Each day this Lent we’re looking at major “turning points” in Christian history – moments or seasons in which the story of God’s people took an important and often unexpected turn.
The legalization of Christianity in the Roman Empire that followed the enthronement of Constantine (A.D. 312) seemed like a miracle.
Followers of Jesus were suddenly and dramatically free to express their faith in public, without fear of persecution.
Within a generation, however, it was clear that spiritual legitimacy has a downside.
Christian devotion became increasingly nominal – that is, in name only. Whereas discipleship had once inspired immense courage and personal sacrifice, a majority of those who claimed the name of Jesus now began to live as if they could “hate the world and have it, too.”
Furthermore, as the Roman Empire gradually crumbled under barbarian assaults, the world seemed increasingly dangerous and unpredictable.
By the fifth century A.D., a select group of individuals, both men and women, decided that the only way to live faithfully was to retreat from the world altogether. Thus was born monasticism, a remarkable, multi-national movement that almost singlehandedly kept the heart of Christianity beating throughout the Middle Ages (roughly 500-1500 A.D.).
Historian Mark Noll writes, “The rise of monasticism was, after Christ’s commission to his disciples, the most important – and in many ways the most beneficial – institutional event in the history of Christianity.”
At first, radical individualism ruled the day.
Those who really wanted to please God felt the need to hide themselves away in the wilderness. By living as hermits they could give themselves fully to prayer and contemplation without distraction or temptation.
In A.D. 270, an Egyptian named Anthony heard a sermon on Matthew 19:21: “Go, sell everything you have…and follow me.” He gave away the inheritance he had just received and moved to the edge of the desert to seek God. Since his living conditions were exceedingly rigorous, admirers gradually transformed him into a kind of celebrity hero.
Others who followed this path clearly went to extremes, vying to become champions of self-renunciation.
A handful of ascetics refused to eat cooked food for seven years. Others made the choice to sleep naked in a swamp, exposing their bodies to biting insects. Still others refused to lie down for 50 years; avoided the sight of women for decades on end; or wore heavy chains wherever they went.
Simeon Stylites, a Syrian ascetic, decided to spend his life atop a 10-foot-tall pillar. After a while he became ashamed of its humble height and scaled a 50-foot column instead. It was topped by a three-foot-wide platform and rail that kept him safe while sleeping. Simeon, the world’s most celebrated “pillar saint,” remained there, in all kinds of weather, for 36 years.
Over time, it became clear that this was not exactly what Jesus had in mind for the vast majority of people when he said, “Follow me.”
The need of the hour was balance. Sanity. Healthy spiritual direction. And especially community – pursuing God in the company of other strugglers, instead of chasing individual “feats of mortification.”
The man who came to the rescue was Benedict of Nursia. Even though he probably did more than anyone else to shape the direction of monasticism, we know comparatively little about his life. Historians suspect he was born around A.D. 480 and believe he died about A.D. 550.
Born into an upper-class family, Benedict turned his back on what he perceived to be the depravity of life in Rome, embracing a hermit’s existence. Unfortunately (from his perspective), he was hounded by admirers. Would he be willing to mentor a group of these apprentices?
Benedict tried. And failed. His demands were so extreme that one of his disciples even tried to poison him.
These are the kinds of ministry moments they don’t always tell you about in seminary.
But Benedict had learned an important lesson. Rigorous discipline may a good thing, but allowances must be made for the fragility of sinful humanity.
Ultimately, his great gift to the Church was his Regula, or Rule, which provided practical guidance for the monastic life. A monastery could become a spiritual fortress, a self-contained, self-supporting community with its own fields, gardens, and workshops.
Benedict imagined following Jesus to be conversatio morum (a life of continuous conversion). The monks who came under his oversight were compelled to make three vows: poverty (the complete renunciation of possessions), chastity (the complete renunciation of sexual activity), and obedience (the complete renunciation of autonomy).
For better or worse, those three monastic commitments became the template for the “truly faithful Christian life” for at least the next thousand years.
Benedict’s Rule, as Mark Noll points out, was not a manual for slackers. It proclaimed that “idleness is the enemy of the soul.” The daily monastic schedule called for seven worship services (each about 20 minutes long), including the vitally important vigil service at 2:00 a.m.
The essential rhythm of monastic life was orare et laborare – “prayer and work, prayer and work.”
Life in a monastery was never intended to be an endless Bible study, nor was it backbreaking labor. What Benedict achieved, brilliantly, was a stable means of living for Christ – but without going to extremes. That was a major turning point in Christian history.
The Rule closes with these words: “Are you hastening toward your heavenly home? Then with Christ’s help, keep this little rule that we have written for beginners. After that, you can set out for the loftier summits of the teaching and virtues we mentioned above, and under God’s protection you will reach them.”
“In a crude, unstable era,” writes historian J. Stephen Lang, “Benedictine monasticism provided the spiritually sensitive with a haven.”
So, what about us?
Does it sometimes seem to you that 21st century Christians are living in a “crude, unstable era,” and need more than ever to find a meaningful way to live for Christ?
We may quarrel with the monastic traditions of withdrawal, physical deprivation, and full surrender to someone else’s direction. Jesus, after all, seemed to embrace the very public joys of marriage, wine, and celebration when he “revealed his glory” at a wedding in Cana (John 2:11).
Our great need, according to the late Eugene Peterson, is a “monastery without walls.”
So, consider writing your own Rule – a way of living faithfully, powered by grace-fueled disciplines, within this broken world each day.
That might include your own rhythm of prayer and work, prayer and work – stopping at specific intervals to pray, to read Scripture, and to serve others compassionately.
Don’t rush this task. Take your time. Ask others what they have learned along the way.
Benedict’s remarkable legacy is that we can choose, with God’s grace and power, to order all of our hours and days for Him.
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