Blogaloguing Janzen, Part Two

My friend Jay Howard and I are participating in a blog dialogue—i.e. a "blogalogue"—discussing David Janzen's new book, The Intentional Christian Community Handbook. Jay has already posted on Parts One, Two, Three, Four, and Five of the book. You can read my previous post on Part One here. If you're interested in joining the conversation with your own blog, send me an email with a link to your posts and I will assemble a list of everyone's responses.

Part Two of Janzen's book is subtitled, "Is Intentional Community Your Calling?" The driving idea behind the chapters in this section is the need for practical experience in living intentionally, and how a person called to community might go about meeting and experimenting with various established communities.

Reflections on "Chapter Four: Seeking the Community Where I Am Called"

Chapter Four presents the personal stories of several young people whose deep conviction and vocation led them to seek out community in different settings. Each story offers its own unique perspective as a sort of personal laboratory for "doing community," for what Gandhi called "experiments with truth." For Christians called to intentional community, faith is the catalyst of this experimentation. "The gift of faith," says Janzen, "is always a mysterious thing. It is like a hypothesis for life in which one experiment leads to another with more insight and cause for wonder as you go" (p.66).

Reflections on "Chapter Five: The Gospel Call to Discipleship in Community"

In this chapter, Janzen reflects on the historical and social motivations that led to the individualistic Christendom often promoted from American church pulpits today. On p.68, Janzen laments, "One way to observe how the Good News has been straitjacketed by the individualism of our culture is to pick up any collection of contemporary Christian music and count how many songs are about 'me' rather than about 'us' as the objects of God's love. 'Mine, mine, mine, Jesus is mine.'"

•   I enjoyed the fact that Janzen frequently points out throughout Chapter Five the New Testament inclination toward togetherness, especially in the social ethic teachings of Jesus. The Lord's Prayer does not say, "Give me my daily bread," but "Give us..." Furthermore, Janzen illustrates how communal and monastic living has, from its earliest Christian implementation, been a method for expressing distaste with Christendom: "During Anthony's [Anthony of Egypt, the founder of Christian monasticism] lifetime the emperor Constantine made Christianity the imperially favored and fashionable religion, and multitudes of citizens became nominal Christians. A minimal version of Christianity emerged, focused on personal salvation, assured by participation in the sacraments and belief in officially sanctioned doctrines. At the same time thousands of aspiring spiritual athletes flocked to the desert in imitation of Anthony to recapture a more disciplines way of following Jesus" (p.75).

•   In my opinion, the best part of this chapter was Janzen's treatment of a question I hear all the time: "Does every Christian have to live in community?" Rather than attempt to "answer" the question, Janzen instead suggests that it is an inadequate question from the start—it shares a lot in common with the juvenile attempt to bargain with one's parents: Do we have to? "Let's not despise the question," Janzen says, "but note, rather, that it represents a certain stage of life. The question begs a legalistic answer from an authority that one is already itching to resist and to leave behind. The question does not have a good answer at the level where it is asked. But let us step back and look at the question from a more adult or discipleship point of view. Let's move the question from fear of damnation to love of God…" (p.78). Janzen next offers the parabolic image of God the Source, the Son, and the Holy Spirit leading multitudes of people in a circle dance right in the center square of an ancient city. Those outside the city are welcome to join in, provided they are willing to die to their selves and pick up the self-sacrificial cross of Jesus. However, Janzen points out that legalistic questions like Do we all have to do it? are insufficient and miss the point of the dance to begin with: “We enter into the freedom of the circle-dancing God (perichoresis) by way of a discipleship community where our character is transformed into the likeness of God (theosis). This is the shape of our journey, our home, our hope for a world made new" (p.80).

Reflections on "Chapter Six: Searching for Your Community"

In Chapter Six, Janzen again turns the narrative over to the stories of several young people who began looking for community but were unsure of a good starting point. 

•   The purpose of the chapter is to attempt to answer the question, "How do young people go about testing [their] call to community, what are their experiences, and what counsel can we offer in their search?" (p.81). I found it interesting to consider that at this point, the intentional Christian community movement is so large and diverse that different people have the luxury of sharing different callings to different types of community. Vocations toward intentional community are now as diverse as the vocations to be found within the institutional church.

•   I appreciated Celina Varella's criticism of Shane Claiborne's Irresistible Revolution, a book that has inspired an entire generation of young people inclined toward communal living (including myself and some friends of mine currently living in community!). The book she says, "is very attractive and has inspiring stories. But it tends to leave out some of the difficult realities, so some young people come with grand hopes that living in community will be the quick solution to every social ill” (p.86). When I first read Claiborne's book back in 2006, I was indeed greatly inspired by his stories, and spent the next several years sorely frustrated by friends and communities that failed to live up to my expectations of what a community should be like, per Claiborne's descriptions. The Irresistible Revolution, unlike Janzen's book, did not speak to the gritty details and spiritual pain that comes with cultivating a mind and spirit tuned to living intentionally.

