[A Homily of Fr. Matthew Kelty, O.C.S.O. for the Birth of St. John the Baptist: (Lk 1:57-66, 80)]
 

                                                Witnesses to the Transcendent

I was in my hermitage in Bogia on the North coast of Papua New Guinea only a week or so when the
local government man came by to see what I was up to – a young nominal Catholic from Australia. He
took a look around. “So you’re a hermit?” he said. “In a manner of speaking, yes, I am.”

“Well, I’ve seen some real hermits. I visited Greece and saw some. They lived in caves on the mountain
side and got their supplies by a rope lowered to someone below the cliff.”

My layout, by comparison, seemed rather remote from anything like that. “Yes,” I said, “I’ve read of them.
A monk I know visited them and told me about them.” He was not impressed by my remarks, nor by me,
nor by my scene. He invited me to come down next day and have a beer. His companion snickered.

So the next day, out of courtesy, I went down and had a beer with him. As we were at it his cook walked
past to the cooler and came back carrying an enormous raw steak on a platter. “Man,” I thought, “he’s
really going to rub it in.” But happily he did not invite me to lunch. The steak was for him. So at least I was
spared his bragging on the hermit he had down for steak and a beer.

Our relation to John the Baptist is somewhat similar. We are far removed from a life similar to that of John
the Baptist. And yet he has been and continues to be a favorite of monks. In fact, I made my vows 39 years
ago on this day. And my hermit vow some years later. And my original vows 60 years ago the same time.

What, then, is the connection? St. John lived a life-time in the desert in a kind of ascetic solitude we only
dream of. And became a great preacher when the time came, announcing the coming of the Kingdom and
of the Messiah. Warning all to repent and to be converted. Nor was this message gentle and restrained. It
was the opposite: strong, forthright, fearless. His condemnation of the loose living of Herod led to his
violent death. As a model for monks he seems rather too much of a good thing.

So the attraction for him lies in more than a commendation of his life-style. Rather, it was what he was in
the total picture. Which means to say he was a witness by his life and his death. It is in being a witness that
we are his disciples. We be what we preach. Or, better, our preaching is our being.

And we be witnesses to the transcendent. If all Christians are that, monks would be so in a more articulate
way, even a dramatic way. Our life makes no sense except spiritually. We bear witness to the transcendent.
It was never meant to be practical. Not even in the sense of pastoral service of some kind.

In concrete terms, who needs fruitcake? Or fudge? Or cheese? That is not where we are at. That is not what
we are here for.

We are not mendicants, a valid form of witness. We are monks. We earn our own living. And that is but
part of the whole picture: a community of celibate monks, following a rule of life, under an abbot. And the
rule of life involves a regimen of common prayer, of community, of service, of study and reading, under
obedience, in a life of shared goods, committed to the love of God and one another in peace and mercy. It
is – to say the least that can be said – a beautiful life. And it is a most significant witness to a very deep
level. It is a great work of God.

One might call it an art form, if that appeals to you. And like any art, not particularly practical. Who needs
ballet?

Yet art is of enormous significance to the human scene, even if that significance cannot be measured in
practical terms. Song and dance, painting and sculpture, symphony and poetry, beauty in any form is an
elemental aspect of the human scene. Without them life becomes utterly dreary.

But we are a world away from the typical art form because this art form is a living reality. It is people who
are this art form. And the art form is not only living people, but a living people immersed in the life and love
of God. This art form is alive, both humanly and divinely. It is therefore unique.

As in the mysteries of faith, we do not merely read about them, study them, reflect on them. We do them. The
Passion, Death, and Rising of the Christ are not merely recalled and celebrated. They continue through
history. And we participate in that continuation. Christ lives and dies and rises among us. His life and grace
permeate the whole of us. Here is art of another sort. Here is a witness of staggering beauty and
significance. It is God in the human scene in a most specific way.

To be called to such a witness is a great grace, a remarkable gift. This past week we bore witness to one
such life coming to fruition in death. And another making a solemn commitment to it. An old monk and a
young one.

What a gift to the world! An art of any kind is a grace to the human scene. Here is an art that is vivid with
grace. Here is God in the human scene made evident and obvious.

This witness is as valid as John’s was, and as powerful. The witness may be as remote from the style of
John’s witness as one can be, yet the witness is one of a kind. That’s why he means so much to us. We
understand him and what he is. The meaning of his life is clear to us. And we are in the same category. Or,
if you like, the same art form.

Monks too die as tragically as John did. Every nation has at one time or another turned on the Church. A
prime victim is the monastery. If there are monasteries all over Europe, there are monastic ruins too: still
a haunting memory of extraordinary beauty.

So, carry on, in great joy and in great gratitude. We are a blessed group to be called to such a remarkable
witness. God grace our efforts to make this home one of special beauty, the living God revealed. And
having a beer once in a while does not spoil it, as the government man thought it did.  Amen.

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