Taking Lifelong Vows
Taking Lifelong Vows
a guest post from Dori Moody on how vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience can bring a different kind of freedom
Welcome back readers, and welcome, new readers –
For most of the past twenty years Dori and I (both American ex-pats) have been living, working, and raising our children together on the Bruderhof’s Australian community, Danthonia. Dori is an accountant and I’m a teacher, so our paths don’t often cross during the work day. But since our families live next door to each other, we see each other a lot: while we cook meals in the kitchen that’s shared between our apartments, around the campfire that’s a frequent feature outside our house, or just coming and going, we get to share our lives and ideas and stories…always with great anecdotes and laughter, often with a book recommendation thrown in.
For this installment of our substack, we’re sharing an article Dori wrote for the current issue of Plough Quarterly which is on the theme of freedom. Dori’s perspective on this is one that the three of us share (although the details of her story are unique), but we’re guessing it’s one that would be unfamiliar or surprising to some of our readers: how making lifelong vows is a key to freedom. We’ve actually already written on one aspect of this topic (our vow of poverty), but it’s one that’s pretty important to us and we thought you’d appreciate hearing Dori’s story – much like sitting down with her over a cup of tea.
Norann
“Taking Lifelong Vows” by Dori Moody
Raised in a loving family, I knew of God from my first breath. I was part of the third generation to be born in the Bruderhof, a Christian communal movement that began in the 1920s. To me, being a Bruderhof child meant growing up in a happy world, one rich in both family and community.
I loved the group mealtimes with over two hundred people in a large dining hall. It was fun to eat and sing together. Sometimes the older people did skits or performances. Other times children gave recitals. As a community, we had picnics, watched movies, went on hikes, and held church services together. The school allowed for hours of outdoor play – bare feet permitted until the first snowflakes fell; opportunities to ride horses, swim, ski, skate, and toboggan – not to mention the many indoor activities: hours in the pottery studio messing about with clay, or crafting homemade marshmallows in the school kitchen. Wonderful teachers introduced me to literature and art. I loved the library, and I lived in the stories I read.
But a glorious childhood did not prevent me from becoming an egocentric teenager. Perhaps growing up with God, good examples, and the safe boundaries of a close-knit church saved me from some mistakes, but these did not save me from selfishness. I was aware that the sacrifices adults who lived in community made were real: they gave up their money and time, and they devoted all hours of the day to each other and God. I was not interested in that. After a turbulent junior year, I dropped out of high school, kissed goodbye the supportive efforts of my parents, and flew to a smaller Bruderhof in Germany.
Far from home, I cheerfully set about doing exactly as I wished. I found friends who, like me, pushed away the big decisions, choosing instead the momentary dissipation of youth. It was easy for me to turn on the loving people who raised me, and mock people who did not measure up to my idea of “normal.” I laughed at the old-world costume Bruderhof members wore, and I disparaged their morals as prudish piety. Despite attending church services and communal meals, I closed my ears to Christianity. How simple it was to oversleep, get away with minimal work, and live purposelessly, even on a Bruderhof community. But in my freedom from limits and obligations, I became desperately unhappy.
Secretly I envied the joy of my parents and others members outside my clique. It irritated me that they could be so fulfilled in what I saw as their narrow lives. I pined for similar joy, but what I really wanted was for God to make me happy with no effort on my part. Guilt gave me a stomachache. I did not sleep well, and I wagered with God at night. I promised him things in exchange for sleep, and then took back the promises in daylight.
One midnight, the dam broke. Desperate for peace, I arranged an appointment with my pastor and his wife. When the dreaded time came in the morning, my face glowed with shame as I poured out the lies and deceptions that had churned my guts, keeping me wide-eyed in the dark of night. Smiling faces, kind eyes, reassurance met my humiliation. The pastor offered not judgment, but hopeful words. His wife simply offered understanding: “You must have been so unhappy.” Their words restored my shattered confidence.
