Ready when the call comes....

At first glance, Chapter 22 of the Rule of Benedict seems almost disappointingly ordinary. It concerns sleeping arrangements—where the monks sleep, how they are clothed, whether a light should remain burning, and how quickly they should rise when the signal is given. It hardly appears to be the sort of material from which great spiritual wisdom emerges.

Yet Benedict rarely writes about mere logistics. Beneath every practical instruction lies a spiritual discipline.

To appreciate this chapter, we must first remember the world in which Benedict wrote. Sixth-century Italy was a place of uncertainty. The Roman Empire had collapsed. Violence, disease, poverty, and political upheaval were commonplace. Most people were peasants. Few could read. Privacy scarcely existed. Entire families often slept in a single room. Life was dictated by the seasons, the weather, and survival.

Into such a world Benedict proposed something astonishing: not simply a monastery, but a school for the Lord's service—a community where ordinary people might learn an entirely different way of living together.

These monks were not angels. They were strong-willed men from every walk of life. Some had been soldiers, others farmers or laborers, still others sons of wealthy families. They brought with them habits of pride, impatience, fear, ambition, and self-protection. Benedict understood that holiness would not emerge simply because they prayed together. It would be formed through hundreds of small, faithful acts of consideration for one another.

So they slept clothed—not out of suspicion of the body, but in readiness. When the signal sounded for the Night Office, no one lingered. No one waited for someone else to go first. They were to "rise without delay," eager for the Work of God. Yet Benedict immediately tempers zeal with charity: each should hasten to arrive before the others, "yet with all gravity and decorum." Even enthusiasm must never become competition.

There is profound wisdom here. The Christian life is not measured only by great acts of sacrifice. It is revealed in punctuality, consideration, modesty, simplicity, and readiness to answer God's call. Character is built in habits long before it is tested in crises.

The ancient Desert Fathers understood this well. They often taught that the smallest act performed faithfully reveals the true condition of the heart. Evagrius Ponticus wrote that the disciplined ordering of daily life gradually orders the soul itself. Centuries later, Jean-Pierre de Caussade would speak of the "sacrament of the present moment," where God waits to be encountered not only in extraordinary experiences but in ordinary obedience. More recently, Richard Rohr has reminded us that the ego is quietly transformed through practices that teach us to live for something larger than ourselves.

Perhaps that is Benedict's deeper lesson.

Community is built less by grand ideals than by thousands of unnoticed courtesies. One person rises promptly. Another keeps silence so others may rest. Someone makes room for another's weakness. Someone chooses dignity over haste, patience over irritation, encouragement over criticism.

In these simple gestures, Christ becomes visible.

Chapter 22 invites us to ask a searching question: How ready am I when God calls? Not only in moments of crisis, but in the interruptions of an ordinary day—in the unexpected knock, the neighbor in need, the invitation to forgive, the opportunity to encourage, the quiet summons to prayer.

The monastery's dormitory may seem far removed from our homes today. Yet Benedict's vision remains remarkably contemporary. A family, a parish, a retirement community, or a circle of friends flourishes when its members cultivate readiness, modesty, discipline, and mutual regard.

The sleeping arrangements were never merely about sleep.

They were about awakening—to God, to one another, and to the quiet truth that a holy community is built one ordinary act of love at a time.

We are called to build....

Today's meditation invites us to reflect on leadership and the building of community. It is tempting to begin with what appears to be a simple question: What is most important? Yet wisdom quickly teaches us that the question itself is too small. Communities are not sustained by a single virtue, a single principle, or a single leader. They flourish only when many virtues are held together in faithful balance—truth with mercy, courage with humility, justice with compassion, conviction with listening.

Benedict understood this profoundly.

He realized that building a community was never the work of the abbot alone. It was the work of the entire community, each member contributing to the life of the whole. Looking across the monastery, Benedict chose trusted individuals—our translation calls them deans—not because they possessed authority or influence, but because they had demonstrated virtuous living, sound judgment, and wise teaching. Each was entrusted with the care of a small group, responsible for its well-being according to the commandments of God and the guidance of the abbot.

The touchstone for every decision remained the same: Benedictine values. Whenever uncertainty arose, the community needed only to ask, What is sacred among us? What best reflects the Gospel we have pledged to live? Decisions were never meant to arise from personal preference or the loudest voice, but from a shared commitment to what had formed the community from the beginning.

It is not surprising, then, that we soon discover a profound truth: it is the community that builds community. A common vision gives birth to a common heart. Such a people are immersed in Scripture, attentive to prayer, and devoted to listening—not only for the voice of God but also for the lived experience of one another.

Sister Joan reminds us that a person formed in this Benedictine spirit naturally seeks cooperation rather than competition, listening rather than domination, reconciliation rather than division. Such leadership gathers people together; it never fractures them. Its measure is not power but communion.

In recent years we have often spoken of the importance of recognizing that there is always a backstory. Rarely do we fully understand the complete truth of any situation. Beneath every decision lie unseen forces: histories, fears, hopes, disappointments, loyalties, and hidden wounds that quietly shape human behavior.

Benedict understood this centuries ago. Throughout the Rule he repeatedly counsels patience, careful listening, and humility before judgment. Today's chapter reminds us that wise leadership requires more than knowledge of the facts. It demands hearts immersed in Scripture, ears attentive to the experience of the community, and minds willing to discern the deeper currents at work beneath the surface.

Perhaps, then, the question is not, What is most important? A better question is, What is being asked of us now, for the sake of the whole? Sometimes the community needs vision; sometimes consolation. Sometimes it needs courage to act; at other times, the humility to wait. The true leader does not seek to prevail but to help the community become more faithful to its calling.

When people trust that they have been heard, when they know their story matters, and when every decision is measured against the enduring values of the Gospel, community ceases to be merely an organization. It becomes what Benedict always intended: a school for the Lord's service, where together we learn, day by day, to become what we say we believe.

Reverence begins with prayer....

Benedict tells us that prayer should be brief, offered with few words, arising from a heart that is pure rather than from lips that are merely busy. God is not persuaded by the length of our prayers but by the openness of our hearts.

Sr. Joan Chittister reminds us that the purpose of prayer is not to establish a routine but to establish a relationship—an enduring relationship with the God who is already with us. Prayer is not something we do at appointed hours alone; prayer is the slow shaping of a life until every thought, every word, every action becomes an expression of God's presence within us.

