When we pair Acts 9 with the gospel of John chapter 6 we might conclude that they are connected by a direct line of logic. In John 6 Peter confesses that Jesus has become the anchor in his life. Other disciples had gone home when the words of Jesus tested them beyond their strength. But Peter confessed his rock-solid commitment with one simple rhetorical question: “Lord, to whom would we go?”
That seems to lead nicely to Acts 9, by which time Peter himself has begun to work the wonders that Jesus had once performed. But something’s missing here, because the line connecting the two stories is not at all direct. Lest we forget, somewhere along the way Peter had denied Jesus three times. Unlike the disciples who simply drifted back to their homes, in one of the most dramatic scenes in the New Testament Peter got angry and ran away. And it’s my guess that this was not the last time when Peter’s faith was shaken to its core.
For better and for worse, Peter’s story is our story, for one simple reason. The recipe for integrity demands self-awareness, a dollop of sacrifice, and not a little pinch of grit. Along the way there are lots of temptations to distract us, but Jesus sticks by us, no matter where the trail leads. Behold, he is with us always — yesterday, today and forever. And best of all, he walks with us, even when we don’t notice.
NOTES
+Today’s post is a variation on the sermon I delivered at the abbey Mass on April 20th. That happened to be our monthly day of reflection in the monastery.
+On April 19th I attended Saint John’s Day, which is an annual dinner that welcomes supporters of Saint John’s University. Unlike our usual custom of inviting soon-to-graduate seniors to speak, this time we invited our four alumni Rhodes Scholars to speak. It was an inspiring event.
+On Sunday afternoon, April 21st, I attended an organ recital in the abbey church, given by Brother Simeon Johnson of Conception Abbey in Missouri. This completed Brother Simeon’s course of studies in the School of Theology/Seminary at Saint John’s, and by it he earned a Master of Arts in Liturgical Music. He certainly earned his new title of Master that afternoon.
+During the past week I was prayer leader at the daily liturgy of the hours.
+I’ve always found the pathway to be a wonderful image of life with Christ. Some paths can be lovely and enticing, but each can have its own particular pitfall, as the photos in today’s post suggest. I took these photos years ago during a tour through the Cotswold villages in England.
Lent has been over for eight days now, and it’s time to share a secret. I like Lent. I always have. But I’ve always wondered this: if you really like something, can it still count as penance?
One reason I love Lent has to do with childhood memories. Lent was the only time of the year when our family went to church on both a Wednesday and on an evening. Like most people in our parish, we drove in the darkness of a winter’s night to crowd into the church. There we prayed the stations of the cross, sang hymns and meditated on short passages from the scriptures. It was ritual at its best, and the experience created a strong sense of community. And because we did this for only a few weeks during the year, it has left a trove of clear rather than blurred memories.
My second secret is no secret to my confreres who also love fish. I grew up in a family in which meat and potatoes reigned supreme, but for me fish was the real treat. On Fridays in Lent my mother prepared salmon loaf, tuna casserole and toasted cheese and tuna melt sandwiches. Those became my favorite meals not only for the rest of the year but for the rest of my life. But during Lent I indulged in them with a sense of purpose. There was nothing penitential about it, but I also knew it was Lent.
Life in the monastery changed a lot of the liturgical regimen that I grew up with, and to Friday it added Wednesday as days of abstinence. Lent in Minnesota also added fish like walleye and herring, of which I knew nothing as a kid. They’re now also on my list of preferred “penances”, but I never take them for granted. That said, the special Lenten liturgies and the days of fast and abstinence shape life in our monastic community, and not just because they are unique to this season. All the same, I’m still left with one question: does my enjoyment of all this actually diminish the impact of Lent?
The answer for me is a resounding “no”. As I’ve come to appreciate it, Lent is not just a matter of giving up stuff. As much as anything it is a regimen of traditions and rituals that have the power to shape and inspire us as individuals and as communities. To my way of thinking, if Lent can accomplish even a smidgeon of that, then it has value beyond measure.
Lent then is a time to remind ourselves of our special character as people of God. Far from being some sort of sin to enjoy Lent, it’s well worth it if we savor every moment for the insight into life that Lent can give to us. That’s why I’m already anticipating next year’s Lent. However, for the moment I’m contenting myself with Easter, because it’s time to celebrate the risen Lord. One season at a time, please!
