Words on the Word
Erik Varden is a monk and bishop, born in Norway in 1974. In 2002, after ten years at the University of Cambridge, he joined Mount Saint Bernard Abbey in Charnwood Forest. Pope Francis named him bishop of Trondheim in 2019.
Please find below a selection of homilies:
Requiem for Priests 
Kveldens høymesse ble feiret for stiftets avdøde prester.
2 Makk 6,18–31: En mann ved navn Eleasar, en av de fornemste skriftlærde, en mann som allerede var kommet langt ut i årene og hadde et meget vakkert ansikt, blev tvunget til å Read More
2 Makk 6,18–31: En mann ved navn Eleasar, en av de fornemste skriftlærde, en mann som allerede var kommet langt ut i årene og hadde et meget vakkert ansikt, blev tvunget til å Read More
33 Sunday C Malachi 4.1-2: The day is coming now, burning like a furnace.
2 Thessalonians 3.7-12: Go on quietly working.
Luke 21.5-19: Everything will be destroyed.
In his remarkable memoirs Amos Oz described his childhood in Jerusalem in the 50s. The pioneering spirit was Read More
2 Thessalonians 3.7-12: Go on quietly working.
Luke 21.5-19: Everything will be destroyed.
In his remarkable memoirs Amos Oz described his childhood in Jerusalem in the 50s. The pioneering spirit was Read More
Renewal of Vows This homily was given in the abbey church of Fontgombault at the conclusion of the community’s retreat, at a Mass during which the monks renewed their vows. In the monastic world, 13 November is celebrated as the feast of All Read More
Towards Dawn ‘It is often casually said that we live in post-Christian times. I believe that statement to be false. Theologically, the term ‘post-Christian’ makes no sense. Christ is the Alpha and the Omega, and all the letters in between. He carries Read More
Desert Fathers 46 You can find this episode in video format here – a dedicated page – and pick it up in audio wherever you listen to podcasts. On YouTube, the full range of episodes can be found here.
They say about Abba John Read More
They say about Abba John Read More
No Blond Skies There is clearly a Norway of the imagination. An attentive reader, having seen my note on Emily Dickinson last week, sent me this supremely melancholy poem by the symbolist Émile Nelligan, who says of himself in a moment of near Read More
Antisemitism Throughout the West, antisemitism, the world’s oldest hatred, is raising its ugly head, more or less sublimated in political terms, but instantly recognisable. Much is being written about this development. This is good. Wise heads must think together to counter Read More
Requiem for Priests
Kveldens høymesse ble feiret for stiftets avdøde prester.
2 Makk 6,18–31: En mann ved navn Eleasar, en av de fornemste skriftlærde, en mann som allerede var kommet langt ut i årene og hadde et meget vakkert ansikt, blev tvunget til å åpne sin munn og ete svinekjøtt.
Luk 19,1–10: «Sakkeus, skynd deg ned! For idag tar jeg inn hos deg.»
Det er desember. Vi ber for de døde. I kveld feirer vi Requiem for stiftets prester.
Leksjonaret lar oss lese beretningen fra 2. Makkabeerbok om Eleasar.
Den utspiller seg på 170-tallet før Kristus. Det hellige Land er en koloni under Selevkiderriket, arvingen etter Aleksanders imperium. Konge for riket er Antiokus Epifanes, en ambisiøs, rabiat fiende av Israels Gud. Systematisk satte Antiokus i gang med å pålegge folket avgudsdyrkelse. Han ville ikke vite av arven etter Patriarker og Profeter. Bort skulle minnet om Pakten! Bort skulle fromheten som peker mot den ene, sanne Gud og vet seg forpliktet av budet: “Du skal ikke ha andre guder enn meg!”
Tendensen er typisk for totalitære regimer som mangler et etisk fundament. Selve tanken på Israel, Gudsfolket som bærer Guds løfter og som minner, ved sitt blotte vesen, om at menneskelig, byråkratisk fordring må prøves i lys av en gudgitt standard, er motbydelig for slike systemer, som vil opphøye seg selv til en absolutt instans.
Konfrontert med slik kampanje, er ikke alle troende helter. Får man én til å falle, til å bøye kne for kongen som om han var gud, da vinner man mange andre. Da får den ene kompromitterte samvittighet andre til å ramle, lik en rekke dominobrikker.
Men hvis én holder stand! Da blir politikkens pretensjoner avmaskert.
Eleasar har standhaftigheten som skal til. Han, en mann på over nitti, er ikke ute kun etter å redde eget skinn. Han vil ikke la sin svakhet bli en snublesten for andre. Så setter han livet til, traust og stillferdig, uten fakter. Han tenker på de unge, sier han. Dem vil han gi et forbilde på hva livet handler om, “på hvorledes en mann villig og høyhjertet lider en skjønn død for de ærverdige og hellige lover”.
Den skriftlærde oldingen satte seg kongemakten midt i mot. Han vant, om han tapte livet. Minnet om hans trofasthet, gav andre kraft til trofast levnet.
Vi har visst ingen martyrer blant prester som har tjent i Trondheim stift. Få av dem lar seg idealisere; de hadde sine uvaner og snodige sider som folk flest. Artige historier verserer. Men når jeg ser dem under ett for mitt indre øye, disse Gudsviede menn som har tjent her oppe, som la grunnlaget for mange goder vi nyter i dag, da er det først og fremst utholdenhet og troskap jeg ser. Hos noen ser jeg et bilde av det “meget vakre ansikt” som tilskrives Eleasar, som viser at nåden er gått i kroppen på et menneske.
Prestene våre gav sine liv for at andre skulle få leve. De forkynte troens fylde. De gjorde det mulig at Kristus fikk være korporlig til stede her nord, at den evige lampe fikk brenne i Kirkene, til trøst og styrke, særlig når det stormet som verst utenfor. Å ha gode forsetter, er en utmerket ting. Men holdet i forsettene, er det tiden som må prøve. Mange av prestene som har tjent her kunne ha levd synligere, mer offentlig verdsatte, mer tilsynelatende vellykkede liv på annet hold; men de valgte en skjult, ofte karrig tilværelse i utkanten, værbitte hyrder for den lille flokk, fordi Herren i sitt vidunderlige forsyn hadde kalt dem hit.
