CHAPTER 67: Monks on a Journey

     If a monk is sent on a journey, he should ask the community and abbot to pray for him. And after the last prayer at the Work of God, the community should make a special prayer for the absent brethren. On the day that the monk returns from his journey, let him lie flat on the floor of the chapel during all the prayers, and ask everyone to pray for him on account of his failings, for fear that the sight of evil or the sound of shallow talk should have surprised him on the way. And no one should presume to talk about what he has seen or heard outside of the monastery because it is most hurtful. But if anyone should presume to do so, let him undergo the penalty of the Rule.  Likewise, anyone who leaves the monastery without the abbot’s permission should be punished.

The final six chapters appear to be tacked on at the end of the Rule as an afterthought.  By and large, they cover particular extraordinary situations that might arise in a community.  Did Saint Benedict add these chapters one-by-one as he confronted each new challenge?  If so, his first concern was for monks who needed to travel.

In the old days, there was a special prayer that the community would say for a monk when he returned from a trip: “Almighty and eternal God, have mercy on this servant; and if the sight or hearing or any idle word has taken him by surprise on the way, may it be completely forgiven.”  Benedict isn’t worried about what the monk does while he is away so much as what that monk might bring back with him when he returns.  There’s a whole lot of good in the world, but there’s a whole lot of nasty stuff too, and the nasty stuff just seems to get more press.[1]  I’ll bet you’ve heard of Dante’s Inferno, right?  It’s a story about Hell.  But did you know he also wrote a book called Purgatorio and another called Paradiso?  They’re actually much better books than The Inferno, but no one ever reads them because, frankly, sin is more interesting—or so it seems.

Before I became a priest, I imagined that hearing confessions would be fun.  I guess I thought that it would be entertaining to hear peoples’ deepest, darkest secrets—find out about all the stuff that’s going on behind the scenes that no one ever hears about.  I wasn’t much beyond my second or third confession, though, when I realized that confessions are boring.  Really, really boring.  Even the most “interesting” sins are tedious when you look at them through the lens of repentance because, as Saint Augustine loved to point out, sin is just a vacuum.  It’s a hole in something beautiful, or, in the words of Thomas Aquinas, a ‘misdirected good.’  Sin is only interesting so long as you focus on the pleasure it gives you, and it only gives you pleasure so long as you romanticize it.

a traveling monk

Benedict is afraid that the traveling monk might do something stupid while he’s away—then brag about it when he gets back.  And this fear is as much for the traveler as for his audience.  Jesus had great patience for sinners; His harshest words were for those who caused scandal: “It would be better for that man if a millstone were tied around his neck and he were tossed into the sea…” (Luke 17:2).

Nonetheless, when Monday morning rolls around, the halls are full of scandal—much of it made up out of thin air, no doubt:

 “I was soooo drunk Saturday night…”

“You-know-who was out of control…”

“You wouldn’t believe what so-and-so did…

 “You’ve got to swear not to tell anyone this, but…”

When you hear phrases like these, run for the door.  Your soul is in danger. 

The psalmist sings: “Why do you boast of your wickedness, you champion of evil?” (52:1)  It’s bad enough to act like a fool, but you elevate foolishness to a whole new level when you brag about it to your friends.  So it’s not enough just to watch what you do on the weekends.  You need to watch what you say about it on Monday morning too.

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[1] Not long ago, I complained to one of the old monks about the news.  “It’s always murders and earthquakes and wars and scandals.  How come they can’t tell us about the good things that are going on in the world?”

“Because the World is full of good things,” he answered.  “When good things become newsworthy, that’s when we need to start worrying.”

CHAPTER 66: The Gatekeeper

     Let a wise old monk be stationed at the door of the monastery—one who knows how to be courteous, and whose advanced age keeps him from wandering around.  He should have a room near the door so that visitors will always find someone there. As soon as he hears a knock at the door, or a poor person asking for help, the gatekeeper should answer, "Thanks be to God," or ask a blessing; and with the meekness of the fear of God let him reply with a quick, fervent, and charitable answer.  If the old monk needs hand, let him have a younger brother to help him.
 
