The Current features a monthly series exploring some of the spiritual wisdom of the Benedictine tradition. We include as the Advent season comes to its end, some insights into the Christian message, as reflected through some thinkers from the Benedictine tradition.
January 2020
This month’s exploration of Benedictine wisdom presents selections from Searching for God, by Cardinal Basil Hume (1923-1999), who was called to serve as Archbishop of Westminster and cardinal from his position as abbot of Ampleforth Abbey. The Cardinal Hume Centre posts: “In 1998, Cardinal Hume asked John Paul II for permission to retire, so that he could go back to his monastery at Ampleforth and spend some time fly fishing and watching Newcastle United Football Club. The request was refused. He was diagnosed with inoperable stomach cancer in April 1999. On June 2 of that same year, Queen Elizabeth awarded him the Order of Merit. He died just over two weeks later on June 17th in London, aged 76. His funeral was live on national television and he was buried in Westminster Cathedral. Pope John Paul II said he was a “shepherd of great spiritual and moral character.”
(At right is the portrait image from the Tablet's obituary issue on Basil Hume.)
Monasticism is a “way of life,” and the word “way” recalls the pilgrim character of this life and of our monastic history. The scene changes, at one period slowly, at another rapidly. We ourselves change and must change. Sometimes our pace will be quick and sure, sometimes it is slow and the going heavy. … our progress along the road can be delayed by our turning aside and following some byway. We live in restless age, a restless society. But what period in history has not been much the same? Perhaps we are more aware of this phenomenon in our day, but it is important, if we feel restless, for whatever reason, to realize that this is an obstacle between ourselves and our service to God. To learn the art of being rightly and properly critical of what we are and what we do, while at the same time remaining wholeheartedly dedicated to the work in hand and to one another; to preserve an inner peace while being at the same time aware of the voice of the Spirit speaking to us individually and collectively so as to lead us along ways unknown and unforeseen; to be aware of the call of the Spirit in the needs of our times; to be aware of the call of the Church and at the same time to be at peace, at rest: this is possible only if our pursuit is single-minded and constant. (Searching, p.86)
Hume meeting with the Dalai Lama
The Cardinal had a well-established friendship with Lady Diana.
Each day should see me more humble; each day more willing to accept what comes my way. Thus I become more closely united to the Lord – grow, as I grow in grace, in the love of his Father...
No one can accuse St. Paul of being a pessimist; for him life was cheerful, rewarding, fulfilling. His doctrine is one of hope. But the passage of his upon which I would like to meditate is in his Second Epistle to the Corinthians: “More than ever I delight to boast of the weaknesses that humiliate me so that the strength of Christ may enshrine itself in me. I am content with these humiliations of mine, the insults, the hardships, the persecutions, the times of difficulty which I undergo for Christ. When I am weakest then I am strongest of all.”
Those of us who have experience of pastoral work come to realize that there are daily difficulties which cumulatively can amount to an extremely heavy burden. One can say further that in every human life there is a sadness or difficulty from which the person would gladly be free. There are, too, considerable crises of one kind or another. We call these “crosses” and know that the Scriptures that carrying the Cross is a condition of discipleship. We know, too, that “the grain of wheat must die…” We are familiar with the concept that a burden, carried as a cross, can become light. Many, however, do not derive this consolation – they become overwhelmed.
What is the role of the Cross in the spiritual and monastic life? Constantly God allows us to be buffeted by events and persons. There are frustrations: “If only it had worked out as I had planned!”; failures: “I made a fool of myself”; feelings of inadequacy: “Others do things so much better”; misunderstandings: “I did not mean to upset him”; being unappreciated: “No one knows the trouble I went to.” … We learn to cope with problems and to become less vulnerable.
However, we should go further, and in suffering see flashes of enlightenment and growth in our life hidden with Christ. We should recognize “golden moments”: “when I am weakest, then I am strongest”: We can come to find content, even delight, in humiliations, insults, hardships, persecutions, and difficulties, undergone for Christ. We become content when we realize that God is allowing us to experience – with and in his son – something of what Christ endured in Gethsemane or even in his dereliction on the Cross.
(Searching, pp.144-146)
Searching for God, by Basil Hume
"The Cardinal Hume Centre enables people to gain the skills they need to overcome poverty and homelessness. We help homeless young people, families in need and individuals living in poverty to realise their full potential."
Obituary by Paul Vallely
"In Cardinal Hume: A Spiritual Companion, we are given the opportunity to journey alongside this man of God. The book offers reflections and meditations for the seasons of the Christian year, beginning with Lent and Easter, then moving through Pentecost and on to Advent and Christmas."
Hume-related books on Amazon.com
This week, as Ash Wednesday approaches, we include under the title of “Benedictine Wisdom,” a brief consideration of how the monks of this community prepare for Lent. Their practices here, as everywhere, are meant to reflect the directives of the Rule of Saint Benedict. Chapters 49 and 33 of the Rule give directly pertinent advice here, though the entire Rule, as Benedict says, reveals a “Lenten” character.
Saint Benedict famously says that, “The life of a monk ought to be a continuous Lent” (Chapter 49). And why: to draw closer to God; to make His will his singular devotion; to realize that the kingdom of this world must be superseded by the kingdom of heaven. The monk enters into monastic life itself through such vocation and devotion. Yet Benedict realizes that perseverance in the rigors of a life committed to the rejection for the worldly is not an easy task and “few have the strength for this.” Therefore the season of Lent provides an opportunity for re-dedication, a re-discovery of what should be a continuous awareness in the monk. So how do monks actually go about the pursuit of this hope? How does the monastic community incorporate into its life, already dedicated to the divine office and to monastic simplicity, a focused preparation for this Lenten renewal?
