Black and White in Ferguson

Now published Here:
America Magazine

There is an audio version  here.

No monk should ever defend another in the monastery.  Nor should he take sides in an argument…We decree that no one should be permitted to ostracize or to strike any one of his brothers; and if any monk should break this rule, let him be publicly reprimanded, that the others may learn from his mistake.
        --The Rule of Saint Benedict

    In two consecutive passages, Saint Benedict outlines how a monk should respond when he encounters discord in his community.  He shouldn’t lash out, even if he feels justified.  And he shouldn’t choose a side, even though he may think he knows all the facts.  Instead, he should listen—as he is compelled to do by the opening words of the Rule itself: he “inclines the ear of his heart” (Prologue, 1.1).
    Like most people in North America right now, I’ve been thinking about Ferguson.  Or rather, I’ve been wondering what I should do about it.  But I live in a monastery in a suburb of Saint Louis that was recently ranked #12 of the twenty-five most affluent neighborhoods in the North America.  What do I know about urban poverty or racism?
    So last week I asked permission to drive out to a prayer service in Ferguson, and I caught a ride with my friend Dennis who works here at the abbey.  Dennis is black, and Dennis lives in Ferguson, so I asked him in the car as we were driving out to the service what he thought of the protests.  Of course, he smiled and avoided the question.  “I don’t want any part of that.  I’m just trying to get on with my life.  Those people are making trouble.  They aren’t even from the neighborhood.”
    “But they aren’t the only ones making a scene,” I said.  I wanted to press him for a real answer because how else is a white guy like me from West County going to understand this situation if I’m not willing ask some awkward questions?  “Are the cops racist?” I asked.  “How come black people keep getting shot?  And why is everyone so angry?”
    “The police have always been like that,” he said.  “It isn’t going to change.”
    Of course I noticed that this second answer was a bit different from the first.  And I figured if I asked a third time, maybe I’d get a real explanation.  I said maybe things should change.  I said clearly something must be wrong or this many people wouldn’t be this angry.  I asked him why so many black people seem to think the police are racist.
            “There are good police and bad police,” he said.  “But I’ll tell you this much: I’ve been pulled over three times in your neighborhood.  I don’t know why they’ve got to be pulling me over that many times except that they see a black man on this side of town and assume he must be up to something.”
    Three times.  My friend Dennis has been working here for eight years, and he has been pulled over three times.  I’ve lived here for eighteen years and I’ve been pulled over once: for doing 45 in a 30, and the cop let me off with a warning.  So I pushed Dennis a little further.  I asked more questions.
    And he continued: “A few weeks back, my car broke down and I had to walk the rest of the way to work,” he said.  “A guy sitting on his front porch called the police on me.  Just for walking down his street at eight in the morning.  I know he did because I watched him do it as I walked by.  Sure enough, two patrol cars showed up.  Look here, I’m just trying to make money, you know?  Trying to get by.  I don’t need that shit.”
    There was the anger.  It took some time for me to pry it out of him, but sure enough, it was there.  And here’s the thing: my friend Dennis is a family man—a married man with three children and two jobs who pays his taxes and pays his rent on time and goes to church on Sunday and educates his kids just like the rest of us. 
    While I was thinking about this, Dennis started to back off a little.  Maybe he felt self-conscious.  Maybe he felt like this kind of talk wasn’t something I needed to hear.  Or maybe he was afraid I’d judge him for it.  “But you know, that’s just how things are,” he said, “I don’t have time to be angry about it.”
            Dennis doesn’t have time for the anger.  He doesn’t want the anger.  He’d rather live his life without the anger.  And that was pretty much all I was going to get out of him.  He didn’t want to talk about it any more.  I don’t blame him.  He doesn’t want to be lumped in with the looters, the bottle-throwers and arsonists.  He has smaller fish to fry—like making a living.  Like taking care of his kids.  Like getting to work on time (provided he doesn’t get pulled over on his way here).

    Well then, I have this other friend named Charles Lutz.  He’s a policeman from around here, and he helps with security on campus at our school when he’s off-duty.  So I told him about Dennis and how he’d been pulled over three times, and how when his car broke down, someone called the cops on him.
    “I hate that,” said Officer Lutz.  “Honestly.”
    Hate what?
    “I hate that some old racist with nothing better to do has to call the cops just because he sees a black man walking down his street.  It embarrasses me.  It’s a waste of my time.  Plus, I’m the one who ends up looking like a jerk.  And the worst part of it is, a peaceful citizen gets harassed by the police.”
    “You don’t have to harass him,” I said.
    “Look here,” he said.  “Yesterday, we get a call from a jewelry store owner here in town because there are two black men in his store ‘acting suspicious.’  Is it a crime to be black in a jewelry store now?  Of course not.  Do I want to drive over there and get in the middle of that?  Of course not.  And how do I even walk into the store without making those guys feel like dirt?  But what happens if I ignore the call?  What happens if I decide not to drop by and, God forbid, those two guys do end up robbing the place?  Then who gets blamed for that?  I’m caught in the middle.  And I hate it.”

