Frank R. Fisher, Obl OSB
God's Oblation 12/25/2009
 
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"If it happen that a nobleman offereth his son to God in the monastery and the boy is of tender age, let his parents execute the written promise which we have mentioned above; and with the oblation let them wrap that document and the boy's hand in the altar cloth and thus offer him.

As to their property, let them bind themselves under oath in the same document that they will never give him anything themselves nor through any other person, nor in any way whatever, nor leave a chance for his owning anything; or else, if they refuse to do this and want to make an offering to the monastery as an alms for their own benefit, let them make a donation to the monastery of whatever goods they wish to give, reserving to themselves the income of it, if they so desire. And let everything be so barred that the boy remain in no uncertainty, which might deceive and ruin him (which God forbid) -- a pass we have learned by experience.

Let those who are poor act in like manner. But as to those who have nothing at all, let them simply make the declaration, and with the oblation offer their son in the presence of witnesses." - Rule of St. Benedict, Chapter 59.

    This is one of the chapters that is the basis for Oblates. In Benedict's time a younger child of the nobility, or the child of the poor, would be offered to the monastery. The child was expected to follow the rule. When that child became of age, the child could decide if he or she was to continue in the monastic life. Today, Oblates offer themselves to God and promise to follow the rule as their way of beginning their life with God.

    At this time of the year we remember the offering of another Child, the only begotten Child of God who came to earth as a helpless baby. In time this Child offered himself up for us sundered the barrier of death, and reconnected a broken humanity with the Creator.  It is unlikely that Jesus' birth happened on this day.  Many think Christ's birth actually occurred in the Spring, the time when new born lambs would require shepherds to remain in the field with their flocks.

    In the end of course, the time of Jesus' birth does not matter. What does matter is that the Noblest One of all cared enough for us to allow this birth to happen, to allow, if you will, an oblation to humanity; a promise that God would not the separation we created with God to remain. To this, all one can say is may eternal praise, and eternal thanks, be given to God.
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    "Of Brethren Who Work a Long Distance from the Oratory or Are on a Journey"

    "The brethren who are at work too far away, and cannot come to the oratory at the appointed time, and the Abbot hath assured himself that such is the case -- let them perform the Work of God in the fear of God and on bended knees where they are working. In like manner let those who are sent on a journey not permit the appointed hours to pass by; but let them say the  office by themselves as best they can, and not neglect to fulfil the obligation of divine service" - Rule of St. Benedict, Chapter 50.
                   
    I have to admit my career as an interim pastor does not make me an ideal Benedictine. St. Benedict wanted his monks to be stable, to stay, live, and die in one place; in one community. But the high stacks of packing boxes surrounding me at this moment, show that this interim call will soon end.  I am off on the road again after December 27th. This time I am looking for my seventh interim pastorate.

    Early in my time as an Oblate, I was wrestling with this fact with a fellow Oblate. "Should I simply find one congregation and stay there for the rest of my life," I wondered aloud. "But if I do that, I know quite well I will be entering a life that does not suit me. I am a wanderer, a pilgrim if you wish, in the depths of my heart." My brother in Benedict simply smiled and said, "but your stability is to your profession."

    Suddenly it all made sense. And it has brought me to contemplation of Chapter 50 of Benedict's Rule. I am almost always too far away from the Oratory (chapel) to join in the hours of prayer. But I can join in them, and in the reading of the rule, wherever I am at the time.  In a sense I revolve around the abbey, connected by lines of prayer, work, and study. There are times when the tug of those lines is too strong, and I must go home and live for even a short while in the midst of my community. After that recharge of my spirit, I am once again ready to begin wandering.

    There may be some others of you who read this who have lives who are in someway rootless. Perhaps your circumstances or your profession has stopped you from joining a spiritual community. If that is so, simply look to the google search bar on this page, and begin searching under abbey, oblate, monk, nun, and your own geographical location. Once you've found a listing, go physically and check it out. If it is not the place where your heart, to quote John Wesley, is "strangely warmed," start the processs over again and continue it until you find your spiritual home. And if by any chance you live near Peoria, Illinois, I can save you some searching. Just check out http://www.SBAbbey.com. You will find a warm welcome there

PAX,

Brother Oscar Romero, Obl OSB
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   "Let the brethren who are to be sent on a journey recommend themselves to the prayers of all the brotherhood and of the Abbot. And after the last prayer at the Work of God, let a commemoration always be made for the absent brethren."

