Monastery of the Holy Cross

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The Nativity of Our Lady and the Birth of Our Community

Yesterday, we celebrated the feast of the Birth of the Virgin Mary. Aside from its intrinsic significance in the liturgical calendar, it is a date with special meaning for our community. Our three founders all made their religious professions on September 8 with the Congregation of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, before transferring to monastic life. The founders have now been in vows for over fifty years—longer than half of our community has been alive. So we had a special celebration of their fidelity to their vows and of God’s fidelity to our community.

During our celebration, Fr. Edward shared a few memories of his vows and his ordination to the priesthood. Even though I’ve heard some of these stories many times, they are very important to share, especially with the new men in the community. These stories always include and presuppose, in some sense, God’s actions. God acts in concrete circumstances, and His providence has shaped us into a particular community with a unique expression of monastic life. This is true for every monastery. It is only through the memory of God’s actions in the past that each monastery understands His unique mission for us today.

 

Homily: The Church and the Papacy

In May of last year, Wikipedia set a new record for visitors to its site. At one point, the online encyclopedia was handling 800,000 hits per second, more than six times the normal amount. What was driving this mad scramble for information?

The election of Pope Leo XIV. The website “Streamcharts.com” reported that nearly six million people watched the announcement of his election online. Internet viewers logged over sixteen million hours watching the conclave as a whole, making it one of the biggest news items of the year. Anyone who thinks that the Catholic Church and the papacy are irrelevant in the modern world are clearly out of step.

Yet we also know that the modern world harbors a distinct hostility toward the Catholic Church and the pope. When I say “the modern world”, I mean something like the conglomeration of persons whose financial interests and ideologies coincide with a near-monopoly on communications, the banking industry and much of the political scene worldwide. It doesn’t matter, for the purposes of this homily, whether these person form a coordinated Deep State conspiracy or if the actions and ideologies of this overlordship was destined to arise when we crossed a certain threshold of technology. What matters is that one of the most important institutions, if not the most important institutions standing athwart their ambitions, is the Catholic Church.

Since, as I mentioned, they tend to control many communications outlets and write many of the algorithms that drive the internet, we know of their hostility toward the Church by the ways in which they try to induce Catholics toward suspicion of the papacy and the bishops, toward polarization and a general sense of doom. Anyone who has studied social media can tell you that few things drive mouse clicks more than anxiety and outrage. We even have a name for this compulsive behavior: “Doom scrolling.” But what it means is that every time we follow one more suggested article or video, we are not only potential undermining our faith in Christ’s Mystical Body, but we are also funneling money to the very people who benefit from the weakness in the Catholic Church.

What is it about the Church that the overlord class hates? There are many things. The Church opposes the pet ideologies of the modern world, for starters. But so does Islam. In some ways, Islam is even more medieval than the Catholic Church. So what separates us? I think the answer is obvious. The Catholic Church speaks in a unified way with authority, and she does so because she has one top vicar on earth, representing the authority of Christ, the One mediator between humanity and the One God. The Catholic Church has a pope.

One of the ways that the modern world tries to undermine the pope’s authority is through the language of political ideology. Every one of the pope’s actions is read through the materialistic lens of left versus right. So it behooves us this morning to revisit the nature of the papacy and the gift of authority in the Church, as exercised through the pope and the ordinary Magisterium, and to do so from a deep, theological point of view.

In today’s gospel, Jesus recognizes a special gift to Simon Peter from the Father. This gift is insight into the identity of Jesus. Not only is He the Messiah, the Christ. This is Peter’s confession in the gospels of Mark and Luke. But, peculiar to Matthew’s gospel, Peter adds that the Son of Man, Jesus, is also the Son of the Living God. Jesus tells us that Peter did not deduce this from any human reasoning. The insight is a gift from God the Father, the very Person Who sent the Son on His mission of reconciliation. And so Jesus confirms this gift and deepens its meaning by bestowing on Peter the keys to the kingdom of heaven. Like the other Apostles, he is given genuine authority on earth—the authority of a steward, but still real authority. Since at least the time of Saints Clement and Ignatius of Antioch—in other words, since the generation after the Apostles—the Church has understood that Peter, the Rock upon which the Church is founded, has a special ministry of unity. This ministry has passed down through 2000 years to Pope Leo XIV, the 264th successor of Peter.

