St. Bruno was a scholar, an academic, and a Church man at the top of his field. He was prominent, well thought of, successful, influential. Already Chancellor of the Diocese of Rheims, he seemed inevitably destined for a mitre, or even a Cardinal’s hat.
The times in which Bruno lived though, were far from peaceful. Among other causes, there were struggles for power between rival factions within the Church. Such things always tend to be nasty: but in these times they often descended into actual violence. No one ever had any doubt which side of the conflict Bruno was on, so sometimes his life was in real danger. One day, when he was already 50, he had a conversation in a garden with some friends. This took place some time around the year 1080. They talked about the vanity of this world; about the emptiness of ambition, and the ultimate worthlessness of worldly power, and worldly achievement, and worldly glory. They talked also about the greatness and goodness of God; and about Jesus Christ our Lord, our Redeemer, our Saviour, who is also our Life, and our hope, and all our joy. Bruno landed up rather dominating this conversation. Drawing on his own intense experience, and conviction, he spoke about the attraction of Christ’s call, about the beauty of holiness, and about the joys stored up for us in heaven. He bore witness that these joys already invade our life on this earth, if we live our earthly lives in a heavenly way. Anyone who has tasted such joys, even to a small degree, can never again be truly content with anything less. Such a person will feel the urgent need to give himself with generosity to prayer, to penance, to divine reading, to contemplation. He will long to escape the noisy chatter all around him, and inside his own head, and to stand freely at last before God alone: in silence, and in solitude; simply to be open to God, to worship Him, to love Him, to rejoice in His presence.
At this time many others all over Europe were having the same sorts of ideas. These would result in an explosion of monastic foundations: thriving and fervent communities of monks and nuns: (mostly) Benedictine, Cistercian and Augustinian. In Scotland during the following centuries, up to the time of the Reformation, there were some 60 such houses: when the population was a tiny fraction of what it is now. St. Bruno certainly knew and admired the Rule of St. Benedict, and was in touch with some of the great and holy Benedictine monks of his day. But his own way was to be somewhat different. He fled with his companions to a remote and wild mountain area near Grenoble, there to live as hermits in community. Bruno never seems to have intended to found an order, but what he started there in the Grande Chartreuse became the seed of the Carthusians. Carthusians have always been small in the Church; always noted for their radical separation from the world, and austerity of life. Few are called to such a way of life, and few are able to live it. They had one house in Scotland, at Perth, the sacking of which in 1559 was a significant event in the launching of the Scottish Reformation.
I stand before you today not as a Carthusian of course, but as a Benedictine monk. Still, what St. Bruno stood for, and believed in, and lived, is essentially what we stand for, and believe in, and live today, at Pluscarden Abbey near Elgin. St. Paul’s burning words to the Philippians could be said to sum it up: All I want is to know Christ, and the power of his resurrection, and to share in his suffering (...) so as to take my place in the resurrection of the dead. Or the words of the Lord Himself in today’s Gospel, taken with full seriousness. That is: if following Christ will cost us everything, then we are ready to pay everything, and to know we are the gainers thereby. If half hearted service of him is not acceptable, then we will renounce half hearted service of him. If faithful perseverance to the end is difficult, then all the more will we commit ourselves to that, and use whatever means we can to maintain it, and support one another in it, and nourish our conviction that to fail there is to abandon what is supremely valuable in favour of something that ultimately is not valuable at all: which is folly.
Of course there are many ways of following Christ. As Catholics, monks and nuns believe fervently in the goodness of marriage and family life. They love to be in communion with the clergy and religious who actively serve God’s holy people. They rejoice in the aspirations for excellence of fine young people who eagerly look ahead, and work hard towards what they hope will be a worth-while and fulfilling life. Still, we believe also that from the beginning of the Church, some have always been called to a life radically devoted to God alone. One thing I have asked of the Lord, sang the Psalmist (Ps 26). Few things are necessary, said the Lord to Martha, indeed only one (Lk 10). There is nobody to whom these words do not apply. But it’s of service to the whole Church when some people take them literally, and at face value: vowing life-long poverty, chastity and obedience; renouncing career, and possessions, and marriage, and even control over their own life; dedicating themselves to prayer; to seeking the face of God; to listening to his holy Word; to serving Him in monastic life, in the stability of one place, and one community, until they die.
Here in the secular West we live in an all-encompassing cultural climate that aggressively denies and counters everything monastic life stands for. The world would say to us: your life is madness; given that God is a delusion and irrelevance. We respond: our life is wisdom; given that God is; that He is the source of our own being, and our last end; given also that we are His adopted children in Jesus Christ our Lord; given that our hearts can find no rest until they rest in Him.
Nowadays to believe in God; to accept the words of the Gospel as true; to take the promises and commandments of Jesus seriously, to be ready to suffer and die rather than betray them: this is to be radically counter-cultural. The conclusion is obvious: all faithful Christians nowadays have to be radically counter-cultural. But monastic life is that, in a rather quiet, non-threatening, peaceful sort of way. Maybe it’s the more effective for that? Monks proclaim that the values of the world are wrong, not so much by argument, as by living according to their opposite, and coming out the other end, please God, fulfilled, content, invincibly joyful. Of course only the real Saints can do this in a wholly authentic and convincing and way. Saint Bruno was one; St. Benedict another, and countless countless others with them: their followers, their companions, their brethren, their sisters; for our encouragement, and consolation, and inspiration, and support.
The question is often put: is the monastic life essentially selfish? Granted that it offers great rewards to those who embrace it: according to the words of the Lord, full measure, shaken together, pressed down and running over (Luke 6:38). But does it do anyone else any good? We respond that a life given to God is intrinsically worth-while. No other justification is needed, than to give God glory, and to work for the salvation of one’s own soul. But also we believe very strongly in the power of witness; in the example of good and beautiful liturgy; in the apostolate of hospitality. We also, of course, believe in the power of prayer. Prayer makes a difference. The prayer of intercession works. Our world stands very much in need of prayer these days: calling down God’s grace, calling down God’s blessing, calling down God’s mercy. Monks pray, and the more of that the better: for the good of all peoples; for the upbuilding of the Church; for the spread of the Gospel, and for the salvation of souls.