August/September 2010

The abbey of Senanque lies in a small valley fed by the river Senancole, nestled among fields of lavender and wheat. Its architecture reveals all of the austerity and pragmatism of twelfth century Cistercian architecture: there is no stained glass, no color except that of natural stone, no decoration except for the simple carved leaves surmounting the tapered stone columns. There is one subtle act of defiance, however. On a column outside the chapter room, where the community gathered every day for prayer, instruction and discussion, there is the carved head of a tarasque, the lion-faced, serpent-tailed monster of local legend. The demon is visible only from the abbot’s place in the assembly, so that every time he raised his eyes and looked outside, he met its gaze.

The explanation generally supplied draws on a common medieval theme: the carving was a constant reminder to the abbot of 1 Peter 5:8: “your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour”. Perhaps it was meant to check the abbot’s tongue and temper when he was tempted to flare!

But the “Golden Legend” of the tarasque suggests another possibility: after terrorizing people for years, it was finally tamed by St. Martha, who by singing hymns and treating the beast gently, led it to the nearest town. When people saw the beast approaching, however, they attacked and killed it; the monster offered no resistance and died without struggle. Martha’s subsequent preaching converted the town, which changed its name to Tarascon, a town about thirty miles to the west of Senanque. And so perhaps the carving was meant to recall to the abbot that by freely accepting attack and injury, even death, the tarasque had prepared souls for conversion.

These are both plausible interpretations, but the tarasque still intrigues me, because I don’t think it was all about the abbot! He may have been the only one to see the gargoyle during chapter, but every member of the community had to face it when they left. Perhaps the frightening demon represented the fears always swirling around the Christian assembly, always standing outside looking for an invitation in, always waiting for isolation to pounce. I prefer to imagine that the tarasque reminded the whole community of the struggles that awaited them when they left the safety of chapter and returned to the loneliness, the repetitiveness, the vulnerability of their days, and urged them all to gentleness and encouragement.

Like those monks, in our time together we try to model confidence and joy, we try to offer balm and support, we try to function out of the serene security that here we are safe and treasured, knowing that sooner or later each of us has to confront the very real demons of fear that threaten to destroy our peace. And like them, we can do that because we believe in a God without shadow or threat of violence, a God who is utterly trustworthy and who wills only what is best for us, a God who unceasingly redeems and restores what is lost and broken, and whose benign providence governs our lives and our world and all creation.

TPG+

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