IN ALL THINGS: GOD CHOOSES THE DESPISED: An Interview with 2015 Templeton Prize Laureate Jean Vanier by Sean Salai S.J.

Jean Vanier, seen in this file photo, met Pope Francis at the Vatican March 21, 2014, during a trip to Rome to mark the 50th anniversary of L'Arche, the international federation of communities he founded where people with and without intellectual disabilities live and work together (CNS photo/Nancy Wiechec)

Jean Vanier is a French Canadian Catholic philosopher and humanitarian who founded L'Arche, an international network of 147 communities (35 countries, five continents) for mentally disabled persons and their caregivers. With Marie-Hélène Mathieu, Mr. Vanier also founded Faith and Light, a network of 1,500 support groups in 82 countries that similarly urges solidarity among people with and without disabilities. He is the current (2015) winner of the Templeton Prize, a $1.7 million award honoring his affirmation of the spiritual dimensions of life. Mr. Vanier, 87, has said he intends to give this money to developmentally disabled persons in the L’Arche network.

While Mr. Vanier was visiting France late in 1963, he had his first encounter with intellectually disabled men living in government-sponsored psychiatric hospitals, and he quickly understood them to be “the most oppressed people on the planet.” The first L’Arche community began a few months later when he invited two men, Raphael Simi and Philippe Seux, to leave their institution and live with him at a house in Trosly-Breuil, a small village north of Paris where he continues to reside today. Mr. Vanier named his new home “L’Arche” after Noah’s Ark, gradually establishing similar communities in other countries.
Mr. Vanier holds a PhD in philosophy from the Institut Catholique de Paris, where he wrote his dissertation on Aristotle’s notion of happiness. He is the author of more than 30 books, including most recently The Gospel of John, the Gospel of Relationship (2015) and the upcoming Life’s Great Questions (due in English from Franciscan Media on August 21). In 2014, Franciscan Media produced a 14-part video series on The Gospel of John (“Into the Heart of God”) hosted by Mr. Vanier in the Holy Land. His previous humanitarian awards include the French Legion of Honour (2002) and the Pacem in Terris Peace and Freedom Award (2013).
On May 12, I emailed a set of interview questions for Mr. Vanier to Isabelle Aumont, director of the Jean Vanier Association in France. Ms. Aumont visited Mr. Vanier at his home in Trosly-Breuil, recorded his answers and sent them back to me on Aug. 3. The following transcript of Mr. Vanier’s responses to my questions about his work is unabridged.

On March 15, we learned that you are the 2015 winner of the Templeton Prize. Why are you giving the $1.7 million cash award from this prize to developmentally disabled people?

Well, it’s very simple: It’s because of them that I won the prize. The prize was awarded because L’Arche and Faith and Light have grown across the world and because people with disabilities have changed other people. So it’s obvious that if it’s because of them I received the prize, the prize must go back to them. In this way, they can continue their work of changing the hearts of people and leading them to Jesus.

What gifts do mentally handicapped persons bring to society?

They have beautiful hearts, they don’t have big heads, they’re not people who want to know things. What they want to know is: “Do you love me?” Maybe that is what we all want to know: “Do you love me?” Maybe that is the heart of the Christian message: that Jesus loves us and therein is our joy. That is what people with disabilities reveal to us. That is the only one important thing; that it be revealed that Jesus loves me.

What is love?

Love is to reveal to someone: “you are beautiful and you have value.” That is the secret of love. It’s not primarily to do things for people, because then we find our glory in doing things. The secret of love is to reveal to someone that “you are precious,” that “you are beautiful.”

You’ve talked a lot about the “tyranny of the normal” and the “religion of success.” What do you mean by those comments?

We live in a culture of success and winning, a culture of power, and a culture of knowledge. When we are caught up in the knowledge that we must win and must have individual success, we very often leave behind those who are weaker. The gospels reveal something really very new, that the mission of Jesus is to announce a good news to the poor. What is that good news? It’s not just that “God loves you,” but that “I love you!” The whole of the message of Jesus is to reveal to the poor that they are precious, whereas we live in societies where so frequently they are put aside.

You were a philosophy professor at St. Michael’s College in Toronto before you started L’Arche, but you gave up a comfortable academic career to live with the mentally handicapped. What moved you to do this?

I think it was simply because I felt that Jesus wanted me to do it. I felt attracted to the mystery of people with disabilities particularly when I found out how crushed they have been. In the United States we can all remember the hundreds of institutions where they were locked up. Thank God that there were people like Wolf Wolfensberger and others whose mission was to open up the big institutions and to help others to discover that men and women with intellectual disabilities are beautiful. We have to remember what Saint Paul said: “God has chosen the weak and the foolish to confound those who are caught up in intellectuality and in power.” God had chosen the most despised, so if God had chosen them, then Jesus wanted me to be with them!

What is the philosophy of L’Arche?

The philosophy of L’Arche is very simple. The important thing is that people who have been pushed aside and humiliated, need to be shown that they are precious. So it’s living together in community that we reveal to each other that “you’re precious.” The wonderful thing is that when we live with people with disabilities, not only are they transformed because they discover they’re loved, but we also are transformed. That is the secret of the philosophy of L’Arche: that we transform each other in helping each other to become more human and more like Jesus.

What role does the Catholic faith play at L’Arche?

L’Arche's first seeds were planted in the soil of the Catholic Church. However, L’Arche quickly became ecumenical and interreligious as it welcomed men and women with disabilities who belonged to different denominations and different religions. L'Arche has often used the ritual of the washing of the feet as a universal symbol of servant leadership, unity and communion across difference. Catholic means universal, and Jesus teaches us a universal love. Faith, religion, and culture find their deepest meaning, as they become a way to permit us to be bonded to God, the God of love and compassion, which give us the wisdom to meet others who are different as persons. Every person—whatever his culture, religion, values, abilities or disabilities—is important and precious to God.

Who are your role models in the Catholic faith, either living or dead?

The real role model is Jesus and he is revealed to us in the Gospels. We see how he lived, and the parables he told. For example, take the parable of the Good Samaritan where Jesus says: “do what he did,” that’s to say be compassionate. Jesus is an incredible role model and he teaches us to love each other as he loves. We only have to look at Jesus through the Gospel message to see how we are called to live.

What have you learned from living with the intellectually handicapped?

I have learned that the message of Jesus is really a question of humility. The incredible thing about Jesus is that he was with God, he was God, and he descended and became a human being. Not only did he become a human being, but he accepted to be rejected and crucified. The incredible thing is that these little people teach us how to grow in humility, and humility is to enter into a relationship with people who have been humiliated. It’s a beautiful way to learn how to live the Gospel message.

How do you pray?

It is a strange question! “How do you pray?” means “what is your relationship with Jesus?” because that is what prayer is. It’s a relationship, it’s sitting hand in hand with Jesus. John the beloved disciple rested on the heart of Jesus. So to pray is just to be with Jesus, to rest with Him. There are times when it’s really important to be alone with Jesus, and to take time to listen to Him. Listen to the words of the Apocalypse: “The Lord says ‘I stand and I knock at the door, if somebody hears me and opens the door, I will enter and eat with that person and that person will with me.’” So, to pray is somehow to call out to Jesus and to accept his invitation, or rather to invite Jesus into our hearts so that we can become his friends. So to pray is to be a friend of Jesus.

You named your community “L’Arche” after Noah’s Ark in the Book of Genesis. What is your favorite scripture passage and why?

I think that every day my favorite scripture passage is different. I don’t know how there could be one favorite scripture passage because the heart of the Gospel message is when Jesus says: “abide in my love.” I can’t say this scripture passage is the favorite one because every passage is the favorite one. Of course there are some days that draw me more into the heart and other days may be less. Maybe the one that centers everything is “to remain in the love of Jesus.”

Where do you find Jesus Christ in your life?