Benedict directs that, “During these days, therefore, we will add to the usual measure of our service something by way of private prayer and abstinence from food or drink.” This monastic community takes this directive very seriously. Each monk is obligated to present to the superior a list of his anticipated Lenten observances. The Rule sets forth that, “Everyone should, however, make known to the abbot what he intends to do, since it ought to be done with his prayer and approval. Whatever is undertaken without the permission of the spiritual father will be reckoned as presumption and vainglory, not deserving a reward. Therefore, everything must be done with the abbot’s approval.” For the Lenten season, monks are to take on some practice of prayer, fasting, and spiritual reading. The list presented to the superior is to reflect the spiritual reading he intends to do, the additional prayer practice he will take on, and the fasting he will practice. The monk may also note additional devotions or good works he plans to incorporate. Here too, the superior is directed by the Rule to assess these practices. The monk might list a spiritual classic to read; he may schedule in some time specifically for meditation; he may restrict his consumption of food in some way. All of these practices, Benedict indicates, are about spiritual conversion and an authentic life of the spirit, in a dedication to “prayer with tears, to reading, to compunction of heart and self-denial.”
There is more, however. The season also provides an opportunity for a kind of self-accounting. And this quite literally: an annual accounting of all of one’s personal possessions. Benedict is rigorous in his demand that monks rid themselves of the attachment to worldly possessions, and directs the superior to enforce this actively. Chapter 33 lays down the law concerning private possessions: “Above all, this evil practice must be uprooted and removed from the monastery. We mean that without an order from the abbot, no one may presume to give, receive or retain anything as his own, nothing at all–not a book, writing tablets or stylus–in short, not a single item, especially since monks may not have the free disposal even of their own bodies and wills. For their needs, they are to look to the father of the monastery, and are not allowed anything which the abbot has not given or permitted.” As Lent approaches, each monk must take stock of what he considers to be his own. Each monk presents to the superior his list of possessions. These may include such items as a piece of furniture or a painting, posters or other items in their rooms or even made available in common areas. These might include books, religious statues, clothing, music recordings: anything to which he might attach the adjective “mine.” The listing becomes a kind of economic “examination of conscience,” directed to the possession of things. And the superior thus acts as a spiritual director, helping the monk to assess the significance of these possessions to their monastic simplicity. These practices are all set in the context of a liturgical season of penance, highlighted in Mass readings, in antiphons of the divine office, in simpler music, in a spirit of renewal. This, as Columba Marmion indicates, to draw into relief the path of the monk – the “monos” of singular and simple unity with God, that nothing produce a hindrance along that path, that one’s entire life is so directed by the search for God.
So, is all of this solely for the monk? It is surely for all, as the U.S Bishops tell the whole faithful: “During Lent, we are asked to devote ourselves to seeking the Lord in prayer and reading Scripture, to service by giving alms, and to practice self-control through fasting. Many know of the tradition of abstaining from meat on Fridays during Lent, but we are also called to practice self-discipline and fast in other ways throughout the season. …In addition, the giving of alms is one way to share God's gifts – not only through the distribution of money, but through the sharing of our time and talents” (See their website). So, as the Lenten season arrives, with Ash Wednesday this February 26, we may each consider our own personal lists: how we might commit time to reading, to prayer, to service; how we might set aside some things, or consider how we are putting our own possessions to use. Then we might see more clearly what we truly need to take with us on our path toward Easter. We need not worry about being Lenten experts to heed Benedict’s advice: “Are you hastening toward your heavenly home? Then with Christ’s help, keep this little rule that we have written for beginners.”
Let me use all things for one sole reason: to find my joy in giving You glory. Therefore, keep me, above all things, from sin. Keep me from the death of deadly sin which puts hell in my soul. Keep me from the murder of lust that blinds and poisons my heart. Keep me from the sins that eat a man's flesh with irresistible fire until he is devoured. Keep me from loving money in which is hatred, from avarice [greed] and ambition that suffocate my life. Keep me from the dead works of vanity and the thankless labor in which artists destroy themselves for pride and money and reputation, and saints are smothered under the avalanche of their own importunate zeal. Staunch in me the rank wound of covetousness and the hungers that exhaust my nature with their bleeding. Stamp out the serpent envy that stings love with poison and kills all joy. Untie my hands and deliver my heart from sloth. Set me free from the laziness that goes about disguised as activity when activity is not required of me, and from the cowardice that does what is not demanded, in order to escape sacrifice. But give me the strength that waits upon You in silence and peace. Give me humility in which alone is rest, and deliver me from pride which is the heaviest of burdens. And possess my whole heart and soul with the simplicity of love. Occupy my whole life with the one thought and the one desire of love, that I may love not for the sake of merit, not for the sake of perfection, not for the sake of virtue, not for the sake of sanctity, but for You alone.
From "Thoughts in Solitude" (1958)
My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think I am following your will
does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you
does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that, if I do this,
You will lead me by the right road,
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore I will trust you always
though I may seem to be lost
and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me,
and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.
