Speak Lord, Your Servant is Listening
First-time readers of The Rule of Saint Benedict are often surprised that Benedict expected one monk to read to the rest of us during dinner. Guests in the abbey refectory at Saint John’s are equally startled to discover that we still do it. Why would we do that after all these centuries?
There are a few monks who ask that too, but that’s a topic for another day. For now it’s enough to say that table reading provides one of the few occasions outside of Mass when we as a community can encounter a broad range of ideas and narratives. It provides some common intellectual input, be the book tedious or fascinating. But my own argument in favor of reading is that it’s way better than watching TV or talking politics during breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Right now we’re reading a book entitled Minnesota 13, which tells the story of corn liquor in Stearns County during Prohibition. For those who may not realize it, Saint John’s Abbey sits near the center of Stearns County, so the protagonists in this book are bone of our bone and flesh of our flesh.
During Prohibition Minnesota 13 was lumped in with what people inelegantly called moonshine. Today we would call it craft whiskey and triple the price, but that too is another issue. Author Elaine Davis interviewed survivors of that era and put together a fascinating collection of stories that we’ve enjoyed hearing. There are tragic stories of homes and barns that burned to the ground when stills caught fire. There are tales of local citizens trying by every which way to evade federal agents. Then there are descriptions of ingenious ways of disguising “product” on the way to market. There was one bootlegger, for instance, who always took a Roman collar along on his deliveries. There was the farmer-distiller who drove his bull to market to Saint Paul every day for weeks on end. The bull was the decoy that distracted curious eyes from the load of whiskey stashed away in the truck. Above all, however, these are the stories of our neighbors.
My personal favorite involves the case of a newly-ordained priest who had just finished with confessions. Puzzled about the right penance to give a bootlegger, he touched base with the pastor. “This bootlegger came to see me,” he said, “and I wasn’t sure what to give him.” The pastor paused and then offered this advice: “Well, if it’s really good, then I’d give him $10.”
You might be wondering right about now what this has to do with today’s gospel, but there is a connection that I hope you will appreciate. As entertaining as Minnesota 13 might be, running through the book is an undercurrent of struggle and desperation. These people were trying to feed their families. They were farmers who worked long hours but rarely reaped a reward that matched their labor. They were people who went to prison while their families suffered. They were people who resented one another because some tried to abide by the law while others saw no other option to doing what they were doing.
More than anything else, however, these are stories of people who lived every day in fear of being caught making or selling or possessing illegal alcohol. They lived with intensity and in anxiety, and rarely could they let down their guard. Those were far from ordinary times, and they knew neither the day nor the hour.
In today’s gospel Jesus tells the parable of the wise and foolish virgins, and he concludes with this bit of advice: “…Stay awake, for you know neither the day nor the hour.” Through the centuries preachers have legitimately thought of that hour as the hour of death. All too often death can come like a thief in the night, and so the best preparation is a life lived to the fullest. We must stay awake and alert to the chance that death might come calling today.
But Jesus also means for his disciples to stay awake and alert to the possibilities that life throws our way each day. In this respect it’s key to take note of the oil in the lamps of the foolish and wise virgins. Literally the foolish ran low on oil, but metaphorically that was the story of their lives. They had fallen asleep and died long before before their bodies died. Meanwhile the wise ones had oil enough to keep the fire inside of them burning. They missed no opportunity in life. They made the most of the time that they had at their disposal.

Part of life involves our endurance during difficult times. That suggests to me that life without any challenge is no life at all. Whenever life seems to be too much for us, then, we ought to stand back and reflect on what kind of opportunities those challenges throw out to us.
Right now most of us have been living in some degree of suspended animation for nearly nine months. If at this point we are tempted to give up or despair, it’s good to remember that these times are an extraordinary chance to rebuild ourselves. These need not be wasted days, because these are the days the Lord gives us to accomplish great things —whatever they may be.
In Psalm 95 we pray these words: “If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts.” Whether we listen or not, the Lord’s voice still calls out to us. We can respond by making the most of this day — or not. How we respond will become the story of our life.
If today you hear God’s voice, find out what it is that God calls you to do and do it. Don’t wait until the coast is clear and the challenge is over. I guarantee that by then the best of times will be long gone. By then, as the foolish virgins found to their regret, the chance to live will have slipped away. Choose to live, and when the Lord calls out you’ll be more than ready to respond. Like the young prophet Samuel, you too will be able to say “Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.”
NOTES
+On November 5th I had my weekly day of endless Zoom meetings. At least they tend to be interesting, which is compensation enough.
+On Sunday November 8th I presided and preached at the abbey Mass, and today’s post is the transcript of the sermon that I delivered. It is based on Matthew 25: 1-13.
+This past week we enjoyed seven days of nearly flawless weather in the high 60s and low 70s. This will not last, which is why we have savored every moment of it. My personal achievement of the week occurred on November 3rd, when I hiked for 6.5 miles. That likely will not happen again until spring.
+Since reverting to standard time it has been especially dark when we gather for evening prayer, as the photos in today’s post suggest. The lower two photos show us as we gather for noon prayer in the cemetery on the feast of All Souls, November 2nd.