Read through the Scripture texts and then look back over your week.
Where have you seen the ‘wasteland rejoice and bloom’? Have you heard God say ‘Courage! Do not be afraid.’? Are there things for which your heart can shout for joy? What do you most need and desire for this next week of Advent?
‘What page, what passage of the inspired books of the Old and New Testaments is not the truest guides for human life?’
Ch 73: This Rule only a Beginning of Perfection
Read through the Scripture texts. Choose one and copy out the whole text. Notice the words and phrases which strike you. How is God speaking to you today?
The fate of those who do not have the luxury of building their houses on rock is a regular feature in our news. There can be few things more distressing than having your home ruined by flood waters. Matthew’s hearers too knew the dangers of foundations that were not deep enough and the disaster which came once the weather changed.
This Gospel text comes right at the end of the Sermon on the Mount. Matthew wants his audience to understand the importance of the depth of foundations needed in the following of Jesus. Hearing the words of Jesus is one thing, but really listening and being able to translate this into action is another.
‘Listen carefully, my child, to the master’s instructions, and attend to them with the ear of your heart. This is the advice from a father who loves you; welcome it, and faithfully put it into practice.‘
St Benedict opens his Rule with two sentences which set the tone for the whole monastic endeavour. The listening to which he invites us affects every fibre of our being. Cistercian, Sr Agnes Day, makes this comment on these verses:
‘Listening implies an attentive waiting, a ready openness full of hope. We want to listen to God, and this listening is our prayer, our inner space, our very emptiness, which God fills with his Presence as and how he wills. We do not listen for what we might have expected or imagined, but for the God of surprises. He is not tamed to our bidding. He is real and free and quite beyond our capacity to comprehend, much less control. But one thing we know beyond a shadow of a doubt because he has freely given us his Word: he is Love, and his purpose is Love.’
Over the years the monastic will learn to attune the ear of her heart to the Scriptures, The Rule, her superior and her sisters. She will rely on times of silence to hear the resonances deep within her. Scripture will be the constant in her life. Storms will come and hurl themselves against her house. Christ is the rock on which she builds her house.
Where is Christ calling you to listen with the ear of your heart this Advent?
Social anthropologists tell us that what distinguishes us from other species is that we cook and share food. From the plucking of the fruit in the opening chapters of Genesis, to the tree of life ‘bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month’ in the Book of Revelation, food plays a significant role in the story of our salvation. The metaphor of the Heavenly Banquet yields its meaning fairly easily.
Isaiah’s vision of the banquet is expansive and evocative: you can almost taste and smell the lavish fare. This banquet envisages the whole of humanity sitting down together. Here in 2022 there is a poignancy to this metaphor as the need for foodbanks grows weekly. Sitting down together to a meal has become a struggle for many families. We are far from the Biblical vision.
For the monks of St Benedict’s day frugality and simplicity were the hallmarks of the daily common meals. Perhaps a little ironically, the home grown and home cooked foods that filled the monastic table would nowadays be considered rather high end. St Benedict knows his community. He knows that being too stringent with quantities and types of food will cause more upset than is needed. Too little can be as bad as too much. He seeks the middle way in everything.
‘For the daily meals, whether at noon or in midafternoon, it is enough we believe, to provide all tables with two kinds of cooked food because of individual weaknesses. In this way, the person who may not eat of one kind of food may partake of the other.’
St Benedict is well aware of human weakness and wants food to be provided in as straight forward a way as possible. It is the Cellarer’s job to make sure there is enough food for every member of the community. St Benedict even goes as far as to recommend that the daily portion of bread (one pound) be divided by the Cellarer, so as to be sure that there is enough for each meal.
While Isaiah’s vision of a lavish banquet and St Benedict’s vision of modest fare may seem far apart, they share some things in common. At both tables everyone is welcome. At both tables everyone can expect their needs to be met. Both tables are metaphors for the Kingdom of God.
Are there ways this Advent that you can share food and invite others to a foretaste of the Kingdom?
A shoot springs from the stock of Jesse, a scion thrusts from his roots: on him the spirit of the Lord rests, a spirit of wisdom and insight, a spirit of counsel and power, a spirit of knowledge and of the fear of the Lord.
