Benedictine Lessons in Contentment

Where should you go if you want to live in the happiest country in the world? According to the 2023 World Happiness Report of the United Nations Sustainable Development Solutions Network, you should pack your bags and head to Finland.

Arto Sabnen, a professor at the University of Eastern Finland, believes that the Finnish people understand an important key to contentment: “When you know what is enough, you are happy,” he says. Coincidentally, St. Benedict also was a proponent of moderation in all things, whether that be eating, drinking, sleeping, reading, working, or praying.

How do we learn how much is enough? Wendell Berry tells us to look to no further than our gardens: too much rain, and the roots rot; too much sun, and the foliage withers; too much fertilizer, and the plant gets out of balance and can’t grow properly. Like plants, we humans are healthier when we take what we need and don’t overconsume. As St. Luke reports in Acts 4:35, “Distribution was made to each one as he had need,” and thus the early Christian community lived in harmony.

Finland has a strong social safety net, so the people there don’t need to worry about obtaining housing, food, health care, and education. That doesn’t preclude other forms of adversity, but a national trait called “sisu”— perseverance without complaining — helps the Finnish people at such times. St. Benedict also was a proponent of perseverance (“…faithfully observing God’s teaching in the monastery until death, we shall through patience share in the sufferings of Christ that we may deserve also to share in his kingdom”) and decried grumbling (“First and foremost, there must be no word or sign of the evil of grumbling”).

One other contribution to happiness in Finland is access to an abundance of nature, as 75% of the land is covered by forest, and all of it is open to everyone. St. Benedict too believed in living according to the rhythm of nature, and he adjusted the time for prayers, work, meals, and sleep accordingly.

Perhaps we don’t need to move to Finland to be happy after all. We just need to follow the Benedictine and Finnish practices of knowing what is enough, persevering without complaining, and absorbing the wisdom of nature.

An Autumn Perspective on Our Crosses

Autumn gives us a unique perspective on our crosses. In this season of letting go, trees blaze with the glory of leaves that soon will drift to the ground and become part of the soil. Grape vines relinquish their fruit and become dormant during the coming season of plummeting temperatures and wind. On the Feasts of All Saints and All Souls, we cherish the memories of those who once walked among us.

It is instructive to see how Jesus approached the autumn of his life, when he knew that his immediate future likely held betrayal, suffering, and death.

• He allowed others to minister to him and comfort him, as when Mary of Bethany anointed his head and feet with costly perfumed oil in anticipation of his death and burial.

• He gathered his closest companions around him to enjoy their company one last time and to strengthen them on the night before his death.

• He continued his work of healing and teaching until his last day, when he restored a man’s ear that had been cut off by Simon Peter in the chaos of his arrest and forgave those who had crucified him as he hung on the cross.

In the midst of our own crosses of illness, diminishment, and grief, we too can accept comfort from others, savor the company of our loved ones, and continue to minister to others in whatever way we can. And when it is time to surrender the life we currently know, autumn teaches us, as Sr. Joan Chittister says, “to accept and let go, so we see the promises of every new moment.”

 

Seasons of Waxing and Waning

In October we had a “super moon,” and I have been enjoying its remnants in the pre-dawn sky. Even in its journey of waning from three-fourths to half full to a crescent, the moon has seemed particularly brilliant, clear, and lovely.

The October moon reminded of a spiritual practice suggested by James Larkins: “During the waning moon, I ask the Creator to remove from my life whatever is not in my best interest. During the waxing moon, I ask the Creator to add to my life whatever will help me become the person I am meant to be. As I walk, I reflect that faith will be my guide.”

Along with the waning moon, the season of autumn invites us to the process of letting go and clearing out so that future growth can occur. Today I gathered pole bean pods that contain the seeds of next summer’s plants and pulled up the spent plants and vines. I’m also finally feeling the urge to sort through boxes of stuff I saved from my pre-monastic life so I can let go of things I no longer need and pass them on to others who can put them to good use.

Ultimately, of course, we ourselves will become spent as we age and move closer to the doorway of death, when we will no longer be concerned with the rising and setting of the sun and the waxing and waning of the moon. The prophet Isaiah offers a beautiful meditation as we approach this time: “No longer shall the sun be your light by day, nor shall the brightness of the moon give you light by night; rather, the Lord will be your light forever, your God will be your glory. No longer will your sun set, or your moon wane; for the Lord will be your light forever, and the days of your grieving will be over” (Is 60: 19-20).

John the Baptist said of Jesus, “He must increase, but I must decrease” (Jn 3:30). Those who follow Jesus are called to do the same. The irony is that decreasing (waning), or dying to ourselves, is actually the path to increasing (waxing) through our unity with Christ, who will be our light forever.

Cultivating Delight

Psalm 36 contains some of my favorite lines in scripture: “You give us drink from the stream of your delight / For with you is the fountain of life / and in your light we see light.” Coincidentally, my favorite Mary Oliver poem, Mindful, begins with similar lines: “Everyday / I see or hear / something / that more or less / kills me / with delight.”

Typically, delight isn’t considered to be a particularly important spiritual value. However, I find it to be so valuable that I include it as a component of my nightly examen. This is one of the questions I ask myself at the end of the day: “What delighted me today?”

Delight is closely associated with gratitude, attention, and humility. If we can’t find something to delight in every day — such as cool, clear water when we’re thirsty, the taste of honey, or the appearance of light when we flip a switch — then we aren’t paying attention. If we aren’t paying attention, we aren’t grateful to be immersed in a marvelous world. If we aren’t grateful, we lack the humility of understanding that everything, including our very life, is a gift from God, and we subsequently suffer from the burdens of entitlement, conceit, and isolation.

Mary Oliver goes on in her poem to say that this is what we were born for: “to instruct myself / over and over / in joy, / and acclamation.” We can teach ourselves to be people who take delight in the wonders that surround us and dwell within us. It just requires a little time each day to cultivate attention, gratitude, and humility.