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Michelle DeRusha

Every Day Faith. Faith Every Day.

blogging Benedict

Blogging Benedict: Learning the Practice of Humility the Hard Way

March 1, 2013 By Michelle 13 Comments

This Lent I am reading and practicing some of the exercises in Jane Tomaine’s book St. Benedict’s Toolbox: The Nuts and Bolts of Everyday Benedictine Living. Benedict was a fifth-century monk who founded the Benedictines, a Roman Catholic order that still thrives today. He wrote what he called “the little rule,” a manual to help his fellow monks live a spiritual life in community.

I figured this week’s theme, obedience, would be a piece of cake. After all, I’m a rule-follower, always have been. As a teenager I never once broke my curfew. I always did my homework and got good grades. Even today, I write prompt thank you notes, visit the dentist twice annually and get my oil changed at 3,000 miles. I’m the quintessential annoying good girl, so I figured I could nail Benedictine obedience, if nothing else.

I should have known Benedict’s take on obedience would require more than simple rule following.

According to the Benedictines, humility is at the center of obedience. “The reason humility and obedience are linked,” explains Tomaine, “is that we cannot listen or respond if we believe that our way is the only way.”  Humility, in a nutshell, is placing God first, often by placing others before ourselves.

Because Benedict knew practicing humility would challenge his monks, he broke the concept down into twelve steps, one of which is this:

To believe in your heart that others are better than you.

Did Benedict mean we should believe everyone is better than ourselves, or just some people, I wondered. What about the people I don’t like very much, for instance? Or the person who’s spending a life sentence in prison? That person is better? Or the person whose lifestyle choices are markedly different than mine? Or the person I simply think is wrong.

This is what makes humility and obedience so tough. Benedict did mean everyone – not just the saints and the heroes. Not just the people who think like us and believe the same things we do. He meant even the annoying people. The people who have wronged us. The ones with whom we disagree.

I have a confession. While I was writing this column, I shot off a curt email to my dad. He had done something that had irritated me, and I wanted him to know that I disapproved. Frankly, I wanted him to know that he was wrong and I was right. Several hours after I’d hit “send,” in the midst of writing this column, I realized that I had demonstrated a distinct lack of humility with my dad. I could have said what needed to be said with grace rather than condemnation. I could have chosen humility over arrogance. I could have chosen my dad’s feelings over my own need to be right.

Benedict may intended his rules for his fellow fifth-century monks. But today, it seems his advice on obedience and humility was meant especially for me.

Have you ever learned a real-life lesson in humility?

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I’ve recently revisited a series I wrote three years ago called Blogging Benedict, and I’ve decided to run some of these posts on Fridays through Lent. They are based on the book by Jane Tomaine called  St. Benedict’s Toolbox: The Nuts and Bolts of Everyday Living, which I am re-reading this Lent.

This story ran last Saturday in the Lincoln Journal Star.

Filed Under: blogging Benedict, humility Tagged With: Benedictine living, St. Benedict's Rule

Blogging Benedict: Rooted

February 22, 2013 By Michelle 15 Comments

Back when we were in graduate school umpteen million years ago, Brad entrusted me with his favorite plant, a lush fichus tree named Herman (in honor of Herman Melville), before he left town for a while.

I moved Herm into my house, positioned him in a sunny spot next to the sliding glass doors and then watched as he began to drop leaves at an alarming rate. I moved him to a South-facing window. More leaves littered the carpet. I watered Herman, fed him plant food, repositioned him yet again in a less chilly spot. Still he dropped leaves.

A week after Brad left, I called to report that I’d killed Herman in a record-setting seven days flat.

Turns out, fichus trees crave stability. Brad had left Herm next to the same sunny window for years, without sliding his pot so much as an inch. Then we had tossed the plant into the backseat of my Pontiac Grand Am and carted him to my house, where I’d moved him from spot to spot in a desperate attempt to quell the leaf-shedding.

There’s a Benedictine lesson to be learned from Herman the fichus, a lesson about stability.

