Nestled in the foothills of the Apennine mountains is a small, medieval walled town. Near the central piazza, down a narrow, cobblestone street, is the entrance to a silent, hidden benedictine life. Inside the entrance to this monastery stands a statue of St. Benedict with a finger to his lips…
St. Benedict begins his rule with a tender request: “Listen, my son, to your master’s precepts, and incline the ear of your heart. Receive willingly and carry out effectively your loving father’s advice…” I had the opportunity fresh out of college to work for a small community of Benedictine monks in central Italy. I never would have imagined that the experience would have such a profound impact, and I would still be sorting through it 20 years later. Entering the Benedictine world right after college was a shock to my entire system. Never having read the Rule or experienced monastic life, I was caught off guard by their routine – Little sleep, little food, and lots of work and prayer. Never would I have imagined that out of this silent, austere way of life, I would experience some of the most gentle, authentic witnesses to the Faith.
There was something so honest in experiencing those monks. I remember one monk, facing a potentially fatal illness, saying to me, “Sometimes God asks of us the very things we don’t want to give Him.” Wow… Thank you for this honesty! What humility to make a statement like this. I can relate to that. The willingness to admit the painful truth of a situation, and yet keep on walking in faith, seeking Him. Where would we go, Lord? You have the words of eternal life. I’ve often experienced in my life an anxious rush to ignore suffering and focus on the positive. Isn’t that what a good person does? In the loss of a child, I remember focusing so much on God’s good plan in it that I failed to take the time to really mourn. It took years to sit down and really feel the pain of it; the balance of the physical and spiritual realities.
I also remember one Sunday morning when I was serving at Mass in the monastery. It was early and my body felt heavy and tired. Mass came with the deep reverence and solemnity that was common for the monks. I remember it like yesterday – I picked up the large candle along with the other acolyte and we walked alongside Father as he brought the Gospel up to the pulpit. I stood on the right side of the pulpit, my mind distracted and far from the present moment. Father was reading the Gospel of the Prodigal Son. As I was standing there bearing the weight of the large candle, in the midst of the story where the father sees his son, Father fell silent. I thought nothing of it…but then the silence continued – to the point of uncomfortable, awkward silence. I looked up to see what was happening: I saw Father standing speechless, with tears streaming down his face. He could not speak, overcome with emotion. It was a moment of witnessing a man seeking the Lord and encountering Him. Hidden beneath the silent, ascetic way of life was a deep love, the ultimate love.
This was my experience of Benedictine life. What beautiful witnesses. Humble men praying, working, sacrificing, and seeking. Their lives testified to the fruit of prayer and sacrifice. St. Benedict’s goal was to make perfect Christians. His way is not just for monks; it’s for all of us! St. Benedict is a tender father, urging us to seek God above all. To prefer nothing to the love of Christ, and to attribute all good to the Lord. Let us pick up this Rule and listen to this most tender father as he beckons.
