A Saint Whose Own Holiness Began Reform of the Church

The Basilica of San Appolinaire in Classe, the one

time monastic church where Saint Romuald began

his journey of holiness that contributed to the

Gregorian Reform

  One of earliest contributors to the “Gregorian Reformation” was Saint Romuald of Ravenna, a monk of the late tenth and early eleventh centuries.   Romuald is actually a bridge figure between the Ottonian and Gregorian Reformations.  As a young man, just out of his teens, he was appalled at the violence he saw around him, including in his own family—having seen his father kill a man in a duel—and he embraced the monastic life at the Monastery of Saint Appolinaire in Classe, a monastery just outside Ravenna that followed the Cluniac Reformation.  Desiring a more austere life, Romuald left Sain Appolinaire and  became a hermit with his spiritual master, a monk named Marinus whose vision was rooted in the austere eremitical life of the Irish monks who had Christianized much of what is today Switzerland and the Alpine areas of France, Italy, and the Austrian Tyrol.  This style of monasticism was much closer to the ideals of the desert abbas and ammas than the more cehobitic Benedictine monasticism.   
      Romuald’s fame spread and the Emperor Otto III asked him to reform several monasteries in his realm.  The monks in these monasteries were not anxious to be reformed however and Romuald quit in disgust, hurling his abbatial crosier at the Emperor in a fit of pique.  He retired to a hermitage at Fonte Avellana in Tuscany and then, as a monastic community grew up there, established a second hermitage at Camaldoli—also in Tuscany—and then a third, Val di Castro.  The hermits at Camaldoli eventually formed their own distinct branch of the Benedictine Family, the Camaldolese monks.  Romuald died in 1027.      
         Romuald’s monasticism was highly disciplinary but never rigid.  Like such later saints as Teresa of Avila, John of the Cross, and Francis de Sales—Romuald understood that holiness, not austerity, was the virtue to which monks are called and what he really wanted his monks to learn was the path of contemplative prayer.   In this he veered somewhat slightly from the Cluniac ideal for Romuald did not short-change the liturgical services but neither did he let them take over and dominate the monastic life.  To the contrary—silence and solitude, not ceremony and ritual were the heart of the life that he envisioned for monks.  Drawing on the ancient monastic practices he taught his monks how to sit in silence, leaving their hearts empty for God to fill.  This principle of monastic spirituality is called vacare deo—to empty (oneself) for God.   “Sing the psalms in your heart and understand them with your soul” was his advice.  Today such spiritual masters as Abbot Thomas Keating, Father William Menninger, and the late Dom John Main draw on these same spiritual techniques, referred to as “Centering Prayer,” or “Christian meditation.”                       
      Romuald’s focus was not the Reform of the Church, but reform as spiritual renewal of the individual monk but his communities, especially Fonte Avellana, would become centers of spiritual renewal that would not only engender a monastic reform but reform of the Church.  In our next posting we are going to look at Peter Damian, a monk of FonteAvellana who will have tremendous impact on the Church and its reform in the 11^th century, more impact than any other individual including Pope Gregory himself.   When we speak of the need for Reform in the Church, we must remember that it begins with individuals who have a quest for holiness.  The reform of structures comes after the change of heart.  Holiness is neither moral righteousness--though there is always a need to mature in integrity if the holiness is to be real and not merely superficial--nor is it mere piety.  Indeed, as we mature in holiness piety becomes almost an impediment to genuine prayer; it gets in the way of the deep and silent prayer--the cor ad cor loquitor (heart speaks to heart) with which God is anxious to fill us.  You don't have to be a monk or a nun to mature in contemplative prayer.  Indeed the monk or the nun is nothing other than an ordinary woman or man who trusts God enough to open the deeper recesses of his or her being to the profound grace, the fullness of Grace, of the Indwelling Trinity.  This requires not the fuss and bother of busy prayer, but the stillness, solitude, and silence of deep prayer.   There are those who fear contemplative prayer, who discourage people from practicing it, who claim that it is only for the clergy or the monks. They only betray their lack of knowledge of our Catholic mystical tradition.  Any renewal of our Catholic faith must be rooted in a spiritual renewal of the Catholic faithful. 
Romuald's Sayings:

Sit in your cell as in paradise. Put the whole world behind you and forget it. Watch your thoughts like a good fisherman watching for fish. The path you must follow is in the Psalms — never leave it. 
If you have just come to the monastery, and in spite of your good will you cannot accomplish what you want, take every opportunity you can to sing the Psalms in your heart and to understand them with your mind.
And if your mind wanders as you read, do not give up; hurry back and apply your mind to the words once more.
Realize above all that you are in God's presence, and stand there with the attitude of one who stands before the emperor.
Empty yourself completely and sit waiting, content with the grace of God, like the chick who tastes nothing and eats nothing but what his mother brings him.
 

