CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER TWO
If we have listened seriously to this opening chapter, we shall now be ready to face the issue that Benedict raises in the chapter that follows: our need for guidance of someone or something outside ourselves. He wrote only briefly about the cenobites, but he praised them because they waged their spiritual warfare ''under a rule and an abbot'"' (1,2). So now he looks at this question of authority, both how we are going to live under authority and also how we ourselves are going to exercise it. This is one of the most carefully devised chapters in the Rule (supplemented by chapter
64), and it gives a wonderful portrait of the abbot, the man who is the model and example, both in his attitudes and in his actions, of how any of us should handle authority.
'*He is believed to hold the place of Christ in the monastery"'
(2). That small phrase sets the tone. Christ is the ultimate source of authority, both for the abbot and for the Rule, for the Rule itself is simply a practical guide to living out the teachings of the Gospel, which are the teachings of Christ himself. There are these two channels of authority that subtly interact so that neither becomes an end in itself but the one acts as check to the other, and both point all the time to the figure of Christ. Since the abbot is believed to act as Christ's representative, it is clear that it is his task to discover God's will and to communicate it. He must ensure that whatever he does will mediate the will of God, which means a total dedication to seeking out and implementing that will, not to propounding any personal agenda that he might have.
In the prologue Benedict shows me the many roles that Christ plays: king, teacher, guide. Now Christ is designated as the father of the monks, and the role of the abbot is that of derivative or surrogate father, the one who holds the place of Christ. The word ''abbot"' itself, of course, comes from the Aramaic abba,
"'father.'' Here we see that not only is he father to the community, but that there is this idea, which seems at first rather alien to us now but that was common in the monasticism of the time, of the fatherhood of Christ. When Benedict calls Christ Abba, father, it signifies that there is a filial relationship between the monks and Christ. This opening establishes at once the keynote of loving gentleness and takes me back to the very first words of the prologue that addressed us as sons and daughters. This will be a discussion of leadership that carries no sense of hierarchy or episcopacy.
The image that Benedict uses for the abbot is that of the shepherd, a term that perhaps has become too familiar through over use in sentimental hymns and pictures (1,7-10). I can only fully appreciate what he has in mind if I think of its biblical resonances or the meaning that it held in the early Church. We have lost some of the immediacy of the early Church when, since the gallows were something too shocking to be portrayed, the catacombs were full of paintings and sculptures of the good shepherd. The passage in Ezekiel that describes the shepherd who calls each sheep by name presents us with the good shepherd who knows all of his sheep and they know him. He stands in the middle and keeps them in view, ready when and where help and healing are needed. The strays are brought back, the wounded bandaged, the weak strengthened. He keeps them and he guards them, but he does not own them. This Christ-figure is the image of the abbot, but it also gives an exemplar of how anyone should treat others. It applies not least to me.
~ The abbot leads by a two-fold teaching (1,13), for itis as much by his example as by his words that his monks will learn. When
Benedict comes to write of the ''equal love'' due to each in any community, I feel that he is speaking out of his personal knowledge of the community life at Monte Cassino. As Jean Le Clerq reminds us, the Italy of his time was a class-ridden and hierarchical society with ''categories of people more or less distinct from one another.'' The only thing that they shared was the economic deprivation of a post-war period. Everyone's place was determined at birth and delineated for life by external marks, and this was as true of the invading Goths with their own nobility and their inferior classes as it was of the Italians.
This is the context in which we should read the descriptions of life at Monte Cassino in the Dialogues of St. Gregory. We can
see from some of the episodes that he recounts just what a motley crowd these first monks were, drawn from differing social backgrounds and racial origins. A wall fell down one day and crushed a young man whose father was a member of the Senate.
Another monk who had an accident with a sickle was a simple Goth. One monk was a Roman slave called Exhilaratus whose master used to send Benedict wine. (Was it these occasions of bringing it that led him into the monastery? We shall, of course, never know.) Maurus and Placid on the other hand were the sons of Roman noblemen. Benedict himself was of comparatively low social origins amongst his monks, coming from a minor noble family.
