St. Mark’s on the Campus Episcopal Church, Lincoln, Neb., celebrates the Holy Eucharist on Tuesdays at 12:30 p.m. The parish’s rector, Father Jerry Thompson, asked me to lead worship on Tuesday, December 27, 2011. This is the third day in the Octave of Christmas and the Feast of Saint John, Apostle and Evangelist.

Readings

1 John 1:1–9
Psalm 92
John 21:19b–24

Homily

In Advent, we heard the cries of John the Baptist calling to us from the wilderness, baptizing and saying, “Repent” (Matthew 3:2) and “Behold, here is the Lamb of God” (John 1:36b). As John’s Gospel reminds us, “[The Baptist] came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light” (John 1:6–8).

Today, we celebrate the feast of the other John, the saint and apostle and evangelist. In his letter, he reminds us that the apostles say, “… this [word of] life was revealed, and we have seen it and testify to it” (1 John 1:2a). Their testimony is simple and pure, like the clear ringing of a bell that cuts through the noise of our lives and calls us to silence, to reverie and prayer.

John’s testimony is this: “God is light and in him there is no darkness at all” (1 John 1:5). Right there is the Good News in a simple sentence. Jesus Christ, who is the Word in the flesh, is the light that shines in the darkness and overcomes it.

Even when we may feel that darkness presses in upon us like a wall of unbreakable stone, like a wave of irresistible force, the light—who is Christ—shines in our lives. He breaks that wall; he repels that wave. Darkness may seem unstoppable when Christians die in bombings in their churches on the Feast of the Nativity, when families lose loved ones in tragic house fires, when relatives do not speak to one another, when congregations face division and disintegration, and when we know that “we lie and do not do what is true” (1 John 1:6).

Darkness may look victorious. But John tells us: stick to the light; walk in it; live in Christ. As he says in his letter, “If we walk in the light as he himself is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin” (1 John 1:7).

And so, here we are, coming into the light, gathering around the table, offering our gifts in sacrifice, praising God our Father, receiving the body of God the Son—the bread of heaven—and the blood of the Word—the cup of salvation.

Soon we will leave, heading back into the darkness. But we will bear the light that shines unstoppably. We will testify to the light—Jesus Christ—who overcomes all darkness. Amen.

St. Mark’s on the Campus Episcopal Church, Lincoln, Neb., celebrates the Holy Eucharist on Tuesdays at 12:30 p.m. The parish’s rector, Father Jerry Thompson, asked me to lead worship on Tuesday, October 25, 2011. This is Tuesday of the Thirtieth Week of Ordinary Time. The Feast of Saints Simon and Jude was transferred from October 28 for this mid-week Eucharist.

Readings

Deuteronomy 32:1–4
Psalm 119:89–96
John 14:21–27

Homily

This Friday is the Feast of Saints Simon and Jude. Jesus chose them to be his apostles. And that’s really all we know about them. Beyond that, Tradition tells us that they preached the Gospel in Mesopotamia and Persia—present-day Iraq. Their shared ministry eventually led to their martyrdom in that land on the same day.

It’s helpful to be reminded by these apostles what most lives of service look like. Few of us can expect to be remembered for the details of our discipleship. We’re not Peters or Pauls. Instead, we are much more like Simons and Judes.
Jesus Christ has called us, like Simon and Jude, to be his disciples. He gives us faith in him, leads us to praise his Father, and empowers us by their Holy Spirit to witness and to serve.

One time my wife, Anne, and I were visiting with one of her cousins who had become the family genealogist. As she was flipping through these large binders of family history, she would stop on a page, point at a picture, and say one sentence about that person’s life. I don’t remember what she said, but each sentence was something like this: Harry lived in a white-frame house and collected old phonograph records.
What has stuck with me ever since that day is a haunting question: What one sentence will some future family genealogist use to describe my life? What sentence would you write to describe your life? Simon and Jude were called by Jesus to be his disciples and apostles. It’s only one sentence, but it really does say all that we need to know about them.

