Lectio
“Stability means that I must not run away from where I am and from what I am. I must stay here, and here find what I need.”
— Esther de Waal, Seeking God: The Way of St. Benedict
Meditatio
In the Catholic tradition, many monastic orders require their monks, upon completing their novitiate training, to take a vow of stability — a solemn promise to remain in one place, with one community, for the rest of their earthly life. While not all monastic orders require a formal vow of stability, all stress its importance — even those whose charism calls them into the world for teaching, preaching, or service carry within them a stability of heart, a rootedness in God expressed in their interactions, if not their location.
We live in a culture that mistakes movement for growth and perceives discomfort as something to be avoided. We change jobs, relationships, cities, churches — always seeking the version of ourselves we might become somewhere else, with someone else, under different circumstances. But transformation in Christ does not work that way. Grace meets us where we are and as we are — on the road, at the table, in the ordinary moments of the life we already have. It is already at work in the place we inhabit, among the people who know us — and have known us long enough to see what God is doing.
This vow of stability is not unlike a wedding vow or a partnership agreement — not intended as punishment or penance, but because stability forces growth and transformation in a way that is neither easy nor always pleasant. Without such vows, we are more inclined to flee when things get difficult, when we are forced to face ourselves in ways we would rather not, or when we see something new and alluring somewhere else.
This is what Paul understood when he wrote to the Corinthians: “For how do you know, wife, whether you will save your husband? Or how do you know, husband, whether you will save your wife?” (1 Corinthians 7:16) Stay — because your presence and your transformation may be the very thing that converts the other. And so Paul continues: “Let each of you lead the life that the Lord has assigned, to which God called you… In whatever condition you were called, brothers and sisters, there remain with God.” (1 Corinthians 7:17, 24) Be still. Be here. Let God do his good work in you where you are.
But this is not a principle reserved for monks and marriages alone. Our partners, our children, our parents, our friends, our colleagues — all of them are watching, whether they know it or not, whether we know it or not. And by remaining where we were when Christ first came upon us, we allow those who know us best to witness what his love, grace, and mercy have done in us.
Stability gives us perspective on our own transformation. We can only measure growth against a fixed point. The monk who stays in his cell, his community, or his ministry long enough begins to recognize, looking back, what God has been quietly doing all along — in the struggles he did not flee, the relationships he did not abandon, the ordinary hours he did not exchange for the dubious luxury of novelty. And so it is with us when, abuse, neglect, or infidelity notwithstanding, we remain in our relationships, partnerships, friendships, and vocations in spite of, or because of, our transformation in Christ. In doing so, the people around us become witnesses to the slow work of God in us. They knew our old selves, and, over time, they get to see who we become as we are resurrected in love.
A vow of stability is not, therefore, a call reserved for monks. Each of us, by virtue of our baptism into the body of Christ, is called into a community — a particular people, in a particular place, at a particular moment in time. And whether we have named it or not, whether we have ever spoken it aloud or signed our name to it, we carry within us a vow of stability to that community. It may be implicit or explicit. But it is real. That doesn’t mean our circumstances won’t change. They most assuredly will. What it does mean, however, is that we, as Christians, are called to be still, to remain, and to allow God to change us and our circumstances in his time, according to his plan or his purpose.
Oratio
here I remain
while my heart wants to flee.
Everything in me —
shaking,
screaming,
run!
hide!
I stay for You.
I stay with You.
The Light heals my wounds.
May the Light heal our wounds.
Contemplatio
Where is God asking for your stability when you would rather leave, and who will your presence serve by staying?
Related Scripture
“In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” — Matthew 5:16 (NRSVCE)
For Further Reading
If you enjoyed this post, you may also like Standing Strong: Grace, Gratitude, and the Armor of God, which explores the spiritual life as a daily practice of perseverance and faithfulness — standing firm in God’s grace under pressure from within and without, rather than fleeing when the cost of remaining grows heavy.
Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity.
Wrestling With God.
Returning To Love.
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