It needs little imagination to picture how, in a small group of men like this, tensions might erupt. One such moment is caught for us in the Dialogues. It took place during an evening meal when a young monk from a higher class happened to be holding the lamp for Benedict. While standing at the table, the spirit of pride began to stir in his heart. '' 'Who is this' he thought to himself,
'that I should have to stand here holding the lamp for him while he is eating? Who am I to be serving him?' "' Benedict read the thoughts of the young man and to him they were one of the clearest indications during his abbacy of the work of the devil.
We are also told of the day on which the Goth dropped his billhook into the lake and could not help trembling when he owned up to Maurus, who, though young, was of noble birth. When
Benedict, alerted by Maurus, returned the bill-hook that he had recovered from the water, he said with Roman exactitude but also with affection, ''Here you are, carry on working and do not be sad any longer.''
People come from all quarters and he turns no one away. The nobleman arrives with his large endowment and stands next to the penniless son of a peasant. There are freeborn patricians and there are serfs; there are illiterates and academics, clerical and lay, all ages. There is room for all on one condition: that they forget their old connections. When they cross the threshold of the monastery, they break with that old hierarchical society. They even leave behind their name, that civil name that can betray their origins. Since some rank and regular place is necessary for the smooth working of community life, they are given a new name and a new rank, determined by the date on which they enter. They address one another with respect and tenderness, "'all the courtesy
of love,'' that lovely small phrase that Benedict uses in 53,3. Slave or free, we are all one body in Christ. This is the end of all those labels that differentiate a person on account of birth, background, or education. Benedict not only quotes St. Paul, ''whether slave or free, we are all one in Christ (Gal 3:28; Eph 6:8)'' (20), he actually makes it the cornerstone of his community. Seeing each single person as the unique son or daughter of a loving father is a sentiment to which I can easily pay lip service and let it stop there. Yet recognizing the worth of each and every individual is fundamental to Benedict's way of life. If I am to take the Rule seriously, then I am forced to ask myself some honest questions about my attitude toward other people that I would probably prefer to evade.
'"*Discretion'"' is a gentle word that describes how the abbot handles the members of his family, which is the subject of verses
22-29. It is the art of being able to distinguish, to choose what is appropriate. The abbot does not over-protect or prolong a state of immaturity. He handles each one according to his true self.
He recognizes in each person, in any particular situation, that there is a level at which they will work best. So one is to be humored, another restrained; one to be treated tenderly, another sternly.
There comes a time when it is right to reprove and rebuke. The art of loving someone as they need to be loved does not ask us to turn a blind eye. But when and why? Benedict is showing me here the need for discernment in choosing the point at which I should intervene, and I think that once again it is the disposition of the heart, the true motives, that must dictate that. If my real purpose, even if it is a hidden agenda (even if I scarcely like to admit it to myself), is to improve or to control for my own ends, then that is wrong. What assurance there is in the way in which the abbot handles people, showing his concern to empower and to enhance them, to nurture them in a way that will promote growth. This is a journey that all must make on their own two feet. It is learning of discipline and inner asceticism under a master that has much in common with the Zen master. Here is a guide who has traveled the road on which the disciple embarks and is now available to point that way to each member in his own. For this to be possible, as Kardong reminds us, '"The leader must be secure in his own self-image, knowing that he is dear to God and to others.' We are brought back all the time to the figure of Christ. We are to see the abbot (but this is equally true of each
of us in any role of authority) at work as a true Christ-agent who works tirelessly to promote the Christ-life of his sons and daughters.
; The real point in the growth that the abbot encourages 1s growth in the love of Christ. If there is anything characteristic of the Rule, it is the way in which Benedict constantly stresses the love of Christ as the focal point. It is always the love of Christ that is the center of our growth process.
. everything must lead tothis.