It’s in my heart. This extraordinary text we find in the 14th chapter of Saint John: “If somebody loves me, he’ll keep my word and my father will love him and we shall come and make our home in him.” So, the gift is to find Jesus in my own heart. That connection and presence need to be nourished daily, finding Jesus in the Word of God, in the Eucharist and in the Church, to discover that the essential is that Jesus lives in me and I live in Him.

There was an English-language documentary about you in the 1980s called “The Heart Has Its Reasons.” What is the greatest desire of your heart today?

Just to be faithful to Jesus and to live the essential, which is to remain in His love. I need His help just to be faithful and to continue on this road. This is particularly true as I become more fragile, as I’m 87 today and tomorrow I’ll be a little bit older, and then I’ll be a little bit older, etc. I need His help just to live what I’m called to live in the Spirit of Jesus and to give me the strength to be what He wants me to be, every day.

What message do you hope people will take away from L’Arche?

Really I hope that people discover that people with disabilities are beautiful people. It’s not a question of doing things for them but it’s really about becoming their friend. Maybe that is the heart of the message of the Gospel: become a friend of Jesus. The heart of the message of L’Arche is to become a friend with people with disabilities. As we become a friend with them we are changed, we open up and we discover that every person is precious.

If you could say one thing to Pope Francis, what would it be?

Thank you!

What are your hopes for the future?

For myself the future is to grow gently into weakness and to discover that in the heart of weakness there is the presence of God. And after that, growing in weakness, we grow in the greater weakness which is eventually to fall in the arms of God when we die.

Any final thoughts?

May God bless us all!

Sean Salai, S.J., is a contributing writer at America.

UNITY, THE ONE CUP AND THE FIRE OF GOD by Fr. Stephen Freeman, an Orthodox priest

   

Ecumenism is back in the news and with it comes a deluge of misunderstanding and theological confusion. For while “unity” and the very concept of “one” are actually inherently mystical, most who write about and discuss the topic substitute a merely human, political and administrative notion. Two key verses are frequently drawn from the 17th chapter of St. John’s gospel:

Now I am no longer in the world, but these are in the world, and I come to You. Holy Father, keep through Your name those whom You have given Me, that they may be one as We are. (Jn 17:11-12)

and

I do not pray for these alone, but also for those who will believe in Me through their word; that they all may be one, as You, Father, are in Me, and I in You; that they also may be one in Us, that the world may believe that You sent Me. (Jn 17:20-21)

Often overlooked in discussions is the fact that these statements come in the context of a prayer. It is not a commandment, nor is it a plea that Christ is offering to those who believe in Him. It is Christ’s prayer to the Father, part of what is often called the “High Priestly Prayer.” It is important to note that the unity referenced in this text is that of the Father and the Son and further, that the unity is described by the mystery of participation: “…one, as You, Father, are in Me, and I in You; that they also may be one in Us.”

The unity referenced in discussions (ecumenical or administrative) is rarely more than political or organizational. Schism is indeed a frightful thing, but not because it creates organizational and administrative problems. Schism risks a diminished participation in the life of God (at the very least), and the establishing of an alternative notion of salvation itself.

That God Himself is one is not a description of “how many Gods exist.” It is, instead, a reference to the very mode of God’s existing. As such, it is also a description of the mode of the life of salvation. To be saved, to live the life that is being saved “from day to day in fear and trembling” is nothing other than a mystical participation in the one life of the one God. Indeed, there is no other true existence. Christ’s prayer for us is not a plea for our future well-being, but a priestly prayer for our true participation and continuation in the One Life that is the only life.

This differs greatly from the usual content of ecumenical conversations. In those conversations, ecclesiology (the doctrine of Church) is separated from soteriology (the doctrine of salvation) – the Church is somehow considered as existing separate from salvation itself. But, the Church is salvation or it is nothing. It is not an organization that exists to promote salvation, or to represent the interests of Christians. Individuals are not saved as individuals, per se: they are saved within the life of the Church and as Church or they are not saved at all. The Church is what salvation looks like. For this reason, the New Testament can describe Baptism as a union with the death and resurrection of Christ (Romans 6:3-4) as well as a union with the Church:

For by one Spirit we were all baptized into one body [the Church]– whether Jews or Greeks, whether slaves or free– and have all been made to drink into one Spirit. (1Co 12:13)

Such statements are possible because the Church is the death and resurrection of Christ in this world. It is salvation. The Church does not, and cannot exist apart from salvation itself. They are not two things!

This understanding can be upsetting for many. Repeated schisms have destroyed the proper understanding of the Church and created a false notion of institutional and organizational entities. Affirmation of the Scriptural account of the Church and salvation are easily mistaken for a claim that only Orthodox Christians can be saved. What they do not hear, apparently, is a statement about the actual content of salvation. Salvation is not the answer to the question: “Who goes to heaven?” That idea is essentially a pagan concept and a distortion of the Christian gospel. Salvation is true participation in the life of God – “as You, Father, are in Me, and I in You; that they also may be one in Us…”

The sacramental expression of that one life is primarily found in the Eucharist, the Common Cup. Of course, “Common Cup” is itself an interesting expression, poorly understood. “Common” relates to “Communion.” But “Communion” is often simply a synonym for the Eucharist, i.e., nothing more than a word for a Church ritual. It is from the Greek, koinoniaor “participation.” The Common Cup is the Cup of Participation in the one life of Christ. “Whosoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me and I in them.”

And it is precisely in the aspect of “One” that the Cup seems to be problematic for us. As we draw near to the Cup, our proper desire should be to be one with Christ – that He may dwell in us and we in Him. We cannot approach the Cup with reservations – “I want to be One with Christ, but I reserve the right to my own opinions and actions.” It is simply a contradiction in terms. By the same token, we do not approach the Cup with reservations towards one another: “I want to be one with Christ but not one with him.” It is a sacrament of love which can never be a private moment between us and Christ alone.

This highlights the fragmentation that exists among Christians. For many, the Common Cup is, at best, a sign of the hope that someday we all might be one, or, at worst, only the expression of their private devotion. The refusal to extend the Common Cup on such a basis becomes a scandal for many. But for the Orthodox, the Cup is not a sign of hope, nor a private expression. It is the full and true reality of our present communion and participation in the One life of Christ.

The pain and scandal we experience when the Cup is refused to us, or when we must refuse the Cup ourselves, is nothing less than the judgment of God in the face of the one life of Christ. And the shame (and anger) we feel should be rightly directed – not towards a change of doctrine and practice, but towards a change within ourselves. When the conversation turns outward, and we seek to find a solution outside of ourselves, the entire reality of true union is shattered.

The Rich Young Ruler came to Christ and wanted to know what he could do to “inherit eternal life.” This is the question of true participation in the life of Christ. He is directed towards the commandments. Embracing them (or so he thinks), he wonders what more he can do (he recognizes that something is lacking). He is told to sell everything, give it to the poor and follow Christ. He goes away sad. Could he have protested that Christ was asking too much? Could he have pointed to others who had been asked less? Could he have discussed Christ’s implied economic theory and its unworkable demands? None of these things would have gained him true participation in Christ.

None of our own protestations regarding the Common Cup make any difference. True, most groups of Christians have dropped most requirements surrounding the Cup. Rich Young Rulers are now welcome. They are very often elected to governing boards and are considered to be important members of the community. They are often asked to speak and share the secrets of their success. Whatever is found in the Cup today, for most, it is not a true participation in the one life of Christ.

Christ’s High Priestly Prayer, is the declared intention of God to invite us into the life of true salvation. That life is nothing other than and nothing less than the very life of God Himself. It is not a fellowship of those who are fond of Jesus. It is not a token of membership. It is not a hope for something that will happen at a later time. It is not a sacrament of goodwill.

St. Simeon the Translator offers these thoughts before communion:

Stand in fear, O soul, as you look upon the deifying Blood for it is fire and burns the unworthy. May the divine Body sanctify and nourish me. May it deify my soul and wondrously feed my mind.
You have sweetened my longing for You, O Christ and transfigured me with Your love. Let my sins be consumed in the immaterial fire and grant me to be filled with Your joy, that I may rejoice in both and glorify Your coming, O good One.

