The Holy Rule of Saint Augustine – Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Observance of the Rule

48. The Lord grant you may joyfully observe all these things as lovers of spiritual beauty and fragrant with the good odour of Christ by the goodness of your life: not as slaves under the law but as free under grace.

49. Now, that you may see yourselves in this little book as in a mirror, and in order that nothing may be neglected through forgetfulness, it shall be read to you once a week. And where you find yourselves doing what has been written, give thanks to God the giver of all good things. But where anyone sees that he is wanting, let him repent for the past and take heed in the future, praying that his fault be forgiven and he be not led into temptation.

Amen.

The Holy Rule of Saint Augustine – Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Manner of Commanding and Obeying

44. Obey your superior as a father, but especially the priest who takes care of you all. 45. In order that all these things will be observed, and if anything has been observed less faithfully, it will not be passed over carelessly but carefully amended and corrected. It shall be the special duty of the superior to refer such things as exceed his authority and ability to the priest who holds the greater authority among you.

46. Let the superior consider himself happy, not because of his power to rule, but for his opportunity to rule in charity. Let him hold a position of honor in your midst, but before God let him lie prostrate at your feet. He shall show himself in all things an example of good works. He shall restrain the restless, comfort the downhearted, care for the sick and be patient with all. Let him eagerly observe discipline but impose it with holy fear. And although both are necessary, he should seek to be loved rather than feared by you, always mindful that he shall have to render an account for you before God.

47. Be, therefore, the more obedient out of compassion not only for yourselves but also for him, because the higher his position among you, so much greater is the danger in which he lives.

The Holy Rule of Saint Augustine – Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Asking Pardon and Forgiving Offenses

41. Let there be no quarrels among you, or if they arise, end them as soon as possible, lest your anger grow into hatred, making of a mote a beam, and render the soul guilty of murder. For thus you read: “He that hateth his brother is a murderer,” (John III,15). 42. Whoever has offended another by an invective, an evil wish, or slander should hasten to make amends as soon as possible; and he that has been offended should forgive without reproaches. But if both are guilty of offense, both must forgive each other. And this on account of your prayers which must be the better the more often you pray. He that is tempted to anger, yet hastens to ask forgiveness from him whom he has offended, is better than he that is slower in becoming angry, but is less readily disposed to ask pardon. He that refuses to forgive his brother may not hope for any fruits from his prayers. But he that never asks pardon, or does not ask from his heart, is in the monastery to no purpose, even though he is not expelled. Refrain therefore, from harsh words; but if such have come forth from your mouth, let it not be too much for you to offer the remedy just as you have caused the wound.

43. But when you are compelled to use harsh words by any necessity of curbing irregularities of discipline, you are not obliged to ask pardon of your subjects, lest by too great humility your authority be weakened with those who must obey. But forgiveness must be sought from the Lord of all who knows your kindness even toward those whom you have rebuked perhaps more than is just. However, not sensual but spiritual must your love for each other be.

The Holy Rule of Saint Augustine – Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

The Goods Needed in this Passing Life and Those Charged with Their Care

30. Your clothes shall be kept in one place under the charge of one or two or as many as may be required to care for them, lest they be spoiled by the moths. And as you are fed by one kitchen, so you shall be clothed from one wardrobe. If possible, it shall not be left to you to decide which garment, according to the requirement of the seasons, be assigned to you: whether you receive the same that you turned in or another which one of the brethren had worn; as long as no one is denied what he needs. But if contention and murmuring arise among you through someone’s complaint that he has received a poorer garment than he had worn before, and he resent not being clothed so well as someone else: then learn from this, how much you are still wanting in that inner garment of the soul, quarrelling as you do about the clothing of the body. But if consideration is shown to your weakness, and you are given the same garment which you had laid off, you must still keep in one place under the charge of those appointed whatever clothing you put off.

31. Let no one do anything for himself. All things should be done for the community with greater attention and ready cheerfulness than if each one were working for himself. Charity of which it is written that it seeks not its own, is thus to be understood: that it puts the common good before private advantage, not private advantage before the common good. Know, therefore, that your progress is the greater, the more you are intent on the common good instead of your own. Let charity which abides forever, reign supreme in all things required by the passing needs of this life.

32. Hence, if anyone brings to his children or relative in the monastery clothing or any other useful object, this must not be received secretly but must be handed to the superior, that it may be made common property and given to him who needs it. He that conceals a gift shall be condemned as guilty of theft.

33. The cleaning and conditioning of your garments may be done in the monastery or in professional laundries. But the question of propriety as to the neat appearance of your clothing shall be decided by your superior, lest an inordinate desire for elegant attire cause interior defilement of your soul.

34. Neither shall the body be denied the proper hygienic care according to the requirements of good health. Let the directions of the physician be carried out without objections. If anyone refuses to comply he must, upon the command of the superior, do what is necessary for his health. If he should desire what is perhaps not good, his wish shall not be fulfilled. For also harmful things are sometimes believed to be good because they are pleasant.

35. In the case of an ailment which does not externally appear, the complaint of the Servant of God should be believed without mistrust. But if it is not certain that the remedy he desires is helpful, the physician shall be consulted.

36. In going to the public-health baths or wherever it may be necessary to go, no fewer than two or three should go together. And he that is required to go somewhere must go with those whom the superior appoints.

37. The care of the sick and convalescent or those suffering from any weakness of health, even without fever, must be assigned to one who shall request from the dispensary whatever he deems necessary for each one.

38. Let those who are in charge of the kitchen, clothing or books serve their brethren without grumbling.

39. The books should be asked for at a certain hour each day. He who ask for them outside this hour shall not receive them.

40. But clothing and shoes must be given to those who need them without delay by those in charge.

The Holy Rule of Saint Augustine – Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Safeguarding Chastity and Fraternal Correction

19. Let your clothing not be conspicuous. Do not seek to please by the garment you wear but by the life you live.

20. When you go out, go together. When you have reached your destination remain together.

21. Let there be nothing in your gait, posture, comportment or any of your movements, that might offend anyone’s eye. Let your manners be such as are becoming your holy state.

22. When you see a woman let your eye not be fixed on her. When you go out, you are not forbidden to see women. But to desire to see them or to wish for such desires on their part, is sinful. For not only by touch and affection, but also by glances such desires are aroused, and arise also in the women. Therefore, do not say that your minds are pure if your eyes are not, because an impure eye reveals an impure heart. When by an exchange of glances, though the tongue be silent, the hearts indicate their impurity and delight in each other’s ardent desire of the flesh, there is no chastity in such behavior, even though the bodies are not defiled by impure touches.

23. Neither must he who fixes his eye on a woman and is pleased to have hers fixed on himself, imagine that he is not observed by others while he does this. He is indeed seen, and by the very ones whom he thinks unaware of it. But granted that it remains unnoticed and no one on earth sees it, what will he do about Him who looks down from heaven and from whom no thing can remain hidden? May He be thought to disregard it because He looks on with a patience that is as great as His understanding? Let the religious fear to displease Him lest he desire to please a woman in a sinful manner. Indeed it is to such persons and in such things that fear is recommended by Sacred Scripture where it says: “An abomination before the Lord is he who turns his eye unto evil.”

24. When, therefore, you are together in the church or wherever there are women, safeguard each other’s modesty. For God who dwells in you will also in this manner protect you through yourselves.

25. If you observe this wantonness of the eye, of which I speak in anyone of you, admonish him at once, in order that the evil begun may not progress but be corrected as soon as possible.

26. But if after the admonition or on any other occasion you see him again doing the same, it is necessary that whoever observed it make it known, for he is wounded and in need of healing. But first one or two others should be told that they may convince themselves. Thus he can be convicted out of two or three and curbed with proper severity. Do not think that you act maliciously in making this known. Indeed, you are not without blame if by your silence you permit your brethren to perish, whom you might correct by making them known. For if your brother had a wound in his body which he would wish to hide from fear of an incision, would it not be cruel of you to keep the secret, but merciful to reveal it? How much more then, ought you to make him known lest he suffer worse corruption in his heart.

27. But before his fault is revealed to others, by whom he is to be convicted in case he denies it, the matter should be brought to the attention of the superior if he fails to amend after the admonition. Thus he may be reproved in private and his fault remain unknown to the others. But if he denies it, then the others must be brought in that he may be accused before the whole community not only by one witness but by two or three and, thus, stand convicted. The one convicted must submit to the penalty decreed for his amendment by the superior or also the priest to whose ministry such decisions pertain. If he refuses to bear it, and yet does not leave of his own accord, let him be expelled from your midst. This also is not done out of cruelty but out of mercy, lest he ruin many others by his evil influence.

28. Let what I have said about the restraint of the eye be diligently and faithfully observed in the discovery, prevention, manifestation, proving, and punishment of all other sins: with charity for the neighbour, but with hatred for sin.

29. If anyone has gone so far in his sin as to receive letters or presents secretly from a woman: if he confesses it of his own accord, let him be forgiven and let prayers be said for him. But if he is apprehended and convicted, let him be severely corrected according to the judgment of the priest or superior.

The Holy Rule of Saint Augustine – Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Simplicity of Life and Mortification of the Flesh

14. Subdue your flesh by fasting from meat and drink, so far as your health permits. But if anyone is not able to fast, at least let him take no food out of meal time, unless he is sick.

15. While you are at table, listen without disturbance and dispute to the customary reading. For not only your palate should be gratified by taking food, but your ears likewise should relish hearing the word of God.

16. If those who are weak because of their former condition of life receive special food, this must not arouse ill-feeling in others, nor appear unjust to those whom another condition of life has made stronger. Neither should they consider the former more fortunate for receiving something which they themselves do not receive. They should feel happy that they can bear what these cannot endure.

17. And if those who come to the monastery from a softer way of life are given food, clothing, beds, and covers which are not given to others who are sturdier and, therefore, more fortunate, the ones who are not granted these things must consider how much those others have given up of their former secular way of life, although they have not yet been able to reach the simplicity of those who are stronger in body. All should not expect the same consideration they see a few receiving, because these are not thereby honored but treated with tolerant patience. Else there might arise the detestable abuse that in the monastery the rich are subjected to many hardships and the poor become self-indulgent.

18. As the sick must receive less in order to avoid any strain on them, so their treatment after sickness must be such as to hasten their recovery, even though they come from the poorest condition in the world. For sickness puts them in the same condition as the former habit of life in the case of the rich. But when they have recovered their former strength, let them return to the happier manner of life which is the more becoming for the Servants of God the less they need. The pleasing taste for food should not hold sway over those restored to health who in their sickness had need for relief. They should esteem those the richer who in sustaining poverty are stronger. For it is better to have fewer needs than to enjoy things beyond what is necessary.

The Holy Rule of Saint Augustine – Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Prayer

10. Be diligent in prayer at the appointed hours and times.

11. Let no one do anything in the oratory, except that for which it was made, whence also it has received its name, so that if anyone wish to pray there in his free time, outside the appointed hours, he be not disturbed by those who think it necessary to do something else there.

12. When you pray to God in psalms and hymns, let your heart be occupied with what your lips pronounce.

13. And do not sing, except what you find set down for singing. But what is not so marked shall not be sung.

The Holy Rule of Saint Augustine – Chapter 1

The Holy Rule of Life of our Father, Saint Augustine

1. Above all things, dearest brethren, love God, and after Him your neighbor. For these are the main commandments given to us. 2. The following are the things we command you to observe in the monastery.

CHAPTER ONE

Purpose and Foundation of the Common Life

3. The first purpose for which you have been brought together is that in living in one house you be of one mind and that you have one heart and soul in God.

4. Do not call anything your own, but let all things be in common. Let food and clothing be distributed to each one of you by your superior, not in equal measure to all, because you are not all of the same health, but so as to provide for each one according to his need. For thus you read in the Acts of the Apostles: they had all things in common and distribution was made to everyone according to his need. (Acts. IV, 32,35)

5. Let those who had possessions in the world freely consent, when they enter the monastery, that these be put to the common use.

6. But let those who possessed nothing not look for things in the monastery which they were unable to have in the world. Nevertheless, all needful care of their infirmities must be provided, though their poverty in the world deprived them of their very necessaries. However, let them not consider themselves fortunate for having found food and clothing such as they were not able to obtain in the world.

7. They should not lift up their heads for being associated with those whom they would not have dared to approach in the world. Let them raise their hearts to God, instead of seeking earthly and vain things. Else the monasteries would be useful to the rich but not to the poor, because the rich would there be humbled, while the poor become proud.

8. On the other hand, let those who seemed to be something in the world not look down upon their brethren who have come from poverty to this holy society. They should rather strive to glory, not in the honored station of their wealthy parents, but in the society of their poor brethren. Neither should they be proud if they bestowed any of their possessions on the community, lest the sharing of their wealth in the monastery fill them with worse pride than its enjoyment in the world. For every other vice brings forth its own evil work, but pride ensnares even good deeds and destroys them. Indeed, what does it profit to renounce wealth by giving to the poor and becoming poor oneself, if the wretched soul becomes prouder by the contempt of wealth than in its possession?

9. Be, therefore, all of one mind and live in harmony, and honor in one another God whose temple you have become.

COR UNUM

Ten Characteristics of Augustinian Spirituality

1. The search for God
A longing, or desire, for a deeper meaning to life, a kind of homesickness for God is interwoven with our lives. Only when a person enquires about God, seeks him, desires him, and goes towards him, does he find meaning and fulfillment for his life. If Augustine were alive today he might say ‘ A religious is a person who has determined to seek God and God’s kingdom in everything.’ Augustine prayed once : “Let me not grow tired of seeking you “. (De Trinitate. XV 28, 51)

2. Love as the centre of Christian life
Augustine’s spirituality is characterized by the fact that the light, in which he views the whole Gospel, is love, the New Song of the New Testament. Everything can be reduced to love. All forms of wrongdoing are to be reduced to false self-love. The opposite to this self-love is ‘agape’, the love that justifiably enjoys what is really enjoyable, both human and Divine. Every virtue can be reduced to love – if we are happy, is it not because we love someone? Love provides us with an orientation in life. For Augustine, true virtue consists in ordering love properly.

3. Love of God as love of each other
A change of vision for Augustine from a sharp distinction between love of God and of people, to, ‘authentic love for a human being is at the some time love of God’. ‘Honor God in each other’ is the worship of God. God is love; and love is the same as our human love. Our love for a human being is far more concrete than our love of God. It is harder to delude ourselves here, we become more conscious of our failures.

4. The parable of the Last Judgement (Matthew 25)
For Augustine the Christian Adventure consists in experiencing love of God as love for each other. Love of neighbor is the sole norm. We meet God in people. Building up community among people becomes the most important motif in Augustine’s spirituality.

5. Christian community and friendship
Poverty means a’community of goods’ or ‘sober living’ for Augustine – to share with the other person, both material goods and spiritual goods. Sober life helps the community to contribute to helping the needy outside the community. Celibacy is seen as being totally available for the Other. Obedience, or willingness to listen, are acts of love, listening is an act of compassion, authority is the serving of a group. The communitarian ideal culminates in friendship which after love of neighbor (does not ask for a response) is the highest form of human relationship (mutual love, loving and being loved.)

6. The love of Scripture
One of the great services Augustine renders to the spiritual life of his followers is to bring them to Scripture and to help them develop a thirst for the Word of God. Paul and John are the focus of much of Augustine’s challenge from Scripture. The words of Paul, “Put on the Lord Jesus Christ,” burned within him.

7. Interiority
Augustine saw himself as a facilitator from without. The real teacher was within. “To me your ears, to Him your heart, that both may be filled.” [ John 1.7 ] Augustine’s conviction that a person must return to his heart if he hopes to find God. Returning to your heart has different shades of meaning. First, it is a return to your senses and stop wayward behavior. Secondly, it has to do with the image of God within. Generally it deals with not being able to find God if one does not find oneself. The God who dwells able to find God if one does not find oneself. The God who dwells within is an active God.

8. The Total Christ
Augustine never stopped searching for the Christ he found a first time in so dramatic a way as the moment of conversion when he “put on the Lord Jesus Christ.” Augustine continued to find Him, to be possessed by Him more fully.
If Augustine can speak of Christians as other Christs, it is because he looks beyond the birth of the Child Jesus for the full meaning of the Incarnation of Jesus into the human race. Every Christian shares in the Incarnation. They are carriers of Christ in every aspect of their lives.

9. Faith-Hope-Love
To know of Augustine’s sense of wonder and awe at the “Whole Christ” is to be ready to understand that his great drive in his life was to know man and to know God. To know man was to know God. Augustine’s theology of the theological virtues of faith, hope and love is really the key to his entire spirituality. He sees these three virtues as both gifts and actions of God, the Almighty acting in creatures in ways they are incapable of acting on their own. Through faith, God makes Himself present to human beings. This faith is bound up with hope and love. These three virtues or powers are divine actions that have their origin in eternity and their effect in time. They allow mere humans to be transformed and achieve an initial union with God while continuing to live in and be limited by the world.

10. Grace and Freedom
Perfect love gives perfect freedom and both are the result of grace. Augustine taught that every aspect of the spiritual life, every step of the way, is a gift of God. This is the first meaning of grace for him. The second is that grace is a person: Christ given to us that we may live. Freedom comes to the faithful through grace. Christ makes people free. He is God’s love made present to humankind. The more He is allowed to take hold in the lives of Christians, the freer they become. For Augustine this freedom supersedes freedom of choice. For him, the greatest freedom is to have no choice at all.

Benedict’s Rule and Commentary 73

 

Taken from Holy Rule Daily Meditation

73: On the Fact That the Full Observance of Justice Is Not
Established in This Rule

Now we have written this Rule
in order that by its observance in monasteries
we may show that we have attained some degree of virtue
and the rudiments of the religious life.

But for those who would hasten to the perfection of that life
there are the teaching of the holy Fathers,
the observance of which leads to the height of perfection.
For what page or what utterance
of the divinely inspired books of the Old and New Testaments
is not a most unerring rule for human life?
Or what book of the holy Catholic Fathers
does not loudly proclaim
how we may come by a straight course to our Creator?
Then the Conferences and the Institutes
and the Lives of the Fathers,
as also the Rule of our holy Father Basil —
what else are they but tools of virtue
for right-living and obedient monks?
But for us who are lazy and ill-living and negligent
they are a source of shame and confusion.

Whoever you are, therefore,
who are hastening to the heavenly homeland,
fulfil with the help of Christ
this minimum Rule which we have written for beginners;
and then at length under God’s protection
you will attain to the loftier heights of doctrine and virtue
which we have mentioned above.

REFLECTION

“Whoever you are, therefore, who are hastening to the heavenly
homeland…” That “whoever” is the true object all this heartfelt
tenderness of Saint Benedict , the one for whom he wrote! He only
made one qualifier, that of “hastening to the heavenly homeland.” It
seems that some of our decisions about who matters and who does not
have employed a somewhat more restrictive standard than that of our
holy Father Benedict.

“Whoever you are…” I don’t care who you are or how much I disagree
with you, whether I nearly hate your positions or love them blindly,
it is you I am called to love, to honor to respect, to cherish as a
fellow monastic traveler. You.

“Whoever you are…” I surely don’t care whether you’re Catholic or
not, in fact I am relieved and delighted that many of you on board
are not! I surely don’t care if you are not exactly the same sort of
Catholic as I am, it doesn’t matter to me. You do. You have to,
because this is the Holy Rule I have embraced, that we all have.

In the United States, through much of our history, Catholics and Jews
shared a roughly equal amount of contempt. Great camaraderie could
flourish between the two and still quite often does. Having said
that, it has always amused me that many Jews I know get along MUCH
better with Catholics than they do with Jews who disagree with them!
How like ourselves!

When disagreement happens within our family, we hurt more, it is more
important to us. The differing opinion of a stranger on the subway
would hardly matter at all! Maybe the fact that we CAN get hurt and
angry is a good sign, maybe it means we are at least beginning to
love, but it is HOW we get hurt or angry that we have to examine
very, very closely.

The important thing is not opinion or observance or concepts. The
important thing is you. Whoever you are. Every time I fail that, I
have to get up, apologize and start over. Maybe not right from square
one each time, but again each time.

If I ever stop doing those things, I have stopped being a
Benedictine. Whoever you are, but it’s not just me that has to
embrace that. You do, too. We all do. I am the only one I can insist
upon, however, the only one I can make change, and that might be good
to keep in mind, whoever you are.

Love and prayers,
Jerome, OSB
http://www.stmarysmonastery.org

Sunday by Sunday 52

“Musings about a worship service”

We are at the last Sunday in the year. Today at church is our covenant service. A time to renew baptismal promises and vows. I’m going to the service this morning with these ten things in my mind. (Indeed these things are not just exclusive to covenant services, they should form an approach to all times of structured worship.)

When attending any worship service, the importance of space and time are important. The” what are we doing here?” Question. Here is some humble guidance for worshipers. and some dictionary definitions that might be helpful. This humble advice is in no order of hierarchy, but just as it came to me, just as I thought about it

A worship service is a time to………….

1. …Re- focus.

Dictionary Definition. – Refocus….

“….focus once again; focus anew; put again into focus or focus more sharply; “refocus the image until it is very sharp”

A time to (in the words of John the baptist) “Behold the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” To seek God first and to take in the enormity of his love.

2. …Remember others.

Dictionary Definition – Remember….

“to recall, think of again, to retain in the memory, to bear (a person) in mind, to mention (a person) to another, to remind”

A time to commit ourselves to community life and walking intentionally together, with each other as a church. To be thankful that the Christian journey is best done with others. (Using the Emmaus road passage, would seem to me to be a good place to start when thinking of the Christian journey.)

3. …Re-imagine.

Dictionary Definition – Re-imagine….

“to form, to think, believe, or fancy, to assume; suppose, to conjecture; guess, to plan, scheme, or plot”

A time to dream dreams, to think of what might be. To have hope inspired and to have vision enlarged. A time to take to heart the gospel mandate to “Go into all the world”A time to make plans.

4. …Restore.

Dictionary Definition – Restore…..

“to bring back into existence, to bring back to a former, original, or normal condition, to bring back to a state of health, soundness, or vigour, to put back to a former place, or to a former position, rank, to give back; make return or restitution, to reproduce or reconstruct in the original state.”

A time to put right any relationships that have gone wrong. A time to give forgiveness and mercy and to receive forgiveness and mercy. A time to confess sin to God and to receive absolution from him by his Spirit.

5. …Rejoice.

Dictionary Definition – Rejoice…….

“to be glad; take delight, to make joyful; gladden: a song to rejoice the heart. to revel, to exult, to glory.”

A time to praise God that he is with us, that the “Immanuel” of the Christmas Story is also the “Immanuel” who is with us through life. A time to be thankful that we who were not God’s people, have become God’s people; we who were strangers and pilgrims to the things of God have been welcomed in, by his great hospitality.

6. …Re-fuel.

Dictionary Definition – Refuel……

“Re” – to supply again with fuel, to take on a fresh supply of fuel, provide with additional fuel, from re- “again” + fuel, “Fuel “ – combustible matter used to maintain fire, something that gives nourishment; food, an energy source, something that sustains or encourages, to obtain or replenish fuel. sustenance, impetus, stimulus.”

“A time to take in supplies” So that we may maintain the fire. We all do this in different ways. the way I do this is to listen to the words of songs, prayers, Lectio Divina, (Or God’s word preached) The hospitality of the coffee and refreshments after service is an important time of fellowship and catching up. A time for breaking out in community. All this for me is re-fueling.

7. … Renovate.

Dictionary Definition – Renovate……

“to restore to good condition; make new or as if new again; repair, to reinvigorate; refresh; revive, remodelling, make brighter and prettier, give new life or energy to”

This really has to do with the matters of the heart. This can be a time of inner maintenance. Of course we all know that this should last longer that one worship service. A time (Intentionally before God)to strip away the blockages in our hearts. A time to admit to ourselves and God that more serious work needs to be done with the heart. A Time to “Make new”, not “Make do”

8. …Reflect.

Dictionary Definition – Reflect…….

“to cast back, to give back or show an image of, mirror., to reproduce; show, to throw or cast back; cause to return or rebound, to think, ponder, or meditate, deliberate, muse, consider, cogitate, contemplate.

This could take a number of forms. But two forcibly spring to mind. Reflecting on the “HOW” and the “WHO”. Taking time to reflect on how things might change, is a good thing to do, there may be things that we do in life that have been seen a a great chore and duty and we might want to invest in those things so that they might become a pleasure to us. Reflecting on the “HOW” will enable us to road map the changes that need to be made, and plan for change, rather than stumble upon it. Reflecting on the “WHO”- A time to reflect on (Largeness) – who God is, what he is to me, A time to reflect on his character and nature. Also a time to reflect on the (Smallness) who I am in Christ, my short comings, failures, inabilities etc..

9. …Reform. “Semper Reformanda” – “Always Reforming”

Dictionary Definition – Reform…….

amend, better, clean up, convert, correct, cure, emend, improve, make amends, make over, mend, rearrange, reclaim, reconstitute, reconstruct, rectify, redeem, refashion rehabilitate, remake, remedy, remodel, renew, shape up, standardize, swear off, transform, uplift

In a covenant service, indeed in any worship service, there is always an opportunity to reform. Having had an opportunity to re-focus we need to re-form, to amend, to reclaim and be corrected, there is no better reforming done, than that of a well preached sermon, or a testimony someone has given, or a well said prayer, or a song from the heart.

10. Re-build.

Dictionary Definition – Rebuild…..

to repair, esp. to dismantle and reassemble with new parts, to replace, restrengthen, or reinforce, to revise, reshape, or reorganize, build again.

A time to dismantle, and to re-build our theology, our missiology, our ecclesiology. In effect having encountered the living God there is always a need to re-shape and re-build for the future. Many speak of “a time of resolution” at years end, with the new year looming a resolve is made. It seems to me that this should happen in any worship service, a time of re-building, of the kingdom of God within as well as without.

These thoughts came to me today. I hope to revisit them over the next year, to more fully develop them in some way.

St Bruno’s Letter to his Carthusian brothers

Bruno’s Letter to his Carthusian brothers

1. Brother Bruno, to his brethren in Christ, beloved more than anything in the world: greeting in the Lord. Through our dear brother Landuino’s account, so detailed and so consoling, I have learned of your uncompromising yet wise observance, so commendable and deserving of praise. He spoke to me about your holy love, your untiring zeal for purity of heart and virtue. My spirit rejoices in the Lord. Yes, I rejoice, I give praise and thanks to the Lord, at the same time that I sigh with sorrow. I rejoice, yes — it is right that I should — to see you grow in virtue; but I am distressed and blush, being so sluggish and neglectful in the misery of my sins.

2. Rejoice, my dear brothers, over your blessed vocation and the generous gift of divine grace you have received. Rejoice over having escaped the turbulent waters of this world, where there are so many perils and shipwrecks. Rejoice over having reached the peaceful quiet of a sheltered cove. Many desire to arrive there; many even tried to attain it, but did not arrive. Many did not remain after experiencing it, because they had not received that grace from God. Also, my brothers, take it as certain and proven: no one, after having enjoyed so desirable a good, can ever give it up without regrets, if he is serious about the salvation of his soul.

3. This I say about you, my beloved brothers: my soul glorifies the Lord, when I consider the wonders of his mercy toward you after hearing the report of your dear father, your Prior, who is filled with joy and pride because of you. I, too, rejoice because, even though you do not read, almighty God with his own finger has written love and the knowledge of his holy law in your hearts. By your works you show what you love and what you know. With all possible care and zeal you practice true obedience, which is doing the will of God, the key and the seal of all spiritual observance, and that could never be without great humility and outstanding patience accompanied by a chaste love for the Lord and true charity. It is clear that you are wisely reaping the sweet and refreshing fruits of the Divine Scriptures.

4. Therefore, my brothers, remain in the condition you are in, and flee as from a pestilence those deceitful laymen who seek to corrupt you, distributing their writings and whispering into your ear things that they neither understand nor love and which they contradict by their words and their acts. They are idle gyrovagues (11) who disgrace every good religious and think they should be praised for defaming those who really deserve praise, while they despise rules and obedience.

5. I would like to keep brother Landuino with me because he is often seriously ill. But because he feels he cannot find health, or joy, or life, or any improvement without you, he disagrees with me. His tears and sighs for your sake have shown me what you are to him and how much he loves all of you in perfect charity. I do not want to force him to stay, because I do not want to hurt him, or you, who are so dear to me on account of the merit of your virtues. That, my brothers, is why I urge you, I humbly but energetically beg you to show by your deeds the charity that you nourish in your hearts for him who is your beloved Father and Prior and tactfully and attentively providing for him whatever his numerous infirmities require. Perhaps he will decline to accept your loving services, preferring to endanger his health and his life rather than mitigate in any way the strictness of exterior observance, which of course could not be permitted; but that will no doubt be because he who is first in the community would blush to find himself last in observance and because he would fear to be the one among you to become lax and lukewarm on account of weakness. In my opinion, there is no reason to fear that. So that you will not be deprived of this grace, I authorize you to take my place in this one matter: you have permission to oblige him, respectfully, to take everything you give him for his health.

6. As regards myself, know that what I desire most after God is to go to see you. And as soon as I can, I will, with the help of God. Farewell.(12)

 

 

Benedict’s Rule and Commentary 71

Taken from Holy Rule Daily Meditation

Chapter 71: That the Brethren Be Obedient to One Another

Not only is the boon of obedience
to be shown by all to the Abbot,
but the brethren are also to obey one another,
knowing that by this road of obedience they are going to God.
Giving priority, therefore, to the commands of the Abbot
and of the Superior appointed by him
(to which we allow no private orders to be preferred),
for the rest
let all the juniors obey their seniors
with all charity and solicitude.
But if anyone is found contentious,
let him be corrected.

And if any brother,
for however small a cause,
is corrected in any way by the Abbot or by any of his Superiors,
or if he faintly perceives
that the mind of any Superior is angered or moved against him,
however little,
let him at once, without delay,
prostrate himself on the ground at his feet
and lie there making satisfaction
until that emotion is quieted with a blessing.
But if anyone should disdain to do this,
let him undergo corporal punishment
or, if he is stubborn, let him be expelled from the monastery.

REFLECTION

OK, now we’re getting into radical. Any human group, from the
military to a kindergarten at recess expects one to obey the leader.
But each other? Give me a break! How many jobs would you have quit if
you had to obey all of your co-workers? Yet St. Benedict calls such
obedience a “boon”, a wonderfully good thing.

Well, giving a break is exactly what is intended here. The Kingdom of
God, which the Holy Rule seeks to guide us to, is ruled by love, not
hierarchy per se. It includes a hierarchy, yes, but that, too, is
founded on love. The Kingdom of God strives for peace and serenity.

The quickest way to soften an environment and let peace flourish is
to keep people more or less happy, and the quickest way to do that is
to give in to their legitimate wishes whenever possible. So long as the
matter at hand is morally neutral, why not give way?

Now we’re getting to the heroic stuff. There are ulterior benefits to
obeying the boss, but another peer? What’s the big deal there? The
big deal is love, the big deal is forgetfulness of self, the big deal
is the abdication of control issues.

Monastic struggle will not free one who is attached to control. It
will thwart the good of the struggle. Don’t beat yourself up too
badly on this one if you live in the world, because many, many
monastics in cloisters fail it as well. It is one of Satan’s
sneakiest tricks and he enjoys its effectiveness immensely. What
could be better than something the poor victims hardly notice at all,
that eats up their hard work like a ravenous cancer? Very, very handy.

I am tempted to say that anyone who is addicted to control- at any
stage of monastic life- ought to be set to cleaning bathrooms until
the feeling passes. Hey, that would be a great idea, but most
monasteries do not have that many toilets. Sad, but true.

Rather than worry about the pathetic individuals so addicted, who can
make life so unpleasant for those they live with, why not just focus on
changing ourselves? We can be part of the solution. We can go out of
our way to make life easier for each other. We can pray for those who
don’t.