. The role of authority is to help the individual to develop that personal relationship, to foster growth in the love of Christ. Rembert Weakland, whom I am quoting here, adds, ''and I would like to repeat that a hundred times.'' There is never anything static about Benedict or the Rule. This dynamic element, with the sense of growth, progress, opening out, is vital. As I come to the end of this chapter, I appreciate the image that Benedict uses in verse 5 when he likens the abbot's teaching to leaven that would permeate the minds of his disciples. These are words that suggest a process that is slow and thorough, working so that change will take place at its own pace. This is a leadership that understands about growth, spiritual and psychological, and will help to promote it. It is God at work, which will lead to the rising like yeast in each individual.
Yet even while he is being reminded of how he is to act gently, the abbot is also being reminded that at the day of judgment both his teaching and the obedience of his disciples will be examined
(38). Benedict again adheres to gospel teaching. Christ more than once affirmed the fearful possibility of falling short of his love.
Benedict does not let us forget the sobering thought that God will one day judge our actions. So the abbot is to bear this in mind, to anticipate God's judgment on his actions, to make the same judgment that God would make, and so not to act without regard to the consequences. Yet Benedict also puts limits to what might sound a huge responsibility, for he never says that the salvation of each soul depends on the abbot. If the monks spurn and reject the abbot in spite of all that he has tried to do to cure their unhealthy ways, then their final punishment lies with themselves and not with him. There is never any idea that the sheep belong to him; they belong to ''the father of the household, the paterfamilias'' and that is God himself. So I too must impose the same limitations on those for whom I feel responsible, in family, marriage, or work, for I must never forget that ultimately they
belong to God. Somewhere I remember Thomas Merton telling 'me that I can be brother or sister to another but I must never try to play the role of keeper, for to do that is to abrogate to myself a role that belongs to God alone. In No Man Is an Island,
Merton reminds us, ''A person is a person insofar as he has a secret and is a solitude of his own that cannot be communicated to anyone else .
. which God alone can penetrate and understand.'' This standing back is a recognition that everyone of us is unique and that uniqueness must be respected.
While each one may be equal in love, differences in personality and temperament, or of a physical and a psychological kind, must not be overlooked. ''Everyone has his own gift from God, one this and another that."' Later in chapter 40 Benedict will quote from | Corinthians. He is here emphasizing the flexibility of approach that the abbot will need. The respect and reverence is due to each as a unique creature of a loving father (echoes once again of the opening words of the prologue). Being ready to adapt appropriately to each requires the gift of discernment, and Benedict shows the skills of a spiritual director as he tells the abbot to use encouragement and persuasion or reproof as the spiritual needs of those in his care require. He is also responsible for the material welfare of his monks and while he does not want to deny the earthly and perishable things, Benedict is saying that we are to seek the things of the kingdom first and God's justice. The quotation from Matthew 6 in verse 35 brings me back to the thread of ''divine justice'' that runs throughout this chapter. God's justice is not justice in terms of just rewards for desserts as the world would understand it. The secrets of each heart, the intentions, the struggles, are known to God alone, and it is on this that each will be judged at the end. The reference in verse 5 to the leaven of "'divine justice' carries an implication whose significance I should not miss, for it clearly refers to Matthew 20:1-16, the parable of the workers in the vineyard. The behavior of the owner turns the accepted order of things on its head. Am I really expected to reward someone as much for one hour's work as for ten? This is not a description of just desserts as today's world understands it. It is rather a description of the overflowing of a generous love that does not count the cost, or reward by achievement, or weigh up time and labor and results. If I am going to take this seriously, then Benedict is challenging me to make the radical demands of the Gospel real and practical in my daily relationships.
The abbot is not only responsible for others; he is also responsible for himself. The position of leadership does not put the leader apart from the rest in the responsibility that he is also to exercise toward himself. Here is a caution that is only too wise for anyone involved in caring for others: they too will be held responsible on the day of judgment for the way in which they have handled their own gifts and talents, dealt with their own faults.
Jt is something that I need to hear myself, to take seriously.