Any union that is not fire, any union that cannot burn, is not our union in Christ. Put aside shame and anger and consider the true Cup of Christ. St. Symeon the Theologian offers this:

These things give me courage, rejoicing and trembling, they give me wings, my Christ, and I place my hope in the abundance of Your grace to us. I partake of the fire though I am dry grass. O wonder! – I am refreshed and not burned, as the bush of long ago, which was in flames but not consumed. Therefore, thankful in mind, heart and to the depths of my soul and body, I bow before You in worship and glorify You, my God, who are truly blessed now and in all ages. Amen.

Contemporary Christianity has taken the fire out of communion. As such, it becomes not the Common Cup, but merely a common cup. No fire. No God.

The One True God burns.

Fr. Stephen Freeman

Glory to God for All Things

I am working on an article on the Vatican II doctrine of unity that escapes the charges that he makes against ecumenism, accepts all he has to say about the essential nature of Christian Unity, yet is without the all or nothing approach that he adopts.  Paradoxically, it gives an even greater strength to the call for full unity.  We'll see. - Fr David

THE ANGLICAN CHURCH AND BENEDICTINE SPIRITUALITY

An Anglican Benedict Option
By ROD DREHER • September 11, 2015, 4:17 PM

The Rev. Anders Litzell, 

prior of the Community of St. Anselm

my source: The American Conservative

An Episcopal friend passes along to me the cover story from the August 21 issue of The Living Church magazine, titled, “Lambeth’s Benedict Option.” It’s an interview with the Rev. Anders Litzell, prior of the new Community of St. Anselm, living at Lambeth Palace, the headquarters of the Anglican Communion. The community consists of an ecumenical group of 16 residents and 20 other members who are committed to living in prayer, community, and service for one year. Excerpts:

In your doctoral work you have focused on the leadership of St. Benedict. Because of his creation of an intentional Christian community in a time of cultural change and political chaos, Benedict is considered a timely example for the church in a post-Christian culture (e.g., Rod Dreher’s “Benedict Option”). How has St. Benedict’s example guided you so far in creating the Community of St. Anselm?

St. Benedict is a great influence on me and Archbishop Justin alike (who is a Benedictine Oblate) and the flavour of our Rule is much inspired by St. Benedict, both in particular emphases (restating in our context St. Benedict’s exhortation to his monks to “prefer nothing whatever to Christ”) as well as the basic balance between work, study, prayer, rest — and the importance of silence in our daily schedule. Also St. Benedict’s wisdom in shaping and facilitating deep human relationships is a wealth of riches that continues to inspire and challenge me as we make the smaller, but ever so important, decisions that will guide our day-to-day life.

More:

Much has been said in recent months about millennials and their relationship (or lack thereof) to the church. The Community will be made up of people who are 20 to 35. You have received hundreds of applications for only a few spots, demonstrating a great interest among young people in such a community. What is it about this venture that appeals to millennials?

Just under 500 people from all over the world, and from a very great range of denominations, started the application process, applying for 16 resident and up to 40 non-resident places (the latter for people living and working in London). By any standard, that’s a phenomenal response.

Yet on one level there is nothing special about the millennials’ response to this at all; it is the call of the Holy Spirit to be shaped into the likeness of Christ. That call is the same and equally attractive in every generation, which is why we are able to draw on treasures from throughout the life of the Church in this formational year. Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday, today, and forever, and he calls a people to his name today as before, and it is not only attracting millennials. But for this to be a gift to future generations, we are inviting people in the earlier stages of their lives.

On another level, this year of community life is addressing a series of needs and wants in society, which the Holy Spirit is even today equipping the Church to respond to. The word community is being used widely by both Church and increasingly in secular society today (and it is even bent out of shape from time to time). It is a banner waved around by politicians, banks, even the police, at least in the U.K. There is a distinct need for a different way of relating to one another in life than transactional connections, than isolating individualism and self-identification, and I think that need and desire is what secular society is reflecting.

In that sense it is not about millennials per se, but about the signs of the times, perhaps most visibly embodied by the millennials. Community life in the name of Christ; a life shared in increasing transparency to one another, self-giving to each other, and to those most in need in society. A life shared in sacrifice, prayer, discipline, study: this kind of community life is not another add-on to be slapped onto Western individualism/consumerism. It is a different paradigm of social existence, and I am delighted that we can model that in such a visible place, and annually send more young people out into the world with a deep experience of that way of life.

Read the whole thing. The Community of St. Anselm is a project launched by Justin Welby, the Archbishop of Canterbury. Here’s the community’s website; they’re taking applications now for 2016-17. Here’s how the community describes its project:

We all know there’s a real need for integrity in our world today. In finance, business, politics and every other sphere, we need people whose actions are rooted in a deep commitment to the common good.

The non-residential programme of the Community of St Anselm is a year-long challenge to combine your job with a demanding Rule of Life that the ancient Christian monastics would have recognised. The idea is that you commit to one evening a week and regular weekends – plus several group retreats over the year – while maintaining your work commitments.

We like to think of it as a kind of ethical bootcamp – aimed at putting Jesus at the centre of your life.

With a group of young Christians from many different backgrounds, you’ll follow a pattern of prayer, study, deep self-reflection and service. Put simply it’s about doing whatever it takes to become more like Jesus – and living out that discipleship in your workplace and everywhere else.

You’ll swear off all kinds of habits and comforts to make space for the priorities of God – and make prayer your new bottom line. It’ll be really tough. But it will also be rewarding, fun and life-changing.

That’s fantastic! Here’s a video describing the vision:

The following article by a Catholic monk is partly true, more true than English Catholics are usually ready to admit, less true than Anglican apologists are ready to recognise.   What Pope Benedict calls the "hermeneutic of continuity" for the time of the Reformation is exaggerated by the author, and the fact that so many influential Anglicans considered the Reformation to be a clear break with the past, employing a "hermeneutic of rupture", even Archbishop Cranmer himself, is not brought to our notice.   Yet the "hermeneutic of continuity" was also there, especially away from corridors of power among ordinary folk and among the lower clergy who did not think the Reformation would last and who attended church services waiting for the day of deliverence.  Eamonn Duffy's book "The Stripping of the Altars" shows how reluctantly most parishes accepted the Reformation.  It is a fact  that, although William Shakespeare lived and wrote a good time after England became officially Protestant, there is not a single Protestant among the characters of his plays and the Christianity that he portrays is always Catholic Christianity which he doesn't have to explain to his audience.
While this accounts for the continual existence of Catholicism as a separate church, it also explains why there was a certain continued existence of Catholic spirituality etc in the Anglican Church in spite of the Reformation in general and of its bishops in particular: a church cannot be entirely explained in terms of its bishops! - Fr David.

The Benedictine Spirit in Anglicanism

by Robert Hale, O.S.B.

 my source: Full Homely Divinity

Icon of St. Benedict

Dormition Abbey, Jerusalem

Alton Abbey
Hampshire

It is impossible to set precise limits to the extension, influence and expressions of the Benedictine spirit. Benedictinism, as the abbots themselves have acknowledged, has expressed itself in 'great diversity ... in a wide variety of forms.' St John's Collegeville is quite different from New Camaldoli which differs notably from Mount Saviour, etc. Yet all these communities are Benedictine, at least in the fundamental sense that they all seek to follow the Rule, which in its flexibility and 'indetermination offers the possibility of many adaptations.'

And in the broader sense of the spirit of the Rule, one can argue that the Benedictine ethos extends quite beyond cloister limits to inspire a variety of forms of Christian living. The Anglican spiritual theologian Martin Thornton, for instance, insists that 'the genius of St Benedict cannot be confined within the walls of Monte Cassino or any other monastery; the Regula is not only a system of monastic order,  it is  a system of ascetical theology, the basis of which is as applicable to modern England as it was to sixth century Italy.'

