FROM FIVE TOME
Daily Life in e Modern Benedictine Monesfery

by

Bruno MeAndreuf, O.S.B.

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PUBUCATION



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FROM FIVE TO NINE

Daily Life in a Modern Benedictine Monastery

by

Bruno McAndrew, O.S.B.

>1 6RAIL

PUBLICATION



Nihil Obstat:

^ Aldan WilliamSj OSS.
Censor Congregationis Angliae, O.S.B.

Nihil obstat:

Joseph D. Brokhage, S.T.D.

Censor librorum

Imprimatur:

^Paul C. Schulte, D.D.

Archbishop of Indianapolis

Advent, December 2, 1952

Copyright 1953 by

St. Meinrad's Abbey, Inc.

A Grail Publication

!598?ild!ffed



Dedicated fo

S^int Benedict

P$tri0feh of the Monks of the West





1. Point of View

Who has not seen the spire of a monastery soaring up
behind high walls in some city, village or meadow of the Unit-

ed States? Who has not wondered as he walked or rode by

there how the monks were occupied all day in their apparently

motionless and untroubled retreat? Do they read or pray or

study or teach all the day long? Are they artists, craftsmen,

gardeners or farmers? To answer these questions, the follow-

ing little sketch has been written. Hour by hour we shall

accompany the monks throughout the day, standing beside

them in church, in their cells and study halls, and on the

grounds. To make clear the meaning of their many activities,

we shall have occasionally to refer to history, liturgy, theology,

monastic constitutions and many other things which play a

part in their lives. Yet we shall try to avoid too much abstract

discussion and use these subjects only to throw light on what

is being done at each hour of the day.

In order to do this, we shall select a particular Benedictine

monastery, situated in a large American city, and engaged prin-

cipally in the work of education. Here we shall live through a

complete day with the monks. If we understand this one

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house, we shall have made a large step towards understanding

any Benedictine monastery in any part of the world or from

any one of the fourteen centuries of their history. We shall

also learn many of the basic principles of community religious

life which are practiced in many Orders and Societies of the

Church. There are today hundreds of different Orders and

Societies with different rules and constitutions. But the earliest

one to be founded was the Order of St. Benedict, begun in the

sixth century. Here was established a pattern which has in-

fluenced to some extent every other religious group in the

Church.

Throughout the centuries there has gradually developed a di-

vision of labor among religious Societies; modern communities

might have such different purposes as retranslating the Bible,

or penetrating the mountains of Peru. Behind these secondary

aims there is the primary one of living a religious life in com-

mon with others. From this point of view the Benedictines are

especially worthy of study, for St. Benedict did not propose any

specific work for his monks. He legislated only for the daily

religious routine, of which we shall learn much as we follow

it for one day. Since we are endeavoring to portray American

Benedictinism of the present day, particular names of places

and persons will be omitted, though there is no secret about

the monastery here described, and it can be easily identified by

those familiar with the Order in this country. Our aim, how-

ever, is to present a generalized portrait, more or less applica-

ble to any group of Benedictines, and points of variation among

houses will be briefly noted in passing.

Last of all, a word of caution. Religious life is concerned

directly with the individual soul, and this is beyond the scope

of this essay. We shall not attempt to go into the inner life of

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For Review

FROM FIVE TILL NINE

by Bruno McAndrew, O.S.B.

Price 2‘b(t

With the compliments of

We shall be pleased to have you

review this book in your periodicaL

Kindly send us a marked copy of

your periodical in which the review

appears.

Sincerely yours,

Padckai O.Mi.li.

iSt, iSHeinraJ, <3ndiana

Managing Editor

THE GRAIL

St, Meinrad, Indiana





the soul, but shall confine ourselves to externals, to the set-

ting. It is God’s grace which transforms a soul, and this is not a

theological treatise. Like rain, grace falls from the heavens;

and like a green garden, the monastery is carefully laid out

to catch and utilize it. Our purpose is to tour the garden, and

not to consider the operations of the heavens. This is not, then,

an essay on the spiritual life, but merely a description of a

Benedictine day, its homely details, its usual routine, as they

might appear to an interested observer.

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2. Daybreak

Our day begins at 4:30 in the morning. Most of the year

it is pitch dark; in summer there may be enough faint gray

light to make out the homes on the suburban street adjoining

the grounds; all are still and dark. But inside the monastery

there is a prolonged clanging of the interior bell; lights appear

in windows, and down the dim corridor comes the caller, knock-

ing at each door as he says, **Benedicamus Domino” [Let us

bless the Lord}. He pauses until he hears the sleeper answer,

”Deo Gratias!” [Thanks be to God}. Even after years of

practice this early rising is difficult, and each monk rolls out

reluctantly, trying to shake himself awake. Over the neces-

sary linens he dons his habit, or uniform of his profession. It

is very simple, consisting of only three pieces which are worn

always. They are the tunic, a plain, black cover-all, reaching

to the wrists and ankles, and buttoning down the front; the

scapular, a long rectangular piece of cloth, also black, with a

hole in the center for the head; it is dropped over the head

and reaches the feet in front and back. Lastly comes that part

of a monk’s dress which is most distinctive, the bag-like cloth

which envelops his head. It is correctly a hood, though often

misnamed a cowl. It is usually left hanging down the back,

but put over the head at certain times in church. The fourth

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garment is worn only during services in church, and then only

during winter months, being too oppressive for summer. This

is the stately cowl, said to have been the remote origin of aca-

demic robes. It is a loose black outer robe, like that of a judge

in court; it is fastened around the neck, and falls in numerous

pressed pleats completely to the floor. The sleeves are so wide

that when the hands are held up, the cuffs fall nearly to the

knees. The layman may wonder why religious use what seem

to be odd costumes. Why do they not dress like ordinary peo-

ple? The religious is in so many ways already separated from

the person of the world that a distinctive habit is merely in

keeping with the rest of his life. There is, however, a deeper

reason. Every occupation, and most sports, have costumes

which are peculiar to them with many features that are useful

to the special activity. This is true of the monastic habit, which

we might call the costume of prayer. Any person in a cowl,

no matter how awkward he may be in reality, takes on an aspect

of dignity and stateliness. This helps him to rise above bodily

distraction, and thus aids him in the principal business of his

life, recollection and lifting up his mind to God.

To do this at five o’clock in the morning, the hour for the

opening choral prayer—called 'Matins’—is at first difficult.
The problem is perennial, and many mornings the monk strug-

gles through Matins never fully awake. On other days, how-

ever, when the mind does come fully awake, it has a serene

clarity which is perfect for prayer. The stillness of the church,

the stillness of the earth and sky outside, the stillness of the

city—all help to induce an inner quiet of soul. The gradual
and majestic approach of sunrise, ribboning the east with pink

and gold and lighting up our main church window, is a fitting

background to the psalms. It is something like an answer to

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these prayers, which plead for light and warmth. Below still

are the shadows of night, and we are like the psalmist who

walked in the midst of the shadow of death, but feared no

evil for God was with him. It is symbolic of our lives, and all

human life—this prayer amid shadows with the dawn approach-
ing.

Glancing around our chapel, I have often been struck with

the timelessness of its material construction—brick, wood, glass,
metal—materials with which the ancient Egyptians were fa-

miliar, and worked nearly as well as modern craftsmen. The

only twentieth century note is the electric lights. The carved

oak stalls, the wooden altar, also elaborately carved, the taber-

nacle with its silk covering, the twisted-iron candlestands,

occasionally a few vases of flowers—every one of these pieces
of furnishing could have been used a thousand years ago in

medieval Europe, or centuries before that in some ancient Ro-

man or Greek chapel. The tabernacle especially seems to look

down a long corridor of time that reaches back to the very ori-

gins of man, at least to his first glimpses of revealed truth. It

is derived from the Latin *tabernaculum’ (tent), which refers

in the Bible to the tent in which the Hebrews kept the Ark of

the Covenant before the building of Solomon’s temple. The

Jewish tabernacle was about forty feet long by fifteen wide,

and draped in gayly colored cloths. In the first section were the

incense altar, a golden candlestick, and a table with tiny loaves

—the loaves of proposition as they were called. In the other
section, called the Holy of Holies, was the ark containing the

Ten Commandments. Thus side by side from remotest times,

ritual and morality, worship and warning, have come down

to us as partners in religion. Today in our small tabernacle

on the altar, it is God Who is with us in the Holy Eucharist, and

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our worship is carried on before His sacramental Presence.

The prayers we say also come to us bearing the echoes of

centuries. The basic plan of our official prayer book, now called

the Breviary, was laid down fourteen centuries ago by St. Bene-

dict, who remarked that if his "arrangement of the psalms be

displeasing to anyone, he should, if he think fit, order it other-

wise, taking care in any case that the whole Psalter of one hun-

dred and fifty psalms be recited every week.”* After enduring

more than fourteen hundred years, his arrangement is still

pleasing to many thousands of monks throughout the world.

This choice of psalms. Scripture lessons, selections from the

Church fathers, hymns, prayers, versicles, and incidental parts

make up what is called the Divine Office.** In the monastic

Breviary there are seven 'hours’ of prayer in the day, but I

hasten to add that the word as here used does not mean sixty

minutes, but rather a certain time at which a period of prayer

is held. The monk spends between two and three actual hours

in choir daily. The 'hours’ or times of prayer are called Matins

and Lauds, Prime, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers and Compline.

This Latinated terminology might be roughly Anglicized as

Morning Praises, First, Third, Sixth, Ninth hours. Evening and

Night prayers. The reckoning of the hours is from ancient

Roman time; and the First Hour meant actually the first hour

of the day after the sun had risen—about seven o’clock. The
others mean approximately nine o’clock, noon, three o’clock;

Vespers comes about six, and Compline about eight o’clock.

Matins starts about an hour before sunrise, and is always im-

mediately followed by Lauds, which is supposed to correspond

* Rule of St. Benedict. Chap. 18.

** Since St. Benedict’s day, the Divine Office has naturally grown with

the addition of new saints and feasts. But his plan is the same.

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with the rising of the sun. On an ordinary day when there is no

feast (a feria), St. Benedict requires twelve psalms to be re-

cited during two periods called ‘nocturns’ in each of which six

psalms are completed. The choir is divided into two groups

facing each other on opposite sides of the altar; the sides alter-

nate in reciting aloud verses of the psalms. At the end of one

nocturn, lessons are read from a bookstand between the choirs.

These are chanted by a single reader. The lessons are quite

short on ferias, but on feast days they are much longer and

describe the origin and meaning of the feast. On feasts also a

third nocturn is added, the lessons of which are always a ser-

mon on some part of the New Testament. Matins and Lauds to-

gether take up a little less or more than an hour, depending on

the length of the lessons and the number of nocturns.