The First Reading appointed for today from Deuteronomy contains a verse that captures the voice of the faithful—the people of Israel, Simon and Jude and the other apostles, along with the great crowd of unnamed disciples who have labored for the Lord over the centuries. It’s a thought we can hold in our hearts and speak with our lips. It’s only one sentence, but it says all that we to say about our lives of faith:

For I will proclaim the name of the LORD;
ascribe greatness to our God
(Deuteronomy 32:3, New Revised Standard Version). Amen.

Emmanuel Lutheran Church, east of Beatrice, Nebraska, invited me to preach and preside at worship on Oct. 16, 2011, the Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost.

Readings

Isaiah 45:1–7
Psalm 96:1–13, antiphon v. 7
1 Thessalonians 1:1–10
Matthew 22:15–22

Homily

Let us pray …. May the words of my mouth and the meditations in our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.

Freedom from Want, Norman Rockwell

One of America’s most beloved and iconic images is this one [Show print.] Sometimes it’s called “Thanksgiving Dinner.” Norman Rockwell painted it during World War II as an illustration for a war bonds poster. Then it appeared as the cover art on the March 6, 1943, issue of The Saturday Evening Post. Called “Freedom from Want” in that issue, it was the third of four paintings to appear in the magazine to dramatize the Four Freedoms that President Franklin Roosevelt outlined in his January 1941 State of the Union address.

I think we’d be safe in saying that this image rests in our memories more as the ideal of Thanksgiving than as a reminder to us of war bonds or even of the President’s speech. Even so, the themes of Thanksgiving and Freedom from Want somehow tie together.

Here in the painting, a family gathers in joy and peace around a table dressed in white. Young and old together, they are all smiling, except the grandmother who may be more focused on finding a space for the turkey platter and the grandfather who perhaps is resisting the urge to guide the platter to its resting place. And we are there too, at the foot of the table, taking in the scene, our eyes caught in the gaze of the gentleman in the corner looking expectantly at us.

The turkey is large; the fixings are simple and not overly abundant. The drink is water. A good meal in wartime; surely the family will be praying in just a minute, basking in the diffuse white light filtered through the curtain from the sun, shining on a land and a people caught in the throes of war.

It’s funny, though. Our understanding of words has changed over the years. This was a painting about Freedom from Want, but if you look at the food on the table, you see a meal that offers freedom from need, not want. Or perhaps the family in the painting wanted less in the middle of World War II than we do today.

Even so, despite the differing interpretations we might make of this painting, it sticks in our minds’ eyes as an illustration of Thanksgiving, of gratitude for the sufficiency of God’s gifts in our lives.

But sadly, now as then, not all people can look forward to placing enough food on the table to feed a family. They cannot afford what they need to eat, much less to pay for what they might desire beyond their needs.

A U.S. Department of Agriculture report released last month notes that across the United States in 2010, about one in seven households experienced what experts call “food insecurity.” That level of insecurity shows the effect of lacking the resources to afford to purchase the food needed to eat nutritionally sound meals. So it’s easy to see that poverty and hunger go hand-in-hand. In 2008, government statistics showed that 15.4 million Americans found themselves living in extreme poverty, where their family annual cash income didn’t amount to one-half the poverty level. That meant that their income was less than $10,000 for a family of four. (http//www.worldhunger.org/articles/Learn/us_hunger_facts.htm, accessed Oct. 13, 2011, citing http://www.ers.usda.gov/Publications/ERR125/err125.pdf.).

Numbers and statistics can quickly cause our eyes to glaze over. So, it helps to keep faces in mind. Perhaps you know someone who doesn’t get enough to eat, or some family facing questions of what they might find to eat, rather than figuring out if the leftovers in the fridge are still safe after a week or more.

Those are the faces to envision as you gather your offerings for the food pantry. Picture the joy on the faces of a family as its members gather around their table—lifted up by the generosity of the community—and prepare to give God their thanks and to eat the meal he has provided through your contributions.

