One of the stereotypes of Christians is that they can be somewhat dour and lacking in joy. That might have been lurking in the back of my mind as began this morning’s reading from The Rule of Benedict, where he writes, “At all times the lifestyle of a monk ought to have a Lenten quality” (RB 49:1). That immediately led me to images of penitence and somber reflection and a joy denied for a season. That may all be a part of what keeping Lent entails, but it seems that the rest of the chapter reveals how Saint Benedict views Lent in a much different light.

A little later he writes:

Let him deny his body some food, some drink, some sleep, some chatter, some joking, and let him await Holy Easter with the joy of spiritual desire (RB 49:7).

The first thing that leaps out at me is that while he advocates denial as a discipline, his approach is moderated by saying “some food” and “some sleep” and so on. Saint Benedict does not push monks to any total measures, but to practices that focus with a purpose. This is where he gets to the most amazing part of the chapter.

Father Terrence G. Kardong comments on this verse, writing:

the joy of spiritual desire (cum spiritalis desiderii gaudio) is a highly charged expression that also has considerable spiritual depth. The remarkable thing about the phrase is its insistence on joy during Lent. In contrast with the Master, who calls for joy only after Easter (RM 53.20), Benedict thinks that it should also permeate the penitential season that leads up to Easter. This is the equivalent of saying that for Christians there is no time of sadness. How can we be sad when we know that Christ has conquered sin and death? (Benedict’s Rule: A Translation and Commentary, p. 406).

What strikes me about the insight in this comment is how insightful—how resonant—is the comparison between Lent and Easter on the one hand and life and eternal life on the other. Just as Lent is a time to prepare and to anticipate and to look forward with longing and “the joy of spiritual desire” for the great celebration of Easter, so too is this life a time to practice the same disciplines with the same joy, anticipating eternal life with God. Father Kardong’s question is no less insightful for being rhetorical: “How can we be sad when we know that Christ has conquered sin and death?” How can we approach either Lent or Life and anticipate either Easter or Eternity with sadness when we know that our destiny lies with the One who is victorious over sin and death?

I will try to remind myself of this perspective when I trap myself into conjuring up the demons of stress and worry and indignation. One of the last things a Christian usually would claim as a goal is to be known for a gaudy life, but the Latin gaudio, translated as “joy,” suggests that is precisely the aim: to keep both a gaudy Lent and a gaudy life and await both Holy Easter and Heavenly Eternity “with the joy of spiritual desire.”

Ut in Omnibus Glorificetur Deus.

Yesterday morning, a young man from Shepherd of the Hills Lutheran Church came to our house to work outdoors for five hours. He came because we had submitted the highest bid in a “Servant Auction” sponsored by the youth who are raising funds for their trip to the ELCA’s National Youth Gathering in New Orleans in July. Matthew arrived a little before eight o’clock. Then he and I went to the clearing in the trees to work at cleaning up the perimeter, where downed branches lay tangled in tall weeds. The work consisted of pulling weeds and picking up branches and then hauling all of this debris to piles in the meadow.

By the end of the morning, which had grown progressively warmer on top of an already humid beginning of the day, I began to appreciate that there is a difference between being sixteen and being forty-seven! Still, it was enjoyable to see him work steadily and with good humor. We talked some of the time and then, at times, we worked in silence. It was a good and heartening experience.

This morning my muscles are reminding me of the work we did yesterday. Then the reading from The Rule of Benedict turned my attention to Chapter 48, “The Daily Manual Labor.” It tells how the community seeks balance among work, prayer, and the practice of lectio divina, which literally means “reading from God,” and is often translated as “divine reading.” Saint Benedict begins by writing,

Idleness is the soul’s enemy, so therefore at determined times the brothers ought to be occupied with manual labor, and again at determined hours in lectio divina (RB 48:1).

Saint Benedict does not set down a rigid schedule, but adapts the balance—the ebb and flow—among prayer and work and reading and rest to suit both the liturgical season and the climate and its weather. So, sanely, he builds a time for physical rest into summer days at their hottest time. The times for prayer move around slightly, taking account of the season and the natural light.

What strikes me as so natural, so grounded, so sane, is his purposeful but non-rigid approach to building a balanced day. As I have grown more accustomed to asking, “How can I live by the spirit of this Rule?” I have looked for ways to adapt Saint Benedict’s insights. Over the last four months, as I have lived between my work at the University of Nebraska Press and now the beginning of interim parish ministry, I have been blessed with the freedom to seek such a balance among my daily devotions, reading, my head-work with WideSky.biz and my hand-work outside on our land.

Each day begins with the Liturgy of the Hours, followed by some reading. I’ve not been diligent about practicing lectio divina, but I have made time each morning to read passages from some devotional, spiritual, or theological text. Then on the best days, I have times when I work with my head and time when I labor with my hands. Working around rain and heat, choosing the tasks that match the weather, has kept my work flexible, my attitude one of adaptation, and my days satisfying and relatively free of toxic stresses. Instead of finding “idleness [to be] the soul’s enemy,” I have discovered Saint Benedict’s wisdom in being “occupied.”

Ut in Omnibus Glorificetur Deus.

