Benedictine Rules: Finding Communion Through Community

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Benedictine Rules: Finding Communion through Community


January 17, 2011
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By Daniel M. Harrell



Editor's Note: Below is a "Monday Sermon," from our series of sermons at the Patheos Preachers Portal that pastors can enjoy and learn from. It is our hope that this particular series from Daniel Harrell, which preaches through the Church Fathers, will encourage pastors, show them a way of approaching theological education from the pulpit, and refresh their theological memories. See Reverend Harrell's columnist page for more information.



My first experience at a Benedictine monastery occurred several years ago at the behest of a former spiritual director. Sensing that I could do with a bit of solitude, he shuttled me off to St. Benedict's Priory, a small monastery in central Massachusetts. I arrived at the plain, barn like structure, rapped on the huge oaken door, and was warmly greeted by Father Xavier, a middle-aged monk properly dressed in his black cowl and tunic. He led me to my cell—a Spartan chamber equipped only with the most austere of amenities, from which I entered into the simple rhythms of monastic life.



The Benedictine cadence consists of a balance between work (both manual and intellectual) and rest punctuated seven times daily by the divine office—a liturgy of prayer, chant, and oration that commences each day with Vigils at 2 a.m., followed by gatherings at 6 a.m., 9 a.m., 12 noon, and 3 p.m. The day concludes with post-dinner Vespers, after which there is silence until Vigils starts it all over again. A bell would chime calling the monks to the office. They'd pad into the chapel and take their seats in the choir. The abbot would knock this little knocker and signal the start of the chanting, as Benedictines have been doing it for nearly 1500 years. The sound engulfed the chapel like air from heaven.



However, not everything is like it's been for 1500 years. Immediately following one morning's office, a younger monk, as soon as the benediction was pronounced, pulled off his cowl and tunic to reveal a business suit. He then grabbed his briefcase and umbrella and dashed out the door, presumably in order to beat the traffic.



The draw of Benedictine monastic life is its community. "Community" is one of those terms that has been batted around among Christians somewhat superfluously over the last few years. There's been much written and spoken about intentional community and authentic community and radical community and transformational community. At its core, Christian community connotes a deeply felt spiritual oneness; a belonging without fear of betrayal, rejection, or loss; a being accepted and unconditionally loved as by Christ. As one Lutheran pastor put it, "Real community is a place that dares us to become more than we once were. It is where we encounter the transformative work of God."



While all well and good, from St. Benedict's standpoint, it remains somewhat incomplete. Most modern dreams for community emphasize attributes such as belonging, safety, growth, and togetherness. Yet as such the goal of community in the end, so it seems, is only good community. For Benedict, community was but a means to a greater end; namely, lifelong obedience to God.



Aware that Christian obedience is wrought with impossibilities when attempted solo, Benedict advocated a corporate body life of mutual effort that bound men and later women together in an unwavering pursuit toward holiness. Unlike those who might settle for some sort of ambiguously felt religious warm fuzzy, Benedict insisted that the spiritual life is a physical life lived not for yourself but in submission to the greatest commandments to love God and your neighbor. It demanded hard work, honest prayer, and rigorous study. Because selfless living is never easy living, Benedict devised a Rule to guide communities toward perfect obedience in a very imperfect world.



Undergirding the practice of Benedict's Rule that structured the aforementioned elements of prayer, work, and study, was a vow of stability. A monk swore to remain within his community until he died. By this vow of stability, Benedict brought transience and mobility—which he believed to be the tangible expressions of human pride, independence, and self-will—under the healing influence of obedience. In a day when people flow in and out of churches like bath water, imagine the effect that stability could have on our ability to love one another, bear each other's burdens, resolve conflicts, and forgive each other. The knee jerk reflex when strife and contention arises is to run, to dodge, to flee, to avoid resolution for the sake of preserving pride and self-dignity and nursing resentment.



If stability were a vow that we made when we joined our churches, the response to dissatisfaction would be not to leave but to stay put and pitch in to help make improvements, even if you weren't directly affected by the problems yourself. Stability causes the struggles of some to be the struggles of all and the solution to be borne by all as well. It's the way Christian communities should operate. Because Benedict understood the significance of stability, he made admission into the community extremely difficult. When someone interested in joining the monastery knocked on his door, Benedict would refuse to answer, choosing instead to see if "the petitioner should show patience and persist in knocking over several days despite the harsh treatment and reluctance to admit him." If the petitioner did persist, he would be let in and given reasons over the next six months as to why he shouldn't join. If after that he still persisted, he'd be considered for inclusion, a process that took four months more.




Benedict of Nursia was born in Italy around 480 A.D. As a teenager, he traveled to Rome to study rhetoric and law. However, according to Pope Gregory the Great (Benedict's principal biographer), Benedict soon gave up "his books and, forsaking his father's house and wealth, with his mind only to serve God, he sought for some place where he might achieve his holy purpose; and in this wisdom he departed, instructed with learned ignorance and furnished with unlearned wisdom." Turning his back on a promising career, Benedict joined a similar group of compatible pilgrims and formed a small cloister dedicated to prayer, silence, and scripture study. Over time his desire for an ever more singular focus on God intensified, and he Benedict departed the cloister for an eremitical existence (which means he lived in a cave as a hermit).