Lauds derives its name from the expression, ‘Laudate Do-

minum’ (Praise the Lord), which is said repeatedly in the con-

cluding psalms of this hour. The very name—Praises—gives
the mood of this prayer, one of praise and thanksgiving, timed

approximately to meet the rising of the sun. Thus a symbolic

connection is made between the sun’s triumph over night and

the coming of Christ. For instance, the hymn at Lauds on Sun-

day contains the following verses, addressed directly to Christ:

'Thou, O Light, awaken our eyes.

Scatter darkness from our minds;

Let our voices sound Thy praise

As we pay our tribute to Thee.”

The strongest link, however, in this chain of light between

Christ and the sun is the hymn called the 'Benedictus.’ It is

recited every day at Lauds near the end, and forms a crowning

climax. It is taken from the New Testament.* When John

* Luke I, 68-79. Confraternity Version.

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the Baptist was born, his father Zachary spoke a prophecy

which began: *‘Benedictus Dominus Deus Israel’* (Blessed be

the Lord, the God of Israel). He continued, “Because He has

visited and wrought redemption for His people, and has raised

up a horn of salvation for us. . .

.

For thou (i.e. John) shalt go

before the face of the Lord to prepare His ways, 'to give to His

people knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of

their sins, because of the loving-kindness of our God, wherewith

the Orient from on high has visited us,’ to shine on those who

sit in darkness and the shadow of death, to guide our feet into

the way of peace.” This 'Orient on high’ is a mystical refer-

ence to God, and points also to the sun, which is coming up

during these moments. The connection lingers in the monk’s

mind through the day and helps lighten its darker hours.

Thus the morning Office is made up of parts of Scripture and

selections from great ecclesiastical writers, but mostly of the

psalms, those poetic prayers composed principally by David

about a thousand years before Christ, and arranged by St. Bene-

dict fourteen centuries before our time. They seem to bring

with them the whole history of humanity, not in an antiquarian

way, but filled with life, with human desires and fears, joys

and hopes. They still have the power to stir the heart more pro-

foundly than any other literature, religious or secular. They are

the greatest prayers and at the same time the greatest poems

ever composed. Their ideas are so penetrating, their sentiments

so exalted, that they can literally reach to the bottom of a man’s

soul and lift him out of himself, as we know from the writings

and lives of the saints. They give meaning, form and precision

to man’s confused longings, and place on his lips words of

supreme eloquence by which he can speak to God. “As the

hart has longed for the springs of fresh water, so has my soul

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for Thee, O Lord/’ How many would be capable of saying

that had not God given them the words in His own Scripture ?

What a way to begin each day—by plunging the mind into
the sea of divinely inspired writing! Surely when this is done

over years it ought to result in an impress on the soul, an en-

noblement, enlargement, sanctification. Such at least is the

monastic idea. And sanctification is not, so to speak, a selfish,

personal gain. Whatever goodness or genuine greatness is

achieved by one man redounds to the benefit of all men. The

world needs that greatness of soul which results from constant

prayer. The very presence of men who give much of their time

to spiritual cultivation is an inspiration to others who are im-

mersed by necessity in business or family cares and do not have

the time for much inner life.

In choir recitation the psalms are not merely spoken out loud,

but are sung or chanted ^recto tono,’ on one note. It is therefore

a kind of music in the same sense that the humming of bees

is musical. It is the unadorned beauty of the voice with its over-

tones of feeling. The great ideas of the psalms reflect them-

selves in the tone of the reciter so that different emotions can be

expressed without change in the pitch. The clear and strong

vowels of Latin are better adapted to this than the sounds of

the vernacular tongue. To many modern people it may sound

strange to speak of the music of prayer. Too many people to-

day think of prayer as something deeply personal and private,

said in seclusion and in strict confidence between God and the

soul. Yet a glance at any of the great religions of man will

show that silent prayer is the exception rather than the other

way around. The Quakers alone have given first place to silence

as a form of prayer. All other religious groups have always

used hymns to proclaim their love of God. The chanting of

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the psalms is a type of hymn in which the ideas take precedence

over the musical frills. Professional singers and operatic gym-

nastics may have obscured this plain music, but it is still there

to the sympathetic listener.

The kind of music for which monasteries have become known

is really nothing but a development of chanting on one note.

It is called plain chant, or Gregorian chant, from St. Gregory,

who did much to stabilize its forms. Without pretending to

give a learned analysis of it, we can recognize approximately

three stages in it. The simplest is what we have spoken of

—

music on one note. For very early in the morning this is about

the most an average person can do. However, at Vespers in

the evening, a little more music is introduced. It is still basically

singing on one note, but the beginning and ending are varied

in pitch. This variation may simply amount to dropping a few

bars at the end, or falling, rising, and then falling again in a

sort of musical S curve on the last four syllables of one line.

The same variation is repeated throughout one psalm, and a

different variation is used for the next one. These little melo-

dies are called psalm tones and there are eight basic ones for

the eight modes of Gregorian music. Precisely where they came

from is not known; but if one listens attentively, they bring

with them rich overtones of history, of ancient times and the

East. Probably the Christians took them from the Jews, and

they were probably used for many centuries before Christianity.

One authority says: “The beginnings of Gregorian chant are

first of all in Hebrew art, then in Greco-Roman. . . . From He-

braic art—that is true without question. The first Christians
were converted Jews and they continued, as we learn from the

Acts, to attend reunions at the Temple (of Jerusalem) . Would

it have been possible for them in their Christian assemblies to

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chant the psalms on airs diiOFerent from those of the Jewish

meetings?”*

From this second stage, a simple variation repeated, to a com-

plete piece of music is an easy transition. An entire verse of

any psalm is taken out and a melody written for all of it, not

merely the concluding syllables. No harmonized parts were

used, however; and so the term, plain chant, is still accurate

even when used of the most elaborate flights of this kind of

music. All voices follow one line of melody. Several modern

popes have stated that Gregorian is the music best suited to

church services, and I think the reason for their statement is

clear from this little analysis. First, the verse of the psalm

was chanted on one note as a prayer; then a touch of music

was added; finally a complete melody resulted. It is like a

flower which has sprung from a root of prayer. The music is

closely related to the sentiment of the prayer, and is itself a

kind of prayer. Anyone who recites with attention and devotion

the psalms will call forth in his own soul the very moods which

Gregorian Chant has put into music.

Therefore in the monotonous hum of monastic chant at five

o’clock in the morning, there is under the surface the raw ma-

terial of song and poetry. At times inspiration may make reci-

tation a sweet and pleasant labor. But it is not in search of such

inspiration that the monk rises so early to pray. On more than

half the days an average monk is not up to such flights, but he

knows that the more important thing is saying the prayer re-

gardless of passing moods. Choral recitation is work and most

monks look on it as such; St. Benedict refers to it as the "work

of God.” To search for aesthetic or religious experiences of

some sort while doing this work, the monk knows from prac-

* Felix Raugel in Uturgia, Paris, 1930. P. 410 seq.

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tice, is a grave error. And he knows, too, that his feelings have

nothing to do with the success or failure of prayer. Prayer is a

spiritual activity and cannot be gauged by any physical yard-

stick. God has told us that He is pleased with prayer and will

answer it, and so the monk carries through his morning Office

often against coldness, drowsiness, slight illness or absent-

mindedness—natural objections from the unwilling flesh.

The real reward is not in any emotions, but in God’s grace,

an intangible thing. There is, nevertheless, a visible effect

—

self-discipline or training of the spirit. Without regarding the

supernatural, consider a choir merely from the outside, as a

visitor from Mars might see it. Here is a group of men who

rise at a bleak hour to recite in unison passages of an ancient

and difficult tongue, and to perform precisely fixed actions

—

rising, bowing or kneeling—out of respect and honor to the
Supreme Ruler of the universe. Is it not an excellent social

training.? Alertness, courtesy, respect for others, in a word, a

high degree of esprit de corps is developed by this. Choir

recitation is a real art, calling for attention and control. Each

individual must at the same time give his whole heart and blend

his own performance into that of the group.

This is not so easy as it sounds. As in every art, there is a

series of techniques that must be mastered to produce good re-

sults. Have you ever heard of scooping, chipping, sagging or

dragging? Even though they sound like foul plays in football,

these are only a few of the things that can go wrong in choir

recitation. The scooper is a person who shovels his words out

like a coal heaver; he starts low, swoops up, and lets go his

words with a crash of volume. Now the ideal of the choir is

an even flow of sound like a swift river. If there were many

scoopers, it would sound more like a storm at sea. The sagger is

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the opposite; he starts evenly on key, but imperceptibly he

sinks. Like a short-strided marcher, he is three paces behind

the line after every ten steps. In truth, sagging is common

to everyone, especially at a very early hour. The remedy for it is

a little tuning fork, which is struck after every few psalms,

and brings the line back on to one note for a time.* ‘Intoning*

also helps; that is, the first line of a new psalm is given out by

one individual, and then the choir joins. This intoning passes

in turn down the choir in order of seniority, and everyone gets

a chance to rise and give out his own verse. The chipper and

dragger are complementary types—they are the jumpy man and
the phlegmatic one. The chipper begins everything too soon

—

he speaks, stands or bows a little in advance of the others

—

whereas the dragger is found lingering after others have

finished; his voice is the last to die out, his head the last to

come up. He is like an echo of the main event, and always some

part of him protrudes from the compact mass.

Similar accidents happen whenever men try to act in unison.

But there are few persons who receive a more severe or regular

experience of them than the members of a monks’ choir. They

know all the difficulties of acting in harmony with one’s neigh-

bor. Daily they are trained to keep on the alert and in step.

In the world today, where individualism has caused so many

tragedies, this training is of great value to society. It makes a

man in truth socially conscious, really considerate of his fellow

man, far more so than listening to speeches on cooperation

would do. It is accomplished naturally without any of the

forced methods of the military dictator. These are the major

and minor satisfactions. If a monk makes some error which

disturbs the whole choir, he must go out to the center and bow

* Many other means of keeping the note up have been used.

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over until the Abbot knocks on the stall, indicating an acknowl-

edgement of the satisfaction. For lesser errors, such as a mis-

pronunciation, a monk is supposed to rise and kneel for a sec-

ond in his place. The harmony that results from this is real;

it grows from the inside and is not imposed from without, and

it is daily renewed in the work of the choir.

I have tried to bring out this social aspect of the choir because

it may seem to an observer to be an unsocial performance in

some ways. At Matins, for example, there is very rarely any

congregation present; at Vespers during the week there may

be only a few. It may appear that the monks are performing to

an empty church. History tells us that this was not always so;

we read that in the Middle Ages kings and queens frequented

the monastic hours. Yet it seems unlikely that Matins was

ever very heavily attended. The explanation is that monastic

services are open to the public, but not done merely for them.

