To What Holiness?… Monasticism and the Church Today.
Introduction
Monasticism is
seen in some quarters today as a panacea for what ails our culture. Many have unlocked the treasures of the
monastic tradition and brought out meditation
practices, concepts and attitudes that have helped the people of our
time cope with the myriad brutal aspects of present day existence. My concern in this essay, however, is how to
set in order the treasure house itself, as it relates to the Church. Many of the valuable items inside have become
devalued or have gone out of taste in the changing climate of today’s
Church. I speak of authentic separation
from the world, radical silence and effective control of the appetites. We have
been the beneficiaries of magnificent scholarship which has made us aware of
the challenge of updating our monastic thinking. Perhaps we need to introduce some new
treasure into our house to make better sense of the old.
In particular,
we need to address what is spiritually distinctive, or theologically cogent, in
a church of persons that remove themselves to a “deserted” place in order to
pray, when all of the Church is concerned about the youth, vocations to
ministry and religious life, re-evangelization, etc. We are no longer are
talked about or admired, or even known in
many parishes, expect by caricature and/or hearsay. The Church, while caring for us, does not
promote us in a way in which it once did, when priests, and religious brothers
and sisters talked fervently about the contemplative monks and nuns. The
universal call to holiness, beautifully enunciated in the document, “Lumen
Gentium”, of Vatican II, puts religious all the way back at Chapter Six, and
insists, quite rightly, that they enjoy
“…a special gift of grace in the life of the Church and may contribute,
each in his own way, to the saving mission of the Church (“Lumen Gentium” c. 6,
n. 43). Yet, the Council document, and
other further legislative documents in its wake, seem intent on placing
religious, without bothering to speak directly or particularly to contemplative
monasteries, in a broad category of those professing the evangelical counsels
of poverty, chastity and obedience.
These are not the ancient monastic vows of obedience, stability and
conversion of life. Nor do these
documents explain what is unique about the contemplative, monastic tradition,
source of so much of the prayer spirituality of the Church. Neither do they posit a clear place for this
tradition in the new structure of the Church seen as the Pilgrim People of
God.
The task of
redefining our place in the Church must come from us and from our lived
experience before it can pass into ecclesiastical documents and
legislation. The Council, by its call
for the renewal of religious life, invited us to do this work. Monastics have responded generously by
reflecting on their lives in the light of the monastic scholarship mentioned
above. Our new OCSO Constitutions (1990)
represent a thorough going elaboration of our Cistercian tradition as we are
called to live it in our time. Yet, what
is still lacking in such a successful document is a clear indication of our
place in the Church in the light of the universal call to holiness. Our tradition, as part of its renewal and
thrust into the future, needs to reflect on and articulate its own
ecclesiology.
The foundations
for our place in the Church are going to have to be (re?)discovered from our
own lived experience, which may then feed academic and theological
reflection. In this essay, our own
practice of “Lectio Divina,” that is, prayer with the Scriptures, will be the locus
for new ways of holiness, which then flow into a proposed new
ecclesiology. But while we are making
our way there, we see immediately that any monastic holiness is really a universal
holiness that is valid everywhere because it comes from the Gospel. Monastics
may use unusual ways to get there, such as withdrawal from the world, celibacy,
etc., Yet the only possible difference between a monastic holiness and a
universal holiness is that we take the same holiness to the very heart of the
Scriptures, which is where every holiness is ordered and where every holiness
finds its source. From the heart of the
Scriptures, therefore, the monastic church offers to the universal church an eternally
and refreshingly new insight into the Christian mystery. Monks do this in response to a direct gift
from the Holy Spirit. Thus the unity of
the holiness of the Church will be revealed in all its manifestations, high and
low, far and wide, as well as the real, true and eternally valid place of the
monastic tradition or its equivalent in the Church.
This essay is
elaborated from a thorough reading of the Scriptures in “Lectio Divina.”
It makes no pretense at theological
sophistication. It comes from one monk’s prayer experience with the Word of
God.
As a beginning,
I propose four ways of holiness: 1) the
courteous and prophetic living out of the oneness of the Church according to
the Baptismal grace, which, as a font, overrides all other differences,
hierarchies, or vocations; 2) conversion of life as the pre-eminent model for
the Pilgrim People of God; 3) suffering, or the Cross of Christ, as the
inevitable but faith-based yoke of the Lord, which he makes to be easy and
light through love of him; 4) the vision of the eternal value of all things in
a renewed creation made possible by Christ’s ministry of reconciliation which
he shares with us. Each of these ways is
particularly addressed by the monastic tradition. Each way depends on the other three, and,
altogether, continue the reflection and introductory work of the Council when
it called the whole People of God to holiness.