•   Janzen also provides a bit of commentary about our societal norm of delayed adulthood leading to a general unwillingness to commit to a specific community. He likens many people from my own generation to the spiritual wanderers (gyrovagues) mentioned in Chapter 1 of Benedict's Rule for Monasteries. These gyrovagues, which Benedict calls the most detestable kind of monks, are "always on the move, with no stability, indulg[ing] their own wills."

•   Finally, Janzen offers some good advice for people who want to explore their vocation within a community setting, including seeking out a mentor, visiting a wide range of different communities, “giving yourself fully” to each experience, and stepping out into unfamiliar territory to listen and share with unfamiliar people.

Reflections on "Chapter Seven: Novice Membership"

In this chapter, Janzen offers a series of questions that might be helpful in discerning one's place and purpose in community. These are basically "interview questions" that a community might ask a potential new member, and are therefore useful in examining one's own vocation before seeking out a community to join. Rather than reprinting the questions here, I would highly recommend reading Jay's succinct paraphrase of the chapter.

•   Janzen's critique of the self in this chapter is very insightful. He criticizes religious practices that find the self at their center (like many New Age meditations, etc.), and reveals just how counter-cultural communal living can appear in our current context: "Given the hypermobility of our society and the high virtue it places on 'keeping our options open,' making an open-ended commitment to join an intentional Christian community sets off alarm bells in friends, family, and one’s own individualized soul" (p.94).

•   Jay dislikes the phrase mutual submission, and prefers instead Janzen's language of "mutual love and care" (p.96). "It is just not in me to 'submit,'" says Jay, "even to authority figures (unless they have pepper spray) but I do have it in me to 'commit' to a person or group and do what I can to care for their needs." I appreciate Jay's thoughts here. The concept of mutual commitment is absolutely central to any intentional community. However, I am a fan of the term mutual submission. The word "submit" has a lot of ugly baggage these days, and has been used in the past to justify the subjugation of women, minorities, and pretty much anyone who is not a straight, white male. But the very definition of submission also carries with it an intrinsic connotation of self-sacrifice. Add the word mutual to that, and you have a deeply community-oriented phrase that seeks limitation of the individual and puts emphasis on concern for one's neighbor. The abdication of personal power in favor of the needs of one's sister or brother means not always "looking out for number one," and being willing to lay aside one's own concerns for the good of the whole community. When members of a community live in mutual submission, then, ultimately no one carries an authority above anyone else. It is the very premise behind Chapter 3 of Benedict's Rule for Monasteries.

•   Importantly, Janzen notes: "Neither the novice nor the community is a finished product" (p.96).

Review of Chittister's Rule of Benedict

A couple weeks ago, I took a week-long intensive course on Benedictine spirituality at Conception Abbey, a Benedictine monastery near Maryville, MO. Below is a review of one of the books I read for the class.

Joshua Paul Smith. Review of Joan Chittister, The Rule of Benedict: A Spirituality for the 21^st Century (New York City: Crossroad Publishing, 2010).

“Spiritual, Not Religious”           

This week, National Public Radio aired a series of stories that shared a common theme: the disconcerting discovery that a growing number of American youth have ceased to identify with any particular organized religion. According to one recent study, as much as thirty percent of Americans under the age of thirty have severed ties with the religious traditions of their youth.[1] Meanwhile, on another—possibly not altogether unrelated—note, Drew Smith of EthicsDaily.com reported this week on the plummeting rate of “religious literacy” in the United States, lamenting the findings of a 2010 Pew Forum report that suggests a growing unfamiliarity with even the most basic tenets of Judaism, Islam, Christianity, and other world religions.[2] Though—as the adage goes—correlation does not necessarily prove causation, it appears that young people are leaving churches, synagogues, and mosques by the thousands, and yet are not altogether certain of exactly what they are fleeing. Fewer and fewer members of Generation Y are finding depth and meaning in the established religions of their childhood, opting instead for a vaguely self-centered amalgam of pious mysticism that touts “Spiritual, not religious,” as its motto. What could a fifteen-hundred-year-old document such as the Rule of Saint Benedict possibly have to offer a culture consumed with the task of “keeping up with the Joneses,” preparing for “planned obsolescence,” and steeped in the notion that “my faith,” if such a thing exists, is a deeply and uniquely personal perspective and is not to be shared? It is precisely this question that Joan Chittister is concerned with answering in her laudable book, The Rule of Benedict: A Spirituality for the 21^st Century.

