Becoming like monks in the world

The world and its desires pass away, but the one who does the will of God lives forever. 

1 John 2:17

Cat Bells, overlooking Derwent Water, Keswick

A few months ago, I began writing regularly on this blog. My goal for these blog posts has been to make a path to Christ for others and myself, whether through gardening, homemaking, working or other topics. Thus, the theme has been our pilgrimage towards the kingdom of God. 

Today's blog post shares the same goal and theme, but rather than focussing on our destination, I will look in the opposite direction, at what we are leaving behind: what St John the Evangelist calls 'the world.'

The scriptural foundation for this blog post comes from the letter of 1 John: Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him (2:15).

St John is warning that if we want to love God, we must shed our love for the world; there is not room to love both.

But isn't the world a good thing? 

I don't think St John is saying we shouldn't love Planet Earth and the rest of God's creation. God created the world and called it very good (Gen. 1:31). Further, he has loved it (John 3:16) and looks after its maintenance (e.g. Ps. 104). As I wrote two weeks ago, our hope is in God's transformation of heaven and earth--not ultimately a destruction, but a restoration of this created world.

Nor do I think St John is saying we shouldn't love people in the world. Jesus taught us not only to love our neighbour as ourselves, but even to love our enemies because they too are loved by God (Matt. 5:43-48; see also Jonah 4). God does not want anyone to perish but waits patiently for people to turn to him (2 Pet. 3:9).

Also, and as a result, I think we can and should love anything that reflects the image, beauty and goodness of God, such as wisdom or beautiful works of art. St Paul encourages us to think about anything that is true, honourable, just, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent or praiseworthy (Phil. 4:8). 

In saying 'the world', then, I believe St John is referring to the evil that has corrupted God's good creation, the way a virus can infect an entire population. 

St John describes this spiritual virus in the next verse of the above-quoted passage: For everything in the world--the cravings of sinful man, the lust of his eyes and the boasting of what he has and does--comes not from the Father but from the world. (v. 16)

'The world' is thus the realm of sin: greed, lust and pride (or 'passions,' as the Church Fathers call them). 

Although God created the world to be beautiful and good, the passions have spoiled it so that it is cursed and under the shadow of Satan (e.g. Eph. 6:12). 

And although Christ through his death and resurrection has overthrown Satan (John 12:30-32), evil still has a grasp on the world, and will continue to until Christ comes again to establish his kingdom and restore all things (see Rev. 11:15). 

If Satan has been overthrown, then why is evil still rampant? Perhaps it's like the Israelites wandering in the wilderness towards the Promised Land. God, through Moses and Aaron, had rescued them from slavery in Egypt through the Red Sea; the crucial victory had been won. But then they had to fight a new battle, one taking place in their hearts: would they continue trusting in and journeying towards God despite the challenges of the unknown, or would they look back at Egypt, longing to return to the relative comforts they had left behind (e.g. Exod. 16:2-3)?

Similarly, although Christ has set us free from sin to journey towards Christlikeness, we can still be tempted by the world to do evil. 

A small example: as I said earlier, my goal for these blog posts is to make a path to Christ. However, it can be tempting to make a path to myself instead, seeking people's praise for what I do. Rather than writing to strengthen, encourage and comfort others (1 Cor. 14:3), I can be tempted to write in order to become a world-famous blogger. If this desire for worldly success takes over my writing, then the love of the Father is not present in it, and I fail to write for God.

How can we flee love of the world?

I suggest we need to become like monks who live out in the world.

Let me explain. I am (re-)reading The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. The main character of the novel is Alyosha, a young novice monk in a monastery. Early on in the story, his elder, Father Zossima, tells him that he needs to leave the monastery and live his life of holiness out in the world:

I bless you for great service. Yours will be a long pilgrimage. And you will have to take a wife, too. You will have to bear all before you come back. There will be much to do. But I don't doubt of you, and so I send you forth. Christ is with you. Do not abandon Him and He will not abandon you. You will see great sorrow, and in that sorrow you will be happy. This is my last message to you: in sorrow seek happiness. Work, work unceasingly.

In other words, Alyosha is sent to work for Christ out in the world, in the daily grind of responsibility and sometimes messy relationships. We follow him as he integrates spirituality with every other area of his life: for example, his complex and puzzling relationships with his father and brothers, and his relationship with his betrothed and her family. The monastic life remains in him throughout everything he does. 

Although he is a monk in the world, he does not belong to the world (see John 17:13-19). Because he works for Christ, his love is for God and people instead. 

What might it look like to become like monks in the world?

When Emperor Constantine in about 313 CE declared Christianity the official religion of the Roman Empire, Christians stopped being persecuted for their faith. This resulted in a new challenge: being faithful to Christ amid security and wealth, which often compromised their conviction. Monasticism began in response to this challenge. Many Christians left their prestigious positions and journeyed into solitude, like Christ fasting in the wilderness, to struggle against the evil within. They became martyrs of a different kind—not crucified by the empire, but by voluntarily taking up their crosses through poverty, prayer and fasting.

Thus, the monastics attempted to forsake love of the world by single-mindedly pursuing God (the word 'monk' comes from the Greek word monos, meaning ‘single’). They often did this together, forming communities to worship God, work and offer hospitality to people in need as a new kind of family. One example is St Columba, founder of a monastic community on the Isle of Iona, Scotland, in the 6th century CE.

Iona Abbey

Iona is considered a 'thin place', where heaven and earth seem especially close together. I believe what makes it holy is the heritage of prayer, faith, love and sacrifice that has endured there. 

Although monastic life ended on Iona soon after the Protestant Reformation, the contemporary Iona Community, born in 1938 from an effort to rebuild the abbey grounds, was inspired and informed by the island's monastic heritage. I was privileged to be part of this community for a few years. It was the closest I'd come to becoming a monk--although of course, it was far from the dedication and sacrifice required of true monks and nuns. 

Still, my experience there has (among other things) equipped me with this model of living as a monk in the world. Most of the staff who work for the Iona Community stay there for up to three years. This is so that they may carry their experience from that holy island with them wherever they go afterwards.

In my next blog post, I plan to say more about this, answering more fully what it might look like to become like monks in the world.

For now, I close by saying that I don't claim to have attained such a life. Rather, I write this to better understand how we can flee love of the world while living in the midst of it; how to detach ourselves from sinful cravings so that the love of the Father may inhabit us, giving life to the people in our lives.