+ In these holy days of Lent, and especially during this Holy Mass, the Church dwells at great length on the ninetieth Psalm, the “diabolic Psalm.” This reference to as being diabolic is on only two grounds: it describes the acts of the Devil in some detail; and it is the passage which the Devil quotes in his only recorded use of Scripture. Yet it is not so much singing of the Devil’s activity, as the numerous manners in which God protects us from the Devil and gives us the grace to conquer him. St Benedict, thus, gives it to his sons to sing as a daily exorcism at the office of Compline.
Connecting this Psalm with Lent follows naturally from within the classical framework of symbols which now lies largely forgotten – yet it is stated clearly in the Gospel — a Gospel passage which even our literal world has not entirely forgotten and which offers a Christological parallel to our Lenten fast. The desert is understood to be the domain of the devil – a dry dead wilderness without water or comfort. Christ goes out to the desert “that He should be tempted by the Devil,” or as St Benedict would describe it: an anchorite will “go out well-armed from the ranks of the community to the solitary combat of the desert” (RB 1) — a description shows a principal motive of the desert fathers leaving the city to enter the desert – clearer still in the life of Saint Anthony where he starts his eremitical life in a sepulchre – “death having come through sin” (Romans 5:11). The desert is diametrically opposed to Christ Who is Life (cf. John 11:25). Entering the desert is to take the combat against sin and death into the domain of the devil himself. This is what we undertake during those sacred days of expiation and purification. This is what St Benedict recognises should always be a characteristic mark of the monk’s life; yet few, he recognises, “have the strength for that” (RB Chapter 49). Our Lenten disciplines are to allow new life in grace to flourish within our persons, rather than causing us an empty discomfort. The struggle for renewed life in Christ should never be confined to oneself but be offered also for others. So too ought our Lenten discipline helps bring Christ to those others around us who do not know Him – prayer and fasting for the conversion of sinners, and also as charitable works such as instructing those ignorant of the truth of God. Whilst outside of Lent we are satisfied with keeping guard so that the devil cannot enter, in these days of grace we march taking the battle out to him. And our marching song is Psalm 90. In the first words of the Psalm, we recognise the keystone, which the Devil tried to remove when quoting the Psalm to tempt Our Lord: Without living in the help of the Most-High, there can be no victory. Unless we rely on His Grace, we shall fail in the one thing that matters – salvation. All that is undertaken in the Lenten discipline, as was the retreat of the desert of the fathers, is for the ultimate intention of salvation; certainly, there can be other more proximate intentions, but they themselves must be motivated as an aid to salvation, not as an end in themselves. Our reliance on the Grace of God should not be confined to individual moments or situations, we must live in it; it must be our continual and habitual state. This does not mean that we presume to do things that are far beyond our capacity — any man will die if he jumps from the pinnacle of the temple — but that we do all things relying on Him that they may bear fruit, even fruit that we cannot foresee. God never fails, although we may not understand His acts until long afterwards – if we ever do before judgement. Whilst God never fails, He does allow us licence to depart from Him if we so choose so to do. What God asks of us is to overcome sin, to “be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matthew 5:48). This is the grace that God gives to those who have a complete and full trust in Him. This is to ask for more than simply not sinning; but to give glory to God. But we are not there yet. We do not always trample the serpent inviting us to sin (cf. Genesis 3:4-5). We sometimes allow a falsehood to enter through the shield of truth, which allows us to act outside the manner envisioned us for salvation. This can only happy if we choose to act from ourselves rather than God. We should take great comfort from those parts of this Psalm which are put before us for contemplation more directly. God will hear our cry when it raised up to Him. He will liberate us from our temptation and sin if we truly Him to so do. He will give us the full protection of His truth encircling us and overshadowing us. He will lead us to glory and Himself us give us the due measure of glory which accords with our response to His grace. We must ever follow Him remaining attentive to what should be done unto His glory in any given situation. The devil will then truly be vanquished through his own jealousy of the glory God has given us. + + We must “hasten now to do what may profit us for eternity,” Saint Benedict insists in the Prologue of the Rule. We often read the Prologue as a call to enter the monastic life, and rightly: it is most certainly that call to hearken to the precepts of the master, to incline the ears of our hearts and to fulfil the instructions of a loving father and return to He from whom we have strayed by the sloth of our disobedience by entering the school of the Lord’s service that is the monastery. And in so doing we most certainly do that which shall profit us for eternity.