When they first join the order, the Benedictines take a vow of stability. As Jane Tomaine explains in St. Benedict’s Toobox: The Nuts and Bolts of Everyday Benedictine Living, “Stability is saying ‘Yes’ to God’s will for me in the place where I believe God has placed me and with the task I believe God has given me to do.”

Our culture promotes the opposite of stability. Over time, we are conditioned to think that it’s okay to drop one thing and move onto the next. Marriage grown stale? Divorce. Bored on the job? Quit. Shoes scuffed? Buy a new pair. Acquaintance irritate us on Facebook? Unfriend. We abandon with ease, enticed by the fresh and new.

This relentless pursuit of the perfect place, the perfect situation, the perfect person, leads to the Herman phenomenon. Instead of finding contentment and peace, our searching results in greater dissatisfaction. We feel restless, uprooted and displaced. We wither rather than thrive.

The solution, Benedict tell us, is that we should aim for stability.

“The vow of Stability affirms sameness, a willingness to attend to the present moment, to the reality of this place, these people, as God’s gift to me and the setting where I live out my discipleship,” writes Elizabeth Canham. “We are discouraged from fantasizing some ideal situation in which we will finally be able to pray and live as we should.”

I get that inclination toward fantasy. I often find myself imagining a serene retreat at a monastery, in which I can relish the silence, the peace and the time and space to pray without interruption and distraction. But the reality is that I have a job, two young kids and a household to maintain. If I wait to find God in the ideal, I miss him in the here and now.

Stability means we hang on in the situation we are in and with the people who are there with us. As we stay put, as we quell the inclination to flee, we find God’s presence.

As it turned out, much the same was true for Herm the fichus. I finally stopped moving him around the house and let him simply be, and after a few weeks passed, I began to notice tiny buds sprouting on bare branches. Leaf by delicate leaf, Herm began to thrive, unfurling and blossoming into a lush, verdant canopy. In his stillness, he grew strong once again.

What’s your reaction to this notion of stability? Have you ever been grateful that you stayed the course?  [I want to note here, too, that I am in no way advocating staying in an abusive or unhealthy relationship. I’m talking about situations that are uncomfortable, not destructive.]

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I’ve recently revisited a series I wrote three years ago called Blogging Benedict, and I’ve decided to run some of these posts on Fridays through Lent. They are based on the book by Jane Tomaine called  St. Benedict’s Toolbox: The Nuts and Bolts of Everyday Living, which I am re-reading this Lent.

Filed Under: blogging Benedict, Lent Tagged With: Benedictine living, Jane Tomaine, Learning from St. Benedict, St. Benedict's Rule

Blogging Benedict: Listening with the Ear of Your Heart

February 15, 2013 By Michelle 18 Comments

Fifteen centuries ago a young man abandoned his scholarly studies in Rome and ventured into the Italian countryside, where he founded a monastic community and wrote what he called “a little rule” to help his fellow monks live a spiritual life in community.

That man was Benedict, better known as the founder of the Benedictines, a Roman Catholic order that still thrives today.

“So how does this apply to me?” you might be thinking. “I’m not a monk, and I’m not Catholic. I don’t need The Rule.”

Not true. Although Benedict’s Rule was written for monks, his advice covers much of what encompasses our everyday, right here in the 21st century: worship, prayer, work, study, relationships, our use of time, community and hospitality. Benedict’s Rule is more useful to us now than ever.

Benedict begins the Prologue to The Rule with these opening words:

“Listen carefully, my son, to the master’s instructions, and attend to them with the ear of your heart.”

Concrete person that I am, listening with the “ear of my heart” doesn’t make much sense. At first. But the more I read about Benedict, and the more I practice quiet, focused listening, the more I understand that looking for God in all things, in the ordinary circumstances of my life is possible.

As Jane Tomaine, author of St. Benedict’s Toolbox: The Nuts and Bolts of Everyday Benedictine Living, writes, “God is before us and within us, waiting to be found. The challenge is that every day we have so many things to do, and the crush of work can leave us hurrying through one task to move onto the next. But is it possible instead to do our work on one level, yet reflect with our mind and heart on where God is in the task? Can we allow the task before us to reveal itself as an opportunity to find God?”

Tomaine gives her readers a number of ways to practice this discipline, this listening with the ear of your heart.