Today Isaiah lays out for us his vision of the ideal king. This King lives and governs according to the law of God written on his heart. His faithfulness and integrity are mirrored in the harmony of all creation. It’s a very idyllic vision where animals change their characteristics and situations which once spelled danger are now scenes of peace and harmony.
We are hardwired to scan for danger. Our cave dwelling ancestors depended on the fight or flight mechanism to avoid the dangers of wild animals. In Isaiah’s poetic vision we have the invitation to imagine a deeper reality for our world and for ourselves. This vision of peace and harmony starts here and now. It starts in our hearts. It doesn’t happen overnight. It’s a daily choosing to do ‘no hurt, no harm’.
St Benedict has an equally breath-taking vision for his community. This comes in the penultimate chapter of his Rule: Ch 72, ‘On Good Zeal’. Here we have not the wild animals of Isaiah, but the network of relationships in the monastery. Love, in all its many forms, is the touchstone of this chapter:
‘Just as there is an evil and bitter zeal that separates one from God and leads to hell, so too there is a good zeal that separates one from evil and leads to God and eternal life. The monks should practice this zeal with the warmest love: ‘Let them strive to be the first to honour one another.’
They should bear each other’s weakness of body and character with the utmost patience. They must compete with one another in obedience. No one should pursue what he considers advantageous to himself, but rather what benefits others. They must show selfless love to the brothers. Let them fear God out of love. They should love their abbot with sincere and humble charity. Let them prefer absolutely nothing to Christ, and may he lead us all together to everlasting life.‘
This vision is incarnational, kenotic and eschatological. St Benedict roots his vision in flesh and blood. He is deeply incarnational. It’s the ordinary day of work and prayer which is the framework for showing this ‘warmest love.’ Trying to do ‘what benefits others’ is a way of mirroring Christ’s self-emptying love- kenosis. A lifetime of trying to live the wisdom of this chapter of the Rule has the potential to be a sign that points beyond itself, and in this sense it is eschatological.
In the very last sentence of this chapter St Benedict speaks to the heart of every monastic. All that we undertake in the monastery is for the good of the whole. Every burden carried, every joy shared, will hopefully ‘lead us all together to everlasting life.’
How can you live something of Isaiah and St Benedict’s vision today?
‘Clothed then with faith and the performance of good works, let us set out on this way with the Gospel for our guide, that we may deserve to see him who has called us to his kingdom (1 Thess 2:12).’
Each year as we celebrate the liturgical cycle, I am grateful for the opportunity to take stock and refocus my mind and heart.
We begin Advent with Isaiah’s prophetic vision of all nations gathering in peace. Isaiah invites us to imagine the peoples of the world being restored to unity. It’s a hopeful vision which sets peace and harmony at the heart of God’s plan. It can be helpful to hold onto this optimism when we come to the Gospel.
Matthew strikes a warning note, urging us to be ready for the Second Coming of Jesus:
‘So, stay awake, because you do not know the day when your master is coming.‘
These words speak to me of being alert and on the watch for the signs of Christ’s coming. Largely we don’t live with a sense of Christ’s Second Coming being imminent, but we can, like Matthew’s community fall into complacency. Advent rouses me to action.
Writing in the Sixth Century, St Benedict’s words also have a sense of urgency. The Roman Empire is crumbling, and St Benedict sets forth a bold and dynamic vision for a life lived in search of God. The Prologue of his Rule is a clarion call to all who long for Christ to be the centre of their lives. There’s no sitting back and letting things unfold for St Benedict. He rouses us to action:
‘Let us get up then, at long last, for the scriptures rouse us when they say: It is high time for us to wake from sleep. (Rom 13) Let us open our eyes to the light that comes from God, and our ears to the voice from heaven that every day calls out this charge: If you hear his voice today, do not harden your hearts. (Ps 95)’
St Benedict’s monks are to be ever on the watch. Such is the power of Scripture that it can rouse a monk from his bed and shake him into action. If he opens his eyes to the divine light of Scripture, he opens himself to the possibility of transformation.
Every other day in Advent, at the first Office of the morning, when we sing Ps 95 as the Invitatory Psalm, I will be invited to keep my heart open and ready for Christ’s coming. The message is loud and clear. Christ calls me today.
