I don’t expect you who were here in early spring to remember my reflections for last March 21st when I was also assigned to speak on St. Benedict’s other feast.  But I remember.  And I remember that, after a summary list of our Benedictine forebearers and guides, I left everyone with a Zen quotation that had no obvious answer.  That quotation from the Zen tradition was “Where do you step from the top of a thirty-foot pole.”  The pole was made up of a pile of monastic experts, which I had listed, one on top of the other chronologically, who had inspired us over the centuries until now.  In their own days they had had to balance precariously on their past tradition and step off the pole with their own answers to their monastic call. I answered the question of “Where do WE step?” by turning to St. Paul’s second reading for that March feast.  In it, he advised us just to fall into the love and wisdom of Christ who would show us the way.

But by Providence or synchronicity or whatever you want to call it, I’ve been assigned to write about Benedict again today.  Twice in one year.  Apparently, I’m meant to say more on the subject of what our Benedictine life asks of us who are alive at this time.   I repeat the answer I gave in March about letting the wise and loving Christ show us the way.  But this time I think I’m meant to articulate further what stepping forth with the tradition beneath us into our Now might mean—always of course, with Jesus as our guide.
           
What clues do we find in the readings for this second Feast of St. Benedict that might help us who are perched on top of this pole of our predecessors in 2011?  In Proverbs—and it seems we’re meant to hear these words as coming from Benedict himself—we’re told to treasure God’s commands.  “Treasure” is a word that goes beyond hearing, beyond understanding, beyond action; “treasure” wraps up all of those in asking us for our attention, our heartfelt response, and our loving compassion.   When we treasure something, we are completely involved in it.  Treasuring something is to have an integrated response of all of ourselves; it’s that balance of our mind, our emotions and our actions that Benedict’s Rule asks of us.   Richard Rohr puts it this way:

Humans tend to think that because they agree or disagree with the idea of a thing, they have realistically encountered the thing itself.  Not at all true, says the contemplative.  It is necessary to encounter the thing in itself. “Presence” is my word for this encounter; a different way of knowing and touching the moment.  It is much more vulnerable, and leaves us without a sense of control.  Thomas had his idea of Jesus, but had to trustfully put his finger into his side before he could know the truth.  Such panoramic and deeper seeing requires a lot of practice, but the rewards are superb, and, I believe, necessary for both joy and truth in this world.

If Rohr is correct, then, as people called by Benedict to a life of contemplation—always expressed in action, since contemplation always overflows in compassion—we must live vulnerably, without controls, in the Presence with a capital P, a Presence nearer to us, as Augustine says, than we are to our selves.  Rohr also sees this contemplative stance as essential, “necessary,” he says, in this world of 2011.  So did Benedict see it that way in the world of the 6th century.  So did the author of Proverbs.

And what clues about stepping off today’s pole do we find in the Gospel?  “Okay,” Peter says, “Having embraced this life, what are we to expect?”  Jesus responds and promises fulfillment, wholeness, a mature and completed life and one that will move easily into eternity.  Benedict says the same thing, doesn’t he?  “Who is the one who would have life and desires to see good days?”  In this world of ours where technology nearly buries us with information about the needs of our planet and its people, what can we do?  What do we have to offer that is of any significance?  Is being contemplative any realistic response?  Our forebears thought it was.  Benedict said it was in so many ways.  And in the Gospel, Jesus says it is.

So, followers of Benedict all, we can step off of our pole knowing what is demanded of us for our own good and the good of our world.  We can and we must become contemplative.  A life of contemplation is essential, necessary, for the joy and truth that Richard Rohr speaks about.  As contemplatives, we must be people of prayer, or better put perhaps since “prayer” has so many connotations, we must be people of Presence; presence to the Presence of God through whom we know our true selves and our call.   At the recent Merton Conference I attended, Douglas Burton-Christie, whose presentation at the last Merton Conference ended in a sense of hopelessness about our planet’s survival, spoke with hope.  He has come to see as the only hope, a quiet, ordinary, simple, open, honest, life lived in the moment.   Of ourselves, we have nothing to offer to our world today; only God does.  Present to that God who is Presence itself in each successive Now, all things are possible, even creation’s resurrection.   

And so we step off our pole with confidence.  And confidence is about as counter-cultural as one can get in our society.  Dominican theologian Albert Nolan says:

Fatalism is the prevailing attitude of most people,
most of the time.  It finds expression in statements
like “Nothing can be done about it.  “You can’t
change the world.”  You must be practical and
realistic.”  “There is no hope for this enterprise.”
“There is nothing new under the sun.”  “You must
accept reality.”  These are the statements of people
who do not really believe in the power of God,
people who do not really hope for what God has
promised.  

Living our contemplative life and the path where it leads us is not only all we can do, it is all we are asked to do.  The rest will follow from our being present to this Presence who can do all things and who does all those things in today’s world through us.  Truly here and now, we will discover our part in God’s creation.  Simple, not easy, essential.  But “Mind has not seen nor ear heard what God has prepared for those who love him.”  St. Benedict, pray for us.