    So here’s the situation the way I see it: on the one hand, you’ve got white cops all across the country who are angry and embarrassed and don’t want to be in the middle of this ugliness.  On the other hand, you’ve got black men all across the country who are angry and embarrassed and just want to be left alone.  There’s righteous anger on both sides.  And that means they’re trapped.  Both sides are being squeezed into a conflict that neither asked for—and by forces way beyond their control.
    These forces, however, are not, I believe, beyond our control.  I believe we can disarm this trap (or defuse it or unwind it) if we stop focusing on the riots and the protests and even the shootings themselves.  I think we can begin to restore peace to our city if, instead of lashing out or taking sides, we simply stop to listen.  And maybe if we listen patiently to this anger—if we ask the awkward questions and really listen to the answers—practical solutions will emerge.

    There is an eighth-grader here at our school named Max.  A couple of weeks ago, he and his older brother asked their mom if they could drive down to Ferguson to help with the cleanup.  She said absolutely not. (And I don’t blame her.  No sane mother is going to give her kid permission to hang out at a riot.)  Still, Max and his brother felt they needed to do something, so they went online and looked up a list of the businesses that had been damaged.  They found the name of one of the owners and called her on the telephone.  She hung up on them.  So they drove out to her house and knocked on her door.  For three and half hours, they sat in her living room and listened to her anger.  And it turned out that unless they had $20,000, there wasn’t much they could do.  Well, that was the answer, wasn’t it?  They went home, started an online petition, and eight days later, they had raised $20,608.  And Maria Flores rebuilt her business.
    When Max and his brother saw injustice, they didn’t lash out in anger.  They didn’t choose a side.  They listened carefully.  They reached out with their hearts, and the answer spoke itself.  Now Max can help change Ferguson, so can we.  Let’s start really listening.  And if one of you hears an answer, let the rest of us know. 

CHAPTER 61: How Other Monks Should be Received

   If a monk from another monastery comes to visit and is satisfied with the customs he finds here, and does not trouble the monastery with excessive demands, let him be received for as long as he likes. Furthermore, if he has advice about how things might be done differently (and he makes his complaint with humility and charity) let the abbot consider carefully whether the Lord did not perhaps send him for that very purpose.
   
    If a visiting monk has some criticism to offer, the abbot should take it seriously.  But this can’t be easy.  No one likes to be told how to run his own house.  Still, a fresh pair of eyes might notice something that the abbot and his community have missed.  Ironically, one of the universal truths of human existence is that “birds of a feather flock together.”  It’s much easier to listen to people we agree with, so we favor the company of people who think like we do.  But this makes it difficult to have a balance opinion.  If we were truly open to new ideas and anxious to broaden our horizons, we’d seek out people we don’t agree with, and hang out with them instead.

    In the fifth century, BC, there was guy who actually lived this way.  His name was Socrates.  He used to spend his days walking around Athens seeking out (and questioning) people he didn’t like.  He’d spend all day grilling them until he found a hole in their arguments.
    Socrates was a brilliant, charismatic, and honest man.  But he did this all day every day, and pretty soon the Athenians had him killed.  After all, no one can handle that kind of interrogation on a regular basis.  It’s just too annoying.  But before he died, Socrates had time to teach his method of argumentation to a few young disciples, and they passed it on to others, and eventually, it became known as “The Socratic Method.”  It’s a really great way to argue, especially if you have the patience and charity to really listen.
    It works like this:
    Before you start arguing with someone, let them know that you are interested in their opinion.  This is harder than it sounds, especially if they’re wrong and you know it.  But understand that they will be much more interested in hearing your opinion if they think you understand theirs.
    Next, repeat what they have to say.  Repeat their own words back to them so that they know you are really listening.  This is important for you too.  Maybe you have been hearing something that they didn’t intend.  Maybe you’ve been reading too much into their argument.
    Lastly, ask questions.  Lots of questions.  Anywhere that you see a contradiction or an omission, instead of pointing it out, ask a question about it.  If there’s a point you’d like to make, keep asking questions until they make the point for you.
    I’ll give an example.  I once had an encounter with a Fundamentalist who told me I was sinning because, as a priest, I allowed people to call me “Father.”  At first, this annoyed me.  After all, I hadn’t asked this guy for his advice.  But instead of explaining the title to him, I took a deep breath and said, “So you say that I am sinning whenever I allow someone to use that title?”
    “Yes,” he answered, “because Jesus said, ‘Call no man Father.’”
    “Well, you’re right there,” I said, “That’s straight out of the Gospel of Matthew:  “Call no man ‘father.’  There is but one Father in heaven” (23:9).  But I’m a little confused.  What if a child wants to address his…um…male genetic predecessor.  Does he have to find another word?”
    “That’s different,” he said.
    “How?” I asked.
    “Jesus was only referring to spiritual fatherhood, not genetic fatherhood.”
    “But I thought he said to call no man “Father.”  Are you telling me that he meant only the men who didn’t have actual children of their own?  What about adopted children?  ”
    The conversation went on a good while longer, but you get my point.  Instead of just telling him he was wrong, I explored his claim with him until he finally admitted that there were exceptions and that the passage couldn’t be taken literally.  I don’t think he changed his mind, but I think I learned something about his opinion, and he came a step closer to understanding mine.
    The Socratic Method is very Benedictine because it revolves around listening.  It also requires a great deal of humility because, no matter how stupid, arrogant, or wrong-headed your adversary may be, you have to be willing to let him teach you.  After all, as Saint Benedict points out, it may be the case that “The Lord has sent him for this very purpose.”