 

Cluny: Seedbed of Reformation

A model of the Third Abbey Church of Cluny, the

largest Christian Church ever constructed; except for

one tower and part of a transept it was destroyed

after the French Revolution. 

  Before we look at the Gregorian Reform, I want to take a look at the Abbey of Cluny which many historians credit with launching the Gregorian Reform.  Actually, while I am not so sure that I see the connection, at least a direct connection, between Cluny and the Gregorian Reform, I must admit that Cluny is too important to overlook in any event as it certainly set the “gold standard” for monastic life which in turn would inspire many of the Reformers of the eleventh century in their goal of purifying the Church from the decay it had fallen into.      
     Duke William of Aquitaine founded the Abbey on his Burgundy estates in 910, inviting  a monk named Berno to serve as abbot and—and this is remarkable for the period—giving the abbey independence from any civil or ecclesiastical oversight, making it answerable only to the pope.  This was not particularly auspicious as Sergius III, “possibly the only pope known to have ordered the murder of another pope and the only pope to have fathered an illegitimate son who later became pope (John XI)…”  was pope at the time of Cluny’s foundation.  Sergius’ mistress—and mother of John XI—was Marozia whom you may remember from our entries on the “pornacracy.” (See the entries for January 15, June 6, 9, 18.)  John XI himself when he came to the throne became a great benefactor of the Abbey during his papacy—though otherwise he was a pretty worthless pope.  He was bullied by his older brother, Alberic II, Duke of Spoleto, who used his younger brother’s papacy as an opportunity to control not only the Papal States but the Church itself to his own interests.   Nevertheless, bad people often do good things and John’s granting of so many privileges to Cluny was indeed a very good thing. 
      In any event, Berno had a history of reforming and founding abbeys and was a very capable administrator as well as a man of personal holiness.  He had a definite philosophy of monastic life, shaped by the ninth-century monastic regimen of Benedict of Aniane.  Berno saw the essence of the monastic life in the perfection of liturgical prayer and that the monastery, as a “heaven on earth” was to engage as far as possible in the laus perennis—the unceasing praise.  The ideal would be a continuous, never-ceasing, round of ceremonial worship that continued twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week—the monks working (that is to say, praying) in shifts.  Such an ideal would be all but impossible, of course, to realize but Cluny was to come close with its long and splendid ceremonials. 
       In his dependency on Benedict of Aniane for the monastic vision, Berno made Cluny a bridge spanning the Carolingian Reformation—of which Benedict of Aniane was a key player—the Ottonian (to which Cluny style monasticism would contribute Gerbert of Aurillac aka the reforming Pope Sylvester II)and leading to the Gregorian Reform which it was to inspire. (Just to be clear, Gerbert’s home monastery was not part of the Cluniac federation, but like many Benedictine houses of the time modeled its observance on the Cluniac practices.) 
      I must admit I have always had a weak spot for Cluny and its monks.  Regretfully I have yet to visit the site, perhaps someday.  But to return to our story—William’s endowment of his new Abbey was so generous that the monks were substantially freed of the need for any manual labor to support themselves and thus were free to give themselves almost entirely to the project of continuous worship.  The more they chanted psalms and processed around their church and burned incense and turned donations into chalices and chandeliers, the more donations poured into their coffers and vocations into the abbey.  And the  more monks and money, the more elaborate and all-consuming became the liturgy.  Benefactors would bequeath to the Abbey manors and farms, mills and tolls, weirs and orchards and vineyards.  Everything came with a price.  “Here is a manor, but we want a weekly mass said for the deceased of our family.”  “Here is an orchard, but you must have a procession each year on the anniversary of grandmama’s death.”   “Here is a toll on the Rhone bridge, but you must sing a Litany in honor of Saint Anne four times a year.”  Wealth piled up, ceremonies piled up.  Vocations piled up.  Cluny founded daughter houses, but unlike other Benedictine Abbeys never granted the daughter houses independence.  By keeping them subject to the Abbey of Cluny, the Abbot of Cluny had a right to come into each foundation and insure that they were not slacking on the monastic observance.  It was this innovation that created the modern concept of a religious order. 
      The Cluniac Order—for they were an Order and not merely a federation of independent monasteries—became famous throughout Europe for its high standards of monastic life and worship.  Cluny had a succession of phenomenal Abbots in leadership of the movement: Odo, Maiolus, Odilo, Hugh I, Hugh II, Peter the Venerable among them.  In a Church that was in great decay, Cluny set a standard for monastic life that was a beacon for reform.   Not all monasteries adopted the Cluniac program, but it did trigger a movement of monastic reforms that in turn would trigger a generation of monk reformers who brought the same enthusiasm for integrity and reform to the larger church.  
 

