by Albert Holtz
5.
SEARCHING
IN THE COMMON LIFE
THE COURAGE TO BELONG: THE SOCCER GAME
The November night is crisp and clear, just right for a soccer game. One of the noisy fans off to my right is waving a huge, silky flag of yellow, green, and red, while the group around him chants in Spanish: “Bo-, Bo-, Bo-, li-, li-, li-, -via, -via, -via! Bolivia! Arriba Bolivia!” I smile as I remember the six weeks I spent working at a parish in Santa Cruz, Bolivia, and the sunny soccer afternoons in Roli Aguilera Stadium. Despite the flag-waving and the Spanish cheers, though, this is Newark, New Jersey. Our high-schoolers are playing a tournament game against the Tahuichi Soccer Club from Bolivia.
I glance up into the rows of stands behind me and catch the eye of a couple of parents from school. We wave briefly and then turn back to the game.
Down on the wide field, players dash back and forth on green grass in the silver glow of the stadium lights. Most of them can make the ball go just where they want it to go and do just what they want it to do. A couple even have that sixth sense that tells them where everyone else is on the field, and can see ahead of time just how a play is going to develop. They pass the ball to what seems an empty spot on the field, and a teammate I haven’t even seen appears from out of nowhere just in time.
It’s the end of the soccer season. The smooth teamwork we’re seeing tonight is no accident, but the result of hours and hours of exhausting practice, of time spent talking and hanging out together. From what I’ve heard, there were even a few struggles with one or two individuals early in the season. Some people need to be convinced that the way to be your best is to contribute your talents selflessly to the team.
A long rainbow pass slants downfield toward the sideline. One of our players sprints to get to it before the defender. At the same time, a teammate dashes straight up the center of the field toward the goal. The first player gets to the perfectly passed ball and dribbles it ahead of him without breaking stride. After two touches, he sends the ball toward the center of the field to his teammate who is still breaking up the middle. A second perfect pass! The goalie steps out to defend. Now the crowd starts to roar as we see that a third player has been streaking up the other wing. The man in the middle deflects the ball to this third teammate without even looking at him. The goalie is caught completely out of position. The white ball, glistening with the stadium lights, blurs past the goal keeper and the crowd cheers as the ball curves toward the corner of the goal. “Whack!” it slams into the crossbar and bounces harmlessly out to a defender. “Ohhh!” Everyone applauds the great play. The Bolivians clap louder, of course, because they have just survived a near-miss.
It’s a joy to watch the game flow smoothly this way from one player to the next. One or two touches and you pass the ball off, moving it down the field with purpose and decisiveness. No single player is trying to impress anybody tonight; each of them is putting himself in second place to make the team work.
Benedict pictures the monastic community to be something like that—when we’re at our best. “Let no one do what he finds good for himself,” he advises, “but what he finds good for the other.” I start to remember, uneasily, the selfish way I handled a situation last week, and I start to imagine a scene:
The monks of Newark Abbey are playing their positions on the soccer field. I’m on left wing. Someone passes me the ball. I hitch up the black skirt of my habit with one hand and run full tilt down the field. I concentrate, staring at the ball as I dribble it ahead of me. I don’t hear the shouts, “Hey, pass it! Look! Man open!” I, of course, am concentrating on doing my thing, so I don’t see the brother standing alone in front of the goal waiting for me to pass the ball. By now three defenders have hemmed me in. But since my pride is at stake I have to try to work my way past these guys and get a shot off. After all, some people have told me I have one of the best shots on the team. My fellow monks are shouting, “Dish it off!” “Look up!”
Finally a defender taps the ball away from me to his teammate, who sends it back the other way. My brothers shake their heads sadly as we drop back quickly on defense, hoods and scapulars flying.
A tall, blond midfielder and a short, stocky Bolivian are jumping shoulder to shoulder, each trying to head the ball in a different direction. Elbows and shoulders and hips are flying. The fans to my right shout “¡Falta! ¡Falta!” but the referee signals to play on—there was no foul. The ball starts its way up the far sideline.
I wonder what our lives would be like if we all worked together the way these team members do? What if there were no self-centered “stars” in families or parishes, and everyone sacrificed a little for the good of the Body of Christ? What if our love for one another in the monastery were so intense that people driving past our front door in their cars could feel it?
The crowd roars as a Bolivian player streaks down the far sideline with the ball. Three of his green-shirted teammates are charging downfield, waiting for his centering pass. There it is—the ball skims along the grass, leading a green shirt right toward the goal. It’s now a footrace between our goalie and the Bolivian. Everyone in the grandstand jumps up, shouting encouragement. The goalie gets there first by an eyelash and throws himself on the ball, protecting it as if it were a newborn baby. “Yeah!” The home crowd shouts its approval.
The monastery is a reflection of the Kingdom that Jesus has in mind for all of us, where people work together selflessly, thinking of others first instead of themselves, so that we all live, work, and pray with one heart. It’s a world where you sacrifice yourself out of love for your neighbor, and are always conscious of being part of a single, great unity, like this soccer team, all heading for the same goal, all helping one another to get there. It may sound unrealistic, but Jesus clearly expects all of us to spend our lives working toward just such a world.