(composed while visiting the Trappist monastery
in the Genesee Valley of upstate New York)
How often have I lived through these weeks without paying much attention to penance, fasting, and prayer? How often have I missed the spiritual fruits of the season without even being aware of it? But how can I ever really celebrate Easter without observing Lent? How can I rejoice fully in your Resurrection when I have avoided participating in your death? Yes, Lord, I have to die—with you, through you, and in you—and thus become ready to recognize you when you appear to me in your Resurrection. There is so much in me that needs to die: false attachments, greed and anger, impatience and stinginess…. I see clearly now how little I have died with you, really gone your way and been faithful to it. O Lord, make this Lenten season different from the other ones. Let me find you again. Amen. (from A Cry for Mercy: Prayers from the Genesee, Orbis)
Where can the weak find a place of firm security and peace, except in the wounds of the Savior? Indeed, the more secure is my place there the more he can do to help me. The world rages, the flesh is heavy, and the devil lays his snares, but I do not fall, for my feet are planted on firm rock. I may have sinned gravely. My conscience would be distressed, but it would not be in turmoil, for I would recall the wounds of the Lord: He was wounded for our iniquities. What sin is there so deadly that it cannot be pardoned by the death of Christ? And so if I bear in mind this strong, effective remedy, I can never again be terrified by the malignancy of sin. Surely the man who said, “My sin is too great to merit pardon,” was wrong. He was speaking as though he were not a member of Christ and had no share in his merits, so that he could claim them as his own, as a member of the body can claim what belongs to the head. As for me, what can I appropriate that I lack from the heart of the Lord who abounds in mercy? They pierced his hands and feet and opened his side with a spear. Through the openings of these wounds I may drink honey from the rock and oil from the hardest stone: that is, I may taste and see that the Lord is sweet.
He was thinking thoughts of peace, and I did not know it, for who knows the mind of the Lord, or who has been his counselor? But the piercing nail has become a key to unlock the door, that I may see the good will of the Lord. And what can I see as I look through the hole? Both the nail and the wound cry out that God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself. The sword pierced his soul and came close to his heart, so that he might be able to feel compassion for me in my weaknesses. Through these sacred wounds we can see the secret of his heart, the great mystery of love, the sincerity of his mercy with which he visited us from on high. Where have your love, your mercy, your compassion shone out more luminously that in your wounds, sweet, gentle Lord of mercy? More mercy than this no one has than that he lay down his life for those who are doomed to death. My merit comes from his mercy; for I do not lack merit so long as he does not lack pity. And if the Lord’s mercies are many, then I am rich in merits. For even if I am aware of many sins, what does it matter? Where sin abounded grace has overflowed. And if the Lord’s mercies are from all ages forever, I too will sing of the mercies of the Lord forever. Will I not sing of my own righteousness? No, Lord, I shall be mindful only of your justice. Yet that too is my own; for God has made you my righteousness. (From his homily on the Song of Songs; Sermo 61, 3-5: Opera omnia, 2, 150-1)
“Let the eyes fast from curiosity. Let the ears fast in not heeding vain words or anything unnecessary for the soul’s salvation. Let the tongue fast from defamation and gossip, from vain and useless words. Let the hand fast from idleness and unnecessary busyness. Let the soul fast even more from all vices and sins, and from imposing its will and judgments. For without such fasting, all other fasting is rejected by God.” (from a Lenten homily)
It is above all on days of weariness, sickness, impatience, temptation, spiritual dryness, and trials, during hours of sometimes terrible anguish which press upon a soul, that holy abandonment is pleasing to God… More than once we have considered this truth, namely, that there is a sum total of sufferings, of humiliations and sorrows, which God has foreseen for the members of Christ's mystical body in order to “fill up those things that are wanting of the sufferings of Christ.” We cannot reach perfect union with Christ Jesus unless we accept that portion of the chalice which our Lord wills to give us to drink with Him and after Him. (from Christ, the Ideal of the Monk, Part II, chapter 16, section 4).
Take notice of the fact that, as soon as the devil left Jesus, Angels came and ministered unto Him. Thereby we are given to understand that there are two natures in Jesus Christ. By the temptation of the devil we know that He was true Man, whilst the coming of the Angels and their ministering to Him, teach us that He is also true God. Let us, then, recognize our own nature in our Savior, for the devil would not have dared to tempt Him, had he not perceived in Him our humanity. At the same time we bring Him our adorations, for the Angels would not have considered it their duty to minister unto Him, were He not as God exalted over them and all creatures. This Gospel, calling to our mind the forty days and forty nights of fasting spent by our Lord in the desert, entirely agrees with the fast we observe during this holy season. But why was this number of forty days fasting sanctified? We read in the history of the Israelites that Moses prepared himself for the reception of the Law by fasting forty days; that Elias observed the same fast; that Jesus, before beginning His public life, abstained from food for forty days and forty nights; and lastly, that we also, as far as lies in us, observe this abstinence and fasting during the time of Lent. Though several motives may be set forth to explain this law of the Church, we can say in all truth that, by observing this commandment, we offer to God the tenth part of the year granted to us for satisfying our corporeal necessities. After living solely for ourselves during the course of the year, we now in Lent live for God, offering Him by our abstinence a part of that year. (from a Lenten homily)
Wisdom. When the monks of Norcia, Saint Benedict’s birthplace in Italy, released an album of chant in 2015 called “Benedicta,” the prior at that time, Cassian Folsom, was asked what he hoped people would take away from hearing the chant. He replied directly: “an experience of serenity and peace, and the calming of agitation.” In this spirit, during this time of great stress in our community and around the world, we turn in this month’s “Wisdom” column to a different sort of wisdom. We might speak of it as embodied wisdom, embedded wisdom: the wisdom inherent in, settled into, the millennia-old practice of chant. The Nineteenth-century monk and scholar, Dom Joseph Pothier, spoke of Gregorian chant as composed of “incomparable melodies, which the ancients did not fear to call inspired by God”; “intimately united with the sacred rites”; “a source of beauty of a superior order.” In these different and difficult times of our present pandemic, perhaps it will prove helpful to draw on the deep wisdom present through such beauty. Plato defined wisdom in this way: “When, searching within itself, the soul reflects, it then passes into the realm of what is pure, eternal, immortal and unchanging, which are its kindred, and with them the soul ever abides; when it remains within itself and is not led astray, then it ceases from going astray and is in communion with the unchanging. This state of the soul is called wisdom” (Phaedo). Perhaps our encounter with our sacred chant provides an opening for the soul into such realms, an opening into wisdom. This article does not intend to provide a scholarly analysis of chant, nor any profound theological insights into its role in liturgical life. It is merely to call the reader’s attention to the practice, and to direct readers to some recordings that are available, to facilitate listening and appreciation. As Prior Cassian hoped, so too we might hope that, in absorbing some of this song-prayer, we might also discover “serenity and peace,” and encounter a wisdom, “passing into the realm of what is pure, eternal, immortal and unchanging,” and there abide for a while.