How is Christ calling you to open your heart this Advent?
Welcome to A Path Through Advent with St Benedict.
I’ll be using the Advent Liturgy of the Word as a framework for our reflection. I’ll choose a theme from the readings and relate this to my experience of living the Rule of St Benedict. You don’t need to have any prior knowledge of the Rule. But if you would find it helpful to have the full text, I’ll be quoting from this translation: The Rule of St Benedict in English, Timothy Fry, osb. You can find a sample here:
Poet and priest, Malcolm Guite, captures the essence of the Rule of St Benedict beautifully in his sonnet. This is a helpful starting place for our journey.
You sought to start a simple school of prayer, A modest, gentle, moderate attempt, With nothing made too harsh or hard to bear, No treating or retreating with contempt, A little rule, a small obedience That sets aside, and tills the chosen ground, Fruitful humility, chosen innocence, A binding by which freedom might be found
You call us all to live, and see good days, Centre in Christ and enter in his peace, To seek his Way amidst our many ways, Find blessedness in blessing, peace in praise, To clear and keep for Love a sacred space That we might be beginners in God’s grace.
Malcolm Guite
Our journey begins on Sunday 27th November. I’ll post on Sundays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. (On Mondays, Fridays and Saturdays there will be shorter posts.)
I am delighted that so many have shown interest in this. I look forward to sharing the journey with you.
News that King Charles may ‘trim down’ his Coronation service has prompted me to think about Kingship and what it might mean for our world today. Is it an outmoded concept? Is it something which becomes redefined with each new monarch? I don’t get very far with these ‘earthly’ questions as I realise my outlook is very biblically coloured. In the biblical world prophets and kings are chosen by God and anointed. Kings are marked with God’s seal and are tasked with the care of God’s people, from the greatest to the least.
In the Liturgy today kingship is portrayed in three different ways: David, the one chosen and anointed, Christ the Lord of all heaven and earth and Christ, the Servant King, who promises the thief paradise.
During these past weeks we have journeyed with Jesus to Jerusalem. We have seen Him as the fulfillment of all that was promised through David. As the first born of all creation He has walked among us and inaugurated the Reign of God. And now, as the journey ends, he hangs upon the cross as our Servant King.
It’s the image of the Servant King which speaks loudest to me this year. Luke’s portrayal of Jesus over these past weeks has taken us many times to the margins. There we find scenes that don’t conform to our tidy constructs of ‘who is in and who is out’. Both Jesus and the thieves now find themselves on the margins. They are outside the city walls, dying the death of the outcast and the disgraced. Into this darkness one thief speaks words of hope when he has the courage to ask to be remembered: remember me when you come into your kingdom. When Jesus replies it is with some of the most reassuring and tender words in Scripture: ‘Indeed, I promise you, today you will be with me in paradise.’ To the very last, Jesus, our Servant King, reaches out to those who find themselves on the margins.
Our Servant King walks among us today. Do we recognise him?
Throughout the story of our salvation the people of God have searched for and longed to be in the presence of God. They have sensed the sacred and marked it in physical ways by the erecting of stones and the building of altars. When Solomon builds the Temple it’s the fruit of the longing and desire of the whole people of God. God promises to be in the Temple and never to leave. This fills the people with hope and firmly places the Temple in their theological imaginations.
When Jesus speaks of the destruction of the second Temple, he too is speaking of a physical place that has always been a guarantee of God’s glory and presence. Luke’s hearers have already experienced the destruction of the Temple (70 AD) and Luke, writing in approximately 80 AD, has Jesus predict this. This sets Jesus firmly in the prophetic tradition.
Luke is writing for a community that is already experiencing persecution and the inevitable collapse of their certainties. Jesus promises them a type of strength and fortitude that only he can give:
Keep this carefully in mind: you are not to prepare your defence, because I myself shall give you an eloquence and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to resist or contradict.
Jesus doesn’t promise to rebuild the Temple because now, instead of bricks and mortar, it is his flesh and blood that will be the guarantee of God’s presence. All the longing and devotion that once filled their hearts as they made pilgrimage to the Temple is now at God’s service in the welcoming of the kingdom and the building of community.
Where is God calling you to welcome the kingdom and to build community?