Wisdom Distilled from the Daily

by Joan Chittister

  That’s enlightenment. When I myself am the total square footage of my own small world, that’s darkness. When my pains and my successes and my agendas are my only concern, that’s darkness. When I see no larger meaning in my life than my own interests, that’s darkness. But when I begin to look at life through the eyes of God, then enlightenment has finally come.

  But enlightenment and contemplation, the relationship between the goals of my life and the meaning of my life, take more than wishing. Inner vision and direction can only come from keeping my heart centered on God and my mind open. That’s where Benedictine spirituality is balm and blessing in a world gone wild with activity for its own sake.

  Dom Cuthbert Butler made the point that it is not the presence of activity that destroys the contemplative life but the absence of contemplation. The genius of Benedictinism is its concentration on living the active life contemplatively. Benedictine spirituality brings depth and focus to dailiness. Benedictine spirituality is as concerned with the way a thing is done as it is with what is done: guests are to be received as Christ (RB 53); foods are to be selected with care (RB 39); the goods of the monastery are to be treated reverently (RB 32); pilgrims and the poor are to be treated with special attention (RB 66)—and all for the love of Christ. Life is not divided into parts holy and mundane in the Rule of Benedict. All of life is sacred. All of life is holy. All of life is to be held in anointed hands.

  And so Benedict calls all of us to mindfulness. No life is to be so busy that there is no time to take stock of it. No day is to be so full of business that the gospel dare not intrude. No schedule is to be so tight that there is no room for reflection on whether what is being done is worth doing at all. No work should be so all-consuming that nothing else can ever get in: not my husband, not my wife, not my hobbies, not my friends, not nature, not reading, not prayer. How shall we ever put on the mind of Christ if we never take time to determine what the mind of Christ was then and is now, for me.

  So, contemplation does not take non-work; contemplation takes holy leisure. Contemplation takes discipline.

  In the period before the renewal of religious life that was mandated by Vatican II, every minute of the monastic day was directed by the superior and minutely ordered. We prayed and meditated from 6:00 A.M. until 7:30 and then ate and went to school. At 5:00 P.M. we went to prayer and reading again. At 7:30 we said night prayer, had two hours for study, and went to bed. Since Vatican II, the times for community prayer are still there but the reading periods are expected to be done privately. We were all sure, given the multiple individual schedules in a community of many ministries, that this was the preferable way to go. And I still think it was. But now it is clear that contemplation is something we have to work very hard at attaining.

  At the end of a long day, it is so much easier to curl up with the newspaper or slump in front of the TV than it is to wrestle with the Scriptures. At the beginning of a busy day, it is so much more tempting to get an early start on what won’t get finished anyway than it is to stay in chapel and let the Word of God seep slowly in as a guide to the day’s reality. We all tell ourselves that things are just too hectic, that what we really need is play, not holy leisure. We all say we’ll do better tomorrow and then do not. We all say the schedule is too crowded and the children are too noisy and the exhaustion is too deep. But, if we do nothing to change it, the schedule just gets worse and the noise gets more unrelenting and the fatigue goes deeper into the bone. The fact is that it is our souls, not our bodies, that are tired. That fact is that we are so overstimulated and so underenergized that the same old things stay simply the same old things, always. The sense of excitement that comes with newness and freshness is gone. Only contemplation, the recognition of meaning in life, can possibly bring that kind of energy back. But that means we have to make time for ourselves for holy reading and gentle awareness and deep reflection. How else can we come to understand what relationship really means in life? How else can we hope to make sense out of the senseless? How else can we come to control what has control of us, if not by putting things in perspective and putting self in perspective and putting the God-life in perspective.

  So, contemplation takes time and contemplation takes discipline. Contemplation also takes depth. In contemplation we stretch our understanding so that our hearts can come to peace. Contemplation is not emptiness that ends in fullness. Contemplation is fullness that ends in emptiness. I can’t become a contemplative by sitting and waiting. I must become a contemplative by listening and waiting.

  The monastery candles tell me day after day: time is going by, the light is waning, there are some kinds of uselessness that are essential. Then I have to make a choice. What is time for? If time is only for work, then what will be left of me when the work is gone? If there is no light in me, what will happen when darkness comes, as darkness will, to every life? What is the gain of leading a useful life if I do not also lead a meaningful one?

  Abba Anthony knew what this culture must relearn: play and holy leisure are the things that make work possible, that make work worthwhile.

  9

  Giftedness: Making Music Together

  Monastics will read and sing, not according to rank, but according to their ability to benefit their hearers.

  If there are artisans in the monastery, they are to practice their craft with all humility, but only with the abbot’s permission…. Whatever products of these artisans are sold, those responsible for the sale must not dare practice any fraud.