A horrible truth of monastic life is that if one waits for everyone
to get perfect (according, of course, to one’s own standards!) the
result will be futile and frustrated stagnation. Community we may be,
but all on the same page we shall never be till heaven, and maybe not
even there!

It’s a snap to be a pain. Any fool can pull that off with no effort at
all. Lots of them do, all the time! The harvest, however, is
isolation and loneliness, which result in bitterness that only fuels
the vicious cycle.

In contrast, it is a bit difficult at first to be easy, but it is
ALSO addictive when done right! One will soon be hunting for ways to
be easy, because every drop of water makes the ocean a tiny bit less
salty. The harvest, too, is far more precious: a growing warmth that
makes one ever more gentle, more open, more loving and glad to be so.
The harvest is joy and love, not the lie of possession and bitterness.
You may not change the world alone, but the change in yourself will be
awesome and dramatic. That alone will go farther still to improve the
world, to build up the Mystical Body of Christ.

It is very unlikely that you will ever be able to cure a control
freak. Give them a lot of room, because (harsh saying here!) they can be
truly a danger to your serenity. Cultivate among your peers an attitude
of complete non-control, of nearly total indifference to detail,
rather like the old peace poster that said: “What if they gave a war
and no one came?”.

Maybe, just maybe, the wizard might one day wake up to actually see
that Oz is not with her! That’s about your only hope. People like
this can profit us by being crosses and we can grow from praying for
them, but getting sucked into their hopelessly false view of reality
is a fatal mistake.

Love and prayers,
Jerome, OSB
http://www.stmarysmonastery.org

 

Benedict’s Rule and Commentary 72

Taken from Holy Rule Daily Meditation

Chapter 72: On the Good Zeal Which They Ought to Have

Just as there is an evil zeal of bitterness
which separates from God and leads to hell,
so there is a good zeal
which separates from vices and leads to God
and to life everlasting.
This zeal, therefore, the sisters should practice
with the most fervent love.
Thus they should anticipate one another in honor (Rom. 12:10);
most patiently endure one another’s infirmities,
whether of body or of character;
vie in paying obedience one to another —
no one following what she considers useful for herself,
but rather what benefits another;
tender the charity of sisterhood chastely;
fear God in love;
love their Abbess with a sincere and humble charity;
prefer nothing whatever to Christ.
And may He bring us all together to life everlasting!

REFLECTION

This chapter, full of self-evident and beautiful prose should serve
as a short rule of life, a summary of all that has gone before it.
Live this one, and you’re all right: the details from the other
chapters will take care of themselves. Little wonder then that its
principal points are love, obedience and humility, practiced in the
chastity of wholeness. (Chastity, it must be recalled, is proper to
every state in life. It is the well-ordered, balanced and wholesome use
of sexuality.) Even less wonder that, to call Scripture in to witness
here, “the greatest of these is love.” Merton’s one-line Holy Rule
summary also applies: “Love is the Rule.”

The beauty here is so great that we often do not spend enough time
looking at its opposite: “the evil zeal of bitterness.” What a great
turn of phrase! Like many of us, St. Benedict seems to have known
some whose bitterness turned into an energetic zeal, a way of life, a
broken power line in a windy world that could strike others or
themselves without warning.

And “zeal” is precisely the word! People can put such frighteningly
zealous levels of effort into self-loathing bitterness. It becomes a
full-time job, one which requires so much energy that it’s a marvel
that they continue.

Bitter anger, self-hatred, unforgiving ill-will towards all or most,
these are viciously involuted cycles, cancers of the soul. They turn
on the self, malignantly. They injure and alienate others to make
one’s twisted world view remain correct. They never rest, the fist
is always clenched, the hand never open.

Someone years ago wrote a book about suicide titled “The Savage God.”
The premise was that the illness which caused suicide was like some
pagan deity that destroyed its adherents, an apt enough assessment.
But evil zeal is a savage god, too. Unlike suicide which leads to
death, this one insists on a long and horrible end in prison.

I have known two monks with this dreadful problem, both now long
dead. Thank heavens, they both persevered to the end and one hopes
that was enough, because, frankly, little else could be said for
them. They both guaranteed that their own lives were hell and pretty
much ensured smaller doses of hell for the rest of us living with
them.

When I was much younger and living with those embittered monks, it
was hard to look at them with much pity or calm. It isn’t now, thank
God, and I have spent considerable time praying for both of them, as
well as for a few of their “runners-up”! While all things are
possible with God, the terrible thing is that this self-hatred never
gets fixed in some people. It can be a life sentence. Then, prayer is the
only answer.

In any situation, but perhaps worse when the sufferer is one’s spouse
or parent or child, this bitterness is a terrible cross, for both the
sufferer and those around her. It might seem cold comfort to say that
it can make all involved saints, but it truly is not cold comfort at
all. Being saints is the only thing, ultimately, that matters. I hope
by now some of my crosses of the past are praying for me, protecting
me, by their prayers, from what once ailed them and forgiving me for
the times I provoked them!

Love and prayers,
Jerome, OSB
http://www.stmarysmonastery.org

 

 

The Jesus Prayer – Its practice

9. Its practice

I will tell you a little bit from my own experience about what I think will happen when you use this prayer. For I have tried many other, more complex, and more abstract ways to pray, and I have found them all less effective than this most childlike of all ways.

Perhaps the most shattering consequence of his real presence, which is brought about by invoking his name, is that we become unable to lie to ourselves any more. He is light, and wherever he inserts his lordship there is now an absolute necessity of honesty and a zero tolerance for any form of self-deception, self-congratulation, or self gratification, even those forms that felt necessary, natural, and almost innocent before. He is gentle, but he is light, and he simply does not and will not coexist with any darkness at all; either he casts it out, or it keeps him out.

This is the negative dimension of the fact that he is light. He subtracts our falsehoods. But he also adds his truth. The positive dimension is essentially a clarification of vision, of perspective, of “the big picture”. He does not (usually) give specific directions or instant solutions, but he always gives a clarification of our vision. (This usually happens gradually.)

Thus there is a positive side to even the negative point made above. For instance, he makes us men see how flawed and mixed our motives are even in such natural and spontaneous things as a look into the face of a beautiful woman. (Half of all the women in the world are beautiful to men, nearly all are beautiful when they smile, and all are beautiful all the time to God.) We find that there is something in this look that is his, and also something that is not from him but is from the world, the flesh, or the Enemy.

And yet this insight does not bring about a guilty despair but a happy humility. For it is a sign of his presence. He is the standard. When the plumb line is present, apparently straight lines show their inclination. And this is, of course, upsetting (how easily our lines incline!), but much more is it a cause of joy (it is he!). As John Wesley said, “The best thing is, God is with us.” Once we realize that, we have the secret of joy: simply to do all that is from his will with joy, because he is there, and what is not from his will do not do.

And when his light and our darkness, his straight and our crooked, are thus brought into relationship and warfare, we gain rather than lose, even if it is upsetting. It is like bringing in the Roto-Rooter man: the garbage becomes visible, but it also becomes removable. Before his light came in, our sin was just as much present but undetected. But he was not just as much present. So that is a gain. Furthermore, he is stronger than sin; he exorcises sin more than sin exorcises him. All we have to do is to give him a chance. Open the blinds, and light casts out darkness every time.

This new sense of vision or perspective that invoking his name brings about is most sharply perceived when we invoke his name upon our problems and complaints. The wordless message I seem to get most frequently is something like this: “There are things that are infinitely more important for you than these little problems. They are all little compared to me. In fact, most of what you think of as your problems are in fact your opportunities—opportunities for the really important thing, the ‘one thing needful’, your relationship with me. So get on with it. You don’t have much more time.” He is surprisingly brisk and unsentimental. He is a no-nonsense God.

Perhaps the most definite and ubiquitous sign of his real presence, and the clearest difference between the times when I invoke his name and the times when I do not, is the state of quiet, calm alertness that he brings. Usually, I am either calm or alert, not both. When I am calm, I am relaxed and ready for sleep; when I am alert, I am worried or agitated and ready for problems. His peace, however, is not sleepiness, and his alertness is not anxiety.

The Jesus Prayer – What it is: Sacred

8. What it is: Sacred

The fact that this holy name of Jesus actually brings about the presence of God explains why God gave us, as the second of all his commandments, “You shall not take the name of the LORD your God in vain” (Ex 20:7). In the Old Testament, the self-revealed name of God was YHWH, in Hebrew: a name is always written without the vowels because it was forbidden to pronounce it, since it meant “I AM”, or “I AM WHO AM”, and to pronounce that name is to claim to bear it. You can pronounce any other name, like “Ivan” or “Mary” or “Hey, You” without claiming to be the person who bears that name; there is only one name that you cannot say in the second person (you) or the third person (he or she), and that is “I”. Thus no Jew ever dared to pronounce that holy name, or even guess how the vowels were supposed to be pronounced, because it could be truly spoken only by God himself. That is why the Jews tried to execute Jesus for blasphemy when he pronounced it in his own name (Jn 8:58).

And that is also why Jesus commanded us to pray to the Father, as the very first petition of the model prayer he taught (which we call the Lord’s Prayer, or the Our Father) “Hallowed be thy name” (Mt 6:9). For we actually bring about and fulfill what we pray for when we call on the holy name of Jesus. We bring his presence and his mercy down from Heaven to earth, so to speak. Thus it is blasphemy to treat this holy name like any other name, because it has a holy power unlike any other power.

The Jesus Prayer – What it is: Sacramental

7. What it is: Sacramental

The Catechism says: “To pray ‘Jesus’ is to invoke him and to call him within us. His name is the only one that contains the presence it signifies” (CCC 2666). In other words, it is sacramental.

God comes to us on his name like a king on his stallion. When we pray to the Father in Jesus’ name, we provide God with a vehicle to come to us— or, rather, we use the vehicle God has provided for us. We do not initiate, we respond; we respond to his grace by using the gift of his name that he gave us and told us to use; and he responds to our obedience by doing what he promised: actually coming.

This is the definition of a sacrament: a sign instituted by Christ to give grace and a sign that actually effects what it signifies. Jesus himself is the primary sacrament. So the believing Christian’s use of Jesus’ name is sacramental. The very act of praying “Jesus” effects what it signifies, brings about what the name “Jesus” signifies, which is “Savior”, or “God saves”. That is the literal meaning, in Hebrew, of the name God commanded Joseph to give to Mary’s son: “You shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins” (Mt I:2I).

A name is not a machine, for a person is not a machine. The name of a person must be personally “involved” (that is, called upon) in faith and hope and love, as a human father is “invoked” by his son in Jesus’ parable in Matthew 7. But though it is not a machine, it really “works”: when a son calls to his father, “Dad!” the father actually comes. Why? Suppose we were to ask the father. His answer would be obvious: “Because that’s my son!” The same is true of our relationship to God now that Christ has made us God’s children and his brothers. No stranger can call a human being “Dad”, and no stranger can be sure that a man will come if he calls him only by his “proper name”, for example, “Mr. Smith”. But Mr. Smith’s son can be sure his dad will come because his son can invoke him under the name “Dad”, as no one else can. Jesus has made it possible for us to do the same with God. In fact, the name he taught us to call God is “Abba”, which is the Hebrew word, not just for “Father”, but for “Dad”, or “Daddy”, or even “Dada”. It is the word of ultimate intimacy.

You may think the claim that invoking his name actually brings about his presence is an arrogant one. But in fact it is a humble one, because it is obeying his design, not initiating our own.

Or you may think, “What right do we have to think he will come whenever we call? Is he a dog?” No, he is a lover.

The Jesus Prayer – What it is: Grace

6. What it is: Grace

In saying it brings God closer, I do not mean to say that it changes God. It changes us. But it does not just make a change within us, a psychological change; it makes a change between us and God, a real, objective change. It changes the real relationship; it increases the intimacy. It is as real as changing your relationship to the sun by going outdoors. When we go outdoors into the sun, we do not move the sun closer to us, we move ourselves closer to the sun. But the difference it makes is real: we can get warmed only when we stand in the sunlight—and in the Sonlight.

When this happens, it is not merely something we do but something God does in us. It is grace, it is his action; our action is to enter into his action, as a tiny stream flows into a great river.

His coming is, of course, his gift, his grace. The vehicle by which he comes is also his grace: it is Jesus himself. And the gift he gives us in giving us his blessed name to invoke is also his grace. So, therefore, his coming to us in power on this vehicle, this name, is also pure grace. Even our remembering to use this vehicle, this name, is his grace. As Saint Therese said, “Everything is a grace.”

The Jesus Prayer – What it is: Real presence

5. What it is: Real presence

It is probably a very good exercise to practice “the imitation of Christ”, to walk “in his steps”, to ask “What would Jesus do?” in all circumstances. But the prayer we are teaching now is even better, for two reasons. First, invoking his name invokes his real presence, not mental imitation; something objective, not subjective; between us and him, not just in us. Second, it is actual, not potential; indicative, not subjunctive; “What is Jesus doing?” rather than “What would Jesus do?”

To invoke Jesus’ name is to place yourself in his presence, to open yourself to his power, his energy, The prayer of Jesus’ name actually brings God closer, makes him more present. He is always present in some way, since he knows and loves each one of us at every moment; but he is not present to those who do not pray as intimately as he is present to those who do. Prayer makes a difference; “prayer changes things.” It may or may not change our external circumstances. (It does if God sees that that change is good for us; it does not if God sees that it is not.) But it always changes our relationship to God, which is infinitely more important than external circumstances, however pressing they may seem, because it is eternal but they are temporary, and because it is our very self but they are not.

The Jesus Prayer – What it is: Power

4. What it is: Power

“The kingdom of God does not consist in talk but in power”, says Saint Paul (1 Cor 4:20). The reason this prayer is so powerful is that the name of Jesus is not just a set of letters or sounds. It is not a passive word but a creative word, like the word by which God created the universe. (He is the Word by which God created the universe!) Every time we receive Christ in the Eucharist, we are instructed by the liturgy to pray, “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.” All our energy and effort is not strong enough to heal our own souls, but God’s word of power is. That word is so powerful that by it God made the universe out of nothing, and by it he is doing the even greater deed of making saints out of sinners. That word is Jesus Christ.

In most ancient societies, a person’s name was treated, not as a mere artificial label for pragmatic purposes of human communication, but as a truth, a sign of the person’s unique identity. Revealing your name was thus an act of intimate personal trust, like a handshake. A handshake originally meant: “See? I bear no weapon. You can trust me.” It is a little like your P.I.N. today.

In all of human history, God revealed his own true name, his eternal name, only to one man—Moses—and only to one people—the Hebrews, his own “chosen people”—and only at one time—at the burning bush (Ex 3). This name was the secret no philosopher or mystic had ever attained, the very essence of God, the nature of ultimate reality: “I AM.”

But then, many centuries later, God did an even greater thing; he revealed a new name in Jesus (“Saviour”). This is now the most precious name in the world.

It is a golden key. It opens all doors, transforms all corners of our lives. But we do not use this golden key, and doors remain locked. In fact, our society is dying because it has turned the most precious name in the world, the name of its Saviour, into a casual curse word.

Even Muslims respect the holy name of Jesus more than Christians do, in practice: they commonly add “blessed be he” every time they pronounce it.

In the Acts of the Apostles (3:1-10), Peter and John heal a man lame from birth when they say, “In the name of Jesus Christ, walk.” Throughout the history of the Church and the lives of the saints, many such miracles of healing have been done “in his name”. Exorcisms are performed “in his name”. The name of Jesus is so powerful that it can knock the devil out of a soul!

The name of Jesus is our salvation. John ends his Gospel with this summary: “These [things] are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that believing you may have life in his name” (Jn 20:31, emphasis added). “The name of Jesus Christ” is not only the key to power-filled prayer but the key to our salvation. So we had better understand it! What does the phrase “in the name of Jesus Christ” mean?

Suppose you are poor, but your father is rich. When you try to cash a check for half a million dollars in your own name, you will get only a laugh from the bank. But if the check is in your father’s name, you will get the money. Our Father in Heaven gave us unlimited grace in the “account” of Jesus Christ and then put us “into Christ”, inserted us into his family, so that we can use the family name, so to speak, to cash checks on the account of divine grace. Saint Paul tells us that our account is unlimited: “My God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus” (Phil 4:19). Jesus himself first assured us of this wonderful truth, which we find hard to believe because it seems too good to be true, and then he explained why it is true:

Ask, and it will be given you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For every one who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened. What man of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him! (Mt 7:7-I I).

If even we love our children so much that we do not settle for anything less than the very best for them, why do we think God loves his children less?

The Jesus Prayer -What it is not: Psychology

3. What it is not: Psychology

This prayer is not merely subjective, like a psychological device, any more than it is merely objective, like magic. It is not a sort of Christian yoga. It is not meditation. Its purpose is not to transform our consciousness and make us mystics, or to bring inner peace, or to centre on our own heart. Whether these things are good or bad, these things are not what this prayer is for.

For all these things are subjective, inside the human soul; but this prayer is dialogue, relationship, reaching out to another person, to Jesus, God made man, invoking him as your saviour, lover, lord, and God. You have faith and hope in him as your saviour; you love him as your lover; you obey him as your lord; you adore him as your God.

In this prayer our attention is not directed inward, into our own consciousness, but only out onto Jesus. Even when we address Jesus living in our own soul, he is not self but other; he is Lord of the self.

Yet, although our intention in this prayer is not to transform our consciousness, this prayer does transform our consciousness. How? It unifies it. Our usual consciousness is like an unruly, stormy sea, or like a flock of chattering monkeys, or a cage of butterflies, or a hundred little bouncing balls of mercury spilled from a fever thermometer. We cannot gather it together. Only God can, for God is the Logos. One of the meanings of this incredibly rich word in ancient Greek, the word given to the eternal, divine, pre-incarnate Christ, is “gathering-into-one”. When we pray this prayer and invoke Jesus the Logos, Jesus the Logos acts and does in fact unify our consciousness. But this is not what we aim at; we aim at him. The unification of our consciousness happens in us (slowly and subtly and sweetly) only when we forget ourselves in him. This is one of the ways “he who loses his self shall find it.”

Repetition of the holy name conditions our unconscious mind to see this name as normal, as central, and to expect him to be present and active, as a dog is conditioned by his master to see its master as central and to expect its master to be present and active. Do we train our dogs but not our own unconscious minds?

You may object, “But this sounds like a magic spell or a mantra: something not rational.” In a sense it is (though not in the sense repudiated above). Do you not know that black magic can be overcome only by white magic, not by reason? And our culture’s secularism and materialism is a powerful spell of black magic. It makes us judge Jesus by its standards instead of judging it by his standards, because it makes us see Jesus as abnormal and our culture as normal; to see Jesus as a questionable, tiny thing surrounded by an unquestionable, greater thing, namely, our culture. This is a cosmic illusion! Invoking the holy name builds up resistance to that illusion. That is not black magic; it is not itself an illusion but sheer realism. Jesus is everywhere and everywhere and the ultimate meaning of everything. This prayer in deed conditions us, but it conditions us to know reality.

The Jesus Prayer – What it is not: Magic

2. What it is not: Magic

Like any prayer, it “works”, not by the power of some impersonal magic but by the power of personal faith and hope and love. It is like a sacrament in that way: it “works” objectively (ex opere operato), by the power of God’s action, not ours; but it does not “work” without our free choice. It is like turning on a hose: the water comes to us, not from us, but it comes only when we choose to let it through.

The mere pronunciation of the name “Jesus” is not invoking him and is not prayer. A parrot could do that. God does not deal in magic, because magic bypasses the soul, especially the heart; it is like a machine. But God is a lover, and he wants our hearts, wants to transform our hearts, wants to live in our hearts.

Love is its own end. Magic, like technology, is always used as a means to some greater end. If you pray this prayer as a means, as a kind of magic or spiritual technology, then you are using it as you would use a machine or magic spell. What you love and desire is the higher end, the thing that the machine or magic spell gets you. But whatever that thing is, the love of things—of God’s gifts instead of God—does not bring God closer; it pushes him farther away. So using this prayer as a kind of magic does exactly the opposite of what prayer is supposed to do.

When you pray this prayer, do not concentrate on the name, the word, the sound, or the letters. Do not think of the name but of Jesus. And do not try to meditate on scenes from the Gospels or truths from theology, or to imagine what Jesus looks like, as you do in some other forms of prayer. Just reach out to Jesus in blind faith. “The principal thing is to stand before God with the mind in the heart, and to go on standing before Him unceasingly day and night, until the end of life” (Bishop Theophan, quoted by Kallistos Ware in The Power of the Name: The Jesus Prayer in Orthodox Spirituality).

The Jesus Prayer – Its simplicity and flexibility

1. Its simplicity and flexibility

As the Catechism says, “The invocation of the holy name of Jesus is the simplest way of praying always…. This prayer is possible ‘at all times’ because it is not one occupation among others but the only occupation: that of loving God, which animates and transfigures every action in Christ Jesus” (CCC 2668).

Because it is so short and simple, this prayer can be prayed literally at any time at all and at all times, even times when longer and more complex forms of prayer are not practical or even possible. This includes times of anguish, pain, or stress, and times of deep happiness and joy.

It can be used by everyone (and has been): by the rankest beginner and the most advanced saint. It is not only for beginners; the saints use it too. It is not “cheating” just because it is so short. For it will make you pray more, not less. This only sounds paradoxical, for one of the things Jesus reminds us to do, when we invoke him by name, is to pray more!

It is so simple that it is like the centre point of a circle. It is the whole circle. It contains in itself the whole gospel. The Catechism says: “The name ‘Jesus’ contains all: God and man and the whole economy of creation and salvation” (CCC 2666). Into this name the Christian can pour all of his faith, with nothing whatsoever left over, for to be a Christian is to rest all of your faith on Christ, with nothing left over.

It is not only the shortest prayer but also the shortest and earliest creed. Twice the New Testament mentions this most basic of all the Christian creeds: the simple three-word sentence “Jesus is Lord” (I Cor 12:3) and the same creed in four words: “Jesus Christ is Lord” (Phil 2:11). It is also the most distinctively Christian creed, for “Lord” (Kyrios) means “God”, and Christ’s divinity and lordship over one’s life is the distinctive, essential faith of Christians: no non-Christian believes that (if he did, he would be a Christian), and all Christians believe it (if they do not, they are not Christians) .

The Jesus Prayer

“Jesus”: The Shortest, Simplest, and Most Powerful Prayer in the World

I am now going to tell you about the shortest, simplest, and most powerful prayer in the world.

It is called the “Jesus Prayer”, and it consists simply in uttering the single word “Jesus” (or “Lord Jesus”, or “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner”) in any situation, at any time and place, either aloud or silently.

There is only one prerequisite, one presupposition: that you are a Christian. If you have faith in Christ, hope in Christ, and love of Christ, you can pray the most powerful prayer in the world, because you have real contact with the greatest power in the universe: Christ himself, who assured us, in his last words to his apostles, that “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me” (Mt 28:18).

It is also the simplest of all prayers. It is not one of the many “methods”, because it bypasses methods and cuts right to the heart of practicing God’s presence, which is the essence of prayer, the secret of which has been given to us by God the Father. The secret is simply God the Son, God incarnate, the Lord Jesus.

The Jesus Prayer (Part 5)

THE FRUITS OF THE JESUS PRAYER

This return to the Father through Christ in the Holy Spirit is the goal of all Christian spirituality. It is to be open to the presence of the Kingdom in our midst. The anonymous author of The Way of the Pilgrim reports that the Jesus Prayer has two very concrete effects upon his vision of the world. First, it transfigures his relation ship with the material creation around him; the world becomes transparent, a sign, a means of communicating God’s presence. He writes:

“When I prayed in my heart, everything around me seemed delightful and marvelous. The trees, the grass, the birds, the air, the light seemed to be telling me that they existed for man’s sake, that they witnessed to the love of God for man, that all things prayed to God and sang his praise.”

Second, the Prayer transfigures his relationship to his fellow human beings. His relationships are given form within their proper context: the forgiveness and compassion of the crucified and risen Lord.

“Again I started off on my wanderings. But now I did not walk along as before, filled with care. The invocation of the Name of Jesus gladdened my way. Everybody was kind to me. If anyone harms me I have only to think, ‘How sweet is the Prayer of Jesus!’ and the injury and the anger alike pass away and I forget it all.”

ENDLESS GROWTH

“Growth in prayer has no end,” Theophan informs us. “If this growth ceases, it means that life ceases.” The way of the heart is endless because the God whom we seek is infinite in the depths of his glory. The Jesus Prayer is a signpost along the spiritual journey, a journey that all of us must take.

The Jesus Prayer (Part 4)

THE THREE LEVELS OF PRAYER

Because prayer is a living reality, a deeply personal encounter with the living God, it is not to be confined to any given classification or rigid analysis. However, in order to offer some broad, general guidelines for those interested in using the Jesus Prayer to develop their inner life, Theophan the Recluse, a 19th century Russian spiritual writer, distinguishes three levels in the saying of the Prayer:

1. It begins as oral prayer or prayer of the lips, a simple recitation which Theophan defines as prayers’ “verbal expression and shape.” Although very important, this level of prayer is still external to us and thus only the first step, for “the essence or soul of prayer is within a man’s mind and heart.”

2. As we enter more deeply into prayer, we reach a level at which we begin to pray without distraction. Theophan remarks that at this point, “the mind is focused upon the words” of the Prayer, “speaking them as if they were our own.”

3. The third and final level is prayer of the heart. At this stage prayer is no longer something we do but who we are. Such prayer, which is a gift of the Spirit, is to return to the Father as did the prodigal son (Luke 15:32). The prayer of the heart is the prayer of adoption, when “God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, the Spirit that cries ‘Abba, Father!'” (Gal. 4:6).

The Jesus Prayer (Part 3)

THE JESUS PRAYER

In order to enter more deeply into the life of prayer and to come to grips with St. Paul’s challenge to pray unceasingly, the Orthodox Tradition offers the Jesus Prayer, which is sometimes called the prayer of the heart. The Jesus Prayer is offered as a means of concentration, as a focal point for our inner life. Though there are both longer and shorter versions, the most frequently used form of the Jesus Prayer is: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” This prayer, in its simplicity and clarity, is rooted in the Scriptures and the new life granted by the Holy Spirit. It is first and foremost a prayer of the Spirit because of the fact that the prayer addresses Jesus as Lord, Christ and Son of God; and as St. Paul tells us, “no one can say ‘Jesus is Lord’ except by the Holy Spirit” (1 Cor. 12:3).

THE SCRIPTURAL ROOTS OF THE JESUS PRAYER

The Scriptures give the Jesus Prayer both its concrete form and its theological content. It is rooted in the Scriptures in four ways:

1. In its brevity and simplicity, it is the fulfillment of Jesus’ command that “in praying” we are “not to heap up empty phrases as the heathen do; for they think that they will be heard for their many words. Do not be like them . . . (Matt. 6:7-8).

2 The Jesus Prayer is rooted in the Name of the Lord. In the Scriptures, the power and glory of God are present in his Name. In the Old Testament to deliberately and attentively invoke God’s Name was to place oneself in his Presence. Jesus, whose name in Hebrew means God saves, is the living Word addressed to humanity. Jesus is the final Name of God. Jesus is “the Name which is above all other names” and it is written that “all beings should bend the knee at the Name of Jesus” (Phil. 2:9-10). In this Name devils are cast out (Luke 10:17), prayers are answered (John 14:13 14) and the lame are healed (Acts 3:6-7). The Name of Jesus is unbridled spiritual power.

3. The words of the Jesus Prayer are themselves based on Scriptural texts: the cry of the blind man sitting at the side of the road near Jericho, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me” (Luke 18:38); the ten lepers who “called to him, Jesus, Master, take pity on us’ ” (Luke 17:13); and the cry for mercy of the publican, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner” (Luke 18:14).

4. It is a prayer in which the first step of the spiritual journey is taken: the recognition of our own sinfulness, our essential estrangement from God and the people around us. The Jesus Prayer is a prayer in which we admit our desperate need of a Saviour. For “if we say we have no sin in us, we are deceiving ourselves and refusing to admit the truth” (1 John 1:8).

The Jesus Prayer (Part 2)

THE CHALLENGE OF ST. PAUL

But this approach to the life of prayer has nothing to do with the Christianity of St. Paul, who urges the Christians of first century Thessalonica to “pray without ceasing” (1 Thess. 5:1). And in his letter to Rome, the Apostle instructs the Christian community there to “be constant in prayer” (Rom. 12:12).

He not only demands unceasing prayer of the Christians in his care, but practices it himself. “We constantly thank God for you” (1 Thess. 2:13) he writes in his letter to the Thessalonian community; and he comforts Timothy, his “true child in the faith” (1 Tim. 1:2) with the words: “Always I remember you in my prayers” (2 Tim. 1:3). In fact, whenever St. Paul speaks of prayer in his letters, two Greek words repeatedly appear: PANTOTE (pantote), which means always; and ADIALEPTOS (adialeptos), meaning without interruption or unceasingly.

Prayer is then not merely a part of life which we can conveniently lay aside if something we deem more important comes up; prayer is all of life. Prayer is as essential to our life as breathing. This raises some important questions. How can we be expected to pray all the time? We are, after all, very busy people. Our work, our spouse, our children, our school – all place heavy demands upon our time. How can we fit more time for prayer into our already overcrowded lives?

These questions and the many others like them which could be asked set up a false dichotomy in our lives as Christians. To pray does not mean to think about God in contrast to thinking about other things or to spend time with God in contrast to spending time with our family and friends. Rather, to pray means to think and live our entire life in the Presence of God.

As Paul Evdokimov has remarked: “Our whole life, every act and gesture, even a smile must become a hymn or adoration, an offering, a prayer. We must become prayer-prayer incarnate.” This is what St. Paul means when he writes to the Corinthians that “whatever you do, do it for the glory of God” (1 Cor. 10:31).

The Jesus Prayer (Part 1)- Introduction

The Jesus Prayer

Fr. Steven Peter Tsichlis

Introduction

Prayer is the basis of our Christian life, the source of our experience of Jesus as the Risen Lord. Yet how few Christians know how to pray with any depth! For most of us, prayer means little more than standing in the pews for an hour or so on Sunday morning or perhaps reciting, in a mechanical fashion, prayers once learned by rote during childhood. Our prayer life – and thus our life as Christians – remains, for the most part, at this superficial level.

The Scottish / Celtic Saints (Part 6)

St Kentigern (St. Mungo)

Kentigern, founder of Glasgow, is an excellent representative of the trouble with following the Celtic saints. What we know of him is a 12th century life by Jocylen, a monk of Furness in North Lancashire. Much of Jocelyns life is the standard medieval hagiography with appropriate miracles to demonstrate the saints holiness and favor with God. The miracle stories in the Life lack the freshness and simplicity of Adamnans Life of Columba or Bedes descriptions of miracles in his writing about the Celtic saints.

Kentigern was the illegitimate son of the daughter of King Loth of Lothian. (The king was supposedly set upon his throne by Arthur of the Britons.) King Loth was furious at his daughters pregnancy, and even more so at her refusal to name the father of the child. After his attempt to throw her over a cliff failed when the cart she was in righted itself and landed safely below, King Loth put her in a coracle and cast her into the Firth of Forth. A school of fish led the coracle back to land at Culross where the childs cries were heard by shepherds. The shepherds took the child to St. Serf who was expecting him, having been informed in advance by angels of the childs birth. St. Serf named the boy Kentigern, a Gaidhealic name latinized by Jocelyn as capitalis dominus, Capital Lord. Edwin Sprott Towill, in his Saints of Scotland suggests it may also mean head-hound, a curious name, particularly given St. Serfs nickname for Kentigern, Mungo. Mungo is generally taken to mean dearly beloved or my dear. However Towill notes that it also has a canine suggestion such as my doggie.

