“It is well known that there are four kinds of monks. The first kind are the Cenobites: those who live in monasteries and serve under a rule and an Abbot.” - Rule of Saint Benedict, Chapter 1.

     Benedictines live in community. In essence an abbey is a family; a gathering of people of differing abilities and gifts living under the authority of an abbot. As in the case for all families there are times of disagreement. Our own congregations are also families; families in which bad behavior is often tolerated. Confronting someone on their behavior, it seems, is not the “Christian thing to do.” Interestingly enough those exact same words have also been heard in synagogues. 

      There is, however, a very large difference between our own congregations and a Benedictine Abbey. Benedict created the rule while living in community.  Since one of those communities tried to poison him, he was very aware of how disagreements can occur. To counter this, the rule included regulations about behavior. Someone who joins such a community knows in advance how he or she is expected to behave in times of calm and times of conflict.  The rule includes ways to correct those who violate these rules which mirror the instructions of Matthew, Chapter 18.  “If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone. If the member listens to you, you have regained that one. But if you are not listened to, take one or two others along with you, so that every word may be confirmed by the evidence of two or three witnesses.  If the member refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church; and if the offender  refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector.”Matthew 18:15-17, NRSV.

     The rule contains many steps toward the correction or errors. But in the end, one follows the rule’s instructions or one leaves the community.  Yet even then, the abbot is called to reach out pastorally to those who have left.  They are to be reached out to and taught, not as one who is anathema to the community, but as one who has not yet learned how to live and act under the rule. After all, Jesus  treated Gentiles and Tax Collectors better than he treated religious leaders.

     As leaders of congregations pastors are often greatly impacted by bad behavior. They feel it hurt them and see it hurt congregational members.  Of course our denominations and congregations do have rules regulating behavior. But all too often those joining a congregation don’t know the rules, or understand the effects of their behavior.  In congregations where bad behavior reigns, we all need to be reminded of our own rules. We may also need to adopt additional rules. In the Presbyterian Church (USA) a good example of an additional behavioral rule is found in the Guidelines for Presbyterians in Times of Disagreement. In some extreme cases we need to invite in outside help.  If you happen to be in such a situation, the Lombard Mennonite Peace Center is an excellent source for help.  It is also a good place for clerics to learn about themselves and how they function in conflict situations. 

     We pastors need to also understand we are all too often major players in congregational conflict. Benedict insisted that Abbots were subject to the same rule as other monks. We pastors should take note of that. If we don’t obey the rules, or if we verbally open fire on a congregant, we shouldn’t be surprised by return fire.  So when we find ourselves in such a situation there are several things we need to do right off the bat. First, pray. We follow the Lord of Peace. Who better else to talk to when peace is needed?  Second, find your own community.  We need places where we aren’t in charge; places where rubbing elbows with other community members can reveal our own weaknesses and direct us on Christ’s path. Third, treat those with whom we disagree as other children of God. We need to follow Christ's example in reacting toward combatants. Fourth, and by no means last, we need to get help. Don’t try to carry the burden alone.  Let your ecclesiastical superiors know what is going on. Hint, if you find yourself at the point where all you can think of, and talk about, is the conflict you are in too deep. Get professional help for yourself.

     Oh, and by the way, if you need a community in which to rub off your rough edges and help you in your own spiritual journey, run, don’t walk, to a Benedictine Abbey. I happen to know one who will be interested in talking to you.

“ Although the life of a monk ought to have about it at all times the character of a Lenten observance, yet since few have the virtue for that, we therefore urge that during the actual days of Lent the brethren keep their lives most pure and at the same time wash away during these holy days all the negligences of other times. And this will be worthily done if we restrain ourselves from all vices and give ourselves up to prayer with tears, to reading, to compunction of heart and to abstinence.”    _ Rule of St. Benedict, Chapter 49

    “There’s dirt on your forehead.”  I used to make that comment to some of my friends in college.  Not having been raised in a liturgical church, I had no idea  it was Ash Wednesday.  When I was informed their foreheads were covered with ash, and not dirt, I didn’t see the point of all the mess. 

    Since those college years, I’ve had a change of heart. When my congregation began to hold Ash Wednesday services, I went out of curiosity.  I continued to go, because those services, and the other special Lenten observances, began to move me quite deeply.  In them, God voice began to break through to my heart.  Three years after the services began, I finally stopped running from God’s call on Easter Sunday. I firmly believe the Lenten observance  had a great deal to do with my becoming open to God's call to pastoral ministry.

    Today is Ash Wednesday.  When we receive ashes today, we acknowledge that God formed us from dust and that to dust we will return.  In other words, we declare our complete dependence on God.  We also visibly acknowledge that as human beings we are sinners and that we are sorry for our sin.  Our wearing ashes also declares to God, and to our sisters and brothers,  that we humbly ask God’s help in turning our lives around. 