  RB 38:12; 57:1; 4

  There are those who would consider it a strange collection of musical instruments for a monastic liturgy. There is an organ, of course, but the major difference between the liturgical music we have now and liturgical music as we knew it years ago is that the organ is not the only instrument on which we depend for Eucharistic services. On the contrary. There’s a set of handbells and a pack of guitars and a grand piano and a harpsichord and a hammered dulcimer and a flute and a trumpet and a recorder and a bass guitar and a harp and a xylophone and dozens of finger bells. And they’re all played by different sisters. I love the music that comes from all those variations, but more than that I love what the grouping itself says about the place of the person in community.

  Some of those musicians are professionally trained. Some of them are amateur instrumentalists from their earliest years. Some of them know little or no music at all. All of them love what they’re doing. And all of them are doing it for the sake of the community as well as for their own pleasure. All of them are using their gifts together in praise of God. All of them respect one another’s talents, none of them expects to be the whole show, and each of them knows that without the other her own contribution will fail. But, when each of them does what she can do with the best possible spirit and the best possible preparation, then the entire community liturgy is deeper and more beautiful for all of us than it could possibly be without her. In fact, the whole community is stronger because its individuals have brought their very special strength to it.

  The art of community life in general lies in the balance of the person and the group. Benedictine spirituality exacts two things: self-giving and self-development; family order and family understanding. Any one of these without the others reveals a person or a group gone askew.

  Individuals do not exist for groups. That is fascism. That is the philosophy that makes it possible to shoot football players full of steroids so the team can win and then abandon the players when the steroids don’t work on their broken bodies any longer. That is the philosophy that makes young men cannon fodder for the fatherland. That is the philosophy that turns people into interchangeable parts for the company. That is the kind of parenting that leaves young people unhappy for years as they try to live out the aspirations of their mothers or the expectations of their fathers.

  Groups exist for people. The function of a group is to enable people to achieve together what they cannot possibly achieve alone. Groups are meant to make our
highest personal hopes achievable through common search and common effort and common discipline. Groups, communities, and families provide the environment in which individuals can become what they most seek to be.

  So, in a Rule written for community life, Benedict has a great deal to say, at least implicitly, about the individual. And the cornerstone of this psychology of life in Benedictine spirituality is that every individual is different. And must be treated differently. And must be seen differently. And must be developed differently.

  The Desert Monastics knew the truth of human uniqueness, which they relate in this story about Abba Arsenius:

  Once when Abba Arsenius was ill he was taken by the brothers to a church and put on a bed with a small pillow under his head, an unheard of comfort for monks of that time. Now, behold, a monk who was coming to see him for spiritual guidance, saw him lying on a bed with a little pillow under his head and he was shocked. “Is this really Abba Arsenius, this man lying down like this?”

  Then, one of the monastics took the visiting monk aside and said to him, “In the village where you lived, what was your trade?” he asked.

  “I was a shepherd,” the visitor replied.

  “And how did you live then?” the monk continued.

  “I had a very hard life,” the visitor answered.

  Then the monk said, “And how do you live in your cell now?”

  And the visitor said, “Oh, now I am very comfortable.”

  Then the monk said to him, “Do you see Abba Arsenius? Before he became a monk he was the father of the emperor While you were in the world as a shepherd you did not enjoy even the comforts you have now but he no longer leads the delicate life he lived in the world. So you are comforted always, while he is afflicted always.”

  The visitor prostrated himself saying, “Father, forgive me, for I have sinned. Truly the way this man follows is the way of truth, for it leads to humility while mine leads to comfort.” And the monk withdrew, edified.

  The monastic lesson is clear: every one of us has a special set of needs and differences, and we must accept those in one another and attend to them. That is the basis of a communal spirituality. “Let those who have need of more,” the Rule reads, “ask for it humbly. And let those who have need of less thank God” (RB 34).

  The person is to be cherished. Benedictine spirituality is not an attempt to reduce every human being to a least common denominator. It’s not about turning individuals into homogenized groups. Benedictine spirituality is about bringing the uniqueness in us and around us to holiness. Now, no doubt about it, it is not easy to decide when cherishing the person is to be preferred to maintaining the good order of the group. When should one member of the family get privileges that the others do not get? When should one person’s needs be allowed to eclipse the equally important needs of others?

  Benedict posits some important principles. Do not start by expecting everyone to be alike. Benedict, for instance, requires two kinds of vegetables at every meal so that people can have choices (RB 39). Everyone is to have a bed of their own, which was no small thing in sixth century Europe (RB 22). And everyone is to have clothing suitable for the place (RB 55). The monastics are even encouraged to ask to be relieved of the work they’ve been given to do if they feel that it’s beyond them (RB 68). Life is not a one-size-fits-all affair. The notion of leading life without wishes and without interests in the name of spiritual development may indeed be a worthy type of asceticism, but it is clearly not Benedictine asceticism.