NOTES
+On Easter Monday, April 1st, many of the monks enjoyed the traditional Emmaus walk, which took them on a three-mile walk to breakfast at the home of the mother of Father Lew, the director of formation in the monastery. It was bit too cold and windy for me, so I denied myself this special treat.
+On April 3rd I concelebrated at the funeral Mass for Richard Brasket, held at Immaculate Heart of Mary Church in Minnetonka, MN. While I did not know Richard, I did get to know both his son and grandchildren during their student years at Saint John’s.
+The images in today’s post are of an altarpiece retable and frontal, commissioned for Pedro López de Ayala, made in Castile ca. 1396. It is housed in the Chicago Art Institute.
[Today’s post is the transcript of a sermon that I delivered to the monks of Saint John’s Abbey on October 13th.]
Between today’s first reading from Joel and the gospel passage from Luke there seems not to be a lot of optimism about life. In Joel catastrophe looms just over the horizon, and he is resigned to the thought that there’s little anyone can do to stop it. And in Luke the departure of one demon should seem like a relief, except that it is merely a prelude to the return of many more. What’s a person to do other than despair?
Strangely enough, however, I do see a parallel with Saint Benedict’s admonition to keep death daily before our eyes. Joel hints at this when he warns that “the day of the Lord is near.” Both Joel and Benedict suggest that each day counts for something. Not a minute ought to be wasted. Our lives are precious gifts from God, and we need to cherish them as such.
Life naturally includes the challenges that Joel and Luke write about; but with attention and focus, and with prayer and love for one another, we can embrace the fulness of life. In this Eucharist the Lord gives us the nourishment to do so.
NOTES
+Beginning with evening prayer on Saturday the 7th, I served as prayer leader for the week at the abbey’s recitation of the liturgy of the hours.
+On October 10th I participated in the monthly zoom meeting of the Regent’s Council of the Subpriory of Our Lady of Philermo of the Order of Malta.
+On October 13th I presided at the abbey Mass, and today’s post is a transcription of the sermon that I delivered. It is a reflection on the readings for the day: Joel 1: 13-15, 2: 1-2; and Luke 11: 15-26.
+On October 14th I was scheduled to fly to Washington DC to represent the abbey at the presentation of an Apostles Edition of The Saint John’s Bible to the National Cathedral. Alas, I never made it. As I drove from the abbey out to the highway, virtually every warning light on the dash went on — including the brake light. Also, the car would not accelerate. Being a sensible driver, I turned right around and went back to the parking lot. Because there was no other car available in the fleet, I quickly realized that the trip to Washington that day was not meant to be. Thankfully two colleagues from Saint John’s University were already there and able to make the service, which took place at evensong on Sunday. For a lot of reasons I had looked forward to that event for some time, but the primary goal was achieved. A set of the Apostles Edition of The Saint John’s Bible now sits there, in a cabinet made in the abbey woodworking shop.
+The trees at Saint John’s have been reluctant to give up their leaves this year, and the colors have been both muted and fairly late. The photos in today’s post give a hint of that.
Not so many years ago I had the chance to visit the town of Capernaum in Galilee. Today there’s not much left, but what’s there spoke volumes to me. This is a town where Jesus lived, where Jesus walked through the streets. And in the middle of the town are hints of an earlier synagogue where Jesus taught.
I wouldn’t call Capernaum beautiful, as ruins can sometimes be. Rather, what I found moving was the encounter with a place where Jesus walked and visited with people; where he ate and slept and taught; where he unburdened a man of his demons. The stones were very real, and they testify that Jesus, the Son of God, came among us as a human, and here his feet touched the earth.
It’s this humanity of Jesus that makes his preaching so moving. He spoke with conviction and insight because he shares our humanity; and because of that, his encounter with the man possessed by a demon has consequence. It gives us a glimpse into our human condition.
I hope none of us are possessed by demons, but all the same we can still be as stubborn as this poor soul in today’s gospel. He resisted Jesus, maybe because he saw him as an existential threat. He had always done things in a certain way, and Jesus threatened to turn his way of life inside out and upside down.
I confess that at times I find the teaching of Jesus to be threatening. He calls me to change when I don’t want to change. He calls me to see with my eyes and hear with my ears. He unburdens me of my demons and wakens me to the reality around me. And when on those rare occasions when I do lower my guard, I’m amazed. I’m amazed to discover what I’ve been missing.