Why do we give canned and dry goods to the food pantry? For a variety of reasons. First, we and others give because it is a kind and neighborly thing to do. America is not always all about competition and getting ahead, making a killing off of those trying to make a living, just as it is not always about getting one’s fair share without contributing the sweat of one’s brow.

A great and deep strand in our national heritage is to reach out to others, to help them when they have a need, just as they will help us when we face a need. As Christians, we can ands ought to give for this reason, working alongside of others who do not share our faith in Jesus Christ.

This type of charitable work is good. We see a need. Someone is hungry. So, we share our food. That’s our basic humanity at work.

But for us as Christians, other, deeper motivations take root. In Matthew’s gospel, Jesus’s pointed parable about the judgment of the sheep and the goats reminds us that the righteous king will say on the last day, “Come, you who are blessed by my Father. Inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me …. Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me” (Matthew 25: 34–36, 40, New American Bible).

So beyond acting out of basic humanity and basic decency, we can trust our Lord’s promise that when we feed people who are hungry, we are offering food to him. And so, in our minds’ eyes, our Lord joins us around the table spread in white. He comes to eat whenever we give our food to someone in hunger.

And finally, there is a third reason to give food to hungry people, to share what God has given us with the food pantry and other ministries that serve people in need. St. Paul hints at this third reason in his first letter to the Thessalonians. In today’s second reading, we heard him say:
For we know, brothers and sisters beloved by God, that he has chosen you, because our message of the gospel came to you not in word only, but also in power and in the Holy Spirit and with full conviction … (1 Thessalonians 1:4–5a, New Revised Standard Version).

The message of the gospel comes not only in words, but also in power and in the Spirit and with the full force of conviction. And so, we give food to hungry people because it is humane, because by feeding them we feed the Lord who gives us life, and finally, because our actions proclaim the gospel with power. We can say that God loves his children and that he calls us to care for others. Once we have said that, we can share God’s love and care by giving food.

And beyond that, if someone asks us why we give food to people who are hungry, we can say we do so because we are neighborly and because we are grateful to God. But in truth, when our giving prompts someone to ask why we give, then our proclamation comes fully to life, “in power and in the Holy Spirit and with full conviction” as we take that opening as an invitation to tell them about the love and grace we have received from Jesus Christ.

So, when we discover the opportunity to share food, we have privilege of giving to meet a need and the chance to proclaim the grace of Lord. For that, we can say, “Thanks be to God!” Amen.

This is the twenty-fourth of a series of weekly meditations with the aim to inspire reflection and encourage conversation among the members of the task force as we journey together in obedience to our Lord’s calling to serve him.

Author
Pastor Ron Drury, a member of the Spirit Driven Task Force and advisor to its Steering Committee.

Scripture
“Sing to the LORD a new song; sing to the LORD all the Earth. Sing to the LORD, bless the name of the LORD; proclaim God’s salvation from day to day. Declare God’s glory among all nations and God’s wonders among all peoples. For great is the LORD and greatly to be praised, more to be feared than all gods. As for all the gods of the nations, they are but idols; but You, O LORD, have made the heavens. Majesty and magnificence are in Your presence; power and splendor are in Your sanctuary. Ascribe to the LORD you families of peoples, ascribe to the LORD honor and power. Ascribe to the LORD the honor due the holy name; bring offerings and enter the courts of the LORD. Worship the LORD in the beauty of holiness; tremble before the LORD all the earth.”—Psalm 96:1–9, Evangelical Lutheran Worship.

Meditation
Martin Luther is given credit for proclaiming—”When you sing you pray twice!” I once read similar words from St. Augustine when I was in Seminary.It really does not matter who first declared this truth,unless we see the wisdom within. In singing our praises to God we are honoring and glorifying the Almighty with more than mere words. The rhythmic movement of our bodies through breathing and the joyous sound that bends the airwaves enhance and empower the letters that are woven together. Singing often brings delight to the singer, to others who may be raising their voices together and any creature who may hear from near or far. When I was a camp youth counselor in the wooded hills of northeast Ohio, our head counselor would awake us every morning with or without campers on site with the refrain from the opening number of the musical Godspell: “Prepare Ye The Way of The Lord!” Even as I type this, joy fills my heart as I recall awakening each morning all summer long to the vibrant notes of what we were called to be about that day and everyday! Music can be a very powerful motivating force to direct and bring joy to all creation!