In this essay,
only the second mark will be included, the call to conversion life. The others will be written up in future
essays. We must first make clear the
concept for the baptized faithful, and then show how the monastic tradition may
illuminate it. Then we can delve further
into the Gospel roots of the concept and there discover the foundational
aspects of conversion of life for the spiritual structure of the Church. We are then in a position to suggest the ever
ancient and ever new place of the monastic Church in the universal Church.
The Concept of Conversion
We work out our
salvation in fear and trembling (Phil.
Great and sudden conversions play a part
in this process of the baptismal grace, but they are no substitute for it. They must be seen as turning points, pivotal
events, perhaps, that lead us to more subtle conversions as we continue to work
out our salvation until the end.
Dramatic conversions, tumultuous changes, even ideological ones, where
we want to turn our backs on former positions we have held so dear, still must
be seen in function of one grace, one offered salvation, guided by God’s
merciful hand.
Newman’s quote rings as a clarion call
for this idea of conversion. “Growth is the only evidence of life (“Apologia
pro Vita Sua” [1864]”). We work out our salvation in time, in salvation history
in which as individuals we seem to play such a small and anonymous part. Yet the long line of individuals and God’s
way with them is what constitutes salvation history. God wants a relationship with me
personally. He is not accessed by old
pieties in new circumstances. He had
already explained the danger of putting fidelity to him, a living, breathing
presence in our lives, into old practices where he may have been in the past,
but is no longer (See Mt. 9:16-17). We
cannot access him by cultural freezing, as if rigidity and mere conformism to
the past can substitute for the inspiration of his live-giving Spirit here and
now. Of course, like scribes, we bring
forth from the Church’s treasure house, things both new and old, but we do this
from the storeroom of the myriad traditions of the Church, with the guidance of
the Holy Spirit (See Mt.13:52). Blessed
by God, the old things we bring out or retain, carefully and with discretion,
reinforce and illumine the one Tradition of the Church to be discerned all
through salvation history even in so may and varied guises and
appearances.
Ideas, practices, self-identities,
however, are not easily abandoned, nor should they be. Yet, the Christian life, and its baptismal grace
unique to each life, calls us to follow on the road after the Savior and in his
intimate company where the
The concept of salvation history can help
us here. Some may think that it is the narrative history of God’s holy people
of
Our personal salvation history follows
the course of our baptismal grace as it directs us through our development of
learning right from wrong, suffering the consequences of our wrong doing, to
the acceptance, sometimes soon, sometimes not, of Christ as a living, intimate
presence in our lives, and our vigilant and repentant response to him
throughout our lives. The baptismal
grace can be seen most clearly when it leads us to re-interpret constantly our
sinful, and /or confused, or abused lives in the light of God’s mercy and
forgiveness. Even and especially the
misfortunes we have lived through may become revelatory of God’s constant
providential care in this temporal and woeful world. The baptismal grace always leads to a deeper
understanding of God in our lives, and this by means of our constant turning to
him in moments of grace. Instead of
considering our lives as righteous or not before God, we can turn and consider
his ways with us, and celebrate him in his goodness.
Some Characteristics
The Christian people have discerned
certain guideposts or roadmaps in the process of living out our baptismal grace
that are valid for all times. We begin
to notice a certain pliancy toward our neighbor. The imperiousness of a strong ego-intellect,
so often a characteristic of youth, gives way to a tolerance and even deference
to the opinions and judgments of others.
Far from relinquishing our own ideas, we learn from others to modify our
positions wisely for the sake of a richer attitude and a more universal
stance.
There are no shortcuts through or detours
around the process of the baptismal grace. No matter what our station in the
Church, no matter how many gifts of the Spirit we may seem to enjoy, we cannot
depend on these to arrive at an automatic holiness. They provide us with a way and a means to
holiness. The grace bestowed, however,
presupposes a “disponibility” to receive it at depth so that within our
vocation or state of life one may continually turn toward God in whatever journey
the Spirit suggests in an ever-deeper purification of one’s life.
Continual conversion implies also a
growing capacity to “understand” and accept, according to the will of God, all
the events of life, especially those which go contrary to personal ambitions,
desires or perceived destinies. Glibly
we pray in the Our Father, “Thy will be done.”
