Pax: The Monastery’s missionary witness
By Fr. Marion Nguyen, OSB*
It may strike some as strange that someone from a monastery should comment on missionary work. After all, monks are not itinerant preachers. We do not go two-by-two into towns and villages. We don’t carry knapsacks or sandals or enter homes to heal the sick. Yet a closer look reveals that the monastery is meant to be a microcosm of the universal Church. Within its walls are to be found all the essential elements of the life of faith—prayer, community, work, hospitality, healing, and above all, the presence of Christ. In fact, rather than going out to the nations, the nations often come to us. People of every background, wounded and searching, religious or not, find their way to the monastery. And at the heart of our witness is a single word carved or painted above many a monastic entrance: Pax—Peace.
When Jesus sends his disciples out on mission in today’s Gospel, his first instruction to them as they enter a home is this: “Peace to this household.” He does not tell them to begin with a teaching or a correction. Not even a healing. First, they are to offer peace—a peace that is not theirs but his. This resonates deeply with the Rule of St. Benedict, where in the Prologue, after asking who longs for life and desires to see good days, Benedict exhorts: “Let peace be your quest and aim.” (RB Prol. 17) The monastic missionary heart, then, begins in this radical, interior posture of peace.
How do monks live out this missionary spirit of peace? At least three ways come to mind.
First, through hospitality. Chapter 53 of the Rule commands that “all guests are to be received as Christ.” (RB 53:1) The guest is greeted not casually, but with a profound bow or even a prostration. Now, a prostration is not something lightly done—it is reserved for Christ in the Blessed Sacrament, for solemn profession, or for moments of total surrender. To prostrate before a guest means the monk sees and receives Christ himself. It is not about outward courtesy but about an inner disposition of reverence. This is how the monk relies not on what he carries (no purse, no sandals), but on the grace of God who sends each guest. It is a peace rooted in Providence: all is given, all is guided, all is gift.
Second, monks are to cultivate peace among themselves. Chapter 4 of the Rule tells us not to let the sun go down on our anger, for anger, when nursed in silence, becomes poison. The monastery is not a haven from conflict; it is often a mirror of our brokenness. But peace is not the absence of tension—it is the fruit of choosing love over willfulness, forgiveness over self-justification. We believe no good comes from a defeated brother. In any relationship, if one loses, both lose. Healing is the only path where both can win. And so, Benedict warns against all aggression—even when justified—because in any battle, if charity is lost, the devil wins.
Third, the monk must seek peace within himself. Again, Chapter 4 provides a rule of life for integrity: “Do not aspire to be called holy before you really are,” and “speak the truth with heart and tongue.” (RB 4:62,28) The steps of humility in Chapter 7 guide the monk away from self-centeredness and toward a life hidden in God, where silence is loved, faults are acknowledged, and the will is surrendered. A monk at peace within is one who has made room—for God, for others, and even for his own weakness. Over time, a man of peace becomes a man of God.
When Jesus sends out his disciples, he sends them not with power, not with plans, but with peace. This is the missionary task: to carry the peace of Christ into every encounter—not to dominate a space, but to inhabit it humbly. Whether on the road or behind the cloister gate, the disciple’s mission is the same: to offer peace that opens the door for God to act.
* Abbot of St. Martin Abbey, Lacey, Washington
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