The following is an excerpt from a talk by Brother Kevin Hackett of the Society of Saint John the Evangelist. I really like some of the things he has to say about vowed life, and I think his reflections have direct implications on any Christian's desire to live out their spirituality.
Vowed life is hard. If it wasn’t, we wouldn’t need the vows. Think about your own vows, whether they are vows of marriage or partnership or baptism or ordination. Vowed life by its very nature paradoxically limits us for freedom. We brothers talk about those vows a great deal, though we are far more likely to engage in conversations about money, sex, and power—topics which hit much closer to home for us, and, I think, for any Christian endeavoring to live faithfully.
The first vow calls us to confront the question of the difference between what we want and what we need. This is not a question unique to monastics. Nor is it unique to Christianity. It is a human issue, and frankly, central to the unfolding history of our overpopulated and very damaged planet.
The second vow requires that we examine the terms of engagement in human relationships and intimacy—how much of myself is appropriate to give in a particular relationship? How much is appropriate to receive from another? As monks, we answer that question in a way that is only ever-so-slightly more challenging than those who have answered it with vows of marriage or committed partnership. As all of you will know, both from personal experience in your pastoral ministries, this is not a question that is peculiar to monastics.
And the third vow, which is in fact the most difficult of all, forces us to come to grips with who holds the power in our lives. Who, at the end of the day, makes the decision—and how? It is this third vow (not the second), that is most intriguing to many young adults are attracted to worship at the monastery, I am told, and I am convinced it has to do with the etymological root of the word itself. Obedience comes to us in English from two Latin stems: ob, which is simply the preposition to, and audire, which is literally, to listen. It’s the same stem from which we get the word audible. Monks spend a significant amount of their day in silence, and it is not because there is not a lot to be said—sometimes there is—but rather, because there is so much to be heard—heard from the secret conversation of our hearts, heard from one another, and heard from God, in prayer. Silence is the matrix for listening.
I am happily reminded of Tuesday evening liturgies at Cowley. The SSJE chapel on the Charles River has been a place of prayer and consolation over my years in Boston. Thank you for offering the excerpt.
Posted by: Donald | November 13, 2007 at 06:47 PM