CHAPTER 16: How he lived and taught in the monastery at Lindisfarne
CHAPTER 16
How he lived and taught in the monastery at Lindisfarne
WHEN the venerable servant of God had passed many years in the monastery at Melrose, where he had distinguished himself by many signs of spiritual power, Abbot Eata transferred him to the monastery at Lindisfarne, to teach the true rule of monastic life in his capacity as prior and to illustrate it by his own perfect example. Eata was Abbot of Lindisfarne too. Let no one be surprised to hear that Lindisfarne, as well as being an episcopal see (a fact which I have already mentioned), is also the home of an abbot and community, for indeed it is. The episcopal residence and the monastery are one and the same, and all the clergy are monks. Aidan, the first bishop, was a monk and he and his followers kept to the monastic life – hence every bishop of Lindisfarne has exercised his office in this way. The abbot, who is elected by the bishop and a council of monks, rules the monastery, while the clergy – priests, deacons, cantors, lectors, and the rest – live the full monastic life together with the bishop. Blessed Pope Gregory showed himself a great devotee of this way of life, as can be seen from the reference he makes in his reply to Augustine. He was the first bishop Gregory sent to the English and had written to ask what sort of life the clergy should lead. I quote from the letter: ‘You, brother, have been brought up in the monastic rule. Now that the faith has been brought to the English you must not start living apart from your clergy. Introduce that way of life practised by the fathers of the early church, none of whom claimed as his own anything that he possessed – for everything was held in common.’1
So when Cuthbert came to the church and monastery of Lindisfarne he handed on the monastic rule by teaching and example; moreover, he continued his custom of frequent visits to the common people in the neighbourhood, in order to rouse them up to seek and to merit the rewards of Heaven. He became famous for miracles, for his prayers restored sufferers from all kinds of disease and affliction. He cured some who were vexed by unclean spirits not only by laying on of hands, exhorting, and exorcizing – that is by actual contact – but even from afar, merely by praying or predicting their cure, as in the case of the sheriff’s wife.
Some of the monks preferred their old way of life to the rule. He overcame these by patience and forbearance, bringing them round little by little through daily example to a better frame of mind. At chapter meetings he was often worn down by bitter insults, but would put an end to the arguments simply by rising and walking out, calm and unruffled. Next day he would give the same people exactly the same admonitions, as though there had been no unpleasantness the previous day. In this way he gradually won their obedience. He was wonderfully patient and unsurpassed for courage in enduring physical or mental hardship. Though overwhelmed by sorrow at these monks’ recalcitrance, he managed to keep a cheerful face. It was clear to everyone that it was the Holy Spirit within giving him strength to smile at attacks from without. Such was his zeal for prayer that sometimes he would keep vigil for three or four nights at a stretch, so they say, without ever sleeping in his bed – and there was nowhere to rest outside the dormitory. Whether he was praying alone in some secret place or saying his psalms, he always did manual work to drive away the heaviness of sleep, or else he would do the rounds of the island, kindly inquiring how everything was getting on, relieving the tedium of his long vigils and psalm-singing by walking about. He would upbraid the monks for their softness in being annoyed if any restless brother should awaken them at the wrong moment.
‘Nobody vexes me,’ he would say, ‘by waking me up. In fact I am pleased, for by driving away my drowsiness he has made me turn my mind to doing something useful.’
So full was he of sorrow for sin, so much aflame with heavenly yearnings, that he could never finish mass without shedding tears. He would imitate, as was only fitting, the rite he was performing, by offering himself up to God with a contrite heart. He urged his people to lift up their hearts and give thanks to the Lord God more by the yearnings of his own heart than by the sound of his voice, more by sighs than by chanting. His thirst for righteousness made him quick to reprove wrong-doers, but his gentleness made him speedy to forgive penitents. Often as they were pouring out their sins he would be the first to burst into tears, tears of sympathy with their weakness, and, though he had no need, would show them how to make up for their sins by doing the penance himself. He wore quite ordinary clothes, neither remarkably neat nor noticeably slovenly. The monastery follows his example to this day. The monks are discouraged from wearing expensively dyed cloth and are expected to be content with natural wool.
By these and other similar spiritual works the venerable prior fired all good men with the desire to emulate him, and recalled the wicked and the rebels against the rule from their obstinacy in error.