The Church has always found a certain wisdom in Gregorian chant. The General Instruction of the Roman Missal: “The main place should be given, all things being equal, to Gregorian chant, as being proper to the Roman Liturgy.” Many have sung the praises of this manner of singing the praises. James Senson, music director at St. John the Beloved, says Gregorian chant has grown in popularity because it is, “so much a part of the Church. It’s the text of the Church.” Joel Morehouse even argues that chant embodies the three evangelical counsels: “Gregorian chant draws its beauty and practical strengths from three memorable characteristics: chastity, poverty, and obedience. Gregorian music is pure, chaste melody, with no underlying harmony or accompaniment necessary. As such, one person or ten thousand can perform it with ease. Gregorian music takes the vow of poverty: it uses a comfortably limited range of notes. It requires no expensive instruments or expensive copyrighted sheet music; it requires only the willing voice and a photocopier (all Gregorian music is in the public domain). Finally, Gregorian music is obedient to the sacred text.” Pope Saint Pius X also found three principal qualities in it: sacredness, beauty, and universality (Tra le sollecitudini). This mode of wisdom is, of course, well rooted in Benedictine tradition: even its name is associated with our own monastic patron, Gregory the Great.
Jouques. The presence of chant in popular culture has ebbed and flowed. Rolling Stone magazine ran a piece last year looking back at the “Chant-Mania” inspired by the monks of Santo Domingo de Silos. Their “classic” album entitled “Chant” was released in March 1994, spending over a full year in Billboard’s Top 200. You can listen to a sample here. In recent days, to lift our spirits for Holy Week, the Benedictine nuns of the Abbey of Notre-Dame de Fidélité de Jouques, a convent in Aix-en-Provence, Southern France, released 7000 hours of their chant, available on YouTube or on their own website. (YouTube links: Wednesday of Holy Week; Maundy Thursday; Good Friday; Holy Saturday and Easter Vigil; Easter Sunday). While the pandemic has forced the community to close their Abbey church to outsiders, they have released six days of their chant for free to mark the holy days. Madoc Cairns, reporting for The Tablet, describes the non-invasive recording project that has been ongoing over the past several years. John Anderson, an American musician now living in Italy, conceived of the project after visiting his aunt who had entered the convent. He was able to devise a system using wireless and “cloud” technology to produce the audio recordings remotely, without needing to be physically present. The nuns could simple push a button to record before their prayers, and to stop after leaving the choir. The product is a realistic availability of their practice of the Divine Office and other liturgical celebrations. A Web application for their chant will be launched over the summer, with the entire project scheduled to be completed in 2022.
Benedicta. When the album recorded by the monks of Norcia “hit the charts,” some were stunned to see it sit for six weeks at “#1” on Billboard’s “classical/traditional” list. In a 2015 interview for “Religion and Ethics Newsweekly,” Prior Cassian of Norcia was asked to interpret the success of his community’s album. “There’s a hunger for something more,” he said. While monastic communities live and breathe such musical prayer, for many it is extraordinary and revelatory. The chanting of the hours, “as essential to monks as their daily bread,” is “a way of expressing our love for God.” This manifestation of love through music reveals a “physical way, not just an intellectual way” to devote oneself to the Divine Wisdom. “Benedicta” producer Christopher Alder, appreciative of his work on the project, noted that the music “has something eternal to it” (watch the Religion and Ethics Newsweekly report). The Norcia community has produced a number of videos on its community life, such as a reflective piece on the production of Benedicta, and a moving response to the devastating earthquake that hit the region in 2016. The theme of perseverance underlying this latter video surely resonates with the hardships of our present pandemic. And the dedication to prayerful chant again reminds us, as Prior Cassian has noted, that “for the world, the ordinary chants that we sing everyday are an extraordinary window onto transcendence.” One beautiful example is found in this track of “Virgo Serena.” (the lyrics are given below).
