October 18, 2009 at 5:37 am · Filed under Ruminations
It’s hard to believe, but it’s been over a year since I first started down the path to becoming a Benedictine Oblate. In that time, I have learned a lot about the riches of the Benedictine tradition and how the Rule of St. Benedict helps to shape me so that I have a more peaceful, focused, and giving life of faith. This year as a novice has helped me find a way to begin to adapt to living according to the spirit of that Rule. Each day I discover new ways to live with an attention to sufficiency in my relations to possessions, stability in my relations with others, and obedience in my relation to God. In many ways, this year feels like it has been preparation and that I am just now beginning to glimpse the wisdom in this way of living. One of the things I’m most grateful for is how much richer preparing to become an Oblate has made my experience in returning to the practice of the ordained ministry as the interim pastor at Holy Cross Lutheran Church in Beatrice.
On Sunday, Nov. 8, at the end of this one-year time as a novice, I will make what is called my final oblation, or my public promise to live according to the spirit of the Rule of St. Benedict. Please pray for me as this day approaches, asking God to strengthen my commitment to this path.
Thank you for your thoughts, prayers, and support.
Blessings,
David M. Frye
+ Ut in omnibus glorificetur Deus.
+ That God may be glorified in all things.
P.S. One of the ways that I explored what this commitment means to me was to spend time each day for a month reading a portion of the Rule and then writing about it. I put these reflections all together here on my blog at Ruminations. A good introduction to Benedictine Oblates is available at Oblates of Saint Benedict. The Lincoln Chapter of Benedictine Oblates is directed by Sister Phyllis Hunhoff and is associated with the Sacred Heart Monastery in Yankton, S.D. More info about the program is at Sacred Heart Monastery. The saying in my signature is the motto or byword of the Benedictines.
June 30, 2009 at 6:06 am · Filed under Ruminations
In the second half of Chapter 58, Saint Benedict describes the liturgy in which a man becomes a monk. The ceremony in which I made a promise to enter a year’s time as a novice oblate contains some of the elements in this liturgy. I signed my name to a written promise and placed it on the altar in the chapel of Madonna Rehabilitation Hospital. In the Rule, Saint Benedict writes:
He should make his promise in a written petition…. Then the novice makes his mark on it and personally lays it on the altar. When he has deposited it, the novice himself immediately begins this verse: “Receive me, Lord, according to your promise and I will live. Do not disappoint me in my hope” [Psalm 118:116] (RB 58:19a,20b).
I can’t recall if we used this verse, but reading it in the Rule was a moving and meaningful experience. By placing my promise on the altar I was offering myself to God. This is the root meaning of the word oblate, which comes from the word meaning “offering.” This action says that I give myself to God, that I recognize and acknowledge that I am wholly his and not my own, that all I am and have and do is his and exists simply to bring him glory and honor.
The verse from the Psalm says to me that God promises to receive our self-offerings and that our living truly flows from his acceptance of that gift. Then when I speak the words of the Psalm, I call on God to keep that promise, so that “in my hope”—that is, in my faith and trust in God and his promises—I do not know disappointment.
In some ways, this commitment is no different from the one made by any baptized person who embraces the path of discipleship that flows from the baptismal waters. Nor is it really any different from the commitment I made at my ordination. But the oblatial promise does have a focus and intensity to it, a discipline to undergird it, and a community dedicated to supporting it.
My thoughts have been turning lately to how I will serve in the role of pastor in a parish. While much of the routine of this ministry does not vary from place to place or over time, I am not the same person I was fifteen years ago. In particular, I was not a novice oblate then, and did not have this tradition’s foundation and routine and discipline to call me to ask myself daily, “How can I give myself in service?” I still find myself not wanting to ask that question, or asking it begrudgingly, or giving half-hearted answers. But sometimes, I find myself saying, “Receive me, Lord!” And when I do, he does, and then something good comes of my oblation.
I am reminded of Saint Benedict’s word of comfort in the Prologue to his Rule:
But as we progress in the monastic life and in faith, our hearts will swell with the unspeakable sweetness of love, enabling us to race along the way of God’s commandments (RB Prol. 49).