They are directed first of all to God, then to the salvation of

the monks’ souls, and finally to the good of mankind. It makes

no difference whether anyone is there or not. In fact, most of

the world’s work is done under like circumstances. Take the

Post Office. There thousands of letters are sorted and sent

daily by men unseen by the public. But if one of them began

sending letters according to his own whim, the public would

know about it very soon. Monks also direct messages, spoken

ones to God, and they have their bearing on the common wel-

fare. If they are lax, they are failing in their duty. As monas-

tic prayers are more fervent, as more men devote themselves to

the work of God, the spiritual level of all humanity will rise.

It is with this in mind that the monk appears daily before God

long in advance of the working world—^to plead for himself,
his brethren and all men.

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3 .

Sometime before or after six o’clock, Matins and

Lauds are completed. About this time the first sign of the

world outside comes to our ears: it is the morning milk truck,

which rumbles up to the back door and deposits several large

cans there. This is also the time for the first Masses of the day.

These are private Masses said at the many altars located

throughout the 'monastery with only the celebrant and his

server present. The Mass has been considered as a part of the

Divine Office, the crown or completion of it, the action which

follows the words. In the Mass Christ fulfills the prophecies

and answers the petitions of the psalms. This is exactly what

happened in history. The great prophets of the Old Testament

prepared the way for Christ by preaching, but their words were

not always clear before His coming. With His entrance into

the world. Scripture suddenly flared into meaning like a flame.

"Behold,” said Isaias, "a virgin shall conceive and bear a

child.” More striking is Psalm 21, which gives a detailed de-

scription of Christ’s sufferings. "They have pierced my hands

and feet . .

.

They have cast lots for my clothing.” With his

mind filled by many like expressions from the psalms and

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Scripture, the monk, as he says his private Mass, is made keenly

aware of the realities contained in his ceremonial actions.

The Mass is the sacramental re-enactment of Christ’s cruci-

fixion. It is not merely another prayer, but a real action, Christ’s

sacrifice. It is no mere symbolic or dramatic representation,

for we know that the bread and wine after consecration become

the Body and Blood of Christ. God’s presence there is called

sacramental because the accidental appearances of bread and

wine remain, whereas in substance they are His Body and

Blood. Calvary with its blood and suffering is not repeated

historically in Mass, for Christ suffered only once. One writer

has said that the Mass presents reality, but represents history.

When the priest consumes the bread and wine, it is a real and

sacramental entry of God into his soul.

Therefore the long hour of prayer comes to its climax in di-

rect contact with the Supreme Reality. Has not this been the

object of all the religions of mankind ? Unless our prayer were

to arrive at this goal it would be too bodiless, for as men we

need more than thought to sustain our devotion. Time for pri-

vate reflection, however, is encouraged in the monastery, and one

of the periods for it comes directly after the private Mass. All

the monks file back into their stalls and kneel in perfect silence

for some time, each turning his mind to God in his own fashion.

This practice is called mental prayer and is the complement to

spoken prayer. All monks are carefully trained in it, and most

constitutions make it a rule for every monk to spend at least

a half hour every day in its practice. After this, the first of the

’little hours,’ Prime, is recited. It takes only about fifteen

minutes, and the same is true of the other little hours—^Terce,.
Sext, None—originally said at the third, sixth and ninth hours,
in Roman time, but now recited sometime before nine o’clock

- 17 -



in the morning when the community disperses for the day's

work.

Between Prime, finished about seven o’clock, and the con-

ventual or public Mass, about eight, there is a pause to break

fast. Meals in a monastery are neither sumptuous nor meagre.

Although St. Benedict forbade the use of flesh meat, most mod-

ern monasteries have relaxed this rule, and brought monastic

fasts into accord with the general fasts of the Church. Monas-

tic food is probably simpler than that of lay-folk, less varied

and without trimmings, but equal in amount. The austerity

here which might be observed by a visitor is the appearance of

the dining hall, or refectory. Its floor is uncarpeted, its walls

bare stone, and its tables, varnished wood without covering.

On ordinary days each monk serves himself from a table

containing cereal, eggs, toast, and coffee; on fast days there is

only unbuttered toast and coffee.* At the other meals, every

monk save only the superior takes a turn in serving the brethren.

The meals here are prepared by monks, and the cleaning up

done by them. Many monasteries, however, have hired help in

the kitchen.

Shortly before eight o’clock the tower bell is rung for the first

time as a signal for the public or conventual Mass. The monks

line up in the slype, or corridor leading to the church, and

remain there in silence for a few minutes—a custom known
as ^statio

*—in order to attune the mind for the service to fol-
low. This Mass is called conventual because the entire mem-

bership of the house—the conventus—^usually is present.
§

It is

* This is an average menu. It varies from day to day, and in different

communities.

§ In larger monasteries some of the monks, in charge of residence halls

or out on missions, are not at the conventual Mass. Those who are

able always attend.

- 18 -



always sung, the community serving as choir, and is celebrated

in turn by each priest of the house; it is always in honor of the

feast which has been introduced at Matins, except on a Me-

moria, when the saint’s name is mentioned only at Lauds, Ves-

pers and Mass. On major feasts the superior is always the cele-

brant, assisted by a deacon, subdeacon, master of ceremonies,

thurifer, and acolytes; but on most days there are only one

priest and his server. The full performance of the Church’s lit-

urgy is one of the tasks monasteries have specialized in, mainly

because they have the facilities to do it. Parish priests are often

hindered by other duties, or a lack of assistants and choir. A

good-sized monastery is one of the best places in which to ob-

serve the unabbreviated form of any of the Church’s public

religious ceremonies, her liturgy.

The Mass is the greatest work of art in human history. It is

in a sense irreverent to consider only the external aspects of it

when we think of its spiritual meaning, the offering to God by

Christ and His Church of the Sacrifice of the Cross. However,

in keeping with the spirit of this little essay, I shall try to de-

scribe only its outer appearance, leaving aside deeper, theolo-

gical questions. Furthermore, true art springs from reverence, a

loving attention to detail; art does not or should not detract

from reverence. The Church presents in the Mass the reality of

Christ’s sacrifice with every aid that art can furnish to bring

out its spiritual significance. It contains elements of drama,

poetry and music—of still-life, and pantomime. These are
all so subordinate to the meaning that most people never ad-

vert to them, but keep their minds and souls steadily on the

main point, the worship of God through Christ and His Church

There is no better place to look at the artistry of the Church’s

liturgy than at the monastic, conventual Mass. The central act

- 19 -



of the Mass is a sacrifice; the priest takes bread and repeats over

it the words of Christ: “This is My Body." In the same way he

repeats Christ’s words over the chalice of wine: “This is the

chalice of My Blood which shall be shed for you and for many

unto the remission of sins." Thus he acts out the role of Christ

at the Last Supper, On the next day Christ showed the full

meaning of these words when He offered His Body and Blood

on the cross. The sacrifice is complemented by a banquet, a

spiritual banquet in which the Holy Eucharist is consumed by

the priest and any of the faithful who wish to receive. For a

ceremonial representation of these two notions, there are two

requisites: the table of the banquet, and the cross of sacrifice.

Every altar is basically a table; and if we look into the historical

development of altars, we will find that some very early ones

were plain wooden tables. And above every altar is the symbol

of sacrifice, the cross. The very church itself can be considered

a symbol of the cross, often being cruciform in shape. Even

the simplest rectangular church is reminiscent of a cross, if we

consider the center aisle as the upright, and the crossing aisle in

front of the communion rail as the beam. Here, then, is the

general setting for the ceremony.

Starting from the altar as the focal point of the church, we

find an orderly arrangement of the other parts which is filled

with meaning. On the altar is Christ’s home, the tabernacle.

Just before this is a small square stone, set in the altar and con-

taining the relics of a martyr; on this stone the Body and

Blood of Christ will rest during the sacrifice. The striking

symbol of Christ being supported by one of His martyrs orig-

inated during the centuries of Roman persecution. In the cata-

combs the early Christians always offered the Holy Sacrifice

on or over the tomb of some martyr. When it became possible

- 20 -



to offer Mass in the light of day, “the Church had become so ac-

customed to the martyrs’ tombs as the only places of sacrifice

that to this day she orders their relics to be placed in every altar,

and the service of the consecration of an altar is, practically

speaking, nothing else than the burial with all accustomed

ceremony of a Christian martyr who has died for his religion.’’*

Between the altar and the people stands the priest as man’s

representative before God. Surrounding the priest and aiding

him are various minor ministers: deacon, subdeacon, and aco-

lytes. Then in a monastery church come the members of the

household, the monks, in their two straight lines of the choir,

extending away from the altar on opposite sides. Immediately

below them is the communion rail, which marks the dividing

line between the sanctuary, where only officials of the Church

may enter, and the body of the church, where the congregation

sits. At the very back of the church usually are the confessional

boxes, as though sins were to be left at the church door.

This outline is filled with color. The very air within is often

richly tinted from the great stained glass window, which faces

east and catches the light of the morning sun as it pours down

into the sanctuary. Most churches are thus oriented, though

not all. The altar coverings and priest’s vestments are varied

in color to accord with the feast being honored: white, for Our

Lord and the Blessed Virgin; also for bishops, virgins, and

doctors of the Church; red, for martyrs; violet, for days of

penance; green, for ferias; black in Masses for the dead; and

on exceptional days, rose or gold. The incidental furnishings

also add touches of color—the glow of the oak choir stalls, the
gleam of brass candlesticks, the quiet winking of the candle

* A. S. Barnes. The Early Church in the Light of the Monuments. N.Y.

1913. P. 48.

- 21 -



flames, or the brighter glint of silver or gold from the chalice

or ciborium.

Here alone is a scene which possesses superb beauty as still

life, but the picture is a living and moving one. There is scarce-

ly a moment when the attention is not carried deftly from one

significant action to another. It all begins with the procession

into the church, the community first in their black cowls, fol-

lowed by the priest in his white alb and vestments. When all

have genuflected before the altar and taken their places, the

priest makes a sign of the cross and bows over to make public

confession of his and all men’s unworthiness by reciting the

Confiteor. Then he advances to the altar, kisses the altar, walks

over to the book, and with hands joined says the first words of

the Mass.

In turn, his actions are accompanied by song. As soon as the

priest begins, the choir sings the Introit, literally, the entrance

to the Mass of the day. Gregorian music is perfectly suited to

this setting. With its lack of showy solos or harmonizing, and

its gradually mounting or falling line of melody, it is as though

the picture had gained a voice natural to itself which expresses

in music the words and actions of the priest.

