After Jesus' birth in Bethlehem of Judea during the reign of King Herod, astrologers from the east arrived one day in Jerusalem inquiring, "Where is the newborn king of the jews? We observed his star at its rising and have come to pay him homage." At this news King Herod became greatly disturbed, and with him all Jerusalem. Summoning all of the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. "In Bethlehem of Judea," they informed him. "Here is what the prophet has written. `And you, Bethlehem, land of Judah, are by no means least among the princes of Judah, since from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.'"

Herod called the astrologers aside and found out from them the exact time of the star's appearance. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, after having instructed them: "Go and get detailed information about the child. When you have discovered something, report your findings to me, so that I may go and offer him homage too."

After their audience with the king, they set out. The star which they had observed at its rising went ahead of them until it came to a standstill over the place where the child was. They were overjoyed at seeing the star, and on entering the house, found the child with Mary his mother. They prostrated themselves and did him homage. Then they opened their coffers and presented him with gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. They received a message in a dream not to return to Herod, so they went back to their own country by another route. (Matthew 2:1-12)

I think I've mentioned once before that when one of the founders of our community died, who was a real character, I happened to mention to Abbot Raphael that "all of the characters in the community are dying out." And he looked at me and he said, "Oh, are they?"

Well, this story takes place several years ago, and I shall use fictitious names, but it was at a time when the charismatic movement was just beginning, and we had some monks--as many parishes did--who were getting interested in this new movement of the Spirit.

Now we used to have a rule in our monastery, from time immemorial, that if you were to leave the monastery for any reason, you got permission of the superior, and if the superior (the abbot) were not home, then you went to the prior, then to the sub-prior, the novicemaster, the oldest priest, and so on down the line. And you were not to leave the property without permission and a blessing. If you were going to go anyplace within the County, say within the county of Spokane, you could get permission from anyone, more directly your immediate superior. But if you were going to go outside of the county, if the abbot were home you had to go to the abbot. Now there were always some monks who were saying, "Why do we have such rules?" But I always felt like Mother Radigan in the novel, you can search all the way through Scripture and you won't find a reason for some rules, and when you don't find a reason, you just do them. That's it. Period.

Well, one monk, who already was a little bit on the outs with the abbot over something already, had a sister in Seattle, seriously ill in Swedish Hospital, and she was to undergo surgery. So the monk went into the abbot and he said, "May I go into Seattle to see my sister, who's going to go into surgery three hours from now." And the abbot said, "Why don't you wait until she's out of surgery, out of recovery, and then you can go up and spend some time with her. That way you won't have to sit around and just wait." Well it so happened that there was a religious from another community visiting, and another monk had to take that religious to the airport. So the three of them were talking together--the monk whose sister was going to have surgery (let's call him Brother Adam) and the monk who was going to drive the other religious (let's call him Brother Bede), and the other religious we'll call Sister Kunnigunde. And they were talking among themselves, and Sister Kunnigunde, who was very zealous in the charismatic movement said, "Oh, Brother Bede is driving me to Sea-Tac, and therefore, since he is driving me to Sea-Tac, it is the will of God that you go with us." Well, Brother Adam knew very well he couldn't go to the abbot, so he went to his immediate superior, who knew very well that he couldn't give the permission, but did anyhow.

So off they went to the airport. And they got to the airport and Sister Kunnigunde, "Obviously, Brother Adam, it is the will of God that you are only sixteen miles from Seattle, so you should call the hospital and find out how she is doing." So he called the hospital; she was out of surgery, in recovery, but coming out of it nicely. And Sister Kunnigunde said, "Well, obviously it is the will of God that you are sixteen miles away, and so obviously God wills that you go into Seattle to see her." So Brother Adam and Brother Bede go into Seattle to see her and have a nice visit. All very well and good.

Except that in his excitement, in his exuberance, and I might say in his poor judgment, Brother Adam runs into the Abbot's office when he gets back, all elated, all excited, and in a moment of great elation says, "Oh, Father Abbot, I was in Seattle, and I saw my sister, she's doing well"--and at that moment we had a new hole in the roof of the monastery. And the Abbot inflicted a punishment, not only upon Brother Adam, but upon Brother Bede (incidentally, the Abbot was no friend of the charismatic movement), and as well upon the immediate superior.

Well, as luck would have it, all of them came to me to complain or to ask advice. And I said to each of them in turn, "You ought to read very carefully Chapter 68 of our Rule. `If a Brother is commanded to do the impossible: If it happens that orders are a brother which are too heavy or impossible, let him receive the order of his superior with perfect gentleness and obedience. But if he finds that the weight of the burden is altogether beyond his strength to fulfill, then let him explain to his superior the reasons why he cannot do it. Patiently, at a suitable time, without showing any pride or resistance or contradiction. Then after his representations, if the superior remains firm in requiring what he has ordered, let the subject realize that it is better to do so, and out of charity, trusting in the help of God, let him obey.'"