Reflection

• How can you “tremble before the LORD” to find new songs and sing to God joyfully here and throughout God’s creation in “majesty and magnificence”?
• What music warms your heart and motivates you to better serve God each day?
• How can we work together more in harmony even when we have different notes in our heart of hearts to sing to praise and glorify God together?

Prayer
Direct us, O God, to gather together to sing your praises joyfully empowered by the Holy Spirit to better proclaim and bear witness to the Savior of all—Jesus the Christ! Amen.

Emmanuel Lutheran Church, east of Beatrice, Nebraska, invited me to preach and preside at worship on Oct. 2, 2011, the Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost.

Readings

Isaiah 5:1–7
Psalm 80:7–15, antiphon vv.14–15
Philippians 3:4b-14
Matthew 21:33–46

Homily

Let us pray …. May the words of my mouth and the meditations in our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.

Jesus’s parables have a sneaky quality to them. Not because He sets out to be devious, but because He takes the ordinary parts of daily living and transforms them into vessels filled to the brim with the power and insights of His Father’s desires for His people.

Today’s Gospel shares with us Jesus’s well-known teaching, the Parable of the Vineyard. It’s familiar, but it’s probably not fair to call it a beloved parable. It is one of His teachings that speaks a little too clearly for our comfort, that leads us to squirm beneath the pressure of its message.

As we listen to the story, we cannot help but see our own faces reflected in the angry and twisted expressions of the tenants. Like them, we have worked hard at home, on the job, in the church. So we feel we have earned the fruits of our labors. But then, the landowner—God Himself—sends first His slaves and finally His own Son to claim what is rightfully His—the harvest from the vineyard.

That doesn’t sit well with the tenants. And so, after killing the slaves, they turn on the landowner’s Son as well. This brings down upon them the judgment of the landowner. At the end of the parable Jesus leaves His listeners, both then and now, to ponder the shape and the depth of that judgment.

Of course, we don’t really work in a vineyard, although saying that in Nebraska is not quite as safe as it once was. A quick Google check reveals that Nebraska has twenty-five wineries scattered all over the state. So maybe you do work in a vineyard, or you know someone who does.

That little familiarity we might have with vineyards makes it easier for us to see why Jesus, along with Isaiah and the Psalmist before him, settles on the daily workings of a vineyard as an image and expression of God’s dealings with us, His people. As His children, we live together in communities God has chosen to cultivate. Raising up communities that live according to His will requires patience, the same kind of patience one needs when cultivating grapes.

The lives of the tenants in the vineyard help us to appreciate this long-term project. They must find the right soil, the best light, and the land with appropriate moisture. They must pick the varieties of grapes that thrive in the local climate. They must plant tender, young vines and train them, prune them, bind them gently to supports, and then wait for several years before the first bunches of grapes appear. They must hope that mold and pests do not overrun the vineyard and kill off the vines. Then they must wait for the right time for harvesting to capture the grapes at their peak of flavor and sweetness. Finally, they must know how to press the grapes, to extract their juice, and how to encourage the fermentation that changes juice into wine.

A good vinedresser lives with the vines, getting to know them, their environment, and their responses to those changing conditions. It takes knowledge and skill to make fine wine to please the palate. We can see how a sense of ownership can grow, how tenant vinedressers can come to think of the vines as their own possessions. They can lose sight of the truth that the owner of the land also owns the vines, the fruit that grows on them, and the wine that flows from the winery.

That’s the way it is with us. We live in a country that recognizes our right to own property. One of our country’s founders, Thomas Jefferson, took to heart the thoughts of John Locke, who had claimed in the 1600s that “life, liberty, and property” were the natural rights of human beings. Jefferson changed the emphasis slightly in the Declaration of Independence, citing our “unalienable rights … [of] life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

Even with that change, we in this country still cling to our shared belief that God, the source of natural rights, has given us the right to own property. Much of our law is written to define who owns property and how they may use it. We have procedures for how property can be taken for the public good, regulations to govern how we may use our property, a tax code to cover the levies imposed on various forms of property, and estate laws that shape the ways we pass on property when we die.