The ancient monks called this purity of heart. John Cassian described it as the one great purpose toward which every spiritual discipline points. It is not moral perfection. It is singleness of heart—the gradual surrender of every competing desire until there is only one great longing left: to seek God in all things.

Centuries later, Thomas Merton wrote that the pure of heart are those who no longer seek themselves, but seek only the will of God. Meister Eckhart taught that we must become empty enough for God to be God within us. Thomas Keating reminded us that the spiritual journey is less about acquiring holiness than about letting go of the false self that obscures it. And Richard Rohr often observes that we do not think ourselves into a new way of living; we live ourselves into a new way of thinking.

Perhaps that is why the word true is so profound. Truth is not merely the correctness of our opinions. It is the alignment of our lives with the life of God. We speak of true north because it does not wander. We speak of true notes because they are in harmony. Likewise, a true heart is one brought into harmony with the heart of God.

Such truth can be elusive. We are easily deceived by ambition, comfort, fear, certainty, and self-interest. The Desert Fathers warned that the greatest obstacle to God is not wickedness but illusion—the mistaken belief that our own desires are God's desires. Prayer slowly strips away those illusions. It teaches us to listen with "the ear of the heart" until God's hopes become our hopes, God's compassion becomes our compassion, and God's truth becomes the measure of our lives.

Then prayer has accomplished its work. We have become, little by little, what we have prayed. Our words grow fewer because our lives speak more clearly. We become disciples whose witness is not found primarily in eloquent speech but in quiet integrity. We become, in Benedict's vision, people whose hearts are pure, whose minds are centered in the Truth that is Truth, whose strength rests in the Power that is Power, and whose lives are transformed by the Love that is Love.

For in the end, purity of heart is simply this: to will one thing—to belong wholly to God, and in belonging to Him, to belong more completely to His world.

And so....we are called to live the Gospel message....

The wisdom of the ages, from Evagrius Ponticus and the Desert Fathers, through Augustine of Hippo, Thomas Aquinas, Meister Eckhart, Teresa of Ávila, and John of the Cross, to Thomas Merton, Richard Rohr, and Sister Joan—reminds us that the spiritual life is not about acquiring something new. It is about allowing God to reveal what has always been intended. Prayer does not inform God. Prayer transforms us—so that we become who we say we are.

By now we have come to appreciate the extraordinary clarity that Sister Joan Chittister brings to the Rule of Benedict. Today she offers one of her most compelling images: the smelter's furnace.

Raw ore enters the crucible carrying both precious metal and worthless dross. Only fire can separate the one from the other. So it is with the soul.

Benedict understood that the Divine Office is not simply a discipline of words but a furnace of grace. Day after day, the psalms gather our scattered minds, disordered loves, restless ambitions, hidden fears, and deepest hopes into the presence of God. There, in the quiet fire of prayer, they are fused into a single heart.

The Desert Fathers called this purity of heart—the undivided life. Augustine spoke of rightly ordered love. Benedict called it listening "with the ear of the heart." Richard Rohr describes it as the True Self emerging as the false self slowly burns away. Different voices, one enduring truth.

Prayer is not meant to change God's mind. It is meant to change ours.

As the furnace burns away pride, illusion, fear, and self-deception, the image of Christ becomes steadily clearer within us. Our words and our lives begin to agree. Our worship becomes visible in the way we love, forgive, serve, and hope.

The goal is wonderfully simple: that, by God's grace, we become who we profess to be—indeed, who He has always created us to become.

Only then do our prayers cease to be merely spoken and become, at last, embodied. Only then does God's presence become palpable in us. And only then do we become what we seek: people whose lives proclaim the Gospel long before our lips ever do.

Out of the mind of God....

Breath deeply and begin....

Todays reflection touches on something that sits at the very heart of Benedictine spirituality. Benedict did not insist on praying all 150 psalms each week because he was a legalist. He did so because he understood that the Psalter is nothing less than a school of the human soul. The psalms teach us to pray not only when we feel close to God, but when we are angry, bewildered, joyful, grateful, ashamed, frightened, hopeful, or filled with praise. They refuse to let us become selective in our spirituality.

The Rule of Benedict gives remarkable freedom in arranging the psalms. If another distribution seems more suitable, Benedict says, arrange them differently. His one non-negotiable requirement is that the entire Psalter be prayed every week. Why? Because he believed that no disciple should be allowed to live in only one corner of the spiritual life.

The Psalms immerse us in the whole of human experience. Within them we encounter lament and thanksgiving, triumph and failure, fear and confidence, repentance and joy. They remind us that every human emotion can become prayer and that every circumstance can become a place where God is present. To neglect parts of the Psalter is, in a sense, to neglect parts of ourselves.

This insight has been rediscovered by many modern spiritual writers. Eugene H. Peterson described the Psalms as God's gift of language for lives that often leave us speechless. Before we know how to pray, the Psalms pray for us. Walter Brueggemann observed that they move continually through orientations, disorientations, and new orientations—the very pattern of every faithful life. We begin with confidence, encounter suffering or uncertainty, and emerge, often unexpectedly, into deeper trust. N. T. Wright reminds us that the Psalms form the imagination of God's people, teaching us to see our own lives as chapters within God's larger story.

Yet this raises an honest question. These prayers were written nearly three thousand years ago. They speak of kings, shepherds, enemies with swords, deserts, exile, and temple sacrifices. What possible connection do they have with traffic jams, medical diagnoses, fractured families, retirement communities, political division, or loneliness in the digital age?

The answer lies beneath the surface. Human circumstances change; the human heart does not. We may no longer flee from Saul, but we know betrayal. We may never climb the steps of the Temple, but we know longing for God's presence. We may not fight armies, yet we battle fear, pride, resentment, grief, and despair every day. The outward forms have changed. The inward struggles have not.

The challenge, then, is not simply to read the Psalms but to meditate upon them until they become our own story. We ask, "Where is this psalm speaking to my life today?" Sometimes the answer is immediate. At other times we must sit quietly, allowing the words to work upon us rather than demanding that they immediately yield their meaning. This slow reading is what Benedict knew as the patient work of conversion.