    This Ash Wednesday is also an opportunity to dedicate ourselves to live a holy Lent; a Lent in which we can examine our past as congregations, as pastors, and as congregants,, and search for the path where God leads us into the future.   I pray you’ll join in this ritual at your local congregation this Ash Wednesday.  Go if you’re merely curious.  Go if you’d like to explore a tradition of repentance from the ancient history of Christ’s church. But above all go, if you’d like to begin a Lenten journey with the intent of deepening your relationship with our Creator.

“This order for the Night Office on Sunday shall be observed the year around, both summer and winter; unless it should happen (which God forbid) that the brethren be late in rising, in which case the lessons or the responsories will have to be shortened somewhat. Let every precaution be taken, however, against such an occurrence; but if it does happen, then the one through whose neglect it has come about should make due satisfaction to God in the oratory.”  - Rule of Saint Benedict, Chapter 11.

    “Making satisfaction to God in the oratory.” At one time, this was a very foreign concept to me.  Prayer to me was something one does in church, at the family table, and most of all in an urgent appeal for help when I had messed something up; usually something messed up big time. All this changed a few years after I became a Presbyterian. That’s when a sense of call to ordained ministry, which I had suppressed for about 30 years, came back to me with a vengeance. I met, Heaven’s Hound. The chase lasted for awhile, but in the end my path was certain.

    Shortly after beginning the ordination process, I was drawn into my pastor’s study with what I felt was an embarrassing question, “how do I pray?”  Thanks be to God my pastor had the grace not to ask why I had waited until this point to ask! Instead, he introduced me to the liturgy of the hours, otherwise known as the Divine Office..  This way of prayer immediately felt right. More importantly in praying the hours, I gradually felt myself being drawn closer to God.

    When Presbyterians are ordained to the Ministry of Word and Sacrament, they give up membership in a congregation, and become instead members of a Presbytery. Upon my ordination I knew I had to find a community to nuture me like my congregation had nurtured me; a place where I would be a worshiper, and not a worship leader. Since I had been drawn closer to God through the Divine Office, I began looking for a worshiping community who used this form of prayer. The search lasted for some time, but eventually I found myself at St. Benedict’s Abbey. I was a bit skeptical about the abbey when I first arrived. Then I fell in love with the community in a matter of hours. 

    I’m sure one of the main reasons for my rapid change of heart is the way Benedictines frame their work with times of prayer. And in joining them in prayer I found the Divine Office was not only a way to draw closer to God, it was also a path capable of  making my work, and my life, a prayer. As an imperfect human being, I will never finish the path. But walking it is a delight! It has also become an answer to many of my prayers.

    If I tell God  I’m feeling stressed out, the answer that pops into my mind is “pray the hours.” If I tell God I feel there is something I need to change in my life, the answer comes back “pray the hours.” In times of grief the answer is “pray the hours.” If I feel the urgent need to place a congregant’s picture on a dart board, the answer is “pray the hours.”

    I know that sounds simplistic. And I know there are those who need another form of prayer. But for me, it works. I find praying centers me when I’m stressed, and allows me to feel God’s love in times of grief. Surprisingly, to me at first, it also allows me to not only drop the dart board idea, but to come to better understand, and to love, those with whom I am in disagreement. 

    Would you like to enter a river of prayer; a river running deep into the past and far into the future? If so, check out a Benedictine monastery. Of course, you’d be welcome at St. Benedict’s; http://www.SBAbbey.com. In the Divine Office you can find yourself united in prayer with monastics from every time and place. I pray you also find yourself making satisfaction to the One to whom all prayer ascends.

   “Reading will always accompany the meals of the brothers, The reader should not be the one who just picks up the book, but someone who will read for a whole week . . . Brothers will read and sing not according to rank, but according to their ability to benefit their hearers.” - Rule of St. Benedict: Chapter 38.

    This has been a year filled with both high, and low level grief for me. Grief began with my mother’s death almost a year ago. It continued through the year, mostly at a lower level. This week, grief crescendoed again with the interment of Mom’s ashes last Tuesday. The harsh sound of earth hitting her metal urn made the stark reality clear to me. Her body is now at rest beside my father, my brother Michael, and many others of the family who have gone before us. The selection of the above chapter from the Rule may seem out of touch with the subject of Mom’s death and my grief. In fact, is directly in touch with the many wonderful gifts she passed on to me.  

    Above all, Mom loved to read. She could be found at almost any hour of any day, curled up in a comfortable chair with a book in her hands. She would read almost everything. And the books she really loved, she read over and over. In fact she read them so many times that she would note the proof-reader’s mistakes in her books margins. During the time of her declining health I asked her what she would most love to be able to do again. The answer was simple, “I want to be able to read again.”

    Mom began to pass this love for reading to me when I was very young. My childhood evenings where spent with her arm curled around me while she helped me learn to read and to read well. She did this so well, that I too can be very often found with a book in my hand. I actually seem to go into a type of withdrawal when I haven’t been reading for awhile. I start to get restless, realize what I am missing, curl up in comfortable chair, with a cat in my lap, and open a favorite book.  If I could have one last day with her here on earth, I think I would choose a day with some quiet conversation about all she’s meant to me, but there would also be time for both of us to curl up in our chairs and read together, while the loving atmosphere of home surrounds us.