Is all this to be considered merely a tawdry show? How of-

ten has it been said that Catholic ceremony is excessively rich;

we hear of 'sumptuous vestments,’ 'thick incense,’ 'jewelled

chalices,’ etc. Or the opposite tack may be taken, that Catholic

churches are full of cheap tinsel, chalk statues, gaudy lights,

and poor ignorant people, impressed by a sort of colorful cir-

cus. There are churches and services which may have given

rise to this impression, but if so, they represent the decay and

not the norm of this great art.

- 22 -



The keynote of the liturgy is restraint. Although I have tried

to describe the artistic symbolism at length, there is a simpli-

city in it which amounts almost to severity. There is never any

play-acting, or display of persons or things for themselves. It

is first of all religious worship in which symbols are used in a

subdued and dignified manner. An authority thus describes it:

’’One finds in it the Roman genius such as it flourished in the

best period with its marks of simplicity, sobriety, dignity, and

force, and at the same time with its realistic and practical ten-

dencies. Nothing of the superfluous, little of the symbolic, a

piety which is serious and even austere, not without unction,

but suppressing all effusiveness, noisy demonstration, or the-

atrical elements.”*

It is realistic and practical because it accomplishes a twofold

purpose simply and effectively. They are prayer, or petition

to God through the priest; and instruction, or the presenting of

God’s word to the people. The actions and choral parts never

interfere with these purposes. Before every prayer the priest

faces the people and sings, “Dominus vobiscum” (The Lord

be with you), and turning to the cross chants, ”Oremus.” The

simple melodies used for the prayer are intended to make its

words more audible as well as more lovely. In a large railroad

station I have heard train arrivals and departures called out

over a public address system in simple musical intervals, which

made them more easily heard. This is the same idea as Gregor-

ian, at least in the simple chants used for prayers.

When God’s word is to be announced to the people, all

other elements are subordinated to it. Take, for instance, the

singing of the Gospel in a solemn Mass. The deacon, who is

* Liturgia. P. 506.

- 23 -



to sing it, brings the book to the altar, bows and asks a bless-

ing of the celebrant. Then a little procession is made part

way down the sanctuary towards the congregation. Partly

turned towards the people, the deacon incenses the Gospel,

makes the sign of the cross on it and on his lips, and begins

to sing. While this is taking place, everyone at the altar, in

the choir, and in the church, is facing the deacon and the Gos-

pel. The whole setting helps to bring all minds to focus on the

words about to be sung. The chants for the Gospel also never

obscure the words, though some of them are fairly elaborate

on major feast days.

At this point an objection arises from those who speak for

the lay folk. Why should the sung parts, especially the Epistles

and Gospels, be done in Latin? There is a growing school

which argues for some part of the liturgy in the vernacular. In

the United States a leading exponent of this is Gerald Ellard,

S.J. in his Mass of the Future. An important recent critic on the

other side is Dom Illtyd Trethowan in his Christ in the Liturgy.

Without wishing to be involved in a difficult controversial

question, let me hazard a few words of opinion from a mon-

astic point of view. Does a Latin liturgy obscure the meaning

for the laity?

The fallacy in this objection is in the use of the word 'mean-

ing.’ After all, everyone knows the meaning of any religious

service, the lifting up of the mind and heart to God. There are

many levels to this, from the simple piety of a child to the

learned sanctity of an aged monk. Is translating the liturgical

words into English going to have a noticeable effect on this

central act? I am not arguing in favor of ignorance; everyone

ought to understand the moral and dogma of religion. But

what is involved here is a question of method. Is a vernacular

- 24 -



liturgy a good method for the improvement of piety and re-

ligious knowledge? My answer is a qualified “No/*

With the aid of a missal containing Latin and English in

parallel columns, most people, whether they know little, much,

or no Latin, can follow with fair accuracy the Mass. There is

a much stronger case for using English at Baptism and wed-

dings, for then certain important statements are made by the

parties, and they ought to be clearly understood. But in the

general and public worship of the Church, the individual is

merged in the devotion of the whole congregation, often a very

large one. The praise of God is couched in exalted and mysti-

cal language, which is capable of bearing a number of mean-

ings. Putting them into English will not make them clearer,

and might detract from their dignity. In all respects religion

stands above the rapid changes in popular life. Such things as

vestments, religious symbols, the civilian dress of priests, do not

conform to fashions of the moment. This is the case with the

Church’s language, which cannot even fairly be called a dead

or archaic tongue. It has a vigorous modern life, and like a

monk, is entirely dedicated to the worship of God.

When we address God, there is a fitness in using a tongue

free from too many associations. The popular mind is a cloudy

sea and nothing passes through it without soiling. But Latin, be-

ing in the world but not of it, does escape being twisted and

made to bear unintended meanings. "Nigra sum, sed formosa,

filiae Jerusalem,” declares one of the antiphons, and means lit-

erally, "I am black but beautiful, O daughters of Jerusalem.”

Does plain English improve that? No, Latin is a language

that guards His dignity among men.

The meaning of the great public acts of the Church cannot be

tied down to precise words. It is spiritually beyond the power of

- 25 -



words to express absolutely. Children and the uneducated can

grasp the significance of the solemn worship of God. Joy,

sorrow, praise, pleading, are clear to them from many things

besides the words, and they are able to join in spirit the mood

of the occasion. The best prayers are often deep and unex-

pressed sentiments. At Mass all Catholics understand what is

being accomplished. The gestures of the priest, the offering up

of host and chalice, the bowed head and uplifted hands, tell

the story without words. This is, of course, the lowest degree

of understanding, but not even the greatest saint ever claimed

to exhaust the full meaning of God’s word.

For the monk who is daily present at this great and artistic

act, there is no problem of literal understanding. He is familiar

with every detail of the most elaborate functions and knows

practically all the prayers or lessons to some extent, and can

easily follow from his own book. For him Latin has all the ad-

vantages of the vernacular, and none of its drawbacks. It pro-

vides a perfect channel for his devotion, and truly mystical

experiences are probably not uncommon in the history of re-

ligious communities. His devotion is true because it is centered

on God. One of the dangers of religious emotion is the strange

directions it takes when left to individuals; we read of Shakers,

or Holy Rollers and the like in the fantastic history of religious

enthusiasm, but these deviations are impossible to the monk at

Mass.

Daily two things are presented to him—the greatest beauty
joined with the truth. At the moment of God’s descent to the

altar, the consecration, all other action is stopped. A bell is

sounded, the priest raises the white host, and everyone looks

upward for a moment in adoration of the Body of Christ. Im-

mediately afterward the choir continues its song with the

- 26 -



words: "Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini’* [Blessed

is He Who comes in the name of the Lord]. Here is truth ele-

vated in a setting of beauty and proclaimed in words of un-

mistakeable meaning. These moments of God’s daily epiphany

are the keystone of the monk’s day; towards them his morning

prayer has led, and after them will follow his hours of work.

They give an integration to his life, which greatly aids the inner

harmony necessary to fruitful work. Centering the longings of

the heart on a worthy object is the answer to much of modern

man’s restless search for peace; the secret, if it can be consid-

ered one, has been practiced for centuries in the monastery.

Taken in a larger aspect, the Mass offers much more than

this to the monk. To grasp fully the implications of one Mass,

it is necessary to see it in relation to the entire year of worship.

As a general rule each day’s Mass differs in its proper parts;

the prayers. Epistle, Gospel, Offertory, and Communion. The

feasts are distributed on an annual framework, called the Lit-

urgical Year. Though I do not wish to describe it in detail here,

some idea of it is needed for an appreciation of daily monastic

worship. It is the real unit of monastic life. To some people

it may seem that monks go through the same routine every day,

but that is an error. Each day differs, and it is the year which is

repeated; even the yearly cycle has variety, because a large part

of it, the proper of the season, is reckoned from Easter, which

can move forward or backward by a month.

In a broad way the liturgical year recapitulates the life of

Christ. Advent is devoted to the preparation for His coming;

Christmas and following weeks to His birth and childhood;

Lent, to His sufferings; Easter, to His resurrection; Pentecost

to the Holy Spirit; and the season after Pentecost, to His teach-

ing and parables. Thus there are six liturgical seasons, each

- 27 -



with its characteristic spirit. Advent and Lent are penitential,

using violet for altar decorations and vestments; Christmas

and Easter are joyous, with white as the dominant color; the

season of Pentecost uses red as a symbol of the Holy Spirit,

and following it comes the ordinary post-Pentecostal season

with green as the color. In harmony with the seasons many

items of the daily monastic routine change; for example, the

colors, the length and tone of the prayers, the Scriptural se-

lections, the type of music, and some of the choral actions. And

this is true not only of church services, but of many small cus-

toms throughout the monastic day.

The total effect of these is to establish in the monastery a

succession of supernatural seasons, as comprehensive in a way

as those of nature. They are in accord with different stages of

Christ’s earthly life. Always the monk is conscious of some

part of this—the winter of Christ’s passion, the spring of His
resurrection, the summer of His teaching, and at the very end

of the year, just following the longest nights, of His birth into

the world. Is it accidental that these fall in approximately

with the natural seasons? It is, of course, but the idea of sea-

sonal change surely is not, for nature is a dim reflection of

supernature.

Each day’s Office and Mass are like tiny stones in a great mo-

saic, which grows to completion each year in a full picture of

Christ, His Holy Family, and His prophets and saints. This

liturgical picture is a masterpiece of artistic arrangement with

light and shadow, background and accent. The background is

the green of the ordinary days. Then come the feasts, with

their varied color and solemnity. There are actually seven dif-

ferent grades of feasts—from the simple Memoria, in which
only the Mass is proper to the saint, up to a double of the first

- 28 -



class, which devotes the entire day of prayer to the saint’s

praise, with a summary of his life and work at Matins. Such

then is the monk’s worship, not a mere repetition, but a chang-

ing picture, part fitting into what preceded, part leading to what

follows, the whole yielding each year deeper insights to a

thoughtful mind, forming it gradually to the great annual

mosaic of Christ, His saints and His doctrine.

- 29 -



4. Work

A little before nine o’clock, as the monks file out in silent
procession from conventual Mass, another bell sounds, not this

time a sweet and solemn cadence from the tower, but a strident

electric clang from the school, which adjoins the monastery.

Already there in the corridor, about a hundred boys are gath-

ered, awaiting opening prayers of the school day. When the

procession has arrived in the passageway, all turn and how

to the Abbot, who always walks last; and immediately the re-

strained and ceremonial bearing of the monks dissolves into a

business-like hurry to get to various jobs. Mail is distributed on

a table in the common room; coats, hats, books, papers are

sei2ed; a car draws up to the front door for the monks who go

to the nearby university. There are between ten and twenty

minutes to get from Mass to our daily work. As I view this

scene of hurry, that ancient calumny, repeated by so many men

since the Reformation, comes to my mind, the ”lazy monks.”

