As we prepare to begin our Lenten journeys tomorrow on Ash Wednesday:
Father, we are led by your Spirit during these 40 days of Lent to unite ourselves with your Son in the desert. Speak tenderly to us during this time of reflection and renewal.
Reveal and remove all obstacles that impede us from truly seeking and following you.
Roll away the heavy stone from the tomb of our sinfulness, and let the light of the Resurrected Christ radiate through our works of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving.
Raise us from the darkness, open our eyes to your light and our ears to your voice, so that our hearts overflow with the inexpressible delight of love as we drink in the dawn of Easter glory.
Amen
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Bona Opera
Here in the monastery, we are preparing our Bona Opera (good works) forms as we do each year before Lent begins. Each monk fills out the form detailing the good works he intends to perform during the 40 days of Lent, and submits it to the Abbot on Ash Wednesday.
The Abbot will consider each monk’s proposed good works before returning it with his blessing or suggested revision. The Abbot also includes a short inscription from the Rule of Saint Benedict that is applicable. All of this is based on Chapter 49 of the Rule (included below).
While we as monks make a special effort to do these things as part of our monastic way of life, all Christians can — and should — do something similar within their own vocation. Conversion is the goal for us all. As you read on, insert the word “Christian” for each occurrence of the word “monk,” and you’ll see that you can make a Bona Opera commitment of your own. Think and pray about it, and review it with your confessor or spiritual director (in place of the Abbot).
Typically, for Lent each monk chooses specific practices relating to the three primary forms of penance mentioned in Scripture (Matthew 6:1-18; Tobit 12:8) and encouraged by the Church — fasting, prayer, and almsgiving (or acts of charity). These are to be works aimed at our conversion in relationship to oneself, to God, and to neighbor, and they should be something above and beyond what we ordinarily do each day as monks.
For example, a monk may choose to make a special point of “fasting” from gossip, to devote an additional 15 minutes a day to the prayerful reading of Scripture, and to give “alms” by spending some extra time with elderly and infirm confreres. In any event, the good works should be sacrifices, but with due moderation, and should promote habits that could extend beyond Easter.
Above all, the good works should be rooted solely in the love of Christ in a way that extends that love to others. In other words, deciding to give up chocolate to lose 10 pounds is not a good example of a Lenten good work. Neither is cutting out all caffeine, and then becoming irritable with everyone. Both miss the point entirely.
Instead of focusing on “giving something up” for Lent, a good idea is to approach fasting, prayer and almsgiving from a positive standpoint. For prayer, perhaps one could spend 10 minutes each day simply resting in God’s presence and offering thanksgiving. Fasting could consist of turning off the car stereo or cell phone on the way to work and riding in silence (a good time to offer that thanksgiving!). Almsgiving might include taking the time to get to know someone you don’t think you’ll like very well.
By all means, give something up, but make sure it also adds up spiritually. Remember that Christ is Risen, and that light should shine through you in your good works, so that in all things, God may be glorified!
RULE OF SAINT BENEDICT
CHAPTER 49: ON THE OBSERVANCE OF LENT
Although the life of a monk
ought to have about it at all times
the character of a Lenten observance,
yet since few have the virtue for that,
we therefore urge that during the actual days of Lent
the brethren keep their lives most pure
and at the same time wash away during these holy days
all the negligences of other times.
And this will be worthily done
if we restrain ourselves from all vices
and give ourselves up to prayer with tears,
to reading, to compunction of heart and to abstinence.
During these days, therefore,
let us increase somewhat the usual burden of our service,
as by private prayers and by abstinence in food and drink.
Thus everyone of his own will may offer God
"with joy of the Holy Spirit" (1 Thess. 1:6)
something above the measure required of him.
From his body, that is
he may withhold some food, drink, sleep, talking and jesting;
and with the joy of spiritual desire
he may look forward to holy Easter.
Let each one, however, suggest to his Abbot
what it is that he wants to offer,
and let it be done with his blessing and approval.
For anything done without the permission of the spiritual father
will be imputed to presumption and vainglory
and will merit no reward.
Therefore let everything be done with the Abbot's approval.
The Abbot will consider each monk’s proposed good works before returning it with his blessing or suggested revision. The Abbot also includes a short inscription from the Rule of Saint Benedict that is applicable. All of this is based on Chapter 49 of the Rule (included below).
While we as monks make a special effort to do these things as part of our monastic way of life, all Christians can — and should — do something similar within their own vocation. Conversion is the goal for us all. As you read on, insert the word “Christian” for each occurrence of the word “monk,” and you’ll see that you can make a Bona Opera commitment of your own. Think and pray about it, and review it with your confessor or spiritual director (in place of the Abbot).