Vi minnes dem takknemlig og ærbødig. Herren gi våre prester rik lønn for deres strev og oppreise dem til evig liv! Og han gi oss nåde til selv å være trofaste i donten Guds forsyn betror oss, til lov og ære for Herrens navn og til verdens frelse.
Våre gode prester hvile i fred! Amen.
Requiem by Louis Charles Crespin
2 Makk 6,18–31: En mann ved navn Eleasar, en av de fornemste skriftlærde, en mann som allerede var kommet langt ut i årene og hadde et meget vakkert ansikt, blev tvunget til å åpne sin munn og ete svinekjøtt.
Luk 19,1–10: «Sakkeus, skynd deg ned! For idag tar jeg inn hos deg.»
Det er desember. Vi ber for de døde. I kveld feirer vi Requiem for stiftets prester.
Leksjonaret lar oss lese beretningen fra 2. Makkabeerbok om Eleasar.
Den utspiller seg på 170-tallet før Kristus. Det hellige Land er en koloni under Selevkiderriket, arvingen etter Aleksanders imperium. Konge for riket er Antiokus Epifanes, en ambisiøs, rabiat fiende av Israels Gud. Systematisk satte Antiokus i gang med å pålegge folket avgudsdyrkelse. Han ville ikke vite av arven etter Patriarker og Profeter. Bort skulle minnet om Pakten! Bort skulle fromheten som peker mot den ene, sanne Gud og vet seg forpliktet av budet: “Du skal ikke ha andre guder enn meg!”
Tendensen er typisk for totalitære regimer som mangler et etisk fundament. Selve tanken på Israel, Gudsfolket som bærer Guds løfter og som minner, ved sitt blotte vesen, om at menneskelig, byråkratisk fordring må prøves i lys av en gudgitt standard, er motbydelig for slike systemer, som vil opphøye seg selv til en absolutt instans.
Konfrontert med slik kampanje, er ikke alle troende helter. Får man én til å falle, til å bøye kne for kongen som om han var gud, da vinner man mange andre. Da får den ene kompromitterte samvittighet andre til å ramle, lik en rekke dominobrikker.
Men hvis én holder stand! Da blir politikkens pretensjoner avmaskert.
Eleasar har standhaftigheten som skal til. Han, en mann på over nitti, er ikke ute kun etter å redde eget skinn. Han vil ikke la sin svakhet bli en snublesten for andre. Så setter han livet til, traust og stillferdig, uten fakter. Han tenker på de unge, sier han. Dem vil han gi et forbilde på hva livet handler om, “på hvorledes en mann villig og høyhjertet lider en skjønn død for de ærverdige og hellige lover”.
Den skriftlærde oldingen satte seg kongemakten midt i mot. Han vant, om han tapte livet. Minnet om hans trofasthet, gav andre kraft til trofast levnet.
Vi har visst ingen martyrer blant prester som har tjent i Trondheim stift. Få av dem lar seg idealisere; de hadde sine uvaner og snodige sider som folk flest. Artige historier verserer. Men når jeg ser dem under ett for mitt indre øye, disse Gudsviede menn som har tjent her oppe, som la grunnlaget for mange goder vi nyter i dag, da er det først og fremst utholdenhet og troskap jeg ser. Hos noen ser jeg et bilde av det “meget vakre ansikt” som tilskrives Eleasar, som viser at nåden er gått i kroppen på et menneske.
Prestene våre gav sine liv for at andre skulle få leve. De forkynte troens fylde. De gjorde det mulig at Kristus fikk være korporlig til stede her nord, at den evige lampe fikk brenne i Kirkene, til trøst og styrke, særlig når det stormet som verst utenfor. Å ha gode forsetter, er en utmerket ting. Men holdet i forsettene, er det tiden som må prøve. Mange av prestene som har tjent her kunne ha levd synligere, mer offentlig verdsatte, mer tilsynelatende vellykkede liv på annet hold; men de valgte en skjult, ofte karrig tilværelse i utkanten, værbitte hyrder for den lille flokk, fordi Herren i sitt vidunderlige forsyn hadde kalt dem hit.
Vi minnes dem takknemlig og ærbødig. Herren gi våre prester rik lønn for deres strev og oppreise dem til evig liv! Og han gi oss nåde til selv å være trofaste i donten Guds forsyn betror oss, til lov og ære for Herrens navn og til verdens frelse.
Våre gode prester hvile i fred! Amen.
Requiem by Louis Charles Crespin
33 Sunday C
Malachi 4.1-2: The day is coming now, burning like a furnace.
2 Thessalonians 3.7-12: Go on quietly working.
Luke 21.5-19: Everything will be destroyed.
In his remarkable memoirs Amos Oz described his childhood in Jerusalem in the 50s. The pioneering spirit was strong. Societal development was seen as fulfilment of prophecy. ‘Isaiah’, writes Oz, ‘was read as tantamount to daily news’. We may smile at such a remark. We may think it naive to think one participates, like that, in the end-times. On the other side: if the Bible is God’s word and if, as Jesus says, ‘everything written in the Law of Moses, the Prophets and the Psalms’ must be accomplished, then it is our duty vigilantly to interpret the signs of the times in the light of divine revelation. We must look for the eternal in time, in our time.
It is not hard to apply today’s Gospel to our world of today. Revolutions and wars surround us close at hand. We take earthquakes, plagues and famines for granted, as we do hurricanes and floods. What about the great signs in the heavens? We see them in the form of insanely fast technological advances.
A generation ago, a mobile phone was a luxury. Now you can’t take the bus without one. So-called ‘artificial intelligence’ conditions us increasingly. No one knows where it will lead. Geoffrey Hinton, the godfather of AI, thinks there’s a 20% chance that AI might extinguish humanity within 30 years — not long. ‘We’ve never’, he says, ‘had to deal with things more intelligent than ourselves before.’