But only the grace of holiness can begin to lead us through the temptation of personal delusion and self
glory, past the great trials of life, to a full acceptance of God’s will for us
throughout our lives.
Our personal history is the place where
the baptismal grace is located. Chronic or terminal illness, the death of loved
ones, opportunities almost grasped, then lost, may sour us and leave us
discouraged. God uses these means not as
punishments, but as opportunities for us to rethink our program in the light of
God’s Word, and in the light of the passing nature of this world. If our misfortunes were punishments, how do
we account for reversals in the lives of those we believe to be good? Or should we ascribe our calamities to God,
who wills to punish us? How would our
relationship with God proceed beyond fear of a malevolent and implacable
authority? The answer to these questions lies in the passing away of all
temporal things, in the angst, pain and revulsion toward it, which the
Scriptures tell us is the product of sin and moral corruption which we see and
experience in the world. This is not
God’s doing, but ours, insofar as we share in the collective human sin. Only with time and repeated conversions of
our point of view, can we own our part in this tragedy.
The Monastic Response
Having briefly examined the process of
conversion in anyone’s life, we must now consider the monastic response to the
same holiness. The Cistercian contemplative tradition identifies stages in the
life of conversion. With the basic
monastic ascesis in place, that is separation from the world, silence, control
of the appetites, etc., we begin the notice the peeling back of accumulated
layers of a false identity, a “persona,” which we show to the world, but which
hides from ourselves the unpleasant aspects of who we really are. And there stands revealed, especially to
ourselves, a vulnerable, often frightened person prone to sin. In the strength of God’s grace, that
new-skinned person is more free to love the Gospel, to follow along the road
after the Master, and to be more pliant to the promptings of the Holy
Spirit. According to St. Bernard, in his
first published treatise, “The Steps of Humility and Pride”, the immediate
effect of a serious dose of self-knowledge is a compassion and understanding of
our neighbor in all their foibles and imperfections. Self-knowledge levels off our own false high
self-esteem to the point where we see ourselves equal to our neighbor.
Obviously, one undergoes many such
conversions before arriving at a humility in the continual presence of
God. Cleansed from sin and vice, and
loving, as if naturally, Christ and his
Body, the Church, the penitent approaches the source of all Truth, God himself,
by the power of the Holy Spirit.
With God in sight at all times, one faces
the reversals and misfortunes of life with new eyes. Nothing can separate us from the love of God
in Jesus Christ, neither cancers, nor death, nor hurricanes, nor earthquakes,
nor betrayals in the community. In fact,
these “bad” things can become good things, or, if not good, then blessings, if
they lead us to plumb further the depths of God’s love. This new vision defines more clearly what it
is to be a contingent being in the palm of God’s hand, and it qualifies life in
this temporal world, by letting us see that it is no longer and end in itself,
but the gateway, and the only one at that, to God and his heavenly Kingdom.
As a conclusion to this presentation of
the concept of conversion, both along its general lines and with monastic
precision, we may say the reconstruction of the human person in the Risen
Christ constitutes the very essence of the Christian life when viewed in its
ultimate and eschatological perspective.
The constant call of the Savior’s voice, through the faithful
celebration of the sacraments and adherence to the Gospel teaching, awakens a
faith in the human person which goes deep enough into the will to rehabilitate
it and allow it to follow the Savior through every suffering, every trial, even
unto death. This conversion is to begin
to live eternal life even in the here and now of this world. It invites the human person to become “spiritual”, in the Pauline sense of the
word, to put on Christ, to be mature in him, to leave behind childish ways of
the flesh, that is, an understanding of Christ according to a human point of
view (See 2 Cor 5:16), and to “press on toward the goal for the prize of the
heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus (See Phil. 3:14).
Given Jesus’ call to conversion, growth
in the spiritual life, and how the monastic tradition views both, we must ask
the question, which way from here? Is
conversion better to be seen as a means to the
The Models of Conversion
The encounter between Jesus and the
penitent woman in the Gospel of Luke (Lk.
In her great act of repentance, the
sinful woman behaves nobly and courageously by boldly coming to Jesus and
disregarding the religious laws and social customs surrounding that
encounter. Her love, based on God’s
forgiveness, overcame all obstacles and won for her the object of her spiritual
desire. Henceforward, in the Christian
church, the heroic conversion of the great sinner become the great saint serves
a paradigm for repentance and a reminder that with God, all things are possible.
An even more probing example, and one
that introduces us into the very Paschal Mystery of Jesus is the behavior of
the Apostles in the Synoptic Gospels, but especially in the Gospel of
Mark.