Here the wisdom of the Desert Fathers becomes invaluable. Evagrius Ponticus taught that Scripture is a mirror revealing the hidden movements of the heart. One does not master Scripture; Scripture gradually unmasks the soul. John Cassian urged monks to memorize the Psalms so thoroughly that they became the language of their own interior lives. In time, he wrote, the Psalms cease to be merely words on a page. They become our own prayer because they uncover emotions we scarcely knew we possessed.

The Desert Fathers also warned against reading merely for information. Abba Poemen repeatedly emphasized that transformation comes not through many words but through allowing one word to penetrate deeply. The purpose of Scripture is not to increase knowledge but to purify the heart. Every psalm, therefore, becomes an invitation to self-examination. Why does this verse comfort me? Why does another disturb me? Why do I resist these words? Such questions are themselves acts of discernment.

This ancient practice speaks powerfully to our own century. We often read quickly, seeking answers and information. The monastic tradition invites us instead to linger, to listen, and to allow the text to read us. We do not merely ask, "What does this psalm mean?" We ask, "What is God revealing about my heart through this psalm today?"

Perhaps this is why Benedict insisted upon the entire Psalter. Left to ourselves, we would repeatedly choose our favorite passages and avoid those that unsettle us. The complete cycle prevents us from constructing a God in our own image. Instead, it allows God, through every mood and every season of the Psalms, to reshape us into the image of Christ.

In the end, praying all 150 psalms is not about completing a weekly assignment. It is about allowing every dimension of human experience to be brought into God's presence until, little by little, our hearts learn to beat in rhythm with His. That is the true work of discernment. The Psalms do not simply teach us how ancient Israel prayed. They teach us how to become fully human before God.

A willingness to change and grow....

The disciple comes seeking an end to his discomfort. The holy one offers something far more demanding: transformation. Relief soothes the symptoms; cure reaches the disease. Relief allows us to remain essentially the same person. Cure requires that we become someone new.

This theme echoes through the wisdom of the Desert Fathers. When a young monk came to Abba Poemen seeking peace, he was not given techniques for feeling better. He was taught to die to self-will. The Fathers understood that the greatest obstacle to communion with God was not suffering itself but the ego that insists on arranging the world according to its own desires. As long as the self remains enthroned, neither God nor neighbor can truly enter.

Sister Joan's challenge is especially sharp in an age that prizes autonomy above almost every other virtue. We are trained to ask whether a choice serves us, fulfills us, advances us, or makes us comfortable. Yet Benedictine spirituality asks a different question: Does this choice strengthen the community? Does it enlarge the circle of compassion? Does it make room for another person to flourish? The movement from "What do I want?" to "What does love require?" is the beginning of the cure.

The ancient monks knew that self-centeredness is remarkably resilient. We surrender one preference only to discover another waiting beneath it. We seek relief from loneliness but resist the demands of relationship. We seek relief from conflict but avoid the work of reconciliation. We seek relief from inconvenience but hesitate to serve. Thus, much of what we call spiritual growth is merely the search for comfort in religious clothing.

The cure is painful because it asks us to relinquish the illusion that we are the center of the story. It requires the humility to recognize that our lives find meaning not in self-fulfillment but in self-giving. The Gospel, the Rule of Benedict, and the wisdom of the saints all point toward the same paradox: we discover ourselves precisely when we cease making ourselves the primary concern.

Perhaps the holy one's question remains before each of us today: Do you truly want a cure? For the cure will not merely ease your discomfort. It will change your heart. It will teach you to see Christ in the neighbor, the stranger, the difficult person, and the community itself. Relief asks little and passes quickly. Cure asks everything, but in giving everything, it gives us back our truest selves.

For more on today's reading from the Rule, I invite you to follow the link to Abba Poemen and read more about the Sayings of the Desert Fathers under our Links of Interest.

We are all responsible....

Sr Joan's reflection touches a theme that runs like a river through many spiritual traditions: grace is freely given, but it must be received in a heart willing to be transformed. The Sufi story of the bitter gourd captures this truth with striking simplicity.

The lesson is obvious and uncomfortable: we may surround ourselves with holy things, attend worship, recite prayers, read sacred books, and even dwell among saints, yet remain unchanged if our hearts are closed to conversion.

The Desert Fathers understood this well. One of the elders said, "A man may dwell in his cell, but if his heart wanders, he is far away." They knew that holiness is not acquired by geography or ritual alone. Abba Moses taught that one must "sit in the cell, and the cell will teach you everything."

The point was not the cell itself but the inner work of surrender,
humility, and self-knowledge we pray the solitude will reveal.

Centuries later, the anonymous author of The Cloud of Unknowing warned that religious practices become empty when they do not lead us to a deeper love of God. Likewise, Teresa of Ávila reminded her sisters that prayer's true test was not mystical experience but growth in charity. If prayer does not make us more patient, more forgiving, more attentive to the needs of others, then we have mistaken the means for the end. John of the Cross taught that God works most deeply when He strips away our illusions and teaches us to love without seeking our own satisfaction.

Benedict would have recognized the wisdom of the bitter gourd immediately. His monastery was never intended to be a refuge from transformation but a workshop for it. The monastery existed so that imperfect people could learn, through daily life together, to become instruments of God's peace.

The Divine Office, the common table, the work of the hands, and obedience
to one another were all means by which rough edges were worn smooth. This is why community is so essential. 

We are not transformed alone. The person who irritates us teaches patience. The person who suffers awakens compassion. The person who disagrees with us teaches humility. Each member contributes a portion of the work of conversion in the lives of the others. We become, as Saint Paul suggests, members of one body, each carrying the burdens and blessings of the rest.

By grace, God offers transformation. Yet grace does not force itself upon us. The bitter gourd remains bitter when it resists the work being done within it. We are called instead to listen with the ear of the heart, to allow God's wisdom to penetrate our stubbornness, and to let the ordinary encounters of daily life become occasions of conversion.

The true pilgrimage, then, is not to a distant shrine but into the depths of the heart. There, through prayer, service, humility, and life in community, the bitterness of self-centeredness is slowly transformed into the sweetness of love. Such change is never our achievement alone. It is God's work within us. But it becomes possible only when we consent, day after day, to be changed.

The Practice

Psalmody is the practice of praying, chanting, singing, or reciting the Psalms in a structured and communal way. The word comes from the Greek psalmos (psalm) and ōdē (song), literally meaning "the singing of psalms."