    Mom gifted me with so many other things it is almost impossible to count them: a clear, strong, and  true voice and a love of singing; a strong love for pets, especially the little people in cat suits that frequent my house; the knowledge that all people of what ever race, creed, nationality, gender or sexuality are God’s people and should be treated with the love Christ showed us; a deep love for the church; a deeper love for God.

    Those last two gifts were the most wonderful of all.  She and my father raised us in the Christian faith, not with overt preaching, but with the quiet example of their own faith and their own lives. Going to church on Sunday was not optional. But there never was a struggle about that as they raised us to know Sunday was the Lord’s day, and Sunday morning was to be devoted to worship and learning about our Lord and Savior. It was no accident that two of her sons became pastors. I like to think if my oldest brother, Larry, had survived he would have been pastor too. That love, combined with the love of reading combined to make me pick up a different book one day; the Rule of St. Benedict.”  So in a very real sense I my presence in my Benedictine community is also Mom’s gift to me.

    At Mom’s committal service I was moved to read a poem written by Joan Sauro in Weaving magazine. It describes a woman’s connection to her mother and to God. In many ways it parallels my own connections.

    "I was born connected to my mother.  She diverted the rivers and streams from her body
 into my body.  And my body remembers.  It remembers my mother’s singing  in the rivers and streams. It remembers how she walked in a good, quick step,  and how she rested,  with her hands  laid gently across her body and mine.“

    ”One day  I was pulled kicking and screaming from the body of my mother.  The long, swooping cord  connecting us  was cut.  But no matter.  The deed was done.  I am flesh  of my mother’s flesh,  bone of my mother’s bone,  made according to the design  that she and my father
planned together.

    “She fashioned my large, dark eyes. He made the deep and endless space behind my eyes.  She took her hand and made my lips,  and my wide,  bright smile.   My father’s hand made my tongue  and laid poems and stories there, and clear, true singing.  When he had finished,  my mother made the tip of my tongue,  for wit  and plain speaking.  Then she put a little wave in my hair  to remind her of the sea at Bristol  where she was born.  And my father painted just the slightest trace  of red in the wave  to remind him  of his red-haired mother  who died  when he was born.”

    “And so it was  that my father  and my mother  made me,  according to the design
that they worked out together.  But I am flesh  of my mother’s flesh,  bone of my mother’s bone. 
I was  born connected.

    I was connected  before I was born.  Before my mother and father were born, and their
mothers and fathers, before the earth was born, and time, long, long before then, I was connected
to the Spirit of God so that there never was a time when I did not exist.  And my spirit remembers the Spirit of God.    It remembers how God diverted rivers and streams into my spirit. 
It remembers the humming  of God in the rivers and streams, and how the waves rose and curled
in the humming.  My spirit remembers the warm breath of God  over the rivers, and the name of God  that rose and fell  in the warm breath.”

    “One day the Spirit of God made me a tongue and wrote the name Jesus there, in remembrance  of God’s first born Son.  In my eyes  the Spirit of God put darkness and light,
 evening and morning, birds, fish, every kind of wild beast and tame, the very image of God,
 and my eyes remember.”

    “So does my hand. It remembers the hand of God  and how it is to make darkness and light,  evening and morning,  to create birds and flowers  and the image of God  out of the word of God  written on my tongue. Every time  I hear the words  ‘Do this,  and remember me,’  my spirit remembers the name of God which is Jesus, remembers the supper,  the body and the blood, the kiss in the garden, and long before when the garden was created, and long, long before that.  My spirit remembers  the Spirit of God and how I was connected  long before I was born.”

    “One day  God who put the breath in me will call the breath back.  On that day my body
 will lie down  next to the body of my mother.  There will be two times carved in stone over me
 - the time when I began and the time when I ended. “

    ”Do not believe it!”

    There  never was a time when I did not exist.  I have always been connected to God.
Sometimes I feel the cord coming out of my center connecting me to God.  Then I remember
 how I always was connected to God and how I always will be.  Mostly I remember how I cannot live without God.‟       

    This coming Sunday, All Saints Sunday, Mom’s name will be named in the Roll of the Saints; those who have gone before us; who now are members of the saints in light.  The grief I feel now will never vanish. Over time it will lessen and interrupt my days less and less. But the gifts Mom gave me, those will blaze on as long as I live, and blaze on in my children and their children.

    Thank you Mom, thank you for the time I had with you and all the gifts you passed on to me. I will always love you. I will always miss you. God be with you Mom. I will see you again on the day of resurrection.

    Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant Marie. Acknowledge her, we humbly pray, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming. Receive her into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light.  Eternal rest grant her O Lord, and light perpetual shine upon her.