Scholion on David the King

"David left Gath and escaped to the cave of Adullam. When his brothers and the rest of his family heard about it, they came down to him there. He was joined by all those who were in difficulties or in debt, or who were embittered, and he became their leader. About four hundred men were with him. " 1Samuel 22: 1-2

"All those...who were embittered..." Who can this be but those who, with Qoheleth, see that the world involves us relentlessly in 'vanity of vanities'? And what can it mean that we who suffer this bitterness of heart should seek out David as our leader, but that we should seek our solace in the Psalter?

"I believe that the whole of human existence, both the dispositions of the soul and the movements of the thoughts, have been measured out and encompassed in those very words of the Psalter....For whether there was necessity of repentance or confession, or tribulation and trial befell us, or someone was persecuted, or...someone has become deeply sorrowlful and disturbed...for any such eventuality he has instruction in the divine Psalms."
St. Athanasius, Letter to Marcellinus, 30

"If I am disquieted by the urges of anger, avarice, or sadness, and if I am being pressed to cut off the gentlness that I have proposed to myself and that is dear to me, then, lest the disturbance of rage carry me off into a poisonous bitterness, let me cry out with loud groaning, 'O God, incline unto my aid; O Lord, make haste to help me.' [Ps. 60/70: 1]
"We find all of these [human] dispositions expressed in the psalms, so that we may see whatever occurs as in a very clear mirror and recognize it more effectively."
St. John Cassian, Conferences, 10.IX.10, 10.XI.6.

David managed to assemble a disciplined army out of the outcasts of society. We, who are abhorrent to (and thus outcast by) the World, can find a place in the disciplined army of the Son of David, if we allow ourselves to be instructed in self-knowledge and praise of God by David's songbook, the Psalter.

On the Daily Manual Work, Part 4

Ideoque hac dispositione credimus utraque tempore ordinari: id est ut a Pascha usque kalendas Octobres a mane exeuntes prima usque hora paene quarta laborent quod necessarium fuerit.
And thus we believe that this arrangement should be followed regarding the times for each [i.e. manual work and reading]: from Easter until the first of October, going out after the first hour until just before the fourth, they will labor at whatever work is necessary. [RB 48: 2-3]

On aspect of the Rule which has been almost universally ruled out in today's world is the common method of telling time that was used before mechanical clocks were perfected. Benedict's day consisted of the daylight, divided into twelve hours. In summer, these hours were rather long. In southern Italy an hour would be something like 70 of our minutes each. Likewise, the hours of night in the height of summer would have been closer to 50 of our minutes. This would mean, among other things, that the time for sleep in summer would be barely seven hours, given the time alloted to Compline and Vigils, both prayed in the dark. On the other hand, even 'rising at the eighth hour of the night' [RB 8] in the winter, the monks would still manage to have a solid nine and a half to ten hours in which to sleep.

Benedict seems to expect that the brothers will be working outdoors, even if he feels obliged to give them some reason for doing this humble work (remember that a sun tan in his day was not a sign of wealth and leisure, but a sign of a 'blue-collar' laborer!). Midday in Italy is and was too hot for heavy work at midday, so the monks were to work in the cooler morning hours. The above schedule probably allows for work from about 6:00 a.m. until 9:30 a.m.

This sort of foresight is what gives Benedict such a good reputation. He is not interested in pushing his monks for all their worth. His army is not about 'boots on the ground' toughness but about the tough self-emptying that charity requires. The fantastic penances of the desert monks seem to cast Benedictines in a weaker light, and yet it is the Bendictines that have persevered while Egyptian-style monasticism has only made fleeting reappearances throughout history. In any case, St. Benedict is not interested in working for the sake of work. In this, I suggest that he has his precursor in the great Father of desert monsticism, Antony the Great. I close with two anecdotes about Antony's famous discretion.

Cassian writes of a meeting of abbas in which the various old monks gave opinions on which virtue is most important in monastic life. Different monks proposed vigils, fasting, hospitality, or solitude. And finally Antony spoke, "All the things you mentioned are indeed necessary....But...we often see that those who keep fasts and vigils most rigorously [etc]...are so suddenly deceived that they are unable to bring to a satisfactory conclusion the work that they have begun, and they cap off the highest fervor and a praiseworthy life with a disreputable end....For although the works of the aforesaid virtues abounded in them, the lack of discretion by itself did not permit those works to endure to the end." [Conferences 2:2.3-4--tr. Boniface Ramsey]

from the Apophthegmata:
"A hunter in the desert saw Abba Antony enjoying himself with the brethren and he was shocked. Wanting to show him that it was necessary sometimes to meet the needs of the brethren, the old man said to him, 'Put an arrow in your bow and shoot it.' So he did. The old man then said, 'Shoot another,' and he did so. Then the old man said, 'Shoot yet again,' and the hunter replied 'If I bend my bow so much I will break it.' Then the old man said to him, 'It is the same with the work of God. If we stretch the brethren beyond measure they will soon break. Sometimes it is necessary to come down to meet their needs.' When he heard these words the hunter was pierced by compunction and, greatly edified by the old man, he went away. As for the brethren, they went home strengthened." [Antony 13--tr. Benedicta Ward]