Can the Benedictine spirit even inspire and characterize a Church as such, indeed an entire communion of Churches?  Several  Anglican theologians  respond affirmatively in reference to their own Communion. This article proposes to examine this thesis and to offer some Roman Catholic reflections about its ecumenical implications in general and some Benedictine thoughts about its challenge specifically to the Benedictine world.

A Church of Continuities

Easter Eucharist at

Winchester Cathedral

Most Roman Catholics probably still think of the Anglican Church (in the United States known as the Episcopal Church) as arising in the sixteenth century and as a direct consequence of certain marital problems of Henry VIII. But Anglicans themselves resolutely propose another conception of their Church quite different from this simpler interpretative model. John Macquarrie, for instance, one of the most influential of living Anglican theologians, [writing in 1970] affirms: 'Anglicanism has never considered itself to be a sect or denomination originating in the sixteenth century. It continues without a break the Ecclesia Anglicana founded by St Augustine thirteen centuries and more ago . . . Our present revered leader, Arthur Michael Ramsey, is reckoned the one hundredth Archbishop of Canterbury, in direct succession to Augustine himself.'

In this view, then, the Anglican Church was founded by St Augustine of Canterbury (a monk, it might be noted here, sent to England by the great monastic Pope Gregory I).

The Anglican Bishop Stephen Neill insists in the same way as Macquarrie upon this continuity of Anglicanism with the pre-reform Church in England, only he takes us back even further into the Celtic origins of Christianity in England; he writes: 'The [Anglican] has never imagined that the Reformation was anything other than a Reformation. It was in no sense a new beginning. The English Churchman regards himself as standing in the fullest fellowship and continuity with Augustine and Ninian and Patrick and Aiden and Cuthbert and perhaps most of all, the most typically Anglican of all ancient saints, the Venerable Bede.'

Thus, the Anglican insists that if one wishes seriously to come to terms with Anglicanism, he is going to have to go back to its true roots and study Augustine, Ninian, Patrick, Aiden and Cuthbert (all of them monks), and especially that most Benedictine of these founding fathers, also 'that most typically Anglican of all ancient saints, the Venerable Bede.'

The Anglican theologian Anthony Hanson notes that there is nothing particularly, new about this insistence on Anglican continuity with the pre-Reform Church: 'Anglican apologists in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries constantly maintained that the Church of England was not a breakaway Church, like the Evangelical Church in Germany or the Reformed Church in France. It was the same continuous Catholic Church that had at the Reformation "washed its face."'

And the Roman Catholic scholar of Anglicanism George Tavard, citing Anglican theologians of the sixteenth century regarding the 'uninterrupted succession' of their sacraments, theology and faith, acknowledges that among the Anglican writers of that period 'this theme constantly recurs.'

Thus, to the traditional polemical Roman Catholic query of' where was the Anglican Church before Henry VIII?' the Anglican pointedly responds: 'In England, where else?' And he proposes this response very sincerely, it should be noted, not as a rhetorical trick but as a true expression of his experience of the sacramental, liturgical, theological and devotional continuity of the post-Reform Anglican Church with the pre-Reform English Church. The Roman Catholic may have some difficulties in accepting tout court and without qualification this Anglican thesis; but correct ecumenical method requires him to recognize that at least this is the way Anglicans ('high Church' and 'low', although emphasis might differ) sincerely experience their own Church life. And it is primarily with this Anglican experience and self-identity that Roman Catholics must come to terms in a true ecumenical dialogue, and not just with their own conception of what Anglicans must be.

This point is clearly decisive for the theme of this article, for if Anglicans understand their Church to be rooted in the early and medieval centuries of English Christianity, these centuries are characteristically monastic.

Monastic Roots

The psalms from Westminster Abbey

Icon of St. Columba
by the hand of a Sister of the Community
 of the Holy Spirit

The first chapters of a typical Anglican history of the English Church are filled with towering monastic figures of Celtic Christianity: St Ninian, who brought a missionary form of monasticism to England before the end of the fourth century. St Germanus, who like Ninian was a disciple of the monasticism of St Martin of Tours, and who visited England in the fifth century: 'British Christianity, he found, was virtually indistinguishable from the fierce monasticism introduced from southern Gaul some time earlier.' Thus English Christianity already had a monastic spirit in the fifth century. St Patrick, an English youth carried off into slavery in Ireland who escaped to France and there lived under Germanus in the monastery of Auxerre for more than a decade. 'Consequently, when in 432 Pope Celestine sent him to Ireland, the Christianity he brought was rather exclusively monastic.' Thus Celtic Christianity, soon to spread to England in a very pronounced way, was essentially monastic, the abbot ruling supreme even over bishops. St Columba, who in the seventh century crossed from Ireland into western Scotland, carried with him the heritage of Celtic monastic Christianity. He founded the famous missionary monastery of lona, and 'it was from this centre that most of the remaining districts of England were won to the Christian faith after the breakdown of Edwin's Christian kingdom in 632.' 

This Celtic form of Christianity failed, however, to have an evangelizing impact on the newly-arrived Anglo-Saxons. A new monastic missionary endeavour was called for, and with rare acumen Pope Gregory the Great responded. The Anglican Bishop Stephen Neill in his thoughtful History of Christian Missions notes that Gregory's endeavour 'was fresh and remarkable since, in contrast to the haphazard way in which Churches had generally grown up, this was almost the first example since the days of Paul of a carefully planned and calculated mission.' Bishop Neill also underlines the specifically monastic character of the mission since 'Gregory, himself a monk, had seen the vital part that the monk could play in missionary work among the new nations.'

Augustine not only brought the spiritual teachings of his monastic father to England but also followed Gregory's pastoral directives after the first monks had settled in Canterbury. Gregory wrote to a perplexed Augustine who had asked what he should do about all the pagan usages of the Anglo-Saxons:

The temples of the idols among that people should on no account be destroyed... it is a good idea to detach them from the service of the devil, and dedicate them to the service of the true God. And since they have a custom of sacrificing many oxen to demons, let some other solemnity be substituted ... so that they may learn to slay their cattle in honour of God and for their own feasting . . . If they are allowed some worldly pleasures in this way, they are more likely to find their way to the true inner joys. For it is doubtless impossible to eradicate all errors at one stroke . . . just as the man who sets out to climb a high mountain does not advance by leaps and bounds, but goes upward step by step and pace by pace. It is in this way that the Lord revealed himself to the Israelite people.

One wonders if the roots of the Anglican spirit of tolerance, reasonableness and comprehensiveness cannot already be detected here. These are monastic virtues also, it might be noted. Gregory in his Vita Benedicti (written just two years before the mission of Augustine) praises St Benedict's Rule for its balance and lucidity, two qualities that characterize his own pastoral and spiritual theology.

Augustine had also written to Rome about his perplexity at the variety of liturgical forms and customs: 'Since we hold the same faith, why do customs vary in different Churches, why does the method of saying Mass differ in the holy Roman Church and in the Churches of Gaul?' Gregory's response, not what one might expect from Rome, is almost Anglican in its serene insistence on ecclesial pluralism:

My brother, you are familiar with the usage of the Roman Church in which you were brought up. But if you have found customs, whether in the Church of Rome or of Gaul or of any other that may be more acceptable to God, I wish you to make a careful selection of them, and teach the Church of the English whatever you have been able to learn with profit from the various Churches... For things should not be loved for the sake of places, but places for the sake of good things.'

Anglican ecclesiology, with its biblical and Patristic cast, and nourished by its own experience as an international communion of autonomous Churches, tends 'to favour very strongly the recovery of the old vision of sister Churches within a single family.' If there is such a thing as a characteristically monastic ecclesiology, it certainly tends in a similar way to stress the importance of local and regional Churches. The above text of the monk and pope who was so little concerned with centralization and Romanitas reflects this monastic-Anglican ecclesial perspective.

Augustine and his fellow missionary monks, following the directives of Gregory, not only founded monasteries and schools, but established parishes, dioceses and provinces, laying the very foundations of the Ecclesia Anglicana of the middle ages and of the post-Reform period.