The sharp trill of the referee’s whistle carries across the field. It’s the end of the first half. The score is 0–0. Everyone applauds the effort on both sides. The big silk flag starts waving again, and the chant carries on the night breeze toward downtown: “Bo-, Bo-, Bo-, li-, li-, li-, -via, -via, -via! Bolivia! Arriba Bolivia!”
Then I turn and head over toward the Bolivian cheering section to say hello, promising myself that from now on I’ll keep my head up and look for a teammate as I dribble toward the goal.
SCRIPTURAL REFLECTION
Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others. Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 2:3–5)
Paul is telling the Philippians to look to others’ interests rather than their own, in imitation of Christ. Look at your family, your religious community, or maybe your parish. What does this community expect of you? What do you expect of yourself? Are these expectations on each side realistic and fair? If so, are they being met? Is there one aspect of belonging to that particular community that makes the most demands on your charity?
RULE OF BENEDICT
“No one is to pursue what he judges better for himself, but instead, what he judges better for someone else.” (Chapter 72, “The Good Zeal of Monks,” v. 7)
THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES: SOLEMN VOWS
When you’re just starting out, you think that your vows are only between you and God. As you go along, though, you discover the truth.
“Saint John the Baptist …”
“… pray for us!”
“Saint Joseph …”
“… pray for us!”
“Saint Peter and Saint Paul …”
“… pray for us!”
The late-morning sun is flooding into the abbey church, smudging the floor with the glowing blues and reds of the stained glass windows. Everyone is standing during the Litany of the Saints except for one young monk who is lying face down in the middle of the sanctuary. He has just professed his solemn vows as a Benedictine, publicly promi
sing “stability and the reformation of my life and obedience according to the Rule of our Holy Father Benedict.” He has just said his definitive “yes” to God’s invitation, and committed himself to search for God with us in the monastery for the rest of his life. I smile as I remember my own solemn vow ceremony.
“Saint Mary Magdalene …”
“… pray for us!”
“Saint Stephen and Saint Lawrence …”
“… pray for us!”
“Saint Agnes …”
“… pray for us!”
When I lay on the floor at the age of twenty-four with several other monks it seemed to me that it was mostly about me and God. I hardly remember who else was there at the time. But each passing year shows me more convincingly that monastic life is just as much about me and my community. Early on, I was blessed with classmates my own age who had the courage to pull me aside and point out some pretty glaring faults of mine that I didn’t want to see. Then there were the older and wiser monks who had the patience and understanding to put up with my youthful brashness. By now the whole community has become essential to my journey by edifying me with their constant faithfulness to their vows, and making demands on me that move me toward patience and generosity.
Standing here as a witness for this young monk who is just beginning his life of solemn vows, I realize that I have to be a cheerleader for him the way others have been for me.
I remember jogging around the lake in Branch Brook Park as a high school student during spring track practice. I was a terrible runner, but sometimes as I dragged myself along a voice would call out, “Okay Holtzie, let’s go!” or “Come on, just another half-mile!” Coming from teammates running right alongside me, they were tremendously powerful words.
“Saint Basil …”
“… pray for us!”
“Saint Augustine …”
“… pray for us!”
If saying your solemn “Yes!” in monastic vows means being welcomed into a community of believers who commit themselves to helping you, then this Litany of the Saints adds an even deeper dimension. As you lie there, the church calls on the help of our ancestors in the family of faith.
“Holy Father Benedict …”
“… pray for us!”
“Saint Bernard …”
“… pray for us!”
“Saint Francis and St. Dominic …”
“… pray for us!”
This is a celebration of the “communion of saints,” connecting us here on earth with our holy brothers and sisters who have gone before. I think of the image in chapter twelve of the Letter to the Hebrews:
Therefore, since we for our part are surrounded by this cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every encumbrance of sin which clings to us and persevere in running the race that lies ahead; let us keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, who inspires and perfects our faith.
Here is the image of a great grandstand packed with saintly ancestors rooting for us and cheering us on, encouraging us to “run with perseverance.” The people in the stands all have run this race themselves and have earned their place in the ranks of those who encourage the rest of us.
I start to think of some of our own particular ancestors in the faith who made vows in this very church and lived their lives in this monastery: I remember Fr. Luke Mooseburger, who kept riding his bicycle around the city well past the age of ninety until the abbot made him stop. I think of the stories of Fr. Peter Petz and his wooden leg, and Fr. Damien Smith who went about teaching others who had to learn—as he himself had had to learn—to speak without a larynx. These stories, passed on from one generation to the next, are an important part of a monastery’s identity and history. Our community, then, has its own litany, our list of special cheerleaders:
“Father Eugene …”
“… pray for us!”
“Brother Denis …”
“… pray for us!”
“Father Celestine …”
“… pray for us!”
Will anyone look back at my story one day, I ask myself, and be able to find encouragement and inspiration in it?