Perhaps in history there were houses which gave rise to this de-

scription, but here it would be the poorest of jests. After a long

and rigorous morning of prayer, these men are going forth to

a day’s work equal to that of people of the world. Some of

the more conservative monks, especially of Europe, profess to

be scandalized at the vigorous activity of American monks,

- 30 -



accusing them of undervaluing the contemplative life. Al-

though it is not true that they undervalue this, their working

day does not leave them much leisure for spiritual reading and

reflection, at least from nine to five.

Amid the superficial confusion of movement in the common

room, there are four orderly directions in which the monks

move. First, the lay brothers proceed to the manual work of

the house. Then the novices, after a few chores around the

church and sacristy, retire to the novitiate, a part of the building

reserved to them. Next, the juniors set out for the university,

where they carry on college or seminary studies. Finally, the

priests make ready for a day of teaching, either in the mon-

astery school, or the university, which is at some distance from

the monastery and not a part of it.* Lastly a few of the elderly

monks retire to their cells to write conferences or sermons, or,

in the case of the very oldest, to await a better world where

the rush of time will be no longer. At five minutes past nine,

an unbroken stillness reigns over the cloisters and chapel. The

monks have gone into the daily hustle of twentieth century

life with the hope of bringing some of the recollection and

peace of God’s house into its activity.

These four classes make up the hierarchy of a modern mon-

astery. At the top is the Abbot, whose word is final if he wishes

to use all his authority, but he usually consults the Council or

the brethren before making decisions. At the bottom in au-

thority are the lay brothers, who do the manual tasks and fore-

go advanced study and priestly orders. After four years of

* In the past some large monasteries have operated universities; in the

United States at present, thirteen monasteries have colleges and seven-

teen have seminaries; practically all the rest operate day or boarding

schools for boys of high school age.



trial, they are ready for lifetime vows and find employment as

cooks, carpenters, tailors or handymen. They are closer in

some ways to the monks of the earlier centuries than are the

priest-monks. It was not St. Benedict’s intention to establish an

Order of priests. He wanted simply to set up a framework of

disciplined life wherein men could pray, contemplate and work

in religious retirement. The breakdown of civilized order fol-

lowing the collapse of Roman administration gave his idea its

original impetus. In his time the monastery offered not only a

haven of religion, but an island of civilization amid the sea of

disorder that broke over Europe. Spreading across the conti-

nent, these islands formed the starting points of modern Chris-

tian civilization. Eight centuries later, about the fourteenth

century, there were probably more than thirty-five thousand of

them according to the Catholic Encyclopedia.

f

From their ideals of regular living and piety, Christian civ-

ilization was born anew from the ruins of the ancient world.

Perhaps one reason for the revival of monasticism in the twen-

tieth century is that world conditions today are so similar to

what they were in late Roman times. The modern barbarians

are again sacking and destroying cities. In the intervening cen-

turies, however, many changes have taken place in monasticism.

The lay brotherhood has declined greatly in numbers. This

trend began early. Within a short time after St. Benedict,

monks were bound by Church law to be ordained to the priest-

hood. Then a special class of manual workers developed; they

sat below the regular ^ choir in church, and could not join the

Divine Office. They had prayers of their own in the vernacular.

They were a picturesque group of men, sometimes called

t Catholic Encyclopedia. Vol. 2. P. 446.

- 32 -



barbati (bearded ones) from the fact that in some monasteries

they wore full beards.

In the centuries before the Reformation, when machine civil-

ization was as yet unknown, these lay brothers accomplished

many marvels of manual labor. Their work was done without

material reward, and in a deep spirit of reverence. They were

in all respects monks, but their zeal would find its natural outlet

in laboring with their hands to glorify God’s creation. Al-

though it is impossible now to separate their work from that

of the priest-monks, they worked side by side with the priests

in all the magnificent achievements of the monasteries in the

fields of architecture, art, agriculture and countless other

branches.§ Today the kind 'of work they excelled in has suc-

cumbed to mechanization. When field and hand labor are ab-

sorbed by the machine, the lay brother loses to some extent

his place, and the whole of civilization suffers a certain loss.

Many modern social reformers, like Ruskin or Elbard Hubbard,

were unconsciously groping after the spirit of the lay brother-

hood in attempting to restore the dignity of hand work. But

in comparison with St. Benedict their efforts are impractical and

impermanent. Even Communism derives its specious attraction

from an appeal to the dignity of the laborer, a false appeal,

it is true, which pretends to offer him the peace the lay brother

had in reality. There is a sting of truth in the jest that “Russia

is a country of unwilling monks ruled by a fanatical Abbot.”

Nevertheless, the spirit of the Benedictine rule can still con-

secrate labor in the modern world. It will work now as it did

before if men will give it a trial. A few monastic groups have

deliberately kept prominent the spirit of religious manual labor;

§ For a complete treatment of monastic work, see Montalembert, Tbe

Monks of the West. London, 1896. Vol. 5. pp. 86-194.

-
33

-



such are the Cistercians, an offshoot of the Benedictines, who

do farm work principally. In England, Prinknash Abbey, a

house of the Benedictines of the Primitive Observance, has

devoted itself to training men in various handicrafts. In the

United States a special training school for lay brothers has been

started in St. Meinrad’s Abbey, Indiana. These, however, are

only a few leaves on a tree otherwise barren. This tree can

bloom again; but first of all more lay brothers are needed, par-

ticularly in the United States. Too few workers in this country

are willing to work for any reward but money.

Those who embrace this life find that, once they have over-

come the artificial desire of ‘getting ahead in the world,’ they

have a career filled with dignity, peace and fruitfulness. An

old lay brother shows in his countenance and his skill with his

hands, the outward values of his kind of life, and they are only

signs of its inner quality. The lay brother is usually longer

lived than the priest, often going on to the eighth decade, and

free of the penalties of a sedentary life. Health, peace of soul

and mind, security, quiet satisfaction with work done for God

and the good of his brethren—are these not rewards worth
having? Especially when they lead to a blessed end with every

possible assurance of the greatest reward to come? By compari-

son, social security, wage increases, unemployment insurance

and the like are at best temporary benefits. Let us hope that

the few who keep the monastic buildings, grounds, clothes and

food, will find more companions in the future and that the lay

brotherhood will once again regain its ancient numbers and

splendor.

There is an intermediate group, who are neither lay brothers

nor monks; they are the oblates. They might be called follow-

ers or friends of St. Benedict. Lay oblates are persons living an

- 34 -



ordinary life in the world who meet regularly at the monastery

and study the spiritual ideals of St. Benedict under the direction

of one of the monks; they may say some part of the Divine

Office privately. If they wish to live in the monastery, they may

be accepted as choir oblates. A choir oblate wears a slightly

simplified form of the habit, does not study for Holy Orders,

and makes only a simple promise of obedience to the Abbot,

which may be terminated at any time by either party.

The next regular group are the novices, those in the first year

of monastic life intending to go on to Holy Orders. In age

they range from post-high school years to early manhood, with

occasionally a mature man trying his vocation. When he first

arrives at the monastery, a person is allowed to live there for

some days as a guest, simply observing the routine. If he wishes

to take the first step towards becoming a monk, he asks to be-

come a postulant, or one seeking admission. He wears the regu-

lar habit, except the hood, and lives exactly as a monk. Usually,

after a few weeks of this life, he has decided for or against

taking the next step, which is to enter the novitiate. The no-

vitiate is a year of trial, during which the novice is grounded

in all the basic essentials of monastic living. To become a

novice, the postulant must receive a majority vote of the Coun-

sellors, and answer in writing certain questions regarding his

past life, general reputation, knowledge, etc. The ceremony of

admission, performed in the church, is called the ’'clothing,**

in which he receives the full monastic habit from the hands of

the Abbot, and a new name by which he is to be known in

religion, such as Brother John, or whatever name he has chosen.

During the novitiate year he is asked to do no work or study

outside the monastery. He may not even leave the grounds

except in the company of a professed monk. Daily he is trained

- 35 -



in the basic essentials. Under the direction of the Novice Mas-

ter, he studies the rule of St. Benedict, and the constitutions of

his congregation, as well as customs peculiar to his own mon-

astery. He is taught the art of mental prayer and spiritual read-

ing; he learns to chant the Divine Office, to sing Gregorian

music, to read aloud to the community during meals, and be

of assistance in the chapel and house. He has also every day,

usually in the afternoon, a period of manual labor, but it is not

heavy work and helps keep him in good physical condition for

the hours of study and prayer.

This year is one of mixed sweetness and trouble; there is

joy in discovering the quiet rhythm of monastic routine, but

also embarrassment in stumbling against many new rules and

customs. The errors of novices are not of great importance to

the house, but they seem very great to those who commit them,

for it is a time of careful scrutiny. The very purpose of the

year is to form a judgment on whether a person has a monastic

vocation. Of his own will he may ask at any time to leave,

and this is granted without question. Three times during the

year the Council holds a meeting wherein it is discussed whether

the novice shows enough promise to be kept. If the answer is

in the affirmative, a little ceremony is held in the church, called

the 'perseverance,’ in which the novice is encouraged on his

way and warned of his shortcomings by the Abbot. Near the

end of the year, every person in the house is called separately

before the Council and asked his opinion of the novice; after

this a secret vote is cast by all the monks, who must indicate by

a majority their assent to allow the novice to be professed as a

junior.

A junior is professed in temporary vows, that is, for three

years. A vow is a deliberate and free promise made to God

- 36 -



and binding as such. It is therefore much more than a mere

good resolution, and it cannot be altered without some formal

release. The three customary vows of all religious Orders are

chastity, poverty and obedience. By them a person gives up to

God, as represented by the Church and his religious superior,

three natural human rights: by chastity, the right to marry;

by obedience, the right over his own will; and by poverty, the

right to property. Their purpose is to aid in living a life of

perfect dedication to God. They are, then, beyond the require-

ments of the Ten Commandments, and not expected of Chris-

tians in general. Here again the monk sets himself apart by a

public promise of striving for perfection.

On the day of his profession the junior reads from a paper

bearing his signature the following words: "I promise for

three years before God and His saints, stability, conversio

morum, and obedience, according to the rule of Our Holy Fa-

ther, St. Benedict ...” These three Benedictine vows, though

worded differently, include the classic vows described above,

but also go beyond them. Stability, peculiar to Benedictines

among all Orders, means that the monk will remain in the

house of his profession for the rest of his life. ^Conversio

morum* is a phrase whose literal translation is misleading. In

effect it means a sincere effort to live the life of perfection as

set forth in the Rule, and hence includes chastity and poverty.