    This is one of the most pleasant chapters in the rule.  One can’t help smiling at Benedict’s portrait of the gatekeeper—too old to wander about, but kind and solicitous to all who knock.  It is especially refreshing after the relentless skepticism of the previous chapter, and makes for a rather nice contrast.  Who knows what jobs this old guy had when he was younger?  It doesn’t matter to him.  His job now is to welcome strangers, and his attitude toward them should be an example to any Christian who knocks at the door.  The gatekeeper doesn’t resent having his prayers interrupted.  Instead, he thanks God for the opportunity to receive a blessing.  His response is fervent and charitable.
    Many scholars believe that this was originally the last chapter of the Rule.  (Otherwise, why tack on the bit about re-reading it to the community?)  If it is, then perhaps Benedict meant for the gatekeeper to be a sort of model for how to grow old.  Of course, right now, old age may seem a long way off, but if you’re lucky, you will in fact get old some day.  You’ll go bald and get wrinkly and have a sore back and ride around on one of those little scooters with a bell on the handle bars to warn people you’re coming.
    That’s right.  That’ll be you.  So you might as well get used to the idea.
    The kicker is that although old people may not look like much, they are the most important, most powerful folks in the Church.  Because they suffer so much, their prayers are uniquely bound up with Christ’s suffering, and that makes them intercessors and co-redeemers with Christ.  Remember that Saint Paul said we “make up in our sufferings what is lacking in the sufferings of Christ” (1 Col 24).
The question for now is what sort of old person you will be when that day comes—when your body begins to break down and your mind starts to slip.  Will you be “envious” and “puffed-up” like Benedict’s prior, or “meek” and “charitable” like Benedict’s gatekeeper?  You need to start practicing from now.

CHAPTER 65: The Prior of the Monastery

     Sometimes serious scandals arise in monasteries because of the Prior; since there are some who, puffed up with the wicked spirit of pride and imagining that they are second abbots, set up a dictatorial rule, foster scandals, and excite quarrels in the community. For the preservation of peace and charity, therefore, it is best that the governance of the monastery should depend on the will of the abbot. If, however, the place requires it and the abbot thinks that it is a good idea, he should appoint a Prior. But let this Prior only do what his abbot tells him; for the higher he is placed above others, the more careful he should be to obey the precepts of the Rule.
     On the other hand, if the Prior is found to be disorderly or blinded by vainglory, or disregards the Holy Rule, let him be reprimanded as many as four times.  If he does not change his behavior, let him be removed from his office, and another who is worthy be appointed in his place. But if even afterward he is not quiet and submissive in the brotherhood, let him also be expelled from the monastery. Even so, the abbot should remember that he must give an account to God for all his judgments, lest perhaps envy or jealousy should trouble his conscience.

    Every monastery I’ve ever visited had a prior, and every prior I’ve met seemed to be a pretty nice guy; but Saint Benedict must have had a different experience.  Second to the opening chapter on “The Different Kinds of Monks” this is the harshest.  “Wicked,” “puffed-up,” and “prideful” are all squeezed into the very first sentence.  So what happened?  Did Benedict have a bad experience with his second-in-command?  Was there some envy, some jealousy between them?  We’ll never know.  But what comes through loud and clear in this chapter is Saint Benedict’s persistent fear that, by having two leaders, his community will be split into factions.
    As it turns out, this is a pretty legitimate concern, even from a secular perspective.  There’s a monk in my monastery who is an economist.  He explained the whole dilemma this way: if you want to build a company, you have to start with a vision.  This requires a person who can articulate that vision in terms of more immediate objectives.  But that one person can’t make every single decision, so he has to find middle-management types to do this on his behalf.  Problems arise when the middle-management people have their own objectives—objectives that conflict with one another or are different from those of their boss.  This problem is called “a misalignment of incentives.”  You never want to create an organizational structure where employee’s incentives are set at odds with one another because then they start to undermine each another’s work, make each other look bad, or worst of all, profit at the expense of the business itself.  For example, Sam wants a promotion, but he is competing with Arnold for the position; so he waits around after work and erases Arnold’s hard drive.  As a result, Sam gets the promotion, but the business just lost a thousand clients, and with them a million dollars in profit.
    So how does this apply to a monastic community?  Well, a spiritual community cultivates holiness the way a business community cultivates wealth, so you can’t have the Prior leading the community in one direction while the abbot is leading in another.  What you lose then isn’t profit but peace.  And in its place you get grumbling, back-stabbing, and scandal.  The abbot, therefore, must choose a Prior who is especially dutiful, reverent and obedient—not qualities that are easy to find in a leader.  Nonetheless, “a house divided against itself cannot stand,” said Jesus.
    So whatever team you’re on—your soccer team, your youth group, your class, your school, your family, your church—you have to keep on the lookout for these “misaligned incentives” and talk them through when you find them—all the while bearing in mind that the ultimate incentive is to know, love, and serve God.  And if talking them through doesn’t work, there is Benedict’s own advice at the end of this chapter: be quiet and be submissive.  I know that doesn’t sound very exciting, but sometimes, the incentive is more important than you are.  Wall street may run on greed, but the Church runs on love.