Thus Gregory's monks evangelized the newly-arrived Anglo-Saxon peoples as the Celtic monks had evangelized their predecessors, so that these two fundamental roots of the English Church and nation both bear a clearly monastic stamp.

But one might pose the objection that if the specific topic of this article is the Benedictine spirit of Anglicanism, Celtic monasticism is not Benedictine, nor (as some scholars insist) is Gregorian monasticism. But it has been pointed out that the problem is somewhat anachronistic, since monasticism did not tend to accept a single rule as binding until the Carolingian reform, and the category 'Benedictine' appeared only many centuries after St Benedict and the Rule. St Columba and St Augustine would not have thought of themselves as 'Benedictine', it is true, but neither would St Bede, St Dunstan or St Anselm. They were simply monks seeking to live faithfully their particular monastic calling, in a spirit of kinship with their fellow monks who had preceded them. And such a sense of continuity and kinship, characteristic in general of monasticism, has a particularly solid 'objective' basis in the case of English monasticism, because Celtic and Gregorian monasticism were assimilated into later English 'Benedictine' experience through the synthesizing genius of the Venerable Bede.

Venerable Bede

The Anglican historian Bishop J. Moorman notes that Bede 'has rightly been called the "Father of English History"' and that his History of the English Church and People still remains the basis of modern knowledge of the English Church in the early period. And it was almost exclusively through Bede that the English Church of the middle ages and of the Reform had access to its origins.

St Benedict Biscop, the learned monastic founder of Wearmouth and Jarrow, the two abbeys in which Bede lived his entire monastic life, decided that these two houses should follow the Rule of St Benedict. Consequently, according to our modern religious categories, this monastic life was 'Benedictine'—but never in the exclusive sense, for 'it came to combine all that was best in the Benedictine and Celtic ideas of monasticism.'

Bede himself, in his History, enthusiastically championed the monastic and ecclesial forms brought to England by the monks of Pope Gregory, whom he venerated as the 'apostle' of the English Church.

The Venerable Bede

The Venerable Bede

But he also sought to be fair to the Celtic heritage and dedicated many chapters to its saintly monk missionaries. In this way, Bede's History constitutes a decisive synthesis of the Celtic, Gregorian and 'Benedictine' heritage, as notes the medieval scholar Mary R. Price: 'Under Bede's eyes, as he toiled away in his cell, the divided peoples of the "island lying in the sea" were being welded into a nation, and through his eyes and by his pen we can see this happening. We see also the fusion of the free-lance monasticism of the Celtic monks with the more regular discipline of the Benedictine rule, of the Celtic Church with the Roman.'

The moment is decisive for the English Church, as notes another Bede scholar: 'The centuries on which Bede concentrates are a crucial and formative period in our island history, during which the future shape and pattern of the English Church and nation were beginning to emerge.' And it is precisely through Bede's interpretative and synthesizing  work that these key formative centuries are not only

not lost to the English Church, but take on form, life and significance. Bede is fairly rigorous regarding the facts of his narration, as is widely acknowledged, but his approach is obviously not that of positivist historicism. He explicitly offers his own theological interpretation of the history he is treating, and it is clearly a monastic reading in the light of salvation history.

The monk, through an assiduous lectio divina, seeks to be shaped by the Word of God to the point that salvation history becomes the key by which he penetrates his own spiritual existence and also human history. The importance of the Word of God for Anglican spirituality, theology and doctrine is also well known. Bede's biblical-patristic-monastic optic renders early English history Christianly significant, and he delivers this meaningful heritage of Celtic, Gregorian and 'Benedictine' monastic Christianity to the later English Church. It is also in this respect that he can be judged 'that most typically Anglican of all ancient saints.'

Of course, the Anglo-Saxon Church knew other gigantic monastic figures, such as Alcuin, who made a decisive contribution to the Carolingian renaissance, and Dunstan, whose brilliant statesmanship guaranteed the relaunching of the English Church and nation after the onslaught of the Vikings.

But if Anglo-Saxon Christianity can be understood only in the light of the key element of monasticism, William the Conqueror opened up still new avenues of development, and 'with the coming of the Normans monachism went ahead rapidly.' Indeed, the very first Archbishop of Canterbury named by William was the Abbot of Caen, Lanfranc, who embarked on a decisive reorganization of the English Church, including the definitive subordination of the See of York to Canterbury, worked effectively for the renewal of monasticism, and also helped William maintain the fullest possible independence of the English Church from Rome. This is naturally an aspect of his contribution that is noted and appreciated by Anglicans, and that indicates, they argue, that it did not all begin with Henry VIII and Archbishop Cranmer.

Monasteries and monastic schools multiplied, and brilliant monastic Churchmen and theologians such as Anselm continued to emerge. Bishop Moorman notes that the monastic presence was not at all limited to the cloister or school, but often extended to the very heart of the Church diocese: 'Many monks subsequently became bishops, and England developed the curious custom, elsewhere practically unknown, of the "Cathedral priory" where the cathedral of a diocese was manned not by secular clerks but by professed monks. About half of the great cathedral churches in England were monastic, the prior and monks taking the place of the dean and canon.'

What the medievalist, Friedrich Herr, affirms of monasticism in the middle ages generally is thus true in a particular way in England: monasticism constituted 'the heart of the Church.' Thus Anglicanism, in insisting on its continuity with Norman, Anglo-Saxon and Celtic Christianity, all decisively characterized by the monastic experience, realizes that the formative years for the development of its spirituality, liturgy, theology and polity were monastic years.

The ruins of Glastonbury Abbey, one of the oldest and most influential Benedictine houses in medieval England.  In 1539, the monastery was dissolved and the last Abbot was executed, along with two other monks.  The remaining monks were dispersed, the treasures of the monastery were carried off, and the buildings left to fall into ruin.

The flowering of the monastic life continued into the 1100s; and as Bishop Moorman notes, the 'vast number of monastic houses founded in or about the twelfth century shows this type of life was highly valued.' Still, monasticism had reached its peak, and a general decline began. The foundation of the Franciscan, Dominican and other new orders, the new spirit of scholasticism, the Black Death, the monastic decadence linked to excessive wealth and many other complicated causes led to a notable decline in monastic vocations. By the beginning of the sixteenth century 'the great houses were half empty ... the shell of English monasticism was too big for its body.' This is the general context of that drastic step of the dissolution of the monasteries. One of the principal authorities on the dissolution writes with vividness: 'In April 1536, at the end of the twenty-seventh year of the reign of King Henry VIII, there were, scattered throughout England and Wales, more than eight hundred religious houses, monasteries, nunneries and friaries, and in them there lived close on 10,000 monks, canons, nuns and friars. Four years later, in April 1540, there were none.'

Of course, in the post-Reform period monasticism and the dissolution were often topics of controversy between Anglicans and Roman Catholics. All sides seem generally agreed now that, on the one hand, monasticism had seriously declined and, on the other, Henry and Cromwell were quite interested in the financial, and not just the moral and theological, implications of the suppression of the religious houses.

In any case, the fact of the dissolution obviously poses a major difficulty for the thesis of the fundamentally Benedictine spirit of Anglicanism; for if one accepts and defends this thesis, how is he to explain the fact that monasticism was the first thing to go at the moment of the Anglican Reform, and that Anglicanism was able to live on splendidly for centuries without any form of monasticism whatever?

Book of Common Prayer and the Benedictine Spirit

Archbishop Cranmer

The first part of the answer that many Anglicans and others propose regarding this objection is that monasticism was not just eliminated by the Reform. Rather, the essentials of the Benedictine spirit were rendered immediately accessible to the entire Church through the key and characteristic work of the Anglican Reform, the Book of Common Prayer. It is extremely important to note this decisive fact about the Anglican Reform: at its centre and guaranteeing its spirit stands not a towering reformer (a Luther, a Calvin), not a theological doctrine or a moral code—but a book of liturgical prayer. In this fundamental respect alone the Anglican reform has a clearly Benedictine spirit to it.