In the first written Gospel, the Apostles
exhibit a slowness to understand Jesus’ mission and person. Time and again, Jesus finds them incredulous,
self-absorbed, or cowardly. In the end,
they abandon him. The other Synoptic accounts,
that of Matthew and Luke, soften the failure of the Apostles, and in the Gospel
of John, Jesus himself excuses them. But
in the Gospel of Mark, and, indeed, in all of the Gospels, nothing except the
death and Resurrection of Jesus alters the pattern of the Apostles’ behavior.
Signs and wonders do not soften the
hearts of the Apostles to believe that Jesus is God. Having multiplied the loaves and fishes for
the five thousand, Jesus dismissed the crowed, and bade his disciples to get
into a boat and go ahead of him to the other side. An adverse wind had them straining at the
oars. He came to them walking on the
sea. They took him to be an apparition
and cried out in terror. He spoke to
them to comfort them and got into the boat with them and the wind ceased. The Gospel text tells us at this point that
“they were utterly astounded, for they did not understand about the loaves, but
their hearts were hardened (Mk.
Jesus’ power over the elements, a sure
sign of his divinity, terrifies the Apostles but leaves them perplexed. They
recognize the power just demonstrated before them, but their hearts are too
thick with materialism and tradition for them to confess Jesus as Lord. They cannot yet believe that this teacher in front of
them, who looks like them and befriends them as a fellow human being, is also
the God of heaven and earth. After all,
the Scriptures are full of the majesty and power that surround God, either in
his theophanies at Sinai, for example, or in the sanctity and ritual that
surrounds his presence in the
The
The Apostles do not yet understand,
presumably, because they still are permeated with the yeast of the Pharisees,
that is, a trust in religious observances and ritual instead of trust in
God. The yeast of Herod, too, that is, a
materialism which blocks religious faith, keeps them from believing in the
The lessons imparted to the “wicked and
perverse generation” of the Apostles continue when he comes upon them in the
embarrassing act of their argument about who was the greater. He calls them aside and teaches them the
unforgettable doctrine:
“Whoever wants to be first must be the
last of all and the servant of all (Mk:
To demonstrate his teaching, Jesus calls
to himself a little child whom he takes up in his arms as the least and the
most vulnerable. To be last must mean to
go with the last, to be with them and minister to them. Likewise, any who are ill, possessed or
thought to be unacceptable, are the objects of the ministry of Christ’s
disciples. For as he did, so must we. While others may argue about who is the
greater, or may spend their time and energy looking to be acceptable and
“appointable” by powers of the age, the Christian minister must be fervently
seeking the last place where Christ is to be found with his friends, the poor
and the outcast.
The most confounding failure of the
Apostles in the Gospel of Mark occurs when, having just celebrated the Passover
meal, they go out with Jesus to the Mount of Olives and abandon him there as he
is arrested by the crowd sent by the chief priests, the scribes and the
elders. This desertion comes after and
on top of their protests that they wound never abandon him. Peter, himself, asserts that though every one
else may desert him, he will not. Jesus
replies with the terrible prediction that Peter will deny him three times
before the cock crows twice on that very night (See Mk.14:30-31).
This enervating and deplorable action by
the Apostles is couched in the starkest terms by the evangelist to highlight
the extreme contrast between the paucity of human merit and the abundance of
divine mystery. That we are dealing with
the will of God, even in the failure of the Apostles, becomes evident when
Jesus quotes the Prophet Zechariah, “I will strike the shepherd and the sheep
will be scattered (Mk.
This prediction of the Apostles’ failure
by the prophet lies in direct continuity with God’s way with his people. He leads the Israelites on a circuitous route
so as to allow the Egyptians to catch up to them. Thus, when God acts at the Red sea, the
people could never conclude that it was their speed, their strength or their
cleverness that saved them from the Egyptians, but God alone (See Ex.
13:17-22). At the failure and the death of Saul and the crushing defeat of the
Israelites by the Philistines (1 Sam. 31:1-13), it is the bravery of David, an
insignificant youth but inspired by the Holy Spirit, that turns the tide of
victory for the Israelites against their enemies. Not Saul’s stature, nor his anointing as
king, could make his heart right with God.