The juniors are the students of the house. They immediately

take up their formal education where it was interrupted on

entrance. From this it can be approximately estimated how

many years of study face a young candidate. There are four

years of theology ahead of the college graduate, provided he

already has the required philosophy; six years of study before

the minor seminary graduate; and eight years before the high

- 37 -



school graduate. Only then is a candidate ready for ordination;

therefore, some time in the course of his theological studies, the

junior is ready to become a fully professed monk. Whenever

a group of monks is seen in earnest discussion of some point

of metaphysics, or a technical point of the liturgy, it is more

than probable they are juniors. At nine o’clock each day they

hurry out to the university and follow the regular courses there.

Freed from the close confinement of the novitiate, the junior

still faces formidable difficulties, not the least of which is his

full program of study combined with the Divine Office. He may

also come into contact with the outside world again in his uni-

versity studies. Many larger monasteries, however, avoid this

danger by conducting full colleges and major seminaries under

their jurisdiction. But in any case the junior is freer than the

novice. Yet he is still in a period of trial. He has a good num-

ber of academic hurdles to clear in the course of his theological

studies; and before receiving any major orders, he must present

letters of recommendation from his home diocese. In the mon-

astery there are no more character scrutinies or ballotings for

him to pass. He is still, however, subject to dismissal from tem-

porary vows if the Abbot and Council consider it necessary. He

may himself ask for dispensation if he has grave reasons; and

either return to the world as a layman, or continue his clerical

studies, no longer as a monk. If he perseveres for three years,

he is again voted on by the entire Chapter of monks, but this

time the vote is merely consultative, and the final decision

rests with the religious superior and the monk concerned.

Therefore, after a minimum of four years’ trial, and custom-

arily it is somewhat longer, a person is ready to become a

full-fledged monk. He does so freely and against difficulties

since there have been many hardships during these years, which

- 38 -



St. Benedict requires to be pointed out by the superior in his

conferences to young monks. Every monk in solemn vows is

there by his own choice, and he possesses a considerable amount

of independence. If it seems paradoxical to say this of a person

whose every act is done under obedience, remember that the

state was a free choice and that obedience frees as well as re-

stricts. It is something like a railroad track—it aims all move-
ment in one direction, but greatly facilitates it. That direction

is towards the improvement of the soul, growth in Christian

virtue. The vows of poverty and chastity also, though they

forbid certain things, free a man from burdens such as property

management and family responsibility. These vows are proper-

ly renunciations, and it is not correct to consider them repres-

sions or restrictions, since their purpose is to free, to disengage

the mind from natural obligations of men in the world. Re-

nunciation is a different thing from repression. The latter im-

plies crushing some natural desire; but the longings of the

heart can be cherished and developed, by a life dedicated to

God, in a different way from a life of married love, but just as

wholesomely. The supernatural is not unnatural. In psycho-

logical terms, basic human drives are sublimated. All Chris-

tians in various ways cultivate a love of God, but the monk

makes a profession of it. Such a life does not result in frustra-

tion. The picture of a monk as a man locked up, looking en-

viously on a free world outside, is far from the truth. Rather

he is like the merchant in the New Testament who has found

a pearl of great price, and sold all else to possess it.

Once they are firmly fixed in a spiritual state of life, monks

are able to join in work of the world, and cooperate vigorously

in the upbuilding of society. It is not true that monks have

been in flight from the world, as monastic history clearly shows;

- 39 -



there is a withdrawal, precisely in the novitiate and juniorate

years, only to lead to a beneficial return. The history of mon-

astic work is so long and varied that it is impossible even to

outline it in brief. During fourteen centuries monks have done

practically every type of work; they have furnished some Popes

and Bishops to the church; but there have been among them

artists, scientists, writers, builders, educators, agriculturists and

missionaries. They have conducted many kinds of businesses,

from printing to vestment making, from farming to Biblical

commentary. (One house in Europe is largely supported by its

popular brand of shoe polish!)

In modern times, however, education has become the main

activity of the monks, second only to the Divine Office. The

Catholic Directory shows that in the United States, out of twen-

ty-eight Benedictine monasteries, twenty-five conduct schools,

among which are colleges, seminaries, high schools and mission

schools. The statistics for the whole Order show that through-

out the world Benedictines conduct 398 schools with over

54,000 pupils. If we add to this 548 schools with over 100,000

pupils taught by Benedictine Sisters, it needs no further proof

that education has largely absorbed the working hours of the

monks and Sisters today.

Why is this the case.^ St. Benedict did not found his Order

to advance education; yet by its nature the monastery gives

birth to the school. It is like a family in many ways and the

family is the first natural school for its children. There are

many individuals, differences of viewpoint, a center of authori-

ty, and certain rights, duties and privileges. Adjusting to all

these things makes up the first lessons of a child. In a more

mature and systematic manner, the same problems of com-

munity life are dealt with in the Benedictine rule, which thus

- 40 -



becomes the basic schoolbook for the monk. Beyond this task

of harmonious daily living, the monastery from the beginning

has carried on a full liturgical program. Because of this it was

forced to train its members in Latin, singing and many related

skills.

The first monastic school, therefore, must have been born in

the cloister of the first monastery. Chapter 37 of St. Benedict’s

rule deals with old men and children; chapter 59, with the sons

of nobles or poor men, that are offered. Now while it is true

that the children here written of were not ordinary school

boys, but were intended to become monks, still the monastery

had to train them. They were called ‘oblati’ (offered ones)

and the school for them was internal, or inside the cloister, that

part of the monastery from which the outside world is excluded.

The oblati were gradually trained to all the duties of their

state, which called for a full education for the priests, and spe-

cial scholarly training for those who copied manuscripts or

cared for the books. Therefore some monks have always been

and still are very highly educated within the cloister. In time it

must have happened that there came to be mingled with the

oblati, outside boys sent to the monastery solely to be educated.

There is on record a law passed in 817 in France, requiring all

monasteries to conduct an external school. This shows that

some of the houses of that time already had schools outside the

cloister for the use of the general public. From then right down

to the present, monks have been professional educators, giving

training to those intended for other careers in life besides the

Church.

The monastery then is a natural home of education, a cul-

tural as well as a spiritual center. It is after all only to be ex-

pected that cultivation of the mind should be a natural corollary

- 41 -



of cultivation of the soul. There is such a thing as a Benedictine

spirit in education, though it is inaccurate to generalize too

much about monastic education because such schools have ex-

isted in so many different countries and throughout so many

historical periods. However, there must have been and still

is an underlying unity because all have followed the same rule

of life. The round of daily work and prayer forms monks in

a distinctive mould, and this formation is handed over to their

students.

Considering their educational activity as an overflow from

their lives, we are brought face to face with the principal com-

munity effort, the recitation of the Divine Ofiice. The discipline

of this is very comprehensive, and in an earlier chapter we have

tried to sketch some of its influence on character. But it has a

great influence on the intellect as well; Cardinal Schuster ob-

serves that in the early Middle Ages it was a substitute for col-

lege or university training. "The Divine Office,” he says, "con-

tained everything knowable at that time, for in form eminently

dramatic, it was at the same time prayer. Scripture study, patris-

tic study, poetry, music, and history of the Church . . . Standing

in the choir and assiduously singing the Divine Office, the monk

became acquainted with all those various disciplines. Thanks

to this intense higher instruction, imparted to the Benedictines

with ability, method, and constancy, the Patriarch of Cassino

became and remained for seven centuries the master of the

Middle Ages.”*

With this dual discipline of intellect and character, the monk

had his teacher-training course right at home. When he was

called on to train others, he would model their minds accord-

ing to the same pattern that had already been impressed on him-

* Ildephonse Schuster, St, Benedict and His Times. London, 1951. P. 235.

- 42 -



self. It is not true that this results only in making monks of

the students. These virtues—constant awareness of God’s
presence, obedience, humility, self-restraint, sense of team

work, charitableness, alertness—are needed not only in the
cloister, but in every business in the world. But the cloister is

a supreme place for an early and deep impression of such

virtues, for there they are hourly and deliberately practiced,

kept before the mind of the monk, and consequently of his

students.

In a single phrase, the spirit of monastic education is a rev-

erential sense of God’s presence in all His creation. This sense

is deep within the monk’s soul, but also externally in his garb,

and even in the buildings he inhabits. Reverence pervades the

corridors of the monastery, and young people breathe it in the

very air of the place. This is the strongest influence of the mon-

astery, and does not depend on the skill of the teacher to be

imparted, though it does depend on his spiritual advancement.

Being supernatural, it springs from sources other than textbooks

or lectures. Since it is part of the atmosphere, it is probably

best given by the boarding school where the student lives com-

pletely within its orbit. Probably the majority of monastic

schools have been boarding schools, but the same influence

will operate in a day school. It is a spirit particularly needed

by youth today. So many factors of modern life tend to scat-

ter the attention, to uproot from fixed ideas, to startle or amuse,

that the deep, age-old sense of stability and permanence in the

monastery should be a most valuable counter-check to the hectic

quality of our century. And this is the distinctive spirit of

monastic education.

We can find examples of it throughout the centuries of mon-

astic history—the way the monks built, for instance, or some of
- 43 -



the books they made, still usable after many centuries. A mod-

em French monk writes, **The French Revolution marked the

momentary disappearance of monachism in nearly all Eu-

rope.”* This momentary disappearance lasted at least a half

century. Yet what is that compared to fourteen centuries? The

original monastery of St. Benedict, Monte Cassino, is now being

rebuilt after its destruction in the second World War, and the

bronze door includes pictures of the various means by which

it has been leveled in its more than thousand-year history. In

Scotland recently a monastic building has been reinhabited after

about four centuries of abandonment.** The life of the modem

monks will not differ greatly from the last group that was there

about the time of the Reformation.

These are cited only as instances of the atmosphere in which

monastic education is carried on—an atmosphere of eternity,
serenely unmoved amid the whirling changes of the moment.

After all, man’s spirit is eternal, and the same over the world,

regardless of the type of civilization in which it happens to be.

There are different material expressions of it, but the substrat-

um remains. Monastic education comes to grips with the un-

changing elements in a man’s soul. For that reason it can bring

history to life; the prayers of the Jewish prophets—still said
daily by the monks; the philosophy and art of Greece—an
important part of their mental training; the legal sense of Rome

—from which their rule is derived; all these are as vital today
in the monastery as they were in centuries gone by. It is a type

of training especially valuable in contemporary America, where

* H. LeClerq, in Dictionnaire d’Aicheologie Chretienne et de Liturgie.

Paris, 1934. Tome II 2nd Part p. 1947.

**PluscardeEL The buildings, abandoned for hundreds of years, were

reoccupied without much extensive alteration being needed.

- 44 -



the rapid material advancements have wrought spiritual and

mental confusion.

Beyond education there have been certain other occupations

cultivated by the monks, and they still are carried on though in

a lesser degree than formerly. Agriculture, scholarship and

the arts flourish in these surroundings. Every community has

some men devoted to these; the lay brother farmer, the priest

scholar, the artist monk, are common types still in monasteries.