With such uncertainty abroad, and with the anxiety that follows, it’s not strange that voices are calling out, ‘The time is near!’, or even, ‘I am he!’. Just think: these days the Antichrist is a subject of conversation in Silicon Valley.
How can we, as Christians, relate to such a reality? In the Gospel the Lord gives us three concrete counsels: first, we are not to let ourselves be misled; secondly, we must take the opportunity to bear witness; thirdly, we are to have faith that God will give us, faced with enmity, irresistible eloquence and wisdom.
‘Take care not to be misled’. To avoid being misled, we must have a clear idea of where we are going. For a Christian life’s goal is not a place on the map or an abstract ideal: it is a presence, a person. ‘Follow me’, says Jesus. John wrote: ‘He who says, “I abide in him”, must walk just as he walked.’ To walk as Christ walked amounts to more than lying on a couch watching YouTube. We must know him as he is. Our principal source is Sacred Scripture: the Gospels above all, but also the Epistles, the Acts, and the Apocalypse. This is a time to read Scripture seriously. The Old Testament is indispensable background for the New. The Bible must be read with the mind of Church: it cannot be privatised. We must be formed by the sacraments and by the Church’s teaching. We build up Christ’s mystical Body by keeping the commandments, by looking after each other. Precisely our Catholic communion, our oneness with others in Christ, protects us from being misled. The Enemy of good always tries to draw us away from unity into atomised solitude. Be on guard therefore against individualism. Be on guard against pride and ambition, against all forms of self-glorification.
‘That will be your opportunity to bear witness’. The context Jesus presupposes is austere: it is made up of false accusations, persecution, arrests. The cause of God’s love is set on a collision course with our fallen world. That’s just how it is. We are called to do our utmost to make the world more just, but we shall never succeed fully. Our sick world needs redemption. We must be prepared for opposition. Endurance in great matters is prepared by endurance in small. How do I respond to opposition, to not getting my way? Do I get discouraged and edgy, or do I keep peace of heart? To witness to Christ’s grace, I must first of all deal with my anger, my passions. Each day gives us opportunities to practise.
‘I myself shall give you eloquence and a wisdom your opponents cannot resist.’ This promise is not about assured success in public debating. Remember: Jesus spoke these words to the Twelve by the Temple just before he entered Jerusalem as the new Paschal Lamb, about to surrender in silence to suffer and die for the people. Irresistible testimony may be that of fidelity, quite simply, of self-outpouring unto death. Must of us are preserved from such a trial, thank God; but it sets a standard we must measure ourselves by. That is why the Church, in the Canon, provides long lists of martyrs as allies and exemplars. God perfects his power in weakness. He has done so before. He can do so now, with us.
Let us then live as witnesses to the eternal in time. Whether our time will be short or long, we cannot know. It is not all that important. What matters is to be tools God can use for his saving purpose. We shall be usable to the extent that his peace governs us, that we let ourselves be reconciled with him and with one another, that we learn to love, that we live truly human lives, the way God truly became man.
A sign that we are on the right track is this: if something of Christ’s joy is alive in us. In today’s collect we pray for ‘the constant gladness of being devoted to you.’ The more deeply that gladness is rooted in us, the more impregnable we shall be to fear.
Amen.
Caravaggio, Ecco homo! Wikimedia Commons.
2 Thessalonians 3.7-12: Go on quietly working.
Luke 21.5-19: Everything will be destroyed.
In his remarkable memoirs Amos Oz described his childhood in Jerusalem in the 50s. The pioneering spirit was strong. Societal development was seen as fulfilment of prophecy. ‘Isaiah’, writes Oz, ‘was read as tantamount to daily news’. We may smile at such a remark. We may think it naive to think one participates, like that, in the end-times. On the other side: if the Bible is God’s word and if, as Jesus says, ‘everything written in the Law of Moses, the Prophets and the Psalms’ must be accomplished, then it is our duty vigilantly to interpret the signs of the times in the light of divine revelation. We must look for the eternal in time, in our time.
It is not hard to apply today’s Gospel to our world of today. Revolutions and wars surround us close at hand. We take earthquakes, plagues and famines for granted, as we do hurricanes and floods. What about the great signs in the heavens? We see them in the form of insanely fast technological advances.
A generation ago, a mobile phone was a luxury. Now you can’t take the bus without one. So-called ‘artificial intelligence’ conditions us increasingly. No one knows where it will lead. Geoffrey Hinton, the godfather of AI, thinks there’s a 20% chance that AI might extinguish humanity within 30 years — not long. ‘We’ve never’, he says, ‘had to deal with things more intelligent than ourselves before.’
With such uncertainty abroad, and with the anxiety that follows, it’s not strange that voices are calling out, ‘The time is near!’, or even, ‘I am he!’. Just think: these days the Antichrist is a subject of conversation in Silicon Valley.
How can we, as Christians, relate to such a reality? In the Gospel the Lord gives us three concrete counsels: first, we are not to let ourselves be misled; secondly, we must take the opportunity to bear witness; thirdly, we are to have faith that God will give us, faced with enmity, irresistible eloquence and wisdom.
‘Take care not to be misled’. To avoid being misled, we must have a clear idea of where we are going. For a Christian life’s goal is not a place on the map or an abstract ideal: it is a presence, a person. ‘Follow me’, says Jesus. John wrote: ‘He who says, “I abide in him”, must walk just as he walked.’ To walk as Christ walked amounts to more than lying on a couch watching YouTube. We must know him as he is. Our principal source is Sacred Scripture: the Gospels above all, but also the Epistles, the Acts, and the Apocalypse. This is a time to read Scripture seriously. The Old Testament is indispensable background for the New. The Bible must be read with the mind of Church: it cannot be privatised. We must be formed by the sacraments and by the Church’s teaching. We build up Christ’s mystical Body by keeping the commandments, by looking after each other. Precisely our Catholic communion, our oneness with others in Christ, protects us from being misled. The Enemy of good always tries to draw us away from unity into atomised solitude. Be on guard therefore against individualism. Be on guard against pride and ambition, against all forms of self-glorification.
