Benedict of Nursia (ca. 480-547) is one of the voices from Christian tradition who continues to help us understand what it means to walk together toward Christ the Light. The grand finale to the Rule of St. Benedict (RB) comes in chapter 72 on the topic of what Benedict calls "good zeal". (Bit of trivia: scholars agree that RB 73, the actual last chapter, functions as a bibliography). Having reached the bookend of all the wisdom collected in previous chapters, we might rightly wonder about Benedict's punch line for this vision of life in Christian community.

Neither too hot nor too cold

is the greater danger

to common life.

Hot heads fuel fear,

cold hearts still harmonies,

yet nothing sours the will for good

like the bite of indifference.

“Behold,” the Holy One calls, “I stand at the door and knock.”

We may not have

the fire to drive him away

nor the ice to refuse him,

but let us not be caught

humming to ourselves,

pretending he’s not there.

Set down tepid ways,

rise up,

and put a hand to the latch.

Community is a reality created by God in Christ.

We are reverent listeners and participants in God’s sacred story.

In fellowship we learn to be alone; in aloneness we learn to live rightly in fellowship.

Ultimately, we have no charge but to serve our brothers and sisters, for they stand as signs of God’s truth and grace.

From biblical times through the modern day, Christians have asserted that the practice of prayer is essential to the life of discipleship. Unfortunately, prayer can also become a source of shame and inadequacy. Who among us doesn’t feel that our prayer life isn’t what it should be?

What is the point of discipleship

if not to live truthfully

in the Divine Presence,

to make our way, ready for thein-breaking of God’s grace?

Like desert monks we saturate

ourselves with Scripture

that we, too, might dwell in the Word

and put on the mind of Christ.

We who practice

receiving God’s touch

and waiting through its absence

cannot resist meeting joys and challenges

with more and more transparency.

Centeredness wells up

as biblical words and symbols

begin grounding priorities and decisions

in something other than mere ego.

The fullness of Christian life

spills over, then,

into convictions and actions

that serve the greatest good.

Call it prayer, call it lectio,

but do not let it be confined

to quiet moments before dawn.

By the time you find yourself drawn to the phrase "befriending your limits," you have likely built a home between a mountain and a shoreline. The desire to seek new perspective may well be an invitation that involves some element of discomfort . . . and a dash of hope. This peculiar mix suggests to me that God is at work and that it is time to pay attention. We cannot help but respond with honesty.

Most Christian leaders can understand the way the most sincere intentions for well-being too easily give way to the everyday demands of ministry. Even so, with the new year upon us, something deep inside refuses to dismiss the impulse of grace and promise in a new beginning.

As a spiritual director, I hear people express both the desire for new beginnings and the sense of being stuck. This reminds me that I am not alone.

There is a beauty to these woods

that surpasses even the twilight

sound of the Great Horned Owl

or the crescent moon spilling stars

onto cedar tops and pines.

Death is not failure. Death is normal.

Sooner or later independence will become impossible.

Medicine has transformed life into a long, slow fade.

The trouble is we expect more from life than survival.

When life’s fragility is primed ,goals and motives shift completely.

T

Were I to sit with the setting sun

warm upon my face,

she might cast a long shadow

of the man I want to be.

The dark form waits patiently,

watching, growing

whether or not anyone looks on.

When brightness makes clear

what does not belong,

it shows more clarity and depth

than cold refusal.

The shadow is sure and ever-faithful,

sometimes cloud-hidden,

never truly absent.

Should darkness fall it does not flee

but settles calmly into

grace-filled unknowns.

May I become one such shadow—nearly unnoticed—a steadfast reminder of the sun.

“¡Más mezcla!, ”the masons cry and we mix sand, soil and cement.

Water dipped from drums pail by pail.

So many bricks. So much mortar.

Pail by pail we dry up a family’s only drinking, only washing.

“Toma la agua,”the mother says, risking all—“for my childrens”—to set a new foundation.

Tonight she will go to the stream,

pail by pail, starting again toward survival.