The Church built upon the rock of Peter’s confession is a type of a sacrament of salvation for the whole world. By nature, the Church is both human and divine. When people speak of the Church today, we often mean either the men and women who happen to be living upon earth and who belong to the Catholic Church, or, in some cases, and even more incorrectly, the bishops and priests. In other words, we reduce it to something merely human, forgetting the divine nature of the Church. This is what modernists would like us to do. They might not be fully conscious of this desire; since they don’t acknowledge a divine nature to the Church, they may simply understand the Church as just any other human institution. But we should be very wary not to make this mistake.

Traditionally, the Church’s membership has been divided into three parts: the Church militant, expectant, and triumphant. The Church militant is the part that we can see on earth at the moment, the part that we often confuse with being the Church as a whole. But it is not nearly the entire Church. There is also the Church expectant, the souls that have passed on to the next world, but are not yet fully purified, and are working their way through Purgatory, with the great help of our prayers. Finally, we have the Church triumphant, those souls that already enjoy something of the vision of God. But they are ontologically connected to each of us in the Body of Christ. By virtue of our baptisms, we share the same divine life with them. They are close to us. They are our bulwark against every temptation against fidelity. For they know the Truth and are living in it. The pope is not simply a man, from this perspective. In some way, he speaks in communion with all of the popes who went before, who all exercise the keys as Saint Peter in the current context. We can have confidence that the Holy Spirit will protect us from the banes of apostasy and heresy precisely because we are in union with the entire Church, the communion of saints.

I end with a quick note on the gates of hell. Literally, these are the gates of Hades. We hear about these very gates in the works of Homer. Whereas Peter has the keys of God’s kingdom, and determines who goes in and out, the gates of Hades have been definitely breached by Jesus when He descended there after His crucifixion. No one is manning those gates anymore.

We often misconstrue this imagery, seeing the Church as under attack by these gates, and hearing our Lord’s assurance that Hades or hell cannot invade the Church. There is truth to this, but I fear that this interpretation puts us on the defensive, which is not the import of the image. Rather, with the power of the grace flowing through the Church’s sacraments, we have the mission of rescuing all who have been taken captive by the power of death and setting them free. This begins with each of us descending, with Christ, into those areas within ourselves where hell’s power still lurks: those places where we have been hurt, where we harbor resentment or hopelessness, loneliness, fear and anxiety. The power of the keys unlocks everything within us that is captive and sets it free by the power of Jesus Christ, the Son of the Living God. To Him be power and glory forever. Amen.

Making a Habit of Acceptance

During summertime, people will often point to me and say, “That habit must be really hot!” It’s true that black fabric absorbs sunlight and heats up rather quickly. For this reason, many monasteries in Africa and Asia wear white. But the tunic and scapular are relatively loose-fitting and do well when there’s a breeze. We experimented with a lighter-weight fabric years ago, for use during the summer months, but it wore out a bit too quickly.

Monks are meant to be companions of Christ, Who was poor and homeless. I’ve always felt it a bit unbecoming for monks to aim for physical comfort in the monastery. Saint Benedict warns monks not to complain about whether the material for their habits is too coarse (though he does insist that the abbot should make sure that they fit right!).  In general, he wants them to accept what is given by the tradition through the community. A bit of discomfort offers me a small opportunity to make a sacrifice for Christ and His Church, and to experience a bit of alignment with those who live in real poverty.

Most places in the monastery are not air-conditioned for the same reason. There’s a general preference in the community for simply accepting the hot weather as part of what nature offers. It makes our food grow, the way God designed. In Chicago, it will be cold soon enough! And we will wear the same habit in December.