But entering the monastery is but a beginning. So too is making profession or receiving sacred orders or being given other responsibilities in the monastery. Monks don’t ‘graduate’ from this school of the Lord’s service or earn their retirement package after a certain age. We graduate by persevering faithfully in it until death. That is to say—and most appositely at the beginning of Lent—that no matter who we are in the monastery, regardless of our status or position or date of entry, there is still work to do in that conversion of life to which, by God’s grace and Providence, we are called to live under the Rule of Saint Benedict here in our small, new monastic foundation. There is work to do in and on myself. We know only too well that the ‘old man’ is slow to die and cede his place to the new man “created by God in justice and the holiness of truth” (Rite of the Clothing of a Novice). We know that, with God’s grace, we can make progress in this. We know also, only too well, that we can regress when we turn our wills inward and focus our eyes on things that are not of God. We must be honest about this temptation and its presence in us, and Lent is most certainly the time for radical honesty in respect of it. So too, Lent is a time to make progress in virtue and in respect of this according to the Rule we offer Almighty God something extra and submit a list of Lenten resolutions to the superior for his blessing, so that our offering is not simply an act of personal piety or even of religious vanity, but a true offering blessed by God. And here we touch something quite important about our monastic observance in Lent. Yes, we are individuals trying to grow in grace and virtue—that we must do, certainly. But our observance—daily, as monks, on any day, but particularly in Lent—is not private. We are not bachelors living in our own apartments doing our ‘own thing’. We are, as the habit it is our privilege to wear testifies, cenobitic sons of Saint Benedict praying and working according to His Rule in a monastery. By means of that God-given vocation we have a responsibility beyond our responsibility to ourselves that embraces each of our brethren, those who are associated with the monastery—from the faithful who come here regularly or occasionally, to our benefactors and friends throughout the world and also those who look to the monastery from afar through different forms of media for inspiration and encouragement—and to the Church and the world to bear witness to the primacy of God, to the fact that salvation comes through faith in Jesus Christ alone, and that there is hope for even the worst of sinners if they will but convert to Christ. This may seem like an awfully large responsibility for a small group of monks who are far from perfect. But let us not forget the Parable of the Mustard Seed. (cf. Mt 13:31-32) We need to do our part. We need to renew our purity of intention and the quality of our observance this Lent. If we do so, the Providence of Almighty God will make use of us in ways we cannot currently foresee according to His plan. This is a great consolation. For in our present times we worry—quite rightly—about many things in the Church and in the world. It seems that much damage is being done to society and to families through the rampant relativism that devours any vestige of objective Truth, and also to the Church, from the Stalinist imposition of what must be frankly called a liturgical apostasy to the official undermining of the integrity of her teaching in respect of faith and morals. There seems to be so very little that we can do in the face of such social and ecclesial disintegration and destruction. But to believe that is to give in to despair. Certainly, we monks are unlikely to be called to head either the Church or the State (even if great reforming Popes have indeed been sons of Saint Benedict in the past). That is not important. What is important is that today, and tomorrow, with our fervour renewed by our Lenten disciplines, we are faithful to our prayer and to our work so that those who come to us physically or who look to us from afar encounter that clarity and witness to the Truth that uplifts, comforts, challenges and even guides and instructs them in their own particular vocation. The precise details of how this happens in others is God’s business, and not usually ours—in this life we do not often see the fruits of our fidelity, which shall be harvested finally only in eternity. But this cannot happen—indeed we can become an obstacle to its happening—if we ourselves are not faithful. In this sacred season, then, as Saint Benedict urges us, let us lead lives of great purity and expiate the negligences of other times, for only in so doing may we hope to make progress in our monastic life and in faith, for our good and for the good of others, and experience that enlargement of our hearts as we run “with unspeakable sweetness of love in the way of God’s commandments,” and in the end be judged to “deserve to be partakers of His Kingdom.” (Prologue) + + On this final Sunday before we commence the annual great and solemn fast of Lent, Our Holy Mother, the Church, in her Sacred Liturgy places before us for our contemplation and for our instruction the plea of the blind man of Jericho: Domine, ut videam: Lord, that I may see.