   "On the day that the brethren return from the journey, let them lie prostrate on the floor of the oratory at all the Canonical Hours, when the Work of God is finished, and ask the prayers of all on account of failings, for fear that the sight of evil or the sound of frivolous speech should have surprised them on the way."- Rule of St. Benedict, Chapter 67

    Thoughts of journeys have been present in my mind for several months. My current inteim pastorale is almost complete. On December 27th, it will be time to pack up my suitcase and to take up my pilgrim's staff, and be on my way. Interim's are pilgrims. While leaving those we have grown to love is always painful, the pain is balanced by the wonder of where the Spirit might next lead. My suitcase and pilgrim's staff always sit beside the pulpit. They tell the world, I am always ready to begin my journey. That journey will be accompanied by the prayers of the congregation I am leaving, the one where I am ariving, and my sister and brother Benedictines who constantly hold me in their hearts and prayers.

    Recently, another type of journey has penetrated my life. Two weeks ago, my mother entered her last pilgrimage, the one into what some term the "undiscovered country." For at 6:45 pm CST, on November 10th, she closed her eyes for the last time. Two days later my wife's cousin, Rev. John Bachman, left to accompany her on that journey.

    Unlike the journey I am always ready to begin as an interim pastor,   I was ony somewhat  ready for John's journey. it was expected, but it still was painful. My mother's departure was not at all expected. I would be untruthful if I told you that her departure has not deeply effected me. In fact it has occasioned grief such I have not known for years. But in the midst of my grief, there is hope. It is a hope spoken of by Mary Pickford as she described the voyage of a tall ship.

    "I am standing  upon the seashore.  A ship at my side  spreads her white sails  in the morning  breeze  and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object  of beauty and strength,  and I stand and watch her  until at length she is only a ribbon or white cloud, just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.” Then someone at my side  says,  "There,  she's gone!" 

    “Gone where?  Gone from my sight; that is all.  She is just as large  in mast and hull and spar  as she was  when she left my side  and just as able to bear her load of living freight, to the place of destination. Her diminished size  is in me, not in her;  just at the moment  when someone at my side says,  "There!  She's gone!"  there are other voices  ready to take up the glad shout,  "There she comes!"  And that,  friends,  is dying.”

    Grief never goes away. After awhile it penetrates one's life less and less, but it never truly disappears. Until the day when I myself board that ship, I will grieve for the death of my mother Marie, and for Pastor John. But I know their departure from this shore has been accompanied by the prayers of many of Christ's people. And on their arrival on the other side of the curtain through which we cannot see, other prayers will great their resurrections.       
    I was not ready for the beginnings of their journeys. But through the grace of our l:ord Jesus Christ I know they are safe in the landfall of resurrection. For that, through my tears, I offer my thanks and praise.
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    "The Abbot must exercise the upmost care and concern for wayward brothers, because it is not the healthy who need a physician but the sick. Therefore, he out to use every skill of a wise physician and send iun senpectae, that is mature and wise brothers who, under the cloak of secrecy, may support the ailing brother, urge him to be humble as a way of making satisfaction, and console him lest he be overwhelmed by excessive sorrow. Rather, as the Apostle also says, let love for him be reaffirmed, and let us pray for him."  - Rule of St. Benedict Chapter 27.

    On the surface, Benedict's Rule seems harsh. Indeed in some sections it is harsh, although it is worth noting that the Rule has never been enforced literally. But in this chapter, titled. "The Abbot's Concern for the Excommunicated, " Benedict shows his true colors. People do leave monastic communities. In some case the good of the entire community forces the Abbot to ask them to leave. Yet Benedict instructs the Abbot to deeply care for separated members.

    It is very worth noting that Benedict did not tell the Abbot to do this care in person. Instead the Abbot is to send "sempectae." which means "congregation of the elders," to do the care. It appears that Benedict knew the presence of the Abbot would hinder this type of care. Interestingly this is to be done in secret. The Rule actually forbids the community to be in contact with someone who is excommunicated. So the monks coming to visit would seem to be breaking the Rule. Some commentators say this is a way to trick the wayward brother into repentance. I think personally it is a way to intensify the caring relationship and in the face of such care repentance can happen more easily.

    Every congregation in which I have been a member, or where I have served as a pastor, had members who went out the back door.  They were very active, but for some reason they slipped away from the congregation's sight. In most cases the pastor is appointed by the congregation to contact these members. More often than not, that approach fails. What does often work is members of the congregation contacting those departed, not to ask them to come back, but to offer their concern and care. "Are you OK?" they should ask. "What can we do for you?'

    Eventually this care, or one might call it relationship evangelism, can reconnect people with their congregation. But that is not the goal. Instead he goal is to prevent them from, as Benedict put it, "be overwhelmed by excessive sorrow."  It seems Benedict had the right idea.