Only the coming of the Holy Spirit upon David could change the military
situation of
The evangelist dramatizes the failure of the Apostles by underscoring in sublime detail
the denials of Jesus by Peter, the appointed head of their circle. Peter it was who led the
protest against Jesus’ assertion that they would all become “deserters.” Peter said “Even
though all become deserters, I will not. “And when Jesus retorts that on that very night
before the cock crows twice, Peter will have denied him three times, Peter vehemently
insists that, “Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you. And all the Apostles
said the same the same thing (Mk
The scene is set for the Evangelist’s careful and effective intertwining of the narrative of
Jesus’ prayer at Gethsemani, his arrest and “trial” by the high priest and the chief
priests, with Peter’s denial of Jesus, the last and lowest of the long list of sad behaviors of
Jesus’ intimate circle. When a servant girl of the high priest spotted Peter in the
Courtyard warming himself as Jesus’ trial proceeds, she stared at him and said, “You also
were with Jesus, the man from
he was on of Jesus’ followers, until, a third time, “He began to curse, and he swore and
oath, I do not know this man you are talking about (Mk.14:71).”
Peter curses and swears not just against Jesus, but against himself, and all the Apostles
whose leader he is. In the anatomy of his relationship with Jesus, i.e. his vehement and
impetuous declaration of love for Jesus (“…I will never deny you [Mk.14:31]”),
contrasted with this loud cursing and swearing that the did not even know him, we see to
the bottom of the human heart, not just of Peter’s, not only of the Apostles’, but of
everyone’s. We see our utter inability to do what we want to do, because of a previous commitment made to
Satan, shrouded in the mists of time and dismissed by the mind as untrue or unfair. Yet,
our world, broken by war, violence, and greed bespeaks the bitter truth. The mess we see
is our doing. It is Satan’s miserable victory over us, stretching from the Garden until
now. Yet his victory is not final. And this is where we need to keep reading in the
Passion Narratives to see what happens to the Apostles once Jesus rises from the dead.
As the Apostles scatter in fear, Jesus tells them that he will rise from the dead and go
before them into
reconstruct their broken loyalty and their intimate circle and absolutely nothing else will.
The striking of the Shepherd and his resurrection alone will reunite the scattered sheep,
so that it may be made clear that no human virtue or strength remained loyal to Christ,
only God’s power and mercy constitutes the new community of the Apostles around his
risen body.
What we see in the Synoptic tradition and the Acts, but especially highlighted in the
Gospel of Mark, is a model of repentance as the response to God’s mercy in the Christ
Event. We see individuals fall and come to repentance, such as Peter, but we see them
living out their forgiveness in a community who holds them in God’s forgiveness. The
early Church’s experience of human weakness in the face of persecution and memory of
the failure of the Apostles, guaranteed that the Good News of Jesus Christ would be
preached only around the saving power of his Resurrection. Thus, the Christian
community would be based not on human merit but on absolute faith in that Resurrection
in a continual move toward greater and deeper repentance.
The Apostles were
gathered in prayer “with certain women, including Mary, the mother of Jesus, as
well as his brothers (Acts
One cannot help
but notice the juxtaposition of Mary and the gathering of the Apostles. A broken community, reconstituted by the
power of Christ, is prayed for by one who never abandoned the grace of the
angel, but bore her mysterious son and saw him through his awful fate, all by
the power of the Holy Spirit. What she
had learned about openness to God, and the concomitant humility that goes with
it (“He looked on the lowliness of his handmaid, Lk.1:48”), she now prays may
be the Apostles’ joy as well. As she had
given birth to Christ and presented him to the world at the meeting of Simeon
and Anna in the
The Monastic Connection
The early monks, separated from this event of prayer in the Acts by several hundred years, nevertheless, intuited that they were in direct imitation of the Apostolic circle. Not that they were the Church. Not that their way of life was the only way to be a Christian. But, rather, in the conviction that what the Spirit was calling them to do by renunciation, was in direct communion with the Apostles’ experience of the risen Christ, that is, the passage from considering Christ from a human point of view, to a life permeated by his Spirit.
When the monastic
tradition applies the Apostles’ experience to itself, it does so in learning steps. Whereas the cataclysmic even to Jesus’
suffering, death and resurrection was stamped forever on the Apostles’ minds
and hearts, nevertheless, they learned from his intermittent appearance and the
corroborating testimony of others, to fashion fully in their beings the
conviction of his saving power and merciful forgiveness. The monks, in imitation of the fifty days in
the Lucan story of waiting for the Spirit (See Acts
Steps of humility, stages of conversion, levels of self-knowledge, all conspire as so many graces to invite the Spirit to confer on the monk the crowning grace of passage to life in Christ Jesus.
