The Three Minute Limit
by Brother Luke
Every morning at Matins after the initial psalms and hymns we pause for a non-liturgical reading, followed by a period of silence. A book we have been reading for many months now is entitled Desert Banquet: a year of wisdom from the desert mothers and fathers, by David G. R. Keller. Here is an excerpt:
Abba Lot went to Abba Joseph of Panephysis and said to him, ‘Abba, as far as I can, I say my little office, I fast a little, I pray and meditate, I live in peace and as far as I can, I purify my thoughts. What else can I do?’ Then the old man stood up and stretched his hands towards heaven. His fingers became like ten lamps of fire and he said to him, ‘If you will, you can become all flame.’
Abba Lot gives a concise summary of “monastic art.” It includes ritual prayer, fasting, personal prayer and meditation, resisting evil thoughts, and seeking peace in his relationships. Yet, he senses something is missing. He goes to his abba for advice, who reminds him that all his monastic discipline, as good as it is, is not an end in itself. The art of monastic life is more than “doing.” Abba Lot was, perhaps, too conscientious. His focus was on competence. He wanted to make sure he was not leaving out something important. He was. But it was not what he expected. Abba Joseph, with an eye of love and a gentle work, tells him that “you can become all flame.” Lot’s disciplines without passion are incomplete.” [pp. 106-7]
Keller’s summary of “monastic art,” as he calls it, which might be called “monastic spirituality” in the current fashion, is succinct and descriptive of the conscientiousness of Abba Lot. But the discipline is more than just “doing.” For New Skete, from its foundation, the centerpiece of our life has always been the Liturgy. To experience Eastern Orthodox Liturgy is to step into a world of constant singing and chanting by the choirs, the people, and the priests. Those unfamiliar with this style of worship may wonder, when do they breathe? Among the Orthodox, some may smile knowingly and acknowledge that they can feel uncomfortable if everything stops and there is silence. “Is something wrong?”
As a community, over ten years ago, we decided to add meditation times to our worship. We felt that something was wrong or, as with Abba Lot, something was missing. What was missing was not more singing, but silence. If in silence we feel uncomfortable, this is good! It is a challenge to look inward. And yet, something seemingly simple had its birth pangs. Silence in an unexpected place! What would others think? How would visitors react? And the ultimate issue of conscientiousness: how LONG should the meditation time be? One minute, three minutes, five minutes? The debate was on! How to stop it? After much discussion, we decided to try three minutes. So, who would keep track of the time: the reader, the choir director, or the priest?
We began to experience this new element in our worship and to get used to it, and yet, the “conscientiousness” factor would not easily die. Now the question was this: are the timekeepers really sticking to the three-minute limit? Some seemed to go beyond three minutes, and others took less than three minutes. So we faced the challenge not only of incorporating an unsettling “moment of silence” of seemingly uneven duration but of each individual struggling with how to use that time. If all we are going to do with the silence is stir up internal resentments over the imprecise length of the silence, then we are moving further away from our goal of striving for inner peace and calm.
This modest dust-up in our community life is actually a good example of the various levels of challenge or ascesis that we use to look inward at what unsettles us and how we can work through it. One way we worked through this, and many much larger issues, is in community meetings and discussions. When we all meet together—monks, nuns, and companions—we call that gathering a “Synaxis” which is a Greek word for a “meeting of the whole.” In those meetings we learn not only to express our views and concerns but also, even more importantly, to listen to others. The process is the important thing. The outcome takes care of itself. The monastic discipline is to help prepare us to meet and deal with the challenges of community life. The monastic discipline is not the goal, but rather, treating each other with love and understanding, whether at worship, work, community gatherings and meetings, recreation, or even in meditation when one’s thoughts may wander over the many fields of past hurts, slights, or disappointments. When all the little things combine to bring us closer to God’s presence, then we may begin to experience the fire, as did Abba Joseph.