“Saint Ignatius of Loyola …”
“… pray for us!”
“Saint Vincent De Paul …”
“… pray for us!”
“Saint John Bosco …”
“… pray for us!”
We all hope to move on into the grandstand some day and join the cloud of witnesses watching, cheering, interceding for others.
“Saint Scholastica …”
“… pray for us!”
“Saint Catherine of Siena …”
“… pray for us!”
“Saint Teresa of Avila …”
“… pray for us!”
But until we get to the finish line, we run buoyed up by the community of ancestors urging us on, and encouraged by the voices of brothers and sisters running beside us.
“All holy men and women …”
“… pray for us!”
SCRIPTURAL REFLECTION
Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us. (Hebrews 12:1–2)
Imagine yourself running a race on a track in front of a huge grandstand packed with your ancestors in the faith. Some are your favorite saints, others are the people who handed the faith on to someone centuries ago, making it possible for you to receive the gift of faith from someone yourself. Some are deceased family members or friends. As you start to get tired and begin to slow down, you start to recognize some familiar voices cheering you on and encouraging you. Let each voice evoke a name and a face. Listen to the different things each one is saying to you.
Write out a litany of your “ancestors” in the faith, and recite it with the refrain, “Pray for us!”
RULE OF BENEDICT
“When [the new monk] is to be received, he comes before the whole community in the oratory and promises stability, fidelity to monastic life, and obedience. This is done in the presence of God and his Saints to impress on the novice that if he ever acts otherwise, he will surely be condemned by the one he mocks. He states his promise in a document drawn up in the name of the saints whose relics are there, and of the abbot, who is present.” (Chapter 58, “The Procedure for Receiving Brothers,” vv. 17–19)
PEACE UNDER PRESSURE: THE FRENCH QUIZ
“But you never told us we were having a quiz today!” the indignant student protests loudly.
“Please sit down and take the test!” I whisper fiercely. “Everyone else is working already.” I give him my best glowering stare until he retreats in sullen silence. “Thank you!” I whisper to the back of his head as he shuffles to his desk in the front row.
“I still ain’t takin’ no quiz!” he mutters, just loudly enough to make sure I’ll hear, as he throws himself noisily into the seat. I fight to keep calm.
A little stained glass window over the door of the monastery proclaims the Latin motto “Pax,” “Peace.” Many people seem to take this as sort of an advertisement that claims the monastery is a sea of calm and serenity. It’s true that the cloister is a very quiet place: we keep strict night silence after 9:00 p.m. and there are no televisions or CD players blaring. But this outward peacefulness, while very important, is not what the motto refers to.
Peace is not the starting point of the monastic life, but rather its goal. Peace doesn’t just happen: we work at it full time. Benedict assumes, in fact, that there will be plenty of pressures working against the peace of the monks.
The Holy Rule, especially toward the end, lists all sorts of irksome things that will disturb one’s inner calm: a monk is commanded by the abbot “to do impossible things”; a brother loses his temper and strikes one of the boys or another monk; the poverty of the monastery means that the monks have to do the heavy, menial work of harvesting themselves; or the prior of the monastery starts to think of himself as a s
econd abbot. Benedict, then, certainly doesn’t expect a “peaceful” life in the sense of an undisturbed, stress-free existence behind the cloister wall. Just the opposite, in fact: he expects us to learn the knack of finding what someone has aptly called “peace under pressure.”
The sophomore is now slouched in his seat, staring straight ahead, while everyone else is busy with the French quiz. He is deliberately, as we say in our neighborhood, “working my nerves.” I decide to ignore him for now, and walk to the back of the classroom checking the other students’ work.
Monks are just people, and we bring to community life our personality traits (good and bad), our feelings and sensitivities, our personal histories, and our brokenness. So every day the monastery offers plenty of challenges: being misunderstood, being irked by people’s idiosyncrasies, knowing that I could do a much better job than that monk is doing, wondering why the Abbot lets that monk get away with murder.
Finding peace under pressure is not just a monastic undertaking, of course. Psalm 34 is meant for all of the faithful, “Let peace be your aim.” Benedict’s methods of finding peace, based on scripture and centuries of experience, are simple practices from which every Christian can profit.
First, at the center of Benedict’s theology is one of the best helps to finding peace under pressure: humility. If I am willing to admit that I am not God, that I don’t need to be in control of everything and everyone, and am, in fact, just an imperfect creature like everyone else, then when things don’t go exactly as I want, I’m much less likely to feel upset.
Second, Benedict stresses the attitude of service and “solicitude” toward others. If my first concern when I encounter someone is always to try to be of service, then when someone is unkind or unfair to me, I’m able to see that person first as a brother or sister in need of help, rather than as someone who is violating my rights.
He still hasn’t started taking the quiz. In fact, he has now opened his Biology book. So, hisses a little voice inside me, he wants to pick a fight with me, eh? I feel my blood pressure rising as I stalk slowly back up the aisle toward him. Let’s just see who wins this one!