This is my prayer, that I will progress in the baptismal, pastoral, and oblatial life and in faith, so that I will grow more loving of God and of those whom he places in my life, both family and friends.
Ut in Omnibus Glorificetur Deus.
June 29, 2009 at 6:29 am · Filed under Ruminations
Earlier this month I marked the twentieth anniversary of my ordination. Of that time, I spent about five years in parish ministry, half that time in visitation and hospice chaplaincy, just under ten years in communications with a church agency, and the rest of the time on leave from call. My most recent leave from call will mark the end of its third year tomorrow. The next day I will begin serving as the interim pastor at a nearby parish, while the people begin to carry out their search for the parish’s next pastor.
Search is a good word for me to keep in mind. While the parish enters a time of prayer, self-reflection, and seeking, I will be carrying out much the same tasks. Since more than fifteen years have passed since I served as a parish pastor, the bishop recommended that I serve as an interim pastor as a way to test the waters, to discern whether God may be calling me to return to this form of ministry.
So, very naturally, I thought of this new step in my life when I read the following passage from The Rule of Benedict:
When someone comes first to the monastic life, he should not be allowed entry too readily, but as the Apostle says: “Test whether the spirits be godly” [1 John 4:1] (RB 58:1-2).
It’s not an exact fit to my circumstances, but the intent is similar. My desire is to serve this parish, to put into practice as a parish pastor the discipline of life as a Benedictine oblate, to test myself, and to listen to God to learn if it is his will that I serve him as a pastor. As Saint Benedict goes on to write, “One must note whether he really seeks God, and whether he is serious about the Work of God, obedience and hardships” (RB 58:7).
This chapter of the Rule covers “the Procedure for Accepting Brothers,” outlining the steps that a newcomer takes over the course of a yearlong novitiate. The newcomer’s patience is tested, as is his willingness to begin to live according to the way of life of the monastery. He has the opportunity to hear the Rule three times and to ask himself whether he can, with God’s help, commit to living according to its discipline.
Saint Benedict describes the Rule as a yoke. As an agricultural image, it suggests a tool fitted to an animal to direct its work to serve its master’s purpose. As a metaphor, it reminds me of Jesus’ saying about his yoke being light and easy (Matthew 11:29-30). It also reminds me that the stole I received at my ordination is meant to symbolize the yoke of pastoral ministry laid upon my neck.
The novice has a year to decide, prayerfully, whether to enter the monastery. This interim ministry will last about a year. My hope is to serve faithfully and to follow Saint Benedict’s guidance for this time of testing, as he writes:
And if after considering the matter carefully he promises to keep everything and carry out all he is told to do, then he should be received into the congregation (RB 58:14).
Ut in Omnibus Glorificetur Deus.
June 28, 2009 at 6:16 am · Filed under Ruminations
Someone taught me that Johann Sebastian Bach wrote “SDG” at the bottom of his musical scores. Those three letters were an acronym for Soli Deo Gloria, meaning “To the only God be glory.” I’m reminded of this by the quotation from 1 Peter 4:11 that Benedictine monks and oblates lift up as a byword for daily living: ut in omnibus glorificetur Deus, meaning “that in all things God may be glorified.”
This phrase appears in The Rule of Benedict in Chapter 57, treating “The Skilled Workers of the Monastery.” It was true in Benedict’s day, just as it is in ours, that monasteries supported themselves by engaging in various kinds of work, things like printing, cheesemaking, winemaking, beekeeping, and so on. So this chapter addresses the attitudes and behaviors of the monks with the skills to serve as craftsmen and artisans in the life of the monastery.
Saint Benedict directs that artisans are to work with an attitude of humility. In fact,
If there are skilled workers in the monastery, let them practice their crafts with all humility if the abbot permits it. But if anyone of these workers is so proud of his expertise that he thinks he is a great gift to the monastery, he should be removed from his work. Nor should he return to it unless he has humbled himself and the abbot permits it again (RB 57:1-3).
