Tag: Saint Benedict

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St. Benedict and Conversion

Today we conclude a three-part reflection on the vow taken by many monks and sisters who follow in the footsteps of Benedict of Nursia. They enter a covenant of obedience, stability, and conversion of life.

Conversion is the most important of the three dimensions, balancing the other two and served by them. Obedience is for the sake of conversion. Stability is for the sake of conversion.

Without conversion, obedience and stability become toxic structures of decay and death.

There is an impostor stability that resists needed reform. It happens in every institution! There will be some who resist risk, while cheering for the changes to fail. They feel a perceived need to keep things the same, and an obstinate refusal to see the evident truth that the status quo is failing. This pseudo-stability is the idolatry of comfort . It is trying to serve God and mammon. It is wanting to have happiness in this world, rather than accepting our status as strangers and sojourners. It is a refusal to die and rise with Jesus.

There is also an impostor obedience that kills conversion. It comes in many forms, both among leaders and followers.

Some leaders rigidly demand obedience. At its “best,” this becomes authoritarianism within a benevolent dictatorship. At its worst, it is a dumpster fire of narcissism, in which the leader demands unquestioning loyalty and the admiration of all. On the flipside, many of us leaders resist responsibility for the hard stuff – which always means being hated and persecuted by some. Who wants that unless he or she is truly committed to dying and rising with Christ?

For followers, too, there is an impostor obedience that refuses to walk the path of conversion. There are always the kiss-ups who ambitiously angle for power of their own, with no interest in seeking first the Kingdom of God. Much more toxic and dysfunctional is the tendency of institutions to equate obedience with a demand for loyalty, even when loyalty means a loss of honesty and integrity. Well-meaning followers, in the name of obedience, will collude in cover-ups, stay silent in the face of failing policies, protect the perpetrator, or blame the victim.  Rather than abiding in love and truth, this impostor obedience is governed by fear and shame.

Now let’s state the obvious: disobedience is not obedience. Obstinate disobedience is a self-exalatation and a hardening of the heart. It is the opposite of conversion.

There are many ideological Christians these days (both on the left and on the right) who wish that their church leaders would become noisy political warriors. Their deepest thirst is not for the Kingdom of God – which is not of this world (John 18:36). They are behaving like the disciples of Jesus, who expected him to stick it to the Romans and bring back the good old days of the Kingdom of Israel. At their worst, they are the ones who prefer Barabbas and want no king but Caesar.

We leaders need to hear their concerns, which contain much truth. There are injustices to be upset about, and genuine reasons for fear and concern. What then?

For Benedict, it means we need to have a conversation. The Latin words for “conversion of life” are conversatio morum. It means turning around and following Christ, but it also means a conversation, a willingness to enter into and stay in dialogue in healthy relationships – even with people we dislike or disagree with.

Conversion does not mean hopping onto a social media platform, undermining authority, name calling, mocking, and shaming. That kind of criticism is not courage. There is no conversation and no conversion there. It is much harder to speak face-to-face and to listen with vulnerability and respect. No one possesses the truth; rather, we are possessed by Truth, and it is always greater than us. Conversion means I always have more to learn – even from those who are radically different from me. The disobedient do not tend to be lifelong learners.

One of the monks here compares monastic community with a rock tumbler. A group of hardheaded men are mashed against each other for years. As their rough edges smooth out, they emerged polished and beautiful.

Both obedience and stability are a grind, and our egos resist them. Who wants to be in an ongoing relationship with a bunch of hardheads, some of whom they really dislike?  The answer – someone with a deep desire to die and rise with Jesus!  On the day of their profession, the monks declare: “I desire to share in the sufferings of Christ in this monastery until death, that I may also share in his glory.”

Conversion is about turning around from our present misery and joyfully journeying to our real goal. Benedict urges us to hasten along the path of holiness: “Run while you have the light of life … If we wish to dwell in the tent of this Kingdom, we will never arrive there unless we run there by doing good deeds.” The Latin verb is currere, which means “to run, to move quickly, to hasten.” Think of it not so much as a sprint, but as a marathon or (better yet) a pilgrimage.