Homily for the Nativity of John the Baptist

Typically, we celebrate the feast days of the saints on the date of their death, their entrance into their heavenly reward. However, there are three people whose birth we celebrate. And, as it happens, we can see these three persons above the altar: Our Lord Jesus Christ, Blessed Mary, the Mother of God, and John the Baptist.

Clearly, John is an important man in the Church’s understanding of salvation history, though I think that we often overlook him. Yet Jesus Himself testified that, of those born of woman, no one was greater than John the Baptist.

So what is it about this man that is so important, and what does his feast day mean to us?

To understand this, we need to understand what is important about the prophets, for John was a prophet, indeed the greatest and last of the prophets. In popular understanding, a prophet predicts the future. This isn’t entirely wrong, but it’s a partial understanding.

The prophets do point to the future, but more specifically, to a future intervention by God—which is to say, toward God’s judgment. In the icons above the altar, we see Christ returning as king and judge, and see that John is pointing to Him. And this awareness of a coming judgment has immediate implications for the present.

When we call to mind that God will judge us—our culture, the rich and the poor, the great and small—our consciences are engaged. We have to ask ourselves: what does God make of my life? Am I prepared to receive God, or are there choices I’m making, duties I’m avoiding, that will make me want to avoid God? Is my culture one that celebrates God or rejects Him, and to what extent am I compromised by that culture?

We see, early in the gospels, John the Baptist pricking consciences. People come to him and ask, “What do I need to do to be prepared to welcome God?” In John’s gospel, we see that Saint Andrew, the brother of Saint Peter, was first a disciple of John the Baptist. When the Son of God appeared, John pointed to Him and said, “Behold the Lamb of God,” and Andrew left John to follow Jesus. Throughout the book of Acts, we see the apostles going out from Jerusalem and frequently encountering groups of people who were disciples of John, who were waiting to receive the news of the gospel and the baptism of fire and the Holy Spirit.

One last point about John is that he embodies the Beatitudes. He was poor in spirit inasmuch as he always points away from himself toward Jesus, the Son of God. Again, in the fourth gospel, he says that Jesus must increase and he, John, must decrease. He hungered and thirsted for justice, and was persecuted to the point of death for the sake of righteousness.

John the Baptist was also meek. He came from a family of priests, and in his day, the priests were often politically very well-connected. But he left the privileges of the priesthood aside to go and live as a poor man in the desert, praying and watching for God. And by these renunciations, his heart became pure, and he was given the grace of seeing God. That is to say, John was the one who witnessed the Holy Spirit descend upon Jesus at His baptism.

So we see that the Church’s celebration of John’s greatness is no mistake.

That leaves the question of what it all means for us. By our baptisms, we are called to become prophetic people. Like John, our mission is to point away from ourselves toward Christ. By a holy life in imitation of John, we bear witness to the fact that God will come to judge, and by this witness, to call those around us to be prepared.

To do this effectively, we may need to find ways to separate ourselves from the perks and conveniences that our culture offers us, since these conveniences often entangle us that culture’s overall mindset, which is largely oblivious of God and the things of God.

By gathering here today, we have taken a good first step: setting aside time to celebrate the gift of God that we have in John’s example, and to prepare ourselves to see and receive the Son of God in the Holy Eucharist.

The World, the Flesh, and the Devil: The Third Precaution Against the Devil

The third precaution is to rejoice in others’ progress as if it were our own, preferring their advancement to our own. John says that we should do so especially with regard to those who are least attractive to us. In one sense, this is a corollary of the dominical teaching to love our enemies, which is the real test of charity. If there is someone we work with or otherwise encounter on a regular basis whom we find disagreeable, we may profit from doing some extra work at prayer. We can pray for this person’s well-being, perhaps his or her conversion, and take the time to think about what gifts he or she brings, even if these gifts are not immediately accessible because of some brokenness or ignorance.

This doesn’t mean lying about others’ shortcomings. It means being honest about what it’s going to take to love that person in his or her reality, rather than loving what we wish he or she would be if only our superior insight would be heeded. In my experience, this is more readily done when we know how profoundly God loves us despite our own failings, remembering that we have not earned our friendship with God. While we were God’s enemies, His Son died for us.