CHAPTER 40: Of the Quantity of Drink

Saint Paul says that "every person has his proper gift from God, some this, and some that”(1 Cor 7:7). We are reluctant, therefore, to dictate the quantity of food for others. However, allowing for the weakness of the sick, we think one hemina of wine a day is sufficient for each. But for those who are strong enough to abstain completely, let them know that they will have their special reward.  We read that wine is not at all proper for monks, yet because monks in our own times cannot be persuaded of this, let us agree at least to drink in moderation; because "wine makes even wise men act like fools”(Sir 19:2).  But in poorer places where they cannot afford wine, let the monks who live there bless God and not grumble. This we charge above all things: that they live without grumbling.

    The exact measure of the hemina is a topic hotly debated by monks all over the world.  It could be anything from a glass to three quarters of a gallon.  But one thing is certain: wine meant something entirely different to monks of the Middle Ages than it does today.  For starters, it wasn’t entirely recreational.  Wine made dirty water drinkable.  So it was actually rather hard to survive without it.  Nonetheless, I find it amusing that Benedict tried—and failed—to talk his monks out of recreational drinking.
    I operate under no illusions when it comes to teenage alcohol consumption, but for the purposes of this commentary, we may do better to use the analogy of video games or internet usage.  It is entirely appropriate to use either or both in the course of a day.  But like alcohol, the computer can become addictive and soul-destroying; and one must be capable of doing without.
    I have a friend who claims he once spent thirty-six straight hours playing “World of Warcraft,” breaking only for bathroom and pizza runs.  Honestly.  This can’t be healthy.  We have to set limits for ourselves, and if we can’t meet those limitations by virtue of our own self-discipline, we may need to enlist the help of friends or family.  One of my students invented an ingenious solution to his late night gaming:  every evening at 6pm, he would hand the computer cord to his dad.  When his laptop battery ran out, he knew he had reached his limit.  It wasn’t very good for his laptop, but it was good for his soul.
   Oh!  And did you notice the bit about grumbling?  It will turn up in the next chapter too.

CHAPTER 23: Excommunication

If a brother behaves in a way that is stubborn, disobedient, proud, grumbling, or opposed to anything in the Holy Rule and disrespects his superiors, let him be admonished once and again in secret, according to the command of our Lord. If his behavior does not improve, he should be rebuked in public before everyone. But if he does not reform even then, and he understands the punishment, let him be excommunicated.

Wherever there’s a rule, you’ll find a guy who wants to break it, even in a monastery.  For people like this, there have to be consequences.  Otherwise, the order of the community falls apart.  Worse still, the monk himself may lose his vocation.  Saint Benedict’s first response is to reason with him, but if that doesn’t work, the monk needs to see in some practical way that his disobedience is affecting the whole community.  As a last resort, the abbot may decide that it is better for the community—indeed, better for the monk himself—if he spend some time alone.

By modern standards, this sounds severe,[1] but considering that the Rule was composed at a time when you could lose a hand for stealing, and homelessness was rewarded with a brand on the forehead, the penalty of excommunication is surprisingly moderate.  Notice too that Benedict doesn’t excommunicate someone for a mistake, or even for misbehavior.  Thoughtlessness, impulsivity, ignorance…these aren’t what he’s afraid of.  The abbot should only exercise this authority when the offense is deliberate and rebellious.

Today we often misunderstand excommunication.  We tend to think of it in secular terms the way we might think of a prison sentence or a fine.  We wonder, for example, why the Church didn’t excommunicate more Nazis during the Second World War.  But excommunication is something a superior only does when he still believes he can bring the disobedient Christian back into the fold. It’s not really a punishment, therefore, it’s a wake-up call—and a chance to atone for the harm that one has done.

           Have you ever got the impression that someone was mad at you, but you had no idea what you did to cause it?  You end up walking around all day trying to guess what you did wrong.  Worse yet, have you been in a situation where you angered someone, but didn’t find out they were upset until days later?  These situations are doubly frustrating because there’s no way to set them right.  Saint Benedict has no interest in holding a secret grudge.  When someone does something wrong, you tell him straight away.  You tell him twice in private, then you tell him publicly.  It’s a blunt system, but simple, and, ultimately, charitable.  It’s better to be openly angry than politely resentful.

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[1] Though, as Philip Jenkins points out in The New Anti-Catholicism, most organizations—and certainly all businesses—enforce some kind of behavioral standards on their members (p. 116).