Ash Wednesday

    Starting on Ash Wednesday, we have forty days (not counting Sundays) to prepare for Easter—that is, to prepare for the most sacred day of the year—the day when we celebrate God’s greatest gift to us: eternal life.
Traditionally, the Church spends this time in fasting and prayer, in mortification and repentance for our sins, so that when Easter comes, we are aware in some small way of the magnitude of Christ’s gift to us, of our own unworthiness to receive that gift, and of the depth of gratitude and awe that we should feel on that day when we relive in the most literal sense the Resurrection of Our Lord, Jesus Christ.  So this is a great gift that we are preparing to receive; but on Ash Wednesday, we focus on what we have to offer Christ.  We ask ourselves “What gift can I bring to him?”  It’s an impossible question, really, because Jesus Christ is Lord of all Creation.  All that we have belongs to him already.  What do you get for the man who has everything?
     A story is told of St. Jerome that he had a vision in which Our Lord came to him and asked him

Saint Jerome Having His Vision

for a gift.  St. Jerome said, “Well, I’ve been a bishop for a long time now, and I’ve sacrificed a lot to do that job well.”
     “Yes,” said Jesus, “I am very pleased with that, but is there nothing else you have to offer me?” 
     “Well, I’ve built several Churches in my time.  Perhaps you’ll find those pleasing as well.” 
     “I do,” said Jesus, “ but don’t you have anything else to give me?” 
     “Ah,” said St. Jerome, “I’ve got something for you.  I translated the entire book of the Bible from Hebrew and Greek into Latin.” 
     “And for that I am well pleased,” answered Jesus,  “But surely you have something else to offer me.” 
     And the discussion went on like that until finally, St. Jerome said, “You know what?  I can’t think of anything else.” 
     And Jesus replied, “Jerome, my friend, you have forgotten to offer me your sins.”
     Not long ago, one of our older monks celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of his solemn profession of vows.  There was a big party, and all the people who love him showed up.  And they all brought presents.  Now after the party, I was talking to this monk, and I said, “Congratulations, Father, but I’m afraid I have nothing to give you for your anniversary.”  To which he responded, “Nothing?  You’re giving me nothing?  Why, that’s just what I’ve always wanted!”
     Indeed, there is nothing we have that wasn’t given to us in the first place.  So the only thing we have that really belongs to us is our sin—and irony of ironies, this is the one thing that Christ really wants from us.  So on Ash Wednesday, we remind ourselves of our mortality.  We remind ourselves that "we are dust and to dust we shall return".  And then we think about our sins, and with great joy, we bring them to Christ as a gift, wrapped up in repentance.

CHAPTER 64: How to Elect an abbot

An abbot...looking none too happy to be elected.