The
The monastic
ecclesia lives in the hope that each of its members will make this passage to
live in Christ Jesus. Not all the
members are granted it, not all are ultimately called to it. Not all answer when it is given, “for many
are called, but few are chosen (Mt.
This is what makes the monastery the place of holy challenge that it is. Not because of the holiness of the monks who live there, not because the ground is made more sacred by the footsteps of their holy persons. For many of them may not be very holy. But because of the hope that lies in the heart of the community, in that hope, the action of the Holy Spirit causes gifts of conversion, self-knowledge, humility and so many more, to flow back and forth until, and, if only, a single person lights up with the memory of the wounds of Christ in his heart and the consequent stance of repentance. This hope is what gives the monastery the élan and the spiritual peace it enjoys in the minds and experiences of visitors. With no means to explain what they sense, they nevertheless intuit that God is active here. After all, it is God alone who is holy. We but share in his holiness.
The monastic ecclesia holds up this hope of
bringing people to the memory of Christ as if it were a single ray of light,
warming and illuminating the whole Church from within. As St.
The baptismal grace at the heart of believers calls them to many different positions in the Church: to preach, to teach, to heal, to serve, to govern, to prophecy. Yet each of these missions is not an end in itself. Each is an avenue for the individuals to find the way of return in ever deeper levels of their being. The Spirit will accomplish through them what it wills to do for the Church. The Spirit will not fail, however, to offer the workers in the vineyard their own contemplative rest which is based on constant repentance and conversion. What is offered every baptized person is the call to follow after the Lord to the point of gratitude for the gift of life, self-knowledge and repentance for sins and for the greatest sin, that of crucifying Christ. We all share in that greatest sin.
Yet, in the great
demands made by the missions of the Church, the narrow way of living the
Gospel, as if in the intimate circle around Our Lord, gets lost. The Church has become endlessly complex in
keeping with her mandate to go to all the world and preach the Gospel (See Mt.
28:19; Mk.
The Mystery of the Church
The Monastic ecclesia supports the wide net of the Church to which many are called. It throbs with the missionary heart of the Church in all its varied works. It commiserates with Bishops as they carry the weight of pastoral anxiety. But with all of this outward activity, in which there is always the call to holiness due to the Baptismal grace, the monastic Church keeps a light of memory on the way of return to the heavenly glory. It keeps alive the structure of the Church as both the wide net and the narrow way. It does so by taking the same holiness to which all are called, to the heart of the Scriptures from which the holiness emanated. If there was no monastic Church, the Spirit would have to go and get one (And, indeed, that is the reason behind the capacity of the monastic ecclesia to reform itself after the example of the early monks). Only in such a way could the Church be completely itself – a mystery in this world but not of it. Broad and welcoming in its preaching and pastoral zeal, yet not flinching from the deep truth about our sinfulness and the narrow way of return by repentance and obedience, the Church can never be one or the other, but both as it proclaims a universal holiness wherever the Spirit is at work.
The church was born into this human reality as Christ lay dying on the cross. The monastic church keeps alive the memory of that day, and its glorious counterpart, the Resurrection. At the foot of the Cross, and in the heart of monastic church, the confines, rules and safety of this world begin to give way to a raw contingency, a radical dependence on God where the kingdom of heaven begins to break through to this temporal world. Hidden to all but spiritual observers, the monastic church appears to make no sense, to be a collection of weaklings and losers, who have thrown away their lives in a useless round of monotonous and unrewarding prayers. But to God, and to those who see with the eyes of God, it is where his light begins to shine on this temporal darkness, where his strength shoulders human weakness, where human weakness is so known, tasted and accepted, that his power can be admitted where human pride had previously shut it out.
The Church makes no spiritual sense without this hidden gift of total surrender to Christ and constant conversion to him. It is the Church’s wedding garment which it only partially wears when it forgets the monastic way. The Church is not it’s complete spiritual self without this total abandon to the love of God, this total joy of the freedom of the children of God, this total sacrifice which is held up as a single ray of light, made up of all the other rays of light, which is the mystery of the Church.
Thankless, rootless, without a home here, unknown or derided, thought foolish and meaningless, the monks look out on the eastern horizon for Christ the Bridegroom of the Church, in a world still too busy with itself, still too taken up wit its own seriousness. The monks keep the Church on its toes in vigilant waiting for the Savior. The monks hold aloft the light of the mystery of the Church, still in this world, but well on its way to full communion with the mysterious God. The light shines on, but in a fog where only the intently gazing can see it.
Francis Kline
Mepkin Abbey
Exaltation of the Holy Cross 2005