In the Jewish tradition, the Psalms formed the prayer book of Israel. They expressed every dimension of human experience before God: praise, thanksgiving, lament, repentance, trust, wisdom, and hope. Jesus himself prayed the Psalms, and the early Church inherited them as its principal language of prayer.

In the Benedictine tradition, psalmody is far more than reading sacred poetry. It is a way of allowing the mind and heart to be shaped by Scripture. By praying the Psalms day after day, people religious gradually learn to see the world through God's eyes and to bring every human emotion into God's presence.

Saint Benedict writes in the Rule that "our minds should be in harmony with our voices." Psalmody is therefore not performance but transformation. The words become our words; the prayers of ancient Israel become the prayer of the Church and of the individual believer.

Thus, psalmody is the praying of the Psalms; the order of psalmody is the sacred rhythm by which those Psalms are arranged and prayed, shaping a life that listens continually for the voice of God.

A mindless moment....

Sister Joan asks a deceptively simple question: Why do we memorize so many things, yet so few prayers? We can effortlessly recall telephone numbers from decades ago, childhood songs, favorite quotations, sports statistics, and passwords. Yet many of us struggle to summon a prayer when our hearts are weary, our minds troubled, or our faith tested.

St. Benedict understood the importance of carrying prayer within. Most of his monks could neither read nor write. If they were to pray the Divine Office throughout the day, they had to commit its words to memory. The psalms, versicles, Gospel canticles, litanies, and above all the Lord's Prayer became part of the very fabric of their lives. Prayer was not something they reached for; it was something that dwelt within them.

This was more than an exercise in memorization. Benedict knew that the words we carry in our hearts shape the lives we live. A memorized prayer becomes a companion on the journey. It waits quietly within us until fear, sorrow, joy, gratitude, or uncertainty calls it forth. Then, when our own words fail, the prayer speaks for us.

Sister Joan reminds us that authentic prayer is never superficial. It may be brief, but it is never careless. It is not "a glancing thought, not a shrug or a gesture or a mindless moment of empty daydreaming." Prayer is an act of attention. It is the deliberate turning of the heart toward God. Even a few words, prayed sincerely, can open the soul to grace.

Perhaps the question for us is not how many prayers we know, but which prayers have become part of who we are. What words are available when anxiety rises in the night? What prayer surfaces when we hear difficult news? What do we whisper when gratitude overwhelms us?

For many, it may be something as simple as:

Lord, hear my prayer...

Four words. A lifetime of meaning.

In that simple petition we invite God to enter our confusion, calm our fears, examine our motives, heal our wounds, and strengthen our resolve. We acknowledge that we are not self-sufficient. We turn once again toward the One who knows us better than we know ourselves.

The goal of memorized prayer is not recitation but relationship. The words become pathways leading us back to God throughout the day. They remind us that prayer need not wait for a church, a book, or a special hour. It is always as near as the next breath.

And so, when the mind is restless and the heart is heavy, perhaps the simplest prayer is enough:

Lord, hear my prayer...

And in the silence that follows, listen with the ear of the heart.

We are invited....

Benedict, following the psalmist, marks the day with praise: morning, work, noon, weariness, evening, night. The hours are not interruptions of life; they are reminders of why we are here. Again and again the bell calls the heart back from distraction, self-importance, anxiety, and sleep. Again and again, we are reminded: it is for the God within us that we live and serve.

“Seven times a day I praise you,” says the psalm; “at midnight I rise to give you thanks.” Benedict receives these words not as poetry only, but as a pattern for living. The Roman world may have supplied the shape of the hours, but Scripture supplied their soul. Time itself becomes an altar.

Most of us cannot live by the full monastic office. Yet all of us can learn its wisdom. We can pause before we speak. We can bless a meal. We can offer kindness. We can surrender irritation. We can turn worry into intercession. We can let silence open the ear of our heart.

To pray without ceasing is to live increasingly aware of the living God within each of us: in labor and rest, in certainty and confusion, in daylight and in the midnight of the soul. The call is simple and lifelong: return, remember, praise, begin again.

An endless chant of joy...

Rarely does Benedict write—and rarely does Sister Joan reflect—without returning us to a single, essential truth: God is to be at the center of our lives. Again and again, they remind us that the spiritual journey is not primarily about our accomplishments, our insights, or even our efforts. It is about recognizing the presence of God, surrendering ourselves to His loving will, and allowing Him to shape us into the people we are called to become.

When we gradually come to this realization, something within us changes. We begin to understand that faith is not merely a set of beliefs but a way of living. We discover that, despite life's sorrows, disappointments, and uncertainties, we are indeed Easter people. The Resurrection becomes more than an event we remember; it becomes the lens through which we view our lives. Hope rises above fear, love triumphs over division, and "Alleluia" becomes not simply a word we sing but the enduring cry of our hearts.

Yet this transformation does not begin with activity. It begins in silence. It begins with a willingness to listen.

In a world filled with noise, distraction, and self-assertion, we are invited to quiet our restless and willful minds. Benedict's counsel is simple but demanding: "Listen." Listen not merely with our ears, but with what he calls "the ear of the heart." In that sacred listening, we begin to hear God's gentle invitation—a call that is often less a command than a quiet beckoning.

What do we hear? We hear the call to trust. We hear the call to surrender. We hear the call to live lives marked by faith, compassion, mercy, and love. We hear the call to recognize the living Christ in every person we meet and to care for His world with reverence and gratitude.

The spiritual life is not a quest to find God somewhere far away. It is the lifelong practice of becoming attentive to God within.  Here.  Now.  In silence, in prayer, in community, and in service, we learn to listen. And in listening, we discover the One who has been calling us all along.

Let me close today by inviting you to read Listening for God in the Silence  

under our Links of Interest in the right hand margin.

Forgive us as We Forgive

...because thorns of contention are likely to spring up... 

Benedict reminds us that we need His help daily to curb our vices, not the least of which is the ever-present risk of animosity toward others.  The reminder is a wonderful reflection of our call to live in peace with our brothers and sisters.

forgive us as we forgive

Sr. Joan builds on this theme reminding us of Benedict's call to never omit from our prayers our need for continual for blessings and our need for continual forgiveness...

... a sense of God's greatness and our dependence;
a sense of God's grandeur and our fragility.

And so it is that we are reminded of the role of repetition in our spiritual development.