1. Keep a gratitude journal. Take a few moments to reflect on your day, the small instances in which you felt the presence of God in your life. You can even join an online community, like Ann Voskamp’s 1,000 Gifts community every Monday, when she lists a continuing stream of 1,000 gifts and encourages others to do the same.

2. Notice the metaphorical breadcrumbs God leaves us to follow. Look back over your life, suggests Tomaine, to uncover the threads that led you to where you are today. Sometimes our God vision is 20/20 in hindsight. Such is the case for me and my move from Massachusetts to Nebraska. In retrospect, I see now that God threw the entire loaf of honey whole grain in my path, not merely the breadcrumbs. But it took several years for me to realize that this period of upheaval was actually the direct work of God in my life.

3. Take a thankfulness walk. This is perhaps better accomplished when the weather warms up, but the point is to walk slowly through nature, focusing on your senses – the chickadee chirping in the white pine…the scarlet berries dangling on delicate branches – and giving thanks for the hand of God in all things.

Like any spiritual discipline, listening and watching for God in the everyday takes practice. I’ll be honest, some days spin by so rapidly that I don’t notice him at all. But I continue to practice, and little by little the extraordinary shines through the ordinary.

“Incline your ear and come to me; listen, so that you may live.” (Isaiah 55:3)

How do you listen for God in your life? How do you “incline your ear” or listen with the “ear of your heart?” Add your ideas in the comments to suggest practices others might try.

: :

I’ve recently revisited a series I wrote three years ago called Blogging Benedict, and I’ve decided to run some of these posts on Fridays through Lent. They are based on the book by Jane Tomaine called  St. Benedict’s Toolbox: The Nuts and Bolts of Everyday Living, which I am re-reading this Lent.

Next Friday: Blogging Benedict: Lectio Divina.

Missional Women

Filed Under: blogging Benedict, Lent, listening for God, looking for God Tagged With: Benedictine living, Jane Tomaine, Learning from St. Benedict, St. Benedict's Rule

Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday Link-Up: Seeing

March 27, 2011 By Michelle 25 Comments

I get the kids buckled in, supply them with snacks and books and then settle into my own seat, novel in hand, scarf wrapped snugly around my neck. I open to chapter ten, intent on finishing the book before the plane touches down in Omaha.

“What are you reading?”

I turn toward the young girl seated to my right. She wears wire-rimmed glasses and grey and pink Nike sneakers. Acne dots her chin and forehead, and her blond curls frizz unruly and unkempt.

“It’s called Drowning Ruth,” I reply, smiling before turning back to the page.

“What’s it about?” she asks, nasal voice monotone and grating.

I sigh.

“It’s fiction, about a girl named Ruth,” I answer, averting eye contact and keeping my gaze on the page.

“Seriously?” I think. “Seriously? This is the way it’s going to be for the next two hours? Crammed next to a pain-in-the-neck chatty pre-teen traveling alone? Give me a break.”

“What chapter are you on? Do you like to read? What kind of books do you like to read? What are your favorite TV shows?”

She peppers me with questions and then, craning forward to peer at the boys across the aisle, she turns her attention to Noah and Rowan.

“What grade are they in? Where do they go to school? Do they like to read, too? What kind of books do they like to read? What’s the name of their teachers? What movies do they like?”

I’m irritated. I give clipped one- or two-word answers and continue to keep my book open on my lap. I turn pages, hoping she will eventually get the message that I am not interested in small talk.

She doesn’t.

It doesn’t take long for me to realize that Rachel has some sort of developmental delay. She asks too many questions, and her voice, the way she forms her words slowly and carefully, isn’t quite up to par for a six grader. She absolutely won’t stop talking.

I glance at the passenger seated diagonally behind me across the aisle. She raises her eyebrows and half-smiles.

Closing my book, I wedge it between my thigh and the armrest.

I admit, it’s not an intentional decision to engage in conversation with Rachel. I don’t want to. I make every attempt not to, even to the point the rudeness. But Rachel doesn’t notice my obvious disdain. She presses on, pointing out a photo of Taylor Swift in the Teen Magazine on her lap, mentioning twice that James Durbin is her favorite American Idol contestant, giggling at a scantily clad Carly and then quickly turning the page.