I have no abbot to decide to permit me to write or photograph or design Web sites. But I can still submit myself to the rule that I ought to practice these crafts with “all humility.” On the occasions when I have prepared and presented exhibits of photographs in a gallery, I have felt some pride in my work. It would seem to dishonor God, when someone comments favorably on my work, to not accept that compliment with gratitude. That would be to deny that God has given me some gift to share with others. I don’t think that honestly recognizing where I have done well in my work is contrary to a spirit of humility. Humility enters into my attitude when I acknowledge that whatever gifts I have for putting words together or in capturing a vision of the world around me in a photograph come from God. As we sing in the refrain of We Plow the Fields,
All good gifts around us
Are sent from heaven above,
Then thank the Lord, O thank the Lord,
For all his love!
All of the gifts come God. Not only the beauty of the creation, but our capacity to behold that beauty and to reflect it in words and images and objects we fashion with our minds and hands. That’s why it is so powerful to see “SDG” at the bottom of Bach’s manuscripts, because it reminds us that even he knew that his good gift of talent came from God, so that the glory belonged to him. That’s why I find it a helpful reminder to repeat to myself as I work, ut in omnibus glorificetur Deus, and to pray before my breakfast that I may be strengthened by my meal so that I may bring God glory in this day.
When I keep before myself the truth that the gifts come from God and the glory goes to God, then I can approach my work and my craft and my life with humility.
Ut in Omnibus Glorificetur Deus.
June 27, 2009 at 6:04 am · Filed under Ruminations
As I opened The Rule of Benedict this morning, I saw a tiny chapter, and wondered whether its text would elicit any thoughts and guide me to amend my life in any way. On first glance, I wasn’t sure. But the more I pondered the few lines of the text, I began to see how I might be changed by it. Here’s what Saint Benedict writes about “The Table of the Abbot”:
The table of the abbot should always be with the guests and the pilgrims. But as often there are few guests, he shall have the power to invite whomever of the brothers he pleases. One or two seniors, however, should always be left with the brothers for disciplinary purposes (RB 56:1-3).
A parade of tables marches by in my memory, reminding me of times that I have been welcomed as a guest and times when I have welcomed others as guests. Both of these experiences are halves of the ministry of showing hospitality to “guests and pilgrims.” Both help me to be reminded that practicing hospitality is a fundamental part of living out my Christian faith. Welcoming others is a proclamation of my faith through action, while receiving another’s hospitality is an act of openness, of receptivity, of submitting myself to God as he shares himself through the actions of others.
I remember the times, as a visitation pastor, when I would visit people in nursing homes. When it came time to share Holy Communion, a chair sometimes turned into an improvised table, holding the Eucharistic elements. In those moments, God became our abbot and the chair his table, as we sat together as guests and pilgrims.
One summer when I was in high school, I went to a poetry camp at Lebanon Valley College. I was one of eleven in the camp. Rather than split into two groups at meals, we always pulled three additional chairs to a round table in the cafeteria. This inspired us to name the journal of poetry we produced at the end of the week, calling it Eleven at a Table for Eight. No abbot was visible. We were all pilgrims. But even though we probably could not have articulated an ethic of hospitality, we practiced fraternity.
My academic adviser in seminary was Dr. Robert W. Jenson. He was rather brusque in the classroom, but when he and Blanche, his wife, opened their home to students, a different side of him emerged. He was a man of gracious hospitality, who made me feel at ease and welcomed in their home.
At some point over the last several years, I can’t recall exactly when, Anne and I served as hosts for a gathering of all of the participants in “The Shepherd’s Table” from our parish. We opened the door to forty-some people, who experienced an evening of good food, energetic conversation, and that hard-to-define warmth that comes from sharing a meal around a table—actually several tables—with friends.
How can I live by the spirit of the Rule? This is the question I turn to. Just these few memories, jogged by this little chapter, remind me of the restorative power of the experience of being made welcome at the table as a guest and pilgrim. This is the feeling I need to keep in mind when I am tempted to feel put out or put upon or displaced when the times come to welcome others to our table. It helps to recall the apostle’s words:
Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it (Hebrews 13:2, NRSV).