‘That will be your opportunity to bear witness’. The context Jesus presupposes is austere: it is made up of false accusations, persecution, arrests. The cause of God’s love is set on a collision course with our fallen world. That’s just how it is. We are called to do our utmost to make the world more just, but we shall never succeed fully. Our sick world needs redemption. We must be prepared for opposition. Endurance in great matters is prepared by endurance in small. How do I respond to opposition, to not getting my way? Do I get discouraged and edgy, or do I keep peace of heart? To witness to Christ’s grace, I must first of all deal with my anger, my passions. Each day gives us opportunities to practise.
‘I myself shall give you eloquence and a wisdom your opponents cannot resist.’ This promise is not about assured success in public debating. Remember: Jesus spoke these words to the Twelve by the Temple just before he entered Jerusalem as the new Paschal Lamb, about to surrender in silence to suffer and die for the people. Irresistible testimony may be that of fidelity, quite simply, of self-outpouring unto death. Must of us are preserved from such a trial, thank God; but it sets a standard we must measure ourselves by. That is why the Church, in the Canon, provides long lists of martyrs as allies and exemplars. God perfects his power in weakness. He has done so before. He can do so now, with us.
Let us then live as witnesses to the eternal in time. Whether our time will be short or long, we cannot know. It is not all that important. What matters is to be tools God can use for his saving purpose. We shall be usable to the extent that his peace governs us, that we let ourselves be reconciled with him and with one another, that we learn to love, that we live truly human lives, the way God truly became man.
A sign that we are on the right track is this: if something of Christ’s joy is alive in us. In today’s collect we pray for ‘the constant gladness of being devoted to you.’ The more deeply that gladness is rooted in us, the more impregnable we shall be to fear.
Amen.
Caravaggio, Ecco homo! Wikimedia Commons.
Renewal of Vows
This homily was given in the abbey church of Fontgombault at the conclusion of the community’s retreat, at a Mass during which the monks renewed their vows. In the monastic world, 13 November is celebrated as the feast of All Benedictine and Cistercian Saints. You can find an English translation by scrolling down.
Alors Pierre prit la parole et dit à Jésus : « Voici que nous avons tout quitté pour te suivre : quelle sera donc notre part ? » Jésus leur déclara : « Amen, je vous le dis : lors du renouvellement du monde, lorsque le Fils de l’homme siégera sur son trône de gloire, vous qui m’avez suivi, vous siégerez vous aussi sur douze trônes pour juger les douze tribus d’Israël. Et celui qui aura quitté, à cause de mon nom, des maisons, des frères, des sœurs, un père, une mère, des enfants, ou une terre, recevra le centuple, et il aura en héritage la vie éternelle.
Quand Saint Benoît décrit la profession monastique, il souligne le rapport entre celle-ci et l’autel. Le candidat demande d’être admis par une pétition écrite ‘de sa propre main’ qu’il dépose sur l’autel. Seulement ensuite entonne-t-il ce verset du Psaume 118 qui fait frémir tout coeur bénédictin:
Suscipe me, Domine, secundum eloquium tuum et vivam; et ne confundas me ab expectatione mea.
Son oblation, suscitée par la parole du Seigneur, a été perçue comme un appel. Le profès a pris au sérieux la question posée par le Christ dans le Prologue à la Sainte Règle: Quis est homo qui vult vitam?
Bien sûr qu’il désire la vie, et comment!
Il veut vivre en plénitude, sans compromis. Voilà pourquoi il se consacre à vie au service du Seigneur de la Vie, qui donna sa vie pour que nous vivions, sauvés une bonne fois pour toutes du Règne de la Mort.
La source dont coule ce salut est le sacrifice du Christ. L’autel le manifeste. L’autel est le gardien de la plus noble aspiration du moine, qui, par sa profession, entre librement dans une dynamique pascale. Le moine consent à être conformé au Christ crucifié pour connaître la force de sa résurrection. Dans l’obscur quotidien il choisit de participer, par la patience, à la passion du Saveur.
Le lien entre l’oblation monastique et l’oblation du Calvaire devient plus explicite encore quand Saint Benoît décrit la procédure pour accueillir des oblats présentés par leurs parents au monastère. Dans ces cas, la pétition, écrite par le père de l’oblat, est non seulement mise sur l’autel mais enveloppée, avec les dons de l’offertoire et la main de l’enfant, ‘dans la nappe de l’autel’.
La valeur symbolique de la nappe est prodigieuse. Elle nous met devant les yeux les langes dans lesquels l’Enfant Jésus fut enveloppé à sa naissance; elle représente le linceul où son Corps Sacré fut placé 33 ans plus tard, après la déposition de la Croix; elle nous laisse pressentir le vêtement blanc des élus, conviés à se réjouir éternellement de l’alliance nuptiale de l’Agneau.
Toutes ces dimension de la vie de Christ, de la vie en Christ, marquent l’existence du moine. Il s’associe aux éléments qui deviendront le Corps et le Sang du Christ. Le moine aussi est destiné à la transformation, exposé par grâce à la divinisante lumière qui le fera christophore, un porteur du Christ, une preuve vivante de la grâce de l’incarnation.
‘Nous avons tout quitté’, dit Saint Pierre dans l’évangile. L’affirmation s’applique à la vie monastique. On arrive au monastère avec bien peu de bagage, ayant laissé derrière soi des choses précieuse et chères. Pendant un certain temps la mémoire de ces choses peut inspirer en nous la nostalgie.
Bientôt, pourtant, la réalité du centuple promis se manifeste à nous, nous laissant ébahis. Comparée à la générosité de Dieu, la nôtre n’est qu’une bien pauvre chose. Le moine apprend à se réjouir de sa pauvreté pour que Dieu la comble. Il apprend à se réjouir de sa faiblesse pour que Dieu y déploie sa puissance.
En renouvelant nos voeux, mettons notre espérance en lui; conformons, à nouveau, notre volonté à la sienne.
Avant-hier, à Saint Anselme, le Saint Père a dit à la communauté bénédictine rassemblée: ‘Nous ne pouvons répondre aux exigences de la vocation qu’en plaçant le Christ au centre de notre existence et de notre mission. Il faut partir de l’acte de foi par lequel nous le reconnaissons comme Sauveur pour ensuite traduire cet acte dans la prière, dans l’étude, dans l’engagement d’une vie sainte.’