Ave María, gratia plena! Dóminus tecum, Virgo Serena! Benedicta tu in mulieribus: quae peperisti pacem hominibus, et angelis gloriam. / Et benedictus fructus ventris tui. qui coharedes ut essemus sui nos fecit per gratiam. / Per hoc autem Ave, mundo tam suave, contra carnis jura. / Genuisti prolem; novum stella solem, nova genitura. / Tu parvi et magni, Leonis et Agni, Salvatoris Cristi, templum exsististi, sed Virgo intacta. / Tu floris et roris, Panis et Pastoris, Virginum regina, Rosa sine spina, Genitrix et facta. / Tu civitas Regis justitiae; Tu Mater es misericordiae: De lacu faecis et miseriae, Paenitentem reformans gratiae. / Te collaudat caelestis curia. Tibi nostra favent obsequia: Per te reis donatur venia, Per te justis confertur gratia. / Ergo maris stella, verbi Dei cella, et solis aurora. Paradisi porta, per quam lux est orta, natum tuum ora: / Ut nos solvat a peccatis, Et in regno claritatis, quo lux lucet sedula, copllocet per saecula. Amen.
Hail Mary, full of grace, The Lord is with you; O serene virgin. Blessed are you among women, you who bore peace for humankind and glory for the angels. / And blessed is the fruit of your womb; he who makes us his heirs through grace, so that we might be his. / But though this “Ave,” so pure and sweet, contrary to the law of the flesh; / You, O star, through a new birth; Brought forth your offspring, The new sun. / You stand out as the temple; Of the humble and the great, Of the lion and the lamb, Of Christ the savior; Yet you remain a virgin. / You have been made mother; Of the bud and the dew; Of the bread and the shepherd; You are queen of virgins, Rose without thorns. / You are the city of the king of justice, You are mother of mercy, From the pool of impurity and misery, You recast one who through grace becomes a lover of God. / You the celestial curia together praises in song; To You our services are devoted, You who are mother and daughter of God, Through You the pardon for guilt is offered. / Therefore star of the sea, Sanctuary of the word of God; And dawn of the sun, Door of paradise, Through which the Light is born: / Pray to Him your Son, That He might free us from sins, And place us in the kingdom of clarity, Where the sedulous light shines, Through all ages. Amen.
Portsmouth. Our own abbey maintains its devotion to chant, both from the Graduale Romanum and in adapted English versions. While the School is in session as normal, the student Schola incorporates the learning of chant into its repertoire, integrating its liturgical music with that of the monastic community and enhancing some of our liturgical life. With distance learning in effect, recent efforts have made the monastic liturgies available online. Brother Joseph Biron and Father Edward Mazuski lead the monastic Schola, with Brother Benedict adding to the website special recordings of them singing two Latin hymns, Ave Maria and Gloria, laus et honor. For the time being, as the monks must persevere in their pandemic-imposed claustration, the chant is simpler, but no less prayerful. And, indeed, the prayer is the thing. Marie Pierik, standard-bearer for the value of chant in the twentieth century, who in her foundational book The Spirit of Chant, wants to “share the riches” of this tradition, also cautions us in our attitude towards it: “Let us then start on our way in quest of the holy that leads to the beautiful, and not run the risk of courting the perils which often beset the paths of those who would start with the beautiful to arrive at the holy. Let us with caution and reverence go in search of the Divine source of culture rather than be concerned as to whether we are gracing ourselves with ‘culture of the soul.’” One might say she expresses the desire to move from substance to form, and not be captivated in an idolatry of form or “culture.” Or more simply: it’s about the prayer, and not about the chant. May its profound wisdom inspire “an experience of serenity and peace, and the calming of agitation.”
Notes:
Abbot Gregory Polan, of Conception Abbey in Missouri, was elected Abbot Primate of the Benedictine Order in 2016. This role was created in 1886, in an effort of the Vatican to foster more integration of Benedictine houses, which still retain a good deal of autonomy. Despite these efforts, as late as the 1930’s, Pope Pius XI was still said to complain of the Benedictines that they were “ordo sine ordine” – an “order without order.” Still, the role of the Abbot Primate is a significant one, including leadership of San Anselmo in Rome, and the providing of a unified voice and oversight for the thousands of Benedictines around the world. Abbot Polan is in fact the fourth American to become Abbot Primate, of ten men to hold the office since its inception (see list).
A scripture scholar familiar with Greek and Hebrew, a musician known as composer of the Conception Abbey Psalm Tones, and an abbot and administrator with years of experience, Polan brings much to the position. His scholarly and liturgical achievements are impressive. The rights for his revision of the Grail Psalter of 1963 were purchased by the U.S. Bishops in 2019, with the intention of incorporating them into the Church’s official liturgical books. The Bishop’s Committee for Divine Worship has also adopted the Conception Abbey Canticles, which will eventually be inserted into the revised Liturgy of the Hours and the Lectionary for Mass, as well as the New American Bible and other ritual and catechetical texts. Abbot Polan received the McManus Award in 2019, the highest honor bestowed by American liturgists, recognizing significant contributions to furthering the liturgical renewal in the United States. His approach to the psalms, it should be emphasized, while academically grounded, is by no means merely academic. In an article in America magazine on his revision of the psalter, Judith Valente notes that Polan says of the psalms, “If we look at the variety of ways even Jesus prayed, he says on the cross, ‘O, God my God, why have you forsaken me, quoting Psalm 22’... The Psalms have that very close proximity to the human experiences of longing, need, thanksgiving and praise of God… They are really the nourishment of monks. Despite the fact of their daily use and their often use, they never wear thin.” Abbot Primate Polan is no stranger to the community of Saint Louis Abbey, having been a frequent visitor for spiritual direction from Abbot Luke Rigby, and having joined in a visitation of the community. Brother Sixtus reports of his privilege of spending time with him while studying in Rome in 2007-2008, noting the Abbot Primate's humility, kindness, and intellect.