Know Thyself

It is a regular source of wonder to me that we are so quick to think we understand others when we are mysteries to ourselves.

This reflection is prompted mainly by a routine difficulty that haunts community life. It is not difficult to observe another person's habits. However, we usually do not stop there, with a simple observation, and then move on. We believe we know the 'why' of those habits as well. We dream up all kinds of remedies for others' bad habits, and justify exposing these habits to them, sometimes even publicly, on the slim grounds that such interest is actually charity.

In this regard, I heard a wonderful quote from an abbot of our Congregation yesterday. When a young, musically talented monk pointed out to him that an older monk was singing out of tune, and asked how he should correct this 'problem', the abbot replied:

"Love him for twenty years, then tell him he is out of tune."

It is a quote worthy of the Desert Fathers. "Love him twenty years." In that time of genuinely trying to understand another human being, we might come to recognize that out-of-tune singing is wholly irrelevant to the goal of the Kingdom of God. We might even find some brother's ill-humor irrelevant; others' lack of charity: irrelevant. What matters is whether I am seeking purity of heart.

And seeking purity of heart, a stance from which we can truly learn to love, is a much more harrowing endeavor than the challenges of 'loving' others by constantly exposing their faults. When we begin the journey inward, we discover quickly that there is a great deal more awry with our inner lives and dispositions than we have any right to suspect of anyone else's inner life, which in any case we will never encounter.

Today we so often avoid the inner life not so much out of fear of what we might find there (though that is an obstacle to be sure), as we do out of a lack of awareness that we have inner lives. This is usually due to an over-reliance on sense impression and feelings in determining reality. When we were infants, even children, and someone hit us, we got angry; when someone made fun of us, we cried. But we didn't get angry and cry only when we were wronged. Often enough we got angry and sad because of typical childish self-centeredness. Much of that is socialized out of us by the time we are adults, but some questions still ought to trouble us from time to time: "Just because I feel angry, is this proof that I have been wronged? Is it proof that I must change something about someone else?" If I get angry because Brother Paphnutius is singing out of tune, is this objective proof that something is wrong in the world outside of me, or do I in fact need further 'socilization' not merely into our earthly society, but into the Kingdom of God, in which 'whoever is angry with a brother' is liable to judgment?

If our emotional movements are not simply determined by other's behoavior, then where do these emotions come from? Cassian and Evagrius (the latter moreso, in keeping with his greater interest in psychology) both point out that feelings often overwhelm the monk for no reason whatsoever. We used to speak of this phenomenon plainly as temptation, but today I fear that we are more likely to accept these irrational promptings as justifiable and craft a whole (self-serving) world view around them. It is possible, on the other hand, to start merely observing these emotions and not letting them guide us (other than temptations against purity, I don't recommend trying to ignore emotional waves, and I especially recommend against getting discouraged because we have feelings of anger or sadness!). As we loosen the immediate connection between emotion and action or conclusion, we can begin analyzing the source of such emotions. My experience is that they are often totally unrelated to the objective context of my life; I simply am tempted to interpret my life context un-objectively because of the strength of my emotion of the moment. I also find that emotions go away unexpectedly. I can be having a perfectly rotten day, and something catches my attention and I suddenly forget how awful everything supposedly is. In any case, this is part of what I mean by our own lives being mysterious to ourselves. If this is so in our own hearts, what justification do we have for judging others?

Thank you to patient readers who have not deserted me as I have had to concentrate on mundance matters of budgeting, etc over the past two weeks! God's blessings to you in Jesus Christ!

Centering Prayer

People seeking advice on prayer frequently ask about Centering Prayer, and others frequently refer to it (or variations of it) without being aware of it. So it might be worth putting my opinion on line, as the whole question seems topical.