We may be tempted this morning to marvel once again at this miracle of healing and to find reassurance in the divine power it manifests. But most of us are not blind, and whilst we are certainly happy for the man in Jericho and for the great sign that this miracle is, it may have little other import for us. But, my dear friends, this is not the reason that the Church recalls this miracle. The liturgical proclamation of the Gospel is neither a series of happy stories to comfort us, nor a set of apologetical texts to assert Christ’s divinity. No. Rather, the Gospel is proclaimed at Mass so that we may encounter Christ anew, here, this morning, living and acting in the Sacred Rites of His Church in a unique and privileged way as we, this year, prepare on Quinquagesima Sunday for the great fast of Lent. And what better way can we do this than to borrow the blind man’s words-- Domine, ut videam—and make them our own? For whilst our eyes may be wide open and functioning well, whom amongst us does not need the gift of sight that our Blessed Lord alone can give? Preaching on this very Sunday in the ancient basilica of Saint Peter more than 1600 years ago, Saint Gregory the Great taught his people that the blind man: “…was asking neither for gold nor for riches of any kind, but for light, since, without this gift, all other goods could not satisfy him. Let us, then, beloved brethren, imitate this man in his prayer, for he received therewith the health both of soul and body. Let us beseech the Lord not for the riches of this world, nor for the perishable blessings of honour and fame, but for the true light, and not for the limited light, which for a moment only interrupts the long night, and is common to us with the unreasonable animals. Let us ask for the uncreated light to be seen in the company of the elect, that light having no beginning and being eternal in its duration. Faith will lead us to this light, according to the words of Jesus to the blind man: Receive thy sight ; thy faith hath made thee whole.” (PL 76: 1081-86) Whom amongst us in this world does not need the gift of an increase in this supernatural light in which faith grows? Only the truly spiritually blind would assert that they do not! Perhaps here we can find a good, even a fundamental, Lenten resolution: to ask for the gift of supernatural vision and to clear away all that obscures my sight of the eternal truths of God and of His Salvation brought about through Jesus Christ. Most certainly we can do so through the traditional disciplines of increased prayer, fasting and almsgiving, but they are means to an end, not the end in itself. The end is that we come to enjoy the beatific vision; that we live forever in the light of Christ, rejoicing in His victory together with all the saints who have gone before us and all those who will come after us. In this sense, then, let us make these words our prayer this Lent: Domine, ut videam. We could even add nunc, et usque in aeternam--now, and forever! Of course, it is the ‘now’ that we must tackle. The ‘forever’ will only follow if we do what we must, now. We must use the disciplines of Lent to see clearly and act decisively in respect of what prevents us from seeing God. Our little vices—as well as our big ones!—our deeply engrained bad habits, the situations in our lives that demand conversion—we need the grace and the faith to see these for what they are and to uproot and correct them as necessary. So too, in our monasteries, in our families, in our parishes, our homes—even in the Church—we must dare to look and to ask for the grace to see clearly what it is that needs correction in the light of God’s Truth. Looking the other way and pretending that all is well when it is not, does not lead to salvation. Ostriches are interesting birds, certainly, but they do not receive the reward of eternal life! As we look on the Sacred Host in this Holy Mass, let us dare to ask for the grace of the sight we need with the blind man’s words Domine, ut videam. But let us do so knowing that this gift shall require much of us, especially in the coming days of Lent. + + No matter how many times we have heard the Parable of the Sower, however well we know its content, it nonetheless is worthy of further contemplation. Our Lord Himself has given us the meaning of the symbols which are employed: there is no reason to seek another interpretation. Yet there is always a manner to delve deeper into the mystery which is contained in these divine words. Every word of God is spoken to call us to further conversion of life. It is not material knowledge of God, but a relationship with Him that is necessary for salvation. A relationship that is, nonetheless, grounded in the objectivity of Truth.