The Order of Saint Benedictine has for many years been blessed by Abbot Gregory's prayerful devotion to Benedictine life, all the more so in his important present duties. This month's "Wisdom" column turns to our Abbot Primate, to learn from some of his writings. We present his reflections on the psalter, on lectio divina, on the Benedictines, and on our present pandemic.
The 150 Psalms have been the prayer book of both Jews and Christians from their beginnings as peoples of faith and worship. We can surely affirm that Jesus himself used and prayed the Psalms during his mortal life—in synagogue or temple worship, at home, and in his own personal prayer. The old adage Lex orandi, lex credendi (the way of prayer is the way of belief) suggests how significant these 150 prayers have been in the formation of communities of believers. The Book of Psalms has provided words to bring meaning to people’s search for God in all of life’s circumstances: in fear or joy, struggle or hope, pain or praise, despair or thanksgiving. Though some of these texts have been in use for more than two millennia, the prayers of the Psalter still retain a freshness that enables them to speak with poignancy to each succeeding generation, drawing those who read them into the quest for the deepest purpose of human life: to abide in the presence of their God.
How often in this quest do we find ourselves struggling to find words to express the manifold movements of the human heart! The Psalms provide a way into that unique chamber of the heart where one stands most free and open before God. Often, to our initial surprise, we find ourselves thinking, “The words of the Psalms express my inmost thoughts and feelings better than I could myself. These words say what I am trying to say to God.” The character of the Psalms is universal and classic, touching the human heart and giving voice to the most intimate motions of our souls before the One who is both transcendent and immanent, incomprehensible yet alarmingly close. The Psalms take us from the heights of praise to the depths of distress with language that always gives rise to a life-giving hope. They are inspired!
Rightly have the Psalms been called “a school of prayer.” As these prayers give voice to so many of the experiences presented in the stories of the Bible, they come to us as words that have already been cried, shouted, and sung by people of faith throughout the centuries. Facing the human struggles of illness, imminent death, bigger-than-life enemies, and warring nations, the psalmist gave expression to the fears and uncertainties that troubled the present situation. Similarly, the joy of victory, the gratitude for prayers answered, and wonder at the marvels of creation all become part of the praise that is lifted up to the God who rules the world and brings all life into being. The psalmist attests with unshakable conviction that the One and Almighty God who touches every movement of history and each human life is the focus of all praise, the healer of every ill, and the source of all blessing.
The Psalms, then, are the prayer book of the Bible. They express responses appropriate to every situation found on the pages of Sacred Scripture. One need merely look at the lectionary of the Church—or of the Synagogue, for that matter—to see this. In Christian congregations, after hearing and reflecting on the word of God proclaimed in the readings, we answer with the singing of a psalm: our response to the voice of God we have heard speaking to the Church. The words of the psalm echo the words of the reading, and then lift the heart in prayer. As God has spoken to the assembled congregation in the sacred word, so the people, through the psalm, respond to God. Such dialogue lies at the heart of each individual’s relationship with God. The Psalms have been an instrument of that dialogue for as long as they have been prayed by people of faith.
To the superlative status of the Psalms as the pinnacle of human literary expression, we may add the observation that the different genres or literary forms found in them give expression to both the wide-ranging life situations and the varying moods of the person of faith before God. The hymn lifts up praise to the God who has created the world and all its wonders. The lament brings before God the pain of alienation from God and neighbor, the struggle with doubts and fears, the anger that rises from disgrace and mistreatment, the fear of threatening illness and approaching death, the anguish of personal loss and a community’s demise. The thanksgiving reminds the community that gratitude must be given to God who hears and answers those in need. The wisdom psalms reflect the insight and spiritual understanding that leads to a life lived with faith, hope, and love.
At the beginning of many psalms, unfamiliar expressions like “A mitzmor of David, with instrumental music, on the gittith,” may sometimes be found. The names of Korah (Psalms 42, 44– 49) and Asaph (Psalm 50, 73–83), frequently attached to such expressions, identify two of the musical guilds of the Jerusalem Temple, where the Psalms were originally prayed. Many of these phrases tell us that the Psalms were intended to be sung, often with specified accompaniment. The Hebrew title for the Book of Psalms is Sepher Tehillim, which translates “A Book of Sung Praises,” further indicating the manner in which these prayers were to be rendered. Music clothes and elevates a text. It holds a special power to express what often cannot be accomplished in spoken words alone. It gives added expression that not only enhances the meaning but lifts the words to the level of inspiring prayer. This truth provides yet another insight into the profound and inspiring message of the Psalms. They were created to be sung, so as to give the words a second soul.
As songs of the early Church, the Psalms were not merely prayer, however; they were prophecy as well. In Luke’s account of the risen Christ appearing and speaking to his disciples in Jerusalem, the text reads, “[Jesus] said to them, ‘These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you, that everything written about me in the law of Moses and in the prophets and psalms must be fulfilled.’ Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures” (Lk 24:44 NAB). The authors of the New Testament use the Psalms extensively to speak of the mystery of Christ as the Messiah, the Anointed One. For them, the Psalms held a key to understanding Jesus as the long-awaited Messiah. And as the early Church began to develop its liturgical year, annually celebrating the life, suffering, death, and resurrection of Christ, the messianic psalms played a substantial role in unfolding that great mystery of faith.