The general idea of Centering Prayer is becoming aware of God as the center of one's being, the principle of life in us. For the baptized, seeking God is not exclusively to be done outside oneself, after all. The awareness of God's sustaining life comes about from detachment from all thoughts. Generally speaking, one chooses a quiet time of day and sits for twenty minutes. As one becomes aware of thoughts or other stimuli, the pray-er notes them, but then allows the thoughts to pass on, uninspected, usually by use of a 'sacred word', itself not to be 'meditated' upon, but simply to help loose our attention from the thoughts that inevitably enter the mind.

First of all, we should be clear that Centering Prayer as taught especially by the Cistercians Thomas Keating and the late Basil Pennington, is fairly nuanced. When I wrote above of people referring to Centering Prayer without being aware of it, often they speak of trying to empty their minds of all thoughts. Strictly speaking, this is more Buddhist than Christian (in fact, it probably more closely related to the state of Nirvana than any normally acknowledged states of mind in most forms of Buddhism). Centering Prayer is perfectly comfortable with thoughts being present. It is normal for our brains to generate thoughts. The question is what we do with them. Monastic practice in Christianity has always had an acute interest in thoughts, and to examine one's thoughts first requires one to become aware of them. In this regard, I find Centering Prayer as potentially very helpful. But we should be clear that those who speak of emptying the mind are giving a distorted view of Centering Prayer.

A second thing that CP is not is a means of attaining high states of consciousness. Again, the sacred word is not meant to induce a trance or some kind of transport. CP is not even aimed at any particular affective result, which puts it in good company in terms of Christian prayer in general. We pray because we are human and need to pray, not because it feels good every day. God is not a drug, but it the Almighty and Infinite Creator. The Desert Fathers considered prayer to be a battle (as does the Catechism--see para. 2275). "War against us is proof that we are making war," taught St. John Climacus. By this he means that most of the time, when we start praying, demonic forces immediately attack us to get us to stop, normally by means of distractions. Centering Prayer assists us so that the one praying pays no particular attention to any thoughts, good or bad. This trains our minds to let go of thoughts when we need to and helps us in the battle against distractions.

So I've mentioned some good points about Centering Prayer. With those as a background, let me now say that I don't normally recommend CP except for those who are fairly advanced in the life of prayer. Why not? In my opinion, the principal missing factor in the writing of Fr Keating and Fr Pennington is asceticism. I don't fault them for the omission, but we as monks should perhaps be attentive to the fact that we tend to live a fairly ascetic life by default and take for granted such helpful givens as community recitaiton of Psalms, lectio divina, spiritual reading at table and elsewhere, fasting, customary works of charity (serving at table, doing dishes) and humility (sitting in statio), obedience, silence, and so on. As Metropolitan Anthony Bloom once wrote, there is no authentic contemplative prayer without asceticism. The Catechism says this:

"There is no holiness without renunciation and spiritual battle [2015]."
"If we do not want to act habitually according to the Spirit of Christ, neither can we pray habitually in his name. The 'spiritual battle' of the Christian's new life is inseparable from the battle of prayer [2725]."

Centering Prayer, it seems to me, risks losing sight of these realities. By contrast, in lectio divina, one is constantly confronted with challenges to reform one's life and live according to the gospel, often in disconcertingly direct ways. Fr Michael Casey writes, “We who pray ‘forgive us as we forgive’ cannot afford to live in a state of conflict with others.”

Secondly, I believe that one needs to have a very strong personal relationship with God before one can jump to the level of awareness of God as the Ground of Being. God is one who has love affairs with His people, who knows us intimately before we are even conceived in the womb. There is an infinite amount to know about God. Again, I find prayer centered on Scripture and Liturgy brings us closer to God as a Three-Personed divinity, not merely as The Divine Source.

This brings me to the last point about Centering Prayer, that it seems not to take the Trinity into account, particularly the Person of Jesus Christ. "There is no other way of Christian prayer than Christ [CCC 2664]." While I don't believe that it is the intention of Fr Keating and Fr Pennington to omit Christ, the technique involved does not sufficiently acknowledge His central place, that we pray in His name.

If there are these problems, do I ever recommend Centering Prayer? I do, in fact, and I even practice it from time to time myself. The reason for this relates to the aim of detachment mentioned above, as well as awareness of thoughts. Often times our minds are so busy that we simply are unaware of the fact that we are thinking. Thoughts go directly to being imperatives without our reflecting on it. As Mother Maria-Thomas Beil once taught me, monks should aim to 'put a deliberate distance between themselves and their thoughts'. We slow down so as to intercept thoughts before we act upon them. CP helps a great deal in this effort.