I surrender. But only because I have to.

By the end of the flight Rachel, the boys, Jeffrey the flight attendant and I are all friends. We’ve talked for nearly two hours about school, the weather, teenage pop stars, the Kardashians, our favorite Delta snacks – Rachel prefers the pretzels, I the spice cookies – Rachel’s Dad in Cincinnati and her mom in Lincoln and her little brother and how much she likes school. As we begin our descent into Omaha it finally occurs to me that I should ask my seatmate some questions as well, to show interest in her the same way she has to me. It’s taken me nearly the entire duration of the flight, but I am finally genuinely engaged.

I think about Rachel long after we wave goodbye to her and her mom at the baggage claim. And I think about her on Sunday morning, when I hear these verses about the blind man from John 9:

They asked, “Who healed you? What happened?” He told them, “The man they call Jesus made mud and smoothed it over my eyes and told me, ‘Go to the pool of Siloam and wash off the mud.’ I went and washed, and now I can see!’” (John 9:10-11)

And then I say a prayer of thanks to God for seating me next to a girl named Rachel who talked and talked and made me see.

“Staying put and doing the best we can to live in the present moment and being attentive to whatever is before at this moment is what makes listening and responding possible…I cannot be Christ’s hands if I’m not fully there to discern what his hands would do. ‘Let us open our eyes to the divine light that comes from God, and our ears to the voice from heaven that every day calls out this charge: ‘If you hear his voice today, do not harden your hearts.’” (Jane Tomaine, St. Benedict’s Toolbox).

Welcome to the Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday community. If you are here for the first time, feel free to click here for details and instructions on how to link up. Or, if you’re easy-breezy, copy the code for the “Hear It, Use It” button in the sidebar to the right, and simply paste it into your post.

And remember, you don’t need to write exactly about Sunday’s reading or sermon; you can simply write about a verse or even a hymn that you’ve been pondering anytime recently. Also, you can come by anytime during the week to link up — it stays open until Friday.

Filed Under: blogging Benedict, Gospels, listening for God, Use It on Monday

Spinning Toward

March 18, 2011 By Michelle 12 Comments

It always starts the same way. The calling, the creating, the idea, the ambition, the dream.

The “I have to,” the “I want to,” the “I need to.”

It always starts the same way. Small, tentative, fearful, breathless. Sweaty palms, pumping blood, voice pounding “no” like wild drumbeat while another softer one breathes faint yes.

And it grows. The idea grows legs, or wings, or wheels. And they lengthen and unfurl and unroll. Wobbling, weaving, stopping, starting, jerky clunky stumbling, just plain awkward.

It doesn’t feel right I’m never going to get this why am I even doing this.

Cautious, oh so cautious.

A sure hand, encouraging words, pedaling onward.

Confidence blooms slow, like a tulip pushing through cracked March dirt.

And then when you least expect it, the calling or creating or dream or idea explodes like fireworks. You smile broad, shout joy, spin into reality fast and furious and ever so slightly out of control.

And maybe you end up in the shrubs once or twice. And maybe you have to brush gravel off palms and sand off pants. But you feel it happening. 

And so you do it again and again and again.

And it is good.

 
Counting small joys as we mourn with a nation…
 
79 Little boy biking
 
80 Smell of spring in morning air
 
81 Eagle turning eggs on nest
 
82 Nun wearing backpack at the bus stop
 
83 Young woman old man walking slowly
 
84 Desk bearing hidden treasure
 
85 Frost flakes on car windshield

Filed Under: 1000 gifts, blogging Benedict, gratitude, metaphor, parenting

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Living out faith in the everyday is no joke. If you’re anything like me, some days you feel full of confidence and hope, eager to proclaim God’s goodness and love to the world. Other days…not so much.

Let me say straight up: I wrestle with my faith. Most days I feel a little bit like Jacob, wrangling his blessing out of God. And most days I’m okay with that. I believe God made me a questioner and a wrestler for a reason, and I believe one of those reasons is so that I can connect more authentically with others.

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