This brings me to an important conclusion: the necessity of meditation on the life and actions of Jesus Christ. We will notice, for example, that He did not help everyone He found. He often asked what the person needed before He helped, even though He would have known what that person needed. He could be very patient with sinners but also quite forthright with those who assumed their own righteousness or spiritual competence. He acted with authority where it was called for and, as a human being, submitted even to unjust authority. He sought out our salvation rather than His own safety and, by His humility and obedience, rescued us from death. We should ask Him frequently to fill us with His Holy Spirit, that we may know the difference between true goodness and its counterfeit. To be Him be power and glory forever. Amen.

(Here is the Introduction to the whole series. Here are The First Precaution Against the World and The Second and Third Precautions Against the World. Here are Part 1 of the Introduction to Precautions Against the Flesh and Part 2 of the Introduction to Precautions Against the Flesh. Here are The First, Second and Third Precautions Against the Flesh. Here is The Introduction to Precautions Against the Devil. Here is The First Precaution Against the Devil and The Second Precaution Against the Devil.)

Homily for Corpus Christi

What goes into preparing the food that we eat?

Ten years ago, a man named Andy George decided to try and find out by making a chicken sandwich completely from scratch. This meant growing, harvesting and grinding wheat, slaughtering a chicken, collecting salt water to extract salt, growing and pickling cucumbers, pressing sunflower seeds to extract the oil to make mayonnaise, and, last but not least, milking a cow and making his own butter and cheese.

This process took a mere six months and cost Mr. George $1500.00. Even worse than the cost: the sandwich didn’t taste all that good, at least according to his less-than-amused family members, who shared it.

And of course, there still was quite a bit of work that predated Andy George’s foray into deep agriculture. He didn’t have to domesticate a cow or a chicken. He used an electric fan to winnow his grain and an electric blender to grind it.

What all of this says is that we are very dependent on a whole series of systems in order to eat well. In fact, it’s a kind of miracle that we can go to the store at all and buy bread, deli chicken slices, pickles and onions, mayonnaise, and cheese.

Every meal is a faint glimpse of human unity and cooperation, and unconscious yearning of men and women for a common, shared life.

By calling it a miracle, I mean to imply that behind it all is a mysterious God Who has made the human race in such a way that we can cooperate and provide for one another, with systems too complex for anyone to fully understand…except God Himself.

Every meal is a sign of God’s bountiful love. But since everything happens so routinely, we can easily miss out on the wonder of it all.

It is a good practice to take a moment before we eat to ask God to bless all the persons whose work made the meal possible: from the farmers to the cheese and bread factories, meat processing plants or butchers, truck drivers and grocers.

The Israelites, after they left Egypt, suffered a bit from the myopia that often afflicts us when it comes to eating. Egypt was one of the most sophisticated civilizations of the day, and this meant that they could provide a variety of foods for delectable consumption. The Israelites forgot that much of this luxury was produced on the backs of foreign slaves. We all have selective memories sometimes.

The bigger problem was their inability to trust that if God were to lead them forth, that He would know how to provide nourishment for them. He did this through the miracle of the manna, the bread that came down from heaven.

And Moses tells us that this sign was about more than making regular provision for the people. It was a visible reminder that we depend on God for everything. We live by God’s Word.

This is the same Word through Whom all things were made, and the same Word that became flesh to walk among us. The Greek term for Word is logos, and like the Hebrew word for Word, davar, it has a much broader meaning than simply “word”. Our English term “logic” derives from logos, so that when we say that through the word of God all things were made, we are saying that God’s creatures participate in a king of logic, a rationale, a purpose.

This is why things like food distribution can work in spite of the complexities being beyond human comprehension. All things are governed by God’s Word.