Il faut viser la sainteté.
La fête de ce jour, la Toussaint Bénédictine, nous rappelle que la vie monastique a été une voie de sanctification pour des multitudes. Une nuée de témoins aimables et crédibles nous entoure. Puissent nos vies radicalement données être dignes de leur exemple, apportant de la joie au Coeur de Dieu et du réconfort à notre monde qui pleure.
Amen.
***
When St Benedict describes monastic profession, he stresses its connection with the altar. The novice asks for admission by means of a petition ‘written in his own hand’, which he puts on the altar. Only then does he intone the verse from Psalm 118 that makes each Benedictine heart quiver:
Uphold me, Lord, according to thy promise, that I may live, and let me not be put to shame in my hope!
His oblation, called forth by the promise of the Lord, has been perceived as a call. The new monks has taken seriously the question posed by Christ in the Prologue to the Holy Rule: Quis est homo qui vult vitam? ‘Who is the man desiring life?’
Of course he desires life — and how!
He wants to live entirely, without compromise. That is why he consecrates his life to the service of the Lord of Life, who gave his life that we might live, saved once for all from the clutches of the Reign of Death.
The source from which this salvation flows is Christ’s sacrifice. The altar makes it manifest. The altar guards the noblest aspirations of the monk who, by profession, freely enters a Paschal dynamic. The monk consents to being conformed to Christ Crucified in order to know the power of his resurrection. In the obscurity of everyday life he chooses to participate by patience in the Passion of Christ.
The link between monastic oblation and the oblation of Calvary becomes more explicit still when St Benedict describes the procedure for receiving oblates presented by their parents to the monastery. In such cases, the petition, written by the oblate’s father, is not only placed on the altar, bur wrapped, along with the offertory gifts and the child’s hand ‘in the altarcloth’.
The symbolic value of the altarcloth is prodigious. It shows forth the swaddling cloths in which the Child Jesus was wrapped at his birth; it represents the shroud in which his Sacred Body was placed 33 years later, on being lifted down from the Cross; and it points forward to the white garment worn by the elect, called to rejoice eternally in the marriage covenant of the Lamb.
All these aspects of Christ’s life, of life in Christ, seal the monk’s existence. He associates himself with the elements that will become the Body and Blood of Christ. He, too, is destined for transformation, exposed to the deifying light that will make him a Christophoros, a ‘Christ-bearer’, a living proof of the grace of the incarnation.
‘We have left everything’, says St Peter in the Gospel. His affirmation applies to monastic life. We arrive at the monastery carrying only a modest knapsack, having left behind many dear and precious things. For a while, remembrance of these things may inspire a little nostalgia.
Soon, though, the reality of the promised hundredfold becomes evident, leaving us amazed. Compared to the generosity of God, ours is but a trifle. The monk learns to rejoice in his poverty, that God might fill it. He learns to rejoice in his weakness, that God may show his strength within it.
As we renew our vows, let us place our hope in him. Let us once more conform our will to his will.
Yesterday, at Sant’Anselmo, the Holy Father told the assembled Benedictine community: ‘We can only correspond to the demands of our vocation if we put Christ at the centre of our existence and of our mission, setting out from the act of faith that lets us recognise in him the Saviour, then translating that act into our prayer, our study, and our endeavour to live a holy life.’
Indeed, we must aim for holiness.
Today’s feast, by which we venerate all Benedictine saints, reminds us that the monastic life has been a path of sanctification for multitudes. A cloud of amiable, credible witnesses surround us. May our radically given lives be worthy of their example, bringing joy to the Heart of God and consolation to our weeping world.
Amen.
Alors Pierre prit la parole et dit à Jésus : « Voici que nous avons tout quitté pour te suivre : quelle sera donc notre part ? » Jésus leur déclara : « Amen, je vous le dis : lors du renouvellement du monde, lorsque le Fils de l’homme siégera sur son trône de gloire, vous qui m’avez suivi, vous siégerez vous aussi sur douze trônes pour juger les douze tribus d’Israël. Et celui qui aura quitté, à cause de mon nom, des maisons, des frères, des sœurs, un père, une mère, des enfants, ou une terre, recevra le centuple, et il aura en héritage la vie éternelle.
Quand Saint Benoît décrit la profession monastique, il souligne le rapport entre celle-ci et l’autel. Le candidat demande d’être admis par une pétition écrite ‘de sa propre main’ qu’il dépose sur l’autel. Seulement ensuite entonne-t-il ce verset du Psaume 118 qui fait frémir tout coeur bénédictin:
Suscipe me, Domine, secundum eloquium tuum et vivam; et ne confundas me ab expectatione mea.
Son oblation, suscitée par la parole du Seigneur, a été perçue comme un appel. Le profès a pris au sérieux la question posée par le Christ dans le Prologue à la Sainte Règle: Quis est homo qui vult vitam?
Bien sûr qu’il désire la vie, et comment!
Il veut vivre en plénitude, sans compromis. Voilà pourquoi il se consacre à vie au service du Seigneur de la Vie, qui donna sa vie pour que nous vivions, sauvés une bonne fois pour toutes du Règne de la Mort.
La source dont coule ce salut est le sacrifice du Christ. L’autel le manifeste. L’autel est le gardien de la plus noble aspiration du moine, qui, par sa profession, entre librement dans une dynamique pascale. Le moine consent à être conformé au Christ crucifié pour connaître la force de sa résurrection. Dans l’obscur quotidien il choisit de participer, par la patience, à la passion du Saveur.
Le lien entre l’oblation monastique et l’oblation du Calvaire devient plus explicite encore quand Saint Benoît décrit la procédure pour accueillir des oblats présentés par leurs parents au monastère. Dans ces cas, la pétition, écrite par le père de l’oblat, est non seulement mise sur l’autel mais enveloppée, avec les dons de l’offertoire et la main de l’enfant, ‘dans la nappe de l’autel’.
