THOUGHTS OF A MONK

Homily for the Sunday after Theophany 

Matthew 11:3
February 2005

"Are you really the one, or must we expect another?"

I’d like to tell you about a monk I once knew, in my former monastery. His name was Brother Fabian. Actually, some of the older monks and nuns may remember him as he paid a brief visit here in the 1970’s with an older, elf-like monk named Brother Robert, a real character if there ever was one. Anyway, Brother Fabian was the cellarer of the monastery, which meant that he made the daily work assignments and was responsible for obtaining supplies for the monastery. He also did some of the monastery’s bookwork. Before becoming a monk he had been a lawyer in Chicago, but over time he grew disillusioned with that as his own attraction for monastic life blossomed. When he entered the monastery his sole desire was to live the simple life of a monk, and he managed to do that with enormous grace and fidelity. I was fortunate to get to know him through conversations we had while we worked together. While he was quiet by temperament, when he did speak it was always to the point, and his pleasant demeanor reflected a wisdom I came to value and respect.

One day towards the end of my novitiate he told me somewhat matter-of-factly that he was going to have to have a heart by-pass operation the following week and that while he was gone I’d be working regularly in the garden. I didn’t think too much of it at the time, since by then by-pass operations were fairly routine, but I assured him I would pray for him. The following week, the day before the operation, I was surprised when the Abbot told me that Brother Fabian had asked to see me in the hospital and that I should go that morning. When I got there Fabian was going through some tests and was pleasantly joking with a few of the nurses. After they left we chatted for a time, pleasant small talk mostly, but suddenly Fabian grew serious. "Chris, I’ve got to tell you something. These past few days have been the darkest of my life. I’ve felt as though I was being sucked into a black hole, alone, without hope, close to despair... prayer was more difficult than I’ve ever known… close to impossible. But then last night, very suddenly, everything cleared, and I suddenly knew that everything was going to be well; that I had passed through a night I had never anticipated, but now there’s nothing but deep peace. I just had to tell you that-
after the darkness comes light and peace. Never forget that, Chris".

Trying not to act too self-conscious, I thanked him for that word, and as I prepared to leave I told him we were all looking forward to him coming home and to "have a good operation." He simply shook his head and smiled, and gave me a good-bye hug. That was the last time I saw Fabian alive. The next day on the bulletin board the progress reports appeared: Brother Fabian in surgery… Brother Fabian out of surgery… Brother Fabian experiencing complications… and finally, Brother Fabian died at 11:45 AM. I found the news of his death devastating, since it was so unexpected, however the more I reflected, the more I realized that he knew he wasn’t going to make it, and that our final conversation was his way of saying goodbye and offering that pearl of wisdom, a gift that has stayed with me these many years.

His struggle with doubt in those last days, so terrifying yet so human, remind me very much of the struggle John the Baptist went through deep in that prison. Given that the whole record of John’s witness to Jesus – in Elizabeth’s womb, in the wilderness, at Jesus’ baptism, and finally his sending his disciples to go with Jesus in the Gospel of John – seem so clear and unambiguous, we might wonder how it is that in this morning’s Gospel he seems to be wavering… "Are you really the one, or must we expect another?" We smell doubt. Interestingly, I believe this reveals a law of the spiritual life: that the nature of faith and discipleship is never static, and that throughout our journey it is constantly renewed, constantly purified. That’s a liberating message because it means that we can face our doubts honestly, knowing that this is actually a sign of deeper, more engaged faith, and not of faithlessness. John’s question can become our own: "Are you really the one, or must we expect another?"

This is no idle question. In a world where war and terrorism disfigure our perception of what is truly human, where an earthquake and Tsunami can take close to a 150,000 people in a single gulp and leave millions of others suffering and vulnerable, such questions assert themselves on honest minds. Does life have a purpose, or is it just one big cosmic crapshoot? Is there really a God who knows and cares for each one of us personally, and if so, is Jesus the definitive revelation of that God? "Go, tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight and the lame walk, lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear, and the dead are raised up, and the poor have Good News preached to them. And blessed are they who take no offense at me." And yet, suffering still exists.

Ultimately, there are no easy answers here, only the verdict of faith. But I must tell you honestly that it gives me great solace knowing that a saint I knew personally, looked down the barrel of doubt and didn’t blink, who faced it nakedly and came through that trial with a peace I could only describe as unshakeable… and I’ve never forgotten that.