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.

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.

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.

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.