Every morning at Matins after the initial psalms and hymns we pause for a non-liturgical reading, followed by a period of silence. A book we have been reading for many months now is entitled Desert Banquet: a year of wisdom from the desert mothers and fathers, by David G. R. Keller. Here is an excerpt:
Abba Lot went to Abba Joseph of Panephysis and said to him, ‘Abba, as far as I can, I say my little office, I fast a little, I pray and meditate, I live in peace and as far as I can, I purify my thoughts. What else can I do?’ Then the old man stood up and stretched his hands towards heaven. His fingers became like ten lamps of fire and he said to him, ‘If you will, you can become all flame.’
Abba Lot gives a concise summary of “monastic art.” It includes ritual prayer, fasting, personal prayer and meditation, resisting evil thoughts, and seeking peace in his relationships. Yet, he senses something is missing. He goes to his abba for advice, who reminds him that all his monastic discipline, as good as it is, is not an end in itself. The art of monastic life is more than “doing.” Abba Lot was, perhaps, too conscientious. His focus was on competence. He wanted to make sure he was not leaving out something important. He was. But it was not what he expected. Abba Joseph, with an eye of love and a gentle work, tells him that “you can become all flame.” Lot’s disciplines without passion are incomplete.” [pp. 106-7]
Keller’s summary of “monastic art,” as he calls it, which might be called “monastic spirituality” in the current fashion, is succinct and descriptive of the conscientiousness of Abba Lot. But the discipline is more than just “doing.” For New Skete, from its foundation, the centerpiece of our life has always been the Liturgy. To experience Eastern Orthodox Liturgy is to step into a world of constant singing and chanting by the choirs, the people, and the priests. Those unfamiliar with this style of worship may wonder, when do they breathe? Among the Orthodox, some may smile knowingly and acknowledge that they can feel uncomfortable if everything stops and there is silence. “Is something wrong?”
As a community, over ten years ago, we decided to add meditation times to our worship. We felt that something was wrong or, as with Abba Lot, something was missing. What was missing was not more singing, but silence. If in silence we feel uncomfortable, this is good! It is a challenge to look inward. And yet, something seemingly simple had its birth pangs. Silence in an unexpected place! What would others think? How would visitors react? And the ultimate issue of conscientiousness: how LONG should the meditation time be? One minute, three minutes, five minutes? The debate was on! How to stop it? After much discussion, we decided to try three minutes. So, who would keep track of the time: the reader, the choir director, or the priest?
We began to experience this new element in our worship and to get used to it, and yet, the “conscientiousness” factor would not easily die. Now the question was this: are the timekeepers really sticking to the three-minute limit? Some seemed to go beyond three minutes, and others took less than three minutes. So we faced the challenge not only of incorporating an unsettling “moment of silence” of seemingly uneven duration but of each individual struggling with how to use that time. If all we are going to do with the silence is stir up internal resentments over the imprecise length of the silence, then we are moving further away from our goal of striving for inner peace and calm.
This modest dust-up in our community life is actually a good example of the various levels of challenge or ascesis that we use to look inward at what unsettles us and how we can work through it. One way we worked through this, and many much larger issues, is in community meetings and discussions. When we all meet together—monks, nuns, and companions—we call that gathering a “Synaxis” which is a Greek word for a “meeting of the whole.” In those meetings we learn not only to express our views and concerns but also, even more importantly, to listen to others. The process is the important thing. The outcome takes care of itself. The monastic discipline is to help prepare us to meet and deal with the challenges of community life. The monastic discipline is not the goal, but rather, treating each other with love and understanding, whether at worship, work, community gatherings and meetings, recreation, or even in meditation when one’s thoughts may wander over the many fields of past hurts, slights, or disappointments. When all the little things combine to bring us closer to God’s presence, then we may begin to experience the fire, as did Abba Joseph.
I deeply appreciate Brother Luke's reflection, as I have come to believe very strongly on the importance of times of silence in our spiritual life. I pastor a Presbyterian church, and I have made it a practice for several years to incorporate times of silence into our Sunday worship. We have a time of silence after the readings of the Scriptures and before the sermon. We also have a time of silence in the middle of the pastoral prayer, a time when members of the congregation can lift their own inner concerns to God in the silence of their hearts. Not everyone knows what to make of these times of silence, but I consider them important witnesses to the fact that in our spiritual lives we are called upon to listen and just be with God as well as to speak and to do.
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