But quite beyond this, if one examines the basic principles that shape the Book of Common Prayer, note many Anglican writers, one will find that they are specifically Benedictine. Martin Thornton, for instance, argues that the spirituality of the Rule is built upon three key moments: the community Eucharist, the divine office, and personal prayer of a biblical-patristic-liturgical cast; but these same three elements, and in the same hierarchy of importance,  also constitute the substance of the Book of Common Prayer. Thus, notes the same Thornton, 'from the point of view of ascetical theology, these two documents [the Rule and the Book of Common Prayer] have a remarkable amount in common, and in a very real sense, Caroline and modern England remains "the land of the Benedictines."'

Monks and Anglicans take these three principles rather for granted and tend to assume that they will constitute the three central moments of any Christian spirituality; but this, of course, is not the case. Indeed, they are so little evident to some Protestant traditions that, as Thornton points out, wars have been fought over them: 'Let it be remembered that the seventeenth-century battles between Puritan and Caroline churchmen were fought over the Prayer Book, especially over "set prayers." They were battles for and against Benedictine principles.'

The Anglican monk and spiritual theologian, Bede Thomas Mudge, notes that not only Protestantism deviated from this Benedictine-Anglican model, but also much of Roman Catholic spirituality in its later development, characterized by 'extra-liturgical devotions such as the Rosary and Benediction filling the needs of most lay-people.' This reflection poses for the Roman Catholic Benedictine the startling thought that perhaps Anglican spirituality is closer to his own experience than many forms of Roman Catholic spirituality. The Benedictine spirit is certainly at the root of the Anglican way of prayer, argues Dom Mudge, in a very special and pronounced manner:

The example and influence of the Benedictine monastery, with its rhythm of divine office and Eucharist, the tradition of learning and 'lectio divina', and the family relationship among Abbot and community were determinative for much of English life, and for the pattern of English devotion. This devotional pattern persevered through the spiritual and theological upheavals of the Reformation. The Book of Common Prayer . . . the primary spiritual source-book for Anglicans . . . continued the basic monastic pattern of the Eucharist and the divine office as the principal public forms of worship, and Anglicanism has been unique in this respect.

Roman Catholic Benedictines who have tried to encourage lay groups to pray the psalms as a regular basis for their spiritual life know how arduous that pastoral effort can prove. Thus we should admire the more 'Cranmer's work of genius in condensing the traditional scheme of hours into the two Prayer Book offices of matins and evensong.' Peter Anson (Roman Catholic) and A. W. Campbell (Anglican), in their classical study of religious communities in the Anglican Communion, note that the Anglican Church as such is thus a kind of generalized monastic community in that 'the Book of Common Prayer preserved the foundations of Christian monastic prayer, but simplified it in such a way that ordinary layfolk could share in this type of worship.'

Since Benedictine spirituality was rendered accessible to the Anglican faithful through the Book of Common Prayer, this monastic form of prayer inevitably tended to stimulate a desire for monasticism in its specific form; as Anson and Campbell note: 'The Book of Common Prayer retained the framework of choral worship; a method of prayer which could only find its most perfect development in communities of men and women who were free to give up much of their time to ordered worship in common.'

Indeed, already in the seventeenth-century great Anglican spokesmen such as John Bramhall, Archbishop of Armagh, were lamenting the dissolution of the monasteries:

First, we fear that covetousness had a great oar in the boat, and that sundry of the principal actors had a greater aim at the goods of the Church than at the good of the Church... Secondly, we examine not whether the abuses which were then brought to light were true or feigned; but this we believe, that foundations, which were good in their original institution ought not to be destroyed for accessory abuses... I do not see why monasteries might not agree well enough with reformed devotion.

And another great seventeenth-century divine wrote even more pointedly that 'seeing that [monastic life] is a perfection to Christianity, it is certainly a blot on the Reformation when we profess that we are without it.'

Title page of the 1549 

Book of Common Prayer

Anglican divines such as Cosin, Herbert, Laud, Taylor and others produced a whole literature of personal and liturgical prayer that enriched Anglican spirituality even more and recovered additional elements of the monastic heritage. This rich spiritual atmosphere nourished one of the most extraordinary experiences of quasi-monastic life, that of Little Gidding. Nicholas Ferrar and his extended family of about thirty in the first part of the seventeenth-century dedicated themselves to a community and liturgical life in a very intensive way indeed; and 'like the majority of medieval choir monks and nuns, the community knew the entire Book of Psalms by heart.' With the death of Ferrar and the intensification of the Puritan wars, the Little Gidding experience had to be abandoned some twenty years after its foundation; but its deep contemplative spirit proved to have a very great influence on devout Anglicans such as George Herbert and Isaac Walton, up to T. S. Eliot in our own time.

During the rest of the seventeenth, and throughout the eighteenth and first half of the nineteenth centuries, there were regular Anglican proposals for the reestablishment of the monastic life. 'Again and again,' note Anson and Campbell, 'we come across instances of writers deploring the lack of monastic institutions in the Church of England.' These two scholars of Anglican monasticism trace these proposals through sixteen pages of their study, and the  compendium  of  authors  cited includes  some of  the  most notable figures of Anglicanism in these centuries: John Evelyn, Dean William Sancroft, Bishop Thomas Ken, William Law, Bishop George Berkeley, Dr Samuel Johnson, and Poet Laureate Robert Southey.

In July of 1833 John Keble preached the famous Oxford sermon that according to Newman and others marked the beginning of the great Anglo-Catholic renewal. In the context of this movement there was a whole explosion of monastic-religious foundations that restored the specifically monastic experience to the Anglican Communion.

Of course, there are specifically Benedictine houses in the Anglican Communion, such as Nashdom Abbey in England and St Gregory's Abbey in Michigan, for monks, St Mary's Abbey and the Priory of our Lady, in England, for nuns and others. But what about the spirituality that characterizes the other numerous communities and congregations, such as the Society of St John the Evangelist, the Community of the Resurrection, the Society of the Sacred Mission, the Order of the Holy Cross?

Dom Bede Thomas Mudge notes that to overcome anti-Catholic suspicions, 'the first communities went out of their way to justify their existence by a great devotion of works of charity: social work with the poor, the operation of 'penitentaries' for wayward women, and nursing were favourite occupations.' One thinks of certain analogies with the actively-orientated Benedictine communities of monks and sisters in America. But, notes Mudge regarding the Anglicans (and here also one can note the parallel):

While the works of the early communities were important and needed, it was the spiritual and communal life which drew applicants, and in this atmosphere the basically monastic pattern of Anglican spirituality, which had survived three centuries after the Reformation, had its inevitable effect. No matter how active the apostolate of the community, the corporate recitation of a full form of the Office was present in all of the communities from the very start... It is an unusual Anglican community which has not had as part of its tradition the singing of the Office to the plainsong melodies, a good deal of corporate silence, and a tradition of the cultivation of an intense devotional life, based on Scriptural and Patristic sources. The traditional emphasis on monastic learning and writing also appeared.

Thus, in the context of a wide variety of foundations and apostolates, 'the pattern has, in fact, remained surprisingly consistent and true to traditional monastic roots.' And in the recent wave of religious renewal, which has swept over Anglican communities as it has Roman Catholic, the Anglican tendency has been precisely to intensify the monastic identity, moving beyond certain Victorian forms of religiosity:

Having often begun on an active pattern, the communities have gradually developed a more traditionally monastic life, and this has been done as the result of a consensus of the members of the community . . . few people have entered the communities without some leaning, at least, towards monastic observances. This has caused the outward forms of the recent renewal to appear conservative by Roman Catholic standards . . . Anglican religious have, for the most part, deliberately chosen the observances of traditional monasticism and are not eager to be rid of them.