Kentigern was raised by St. Serf, but falls afoul of Serfs other pupils who resent Kentigerns status as Serfs favorite. He eventually flees from Serfs community, the waters of the Forth parting to allow him to cross dry shod. On the other side he meets an old man, Fergus, who asks the saint to bury him. Kentigern harnesses a cart to two untamed oxen and allows them to wander carrying the old mans body. They stop at a site where supposedly St. Ninian had consecrated ground for Christian burial. The site is named Glesgu, the dear family, and is today known as Glasgow. With much reluctance, Kentigern is persuaded to become bishop of the area and an Irish bishop is imported to perform the consecration.

Kentigern, however, falls foul of an usurping chieftan and flees south to Cumbria and then to Wales where he assists St. Asaph in founding his community. Once rightful tribal leadership was restored in Strathclyde, Kentigern returned to Glasgow and there completed his ministry. One interesting story of his final years tells of meeting the aged Merlin in the woods at Drummelzier. Merlin is a lost soul, filled with remorse for supporting the pagan kings at the battle of Arthuret. At this meeting Kentigerns holy speech softens the old wizards heart and he confesses and is baptized by Kentigern before his death.

The Scottish / Celtic Saints (Part 5)

St Cuthbert of Lindisfarne

It is not certain whether St. Cuthbert was born in England, Scotland or Ireland; all three countries claim him. Most accounts give his birth year as 634 or 635. One legend states he was born an Irishman named Mulloche, and that he was the great-grandson of the High King Muircertagh of Ireland. Another long-standing tradition says his mother was the Irish princess Saba, who left Cuthbert in the care of a poor widow named Kenswith while she went on pilgrimage to Rome, but she died during the journey and never saw him again. The Venerable Bede wrote two vitae of the saint and presumes his English birth, speculating that Cuthbert was born of lowly parentage in the neighborhood of Mailros (Melrose), because he used to tend sheep on the mountainside near that monastery.

Cuthbert’s youth was spent in the Scottish lowlands with the widow Kenswith. He tended her sheep on the hills above Leader Water or the valley of the Tweed. He had difficulty walking because of an abscess on the knee (made worse by an attempted cure), but despite this he was high-spirited, and physically strong. When Cuthbert was 15, he had a vision of angels conducting the soul of St. Aidan to heaven. The next morning, he found that St. Aidan – founder of the Priory of Lindisfarne and a man of great holiness – had died at the very moment of his vision. Cuthbert was so moved by this that he decided to become a monk at the Mailros Abbey. But Cuthbert had some training as a soldier, and most of the available men in Northumbria were pressed into military service because of constant threats from its southern neighbor, King Penda of Mercia. Not until peace was restored to the land four years later was Cuthbert free to pursue the monastic life he had so long desired, studying at Mailros under St. Eata as abbot and St. Boisil (Basil) as prior.

Cuthbert was known for his piety and devotion to learning, and his life was marked by supernatural occurrences and miracles. Some say Cuthbert was asked to help found the monastery at Ripon, others say he was invited there as guest-master. Either way, Cuthbert left or was expelled from Ripon and returned to Mailros in 661 after Ripon adopted Roman practices for tonsure and calculating the date of Easter. Shortly after Cuthbert’s return, St. Boisil was struck by the plague. (Cuthbert fell ill during the same epidemic; his life was preserved but he never fully recovered his health thereafter. ) Boisil died of the disease and Cuthbert was made prior of Mailros in his place. When the Synod of Whitby decided in favor of the Roman monastic traditions, Cuthbert accepted that decision despite his opposition at Ripon. Due to his stellar reputation, he was asked to teach the Roman customs to the great monastery at Lindisfarne. It was a difficult matter and needed all his gentle tact and patience, but the fact that one so renowned for sanctity, who had himself been brought up in the Celtic tradition, was loyally conforming to the Roman use, did much to persuade the monks at Lindisfarne to accept the change themselves. Cuthbert served as Prior of Lindisfarne for twelve years.

In 676, Cuthbert followed his solitary nature by removing himself from the island of Lindisfarne to an even more isolated part of the Farne Islands called the Inner Farne. He spent all of his time in prayer and contemplation with only the seals and sea birds for company. Cuthbert grew to love the wild rocks and sea. Birds and beasts came at his call. He built an oratory and a cell with only a single small window for outside communication. But the king of Northumberland repeatedly implored him to accept election as bishop of Hexham. After many prayers and tears, Cuthbert reluctantly agreed to serve as bishop, but let it be known that he would prefer Lindisfarne, so it was arranged for him to exchange his see with St. Eata. Eata became Bishop of Hexham, and Cuthbert was consecrated Bishop of Lindisfarne by the archbishop of Canterbury with six bishops in attendance at York. Cuthbert served as Bishop of Lindisfarne for two years.

The ample sources for Cuthbert’s life and character show a man of extraordinary charm and practical ability, who attracted people deeply by the beauty of holiness. He was a disciplined administrator, cared for many who had been felled by the plague, and distributed alms liberally even while he maintained frugal personal habits. His days were filled with incessant activity in an attempt to keep the spirit of Christianity alive, and each night he kept vigil with God. Cuthbert is said to have had supernatural gifts of healing and insight, and people thronged to consult him. He performed so many miracles of healing that he was known in his lifetime as the “Wonder-Worker of Britain.” Cuthbert was also called the “Apostle of the Lowlands.” He visited the loneliest and most dangerous outposts from cottage to cottage from Berwick to Solway Firth to bring the Good News of Christ. On horseback and on foot, he ventured into the remotest territories between Berwick and Galloway. His task was not easy, for he covered a vast area, with widely scattered huts and hovels inhabited by a wild and heathen peasantry full of fear and superstition, haunted by terror of pagan gods. But the people accepted him—he spoke their language and knew their ways, for he had lived like them in a peasant’s home. Bede wrote of his preaching that “Cuthbert had such a light in his angelic face, and such a love for proclaiming his Good News, that none hid their innermost secrets from him.” His devotion to the Mass was such that he could not celebrate without tears. He built the first oratory at Dull, Scotland, with a large stone cross before it and a little cell for himself. The monastery that arose there later became the site of Saint Andrews University.

At Christmas in the year 686, in failing health and knowing that his end was near, he retired as Bishop and returned to his Inner Farne hermitage. At first he was tended by his brethren from Lindisfarne, but as he became more seriously ill he refused all aid, suffering intensely but allowing none to nurse him. He finished his course alone, and predicted the very hour of his death. Cuthbert’s body was carried back to Lindisfarne and buried there, in accordance with his wishes. Many legends have arisen about the incorruptibility of his body.

In art, Cuthbert may be shown in episcopal vestments, with pillars of light above him; with swans tending him; as a hermit being fed by an eagle; or praying by the sea. Cuthbert is the patron of shepherds and sailors, and he is said to have appeared in the midst of violent ocean storms, sometimes using his crozier as an oar to save struggling seamen from shipwreck. Because he fearlessly entered the houses of those stricken by the plague, he is also invoked against plague and pestilence. Traces of the once universal devotion to Cuthbert still survive in numerous churches, monuments, crosses, and place names in his honor. He is one of the few Celtic saints included on the modern Episcopal calendar of feast days. More than 135 churches are dedicated to Cuthbert in England, and an additional 17 can be found in Scotland.

St. Cuthbert died on March 20, 687.

The Scottish / Celtic Saints (Part 4)

St. Colman of Lindisfarne

Colman was in all probability a native of the West of Ireland; born in the province of Connaught in the year 605. Not much else is known about his early adult life, except that he entered the monastery at Iona and became a monk during the abbacy of Segenius, was a devoted disciple of St. Columba, and spent years in study and fellowship with his contemporaries St. Finian and St. Aidan.

After the death of St. Finian in 661, Colman succeeded him as the third Abbot-Bishop of Lindisfarne. Lindisfarne was the most important monastery in Northumbria, England, close to the royal castle at Bamburg. The Venerable Bede gives a glowing account of the church of Lindisfarne under Saint Colman’s rule. He emphasized the example of frugality and simplicity of living set by Bishop Colman and the complete devotion of his clergy to their proper business of imparting the word of God and ministering to their people.

Colman’s brief episcopate is memorable largely because it came at a time of intense controversy in the Celtic church, including a fierce revival of the long dispute concerning the correct way of computing the date of Easter. There was also strong disagreement about whether local monastic leaders should have more power over local worship than distant (Roman) church authorities, and about how far the secular power of the king should extend over spiritual matters. While the Easter Controversy is the best known of the ecclesiastical disputes of Colman’s episcopate, a more obscure but an equally passionate argument was raging at the same time about the way that monks, priests and other ministers should cut their hair.

Clergy hairstyles may seem like a minor point of contention to us looking back from a contemporary perspective, but in fact it had tremendous spiritual significance. Then, as now, hair was a major signifier of social status. The tonsure issue was not a matter of fashion, but theology. The origin of the tonsure comes from the ancient Roman custom of shaving the head of a male slave as a way of indicating the master’s power—the slave’s forced submission to the master’s will is so complete that he even loses the ability to control the appearance of his own hair. (Forced haircuts are still used today as a visual symbol of an authority figure’s total control over a man’s life, and as a way to denote low hierarchical status, such as when soldiers enter boot camp.)

Greeks and Romans alike considered the shaved head to be the badge of the slave. Romans punished Christians by shaving their heads as a sign of contempt and mockery—making them wear their hair like slaves was meant to humiliate them. This eventually backfired, as some monks began to voluntarily shave their heads in the same manner and, when questioned, identified themselves as “slaves of Christ.”

Various religious orders practiced tonsure among themselves for hundreds of years, and toward the beginning of the sixth century many clerics in the North had revived the custom in a modified form: not shaving the whole head. Some orders left a narrow crown of hair, meant to signify Christ’s crown of thorns; some orders shaved off only a small circular patch on the crown of the head; some kept the entire head shaved above the ears, and some retained a wide band of hair around the head. The Roman Catholic Church abolished the practice of tonsure in 1972, but some orthodox religious orders practice voluntary tonsure even today.

The tonsure controversy, therefore, was directly related to the larger issue of whether to follow ancient ways that had been preserved from the earliest Christians or to conform to modern practices being imposed at a distance from Rome. Clergy enjoyed a privileged status in seventh century Rome that was never dreamed of by early followers of Christ. As a result, many clergy there had abandoned the tonsure and began to wear their hair in the same way as the members of the ruling class.

 

Thus they were not visually identified as servants, but masters. Roman clergy felt this was appropriate, as they were educated and well-respected members of society, but the Celts placed a higher value on the virtue of humility and felt the traditional visual image of clergy as servants of Christ should be preserved with the symbolic haircut. So although the Synod of Whitby in 664 is most often remembered for its celebrated argument over whether churches should use the Celtic method or the Roman method of computing the date of Easter, the tonsure issue was also an intensely debated matter on which many Celtic monks and clergy stood in irreconcilable disagreement with Rome.

Colman spoke eloquently at the Synod of Whitby as the chief defender of the Celtic methods. Neither side could really prove the priority of their claims, but King Oswy made an imperial decision that everyone fall in line with the Roman practices of the rest of Western Europe. Colman, refusing to accept the king’s ruling in a spiritual matter, resigned his bishopric and retired after serving only three years. He then left for Iona, taking with him all the Irish and about thirty of the English monks at Lindisfarne.

For the next three years, St. Colman went to Scotland, founding several churches there. In 668, accompanied by approximately thirty Irish and English disciples, he crossed the seas to his native Ireland again, settling down on a remote island called Inishbofin, which means “island of the white cow.” Colman founded a monastery there and built a school. The Inishbofin foundation was an initial success, but after a short while the monastic community was torn apart by conflict.

It seems that the Irish monks were accused of leaving the monastery to go on preaching journeys during the Summer at the very time when they were needed for agricultural labor. Upon their return in the Winter, they then expected an equal share of the food with the English monks who had done all work of bringing in the harvest. The situation caused so much discord that Colman eventually settled the English monks in a separate foundation on the mainland, and named it Mayo of the Saxons. Mayo was widely known and praised as a significant center of sanctity and learning. It eventually became an episcopal see and is mentioned in the Synod of Kells. The Venerable Bede praises the fact that the abbots of Mayo were elected, rather than following Celtic custom as a “hereditary” monastery.

The window icon at the top of this biography is almost certainly a representation of Colman’s role at the Synod of Whitby. His back is turned on King Oswy, shown as the smallest figure, in the background wearing a crown. In the foreground stands St. Hilda, the great female abbess who was among the strongest supporters of the Celtic method of computing Easter. Traditional Celtic tonsure was usually made by shaving only the front part of the head. We can presume that tonsure, rather than age or incipient baldness, is the reason for Colman’s prominent forehead and hairline.

Almost 300 other St. Colmans can be found in lists of the names of Celtic saints. The one we celebrate today is identified as St. Colman, Last Columban Abbot of Lindisfarne, Founder of Inishbofin and Mayo. Some celebrate his feast day in August, but almost all accounts agree that

St. Colman died on the island of Inishbofin on February 18, 675.

The Scottish / Celtic Saints (Part 3)

St Aidan of Lindisfarne

Not much is known with certainty of Aidan’s early life. He was born in Ireland and by reputation was very bright and very devout. Early in his career he was made bishop, but he resigned to become a monk of Iona, where he learned the values of prayer, study, self-discipline and almsgiving that shaped his future ministry.

While Aidan was living at Iona, King Oswald of Northumbria sent to Iona for a bishop to come and teach the Christian faith to his subjects. The first missioner sent from Iona returned frustrated and angry, saying the people of Northumbria were unteachable and barbaric. Aidan suggested that people who had never heard the Gospel needed to learn of it gradually, and that the approach of evangelists should be gentle. As a result of his spirit of humility and practical wisdom, Aidan was sent as bishop and missionary to the Saxons.

Aidan knew from the beginning he would need an isolated place for solitude and prayer to prepare for the great demands of his mission. In 625 he established a monastery under the Rule of Saint Columcille on the isle of Lindisfarne, which became known as Holy Island. The community was not allowed to accumulate wealth; surpluses were applied to the needs of the poor and the manumission of slaves.

From Lindisfarne Aidan made journeys on foot throughout the diocese, visiting his flock and establishing missionary centers. Aidan preached in Irish and the king provided the translation. To unbelievers he brought the hope of belief. To the newly converted he taught the value of prayer and scripture. He was indefatigable in tending to the welfare of children and slaves, and bought the freedom of many slaves from alms bestowed on him.

When Aidan received fine presents, he distributed them among the poor. In one story a king gave Aidan a fine horse laden with royal trappings. However, upon seeing a beggar on the road, Aidan gave the horse to the poor man. When the king heard the story, he questioned Aidan’s judgment in giving away such a valuable gift. Aidan responded that Jesus Christ gave the gift of his life for us, and that surely the son of a mare is not more valuable than the Son of God.

The Venerable Bede wrote of Saint Aidan: “He neither sought nor loved anything of this world, but delighted in distributing immediately to the poor whatever was given him by kings or rich men. He traversed both town and country on foot, never on horseback, unless compelled by some urgent necessity. Wherever on his way he saw any, either rich or poor, he invited them, if pagans, to embrace the mystery of the faith; or if they were believers, he sought to strengthen them in their faith and stir them up by words and actions to alms and good works.”

In art, Saint Aidan is portrayed as a bishop with the monastery of Lindisfarne in his hand and a stag at his feet (because of the legend that his prayer rendered invisible a deer pursued by hunters). He might also be portrayed holding a light torch; giving a horse to a poor man; calming a storm; or extinguishing a fire by his prayers. Aidan brought to Ireland the Roman custom of fasting on Wednesday and Friday. He is especially venerated at Glastonbury, Lindisfarne, and Whitby.

Aidan died at Bamborough on August 31, 651.

The Scottish / Celtic Saints (Part 2)

St. Brendan

Brendan the Voyager starts life near the sea, on the Kilfenora side of Tralee Bay in 486AD. On the night of his birth, the local bishop, Eric, sees signs in the sky, signifying the importance of the event. He experiences it as “an attendance of angels in shining white garments all round that land”. He tells the happy parents of the child, Findlug of Alltraighe Caille and Cara, who decide to christen their son ‘Broen-finn’, meaning ‘fair drop’.

As an infant, Brendan is fostered by Saint Ita, and instructed in the scriptures by Bishop Erc. Brendan is ordained a priest by Erc in 512. Over the course of the next eighteen years, he established monastic foundations at Ardfert, and at Shanakeel on the Dingle peninsula.

From an early age, Brendan hears his calling by God, and is inspired by the Gospel passage which promises a rich reward to those who forsake everything: “Whoever leaves father and mother and sister and lands for my sake will receive a hundred fold in the present and will possess everlasting life.”

An encounter with a holy man called Barinthus proves to be a pivotal point in Brendan’s life. Barinthus tells him of a journey, which he and his son Mernoc made to an island called the Land of the Saints.

In this heavenly place, they had no bodily needs and no sense of the passage of time. Deep calls to deep, and the story resonates in Brendan’s soul. Enchanted by the possibility of attaining such closeness to the divine, Brendan tells fourteen of his monastic brethren that he wants to find the Land of the Saints. In a dream, an angel comes to him, saying, “Arise Brendan, that which thou hast requested, thou shalt receive of God, that is to visit the Land of Promise”. Brendan walks by himself to the mountain, which comes to be known as Cnoc Bhréanainn, from which he looks westwards to ocean for the place he longs to find. As he succumbs to sleep, the angel comes to him again with a promise: “Henceforth, I will ever be with thee, and I will show thee that one day, the fair island which thou hast seen and which thou desirest to find.”

The spiritual fulfilment, which Brendan craves, is never easily attained. He knows that he will have to go to extremes, away from his people and all that he knows, to the very edge of the world. There will be suffering and sacrifice. ith his faith affirmed, Brendan sails to Enda of Aran, remaining three days on the island. After this, the brethren start making preparations for their forthcoming journey. As they sail off into the ocean, Enda, Pupa and Ronad come to see them off.

As a journey, it is as much a spiritual odyssey as a physical expedition, lasting an exhausting five years. During this time, Brendan and his crew encounter mixed fortunes. As an experience, it is in turn, hostile and inviting. Testing conditions take their toll on the crew, both physically and mentally, and casualties occur.

Along the way, there is a fortuitous meeting with a man known as the Procurator. He acts an advocate, comforter and guide to Brendan, someone to encourage him in his radical endeavours. Journeying outwards into an uncertain world, Brendan is also travelling inwards, discovering his self. It is a voyage on which he needs moral support. Bit by bit, Brendan and his crew come closer to their goal.

During their time at sea, the monks hold firm to their monastic rule, strictly observing the Church calendar. As far away as they are, they remain connected to the rhythm and discipline of the monasteries on terra firma. fter five years, Brendan and his crew return to a tumultuous reception in the west of Ireland. Brendan is a celebrated personality, an inspiration to those he comes into contact with. He awakens in many the call to religious life.

Brendan visits Bishop Erc and his foster mother, Ita. The latter is annoyed that Brendan didn’t come to her for advice prior to his voyage. When she sets eyes on what he sailed in, she loses no time in telling Brendan that it isn’t suitable for his purpose. He is promptly given instructions for the assembly of a larger, sturdier craft.

And so, for his second journey – for he has not yet achieved his heart’s desire – Brendan goes to sea in a boat that is better equipped, and also better manned. His inspirational powers have caught the imagination of such worldly men as shipwrights and smithies who have begged to come along. This is a fortunate development, as this second spell at sea is every bit as taxing and dangerous as the first.

Between the creatures of the deep and the birds of the air, this is an incident-packed two years for the sailors, illustrating all the perils and bounty of nature. It is a fantastic voyage. inally, Brendan comes to his Land of Promise, the heavenly state so long desired. It is remembered afterwards as a “region of Paradise, where will be found health without sickness, pleasure without contention, attendance of angels, meadows in scent as fair blessed flowers”. Blissful indeed, but not intended as a permanent resting place for one on this side of eternity. Having thus tasted nirvana, Brendan knows he must return to land and complete his mission in the world.

His first stop-off on his return is at Aran, where Enda and Pupa are overjoyed to receive him and his crew. Brendan and company stay here a month, recovering from their time at sea, before sailing down to Inis da Droma near Limerick.

Back on land, Brendan dedicates himself to the foundation of monasteries. He travels to Britain, establishing religious houses in parts of Scotland Wales. Returning home once more, he founds monasteries in Clare and Mayo, at Ardfert in Kerry, and most famously, at Clonfert in Galway, in 577AD. Brendan decides on Clonfert as his resting place.

After a long and busy life, Brendan dies at the age of ninety-three, in Annaghdown, at the monastic site, which he founded for his sister Bríg. Before he expires, he blesses his sister and his brethren, and asks them to transport his mortal remains to Clonfert. There are many places which would vie for the honour of his body and relics, and Brendan wants to rest where he belongs

The Scottish / Celtic Saints (Part 1)

Saint Ninian (c.360-432AD)

Most of the information we have about St Ninian comes from two main sources. One is from Saint Aelred (Ethelred) of Rievaulx (c.1110–1167AD) who was a Cistercian monk, abbot and historian in medieval Briton and France. The other is the Venerable Bede (673-735AD). Bede was an English scholar who wrote on early history and produced an encyclopaedia called the Ecclesiastical History of the English People which contained large excerpts from the writings of a man called Pliny the Elder (23-79AD). Pliny was a Roman scholar and encyclopaedist. His major work consisted of 37 volumes and contained a summary of ancient knowledge. Pliny’s works were widely plagiarized by later encyclopaedists. This has left the writings of Bede and Aelred open to question and debate.

We have however, much to thank Bede for as he was reputedly the first to date events from the birth of Christ. Historically, there is little doubt that St Ninian carried out his mission in Scotland, although there is some confusion about the areas which he visited. The evidence of his influence survives in the large number of churches dedicated to him throughout Scotland and in several locations in northern England.

St Ninian is often referred to as the apostle of the northern Britons and Picts. He was born in Galloway and educated in Rome. His manner and eagerness to learn brought him to the notice of the Pope, St Damasus, who decided to train the young man. After St Damasus died, his successor, St Siricus, consecrated St Ninian a Bishop and commissioned him to return to Britain to preach the Catholic faith. Travelling back to Britain through France he heard of the great work being done by St Martin de Tours (c. 316 – 397AD) at his abbey in Marmoutiers. St Ninian stayed at the abbey for some time and was encouraged and helped in his work by St Martin who became his friend and left a lasting impression on him.

St Ninian returned to Scotland to begin an evangelical mission there. With the help of masons from St. Martin’s Monastery in Tours he began to build his church. The first church he built in Scotland (c.397AD) was the first Christian settlement north of Hadrian’s wall, and it was said to be a whitewashed stone building (Most churches of this time were wooden), which could be easily seen. He named it Candida Casa (The White House), and in the language of that time it became known as Whithorn. During recent archaeological excavations, remnants of a white plastered wall were found which could possibly be from this first church. St Ninian used this church for his base and from it he and his monks evangelized the neighbouring Britons and the Picts. He was known for his miracles, among them curing a Chieftain of blindness, and these led to many conversions.

Following St Ninian’s death, the missionary foundation he helped to create, allowed Christianity to grow in strength and survive in Scotland. A Cathedral was built to house the Saints remains and his church and shrine became a centre of pilgrimage. His shrine at Whithorn has seen many pilgrims, – King James IV of Scotland, was said to be a regular visitor. Today the Cathedral is in ruins, but pilgrimages are still made to Whithorn and St Ninian’s cave, to which it is said he retired when he needed peace to meditate and pray.

Overview of Medieval Monasticism – Timeline

251-356 – Life of Anthony

320 – Pachomius (293-346) begins first communal monastery (Tabennisi, Egypt)

330– Amoun and Macarius also found monasteries in the Egyptian desert

370– Basil, Aescetica

386– Jerome founds monasteries in Bethlehem

390-459 Symeon the Stylite (c. 390 – 459) lives atop a column in Syria

401- Augustine of Hippo, On the Works of Monks , a work stressing value of manual labour

453– Patrick commissioned as missionary to Ireland

526– Benedict writes his Rule

563- Columbanus founds monastery at Iona, Scotland

597– Augustine (of Canterbury) sent to British isles as missionary by Pope Gregory I

635 Aidan founds Lindisfarne

663– Synod of Whitby resolves differences between Celtic and Roman Christianity

731– Bede, History of the English Church and People

793– Vikings sack Lindisfarne

909– Berno founds Cluny.

936– Abbot Laffredus of Farfa poisoned by two monks for trying for enforcing the Benedictine rule

943- Dunstan calls for monastic reform in England

1084 – Bruno founds the Carthusians

1098 – Robert Molêsme founds Cistercian order

1099 – First Crusade captures Jerusalem

1115 – Bernard begins Cistercian abbey at Clairvaux

1118 – The Knights Templar form in Jerusalem

1127 – Bernard of Clairvaux, Apologia – prophetic critique of the Cluniacs

1128 – Knights Templar adopt that Cistercian rule

1170 -1221- Life of Dominic

1181/82-1226 – Life of Francis of Assisi

1210 – Pope Innocent III recognizes the Franciscans

1215 Fourth Lateran Council calls for monastic reform and regulation

1217 – Pope Honorius III licenses the Order of Preachers (Dominicans )

1221 – Death of St. Dominic, founder of the Dominican Order

1233 – Dominicans to staff the Roman Inquisition

1243-1256 Pope Innocent IV consolidates OSA (Order of Saint Augustine)

1314– Knights Templar disbanded

1318 – Order of Christ succeeds Knights Templar

1323 – Pope John XXII opposes doctrine of apostolic poverty

1328 – William of Ockham excommunicated for Spiritual Franciscan views

Overview of Medieval Monasticism – Part Four

Reform Movements

I. Cluny

The Benedictian monastery at Cluny, Burgandy was established in 909/910 by the Duke of Aquitaine to be an abbey free of secular feudal control. For 200 years it functioned as a center of reform and social stability, and it was ruled by a succession of seven powerful and intelliegent abbots, including Breno and Peter the Venerable. The houses associated with Cluny (314 by the 12th century) practiced a more centralized form of governance in being answerably to the mother house at Cluny, a power structure not shared by the larger Benedictine order. Cluny became a great center of art and liturgy, responsible for the training of popes and other important church leaders. Eventually, the Cluniacs became enriched with their social wealth and influence. Destroyed in the 18th century, the abbey-church at Cluny was an immense structure and became famous in the high medieval period. 555 feet in length, it was the largest church until St. Peter’s at Rome was constructed. “It consisted of five naves, a narthex, or ante-church, and several towers. Commenced by St. Hugh, the sixth abbot, in 1089, it was finished and consecrated by Pope Innocent II in 1131-32, the narthex being added in 1220” (Catholic Encyclopedia).

II. Carthusians

Begun by Bruno in 1084, the Carthusian order adopted their own rule, The Statutes, in opposition to the Benedictine rule. Bruno began the first house in Chartreuse in the Alps. The Carthusian order is still considered the strictest order of the Roman Catholic Church. They refused the dormitory-style common sleeping quarters of Cluny for single-cells, opting for a very simple, spare existence, hard manual labor, poor diet and clothing. The Carthusian order stressed a simplicity or absence of insignia. In many ways, the Carthusians returned to the early desert Cenobitic organization. The order famously claims “nunquam reformata quia nunquam deformata” (“It needs no reform that has never been deformed.”)

III. Cistercians

In 1098, Robert of Mosleme left the Benedictine order to begin a reform movement at Citeaux. By papal order, Robert was shortly replaced by Alberic, who died in 1109, then by Stephen Harding who ruled until 1134. The order stressed a return to the Benedictine rule in its original strictness, and as a result, they were in tension with Peter the Venerable at Cluny. They stressed manual, agricultural work, located themselves in wilderness self-contained retreats, and refused gifts from the wealthy. Bernard of Clarivaux, one of the most famous monks of the medieval period, took the order from 30 to 280 houses. In the 13th century, Cistercian wool industry called for the creation of an order of lay brothers, relatively uneducated field workers and herdsmen, associated with the houses. The Cistercians adopted a polity half-way between the centralization of the Cluniacs and the complete independence of Benedictine houses. Cistercian abbots, elected by each house, were then subject to the yearly meeting of the chapter, the association of houses presided over by the Citeaux abbot.

IV. Augustinians

In the 11th century, a number of independent monastic houses sprung up, ordering themselves under the Rule of St. Augustine. They were consolidated between 1243 and 1256 (“The Great Union”) by Pope Innocent IV. Inspired by the ideal of “modesty and service,” the OSA (Order of Saint Augustine) has operated schools, hospitals, retirement centers, and music foundations.

 

V. The Franciscans & The Dominicans

Franciscans: Begun by Francis and Clare of Assisi in the early 13th century as a preaching order concerned with the poor, the order was known for its work with the sick, destitute, and disenfranchised, as well as its unquestioning obedience to the pope. Under Francis’ charismatic leadership, the order expanded rapidly, and became known for its emphasis on evangelical poverty, winsome compassion, and missions. During, but especially after Francis’ lifetime, the order became divided into stricter and laxer parties. The scholar Bonaventure led the Franciscans from 1257 to 1274, seeking to chart a moderate course, though condemning the excesses of the stricter Observationist or “Spiritual” party. The Spiritual Franciscans, along with strong mystical and apocalyptic beliefs, held to the doctrine of apostolic poverty, believing that Christ and the apostles owned nothing. This position was declared heretical in 1322. The Franciscan order in the following centuries spun off a number of separate sects and other orders.

Dominicans: The Order of Preachers (Ordo Praedicatorum) was founded by Dominiac in the 13th century as a medicant, or preaching, order. It was begun with an apologetical goal in mind—to convert Muslims, Jews, and heretics to the Catholic faith. Dominiac stressed vacility with vernacular languages, a strong academic education, especially in theology, and a life of simplicity and poverty so as to avoid hypocrisy. Two of its most famous members were the philosophers Albertus Magnus and Thomas Aquinas. The order grew quickly in its first centuries of existence and its influence expanded as its members were chosen for church offices. Eventually, the order was charged with running the Roman Inquisition.

VI Knights Templar & Other Military Orders

The Knights Templar Existing for about two centuries (1096-1314), was the most well-known of the military orders. They were constituted as a monastic order after the First Crusade as an inspiration of Bernard of Clarivaux. The order was made-up of celibate lifetime members and temporary members, often married, from the knightly class who were mostly uneducated. The order also pioneered modern banking methods, such as credit and checking, to raise funds for the crusades, as well as to assist pilgrimages to the Holy Land . They served in the Holy Land campaigns, but eventually were accused of heresy by Philip the Fair and disbanded by Pope Clement The Order of Christ, begun in 1318, succeeded the Knights Templar and absorbed many of its knights. It settled in Portugal . Over the centuries, it was reformed as both a religious order answerable to the pope and a civil order answerable to the king. The Knights Hospitaller, a 12th century order working with the sick, after the First Crusade divided itself into two parts, the newer one pledged to protecting pilgrimages to the Holy Land. They also fought with distinction in the Holy Land . Eventually, they absorbed much of the property of the Knights Templar, and its branches became military enclaves in later centuries, such as the Knights of Malta.

Overview of Medieval Monasticism – Part Three

Shapers of Later Monasticism

Basil of Caesurea (c.330-379): Considered the founder of Eastern monasticism, Basil (also called Basil the Great) along with his older sister, Macrina, helped give shape to the monastic life in the East. His Aescetica provided the foundational rules that still today guide the Eastern Orthodox practice. Basil is also known as one of the key theologians and preachers of the period and served as a bishop the last seven years of his life.

Benedict of Nursia (480-543): Considered the father of Western monasticism, Benedict originally took up the life of a hermit, but after being surrounded by numerous others, he founded a communal house at Monte Cassino.

His Rule became the foundational guide for Western practice (“Therefore, we intend to establish a schola [Lt. “school” or “combat unit”] for the Lord’s service.”). Almost all subsequent reform movements in the medieval period saw themselves as trying to recover the original purity of Benedictine practice. The Rule gave shape to the characteristic shape of Western monasticism. Some of the following are key aspects:

1. Benedictine monks made three vows:

Poverty: communal ownership of all property; simple dress and meals

Chastity: celibacy; self-control; pure thought life and body

Obedience: submission to all superiors and all monks who have previously entered the order.