Some houses have refused to take on the labor of education,

regarding it as unsettling to the quietude of contemplation.

Yet they are a minority, and the rule of St. Benedict makes no

precise regulations about the type of work; it is flexible enough

to allow of different degrees of removal from the bustle of the

world. In a busy monastery of the big city, or in a quiet one in

the heart of the mountains, the same spirit can be cultivated

and brought to whatever degree of perfection the individual

is capable of.

About four or five o’clock in the afternoon the monk is able

to drop the burden of the day’s work, and return to the silence

of his cell. His day has come round a full circle, beginning

with morning prayer and contemplation, and returning to it

after his working day. There is a comparatively free hour here

at the day’s end; monks make use of it according to tempera-

ment for their physical or mental refreshment. Some may be

seen laboring on the grounds in plain work clothes, others may

be in the library or chapel for spiritual reading, and some may

take a nap of thirty minutes. As the day draws to a close, let us

leave the monks to one of the few free periods they have.

- 45 -



5. Evenin9

A few minutes before six the tower bell rings, and again
the monks assemble in the slype for Vespers, the prayer of twi-

light. This is the most beautiful of the canonical hours whose

spirit intermingles prayer with poetry. In keeping with its

spirit and the time of day, it is always sung, with simple and

repeated variations for the psalms (the psalm-tones), and

more elaborate melodies for the antiphons. Less rigorous than

Matins, less solemn than Mass, Vespers seems to have been

placed here by the Church as a graceful tribute to the day’s

close. Who does not feel the mood of music at sundown? In

that brief time between the hurry of day and the stillness of

night, the world seems to call attention to her own beauty.

With deepening shadows and colorful highlights, she presents

herself in an aspect of loveliness to men as they lift their eyes

from work. People slow up their pace, greeting one another

and remarking that it is a ’lovely evening.’ That is the natural

mood of contemplation, the raw material of prayer. All it

needs to become true prayer is to be directed to God as the

author of all beauty.

That is exactly what Vespers accomplishes. We find in it, not

so much the spirit of penance or pleading, as a grateful lifting

- 46 -



up of the heart, an exclamation of praise at the wonder of the

world. “All Thy works give testimony of Thee, O Lord, and

we, Thy followers, bless Thy name,“ declares the opening verse

of Saturday’s Vespers. And the second psalm begins, “Praise

the Lord, O my soul; I shall praise God as long as I have life.”

The poem which follows the psalms links the thought of God

to the setting of the sun:

O Light, O Blessed Trinity

And all-embracing Unity,

Now that the fiery sun recedes.

Infuse Your light into our hearts.

The versicle and response, following this, compress the

whole spirit of the hour into two lines:

^^Vespertina oratio ascendat ad Te, Domlne,

Et descendat super nos misericordia Tua/*

May our prayer at twilight ascend to Thee, O Lord,

And may the kindness of Thy heart descend upon us.

Thus Vespers takes a natural mood of the hour and super-

naturalizes it in words of surpassing beauty and dignity. Its

construction is very similar to Lauds, the prayer of sunrise,

which it recalls to mind, linking the day in a certain unity.

There are four psalms, a brief poem, a versicle and response,

and as a climax, the Magnificat, which comes near the end like

the Benedictus at Lauds. Lastly comes the collect of the day.

In all. Vespers requires about half an hour.

The Magnificat has been called the greatest poem of the

Christian religion. It was first spoken by the Blessed Virgin

when she visited her cousin, Elizabeth, after she realized she

was to be the mother of the Messias; it is filled with joyful

gratitude. We may translate parts of it freely as follows: “My

soul speaks of the splendor of the Lord” [a poor rendition of

- 47 -



^Magnificat anima mea Domlnum!'\ “and my spirit exults in

God, my Saviour.” The note of exultation is in perfect har-

mony with Vespers, and it is not by any means a selfish joy.

When the monk chants these words, he is thinking of Mary,

and of the wonderful fact of God becoming man through her;

his joy is because he is a member of the redeemed human race.

“Because,” Mary continued, “He has looked favorably upon

the lowliness of His servant, and has done a marvellous thing

to me”—that is. He has accomplished the incarnation of Christ
through her. “Behold, from henceforth all generations shall

call me blessed.” What a statement for anyone to make! It

sounds like the ultimate in conceit, but has turned out to be

no more than a modest and accurate truth. For every day at

Vespers, all the clergy, all the Orders, monks as well as

nuns (and who knows how many laity?) say Mary’s poem^

the Magnificat. And there are hundreds of thousands of them.

Every time the monk repeats these words, they bring to his mind

all the generations of Christians since Mary, fulfilling this as-

tounding prophecy to the letter.

In this way Vespers is Mary’s own prayer. The music of her

Magnificat antiphons is one of those exceptional places where

Gregorian shows its power of artistry. Some of these are very

beautiful and elaborate pieces in themselves, like the Alle-

luias at Mass. Thus the beauty of the hour is matched by the

beauty of the liturgy. The Blessed Virgin is mentioned in all

the hours of prayer; she stands, so to speak, in the background

as she did in Christ’s life. This is accomplished by the final anti-

phons of Our Lady, which are said at the conclusion of any

period of choir prayer. There are four of them for different

seasons of the year. The best known is the Salve Regina [Hail,

Holy Queen], which is said from early summer until Advent.

- 48 -



From Advent until the Feast of the Purification in February is

said the Alma Redemptoris Mater [Fair Mother of the Re-

deemer]; from the Purification until Holy Saturday, the Ave

Regina Coelorum [Hail, Queen of Heaven]; and during the

Easter season, the Regina Coeli, Laetare [Rejoice, O Queen of

Heaven]. In these antiphons Mary accompanies Our Lord and

the saints throughout the liturgical year and is always present

to the monk’s mind.

After Vespers, from 6:30 to 7:00, comes supper; it would

be more accurate to call it dinner since it is the principal meal

of the day.* At noon, in accordance with American custom,

only a light lunch is served. There is no talking in the dining

hall, or refectory, during meals. Instead an ancient monastic

custom of reading is observed. For a week at a time, each of

the monks in turn is required to read aloud to the others during

meals. At noon the book may be an ordinary history or on some

secular subject, but in the evening, a book dealing with some

spiritual matter is used. In this way in the course of a year

the monks hear read many religious and literary classics which

they might not otherwise have time to read.

After dinner, from 7:00 until 7:45, is a period of recreation,

which really means a time for the community to get together

for informal conversation. There are two such periods in the

day: immediately after lunch at noon, and after dinner in the

evening. They are held in a large common room, the calefac-

tory, so called because at one time it was the only room in

the house containing a fireplace where one could thaw out

during the winter months. Recreation plays an important part

in the daily routine. It was not St. Benedict’s idea that the

monks should keep silence at all times. His references to

* This varies. Some monasteries have the principal meal at noon.

- 49 -



talking in the Rule prove this point.* As it works out in

practice today, there are two different types of silence, the

lesser and greater silences. The greater silence is observed

only at night after the brethren have retired to their cells.

It means that a person is not to communicate at all, except in

case of necessity, and then he writes out what he wishes to say.

The lesser silence is observed during the day, and means simply

that the monk should not waste his time in idle talk, although

no hesitation is shown in talking over matters of business. One

branch of the Benedictines have become famous for their rule

of perpetual silence, the Cistercians, or Trappists. They are,

however, a minority and have a number of strict practices

which are not observed by the majority of monks. In the popu-

lar mind the white-robed and ever silent Cistercian may have

become the symbol of monasticism, but this is not accurate.

Monks are really expected to indulge in sociable conversation

during the times of recreation.

Most monks today also have opportunities for other kinds of

recreation. In the school it is usually a monk who directs the

athletic and dramatic performances. He may conduct a club

or follow some hobby in his spare moments. Exactly where to

draw the line about these matters is left to the Abbot and

Council of each monastery. Concerning games and hobbies,

St. Benedict says nothing at all in his Rule. He probably felt

that it was a matter better left to individual discretion. Modern

constitutions deal indirectly with it in describing the furniture

of a monastic cell. Each cell is to have a bed, desk, two chairs,

crucifix, some religious pictures, lamps and bookcases. Any-

thing beyond these is contrary to the letter of the law. Yet

many good monks may have such items as scientific specimens,

* Chap. VI. Of the Practice of Silence.

- 50 -



musical instruments, books of secular learning, or art works

not on religious subjects in their cells. Considerable variation

will be found on these matters, depending on the discretion of

the Abbot, and the needs of the monks.

Smoking is another of these minor relaxations which has

caused some difference of opinion. In practice today novices are

strictly forbidden the use of tobacco, but it is tolerated among

the juniors and fully professed. St. Benedict’s attitude toward

such things can be perhaps guessed from his mild remarks on

the use of wine. After stating that wine should not at all be

the drink of monks, he goes on to say that since monks of his

day could not be persuaded of this, let them at least be sparing

in the use of it. He would probably take the same attitude to-

wards other minor self-indulgences, whether tobacco, hobbies,

or secular pursuits of various kinds. Flexibility here is his

attitude. Many statements in the Rule could be quoted to show

this. *'It is with some misgiving,” he remarks, ’’that we ap-

point the measure of other men’s living.”* Or again he allows

considerable difference in the amount of food for different

monks, but remarks that if a man needs more, he should be

sorry for his weakness. The Scriptures have nothing to say

about these things. Probably at most they are accidentals, not

of sufficient importance to warrant special treatment in con-

nection with the great principles of supernatural living. Only

when games or secular pursuits interfere with a full and con-

scientious performance of daily prayer and duties do they be-

come evils.

The last prayer hour of the day is Compline, immediately

after recreation, about a quarter to eight. The word comes

from the Latin 'completorium,’ which means the completion

* Rule. Ch. XL.

- 51 -



of the day. It takes only about fifteen minutes, and is recited

usually, though it may be sung on great feasts. Since the same

psalms, hymns and prayers are said each day at Compline, it is

one hour the monk quickly learns to recite without a book. The

chapel is in total darkness except for two tiny points of light

from the candles on the altar.
§

It is a most suitable prayer for

retiring with many references to the peace of night, and re-

liance on God until the morrow.

This is the only hour in which some use is made of English.