Secondly, detachment even from good thoughts is part of the Evagrian method of prayer, validated by Cassian. I mentioned above that we do not pray in order to receive spiritual favors from God. Noting our attraction to such favors can help dispose us toward detachment in this realm, prepaing us for potential dryness and even dark nights (though I personally think that genuine Dark Nights are much rarer than many think; usually periods of dryness are just that: the normal valleys that affect any long-term relationship, even a relationship with God, with dullness).

Finally, I only would recommend Centering Prayer as an element within a total discipline that includes more standard types of prayer. Often times, vocal prayer and meditation bring us to a place that seems to be a dead end. CP can help illuminate the way forward. On the other hand, the practice of detachment, assisted by CP, prepares us to re-enter traditional styles of prayer with a larger tool chest, more deeply grounded in the range of possibilities in prayer, more ready to respond to difficult challenges that God has prepared for us.

The Apostolic Church

St. John Cassian expresses an unusual belief in one of his conferences where he speaks of the origins of monasticism being the Jerusalem Church. After the initial fervor of the Apostles departed, monks began to separate out from the institutional Church in order to continue praying without ceasing, sharing all things in common, and so on. Whether this narrative could pass muster historically is open to question. However, monks have, from the very earliest cenobitic foundations, looked to the image in Acts 2: 44-47 and 4: 32-35 as the ideal of monastic community life.

The other institution in the Catholic Church that claims the Apostles as their Founding Fathers is, of course, the college of bishops. When Catholics speak of the 'Apostolic Church', we perhaps more often mean to refer to the Apostolic Succession of the episcopacy. Certainly this is the plain sense meant by the Creed when we proclaim the Church to be 'one, holy, catholic and apostolic'.

It is often noted that monasticism got its big start around the end of the age of the martyrs, and that retreat into the desert was a protest against the Church becoming too cozy with the Constantinian arrangement of the Roman Empire. In this way, the monks were seen as 'white martyrs', men and women who died to the world in a figurative sense rather than literal. At the same time, it is interesting to note that it is at this same time that the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed is being formalized by (ahem) bishops (though some monks like Eutyches were all too eager to participate in these debates). It is no surprise that the bishops, in attempting to delineate the Church's proper teaching authority by linking it to the Apostles, argued for an understanding of 'apostolic' as a literal chain of laying-on-of-hands back to the Twelve. It has the advantage of being tactile and thus historical, like parenthood itself (a point made in a fascinating if subversive book called Throughout Your Generations by the late Nancy Jay).

I am not one to worry about these quirks in history, and I don't doubt that this rhetorical and theological strategy was necessary at the time, even inspired. However, surely the idea of the Apostles as legislators and governors is not the only Biblical one (I know that Fr. Raymond Brown has written on this and been sharply criticized by some readers--though not, I am quick to add, ever by Rome; in any case, I haven't read his book on Biblical bishops). In fact, while Paul clearly understands his role to include some type of government, and while this is obviously part of the drift from Acts to 1 Corinthians to 1 Timothy, we should look closely at why St. Luke chose to privilege a clearly charismatic role for the 'pillars' at Jerusalem. Might not the monastic charism offer something of a balancing corrective to the dangers of an overly rigid institutionalism in the Church? I ask this fully recognizing that monks have been readily co-opted into institutional roles more than once. However, I dare say that monks are never terribly at ease in such situations.

I am preparing an essay, God willing, on St. Benedict's social arrangements in the Rule, and I hope in it to suggest some ideas along these lines. I haven't the slightest idea where this essay will wind up, but among the ideas I would be proposing is that the adjective 'apostolic' should be open for use by the less structured monastic charism (because of its focus on liturgy and prayer) as well as for the necessarily structured episcopal system I would also suggest that there should be better cooperation between the two as being twin developments of the Early Church. Wish me luck and remember me in your prayers....!

Words to live by

from John Cassian:

"Therefore God, the Creator of all things, knowing better than anyone else how to right his handiwork and that the roots and causes of our offenses lie not in others but in ourselves, commanded that the company of the brothers should not be forsaken and that those persons should not be avoided who have been hurt by us or by whom we think that we have been offended. Instead he orders that they be won over, for he knows that perfection of heart is attained not by separation from human beings but by the virtue of patience. When this is firmly possessed it can keep us at peace even with those who hate peace. By the same token, if it has not been acquired, we find ourselves constantly at odds even with those who are perfect and better than us."

Institute IX
Translated by Boniface Ramsey, O.P.

This is no more than an explication of the teachings of Our Lord, but particularly well-put.

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On a separate note, click here to read what one brother called, "the strangest All Saints homily preached last week."