2. Monks ordered their day about the office of prayer: eight hours each with characteristic emphasis:

Matins (during the night)

Lauds or Morning Prayer (at Dawn)

Prime or Early morning prayer (the First Hour = 6am)

Terce or Mid-morning Prayer (the Third Hour = 9am)

Sext or Mid-day Prayer (the Sixth Hour = 12pm)

None or Mid-afternoon Prayer (the Ninth Hour = 3 pm)

Vespers or Evening Prayer (at the lighting of the lamps)

Compline or Night Prayer (before retiring)

3. Daily life. This was divided between prayer, work, and study. Labour was meant to keep each house self-sufficient and free of idleness, though in later centuries, manual work was often taken care of by local peasants. Communal meetings, sleeping arrangements, and dining all enforced a community discipline. Silence and times of solitude were regularly practiced, as well.

4. The monastery set up the following offices:

Abbot: abba (Aram. “father”)–the spiritual and organizational leader of the house.

Prior: the second in command.

Dean: would oversee ten monks

 

Celtic Monasticism

At its height in 5th through 7th centuries, the Celtic monastic tradition was a different one than that of Benedict, and consequently, had some differences in practice and emphasis, including the practice of peregrination, wandering on land or sea without direction or planning, totally dependent upon God’s purposes. They observed a different calendar than that of Rome , and possibly some married monks were allowed. Celtic monasteries were also known for their rich book production and early missionary work in the British Isles and France . Many of their scholars would form the backbone of the Carolingian Renaissance in future centuries. Important early Celtic missionaries include Patrick of Ireland (c. 390-461), Columbanus (543-615) who founded Iona, and Aidan (d. 651) who founded Lindisfarne in Northumbria . At the Synod of Whitby in 633, the Celtic orders adopted Western practices, including the Western calendar.

 

 

Overview of Medieval Monasticism – Part Two

Early Monasticism

 

I. Possible Predecessors

Nazirites (Numbers 6:1-21): Nazirites were of two types: those who were dedicated from birth to be a Nazirite (e.g. Samson and possibly John the Baptist) and those who undertake the vow for a limited time (Paul may have done this, cf. Acts 18:18). The Nazirite’s spiritual disciplines included not drinking wine or eating grapes, not cutting their hair until the end of the vow, extra strict rules for ritual defilement, and certain sacrificial dedications.

Qumran Community: Jewish ascetical communities located in Qumran ( Dead Sea ). They are primarily remembered because of The Manual of Discipline and The Damascus Document. They were led by an examiner, practiced communal ownership, keep strict rituals and an office of prayer, and practiced expulsion for violations of Torah.

Essenes: Described by Josepheus, the Essenes were mystical Jewish sects in the late 2nd century BC through the 1st century AD. Often associated with the Qumran community, they practiced a number of ascetical practices, including communal ownership, ritual bathing, isolation, special oaths, and food practices. They also seriously studied Jewish mystical and apocalyptical writings of the period.

Therapeutae: Early Jewish aesthetic hermits and communities described by Philo of Alexandria in the 1st century AD who lived in Egypt . They practiced solitude, ritual cleansing, prayer, fasting, etc. Philo saw them as examples of the contemplative existence. Apparently, their community was deeply involved in Jewish allegorical and mystical readings of the Old Testament and Apocryphal works, such as Enoch.

II. Medieval legends

Joseph of Arimathea: Medieval legends believed that Joseph of Arimathea founded the first monastic community in Glastonbury somewhere between 37 to 63 AD. The Grail legend is often associated with this. No real evidence exists for these claims, though Christian influence was relatively early in the British Isles .

Daughters of Philip (Acts 21:7-9): The four unmarried daughters of Philip the Evangelist were considered by medieval monks as early ascetics.

III. Models

Jewish (Old Testament) Prophets: Elijah and Elisha are often cited as early examples of the monastic ideal

John the Baptist: Called John the Forerunner in Eastern Christianity, John’s particular rigorous lifestyle and prophetic commitment to “decrease as he increases” were seen as modeling the monastic life.

Mary: Mary’s simple obedience, radical submission to God’s will, humility and silence, as well as her chastity were all qualities seen as aspects of the ascetic life. Almost all medievals believed Mary to be a perpetual virgin, and this understanding became part of he prizing of virginity as a higher, more heavenly life and as a living martyrdom and espousal to Christ.

Paul: Paul’s celibacy and tentmaking were prized as monastic.

Jesus: Jesus’ celibacy and prayer life were seen as the highest of models.

IV. Early Types

Eremetics: Hermits living alone, either living off what others brought them or by a simple means of subsistence existence, such as ropemaking. Paulus the Hermit (c. 230-342) was the first Christian monk known by name to history. Eventually, many adopted a modified eremitic existence, living as hermits but near each other for occasional gatherings and support. Marcarius first encouraged this form of living, nicknamed “the larvae.”

Cenobitics: cenobium (Lt. “community): A gathered community of monks living together and following a common rule. Pachomius of Egypt (292-346) gathered the first community of monks.

V. The Desert Fathers

Some of the earliest, if not the earliest Christian monastics, the desert monks of Egypt lived in both eremitic and cenobitic fashion. It is often claimed that they arose as a reaction to luxury and laxness after Christianity was declared legal and then favored in the Roman Empire .

Anthony of Egypt, one of the earliest desert hermits, is sometimes known as the father of monasticism, though this is a bit of a misnomer, since other monks were practicing before him, yet the title is justified in a way, for his example, especially made popular through Athanasius’ Life of Anthony, inspired countless numbers to attempt the monastic life. His choice to enter the harsh life of the desert, his strict practice, and tales of his spiritual warfare became a call to ascetical heroics.

Overview of Medieval Monasticism – Part One

“Let a man consider that God is always looking at him from heaven, that his actions are everywhere visible to the divine eyes and are constantly being reported to God by the Angels. . In order that he may be careful about his wrongful thoughts, therefore, let the faithful brother say constantly in his heart, “Then shall I be spotless before Him, if I have kept myself from my iniquity.”

–from The Rule of St. Benedict

Introduction

Christian monasticism is a structured, ascetic pursuit of the Christian life. It involves a return to God through attention to the classic spiritual disciplines of silence, chastity, prayer, fasting, confession, good works, obedience, and vigils. The monastic experience–from monas (Gk. “alone”)–is an inward and solitary one, though it may be practiced in community. The nature of the monastic pursuit is one that involves ora et labora (Lt. “prayer and work”), a submission of every aspect of one’s life to a practiced awareness of God’s presence.

Most monks and nuns were not priests, relying on the local parish to administer the sacraments; however, often isolated communities could seek to have one or more members ordained if needed. Likewise, bishops have often been chosen from monastic leadership.

Christian monasticism, while primarily concerned with the individual pursuit of the “spiritual life,” that is an ascetic pursuit of God, has also arguably been responsible for: the survival of education and culture during the period following the fall of the Western Roman Empire; the perpetuation of important Greco-Roman and early Christian manuscripts in monastery scriptoriums; the development of important early medicines in rudimentary pharmacies; the beginnings of Western capitalism with early advances in agricultural production, manufacturing, corporation law, and labour division; important advances in art, music, and cooking; social stability in Western and Eastern Europe, often serving as an outlet for the second sons and daughters of wealthy aristocratic families; and for important reform movements within Christendom.

The history of Christian monasticism, especially in Western Christianity, has been one of a cycle of reformation, stability, growing laxness and wealth, followed by new reformation, and so on.

 

 

A PURE HEART – Transformation of Desire

A PURE HEART – Transformation of Desire

Union with God

Carmelite spirituality has frequently been presented as a “high” spirituality, a rarefied spirituality for the chosen few. It is often presented as soaring ecstatic unions, or dramatic sufferings more intense than the usual troubles in life. Images come to mind of Bernini’s statue of Teresa’s “transverberation”, her vision of being pierced by a golden dart with all the accompanying ecstasy and agony.

John of the Cross’s stark drawing of Christ on the Cross, from the perspective of the Father looking down on his crucified Son, evokes the unremitting single-mindedness of the saint. Or one thinks of John’s drawing showing the way up Mount Carmel. The paths of material and spiritual possessions do not reach the top; only the middle path of the nadas opens to the top where God is nada and todo (no thing, yet everything!). Carmel seems to represent an heroic, even epic journey to God. And it is only for experienced mountaineers who dare scale its heights.

If the ascent of Mount Carmel is such an epic feat, what are we ordinary Carmelites doing here? Do we sometimes feel we are guardians of a tradition we have never really experienced? Do we feel that we often are reporting second hand accounts of the land that is Carmel, but have never really been there ourselves? As a result of our transformation in love, “We become god!” John of the Cross boldly proclaims. How rare is this divinisation celebrated in our tradition?

An awakening

John uses another image for the journey, besides travelling through a night or climbing a mountain. He writes that “The soul’s centre is God” and that our journey in life is to that centre. (15) But, instead of envisioning a distant centre requiring an arduous journey, John says that even with one degree of love we are in the centre! With one degree of desire, of yearning, of hope, no matter how inarticulate, we are in the centre.

Our theology today reinforces John’s observation. Strictly speaking, there is no natural world. It is a graced world, from the beginning, creation and redemption going hand in hand. In other words, our lives are permeated with the loving, enlivening, healing presence of God, uncreated grace. Instead of searching for a hidden centre, the centre has come to us.

So, what is the journey? The journey, said John, is to go deeper into God. But we are in union with God all the way; divinisation is a continual process. So, the goal described by our Carmelite authors is one taking place in each soul who only feebly desires more.

“And now you awake in my heart, where in secret you dwelt all along”, wrote John of the Cross. But in his commentary he corrects himself and says it was not “you” who awoke, but it was I who awoke to the love always present and continually offered me. This awakening, and the difference it makes in a person’s life, is Carmel’s call. A conclusion we could draw is that many, many Carmelites and certainly others as well reach the so-called “heights” of Carmel. The heights are approached, not when someone drops off their pew in a swoon, but when a life more and more is expressing God’s will.

To want what God wants

The purpose of prayer is conformity with God’s will, wrote Teresa of Avila. The prayerful person is more and more in union with God and this union is expressed in the individual more and more wanting what God wants. We do not get tougher ascetically and thereby wrestle our will into submitting to God’s will. No, God’s love lures us into a transformation of our desire so that we desire what God desires; we want what God wants. John reported, “What you desire me to ask for, I ask for; and what you do not desire, I do not desire, nor can I, nor does it even enter my mind to desire it”.(16)

Divinisation is the gradual participation is God’s knowing and loving. The pilgrim is so transformed that all their ways of living become expressive of God’s will. If we may interpret Jesus as saying that God’s will is the well-being of humanity, then the prayerful person is more and more living in a way that furthers that well-being. In other words, the transformed, divinised person is living in a way which cooperates with God’s present and coming reign.

These people are hard to identify. Meister Eckhart warns us that someone living from their centre very naturally lives in accord with God’s will. He says while others fast, they are eating; while others keep vigil, they are asleep; and while others pray, they are silent. After all, what is the purpose of the vigil, the prayer, the fasting, if not to live out of the soul’s centre, which is God. Of course, he is exaggerating to make a point since our pilgrimage is never finished this side of death. The point, I take it, is the absolute humanness of the transformed person.

Teresa tells us that these people are not even continually conscious of their spiritual life. Interiority becomes less and less an object of focus. Not even God preoccupies them, because in all the ways they are living they are expressing their relationship with God. The goal was never to be a contemplative, or a saint, or to have a spiritual life. The goal was always to want what God wants, in a consonance of desire.

In the conclusion of the Carmelite Rule, Albert, Patriarch of Jerusalem and the law-giver, writes “Here then are a few points I have written down to provide you with a standard of conduct to live up to; but our Lord, at his Second Coming will reward anyone who does more than he is obliged to do”.(17) Kees Waaijman of the Brandsma Institute in Nijmegen sees this statement as a clear allusion to the Good Samaritan story. The Carmelite is placed in the role of innkeeper. His plans and orderly house are upset when a stranger brings a beaten man to be cared for. The stranger asks the innkeeper to take care of the beaten man, and if the innkeeper incurs further expense, i.e. does more, the stranger will compensate him when he returns.

The stranger, Christ, asks the Carmelite to take care of His people in His absence. The guest is unexpected, the order of the house is disturbed. But the innkeeper dutifully takes care of the wounded person, perhaps without emotional investment or ego-involvement, and maybe with very little satisfaction. Kees concludes that all real giving is essentially dark. The Presence met deep in Carmelite hearts is a night that guides, a flame that heals, an absence that reveals.

Friars need make no apologies for not being true Carmelites. Our spirituality is not about heroic asceticism; it is about God’s all-conquering love, a love that has touched every heart and made it ache; otherwise we would not be here.

Realizing that we are naturally at home on the heights of Carmel, or better, in the arms of God, and still always in need of God’s mercy, our spiritual ministry is to make available Carmel’s tradition to help our brothers and sisters “see” and “hear” the presence of God in their own lives.

In order to tend this flame in others, it seems right that we will have come to terms with it in our own lives. If we listen to our hearts, we will know the hearts of the people with whom we live and minister. Dust off any Carmelite vocation and you will usually find a glowing ember waiting to be fanned into a flame, a flame that yearns for wholeness, peace, security, joy, unity and that finds its best expression in service of our brothers and sisters. That is why we came. That is why we stay.

Summary

“Entering Carmel” is not simply a matter of entering a building, joining a community, and taking on a ministry, whether of prayer or apostolic mission. It is that, certainly, but “entering Carmel” is also entering a drama playing out deep within every human life. That drama of the human spirit encountered by God’s Spirit is essentially inexpressible.

Carmelites are explorers of an inner place of intimacy with God, a fine point of the human spirit where it is addressed by Mystery. Carmel honours that pristine, privileged relationship between creature and Creator. Carmelite mystics have used bridal imagery and, regularly, the love story of the Song of Songs to capture the intimacy of this encounter. The landscape of the Song begins to give shape to the “land of Carmel”.

The purpose of prayer is conformity with God’s will, writes Teresa of Avila. In this relationship the desires of the pilgrim are transformed so that more and more the life of a Christian is expressing desires which are in accord with God’s desire. If we may describe the goal of God’s desire as the well-being of humanity, then the transformed Christian is living in a manner which naturally cooperates with the reign of God.

Questions for reflection:

Who are the truly holy people in my experience?

What do they look like?

Do I understand the spiritual life as an heroic ascent, or an awakening to a love always offered from the core of my being?

Am I able to trust, in practical ways, that God’s love is freely given, unable to be earned?

Are there subtle ways I try to guarantee my worth?

“Relax, it has been done!” said one theologian of grace.

What might that expression mean?

A TROUBLED HEART – The tragic in life

A TROUBLED HEART – The tragic in life

The sorrows of humanity

Part of the appeal of the Carmelite tradition is its honest wrestling with the problems and dark forces that attack the body and spirit. Carmel does not avoid the tragic in life but deals with it directly. Suffering is a such a major part of people’s experience that a spirituality which does not acknowledge the suffering will be ignored. Carmel’s saints deeply shared in the difficulties of life.

Edith Stein and Titus Brandsma experienced the depth of human cruelty and inexplicable evil. Thérèse of Lisieux, in her short, hidden life, experienced a surprising amount of suffering. Teresa of Avila knew the damage caused by warfare both outside and inside her soul. The heavy reputation of John of the Cross, his very name, and his image of the “dark night” speak of a spirituality that is serious about coming to terms with the dark side of life. Think, too, about the first Carmelites who went to the periphery of society and there, without distractions, opened their lives to the inner warfare of evil and good spirits.

People are drawn to a spirituality which finds words for their deepest sorrows, yet offers hope in the heart of these dark times. Carmel’s saints, though of differing centuries and cultures, entered into the common sorrows of humanity. A pilgrim in any era can relate to the sufferings of Carmel’s saints and call on them as companions in the valley of sorrows. It is good to rehearse their difficulties.

For example, many people today can identify with the problems of Thérèse of Lisieux. As a child Thérèse experienced the loss not only of her real mother, but also of subsequent “mothers” who cared for her. Her fragile psyche knew the sufferings of neuroticism and the debilitation of psychosomatic illness. She helplessly watched the mental deterioration and eventual institutionalisation of her father, an heroic figure in her life. She experienced Carmel as a desert and in her final physical and psychological illness she knew the temptation to suicide. Devotees of Thérèse have never been fooled by the sweet exterior. They recognized in her a fellow sufferer who knew by experience just how difficult life can be. And yet, she testified to a love present in it all which will not fail.

Thérèse expressed a life-long desire to suffer. It had a mysterious attraction for her, which would be suspect had she not related it to love. From the time she entered Carmel, Thérèse began to experience dryness in prayer and remained in this condition throughout the rest of her brief time in Carmel. And, most amazingly, her autobiography with its especially appealing manuscript “B” was written while Thérèse was suffering an extremely dark night of the spirit when all was in doubt. The idea of heaven, which had been her life-long inspiration, was mocking her for her belief in it. Cognitively and effectively she had no assurance regarding the direction in her life. Meanwhile she was writing the beautiful passages about being love in the heart of the church, and sending inspiring letters to her missionary brothers.

Thérèse was undergoing her own transformation in the furnace of a dark love. All she had left was the core of faith, confidence and love. When she encourages us to have trust and to believe that “everything is a grace” she does so not from a position of tangible delights in the loving presence of God but from an experience of God’s absence and the taunts of her own mind. Cardinal Daneels wondered if Thérèse could not be called the “Doctor of Hope” because of her testimony to the human possibility to continue on in life when all the props have been removed.

The dark love of God

Teresa of Avila warned that the battles within our fragile psyches are much more difficult than the wars outside us. Teresa had numerous obstacles to overcome in her reform. She had to contend with opponents of her reform, purchase appropriate buildings for her communities, hire men to renovate them, raise funds for their maintenance, recruit community members, relate to various ecclesiastics not all of whom were supportive, travel the difficult roads of Spain in extreme conditions, and at times deal with litigation in the courts.

However, she reported, these battles did not compare with the battles waged within her soul as she prayerfully attended to her depths. … Hearing His voice is a greater trial than not hearing it. (13) One would assume, Teresa mused, that “going within oneself” would be like going home; that the wars outside are one thing, but within the soul all is harmonious. However, she reported that she went within herself, and found she was at war with herself.

Prayer throws light on previously unexamined corners of the soul. Compulsions, addictions, inauthentic ways of living, false selves, and false gods all become apparent as the person becomes grounded in truth. This uncomfortable experience can lead to fear and faintheartedness, and a temptation to abandon the journey. Teresa’s call for courage and determination in the pursuit of a prayer life are not overly-dramatic. What the soul needs, Teresa wrote, is self-knowledge. And the door to self-knowledge, the door to the interior castle, is prayer and reflection.

Without a prayerful effort, we remain hopelessly locked on the periphery of our lives asking others and God’s creation to tell us what only God can tell us, that is, who we are. Without a true centre emerging in our lives we live with many “centres”, fragmented and scattered, asking each to fulfil our heart’s desires. The painful battle to enter within oneself in prayer is the only antidote to a sure death locked in the embrace of one’s idols.

Modern readers can sympathize with Teresa as she rehearses a catalogue of difficulties in her life, including being overly praised and being unfairly criticized; she suffered the contradiction of good men who thought her prayer experiences were from the devil; and daily she dealt with poor health.

But a most difficult experience arose just when her relationship with the Lord was the most intimate. She began to question her entire journey and wondered if it were rooted in her imagination rather than the reality of God’s presence in her life. Had she simply imagined that God had been good to her in the past? Had she been good in the past or simply made it up? In other words, just when the friendship with God would be expected to be on solid ground, the question flares up, “Is there anybody home at the centre?” Having given one’s life and best energy to the following of her perceived call, she began to wonder if it were all an illusion.

Another way the question has been asked is, “Is the ultimate gracious?” Is whatever or whoever it is all about for us? Or are we a useless passion? Are the immense desires of our hearts, the hungers of our soul, meant to be ultimately frustrated? Or is there a reality, a love awaiting us equal to our yearning? These questions get to the heart of the human journey.

Time and perseverance, and God’s grace, eventually answered Teresa’s doubts. She later reports the absence of such gnawing doubts and the surety of a profound, but not preoccupying, relationship with the Lord. But even in that condition she identifies as the “spiritual marriage” she still reports that she trusts suffering more. Not as hard on herself as when she was locked out of herself and locked into the periphery of her life, she still knew that the disciple of Jesus would carry the cross, and through the cross life would emerge. She did not artificially construct crosses in her life, but she did not dodge the crosses life presents. She had learned to trust in the sometimes dark love of God.

Dark nights

The dark night metaphor of John of the Cross reminds us that the experience of God’s love is not always a peak experience of the unity of all creation. In the dark night God’s love approaches in a way which seems to negate us. In the night God seems over against us. Nothing in the loves is dark or destructive, John maintains, but because of who we are and the purification we need the love is experienced as dark.

John provides an especially powerful description of times in life when consolations evaporate and prayer is all but impossible. Desire is still present but it has exhausted itself looking for relief from its idols. Theologian Karl Rahner commented that all symphonies in life remain unfinished. In every relationship, in every possession an incompleteness will eventually surface. This frustration of desire and the lure of something more or beyond is the unease caused by God’s continual invitation into deeper union.

When gods die in the night, the personality goes into an eclipse. Psychologist Carl Jung’ observed that he could not distinguish god-symbols from self-symbols. When an individual loses her god-symbol the personality begins to disintegrate. This dark condition lasts until a new god-symbol emerges or a new relationship develops with the old god-symbol.

The counsel of John of the Cross during these crises in life is most helpful. He assures us that God’s love is somewhere present in the debris of our life, but it will not be experienced as love initially. John encourages patience, trust, and perseverance. This loving activity of God is freeing us from idols and restoring health to the soul. “Gods” are dying in the night and the soul needs to undergo a grieving process. The wrong path would be to artificially solve or heal the condition, or deny it altogether. John encourages facing the condition, entering into it with patience, and there where the heart is struggling hardest to be alert for the approach of love. John calls for a “loving attentiveness” in the dark; it is time to be a watch in the night. Contemplation is an openness to God’s transforming love, especially when it approaches in such a disguised manner.

An intense experience which John calls the night of the spirit is simultaneously a powerful experience of our sinfulness, the finiteness of our human condition, and God’s ever-emerging transcendence. While in this condition, words are meaningless. John writes it is time to “put one’s mouth in the dust”. All one can do is the next loving thing which presents itself. In this desert the pilgrim continues the journey in life, relying only on the guidance of a truly biblical faith. John is convinced that only this purified faith is the context for a proper relationship with God. As with Thérèse of Lisieux’s disappearing thought of heaven, the pilgrim no longer possess the object of her hope, and is reminded that hope is in what we do not possess.

John’s writings do not wallow in suffering. His poetry, and their commentaries, are all written from the other side of the struggles. The night has become an illuminating experience and a truer guide than day. The flame which once burned now cauterises and heals. And the absence which drove him in search of the Beloved has revealed a compassionate Presence hidden within his longing.

A new spirituality

Contemporary Carmel’s witnesses to a faith maintained in the midst of abject suffering are the concentration camp victims, Titus Brandsma and Edith Stein. Brandsma resisted Nazi propaganda and Stein identified with her persecuted people. They were caught in the undertow of the 20th century’s powerful expression of societal evil. In their experience of being stripped of all security and support these Carmelites witnessed to the possibility of a faith, hope, and love lived in the bleakest of conditions. In recognizing their witness the Church confirms the authenticity of their lives and places them among those who have risked everything in their following of Christ. The Rule of Carmel leads to various forms of discipleship, but all forms eventually embrace the Cross.

The generals of two Carmelite orders called for a “new spirituality” to complement the “new evangelisation”. Will that new spirituality grow out of Carmel’s ever-increasing awareness of the realities people are experiencing around the word? As the face of Carmel changes and new members enter the Order, especially from populous, poor countries, the situation of the world’s masses is brought to the first-world’s doorstep. The internationality of the Order and international bonds forged in the family of Carmel give us a unique opportunity to hear the Spirit in many diverse contexts, and the opportunity to be challenged to respond.

John Paul II has amplified John of the Cross’ image of the dark night to include the modern world’s sufferings:

Our age has known times of anguish which have made us understand this expression better and which have furthermore given it a kind of collective character. Our age speaks of the silence or absence of God. It has known so many calamities, so much suffering inflicted by wars and by the destruction of so many innocent beings. The term dark night is now used of all of life and not just of a phase of the spiritual journey. The Saint’s doctrine is now invoked in response to this unfathomable mystery of human suffering.

I refer to this specific world of suffering … Physical, moral and spiritual suffering, like sickness – like the plagues of hunger, like war, injustice, solitude, the lack of meaning in life, the very fragility of human existence, the sorrowful knowledge of sin, the seeming absence of God – are for the believer all purifying experiences which might be called night of faith.

To this experience St. John of the Cross has given the symbolic and evocative name dark night, and he makes it refer explicitly to the plight and obscurity of the mystery of faith. He does not try to give to the appalling problem of suffering an answer in the speculative order; but in the light of the Scripture and of experience he discovers and sifts out something of the marvellous transformation which God effects in the darkness, since “He knows how to draw good from evil so wisely and beautifully” (Cant. B 23:5). In the final analysis, we are faced with living the mystery of death and resurrection in Christ in all truth.(14)

 

Summary

 

Carmel has no answer for the mystery of evil. But Carmel has travelled the hard road and offers a word of hope for the tearful pilgrim. Deep sorrow and experiences of the tragic are part of everyone’s life. The limitations of our human condition and the destructive forces loose in the world often assault our faith. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Carmel testifies that God’s love is always present in the debris of our lives.

Carmel brings a particularly powerful analysis of the impact of God’s love on the human spirit and personality. Invited into an ever-deeper relationship, the pilgrim is challenged to let go of all supports and walk trustingly into God’s future. A Christian often experiences assaults on both spirit and psyche as he or she is accommodated to the divine milieu. Carmel offers expressive language and images for these sufferings, and is most eloquent in urging a silent vigil for God’s approach.

Carmel’s saints trusted suffering, and often expressed a yearning to bear the cross in their discipleship. However, this desire for suffering is most meaningful in the context of a loving response to God initiatives. The suffering of Jesus on the cross was born because of love, not because of a love of suffering.

 

Questions for reflection:

 

What has been my experience of walking a dark way?

Have I been able to let go of known paths to be led by a way not of my choosing? What, particularly, was most helpful?

How do I proceed when the way is not clear?

What solace or guidance does Carmel offer to people living in distressing situations?

How should the Order respond to the “dark night” suffered by many peoples in the world?

Could this be part of the “new spirituality” urged by the Carmelite and Discalced Carmelite generals?

A LISTENING HEART – The contemplative life

A LISTENING HEART – The contemplative life

God, always already there

One of the most impressive messages from our Carmelite saints, has been the realization that God loves us first, as we are. Thinking they were looking for an absent God and that life was a pursuit of God, they returned from their efforts testifying that God had been pursuing them all along. That the story of our lives is not our search for God, but God’s desire for, and pursuit of, us. The hungers of our heart, the desire that we are, is the result of God first desiring us and coming to us in love. In time, we may be so transformed that we live with a consonance of desire, our human desire fully participating in God’s desire.

On one occasion, Teresa of Avila heard these words in prayer: “Seek yourself in me!” She asked a number of her friends and directors in Avila the meaning of “Seek yourself in me!” Among the respondents were a lay spiritual director, Francisco de Salcedo, her brother Lorenzo de Cepeda, and John of the Cross. These gentlemen met to discuss their responses but Teresa was absent. So they sent their replies to her.

In imitation of academic sparring sometimes practiced in the schools, Teresa playfully determined to find fault with each answer and gently mock it. We do not have their responses, but we do have her rejections of their answers. One respondent, Francisco de Salcedo, quoted St. Paul frequently, and then closed his response with a humble statement about having “written stupidities”. Teresa then chastised him for characterizing the words of St. Paul as “stupidities”. She said she had a mind to hand him over to the Inquisition.

John of the Cross must have responded that “Seek yourself in me” required that she be dead to the world in order to seek herself in God. Teresa’s answer to him was a prayer to be saved from people as spiritual as John of the Cross. His answer was good for members of the Company of Jesus, she said, but not for those she had in mind. Life is not long enough if we have to die to the world before we find God. Teresa pointed to the gospels and observed that Mary Magdalene was not dead to the world before she met Jesus; nor was the Canaanite woman dead to the world before she asked for crumbs from the table. And the Samaritan woman had not died to the world before encountering Jesus at the well. She was who she was and Jesus accepted her. Teresa closed her response to John of the Cross by thanking him for answering what she did not ask! (8)

Teresa’s point is, God meets us and accepts us where we are in our lives. We have been accepted all along. The challenge for us is to accept the acceptance, and allow that accepting Presence to change us. The reality of that embrace is the basis for our prayer. To pray, then, is to step trustingly into that relationship as the foundation of our lives. It is easy to talk about, but very difficulty to live day by day.

One theologian summed up Teresa’s message in this way: a faithful and perduring attentiveness to our depths and centre is the best cooperation we can give to God who is reorienting our life.

Lured by love

The Carmelite tradition can be misread. Carmel could easily appear to be saying to people that a rigorous asceticism will achieve union with God; that the idols of our lives can be toppled with our courageous efforts and isolated, rugged living. When in fact, Carmel’s message to people is the necessity for God’s grace, and the good news that grace is always available. All we need do is open our lives to it.

In The Ascent of Mount Carmel John of the Cross offers several counsels for detaching from the idols which have fooled us into their service. The counsels at first seem unnecessarily restrictive and even imbalanced. But John is quick to point out that willpower and asceticism alone cannot free the heart enslaved to idols. The idol, at least, is providing some nourishment for the heart hungering for God. The idol perhaps is providing some joy, some identity, some security to the famished pilgrim. On its own, the heart is not going to be able to tear itself away from this nourishment and go into an affective vacuum and await the Lord.

John testifies that it is only when the heart has a better offer can it let go of what it has been clinging to for dear life. Only when God enters a life and kindles a love deep in the person that lures the person past lesser loves can a person open his or her grasp of idols. With the invitation of such a love then, what was impossible before (letting go of one’s grasp on idols) becomes gently possible as idols melt away. The heart then is going from love to love. Because John is convinced that God is the soul’s centre, the task is not to find a distant God but to awake to the reality of a God who is “always already there”.

“Everything is a grace”, said Thérèse of Lisieux. She expressed this conviction while dying of tuberculosis, surrounded by a spirituality which deeply mistrusted human nature, believed that we had to merit God’s love, and called for “victim souls” to appease God’s wrath. Nonetheless, when told she could no longer receive Holy Communion, she simply said it was a grace when she could receive, and now that she cannot receive, it is still a grace. “Everything is a grace!”

Thérèse was convinced that God was always present to her, that God loved her, and that this love was freely given; it was absolutely unmerited by her. When speaking of merit, she simply said “I have none”.

Thérèse knew about God’s justice, and she was aware that devout people often offered themselves as victims to that justice so that sinners may be spared and God appeased. This God was not familiar to Thérèse. None of the faces of God in her life demanded appeasement, not her mother, or her father, not Pauline, nor Celine, nor Marie, not the God the Hebrew Bible who loved little ones, not Jesus who called little ones to him, not the Beloved in the Song of Songs or in the poetry of John of the Cross. She believed that God is just, but that this justice will be well aware of our littleness.

Thérèse of Lisieux was once described as “Vatican II in miniature”. The recent attention paid to her message reminds us that priority should be given not to our merits and efforts, but to living with confidence and trust. Thérèse begins her autobiography with St. Paul’s words to the Romans: “So it depends not on human will or exertion, but on God who shows mercy.” (9)

Thérèse anticipated today’s theology which understands grace as uncreated grace, the loving, healing presence of the Father, Son, and Spirit. When we speak of contemplation, we are simply encouraging an openness to this freely given love. God is continually coming toward us inviting us more deeply into our lives, into a wider freedom, and into a loving relationship. Contemplation is being open to that transforming love, no matter how it is approaching.