A New Beginning

Sr. Joan reminds us that....

Prayer is the development of an attitude of mind that is concentrated and contemplative...always special, always meant to take us back to the Beginning and the End, the Alpha and the Omega, the Center of life. 

I invite you to visit this short essay on contemplative reading. 

Now visit again the Rule and and Sr. Joan's short commentary.  Each seeks to waken in us a new beginning.  But we must be attentive to the still small voice within—ours and His.

 

Never Neglect and Never Exaggerate

I write to you this morning from Normandy, France. Seven days ago, on June 6, 2026, the world marked the 82nd anniversary of D-Day—the historic moment when the Allies restored freedom (liberté) to Europe. As we tour the local museums and beaches, immersing ourselves in the history of that era, it is clear that those events represented a perilous turning point for Europe and all of humanity.

Why should this history matter to a Benedictine reading this post today?

Sister Joan reminds us to never neglect and never exaggerate, but rather to live life normally, thoughtfully, and profoundly. The massive undertaking of D-Day was undoubtedly a moment in world history that demanded exactly this kind of intense, devoted effort.

This environment has drawn me back to Living the Rule, which I had neglected since April 26. I had allowed myself to be pulled away by excuses and tasks that seemed more urgent at the time. Yet, there is truly nothing more important than reading, reflecting, and meditating on the daily message of the Rule as we begin our day. We are invited to start no task, and begin no day, without first inviting Him to join us.

We have to allow it to happen....

Life gives us many moments when we are called to grow beyond ourselves. Benedict knew this well. And he knew the importance of the resulting growth. Sister Joan recognize these as those moments when...

 we are incapable of assessing our own limits, our real talents, our true strength.

It is in these moments that we are called to stretch beyond our limits and to turn the clay into breathless beauty, but first, of course we have to allow it to happen

Happy Birthday Sr. Joan

This weekend, April 25-26, is Sr. Joan Chittister's 90th birthday. In what follows, Judith Valente revisits and celebrates the life of this most beloved Prophet of our age—Sister Joan Chittister.

Every age has its prophets. They are the ones who impart a wisdom that speaks not only to the current age but addresses the ages. One of the truly prophetic voices of our time is Benedictine Sister and prolific author Joan Chittister. Sister Joan, who turns 90 this weekend, probably has done more than any other spirituality writer of our time to help those of us in living the frenetic, secular world become what I call “everyday contemplatives.”

Her life and contributions deserve not only our gratitude, but our celebration.

Many of us found our way to Benedictine spirituality through her more than 25 books on “The Rule of St. Benedict.” In them, she plumbs the timeless wisdom of a text written some 1,600 years ago for people living in monasteries, yet whose words continue to guide those of us in every age seeking to live the Benedictine values of listening, community-building, hospitality, humility, simplicity, service, prayer and praise in daily life.

If you have been fortunate enough to meet Sister Joan in person, it was likely an unforgettable experience. I cherish each of the times I was able to be in her company.

The first time I saw her I actually knew little about her. I went as a reporter for PBS-TV to cover a conference organized by the peace organization Pax Christi USA. She was the keynote speaker. I don’t remember exactly what she talked about, but I never forgot her presence or the powerful way in which she spoke, which caused the audience to jump up when she finished in a sustained standing ovation.

The next encounter was through her books, “The Rule of St. Benedict: Insight for the Ages” and “Wisdom Distilled from the Daily” when I was first discovering Benedictine contemplative spirituality. Afterward, I had the good fortune to be seated next to her at a dinner given by a TV program I worked for in Chicago.

At the time, I was in the midst of writing a memoir that became “Atchison Blue: Search for Silence, a Spiritual Home and a Living Faith” about my extended stays at Mount St. Scholastica Monastery in Atchison Kansas.

That evening, Sister Joan gave me some of the best advice I’ve received as an author. She told me to take myself out of my usual surroundings and go somewhere we I could focus only on the book. I just wish I had been smart enough to take her advice more often!

I subsequently spent several days with her at her monastery, Mount St. Benedict in Erie, PA, for a profile I reported for PBS-TV. She was less interested in talking about herself than taking me to see the many ministries her monastic community was sponsoring in Erie, including a children’s art center, a soup kitchen, and a community garden.

She was proud of the fact that the building that once housed the girls’ academy her sisters had to close had been converted into a center for helping newcomers and immigrants to Erie.

“Our purpose is to present the most humane, spiritual, moral, communal model of life for a world in chaos around us — to be an island of care and cohesion,” she told me during our interview.

Even as she entered her senior years, she kept up a grueling schedule. It included writing regular columns for National Catholic Reporter, authoring an average of a book a year, and leading groups on pilgrimage.

I met up with her again in Rome at the World Congress of Benedictine Oblates (oblates are lay associates of monasteries) where she gave a keynote address. Slowing was not a word in her vocabulary.

One of her books is about aging, interestingly enough titled, “The Gift of Years: Growing Older Gracefully.” In it she writes: “It is important that age be no impediment to the magnet of life in us. But life is not about breathing only. Life is about becoming more than we are, about being all that we can be. Whatever we are doing, however old we are.”

She confessed that she was perhaps too young to be writing such a book, as she began working on it when she was “only seventy.” She reserved the right to amend it in the future. One can hope.

“Age comes only to the truly blessed,” she writes in “The Gift of Years.” We have been blessed to have this marvelous woman with us for 90 years. May she bless us for years to come. May she continue to have “the gift of years.”

Judith Valente

Into the presence of God

Like many of us, I find Sister Joan's observations on the Rule inspired. She finds life in the Rule—rules for living, offering such clarity of thought—ideas that simply elude me. Today's writings, April 25, offer many beautiful illustrations.

Drawing on Benedict's admonitions to those who returned to the monastery after traveling, Sister Joan reminds us that we too need to consciously call ourselves into the presence of God, ever reminding ourselves of the purpose of our lives. The world around us is not an evil place—but our eyes and actions are unconstrained, unless we always act and speak through Him—we must be ever mindful of His presence.

Sister Joanne makes this point in such a human way when she says,

"Life costs.  The values and kitsch and superficiality of it take their toll on all of us. No one walks through life unscathed."  

She invites us to put it all into God's hands. And that whatever happens, we remember to start over and over and over again until someday we control life more than it controls us.