God oversees and underwrites our lives. I’ve already said that the fact that we are able to eat each day because of the manifold activities given by God for men and women to carry out is a kind of miracle. This is the case for the sustenance of our natural life. What we celebrate today is the sustenance of our supernatural life. The life given to us in baptism is now nourished and grows by the gift of the Holy Eucharist.

No longer do we discern God’s Word through the insights we get into the complex interaction of God’s creatures. Rather the Word comes to us very directly, Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity under the appearance of bread and wine. We discern His presence by faith rather than by deduction.

It has long interested me that the elements consecrated at the Eucharist are not “natural” in the sense of being directly taken from the fields or vineyards. They are the product of human artifice, just like our everyday food. Someone harvests the grain, someone grinds it, someone adds water and bakes it until it becomes bread, a symbol of the entire human cooperative project. And then God receives and blesses this offering. Our project is no longer human only, but all of our natural human projects have now been taken up into the divine project of salvation, the reclamation of humanity from sin and dispersion.

Many grains and many grapes go into the production of the bread and wine that become the Body and Blood of the Only-Begotten Son of God. He is bringing unity out of our diversity, showing what true unity and cooperation are, and not only unity with our fellow men and women, but unity and cooperation with God Himself.

And today, we will take this message out quite literally to the world, maybe just a small portion of our neighborhood, but the symbolism is that of a grand cosmic vision. As we process with Jesus, we are a sign of His desire to gather all peoples into one. We will be a silent invitation to everyone we meet to return to God, to discover in Jesus Christ the answer to our deepest longings for life and love.

The one who feeds on me, says the Lord, will have life because of me.

The World, the Flesh, and the Devil: The First Precaution Against the Devil

John of the Cross offers us three precautions when engaging in spiritual warfare against the Devil. He is writing for contemplative religious, and so we will need to translate these into terms that will make sense in the world. But it probably is good to bear in mind his original teaching in its religious context, so that we don’t subtly weaken his points.

The first precaution is that we never take on any good work, outside of what is assigned under obedience and the obligations of our state. In translating this to the secular situation of the laity, it’s important to note that we cannot, for example, equate a boss, or a pastor, or even a spouse with a religious superior, to whom religious make an explicit vow of obedience.

Outside of the cloister, this then calls for discernment and an earnest effort through prayer and consultation to hear the Holy Spirit and have the docility to say yes. How does this work, practically?

First of all, the obligations of our state in life do present an analog between the cloister and the Christian life of the laity in the world. If we are students, we have an obligation to do our study, show up for class and the like. If we are parents, we have obligations to our spouses and children. If we are employed, we have obligations to our company and coworkers, and so on. If a new project will cause us to fail to meet these obligations, then it is probably not from God.

In cases that are unclear, Ignatian spirituality offers us a method for discernment. First, we must be clear about the likely outcomes of competing plans of action. Let me use an example from the late Cardinal George of blessed memory. When he returned from the conclave that elected Pope Francis, he spoke to a meeting of religious leaders and described the awesome responsibility of choosing, with the guidance of the Holy Spirit, the next successor to Peter.

The first question is, who are the candidates likely to be in the running? If there are, let’s say, three strong candidates, I need to ask myself: What are their strengths and weaknesses? What situations in the Church is each one likely to address? Are there situations in the Church that I find urgent, and how will each one meet these challenges?

The next step is the one that calls for prayer and deep faith. I need to imagine each person being chosen pope and imagine the likely good or lack thereof that will come of each candidate’s potential papacy. Only when I arrive at peace with the prospect of each candidate as pope, with all of his strengths, weaknesses, and personal experiences, will I be ready to vote. At that point, I will no longer be at the mercy of my own fears, whims, preferences and agendas. I can ask myself: which one of these options genuinely seems best for the Church? And answer it honestly.

So when we are presented with an initiative of some kind, if a colleague asks me to join in a new project, I need to be clear about what the likely effect will be of saying yes and of saying no. When I am ready to accept both options with peace in my heart, then I am ready to ask which one is best for me, for my family, for the Church.

