you look at the discussions which take place around The Saint John’s Bible, people allow themselves to say they were moved. People who aren’t ordained find themselves talking about Christ. Very practical, down-to-earth people ask, ‘what about religious art?’" It was just that potential which had made Br. Dietrich such a strong advocate of the project. No wonder he said, "Tonight is a celebration of the non-linear."

Friday, 20 April 2001, 8 pm.
Brass. Massed choirs. Processions. Gregorian chant. Hymns and homilies. The church was packed. The moment of the ceremony had come. Donald and Mabel walked up the central aisle. Donald carried the Gospel page on which Luke 24:13-35 was written: the story of the walk to Emmaus. The page was mounted in a large, cloth-covered frame; golden tassels dangled from its corners. They walked slowly together, up the steps, up, under the hanging canopy, and they placed the page in its frame on the high altar of the Abbey Church.

So quickly, the ceremony was over. The page stood upright on the high altar, its gold and colors shimmering in the light. The crowd surged forward to look more closely. They asked questions; they marveled at the skill of the gilding and the surprising colors. They admired the fineness of the writing. For an hour, people wandered back and forth, talking, looking, greeting one another. And then it was done. The people went home. The carefully made custom packaging came out, and Sally, Olivia, Donald, and Mabel carefully began packing the pages up for their return to Wales. The next day, I would go.

The last thing I saw in the rear view mirror was the bell banner, ringing out for evening prayer.

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