But in the midst all of the work we have put into gathering property and possessions and into protecting and defending our ownership, we often lose sight of the truth that Jesus speaks to us in this parable. Our world, its abundance, and even our own lives are not ours; they are the possessions of God our Father. He is the landowner and we are the tenants He has called to work in His vineyard.

On the one hand, that sounds a little harsh, a little extreme. Isn’t there something that we can really call our own? Isn’t there some thing we can ultimately control and dispose of as we choose. Isn’t this my life? Don’t I own my house? Haven’t I earned this money? Isn’t this my body? No, not really.

We did not choose to be born. We cannot make out of nothing the matter and the energy that comprise our world. We can shape and adapt and use and misuse what God has made. But we cannot become gods ourselves, beings who create and redeem and sanctify.

That’s the hard and the good truth. It is good to be creatures of God and to be the tenants in His vineyard. We are blessed to be the ones our Father has chosen to care for this creation, to share the Good News of His Son, and to live in the community empowered by their Holy Spirit.

The parable tells us about God’s judgment and about His blessing. The point at which judgment and blessing part ways comes when we face the question about how we will live as tenants. Will we be the ones who welcome the Son of the landowner or the ones who seize Him, throw Him out of the vineyard, and kill Him.

As Jesus says to His listeners, we hear Him say to us,

Therefore I tell you, the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people that produces the fruits of the kingdom (Matthew 21:43, NRSV).

One way to look at these “fruits of the kingdom” is to return to the vineyard, to the grapes God causes to grow from His vines. A branch of the vine is the Church, grafted onto the base stock—the trunk—that is Israel, the chosen people of God. We are the grapes that sprout from this vine. By the grace of God we grow lush and full. He harvests us and presses us and ferments us into wine.

By planting, pruning, picking, pressing, and fermenting us through good times and bad, through blessing and trial, God makes us follow in the path of His Son. He was pressed upon the cross, so that His blood can be poured out as wine to heal the world of its sin. He was baked upon the cross, so that His body can be broken as bread to feed all who hunger for righteousness.

When God makes us to be the fruit of the kingdom, then by His own hands, He breaks us and pours us out so that others may see what He has done with us. This is what leads them, by the Spirit, to join us in saying, “Jesus, we give you all that have. We give you ourselves. Harvest us and gather us into your Father’s kingdom.” Amen.

On this day, when we remember the sight of our security and sense of invulnerability rising to the heavens in a plume of smoke and a cloud of ash, we recall, as well, the lives of all who died on that day. We give God thanks for the time they spent in our midst, living among us as fellow children of our Father in heaven.

God calls us to times of prayer. We pray for our broken world, for all who act in anger or who harbor hatred in their hearts. We pray for all who suffer the pain of grief and the gnawing loss of loved ones. We pray for all who place their lives in jeopardy to protect their fellow citizens and to promote freedom and justice.

And as we pray, we recall the Psalmist’s words from Psalm 141, “Let my prayer be incense before you; my uplifted hands an evening sacrifice.” We give thanks that our prayers rise, sweet-smelling, to mingle with the prayers of God’s people in all times and places, so that “in all things God may be glorified.”

This is the eighteenth of a series of weekly meditations with the aim to inspire reflection and encourage conversation among the members of the task force as we journey together in obedience to our Lord’s calling to serve him. You can find an archive of these meditations on the Web at http://widesky.biz/blog/ephemera/spirit-driven-task-force-meditations.

Author
Rod Koehler, a member of the Spirit Driven Task Force.

