Ora et Labora

Finding Stability in Motion: How Benedictine Spirituality Sustains My Life as Superintendent Minister of the Methodist Church

As Superintendent minister of the Methodist Circuit and an Oblate of Prinknash Abbey, I often find myself living at the intersection of activity and stillness, oversight and surrender. To some, these two identities might appear at odds: Methodism’s practical activism on the one hand, and Benedictine monasticism’s contemplative withdrawal on the other. Yet, for me, they have become vital companions on my journey, each deepening and grounding the other.

My role as superintendent of 38 churches is, by nature, busy and varied. On any given day I might be responding to pastoral crises, chairing committees, supporting ministers, liaising with congregations, planning for the future, and helping navigate the many challenges facing the church today. The demands can be relentless and the pace unforgiving. In this swirl of responsibilities, my Benedictine identity offers a steadying hand, reminding me that my worth and my effectiveness are not measured by output alone, but by my rootedness in God.

At the heart of my life as an oblate is the Benedictine vow of stability. In a monastic context, stability means staying committed to one community and one place, growing deep rather than wide. For me, it has become a call to resist the temptation to restlessly chase novelty or distraction. Instead, it invites me to be fully present to the people and places entrusted to my care. Stability grounds me in a sense of place and purpose, even when the busyness of church life threatens to scatter my attention.

The Benedictine motto ora et labora — prayer and work — shapes my days. It reminds me that administration, preaching, pastoral care, and even spreadsheets can be acts of worship when offered to God in a spirit of attentiveness. I try, not always successfully, to hold each task with reverence. When I facilitate a challenging meeting, deal with conflict, or respond to a struggling minister, I strive to carry within me the same prayerful listening I cultivate at my prayer desk.

One of the most precious gifts from my connection to Prinknash Abbey is the practice of silence. The monks at Prinknash live a rhythm that honours silence as a doorway to God’s presence. In my own life, silence is my refuge amid noise. Each morning, I carve out time to sit in stillness, to practise lectio divina, allowing the Scriptures to speak to my heart rather than simply my intellect. This slow, prayerful reading nourishes my preaching and my pastoral conversations. It reminds me that before I speak, I must first listen — to God, to others, and to my own soul.

Hospitality is another Benedictine hallmark that shapes my ministry. St. Benedict writes, “Let all guests who arrive be received like Christ.” In my circuit work, this means trying to create spaces where weary clergy and congregations feel genuinely heard and cared for. It calls me to resist becoming merely efficient, and instead to be truly present to the people before me, especially when they are struggling or hurting. This kind of hospitality is not always convenient; it demands time and vulnerability. Yet it is precisely in these moments that Christ often comes to us disguised as the guest, the troubled parishioner, or the tired colleague.

Of course, I fall short daily. There are days when my prayer life feels perfunctory, when anxiety overflows, when I see meetings and emails as burdens rather than offerings. But Benedictine spirituality is kind to human frailty. The Rule reminds me that the monastic life is not about perfection but about faithfulness — about beginning again, and again, trusting in God’s grace to do in us what we cannot do alone.

Community is also at the heart of Benedictine life. No monk lives in isolation; likewise, no superintendent carries the work alone. My link to the community at Prinknash Abbey reminds me that I am upheld by the prayers of others. It encourages me to foster genuine community among our churches and ministers, and to accept my own need for support and prayer.

Ultimately, my Benedictine oblation does not remove the demands of my role in Methodist ministry. Rather, it transfigures them. It teaches me to see each task, each encounter, each moment of rest and each moment of labour as part of a single, sacred rhythm — a life offered wholly to God.

In this way, Benedictine spirituality grounds my Methodist calling in deep soil. It anchors me when life is fast and noisy, and invites me to trust that even in the busyness, God is always present, whispering, “Be still and know that I am God.” And for that still, small voice amid the clamour, I am deeply grateful.