How are we to do this? We are to live in the present—mindful of our behavior—and recognize the consequences of our actions and our wandering minds. How do we do this? Hold that question in your hand until you see that you and He are one.

It is a task of a lifetime....

We are called...

Sister Joan Chittister quotes Dietrich Bonhoffer, who writes "there is a meaning in every journey that is unknown to the traveler". Sister Joan discusses this aspect of chapter 61 of the rule The Reception of Visiting Monastic.

Benedict realized that visitors are not only welcomed fed and taken care of, but they give each of us the opportunity to learn from the traveler—to learn from their experiences. Joan refers to this as a kind of radical acceptance—wisdom welcomed from any direction.

And so we are call to learn and teach at every moment in our lives-never to close ourselves off in every moment of every day.

Benedictine spirituality never requires perfection. It does, however, demand effort and openness.

Root Mother

I do not see you as much as I feel you– know you, the way I know my bones hold me upright as I walk, or the pressure of bare feet on cool grass. You, Root Mother, draw my eyes downward to the earth, where the heart of life beats, the deep throb beneath all the distractions we call life. Root Mother, yes, that is the best name I can give you, although your true name sounds more like water over stone or the creak of growing corn. Some truths are hidden, tucked away in the holy darkness, far from my dissecting mind, yet I know they are there, safe in your hands. Who says I must understand something fully in order to celebrate it– even to be held by it? You call me back to the center of my own being, a space much lower than any lofty thoughts of my mind, where you wait with divine patience. I will never begin to know the truth of my own body until I rest in the rich darkness of yours, and for this grace I thank you. ~Stuart Higginbotham

Eyes softened...

 Sr. Joan reminds us Benedictine life is rooted in three dimensions: commitment to a community, fidelity to a monastic way of life, and obedience. However, you and I are to pursue Benedictine spirituality, and we are called to continue to carry out our part in the society in which we live while helping mold, polish and temper it to the teachings of Benedictine.

We are called to see the world tempered by the gospel message; we listen for God's voice echoing daily in our thoughts, and in the voice of those around us. Benedictine spirituality is rewriting who we are and how we are respond to the world. 

We trust to the community of Saints and Benedict's teaching for the leadership essential to live in this most challenging world. We remain aware of the daily challenges, but we are equally bound to Benedict's call to live a new life. A new life that begins anew with sunrise...mindful that all we have are gifts from Him.

We are asked...

Benedict and Sr. Joan ask us to re-order our values, our priorities and our lives. As we evolve spiritually, we are invited to examine our deepest self~who we are~what we want~how we live~how we speak.  In time, we will see the world differently. We will respond to the world differently.

We are invited to live every day every moment with purpose and meaning~never living on impulse~responding to hapless circumstances~blown about by the changing winds of our lives. Sister Joan summarizes this well when she points out that life is not easy and life is not to be lived as if it were.

This truly is an important insight for all of us. We must actively seek to develop the rigor it takes to live our lives through the gospel lens. It requires constant fidelity to our purpose~even when we fail.

We are invited....

 --To pay attention to what is important in our lives.--

In Benedict's day, the monastic was provide with everything they needed.  Private ownership was a vice not to be tolerated.  Today, each of us are invited to pay attention to what we really need to live the sacred life to which all of us are called.

Sr. Joan recognizes this by reminding us that when we are smothered by things we become truly blind to those things that are important to us and those whom we love and for whom we are called to care.

Benedictine spirituality seeks to free the body so that the soul can soar.  A gift long lost in a consumer society.

It seems so simple or maybe even silly, but the key for most of us is self-control--and in community--compassion.  Benedictine spirituality is a practice that invites us to live a life where we are not the focus of our lives.  We are here to serve and listen to His word in all we do.

The Earth Laughs with Flowers

As a devout practitioner of our faith, Sr. Joan has a deep understanding of our faith traditions.  Chapter 15 speaks to The Times for Saying Alleluia.  The title of today's post is Sr. Joan's quote from Emerson.  What a beautiful way to think about our use of Alleluia--our proclamation of joy.  Sr. Joan reminds us that we truly are an Easter people and Alleluia is our cry.

Even life in hot fields and drab offices and small houses is somehow one long happy thought when God is its center, and blessings, however rare, however scant, are blessed.

We simply must learn to surrender into His hands--making Him the center of our lives! 

Two unfailing realities....

At the break of dawn, every day of the week, Benedict, through his organization of the morning, psalms, reminds the monastic of two unfailing realities.

Life is hard and we will struggle; and, having survived the week, saved one more time God.  We are under the shelter of his wings.

 

 

 We are his.

Two pockets...

 Each of us should have two pockets, the rabbi teaches. In one should be the message, "I am dust and ashes." And in the other, we should have written, "For me the universe was made."

In one way or another, Benedict reminds us daily that we are broken yet we are made for God. It is in God's greatness that in dependence on Him we survive.  He calls us to live under the shelter of his wings. This is life's journey, it struggles and it's glories. 

Joan reminds us that sometimes it is difficult to remember, when days are dull, and the schedule is full, that God has known the depth of our emptiness, yet heals our broken selves regardless.

God, by His Grace, will prevail 
and in doing so will enable us to prevail. 

Something fresh everyday

If you follow the daily office closely, you will find that there is an element of freshness every day. The prayers and patterns are concentrated and contemplative. Benedict encourages us to listen as well as recite.

Pay particular attention to the Sabbath as a moment of returning to the surety and solemnity of life, for setting our sights above the daily, for restating the basics, giving meaning to the rest of the week. Yes, reinforced through repetition.

Live your life without exageration

Fill your bowl to the brim and it will spill. Keep sharpening your knife and it will blunt. Chase after money and security and your heart will never unclinch. Care about people's approval and you will be their prisoner.

Do your work, then step back.
The only path to security.

The movement to pray...

The movement to prey is the movement of God in our souls. Our ability to pray depends on the power and the place of God in our life--we pray because God attracts us, and we pray only because God is attracting us. We are not, in other words, even the author of our own prayer life. It is the goodness of God, not any virtue that we have developed on our own, that brings us to the heart of God.

Sister Joan challenges us with this notion. Many of us would like to believe that we have such great insight into the world, into the universe, that we can author our own prayers. But if we look closely at the words that we choose, at the elements of our life that draw our attention, at the goodness that we seek to accomplish, we suddenly realize that these are not our works alone. 