Contemplation re-focused

One of the recent developments in the understanding of the Carmelite charism has been the re-locating of contemplation among our priorities. We had always spoken about prayer, community, and ministry as the three corners of our charism. Contemplation was seen as a higher or deeper form of prayer and, at times in our history, ministry and contemplation appeared to be in competition. However, here is a description of contemplation found in the Carmelite Order’s recent document on formation:

…a progressive and continual transformation in Christ worked in us by the Spirit, by which God attracts us toward Himself by means of an interior process which leads from a dispersed periphery of life to the more interior cell of our being, where He dwells and unites us to Himself. (10)

We are understanding now that contemplation is an activity which grounds and links prayer, community, and ministry. The door is prayer, but God’s love is offered us in various ways in those realities of our lives and one can enter into this contemplative openness to God, in other words live a life of authentic faith, hope, and love, through any of those three avenues. They are not pitted one against another, but they are windows to the transcendent reality at the depth of our lives and offer contact with that Mystery.

It is important to stress this perspective because Carmel has had 800 years of ministry in response to the Church and God’s people, and, God-willing, will have many more centuries of unselfish service. And none of it is inimical to a contemplative life. Many a Carmelite has been transformed into a more loving person through engagement with God’s people in various ministries.

Archbishop Romero was transformed and converted by God’s love not only in the solitude of his prayer, but in his engagement with the Lord in history, in the messy efforts of the people to find their place at the banquet of life. Contemplation should be the deepest source of compassion for our world. The contemplative is one who has been led into the absolute poverty and powerlessness of a soul apart from God. The contemplative learns to wait in hope with all who wait in hope for God’s mercy. In this contemplative listening one learns to say, “We poor!”

Our contemplative living, our openness to God’s love coming toward us in good times and bad is the gift we can give to others. What happened in the lives of Carmel’s saints, what is happening in the lives of Carmelites today, is happening in everyone’s life. We witness best by keeping a focus on who we are: a contemplative fraternity living in the midst of the people.

Speaking to the Order’s General Congregation in 1999 a German Carmelite stressed this contemplative charism:

I strongly believe that our first task is to put quite a bit of our energy, time, and personal talents and qualities into this process of a growing relationship with the God of life and love. Our personal human and spiritual growth as well as our future as an Order depend on how much we as individuals and communities yield to and develop this intimate friendship with God so that he can transform us according to the image of Christ, acting through us for the sake of the Church and the world. (11)

Summary

The story of the Beloved coming toward the lover to lure her heart into a deep union is the archetypal story Carmelites have rehearsed time and time again. Our lives cannot be wrestled into submission unless led by love. We cannot release our grasp on our idols unless God kindles a deeper love in the soul. The heart then has somewhere to go and can trustingly let go of its attachments, its addictions, its idols. God’s love, always present and offered, lures the heart into God’s wilderness, “deeper into the thicket”,(12) and there encounters the suffering of the world. Our contemplative stance does not remove us from the world’s cares but opens us to the full force of its struggle.

 

Questions for reflection:

Like “a watch in the night”, do I keep alert to the approach of God’s love?

Where in my life am I called to a deeper listening?

Where are the continual challenges to my mind and heart?

Are these challenges invitations to surrender more deeply to God’s transforming love?

Among the signs of God’s love at work are a growing trust in the mercy of God, and a growing freedom from what enslaves the heart.

Do I experience that greater trust?

Am I aware of a greater freedom?

Have I really surrendered myself to the Mystery at the core of my life, or do I continue to struggle to secure my own existence?

Have I seen the face of Christ in the face of the people I serve?

Can I recognize the invitation of God’s transforming love as it approaches cloaked in a culture?

In my community and in my ministry, how can I help create conditions for a “listening heart”?

 

AN ENSLAVED HEART – The worship of false gods

AN ENSLAVED HEART – The worship of false gods

Settling down with idols

A second perennial theme in Carmel’s spirituality is the need to decide which God to follow. Our tradition was born on Mount Carmel, the scene of the struggle between the followers of Yahweh and the followers of Baal. Elijah encouraged the people to be clear about their choice of the one, true God. The Carmelite community as well as individual Carmelites have had to continually wrestle with the forces of disintegration and fragmentation brought about by the pursuit of idols.

Nicholas the Frenchman in his Fiery Arrow letter to the Order accused members of losing their way as they migrated from the desert to the city and its allurements. He accused them of following their own disordered desires under the guise of necessary ministry. The reforms of Albi, Mantua, John Soreth, Teresa of Avila, and Touraine continually reminded Carmelites to have one God, and to serve that God with all their heart.

The saints in our tradition knew how hard it is to find and follow the true God, among the many gods offered us. This Presence deep within our lives is met in the world around us. In his Spiritual Canticle poem John of the Cross observes that “All who are free tell me a thousand graceful things of You…”(5) Teresa of Avila counselled, “Let creatures speak to you of their maker”.

In our exuberance however, we continually ask of God’s creation more than it can be. We regularly pour our heart’s desires into some part of God’s creation and ask it to be the fulfilment we seek. We ask some part of God’s creation to be uncreated. We take a good and ask it to be a god.

The heart, weary from its continual pilgrimage, seeks to settle down and make camp, refusing to go on. It settles down with lesser gods, finding some joy, peace, identity, security or other alleviations of its desires. This short term relief masks a spiritual problem and also a problem in human development. John of the Cross was convinced that when the individual centres on something or someone other than God, the personality eventually becomes dysfunctional.

Such “attachments” create a situation of death. Whatever or whomever I am asking to be my god, my desires’ deepest fulfilment, cannot bear the expectation. The idol will begin to crumble under such pressure as I ask it to be my “all”. And because we cannot grow past our gods, a lesser god means a lesser human being. Consequently, that to which I am “attached” is dying under my need, and I am dying because my deepest desires can find nothing and no one to match their intensity.

The self-transcending dynamism within our humanity will not allow us to declare that we have “arrived” at journey’s end. By declaring a premature victory as we cling to idols, we are engaging in inauthentic self-transcendence. In other words, the heart is no longer free to hear and follow the invitation of the Beloved. This slavery of the heart is the result of disordered desire. The solution, the liberation of the heart, is not accomplished by annihilation of desire but by its reorientation.

Disordered relationship

When our tradition talks about attachments, it does not mean that relationship with the world is a problem. Certainly, sometimes the world is a problem. But we have to relate to the one world we have. Relating to the world is not the basic problem in attachment; it is how we are relating that becomes the problem. Our saints are talking to adults whose heart has been enslaved by someone or something in place of God. It is not necessarily the person or thing that is the problem, but the way we are relating to them, the disordered way our desire or longing is being expressed.

It is immaterial whether the idol is valuable or not. The relationship is the critical factor. An incident in the life of John of the Cross is illustrative. One of John’s friars had a simple cross made of palm. John took it from him. The friar had little else, and the cross was certainly not valuable, but John discerned that the friar was clinging to his crude cross in a disordered way. It apparently had become a non-negotiable indicating that the friar’s relationship to it was skewed.

John observed that whether the bird is tied by a cord or a thin thread, it is still tied. The heart is enslaved by its idols and no longer free to hear the invitation of the Beloved. John identifies a craving in attachments which makes the person poorly attuned to God. John was convinced that a person becomes like that which she loves. This false god will encourage a false self.

It is important to emphasize that the Carmelite tradition does not advocate withdrawal from the world. It is advocating a right relationship with God’s world. Without interpretation Carmel could be understood to be saying that involvement with the world is a hindrance to relationship with God. On the contrary, it is in God’s world that God is met.

The Carmelite tradition is addressing those whose hearts have gone out to the world seeking fulfilment and have become scattered and fragmented in their search. Pouring their heart’s desires into possessions and relationships s which cannot meet the intensity of these desires, the Christian begins to experience an impasse in life. It is a deteriorating situation. The world the Christian is clutching so frantically is having life squeezed out of it by the expectations. And the Christian is being conformed to idols, not transformed into God.

A contemporary theme related to our traditional theme of attachment is addiction. We are coming to realize that we are all addicted in one way or another, and that only God’s grace can free us from our addictions. One can be addicted to obviously destructive things, but one can also be addicted to the church, addicted to the Pope, addicted to religious practices, even addicted to Carmel, and addicted to God as we create God to be.

In other words, we can ask part of God’s creation to be uncreated, to be the nourishment for the deepest hungers within us as individuals and as a people. We are asking from God’s creation what only God can give. And our tradition insists that nada (nothing), no part of God’s creation, can be substituted for God. Only the one who is nada (no thing, yet everything) can be sufficient food for our hunger.

When John of the Cross drew a stylised mountain to picture the journey of transformation he drew three paths up the mountain. The two outside paths, one of worldly goods, the other of spiritual goods, did not reach the top. Only the middle path of the nadas attained the summit of Carmel. He amplified his teaching in the picture with several lines of text at the bottom. The lines of the text were variations of the theme, “to possess all, possess nothing”.

The text at the bottom of the picture gives insight into John’s basic understanding of the spiritual journey. He agrees that we are made to possess all, know all, be all, etc. But he also understands that we will never have all if we ask any part of God’s creation to be sufficient for these hungers. His counsel to possess nothing in order to possess all is a cryptic encouragement to never ask some thing (some part of God’s creation) to be all. Only the one who is no-thing can be our All.

Such asceticism sounds difficult unless one understands that John is addressing men and women who have tried the other paths in life for fulfilment. Their hearts have gone out in search of the one who loved them and they have become enmeshed in life with hearts broken and scattered. John’s counsels are words of life for people dying for lack of proper nourishment. He is pointing out the path of life for pilgrims who have lost their way.

A prophetic role

One writer suggested that the Carmelite vocation is to be suspended between heaven and earth, finding no support in either place. That is a rather dramatic way of saying that ultimately our faith, our confidence and trust in God may have to be its own support, and God leads us beyond all of our earthly and spiritual constructs. At the end of her life, Thérèse of Lisieux found her life-long hope for heaven mocking her. John of the Cross reminded us of St. Paul’s observations: if we already have what we hope for, it is not hope; hope is in what we do not possess. The spirituality of John of the Cross has been described as a continual hermeneutic on the nature of God.

Does this suspicion of human intentions and constructs make Carmelites eternally curmudgeons? Or does it allow us to bring a sharp critique regarding the human heart and its idol-making propensity? Is it not actually a ministry of liberation, freeing us from all the ways we enslave ourselves and give ourselves away to idols? Is not the Carmelite critique a challenge to not cling to anything, to not make anything centre in one’s life, other than the Mystery who haunts our lives. And in that purity of heart, really only achieved by God’s spirit, are we able to love others well and live in this world wisely. The Carmelite challenge is to cooperate with God’s love, often dark, which is enlivening and healing us.

This continual listening for the approach of God, in the middle of all the words and structures we have constructed, is a prophetic task for Carmel. Which God are we to follow? The gods of our addictions? The gods of ideologies and limited theologies? The gods of oppressive economic and political systems? The gods of all the “isms” of our time? Or is our God the God who transforms, heals, liberates, enlivens?

Archbishop Oscar Romero was a traditional, careful, studious cleric. He was a good man, reserved, pious, prayerful. But his conversion came when he saw another face of Christ, a face somewhat different from the Christ of his piety and prayer, a face somewhat different from his theology, a face different from the Christ familiar to the hierarchy of El Salvador. It was the face of Christ in the face of the people of El Salvador; it was the face of Christ truly incarnated in history and finding its outlines in the struggles of his people. Romero said,

“We learn to see the face of Christ – the face of Christ that also is the face of a suffering human being, the face of the crucified, the face of the poor, the face of a saint, and the face of every person and we love each one with the criteria with which we will be judged: “I was hungry and you gave me to eat”. (6)

 

The idols of our times are not just personal loves and possessions, but are especially the idols of power, prestige, control, and dominance which leave most of humankind looking in at the banquet of life. Romero commented:

 

“The poor person is the one who has been converted to God and puts all his faith in him, and the rich person is one who has not been converted to God and puts his confidence in idols: money, power, material things … Our work should be directed toward converting ourselves and all people to this authentic meaning of poverty.” (7)

 

Many of our provinces have participated in confronting the idols of our times through liberation movements in many areas of the world, including the Philippines, Latin America, North America, Africa, Indonesia, and eastern Europe. Today, the inequities between north and south often point to idols of “isms” which keep a majority of the world in a emarginated condition.

Summary

The hungers of our heart send us into the world seeking nourishment. In many ways we ask the world, “Have you seen the one who did this to my heart, causing it to ache?” Our heart finds itself scattered over the landscape as we ask each person and each possession and each activity to tell us more about the Mystery at the core of our lives.

So enamoured by the messengers of God, the soul mistakes them for God. We take the good things of God and ask that they be god. The heart, tired of its pilgrimage, seeks to settle down and make a home. It pours its deepest desires into relationships, possessions, plans, activities, goals, and asks that they bring fulfilment to our deepest hungers. We ask too much from them and they begin to crumble under our expectations. Over and over the Carmelite saints remind us that only God is sufficient food for the hungers of the heart.

Questions for reflection:

What are the idols, the non-negotiables, that have become part of my life?

What are those things without which I cannot go on?

Am I hurting them by clinging so tightly to them?

Where and how have I become unfree in life ?

Am I unfree to follow my deepest desires?

Am I unfree to hear God’s call into God’s future, which is dark to me?

Am I unfree to hear my community’s needs?

Have I, unconsciously, been building my kingdom rather than watching for the reign of God?

Have I, without being aware of it, removed God from the centre of my life and placed in that centre my noble goals, my prophetic work, my understanding of the demands of the kingdom?

Have I slowly over the years forgotten to ask, “What does God want?”

Have the passions which brought me to Carmel been domesticated and left to wither? Have I become compulsively active, perhaps becoming more a functionary of an institution rather than a disciple of the Lord?

 

A LONGING HEART – Our desire for God

A LONGING HEART – Our desire for God

We choose all

“Our hearts are restless,” wrote St. Augustine, and that truth remains fundamental to the human condition. Human restlessness, human desire, human yearning – none of it ever seems finally and fully satisfied. The baby beginning to crawl and explore the environment is an expression of human restlessness; the journeying of the first Carmelites who left their homes to gather in a valley on Mount Carmel was fuelled by the same desire. We are truly pilgrims.

We humans never have enough because, with St. Thérèse of Lisieux, we choose all. And we will never rest until we get it. The Carmelite tradition recognises this hunger in the human heart and says we are made this way. We are made to seek and search, to yearn and ache, until the heart finally finds something or someone to match the depth of its desire, until the heart finds food sufficient for its hunger. We name that food, that fulfilment, that goal of human desire, God. Carmelites have been intentionally pursuing that elusive, mysterious fulfilment for 800 years. “I wanted to live,” wrote St. Teresa of Avila, “but I had no one to give me life…” (1)

We believe that, named or not, every human being is on this quest. We can assume this: that every student in our school, every member of our parish, every pilgrim to our shrine, every candidate in our seminary has an openness to the transcendent mystery we name God. Time and time again the desire will be denied, the hunger temporarily satisfied, the yearning stifled, distracted, weak. But we know it is there and it will emerge in one form or another. Our tradition has the power, the language, the imagery to help illumine what people are experiencing in their innermost being.

The Carmelite tradition attempts to name the hunger, give words to the desire, and express the journey’s end in God. The human heart will forever need this clarification of its wants. Carmel has wanted the same thing and will walk with anyone who is met along the way. We cannot satisfy their hunger, but can help them find words for it and know where it points. We can do it, and have done it, in art, in poetry and song, in counselling and teaching, in simply listening and understanding. And we can warn people that eventually all words fail and at times all we have is the desire itself.

One contemporary author observes that a serious problem in spirituality today is a naiveté about the desire or energy that drives us. Our God-given spiritual longing, which may be expressed in numerous ways, including creative, erotic energy, is dangerous for us if not carefully tended. We are naive about this deep desire within us and are not alert to its danger. Without a reverence toward this energy and ways of accessing it and keeping it contained, most adults waver between alienation from this fire and therefore live in depression, or allow themselves to be consumed by it and live in a state of inflation.

Depression, in this sense, means the inability to take child-like delight in life, to feel true joy. Inflation refers to our tendency, at times, to identify with this fire, this power of the gods. “…We are generally so full of ourselves that we are a menace to our families, friends, communities, and ourselves.” Unable to handle this energy we either feel dead inside or are hyperactive and restless. “Spirituality is about finding the proper ways, disciplines, by which to both access that energy and contain it”.(2)

Desires of the Carmelites

This dilemma would be understood by the saints of Carmel, They approached this flame found deep in their humanity and were burned and purified by it in their encounter. Teresa of Avila understood it as the water Jesus offered the Samaritan woman. More fire than water, it increases one’s desire. “How thirsty one becomes for this thirst!” (3) John of the Cross begins his poem The Spiritual Canticle by complaining, “Where have you hidden, Beloved, and left me moaning? You fled like the stag after wounding me; I went out calling you, but you were gone.” (4) John’s understanding of our humanity is that we wake up in the middle of a love story. Someone has touched our hearts, wounding them, and making them ache for fulfilment. Who has done this to us, and where has that one gone? Those questions haunt every human being’s journey, and propel every step from the crawling of a baby, to a Pope’s pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and all the human endeavour in-between.

John complained that our desires are like little children. We pay attention to them and they settle down for a while. But soon they are up and noisily disrupting the peace of the house. Or, our desires are like a longed-for day with a loved one; but the day turns out to be a big disappointment! John’s understanding of our humanity is that we have a hunger for which only God is sufficient food.

Thérèse of Lisieux found her deepest desires captured by the image of heaven: heaven as the never-ending Sunday, the eternal retreat, the eternal shore. The eternal shore is a particularly. evocative expression holding her heart’s yearning. She chose all in life, and this image for her is an expression of all that she desires. But no image or concept fully expresses her longings:

“I feel how powerless I am to express in human language the secrets of heaven, and after writing page upon page I find that I have not yet begun. There are so many different horizons, so many nuances of infinite variety ….” (SS. 189)

We reach out to this and that, lured by a promise of fulfilment, but only to be disappointed time and time again. Using Thérèse’s image, we arrive at many shores, but each time we realise it is not the eternal shore.

Spirit and psyche inhabit the same country of the mind. Spirit is the dynamism in us to fullness of being, to knowing all, loving all, being one with all. Psyche expresses these desires with primordial images drawn from the body, from the earth. Psyche connects the organism of the body and its rootedness in the cosmos with the transcendence of spirit and its yearning for fullness. Our images of hope, such as of eternal shore, express both psyche and spirit.

Psyche’s images are freighted with spirit’s yearnings. They may stir up and express our longings for peace and justice, they may open us to profound repentance, they may throw light on our existence and illumine our path, they may provide hopeful scenarios of our future beyond this life, as Thérèse’s did. But, none of them is adequate to finally and fully express the desires within us, the desire that we are. Our deepest yearning to know and to love, to be one with, all there is, is never fulfilled. Our deepest hungers never find sufficient food in this life. Our wants are given voice, but what do we want?

Theologian Bernard Lonergan believed that if we follow the trail of our deepest desires, expressing them in truth, facing them, and responding to their call in our lives, we will undergo conversions. Our wants, our desires will be purified and transformed, until more and more we want what God wants in a consonance of desire.

What do the men and women in our parishes, our retreat houses, in counselling want? Everything! Count on it, and minister to it. And we say to ourselves and them, that the hunger within us is so deep and powerful that, acknowledged or not, only God is sufficient food. When Jesus preached the present and coming Reign of God he was speaking precisely to the deep desires, the holy longing in the hearts of his listeners.

“March 24, 2000 was the 20th anniversary of the assassination of Archbishop Oscar Romero in San Salvador. He was killed while celebrating Eucharist in a Carmelite chapel. Romero’s conversion from a rather traditional, professional cleric with a sincere but otherworldly piety, to an outspoken courageous shepherd of his people, came because he saw the longing in the faces of his people. As he celebrated the funerals of those killed by the powerful, and read off the names of the disappeared, he found it was his duty more and more to give voice to these voiceless ones, to express their oppressed longings – to embody in his courageous presence the holy longing of the Salvadoran people.”

To assist people in hearing and voicing their deepest longing is part of Carmel’s continuing ministry. The first Carmelites established conditions in their small valley which would bring order to their multiple desires. Each inhabited a cell and the cells surrounded a chapel, in which they daily remembered God’s desire for them. Teresa of Avila founded enclosed communities within which the women could open themselves to the full force of their desires in affectionate friendship with the Lord and one another. She encouraged them to follow the lure of their depths as their fragmented desires found healing and reorientation. Both she and Thérèse believed firmly that if God has given us such longings God will ultimately fulfil them. We are not a useless passion.

Summary

Our Carmelite tradition acknowledges the hunger for God deep in the human heart. This yearning or longing propels us through our lives as we seek a fulfilment of our heart’s desire. This deep current of desire within our lives is the result of God having first desired us. God, the first contemplative, gazed on us and made us lovable, and alluring to God. The Carmelite tradition does not speak of an annihilation of desire, but a transformation of desire so that more and more we desire what God desires in a consonance of desire. As Teresa of Avila said simply, now I want what You want.

Questions for reflection

How do I experience this longing, this hunger, which is ultimately for God?

Am I aware of a fundamental disease – restlessness?

Can I find places in my life where this yearning is expressing itself?

What gives me deepest joy and delight in life?

When do I feel the most creative and alive?

Do I push away, ignore, or suppress it, or do I find ways of honouring this fire within me?

How do I give expression to my deepest longings?

What activity embodies them and keeps me hungering for their ultimate fulfilment?

How do the people, among whom I minister, express their deepest yearning, their hearts’ desires?

How do I, with them, find the language for this yearning, and celebrate it as gift which points to God?

The Carmelite Tradition

 

SEASONS OF THE HEART

John Welch, O.Carm

The Spiritual Dynamic of the Carmelite Life

Introduction

The Carmelite tradition could be understood as an 800 year commentary on The Song of Songs. This ancient love story in Hebrew scripture is a basic narrative capturing the experience of countless Carmelites. “The voice of my beloved! Look, he comes, leaping upon the mountains, bounding over the hills.” (2,8) Thinking they were seeking an elusive God, they returned from their search with the conviction that God had been pursuing them all along in love. The yearning deep within the heart of the Carmelite has been revealed as the trace of an invitation, “Arise my love, my fair one, and come away.” (2,10)

Carmelite writers have frequently turned to the passionate love story of The Song of Songs for words to meet their experience. John of the Cross drew on the story and images of the Song for his love poem The Spiritual Canticle. Teresa of Avila wrote a commentary on the Song. And Thérèse of Lisieux identified with its story but, unlike the waiting lover in the Song, Thérèse said she always found the Beloved in her bed.

Whether consciously referring to the Song or not, its lines can be found in Carmelite stories. Carmelites tell many stories, but the story of the lover restlessly awaiting the approach of the Beloved emerges as a common theme.

Their union in love and their retreat into the solitude of high mountain pastures finds equivalent expression in the stories of Carmelites. John of the Cross found Hosea’s words expressive of his experience, “..I will now allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak tenderly to her.” (2,14) Responding to an invitation from a mysterious Presence met within searching lives, Carmelites have been drawn into a relationship which forever changes them: “… the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come…” (2, 11-12)

Fundamental themes of Carmelite spirituality emerge in this story of the human heart. These themes reveal a spiritual dynamism at the core of Carmelite life which can be described as “seasons of the heart.” The intent of this discussion is to review these “seasons of the heart” in an attempt identify the spiritual dynamic of the Carmelite life.

There are five “seasons” identified in this discussion:

A LONGING HEART (our desire for God)

AN ENSLAVED HEART (the worship of false gods)

A LISTENING HEART (contemplative prayer)

A TROUBLED HEART (the tragic in life)

A PURE HEART (the transformation of desire).

Endnotes

These “seasons of the heart,” and Carmel’s response to them, are among the realities which gave rise to the Carmelite tradition, establishing it as one of the major spiritual paths for Christians.

The Carthusian Order

Purpose

The Carthusian Order was founded “to the praise of the glory of God” that He might “unite us to Himself in intimate love” and so we bear abundant fruit. This is the goal of every Christian life; what makes our Order special is that we have no other goal but this. The entire life in Charterhouse is geared to this one aim, that members might “the more ardently seek, the more quickly find, the more perfectly possess God himself” and so attain the “perfection of love” (Rule 1,4). Therefore, we renounce all that does not help us attain that one thing necessary.

 

Separation from the world

“Since our Order is totally dedicated to contemplation, it is our duty to maintain strictly our separation from the world; hence, we are freed from all pastoral ministry – no matter how urgent the need for active apostolate is – so that we may fulfill our special role in the Mystical Body of Christ” (Rule 3,9).

 

Prayer

We have no special prayer method, technique or recipe; the only way is Jesus Christ. In the contemplative life it is not so much what we do but what God does in us. Our task is only to purify our longing of all that is not God, to practice “to allow God to enter through all doors and passages of the heart” (Rule 4,2) and to permit Him to love us as He wills.

 

Liberty

The holy liberty is characteristic of our vocation. The Order’s rule prescribes only few prayer or devotional exercise other than the sacred liturgy, so that each – under the guidance of the Holy Spirit and with the help of the superior or spiritual director – may freely choose which means suits him to best attain the goal. On the other hand, whatever might hinder him or prove unprofitable, needs to be let go off, however good and holy it might be in itself.

 

Obedience

The greatest hindrance in the search for God is without doubt one’s own will, the individual “I”. This we attempt to sacrifice with the help of obedience, which must – if it is to be complete – even extend to one’s personal judgment. Such a thorough emptying of oneself enables us to open ourselves to the operation of the Holy Spirit with childlike simplicity and abandon; at the same time, this relieves us from all kinds of unrest, distress and worry about self.

 

Faith

Our life takes place in the darkness and light of Faith. In solitude, we enter the depths of our Faith, which we have received from the Church. With time, the darkness of Faith changes into the light of Faith. We do not see what we believe, although the content of Faith becomes to us so present that we can live from it. When we renounce all that is not in conformity with Faith, we come to know the depth and splendor of that, which lives in our hearts.

 

Joy

“Only those who have experienced the solitude and silence of the wilderness can tell what benefit and divine joy they bring to those who love them. Here strong men can be recollected as often as they wish, abide within themselves, carefully cultivate the seeds of virtue, and be nourished happily by the fruits of paradise. Here one can acquire that eye which, with its clear vision, wounds the Spouse with love, whose pureness can see God. Here they can dedicate themselves to leisure that is occupied and activity that is tranquil. Here, for their labor in the contest, God gives his athletes the long-desired reward: a peace that the world does not know and joy in the Holy Spirit”

(St. Bruno, founder of the Carthusian Order).

 

The Carthusian Order

Purpose

The Carthusian Order was founded “to the praise of the glory of God” that He might “unite us to Himself in intimate love” and so we bear abundant fruit. This is the goal of every Christian life; what makes our Order special is that we have no other goal but this. The entire life in Charterhouse is geared to this one aim, that members might “the more ardently seek, the more quickly find, the more perfectly possess God himself” and so attain the “perfection of love” (Rule 1,4). Therefore, we renounce all that does not help us attain that one thing necessary.

 

Separation from the world

“Since our Order is totally dedicated to contemplation, it is our duty to maintain strictly our separation from the world; hence, we are freed from all pastoral ministry – no matter how urgent the need for active apostolate is – so that we may fulfill our special role in the Mystical Body of Christ” (Rule 3,9).

 

Prayer

We have no special prayer method, technique or recipe; the only way is Jesus Christ. In the contemplative life it is not so much what we do but what God does in us. Our task is only to purify our longing of all that is not God, to practice “to allow God to enter through all doors and passages of the heart” (Rule 4,2) and to permit Him to love us as He wills.

 

Liberty

The holy liberty is characteristic of our vocation. The Order’s rule prescribes only few prayer or devotional exercise other than the sacred liturgy, so that each – under the guidance of the Holy Spirit and with the help of the superior or spiritual director – may freely choose which means suits him to best attain the goal. On the other hand, whatever might hinder him or prove unprofitable, needs to be let go off, however good and holy it might be in itself.

 

Obedience

The greatest hindrance in the search for God is without doubt one’s own will, the individual “I”. This we attempt to sacrifice with the help of obedience, which must – if it is to be complete – even extend to one’s personal judgment. Such a thorough emptying of oneself enables us to open ourselves to the operation of the Holy Spirit with childlike simplicity and abandon; at the same time, this relieves us from all kinds of unrest, distress and worry about self.

 

Faith

Our life takes place in the darkness and light of Faith. In solitude, we enter the depths of our Faith, which we have received from the Church. With time, the darkness of Faith changes into the light of Faith. We do not see what we believe, although the content of Faith becomes to us so present that we can live from it. When we renounce all that is not in conformity with Faith, we come to know the depth and splendor of that, which lives in our hearts.

 

Joy

“Only those who have experienced the solitude and silence of the wilderness can tell what benefit and divine joy they bring to those who love them. Here strong men can be recollected as often as they wish, abide within themselves, carefully cultivate the seeds of virtue, and be nourished happily by the fruits of paradise. Here one can acquire that eye which, with its clear vision, wounds the Spouse with love, whose pureness can see God. Here they can dedicate themselves to leisure that is occupied and activity that is tranquil. Here, for their labor in the contest, God gives his athletes the long-desired reward: a peace that the world does not know and joy in the Holy Spirit”

(St. Bruno, founder of the Carthusian Order).

 

St. Bernard of Clairvaux

 

Born: 1090

Birthplace: Fontaine-les-Dijon, Burgundy, France
Died: 20-Aug-1153
Location of death: Clairvaux, Champagne, France
Cause of death: unspecified

Gender: Male
Religion: Roman Catholic
Race or Ethnicity: White
Sexual orientation: Straight
Occupation: Religion
Nationality: France
Executive summary: Reformed the Cistercian Order

St. Bernard, Abbot of Clairvaux one of the most illustrious preachers and monks of the middle ages, was born at Fontaines, near Dijon, in France. His father, a knight named Tecelin, perished on crusade; and his mother Aleth, a daughter of the noble house of Mon-Bar, and a woman distinguished for her piety, died while Bernard was yet a boy. The lad was constitutionally unfitted for the career of arms, and his own disposition, as well as his mother’s early influence, directed him to the church. His desire to enter a monastery was opposed by his relations, who sent him to study at Châlons in order to qualify for high ecclesiastical preferment. Bernard’s resolution to become a monk was not, however, shaken, and when he at last definitely decided to join the community which Robert of Molesmes had founded at Citeaux in 1198, he carried with him his brothers and many of his relations and friends. The little community of reformed Benedictines, which was to produce so profound an influence on Western monachism and had seemed on the point of extinction for lack of novices, gained a sudden new life through this accession of some thirty young men of the best families of the neighborhood. Others followed their example; and the community grew so rapidly that it was soon able to send off offshoots. One of these daughter monasteries, Clairvaux, was founded in 1115, in a wild valley branching from that of the Aube, on land given by Count Hugh of Troyes, and of this Bernard was appointed abbot.