Scripture
“He leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul.” —Psalm 23:2–3

Meditation
I always appreciate and tend to gravitate to the short-to-the-point sayings and passages. You know, the ones that cut to the truth, say what needs to be said, and are easy to recite, like “Do unto others…”, “Be silent and know I am God…”, “The Lord is my shepherd…”, and “…He restores my soul.” Maybe easy to remember and recite, but not always easy to remember and apply when I need them most.

When we are exhausted, depleted, and on the edge of burnout, we need to have our souls restored! But who can restore our souls? Only the One who will lead us beside still water! The Lord is our Shepherd. He alone can fully bring the nourishment and replenishment that we need. Yet why do we sometimes find it so hard to set aside time to be with him? Could it be that we keep our lives so busy that we miss out on the one thing that matters most?

Foolishly, I run trying to cram everything possible into my schedule, miserably I complain about how busy we have become, doggedly I drag myself home too tired to recognize and enjoy the blessings that surround me, and then … sometimes accidentally, … sometimes on purpose, … I stop and breathe. Deep breath, I slow down, and realize the beauty in a moment, a sunset maybe, or I realize that the stars are painfully bright some night and that they have been there all along, as have all the blessings in my life. I just have been too busy, too foolish and miserable and dogged out to see. Those moments, when I am still and silent and know God is there, like cool quiet waters, He restores my soul.

Reflection
Take time to sit quietly and breath deep and slowly, rest your eyes.
Recognize the blessings that surround us.
Like the cool water of a water fall let His peace flow over you and give you restoration.

Prayer
As you have shown me time and time again, dear Father, I know that being with you restores me in a place within my heart that nothing and no one else can reach. Reinvigorate me with your presence and power so that I can serve you refreshed and renewed. Amen.

St. Benedict begins his rule in simplicity by calling us to listen. When we put down what burdens our hands, when we set aside what concerns our hearts, when we stop moving for movement’s sake, and listen, then we have begun to follow his rule. In truth, though, listening to God is as much a part of the Christian life as it is the Oblate life.

While we typically read the Scriptures with our eyes, we can hear in “the ear of our heart” the times that God Himself, our Master, speaks to us and to all His people. Our world comes into being when God says, “Let there be …” (Gen. 1:3, New American Bible). St. John’s Christology tells us, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (John 1:1, NAB). Then the Invitatory that ushers in the daily divine office begins with a simple reminder that we respond to what we have heard, answering, “Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will proclaim your praise” (Psalm 51:15).

As we awake each morning, we can use our moments of silence to remind us to listen for the voice of our Master and to turn to Him, offering our attentive, listening hearts as an oblation to His glory.

David M. Frye, OblSB
Ut in omnibus glorificetur Deus

The people of Shepherd of the Hills Lutheran Church, Hickman, Neb., have organized a Spirit-Driven Task Force, bringing together almost forty members who have committed to a year of study, prayer, reflection, and deliberation to discern how God is calling the congregation to renewal for the sake of his mission.

This is the thirteenth of a series of weekly meditations with the aim to inspire reflection and encourage conversation among the members of the task force as we journey together in obedience to our Lord’s calling to serve him.

Rod Koehler, a member of the Spirit Driven Task Force, shared this week’s meditation, written by Pastor Kenneth L. Samuel.

Scripture

“How good and pleasant it is when brothers and sisters live together in unity!” —Psalm 133:1

Meditation

How often do we think of human unity as some utopian dream with no hope of actual realization? In the current climate of partisan bickering, class warfare, and religious rivalry, social unity increasingly appears to be a distant mirage. Could it be that our dream of unity is unrealized and unrealistic because it is based on assumptions or uniformity? God must love diversity; that’s why God made so much of it. It is precisely our rich variations of expression and perspective that give our world the wonderful distinctions of color, texture, taste and contrast that keep us listening to and learning from one another. Variety is indeed the spice of life.

Can we recognize difference without labeling the “other” deficient? Can we be assertive about what we believe without being abrasive toward those who follow a different path? Do we possess enough of God’s grace to recognize human oneness in the midst of human pluralism? How good and pleasant it is when even the starkest differences among us do not prevent us from dwelling together in unity. Unity of humanity and oneness of creation are still the aims of a vast universe steeped in great diversity. Uniformity is a vain wish. Unity is a sacred goal.

