Weathering the Storms of Life

Abbot Jean-Charles Nault, OSB, in his book The Noonday Devil: Acedia, The Unnamed Evil of Our Times (Ignatius Press, 2015, pg. 155), quotes another author saying: 

There is a temptation, for each one of us, to take back our marbles, to reclaim, openly or more subtly, what we renounced in becoming monks. For St. Benedict, things are our worst enemies, because, in offering us a certain autonomy, they invite us to abandon the “difficult, harsh” things that lead to God. That is why St. Benedict chose to cut off temptations at the root, by forbidding any return to the “onions of Egypt” (see Num 11:5), for our freedom consists, not in always being able to turn back, but rather in being able to weather the storms.

From this quote, I began to see that much of our lives are about weathering the storms.

First, a reflection about “things are our worst enemies.” I recall a monk expressing his displeasure at this line of the quote. He said that things are neutral and therefore can’t really be considered our enemies. There are things that lead us to God and other things do not. A blanket statement like that doesn’t do justice to the vast variety of things. I don’t really disagree with him on that, but I think Nault is making a different, important point to consider.

There is a variety to “thingness.” There are ordinary objects around me, like coffee cups, the laptop I’m working on, mountain ranges, and so on. And even here, we can distinguish things. There is a difference to my experience of a mountain range shrouded in mist with a beautiful sunrise behind it—specifically, my experience of watching the sunrise over the mountains of Saudi Arabia from the beach of Nuweiba, Egypt—versus the coffee cup in my hand. 

Gerard Manley Hopkins coined the terms inscape (the God-given uniqueness of things, even things we create) vs instress (our experience of the thing). Both the beach and the coffee cup have inscape, but the instress is different. Think of music vs the experience of music, e.g., Gregorian Chant vs rock. Both have unique inscape and different instress for different people. I also perceive human persons, which have their own unique inscape and instress (based on whether I like the person!), different than a mountain range. Extend this out to spiritual persons (angels, demons) or to Divine Persons of the Trinity. Furthermore, it would be worth thinking about the meaning of the Incarnation from this perspective!

Some things have positive instress and others have negative instress. This serves as an example of why certain movies strike us in different ways. There are distinctions between Gothic Churches and brutalist modern churches, or cathedrals of Europe vs an underground seedy bar that smells bad. Some things like icons can bring me quickly to God, and other things like cockroaches do not!

What is Nault really saying? He continues, “…offering us a certain autonomy…” This is about the human desire to possess things. We have possessions that we possess or own. We try to protect those things, especially valuable things or items with sentimental value. These are things that have an inscape that draws us in and have a positive instress for us. Then there are things we want to keep safe, but we don’t own them, such as churches, buildings, statues, artwork, etc. Note how difficult it is to close down a church with a dwindling population, where the costs of upkeep are getting higher and higher beyond revenue. There are things we know keep us healthy in mind or body or community, such as forested areas or greenspace. These things elicit from within us a desire to hold on to these things.

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Hold on, to what end? What purpose? These things may not be bad at all. But if we make them out to be the end of our human existence, then we are in trouble. Many people go through life thinking that this is all there is. I think that many people struggle with this. They may admit the presence of heaven and the spiritual life, but their inner attitude is one that this is all there is and there's nothing beyond it.

This is the problem for Saint Benedict. For he and the monks that follow experienced the fuga mundi—the flight from the world. They perceived that the world could not give them what they were really looking for. And so they began sacrificing the things of the world for something greater. This is a lesson I like to teach our men in formation, of the importance of sacrificing even great goods for greater goods. It is a very difficult lesson to learn. Because our eyes must be set on heaven and the goods of heaven, that means, in a sense, devaluing the things of the world. For example, if my eyes are set on heaven, what does it matter what I eat or how much I eat (fancy meal or even a good burger)? The exception would be when I begin to recognize that fasting increases my hunger for heaven, so I choose to do it. This is what monks wrestled with when monasticism was established.

Things do indeed give us a certain autonomy because I want to direct my will towards those things. It becomes the wrestling match between needs and wants, which in the ordinary day don't matter all that much. But what internal attitude is being fostered? Yes, it doesn't matter if I purchase this $2.00 thing from Amazon or Walmart, for example if it were a box of Kleenex which I need, but am I developing an attitude of getting things in a convenient easy way more than setting my eyes on God and heaven? These are the questions monks think about, but ordinary people generally do not.

I encountered this when I joined the monastery. I used to have my own life, my own phone, my own app on my phone by which I could purchase things from Amazon immediately. But when I joined the monastery that was not the case. I had to give up a certain convenience—I had to become inconvenienced—in order to redirect my eyes towards God and heaven. This should cause us to reexamine not just the possessions we have but more the attitudes of how we hold on to our possessions.

This is not just a monastic thing. I've met plenty of people in the world who have developed such a detachment of things that they are able to let go of things rather quickly, not worrying about what they wear or eat. That sounds like the Scriptures, Matthew 6:25-34: “Therefore, I tell you, do not worry about your life ... Can any of you by worrying add a single moment to your lifespan? ... So do not worry and say what are we to eat, or what are we to drink, or what are we to wear ... But seek first the Kingdom of God and his righteousness and all these things will be given you besides. Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself. Sufficient for a day is its own evil.”

Second, Nault speaks about forbidding any return to the “onions of Egypt” (see Num 11:5). Leeks and onions are not a bad thing. But the Israelites yearned for the things they had in an old, truly unhealthy, lifestyle (I note that their “old lifestyle” was slavery). For monks, there can be a longing for a previous lifestyle that gave me… fill in the blank.