The question that must be posed is, “Why am I doing lectio divina?” Though it should ultimately be for more than enhancing our celebration of the Sunday Eucharist, the practice of lectio can indeed do that. Encountering the word of God in a prayerful way draws us into communion with the One who speaks the word to us. If we are looking for deeper union with God, if we are truly willing to listen to the divine voice and are ready to respond to it, then we are on the right road with the practice of lectio divina. As with all those men and women in the Scriptures who experienced an encounter with God, there is a call to a more radical obedience; such obedience is formative, giving new direction to our lives. Daily reading the word of God draws us into the same paschal mystery first experienced by the people of Israel and then lived most fully by Jesus. Jesus was formed by the word of God heard in the domestic setting of his home and in the communal setting of the synagogue. It drew him into communion with the God whom he called Abba and eventually led him through the mystery of the cross to the glory of the resurrection. That is how lectio divina complements the celebration of the Eucharist: the word opens us to the voice of God beckoning each of us in a unique and wondrous way along the path to glory. Those who daily engage in lectio experience how cyclic or reflexive the movement is; as we read the word in preparation for the Eucharistic celebration, its enrichment keeps drawing us back to daily reflection on the divine word. Lectio divina feeds and nourishes our celebration of the Eucharist, calling us back time and time again to experience its power to touch our lives in truly blessed ways...
Abbot Primate Polan offering
conference on Lectio Divina
Dei Verbum speaks about the sacred liturgy nourishing the faithful “from the table of both the word of God and of the body of Christ.” Some of the earliest sources emphasize the place of distinction and devotion for the faithful the divine word holds. Nourishment comes from both tables, bringing divine life in a dynamic and graced way. In his Homilies on the Book of Exodus, Origen challenges us: “See whether or not you ‘conceive,’ that is, retain the words of God lest they slip from your hand and you lose them. I want to urge you to this by examples drawn from your religious practices. If you are habitually present at the divine mysteries, you know how carefully and respectfully you protect the Lord’s body when it is given to you, lest a fragment of it fall and a bit of the consecrated treasure be lost. You would think yourself guilty, and with good reason, if some of it were lost through your negligence. Now if you rightly take such precaution when it is a question of the Lord’s body, how can you think that neglect of God’s word will be less severely punished than neglect of his body?” Origen brings the “two tables” of the word and the Eucharist into a formative unity, both as essential sources of nourishment for the believer. Coupled with the fundamental idea of nourishment is a sense of devotion, honor, reverence, and respect that is due the word of God, in which Christ is present. Origen had a strong influence on St. Jerome, both theologically and rhetorically. We find a corresponding theological development in Jerome’s Tractate on Psalms 145 and 147. Commenting on Psalm 145:7, “It is he who gives bread to the hungry,” Jerome wrote the following: “‘He gives food to the hungry.’ Someone supposes that he says ‘heavenly bread’ in reference to the sacred mysteries. And we accept that indeed, because truly it is the flesh of Christ, truly it is the blood of Christ. Besides this let us say in other words, the bread of Christ and his flesh is the divine word and the heavenly teaching.” Then, commenting on Psalm 147:14, “He feeds you with finest wheat,” Jerome speaks in a similar vein in this context: “When the Lord says, ‘He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood,’ and although this can be understood in reference to the sacrament, nevertheless the word of the Scriptures is truly the body of Christ, and his blood, it is the divine teaching. If when we go to the sacred mysteries, the one who is faithful understands, if only a small particle [of the word] has fallen [into our hearing], we are in jeopardy. If when we hear the word of God, and the word of God, and the flesh of Christ and his blood, is poured into our hearing, and we are thinking about something else, into how great a danger are we running? ‘He feeds you with finest wheat.’ The divine word is most delicious, having in itself every delight. Whatever you have desired is born from the divine word.”
After explanation of the stages of lectio, meditation, oratio, and contemplatio, Fr. Polan concludes:
Though the practice of lectio divina comes from a monastic tradition, it is nevertheless a vehicle for all people of faith who acknowledge the power of God's word to touch their lives. This ancient practice of reading and praying from the Scriptures can be a means of entering more fully into the Sunday celebration of the Eucharist. Reflecting on the word each day, in preparation for Sunday, ushers the person into the dynamic mystery of the biblical text. By the daily reading of those chosen texts for Sunday, we prepare our heart to hear the word in the dynamic context of the Eucharistic Liturgy. Importantly, such an approach to the daily reading of the Scriptures grounds a person in a spirituality of the word, pointing toward the day of resurrection, preparing to celebrate the paschal mystery of Christ with the community of the faithful. Such a spirituality highlights the true nourishment that comes from the table of the Word and the table of the Body of the Risen Christ. So often we think of nourishment only in relation to eating and drinking. There is also the spiritual nourishment that comes to us through the word of God teaching, inspiring, guiding, consoling, and challenging us. In the course of the week the round of daily tasks calls us to enter life's struggles with faith and courage, with the word of God as our source of strength. Then it is to the Sunday celebration that we bring not only our deepened understanding of God's word, but also the actions, words, and deeds that have been formed and transformed by the power of the divine word. There we offer our sacrifice of thanksgiving, united to the One who is the source of all blessing and hope, Jesus Christ.
The Abbot Primate with Pope Francis (2018)
Abbot Primate Gregory J. Polan, O.S.B.’s Address to His Holiness Pope Francis on the Occasion of the 125th Anniversary of the Establishment of the Benedictine Confederation – 19 April 2018
As Saint Benedict has in the opening command of the Prologue to his Holy Rule, “Listen, my child, to the precepts of your Master with the ear of your heart,” we note how often you have called both the members of the Church, and truly all people, to “listen from the heart.” When we are able to listen from the heart, we open the door to friendship, and from friendship, we can move to true and honest dialogue. And importantly, through one another, we can hear the voice of God speaking to the Church and the world today. Last September, we engaged in a Monastic-Muslim Dialogue of five days in Kenya, East Africa. How much we were able to learn about one another's beliefs, hopes, and dreams for the future. It was our hope that meeting on African soil with African Benedictines and Sunni Muslims from Iran and Europe, we can be ambassadors of good will for all, peace in our world, and reconciliation of past hurts with a move into the future with peace.
