Lectio Divina
Memorial of Saint Benedict, Abbot
Theme: “Deny”
1. Lectio (Reading)
“But whoever denies me before others, I will deny before my heavenly Father.”
(Matthew 10:33)
“[In Matthew] Jesus and the Son of Man are identified, and the acknowledgment or denial will be before his heavenly Father.” (Mt 10:32–33)
Will I deny the Truth and in turn have the Truth deny me?
Jesus’ warning unsettles me because denial is rarely loud. It usually begins with silence, convenience, or delay. I need not publicly renounce Christ to deny Him. I can simply choose comfort over obedience, distraction over mission, or convenience over truth. Every time I know the good I ought to do and quietly refuse it, I begin to deny the One who is Truth itself.
2. Meditatio (Meditation)
In the heat of the afternoon, when the thermometer hovers near one hundred degrees and I am comfortably settled into my recliner, it is remarkably easy to deny the truth that my flock still needs tending. The sheep do not stop needing water because I am tired. The grass does not stop growing because I prefer air conditioning. The work of stewardship waits patiently while comfort whispers persuasive excuses.
In today’s world the word denier has become a label almost worn as a badge of honor.
One can become a climate denier by rejecting the scientific consensus on climate change.
One can become an election denier by refusing certified election results.
One can become a Holocaust denier by rejecting overwhelming historical evidence.
Yet there is another form of denial that seldom makes headlines: denying the truth that my own habits contribute to the wounds of creation while continuing to justify them because they are comfortable.
Pope Francis observed in Laudato Si’ that “whatever is fragile, like the environment, is defenseless before the interests of a deified comfort.” That sentence pierces me more deeply than any political accusation. My greatest temptation is not to deny climate science or economic statistics. My temptation is to deny that Christ is asking me to change.
I can spend hours discussing regenerative agriculture while remaining seated in a comfortable chair. I can admire creation while refusing the sacrifices necessary to care for it. Comfort slowly anesthetizes conscience until I begin believing that thinking about stewardship is the same as practicing it.
Saint Benedict proposes an entirely different rhythm of life.
His Rule divides the day into Prayer, Work, and Sacred Reading.
Prayer reminds me that God is God.
Work reminds me that I am not.
Lectio Divina teaches me how to recognize His voice.
Benedict understood that idleness is not merely the absence of labor; it is the fertile soil where denial quietly grows. When prayer, work, and contemplation remain in harmony, there is little room for self-deception. Every hour becomes an opportunity not merely to profess Christ with my lips but to acknowledge Him with my schedule.
Perhaps that is why I continue writing these Lectio Divinas before dawn rather than preparing them days in advance. Before sunrise I have fewer excuses and fewer distractions. It becomes harder to deny what the Spirit quietly reveals.
3. Oratio (Prayer)
Lord Jesus,
Save me from the subtle ways I deny You.
Keep me from believing that comfort is the highest good, productivity the greatest virtue, or convenience the measure of wisdom.
When I find myself comfortably explaining why something cannot be done, remind me that Your Cross was not comfortable.
Teach me, through the example of Saint Benedict, to sanctify the ordinary rhythm of every day.
May prayer keep my heart fixed upon You.
May work keep my hands faithful.
May Sacred Reading continually renew my mind.
Do not allow me to deny the fragile—whether it is the poor, the unborn, the elderly, the neglected land, or the sheep You have entrusted to my care.
Instead, let my entire life quietly proclaim that You alone are Lord.
Amen.
4. Contemplatio (Chestertonian Synthesis)
Chesterton would probably laugh at the modern obsession with denial. We imagine denial to be a dramatic courtroom scene where someone defiantly rejects an obvious truth. Yet the devil is far too subtle for such theatrics. He prefers upholstered furniture.
The great danger is not that I shall loudly deny Christ before a hostile crowd. It is that I shall politely postpone Him until tomorrow because the afternoon is hot.
Saint Benedict knew this. He did not establish monasteries because monks possessed extraordinary holiness. He established rhythms because ordinary men possess extraordinary capacities for self-deception. Bells interrupted comfort. Prayer interrupted work. Work interrupted pride. Scripture interrupted illusion.
Pope Leo XIV, in Magnifica Humanitas, reminds me that the Church’s Social Doctrine exists precisely so that these truths become embodied in daily life, family relationships, work, and involvement in society. They are not ideas to admire from a distance but habits to be practiced until they shape the conscience. Even the digital revolution must be judged by whether it enlightens consciences and helps build a society that is more just and fraternal.
The monastery and The Glenn are not as different as they first appear.
Both are schools where truth must become habit.
Both remind me that love is measured not by grand declarations but by faithful repetition.
If I refuse the humble discipline of prayer, work, and contemplation, I shall almost certainly deny Christ—not by argument, but by routine.
But if, hour by hour, I acknowledge Him in the ordinary duties of tending sheep, caring for creation, studying His Word, and loving my neighbor, then perhaps when I finally stand before my heavenly Father, Christ Himself will not deny me.
Instead, He will simply smile and say,
“I know him.”