By the new constitution of the Cistercians Clairvaux became the chief monastery of the five branches into which the order was divided under the supreme direction of the abbot of Citeaux. Though nominally subject to Citeaux, however, Clairvaux soon became the most important Cistercian house, owing to the fame and influence of Bernard. His saintly character, his self-mortification — of so severe a character that his friend, William of Champeaux, bishop of Châlons, thought it right to remonstrate with him — and above all, his marvellous power as a preacher, soon made him famous, and drew crowds of pilgrims to Clairvaux. His miracles were noised abroad, and sick folk were brought from near and far to be healed by his touch. Before long the abbot, who had intended to devote his life to the work of his monastery, was drawn into the affairs of the great world. When in 1124 Pope Honorius II mounted the chair of St. Peter, Bernard was already reckoned among the greatest of French churchmen; he now shared in the most important ecclesiastical discussions, and papal legates sought his counsel. Thus in 1128 he was invited by Cardinal Matthew of Albano to the synod of Troyes, where he was instrumental in obtaining the recognition of the new order of Knights Templars, the rules of which he is said to have drawn up; and in the following year, at the synod of Châlons-sur-Marne, he ended the crisis arising out of certain charges brought against Henry, Bishop of Verdun, by persuading the bishop to resign. The European importance of Bernard, however, began with the death of Pope Honorius II (1130) and the disputed election that followed. In the synod convoked by Louis the Fat at Étampes in April 1130 Bernard successfully asserted the claims of Pope Innocent II against those of Anacletus II, and from this moment became the most influential supporter of his cause. He threw himself into the contest with characteristic ardor. While Rome itself was held by Anacletus, France, England, Spain and Germany declared for Innocent, who, though banished from Rome, was — in Bernard’s phrase — “accepted by the world.” The pope travelled from place to place, with the powerful abbot of Clairvaux at his side; he stayed at Clairvaux itself, humble still, so far as its buildings were concerned; and he went with Bernard to parley with the emperor Lothair III at Liége.

In 1133, the year of the emperor’s first expedition to Rome, Bernard was in Italy persuading the Genoese to make peace with the men of Pisa, since the pope had need of both. He accompanied Innocent to Rome, successfully resisting the proposal to reopen negotiations with Anacletus, who held the castle of Sant’ Angelo and, with the support of Roger of Sicily, was too strong to be subdued by force. Lothair, though crowned by Innocent in St. Peter’s, could do nothing to establish him in the Holy See so long as his own power was sapped by his quarrel with the house of Hohenstaufen. Again Bernard came to the rescue; in the spring of 1135 he was at Bamberg successfully persuading Frederick of Hohenstaufen to submit to the emperor. In June he was back in Italy, taking a leading part in the council of Pisa, by which Anacletus was excommunicated. In northern Italy the effect of his personality and of his preaching was immense; Milan itself, of all the Lombard cities most jealous of the imperial claims, surrendered to his eloquence, submitted to Lothair and to Innocent, and tried to force Bernard against his will into the vacant see of St. Ambrose. In 1137, the year of Lothair’s last journey to Rome, Bernard was back in Italy again; at Monte Cassino, setting the affairs of the monastery in order, at Salerno, trying in vain to induce Roger of Sicily to declare against Anacletus, in Rome itself, agitating with success against the antipope. Anacletus died on the 25th of January 1138; on the 13th of March the cardinal Gregory was elected his successor, assuming the name of Victor. Bernard’s crowning triumph in the long contest was the abdication of the new antipope, the result of his personal influence. The schism of the church was healed, and the abbot of Clairvaux was free to return to the peace of his monastery.

Clairvaux itself had meanwhile (1135-36) been transformed outwardly — in spite of the reluctance of Bernard, who preferred the rough simplicity of the original buildings — into a more suitable seat for an influence that overshadowed that of Rome itself. How great this influence was is shown by the outcome of Bernard’s contest with Peter Abelard. In intellectual and dialectical power the abbot was no match for the great schoolman; yet at Sens in 1141 Abelard feared to face him, and when he appealed to Rome Bernard’s word was enough to secure his condemnation.

One result of Bernard’s fame was the marvellous growth of the Cistercian order. Between 1130 and 1145 no less than ninety-three monasteries in connection with Clairvaux were either founded or affiliated from other rules, three being established in England and one in Ireland. In 1145 a Cistercian monk, once a member of the community of Clairvaux — another Bernard, abbot of Aquae Silviae near Rome, was elected pope as Eugenius III. This was a triumph for the order; to the world it was a triumph for Bernard, who complained that all who had suits to press at Rome applied to him, as though he himself had mounted the chair of St. Peter.

Having healed the schism within the church, Bernard was next called upon to attack the enemy without. Languedoc especially had become a hotbed of heresy, and at this time the preaching of Henry of Lausanne was drawing thousands from the orthodox faith. In June 1145, at the invitation of Cardinal Alberic of Ostia, Bernard travelled in the south, and by his preaching did something to stem the flood of heresy for a while. Far more important, however, was his activity in the following year, when, in obedience to the pope’s command, he preached a crusade. The effect of his eloquence was extraordinary. At the great meeting at Vezelay, on the 21st of March, as the result of his sermon, Louis VII of France and his queen, Eleanor of Guienne, took the cross, together with a host of all classes, so numerous that the stock of crosses was soon exhausted; Bernard next travelled through northern France, Flanders and the Rhine provinces, everywhere rousing the wildest enthusiasm; and at Spires on Christmas Day he succeeded in persuading Conrad, king of the Romans, to join the crusade.

The lamentable outcome of the movement was a hard blow to Bernard, who found it difficult to understand this manifestation of the hidden counsels of God, but ascribed it to the sins of the crusaders. The news of the disasters to the crusading host first reached Bernard at Clairvaux, where Pope Eugenius, driven from Rome by the revolution associated with the name of Arnold of Brescia, was his guest. Bernard had in March and April 1148 accompanied the pope to the council of Reims, where he led the attack on certain propositions of the scholastic theologian Gilbert de la Poree. From whatever cause — whether the growing jealousy of the cardinals, or the loss of prestige owing to the rumored failure of the crusade, the success of which he had so confidently predicted — Bernard’s influence, hitherto so ruinous to those suspected of heterodoxy, on this occasion failed of its full effect. On the news of the full extent of the disaster that had overtaken the crusaders, an effort was made to retrieve it by organizing another expedition. At the invitation of Sugger, abbot of St. Denis, now the virtual ruler of France, Bernard attended the meeting of Chartres convened for this purpose, where he himself was elected to conduct the new crusade, the choice being confirmed by the pope. He was saved from this task, for which he was physically and constitutionally unfit, by the intervention of the Cistercian abbots, who forbade him to undertake it.

Bernard was now ageing, broken by his austerities and by ceaseless work, and saddened by the loss of several of his early friends. But his intellectual energy remained undimmed. He continued to take an active interest in ecclesiastical affairs, and his last work, the De Consideratione, shows no sign of failing power. He died on the 20th of August 1153.

The greatness of St. Bernard lay not in the qualities of his intellect, but of his character. Intellectually he was the child of his age, inferior to those subtle minds whom the world, fired by his contagious zeal, conspired to crush. Morally he was their superior; and in this moral superiority lay the secret of his power. The age recognized in him the embodiment of its ideal: that of medieval monasticism at its highest development. The world had no meaning for him save as a place of banishment and trial, in which men are but “strangers and pilgrims”; the way of grace, back to the lost inheritance, had been marked out once for all, and the function of theology was but to maintain the landmarks inherited from the past. With the subtleties of the schools he had no sympathy, and the dialectics of the schoolmen quavered into silence before his terrible invective. Yet, within the limits of his mental horizon, Bernard’s vision was clear enough. His very life proves with what merciless logic he followed out the principles of the Christian faith as he conceived it; and it is impossible to say that he conceived it amiss. For all his overmastering zeal he was by nature neither a bigot nor a persecutor. Even when he was preaching the crusade he interfered at Mainz to stop the persecution of the Jews, stirred up by the monk Radulf. As for heretics, “the little foxes that spoil the vines”, these “should be taken, not by force of arms, but by force of argument”, though, if any heretic refused to be thus taken, he considered “that he should be driven away, or even a restraint put upon his liberty, rather than that he should be allowed to spoil the vines.” He was evidently troubled by the mob violence which made the heretics “martyrs to their unbelief.” He approved the zeal of the people, but could not advise the imitation of their action, “because faith is to be produced by persuasion, not imposed by force”; adding, however, in the true spirit of his age and of his church, “it would without doubt be better that they should be coerced by the sword than that they should be allowed to draw away many other persons into their error.” Finally, oblivious of the precedent of the Pharisees, he ascribes the steadfastness of these “dogs” in facing death to the power of the devil.

This is Bernard at his worst. At his best — and, fortunately, this is what is mainly characteristic of the man and his writings — he displays a nobility of nature, a wise charity and tenderness in his dealings with others, and a genuine humility, with no touch of servility, that make him one of the most complete exponents of the Christian life. His broadly Christian character is, indeed, witnessed to by the enduring quality of his influence. The author of the Imitatio drew inspiration from his writings; the reformers saw in him a medieval champion of their favorite doctrine of the supremacy of the divine grace; his works, down to the present day, have been reprinted in countless editions. This is perhaps due to the fact that the chief fountain of his own inspiration was the Bible. He was saturated in its language and in its spirit; and though he read it, as might be expected, uncritically, and interpreted its plain meanings allegorically — as the fashion of the day was — it saved him from the grosser aberrations of medieval Catholicism. He accepted the teaching of the church as to the reverence due to our Lady and the saints, and on feast-days and festivals these receive their due meed in his sermons; but in his letters and sermons their names are at other times seldom invoked. They were overshadowed completely in his mind by his idea of the grace of God and the moral splendor of Christ; “from Him do the Saints derive the odor of sanctity; from Him also do they shine as lights.”

The cause of Bernard’s extraordinary popular success as a preacher can only imperfectly be judged by the sermons that survive. These were all delivered in Latin, evidently to congregations more or less on his own intellectual level. Like his letters, they are full of quotations from and reference to the Bible, and they have all the qualities likely to appeal to men of culture at all times. “Bernard”, wrote Erasmus in his Art of Preaching, “is an eloquent preacher, much more by nature than by art; he is full of charm and vivacity and knows how to reach and move the affections.” The same is true of the letters and to an even more striking degree. They are written on a large variety of subjects, great and small, to people of the most diverse stations and types; and they help us to understand the adaptable nature of the man, which enabled him to appeal as successfully to the unlearned as to the learned.

Bernard’s works fall into three categories: (1) Letters, of which over five hundred have been preserved, of great interest and value for the history of the period. (2) Treatises: (a) dogmatic and polemical, De gratia et libero arbitrio, written about 1127, and following closely the lines laid down by St. Augustine; De baptismo aliisque quaestionibus ad mag. Hugonem de S. Victore; Contra quaedam capitala errorum Abaelardi ad Innocentem II (in justification of the action of the synod of Sens); (b) ascetic and mystical, De gradibus humilitatis et superbiae, his first work, written perhaps about 1121; De diligendo Deo (about 1126); De conversione ad clericos, an address to candidates for the priesthood; De Consideratione, Bernard’s last work, written about 1148 at the pope’s request for the edification and guidance of Eugenius III; (c) about monasticism, Apologia ad Guilelmum, written about 1127 to William, abbot of St. Thierry; De laude novae militiae ad milites templi (c. 1132-36); De precepto et dispensatione, an answer to various questions on monastic conduct and discipline addressed to him by the monks of St. Peter at Chartres (some time before 1143); (d) on ecclesiastical government, De moribus et officio episcoporum, written about 1126 for Henry, Bishop of Sens; the De Consideratione mentioned above; (e) a biography, De vita et rebus gestis S. Maiachiae, Hiberniae episcopi, written at the request of the Irish abbot Congan and with the aid of materials supplied by him; it is of importance for the ecclesiastical history of Ireland in the 12th century; (f) sermons — divided into Sermones de tempore; de sanctis; de diversis; and eighty-six sermons, in Cantica Canticorum, an allegorical and mystical exposition of the Song of Solomon; (g) hymns. Many hymns ascribed to Bernard survive, e.g. Jesu dulcis memoria, Jesus rex admirabilis, Jesu decus angelicum, Salve caput cruentatum. Of these the three first are included in the Roman breviary. Many have been translated and are used in Protestant churches.

Canonization 18-Jan-1174

 

See what happens next at Starbucks

More than 1,000 people share an act of Kindness.

One woman’s kindness to a fellow Starbucks patron resulted in more than a thousand others spreading the holiday-season generosity in the northwest Washington town of Marysville.A regular patron at the chain had paid for the person in line behind her a few times before, according to the Everett Herald. But on Wednesday, her good deed set off a chain of 1,013 customers paying for the next person’s drink.The spontaneous pay-it-forward run ended at 6:20 a.m. Friday, a store employee said. The name of the iced-tea drinker who started it remains unknown at the store.- Associated Press

No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted. One never knows when a smile, an encouraging word, or a small act will touch someone…then to touch someone else…then to touch someone else…then to touch someone else… then to touch someone else…then to touch someone else…then to touch someone else…

This it seems to me to be the ongoing story of the gospel, the ultimate act of kindness that comes from God in Christ, that goes to great lengths and great acts of kindness.Next time you are in Starbucks why not brighten up someones life by paying for the coffee. SEE WHAT HAPPENS NEXT! I know I will.

The church as abbey: Why rituals are important

In the Celtic Christian abbey, the compound was open to all who needed food, lodging, or care. As the monks’ pagan neighbors entered the abbey, they were greeted with many familiar sights — monks or nuns preparing meals in the kitchen, stacking wood for the fire, copying manuscripts, or working in the fields.

But, they also encountered the unfamiliar — strange rituals like making the sign of the cross, breaking bread and sharing a common cup, kneeling, bowing, and prostrating oneself.

Learning How to Be A ChristianThese were the rituals of Christianity, practiced by monks and nuns in the abbey, and taught to their pagan neighbors who wished to become Christians. Pagans literally learned how Christians acted by seeing, practicing, and repeating these strange behaviors. These behaviors became so ingrained in the life of the convert that they became part of his or her daily routine.

When an Irish convert needed courage, instead of an incantation from their druid past, they prayed a prayer to Christ. The famous breastplate of St. Patrick is the most outstanding example of this type of praying. The Carmina Gaedelica is a collection of everyday prayers from Celtic life — prayers for starting the fire, washing one’s face, sweeping the house, and working at the loom. (I’ve got a copy in my office if you want a copy.)

Other rituals, such as making the sign of the cross, became automatic responses to the happenstances of primitive life. Celtic Christians learned through words, patterns, and symbols what made them distinct from their pagan Druid kinsmen in actions and belief.

Loss of Rituals in the Seeker Church

Fast-forward to the 20th and 21st century. The “seeker service” model suggests that people come to Christ most easily if we remove “religious” symbols. This strategy works well to attract new people to “seeker sensitive” churches, but unlike the Celtic abbeys, some seeker churches never introduce new Christians to the actions, behaviors and symbols that signify the Christian faith.

Many church buildings are constructed without baptistries or baptismal fonts because baptism is practiced in swimming pools and lakeshores. Communion Is not observed in many seeker churches, or it is relegated to a special service outside the regular pattern of worship. All of this is done because it is thought that symbols and rituals obscure the gospel message. But just the opposite is true.

The Importance of Ritual

Rituals, practices, and symbols are important because they give us external behaviors to express internal commitments. We learn how to “act like a Christian” by doing the things Christians do. So, new converts participate in baptism, receive communion, and are catechized as part of learning how we act in this strange new community called the church.

Without ritual, patterns, and symbols our practice of the Christian faith is stripped of actions that cause us to remember and draw strength from our interior faith. Rituals give us behaviors, individually and corporately, that reinforce our common beliefs. The missional congregation particularly seeks to be distinctly Christian in its behaviors, symbols, and practices — whether ancient or contemporary — because that is part of what we do as a contrast society.

Practical mysticism

If the term “practical mysticism” sounds like an oxymoron to you, then you’re not alone.  For centuries, Christian mystics have been thought of as the lunatic fringe of the Church.  Usually imagined as wild-eyed John-the-Baptist types, Christian mystics have been relegated to the “interesting, but impractical” category in church history.

But with a new wind of the Spirit blowing across the Church today, mysticism is finding a new and practical place in the life of the Christian communion.  Some examples include —

• The ancient-future connection that the late Robert Webber called to the attention of evangelicals.
• Neo-monastic communities have revived the practice of a common life together in devotion and service.
• The daily office — Phyllis Tickle calls it The Divine Hours — is now observed by growing numbers of evangelicals, not to mention Catholics and Orthodox adherents.
• The restoration of ritual to evangelical life through adaptation of ancient liturgies such as The Great Thanksgiving, and other ancient readings and worship work.
• Spiritual formation, rather than just education, is finding new proponents in evangelical life.
• Charismatic gifts — such as tongues, private prayer language, prophecy, discernment, et al — are finding greater acceptance among previously “cessationist” denominations.
• Prayer practices such as meditatio and centering prayer have seen a resurgence in the last 30-years.
• Deeper Life conferences, in the Keswick tradition, owe much to the early mystics and their yieldedness to God.
• Revivalism — most notably in the first and second great awakenings, but recently in the Toronto blessing and the Brownsville revival — has a definite mystical flavor with those under the Spirit’s influence repenting, confessing, crying, falling down, barking like dogs (Great Awakenings), and mostly having their lives transformed.

The list goes on, but all of these experiences and expressions have their roots in the ancient mysticism of the early Church.  It is only in the past 200 or so years as the Enlightenment took center stage, that the phenomena of the mystical experience came into serious question.  Even the radical reformers, of which my Baptist denomination is an descendant, expressed themselves in highly mystical doctrines of “new light” and “soul competency.”

Today’s mystics may not wear flowing robes and live in the desert, but they do have a renewed longing to know God personally and powerfully.  Expressions of devotion may change, but the object of that devotion does not.  Mystics say with the Greeks of John’s Gospel, “Sir, we would see Jesus.”

The future is knocking at our door right now.

Al Gore’s acceptance speechof the Nobel Peace Prize in Oslo on 10 December 2007…

Your Majesties, Your Royal Highnesses, Honorable members of the Norwegian Nobel Committee, Excellencies, Ladies and gentlemen. I have a purpose here today. It is a purpose I have tried to serve for many years. I have prayed that God would show me a way to accomplish it. Sometimes, without warning, the future knocks on our door with a precious and painful vision of what might be. One hundred and nineteen years ago, a wealthy inventor read his own obituary, mistakenly published years before his death. Wrongly believing the inventor had just died, a newspaper printed a harsh judgment of his life’s work, unfairly labeling him “The Merchant of Death” because of his invention – dynamite. Shaken by this condemnation, the inventor made a fateful choice to serve the cause of peace. Seven years later, Alfred Nobel created this prize and the others that bear his name. Seven years ago tomorrow, I read my own political obituary in a judgment that seemed to me harsh and mistaken – if not premature. But that unwelcome verdict also brought a precious if painful gift: an opportunity to search for fresh new ways to serve my purpose.

Unexpectedly, that quest has brought me here. Even though I fear my words cannot match this moment, I pray what I am feeling in my heart will be communicated clearly enough that those who hear me will say, “We must act.” The distinguished scientists with whom it is the greatest honor of my life to share this award have laid before us a choice between two different futures – a choice that to my ears echoes the words of an ancient prophet: “Life or death, blessings or curses. Therefore, choose life, that both thou and thy seed may live.” We, the human species, are confronting a planetary emergency – a threat to the survival of our civilization that is gathering ominous and destructive potential even as we gather here. But there is hopeful news as well: we have the ability to solve this crisis and avoid the worst – though not all – of its consequences, if we act boldly, decisively and quickly.

However, despite a growing number of honorable exceptions, too many of the world’s leaders are still best described in the words Winston Churchill applied to those who ignored Adolf Hitler’s threat: “They go on in strange paradox, decided only to be undecided, resolved to be irresolute, adamant for drift, solid for fluidity, all powerful to be impotent.” So today, we dumped another 70 million tons of global-warming pollution into the thin shell of atmosphere surrounding our planet, as if it were an open sewer. And tomorrow, we will dump a slightly larger amount, with the cumulative concentrations now trapping more and more heat from the sun. As a result, the earth has a fever. And the fever is rising. The experts have told us it is not a passing affliction that will heal by itself. We asked for a second opinion. And a third. And a fourth. And the consistent conclusion, restated with increasing alarm, is that something basic is wrong. We are what is wrong, and we must make it right.
Last September 21, as the Northern Hemisphere tilted away from the sun, scientists reported with unprecedented distress that the North Polar ice cap is “falling off a cliff.” One study estimated that it could be completely gone during summer in less than 22 years. Another new study, to be presented by U.S. Navy researchers later this week, warns it could happen in as little as 7 years. Seven years from now.

In the last few months, it has been harder and harder to misinterpret the signs that our world is spinning out of kilter. Major cities in North and South America, Asia and Australia are nearly out of water due to massive droughts and melting glaciers. Desperate farmers are losing their livelihoods. Peoples in the frozen Arctic and on low-lying Pacific islands are planning evacuations of places they have long called home. Unprecedented wildfires have forced a half million people from their homes in one country and caused a national emergency that almost brought down the government in another. Climate refugees have migrated into areas already inhabited by people with different cultures, religions, and traditions, increasing the potential for conflict. Stronger storms in the Pacific and Atlantic have threatened whole cities. Millions have been displaced by massive flooding in South Asia, Mexico, and 18 countries in Africa. As temperature extremes have increased, tens of thousands have lost their lives. We are recklessly burning and clearing our forests and driving more and more species into extinction. The very web of life on which we depend is being ripped and frayed.

We never intended to cause all this destruction, just as Alfred Nobel never intended that dynamite be used for waging war. He had hoped his invention would promote human progress. We shared that same worthy goal when we began burning massive quantities of coal, then oil and methane. Even in Nobel’s time, there were a few warnings of the likely consequences. One of the very first winners of the Prize in chemistry worried that, “We are evaporating our coal mines into the air.” After performing 10,000 equations by hand, Svante Arrhenius calculated that the earth’s average temperature would increase by many degrees if we doubled the amount of CO2 in the atmosphere. Seventy years later, my teacher, Roger Revelle, and his colleague, Dave Keeling, began to precisely document the increasing CO2 levels day by day. But unlike most other forms of pollution, CO2 is invisible, tasteless, and odorless — which has helped keep the truth about what it is doing to our climate out of sight and out of mind. Moreover, the catastrophe now threatening us is unprecedented – and we often confuse the unprecedented with the improbable.

We also find it hard to imagine making the massive changes that are now necessary to solve the crisis. And when large truths are genuinely inconvenient, whole societies can, at least for a time, ignore them. Yet as George Orwell reminds us: “Sooner or later a false belief bumps up against solid reality, usually on a battlefield.”
In the years since this prize was first awarded, the entire relationship between humankind and the earth has been radically transformed. And still, we have remained largely oblivious to the impact of our cumulative actions. Indeed, without realizing it, we have begun to wage war on the earth itself. Now, we and the earth’s climate are locked in a relationship familiar to war planners: “Mutually assured destruction.”

More than two decades ago, scientists calculated that nuclear war could throw so much debris and smoke into the air that it would block life-giving sunlight from our atmosphere, causing a “nuclear winter.” Their eloquent warnings here in Oslo helped galvanize the world’s resolve to halt the nuclear arms race. Now science is warning us that if we do not quickly reduce the global warming pollution that is trapping so much of the heat our planet normally radiates back out of the atmosphere, we are in danger of creating a permanent “carbon summer.” As the American poet Robert Frost wrote, “Some say the world will end in fire; some say in ice.” Either, he notes, “would suffice.”
But neither need be our fate. It is time to make peace with the planet.
We must quickly mobilize our civilization with the urgency and resolve that has previously been seen only when nations mobilized for war. These prior struggles for survival were won when leaders found words at the 11th hour that released a mighty surge of courage, hope and readiness to sacrifice for a protracted and mortal challenge.

These were not comforting and misleading assurances that the threat was not real or imminent; that it would affect others but not ourselves; that ordinary life might be lived even in the presence of extraordinary threat; that Providence could be trusted to do for us what we would not do for ourselves. No, these were calls to come to the defense of the common future. They were calls upon the courage, generosity and strength of entire peoples, citizens of every class and condition who were ready to stand against the threat once asked to do so. Our enemies in those times calculated that free people would not rise to the challenge; they were, of course, catastrophically wrong. Now comes the threat of climate crisis – a threat that is real, rising, imminent, and universal. Once again, it is the 11th hour. The penalties for ignoring this challenge are immense and growing, and at some near point would be unsustainable and unrecoverable. For now we still have the power to choose our fate, and the remaining question is only this: Have we the will to act vigorously and in time, or will we remain imprisoned by a dangerous illusion?

Mahatma Gandhi awakened the largest democracy on earth and forged a shared resolve with what he called “Satyagraha” – or “truth force.” In every land, the truth – once known – has the power to set us free. Truth also has the power to unite us and bridge the distance between “me” and “we,” creating the basis for common effort and shared responsibility. There is an African proverb that says, “If you want to go quickly, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” We need to go far, quickly.
We must abandon the conceit that individual, isolated, private actions are the answer. They can and do help. But they will not take us far enough without collective action. At the same time, we must ensure that in mobilizing globally, we do not invite the establishment of ideological conformity and a new lock-step “ism.”
That means adopting principles, values, laws, and treaties that release creativity and initiative at every level of society in multifold responses originating concurrently and spontaneously.

This new consciousness requires expanding the possibilities inherent in all humanity. The innovators who will devise a new way to harness the sun’s energy for pennies or invent an engine that’s carbon negative may live in Lagos or Mumbai or Montevideo. We must ensure that entrepreneurs and inventors everywhere on the globe have the chance to change the world. When we unite for a moral purpose that is manifestly good and true, the spiritual energy unleashed can transform us. The generation that defeated fascism throughout the world in the 1940s found, in rising to meet their awesome challenge, that they had gained the moral authority and long-term vision to launch the Marshall Plan, the United Nations, and a new level of global cooperation and foresight that unified Europe and facilitated the emergence of democracy and prosperity in Germany, Japan, Italy and much of the world. One of their visionary leaders said, “It is time we steered by the stars and not by the lights of every passing ship.” In the last year of that war, you gave the Peace Prize to a man from my hometown of 2000 people, Carthage, Tennessee. Cordell Hull was described by Franklin Roosevelt as the “Father of the United Nations.” He was an inspiration and hero to my own father, who followed Hull in the Congress and the U.S. Senate and in his commitment to world peace and global cooperation.

My parents spoke often of Hull, always in tones of reverence and admiration. Eight weeks ago, when you announced this prize, the deepest emotion I felt was when I saw the headline in my hometown paper that simply noted I had won the same prize that Cordell Hull had won. In that moment, I knew what my father and mother would have felt were they alive. Just as Hull’s generation found moral authority in rising to solve the world crisis caused by fascism, so too can we find our greatest opportunity in rising to solve the climate crisis. In the Kanji characters used in both Chinese and Japanese, “crisis” is written with two symbols, the first meaning “danger,” the second “opportunity.” By facing and removing the danger of the climate crisis, we have the opportunity to gain the moral authority and vision to vastly increase our own capacity to solve other crises that have been too long ignored.

We must understand the connections between the climate crisis and the afflictions of poverty, hunger, HIV-Aids and other pandemics. As these problems are linked, so too must be their solutions. We must begin by making the common rescue of the global environment the central organizing principle of the world community. Fifteen years ago, I made that case at the “Earth Summit” in Rio de Janeiro. Ten years ago, I presented it in Kyoto. This week, I will urge the delegates in Bali to adopt a bold mandate for a treaty that establishes a universal global cap on emissions and uses the market in emissions trading to efficiently allocate resources to the most effective opportunities for speedy reductions. This treaty should be ratified and brought into effect everywhere in the world by the beginning of 2010 – two years sooner than presently contemplated. The pace of our response must be accelerated to match the accelerating pace of the crisis itself. Heads of state should meet early next year to review what was accomplished in Bali and take personal responsibility for addressing this crisis. It is not unreasonable to ask, given the gravity of our circumstances, that these heads of state meet every three months until the treaty is completed.

We also need a moratorium on the construction of any new generating facility that burns coal without the capacity to safely trap and store carbon dioxide. And most important of all, we need to put a price on carbon — with a CO2 tax that is then rebated back to the people, progressively, according to the laws of each nation, in ways that shift the burden of taxation from employment to pollution. This is by far the most effective and simplest way to accelerate solutions to this crisis. The world needs an alliance – especially of those nations that weigh heaviest in the scales where earth is in the balance. I salute Europe and Japan for the steps they’ve taken in recent years to meet the challenge, and the new government in Australia, which has made solving the climate crisis its first priority. But the outcome will be decisively influenced by two nations that are now failing to do enough: the United States and China. While India is also growing fast in importance, it should be absolutely clear that it is the two largest CO2 emitters — most of all, my own country — that will need to make the boldest moves, or stand accountable before history for their failure to act.

Both countries should stop using the other’s behavior as an excuse for stalemate and instead develop an agenda for mutual survival in a shared global environment.
These are the last few years of decision, but they can be the first years of a bright and hopeful future if we do what we must. No one should believe a solution will be found without effort, without cost, without change. Let us acknowledge that if we wish to redeem squandered time and speak again with moral authority, then these are the hard truths: The way ahead is difficult. The outer boundary of what we currently believe is feasible is still far short of what we actually must do. Moreover, between here and there, across the unknown, falls the shadow. That is just another way of saying that we have to expand the boundaries of what is possible. In the words of the Spanish poet, Antonio Machado, “Pathwalker, there is no path. You must make the path as you walk.” We are standing at the most fateful fork in that path. So I want to end as I began, with a vision of two futures – each a palpable possibility – and with a prayer that we will see with vivid clarity the necessity of choosing between those two futures, and the urgency of making the right choice now.

The great Norwegian playwright, Henrik Ibsen, wrote, “One of these days, the younger generation will come knocking at my door.” The future is knocking at our door right now. Make no mistake, the next generation will ask us one of two questions. Either they will ask: “What were you thinking; why didn’t you act?” Or they will ask instead: “How did you find the moral courage to rise and successfully resolve a crisis that so many said was impossible to solve?” We have everything we need to get started, save perhaps political will, but political will is a renewable resource. So let us renew it, and say together: “We have a purpose. We are many. For this purpose we will rise, and we will act.”

Hospitality – philoxenia

Hospitality is central to Christian faith. One of the key Greek words for hospitality, philoxenia, combines the word for love, phileo, and the word for stranger, xenos.

“Although your job is very difficult and you help different people of all nationalities, you are working for God. Myself and my family never forget your kindness. In the name of Jesus we are praying for you. God bless you”

– a refugee from Iran

 

Day Seven – A Taste of Things to Come

Key Verse: “In My Father’s house are many rooms… I am going there to prepare a place for you.” –John 14:2

Read: John 14:1-4

Shortly before Jesus’ arrest and crucifixion, He comforted His disciples with these words – words of hospitality, looking forward to the day He would welcome them to their heavenly home. Have you considered that Jesus’ entire earthly ministry spoke of the crucial importance of hospitality? Jesus gave His life so that we could be welcomed into the Kingdom of heaven – and, in doing so, linked hospitality, grace and sacrifice in the deepest and most personal way imaginable. Hospitality here on earth is a reflection – a taste – of those things yet to come. Jesus is preparing a place for you! While you and I have the opportunity, oughtn’t we to reflect Christ’s hospitality and “prepare a place” for others?

Think About It: How will you respond to the hospitality that Christ has showered – and will shower upon you?

Day Six – A Powerful Expression of Love

Key Verse: “… she began to wet His feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them.” Luke 7:38

Read: Luke 7:36-47

Perhaps nowhere else in the gospels is the imagery of devotion to Jesus as powerful as in this story of the woman with the alabaster jar. She came to Jesus in brokenness and humility, expecting nothing, simply wanting to pour out her expression of love at His feet. Although this act took place at another person’s home, Jesus makes it clear that the woman had shown Him greater hospitality than the host. Like in Bible times, hospitality today takes many forms. Bradford couple John and Helen do not yet have children of their own – but they have bought a large car fitted with three child seats to transport their refugee friends who live nearby. This – like the response of the woman at Jesus’ feet – might not fit the conventional view of hospitality. But it is hospitality in its purest form, nonetheless. It is like pouring perfume over Jesus’ feet.

Think About It: What alabaster love offering will you pour over Jesus’ feet?

