I had never thought about describing the Rule of Saint Benedict in quite this way before, but I like the way Archbishop Williams (Head of the Anglican Church) puts it:

'We tend, all of us, to try to solve our problems by more talking, and less listening,' said Williams in his sermon. 'As you read the Rule of St. Benedict, what you see being defined before you is a method for creating a listening community. And not simply a community of people who are all listening to the same thing… but a community of people who are listening intently to each other.' (taken from the Episcopal News Service)

"Listen" is the very first word in the Rule. "Listen"-ing is the greatest gift we can give to one another. A "listening" community of diversity...ah, just what the world needs right now!

The Work of God...

Seven times a day...can you imagine? Seven times a day, even in the middle of the night, the monastery bell summons the monks to "The Work of God." Saint Benedict invented the term, I suppose, he certainly made good use of it in his Rule.

As an Oblate of Saint Vincent's Archabbey I have tried to be faithful to the promises I made to practice the Rule as much as I can without depriving my church or my family from time they need. But I confess, only on retreat in a hermitage have I managed all seven, and then only by fudging a bit on that middle of the night time.

I begin usually when I arrive at my office, saying the offices for Lauds and Prime together. These are the two that start off the day and I am constantly amazed at how much better my days go when I am able to follow this routine. It's like my feet, my being and soul, are firmly grounded as the day begins. I am reminded of what really matters in this world, that all I am and have I owe to God, and that in Him I "live and move and have my being." I am less troubled by the vagrancy's of life, less bothered by the failures of others, less worried about what may or may not happen tomorrow. That hour in prayer affirms for me that ultimately I am not in control, that all that happens is in God's hands, and that humility is a virtue to be sought after far more than pride ever could be. I can face all things through Christ who strengthens me.

In the evening, last thing before going home, Vespers. The service of the close of the day, thanking God for all that has happened and trusting Him for all that will. Surprising how much better I sleep, how much easier I fall asleep, when I remember simply to pray and trust Him for tomorrow and all the tomorrows to come.

I was asked which prayer book I use recently. Before I share that with you, let me tell you this, if you are wondering which one you should use, and there are many, try some out, take them for a "test pray" or two, and use the one that you will use, the one that seems to express clearly what you would say to Our Lord. Prayer books taking up space on a book shelf are of no use at all. Everyone can find one that can use comfortably. It's a bit like Bible translations, find the one that you will read, not the one that everyone says you should have but which doesn't engage your thought or spirit and so sits there on the coffee table as a monument to a good idea gone bad.

I use the "Monastic Diurnal", which means the day hours of prayer used in Benedictine monasteries for fifteen hundred years up until Vatican 2. That conference led to the creation of the Liturgy of the Hours (LOH) in wide use today. So why Diurnal and not LOH? I like the language, and especially the psalm translations, better in the Diurnal and it was recommended to me by another Benedictine Oblate (Michael Lopiccolo). But again, the point is not what book you pray from...it's that you have that daily encounter with God.

As a small aside, I love the way each session in the Diurnal begins with a short prayer that goes like this, "O God, come to my assistance. O Lord, make haste to help me." Short, sweet, and to the point. I can't begin to tell you how many times I have prayed those words before opening the door into a crisis situation.

Well enough for now. Always remember God loves you, and that prayer is really a lovers conversation.

Have Yourself a Soulful Christmas...

This year I find myself wishing for a soulful or soul-filled Christmas. There is just something about the enforced gaiety of the Christmas season that almost seems contrived, wooden. I’d rather sit in front of a warm fire and send out good thoughts of some who I would love to see again this year. The daughter I haven’t seen since she was a year old who turned forty one this year. My parent’s dead now the better part of fifteen years. All the others who have loved me into being who I am, and yet somehow departed after walking along side for a season.
Oh, I’m not “blue” or sad, just journeying inward and upward. I suppose that’s how it was for Mary and Joseph, those two young people so long ago upon whom shone the light of a star and the fate of all mankind. Can you imagine what must have been running through their minds when the first labor pains struck? What on Earth was about to be born? Angels foretold his coming, but what would he be like? Would he even look like either of them? How do you define “normal” for a son of God? I imagine there was awe at what was about to happen, and fear, and deepening wonder at the star overhead. Must we celebrate that momentous night with gaiety when our hearts feel anything but gay? With commercialism when He was “Infant Holy, Infant Lowly?”
Perhaps what we need to do instead is to steal away to a parish church and sit there alone in the candle light and like Mary, “Ponder these things…” in our hearts. What does this baby now cradled against Mary’s breast mean to me? What gifts can I bring to the stable this night to give to Our Lord? What can I offer to the one who loves me more than I shall ever be able to understand or respond to? What does it mean to me that my Savior was born to a craftsman and his wife, in a barn, and laid into a feed trough? He could have “Called Ten Thousand Angels” the hymn says, and yes, he could have been born in the finest bedroom, in the biggest mansion, to the daughter of Caesar or Herod the Great…but he chose to come to ones such as you and I. What are we to make of that? How radical, how revolutionary, is that in the face of our culture that puts personal status and upward mobility above all else?
So have a soulful Christmas. There, in the candlelight of the sanctuary, or in your own room lit by the soft glow of the tree lights, contemplate the manger scene, stand yourself just outside the stable and hear the cry of the infant and the low calling of the animals within, and let the wonder and awe of it all wash over you. Yes, have a soulful Christmas and may the babe in the manger, Our Lord, be born in your heart this Christmas. Amen.