I believe he is the author of these actions; the author of these prayers. He authors these so that we might see what he desires for us, and in time, I believe we act with Him motivated by his love for us and His love for the world in which we live.

Many of these prayers come from deep within us, that is true. But so He resides deep within us. He is the very heart of our soul, the soul of our lives. Once we embrace this, once we accepted this, then I think the conversation begins. Prayer life, grounded in faith, conversation with him growing daily.

Among the sayings...

Among the sayings of the Desert fathers, there is a story that may explain Benedict's terse and clear instructions on prayer:

One of the disciples asked Abba Agathon, "among all good works, which is the virtue that requires the greatest effort?" Abba Agathon answered, "I think there is no labor greater than that of prayer to God. For every time we want to pray, our enemies, the demons, want to prevent us, for they know that it is only by turning us from prayer that they can hinder our journey."

Once we fully understand this, I believe we will begin to see the world much more clearly; we will begin to understand the recurring and simple prayers of the taize singers.  Open your hearts, minds, ears to listen and to speak to Him every moment of every day.  

He is there and He wants to talk to you. 

 

The twelfth step....

The 12th step of humility is that we always manifest humility in our bearing, no less than in our hearts, so that it is evident at the Opus Dei, in the oratory, the monastery or the garden, or on a journey, or in the field, or anywhere else. 

I  invite you to listen closely to Sr. Joan.

To be truly humble is to simply measure ourselves without exaggeration. Humility is the ability to know ourselves as God knows us and to know that it is the little we are that is precisely our claim on God.

Humility is, then, the formation of our relationship with God, our connectedness to others, our acceptance of others, our way of using the goods of the Earth, and is our way of walking through the world, without arrogance, without domination, without scorn, without put-downs, without distain, without self-centeredness. The more we know ourselves, the gentler we will be with others.

God knows us for who we are. If we accept this, and if we accept that God is within us, we will grow closer to him every day.

We must not lose sight of this simple idea that we are indeed one with Him.  Resting in his arms, we will grow. Times will be hard and times will be joyful, but He is ever present. 

Go in peace to love and serve the Lord. 

 

The eleventh step....the wise are known by few words....

 ....tread tenderly upon the life around us....

If we truly know our place in this world, we can easily afford to make room for others.  We do not need to dominate conversations and insist on our own way--there is room in life for all of us.

God can be God for all of us because we have relieved ourselves of the ordeal of being God ourselves. We simply unfold and become. 

Step 10...do not be confused...

Do not be confused. Benedict is not asking us to be such stoic that we never smile or laugh. He wants us to recognize that life is serious and that we are called to honor our ourselves and the world in which we live. He wants us to be in control of ourselves at all times, never threatening others.

A humble person handles the presence of the other with soft hands, a velvet heart, and an unveiled mind – even your enemies.

Step 9...

How many times have we heard it said, We have two ears and one mouth. It is a message!  Once again, Sister Joan frames it beautifully.

When arrogance irrupt anywhere, it erupt invariably in speech. Our opinions become the rule. Our ideals become the goal. Our judgments become the norm. Our word becomes the last word, the only word.

Humility is what allows each of us to learn from one another and grow daily in our knowledge of Him and the many gifts we have been given. 

Step 8....stay in the stream of life....

In step 8 of humility, Sr, Joan introduces the idea of true grow.  It really is too simple to become a law onto ourselves. When we do, it leaves this little chance to live and grow with others. 

Without others, we deny ourselves the chance for real growth. Our simple ideas block our minds to the richest to be found in the wider world. Our communities have a great deal to offer if we are but willing to listen.

Step 7....humble in my own eyes....

Only by being humble in my own eyes – can I see my true place in this Your world – thank You for this gift!

There is a most profound reality to step seven of humility. Sr. Joan summarizes it beautifully.

Aware of our own meager virtues, conscious of our own massive failures, despite all our great efforts, all our fine desires, we have in this degree of humility, this acceptance of our ourselves, the chance to understand the failure of others. We have here the opportunity to be kind.

If we have but one prayer every day, let it be to be kind, gentle, loving. In this way, we can be his hands in this world.  

Awake – it is your time!

Step 6....

 Living with excess leads us to lose our true sense of place
in the world.

Sister Joan remind us that Benedict says that life is not about amassing things but to get the most out of whatever little we have. If we can learn to love life where we are, and what we have, then we will have room in our souls for what life alone does not offer--the creator within.

The 5th step.

We must first reveal to ourselves who we really are. We cannot grow until we do.

This is a very disarming idea. Many of us are are simply not prepared to face up to who we really are. Benedict however, reminds us that we must confront who we are if we want to grow.  For when we accept this truth, we will find that we can let go and give Him control.  We will be able to surrender. 

They will be done!

 

The 4th step. Life is dificult

M. Scott Peck, M.D. in his book The Road Less Traveled opens by saying...

Life is difficult.

Yes, this may seems a bit silly but at it deepest meaning it is insight worth embracing.  In the fourth step of humility, Benedict calls on us to recognize that we will be confronted by...

...difficult, unfavorable, or even unjust conditions, where our hearts must quietly embrace suffering, and endure it without weakening or seeking escape.

On first reading, this may seem so foreign, so unrealistic – that we must even remotely consider accepting such conditions. But in time, we will realize one of the most important lessons of life – it really isn't all about us.

We frequently cling to our own ways, refusing to confront and accept the reality of life. But there are a great many essential and positive lessons to be learned from these trials.  They are not to be ignored.

Sister Joan reminds us that in this degree of humility, we must hold on when things do not go our way, for we must learn to...

...withstanding the storms of life rather than having to flail and flail agaist the wind and, as a result, lose the opportunity to control ourselves when there is nothing else in life we can control.

Yes, yes, I understand.  This is so easy to say.  But we must persist!  We must persevere!  We must endure!  We must learn to live this life for Him!  It really is not all about us. 

 

The 3rd Step. We are called to submit!

Benedict understands that this task of listening for and hearing the word of God can be a bit complicated. Joan summarizes it by simply saying we must be willing to submit ourselves to the wisdom of others. We're not the last word, the final answer, the clearest insight into anything.

We are but one word among many. Humility lies in learning to listen to the words, directions, and insights of those around us who are a voice of Christ for us today.  These are the relationships of which sanctity is made.  Invite Him to join with you, walk with you, and listen for His word in the other.