Prayer

Dear God, you said that unity among us is good and pleasant. Now help us to affirm your declaration by our commitment to realizing unity despite dis-uniformity in our communities today. Amen.

St. Mark’s on the Campus Episcopal Church celebrates the Eucharist on Tuesdays. Father Jerry Thompson invited me to lead worship on July 12, 2011. As is the parish’s practice, the service remembers a saint or other figure, transferring an observance if one does not fall on that particular date. Since July 11 is the memorial of St. Benedict, Abbot, I prepared a liturgy remembering his life and contribution to the Church.

Readings

Reading: Proverbs 2:1–9
Psalm: Psalm 1
Gospel: Luke 14:27–33

Homily

On July 11, the Church remembers and honors St. Benedict as the patriarch of Western monasticism. This movement of many branches traces its roots to his writing, entitled Benedict’s Rule.

Most of what we know of St. Benedict’s life comes from The Dialogues of St. Gregory the Great, written in the sixth century.

Born in Nursia, a town in Umbria, Italy, around A.D. 480, Benedict studied in Rome, where he grew discouraged by the increasing coarseness of late imperial culture.

He decided to become a hermit, moving to a cave near Subiaco, a small town about forty miles west of Rome. Word about his holy living spread, and he soon attracted followers and disciples who desired to live according to his example.

After a time, due to conflicts with local residents, he moved to Monte Cassino, about halfway between Rome and Naples. This became the home of the first Benedictine monastery.

St. Benedict wrote his Rule, based upon The Rule of the Master, which was longer and more stringent than his own Rule. His little work is treasured for its balance and wisdom. In its Prologue, he wrote,

Therefore we must establish a school for the Lord’s service. In its organization, we have tried not to create anything grim or oppressive. (RB Prologue 45–46).

St. Benedict filled his work with references to the Scriptures. It helps those who follow his Rule to hear our Lord’s voice, to follow it, and to find ways to abide by it while carrying out the tasks of daily life.

Benedict’s Rule begins with a simple plea:

Listen, O my son, to the teachings of your master, and turn to them with the ear of your heart. Willingly accept the advice of a devoted father and put it into action. Thus you will return by the labor of obedience to the one from whom you drifted through the inertia of disobedience. Now then I address my words to you: whoever is willing to renounce self-will, and take up the powerful and shining weapons of obedience to fight for the Lord Christ, the true king. (RB Prologue 1–3)

The Rule ends by reminding all who follow Benedict’s teachings that the Christian life is always one of beginning anew:

Therefore, if you long to attain the heavenly homeland, with Christ’s assistance carry out this modest Rule for beginners that we have sketched out. (RB 73:8)

In addition to the multitudes of religious in the Catholic, Anglican, and Lutheran traditions—both monks and nuns—who live by Benedict’s Rule, there are thousands of Christians who have become oblates of St. Benedict. They are not monks and nuns, but they are people who find themselves drawn to the quiet beauty of a life that emphasizes sufficiency, stability, and obedience and that practices humility and hospitality.

They continue their vocations in daily life, while attaching themselves to a religious community and making promises to offer themselves as oblations to the Lord’s service. Lincoln has a chapter of oblates attached to the Sacred Heart Monastery in Yankton, South Dakota. Colleen Baade, Pastor Gretchen Naugle, Steve Lichti, and I are oblates you might know.

Whether Christians take religious vows, make the promises of oblates, or simply embrace their desire to live out the covenant of Holy Baptism, St. Benedict’s teachings are a guide. Toward the end of The Rule, he writes:

They should bear each other’s weaknesses of both body and character with the utmost patience. No one should pursue what he judges advantageous to himself, but rather what benefits others. They must show selfless love to the brothers. Let them fear God out of love. Let them prefer absolutely nothing to Christ, and may he lead us all together to everlasting life. (RB 72:5,7,9,11–12)

Today we bless God for giving St. Benedict to the whole Church as our guide for faithful living. Amen.