I wrote this piece a few years ago on the feast of St. Dominic when I was a monk. While it speaks to religious orders, I think it may also have something to say to ISM communities who give a lot of thought to their particular charism or mission.
At
Vigils this morning as we celebrated St. Dominic, it occurred to me
once again that Cistercians are blessed by having neither founder nor
charism.
As an order, we have
no one founder. We generally recognize three founders, but in practice
have four: St. Robert was the inspiration; St. Alberic was our first
real leader; St. Stephen got us organized; and then St. Bernard came
along to market us. Any of these four would have said that that they
were merely trying to live out the Rule of St. Benedict, who in turn
would have said that he was only writing up what monks had been doing
for several centuries and that even this should be adapted to local
needs.
In short, we have no
charism. We're not practicing the spirituality of X while doing work Y
and wearing the habit of Z. We have no distinct spirituality, though it
can sometimes look as if we do since we have maintained the office while
it has gone by the wayside to varying degrees elsewhere. We have no
manuals or exercises. We have no distinctive apostolate. We wear a basic
habit free of distinctive trinkets. In 1500 years the Benedictine
family has produced preachers, teachers, mystics, and theologians, but
the first task was always simply to seek God and try to try to save our
own souls. A Benedictine monastery is just a place to try to live out
the Christian life. It ultimately has no other purpose or mission.
At
their best, Benedictines are free of enthusiasms. Long experience
teaches that fashions in both heresy and piety come and go. We're not
above learning new tricks, but they do not define us. Evangelization,
reparation, adoration, bi-location, and even flagellation all have their
place and some are needed more in some epochs than in others, but none
is the sum total of the gospel. In short, monks don't believe in killer
aps for the spiritual life. Instead, we mostly believe that the things
that worked in the deserts of Egypt, at the court of Charlemagne, and in
the monastic revival of the 19th Century still work. Like Tolkein's
ents, Benedictines want nothing that's too hasty.
We
read the rule of St. Benedict each day in chapter, but do not feel any
great anxiety about whether we're remaining true to the spirit of our
founder, who after all said he was only writing "a little rule for
beginners." We can go into our libraries and find thousands of books on
Benedictine subjects, but none loom over us in the way that the writings
of St. Thomas, St. Ignatius Loyola, or St. Vincent de Paul do over
their orders. We have saints by the hundred, and this very fact keeps us
from putting all of our eggs in one ascetic or theological basket.
We
pray for our own ongoing conversions and growth in compunction. We sing
the psalms, read the fathers, and assist at Mass. Monks and nuns are
generally not given to dramatic revelations and those who are generally
don't blab about them. Most of our superiors would probably agree with a
famous 20th Century abbot who, when asked what he would do if he had a
mystic in his house, said he'd drive him out. When asked what if the
visions were genuine, he said that then he'd be sure to drive him out.
Monks and nuns aren't given to the sudden and the novel. Our forebears
generally believed that this suspicion of extremes of sensation is one
of the most important ways of breaking ourselves of worldly attachments.
We
do fight particular our own particular demons-sloth or acedia being the
best known when routine gives way to listlessness. We can become too
comfortable--we've all seen the merry paintings of monks drinking beer
and playing cards. (Not that there's anything wrong with recreation
provided that the monastery doesn't become one never-ending house
party.) It is also easy to become focused on one's own thoughts and
preoccupations rather than on reaching out to God.
Periodically,
someone comes along to reform a house or a congregation that's fallen
into one of these or some other rut. And that's a good thing, provided
the reforms of the reformer don't then become some new overriding raison
d'etre. At times a particular house or congregation develops a
particular expertise. At Solesmes they sing, at Zirc they teach, and at
Marienkron they give massages, but all would say that's ancillary. Our
historical experience agrees with Richard Weaver who tells us that
unchecked specialization can all too easily lead to fragmentation and
obsession.
In summary, if
you're looking for a rather pedestrian life, don't mind a boring outfit,
think repetition is cool, and can't keep up with trends, the
Benedictine charism may be just the ting for you.
(With apologies to St. Dominic.)