La valeur symbolique de la nappe est prodigieuse. Elle nous met devant les yeux les langes dans lesquels l’Enfant Jésus fut enveloppé à sa naissance; elle représente le linceul où son Corps Sacré fut placé 33 ans plus tard, après la déposition de la Croix; elle nous laisse pressentir le vêtement blanc des élus, conviés à se réjouir éternellement de l’alliance nuptiale de l’Agneau.
Toutes ces dimension de la vie de Christ, de la vie en Christ, marquent l’existence du moine. Il s’associe aux éléments qui deviendront le Corps et le Sang du Christ. Le moine aussi est destiné à la transformation, exposé par grâce à la divinisante lumière qui le fera christophore, un porteur du Christ, une preuve vivante de la grâce de l’incarnation.
‘Nous avons tout quitté’, dit Saint Pierre dans l’évangile. L’affirmation s’applique à la vie monastique. On arrive au monastère avec bien peu de bagage, ayant laissé derrière soi des choses précieuse et chères. Pendant un certain temps la mémoire de ces choses peut inspirer en nous la nostalgie.
Bientôt, pourtant, la réalité du centuple promis se manifeste à nous, nous laissant ébahis. Comparée à la générosité de Dieu, la nôtre n’est qu’une bien pauvre chose. Le moine apprend à se réjouir de sa pauvreté pour que Dieu la comble. Il apprend à se réjouir de sa faiblesse pour que Dieu y déploie sa puissance.
En renouvelant nos voeux, mettons notre espérance en lui; conformons, à nouveau, notre volonté à la sienne.
Avant-hier, à Saint Anselme, le Saint Père a dit à la communauté bénédictine rassemblée: ‘Nous ne pouvons répondre aux exigences de la vocation qu’en plaçant le Christ au centre de notre existence et de notre mission. Il faut partir de l’acte de foi par lequel nous le reconnaissons comme Sauveur pour ensuite traduire cet acte dans la prière, dans l’étude, dans l’engagement d’une vie sainte.’
Il faut viser la sainteté.
La fête de ce jour, la Toussaint Bénédictine, nous rappelle que la vie monastique a été une voie de sanctification pour des multitudes. Une nuée de témoins aimables et crédibles nous entoure. Puissent nos vies radicalement données être dignes de leur exemple, apportant de la joie au Coeur de Dieu et du réconfort à notre monde qui pleure.
Amen.
***
When St Benedict describes monastic profession, he stresses its connection with the altar. The novice asks for admission by means of a petition ‘written in his own hand’, which he puts on the altar. Only then does he intone the verse from Psalm 118 that makes each Benedictine heart quiver:
Uphold me, Lord, according to thy promise, that I may live, and let me not be put to shame in my hope!
His oblation, called forth by the promise of the Lord, has been perceived as a call. The new monks has taken seriously the question posed by Christ in the Prologue to the Holy Rule: Quis est homo qui vult vitam? ‘Who is the man desiring life?’
Of course he desires life — and how!
He wants to live entirely, without compromise. That is why he consecrates his life to the service of the Lord of Life, who gave his life that we might live, saved once for all from the clutches of the Reign of Death.
The source from which this salvation flows is Christ’s sacrifice. The altar makes it manifest. The altar guards the noblest aspirations of the monk who, by profession, freely enters a Paschal dynamic. The monk consents to being conformed to Christ Crucified in order to know the power of his resurrection. In the obscurity of everyday life he chooses to participate by patience in the Passion of Christ.
The link between monastic oblation and the oblation of Calvary becomes more explicit still when St Benedict describes the procedure for receiving oblates presented by their parents to the monastery. In such cases, the petition, written by the oblate’s father, is not only placed on the altar, bur wrapped, along with the offertory gifts and the child’s hand ‘in the altarcloth’.
The symbolic value of the altarcloth is prodigious. It shows forth the swaddling cloths in which the Child Jesus was wrapped at his birth; it represents the shroud in which his Sacred Body was placed 33 years later, on being lifted down from the Cross; and it points forward to the white garment worn by the elect, called to rejoice eternally in the marriage covenant of the Lamb.
All these aspects of Christ’s life, of life in Christ, seal the monk’s existence. He associates himself with the elements that will become the Body and Blood of Christ. He, too, is destined for transformation, exposed to the deifying light that will make him a Christophoros, a ‘Christ-bearer’, a living proof of the grace of the incarnation.
‘We have left everything’, says St Peter in the Gospel. His affirmation applies to monastic life. We arrive at the monastery carrying only a modest knapsack, having left behind many dear and precious things. For a while, remembrance of these things may inspire a little nostalgia.
Soon, though, the reality of the promised hundredfold becomes evident, leaving us amazed. Compared to the generosity of God, ours is but a trifle. The monk learns to rejoice in his poverty, that God might fill it. He learns to rejoice in his weakness, that God may show his strength within it.
As we renew our vows, let us place our hope in him. Let us once more conform our will to his will.
Yesterday, at Sant’Anselmo, the Holy Father told the assembled Benedictine community: ‘We can only correspond to the demands of our vocation if we put Christ at the centre of our existence and of our mission, setting out from the act of faith that lets us recognise in him the Saviour, then translating that act into our prayer, our study, and our endeavour to live a holy life.’
Indeed, we must aim for holiness.
Today’s feast, by which we venerate all Benedictine saints, reminds us that the monastic life has been a path of sanctification for multitudes. A cloud of amiable, credible witnesses surround us. May our radically given lives be worthy of their example, bringing joy to the Heart of God and consolation to our weeping world.
Amen.
Towards Dawn
‘It is often casually said that we live in post-Christian times. I believe that statement to be false. Theologically, the term ‘post-Christian’ makes no sense. Christ is the Alpha and the Omega, and all the letters in between. He carries constitutionally the freshness of morning dew. Christianity is of the dawn. If at times, during given periods, we feel enshrouded by twilight, it is because another day is in the making. It seems to me clear that we find ourselves in such a process of awakening now. If we do want to deal in the currency of ‘pre’ and ‘post’, I think it more apposite to suggest that we stand on the threshold of an age I would call ‘post-secular’. Secularisation has run its course. It is exhausted, void of positive finality. The human being, meanwhile, remains alive with deep aspirations. It is an essential task of the Church to listen to these attentively, with respect, then to orient them towards Christ, who carries the comfort and challenge for which the human heart yearns.’ From my new book, Towards Dawn, just published. You can read more about it here.