The 2nd Step. Born to do His Will

...we shall imitate by our actions that saying of Christ's: "I have come not to do my own will, but he will of the One who sent me"

Have all of us been born to do His will?

We are His.  We are such willful creatures. Our eyes and our hearts flip from one desire to another. Is it even possible to steal our minds to the point that we can even hear God's will for us?

Sister Joan asks 

"how do we tell the world of God from our own? How do we know when to resist the tide and confront the opposition and when to embrace the pain and except the bitterness because "God will it for us."

I believe the answer lies and our willingness, and our ability to listen quietly for his voice. For his will. 

It will come to us as a gentle nudge or maybe even a shove. If we're willing to listen. 

Humility

Sister Joan makes it quite clear....

...if the preservation of the globe in the 21st century requires anything of the past at all, it may well be the commitment of the rule of Benedict to humility.

Let us begin by realizing that humility is not humiliation. Joan says it most eloquently when she invites us to recognize...

... a proper sense of self in a universe of wonders. When we make ourselves, God, no one in the world is safe in our presence. Humility… is the basis for right relationships in the life.

Sister Joan, and I believe Benedict, believes that no spiritual maturity can be achieved in the absence of a clear sense of God's role in our development. 

Not surprisingly, Benedict chose to use Jacob's ladder as a metaphor for our ascendance and descendants. Pointing out that we descend by exultation and can only ascend by humility.

The 1st step...

We are called to keep the reverence of God always before our eyes. God must be the center of our existence. We must recognize Him and begin no act without inviting Him to join us. When we love him, and all He loves hyphen--we will be carried by Him and impeled to love all God's children.

It may sound a little trite, but to begin, we need only open our eyes, and look at the world around us. God is within us to be realized, and not outside of us to be stumbled upon.

Sister Joan uses a beautiful story to illustrate this connection between God and ourselves.

"How does a person seek union with God? the seeker asks.

"The harder you seek," the teacher said, "the more distant you create between God and you."

"So what does one do about the distance? "

"Understand that it isn't there, "the teacher said.

"Does that mean that God and I are one? "The seeker said.

"Not one. No two."

"How is that possible? "The seeker asked.

"The sun and its light, the ocean and the wave, the singer and the song. Not one. Not two. "

We are in union with God by our very nature. He's there for us to recognize.

 

We must want...

Benedict begins by calling our attention to 2 Corinthians 9:7 reminding us that God loves a cheerful giver. And by so doing he invites us to recognize that we must grow to deeply want to serve.

You must give yourself to it wholeheartedly. You must enter into it with Hope and surety. You must not kick and kick against the goad.  (A goad is a pointed stick to prod animals.) 

This, Benedict says, is not obedience. This is only compliance, and compliance kills, both us, and the community, whose heart is fractured by those who hold theirs back. Real obedience depends on wanting to listen to the voice of God in the human community, not wanting to be forced to do what we refuse to grow from.

We must want to grow – grow in our love for Him and 

our love for others – all others.

This is our call

As a monastic, Sister Joan lives in community.  As a author and teacher of the Rule, she understands the world in which we live.  And so she sees and is quick to respond to Benedict's opening call....

The Tools for Good Works

Sunday, January 18, 2026

Chapter 4

First of all, "love God with your whole heart, your whole soul and all your strength, and love your neighbor as yourself (Mt 22:37-39; Mk 12:30-31; Lk 10:27)." 

Sister Joan sees and lives in Benedict's opening call, not for prayer or sacrifice or devotion or asceticism but a call for love, 

for "that most valiant kind of monastic heart," who sets out to find the holy in the human. The call to contemplation to not simply to see Christ in the other but to treat the other as Christ. Benedict calls us first to justice: love God, love the other, do no harm to anyone.

...to be engaged in the great Christian enterprise of acting for others in the place of God. 

This is our call. 

A gift from Aloka

Wisdom is....

Benedict speaks today on the importance of the community coming together to offer council to the prior or prioress and to one another. We must be willing and able to fully listen to those whom our decisions affect. To listen to those around us with whom we live.

Sister Joanne observes these collective life experiences do count – remarking that wisdom is simply it's distillation.  

This is a most interesting idea – what if the knowledge we have gained over the course of our collective lives could be catalogued and index so that all of our experiences could be easily referenced. There is so much truth, so much to be gained from the collective wisdom of the community that surround us every day. This is such a simple truth.

Teach us Lord to open our ears and our hearts 

to our community – to the wisdom 

that surrounds us on every side.

Call to Lead

Life in a retirement community is full and enriching.  Surrounded by the wisdom of years and experience, we each have the opportunity to continue to grow.  In our Benedictine community, this growth includes not only the earthly and worldly wisdoms of aging but the true insights of faith and spiritual growth.

Benedict and Sister Joan open the door to another realization--we are all called to lead within our community.  The call is clear.  We are all responsible for our community and its spiritual development--called to quietly lead by example--through the quality and integrity of our own lives.

Faced with the litany of emotional responses found in all human communities: anger, frustration, disappointment, rejection, failure – we are each called to resist the sin of resignation, despair, depression, and false hope. We are never to stop trying. We're never to give in to the lesser in life. We are never to lose hope in God's mercy. 

Benedictines are called to birth souls of steel and light; they are called to live the life they lead; their call to live in discriminately; their call to favor the good, not to favor the favorites; they are to call the community to the height and depth and breath of the spiritual life; they are to remember and rejoice in their own weaknesses in order to deal tenderly with the weaknesses of others; they are to attend more to the spiritual than to the physical aspects of community life; and finally, they are to save their own souls in the process, to be human beings themselves, to grow in life themselves.

Trial by Faith

We are called to learn to survive life's trials by faith in His strength--surrendering to not only survive but to grow in His name.   We are each called to service in His name--disciples in name following The Way.  

We are called to struggle in life with those around

us--to grow in depth, in sincerity, and in holiness, 

to grow despite weaknesses, to grow beyond our 

weaknesses.

 

 

How do we grow?  We surrender trusting in His word.  We must give Him our willful spirit.  He will wake us up to the tomorrow that can be--not to remain in the dark world of today.

We must learn to humble ourselves at all time.  Do the work we are called to do.  With Him by our side and by His Grace we will prevail.