Typically, for Lent each monk chooses specific practices relating to the three primary forms of penance mentioned in Scripture (Matthew 6:1-18; Tobit 12:8) and encouraged by the Church — fasting, prayer, and almsgiving (or acts of charity). These are to be works aimed at our conversion in relationship to oneself, to God, and to neighbor, and they should be something above and beyond what we ordinarily do each day as monks.
For example, a monk may choose to make a special point of “fasting” from gossip, to devote an additional 15 minutes a day to the prayerful reading of Scripture, and to give “alms” by spending some extra time with elderly and infirm confreres. In any event, the good works should be sacrifices, but with due moderation, and should promote habits that could extend beyond Easter.
Above all, the good works should be rooted solely in the love of Christ in a way that extends that love to others. In other words, deciding to give up chocolate to lose 10 pounds is not a good example of a Lenten good work. Neither is cutting out all caffeine, and then becoming irritable with everyone. Both miss the point entirely.
Instead of focusing on “giving something up” for Lent, a good idea is to approach fasting, prayer and almsgiving from a positive standpoint. For prayer, perhaps one could spend 10 minutes each day simply resting in God’s presence and offering thanksgiving. Fasting could consist of turning off the car stereo or cell phone on the way to work and riding in silence (a good time to offer that thanksgiving!). Almsgiving might include taking the time to get to know someone you don’t think you’ll like very well.
By all means, give something up, but make sure it also adds up spiritually. Remember that Christ is Risen, and that light should shine through you in your good works, so that in all things, God may be glorified!
RULE OF SAINT BENEDICT
CHAPTER 49: ON THE OBSERVANCE OF LENT
Although the life of a monk
ought to have about it at all times
the character of a Lenten observance,
yet since few have the virtue for that,
we therefore urge that during the actual days of Lent
the brethren keep their lives most pure
and at the same time wash away during these holy days
all the negligences of other times.
And this will be worthily done
if we restrain ourselves from all vices
and give ourselves up to prayer with tears,
to reading, to compunction of heart and to abstinence.
During these days, therefore,
let us increase somewhat the usual burden of our service,
as by private prayers and by abstinence in food and drink.
Thus everyone of his own will may offer God
"with joy of the Holy Spirit" (1 Thess. 1:6)
something above the measure required of him.
From his body, that is
he may withhold some food, drink, sleep, talking and jesting;
and with the joy of spiritual desire
he may look forward to holy Easter.
Let each one, however, suggest to his Abbot
what it is that he wants to offer,
and let it be done with his blessing and approval.
For anything done without the permission of the spiritual father
will be imputed to presumption and vainglory
and will merit no reward.
Therefore let everything be done with the Abbot's approval.
Monday, February 9, 2009
A Belated Introduction
Come to Me,
all of you who are weary
and find life burdensome;
I will refresh you.
Take My yoke on your shoulders
and learn from Me,
for I am gentle and humble of Heart.
You shall find rest
because My yoke is easy
and My burden light.
-- Matthew 11:28-30
When I began this blog a couple months back, I had intended to properly introduce it as well as myself. But, Advent and then Christmas were soon upon us, so it seemed best to wait.
Better late than never, as the saying goes.
First, as to the blog’s title — The Yoke of Christ — and why I chose it. Those who are familiar with me know that nearly six years ago I experienced an intense spiritual reawakening or conversion. I reached a point in my life where I knew I must give myself to God, without knowing why or what for. So I did. Now, I’m a Benedictine monk, and as St. Anthony of the Desert famously said, “Each day I begin again.”
Anyway, when I sincerely called out for God’s help for the very first time at the age of 37, my heart began whispering to me in ways I had never heard before. “Come to Me” is what I kept hearing within, over and over. Accompanying this strange beckoning was a sudden and intense desire to read Scripture, which I had never done before. The words sang to me, and when I first read the passage above, my heart began to burn with an indescribable love of God. So, step by step, at times striding and at others stumbling, I began to follow and heed those words: “Come to Me.”
Several more years of transformation and discernment followed before I entered the monastery. Then, in January 2008, as I prepared to make my first vows of obedience, stability, and fidelity to the monastic way of life at Saint Meinrad Archabbey, my retreat director pointed something out to me. His observation provided new depth, meaning, and purpose to those words echoing in my heart.