NOTES
+Tuesday the 10th of January was one of those days filled to overflowing. Following morning prayer and breakfast I had class with Novices Augustine and Gabriel. This was the first in a series of classes on monastic history from Saint Benedict through to the end of the Middle Ages. I then had a zoom meeting with the Regent’s Council of the Subpriory of Our Lady of Philermo of the Order of Malta. In the afternoon I attended the meeting of the Senior Council of the monastery, where I was the entertainment. At that meeting I gave a report on the work of the Personnel Committee, of which I am the chair. From that meeting I went straight to the sacristy, where I vested for and then presided at Mass for the monks. Following dinner and evening prayer I attended the chapter meeting of the monastery. Then I went to bed. I have to admit that it was an unusually full day, and I’m glad these sorts of days don’t crop up too often.
+On January 12th the prior of the Benedictine monastery of Tabga in Israel arrived for a visit of several days. For many years now members of our Benedictine Volunteer Corps have served at that priory. Like Capernaum, it is located in Galilee.
+On January 13th I once again had class with the novices.
+On January 14th a goodly number of monks attended a reception at the home of Dr. Brian Bruess, the president of Saint John’s University and the College of Saint Benedict.
+On Sunday the 15th I served lunch in the monastic refectory.
+Today’s post is a transcript of the sermon that I delivered to the monks on January 10th. The gospel text was Mark 1: 21-28, which describes a scene in which Jesus taught in the town of Capernaum. In 2019 I was part of a pilgrimage group that visited Capernaum, and it was a wonderfully moving experience. The top photos in today’s post show some of the ruins of the town, including the synagogue. At bottom, however, is something entirely different. I took that photo as I stood in the abbey parking lot. That was not the biggest pile of snow, however.
A day at the archives isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but all the same my visit last week to the Florence State Archive was a rare treat. I went with two good friends who are members of the Order of Malta, and together we got the royal introduction to the archives of the Order of Malta, housed in one of the greatest archives in the world.
For fifty years HMML, our manuscript library at Saint John’s, has worked with the National Library of Malta to preserve the Order’s archives there. As you might expect, it’s been a methodical and arduous task, but that archive is a trove of information dating back to the 1100s. When the chance to partner with the Florence State Archive to preserve the Order’s archives in Tuscany came along, it was an offer HMML could not refuse.
What in the world would you find in such an archive? For one thing there are the Proofs of Nobility that admission to the Order required through much of its history. Applicants had to show nobility in the family stretching back two hundred years, and those charters tend to be ornate and well-designed. Their value to social historians and genealogists is significant, simply because they provide an outline of family relationships stretching across much of Europe for centuries.
The elegant documents always stand out, but it’s the bushels of rather plain pages that catch the eyes of many historians. Things such as account books detail the purchase of food and clothing and land for the Order. Others describe the service of the members to the poor and the sick of the region. Taken together, any archive can shed light on the lives of individuals and communities, and this one certainly doesn’t disappoint.
The sheer volume of material in the Malta archives in Florence is daunting, but one document I found particularly interesting. It was a parchment outlining the religious observance of the women at the convent of the Order in Florence. Not a few people think of the Order of Malta as a mens-only outfit through most of its history, when in fact there were convents of women as well. As such, this document provides a glimpse into the spiritual regimen of the Order as well as into the lives of women in the Order. Both are understudied.
There was one thing about this archive that did not surprise me in the least, however. Much of this material has rested on the shelves, unread, for centuries. Some of the scrolls have been rolled up since the scribes put them into safe-keeping, and that has made photography a real challenge. Still, the fact that they’ve survived all this time is a tribute to those who have cared for them. Archivists knew that someday this trove of information would be of interest to someone. It was their job to make sure it would be there, and digital photography makes it all accessible in ways none would have imagined.
History is one of those subjects that gets a bum rap in the modern school curriculum. That’s unfortunate, because whether they realize it or not, every person has memories. Every person is a historian. Every person works off of some vision of the past, be it insightful or wildly inaccurate. That’s just one reason why the preservation of our historical record remains so important.
HMML’s work at the Florence State Archive is a task of many years, and I look forward to the chance to return someday. I grant that such a visit is not everybody’s cup of tea. But it’s my cup of tea!
NOTES
+On October 25th I flew to Rome, for my first visit to Europe since the pandemic.
+On October 26th I and two friends from the Order of Malta visited the Florence State Archive.
+On October 27-28 we travelled to Venice, where we stopped by the Grand Priory of Venice, which also houses a great collection relating to the history of the Order of Malta.
