Fourth of July
July 4, 2025, Miles 86-102
Ortonville, MI: As I ride along, I am trying to process our stay at the Lutheran Monastery. Even their website says, “Lutheran Monastery?”
The experience plays and replays in my head. First of all-- the site is beautifully vibrant and alive. Perched on the rise that separates the Clinton from the Flint drainage.—I guess? Surrounded by a mature Carolinian Forest: Oaks, Butternuts, Catalpa. It must be near the north end of their range.
The cast:
The aforementioned Andy, who when I ask about the silence
protocol, smiles, then laughs, then says, “You have to ask Brother Richard.”
Are there mandated silent times?
Yes.
Most of the day is held in silence, with regular, indeed
unceasing, repetition of a body of psalms and prayers, sung in chant for the
last 2000 years. Now in English, but the
same cycle of psalms, read each day, along with a few other readings, and
lessons, and gospels.
I asked, “Why the specific adherence to the same prayers,
over and over?” Especially the Old Testament Psalms with all their griping,
calls for assistance and revenge, and admonitions to “fear God.”
Bishop Jeffrey says, “We don’t say these prayers for
ourselves. I might not be upset about an
unfaithful friend, but somewhere in the world, somebody is.”
Brother Richard says, “If we were expected to create own
prayers from our own experience, it would be dull very quickly. These prayers have been said for
more than 2000 years. They resonate in
ways no personal prayer could.”
I persist, “But why?
What does all this attention to repetition and order do?’
Bishop Jeffrey says, “We practice the charism of prayer itself.” I say, “I have heard of the
charism of healing, or teaching, or mercy, or hospitality, but not prayer.”
Bishop Jeffrey laughs, “You have described several different
orders. Our work in the world is praying
constantly for the good of all the world.”
I ask, “And do you have Works, too?”
Bishop Jeffrey smiles at me, “We host people like you.”
I still have so many questions. “Who pays for all of this? How could this community build this new
chapel.” “Why are Lutherans praying an
ancient Catholic order?” “Who chooses
who stays here and how is it paid for.”
But all this seems rude and intrusive, so I stop and eat the
rest of my dinner in silence.
During the ritual prayers, there are multiple standings and
sittings. But Richard McSherry does not
rise, except to walk back to the lodging, something slightly askew in his
gait. It reminds me of Wes’ off-kilter
gait.
Which is why it is amazing that is Wes so balanced on a
bicycle. The biking is making him get
that right hip in motion. On the first
days of the trip, he could not continuously pedal. Each press was a single
independent motion.
But today, we ride from the monastery to an Airbnb in
Ortonville, a distance of about 16 miles.
We were able to do it in one pass, without a break.
That is--if you overlook the latte and ice cream heaven we
found at Cook’s Farm Dairy in the middle of farm country. Inside their newly opened (air-conditioned!)
ice cream pavilion, we delighted in fresh homemade ice cream, which we both
think is better than Hudsonville, our favorite.
One of the delights of the stop, a tiny girl, not yet two
years old, waddled directly over to Heidi, and touched her nose. Heidi then licked her finger. She laughed.
She was wearing a daisy be-speckled sundress and panties…
and a bonnet that couldn’t keep up with her.
Her dad, a farmer uber-mensch explains, “She just signed, “Dog, dog,” which he
demonstrates clapping his open hand on his thigh.
Then he laughed, delighted.
“That’s what she signed when she saw the calves in the barn. Dogs, dogs then the sign for a
question.” He was thrilled that she was
applying her language skills.
We linger as long as possible, dreading the return to the
searing heat. While we are packing Heidi
into her crate, the family’s boy of about 5, who was larking about on a picnic
table, slips and falls to the ground.
Wailing, he runs to his father for comfort, who wraps him in his arms on
his lap. The tiny girl signs something,
and the mother says, touching her heart.
“He’s all right.”
The lodging in Ortonville is a lovely apartment with
air-conditioning! After showering and
settling in, I leave Wes and the dog to go to the grocery store, packed with
shoppers on this supposed holiday. It is
only 3pm when I return to the apartment.
The temperature is over 90 degrees.
We are happy to be inside.
We are far from the town fireworks, but Heidi is still
scared. She finds a front closet in
which to hide. And we’re glad to be
cool and comfortable.
------------------------------------------------------------
Generica
July 5, Miles 102-119
We are bemused by the sign over the desk, announcing “No Pets.” I am certain the website said pets were accepted. We sneak Heidi in the back door and find ourselves in the most generic motel room you can imagine. I am struck by the passive-aggressive sign in the bathroom.
It is early and it is hot. It is miles from any attraction, and we don’t
want to bike anywhere as it is almost 100 degrees. I wash clothes in the noisiest and hottest
washer and dryer. I think the
temperature selections are for show only.
I keep Heidi with me in the laundry room, so Wes can have the manager
come fix the television. We don’t have a
TV at home and don’t miss it, but here in Generica, bored and lonely, it is a
requirement. We send out for chain
restaurant food and are underwhelmed by its high calories and little
taste.
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