Desert Fathers 46
You can find this episode in video format here – a dedicated page – and pick it up in audio wherever you listen to podcasts. On YouTube, the full range of episodes can be found here.
They say about Abba John the Dwarf that one day he told his elder brother: ‘I wish to live without cares, like the angels, who are without cares, not having to work but ceaselessly offering praise to God.’ Then, untying his garment, he went into the desert. After a week he came back to his brother. When he knocked on the door, [his brother] heard him from within. Before opening, he said: ‘Who are you?’ And he said: ‘I am John’. But [his brother] answered, saying: ‘John has become an angel! He no longer dwells among men’. So he besought him and said: ‘It’s me! Open for me!’ But he did not open, leaving him afflicted until the next morning. When eventually he did open, [his brother] said: ‘You see, you are a man after all. If you want to eat, you will once again have to work.’ At that, [John] prostrated himself and said: ‘Forgive me!’
Abba John the Dwarf is a towering presence in the Desert. A pupil of Pambo, a teacher to Arsenius, his authority was held in high regard. It was John, short of stature, who as a novice was given a task destined to become legendary. His elder took a dry stick, plonked it in arid ground, and instructed John to water it daily ‘until it should bear fruit’. The only well was so far away that John, to draw from it, had to leave in the evening and come back the next day, spending all his time, and most of his strength, on an exercise that seemed, to all intents and purposes, not only useless, but a kind of mockery. John, though, persevered. And at ‘the end of three years the wood came to life and bore fruit. Then the elder took some of the fruit and carried it to the church, saying to the brethren, “Take and eat the fruit of obedience”.
Andrei Tarkovsky, the master cinema director, used this story as a framework for his final essential feature, the film Sacrifice released in 1986, the year of his death. He invoked John the Dwarf’s silent, trustful, patiently gratuitous work, a source of paradoxical fecundity, as a corrective to the forceful yet insubstantial impact of ‘Words, words, words’, an exclamation from Hamlet uttered in despair by the intellectual Alexander, the film’s protagonist, when he considers his own trajectory of spouted hot air.
It is touching to find John, an illustrious specimen of monastic virtue, falling prey, at a given moment, to illusion. His intention is noble enough. Taking stock of his life, John considers that too much effort goes into chores. Did he become a monk to work in the kitchen, weave baskets, and attend to practical needs that are often dull? Had he not opted for an angelic life, the transformation of his whole existence into praise? When this thought came to him, he lived with his own brother.
That is, I should think, relevant information. Family relationships are complex. If the Lord let a third of the apostolic college consist of pairs of brothers, it was partly to show how blood-ties must be illumined by a supernatural call. There may, for all we know, have been a latent quarrel in the shared hermitage. Did John sometimes think along the lines ‘Argh! He has always had a way of dodging the dishes!’? Given the fraternal straightforwardness that marks the exchanges after John’s return, a dynamic of this sort may have contributed to tension felt, in any case, by those who embrace a life of spiritual pursuits when they discover the continued exigence of practical life, those times when Benedictines dream of becoming Cistercians, Cistercians hanker after the Charterhouse, and Carthusians dream of a solitary mountain-top with steep access.
John wished to live an angelic life. So off he went, loosening his robe, no more needing, now, the girdle or apron with which he had tied it in for efficient work. He had forgotten one thing, though: angels have no need for supper. Also, they are never quite on their own. Theology shows them to us configured in choirs and hierarchies. We do not know what went through John’s head during seven days and seven nights in isolation under the vast desert sky, with the distant calls of jackals his only perceptible company. In any case, life at home with his brother no longer seemed so awful. Perhaps, he mused, one might after all live a God-pleasing life there, too.
Schadenfreude, spontaneous pleasure in others’ misfortune, especially when they have acted against our advice, is no monastic trait. Among brothers, however, it can find licit expression, and is not always wholly incompatible with charity. John’s brother reinforces the lesson circumstance had taught the ex-hermit. ‘Ah! My angelic fratello of whose company I was not worthy!’ He let John spend a further night out in the cold, just to bring the point home. Then he volunteered a wholly Biblical correction — for already St Paul had written to the Thessalonians, a lot rather given to airy-fairy religion: ‘If any one will not work, let him not eat.’
The end of the story is typical of this genre of literature. Nonetheless it is surprising and beautiful. John does not waste time on explanations. He does not go into some long tirade about how he had felt when he decided to leave, how accumulated frustration had made life a trial. To seek to justify himself even implicitly would have seemed to him both a waste of time and somehow unworthy. He says simply: ‘Forgive me’, and assumes the full weight of his mistake.
Therein lies this story’s principal lesson.
Detail from Fra Angelico’s Last Judgement.
They say about Abba John the Dwarf that one day he told his elder brother: ‘I wish to live without cares, like the angels, who are without cares, not having to work but ceaselessly offering praise to God.’ Then, untying his garment, he went into the desert. After a week he came back to his brother. When he knocked on the door, [his brother] heard him from within. Before opening, he said: ‘Who are you?’ And he said: ‘I am John’. But [his brother] answered, saying: ‘John has become an angel! He no longer dwells among men’. So he besought him and said: ‘It’s me! Open for me!’ But he did not open, leaving him afflicted until the next morning. When eventually he did open, [his brother] said: ‘You see, you are a man after all. If you want to eat, you will once again have to work.’ At that, [John] prostrated himself and said: ‘Forgive me!’
Abba John the Dwarf is a towering presence in the Desert. A pupil of Pambo, a teacher to Arsenius, his authority was held in high regard. It was John, short of stature, who as a novice was given a task destined to become legendary. His elder took a dry stick, plonked it in arid ground, and instructed John to water it daily ‘until it should bear fruit’. The only well was so far away that John, to draw from it, had to leave in the evening and come back the next day, spending all his time, and most of his strength, on an exercise that seemed, to all intents and purposes, not only useless, but a kind of mockery. John, though, persevered. And at ‘the end of three years the wood came to life and bore fruit. Then the elder took some of the fruit and carried it to the church, saying to the brethren, “Take and eat the fruit of obedience”.