Visiting monasteries, you have been able to see how often they are set in a place of beauty where the natural environment sets the stage for a place where people can come to pray, to be silent, to reflect and to listen to the voice of God in their heart. We are most grateful for your encyclical Laudato Si’, which emphasizes the importance of good stewardship of the land, water, and air that the whole planet depends on. In the monasteries I have visited, there has been a proper care of the environment, especially so that what we have may be shared with all people, and sustained for the future. While this preserves the beauty which God has given us, we remember that good stewardship of the land provides for the poor and the needy. Saint Benedict reminds us that every guest who comes to the monastery is to be received as Christ, as you have stated in your recent Apostolic Exhortation Gaudete et exhultate; and this is especially true for the poor and pilgrims because we particularly encounter Christ in them who show us their faith and the divine face.
Education has, for centuries, been a part of Benedictine life. Today our schools include primary and secondary education, colleges and universities, and also seminaries where there are programs of priestly formation where future priests are prepared for the service of evangelization, celebration of the sacraments, and care for the many needs of the people of God. We have 191 schools in Africa, Asia, Europe, North American, Europe, Latin American and Oceania with approximately 180,000 students. In the context of Benedictine education, our history has emphasized not only the important of gaining information and knowledge, but also the necessity of growth in wisdom. So deeply rooted in the Biblical tradition, a love of learning must be connected to the search for God and spiritual wisdom in all things, in all places, and in all circumstances.
One of the things that is distinctive of Benedictine life is the manner in which we evangelize. For Jesuits, Franciscans, and Dominicans, they go out to the four corners of the earth to preach the Gospel. For Benedictines, we evangelize from the monastery, also those from the margins of the earth; many people come to us to find the silence, prayer, and peace of a monastery where they can listen carefully to the voice of God in their lives. That is why monasteries are such important places in our world. We are always there as places of prayer and community, as households of peace and welcome. Our vow of "stability" keeps us in the same place, always ready to welcome, to invite, and to serve. In our world of broken promises, alienation within families and among friends, injustice in the workplace, and broken dreams, monasteries provide a place for people to come, to hear God speak in the silence of their hearts, to lift up their hearts with the prayers and psalms in the liturgy, and to find hope in the message of the Gospel. We believe that our witness to "community life" is prophetic in a world where people are often alienated; we are men and women of different backgrounds, generations and personalities, yet we live in community to say to the world – we can all truly live in peace and charity. We believe that the service of hospitality given in monasteries today is one of our gifts to the Church and to the world. Moderation, balance and peace have been the hallmarks of Benedictine life for 1,500 years. We ask your blessing upon the works of our hands, our hearts and our very lives in the service of God and neighbor.
Are we ready to say: "Your will be done"?
How would you describe Jesus in Matthew’s Passion account? How does he act in broad and significant ways? What title would you give him? There are numerous ways in which Jesus can be described in Matthew’s Passion account; the one I would use is, “Jesus, the Master Teacher.” The account of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane takes one back to a significant part of the Sermon on the Mount, where Jesus tells his disciples how to pray. In teaching his disciples how to pray, giving them the “Our Father,” his words also tell them how to live their lives. “Your kingdom come; your will be done on earth as in heaven” (Mt 6:10). Then, in the Garden of Gethsemane, we hear Jesus himself pray to the One he called “Abba”: “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet, not as I will, but as you will” (Mt 26:39). Jesus not only taught the disciples how to pray, he showed us and them how he himself prayed.
A good teacher puts into practice what he or she instructs; he instructed his disciples to pray, and now he practices what he teaches. On Palm Sunday we hear Jesus pray, “Your will be done.” Here, he demonstrates a willingness to surrender to whatever threatening situation was to come. When we read through the Passion account in Matthew’s Gospel, the act of surrender to the mysterious and unfolding will of God included betrayal by his disciples, rejection by the spiritual and civil leaders, mockery by soldiers, a shameful death by execution, seeing the terror and grief of his mother while dying, and a sense of abandonment by the One whose love he counted on and called “Abba.” Though it may not be a popular act in our own day and age, surrender or submission to the will of God can include things we would never have considered, even in our worst nightmares. These cruel events of the Passion were the culminating point of the mystery of the Incarnation — sharing our humanity in all its beauty and its brutality. Yet Jesus, as the Masterful Teacher he was, showed us how total his life was in accordance with his prayer.
We now all stand in a moment of significant distress. All of humanity has been awakened to a threatening life-and-death situation with the coronavirus. I would not want to suggest in any way that this virus has come upon us as the will of God for us. Yet, in the midst of what has befallen us, we are asked to submit to regulations and restrictions, which draw boundaries we would not have chosen for ourselves. If, in the pain of submitting to these restrictions set up by the government, health professionals, and the Church, we can trust that God is leading us through this situation of crisis, we can also believe that this experience will lead us in the end, to an experience of Easter, of new life, of a better life. Jesus the Master Teacher shows us that the outer act of surrender and the inner attitude of confident submission walk hand-in-hand with our daily prayer, “Thy will be done.” How ready are we to pray those words with conviction?
Abbot Primate Polan welcomes Pope Francis
Sant' Anselmo, Ash Wednesday Mass 2020