The Rule of Benedict within human mortality

A major theme in the book of Ecclesiastes, that the philosopher Qoheleth identifies, appears to be that to live an authentically human life is to live a life with only two guarantees: first, life is structured by a temporality we have not chosen and, second, each of us will die. After these Lenten reflections, some of you might be saying, “Br. Denys, who hurt you, bro? What’s with all the talk about death?” Well, the Rule of Benedict invites all of us to reflect regularly on death.

I’ve had numerous meaningful conversations with college students over the past few years through Johnnie Brothers and the Order of Christian Initiation for Adults. One thread through these conversations has involved students sharing experiences about limits. Limits may include injuries that have led to setbacks or the death or illness of a family member or friend. These are the kinds of experiences that Qoheleth is speaking about and asking us to take seriously to imbibe the wisdom they might be offering us. He is suggesting, more specifically, that by considering time and death as horizons of meaning we can learn something of value from these experiences. I am borrowing the term “horizon” from the late philosopher Martin Heidegger. Without getting too deep into it, it basically means a boundary or limit that allows something to show up as meaningful. An injury or death of a loved one reorients our experience to limitation and vulnerability. We see things differently afterwards. It forces us to re-think our experience.

Qoheleth has acquired a kind of wisdom that sees death as dissolving any illusion one might have about permanence and self-importance. Under the horizon of mortality, everyday life is exposed as ultimately fragile. We have a choice for how to deal with becoming aware of our ultimate fragility: engage in distraction or receive its wisdom.

By choosing the latter, we may open ourselves to seeing each day as a gift, and not a guarantee, and therefore living with deliberate intention each moment during this precious earthly life.

St. Teresia Benedicta of the Cross, also known as Edith Stein, who was killed during the Holocaust, purportedly once stated (although I can’t confirm it comes from her but I like the quote!) that the “secret of happiness is to live in the present moment, and to be grateful of the gift of each day.” Dorothy Day, who helped found the Catholic Worker movement, encourages us to “stand firm in the face of adversity; your courage will inspire others.” You can be a motivating force in the lives of others.

I will leave you with this thought. Limit experiences will eventually occur. We cannot escape time and death. It is therefore incumbent upon us to take them seriously and not seek avoidance through endless distraction. We must consider how we will integrate the various blows that life hurls at us without allowing the resulting wounds to fester for too long. How do we do this? By becoming worthy of what happens to us. The poet Rumi said that “the wound is the place where the light enters you.” Become worthy of that wound. Ask the wound what it is trying to teach you and allow it to transform you. Jesus’ wounds were transformed by his resurrection, which is where this Lenten journey is leading.