    Guide us Lord, both to heed Benedict's teachings, but to also care for those who have been separated from your community. Amen.
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Sin 10/23/2009
 
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    "Live in fear of judgement day and have a great horror of hell. Yearn for everlasting life with holy desire. Day by day remind yourself that you are going to die. Hour by hour keep careful watch over all you do, aware that God's gaze is upon you, wherever you may be." - Rule of St. Benedict, Chapter 4.

    Wow, what a thought. Who would want to spend every day of their life being afraid of hell and knowing that you may be judged at any instant? Some people look at these words and think monks are those who literally hate themselves; that they are people who withdraw from the world in order to concentrate on their self-hatred. Nothing could be further from the truth. Benedictine communities have often been gifted with their share of grumpy people. But the monks I know are more often brimming with love and life.

    Benedict's words simply remind us that we are broken. Sin is a natural state for us. You might even say that the doctrine of original sin simply points out that sin is not original. It is inherent in human beings. Reformed theology agrees with Benedict's point of view. The Presbyterian Church (USA) Book of Confessions reminds us that we are all capable of ultimate depravity. But if that is so, how can we avoid God's condemnation?

    There is an old story, one whose author has escaped me, about a man standing before the gates of heaven. St. Peter tells the man that a point system has been put in place. Each person must have earned one-hundred points in earthly life in order to get into heaven.  "Well," the man said, " I was a minister for fifty years." "That's one point," St. Peter replied. "I went on countless mission trips to the third world," the man said.  "That's very good," said St. Peter. "That's another point." "I sang in the church choir for all my career and even sang on key," the man desperately blurted. "Wonderful," said St. Peter. "That makes three points." In despair the man threw himself down before the gates and shouted, "only by the grace of God will I get in!" "That's one-hundred points," Peter replied.

    In order to fully follow Jesus we must keep in mind our total dependence on God's grace. We do not earn salvation on our own. Only by the grace of God will we ever be allowed to approach the throne. But thanks be to God, that we have been gifted with God's grace.
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    "It is well known that there are four kinds of monks. The first kind is that of Cenobites, that is, the monastic, who live under a rule and an Abbot.

The second kind is that of Anchorites, or Hermits, that is, of those who, no longer in the first fervor of their conversion, but taught by long monastic practice and the help of many brethren, have already learned to fight against the devil; and going forth from the rank of their brethren well trained for single combat in the desert, they are able, with the help of God, to cope single-handed without the help of others, against the vices of the flesh and evil thoughts." - Rule of St. Benedict, Chapter 1.

    We who live in the United States are immersed in a culture of individualism. Take a look at our cultural heros and myths. Among them you'll find the cowboy, the lone wanderer on the range and the frontiersman, the person pushing the borders of the country outward but who will not tolerate civilization, or the gun fighter, the ruthless, or heroic, man who makes a stand by himself against all odds. The religious life of our country has the same myths. I have lost count of the people who tell me they worship God in nature. "I can be more in touch with God in the woods, than in a church."

    The problem is, the myths are false. They place us in situations where we begin to believe that it is bad to depend on others. But the truth is, we are social animals. We find definition in community. It is no accident that among the more barbaric tortures used in the "war on terror" isolation is king. When we are isolated we begin to lose our way. Eventually we begin to hallucinate and eventually we can become psychotic.

    It was not an accident that Benedict spoke of those who lived in isolation as a means of following Christ as ones who had first lived in community. The common rule I have heard is that a monk would only be allowed to live in isolation after being in community for twenty-five years. Only then could they have developed sufficient stability to withstand isolation.

    When we allow the myth of seeking God by oneself to flourish we are hurting those who believe it. A frequent cliche is that a fire burns brightly on a hearth. But if you take out a single flaming branch, and put it by itself, the fire in it will go out. As is the case for many cliches there is truth in the statement. The Spirit's fire blazes in us more brightly when we blaze with one another.

    Yes, you can encounter God in the forest or in prayer by oneself. But unless that is a reflection of the worship of God in community, it is a pale imitation. If you are seeking God alone, I pray you, begin in the company of others. You can find some of those others at Benedictine abbeys, including St. Benedict's Abbey, http://www.SBAbbey.com.

    May Christ bless your way and the way you travel with others.
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    "Reading must not be wanting at the table of the brethren when they are eating. Neither let anyone who may chance to take up the book venture to read there; but let him who is to read for the whole week enter upon that office on Sunday. After Mass and Communion let him ask all to pray for him that God may ward off from him the spirit of pride. And let the following verse be said three times by all in the oratory, he beginning it: Domine, labia mea aperies, et os meum annuntiabit laudem tuam (Oh Lord, open my lips, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise) (Ps 50[51]:17), and thus having received the blessing let him enter upon the reading.