There's a wealth of wisdom in that chapter, a marvelous wealth of spiritual wisdom, not just for monks, but I think for laity too, for anyone. "An order that is impossible, or too heavy"--how impossible, an order beyond my strength? What kind of strength? It need not be physical strength; it can be intellectual ability, it can be emotional--it's beyond what my nerves will allow me to bear; it can be psychological--I just cannot bear this psychologically. It can be anything that becomes terribly burdensome, that weighs heavily, very heavily upon one's shoulders. And for one reason or another, one finds it difficult or too heavy or impossible to bear. Benedict says then that you receive the order with perfect gentleness and obedience. You don't flare up. You don't talk back. You don't storm out of the office. You don't slam the door. You don't pound the desk. You don't throw the abbot's lamp across the room. You don't overturn the desk. You receive whatever it is with gentleness, calmness, and with obedience. And then you go out and reflect on it, ponder it, mull it over in the mind, honestly think about it. never acting in the first impulse or the first reaction, but always taking some time, some thought, some prayer.

I once had to move a whole series of pastors from parish to parish, and I went to one parish and of course the priest who was there taught me algebra in prep school, and he put me through a grueling exercise of why couldn't every other priest in the monastery go. And after three hours of grueling exercise he said to me, "My, Father Abbot, you do have a problem, don't you?" And I said to him, "Well, Father, pray that I am guided and you are guided." So he went to one of the Fathers in the community and said, "You know, we have a very wise abbot, he said. Pray that he is guided and I am guided. I guess I don't have to move from my parish." And the other priest said, "Oh, Father, when this abbot says `Pray that you'll be guided' he means `Pray that you'll be resigned and pray that you'll be obedient.'" But you see, the first reaction, never flying off the handle. And then if you find the weight of the burden is altogether beyond your strength, you go to the Superior and explain the reasons why it cannot be done. But then notice how Benedict says that one should explain it: with patience, without showing any pride, resistance or contradiction. Calmly, tranquilly, clearly. Without any excitement, without any of that--how shall I put it--righteous indignation that some people always seem to have. But viewing it humbly. And it's interesting to me that Benedict says, "at a suitable time"--it doesn't mean just a suitable time for me; it means also a suitable time for the one who gave the order. That was part of the problem with Brother Adam who so inadvisedly went so exuberantly into the Abbot. He picked the wrong time for himself, and he picked the wrong time for the Abbot.

It means we have to know people rather well. We have to know when they are under pressure as well as ourselves under pressure. We have to get a sort of sixth sense, or listen with a third year to be able to discern that this is not the proper time to do such a thing. This is not the proper time to approach this person, to lay my case before this person. My mother used to say, "Well, that is very fine, but let's not tell your father about it now. Let's wait for the right time." Very wise counsel, very wise, very sage, as is Benedict. What is the proper time? The one who gives the order should also be at peace, should also be tranquil, should also not be in a time when they're going to fly off the handle. And then after the representations, after placing the case before the superior, the superior says, "Father, I want you do it anyhow, one does it."

One has to realize in life that success is not based on human standards when we're talking about the spiritual life. Success doesn't mean whether I'm successful in the eyes of the world. Spiritually speaking success means am I doing the will of the father. And lest you think this is terribly difficult or terribly foreign, it is difficult. But we have to remember that it's not so foreign to human condition as we think. It is the situation in which Jesus found himself in the Garden of Gethsemane. "Father, would that this chalice could pass." He recognized the weight of the burden. He recognized very clearly what he was commanded. We are told by one of the evangelists that Jesus recognized so clearly, so keenly, that he sweat blood. And yet he came to the point, "Not my will, but yours." He talked to God at the right time--God who had given the order. Humanly speaking, Jesus' life was a failure, an abject failure. But spiritually speaking, successful. One of the great saints in my mind, one of the most marvelous saints in my mind, who realized this very well, was the mother of St. Augustine of Hippo, St. Monica. Augustine pays this tribute to her in his Confessions:

Though my father was remarkably kind, he had a hot temper. But my mother knew better than to say or do anything to resist him when he was angry. If his anger was unreasonable, she used to wait until he was calm and composed, and then took the opportunity for explaining what she had done. Many women whose faces were disfigured from blows by husbands far sweeter-tempered than my father, used to gossip together and complain of the behavior of their menfolk.

How different our lives can be if we follow that sage advice of St. Benedict. How husband should respond to wife, wife to husband, parents to children, children to parents, teacher to students, employee-employer, right down the line. We have to learn to be calm, to be patient, to be tranquil. We have to learn to be able to discern the situation, the condition of the other person. As Benedict says, to speak, to act at the suitable time. In one of the books of the Old Testament, the author says, "There is a time to speak and there is a time to be silent." Would that we could learn that. But most of all I think we have to learn not to fly off the handle. Not to act in the first exuberance, irritation, frustration, or anger. But to reflect, to approach it calmly, patiently, at the suitable time for myself and for the other person.