I once walked a 120-mile pilgrimage. My longest day was 31 miles. It became 32 miles because I missed a turn at one point. My stomach dropped in dread when I realized my mistake. I felt such an ache to get to my destination, and now it would take longer. In this case, by far my clearest option was to turn right around and go back to the crossroads. But one could easily imagine another scenario in which a new path would be much faster, and going back would be disastrous. Conversion is all about hastening to the true goal.

On a pilgrimage, you ache for your destination – and I mean that you feel the ache all over your body. You might linger here and there to delight in the scenery. Sometimes you sing as you walk and enjoy the journey. Other times it is sheer pain. But the one thing you do NOT want is to journey in the wrong direction. Conversion corrects our course whenever and however necessary.

Most of us prefer to live in denial about the fact that we are pilgrims in this life. Our true homeland is in heaven. Absolutely nothing in this world will last except for faith, hope, and love. The Benedictine vow of conversatio morum is a renewal of the baptismal vow. It is an absolute decision that I want to die and rise with Christ, and that I renounce all seductive counterfeits.

In the Prologue of his Rule, Benedict teaches that God does not will the death of the sinner, but our life (cf. Ezekiel 33:11). God lengthens our lifespan to give us adequate time to turn around and hasten to the Kingdom. God gives us many chances to commit and recommit on our journey of conversion. He is patient with our wanderings and opens up new (even if rugged and longer) paths. He shelters and guides us along our way, and is so eager to welcome us when we finally arrive at the Feast. Will we remember who we are and where we are going?

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St. Benedict and Stability

As I finish my final month of sabbatical in a Benedictine monastery, I’ll continue reflecting on their threefold vow of obedience, stability, and conversion of life. Last time we considered obedience. Today we’ll consider “stability.”

Benedictine monks vow to stay in the monastery that they enter, unless obedience sends them elsewhere. Historically, monks were sometimes sent out as missionaries, or to be abbot of another monastery. But normally their promise to God includes a definitive choice that this monastery is going to be their spiritual and physical home for the rest of their life.

Other religious communities, like the Missionaries of Charity or the Jesuits, are mobile by their very nature. They expect to be moved many times during the course of their life.

The hyper-mobile spirituality of some orders and the ultra-stable spirituality of the Benedictines each have their place in the life of the Church. The frequent call to be moved is a reminder that “here we have no lasting city” (Hebrews 13:14). It is a share in the mission of Jesus, who had “no place to lay his head” (Matthew 8:20). It prevents stagnation.  On the opposite side, fruitful growth can only happen with patience and perseverance, through ongoing relational connection. Even when serious reforms are needed – especially when serious reforms are needed – it takes a stable and patient commitment.

We live in the FOMO age in which people young and old spend much of their day avoiding solid commitments as they restlessly “connect” through social media. We live in an age in which people quite easily move from job to job, state to state, or marriage to marriage. Even when such moves are good and necessary, they are incredibly challenging for all concerned. Benedictine stability deserves our attention!

We can begin by naming what stability is not. It is not easy living with a resistance to change. Every virtue has its shadow side. A week ago, I had Mass and coffee with a neighboring community of Benedictine Sisters. One of them wisely suggested that a great temptation in Benedictine life is comfort. Comfort kills. When we settle into an easy life, we will find ourselves unhappy and stuck.  Comfortable living does not bring joy or delight. We can only experience joy if we are also open to risk or loss, to sorrow or death. There is no joy without vulnerability. Healthy relationships only survive and thrive when there is a willingness to make mistakes and repair the damage, to engage in difficult experiences, to work through healthy conflict, to admit truthfully what is not working well, and to move forward into the unknown with a trust that God will bring new life and fruitfulness. The Benedictine vow is threefold – including conversion of life. Stability without conversion brings death and decay.

The true invitation of stability is an invitation to be fully present and engaged – with God; with others; and with one’s own body, mind, and spirit. It is direct spiritual combat against acedia, sometimes called “sloth,” which is not what most people think it is! Too often acedia is viewed as “laziness” – which is to be combatted by discipline and hard work. As a recovering workaholic, I can personally testify that we can numb ourselves with lesser labors just as much as with any other drug! No, acedia, the noonday devil, is the siren call that pulls us away from being truly present, to stop feeling what we are feeling, to disconnect from our people and our environment, to hide and isolate. Yes, it can come in the form of “lazy” escapes, but the noonday devil does not discriminate in his tactics. He simply wants to lure us away from drinking in the present moment in all its fullness – and all the better if he does so without our even noticing.