 

Day Five – Getting Over the Hospitality Jitters

Key Verse: “So he came down at once and welcomed him gladly.” –Luke 19:6

Read: Luke 19:1-10

Ever wonder how Zacchaeus felt? Sure, he was excited at hosting Jesus. But don’t you think he might have had the hospitality jitters? As he rushed home, can you imagine all the doubts racing through his mind: “Does He know I’ve cheated people? Is the floor swept clean? Do I have food in the house?” When Sarah in Seattle agreed to host a young refugee couple from South Asia, she was nervous about it. They’d never eaten pizza or seen a hamburger.What could she feed them? In the end, Sarah – like Zacchaeus – accepted she simply needed to open her home and not fret about the details. She reflects: “You could think: ‘I can’t cook their food,’ but the real issue is: will I welcome a stranger as my friend?” Zacchaeus reminds us not to sweat the details. For when we take the step of faith and obedience, God provides the grace.

Think About It: Since when has a clean carpet meant more to you than a welcoming smile?

Day Four – Excuses, Excuses!

Key Verse: “But they all alike began to make excuses…” Luke 14:18a

Read: Luke 14:15-24

Surely hospitality is only for those who have a nice, spacious house and a big dining table, right? Not so, says Christine Pohl, author of Making Room, Recovering Hospitality as a Christian Tradition. “Hospitality is not optional for Christians, nor is it limited to those who are specially gifted for it,” Pohl says. “It is a necessary practice in the community of faith.” In Hawaii, Hilary was flustered when her husband called home to say he’d met a recovering drug addict who had nowhere to stay. “We lived in a small fixer-upper and I was kind of embarrassed about the condition of the house,” recalls Hilary. “I made up a bed in the back room, but the only spare blankets belonged to my 2-year-old daughter and they had teddy bears on them.” Like those in Jesus’ parable, Hilary could have made excuses…not enough room, not enough blankets, house is too messy. But she didn’t. Each of us could wait for a better time, until everything is perfect, but that time never comes. We have this day to welcome others, this moment to extend the hand of Christian friendship.

Think About It: What excuses can you think of? How would they sound to God?

Day Three – Welcoming the Stranger

Key Verse: “…I was a stranger and you invited me in…” Matthew 25:35b

Read: Matthew 25:31-40

Isn’t it great to have friends over? Or, even better, to get invited over to their place!But the Bible puts a different spin on hospitality. In Scripture, one of the key Greek words for hospitality, philoxeniô, combines the word for love or affection for people connected by kinship or faith (phileo) and the word for stranger (xenos). Hospitality’s orientation towards strangers is more apparent in Greek than in English. Jesus said that when we welcome a stranger, we welcome Him. “It is hard for us in the UK to seek out people who are not the same as us, ethnically, socially or economically,” says Eric, who opened his home to a young refugee couple from Asia. “Like Jesus, my focus needs to be on others and their needs, not on me and my wants.”

Think About It: When was the last time you extended the hand of welcome to someone you didn’t know, a stranger?

Day Two – Spilling Over

Key Verse: “‘If you consider me a believer in the Lord,’ she said, ‘come and stay at my house.’”–Acts 16:15b

Read: Acts 16:11-15

There’s something very precious about Christian fellowship and hospitality shared among fellow believers. As Lydia demonstrated, hospitality is perhaps the greatest symbol of oneness – the most meaningful statement of unity – within the universal fellowship of believers. In many cultures, hospitality is a given. It is practiced with sacrificial generosity by the poorest families who have very little materially to share with their guests. During a short-term missions trip to Costa Rica, J.C. – a Maryland farmer – was bowled over by his hosts’ reception. The family of eight lived in a tiny single-room house and slept on mats on the floor. At meal times, they didn’t have enough chairs, so some perched on wooden blocks. J.C., though, was seated in the best chair. The next day, J.C. found his hosts had cut down branches and made him his own chair. “It blew me away to see how much they cared for me – a stranger – with the little they have,” he says. “Their love for God just spilled over.”

Think About It: How does your devotion to Christ “spill over” into the lives of others?

Day One – What Is Hospitality?

Key Verse: “When you reap the harvest…do not reap to the very edges.” Leviticus 19:9a

Read: Leviticus 19:9-10

Just what is hospitality? Hosting visitors for a few days? Serving a four-course meal? Baking cookies to share? Washing someone’s dirty socks? More often than not, hospitality exhibits itself in a variety of simple acts of welcome and kindness that speak volumes to the recipient. For most of church history, hospitality was central to Christian identity. In early Bible times, hospitality included allowing strangers and the poor to glean from the corners of one’s fields (Leviticus 19:9-10). The Lord commanded His people not to “go over your vineyard a second time or pick up the grapes that have fallen.” Rather, God’s people were to gladly and generously share of their abundance. In modern times, of course, we practice hospitality differently and in many forms. “Hospitality doesn’t necessarily mean cooking meals and doing people’s laundry,” says Melody, who has hosted several refugee families. “It can be just giving people the chance to be who they are in your home.”

Think About It: How are you allowing others to glean from your fields?

Christian Hospitality

A 7-Day Devotional Guide from World Relief – Baltimore USA

THE HERITAGE OF HOSPITALITY

The concept of hospitality – especially towards strangers and aliens – is woven throughout both Old and New Testaments. In early Bible times, to share food with others was to share life. For the early Church, hospitality was an expression of loving kindness, an attribute of God. The Apostle Paul instructs believers to practice hospitality (Romans 12:13); the writer of Hebrews urges Christians not to neglect hospitality towards strangers (Hebrews 13:2); and the author of 1 Peter challenges believers to give hospitality ungrudgingly (1 Peter 4:9). However, surprisingly few Christians today feel they have the “gift of hospitality.” As a result, it has become – by and large – an overlooked and neglected aspect of the Christian life. This week-long devotional is designed to help you explore the topic of hospitality from a biblical perspective and prayerfully consider your personal response. My prayer is that each of us will grow deeper in the warmth of Christian fellowship and our desire to “be Jesus” to those around us.

Benedictine Spirituality

Benedictines are monks and their spirituality derives from the earliest manifestations of consecrated life in the Church. The word monk (monos) means someone who is alone. The solitude is to create room for a better meeting with God. Christian monasticism is a form of a man`s answer to the grace of the Gospel. The main feature of monastic spirituality is “being with God ” which a monk pursues by metanoia, i.e. everyday convertion. Monasticism has its very distinct place in the Church as a SIGN of God`s absolute.

God`s absolute, revealed in Christ, is the essential truth conditioning the sense of a monastic vocation. Understanding this truth is not only the activity of intellect, but of the whole human being, which involves the necessity of testifying to one`s faith by practical subordination of life to highest God. For sure it refers to each Christian, but in the case of a monk it has to assume the essence and form of exclusive attachment to God.

The first condition of the development of a conscious contact with God is willingness to break with a sin. Various ascetic practices aiming at purification of man help to do this on the basis of grace. However the penitential or ascetic aspect does not constitute in itself the essence of metanoia, which task is to lead man on the way of searching God. Thus it is constant and real submission to the will of God. Metanoia is an expression of love.

A monk, basing on the evangelical counsels and vows corresponding with them, is to become a sign of dignity of a human being and a Christian, not only in an interior dimension. A Benedictine in his vows commits himself to adoption of a monastic lifestyle, obedience according to the rule and to permanency. The characteristic feature of the Benedictine vows is binding a monk with a particular community. Vows, despite their great value and dignity, are not the aim in themselves; they are the means of realizing the deepest desire to be with God. The monastic profession taking place together with the Eucharist is a public adoption of God`s consecration.

The monk is called to do good for their brothers by a clear example of a life directed towards God. The distance to the “world” in Benedictine spirituality does not mean any contempt of goods created by God, but is to express itself by a wise selection, which leads to more objective and sober appraisal of temporality.

In monastic spirituality the internal life is characterised by utmost freedom, however it is shaped on the Bible and liturgy. Thus prayer appears in two forms: as liturgical prayer and individual prayer. Liturgy is one of the essential elements uniting the monastic community and is for the monks the basic, never-failing and extremely rich source of the whole internal life. The everyday Eucharist is the centre of Monastic Liturgy of Hours.

Monastic tradition did not create a distinct system of internal prayer. This prayer is characterized by great openness. It derives from two sources: everyday liturgy and lectio divina – meditative reading of the Bible and its comments, mainly patristic. In a monk`s life the point is to create a specific attitude of prayer, which makes the monk a man of prayer.

St. Benedict in the Rule assumed clearly a positive attitude towards work. It is a normal source of the monastery maintenance and help for the needy. Work is for him one of the ways of “God`s service”, an opportunity to approach God and brothers. Thus, a very serious and honest attitude to work as a consequence of the feeling of God`s presence.

The monk binds himself forever with one community as a “school of Lord`s service” (BR Prol, 45). In its framework solitude and mutual bonds are equally important for being open to the mystery of Christ. An abbot is a visible sign uniting the whole community.

Receiving guests in whom monks are to meet Christ is an integral part of the Benedictine rule and tradition. This basic form of apostolate in monastic life is accomplished in a way typical for each monastery.

Monastic life lived comprehensively, without looking for any strange secondary values, qualifies for an optimistic attitude to matter, creation and world, despite their transitoriness. Peace – pax benedictina – so searched by the monk is its fruit.

 

The Rule of Benedict – The Prologue (Setting the Scene)

 

Listen carefully, my son, to the master’s instructions, and attend to them with the ear of your heart. This is advice from a father who loves you; welcome it, and faithfully put it into practice. The labour of obedience will bring you back to him from whom you had drifted through the sloth of disobedience. This message of mine is for you, then, if you are ready to give up your own will, once and for all, and armed with the strong and noble weapons of obedience to do battle for the true King, Christ the Lord.

First of all, every time you begin a good work, you must pray to him most earnestly to bring it to perfection. In his goodness, he has already counted us as his sons, and therefore we should never grieve him by our evil actions. With his good gifts which are in us, we must obey him at all times that he may never become the angry father who disinherits his sons, nor the dread lord, enraged by our sins, who punishes us forever as worthless servants for refusing to follow him to glory.

Let us get up then, at long last, for the Scriptures rouse us when they say: It is high time for us to arise from sleep (Rom 13:11). Let us open our eyes to the light that comes from God, and our ears to the voice from heaven that every day calls out this charge: If you hear this voice today, do not harden your hearts (Ps 94 [95]:8). And again: You that have ears to hear, listen to what the Spirit says to the churches (Rev 2:7). And what does he say? Come and listen to me sons; I will teach you the fear of the Lord (Ps 33 [34]:12). Run while you have the light of life, that the darkness of death may not overtake you (John 12:35).

Seeking his workman in a multitude of people, the Lord calls out to him and lifts his voice again: Is there anyone here who yearns for life and desires to see good days? (Ps 33 [34]:13) If you hear this and your answer is “I do,” God then directs these words to you: If you desire true and eternal life, keep your tongue free from vicious talk and your lips from all deceit; turn away from evil and do good; let peace be your quest and aim (Ps 33 [34}:14-15). Once you have done this, my eyes will be upon you and my ears will listen for your prayers; and even before you ask me I will say to you: Here I am (Isa 58:9).

What, dear brothers, is more delightful than this voice of the Lord calling to us? See how the Lord in his love shows us the way of life. Clothed then with faith and the performance of good works, let us set out on this way, with the Gospel for our guide, that we may deserve to see him who has called us to his kingdom (1 Thess 2:12).

If we wish to dwell in the tent of this kingdom, we will never arrive unless we run there by doing good deeds. But let us ask the Lord with the Prophet: Who will dwell in your tent, Lord; who will find rest upon your holy mountain? (Ps 14 [15]:1). After this question, brothers let us listen well to what the Lord says in reply, for he shows us the way to his tent. One who walks without blemish, he says, and is just in all his dealings;

online encyclopedia who speaks the truth from his heart and has not practiced deceit with his tongue; who has not wronged a fellowman in any way, nor listened to slanders against his neighbour (Ps 14 [15]:2-3.

He has foiled the evil one, the devil, at every turn, flinging both him and his promptings far from the sight of his heart. While these temptations were still young, he caught hold of them and dashed them against Christ (Ps 14 [15]:4; 136 [137]:9). These people fear the Lord, and do not become elated over their own good deeds; they judge it is the Lord’s power, not their own, that brings about the good in them. They praise (Ps 14 [15]:4) the Lord working in them, and say with the Prophet: Not to us, Lord, not to us give the glory, but to your name alone (Ps 113 [115:1]:9). In just this way Paul the Apostle refused to take credit for the power of his preaching. He declared: By God’s grace I am what I am (1 Cor 15:10). And again he said: He who boasts should make his boast in the Lord (2 Cor 10:17). That is why the Lord says in the Gospel: Whoever hears these words of mine and does them is like a wise man who built his house upon rock;⁴the floods came and the winds blew and beat against the house, but it did not fall: it was founded on rock (Matt 7:24-25).

With this conclusion, the Lord waits for us daily to translate into action, as we should, his holy teachings. Therefore our life span has been lengthened by way of a truce, that we may amend our misdeeds. As the Apostle says: Do you not know that the patience of God is leading you to repent (Rom 2:4)? And indeed the Lord assures us in his love: I do not wish the death of the sinner, but that he turn back to me and live (Ezek 33:11).

Brothers, now that we have asked the Lord who will dwell in his tent, we have heard the instruction for dwelling in it, but only if we fulfil the obligations of those who live there. We must, then, prepare our hearts and bodies for the battle of holy obedience to his instructions. What is not possible to us by nature, let us ask the Lord to supply by the help of his grace. If we wish to reach eternal life, even as we avoid the torments of hell, then – while there is still time, while we are in this body and have time to accomplish all these things by the light of life – we must run and do now what will profit us forever.

Therefore we intend to establish a school for the Lord’s service. In drawing up its regulations, we hope to set down nothing harsh, nothing burdensome. The good of all concerned, however, may prompt us to a little strictness in order to amend faults and to safeguard love. Do not be daunted immediately by fear and run away from the road that leads to salvation. It is bound to be narrow at the outset. But as we progress in this way of life and in faith, we shall run on the path of God’s commandments, our hearts overflowing with the inexpressible delight of love. Never swerving from his instructions, then, but faithfully observing his teaching in the monastery until death, we shall through patience share in the sufferings of Christ that we may deserve also to share in his kingdom. Amen.

Quoted from RB 1980: The Rule of St. Benedict (Collegeville: The Liturgical Press, 1981)

 

Hospitality – The Rule of Benedict

The Rule of Benedict

Hospitality

“Hospitality is the way we come out of ourselves. It is the first step toward dismantling the barriers of the world. Hospitality is the way we turn a prejudiced world around, one heart at a time.”

Everyone—everyone—is received as Christ. Everyone receives a warm answer—on the phone, at the door, in the office. Sarcasm has no room here. Put-downs have no room here. One-upmanship has no room here. Classism has no room here. The Benedictine heart is to be a place without boundaries, a place where truth of the oneness of all things shatters all barriers, a point where all the differences of the world meet and melt, where Jew and Gentile, slave and free, woman and man all come together as equals.

But whatever happens to the heart is the beginning of revolution. When I let strange people and strange ideas into my heart, I am beginning to shape a new world. Hospitality of the heart could change UK domestic policies. Hospitality of the heart could change UK foreign policy. Hospitality of the heart could make my world a world of potential friends rather than a world of probable enemies.

Yet, Benedictine hospitality is more than simply thinking new thoughts or feeling new feelings about people we either thought harshly of before, or, more likely, failed to think about at all. Benedictine hospitality demands that we open our lives to others as well. Benedictine hospitality demands the extra effort, the extra time, the extra care that stretches beyond and above the order of the day. Real hospitality for our time requires that we consider how to take the concerns of the poor, the hungry, the lonely, the dying into our own lives.

It is not enough simply to change our minds about things or to come to feel compassion for something that had never touched us before or even to change our own way of life to let in the concerns of others. Real hospitality lies in bending some efforts to change things, to make a haven for the helpless, to be a voice for the voiceless. Hospitality means we take people into the space that is our lives and minds and our hearts and our efforts. Hospitality is the way we come out of ourselves. It is the first step toward dismantling the barriers of the world. Hospitality is the way we turn a prejudiced world around, one heart at a time. RB 53

 

The Spirit of Benedictine Life

“May my ways be firm in the observance of your laws”
(Ps.118:5)

“Do not be daunted immediately
by fear and run away from the road that leads to salvation.
It is bound to be narrow at the outset.”
(The Rule of St. Benedict, Prologue, verse 48)

The Following extract is taken from the “Christ in the Desert Monastery” Website

 

What is Benedictine spirituality? For that matter is there really such a thing as a spiritual lifestyle and philosophy based upon the teachings of St. Benedict?

In attempting to answer this it must first be made clear that the only existing document we have penned by him is a fairly modest volume, his Rule. On even a cursory examination, it can be discerned that the author frequently refers the reader back to the Bible. This is the key, for there most certainly is a “Benedictine” life, with this same Rule as the cornerstone of a spirituality that is practiced on every continent of the world by thousands of monks, nuns, sisters and lay persons. The work begun in the early years of the sixth century, and expanded and perfected at Monte Cassino is nothing if not a fulfilment of the promise, “seek first the kingdom [of God] and his righteousness, and all these things will be given you…” (Mtt. 6:33). Benedict sought God and the perfect service of God, and to this end every precept of the Rule was directed. Yet what is so unique about these teachings is not so much the content, for many others have espoused living in imitation of Christ, but their interpretation of this message.

Of one hundred twenty-six biblical citations to be found in the Rule, there are fifty-five from books of the New Testament, and seventy-one from the Old Testament. Of these seventy-one, fifty are taken directly from the Psalms. It is not for nothing that the Psalter has been called the prayer book of the Benedictines. This then is the pool from which Benedict fished his spiritual life and teachings. It is from this same source that he intended we draw our strength, that we might through perseverance discover both the desire and necessary stamina to proceed in the way of the Gospel. This is the challenge put before us by St. Benedict.

For those seeking an introduction to our way of life, it could be proposed that the spiritual path of perfection as delineated by St. Benedict is outlined most eloquently in the Prologue to the Rule and in the chapter concerning humility. This chapter, the seventh, is by far the longest and in many ways the first among equals, for it presents a virtue that must by definition include all others. It is in confronting humility that we are forced, often against our own will, to couple it first with obedience, and then with good zeal, etc., etc., until the canon is complete. Ultimately we find that all the virtues are so closely linked that, when properly interwoven, they produce a truly indestructible fabric; prayer is the loom on which this cloth is crafted by the monk. He understands this intrinsically, for without this final element self-will would forever retain mastery over him.

It is in chapter 7 of the Rule that Benedict provides us with the metaphor of a twelve-step ladder, kindling in us the desire to “attain speedily that exaltation in heaven to which we climb by the humility of this present life” for which “by our own ascending actions we must set up that ladder on which Jacob in a dream saw angels ascending and descending (Gen.28:12).” (RB 7:6)

Benedict then describes precisely what each step represents and, by so doing provides us not only with an exquisite example of Judeo-Christian symbology on which to meditate, but also a dozen profound lessons in daily living, applicable to monk and lay person alike.

The chapter begins with the exhortation, “everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted” (Lk. 14:11), and quickly builds on this premise, both admonishing us and placing us as individuals within a context: “Lord, my heart is not proud; nor are my eyes haughty. I do not busy myself with great matters, with things too sublime for me. Rather, I have stilled my soul, hushed it like a weaned child. Like a weaned child on its mother’s lap, so is my soul within me.”
(Ps. 131:1)

-I-

A first faltering step is taken when a monk consciously obeys all of God’s commandments, never ignoring them but always holding within himself a fear of God in his heart, for “your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven”
(Matt. 6:10)

Benedict then warns that we must always beware of what may be said to us in the future, lest we should through negligence fall into evil ways and become useless: “when you do these things, should I be silent?”
(Ps. 49[50])

-II-

Our second step is achieved when one thinks not about pleasing himself but instead follows the injunction of the Lord, “I came…not to do my own will but the will of the one who sent me”
(Jn. 6:38)

-III-

The third step is reached when out of love of God, one obediently submits to a superior in imitation of the Lord, for “he humbled himself, becoming obedient to death…”
(Phil. 2:8)

Such obedience is at the heart of the Benedictine spirit. The obedience a monk shows to his Abbot, and not exclusively to the Abbot but also to his seniors and, for that matter to all his brothers, is an indication that he is actively seeking to do God’s will. In the Benedictine tradition the abbot of a monastery holds the place of Christ, much as a bishop does in his diocese. For the monk, his superior is the father of his particular house of God. For this reason, Benedict gave pride of place in his Rule to the qualities that each individual abbot must possess, spelling them out in exhaustive detail at the beginning of chapter 2. By comparison, chapter 1 is but a short treatise on the varieties of monks and is quickly dispensed with. So seriously did Benedict consider the abbatial position that he did not hesitate to warn, “he should keep in mind that he has undertaken the care of souls for whom he must give an account” (RB 2:34). The saint adds that the abbot must be led to realize that any lack of good in his monks will be laid at his doorstep.

Benedict also demonstrates his understanding of human frailties when, after instructing the monk to obey the abbot’s commands in all things, he remarks that should he (the abbot) himself stray from his own path the monks under him should “do and observe all things whatsoever they tell you, but do not follow their example. For they preach but do not practice.” (Matt. 23:3)

-IV-

The fourth step is achieved when a monk, under obedience, patiently and quietly endures all things that are inflicted on him. It should make no difference whether the trials are painful, unjust or even completely beyond his understanding; he should neither tire nor give up. “Whoever endures to the end will be saved”(Matt. 10:22). To this Benedict adds the consoling promise, “in all these things we conquer overwhelmingly through him who loved us”
(Rom. 8:37)

-V-

The fifth step is reached when a monk humbly discloses to his superior all the evil thoughts in his heart as well as those faults and evil acts he has actually committed. Benedict urges us to “give thanks to the Lord, who is good, whose love endures forever.”
(Ps. 106:1)

-VI-

To achieve the sixth step a monk must without qualms accept all that is crude and harsh; at all times he considers himself a poor and worthless workman.

-VII-

The seventh step is attained when a monk not only confesses that he is an inferior and common wretch, but believes it to his very core. He must be willing to humble himself and claim with the prophet that he is “a worm, hardly human, scorned by everyone, despised by the people” (Ps. 22:7) and that “it was good for me to be afflicted, in order to learn your laws.” (Ps. 118[119]:71)

-VIII-

A monk reaches the eighth step of humility when he does only that which is demanded by the common rule of the monastery or by his seniors.

-IX-

The ninth step can be achieved when a monk, practicing silence, only speaks when asked a question, for “where words are many, sin is not wanting; but he who restrains his lips does well.”
(Prov. 10:19)

The monk is here reminded that humility at all times entails the control of not only his thoughts but also of his tongue. Benedict was extremely aware of the ease in which one inflicts injury through careless chatter. A monk is instructed to use his powers of speech in order to encourage his brothers.

-X-

The tenth step is climbed when a monk restrains himself from undue laughter and frivolity.

Benedict firmly believed that a monk should always remain focused on his calling and upon the reason for his calling.

-XI-

To reach the eleventh step a monk must speak gently, without jests, but simply, seriously, tersely, rationally and softly.

It is only through silence and limited speech that we are able to listen to God with the ear of our hearts; only thus can we be attentive to his divine presence in our monasteries and in our lives.

-XII-

The final step is attained only when a monk can at all times show humility not only in his appearance and actions, but also in his heart.

St. Benedict felt that it is only upon climbing all twelve steps that a monk can hope to find that perfect love of God that casts out fear; only then will he be capable of acting solely out of love for Christ. Indeed the initial fear which may have been necessary as a motivator can inspire the renunciation of all externals, including ownership; this in turn may lead to an inner renunciation that is the very essence of humility. Fear is eliminated by love, which is revealed as the very pinnacle of life on earth: upon successfully climbing the twelve steps one discovers what can only be called an unspeakable respect for God. It is then that his word is listened to with veneration and his law lovingly observed.

Accordingly, the person who fears God “guards himself at every moment from sins and vices.” For Benedict, this struggle against the vices of body and mind is the monk’s greatest task (RB 1:5); the prospect of the amendment of these vices is the greatest hope of the abbot (RB 2:40). The totality of the battle to be constantly waged is emphasized by the saint’s listing of the human elements to be guarded: thoughts, tongue, self-will and fleshly desires.

There is, moreover, one specific fault to be denounced above all others by Benedict: murmuring. In fact in the Prologue he cites Psalm 94[95], “today you would hear his voice; do not harden your hearts”. With this he recalls the entire salvation history of the Israelites. This quotation serves to remind the monk that an entire people+

, chosen and formed by God, ultimately through its murmurings turned away from him, losing its privileges in the process and eventually failing even to recognize its savior. For a Benedictine community this is a lesson to be learned and not forgotten; for us it is a matter of spiritual life and death.

To a student of the Gospel, the exhortation that begins the Prologue to the Rule, “Listen carefully, my son, to the master’s instructions, and attend to them with the ear of the heart…” can be summed up as an urgent invitation for a return to God. Each of its elements: listening, the call, the promise of true life, is an echo of the cry of Jesus to his contemporaries. It is as a response to this cry that Benedict asks us to seek through prayer, renunciation and a conscious sharing in the sufferings of Christ, a share in his kingdom.

The total spiritual poverty that is demanded of us and to which as monks we must respond without hesitation, is lovingly granted through the Beatitudes. It is, according to the teachings to which we adhere, the door to our own resurrection. It is for this reason we ultimately follow him. After all, who has trodden the path as he has: from his baptism in the Jordan through the trials, misunderstandings and humiliations of rejection, to his glowing obedience to his Father and the final unblinking act of sacrifice. Truly did he say, “I am the Way.”

This is the very heart of biblical spirituality; this is the core of the Benedictine spirit.

All quotations from the Rule of St. Benedict are from RB 1980, Timothy Fry, ed., The Liturgical Press, Collegeville, MN.

All scripture quotations are from NEW AMERICAN BIBLE, The Confraternity for Christian Doctrine, 1991.

•  

   

The Spirit of Benedictine Life

“May my ways be firm in the observance of your laws”
(Ps.118:5)

“Do not be daunted immediately
by fear and run away from the road that leads to salvation.
It is bound to be narrow at the outset.”
(The Rule of St. Benedict, Prologue, verse 48)

The Following extract is taken from the “Christ in the Desert Monastery” Website

 

What is Benedictine spirituality? For that matter is there really such a thing as a spiritual lifestyle and philosophy based upon the teachings of St. Benedict?

In attempting to answer this it must first be made clear that the only existing document we have penned by him is a fairly modest volume, his Rule. On even a cursory examination, it can be discerned that the author frequently refers the reader back to the Bible. This is the key, for there most certainly is a “Benedictine” life, with this same Rule as the cornerstone of a spirituality that is practiced on every continent of the world by thousands of monks, nuns, sisters and lay persons. The work begun in the early years of the sixth century, and expanded and perfected at Monte Cassino is nothing if not a fulfilment of the promise, “seek first the kingdom [of God] and his righteousness, and all these things will be given you…” (Mtt. 6:33). Benedict sought God and the perfect service of God, and to this end every precept of the Rule was directed. Yet what is so unique about these teachings is not so much the content, for many others have espoused living in imitation of Christ, but their interpretation of this message.

Of one hundred twenty-six biblical citations to be found in the Rule, there are fifty-five from books of the New Testament, and seventy-one from the Old Testament. Of these seventy-one, fifty are taken directly from the Psalms. It is not for nothing that the Psalter has been called the prayer book of the Benedictines. This then is the pool from which Benedict fished his spiritual life and teachings. It is from this same source that he intended we draw our strength, that we might through perseverance discover both the desire and necessary stamina to proceed in the way of the Gospel. This is the challenge put before us by St. Benedict.

For those seeking an introduction to our way of life, it could be proposed that the spiritual path of perfection as delineated by St. Benedict is outlined most eloquently in the Prologue to the Rule and in the chapter concerning humility. This chapter, the seventh, is by far the longest and in many ways the first among equals, for it presents a virtue that must by definition include all others. It is in confronting humility that we are forced, often against our own will, to couple it first with obedience, and then with good zeal, etc., etc., until the canon is complete. Ultimately we find that all the virtues are so closely linked that, when properly interwoven, they produce a truly indestructible fabric; prayer is the loom on which this cloth is crafted by the monk. He understands this intrinsically, for without this final element self-will would forever retain mastery over him.

It is in chapter 7 of the Rule that Benedict provides us with the metaphor of a twelve-step ladder, kindling in us the desire to “attain speedily that exaltation in heaven to which we climb by the humility of this present life” for which “by our own ascending actions we must set up that ladder on which Jacob in a dream saw angels ascending and descending (Gen.28:12).” (RB 7:6)

Benedict then describes precisely what each step represents and, by so doing provides us not only with an exquisite example of Judeo-Christian symbology on which to meditate, but also a dozen profound lessons in daily living, applicable to monk and lay person alike.

The chapter begins with the exhortation, “everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted” (Lk. 14:11), and quickly builds on this premise, both admonishing us and placing us as individuals within a context: “Lord, my heart is not proud; nor are my eyes haughty. I do not busy myself with great matters, with things too sublime for me. Rather, I have stilled my soul, hushed it like a weaned child. Like a weaned child on its mother’s lap, so is my soul within me.”
(Ps. 131:1)

-I-

A first faltering step is taken when a monk consciously obeys all of God’s commandments, never ignoring them but always holding within himself a fear of God in his heart, for “your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven”
(Matt. 6:10)

Benedict then warns that we must always beware of what may be said to us in the future, lest we should through negligence fall into evil ways and become useless: “when you do these things, should I be silent?”
(Ps. 49[50])

-II-

Our second step is achieved when one thinks not about pleasing himself but instead follows the injunction of the Lord, “I came…not to do my own will but the will of the one who sent me”
(Jn. 6:38)

-III-

The third step is reached when out of love of God, one obediently submits to a superior in imitation of the Lord, for “he humbled himself, becoming obedient to death…”
(Phil. 2:8)

Such obedience is at the heart of the Benedictine spirit. The obedience a monk shows to his Abbot, and not exclusively to the Abbot but also to his seniors and, for that matter to all his brothers, is an indication that he is actively seeking to do God’s will. In the Benedictine tradition the abbot of a monastery holds the place of Christ, much as a bishop does in his diocese. For the monk, his superior is the father of his particular house of God. For this reason, Benedict gave pride of place in his Rule to the qualities that each individual abbot must possess, spelling them out in exhaustive detail at the beginning of chapter 2. By comparison, chapter 1 is but a short treatise on the varieties of monks and is quickly dispensed with. So seriously did Benedict consider the abbatial position that he did not hesitate to warn, “he should keep in mind that he has undertaken the care of souls for whom he must give an account” (RB 2:34). The saint adds that the abbot must be led to realize that any lack of good in his monks will be laid at his doorstep.

Benedict also demonstrates his understanding of human frailties when, after instructing the monk to obey the abbot’s commands in all things, he remarks that should he (the abbot) himself stray from his own path the monks under him should “do and observe all things whatsoever they tell you, but do not follow their example. For they preach but do not practice.” (Matt. 23:3)

-IV-

The fourth step is achieved when a monk, under obedience, patiently and quietly endures all things that are inflicted on him. It should make no difference whether the trials are painful, unjust or even completely beyond his understanding; he should neither tire nor give up. “Whoever endures to the end will be saved”(Matt. 10:22). To this Benedict adds the consoling promise, “in all these things we conquer overwhelmingly through him who loved us”
(Rom. 8:37)

-V-

The fifth step is reached when a monk humbly discloses to his superior all the evil thoughts in his heart as well as those faults and evil acts he has actually committed. Benedict urges us to “give thanks to the Lord, who is good, whose love endures forever.”
(Ps. 106:1)

-VI-

To achieve the sixth step a monk must without qualms accept all that is crude and harsh; at all times he considers himself a poor and worthless workman.

