Those of us here on the Belmont Abbey campus sometimes joke about “monastic time.” It’s a quip we’ve borrowed from the monks themselves, though it would be hard to imagine actually applying it to their faithful work, despite their good-humored self-deprecation. In the course of our teaching or administrative work, however, if some objective seems slow in approaching or a goal aims far in the future, we can always tease ourselves with the playfully applied truth: that this is just the monastic way. In an overarching, historical sense, the scale of Benedictine time responds to a 1500 year tradition, after all; its units are more properly centuries than days or weeks. But even on an individual scale, the Abbey monk lives his life in view of eternity.

To be clear, Benedictine monks absolutely get things done. One look at Belmont Abbey history shows dozens of visionary servant-leaders who built and sustained this college and community over the last 150 years, bringing it by the grace of God from two students and a few, old farm buildings to a thriving community of 1700+ and a campus full of beautiful, historic architecture. But in looking back at Abbey history, it’s important to remember that these men didn’t always see the fruits of their labors, which unfolded slowly across generations. They didn’t need to see what would come or know how long it would take. Being human, of course, they may have wondered, but they also drew strength and perspective from a community whose way of life, sense of priority, and attitude toward time look ever more radical by today’s standards.

In the monastery, the daily rhythms are steady and consistent, cultivating a faithful interior space in which to await the still, small voice so easy to miss in our urgent, polarized, and media-saturated world. Those of us outside the monastery are bombarded by a culture that believes everything should be immediate, gratifying, and accessible. And while there are many advantages to modern technology, it can all too quickly drown us in a bizarre cocktail of anxious complacency. Relative to the fragmentary whirl of contemporary life, a monk’s ordered balance of prayer and work, ora et labora, seems almost like slow motion – largely because the Benedictine looks to the eternal.

The structures of our daily lives might differ from a Benedictine monk’s – just as our particular callings are different from his — but something in the idea of monastic time remains necessary to all of us. The invitation to do faithfully the work and prayer of today, trusting to a scale of time and a divine plan that far exceed what we can see or predict, might be more explicit in the Benedictine life, but it belongs to each of us in our shared vocation as human beings. Eternity is not an abstraction unconnected with earthly life. The monks of Belmont Abbey live in its light while embracing, without contradiction, the paradox of stability in a particular time and place. Likewise, orienting ourselves toward eternity doesn’t detach us from our humanity but illuminates its dignity, echoing the reality of sacrament and the mystery of the Incarnation, the eternal Word made flesh.

Changing our perspective is not easy, and personally, I still have a long way to go. But I think in the end the key is, well… time. In the end, the time we give to God — in prayer or work or leisure — participates in eternity. And if we set aside even ten minutes each day with no other purpose than directing our attention to Him, our eternal home – if we sit in what is sometimes very uncomfortable and distracted quiet and just keep trying to turn our eyes back to Him – those moments can help to orient us. They can remind us that all time points toward its eternal source. That no moment is defined by itself alone. And that it is never our responsibility to worry about outcomes or timing. Every day the monks’ patient witness reminds us: just leave those to God.

There is one thing I ask of the Lord; only this do I seek: to live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life. 

All this week at Mass, the monks have led us in chanting this verse from Psalm 27 after Communion.

For someone like me, who is always asking God for things (usually with the thinly veiled conviction that I really know best…) this is a pretty striking prayer. Seeking, asking one thing only.

Circumventing my usual inventory of anxious requests, the prayer itself prods me to consider the way I pray. I know that it’s good to bring my hopes, my fears, and my desires to God with total honesty, no matter how small or how large they might be. But sometimes I also need to look at these requests, to reflect on my priorities and to question whether I’m allowing my awareness of my own need to outstrip my awareness of God’s goodness or the incomparable riches He offers in a life with Him. It’s something I struggle to recall, somehow, even though I’m surrounded by reminders. It’s why I need this prayer.

Is this really the only thing I seek, to live in the house of God?

Asking it can remind us of Jesus’ words to Martha in the Gospel of Luke’s, when she complained about being left alone in her work, caught up in the bustle of serving and the frustration that Mary hadn’t come to help her. Most of us could imagine ourselves in her place. Jesus could be addressing any one of us when he says, so gently, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things. One thing alone is necessary.” One thing.

Christ has prepared a place for you, for me, in His Father’s house. We know that this is true, and it is a profound source of hope and joy that we will find a real and personal space prepared in eternal life with God. But that life doesn’t begin only after we die. We can live in the house of the Lord all our lives. We can seek and ask that one thing, make our home in Him – in the Church that is His Body – and trust that He will take care of everything else.

God inspired the psalmist’s prayer. Christ assured Martha that only one thing – one Person, who is Love – is necessary. If I tell a child that they only need to focus on one thing, I intend to take care of everything else.

This weekend, let’s ask God for one thing in particular… May we live in the house of the Lord, make our home in His love, all the days of our lives.

For better or worse, as Americans we live in a highly mobile society. Whether moving for work or family or school, fewer and fewer of us can afford to remain in the same place for long, and even the simple question “Where are you from?” becomes difficult to answer. Less and less likely to stay in the communities where we grew up, it starts to feel like the ground is always moving under our feet. I think that’s one of the reasons I find the Benedictine hallmark of stability so beautiful and so necessary.

As Benedictines, the monks of Belmont Abbey make a vow of stability, committing themselves to love God in this place and this community, here and now. In a sense, the Abbey itself, the college, and even the local region, all play an essential part in the story of these faithful vocations.

By their prayers and work, the monks continually choose and love this place. They always have. During the Great Depression, the monks of Belmont Abbey fed the local people from the produce of their farm. Two decades earlier, Abbot Leo Haid even took on the pastoral care of all North Carolina as bishop, maintaining this for the western half of the state between the creation of the Raleigh and Charlotte Dioceses. His service continually strengthened the region that the Abbey calls home. And throughout the 150 years of its history, Belmont Abbey has welcomed and stewarded this corner of the world in countless ways.

The monastic community of Belmont Abbey embraces a level of stability beyond what most of our concrete circumstances may allow. But even at times of great change or movement in our lives, the monks’ prayerful and faithful way of life can remind us that the source of our true stability is ultimately Christ. Pilgrims in a changing world, we can always plant our feet on solid rock. We can always love those around us.

When our monks pray the Hours or attend Mass in the Abbey Basilica, when they work on the grounds or inside the monastery, or when they walk under the old trees along Abbey Lane, they do so with grateful care for their home, but they also know that they, too, are pilgrims. When we love our homes and the people in them, likewise, we embrace hope in our ultimate stability, eternal life with God.

This weekend, let’s ask God for the grace to see in our homes and our communities the rich ground of our vocations. Let’s remember, too, that God has an eternal place prepared for us. And as we observe Memorial Day this coming Monday, let’s pray for all those enlisted men and women who gave their lives to safeguard our freedoms. They, too, remind us of the stability that springs from sacrificial love of home.