Compass for a Soul

This week, in chapter 18 of The Monastery of the Heart, “A Listening Heart,” I am struck mute by the clarity and beauty of the first few paragraphs. I shall add nothing.

There is a magnet in a seeker’s heart

whose true north is God.

It bends towards the Voice of God

with the ear of the heart

and, like sunflowers in the sun,

turns all of life toward

the living of the Word.

This listening heart is pure of pride

and free of arrogance.

It seeks wisdom—

everywhere, at all times—

and know wisdom by the way

it echoes

the call of the scriptures.

The compass for God implanted

in the seeker’s heart

stretches toward truth

and signals the way to justice.

It is attuned to the cries

of the poor and oppressed

with a timbre that allows

no interruption,

no smothering

of the Voice of God

on their behalf.

Kissing Vikings

Chapter  17 of The Monastery of the Heart is on this rule of hospitality. Perhaps we can gain some ideas from it, in the context of visitors to our own homes and churches. Perhaps, we could even gain some insights about growing our church membership.

Chittister says:

It is possible, of course,

to make community

out of “our kind of people,”

out of people who look like us

and think like us

and have the same backgrounds as we do.

But that is not

the kind of community

the ancient Rule

has in mind. . .

In many churches, it’s not that we expect people to have the same backgrounds (though we like it); it’s that we think that, given time and prayer and instruction, they’ll become just like us in looks, word, and deed.

When Benedict of Nursia began

his new way of living

in wild, licentious, sixth-century Rome,

he turned that world upside down. 

He took into his monastic community

the rich and the poor,

the slave and the free,

the young and the old,

artists and craftsmen,

peasants and noblemen.

It was a motley crew.

I wonder if he’d read Galatians 3:28?

And then, as if that weren’t enough,

he opened the doors

of the monastery

to anyone who came,

at any time,

to anyone who knocked,

no matter who they were

or where they had been in life

along the way.

Hmm. I wonder if he’d also read Hebrews 13:2?

Benedictine monasteries are perhaps best known for their hospitality. They take seriously the injunction to “welcome strangers, for in so doing, you may entertain angels unaware.” Wherever you are in the world, if you are in need of shelter, you can go to a Benedictine monastery and they will take you in. (Speaking for myself, I’ve found that to be true of Adventists, too, in general, even though we don’t have a specific rule about it.) In the 9^th century, when Vikings were raiding the British Isles, the story is that at Martyrs Bay, Iona, the reason so many monks, along with their abbot, were slaughtered is that they were still trying to keep Benedict’s Rule that the entire community must welcome any and all guests “as Christ,” with prayer and a kiss of peace. They well knew the Vikings had not come in peace, or with any idea of being Christ-like. But they wanted to be Christ-like.

So do I. I’m not sure I’d be that brave about it. . .

When was the last time you greeted a Viking raider with a kiss of welcome and peace? Metaphorically speaking. Or not. . .