RB 72 : The monastic way to eternal life[1]
by
:
As I mentioned Saturday, it is commonly accepted that
the chapters 67 to 72 of the Rule were added by Benedict, later on in his
life, to the main corpus of the Rule that ended with what is now chapter 73,
which then followed chapter 66. That new series of chapters treat in a new
manner many of the themes that were already treated in the preceding chapters,
but underline in a particular way the horizontal relationships within the
community. We can consider this chapter
72 as Benedict’s spiritual testament. Furthermore, it cannot be read separately
from chapter 71 on mutual obedience.
In the Prologue of the
Rule Benedict imagined the Father going around and saying : « Is there anyone here who yearns for life ? ».
And chapter 72 ends with the prayer
that Christ may bring us all together to everlasting life.
The whole corpus of the Rule between those two texts describes the means to
be used on that monastic journey leading us to everlasting life.
Likewise, Benedict said
at the beginning of the Prologue that he wrote his rule for those who wanted
to return, through the labor of obedience, to the Father from whom they had
drifted through the sloth of disobedience. And, at the end of the Rule, we
have this chapter on mutual obedience; everything in the between being a description
of that journey through obedience.
Benedict speaks of two forms of zeal. As we all know,
the word zeal derives from the Greek zelos,
which designates something that burns. It
is fire. Benedict speaks of two forms
of fire : one that can lead us downwards and the other that can lead
us upwards. Let us be very attentive to the words he uses. I think that most of us, most of the time, when
we read this text, think in terms of starting from where we are now, in the
middle, -- on earth -- and going, after
our death, either to hell or to heaven according to the type of zeal we have
practiced. It is not what Benedict
says. He speaks of a journey that goes
either from God (above) to hell, or from hell to God. We are always on a journey – on one of these
two journeys. We are never at a static
point from which we can go either up or down, as a consequence of our acts
(our zeal),
This journey has to be
understood in the light of the one made by the Son of God, who came from his
Father, shared our humanity, going through death to the abyss of hell and
rising from the ades, not to our
mortal life but to the Father. In that
journey he assumed all our humanity and brought it up into the bosom of his
Father. By the type of zeal we choose, we either ignore
the Incarnation of Christ, and we continue our endless journey down to the
abyss of hell, or we identify with Christ rising from the dead up to his Father.
– It is not simply a question of meriting hell or meriting heaven according
to the zeal we manifest.
In coenobitic life, this
is not a solitary journey : it
is a question of going all together. This is the fundamental meaning of our community
life. All this is beautifully summed
up in those few sentences : « to try to be the first to show respect
to the other » ; « supporting with the greatest patience one
another’s weaknesses of body or behavior », « earnestly competing
in obedience to one another », etc. etc.
« showing to the brothers a pure love, to God, loving fear, and to
the abbot unfeigned and humble love”.
Those could be considered
as simply some good advices for harmonious Christian social living.
But they have also to be read in the general context of Benedict’s
clearly coenobitic orientation. One should never stress enough how Benedict
belongs to the great coenobitic tradition that goes back not only to Pachomius
but also to Basil and other early forms of Christian coenobitism.
That tradition had been transformed somewhat by Cassian, first, and
especially by the Master, into something more in line with a semi-eremitical
orientation. Fortunately Benedict reintroduced a real coenobitic
flavor taking his inspiration not only from Pachomius but also from Augustine
and Basil. And that clearly coenobitic
orientation of Benedict is found especially in the chapters he added to the
first version of his Rule, most probably towards the end of his life.
I would like to take a
few moments here to describe the early evolution of that coenobitic tradition,
and perhaps this is the occasion to explain a little more what I said two
days ago about the origins of monastic life going back to Jesus’ baptism.
Out textbooks of some
thirty or forty years ago for the history of monasticism used to give us a
very simple picture. Monastic life
was supposed to have come into existence suddenly, more or less as a mushroom,
in
That vision is too simple to be true, and even too simplistic.
The reality is much more complex
and much more beautiful. In reality monastic life developed in all the local
Churches both of the East and the West, more or less at the same time, and
out of the vitality of each local Church – although it is true that it developed
in a very special way in Egypt and that the Egyptian monasticism, therefore,
had a special influence on the rest of Christian monasticism.
The common understanding that
monastic life began at the beginning of the fourth or the end of the third
century is a kind of convenient convention of historians. From the middle of the 20th century
on, many good studies described what was then called pre-monasticism in
To make a long story short,
we can say that the picture that emerges from all the studies is this : There existed in late Judaism and throughout
Asia in the time of Jesus a large and strong ascetic movement, of which
Now, I would like to add another
previous note, concerning the specificity of coenobitic life.
The earliest known form of Christian
monastic life, in
Then, you have the relationship
of the master to the disciple, a one to one relationship, very similar to
that of the guru of
In coenobitic life you have
a quite different situation. The great
coenobitic founders, like Pachomius or Basil, to name only these two, realized
that many disciples were seeking the same goal and were on the same spiritual
journey. Their charism was to establish
a way of life, expressed in a common rule inspired by the Gospel. The experience of the founder and of all his
disciples was then embodied in that Rule adopted by the whole community of
brothers (or sisters). The role that
the spiritual master of the desert used to play was then transferred to the
community. The role of the coenobitic
abba was then a service within the
community. In that context, you are
formed as a Christian monastic by living the Gospel within a community, according
to a common rule, under the guidance of an abbot.