+On October 30th I visited with two of members of our Benedictine Volunteer Corps, who are working at the Abbey of Sant Anselmo, the international Benedictine headquarters. Jonathan and Graham graduated from Saint John’s University in May 2022.
+On October 31st I visited with our confrere Brother Joseph Schneeweis, who serves as the head of the library at Sant Anselmo.
Last Saturday I spoke to a group with which I’ve had a long association. The Friends of Saint Benedict meet monthly at Saint David’s Episcopal Church in Washington, DC, and through the years I’ve become good friends with many of the members. So it was a delight to see them once again and to share some thoughts on the Rule of Saint Benedict.
I opened with a recollection of my last visit with them, which took place just as covid burst into our consciousness. I had enjoyed that visit and went home with fond memories that lasted for all of five days. On the sixth day I glanced at The Washington Post, and the lead story left me paralyzed with fear. Doctors had discovered the first verified case of covid in the DC area, and I had shaken the afflicted man’s hand and chatted with him in a narrow hallway. Was I doomed? I prayed earnestly that I was not, and I wasn’t. But for a while I could only imagine the worst.
This Saturday I took as my theme Bach’s Wachet auf — Sleepers Wake! It’s grist for a good Advent meditation, but it’s also appropriate for most any day as far as I’m concerned. It’s a reminder that we can wander through life oblivious to the opportunities around us, and I for one have been guilty of that on more than one occasion. So how do we rouse ourselves from the slumber that so often holds us in its grip? That was the question I intended to address.
Since covid has affected us all, I then commented on my own decision not to let fear of it paralyze me. After one month into the pandemic I realized I could not live in gnawing fear, and I had to do something. So I sat myself down and formulated three practical resolutions that I still follow today. First, I decided to take a nap every day. Second, I resolved to come early to community prayer, because I owed it to my confreres after a lifetime of being late for almost everything. And third, I decided to write all of my letters by hand rather than by computer.
I’ve stuck with all three, and I’m amazed at the impact they’ve had on my life. Plus, they’ve piqued my curiosity about what others have done to cope. Responses have ranged from the simple to the daunting, but I finally gave the prize to a friend from Arizona who also had formulated a trio of observations to guide him. “You cannot unsay a cruel word.” “The best sermons are lived, not preached.” And last and best of all, “always drink upstream from the herd.” I’ve treasured that last one, not just for its practical value, but also for its allegorical possibilities.
So what’s the point of an exercise like this? For one thing it can be a challenge to translate lofty spiritual aspirations into lived reality. For example, praying for world peace always seemed fruitless until I finally realized that I had to start with peace in my own life first. Seeing Christ in others, which is Saint Benedict’s command to his monks, only happens if I actually act as if the next person I meet has been created in the image of God.
The list is capable of endless expansion, but the point is simple. The promises we make at baptism and renew at Easter ought never remain abstractions. They are in fact daily challenges to our imaginations, and it’s up to us to translate them into practice. Transforming spiritual ideals into easily-recalled bits of wisdom may seem childish, but in fact our success as Christians depends on it.
Meanwhile I continue to gather the ideas that others have to offer. Some have been silly and others quite profound, but in each case I’ve had to remind myself that these are deeply personal resolutions that have worked for others. Might some work for me? The answer seems obvious, and it explains why I have adapted a few for myself. To cite but one example, I no longer drink downstream from the herd. You can never be too careful when it comes to swallowing something second-hand, be it water—or gossip. I should have thought of that years ago, but it’s better late than never.
NOTES
+On 17 October I hosted a small group of new staff and faculty at Saint John’s University and Preparatory School. Sponsored by the Benedictine Institute at the University, I spoke on The Rule of Saint Benedict.
+On 20 October Saint John’s alumnus General Paul Nakasone spoke to a packed house in the Stephen B. Humphrey Auditorium at Saint John’s. Paul is the director of the National Security Agency and oversees cybersecurity for the US Army.
+On October 21st I flew to Washington DC, on what turned out to be a very long ordeal. Just as we were set to board our flight from Minneapolis, the gate agent announced that maintenance issues had rendered our plane unusable. Fortunately there was an incoming flight from New Orleans that we would take. Just as we were about to board that plane, the agent announced that that plane too had maintenance issues. Thankfully there was an inbound flight from Philadelphia which we would board — as soon as it arrived. The third time was a charm, and we arrived in Washington at midnight. But the day was not yet over. On the way to the taxi a wheel fell off of my suitcase, but by then I was too tired to care.