Today’s restless FOMO culture is a prime example of acedia at work. FOMO (“fear of missing out”) paralyzes millions each day, keeping them glued to their smartphones while sapping their capacity to be truly present, to notice, to receive, to savor goodness, to mature, to give, and to bear fruit.

Even in the early months of social media and smartphones, I remember vividly a New York Times article in 2008, highlighting the experiment of an MIT professor with his economics students. They played a simple computer game, in which they clicked on one of three doors. Behind each door were real cash prizes. But clicking on one door caused the others to shrink, and eventually, to disappear forever. Instead of finding the door of greatest value and clicking on it repeatedly, the majority of students “kept their options open,” terrified of committing to one thing only. FOMO.

Both FOMO and comfort are enemies of authentic stability. On the one side are those who are afraid to commit, even when the pearl of great price is at hand. On the other side are those who would keep clicking on the same door even when it is no longer paying out – indeed, even when it is depleting them! Isn’t it interesting that 1,500+ years of Benedictine history also included sweeping and successful missionary efforts? Stable living in one monastery was the norm, but when those stable monks planted a foundation elsewhere for the sake of spreading the Gospel, their new monasteries often became hubs of faith, culture, and civilization. Evangelization takes much patience and time.

Benedict begins his Rule with some sage commentary on these attitudes of the human heart. He discusses different “kinds of monks.” There are solitary “hermits” (as he once was), and there are “cenobites” – those who live in a stable community life. Then there are the “sarabaites.” Rather than surrendering themselves in obedience and allowing a community to correct them, they build up a self-made rule and a self-given salvation. “Their law is what they like to do, whatever strikes their fancy … Anything they believe in and choose, they call holy; anything they dislike, they consider forbidden.” Sound familiar? It is the attitude of so many towards religion today – picking and choosing for themselves that which is good, true, and beautiful rather than allowing themselves to be changed by the living God.

Finally, Benedict discusses the “Gyrovagues,” who refuse to settle down and tend to drift from monastery to monastery, region to region. They become “slaves of their own wills and gross appetites” and “are in every way worse than the Sarabaites.” At that point Benedict effectively says he should move on, because he has nothing nice to say.

In our age that over-exalts being open-minded and keeping options open, the words of G.K. Chesterton come to mind: “Merely having an open mind is nothing; the object of opening the mind, as of opening the mouth, is to shut it again on something solid.” Benedictines understand that. They find the pearl of great price, and they commit to spending the rest of their life steadily pursing it in conversion of life. I’ll consider that third and final dimension next time!

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St. Benedict and Obedience

“Listen carefully, my child, 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.”

So begins The Rule of Saint Benedict, one of the most enduring spiritual works of all time. Consisting merely of a prologue and 73 paragraphs, it is filled with spiritual and practical wisdom, and a keen insight into human nature.

It has been refreshing for me to hear from the Rule again, drip by drip, during these three months of Sabbath renewal, here in the midst of a community of twenty Benedictine monks. Each evening at the end of supper we listen to a few lines of Benedict’s instructions before closing in prayer.

Regardless of our calling in life, the threefold Benedictine vow of obedience, stability, and conversion of life bears lessons we can all learn from. During this installment, I will reflect on obedience.

Obedience is ultimately a matter of obeying God the Father, in imitation of Jesus, who said, “I have come not to do my own will, but the will of Him who sent me” (John 6:38). Christ’s obedience involved a total self-emptying, freely and wholeheartedly laying down his life in sacrifice. Monastic life allows obedience and self-emptying to take on a visible form. The monks vow obedience to their abbot (a name meaning “father”) and habitually submit their own will to the will of the abbot and of their elder monks.

