The reading we heard from the Prophet Jeremiah a few minutes ago sounded like a cogent reason for not doing what we are doing today. Today we thank God for the foundation of this great priory church, and for all that it has stood for and witnessed to, over nine and a quarter centuries. But the Prophet Jeremiah tells us, or seems to tell us, that we shouldn't be over-impressed by that. 'Do not trust in these deceptive words, "This is the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord"'. What counts, says Jeremiah, is whether we amend our ways, whether we truly act justly one with another, whether we refuse to oppress the refugee and the widow, whether we refuse to shed innocent blood, whether we refuse to go after other gods. Only if we pass those tests, says Jeremiah, will the Lord 'dwell with us in this place'. And, of course, we can pass those tests, we can be the sort of Christian community of which all that is true, without having a magnificent priory church which has stood in this place for nine and a quarter centuries.
And I have little doubt that St Benedict, father of monks, whose sixth-century Rule inspired the building of this and thousands of other monasteries the length and breadth of Europe, would have agreed with Jeremiah. St Benedict's vision was that of simple Christian community-living, shorn of possessions, stripped to the essentials, managing without (as we say) 'baggage', and I suspect that he might have seen the weight of history, and the wealth of heritage, as something that Christians on the whole were better off without. Under the weight of history and the wealth of heritage, there is always the temptation to be over-impressed by those deceptive words, 'This is the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord'.
There is, however, another way of looking at today's celebration. I suggest that this is a celebration of stability. Let me explain what I mean. St Benedict lays it down in his Rule that monks are to take three vows. We may be familiar with the idea that those who live in religious communities take vows of poverty, chastity and obedience; but those are not the vows that St Benedict lays down. Obedience, yes; obedience to the community in the person of the abbot or the prior, obedience to the Gospel of Christ as embodied in the Rule. And while poverty and chastity are both implicit in the Rule, the two other vows which St Benedict explicitly lays down are, first, what is sometimes called 'conversion of the heart' , a commitment to lifelong conversion; and secondly - what I want to focus on this evening - 'stability'. St Benedict expected his monks to commit themselves to their particular community for the rest of their lives. But that commitment to a particular place was also a kind of outward sign of an inner stability, a stability of the heart, a commitment to God of one's deepest inmost.
Now we are not Benedictine monks or nuns. We are not under any sort of vow to remain physically in the same place all our lives. That Benedictine stability is not the only way to live a Christian life; not the only way even to lead a monastic life. The Franciscan way, for example, is very different, emphasizing a detachment from any particular place, a sort of holy rootlessness, a cheerful willingness to go wherever the Spirit directs. So St Benedict's vision of a life marked by 'stability' is only one side-light on the spiritual life. But it is an important one. St Benedict challenges us to look at our loyalties and our priorities. Do we change our lives and our lifestyles, our jobs, our homes, our cars, our friends, our partners in marriage, the churches we attend, with a view to getting on? With a view to increasing our own comfort or convenience? With a view to adding the spice of excitement to our lives? Or do we do our best to serve God, and faithfully live out our lives, in the particular circumstances in which we find ourselves? Of course, we must sometimes uproot ourselves and change: that is part of the Franciscan vision. But equally, there is a place for loyalty, for commitment, for 'stickability', for contentment, and for seeking to serve God where we are: and that is part of the Benedictine vision.
Great Malvern Priory, and all the other great Benedictine houses in which this county is so rich - Little Malvern, Pershore, Evesham, Worcester Cathedral, White Ladies Nunnery - were built as places to which men and women committed themselves for life. They sought an inward spiritual stability, and the contentment that goes with it; and their commitment to that particular place was an outward expression of that inward dedication. So this great priory church is, among other things, a witness to those dedicated lives. Christians came to this place, and said, 'Here will I live the rest of my life, here will I die, and I will seek no other place in which to serve God than here'. That's a powerful thing. It reminds us of T.S. Eliot's words in his poem, 'Little Gidding': we are 'here to kneel where prayer has been valid'.
Nearly five centuries ago, that Benedictine life came to an end here in Malvern, as it did throughout England: not because men and women had abandoned their lives of stability; there were still many faithful souls living out lives in obedience to St Benedict's Rule. But the times had changed and the forms of religion changed with them. But their witness lived on. The people of Malvern decided that the monks' church should be their church; they resolved that this outward architectural expression of those lives dedicated to Benedictine stability should continue to witness to the presence of God in this place. They had, perhaps, caught something of that vision of stability from the monks; and saw that to salvage the monks' church from destruction was a way to celebrate stability in changing times.
Stability is not an end in itself, and St Benedict did not set it up as such. His monks vowed themselves to an inward conversion of the heart, as well as to stability of place. That is where St Benedict would have agreed with the Prophet Jeremiah, that the witness of a sacred building, however venerable, however stable through the centuries, means nothing unless it is accompanied by repentance and obedience, by a commitment to justice and compassion. The second lesson this evening, the story of Zacchæus, made the same point. It was only when Zacchæus had undergone that deep conversion of the heart, willing to give restitution to everyone whom he had wronged, that the Lord said that he would visit his house. This great building, if it is to be house which the Lord visits, must be a place where lives are changed, where justice and compassion are practised. But in seeking to live those lives, in seeking that deep conversion of the heart that shows itself in practice: well, we can be encouraged to think that other lives have been lived here that sought the same conversion. We can allow ourselves to be strengthened by that stability of Christian witness over so many centuries. We may remind ourselves that here we may 'kneel where prayer has been valid'. That is no substitute for our own prayer; the stability of those Benedictine monks is no substitute for our own conversion of heart; but there is an encouragement in knowing that we are not the first to seek God in this place.
Peter Atkinson
Dean of Worcester
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