The thesis of Mudge is that almost all Anglican religious communities have a basically monastic, Benedictine spirit in them, simply because they are Anglican and thus inheritors of a precise spiritual (Benedictine) tradition:

Not infrequently these days, Anglican religious are invited to meetings of Roman Catholic religious, and often asked to describe their community. Normally the reply is that there is no exact counterpart to our life in the Roman Catholic Church... But when asked to describe the life in detail, more than once the reply has been 'Oh, you're Benedictine, of course'... It is a pattern that has been inherited from a nation whose monks, scholars, teachers, historians, rulers, missionaries and martyrs were often either Benedictines themselves or under direct Benedictine influence, and the pattern has proved surprisingly stable, through the changes and reforms of many generations.

Some Ecumenical Implications

The thesis of the basically Benedictine spirit of the Anglican Community in general, and of Anglican religious communities specifically, obviously constitutes a healthy challenge for Roman Catholics, and especially for Roman Catholic Benedictines. It means that there is a basic common experience underlying Anglican and Roman Catholic spirituality; since monasticism predates our divisions, it constitutes a kind of 'ecumenical anamnesis' that makes present and living a shared heritage, and also opens up fresh horizons for ecumenical hope and commitment.

Certainly Benedictines have played a key role in the development of the Anglican-Roman Catholic dialogue from the very beginning. Dom Leander, President of the English Congregation of Benedictines and Prior of Douai in the seventeenth century, was the first of a series of papal agents sent to England to explore possibilities of dialogue; his intuitive understanding of Anglicanism has received warm praise from Anglican ecumenical scholars.

Closer to our own time, Dom Lambert Beauduin of Chevetogne, founder of the ecumenical review Irenikon, opened up new possibilities for the dialogue with his decisive paper 'The Anglican Church, United not Absorbed,' read by Cardinal Mercier at the pioneering Malines Conversations. On the Anglican side, the ecumenist Dom Benedict Ley and the liturgist Dom Gregory Dix, both of Nashdom Abbey, contributed notably to the Anglican-Roman Catholic dialogue.

But beyond specific personalities, Anglicans have noted that the Benedictine commitment to the liturgical renewal and to a more Christ-centred, biblical and Patristic approach to Christian life contributed significantly to preparing the way for Vatican II, which has narrowed the gap between Anglicans and Roman Catholics to an extent 'not even the most sanguine could have foreseen.' Of course, monastic contacts and exchanges have multiplied since the Council, and organizations such as the Fellowship of St Gregory and St Augustine are dedicated to promoting permanent contact at the monastic and also parish levels.

The three theological documents published by the Anglican-Roman Catholic International Commission (ARCIC) indicate substantial theological accord regarding many areas of the faith. The Roman Catholic ecumenist, Jean Tillard, has argued that the next step must be 'a spiritual coming together . . . the reunion of two separated churches is not a mechanical process. And it cannot be the result only of theological discussions and official authoritative decisions. It is primarily a spiritual matter.'

If this 'spiritual coming together' is the key to further progress, what if (as suggested by this article) Roman Catholic Benedictines already share a common fundamental spiritual experience not only with Anglican Benedictines, but also with the Anglican family as such? If such were the case, both 'sides' would want to deepen their awareness of this sharing and its important ecumenical implications.

The centrality of the Eucharist and the Word, the importance of praying the Psalms in community, the need to give personal prayer a solid biblical-patristic-liturgical nourishment—all these elements lead to an experience of Christian spirituality for which the emphasis is communitarian and familial, notes Thornton. Dom Bede Thomas Mudge likewise insists on this theme of domestic community:

There has also been found in traditional Anglican piety a distinct strain of 'homeliness' as it is sometimes called. A warm, tolerant human devotion based on loving persuasion rather than fiery oratory is part of the Anglican temper. Historically, the Anglican clergy ... have been very much part of the domestic scene in the villages and parishes where they have served, and have often been loved and revered. The Anglican liturgical calendar has more commemorations of faithful pastors, such as George Herbert, than of fiery missionaries, and even Anglican martyrs have commonly been of gentle disposition. Anglicanism has always been more attracted by the image of the Church as family, rather than militia, and the similarity evoked to a community of monks, living as a family, under an abbot who leads them as a father, is not accidental.

It is important to reflect deeply on this shared experience of Christian community, for it might constitute the substance of that communion, of the koinonia which is the very goal of the ecumenical movement.

The koinonia theme has become central for the Anglican-Roman Catholic dialogue. In the recent ARCIC statement on authority, for instance, koinonia is one of the key terms which keeps emerging to explain the precise context and scope of Church authority.

The koinonia ideal is treasured in a particular way by the Anglican Communion, which has always understood itself not primarily as a juridical entity or societas, bound together by canon law, doctrines and organs of authority, but rather as a bond of the faithful, as a sacramental-liturgical communion of sister Churches.

But of course Benedictine and monastic life is also essentially koinonia, recalling the ideal of the apostolic community as presented in the Acts of the Apostles. St Pachomius, father of monastic cenobitic life, and his disciples referred to monastic life simply as 'holy koinonia.'

Anglican and Roman Catholic Benedictines already share the substance of this 'holy koinonia,' and thus constitute in a real sense a little vanguard of the ecumenical movement. But quite beyond this, it would seem that Roman Catholic Benedictines share the substance of their experience of Christian community with the faithful of the entire Anglican Communion. This shared experience would qualify monks for a special mediating function, that of tendering Anglicanism more available to the Roman Catholic brethren, on the one hand, and explaining certain aspects of Roman Catholic life to Anglicans, on the other.

But before undertaking these special functions, the first task facing Roman Catholic Benedictines is simply to deepen their awareness of this shared koinonia with Anglicans, to live profoundly this communion so that it can bear its own special fruit. One obvious component of such a growing process is study; monks can become more familiar with the three ARCIC documents and with the basic Anglican-Roman Catholic ecumenical literature, which is not impossibly extensive. The study of Anglican spiritual writers and theologians can, as Thomas Merton has noted, be of great benefit for Roman Catholic monks, not just for their ecumenical preparation but for their monastic and Christian growth.

Another important component of this growth in awareness is hospitality, an intrinsic part of Benedictine life. The monastery can receive individual Anglicans or parish or monastic groups, offering monastic space for retreats, conferences, etc. Such ecumenical hospitality is already fairly widespread in America, but it can certainly be even more utilized as a key means for developing Anglican-Benedictine contact at the inter-personal and grassroots level. Monks can also (depending on the particular observance of their own house) reciprocate these visits, and themselves call upon neighbouring Episcopal parishes and Episcopal religious communities.

As contacts grow, it might become possible to offer an ecumenical witness through joint social, pastoral or mission work, depending on the specific situation of the monastery and of the Episcopal group.

When an ecumenical relationship has sufficiently matured, the Roman Catholic monastery might consider entering into a 'covenant’ rapport with an Episcopal religious community or parish; such covenants permit a deeper, more stable communion and commitment to develop.

Community of the Resurrection

Detail - Icon of St. Benedict

Dormition Abbey, Jerusalem

Detail - Icon of St. Benedict
Dormition Abbey, Jerusalem

The chief means of growing in communion, and also its principal fruit, will certainly be the fellowship of prayer, in the fuller sense of praying for one another and also praying with one another, at least on some occasions. Apart from the delicate question of eucharistic sharing, Benedictines have special possibilities of praying with Anglicans, because the monastic hours of Lauds and Vespers (after the Roman Catholic adoption of the vernacular) are so similar to the Episcopal services of morning and evening prayer that each community can feel quite at home in the context of the liturgy of the other.

Every aspect of community prayer has its ecumenical sense: prayer of petition can focus on the unity we seek which will be primarily the gift of Christ's Spirit and not the result of our bargaining and diplomacy; such ecumenical prayer is also prayer of contrition, recognition of our grave sins, especially of omission, that have

caused and now maintain the divisions of Christ's people; prayer of commitment is also involved, which pledges our time and energy in this work of reunion in diversity; and such prayer is, finally, prayer of hope and praise and thanksgiving, in recognition of all God's gifts to his various communities in the past and of the marvellous grace of full reconciliation which awaits us.

The basic bond of the Anglican Communion is, and always has been, community prayer; this is also true of the Benedictine family. As we pray for and with each other in the unity of Christ, we rediscover what we are and experience what we shall be.