Structure and Content           

This devotional-style examination of the early sixth century Rule of Saint Benedict is a chapter-by-chapter commentary on the ancient text, providing theological insights for a cynical generation that often appears to consider “theology” a four-letter word. Throughout the book, the author attempts to both introduce the reader to the Rule and to clarify for a postmodern audience those passages that our current cultural context might deem difficult, if not downright contemptible. The purpose of the book, therefore, is twofold: 1) Chittister seeks to revive popular interest in an ancient text within a culture that has “lost its religion”; and 2) the author serves as a postmodern apologist for Benedict’s grand vision, polishing the rough edges and constructing a theological and rhetorical bridge that spans the divide between the ascetic lifestyle of the sixth-century Benedictine monastic and our own 21^st-century individualistic and capitalistic milieu. Divided into short, 2-3 page segments, each chapter is easily digestible—the reader will not strain herself rummaging around through the annals of systematic theology here—and might possibly even be ideal for inclusion in one’s own spiritual discipline as a modified lectio divina. This makes the book exceptional for personal or, as I prefer, small group devotional use. The very organizational structure of the book is indicative of the Benedictine mindset: Take your time. There is no rush. Do not “bite off more than you can chew.” Do your work prayerfully, and do it well.

Critical Analysis

A Spirituality for the 21^st Century shares many traits in common with the Rule itself. Like Benedict’s insightful masterpiece, Chittister supplements her own theological meditations with the wisdom of the ages. However, in addition to citing Christian scripture (which remains absolutely central to the Rule), Chittister also draws inspiration from the vast and diverse array of other traditions, as well, including the Tao Te Ching, the targumim and midrashim, the apocryphal sayings of the early Christian desert monastic mothers and fathers (Apophthegmata), and others. The roots of religious monasticism run deep, with a long history outside the Christian Church. By employing these other ancient sources of wisdom, Chittister widens Benedict’s audience and draws distinct attention to the adaptability and universality of his rule. There is a little something of Benedict’s vision in every ancient culture—the striving toward personal and communal integrity, the recognition of practical insight in the mystical and the yearning for the divine. The Rule itself is, after all, not a piece of historical nonfiction nor an enlightened hagiography, but rather a fine example of wisdom literature and contextualized theology.

Chittister paints her commentary in broad theological and sociological strokes to make the most of the Rule’s practical application. This at times involves a bit of theological gymnastics, but the author repeatedly and assuredly sticks the landing. Difficult passages (such as Benedict’s ideas about physical discipline and excommunication), and what appear to be overly tedious passages, (like Benedict’s careful measuring of the hours with a rigid prayer schedule) are provided with enough spiritual grounding to make them not only understandable, but also relatable. In so doing, the author breaks down many assumptions brought to the table by a 21^st-century audience and leaves room for a considerate reading to be constructed in their place.

The spiritual life according to Benedict, Chittister insists, revolves around a distinct core of intentionality in all things. To a 21^st-century generation of superficial pop culture, this may seem surprising, if not downright counterintuitive. However, the great power of the book lies in its recognition that all people from all generations—monastic or otherwise—share in many of the same struggles that fundamentally define what it means to be human. Chittister’s assertion is that the Rule has a definite applicable message that transcends time and culture to speak to the yearnings of the heart itself. We have all experienced exasperation in a difficult job or frustration with fellow parishioners; we can all benefit from the self-disciplines of silence, humility, and continence. It is only by intentionally pursuing the virtues of the monastic life (whether inside or outside the cloister) that we begin to surrender to the will of God. The recognition of this essential commonality in the human experience reveals the genius of Chittister’s book.

In broadening the application of the rule to both accommodate a non-monastic, 21^st-century worldview, Chittister occasionally loses sight of Benedict’s primary catalyst for living the obedient Christian life: community. After all, it is the cenobites—the communal monastics—that Benedict (perhaps a bit biased) proclaims “the best kind,” reserving judgment for those who seek personal piety outside the confines of community. However, it must be acknowledged that cenobitic monasticism is no longer a cultural regularity, and in seeking to adapt the deeply universal message of Benedict’s Rule, this assumption must be sacrificed. Nevertheless, Chittister for the most part recognizes the vital role human interaction plays in the development of a Benedictine spirituality.

Additionally, not all will appreciate the author’s theological approach to the Rule for personal application. Indeed, some may find that Chittister intermittently overreaches in her contextualization and that some of her illuminations sporadically end up a bit too closely resembling the stratagems of Christian self-help gurus like Rick Warren, Joyce Meyer, and Joel Osteen. However, these faint whispers of twelve-step program theology are few and far between, and never so overpowering that the reader loses sight of the author’s primary message.