Take a look at the illustration above. Where do you see Christ? My problem was — and still is sometimes — that I was viewing Christ as the driver of the oxen under the yoke. That’s a terribly distorted view of obedience. True obedience to God is freedom.
My retreat director asked me to reconsider how a yoke is used in the agricultural tradition. Vaguely, my idea was a burdensome harness thrown over the shoulders of one poor beast. Wrong. Rather, as The American Heritage Dictionary defines it, a yoke is a crossbar with TWO U-shaped pieces that encircle the necks of a PAIR of oxen, mules, or other draft animals working in a TEAM (emphasis added).
This altered my image of obedience as I prepared to make my vows. Now, I picture God the Father gently guiding his team, plowing and sowing the Spirit’s seed-ground of the Church so all in the world may reap the harvest of Life. And working with me (us) under the yoke (or cross) is Christ Himself. He works with us all, encourages us, and promises us joy beyond all knowing for those who “Take My yoke on your shoulders and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble of heart. You shall find rest because My yoke is easy and My burden light.”
I invite you to reflect on that image further and meditate on the Gospel passage above as you consider your own call as fellow laborers for the harvest.
That, as the story goes, is why I have titled this blog as I have.
Finally, as to the blog’s purpose. There are no grand designs, and I will post as my monastic prayer, work, and schedule allow. However, I do not intend to simply record my comings and goings. How boring! Rather, I simply hope to share a little spiritual food for thought now and then — as the Master of the Harvest provides.
Time to plow …
PAX
all of you who are weary
and find life burdensome;
I will refresh you.
Take My yoke on your shoulders
and learn from Me,
for I am gentle and humble of Heart.
You shall find rest
because My yoke is easy
and My burden light.
-- Matthew 11:28-30
When I began this blog a couple months back, I had intended to properly introduce it as well as myself. But, Advent and then Christmas were soon upon us, so it seemed best to wait.
Better late than never, as the saying goes.
First, as to the blog’s title — The Yoke of Christ — and why I chose it. Those who are familiar with me know that nearly six years ago I experienced an intense spiritual reawakening or conversion. I reached a point in my life where I knew I must give myself to God, without knowing why or what for. So I did. Now, I’m a Benedictine monk, and as St. Anthony of the Desert famously said, “Each day I begin again.”
Anyway, when I sincerely called out for God’s help for the very first time at the age of 37, my heart began whispering to me in ways I had never heard before. “Come to Me” is what I kept hearing within, over and over. Accompanying this strange beckoning was a sudden and intense desire to read Scripture, which I had never done before. The words sang to me, and when I first read the passage above, my heart began to burn with an indescribable love of God. So, step by step, at times striding and at others stumbling, I began to follow and heed those words: “Come to Me.”
Several more years of transformation and discernment followed before I entered the monastery. Then, in January 2008, as I prepared to make my first vows of obedience, stability, and fidelity to the monastic way of life at Saint Meinrad Archabbey, my retreat director pointed something out to me. His observation provided new depth, meaning, and purpose to those words echoing in my heart.
Take a look at the illustration above. Where do you see Christ? My problem was — and still is sometimes — that I was viewing Christ as the driver of the oxen under the yoke. That’s a terribly distorted view of obedience. True obedience to God is freedom.
My retreat director asked me to reconsider how a yoke is used in the agricultural tradition. Vaguely, my idea was a burdensome harness thrown over the shoulders of one poor beast. Wrong. Rather, as The American Heritage Dictionary defines it, a yoke is a crossbar with TWO U-shaped pieces that encircle the necks of a PAIR of oxen, mules, or other draft animals working in a TEAM (emphasis added).
This altered my image of obedience as I prepared to make my vows. Now, I picture God the Father gently guiding his team, plowing and sowing the Spirit’s seed-ground of the Church so all in the world may reap the harvest of Life. And working with me (us) under the yoke (or cross) is Christ Himself. He works with us all, encourages us, and promises us joy beyond all knowing for those who “Take My yoke on your shoulders and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble of heart. You shall find rest because My yoke is easy and My burden light.”
I invite you to reflect on that image further and meditate on the Gospel passage above as you consider your own call as fellow laborers for the harvest.
That, as the story goes, is why I have titled this blog as I have.
Finally, as to the blog’s purpose. There are no grand designs, and I will post as my monastic prayer, work, and schedule allow. However, I do not intend to simply record my comings and goings. How boring! Rather, I simply hope to share a little spiritual food for thought now and then — as the Master of the Harvest provides.