Ut in Omnibus Glorificetur Deus.
June 26, 2009 at 6:12 am · Filed under Ruminations
When Anne and I were planning our wedding, we selected a non-traditional Gospel text. Non-traditional for weddings, but one that has served as a guide to us, off and on, since that day. It’s a text that reminds me, every time I hear or read it, of God’s generous care for us, and of the futility of my flailing efforts to take over his responsibilities in my life. The passage comes from the Sermon on the Mount, where Jesus teaches:
Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? There do not worry, saying, “What will we eat?” or “What will we wear?” For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well (Matthew 6:25-33, NRSV).
This passage came to mind while I was reading “The Clothing and Footwear of the Brothers” (RB 55), a fairly long and detailed description of the provision and management of basic necessities. Three times in the chapter, Saint Benedict uses the phrase “it is enough” and displays a concern that monks receive the basics meeting their needs, so that they are not consumed by a spirit of acquisitiveness.
The ideal of sufficiency challenges me, because I am always tempted to believe that enough is just a little more, or a little better, than what I already have, and certainly more than what I need. But when I succumb to that spirit of acquisitiveness, I end up striving, not toward sufficiency that opens me to seeking the kingdom of God, but toward an insufficiency that distracts me from his kingdom. This redefines for me the notion of insufficiency as having too much, as having possessions out of balance with needs.
I don’t know that I can shake this imbalance on my own. Saint Benedict writes of a measure that sounds extreme to me, but perhaps an extreme measure is needed to address a spirit of possession: “But to completely root out this vice of private ownership, the abbot must provide people with everything they need…. This should remove all pretext of want” (RB 55:18-19).
I get the hint that along this path lies the freedom in which I could “strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness” (Matthew 6:33, NRSV). So, to ask myself the question Jesus asks, “Why do I worry?”
Ut in Omnibus Glorificetur Deus.
June 25, 2009 at 6:14 am · Filed under Ruminations
Over the last week or so, as the weather has taken a turn for the heat and humidity, I’ve moved the focus of my time on work projects from landscaping to some neglected rooms in our home. Last week I spent a day facing and taming the utility room, the repository of the clutter and debris that falls from consumer electronics like leaves from a tree in autumn. It is truly astounding to see the number of cables, connectors, installation disks, and power adaptors that accumulate over time.
I had a range of feelings pass over me while I was working. On the one hand it felt satisfying finally to be dealing with a deferred pile of work. On the other hand, I wondered at my tendency to save things on the odd chance that I might need that seventh USB cable at some point. And on still another hand, I was struck by the irony and the sadness of realizing that I had now become a servant of the very technologies that presumably were created—and which I invited into my life—in order to bring ease and convenience. In the end, they had brought complexity and inconvenience.
So when I opened The Rule of Benedict this morning, it seemed fitting to read a chapter entitled, “Whether a Monk Ought to Receive Letters or Anything Else.” The main point of the chapter appears to be that the monastery preserves its community by recognizing that the commitment to own nothing personal, but to share all things, includes the expressions and favors that might come to an individual monk from a relative. For that reason, the abbot decides what ought to be done with any incoming items.
This sounds foreign and harsh, but only because it is hard for me to set aside the unexamined premise that I have a right to my own personal property. The monastic life does not assume this same premise, so the system in the Rule is not an affront to that third Lockean right so dear to us and so crucial to our modern way of living: “the pursuit of property.”
What I had confronted in the utility room—and again yesterday in the garage—is the reality that the pursuit of property takes an (inevitable) turn to possession by property. And possession is exactly the right word. Saint Benedict, it seems to me, clearly sees the spiritual issues underlying possessions. And so he writes, “The brother to whom [the gift] was sent should not be saddened, in order not to give the devil an opening” (RB 54:4, citing Ephesians 4:27). This seems to be the wisdom underlying the traditional vow of poverty and the oblatial adaptation of the vow as a promise of sufficiency.