Roots of the Reformation XXIV: The Islamic Scholar and the Ottonian Reformation



An armillary sphere
Sandro Botticelli

Well, back to the Ottonian Reformation.  You may remember that about two weeks ago (July 1) to be precise, I mentioned a fellow by the name of Gerbert of Aurillac.  Hugh Capet—the King of France—had asked pope John XV to depose Arnulf from the Archbishopric of Reims as Arnulf was an ally of Charles of Lorraine who was contesting Hugh’s claim to the French crown—a somewhat shaky claim other than in the medieval world might made right and Hugh and plenty of might.  When the pope failed to act, Hugh took it on himself to convoke a synod of bishops and depose Arnulf and he named Gerbert in Arnulf’s place.  John XV did not like this and sent a legate to France who declared Gerbert’s election to the See of Reims invalid and restored Arnulf.  Now, we need to be somewhat careful about this.  The pope, at the timed, did not have the right to appoint bishops.  Bishops were elected by their Cathedral Clergy. (Popes would only get the authority to appoint bishops to most European sees in the nineteenth century and there are still a number of sees that maintain the right of election, though recent popes have interfered—with mixed success—with this right.)  Nevertheless, once a bishop was duly elected and installed, the papacy was quick to defend them against the attempts of kings or nobles to depose them.  When Byzantine Emperor Michael III deposed the Patriarch Ignatius in 858 and named Photius to the See of Constantinople, Pope Nicholas I excommunicated both Emperor and the new Patriarch.  So, in any event, Gerbert was deposed as Archbishop of Reims by the pope—not an auspicious sign for his future—but Gerbert was, as well shall see, the original “Come-back Kid.” 

Gerbert had been born in 946 in what is now south-central France.  At approximately the age of eighteen he entered the Benedictine abbey at Aurillac, not far from his birthplace.  This local is crucial to the story as the Abbey of Aurillac was a relatively influential one at the time due to the cult of its founder, the count Gerald of Aurillac and its ties with the influential Abbey of Cluny.  It is also important in as that geographically it was in a bridge area between France (to the North) and Catalonia—a region which stretched from what is today the South of France along the Mediterranean coast south into what is today Spain.  This region served as a conduit of information and trade between Europe and Islamic Spain. 

       In 967, Borrell II, Count of Girona visited the Abbey of Aurillac and the Abbot asked him to take the young monk back with him to Spain for studies.  Gerbert studied under Bishop Atto of Vic, a remarkably cosmopolitan man.  Atto himself was sent on a diplomatic mission to sue for peace at the Court of the Caliph at Cordoba—the Islamic armies were threatening the Christian stronghold in Catalonia and Borrell was anxious to avoid a war that would result in his counties (he was also Count of Barcelona, Ausona, and Urgell—all in the northeastern corner of modern Spain).  Cordoba, indeed Islamic Spain, was the most advanced civilization in Europe at this period.    In Cordoba Atto was introduced into a very different world, a world in which Christian bishops and clergy spoke Arabic, dressed and lived in the Arabic manner, and were in open conversations about philosophy and sciences with Arab and Jewish scholars.  It is unclear whether Gerbert accompanied Atto on this mission, or indeed if Gerbert ever managed to visit Islamic Spain, but whether in Catalonia or Al-Andalus he certain was exposed to Arabic learning and culture and drank it up. 

     During his time in Spain Gerbert was introduced to the Hindu-Arabic numerals and recognized how much easier mathematics was with this system than with the clumsy system of Roman numerals then in use in Christian Europe.  It would be Gerbert who introduced the Hindu-Arabic numerals to western Culture.  He also was introduced to the Abacus which had disappeared from European learning with the collapse of Graeco-Roman culture.  He reintroduced the armillary sphere which, like the abacus, had been lost to European knowledge and complemented it with sighting tubes that helped in stellar navigation.  Gerbert was not an inventor or original thinker as much as he was someone who was quick to grasp the advances made by the Arabic culture and was not afraid to bring them to the west.  He was only in Spain for two years, but it was two years that made a huge difference for European mathematics and science.  What is truly remarkable about Gerbert then is not his originality but his openness to other cultures, non-Christian cultures—where he felt he could learn something.  He did not let theological prejudices close his mind to the truths and wisdom he found outside Christian circles not did he insist that theology trumped science.  This was a remarkable openness in the tenth century—indeed many Catholics today think they have nothing to learn from non-Christian sources and look down on cultures that differ from their own.  Truth has nothing to fear from open dialogue and minds that are fearful of different insights and ideas only betray both a lack of faith and shallowness of intellect.      
     In 969 Borrell made a pilgrimage to Rome and Gerbert was included in his suite.  Pope John XIII (not one of our better popes (see entry of June 28^th) suggested to the Emperor Otto I that he should name Gerbert tutor for his son, the future Otto II.  It would take this man and cast him in a very different direction than the Arabic scholar.