    Let the deepest silence be maintained that no whispering or voice be heard except that of the reader alone. But let the brethren so help each other to what is needed for eating and drinking, that no one need ask for anything. If, however, anything should be wanted, let it be asked for by means of a sign of any kind rather than a sound. And let no one presume to ask any questions there, either about the book or anything else, in order that no cause to speak be given [to the devil] (Eph 4:27; 1 Tm 5:14), unless, perchance, the Superior wisheth to say a few words for edification.

Let the brother who is reader for the week take a little bread and wine before he beginneth to read, on account of Holy Communion, and lest it should be too hard for him to fast so long. Afterward, however, let him take his meal in the kitchen with the weekly servers and the waiters. The brethren, however, will not read or sing in order, but only those who edify their hearers." - Rule of St. Benedict, Chapter 38.

    Our modern culture does not like silence. If you don't believe me, ask your pastor to arrange a time in worship where there is no sound. Then take a look around during that time and watch everyone fidget. Even song lyrics, the ones from The Sound of Silence that kicked off a lot of the changes that have impacted our society have decried a time without noise.

        "Fools said I ,you do not know
        Silence like a cancer grows.
        Hear my words that I might teach you,
        Take my arms that I might reach you.
        But my words like silent raindrops fell,
        And echoed
        In the wells of silence." - Simon and Garfunkel

    In a Benedictine community a very counter culture thing is encouraged - silence. This is most apparent at meals. There is no speaking except the words of the one reading from the words of the Church Fathers or from other readings aiding spiritual growth.  In the silence, in the midst of readings about our relationship with our Creator, interesting things occur. The most interesting to me is the reverence with which people treat each other. Without words, everyone begins to interact with each other in an attitude of complete respect. No word is spoken while the meal is served, condiments are passed, and the remnants are collected. A lot of what seems to be unconscious bowing occurs. Utmost care is offered, both to the word being spoken, and to those hearing it.

    If we approach silence as a means to be open to the leading of God's Spirit, something does grow within us. But it is not something like a cancer. Instead the respect for the holy and for each other seems to blossom. It seems one is never closer to God, and to our brothers and sisters, when we stop letting our words get in the way.

    Would you like to experience this type of silence? Check out http://www.SBAbbey.com, or Google for a near by Benedictine abbey. The Holy One is there waiting for you in the silence
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    "As the Prophet saith: "Seven times a day I have given praise to Thee" (Ps 118[119]:164), this sacred sevenfold number will be fulfilled by us in this wise if we perform the duties of our service at the time of Lauds, Prime, Tierce, Sext, None, Vespers, and Complin; because it was of these day hours that he hath said: "Seven times a day I have given praise to Thee" (Ps 118[119]:164). For the same Prophet saith of the night watches: "At midnight I arose to confess to Thee" (Ps 118[119]:62). At these times, therefore, let us offer praise to our Creator "for the judgments of His justice;" namely, at Lauds, Prime, Tierce, Sext, None, Vespers, and Complin; and let us rise at night to praise Him (cf Ps 118[119]:164, 62)." - Rule of St. Benedict, Chapter 16.

    Have you ever gone swimming in a river? I have and its quite an experience. During high school my youth group went white water canoeing in many of the rivers of Wisconsin. And of course being in a canoe also meant being in the water. There were times when the canoe tipped over and we ended up in the drink. There were other times, when the water level was very low, when I would have to jump out of the canoe into the water and push the canoe, carrying my girl friend through the worst parts of rapids. Naturally there were other times when the whole group jumped into the water for the very joy of it.

    There's something about swimming in a river that's different than swimming in a lake or pool. The difference is the current. At times the current may be quite sluggish. You can take your time drifting over the waters, jump in and swim, or dig in your paddle to push your way ahead. There are other times, such as one I remember when I think about canoeing over a small waterfall, when the exhilaration of the moment sends your spirit soaring. And there are times when you must frantically fight your way past the rocks of the rapids and/or end up thrown into the water.

    When I came to St. Benedict's Abbey, I experienced monastic prayer for the first time. For thousands of years women and men have gathered in their oratories (that means chapel for most of the rest of us). At the same times every day they have prayed to God and raised their voices in song to praise their Creator. The monastic use of the Psalms extends this prayer back through our connection to Judaism to connect with all those who followed God before the time when our Lord walked the earth.  When our bodies have returned to dust and our souls to God, monastics will still be praying the same prayers we pray now at the same times we now pray.