Dom. Robert Hale is a Camaldolese Benedictine monk at the New Camaldoli Hermitage in Big Sur, California.  At the time this article was published in 1980 in the English journal Christian (Vol. 5 No. 3), he was prior of a joint monastery with the Anglican Order of the Holy Cross.  The article is reproduced here by the kind permission of Fr. Hale.

Full Homely Divinity Home Page

MUCKNELL ABBEY: ANGLICAN MONASTERY IN WORCESTERSHIRE
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The Community:

Abbot Stuart (elected 1996)

Br Philip (Prior)

Sr Mary Bernard (superior 1984-1996) RIP 4th January 2016

Br Thomas (Bursar)

Br Anthony

Br Ian (Novice Guardian)

Sr Sally

Br Luke

Sr Alison

Br Michaël

Br Patrick (novice)

Br Bruno (novice)

Br Aidan (novice)

and Alongsiders

Our bishop-visitor is the Rt Revd John Inge, Bishop of Worcester.

We are a contemplative monastic community of nuns and monks living under the Rule of St Benedict and part of the Church of England. The Community was founded in 1941 to pray for Christian Unity, and it is a great joy to us that since the Covenant between the Church of England and the Methodist Church in England we now have a Methodist Presbyter as a member of the Community

 Vocation

Such moments do happen – occasionally! – and the pace of life in a monastery does tend to be more gentle than outside.

Nuns and monks are real people, each with a very different temperament and background, who live together at very close quarters and who very quickly get to know each other’s idiosyncrasies and failings as well as each other’s virtues. It is said that the most challenging ascetical practice in a monastery is learning to live peaceably with the other members of the community!

Community life requires people to be willing and able to change and to be challenged in all sorts of unexpected ways and therefore the discernment process takes a long time before a life commitment is made.

We welcome enquirers to share our life for a number of months, up to a year, to join our Alongsider programme.  Alongsiders include those who wish to experience the monastic life more than a short retreat visit; more like a month or several months - but with the view that it is only for a temporary period of no more than a year.  It is our hope that more young people can experience the monastic path within Chrisianity in a way Abbot Patrick of Gethsamane cistercian monastery wrote of in "A Monastic Vision for the 21st Century" . 'a kind of monasticism in the Christian West that would be open to young men and women who after completing their college work, and before deciding on a life situation, would retire to a monastery for (a time)  as part of their growth process, much like Hindu and Zen Buddhist monks have done for centuries.  Most of these men and women would return to "the world" following their monastic training, which hopefully would deepen their Christian commitment, and would prepare them for the awesome responsibiliites of raising a family in a secular culture with its emphasis on doing and having rather that on being. It was my hope that (a year) in a monastic setting would deepen the person's commitment to Christian principles and develp moral values that would remain with these young men and women for the rest of their lives. I also hoped that some of these ... would decide to make it their life's vocation and enter the monastic way as a permanent commitment.'  

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History

The present abbey was previously a farm and was purchased by the community after they had sold their former house at Burford Priory, a Grade I listed building, which was highly impractical both to maintain and also for the elderly members of the community. Between the sale of the house at Burford in 2008 and the completion of Mucknell Abbey in late 2010, the community lived in rented accommodation near Evesham.

Buildings
       

The new monastery is on the site of a derelict farm (Mucknell Farm). When the community purchased the site, the buildings were shells. The former farmhouse was unable to be redeveloped and was demolished to make way for a new community block on the south side of the courtyard. Within the community building are the cells, the community room (recreation space), the laundry, and several workrooms. The remaining three sides of the courtyard have been converted into a Guest Wing (North-west corner), a Refectory (West side), and a Library, Chapter Room and general office (East side and North-east corner).

A new Oratory was built in the centre of the courtyard and is accessible both from the courtyard and from the Monastic Enclosure. The foundation stone of the Oratory was laid by the Bishop of Worcester, Dr John Inge, on 13 May 2010 and the Oratory was dedicated by the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr Rowan Williams, on 25 March 2011.[1]

Sustainability

A large part of the ethos of the community is ecological sustainability. To this end, the new abbey was built with numerous features to enable and assist sustainable living.[2] The buildings feature high grade insulation to minimise heat loss; the heating is powered by a biomass fuelled boiler.[3] Electrical power is provided in part by photovoltaic panels,[4] and solar water heating panels[5] reduce the use of the boiler during the summer months. In addition to harnessing solar energy, the new buildings also harvest rain water, which is stored in a 5000 litre tank and is used to flush the lavatories and water the kitchen garden; there is a further 45000 litres available for fire-fighting. The wastewater from the site is treated in a bio-digester and consequently the buildings are not connected to the sewage network.[6] Much of the community's vegetables are grown onsite in the kitchen garden,[7] and once the orchard[8] has developed, it will further reduce the need to buy in fruits and vegetables. Both the kitchen garden and orchard are managed using eco-friendly means.

The Community

The community is made up of professed monks and nuns, novices, and 'alongsiders'. Alongsiders live with the community[9] for a variety of reasons, ranging from exploring a possible monastic vocation, to a simple desire to experience the monastic life for a while. Alongsiders stay with the community for between one and twelve months and while living alongside are expected to follow the community's timetable and participate in its work.

The Timetable

In common with other religious orders, the primary work of the community at Mucknell Abbey is the work of God, that is to say, prayer. During the day the community come together six times to sing the Offices and also for Holy Communion. Work periods are between Terce and Holy Communion in the morning and between None and Vespers in the afternoon. After Compline the community observe Greater Silence through the night until the end of Terce the following morning. There is also solitude time allocated during the day; in the morning between the offices, and in the afternoon between Vespers and supper. On Thursdays, the community normally meet for corporate Lectio Divina which is followed by corporate tea. Corporate tea affords the community an opportunity to engage in conversation which otherwise is scarce in the monastic life.

EDITOR'S COMMENT

I paid a flying visit to Mucknell Abbey during my last holidays.  I knew Nashdom in the old days - as a Catholic ecumenist, not as an Anglican - and what I like about Mucknell is that it is utterly Anglican, woman priest, Methodist presbyter, and all; which means I couldn't possibly be a monk here.   However, in the words of Archbishop Justin Welby, we can disagree in charity and come closer together as we hopefully come closer to Christ.  I hope that this kind of monasticism will be come more and more embedded in the Anglican Church, and that it will be an ever growing source of grace for that church - Fr David

        

                           

OXFORD UNIVERSITY, HOME OF ANGLICANISM AND CATHOLIC CONVERSIONS

This is a very well written article an American Catholic at Oxford in the nineteeen eighties.  In some ways, it is out of date:  I am not sure that the classics play such a large part in secondary education as they did then; and the Oxford Dominicans are now models of what Pope Benedict thinks theologians should be - they wear habits, sing Gregorian plainchant, rejoice in Catholic tradition which they strive to pass on to future generations and are inspiring people to seek the Catholic whole over against modern, and hence time-limited versions of our religion.   

That being said, read on: you place yourself into the very midst of a wonderfully ancient and wonderfully modern university; and you may discover something about the relationship between Anglicanism and Catholicism.  Dr Pusey once said that John Henry Newman could be someone who can unite both churches.   He challenges the Catholic Church to ask how it is that Newman became so holy, so insightful into the very depths of Christianity while he was still an Anglican; and he asks the Anglican  Church  why it could not contain in its borders such a soul as that of John Henry Newman.

please click on:

The Ghost of Oxford: What Do Cicero, Cucumber Liqueur, and Catholicism Have in Common? - Crisis Magazine:

 In the fall of 1984, when my wife and I arrived at Oxford, we joined a community of 12,000 students—including 800 Americans — and participated in a venerable educational enterprise both epic and comic. Several years later, we came away with an abiding fondness and gratitude for England in general and Oxford in particular. Matthew …

 POPE BENEDICT XVI AT EVENSONG (VESPERS) AT WESTMINSTER ABBEY, ONCE A BENEDICTINE MONASTERY