The monastic life is different from the life we moderns take for granted. For monks and nuns, the point of our existence is not self-fulfillment, individual achievement, accumulation of wealth, or social status. Instead, we are meant to find God and work for the good of a community that reflects His love.
But newcomers rarely arrive at the monastery with the skills and abilities required to succeed. To adapt well, they must be “formed” into new people. Much of this shaping takes place during the rough and tumble of intimate communal living. But more formal training is required too. The formation of beginners is generally the responsibility of an appointed postulant or novice master, but it is ultimately overseen by the elected superior: an abbot or abbess, a prior or prioress.
Monasticism confers great authority on these superiors, who are believed to be acting in the person of Christ. Though the insights and opinions of all community members are sought out and welcomed, it is the superior who makes the final decisions.
Where did this distinctive approach to spiritual life originate? Most agree that the title “Father of Christian Monasticism” belongs to St. Pachomius the Great.
Born in Egypt to pagan parents in the year 292, Pachomius was raised in their polytheistic faith. When he was twenty, Persia attacked the Roman Empire. Along with other young men from towns and villages along the Nile River, Pachomius was involuntarily inducted into the Roman army and put on a ship traveling north.
When they arrived at their destination, the unhappy conscripts were thrown in prison to prevent them from escaping. That night, a group of local citizens brought them food. Pachomius asked, “Why are these people so good to us when they do not know us?”
The answer was simple but changed his life: “They are Christians, and they treat us with love for the sake of the God of heaven.”
Amazed, he withdrew and spent the whole night praying to his new “Lord Jesus Christ.” He asked for the gift of goodness and promised that if God would only release him from his present affliction, he would serve humankind for the rest of his life.
Eventually, the edict he was waiting for arrived: all conscripts were to be released. He headed south toward home, stopping to rest in a deserted village called Seneset. When he went inside an ancient pagan temple to pray, the Holy Spirit spoke to him: “Struggle and settle down here.”
So, he built a shelter and stayed, growing vegetables and palm trees to help feed himself, the local poor, and strangers who passed by on the road or the river. His kindness soon became legendary, and people began to settle near him.
On the night he was finally baptized into the Christian faith, he had a powerful dream. Dew from heaven fell and formed a honeycomb in his hand. Then honey dripped to the ground and spread until it had covered the earth. The Holy Spirit spoke again: “Understand this, Pachomius, for it will happen to you in a short time.”
Seeking an even deeper life of prayer, he eventually left Seneset and apprenticed himself to the hermit Apa Palamon. During the seven years they lived together, they practiced the strict asceticism typical of the solitary monks of the day: fasting, nightly vigils, ceaseless prayer, constant recitation of the Psalms.
Then the Holy Spirit spoke to Pachomius for a third time, directing him to bid his mentor farewell and settle in yet another deserted village called Tabennesi: “Pachomius, Pachomius, struggle, dwell in this place and build a monastery; for many will come to you to become monks with you, and they will profit their souls.”
Pachomius was by now well known for his wisdom and piety, and men came from far and wide to join his new community. What were they trying to build together? He chose the Greek word koinonia to describe their great experiment. First used in the Book of Acts to convey the essence of the early Church, koinonia connotes deep communal relationships, the learning of Apostolic teachings, the sharing of resources, the constant presence of the Holy Spirit, and ceaseless prayer.
As the koinonia expanded, Pachomius realized it was not enough to remain a humble spiritual father to his community. He could not lead solely through the power of personal example. He also needed to organize, delegate, and enforce wise rules.
Under his watch, the new concept of monks choosing to live together instead of remaining solitary hermits became the norm. By the time he died, Pachomius had established twelve gigantic monasteries housing thousands of monks. Thanks to his famous koinonia, Christian monasticism had come into its own.
Fifteen hundred years later, Elizabeth Ann Seton also became the superior of a new religious community: the Sisters of Charity of St. Joseph’s.
Founded in 1809, these Sisters were the first new congregation of women religious established in the United States. To govern their life together, Mother Seton adopted the rule of the Daughters of Charity, founded in France in 1633 by St. Vincent de Paul and St. Louise de Marillac. This rule emphasized love and service in the world, deeply rooted in humility, prayer, and availability to God’s will — much like Pachomius, but expressed in an active, apostolic form.
Like Pachomius, Mother Seton had to juggle the two quite different roles of spiritual mother and fair-minded administrator. How could she handle both without allowing one to predominate?
And how did she deal lovingly and wisely with those who lacked the character traits they needed to flourish in a religious community?
Both superiors found a way that worked. Both embraced the fact that people are different—weaker in some areas and stronger in others. They must be dealt with as they are, not as their abbot or prioress thinks they should be.
One of the monks of the koinonia, for example, had a younger brother who desperately wanted to join the community. But the older brother, thinking he was too immature, harshly discouraged him. When Pachomius found out, he pulled the monk aside: “Don’t you know how to condescend to them at the beginning as one does with a newly planted tree? For we give it special care and we water it till its roots are firm; it is the same with these.”
Then there was the case of Elizabeth’s volatile student, Mary Diana Harper, who threw tantrums and struggled to obey the rules. While Elizabeth did not shy away from disciplining her, she felt a special tenderness for the girl. She could see how much harder it was for Mary to navigate life than it was for most people. And she continued to work with her even when her own father sometimes despaired that she would get better. “Her dispositions unfold fast and reason and good sense are always predominant when she takes time to reflect,” Elizabeth reassured him.
Both superiors found that hidden ambition could be a great disrupter. On one occasion, a monk of a different monastery thought he deserved a higher rank, but his superior said no, claiming that the wise and holy Pachomius himself had advised against it. The rejected monk insisted that he and his superior go to Pachomius in person, then called the famous elder a liar and demanded he provide “proof of his sin.”
Unruffled, Pachomius privately advised the superior to promote the man. “For if we do good to a bad man, he thereby comes to have a perception of the good. This is God’s love, to take pains for each other.” The plan worked: the angry monk came to his senses and begged forgiveness.
Often, pride was the culprit when things went awry. The widow Margaret Burke, a sister in Elizabeth’s community, was deeply ashamed of her poverty. A widow herself, Elizabeth could understand Margaret’s fierce need for self-sufficiency. When it became clear that Margaret’s daughter needed new clothes, Elizabeth made the decision to bypass the usual protocol—distribution from the school’s charitable supplies—and secretly gave Margaret the money to buy what her child needed.
Both Pachomius and Elizabeth understood that would-be monks and nuns had to undergo serious transformation if koinonia were ever to flower. But the rate at which these monastic beginners developed and matured depended in large part on the loving discretion of their superiors.
And this meant each member of the community must be seen as a unique individual with unique challenges—and that sometimes the soundest of rules must give way to the imperative of charity.
PAULA HUSTON is a National Endowment of the Arts Fellow and the author of two novels and eight books of spiritual nonfiction. Her short stories have been honored by Best American Short Stories and her essays have appeared in the annual Best Spiritual Writing anthology. Like Elizabeth Ann Seton, Huston is a convert to Catholicism. In 1999, she became a Camaldolese Benedictine Oblate and is a lay member of New Camaldoli Hermitage’s community of monks in Big Sur, Calif. She’s also a former president of the Chrysostom Society, a national organization of literary Christian writers.
Image: Orthodox icon of St. Pachomius the Wonderworker. Moscow, Russia. Old Slavonic Scroll: Brothers – endure troubles and sorrows, but in this place you will find grace from God. Via Shutterstock.