Benedict has no illusions of abbots being perfect; rather, he is aware that often they are awful. Many of the instructions of the Rule are directed at the abbot and the grave responsibility that he bears. If there are problems or toxic dynamics in the life of the monastery, they are ultimately his fault – unless he has truly been just and loving and the faults are ultimately due to the obstinacy of the unwilling followers. He plays the role of Christ within the community, first and foremost by his example and then by his exercise of authority.

Benedict is clear about this Christ-like authority not being one of power or control, but one of humility – including attentive listening and consulting. The abbot is not to make major decisions without pulling together other monks and listening deeply to what they have to say. He bears the ultimate responsibility for the final decision, but not before listening with an open mind and heart.

As one who has often borne the burden of authority amidst multiple seasons of disorienting change and turmoil, I can relate. Sometimes I don’t like listening to truths that expose my failures or invite me to pour more of my already depleted energy into a problem. Other times I have put off making the right decision out of fear of domineering or manipulative people, leaving the righteous ones to suffer in silence. Still other times it is tempting to avoid making decisions and over-consult – hoping someone will “just tell me what to do” and rescue me from my responsibility. When we leaders (whether parents, bosses, pastors, or bishops) abdicate our authority, it is often more damaging than when we abuse our position of power. Either way, Benedict repeatedly reminds the abbot that he will give an accounting to Jesus on the Day of Judgment, when our full story will be told by the all-seeing God.

You may be surprised that I am spending so much time talking about the duties of those in authority, but it is essential to see obedience in the context of healthy and holy relationships, not within the context of power or exertion of will. Too many Christians have only known “authority” as an abuse of power or an abdication of responsibility. They haven’t experienced enough of the real thing – with the result that many today (including many ex-Christians) are only suspicious of authority. We need to take their pain seriously and listen to their stories – admitting fault and humbly repairing as justice calls for. AND we can model authentic authority and obedience, and the freedom they bring. Obedience is wonderfully freeing.

Obedience, lived well, directly overturns the strongholds of the evil one. He tempts Adam and Eve – and each of us – to replace the words “thy will be done” with “MY will be done!” In our pride and self-protection, in our fears and insecurities, in our shame and isolation, we resist the intimacy involved in freely submitting to another’s will.

Benedict describes the good fruit the grows in the heart of monks as a result of their obedience: “They no longer live by their own judgment, giving into their whims and appetites; rather they walk according to another’s decisions and directions.” Benedict’s understanding is that those who can obey and submit to an imperfect human being will be more free in submitting to a perfect and loving Father.

Obedience balances individual and communal needs, reflecting the truth that we are not isolated individuals each doing whatever we feel like, but all interconnected in relationships and called to love and serve one another. There are times in a monastery when an individual and talented monk is asked to give up his own personal dreams in order to fill a role needed by the rest of the community. The same often holds true in married life, in the workplace, or in the diocesan priesthood. In the Rule, these kinds of decisions aren’t to be made lightly by the abbot, but only through dialogue and consultation. Hopefully in a happy marriage, in a healthy work environment, or in a healthy bishop-priest relationship, there is a similar dialogue and consultation when challenging decisions need to be made, allowing freedom to move forward.

The church bells fill the Benedictine day with moments of obedience. The bells ring, and the obedient monk promptly rises from bed. The bells ring, and the obedient monk promptly lays down his work project and heads to the chapel to pray. But isn’t it interesting that the bells are rung more than once each time?  There is always the ideal of a prompt and joyful obedience that immediately springs forth, combined with a realistic accommodation for human weakness and real-life circumstances.

Pride is the ancient sin of the devil and of our first parents. Each of us daily is tempted to cry out, “My will be done!” in a hundred different ways. Obedience chips away at our pride and selfishness and teaches us to love and serve others, freely, not because “I have to.” It looks different for the monk, the employee, the spouse, or the priest. But we all are called to Christ-like authority and Christ-like obedience in healthy and holy relationships. How do you allow obedience to set you free in your daily life?

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Learning from St. Benedict

This three-month period of Sabbath renewal has been a blessing to me – including my monastic companions here at a Benedictine monastery. Their Rule and way of life offer so many lessons, and I will be glad to share some of them in the weeks ahead.