Andrei Tarkovsky, the master cinema director, used this story as a framework for his final essential feature, the film Sacrifice released in 1986, the year of his death. He invoked John the Dwarf’s silent, trustful, patiently gratuitous work, a source of paradoxical fecundity, as a corrective to the forceful yet insubstantial impact of ‘Words, words, words’, an exclamation from Hamlet uttered in despair by the intellectual Alexander, the film’s protagonist, when he considers his own trajectory of spouted hot air.
It is touching to find John, an illustrious specimen of monastic virtue, falling prey, at a given moment, to illusion. His intention is noble enough. Taking stock of his life, John considers that too much effort goes into chores. Did he become a monk to work in the kitchen, weave baskets, and attend to practical needs that are often dull? Had he not opted for an angelic life, the transformation of his whole existence into praise? When this thought came to him, he lived with his own brother.
That is, I should think, relevant information. Family relationships are complex. If the Lord let a third of the apostolic college consist of pairs of brothers, it was partly to show how blood-ties must be illumined by a supernatural call. There may, for all we know, have been a latent quarrel in the shared hermitage. Did John sometimes think along the lines ‘Argh! He has always had a way of dodging the dishes!’? Given the fraternal straightforwardness that marks the exchanges after John’s return, a dynamic of this sort may have contributed to tension felt, in any case, by those who embrace a life of spiritual pursuits when they discover the continued exigence of practical life, those times when Benedictines dream of becoming Cistercians, Cistercians hanker after the Charterhouse, and Carthusians dream of a solitary mountain-top with steep access.
John wished to live an angelic life. So off he went, loosening his robe, no more needing, now, the girdle or apron with which he had tied it in for efficient work. He had forgotten one thing, though: angels have no need for supper. Also, they are never quite on their own. Theology shows them to us configured in choirs and hierarchies. We do not know what went through John’s head during seven days and seven nights in isolation under the vast desert sky, with the distant calls of jackals his only perceptible company. In any case, life at home with his brother no longer seemed so awful. Perhaps, he mused, one might after all live a God-pleasing life there, too.
Schadenfreude, spontaneous pleasure in others’ misfortune, especially when they have acted against our advice, is no monastic trait. Among brothers, however, it can find licit expression, and is not always wholly incompatible with charity. John’s brother reinforces the lesson circumstance had taught the ex-hermit. ‘Ah! My angelic fratello of whose company I was not worthy!’ He let John spend a further night out in the cold, just to bring the point home. Then he volunteered a wholly Biblical correction — for already St Paul had written to the Thessalonians, a lot rather given to airy-fairy religion: ‘If any one will not work, let him not eat.’
The end of the story is typical of this genre of literature. Nonetheless it is surprising and beautiful. John does not waste time on explanations. He does not go into some long tirade about how he had felt when he decided to leave, how accumulated frustration had made life a trial. To seek to justify himself even implicitly would have seemed to him both a waste of time and somehow unworthy. He says simply: ‘Forgive me’, and assumes the full weight of his mistake.
Therein lies this story’s principal lesson.
Detail from Fra Angelico’s Last Judgement.
No Blond Skies
There is clearly a Norway of the imagination. An attentive reader, having seen my note on Emily Dickinson last week, sent me this supremely melancholy poem by the symbolist Émile Nelligan, who says of himself in a moment of near despair: ‘I am the new Norway from which the blond skies have departed’. Nelligan is a tragic figure in the literature of Québec. Afflicted with a bipolar condition he was hospitalised at the age of twenty and remained in institutions until his death at 44. He seems not to have known the soft luminosity that marks even the depths of Norwegian winter – not to mention the summer nights untouched by any darkness at all.
https://coramfratribus.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/11/Emile-Nelligan-Soir-dhiver.m4a
https://coramfratribus.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/11/Emile-Nelligan-Soir-dhiver.m4a
Antisemitism
Throughout the West, antisemitism, the world’s oldest hatred, is raising its ugly head, more or less sublimated in political terms, but instantly recognisable. Much is being written about this development. This is good. Wise heads must think together to counter a trend that lies within the body politic as a latent virus. In such straits I miss the intelligent, humane, fearless voice of Jonathan Sacks. Fortunately many of his videos and texts are available on a website dedicated to his legacy. Rabbi Sacks spoke of antisemitism as ‘the first warning sign of a culture in a state of cognitive collapse. It gives rise to that complex of psychological regressions that lead to evil on a monumental scale: splitting, projection, pathological dualism, dehumanisation, demonisation, a sense of victimhood, and the use of a scapegoat to evade moral responsibility. It allows a culture to blame others for its condition without ever coming to terms with it themselves.’ Those words were written ten years ago. Meanwhile they have only gained in relevance.
Psalmody
In a wise, poetic essay, Armando Pego describes a visit to an abbey where he delves into silence after a train trip alongside travellers full of that joy ‘only the sea can give’. They go on to ‘scatter like solitary starlings’; he, meanwhile, is bound for a definite goal: ‘At Poblet I find the rest the hours of the Office give. Along with a handful of guests, joined by more or less sporadic tourists, or on my own at daybreak or for None, I find myself on a pew distant from the choir, trying to abandon subjective pretensions. We live in times that give great weight to personal experience and sentiment, to that in our ego which is at the same most moving and most onerous. I wish to propose as counterweight an inner life alert to the objectivity of liturgy. I desire to stop being the centre; to lean towards the vertigo of God’s greatness. We can touch it, just about, through psalmody, which lets us glimpse it as a boundless fount of love. There is no trace of a concert or spectacle; there is no enthusiasm, no ecstasy. We make a superhuman effort to rise above our smallness, gathered as a community that, in unison, harmonises stammering. I always come out a loser. About to yield to discouragement, I console myself that I have had a lesson in humility. Had I been victorious even for a moment, it would all have been in vain.’ You can read the entire piece (in Spanish) here.