In the earliest light of dawn, we looked out of the monastery windows at a cloister garden covered in branches, trees sagging low under the still increasing weight of growing ice. Limbs kept snapping off and falling, shattering on the casualties lying below.
            Despite a public warning to stay indoors to avoid the danger of falling timber, Father William and I loaded up chainsaws and set out to clear the abbey road. From inside the truck cab, we stared in disbelief at the immensity of the damage. Whole trees had toppled over, roots and all. Some trees were split down the center. We just shook our heads as we made our way to the foot of the hill, stopping alongside the road to cut through obstructing debris.
            We returned to the monastery for noonday prayer covered in gas, oil, mud, blood, sawdust and sweat. After lunch we set out again, only to return at the close of the day feeling depleted. In the urgent clearing that followed the storm, it was difficult to comprehend the extent of the damage. We are still coming to grips with it.
            A sense of loss develops over time. After the initial chaos, dismay set in. Once beautiful hillsides and forest paths were now pocked with absence and twisted piles of brush.
            It’s been almost three months now and we’re still doing cleanup. Brother Jason and I have dubbed ourselves the “chip monks” from pulling the chipper around the hill to grind up yet more limbs. Father William and I have gone through as many chainsaw chains as have been used in the last ten years. We are grateful for neighbors who have lent us backhoes, bobcats and dump trucks. A local pastor offered use of his mill to salvage lumber from over fifteen fallen oaks.
            Prior to entering the monastery, I heard the Lord beckoning me: “Consider the trees.” The noble trees of Mt. Angel Abbey echoed the message while I discerned my vocation. Since entering the community, it has been my practice to stroll the grounds contemplating trees. The spiritual effect is similar to processing down the aisles of grand cathedrals.   
             Trees do not decide where they are planted or how they will grow, which limbs will be pruned or which branches will float in the morning breeze. They cannot flee summer’s heat or winter’s chill. They show no partiality in regards to whom they shade or shelter.
            Monks are uniquely connected to the place where they live. Monasteries have always sought out beautiful locations. After all, if one makes a vow of stability to never leave until death--as do Benedictines--the view better be good! Thus, what happens to our place happens to us all. We feel it deeply and it affects us deeply.
            Mt. Angel Abbey is no stranger to natural disasters. We know what it is like to lose something beautiful. Still, we keep going. We keep working. We keep praying. Indeed, in all circumstances, as instructed by St. Paul the Apostle, we keep singing our praises to God.

[A version of this article appeared in Mt. Angel Letter. Reprinted with permission.]