I had the joy, last month, of traveling to Oregon to join in the celebration at Mount Angel Abbey as five monks made their solemn profession of vows. I wept as I watched the monks freely and wholeheartedly giving themselves over in vows of obedience, stability, and ongoing repentance in their faithfulness to the Benedictine way of life.

The vow ceremony includes stunning rituals that invite the monks into a dying and rising with Jesus. I felt deeply stirred with desire and longing, as Jesus continues inviting me to open my own heart to both sorrow and joy as I learn to abide in love and truth. Over the past four years of my life, I have learned again and again that I cannot experience the intensity of joy without also welcoming the depths of sorrow; I cannot exalt in the surprise of the resurrection without a willingness to enter the heartache of Good Friday and Holy Saturday. The Lord keeps gently inviting me to open my heart freely and fully, assuring me that those who embrace poverty and mourning will be truly blessed by the Father. The vow ceremony gave me so much encouragement and assurance of God’s covenant faithfulness to his promises, and was truly a taste of the feasting we will all share in the Kingdom.

The abbot presided over the vow ceremony – he who will be a longstanding spiritual father to these men in their years ahead. He beckoned them forward lovingly and then asked them what they were seeking. Their response: “I desire to share in the sufferings of Christ in this monastery until death, that I may also share in his glory.”

He spoke to them of the seriousness of the covenant they were about to enter: “I set before you a way of life, which images that of the Lord himself.” It is a renunciation and a dying, but also a claiming of the victory of the Cross. They freely responded “I do” to their vows, and then, one by one, read and displayed to the congregation their signed covenantal letter. The abbot tenderly took each one by the hand and led them to the altar, where they put pen to paper and sign their statement.

Then came the Suscipe prayer, which moved me so deeply that I am still returning to it in my prayer a month later. The five solemnly professed monks processed up the aisle and three times paused to extend their arms out horizontally and cry out to the Father: “Accept me, O Lord, as you have promised. Accept me, and I shall live. Do not disappoint me in my hope!”(Psalm 119, verse 116). I was struck by their posture in making this prayer. It evokes Jesus’ dying on the Cross, but they are also presenting themselves like little children begging daddy to pick them up and embrace them. They are choosing to be totally vulnerable, to risk all, to open themselves up in hope – and surrendering themselves into the Father’s hands. How often have I resisted abiding in hope – it definitely hurts to desire but not yet fully possess. It feels so much easier to distract myself from the longing than to stay in it! Over the years, my heart has both longed for and resisted being taken up into the Father’s hands. This attitude makes sense – given that I have often felt betrayal and powerlessness. The ritual stirred a fire in my heart that melted much of my ambivalence.

My mask was only beginning to be drenched with my tears as they proceeded with the ancient burial ceremony. In front of me this whole time had been one of five black cloths draped over the pew. The five newly professed monks prostrated themselves on the floor as the mentor who had guided them on their journey draped one of these burial cloths over each of them. Meanwhile we somberly chanted words that echo Colossians 3:3 “I have died, and my life is hidden with Christ in God. I shall not die but live, and proclaim the works of the Lord!”

The abbot proceeded with the offertory of the Mass – offering to God not only gifts of bread and wine, but these five newly professed monks. All was to be transformed by Jesus, taken up into the mystery of his dying and rising. The abbot incensed not only the gifts on the altar, but the five prostrate (and “buried”) monks. As all of us priests gathered around the altar for the Eucharistic prayer, the five monks remained in front of us, beneath the veil of death.

Following the Great “Amen,” as the congregation rose to pray the Our Father together, the schola joyfully chanted, “All you who sleep, awake, awake! Rise from the dead! Christ has enlightened you!” And the monks rose to new life with Christ. My heart soared with joy as I watched each of them re-emerge into the light.

The life of a monk is an already-but-not-yet. Even now they claim a foretaste of both the dying and rising of Jesus. Even now they gain a glimpse of his glory. I certainly enjoyed a taste of the goodness of God’s Kingdom that Saturday morning on the Mount of Angels in Oregon, as I shared the experience with them. Such joy never lingers forever, but reminds us of the good things to come!

You can view livestream footage for the entire vow ceremony here.

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