+On October 22nd I spoke at Saint David’s Episcopal Church in Washington to The Friends of Saint Benedict.
+On October 23rd I visited with a recent alumnus of Saint John’s University. Following graduation Nick had been a Benedictine Volunteer at Saint Benedict’s Prep in Newark, NJ, and he now teaches at the Don Bosco/Cristo Rey High School in Washington as part of the ACE program at Notre Dame University. He graciously toured me through the school.
+The first four examples of Renaissance art in today’s post are all housed at the National Gallery in Washington. At top is The Annunciation & Expulsion from Paradise, by Giovanni di Paolo (Siena, ca. 1435). Below that is a Madonna and Child by a follower of Fra Filippo Lippi (Florence, ca. 1470), and next is The Annunciation by Fra Carnevale (Umbria-Florence, ca. 1450). The fourth photo shows a Madonna and Child, in the style of Agostino di Duccio (Florence, ca. 1460). At bottom is my friend Nick standing in front of the school in Washington where he teaches: Don Bosco/Cristo Rey.
“After Jesus had spoken, a Pharisee invited him to dine at his home.” Luke 11: 37.
I have to wonder how this dinner at the home of the Pharisee turned out. It certainly began pleasantly enough, and perhaps the Pharisee felt even a little pleased to host a notable such as Jesus at his table. But then the tone changed when Jesus failed to observe the age-old rituals that his host expected him to follow. What was wrong with this guest? I’m guessing that the Pharisee turned this over in his mind for more than a few days.
Every day God sends all sorts of people into our lives, and like the Pharisee we all tend to get out the tape to see if these people measure up to our expectations. To no one’s surprise — least ways to ourselves — we sometimes set over-the-top standards that make it easy to dismiss at least a few people out of hand.
Even so, all people are gifts from God; and Saint Benedict is only one of many writers and saints who reinforce this idea. The challenge comes, however, when uninvited people come strolling by. Can we seat them at our table? Can we welcome them despite the fact that they are so different from us? To the extent that our hospitality demands change on their part but none on ours, we have failed a basic test of hospitality. We have failed to welcome gifts whom God sends into our lives.
NOTES
+On October 11th I presided at the abbey Mass, and today’s post is a variation on the homily that I delivered that day. The gospel text for the day was Luke 11: 37-41.
+On October 14th we opened our blinds and curtains to discover that nature had blessed us with the first snow of the season. We had not yet disposed of the autumn colors, and the white snow contrasted beautifully with the yellow and red leaves that are still with us. By noon the snow was gone, but it will be back soon enough.
+Also on the 14th, Saint John’s University dedicated a new student housing complex on the other side of Lake Watab, which wraps around the west side of campus. Abbot John blessed both the housing and the Tom and Elizabeth Nicol Bridge which crosses the lake. In keeping with the mixed weather of the day, a sudden burst of sleet and cold rain saw the celebration move indoors.
+On Sunday the 16th I said Mass for the Benedictine sisters of Saint Paul’s Monastery in St. Paul, MN. Our monks have served the sisters there since the foundation of their community in the 1940s. It was my first time to be there in many years.
+The photos in today’s post demonstrate how we are on the cusp of autumn/winter. Despite a few days in the 50s later this week, winter will return and prevail. The photo at top was the morning view from my room in the monastery.
I’m not often stymied by the parables that Jesus crafted to teach his disciples. For the most part it’s not terribly difficult to tease something useful from them, but in Luke 17: 5-10 there is a parable that stands out from the others. In it the servants return from hard work in the fields, only to be sent to the kitchen to prepare dinner for the master. What’s the point of a story like this? Is this Jesus’ way of saying that life is difficult and we should expect no special favors from anyone? Is that what we should expect from God as well? Should we anticipate no gratitude for any of the good work we may have done? At first reading that seems to be the lesson we should draw.
For hundreds of years theologians and pastors and people in the pews have stewed about this issue. Will we stand as “sinners in the hands of an angry God,” as Jonathan Edwards suggested? Will we be saved by a forgiving deity, despite our many mistakes? If we can be saved, then how should we prepare for the day of our salvation?