At the beginning, a monk comes to the bookstand, and while

the others are seated, reads in the vernacular some spiritual

book such as the Imitation of Christ: then at a sign from the

Abbot, he closes the book and makes a profound bow. The

choir stands and recites in a more subdued tone the three psalms

of Compline. The low murmur of the choir, the darkness of

the church save for the two candles flanking the tabernacle,

make Compline one of the more dramatic hours, a good one

for the visitor to begin with. Here he senses better the real at-

mosphere of monastic living than during the busy day. He can

see briefly and essentially what a monastery is—a small group
of Christians, separated from the world by dress and manner

of life, under a superior, and dedicated to a life of prayer in

common before the dwelling place of God. At the end of the

recitation, an antiphon to the Blessed Virgin is sung; then the

Abbot passes up and down the lines of monks sprinkling each

of them with holy water—his final benediction of the day.
Then come several minutes of complete silence, in which the

monk makes a brief examination of conscience. At a sign

from the Abbot, the hour is ended and the monks are free to go

§ Custom varies; some monasteries insist on illumination; and some

always sing Compline.

- 52 -



to their cells or remain for private prayer in the chapel.

Now is the time of greater silence; the profound stillness

which reigns everywhere brings out the contemplative character

of monastic life. In walking through the halls the monks place

their hoods up over their heads, and pass one another without

sign. Since Compline is over a little after eight, there is still an

hour or two for study, and usually the monks spend this time

preparing the next day’s lessons, whether as students or teach-

ers. Sometime between nine and ten o’clock the lights in the

windows disappear one by one until the house is left in total

darkness. There is no precise regulation about the time for

retiring, and a few exceptional monks may work late into the

night, but the average is in bed sometime before ten o’clock.

His long day has come to an end.

What a beautiful day it has been ! Every part of it has been

skillfully linked to thoughts of God and the life beyond this

one. Its prayer, its work and recreation, its times of action and

repose, have been consecrated and beautified by the sweet and

solemn spirit of the liturgy. In its regulations are crystallized

the soul of its founder, St. Benedict, who was a genius of con-

templative and holy living. The great gift of contemplation

is not given to many men, though they may have a desire and

some talent for it. But the average person could never alone

persist in the program of prayer carried on by the monastery.

Yet by following the monastic routine in company with others

and under obedience to a superior, anyone with a vocation, a

fair willingness and some natural bent will find in it riches a

thousandfold for developing this side of his soul.

St. Benedict’s method for moulding the spirit resembles the

way in which nature effects vast changes throughout the world.

It is by repetition, slow, patient, daily, and unending. Consider

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53

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an ocean wave as it rides slowly toward shore, spills over, and

sprawls out on the beach. Its irregular white curve might well

serve as nature’s trademark—a force thrown out unhurriedly on
matter, leaving but a slight trace of change as it recedes. The

effect is very small. But multiply this thousands of times daily

for many years, and the effect becomes irresistible. It will in

time transform anything, moulding the hardest substance to

its shape. The same curve appears in a sea shell, a pearl, the

rings of an oak tree, a field of wheat moved by wind, or, figura-

tively, in the soul of a man.

This is the secret of monastic routine—the cumulative effect
of repetition. The simple prayer, *Deus in adjutorium meum

intende, Domine ad adjuvandum me festina’ [Hasten, O Lord,

to my aid] is used as the opening line of each of the monastic

periods of prayer, which are seven in the day. Therefore this

prayer is said twenty-five hundred times in a year. The monk

who reaches his silver jubilee—no great feat—^will have said it
over fifty thousand times, and it has become engrained in his

soul, like a pearl slowly formed by nature. It will help to de-

termine the whole attitude of his soul toward God at all times.

This example is a very minor point.

Monastic customs and practices are concerned with very im-

portant matters; centuries of experience have gone into their

making, and they are solidly based on the Scriptures, the Sacra-

ments, and the authority of the Church. The cornerstone is the

rule of St. Benedict, in which he freely gave to all men every-

thing but his own greatness of soul, which he could not give.

But his method still works. There are many things besides the

external order of the day, which we have followed in this

sketch. A whole treatise on principles of spiritual life could be

drawn from St. Benedict without reference to daily activities.

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They furnish a golden setting for the real jewel of man, his

soul. The lustre of this jewel does not depend upon the setting.

Spiritual growth is to an extent mysterious and unpredictable,

and finally depends on God’s will for each soul. Yet is it rea-

sonable to suppose that a monk who faithfully observes over

many years the daily routine will not prepare the way for a

great increase of grace? Anyone who follows carefully over

many years the external ordering of monastic life must, accord-

ing to God’s grace, undergo a steady growth in the life of the

soul, and shine with some of the splendid virtues of his father,

St. Benedict.

A TYPICAL MONASTIC HORARIUM

4:30 A.M. Rise.

5:00 A.M. Matins, followed immediately by Lauds.

6:00 A.M. Private Masses.

6:45 A.M. Prime.

7:00 A.M. Breakfast.

7:45 A.M. Terce (sometimes Sext and None)

8:00 A.M. Conventual Mass.

8:45 A.M. Sext and None.

9:00 A.M. Beginning of Working Day

12:30 P.M. Lunch (in many monasteries. Dinner).

6:00 P.M. Vespers.

6:30 P.M. Dinner (or Supper).

7:00 P.M. Recreation.

7:45 P.M. Compline.

8:00 P.M. End of Monastic Day; Greater Silence.

9-10:00 P.M. Retire.

There are many variations in the above schedule, but it presents

an approximate average of the modern arrangement.

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BENEDICTINE MONASTERIES IN THE UNITED STATES

ALABAMA

St. Bernard’s Abbeys

St. Bernard, Alabama

ARKANSAS

New Subiaco Abbeys

Subiaco, Arkansas

COLORADO

Holy Cross Abbeys

Canon City, Colorado

DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA

St. Anselm’s Priory*

S. Dakota Avenue & l4th St.
Washington 17, D. C.

FLORIDA

St. Leo Abbeyi

St. Leo, Pasco Co., Florida

ILLINOIS

St. Bede’s Abbeys

Peru, Illinois

St. Procopius Abbeys

Lisle, Illinois

Marmion Abbeys

Butterfield Road

Aurora, Illinois

Founded 1891. Minor Seminary,

Junior College. 109 Religious in-

cluding 71 priests.

Founded 1878. Minor Seminary, Col-

lege, Parishes, Missions. 102 Re-

ligious including 56 priests.

Founded 1896. Parishes, Prep School,

Summer Camp. 68 Religious includ-

ing 49 priests.

Founded 1924. Prep School, associated

with Catholic University. 35 Re-

ligious including 20 priests.

Founded 1889. Prep School, Junior

College. 50 Religious including 26

priests.

Founded 1910. Prep School. 87 Re-

ligious including 57 priests.

Founded 1885. Parishes, Mission, Col-

lege, Prep School. 159 Religious in-

cluding 90 priests.

Founded 1933. Military Academy. 49

Religious including 27 priests.

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INDIANA

St. Meinrad’s Abbey* Founded 1854. Parishes, Missions,

St. Meinrad, Indiana Major & Minor Seminary. Publish-

ers of THE GRAIL. 189 Religious

including 99 priests.

KANSAS

St. Benedict’s Abbeys

Atchison, Kansas

LOUISIANA

St. Joseph’s Abbey*

St. Benedict, Louisiana

MINNESOTA
St. John’s Abbeys

Collegeville, Minnesota

MISSOURI

Conception Abbey*

Conception, Missouri

Pius X Monastery
R. R. 1

Labadie, Missouri

NEBRASKA

Benedictine Mission Home®

Schuyler, Nebraska

NEW HAMPSHIRE
St. Anselm’s Abbeys

Manchester, New Hampshire

NEW JERSEY
St. Mary’s Abbeys

.528 High Street

Newark 2, New Jersey

St. Paul’s Abbey®

Newton, New Jersey

Founded 1857. Parish, Seminary,

Prep School, College. 163 Religious

including 105 priests.

Founded 1890. Preparatory Seminary,

Major Seminary of Abbey Clerics.

67 Religious including 38 priests.

Founded 1856. Parishes, Major &
Minor Seminary, Prep School, Col-

lege, Publishers of WORSHIP. 324

Religious including 200 priests.

Founded 1873. Missions, Major and

Minor Seminary, Publishers of AL-

TAR AND HOME. 134 Religious
including 72 priests.

Founded 1951. Contemplative. 9 Re-

ligious including 3 priests.

Founded . Mission Home. 10

Relgious including 3 priests.

Founded 1893. Seminary, College. 52

Religious including 39 priests.

Founded 1857. Parishes, Prep School,

Dependent Priory at Delbarton with

Seminary. Publishers of THE

AMERICAN BENEDICTINE RE-

VIEW. 118 Religious including 73

priests.

Founded 1924. Seminary, Missions. 52

Religious including 19 priests.

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NEW YORK
Mt. Savior Abbey®

P. O. Box 272

Elmira, New York

NORTH CAROLINA
Belmont Abbeys

Belmont, North Carolina

NORTH DAKOTA
Assumption Abbeys

Richardton, North Dakota

OHIO

St. Andrew’s Abbeys

2900 East Boulevard

Cleveland 4, Ohio

OKLAHOMA
St. Gregory’s Abbey'

Shawnee, Oklahoma

OREGON
Mt. Angel Abbey*

St. Benedict, Oregon

PENNSYLVANIA

St. Vincent Archabbey'

Latrobe, Pennsylvania

RHODE ISLAND
St. Gregory Priory*

Cory’s Lane

Portsmouth, Rhode Island

SOUTH DAKOTA
Blue Cloud Abbey*

Marvin, South Dakota

Founded 1950. Contemplative.

Founded 1884. Parishes, Missions,

Seminary, Prep School, College. 86

Religious including 50 priests.

Founded 1893. Parishes, Seminary

Prep School, College. 79 Rellgioiis

including 52 priests.

Founded 1922. Parishes, Prep School

Press. 72 Religious including 49

priests.

Founded 1876. Parishes, Seminary,

Prep School, College. 54 Religious

including 35 priests.

Founded 1882. Parishes, Seminary

Prep School, Press, Publishers of ST.

JOSEPH MAGAZINE. 88 Reli-

gious including 55 priests.

Founded 1846. Parishes, Seminary,

Prep School, College. 253 Reli-

gious including 178 priests.

Founded 1919. Prep School. 26 Re-

ligious including 15 priests.

Founded 1952. Indian Missions. 4l

Religious including 26 priests.

TEXAS

Corpus Christi Priory* Founded 1927. Seminary, Prep School

Corpus Christi, Texas College. 17 Religious including 12

priests.

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WASHINGTON
St. Martin’s Abbeys

Olympia, Washington

WISCONSIN

St. Benedict’s Abbey*

Benet Lake, Wisconsin

Founded 1895. Parishes, Seminary

Prep School, College. 83 Religious

including 53 priests.

Founded 1945. Apologetical Writing.

Home Missions. 45 Religious in>

eluding 9 priests.

1

—

American Cassinese Congregation

2

—

Swiss-American Congregation

«—St. Ottilien (German)
*—English
®—Under Abbot Primate

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