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Surprises from a Saint
by
Mary Elizabeth Mason, osb
My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My
ways, says the Lord. As high as the heavens are above the
earth, so high are My ways above your ways and My thoughts
above your thoughts
(Isaiah 55:8-9).
The more we know about God, the easier it
is to understand that the Almighty Creator, all-wise and
all-good, is absolutely different from us human beings, limited
as we are in every way. Who among us doesn't feel helpless,
weak, and ineffectual from time to time, if not often?
Helpless, yes, but not hopeless: all who
are baptized into God's family can say with Paul the Apostle, "I
have the strength for everything through God who empowers me"
(Phil. 4:13). Those who attain to holiness, as they grow more
like our Father in heaven, will begin to think thoughts and act
in ways which reveal similar traits: they behave less humanly
and more divinely. That's what saints do.
This point was brought home to me in the
summer of 2002 in Atchison, Kansas. A vanful of us from
Annunciation Monastery, along with dozens of other Benedictines,
mostly from the Midwest, spent a week at Mount Saint Scholastica.
The occasion was a workshop on the Rule of Benedict, presented
by Aquinata Böckman, osb. She is from Tübingen, Germany, but has
taught for many years at the Collegio Sant'Anselmo in Rome. (Her
English is remarkably good-a blessing indeed!)
During those privileged days of study and
reflection, Aquinata pointed out that readers of the Rule are
often struck by the fact that in more than one place are quite
startling ideas. The saintly author, who has told us in the
Prologue that he intends "to establish a school for the Lord's
service," presents directives for life in a monastic community.
He touches on many topics with such reasonableness, clarity, and
grace that his lessons continue to draw disciples even today,
fourteen centuries later.
Let's look at a few examples illustrating how holy people at
times utter thoughts and follow ways which differ from what we
would expect. Indeed, we might at times be inclined to label
them anything but reasonable.
We begin with a passage dealing with the
reception of newcomers to the community, would-be novices.
Benedict has told his readers that monastic life is an
opportunity to "run on the path of God's commandments, our
hearts overflowing with the inexpressible delight of love" (Prol.
49). If, then, someone comes, seeking to live faithfully
according to the Rule, can we not assume that the hospitality
for which monasteries are justifiably known will be extended?
Instead we read in Chapter 58, "Do not grant newcomers to the
monastic life an easy entry, but, as the Apostle says, Test the
spirits to see if they are from God " (I John 4:1). After
persistent knocking for several days, the applicant gains
admittance to the guest quarters as a first step. Only later is
there permission to become a novice.
Mention of
hospitality brings us to Chapter 53, "The Reception of Guests." As one might expect, the Rule provides that
suitable personnel, quarters, and dining facilities be planned
for guests, with the perhaps wry comment, "monasteries are never
without them" (53:16). All is duly arranged: guests receive what
they need for their spiritual and material welfare-even more
readily if they poor. (This is a reminder that Christ comes to
us in the lowliest and least ones: see Matthew 25:40.) Benedict
then springs his surprise by instructing the community-not the
guests--to pray verse 10 of Psalm 48: God, we have received your
mercy in the midst of your temple. For this holy man, an
opportunity to offer hospitality is evidence of divine mercy!
Would we not expect that the strangers received with such
graciousness be the ones to say that verse, rather than their
hosts?
Still another occasion of surprise is in store for
anyone familiar with what monastics traditionally wear. Who
hasn't seen black-robed uniforms in countless forms, from museum
paintings to Xerox ads? It's undoubtedly true that their somber
habits led to Benedictines' being labeled "black monks" in
medieval days, but that was probably a result of practicality
and availability. It is not a requisite of the Rule, where we
read (Chapter 55) that Benedictines' clothing must be suitable
for seasons, but otherwise of whatever color "is available in
the vicinity at reasonable cost." That is one of the reasons why
monastic women of our day are less concerned about uniformity or
color; in fact their clothing is far less expensive than in
pre-Vatican II days, when they were importing Irish linen for
coifs-completely disregarding the Rule on this point.
Next we may consider Benedict's prescriptions for the
treatment of monastics who fail to live up to their obligations
to God and their community because of indolence, lack of
charity, careless handling of materials, disregard for lawful
authority, or other offenses. As we might expect, the Rule
imposes sanctions, from verbal monitions to deprivations and
penalties, culminating in excommunication for the obdurate. When
all other sanctions but excommunication have been vainly
applied, Benedict inserts a surprise: if a superior perceives
that previous efforts were unavailing, there is "an even better
remedy" (RB 28:4): recourse to community prayer for the errant
member. Only a saint, surely, would rely on intercessory prayer
as the most efficacious solution of all.
In Chapter 69, the Rule deals with the matter of
impossible tasks assigned to a monastic. Benedict's high regard
for obedience leads him to say that everyone is to accept
burdensome tasks with "complete gentleness and obedience" and
then make a sincere effort to carry them out. If, however, the
burden proves too much, choose an appropriate time to "explain
patiently" and "without pride, obstinacy, or refusal" why the
situation is
unendurable. If, after this, the superior holds to the original
order, the subject "must in love obey." Surely only a holy
person could expect this docility and faith. But when we look at
monastic history, can anyone deny its efficacy?
As a last example, we turn to a more mundane matter, the sale of
monastery goods. Benedictines usually do not live in dire
poverty; rather, they seek simplicity of life and reverence
earth's goods too much to be wasteful. On the other hand, in
obedience to the Rule (48.8), they live by the work of their
hands in order to supply their own needs and care for those even
poorer. Often there are in the monastery some either too young
or too old and ill to contribute anything by way of material
support, so the principal burden falls on a relatively small
group, including artists or artisans. We read in the Gospels, "the laborer
deserves payment" (Lk 10:7). Holy Benedict agrees, with a
proviso: "The evil of avarice must have no part in establishing
prices, which should therefore always be a little lower than
people outside the monastery are able to set" (RB 57:78-8;
emphasis added). Doesn't Benedict's view seem odd in a culture
that worships big profits as proof of success?
Truly, we can say of saints, their ways are
not our ways. More's the pity.
Mary Elizabeth Mason, osb
August 2004
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