For my own part I’ve taken comfort in the thought that salvation is less a moment in a divine courtroom and more of a life-long relationship with God. That in essence is what the first verses of this passage from Luke suggest. If faith can uproot a mulberry tree and plant it in the sea, then what else might it accomplish? Might it fashion a life-long and loving relationship with God? Jesus suggests that this is not only possible, but it is that for which we should strive.
Because there are moments when my faith has been the size of a mustard seed, I’ve often prayed that God might help my unbelief. That’s been a common prayer for many, and it’s what builds and sustains a growing relationship with God. Faith the size of a mustard seed can accomplish more than anything we might dare to imagine. Such faith transforms us — not into passive spectators — but into energetic sons and daughters of God. In the process we become people greater than we ever imagined.
So it is that those of us who are weak in faith should never hesitate to ask from the Lord the greatest of gifts — the gift of a faith that sustains us for a lifetime — and more. In turn the Lord will respond with a generosity that will amaze us.
NOTES
+On 26 September I delivered the prayer that opened the dinner for the annual Clemens Lecture at Saint John’s University.
+On 27 September the monks of Saint John’s Abbey were welcomed to a reception hosted by the faculty, staff and students of the School of Theology/Seminary.
+On September 28th I gave a talk on the Benedictine values of stability and stewardship, attended by new faculty and staff members at Saint John’s University and the College of Saint Benedict.
+Several weeks ago my good friend Al Wegleitner passed away at the age of 102. I visited him whenever I had the chance to be in Phoenix, and it was always a delight to see him. On September 30th I attended his funeral at Saint Gabriel’s Church in Hopkins, MN.
+On October 1st I attending Homecoming festivities at Saint John’s University.
+Like everyone else, I was stunned by the devastation that struck southwest Florida last week. I was particularly concerned for residents of Immokalee, which is to the east of Fort Myers. Seventeen of our students are from Immokalee, and thankfully the town was spared serious damage.
+I was saddened to receive news this week that Professor Giles Constable had recently passed away. Professor of medieval studies at Harvard and also director of Harvard’s center for Byzantine studies at Dumbarton Oaks in Washington DC, Professor Constable was a giant among medievalists. I got to know him ages ago when I sat in his class on monastic history. His advice to me at the time shaped the course of my graduate studies. Like each of his students, I considered myself privileged to know him.
+On September 30th we celebrated the feast of Saint Jerome, the 4th-century scholar who provided the Latin translation of the Bible that was standard in the West for centuries. Images of him in medieval art abound, and in today’s post I’ve selected four. At top is Saint Augustine’s Vision of Saints Jerome and John the Baptist, by Matteo di Giovanni (Italian, c. 1430-1495), housed at the Art Institute in Chicago. Below that is Saint Jerome in the Wilderness, by Cima de Conegliano (Venetian, 1459-1517); Saint Jerome Reading, by Alvise Vivarini (Venice, ca. 1476); and Saint Jerome in the Wilderness, by a follower of Pietro Perugina, ca. 1490. The latter three paintings are all resident in the National Gallery in Washington, DC.
A few days ago we read the parable of the prodigal son, and that text makes it pretty easy to identify with one of the three characters in particular. First of all, most people find it very unflattering to think of themselves as a modern prodigal son or daughter. Second, if a few esteem themselves as kindred spirits with the forgiving father, I certainly don’t think of myself in that way. For better and largely for worse, I stand united with the older brother. He was aggrieved because his lifetime of good behavior seemed to matter little to his too-forgiving father. There seemed to be no justice here.
That reading was percolating in the back of my mind as I considered today’s gospel from Luke 7: 11-17. In this text Jesus raises from the dead the son of a widow. At first blush this seems like a totally nice thing to do. But on reflection I find it disturbing. If Jesus could raise the dead in this one instance, then why can’t he do that for everybody? Sooner or later everyone experiences illness or tragedy, but are we to believe that Jesus feels no pity for us?
Luke notes that those who stood by watching were astounded. “Fear seized them all,” reads one translation. But we should not see that fear as the same sort of fear we think of today. Theirs was “fear of the Lord” — which is just another way of saying “they were struck with awe.” “God has visited his people,” they concluded, and they were those people. That little note suggests what’s really going on in their minds as they beheld what Jesus had done.
Then and now Jesus works wonders, and those gestures can touch us as deeply as they did those at the scene of this miracle . But if those wonders don’t come in the form of raising us literally from the dead, we should not be envious of the mother and her dead son. Instead, the Lord reaches out to us all, and he raises us not from a literal death but from our metaphorical death.