His reputation as a spiritual heavyweight grew such that another cloister of monks approached him about becoming the abbot of their monastery. Benedict warned them that they had no idea what they were asking for; that their laxity was no match for his intensity. But they insisted and he gave in, much to their dismay. Benedict proved an arduous and disciplined taskmaster, kicking their spiritual butts into line in ways they hadn't even realized were out of line. They started to grumble and complain and sulk over the severity of it all. Eventually, having grown weary with Benedict's relentless determination to reform their lives, curb their vices, and cure them of their laziness, the mutinous monks decided to poison him. However that night over dinner, as Benedict was blessing the poisoned pitcher of wine, it miraculously shattered as if struck by a stone. Recognizing in this a sign of a devious plot, Benedict stormed out of their midst, shaking the dust off his feet as he went, and yelling the equivalent of "I told you this wouldn't work!" He returned with relish to his cave and to his solitude.



However, this solitude didn't last for long. Increasingly, others began to seek out his wise counsel and guidance. His number of followers mounted to the point that he had to start organizing them into clusters of twelve with an abbot to lead each cluster, modeled after the practice of Jesus himself. Benedict spent the rest of his life until his death in 547 directing these monks in accordance with his written rule. Yet monasticism was not Benedict's invention. In fact, the ascetic tradition on which monasticism was founded traces its origins directly back to the teachings of the New Testament and before. Benedict's 6th-century version was unique in that it was intended for plain people rather than priests and clergy; anyone who simply desired a closer walk with the living God in radical imitation of Christ.



Here's a taste of Benedict's Rule. In regard to sleep: "All the monks are to sleep in separate beds. Let a candle burn throughout the night. Let them sleep in their robes, belted but with no knives, lest perchance the sleeping be wounded as they toss in their dreams. This way the monks will always be prepared to rise and hurry to pray. And when they rise, they ought to encourage one another, for the sleepy make many excuses when it comes to prayer." In regard to attitude: "Under no circumstances should complaining be tolerated no matter what the reason. Anyone found complaining should be subjected to the most severe punishment." On being late for prayer: "If anyone arrives late after the first Psalm (and in order to prevent this, chant the opening psalm slowly), he shall sit not in the choir but someplace visible so that all may see him. Embarrassment will make him reform. If he were to be kept outside the chapel, he might fall asleep or indulge in idle chatter—thus giving the devil an opportunity."



And finally this: "The service of obedience is to be shown to all for by the road of obedience, you shall travel to find God." However ". . . obedience," Benedict wrote, "will be deemed acceptable to God only when his commands are carried out without fear, laziness, hesitance or protest. God will not be pleased by the one who obeys grudgingly, not only murmuring in words but even in his heart. For even if he should fulfill a command, his performance would not be pleasing to God who listens to his complainings. Work done in such a dispirited manner will go without reward; in fact unless he makes amends, he will suffer the punishment meted out to gripers." Obedience is one of those Christian words that makes your mouth pucker. A woman was telling me recently how having to obey all the rules was the reason she'd run from church in the first place. The do's and don'ts are too oppressive. Yet obedience is not your duty to rack up points on some heavenly scorecard. Obedience—derived from the root word to hear—is hearing and then cohering to the design of God for human life. Outlined by Jesus and Paul and chiseled in stone by Moses, obedience to God is freedom and joy.




Benedict knew this too. So in addition to the familiar commandments, Benedict stressed others likewise rooted in scripture such as: Respect all people. Do not do to another what you would not have done to yourself. Visit the sick. Comfort the sad. Reject worldliness. Do not become angry. Do not keep deceit in your heart. Do not make a false peace. Do not murmur. Do not love sleep. Attribute to God the good you see in yourself. But attribute only to yourself the evil. Fear Judgment Day. See death before yourself daily. Desire eternal life with all your spirit. Monitor your actions ceaselessly. Know that God sees everything everywhere. Despise your own will. Do not desire to be called holy before the fact, but be holy first, then called so with truth. Hate no one. Do not be jealous or envious. Honor the elderly. Love the young. Make peace with an adversary before sundown. Never despair of God's mercy.



Obedience, tested and found true in the context of stable community, fed the cardinal virtue of humility. As Jesus said, "All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted and honored by God."



Exaltation by God, union with Him eternally, this is our ultimate hope. Humility leads to exaltation. Obedience leads to humility. Community leads to obedience; it's not an end in itself. Given our penchant for relationships, wired in us by God Himself, humans naturally long for community. We yearn to belong in ways that matter. However, the enduring counsel of St. Benedict is not to settle for community but to see it as a means toward that ultimate end. Granted, we Protestants have long since given up on monastic versions of community. Shutting ourselves off from the world and its wiles seems a bit too extreme. Yet the accompanying attributes of stability, hard work, mutual submission, devoted prayer, and rigorous study of scripture—the essence of Benedict's Rule—these remain appropriate elements of any congregation of believers striving to experience authentic Christian community. Such a community is better known as the very Body of Christ.







Daniel M. Harrell is Senior Minister of The Colonial Church, Edina, MN and author of How To Be Perfect: One Church's Audacious Experiment in Living the Old Testament Book of Leviticus (FaithWords, 2011). Follow him via Twitter, Facebook, or at his blog and website.



Harrell's column, "The Church Fathers ABCs," is published every Monday on the Preachers Portal. Subscribe via email or RSS.