This is the vision that you
find in the Rule of Benedict. In the first chapter, on the kinds of monks,
Benedict distinguishes between the hermits whom he appreciates although it
is not for them that he writes his Rule, the gyrovague and the sarabaites,
for whom he has nothing good to say, and the cenobites, for whom he is writing
his Rule. He then mentions in a brief sentence the three basic elements of
coenobitic life. A cenobite is someone who lives « in community, under
a rule, and an abbot » – and the order in which he mentions those three
elements is very important. The basic
element is the community, then there is the Rule, because a community is composed
of brothers/sisters gathered around a common vision, a common rule of life ;
then comes the abbot/abbess who is a member of the community and has the responsibility
to see that each one will really be formed through the common life. The role
of the abbot is no longer to share his own experience, as a guru, but to lead everyone in the common
experience of the Gospel according to a rule of life freely chosen by all.
We have the same three elements
expressed again a number of times in the Rule.
For example, at the time of the profession, after the twelve months
of formation and discernment : the
candidate will promise his stability (in the community), his conversatio (that is, his life according to the rule), and
his obedience to his abbot.
In that tradition, obedience
is not seen as a tool of formation or as an ascetical practice. It is the constant search of the will of God,
using some specific tools. Obedience
is always to God, although some forms of mediation are given to discover it.
Christ is the Father of the community. His
fatherhood/motherhood is embodied in the community life and is exercised by
the abbot or the abbess. Then the abbot shares this exercise of Christ’s fatherhood
with many persons, like the deans or the prior, the infirmarian, the guest
master, and all those who exercise any type of service in the community.
Eventually, he shares it with all the members of the community through
the conventual chapter. And all the members exercise that same spiritual
motherhood or fatherhood toward the whole community, through the exercise
of mutual obedience, as mentioned in chapter 71, inseparable from chapter
72.
Now, after that long detour
– which I don’t think was useless – we are back to our chapter 72 on the good
zeal ! With this spiritual orientation
in mind, some of Benedict’s recommendations take on a new dimension : “To
their fellow monks they show the pure love of brothers; to God, loving fear;
to their abbot, unfeigned and humble love”. Likewise, the recommendation of
“earnestly competing in obedience to one another, and for no one “to pursue
what he judges better for himself, but instead, what he judges better for
someone else”.
All these recommendations
and especially the one of “supporting with the greatest patience one another’s
weaknesses of body and behavior” have their full meaning only if they are
read on the background of Matthew 25.
The goal is not so much
to try to identify to Christ, imitating Him, that is, acting as we imagine
he would act if he were in our situation.
No, the goal is to acknowledge those with whom Christ has chosen to
identify. To see Christ in our abbot, but also in each one of our brothers
or sisters, and most especially in those who are more in need – those
who are suffering, who are poor and limited, physically, psychologically,
even spiritually. (We have to see him
also in the pilgrims and visitors who come to the monastery).
With this is mind, let us come
back to the opening mention of the two forms of zeal that lead either downwards
or upwards. Christ ascending to his Father is a journey that cannot be understood
separately from his journey down towards us, even to death and to the abyss
of hell. There is a way to go down
to this abyss of hell, which is by refusing love and communion, and therefore
refusing salvation. But there is another
way to descend into the same abyss : along
with Christ, with the same love and compassion as he did, and then, from
there, to ascend to the Father.
Then, we can read in that
light everything that is found in the Rule concerning the attitude towards
human weakness – human weakness in each one of us as well as human weakness
in others. We could mention here everything
that the Rule says about the treatment of the sick – and that includes all
forms of sickness; the respectful attention to those who are struggling with
God, like Jacob; and the compassionate treatment of sinners (while being clear
and firm about sin – including ours).
* * *
There are also the weaknesses
of the community itself. In that context
we can speak of all the forms of precariousness that we experience today in any of our communities.
I must say that I have mixed feelings about the use of that word; because
I have the feeling that often – at least in my Order – it is used to create
a distinction between two groups of communities : those that are precarious; and those that are supposed not to be precarious...
We are all precarious.
Precariousness is a dimension
of human life. It is a necessary dimension
of our beauty as creatures. There is
nothing as precarious as a beautiful flower. The whole mankind is precarious. And the marvelous
thing is that God, after creating a precarious universe, assumed Himself that
precariousness through the Incarnation. As a man he lived a precarious existence and
died at the early age of about 33 year old.
The Church is precarious; and it is its normal state. Recently I read again a patristic writing of
the first centuries : The Epistle to Diognetos which may have been written
by S. Justin, the martyr. It was published
in the collection Source Chrétiennes,
several decades ago with a commentary by a great patrologist and historian,
Irénée Marrou. It is a beautiful document
: a well cultured intellectual Christian writing to an intellectual Pagan. He describes the very humble, precarious situation
of the Christians. They are like any
other citizens. They get married and
have children. They work to make a
living, they take part in social life, etc. Their difference is their faith in Christ and
the love they show one another. Marrou makes the following commentary : That was, he says, the normal situation of the
Church : the witness to Christ by a very small group of believers. Then, there was a long period of history during
which the Church was influent and powerful.