In each of the three places that seed fell and did not bear fruit there are elements which are very closely aligned to modern life—not simply in general, but in a personal manner which affects us all. First, there is the seed that falls on the path. The word is sown by God; it is even heard by the listener. But it is given no thought, no permission to be anything except a nice idea somebody has. In our fast-paced, noisy, modern world it is very difficult even to hear the word of God. And it is harder yet to be still and quiet long enough to ruminate over that word and let it bear fruit. But it is worse: literacy is almost universal, words bombard us from every direction. So many of these words can be recognised according to the description of the devil used by St Peter (with which the Office of Compline daily admonishes us) – as a roaring lion they search for anybody off-guard whom they can devour. (cf. 1 Peter 5:8-9) In another parable Our Lord teaches that an enemy sows tares in the wheat field He has so carefully prepared, which will inevitably reduce the amount of wheat that can be grown. (cf. Mt 13:24-43) Tares look very like wheat. Likewise, falsehood receives its power by masking itself as truth. Christ Himself is the Truth (cf. John 14:6); all truth is to be found in Him. All that is true, regarding faith and morals, is to be found in Him. Whilst we cannot know all, He did give us His advocate, God the Holy Ghost, to guide us in the Truth (cf. John 16:12-13) according to our needs. All that is Revealed and that is necessary for our salvation is to be found within the Apostolic Tradition. There can be nothing new, only a fuller understanding of what has been Revealed. With confidence, from the Apostolic Tradition, we can recognise the voice of the Lord and be sure that it is His voice that is enabling us to put down roots in good soil. A man’s roots are his interiority, his integrity. He needs to know what he is doing and why he is doing it. This needs to be the fruit of a full, conscious decision. Once the decision has been made to put down roots in good soil, moreover, this resolution needs to be renewed day in day out. But not only by an act of the will, but by familiarising oneself with the way of thinking that it requires. Each of our decisions should be made unto the glory of God. Our thoughts, then, should ever be directed unto giving God the glory, so that this is our normal, habitual form of action (i.e. we should cultivate this as a virtue). At the end of this morning’s Epistle, the Apostle reveals exactly how it is that he accomplished so much unto the glory of God. He allowed the power of Christ to work through him. This is the full effect of the seed, the Word of God Eternally Begotten from the Father, taking root and bringing forth many good works. This is the nature of humility—allowing oneself to act, not according to oneself, but from the inspiration of God, no matter how great, or how small is that which is given us to do. How well this is demonstrated by St Gregory the Great exclaiming: “I knew I was certainly unfit for such a task, but I quickly raised my hopes to Him … Who made an ass’s loud baying sound like human speech. And what is so wonderful about intelligence being granted to a stupid man like me if, when he wished, God could proclaim His truth through the mouth of a dumb beast?” (Moralia in Job: prefatory letter to Leander, 2; cf. Numbers 22:28-30). Yet unlike the Ass, we are given free will to cooperate with, or reject God. We are given the ability to reason so that we might search for Him. We are allowed to understand, in so far as He has revealed Himself the Divine mysteries. A true cooperation with God, through his grace, requires we let His wisdom fill our minds such that His power can act through our persons. Such is how good roots can develop in our hearts, minds and souls as demanded the Parable of the Sower. From these roots a great plant can grow, but it is nevertheless still not out of danger. Vain, worldly distractions can still suffocate the grace that should bear an abundant crop. The depth of the roots of humility and our reliance on God’s grace gives us a certain protection, for the integrity, the interiority they provide, show up these vanities for what they in fact are. Indeed, even having heard the Word of God, having allowed it to truly penetrate us, we must be vigilant. We must ask for the grace of perseverance to foster the growth of His Word in us, so as to allow God to truly work through us. The stillness, the repetitions, the Christocentric nature of the Sacred Liturgy presents the most perfect opportunity to receive the Word of God into our hearts. By a full immersion in the liturgical riches that it is our privilege daily to celebrate, the seed can take root and allow the grace of God to work through us. + We are pleased to make our best-selling publication Ceremonies of Holy Week & The Vigil of Pentecost - According to the Missale Romanum editio XXIX post typicam 1953 (a ceremonial guide to the celebration of the pre-1955 Holy Week) available post-free throughout the world for its publication price of 24,95 euros as a special pre-Lent offer. This represents a saving of half the price of the book on postage.
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