Twelfth century Christianity was in a bad way. While the whole society was Christian in name, almost no one had sincere piety, passionate desire for God or living and transformative faith. The very institutions set apart for holiness had become a mockery of their original intent; instead of serving and devoting themselves to prayer, the monasteries were rolling in wealth and corruption. Meanwhile, heretics were taking advantage to spread false beliefs. To those of us who have taken a good hard look at the modern Western church, this description sounds eerily familiar.
God sent two men to revitalize his church. St. Francis came from a wealthy family, but he voluntarily embraced poverty, giving all his wealth to the poor. He read the words of Jesus about wealth and poverty with a deadly serious literalism. His followers lived out the theoretical ideals of poverty, chastity and obedience. St. Dominic, likewise, instituted a strict rule, but his concern was to defend pure doctrine and argue against heresies. Together, these movements revived a passion for God that had almost flickered out.
In recent decades, there’s been growing dissatisfaction with Christianity, especially among the young. Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove sums up the feeling by saying, “The church in America is not living up to what it claims to be. Somehow we have lost our way.” In a world of soulless materialism and desperate need, why isn’t the church doing something?
In response, various groups have formed with the purpose of taking Jesus seriously, living lives of radical service and community. Take for example, the Rutba House community in Durham, N. C. These young people gave up their comfortable suburban lives and moved to a blighted urban neighborhood. They wanted to serve the poor by living among them, building genuine relationships. They wanted to live an authentic “Acts 2” community, in which “all the believers were together and had everything in common.” They understood that for religion to work real change it must be costly, and they were willing to pay the price.
They were fired up about a new kind of Christianity, until the day some Benedictine monks showed up, sat them down, and said, “Hey, guys, you’re doing a great thing here, and we really appreciate it. But seeing as we’ve been around for a few hundred years, maybe we can give you a couple of pointers.”
What a shock it must have been for these young, Protestant, left-leaning self-proclaimed radicals to realize that they weren’t being original at all; they were following in the footsteps of monks, nuns, and friars! To their credit, they understood the value of the Benedictines’ advice. Practices which before seemed pointless like regular communal prayer and private contemplation, suddenly made sense as practical solutions to the problems of burnout in a life dedicated to service.
I hope that these communities herald the beginning of a new revival, like that of the 13th century. And I see in them hope that the scattered members of Jesus’ body may at last be made one — an end that should be every Christian’s fervent prayer.
One thing remains. These new monastics, like the Franciscans, are more devoted to service than abstract theology. But good theology is absolutely necessary to preserve the gospel. We also need new Dominicans to defend sound doctrine in a relativistic, pluralistic age. Such servants must come from backgrounds that are rigorously academic, yet rooted in faith — in other words, places just like Pepperdine.