There is one more piece to this process for those who do not have a religious superior. Are there persons in my life from whom I am obliged to seek counsel before a decision of this weight? Are there persons whose counsel I respect who could help me think through the decision? I said a moment ago that a spouse is not a religious superior. Spouses are not bound to obey each other in the way a religious obeys a superior. But married persons are bound to make important decisions only after consulting their spouses and listening to counsel openly, without trying to sway their response with emotional reactivity. The decision may still be yours to make, but it should take into consideration the counsel of the spouse. And if we trouble someone for advice, we should take it very seriously.

Another thought along these lines: when should I help someone? In the monastery, I’ve discovered that this isn’t as obvious as it sounds. Monks like to be helpful, but not everyone wants to be helped. Important questions include, “Has this person asked for my help, and am I willing to offer the help that he says that he needs?” “Is someone else supposed to be helping, and will my help be an implied criticism of someone in charge?” Helping someone can be delicate if there is an imbalance of power. Can I help in such a way that the person isn’t shamed by my magnanimousness? Can I do so as a true sister or brother rather than as a benefactor?

(Here is the Introduction to the whole series. Here are The First Precaution Against the World and The Second and Third Precautions Against the World. Here are Part 1 of the Introduction to Precautions Against the Flesh and Part 2 of the Introduction to Precautions Against the Flesh. Here are The First, Second and Third Precautions Against the Flesh. Here is The Introduction to Precautions Against the Devil.)

The World, the Flesh, and the Devil: Introduction to Precautions Against the Devil

By the sixteenth century, the era of Saint John of the Cross, the Church recognized three particular enemies of the soul: the World, the Flesh, and the Devil. While this formulation doesn’t appear explicitly until the high Middle Ages, the monastic Fathers wrote about spiritual warfare from a similar set of considerations. Their view of the soul was based on the three appetites or desires that move us to act. The lowest, the concupiscible, is our desire for bodily life and pleasure. The corruption of this desire is what Saint John calls the Flesh. He also says that the attacks against by the Flesh are the most tenacious and continue as long as the old Man survives in us. This comports well with what the monks of old warned their disciples, that sexual desire and the desire for inordinate eating will be temptations to the end of our lives for most of us.

The virtues that help us to govern these desires are especially temperance and courage.

More noble than the concupiscible desires are the irascible desires, which we normally think of as related to emotions like anger and sadness. We desire safety, honor, recognition, and the freedom to act, and when these are thwarted we are tempted to lash out in anger or grow sullen and cynical. These desires are nobler because they relate our souls to the world around us, rather than simply to our own bodies. The corruption of these desires is what John calls the World. He says that these are the simplest temptations to vanquish.

The virtues that we need to cultivate to fight back against the World are courage and especially justice.

The most difficult temptations to understand arise from the Devil, and these attack the intellect and will. The will is our “intellectual appetite,” meaning it is what we want to do after we’ve weighed options and made a decision. The vice that is especially dangerous here is pride, which is the vice that characterizes the Devil himself. The cardinal virtue that needs cultivating in this case is prudence. The Church’s own reflection on the Incarnation helps us to see the importance of the dispositions of humility and obedience.  These two stances, modeled for us by Christ Himself, show us how to develop a truly Christian prudence, one that can fight back against the Devil’s temptations.

What are these temptations? The Devil wants us to misjudge, to choose what is evil disguised as good. In other words, we are likely to be led astray by projects that appear to be good, but in fact weaken our docility to God and to the obligations attached to our state of life. This is connected to pride because we often choose tasks with an unrealistic view of our own ability to bring them to a good completion. We may seek out projects that will make us appear more virtuous to others than we are, rather than choosing a less spectacular path that leads to genuine virtue.

John of the Cross offers us three precautions when engaging in spiritual warfare against the Devil. He is writing for contemplative religious, and so we will need to translate these into terms that will make sense in the world. But it probably is good to bear in mind his original teaching in its religious context, so that we don’t subtly weaken his points.