I spoke out my sins initially for relief from torment. But the act of confession gave birth to contrition. I felt sorry for how I had hurt God, my parents, my peers. Remorse gave me a new outlook. I understood for the first time that God required something of me, and, grateful to be released from the weight of guilt, I wished only to serve the God who truly frees.
Alas, in an earnest desire to be perfect for God, I tumbled from repentance not to peace, but frustration and despair. As the saying goes, the devil really was in the details.
Prioritizing perfection unleashed two new fiends. Devil One pointed out other people’s failings. Suddenly those around me did not measure up to my ideals. In the past my friends’ and coworkers’ shortcomings had not bothered me at all. Now I had no patience for their weaknesses.
When I was not annoyed at others, Devil Two kept me perpetually afraid of people’s opinions. I followed Christ’s commandments not out of love, but because I wanted to be seen as correct. I feared the reaction of those around me more than the quiet voice of God inside me. Fear, not love, drove me to serve.
Joy left me. I made radical changes in my life – avoiding the music and literature I loved, abandoning pursuits such as sports and social gatherings, and resolving each day not to waste a moment on myself. At every turn, I set about sacrificing myself for God and others. In a sense, these years were probably the most upright of my life – and the most miserable. How well I understood Martin Luther’s complaint that “if one were to confess his sins in a timely manner, he would have to carry a confessor in his pocket!” I could not escape relentless temptations, and I felt ill-used by a God who wielded a mighty refining tool.
How strenuous to be good!
Now to read the rest of the article and find out what happened to Dori, click here.
Things we’re doing / enjoying
Trudi – in Spring Valley, southwest Pennsylvania
I’m enjoying a change of scenery in my work. Instead of a kindergarten class, I have a student-support role in our middle and junior-high school. Besides some tutoring and caring for students with health challenges, I join the kids for extracurricular activities such as outdoor exercise and games, and the occasional field trip. I have custodial duties as well but the students learn to care for their own classrooms: sweeping daily, mopping once a week, wiping the desks, dusting the chalkboard ledge, emptying the trash. The work is done quickly—or not so quickly if they get distracted. I’ve also discovered that unlike me, young teenagers like to make the cleaning experience as dramatic as possible. They use the chance to expend vocal energy with a lot of talking and singing (the songs they are learning in chorus) and general verbal excitement.
Perhaps my most hectic but favorite weekly experience is an afternoon baking class with a few twelve and thirteen-year-olds. The other students do other activities such as arts&crafts, wood working, and pottery. Our recent focus was pie-making with a goal of extra-flaky crust and a beautifully crimped edge. They do amazingly well. Today, each student went proudly home (they try to hide their pride of course) with a fresh pumpkin pie and an unbaked apple pie. Next week it will be another pastry of their choice. I love watching them learn—or rather teaching them—skills that they will use into adulthood.
Norann - in Danthonia, New South Wales, Australia
I’ve been awash in baby joy this last week as dear friends asked us to support them as they welcomed their son.
It’s been a gift to offer the new mother stretches of uninterrupted nap-time, fold nappies, catch up on the housekeeping, or care for their other children.
It’s a gift I was given as a new mother in community, and it’s one I want to pay forward.
Marianne – in Woodcrest, upstate New York
Yesterday we celebrated our Oktoberfest, which here at Woodcrest is an afternoon-long community picnic sponsored by Woodcrest 5th – 8th grades and their teachers. Preparations started in earnest late on the evening before, with a festive gathering around the firepit where the pigs – which are stuffed with fruit and have been marinating in pear juice for a couple days – start roasting. Dads and sons took shifts turning the spits through the night: we got the 5:00 – 6:00 slot, by which time the roast already smelled wonderful, and an informal breakfast party assembled around fire. The morning was spent making pretzels in the community kitchen and setting up for the afternoon: an obstacle course for the younger school children, apple-pie making and cookie decorating booths, tables for the food and places for people to eat.
When the weather is good (and yesterday it was perfect) there are few finer days in the year – you can read a more detailed description of a Bruderhof Oktoberfest here and maybe you’ll be inspired to come join us some year!
That’s all for now folks. Enjoy the season you’re in!