That was, says Marrou, a long parenthesis. Now the parenthesis is being closed, we are
back to normal.
The future of all our
communities is uncertain, as is the future of any human institution. Obviously
it is more uncertain for some as for others.
Some of our communities live situations more critical than others. It is not impossible that some will have to
close or to abandon some of their forms of apostolate.
It would be a mistake,
however, to try to treat that question as if it were a problem proper to some
communities only or as a monastic or even a religious problem, to which we
have to find our own solutions. It is a problem of the Church as a whole and
a problem of the society in which we live.
The problem is certainly more acute in Europe as in
The Church founded by
Christ was precarious during several centuries.
Today, in many parts of the world, it is again precarious – which is,
according to the Gospel, its normal situation : a little handful of leaven
in the dough of humanity. Between these
two situations, as I just said there was a long parenthesis during which the
Church was glorious and powerful. The present situation corresponds more to
the very nature of the Church which was sent to be a visible sign of salvation
in the midst of the nations, and not as a conquest enterprise.
What characterized the
situation of Christendom during the Middle Ages, was that the Christian values
were for everyone a point of reference. People
were not better believers and did not have a better moral life than today.
There was violence and there were constant wars (although less devastating
as those of today). But the Christian values were recognized by
everyone, including by those who did not live according to them. Those values were often imposed through the
arms. During that period many external
aspects of religious life (for example the material enclosure and the religious
habit had for everyone a symbolic value. The
Church exercised a great power in the fields of education and in many aspects
of social, political and economic life.
Whether we regret it or
not, that situation does not exist anymore, at least in most of the countries
of the Western World. Efforts to reestablish it are pathetic and useless in
the long range. To consider that situation
simply as “dechristianization” seems to me too simplistic an analysis. The Church -- that is, all of us -- must re-learn
to live without power.
This is not the time
or the place to analyse what our communities, congregations and Orders have
lived through in the Church since the Council. It would be wrong to attribute to the Council
and to the reforms provoked by it the great diminution of the number of vocations
in many parts of the Church and the closing of so many communities and so
many church-related institutions. What
the Council asked for was a spiritual renewal; and I think that, as a whole,
we put all our efforts into that spiritual renewal. But such a spiritual renewal
required some structural transformations, which, for most of them, arrived
too late. The krisis (in the etymological and positive
meaning of the word) that such transformations provoked had a great purification
as a consequence.
We have gone through the
same experience as Job in the Bible… We realized that even without many of
the things that gave us our social identity and of which we were proud, we
exist. Most of our communities are
no longer strong, powerful and influential as in the past centuries; but in
their precariousness and their weakness, they continue to be witnesses to
the sequela Christi. This is our vocation: To prefer nothing to the
love of Christ, to follow Christ in a society that is itself in profound transformation
and always seeking its own identity. Our communities can give that evangelical witness,
whether they are small or big. Our
identity does not reside in the services that we have fulfilled or are still
fulfilling in the Church, but in what we are, spiritually.
One of the poverties that
we experience is that we do not even have a renewed theology of religious
life. In the whole contemporary theological
reflection, there has not been any profound renewal of the theology of religious
life – although there have been many good essays on it. But, has there been, really, a real renewal
of the theology of marriage, of priesthood, of the ministry of the bishop?
Has there been, since the Council a real renewal of theology?
Even with our weaknesses,
and perhaps because of our weaknesses, we have also a mission to play in our
suffering world. The present geo-political evolution of the world has created
an encounter on a massive scale of cultures and religions in all the parts
of the world, but especially in our Western world. At the same time there are forces (we are tempted
to speak of diabolical forces) that try to develop tensions, even wars between
cultures and religions. Monks and nuns
have certainly a very special role to play in this area. Not only because we are present in all the parts
of the world and therefore have, as Orders and Congregations, a worldwide
experience; but also – and still more – because what is at the core of our
life, that is, spiritual experience, is also what is at the core of most of
the great religions of the world. When
it is difficult and at times impossible to dialogue at the level of philosophical
and theological concepts, it is much easier to meet at the level of spiritual
experience.
****
We can approach that question
of the good zeal from many aspects that may seem unrelated. In fact, they all bring us back to the same
reality of communion -- koinonia. Jesus said that he brought fire (zelos)
to the earth, and that he wanted
that fire to spread all over. If that
fire is really burning in each one of our heart, it will develop into an ongoing
communion : communion with God embodied in the communion with our sisters
or brothers within each one of our communities. And that communion within each one of our communities
is real only if it is a burning fire that spreads all over and develops into
communion with the local Church, the universal Church, with other religions
and with the world at large, and most especially with all those with whom
Jesus chose to identify, the Little Ones.
February 5, 2007
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list of articles on this theme
[1] This is the second of two talks
given at the Conference of Benedictine
Abbots and Prioresses at the Mercy Center,