(Here is the Introduction to the whole series. Here are The First Precaution Against the World and The Second and Third Precautions Against the World. Here are Part 1 of the Introduction to Precautions Against the Flesh and Part 2 of the Introduction to Precautions Against the Flesh. Here are The First, Second and Third Precautions Against the Flesh.)

The Word, the Flesh, and the Devil: The First, Second and Third Precautions Against the Flesh

(Here is the Introduction to the whole series. Here are The First Precaution Against the World and The Second and Third Precautions Against the World. Here are Part 1 of the Introduction to Precautions Against the Flesh and Part 2 of the Introduction to Precautions Against the Flesh.)

Now we turn again to Saint John of the Cross. In the autumn, I mentioned that he had written a short work on our theme for a new Carmelite convent. So he is writing to women who would presumably already be committed to a program of celibate chastity, regular and difficult fasting, and other typical deprivations associated with religious life. But I also believe that what he has to say will be very much of use to persons in the world.

In his first precaution against the flesh, John asserts that every one of my religious brothers and sisters was sent by God to fashion me, as a sculptor fashions a sculpture by blows. Unkind actions, words and gestures cause me pain, but if I see this as purposed by God, I can remain submissive under these treatments. He believes that we will not make headway against sensuality if we are not able to bear these difficulties with patience.

To translate this into the secular state, I think that we can say that, in any line of work that we have undertaken to serve God, our first presumption should be that the difficulties caused by others in that line of work can be borne for just this purpose. We can to learn to bear with irritation, annoyance, pain and the like. Granted, these areas of work do not come with the same guarantee that religious vows are meant to safeguard. Still, bearing the weakness of body and character of those whom God gives us in our walks of life will go a long way to purifying us of self-regard and a lazy selfishness.

John’s second precaution is that, if a work is in the service of God, we should not give it up when it ceases to bring us satisfaction or pleasure. The liturgy, keeping the accounts, cooking, whatever it is. We should learn to do these things apart from whatever pleasure we might expect from them.

This, again, will happen in any line of work. There will come a time when it no longer pleases. The world today urges us to move on rather than accepting the possible benefits of tedium and self-conquest. Again, I am not saying that there will never come a time when the problems associated with your work will not be a good reason to look for another job. But we can first use that boredom and nuisance for spiritual gain.

What derives from this is his last precaution, that we should no longer hope for pleasant feelings in lectio divina, in the liturgy, in any prayer or spiritual exercise that we undertake. Indeed, when they bring bitterness, we should embrace the difficulty, what Benedict would call the dura et aspera.

John’s suggestions seem timely in our world today. The world is geared toward maximizing choice, which usually means maximizing pleasure and comfort, avoiding anything we find inconvenient or annoying. We are frequently told that authenticity requires giving in to any and all desires and curiosities, regardless of whether the kind of instability this invites does real damage to our character. It is a sign of the loss of a larger Christian worldview, centered on the Cross and the hard work of redemption. This season is an opportunity to re-engage in recapturing the world for Christ beginning with our own hearts.

Silence (and Noise) in the City

As the weather warms up, we tend to keep our windows open, as we only have air conditioning in a few areas of the Monastery. This lets in more of the typical noise of the city. This time of year, more people are outdoors, so there’s more sound to start with. Sometimes I’ve been asked whether the noise causes problems for prayer. This question isn’t as easy to answer as it appears. Many “problems” in life are so only because we don’t have the insight to handle them properly. Perhaps if I were fully a man of prayer the noise wouldn’t be an obstacle at all.

As a general rule, I don’t find the noise to be distracting. Chicagoans are famous for being able to stop mid-sentence when the El trains pass by, then pick up where they left off. Noise is the baseline background to everything one does in the city. But more than that, noise is a sign of life. It happens because people are in motion, engaged in activity (admittedly not all of it edifying). We monks are here to serve just these people by our prayer and our witness to the joy of the Gospel. In a quiet way, literally, we offer an alternative vision of community and invite those around us to see the difference that Christ makes. The fact that our habits are radically different from the world around us is exactly what draws attention.