Tomorrow, “¡Más mezcla!,”and we will again risk with her

to build these children a home.

Fly fishing is not always a spirit-rich experience for me. In fact, it might be telling that I first picked up a rod simply because I thought dropping a fly into inviting spots might give me something interesting to do while I was bored with not catching fish. I like its practicality, so I keep at it and trust that it is important to my soul. I find that it entertains my mind and hands when I need to transition off life’s freeway onto a slow dirt road. Occasionally, on days like this one, the practice itself falls away and takes with it all my seemingly important thinking. In those precious moments, I realize anew that I am standing—and always have been—in the nearness of God. Fishing the fly can take me between mountains or over impressive stones, but always, always I am beside waters and among trees. Reflecting on what God speaks to me in beautiful moments like these, I know I need to listen more closely to the waters and the trees.

Over time, the practice of lectio divina becomes less a set formula for prayer than a disposition of prayerfulness. We learn to slow down and trust the Spirit’s often non-linear process. We marvel at the way the Word so often speaks into our experiences and submit to the ways God is forming us today. Any fruits of that growth are noticed not necessarily within the set boundaries of “prayer time,” but in the fruit of everyday life.

Thirteen of seventy-two chapters in the Rule of St. Benedict (RB) are devoted to instruction about liturgical prayer. Benedict goes to great lengths to establish a rhythm of life in community which is punctuated by prayer (the liturgy of the hours) and saturated in Scripture. Most central is praying the Psalms, which reflects the longstanding appreciation for the way this form of Scripture connects so deeply with the human experience.

The Benedictine school of spirituality is an important voice in our world today, a voice which informs our praying, living and discerning. It is one among many schools that speak to contemporary hearts, yet it is particularly unique in its lasting impact on Western Christianity.

Benedict of Nursia lived from ca. 480 to 547 CE in Italy. The Rule of St. Benedict (RB) became a foundational text for monasticism in the West, having emerged in the sixth century as the Roman civilization was collapsing. There was societal chaos and political dissatisfaction and we might wish that the conditions of those times did not sound so familiar to our modern ears. What we know about St. Benedict himself comes to us mainly through Gregory the Great (ca. 540-604 CE), who praised Benedict for his discretion and moderation.

In this particular situation, and in contrast to other interactions I have had in ministry settings, I was able to quickly and clearly hold my ground. I said, "I do smell gas, in fact, and I need help finding a solution." This refreshing moment of clarity reminded me that it is not always so easy to hold the ground of true self. In the flow of life, we sometimes catch ourselves doubting what we smell. We might initially attempt to ignore it or succeed in explaining away our sensations for a time. When the smell still persists, however, we begin to second guess ourselves, occasionally surrendering our perspectives too quickly because someone has pressed against our convictions. To underestimate or fail to exercise our perspectives faithfully is to drift away from the authentic, Christ-centered self.

We all have limits. It is an undeniable truth for every member of humankind. Whether we understand them to be the end of our capacities or the boundaries of our identities, we know the discomfort that accompanies the attempt to exceed them. Were discomfort the only outcome, we would simply discount them as inconveniences and pretend to avoid them. That would, however, dismiss the potential appreciation for limits that Benedict has been encouraging since the sixth century. In Ch. 4 of the Rule he urges the reader, “Day by day remind yourself that you are going to die”

“I surrender my need for security, affection and control. I surrender my need to change what I am experiencing in this moment. Welcome. Welcome."

These words are part of a gentle and down to earth prayer called "The Welcoming Prayer", which I learned at an event with Mary Dwyer and hosted by Minnesota Contemplative Outreach. Bit by bit, this little prayer is beginning to shape me.

Slow and steady

tear the grass

grind, grind

iron jaws

keep chewing

drop down

pulling, pulling

raise head

chewing, looking

pause

watch

chewing, chewing

swat tail

pulling, pulling

tongue out

snort, snort

chewing, chewing

stand still,

lift tail

loose patty

chewing, chewing

pulling, pulling

all day long.