Money, such as the ease of purchasing things from an Amazon app. Sex, rather in the form of an ease of entering into relationships—emotional connections from someone other than the men around me (desiring to have emotional connections from the opposite gender)! I’m not necessarily referring to the extreme cases of infidelity, but just simple relational connections that make me more focused on my needs rather than what I can give. Let’s be honest, this is compelling for many, celibate and married. Take the example of a woman who keeps saying to her parish priest, “Father, you listen to me better than my husband does!” Power, meaning having a kind of authority that makes me feel valuable.

All three of these are really about me. 

God wants us to uproot me at the center of my universe and replace me with Him. All three of these have a beautiful parallel in religious life: to replace money, sex, and power with poverty, chastity, and obedience. These are the three traditional evangelical counsels. These three are found in different ways within our monastic vows. Poverty and chastity are part of our vows of stability (where I must stay in one place and not wander) and conversatio morum (where I commit myself to a certain way of life). Obedience has its own vow, one that is marked by deep humility for those in authority (note how priests have to be tested in humility) and for those on the receiving end (note the entirety of the disciplinary code of the Rule). Many chapters of the Rule point to that, even if it isn’t said explicitly.

“It’s not about me.” Now we’re getting to the heart of the matter. Monastic life is about seeking God and learning to overcome our obsession with self. And that is why things are our worst enemies, because things—even very good things and not just bad things—make me the center of my universe. The Israelites wanted to return to the leeks and onions of Egypt. These were not bad things in themselves, but this was a thing that would take them away from God’s plan for them. Leeks and onions represented a form of self-obsession, self-centeredness, that part of us that demands, “I want this, I don’t want that, I need this, I don’t need that!” In one word, the Ego. Not the I that simply wants to serve and love, but the Ego that demands that I be satisfied.

Third, a reflection about storms: “…for our freedom consists, not in always being able to turn back, but rather in being able to weather the storms.” The problem with storms is that they threaten my autonomy. I always consider myself an independent person with my own will, able to do anything I want! This is the attitude that St. Benedict wants us to curb but not really get rid of. We have to learn and develop the right use of our will. And for me and for many monks, this happens in the context of community life. Most of our storms are about our interpersonal relationships. Some of our storms are about the governance of finances, but even that opens us into relationships because finances don't make any sense without people!

Consider preparing for storms to come and being unprepared for storms. When I lived in New Orleans, my family and I went through many hurricanes. We would stock up on food, tape up windows, make sure the car was gassed up, and so on. You might ask why we didn't leave. If we were given an evacuation notice, we would do so. And when that happened, my parents did, especially during the disastrous Hurricane Katrina that destroyed our home.

The best way to prepare for storms in the spiritual life is to pray. Now you might protest and say that that's too easy. Yes, actually, it is that easy. But most of us doubt this because most of us don't know how to pray in a way that makes God the center of my life and not myself. Take for example lectio divina. Many of us have learned how to pray this, and it's a very simple and beautiful way to pray. But do we pray it in such a way that we place God at the very center and not ourselves? I'm not saying we don't bring our lives into it, but I think a better way to look at it is that we are decisively putting ourselves in the presence of God in that place where God's life and my life intersect.

There is so much I can say about lectio divina, and I offer retreats on that very topic, but I will only describe it in one way for now. We all know the story of Martha busy serving and Mary at the feet of Jesus. Lectio divina is really simply taking the position of Mary at the feet of Jesus. But it just doesn't end there. For it to go on and expand into the rest of our lives, we have to be like Mary who gets up, nourished by the word of God, and then helps Martha with the dishes, while at the same time leaving her heart with Jesus. That's how you prepare for storms. And that's how you prepare for the storms that you don't know are coming. There are plenty of those in life, but we can face those too when our hearts are with Jesus.

Now consider being in the storm itself. It is perhaps in the storm itself that the pull towards things may be the strongest, because when we are faced with the distress of the storm, we will want to seek false consolations. And this is when we will realize that things in themselves cannot really truly help us. In the storm itself is the best time to pray, of course—the best time to stay connected to the presence of God.

My best example of this happened after a prolonged period of lectio divina, that is, a practice done daily over the course of several months, and I had been experiencing tremendous peace. I faced a sudden conflict and an angry friend, and it became a situation in which I would typically run away (my main course of action when I’m getting yelled at). But I found myself leaning into the situation and saying in my head (and not out loud), “Oh you poor guy, you're hurting right now!” And I wondered what had come over me! I realized this prayer thing really works!

Then there is picking up the pieces after the storm. This is, of course, the time to do an examination, to see what happened throughout the storm. When things like this are done during prayer, we are able to stay connected to God and ask him what is going on. I will frequently beg for grace to see clearly what is going on and to remove from my heart anything that stands in the way of seeing clearly. I want to see in the storm what was clearly my part in it, times when I have needed to take responsibility, and where do I need to make amends.

We can even end up thanking God for the storm! They reveal where I am stuck on myself, the drug of me! “Our freedom consists, not in always being able to turn back, but rather in being able to weather the storms.” So much about the spiritual life is about a movement from pride, self-centeredness, and self-obsession to love, an outward directedness, and acts of charity and service to others. It is the difference between an attitude of “gimme!” and an attitude of “what can I do for you today?” This last one is said to God in prayer, to others throughout the day, and to oneself in a genuine form of self-care. 

The best way this attitude can be summed up is by the words of the Blessed Mother: “Let it be done to me according to Your word.” Fiat. Lord, I accept all, because Your will is everything for me.” Thy will, not mine, be done.

The Winds of Fate

By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

One ship drives east and another drives west

With the selfsame winds that blow.

Tis the set of the sails

And not the gales

Which tells us the way to go.

Like the winds of the seas are the ways of fate,

As we voyage along through the life:

Tis the set of a soul

That decides its goal,

And not the calm or the strife.

can even take us to another level at times, occasionally even to a love beyond our usual limits.