This past Sunday I had the opportunity to prepare a sermon and to lead worship at St. John’s Lutheran Church, Marquette, Neb. Last night I met with two members of the Congregation Council at Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., to talk about my service to that parish as its interim pastor beginning July 1. Tomorrow is the twentieth anniversary of my ordination. All together, this constellation of events and gatherings and milestones has turned my thoughts to the tasks of serving God and his Church as a leader.

The first task of leadership that crosses my mind is leading in worship. It’s not the only important part of the role of a pastor, but because worship is fundamental to the life of Christians and because it is the foundation upon which parish life is built, it stands foremost in my thoughts. Perhaps this is why, when I read “The Signal for the Work of God,” Chapter 47 of The Rule of Benedict, this passage spoke to me:

As regards singing and reading [during the Work of God, the Divine Office], no one should presume to carry out these functions unless he is capable of edifying the listeners. Let that be done with humility, sobriety and reverence, by the one designated by the abbot (RB 47:3-4, Terrence G. Kardong, Benedict’s Rule: A Translation and Commentary, p. 378).

Saint Benedict is not laying out a complete theology of worship in this chapter, so he does not include a statement of the purpose of worship, but assumes that the community will glorify God. Then, given that, he reminds those who lead to keep in mind the listeners, that they ought to be edified, or built up, by the singing and reading. It seems reasonable to me to adapt this standard to preaching and the complete role of liturgical leader. If I keep foremost in my thoughts and actions the twin foci of giving glory to God and building up the body of Christ, then my work will be faithful to God and loving to the community.

The Rule guides me, reminding me that service in worship ought to be carried out “with humility, sobriety and reverence” (RB 47:4). The first of these qualities—humility—reminds me that the attention of worship is directed to God. Worship is theocentric and is not a performance in which a leader draws attention to himself or herself. The quality of sobriety means much more than leading without intoxication. Its Latin form is gravitate, so this reminds me that worship ought to be conducted with an awareness of its place in the life of God and his people. Worship is not frivolous. And finally, reverence, as Kardong notes, “no doubt has to do with the fact the whole liturgy is directed to all-holy God, before whom the only proper attitude is reverential awe” (Kardong, p. 381).

This is a good passage for me to keep in mind. It is an awesome and humbling task, to stand amidst the members of a gathered community and to speak both to them and to God. That’s why, even if I don’t use the words of the Psalmist to begin a homily, they cross my mind as a prayer:

Let the words of my mouth
and the meditation of my heart
be acceptable to you,
O LORD, my rock and my redeemer (Psalm 19:14, NRSV).

Ut in Omnibus Glorificetur Deus.

Saint Benedict writes two chapters that fall a little harshly on modern ears. They address “Those Who Make Mistakes in the Oratory” (RB 45) and “Those Who Err in Some Other Way” (RB 46). To turn to one of the Lutheran tools for reading a text, it seems fair to see that most of these two chapters could be classified as the third use of the Law, namely to direct and to correct Christians’ actions. Their form follows a pattern: “If one does this, then the consequences are that.”

Reading these words is like catching a glimpse into a culture alien to modern Western society. It doesn’t seem to be much of a stretch to say that today the notion of standards of behavior are rather fluid or that it is difficult to say exactly when one has crossed the bounds from permissible to impermissible actions in a community. But these chapters paint a picture of a very different way of life. The first of these two chapters addresses errors made in worship, especially in chanting. The harsh part is that Benedict prescribes “a more severe punishment” for the monk who does not admit his mistake and “make[] humble satisfaction right then and there before all…” (RB 45:1). The helpful insight might be that while making a mistake that disrupts the harmony of worship for others is not a good thing, the failure to admit one’s mistake and to make amends is more damaging to the well-being of the community.

The second chapter applies much the same rule to all other places, those outside of the oratory, beyond the time of worship. But then Saint Benedict ends his chapter with a turn to a word of consolation. He writes:

If, however, it is a question of a hidden problem of conscience, he should only reveal it to the abbot or one of the spiritual seniors. For they know how to cure their own wounds and those of others, without divulging them in public (RB 46:5-6).

This is a word of promise that offers some comfort. It’s a statement of implicit trust that God will care for the community (and the individual) by raising up people to positions of leadership (abbots) and others to positions of guidance (spiritual seniors). These are people who are wise and compassionate, who are self-aware, “know[ing] how to cure their own wounds” (RB 46:6). They are people whom God has blessed with the capacity and the insight to see the wounds of those who come for help and to know how to cure them in confidence.

This leads me to a few questions. Who are my spiritual seniors? Who are the people in my life to whom I can turn when I have questions, when I have concerns that weigh me down, when I have a wound that needs to be cured? And then, as I am beginning to turn my thoughts to how I will serve as an interim pastor, I wonder how I am equipped, in some sense, to serve an abbotial role in the parish, to serve as a spiritual senior for others. It is key, Saint Benedict implies, for those who serve as spiritual seniors to recognize that they themselves must find others to serve as their own spiritual seniors.

This leads my prayers to include two petitions, that God will strengthen my spiritual seniors and that he will guide me when I am called to serve as the spiritual senior for others.

Ut in Omnibus Glorificetur Deus.