As we know, the starting positions for runners in Olympic track events are staggered to compensate for the different lengths of each lane—the inner lanes being slightly shorter than the outer ones. Unfortunately, when it comes to our spiritual lives, running that race—which Saint Paul completed so magnificently—similar allowances or compensations are not offered. Instead, some runners in this spiritual marathon, are at a distinct disadvantage with a significantly longer course to complete. Even a random selection of various saints bears this out with some attaining to exemplary lives of holiness in a few short years, and other taking entire lifetimes—long lives, at that!
In the imagery of today’s gospel, some begin life with hearts like deep, rich soil, ready to receive the seed of God’s Word and yield the hundredfold. Others begin on the opposite end of the spectrum, with hearts resembling the hard and unyielding path where the seed is snatched away before it can even germinate. Still others resemble rocky ground, unable to sustain life or endure the trials that confront every serious Christian. And then there are those whose hearts are overgrown with thorns that choke the divine life sown at baptism and inhibit its growth.
Identifying what kind of soil we are—or have been—is far more helpful than trying to understand why some begin the spiritual journey at an apparent disadvantage. And this for two reasons. First, the factors that shape the soil of our hearts are so numerous and intertwined that any attempt at explanation remains tenuous. Second, and far more important, is that becoming deep, rich soil is an invitation extended to us at every moment by the transforming and sanctifying Spirit. Embracing this invitation through a life of ongoing conversion—tilling the hardened path, removing stones, uprooting thorns—lies at the very heart of our monastic vocation and the faithful living of our vowed consecration.
Thus, with great wisdom, our central Cistercian vow is fidelity to the monastic way of life rather than the maintenance of an already perfected state. In honoring this dynamic vow, we discover that the work of tilling the soil and removing rocks and thorns is never completed once and for all. The weeds return. Some stones lie deeply hidden beneath the surface and are revealed only through humbling, painful, and deepening self‑knowledge. And even when the soil has become deep and rich, fidelity to ongoing conversion continues to fertilize it, enabling it to bear fruit ever more abundantly. Our mystical tradition teaches that this growth does not cease even in heaven, where the finite human creature is drawn ever more deeply into the infinite outpouring of God’s love.
Let us then continue to honor our Father Saint Benedict (whose feast we celebrated yesterday) by continuing to run the race set before us with our eyes fixed on Christ. Whatever soil we began with, whatever obstacles remain, the Spirit stands ready to make our hearts rich and fruitful. If we persevere in conversion, the harvest will come—thirty, sixty, and a hundredfold—and the Lord will rejoice to gather us into His Kingdom.