A Personal Appraisal

When I was very young, our small-town church hired a new pastor. This pastor was an extremely well-read seminary student, and inspired me to pursue theological studies throughout high school and college, eventually making my own way to seminary. Looking back on my path and recognizing my inherent curiosity of all things biblical and theological, I still often wonder why more people do not follow the call of God to seminary. My own journey was borne out of the sincere desire to follow God; much like the desire of the ancient monastics. Why then were there not millions of people making their way into higher Christian education instead of committing their lives to humdrum careers and normalcy? This assumption, I learned while reading Chittister’s commentary on the Rule, is an inherently arrogant one. In reality, Benedictine spirituality recognizes the vast number of divine callings each individual might experience. It is not the role of everyone to attend seminary and enter vocational ministry (wouldn’t the ministerial job market be terrible?). The role of each individual is simply to do what he or she is called to do. Whatever your vocation, Chittister suggests, perform your work wholeheartedly and with humble zeal. That is the Benedictine way. I am reminded of a speech that Dr. Martin Luther King gave to a group of junior high students shortly before his assassination in which he urged the children to perform their vocation with integrity: “If it falls your lot to be a street sweeper, sweep streets like Michelangelo painted pictures, sweep streets like Beethoven composed music…Sweep streets like Shakespeare wrote poetry. Sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will have to pause and say: Here lived a great street sweeper who swept his job well.”[3] In this strange concept of vocation, the Rule attempts to find the revolutionary in the everyday, the divine in the mundane.

I felt that the most powerful section of Chittister’s book was her explication of Benedict’s chapter on humility. Several years ago, my wife Alyssa and I were struck by the powerful resurgence of the intentional Christian community movement that accompanied the publication of such popular books as Shane Claiborne’s The Irresistible Revolution and Rutba House’s 12 Marks of a New Monasticism. The desperate need for a mending of broken relationships, both personal and ecumenical, and the desire to break the dominant cultural paradigm of individualistic consumerism inspired us to dream up an egalitarian intentional Christian community in which all would be welcome as both teachers and students. Our community would be based upon monastic principles of ora et labora, a rhythm of prayer and work, and a shared communal gift or trade (charism). We called our project Anavah House, from the Hebrew word for “humility.” Yet anavah is not simply meekness or modesty. Anavah is what makes Benedictine monastic spirituality function—it is the notion that everyone has something to teach, and everyone has something to learn from everyone else. It is the very foundation of mutual submission and humble obedience—in a word, anavah is the mark of a committed monastic vow of stability.

While our plans for this community never actualized, the premise of Anavah House remains a guiding influence on our interpersonal relationships and our connection with the established Church. It is to anavah that Chittister is referring when she explains, “When we know our place in the universe, we can afford to value the place of others. We need them, in fact, to make up what is wanting in us” (p.95). And yet the recognition of this virtue is scarce, both in the Church and in the secular Western world alike. Chittister is most certainly correct in referring to humility as “the lost virtue of our era” (p.99) that must be recaptured if we are to live out the Benedictine vision of the Reign of God.

Conclusion: Outside the Cloister

In a time when secular individualism is considered normative and the holy writings of our collective past are deemed crusty and outdated, Chittister offers a fresh commentary on an ancient monastic text, reminding us of the roles humility, compassion, and obedience play in nurturing a genuine spirituality. Furthermore, the Rule speaks to the absolutely essential role played by human community—which Chittister herself defines as “the universal obligation to live fully ourselves and to live well with others” (p.153)—in the ongoing conversion of the Christian life.  In A Spirituality for the 21^st Century we find a sincere attempt to meet a generation grown weary of organized religion, a generation of “spiritual, not religious” gyrovagues, and strike up a much-needed dialogue upon the common ground of stability, community, and compassion. The Rule is not just for monks. The Rule is for all who seek an ordered life, and a genuine relationship with the divine. A Benedictine spirituality, says Chittister, “is a way of life…that makes the humdrum holy and the daily the stuff of high happiness. It is a way of living that leads us to pursue life to its fullest” (p.302). The Rule of Benedict: A Spirituality for the 21^st Century is a fantastic study aid to help us along in that very pursuit.

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[1] More Young People Are Moving Away From Religion, But Why? NPR, January 15, 2013, “NPR Special Series,” http://www.npr.org/2013/01/15/169342349/more-young-people-are-moving-away-from-religion-but-why?utm_source=NPR&utm_medium=facebook&utm_campaign=20130115 (accessed January 16, 2013).

[2] Drew Smith, “3 Ways to Improve Your Religious Literacy,” EthicsDaily.com, January 17, 2013. http://ethicsdaily.com/3-ways-to-improve-your-religious-literacy-cms-20383 (accessed January 17, 2013).

[3] “What Is Your Life’s Blueprint?” TheSeattleTimes.com. Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Civil Rights Movement. http://seattletimes.com/special/mlk/king/words/blueprint.html (accessed January 18, 2013).