    To me, this prayer is a river. The current of  voices raised in prayer started long before my parents parents parents walked the earth. And it will extend far, far into the future. When I join in praying the daily office of prayer, whether I am at the abbey or at home, I find myself entering that river. If I let myself feel it, I sense a joining into a rhythm that really is not connected to time. It flows from creation to our reunion with our Creator.

    There are times in this river of prayer where I feel soul leaping toward God in delight. At other times I plod and try to push myself forward through times that are stagnant. Or perhaps I simply rest in the quiet and enjoy my time with God. In bad times, in prayer I feel God pushing me ahead and sheltering me from the rocks in my life. Of course there are also times when I feel my life has tipped over and I reach out to my Savior for help.

    Today, many who are seeking a way for their Spirit, are looking for something timeless; something that has been before them and will be after them; something both awesome in power and delicate in touch. If that someone is you, I suggest you explore the tradition of praying  the hours of prayer. You can try it on your own, but to really experience it I suggest you check out a nearby Benedictine convent or monastery. There you will find the river running from the Creator's heart. May you be blessed in the wonder and delight of it's waters.
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    "Let us do what the Prophet says: 'I said, 'I will guard my ways, that I may not sin with my tongue. I have set a guard to my mouth. I was mute and was humbled, and kept silence even from good things'  (Ps. 38[39]:2-3). Here the Prophet shows that if the spirit of silence ought to lead us at times to refrain even from good speech, so much the more ought the punishment for sin make us avoid evil words.

    Therefore, since the spirit of silence is so important, permission to speak should rarely be granted even to perfect disciples, even though it be for good, holy edifying conversation; for it is written, 'In much speaking you will not escape sin" (Prov. 10:19), and in another place,  Death and life are in the power of the tongue' (Prov. 18:21). " - Rule of Saint Benedict, Chapter 6.

    Well that portion of the rule is interesting, isn't it? We are supposed to shut up . . . forever.  Actually I don't agree with that statement. Benedict was a realist. He intrinsically knew the value of silence.  But he knew monastics are human. He knew we would laugh and joke and screw around. But he wanted us to do better than what we are.

    At Saint Benedict's Abbey the Great Silence falls after compline. No word is spoken for hours until at Vigils the words arise, "O Lord open my lips, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise." And I confess that as an Oblate I have sometimes not embraced this silence. As Oblates, even when we are at the site of our monastic community, we are apart. We live in different spaces. And so, when are  apart from the monks, we often do not hold to the Great Silence, we do not recognize the incredible opportunity in our lives. And when we do that, I somehow know I have lost something important.

    In my life outside the abbey, I find myself, as an interim pastor, in a place where I am apart from my family. I find myself living alone and I often try desperately to fill that space with the noise of the TV or radio.  But when I do listen to Benedict, I begin to understand. If I silence the noise I use to fill the loneliness of being apart from my wife and children, I begin to feel something unexpected. I feel, in the silence, the presence of the Lord of Creation who speaks to me. I must admit I have experienced no huge revelations, and no blinding visions. But I do feel, in the absence of noise, the One who called me by name at the beginning of time.

    Thank you Benedict. You teach us to shut up and listen. You knew God would touch us even more in the midst of silence.
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Humility 09/04/2009
 
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    "The sixth step of humility is that a monk is content with the lowest and most menial treatment, and regards himself as a poor and worthless workman in whatever task he is given, saying to himself with the Prophet, I am insignificant and ignorant, no better than a beast before you, yet I am with you always. - Rule of St. Benedict, Chapter 7.

    Hey, that's a challenging statement, isn't it? We live in an age where we are measured by success.  The more money you make, the better person you are! Of course it doesn't seem to matter too much how you make that money. We idealize the rich and the famous. We want the huge house with two Mercedes' in the drive way. Forget about humility, its for the losers.

    Too often the same attitude appears in our churches. We see rich pastors who seem to blab a lot on television about Jesus but seem to care more about money. And the rest of us, hey, we are equally guilty. Every minister wants to think their preaching is unmatched. We want our congregants to gush about our pastoral care, even if it means we eliminate our time with our families to make our congregants proud of us. The list here could go on and on, but confess it, we are just as success driven as everyone else in our society.

    Maybe we all need to do some thinking about the One who told us that the last would be first. He also told us the great ones were the ones who became servants of all.

    Lord, help us to become servants; humbles ones who know our weaknesses and admit our imperfections. Help us to embrace the path of humility and in doing so, follow directly in your way. Amen and Amen
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