  Everyone gets whatever it is that they need to live, in other words, and everyone gets to contribute to the decisions that have been made about their lives. There is no sense of artificial asceticism here, no made-up penances, no militarism in the style of community governance. Just life lived raw. The purpose is not to make life hard for others on the grounds that difficulty will be good for them. Life is hard enough as it is. The purpose is simply to live the normally hard parts of life together and well.

  Most important is the place of personal weakness in Benedictine spirituality. This is only “a little Rule,” Ben-edict wrote. “For beginners.” And nothing “harsh or burdensome” is prescribed (RB 73). This is a rule for you and me, in other words. You and I know ourselves to be beginners in the spiritual life, no matter how intense our efforts or how sincere our search or how long our years. And you and I don’t want anything that looks too complex. And you and I are not the kind who go around looking for the harsh or burdensome. On the contrary. You and I are Americans and Americans aren’t even allowed to have a headache.

  The truth of Benedict’s awareness of the fragility of the likes of us is nowhere clearer than it is in the chapter on the qualities of the abbot (RB 2:64). What Benedict says the abbot must be is a sure reflection of what Ben-edict knew that each of us would be.

  In the first place, Benedict says that the spiritual leader of the community should be elected by the community itself. Obviously Benedict believes that we are sincere in our individual search for direction in the spiritual life and that we are capable of finding it. He knows, though, that we need to become deeper, more centered people, and that putting forth the effort to get it is half the process. The spiritual life is not something that is given to us; it is something we must learn to seek with all our hearts. The choices that we make in our leaders is a measure of our own character and commitment to growth. If the latest rock star is our leader, it will show. If the local money makers are our leaders, it will show. If the civil religion is where we get our values and ideals, it will soon show. Benedictine spirituality requires us to take responsibility for the leadership we choose and to choose carefully.

  Second, the abbot must be chosen for wisdom, not age. But, if that’s the case, then you and I must be looking for wisdom, not for identification with the latest fad of the youth cult or the security of the cautious and conservative elderly. It’s neither the new Church nor the old Church that will save us—in other words, not the right wing or the left wing of anything. It is wisdom alone, those insights into the truth of life that are distilled from the gospel and personal experience, that we must look to for guidance, not the latest in spiritual gimmicks or psychological schools or easy-come, easy-go gurus. Benedict knows what we need is wisdom, but too often we let ourselves settle for less. We want quick fixes instead of the slow and steady truth of life well lived.

  Third, the abbot is told to serve the monastery, not to rule it. But if it is service we’re to look for, not magic answers or blind direction, then each of us must learn to cooperate rather than simply to obey. It’s so easy to take orders but to resist taking responsibility. If I’m told to do a thing, I do it. But if it is not my night to do the dishes, they stand in the sink. If it is not my job to mop up the kitchen floor, it stays sticky If it is not my responsibility to speak to the people in the waiting room, they stand there unattended at the counter. I do my part and not a single thing more. It’s so easy to give our service but not our hearts.

  It must be mutuality that we bring to life, not control and not convenience. A snap of the fingers is not what life is about. A happy home is not a home where he gives the orders and she and the children jump. A good family is not one where she lays down the law and everybody else tiptoes around. A good family is not one where the children become the total criteria of the schedule and the activities. A good family is one where we all serve one another and where everyone’s needs count.

  Life is about learning to grow through the growth of others. The people that we live with and work with have something to give to our spiritual development. We have to learn to take the raw materials of our lives and turn them into the stuff of sanctity. We can’t wait for the perfect person or the perfect environment to call us to spiritual maturity, The people in our lives are the people who will test our virtues, our values, and our depth. Benedict knew that the call to serve rather than to dominate would mean that people had to learn to cooperate with others rather than to depend on them. The problem i
s that either domination or dependence demands so much less of us than collaboration.

  Fourth, the abbot must be more intent on mercy than on judgment. But if that is the case, then clearly Benedict knew that the world was made up of the very imperfect, the very human where a great deal of mercy would be necessary as we each wound our stumbling, human way to God. We, on the other hand, find it so hard not to expect perfection of ourselves and, because of that, to expect it of others as well. We drive ourselves and drive everyone around us beyond any achievable standard and then wonder why we fail and fail and fail. Benedictine spirituality says that life is a set of weaknesses in search of wholeness and we must be patient with one another’s growth.

  Finally, the abbot must be open to counsel. The meaning is clear: everyone has a wisdom, an insight, a concern, a truth, a gift. And everyone of us is capable of giving it. In our weaknesses we are still valuable, still capable of being unselfish and objective, still worthy to be heard.

  The concepts that emerge from this treatment of the person are entirely different from those we have come to know in modern culture. In Benedictine spirituality, no one ever stops being worthwhile. Not in any occupation. Not at any age. In Benedictine spirituality, people are seen as individuals, not as members of the team or members of the army or members of the class. Each of them has particular needs and each of them has particular gifts and each of them has particular responsibilities too. And though none of them are called to be what they are not, each is also called to be everything she can be. It’s a lesson our society dearly needs to relearn.