Roots of the Reformation XIX--Cluny--a Reform from below

The former Cluniac Priory Church
in Paray le Monial, a miniature of the
Mother Abbey of the Congregation at

Cluny

At the very time that the papacy was at its all  time low in the tenth century, up in the Aquitaine, in what is today France, a great reform movement was taking shape at the Benedictine Abbey of Cluny.  Sergius III was sitting on the throne of Peter when he wasn’t lying in the arms of his lover, Marozia—and indeed the very year she gave birth to his son, the future pope John XI—when Benno and a small group of monks settled on lands at Cluny donated by Duke William of Aquitaine for the establishment of what would become the most important monastic foundation in Europe.  Incidentally, John XI, a very weak pope who was totally dominated by his mother Marozia until both he and she were overthrown by his half-brother Alberic II, put into prison and murdered, was a great benefactor of the reformed Abbey at Cluny.  Even the wicked sometimes support good causes; and even saints sometimes endorse wickedness.  But that is another story. 

Duke William “the Pious” established the Abbey in 910 and he granted it exemptions from any secular entanglement.  He renounced any rights over the abbey that he or his heirs might claim.  It was normal at the time when establishing a monastery that the benefactor retained the right to name the Abbot or to demand that in time of war the monks furnish a certain number of knights to fight for the benefactor.  It was even usual that the benefactor founding the monastery could claim a certain percentage of future donations—but William renounced any such claims.  Only the popes had any claim to the Abbey’s loyalty and they, fortunately (given the state of the papacy at the time) were far away. 

The monks, for their part, were determined to devote themselves entirely to the opus Dei—the Work of God—which meant prayer.  In the original vision of Saint Benedict for monks, the life of the monastery was to be divided between prayer and work—ora et labora.  At Cluny the life was almost entirely prayer—the laus perennis, unceasing praise.  The ceremonies were very elaborate and carried out with exquisite perfection; thus they consumed most of the monk’s day.  The solemnity of the worship drew many generous gifts on behalf of patrons who wished the monks’ prayers for themselves and for their deceased loved ones.  The generosity of their benefactors permitted the monks to commission beautiful vestments, vessels, and decorations for their church.  It also permitted them to hire workers to do the manual work of the monastery and free the monks for prayer.  The Abbey Church—actually the third Abbey Church which was built between 1080 and 1130 was the largest church yet built; it was mostly destroyed in the French Revolution at the end of the eighteenth century. 

Cluny drew huge numbers of vocations which enabled them to make many new monastic foundations.  Traditionally among Benedictine monasteries, such daughter houses themselves become independent abbeys, but Cluny devised another system in which the Abbot of Cluny was superior of all the foundations and each daughter house sent representatives to an annual chapter at Cluny which made legislation for all the houses affiliated to it.  This is where the idea of a “religious order” develops in the Western Church and it permitted  a uniform standard of religious observance to be maintained among all the houses.  Many independent abbeys, including those of nuns, voluntarily surrendered their independence to Cluny and became part of this monastic congregation.     

Cluny was not known for austerity as some later religious orders such as the Cistercians or the Carthusians would be, but neither was their life lax.  The focus of Cluniac life was the maintenance of a dignified and all-encompassing public prayer that seemed never to end, the monks taking shifts in the Church to enable the elaborate services to be carried out in meticulous detail.  Nevertheless, in a Church that had sunk into such great decay of morale and morals Cluny was a bright shining light of clergy who were seeking something other than their own personal power, wealth, pleasure, and comfort.  It would provide generations of Church leadership that would be responsible for the reform and renewal, not only of monastic life but of the Church itself in the eleventh through the thirteenth centuries.  Their foundation at a time when the Church, from the papacy down to the village priests, was pretty rotten is a lesson that Reform and Renewal do not have to come from above but most effectively come from personal renewal of ordinary men and women.