Given such generosity, how dare I complain about God’s generosity to others? Apparently Jesus loves me just as much as he does everyone else. That, I would submit, is what got everyone so excited. They were awe-struck at what the Lord had done for them, and so should I be also. After all, Jesus still comes to visit.
NOTES
+On September 12th I attended the annual meeting of the Malta Study Center at HMML. Of special note this year are two current projects that have great significance for the history of the Order of Malta. The Center has initiated two digital projects, the first of which involves the archives of the Convent of Saint Ursula, the Order’s house of nuns in Valletta in Malta. The second is a much more ambitious effort to digitize the archives of the Order of Malta in Tuscany, housed at the national archive in Florence.
+On September 13th I presided at the abbey Mass, and today’s post is a transcription of the sermon that I delivered that day.
+On September 15th I attended an organ concert in the abbey and university church, performed by New York City organist Stephen Tharp. That covid-delayed concert served as the dedication of the Holtkamp-Pasi organ, and it was a wonderful evening for me and several hundred others gathered for the occasion.
+During the past week I had the opportunity to visit with David and Susie, friends of mine from Fresno, CA, who were staying at the abbey guest house.
+As the photos in today’s post suggest, we have slipped quietly into the onset of autumn. Hints of it appear all over the campus.
It takes a lot of committees to run a large monastery, and for that Saint Benedict shares much of the blame. After all, he insisted that the abbot seek counsel from the monks, and even the youngest ought to weigh in. Therein is the challenge. In an era when committees rule the day in corporate America, just how far should a monastery go to imitate contemporary culture?
Before I became prior I was on two committees — the senior council and the vocation committee. I enjoyed both. Now that I am prior, however, it’s different. I know for certain that I sit on four standing committees that meet weekly on four different days of the week. Beyond that, I’m not entirely sure how many other committees I’m supposed to be on. All I really know is that they add up to an awful lot of sitting.
The two original committees remain my favorites, though each for very different reasons. Each impacts the life of our community, but I think it’s the vocation committee that is the most challenging. It demands regular attention, and it also requires a proactive participation that the others do not. Our job is to meet and get to know potential candidates for the monastery.
These past few days have been particularly gratifying. Last Tuesday the chapter of the abbey met and accepted Joseph as a candidate for the novitiate, and he will be clothed as a novice tomorrow. This last weekend we six committee members interviewed an individual who has visited Saint John’s several times and now has petitioned to become a candidate. If accepted he will begin a pre-novitiate stage, living with us in the cloister for two or more months. Then this week we will welcome two individuals who are at the very beginning of their search for God in a monastic way of life. Will our community be the right place for them? Our job is to help them as they figure that out.
Clearly, all this requires a lot from our members. Topping the list, I suppose, is a healthy dose of wisdom, and we pray for that regularly at our weekly meetings. It’s an essential ingredient as we welcome potential candidates for the monastery. Also necessary are common sense and a determination to keep going, whether there be no candidates or there be several. For whatever the reason, this seems to be a busy time for the vocation committee.
I’ve always thought that in the monastery there should be committees for everybody and everybody should be on a committee. After all these years I still think that, though there are days when I have my doubts. Do we really need all these committees? Maybe, and maybe not. But at the very least it’s a way of sharing responsibility among the monks and drawing individual monks into the life of the community. That in itself is a good thing. But it’s even better when the committees accomplish something of value for the glory of God.
NOTES
+For the record, I sit on four committees that meet once a week: the abbot’s staff on Monday morning; the senior council on Tuesday afternoon; the health center review committee on Wednesday morning; and the vocations committee on Friday morning. Other things fall where and when they will.
+On 9 August the monastic chapter (those monks in solemn vows) voted to accept candidate Joseph into the novitiate.
+On August 11th I participated in a dinner at Saint John’s for the staffs of two Episcopal churches — one from Augusta, GA and the other from Galveston, TX. The former has purchased a set of the Heritage Edition of The Saint John’s Bible, and the second is weighing the possibility. My job was to speak about the history of the project.
+On August 14th we hosted for evening prayer and dinner some thirty-five sisters from the nearby monastery of Saint Benedict.
+On feast days we welcome select icons or statues of the saint of the day into the sanctuary. This being the feast of the Assumption, we welcomed Mary the Mother of God into our midst. Meanwhile, the cloister gardens on either side of the church are enjoying perhaps their last hurrah of the summer.
A Monk's Chronicle 