-VII-

The seventh step is attained when a monk not only confesses that he is an inferior and common wretch, but believes it to his very core. He must be willing to humble himself and claim with the prophet that he is “a worm, hardly human, scorned by everyone, despised by the people” (Ps. 22:7) and that “it was good for me to be afflicted, in order to learn your laws.” (Ps. 118[119]:71)

-VIII-

A monk reaches the eighth step of humility when he does only that which is demanded by the common rule of the monastery or by his seniors.

-IX-

The ninth step can be achieved when a monk, practicing silence, only speaks when asked a question, for “where words are many, sin is not wanting; but he who restrains his lips does well.”
(Prov. 10:19)

The monk is here reminded that humility at all times entails the control of not only his thoughts but also of his tongue. Benedict was extremely aware of the ease in which one inflicts injury through careless chatter. A monk is instructed to use his powers of speech in order to encourage his brothers.

-X-

The tenth step is climbed when a monk restrains himself from undue laughter and frivolity.

Benedict firmly believed that a monk should always remain focused on his calling and upon the reason for his calling.

-XI-

To reach the eleventh step a monk must speak gently, without jests, but simply, seriously, tersely, rationally and softly.

It is only through silence and limited speech that we are able to listen to God with the ear of our hearts; only thus can we be attentive to his divine presence in our monasteries and in our lives.

-XII-

The final step is attained only when a monk can at all times show humility not only in his appearance and actions, but also in his heart.

St. Benedict felt that it is only upon climbing all twelve steps that a monk can hope to find that perfect love of God that casts out fear; only then will he be capable of acting solely out of love for Christ. Indeed the initial fear which may have been necessary as a motivator can inspire the renunciation of all externals, including ownership; this in turn may lead to an inner renunciation that is the very essence of humility. Fear is eliminated by love, which is revealed as the very pinnacle of life on earth: upon successfully climbing the twelve steps one discovers what can only be called an unspeakable respect for God. It is then that his word is listened to with veneration and his law lovingly observed.

Accordingly, the person who fears God “guards himself at every moment from sins and vices.” For Benedict, this struggle against the vices of body and mind is the monk’s greatest task (RB 1:5); the prospect of the amendment of these vices is the greatest hope of the abbot (RB 2:40). The totality of the battle to be constantly waged is emphasized by the saint’s listing of the human elements to be guarded: thoughts, tongue, self-will and fleshly desires.

There is, moreover, one specific fault to be denounced above all others by Benedict: murmuring. In fact in the Prologue he cites Psalm 94[95], “today you would hear his voice; do not harden your hearts”. With this he recalls the entire salvation history of the Israelites. This quotation serves to remind the monk that an entire people+

, chosen and formed by God, ultimately through its murmurings turned away from him, losing its privileges in the process and eventually failing even to recognize its savior. For a Benedictine community this is a lesson to be learned and not forgotten; for us it is a matter of spiritual life and death.

To a student of the Gospel, the exhortation that begins the Prologue to the Rule, “Listen carefully, my son, to the master’s instructions, and attend to them with the ear of the heart…” can be summed up as an urgent invitation for a return to God. Each of its elements: listening, the call, the promise of true life, is an echo of the cry of Jesus to his contemporaries. It is as a response to this cry that Benedict asks us to seek through prayer, renunciation and a conscious sharing in the sufferings of Christ, a share in his kingdom.

The total spiritual poverty that is demanded of us and to which as monks we must respond without hesitation, is lovingly granted through the Beatitudes. It is, according to the teachings to which we adhere, the door to our own resurrection. It is for this reason we ultimately follow him. After all, who has trodden the path as he has: from his baptism in the Jordan through the trials, misunderstandings and humiliations of rejection, to his glowing obedience to his Father and the final unblinking act of sacrifice. Truly did he say, “I am the Way.”

This is the very heart of biblical spirituality; this is the core of the Benedictine spirit.

All quotations from the Rule of St. Benedict are from RB 1980, Timothy Fry, ed., The Liturgical Press, Collegeville, MN.

All scripture quotations are from NEW AMERICAN BIBLE, The Confraternity for Christian Doctrine, 1991.

•  

   

Abba Agathon

Abba Peter, the disciple of Abba Lot, said, One day when I was in Abba Agathon’s cell a brother came in and said to him, “I want to live with the brethren; tell me how to dwell with them.” The old man answered him, “All the days of your life keep the frame of mind of the stranger which you have on the first day you join them, so as not to become too familiar with them.” The Abba Macarius asked, “And what does this familiarity produce?” the old man replied, :It is like a strong, burning wind, each time it arises everything flies swept before it, and it destroys the fruit of the trees.” So Abba Macarius said, “Is speaking too freely really as bad as all that?” Abba Agathon said, “No passion is as worse than an uncontrolled tongue, because it is the mother of all the passions.” Accordingly the good workman should not use it, even as he is living as a solitary in the cell. I know a brother who spent a long time in his cell using a small bed who said, “I should have left my cell without making use of that small bed if no one had told me it was there.” It is the hard-working Monk who is a warrior.

Abba Agathon

Abba Peter, the disciple of Abba Lot, said, One day when I was in Abba Agathon’s cell a brother came in and said to him, “I want to live with the brethren; tell me how to dwell with them.” The old man answered him, “All the days of your life keep the frame of mind of the stranger which you have on the first day you join them, so as not to become too familiar with them.” The Abba Macarius asked, “And what does this familiarity produce?” the old man replied, :It is like a strong, burning wind, each time it arises everything flies swept before it, and it destroys the fruit of the trees.” So Abba Macarius said, “Is speaking too freely really as bad as all that?” Abba Agathon said, “No passion is as worse than an uncontrolled tongue, because it is the mother of all the passions.” Accordingly the good workman should not use it, even as he is living as a solitary in the cell. I know a brother who spent a long time in his cell using a small bed who said, “I should have left my cell without making use of that small bed if no one had told me it was there.” It is the hard-working Monk who is a warrior.

The Fishing-Net

Three old men, of whom one had a bad reputation, came one day to Abba Achilles.
The first asked him,
“Father, make me a fishing-net.”
“I will not make you one,” he replied.
Then the second said,
“Of your charity make one, so that we may have a souvenir of you in the monastery.”
But he said,
“I do not have time.”
Then the third one, who had a bad reputation, said,
“Make me a fishing-net, so that I may have something from your hands, Father.”
Abba Achilles answered him at once,
“For you, I will make one.”
Then the two other old men asked him privately,
“Why did you not want to do what we asked you, but you promised to do what he asked?”
The old man gave them this answer,
“I told you I would not make one, and you were not disappointed, since you thought that I had no time. But if I had not made one for him, he would have said, ‘The old man has heard about my sin, and that is why he does not want to make me anything,’ and so our relationship would have broken down. But now I have cheered his soul, so that he will not be overcome with grief.”

The Fishing-Net

Three old men, of whom one had a bad reputation, came one day to Abba Achilles.
The first asked him,
“Father, make me a fishing-net.”
“I will not make you one,” he replied.
Then the second said,
“Of your charity make one, so that we may have a souvenir of you in the monastery.”
But he said,
“I do not have time.”
Then the third one, who had a bad reputation, said,
“Make me a fishing-net, so that I may have something from your hands, Father.”
Abba Achilles answered him at once,
“For you, I will make one.”
Then the two other old men asked him privately,
“Why did you not want to do what we asked you, but you promised to do what he asked?”
The old man gave them this answer,
“I told you I would not make one, and you were not disappointed, since you thought that I had no time. But if I had not made one for him, he would have said, ‘The old man has heard about my sin, and that is why he does not want to make me anything,’ and so our relationship would have broken down. But now I have cheered his soul, so that he will not be overcome with grief.”

The Young Emperor

There was a young emperor who went to the desert to visit an old monk.
The Emperor ordered his retinue to wait at a distance, and he approached the monk’s cell alone. He removed the crown from his head and hid it and then knocked on the door to the monk’s cell. The monk, upon opening the door, immediately knew that it was the Emperor standing before him, but he pretended not to recognize him, and he welcomed him as a fellow monk. They prayed and sat down together. Then the Emperor began to question the monk saying,
“How are all the fathers in the desert?”
The monk replied,
“They all pray for your health.”
Then the Emperor looked around the cell and saw nothing except a small basket containing bread, and the monk said to him,
“Eat.”
Then the monk dipped the bread in water, poured oil on it and salt, and gave it to the Emperor, who ate it. And the monk gave him some water, and he drank. Then the Emperor asked,
“Do you know who I am?”
The monk replied,
“God knows who you are.”
The Emperor then identified himself, and the monk bowed at the waist in homage. The Emperor said to him,
“You are truly blessed because you do not have the cares of this world. I was born to kingship, and the affairs of my empire are a constant concern to me. Each day I dine on the richest meats and cakes and the finest wines are poured into my goblet. And yet, today mere bread and water have satisfied me as no sumptuous feast ever has.”
And the young emperor marveled and went his way.

The Young Emperor

There was a young emperor who went to the desert to visit an old monk.
The Emperor ordered his retinue to wait at a distance, and he approached the monk’s cell alone. He removed the crown from his head and hid it and then knocked on the door to the monk’s cell. The monk, upon opening the door, immediately knew that it was the Emperor standing before him, but he pretended not to recognize him, and he welcomed him as a fellow monk. They prayed and sat down together. Then the Emperor began to question the monk saying,
“How are all the fathers in the desert?”
The monk replied,
“They all pray for your health.”
Then the Emperor looked around the cell and saw nothing except a small basket containing bread, and the monk said to him,
“Eat.”
Then the monk dipped the bread in water, poured oil on it and salt, and gave it to the Emperor, who ate it. And the monk gave him some water, and he drank. Then the Emperor asked,
“Do you know who I am?”
The monk replied,
“God knows who you are.”
The Emperor then identified himself, and the monk bowed at the waist in homage. The Emperor said to him,
“You are truly blessed because you do not have the cares of this world. I was born to kingship, and the affairs of my empire are a constant concern to me. Each day I dine on the richest meats and cakes and the finest wines are poured into my goblet. And yet, today mere bread and water have satisfied me as no sumptuous feast ever has.”
And the young emperor marveled and went his way.

The Quarrel

There were two old men who dwelt together for many years and who never quarreled.
Then one said to the other:
“Let us pick a quarrel with each other like other men do.”
“I do not know how quarrels arise,” answered his companion.
So the other said to him:
“Look, I will put a brick down here between us and I will say ‘This is mine.’ Then you can say ‘No it is not, it is mine.’ Then we will be able to have a quarrel.”
So they placed the brick between them and the first one said:
“This is mine.”
His companion answered him:
“This is not so, for it is mine.”
To this, the first one said:
“If it is so and the brick is yours, then take it and go your way.”
And so they were not able to have a quarrel.

The Quarrel

There were two old men who dwelt together for many years and who never quarreled.
Then one said to the other:
“Let us pick a quarrel with each other like other men do.”
“I do not know how quarrels arise,” answered his companion.
So the other said to him:
“Look, I will put a brick down here between us and I will say ‘This is mine.’ Then you can say ‘No it is not, it is mine.’ Then we will be able to have a quarrel.”
So they placed the brick between them and the first one said:
“This is mine.”
His companion answered him:
“This is not so, for it is mine.”
To this, the first one said:
“If it is so and the brick is yours, then take it and go your way.”
And so they were not able to have a quarrel.

Abba and the Bowman

A hunter in the desert saw
Abba Anthony enjoying himself with the brethren and he was shocked. Wanting to show him that it was necessary sometimes to meet the needs of the brethren, the old man said to him,
“Put an arrow in your bow and shoot it.”
So he did. The old man then said,
“Shoot another,”
and he did so. Then the old man said,
“Shoot yet again,”
and the hunter replied,
“If I bend my bow so much I will break it.”
Then the old man said to him,
“It is the same with the work of God. If we stretch the brethren beyond measure they will soon break. Sometimes it is necessary to come down to meet their needs.”
When he heard these words the hunter was pierced by compunction and, greatly edified by the old man, he went away. As for the brethren, they went home strengthened.

Abba and the Bowman

A hunter in the desert saw
Abba Anthony enjoying himself with the brethren and he was shocked. Wanting to show him that it was necessary sometimes to meet the needs of the brethren, the old man said to him,
“Put an arrow in your bow and shoot it.”
So he did. The old man then said,
“Shoot another,”
and he did so. Then the old man said,
“Shoot yet again,”
and the hunter replied,
“If I bend my bow so much I will break it.”
Then the old man said to him,
“It is the same with the work of God. If we stretch the brethren beyond measure they will soon break. Sometimes it is necessary to come down to meet their needs.”
When he heard these words the hunter was pierced by compunction and, greatly edified by the old man, he went away. As for the brethren, they went home strengthened.

The Sleeping Brother

Some old men
went to Abba Poemen and asked,

“If we see brothers sleeping during the common prayer, should we wake them?”

Abba Poemen answered,
“If I see my brother sleeping, I put his head on my knees
and let him rest.”
Then one old man spoke up,
“And how do you explain yourself before God?”
Abba Poemen replied,
“I say to God: You have said, ‘First take the beam out of your own eye and then you will be able to remove the splinter from the eye of your brother.’ “

The Sleeping Brother

Some old men
went to Abba Poemen and asked,

“If we see brothers sleeping during the common prayer, should we wake them?”

Abba Poemen answered,
“If I see my brother sleeping, I put his head on my knees
and let him rest.”
Then one old man spoke up,
“And how do you explain yourself before God?”
Abba Poemen replied,
“I say to God: You have said, ‘First take the beam out of your own eye and then you will be able to remove the splinter from the eye of your brother.’ “

Benedictine Prayer: A Larger Vision of Life

The function of prayer is to change my own mind,
to put on the mind of Christ, to enable grace to break into me.

 

Benedictine prayer is not designed to take people out of the world to find God. Benedictine prayer is designed to enable people to realize that God is in the world around them.

Prayer is meant to call us back to a consciousness of God here and now, not to make God some kind of private getaway from life. On the contrary. Prayer in the Benedictine tradition is a community act and an act of community awareness.

Benedictine prayer, rooted in the Psalms and other Scriptures, takes us out of ourselves to form in us a larger vision of life than we ourselves can ever dredge up out of our own lives alone.

 

Benedictine prayer puts us in contact with past and future at once so that the present becomes clearer and the future possible.

Benedictine prayer has several characteristics that make more for a spirituality of awareness than of consolation. It is regular. It is universal. It is converting. It is reflective. And it is communal. Out of those qualities a whole new life emerges and people are changed. Not in the way tornadoes change things, perhaps, but in the way that sand in oysters does.

Prayer that is regular confounds both self-importance and the wiles of the world. It is so easy for good people to confuse their own work with the work of creation. It is so easy to come to believe that what we do is so much more important than what we are. It is so easy to simply get too busy to grow. It is so easy to commit ourselves to this century’s demand for product and action until the product consumes us and the actions exhaust us and we can no longer even remember why we set out to do them in the first place.

But regularity in prayer cures all that. Regularity harnesses us to our place in the universe. Morning and evening, season by season, year after year we watch the sun rise and set, death and resurrection daily come and go, beginnings and endings follow one another without terror and without woe. We come to realize that we are simply small parts of a continuing creation, and we take hope and comfort and perspective from that. If getting this contract is all that the world is about; if washing the children’s school clothes is the centre and the acme of my life; if holding this meeting or getting this promotion or making this money is all that claims my whole life’s concentration and fills my whole life’s time, then I have become more of a thing than a person and life is really passing me by. Or, I am passing it by.

Benedict called for prayer at regular intervals of each day, right in the middle of apparently urgent and important work. The message is unequivocal. Let no one forget what they are really about. Let no one forget why they have really come to this life. Let no one forget the purpose of life. Let no one forget to remember. Ever. Benedictine spirituality is not a spirituality of escape; Benedictine spirituality is a spirituality that fills time with an awareness of the presence of God.
“Pray always,” Scripture says. “Prefer nothing whatsoever to the Work of God,” (RB 43:3), the Rule of Benedict insists. “Impossible,” we object. And yet, if we keep our souls tied to a consciousness of God as the Rule directs, even in the face of things of apparently greater or more immediate value, then consciousness of God becomes a given. And consciousness of God is perpetual prayer.

To pray in the midst of the mundane is simply and strongly to assert that this dull and tiring day is holy and its simple labours are the stuff of God’s saving presence for me now. To pray simply because it is prayer time is no small act of immersion in the God who is willing to wait for us to be conscious, to be ready, to be willing to become new in life.

Prayer, Benedictine spiritually demonstrates, is not a matter of mood. To pray only when we feel like it is more to seek consolation than to risk conversion. To pray only when it suits us is to want God on our terms. To pray only when it is convenient is to make the God-life a very low priority in a list of better opportunities. To pray only when it feels good is to court total emptiness when we most need to be filled. The hard fact is that nobody finds time for prayer. The time must be taken. There will always be something more pressing to do, something more important to be about than the apparently fruitless, empty act of prayer. But when that attitude takes over, we have begun the last trip down a very short road because, without prayer, the energy for the rest of life runs down. The fuel runs out. We become our own worst enemies: we call ourselves too tired and too busy to pray when, in reality, we are too tired and too busy not to pray. Eventually, the burdens of the day wear us down and we no longer remember why we decided to do what we’re doing: work for this project, marry this woman, have these children, minister in this place. And if I cannot remember why I decided to do this, I cannot figure out how I can go on with it. I am tired and the vision just gets dimmer and dimmer.

To pray when we cannot, on the other hand, is to let God be our prayer. The spirituality of regularity requires that we turn over our bruised and bleeding and fragmented and distracted selves to the possibility of conversion in memory and in hope, in good times and in bad, day after day after day, morning and night, this year and next.

But regularity is not the only call to otherness in Benedictine prayer. Benedictine prayer is based almost totally in the Psalms and in the Scriptures. “Let us set out on this way,” the Rule reads, “with the Gospel as our guide” (RB Prologue: 9). Benedictine prayer, consequently, is not centred in the needs and wants and insights of the person who is praying. It is anchored in the needs and wants and insights of the entire universe. Benedictine prayer pries me out of myself and stretches me beyond myself so that I can come someday, perhaps, to be my best self.

Benedictine prayer life, besides being scriptural and regular, is reflective. It is designed to make us take our own lives into account in the light of the gospel. It is not recitation for its own sake. It is the bringing to bear of the mind of Christ on the fragments of our own lives. It requires steady wrestling with the Word of God. It takes time and it does not depend on quantity for its value.
Benedictine prayer calls for more than prayer time; it calls for attention to the Scriptures. It calls for more than words; it calls for a change of mind and values. It calls for more than ritual; it calls for deep reflection. It calls for more than getting my prayers in; it requires that I get my heart steeped in the story of God in history.
The prayer life that comes from regularity, reflection, and a sense of the universal, however, is very soon converting. The function of prayer is certainly not to cajole God into saving us from ourselves. “Please, God, don’t let us die in nuclear war” surely is not real prayer. We can stop nuclear war ourselves by stopping the manufacture of nuclear weapons. Humans created them and humans can destroy them. No, the function of prayer is not magic. The function of prayer is not the bribery of the Infinite. The function of prayer is not to change the mind of God about the decisions we have already made for ourselves. The function of prayer is to change my own mind, to put on the mind of Christ, to enable grace to break into me.

Finally, Benedictine prayer is communal. Benedictine prayer is prayer with a community and for a community and as a community. It is commitment to a pilgrim people whose insights grow with time and whose needs are common to us all. Community prayer in the Benedictine tradition is a constant reminder that we do not go to church for ourselves alone. It is a chosen people, a human race, a body of faithful who stand in witness, first to one another, that God is God. And yet it is not that there is no room for the self here. It is just that the self grows best when self is not its end. To say, “I have a good prayer life, I don’t need to go to church” or “I don’t get anything out of prayer” is to admit our paucity, either on the communal or the personal level.

Community prayer is meant to bind us to one another and to broaden our vision of the needs of the world and to give us models to steer by and friends to uphold us and encourage us and enable us to go on. The praying community becomes the vehicle for my own fidelity. Because they are there praying, I go to prayer. Because they are there always, I make room in my life for them and for God. Because they are there consistently, I can never put them and their witness and their needs out of my mind. Private prayer, Benedict says, may follow communal prayer, but it can never substitute for it. Prayer, in fact, forms the community mind.

The implications of all these qualities for contemporary spirituality are plain:

 

1. God is to be dialogued with in the Word daily—not simply attended to at times of emotional spasm—until little by little the gospel begins to work in me. Prayer must be scriptural, not simply personal.
2. Time for prayer must be set aside and kept: after the children go to school; before breakfast in the morning; in the car on the way to work; on the bus coming home; at night before going to bed.
3. Reflection on the Scriptures is basic to growth in prayer and to growth as a person. Prayer is a process of coming to be something new. It is not simply a series of exercises.
4. Understanding is essential to the act of prayer. Formulas are not enough.
   Changes in attitudes and behaviors are a direct outcome of prayer. Anything else is more therapeutic massage then confrontation with God.
5. A sense of community is both the bedrock and the culmination of prayer. I pray to become a better human being, not to become better at praying.
6. We pray to see life as it is, to understand it, and to make it better than it was. We pray so that reality can break into our souls and give us back our awareness of the Divine Presence in life. We pray to understand things as they are, not to ignore and avoid and deny them.

 

The Rule of Benedict

The entire document is less than a hundred pages. The author, with characteristic self-effacement, called it “a little rule for beginners.” Written in the sixth century for a collection of serfs, scholars, shepherds, and wealthy scions of nobility—a motley group of would-be monastics, the Rule of St. Benedict survives today as a masterpiece of spiritual wisdom. The roots of Benedictine spirituality are contained in this slim volume, as are guidelines for happiness and holiness (arguably identical states in the Christian tradition) which are as meaningful today as they were 1500 years ago.

In the Rule’s prologue, Benedict said he intended to prescribe “nothing harsh, nothing burdensome” for his followers. His approach to seeking God was both sensible and humane. For Benedict, a spiritual pathway was not one to be littered with weird and unusual practices; rather, all that is needed is to be faithful to finding God in the ordinary circumstances of daily life. How to prepare oneself for this simple—but not necessarily easy—way of life is the substance of the Rule.

enedict envisioned a balanced life of prayer and work as the ideal. Monastics would spend time in prayer so as to discover why they’re working, and would spend time in work so that good order and harmony would prevail in the monastery. Benedictines should not be consumed by work, nor should they spend so much time in prayer that responsibilities are neglected. According to Benedict, all things—eating, drinking, sleeping, reading, working, and praying—should be done in moderation. In Wisdom Distilled from the Daily, Sister Joan Chittister writes that in Benedict’s Rule, “All must be given its due, but only its due. There should be something of everything and not too much of anything.”

Benedict stressed the importance of work as the great equalizer. Everyone from the youngest to the oldest, from the least educated to the most educated, was to engage in manual labor—a revolutionary idea for sixth-century Roman culture. Prayer, in a Benedictine monastery, was to consist of the opus Dei (the work of God—Psalms recited in common) and lectio (the reflective reading of Scripture whereby God’s word becomes the center of the monastic’s life). Prayer was marked by regularity and fidelity, not mood or convenience. In Benedict’s supremely realistic way, the spiritual life was something to be worked at, not merely hoped for.

The importance of community life is another great theme of Benedict’s Rule. Prior to Benedict, religious life was the life of the hermit, who went to the desert and lived alone in order to seek God. Benedict’s genius was to understand that each person’s rough edges—all the defenses and pretensions and blind spots that keep the monastic from growing spiritually—are best confronted by living side by side with other flawed human beings whose faults and failings are only too obvious. St. Benedict teaches that growth comes from accepting people as they are, not as we would like them to be. His references to the stubborn and the dull, the undisciplined and the restless, the careless and the scatterbrained have the ring of reality. Though Benedict was no idealist with respect to human nature, he understood that the key to spiritual progress lies in constantly making the effort to see Christ in each person—no matter how irritating or tiresome.

Benedictines make three vows: stability, fidelity to the monastic way of life, and obedience. Though promises of poverty and chastity are implied in the Benedictine way, stability, fidelity, and obedience receive primary attention in the Rule—perhaps because of their close relationship with community life.

Stability means that the monastic pledges lifelong commitment to a particular community. To limit oneself voluntarily to one place with one group of people for the rest of one’s life makes a powerful statement. Contentment and fulfillment do not exist in constant change; true happiness cannot necessarily be found anywhere other than in this place and this time. For Benedictines, the vow of stability proclaims rootedness, at-homeness, that this place and this monastic family will endure.

Likewise, by the vow of fidelity to the monastic way, Benedictines promise to allow themselves to be shaped and molded by the community—to pray at the sound of the bell when it would be so much more convenient to continue working, to forswear pet projects for the sake of community needs, to be open to change, to listen to others, and not to run away when things seem frustrating or boring or hopeless.

Obedience also holds a special place in Benedict’s community. Monastics owe “unfeigned and humble love” to their abbots and prioresses, not because they are infallible or omniscient, but because they take the place of Christ. St. Benedict carefully outlines the qualities the leaders should possess—wisdom, prudence, discretion, and sensitivity to individual differences. The exercise of authority in the Rule points more to mercy than justice, more to understanding of human weakness than strict accountability, more to love than zeal. What defines the leader of a Benedictine community is not being head of an institution but being in relationship with all the members.

“Let everyone that comes be received as Christ” is one of the most familiar and oft-quoted phrases of the Rule. It emphasizes the preeminent position which hospitality occupies in every Benedictine monastery. Benedictine hospitality goes beyond the exercise of the expected social graces—the superficial smile or the warm reception of expected guests. Hospitality for Benedict meant that everyone who comes—the poor, the traveler, the curious, those not of our religion or social standing or education—should be received with genuine acceptance. With characteristic moderation, though, he cautions against “lingering with guests,” realizing that the peace and silence of the monastery must be protected. “Too great a merging of monastics and guests will benefit neither,” says Esther de Waal in Seeking God: The Way of St. Benedict.

Stewardship is another value which, like hospitality, captures the essence of Benedictine life. On a most basic level, Benedict prescribed care and reverence of material things (“treat all goods as if they were vessels of the altar”). For Benedictines, the idea that gardening tools were just as important as chalices has come to mean a total way of life which emphasizes wholeness and wholesomeness and connectedness; the body, the mind, the spirit, material things, the earth—all are one and all are to receive proper attention. All created things are God-given, and a common-sense approach to resources should prevail. Thus, Benedictine communities are ready to accept the most recent technology but will use the same bucket for thirty years. “Taking care of things” has been elevated to a virtue of surpassing value in Benedictine monasteries.

The wisdom of Benedict’s Rule lies in its flexibility, its tolerance for individual differences, and its openness to change. For 1500 years, it has remained a powerful and relevant guide for those who would seek God in the ordinary circumstances of life.

When Benedict wrote his Rule, society seemed to be falling apart. Though materially prosperous, the Roman Empire was in a state of decline. After Benedict’s death, barbarian hordes would overrun Europe and the very survival of Western civilization would be called into question. Benedictine monasteries—with their message of balance and moderation, stability, hospitality, and stewardship—were credited with the preservation of Western culture, and Benedict himself was named patron of Europe.

Benedictine values are as necessary today as they were in the sixth century. Who could look at the “greed is good” legacy of the 1980s and not desire change? In an era of countless personal and societal sins—materialism and racism and the destruction of the earth through waste and carelessness—Benedict’s Rule remains a powerful alternative, another way of viewing life and people and things that finds meaning in the ordinary and makes each day a revelation of the divine.

 

Who Was St. Benedict?

 

St. Benedict was born in 480 in Nursia, Italy. As a young man, Benedict went to Rome for his education. There he was outraged at the corruption he saw. He fled south, and for three years he lived in a mountain cave by Subiaco as a hermit. Benedict’s reputation for holiness spread.

Various disciples came seeking his guidance, and at their request, Benedict started his first monastery. He soon moved to Monte Cassino. There a new foundation grew and flourished, which was to become one of the greatest monasteries in Europe.

After years of experience in community, Benedict wrote his famous Rule, which he shared with his twin sister, Scholastica, and her monastery for women. Benedict died at Monte Cassino on March 21, 547. During his lifetime, his Rule guided twelve different monasteries he led over the course of eighteen years.

 

 

 

 

Bethlehem speaks in many tongues….

The wonderfully monickered Zoughbi Zoughbi, director of the fantastic Wi’am Palestinian Conflict Resolution Centre in Bethlehem sent this meditation to Kester Brewin recently. I think it really reflects the blessing of the Christ child to the world then and now in the busy 21C.

Bethlehem speaks in many tongues….

Every homeless refugee, desperate for a bed for a night, understands the agony of Joseph of Bethlehem.

Every frightened teenage girl, pregnant and lost, comprehends the bewilderment of Mary.

Every executive, trying to reconcile commercial realities with moral imperatives, identifies with the local innkeeper.

Every working person, in a daily routine awakening to a sudden reverence for life, experiences the awe of the Judean shepherd.

Every ruler or intellectual, coming to the limit of human power, evinces the humility of the Magi.

Every tyrant who keeps in control by means of ruthless and harsh practices knows the insecure fear of Herod.

Every infant, born on the rubbish heap of a city slum, shares the indignity of the Holy Birth.

Bethlehem speaks in many tongues….

“Finding Sanctuary”

 

Abbot Christopher Jamison has achieved his aim of writing an accessible and extremely useful book for those who want to develop spiritually. This is a relatively easy read and, at 180 pages, can be finished in quite a short space of time. It took me only two days in total.

Drawing extensively upon the Rule of St Benedict, Abbot Christopher promotes spiritual disciplines which offer an attractive and practical antidote to the unrelenting busy-ness of everyday life in the western world. His chapter on “Busy”ness was wonderful and searching with it’s challenges. Chapter by chapter, he extols the benefits of silence, contemplation, obedience, humility, community, spirituality and hope and does so in ways which are informative, stimulating and helpful to those of us who want to grow continually closer to God. He expands all of this as an interpretation of the “Rule of St Benedict” Abbot Christopher occasionally refers back to ‘The Monastery’ TV series for was to describe what he is talking about, but such references are relatively few and anyone who missed the programmes will still be able to engage fully with the book as a whole.

I really enjoyed the book, It has challenged me to a further detailed study of “Benedictine Spirituality” and the theology that lies behind it. I’m looking forward to this book shaping me in the days head. I would also be committed to working on some kind of guided response to “Finding Sanctuary” chapter by chapter.

I am recommending all my friends to take a look at For their own enjoyment and spiritual development.

Listening with the heart

For some 10 years now the monastic tradition has influenced and shaped my life and ministry. I have been so thankful for the journey of transformation that I have been on. So much so that I have decided over the next short while to concentrate upon a theological journey of sorts through some of the the main streams of monastic tradition. I’m starting with “Benedictine Spirituality” that spirituality which is found in the rule of Benedict and the many theological books that are available on the subject. Some of the books will require a detailed reading while others will be read in a few hours.The following books I have selected for a reading retreat that I intend to have sometime after Easter.

Seeking God: The Way of St.Benedict by Esther De Waal

The Benedictine Handbook by Anthony Marett-Crosby

St. Benedict’s Toolbox: The Nuts and Bolts of Everyday Benedictine Living by Jane Tomaine

Radical Hospitality: Benedict’s Way of Love by Daniel Homan and Pratt Lonni Collins

Hospitality: Spiritual Direction and the Benedictine Tradition by Leslie A. Hay

Prayer and Community: The Benedictine Tradition (Traditions of Christian Spirituality) by Columba Stewart

Wisdom from the Monastery: The Rule of St. Benedict for Everyday Life by Patrick Barry, Richard Yeo, and Kathleen Norris

I’m hoping that the time spent on these books will educate and inspire me. I’m looking forward to 5 days away to contemplate and to create some listening space, in reading, so that I can hear God speak to me.

I’ll be keeping a journal and will blog it upon my return.