    In the election of an abbot let this always be observed as a rule: that he should be elected by the whole community, in the fear of God. And let him be chosen for the merit of his life and the wisdom of his doctrine, even if he is the lowest in rank. But once the abbot has been elected, he should bear in mind how great a burden he has taken upon himself, and to Whom he must give an account of his stewardship. Let him be convinced that it is better to serve than to rule. He must, therefore, be knowledgeable in the divine law, knowing when "to bring forth new things and old" (Mt 13:52). Let him be chaste, level-headed, and forgiving, and he should always prefer "mercy over judgment" (Jas 2:13), that he too may be shown mercy.
     Let him hate vice, but love the brethren; and when he disciplines them, he should act with prudence and not go to extremes.  Otherwise, he may break the vessel by rubbing too hard to remove the rust. Let him always keep his own weakness in mind, and remember that "the bruised reed must not be broken" (Is 42:3). Let him aim to be loved rather than feared.
     The abbot should not be fussy, over-anxious, exacting, headstrong, jealous or suspicious. Otherwise, he will never rest. In all his commands, whether they refer to things spiritual or material, he should be cautious and considerate. Let him so temper everything that the strong may have something to work toward and the weak nothing to flee from. But above all, he should be careful to keep this Rule in every detail.

    As the father of the monastery, it is the abbot’s responsibility to teach, instruct, command, even discipline his sons when he needs to.  But a monastery and its monks do not “belong” to the abbot.  He is “set over” them.  They aren’t his to do with any way he likes.  For anyone who aspires to any sort of leadership, this is a good thing to remember.  Everything we have—even our own bodies—are on loan to us by God.  We can’t just treat them as we please.  And we will be held accountable, if not in this world, then in the next.
    And if that doesn’t sound like a lot of pressure, listen to the list of qualities an abbot “must” have:  he must be knowledgeable, chaste, level-headed, merciful, loving, prudent, charitable, cautious, considerate, discerning, temperate, discrete and most of all obedient. It sounds like a scout oath on steroids.  But Saint Benedict knew what he was doing.  In fact, folks who know a lot about the Rule (scholars and historians and whatnot) seem to agree that Saint Benedict wrote this chapter long after he had finished the Chapter 60.  If you compare it with Chapter Two, you’ll see that he has mellowed quite a bit.  He is forgiving of his monks’ weakness, but uncompromising on the abbot’s strengths.
    And this is because the abbot has so much good advice to draw from.  Not only can he be assured of God’s assistance, he also has the writings of earlier abbots, the Church Fathers, the Doctors of the Church, the Scriptures and Canon Law.  He can read papal encyclicals and Church Council documents and all the other volumes of material that come with over 2000 years of tradition.  Like the wise steward of in Jesus’ parable, the abbot should “bring forth new things and old.”
     And so are we.  When it comes to making the big decisions and the hard choices, we are never alone.  We don’t have to reinvent the wheel.  Choose a topic…ANY TOPIC.  Choose any spiritual, medical, moral, or biblical controversy, and I guarantee you could fill a library with all the stuff that Catholic theologians have written about it.  We’ve got Thomas Aquinas, Augustine of Hippo, Teresa of Avila, Francis of Assisi, Mother Theresa and John Paul II all waiting to help.  We just have to find the humility to let them teach us.  All those qualities that the abbot must have—from prudence to temperance—can be borrowed.  WE just need to swallow our pride long enough to borrow them from our elders.

CHAPTER 63: The Organization of the Monastery

     The monks should be ranked according to the time of their conversion and the merit of their life, or as the abbot has determined.  This is the order the monks should take during liturgies—when they exchange the sign of peace, receive communion, intone the psalms, and stand in choir.  Age should never determine one’s rank because Samuel and Daniel were mere boys when they judged priests (1 Sam 3; Dan 13:44-62).  Thus, for instance, one who enters the monastery at the second hour of the day should understand that he will be ranked lower than he who came at the first hour, without regard to age or class.  Therefore, let the younger monks honor their elders, and the elders love the younger ones.
     No one should address another by his simple name; but let the older monks call the younger ones “Brother,” and the younger address their elders as “Father.”  But because the abbot is believed to hold the place of Christ, let him be addressed as “Lord” and “Father abbot”—not because he himself deserves the title, but out of love and reverence for Christ.  Whenever the brethren meet, let the younger ask the elder for a blessing.  Moreover, when the elder enters a room, the younger should rise and offer him his seat; so that it may be done as it is written: "In honor compete with one another" (Rom 12:10).