This gives me a new way to look at the accumulations of possessions I will face when I return to the garage or the cupboards in my office or …. I can ask myself whether an item leads to sufficiency or to a spirit of possession. And if the answer is the second, can I let the item pass through my fingers without sadness, “in order not to give the devil an opening?”
Ut in Omnibus Glorificetur Deus.
June 24, 2009 at 6:27 am · Filed under Ruminations
In today’s world, many monasteries are renowned for offering retreats and for their gracious hospitality. Showing that kind of welcome to guests is one of the fundamental marks of a monastic community and is the theme of Chapter 53 in The Rule of Benedict. The Saint’s statements are powerful and moving. He writes:
All guests who arrive should be received as Christ, for he himself will say, I was a stranger and you took me in (RB 53:1).
The greeting itself, however, ought to manifest complete humility toward guests who are arriving or departing: by an inclination of the head or by a complete prostration on the ground, one must adore Christ in them, for he is in fact the one who is received (RB 53:6-7).
The greatest care should be exhibited in the reception of the poor and pilgrims, for Christ is more especially received in them; for the very fear of the rich wins them respect (RB 53:15).
Even with my ears partially plugged by my stubbornness and my dislike for disruptions, I can hear Saint Benedict’s message clearly in this chapter. For me to live by the spirit of his Rule is to recognize that times for offering hospitality are times for honoring Christ, as “one must adore Christ in them, for he is in fact the one who is received.” This is one of the greater spiritual challenges I face.
As I ruminate over why this might be a challenge, I’m drawn to a few possibilities. One is that I have a dislike for disruption and disorder, which can certainly take place when guests come. But the Benedictine quality of hospitality critiques this, saying that the higher purpose in life is to welcome the gift of the guest because Christ abides in him or her. The second is that I do not like surrendering control of my life to others, but the Benedictine quality of obedience again offers a critique, challenging me to recognize that it is God—and not I—who controls my life. A third is that I am afraid of what might happen to me if I “let” the living Christ run loose in my life. But once again, the Benedictine quality of stability says that the dependable ground of my life lies in my relationships with God and the community and not in the illusory immutability that I believe my self-mastery brings.
On the one hand, these feel like high hurdles for me to surmount. But on the other hand, I can trust that God will grant me the grace to open myself to the possibilities of a living encounter with his Son as he comes hidden deep within the people who come and go in my life. It helps that Father Terrence Kardong’s commentary points out the echoes in this chapter of the account of the Lord’s visit to Abraham and Sarah under the oaks of Mamre:
The LORD appeared to Abraham at the oaks of Mamre, as he sat at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day. He looked up and saw three men standing near him. When he saw them, he ran from the tent entrance to meet them, and bowed down to the ground. He said, “My lord, if I find favor with you, do not pass by your servant. Let a little water be brought, and wash your feet, and rest yourselves under the tree. Let me bring you a little bread, that you may refresh yourselves, and after that you may pass on—since you have come to your servant.” So they said, “Do as you have said” (Genesis 18:1-5, NRSV).
Ut in Omnibus Glorificetur Deus.
June 23, 2009 at 6:37 am · Filed under Ruminations
One of the differences between a gadget and a tool is that a gadget tends to be a Hydra with many “heads”—the BrewButler 8000 Millennium Edition not only makes the perfect cup of coffee, it is a fully functional alarm clock and digital personal assistant. But when I think of a tool, I picture a device that excels as the one thing its inventor designed and destined it to be—the Bialetti makes one small cup of espresso…period.
That’s a bit of an exaggeration, a small overstatement of the distinction, but beneath these broad strokes lurks at least a small grain of truth. There is often some sacrifice that comes with making a thing serve multiple functions; while versatility has its virtues, virtuosity often lies in focus of vision. This may be a little of what Saint Benedict intends when he writes, “The oratory should be in fact what it is called, and nothing else should be done or stored there” (RB 52:1).