Time to plow …
PAX
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Life and Light, Laid in a Manger
A few years ago before coming to the monastery, I was walking the dog just before Christmas. I passed a neighbor emerging from her home and striding with purpose toward the warmth of her running car. In her arms, held tightly to her chest, was a bundle of blankets. Given the tenderness of the embrace and her determined gait, it was obvious the bundle—the swaddling clothes if you will—contained an infant, her grandchild.
After exchanging greetings and continuing on our way, it struck me—in a moment of depth that only the spirit of Advent can supply—how utterly helpless that child was, completely dependent on the care of others. This tiny boy could not do anything by or for himself. This child, without his even knowing, was being strengthened and nourished by the love of God and the care of others.
That in itself is amazing, as any parent can surely attest. However, what is infinitely more amazing is that the God who created us, who surpasses all knowledge and understanding, came to us through His mercy in such a small, helpless human form, that of Jesus.
How amazing that our Creator would entrust His very self to the care of a human mother and father, Mary and Joseph. God Himself became a helpless child, dependent on the care and love of the family of His own creation. Jesus, Son of the Living God, relied for much of His life on the protection and guidance and love of mere human beings.
In so doing, He provides us with a model of humility and faithful obedience, but also of surrender and trust. For if God would entrust himself to the care of human beings, should we not entrust ourselves to Him, who is infinitely better at such a task? Each one of us, through Christ, is that helpless child in the arms of God the Father. Whether we care to admit it or not, our existence depends solely on Him. Every beat of our hearts and every breath we take testify to that.
We belong to Him, and He cares for us, not just as a parent cares for a child, but as the Almighty Father cares for His creation. His love is perfect, far surpassing that which can be provided by any human being.
Yet, as we grow in body and spirit, we become more independent, more willful, more self-reliant, more self-absorbed, consumed with directing and controlling the events and people surrounding us. Whether we admit it or not, we become forgetful of our dependence on God, putting more trust in ourselves than we do in Him.
Human parents might grow angry at such insolence and ingratitude displayed by their children. But God our Father is patient. He’s seen it all before, billions of people throughout the course of time turning their eyes away from Him. Every single one of them. With one word, He could extinguish all for all time. Instead, He simply watches and waits for us to return to Him—and return we must, for we were created to live with Him forever.
So, with one word, He expressed his love, sending us the promise of Himself in the form of Jesus to give us everlasting life, to show us His patience in the flesh.
Here, the example of surrender is provided to us. As Jesus grew and taught, He was scorned and ridiculed. People plotted against Him. At times, especially in his darkest moment, He was abandoned. He was brutally beaten, endured carrying the very instrument of His death in the cross. He was nailed to it naked, completely humiliated and helpless for all to see.
In more intense agony than any one of us will ever endure because He bore not his own sin but that of all humanity for all time, God Himself was helpless, or so it seemed.
He felt the pain, the loneliness, the disappointment, the discouragement, the despair. Not one of our emotions or struggles is foreign to Him.
“My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” He cried out from the cross, not due to a lack of faith, but because of ours. He was identifying with us, showing us He knows how we feel. All alone, crying for our God when we have no one else.
And then, just before He died, He looked up to heaven and said, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.”
Once again at rest in His Father’s arms, He had surrendered all. So that we might know and remember this more fully, He provided an exclamation point. He was resurrected—a new divine life we share with Him in all of our humanity.
This was not only His gift to us, but His example for us. As we all grow and step away from the surrender of our infancy, life gets increasingly difficult, painful. We think at times we’re being punished. The truth is that each day and difficulty within it—small or large—is meant to steadily bring us back to the dependence of our childhood.
If we respond to this love, by the end of our days, we may be utterly broken in body, reduced to nothing, but restored in spirit, promised everything. The spirit within us that grew so independent over time returns to that sweet gentleness of a small child, having been humbled so we may return to our Heavenly Father. Once again, we are entrusted to his care, this time knowingly and willingly.
In that child long ago, He gave us His frail humanity so we may share in his everlasting divinity. And like a small child bundled up in warmth and held tightly by the arms of a loved one, utterly dependent but completely safe, we must say, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.”
Surrendering to the truth of this love, we have only to recall God’s word proclaimed through very human apostles and prophets:
“Behold, the virgin shall be with child and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, with means God is with us” (Matthew 1:23; Isaiah 7:14).
“What came to be through him was life, and this life was the light of the human race” (John 1:3-4).
“And she wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger” (Luke 2:7).
MERRY CHRISTMAS
After exchanging greetings and continuing on our way, it struck me—in a moment of depth that only the spirit of Advent can supply—how utterly helpless that child was, completely dependent on the care of others. This tiny boy could not do anything by or for himself. This child, without his even knowing, was being strengthened and nourished by the love of God and the care of others.