     There are no cliques or class distinctions in a monastery.  Hierarchy, yes.  After all, even the angels have a chain of command. But monastic rank is determined by seniority—not age, nor social distinction, nor intelligence nor talent.  In a community centered on Christ, it is only love that distinguishes one from the other.  Ambition has no place at all except in the pursuit of holiness.  The monks compete with one another “in showing honor.”  And they do this by means of certain established gestures which we call “courtesy.”
     Such gestures are essential to keeping order in the community.  They are small ways of reminding ourselves that Christ dwells in each of us.  They force us to keep the ‘other’ in mind so we don’t run about the monastery slamming doors in each other’s faces and grabbing at the most comfortable chairs.  Instead, younger monks beg a blessing from their elders whenever they pass by, and offer them a seat when they enter the room.  Older monks address the juniors as “Brother.”  And all the monks address their superior as “abbot.”
    Of course, all this bowing and rising and blessing may seem a little silly to the outsider, but equally silly customs exist outside of monasteries too.  Do you really care about the emotional wellbeing of the checkout clerk at Stop-N-Shop?  Probably not.  And you’d be very surprised indeed if when you walked up to the counter, she said, “My boyfriend just broke up with me; I have a bit of a cold; my little brother used my toothbrush to clean his fish tank; and I’ve been feeling slightly melancholy all week…”  Still, you ask her how she’s doing (and she says, “Fine.”) because this is how you acknowledge your common humanity.  She isn’t just there to serve your needs; and you’re not just a money dispenser.  You and she have equal dignity as children of God.  And so, from day to day, we hold the door for one another, nod and smile as we pass, offer to help when a stranger drops his groceries on the floor...
     These conventions shift from culture to culture, sometimes quite dramatically, and learning their subtleties is important to getting along.  In Japan, they bow to one another.  Here in America, we shake hands.  In France, they kiss (or so I’ve heard).  For human beings all around the world, these small courtesies are essential, but they’re just conventions, so they change from time to time and place to place.  The important thing is that we remember to honor the presence of God in one another.

CHAPTER 62: The Priests of the Monastery

     If the abbot decides that the monastery needs a priest or deacon, let him select from among his monks one who is worthy to discharge that office. But let the one who has been ordained be on his guard against arrogance and pride, and he should only do what is commanded him by the abbot, knowing that he is now all the more subject to the discipline of the Rule; and—especially because he is a priest—let him not forget the obedience and discipline of the Rule, but advance more and more in godliness.


    Here again, Saint Benedict addresses the delicate issue of how priests are to be regarded in the community.  This time, however, his worry is that they will feel exempt from the monastic discipline.  The priest, by his nature, is called to lead the faithful in worship, but a monastic community can have only one leader, and therefore the monk priest should lead by example only.   He should be more submissive, more docile and more obedient precisely because others will look up to him. 
     Of course, everyone owes obedience to someone, from pauper to president to pope.  We’ve all got bosses and we all have people that we get to boss around.  And every one of us, by virtue of his baptism, is a priest, a prophet, and a king.  But that makes us servants, not judges.  Jesus told his disciples to serve one another.  He also told them to be more observant than the Pharisees, and the Pharisees were pretty big on following the rules.
     As adolescents, we tend to think that “freedom” means being able to do whatever we like—that once we become adults, we no longer have to obey anyone.  “It’s a free country,” we say to ourselves.  “From now on, no one’s going to tell me what to do.”  Of course, that’s totally wrong. Just ask a recovering drug addict, and he’ll tell you there are some things that make you less free when you do them.  In fact, there are many things (like shooting heroin) that we should never be free to do precisely because they take away our freedom.
     So what distinguishes the obedience of an adult from the obedience of a child?  It is just exactly this:  that the adult doesn’t need to be forced.  He doesn’t need to be punished.  In fact, the adult anticipates the desire and obeys even before he is asked.  True maturity demands an even higher level of obedience—an obedience so complete that it anticipates the law and goes beyond it.  Imagine a school where the students tried to guess what their teachers wanted, and then did it even before they were asked.  Imagine a school where each student was determined to outdo the other in kindness.  St. Benedict envisions such a school in his Rule for monks.  He calls it “A School for the Lord’s Service.