He then describes, not the appointments of the room, but the deportment of those who come and go within its walls. The oratory is for prayer, both corporate and private, and for no other activity. The room is reserved, and yet all are welcome, so long as their purpose is prayer. In fact, the moral principle that Saint Benedict describes is one of honoring others. First of all, praying to God, carrying out the Opus Dei, is an act reverence to God, that concludes in the same spirit: “When the Work of God is finished, they shall all leave in deepest silence and show reverence for God” (RB 52:2). This shows honor to God.
Then the community shows honor to others and to their need for a place to pray by the peace and quiet it preserves in the oratory: “Thus will the brother who may wish to pray by himself not be hindered by the thoughtlessness of another” (RB 52:3). The space and time that opens in the oratory offers a sanctuary (the word we most often use to describe the place where we worship) for individuals who desire a place for prayer: “But if someone perhaps wishes to pray privately at some other time, let him simply go in and pray, not in a loud voice but with tears and full attention of heart” (RB 52:4).
The principle of honoring others is reflected in showing reverence to God and respect for others and their need for a place for prayer. As Saint Benedict concludes, “Therefore, whoever is not busy with this kind of work is not permitted to remain in the oratory, as the place is called. For the prayer of another should not be disturbed” (RB 52:5). Here Saint Benedict ends by repeating the observation he made at the outset; the oratory is a place for prayer. It is a tool with a single purpose.
So when I ask myself how this insight can shape my life, two actions come to mind. First, I can be careful that my demeanor when I am in any sanctuary does not inhibit another from using that place and time for prayer. Second, when I am in a position of responsibility and leadership in a parish, I can promote a vision that sees the oratory/sanctuary as a place for honoring others, in showing reverence to God and in offering respect to others.
Ut in Omnibus Glorificetur Deus.
June 22, 2009 at 6:04 am · Filed under Ruminations
Sometimes as I read chapters in The Rule of Benedict, the cultural and historical differences between the sixth and twenty-first centuries seem especially pronounced. Chapter 51 provides one of those times when the distinctions assert themselves. It’s a brief chapter, so it’s worth reading as a complete unit:
If a brother is sent out on some errand and is expected to return to the monastery the same day, he should not presume to eat outside, even if he is begged to do so by someone, unless perhaps he has been told to do so by his abbot. If he does otherwise, he is to be excommunicated (RB 51:1-3).
Several differences strike me as I ruminate on this passage and ask myself what it might offer to guide me, as a Novice Oblate, in living according to the spirit of the Rule. First, the prohibition on eating meals outside of the community, unless one has explicit permission, seems disconnected from a culture in which we feel free to eat pretty much whenever and wherever we choose, especially with the pervasive and almost perpetual availability of fast food.
But then, as I think about this, the cultural differences in the way meals fit into community life come to mind. It becomes very easy to view food simply as fuel and to drive through a restaurant’s carside service lanes just the way we drive through the self-pumping fuel lanes at a service station. One is to fuel our bodies and one is to fuel our cars.
This difference challenges me to remind myself that meals are as much about fostering community and fellowship with the ones sitting at the table with me as they are about replenishing my stores of energy for the coming hours. Both are important, but the balance between them is the goal of the Benedictine “and.” Meals are a time to nourish both body and relationships.
When I think about meals that way, then it becomes a little more clear to me why Saint Benedict might create a rule that clamps down on a brother eating away from the monastery when it is possible for him to eat within the monastery. It’s because the meal is not just about satisfying hunger, it is also about offering oneself as a companion to the other members of the community. So if one chooses to eat away from the community, the others are deprived of the gift of companionship (which is rooted in the words meaning “to share bread with”).
Then it is clear why the abbot needs to grant permission, because a greater good needs to outweigh the loss of companionship. And finally, the penalty of excommunication makes some sense too, as it reinforces the value the community places on that companionship.
Perhaps the lesson I can draw from all of this is that even a simple decision, such as whether to pick up a burger while on the way between here and there, is one that I ought not make without considering its ramifications, its impact on others, and the extent to which the needs of others with whom I share a community inform (give shape) to my day and provide opportunities for service. There really is no boundary to the reach of the word Omnibus (all things) in the Benedictine byword, “That in All Things God May Be Glorified.”
Ut in Omnibus Glorificetur Deus.
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