That in itself is amazing, as any parent can surely attest. However, what is infinitely more amazing is that the God who created us, who surpasses all knowledge and understanding, came to us through His mercy in such a small, helpless human form, that of Jesus.
How amazing that our Creator would entrust His very self to the care of a human mother and father, Mary and Joseph. God Himself became a helpless child, dependent on the care and love of the family of His own creation. Jesus, Son of the Living God, relied for much of His life on the protection and guidance and love of mere human beings.
In so doing, He provides us with a model of humility and faithful obedience, but also of surrender and trust. For if God would entrust himself to the care of human beings, should we not entrust ourselves to Him, who is infinitely better at such a task? Each one of us, through Christ, is that helpless child in the arms of God the Father. Whether we care to admit it or not, our existence depends solely on Him. Every beat of our hearts and every breath we take testify to that.
We belong to Him, and He cares for us, not just as a parent cares for a child, but as the Almighty Father cares for His creation. His love is perfect, far surpassing that which can be provided by any human being.
Yet, as we grow in body and spirit, we become more independent, more willful, more self-reliant, more self-absorbed, consumed with directing and controlling the events and people surrounding us. Whether we admit it or not, we become forgetful of our dependence on God, putting more trust in ourselves than we do in Him.
Human parents might grow angry at such insolence and ingratitude displayed by their children. But God our Father is patient. He’s seen it all before, billions of people throughout the course of time turning their eyes away from Him. Every single one of them. With one word, He could extinguish all for all time. Instead, He simply watches and waits for us to return to Him—and return we must, for we were created to live with Him forever.
So, with one word, He expressed his love, sending us the promise of Himself in the form of Jesus to give us everlasting life, to show us His patience in the flesh.
Here, the example of surrender is provided to us. As Jesus grew and taught, He was scorned and ridiculed. People plotted against Him. At times, especially in his darkest moment, He was abandoned. He was brutally beaten, endured carrying the very instrument of His death in the cross. He was nailed to it naked, completely humiliated and helpless for all to see.
In more intense agony than any one of us will ever endure because He bore not his own sin but that of all humanity for all time, God Himself was helpless, or so it seemed.
He felt the pain, the loneliness, the disappointment, the discouragement, the despair. Not one of our emotions or struggles is foreign to Him.
“My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” He cried out from the cross, not due to a lack of faith, but because of ours. He was identifying with us, showing us He knows how we feel. All alone, crying for our God when we have no one else.
And then, just before He died, He looked up to heaven and said, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.”
Once again at rest in His Father’s arms, He had surrendered all. So that we might know and remember this more fully, He provided an exclamation point. He was resurrected—a new divine life we share with Him in all of our humanity.
This was not only His gift to us, but His example for us. As we all grow and step away from the surrender of our infancy, life gets increasingly difficult, painful. We think at times we’re being punished. The truth is that each day and difficulty within it—small or large—is meant to steadily bring us back to the dependence of our childhood.
If we respond to this love, by the end of our days, we may be utterly broken in body, reduced to nothing, but restored in spirit, promised everything. The spirit within us that grew so independent over time returns to that sweet gentleness of a small child, having been humbled so we may return to our Heavenly Father. Once again, we are entrusted to his care, this time knowingly and willingly.
In that child long ago, He gave us His frail humanity so we may share in his everlasting divinity. And like a small child bundled up in warmth and held tightly by the arms of a loved one, utterly dependent but completely safe, we must say, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.”
Surrendering to the truth of this love, we have only to recall God’s word proclaimed through very human apostles and prophets:
“Behold, the virgin shall be with child and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, with means God is with us” (Matthew 1:23; Isaiah 7:14).
“What came to be through him was life, and this life was the light of the human race” (John 1:3-4).
“And she wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger” (Luke 2:7).
MERRY CHRISTMAS
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Beck and Call: An Advent Prayer
Jesus, you have called me.
"Come to Me," you beckon my heart.
Well, here I am.
I desire to know you, to follow you.
Place me where you will
and set me to the task you've chosen
for my salvation and the good of others.
Answering your call,
I ask for all you desire of me.
Come, Lord Jesus.
"Come to Me," you beckon my heart.
Well, here I am.
I desire to know you, to follow you.
Place me where you will
and set me to the task you've chosen
for my salvation and the good of others.
Answering your call,
I ask for all you desire of me.
Come, Lord Jesus.
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