Finding Stability in Motion
A Benedictine Oblate in the Life of a Methodist Superintendent
Life as a Superintendent Minister in the Methodist Church is many things — meaningful, demanding, occasionally chaotic — but it is never still. My days could involve everything from crisis response to strategic planning, pastoral care to administration, with barely a breath in between. And yet, alongside this whirlwind, I carry an identity that seems, at first glance, completely different: I am also an Oblate of Prinknash Abbey.
To some, these two worlds — busy Methodism and quiet Benedictinism — might appear to clash. But for me, they have grown into a single path. One gives purpose; the other gives depth. One moves; the other roots. Together, they keep me sane, centred, and spiritually alive.
Stability in a World That Moves Fast
The Benedictine vow of stability is meant for monks committed to one place. But for me, it has become a deeper calling: a refusal to scatter myself. In a role where my attention is constantly pulled in many directions, stability reminds me to be present — truly present — to the people and places entrusted to me.
It’s my quiet “no” to restlessness and my steady “yes” to wholeheartedness.
Prayer and Work: One Rhythm, Not Two
The Benedictine motto ora et labora — prayer and work — is not a tidy division. It’s a rhythm.
It means that preaching and spreadsheets, pastoral conversations and complicated emails, chairing meetings and listening deeply are all prayerful when offered to God with attentiveness. I don’t always get this right (far from it!). But this simple integration keeps my ministry from becoming mechanical. It turns work into worship and reminds me that effectiveness is not measured by output but by alignment with God’s presence.
Silence: My Hidden Anchor
Prinknash has gifted me something invaluable: the practice of silence.
For the monks, silence is not absence — it is a way of being available to God.
Each morning, before the day spins into motion, I sit in stillness. I practise lectio divina — slow, prayerful reading of Scripture that speaks to the heart rather than simply the mind. That silence shapes my preaching, my leadership, my conversations. It reminds me that before I speak, I must first listen — to God, to others, and to the quiet truth within myself.
Hospitality in Leadership
St Benedict wrote, “Let all guests who arrive be received like Christ.”
This is not just a monastic instruction; it is a way of living ministry.
In my circuit work, hospitality means creating spaces where weary clergy, overwhelmed congregations, and anxious colleagues feel genuinely heard. It means slowing down long enough to be present, even when the schedule is tight and the inbox is groaning.
True hospitality isn’t efficient — but it is transformative.
Grace for the Days That Falter
There are days when my prayer feels thin, when meetings drain me, when emails win. There are days when I fall short of the Benedictine ideals I love. But the Rule itself is gentle; it understands human frailty. It simply invites us to begin again.
This kindness has saved me more times than I can count.
Community: Seen and Unseen
No monk lives alone, and no superintendent does either. My connection to Prinknash reminds me that prayer supports me even when I’m unaware of it. It nudges me to build communities of trust among our churches and ministers — and to admit my own need for support, which is sometimes the hardest part.
A Transfigured Calling
Being a Benedictine oblate doesn’t remove the weight or variety of my Methodist calling. Instead, it transfigures it. It teaches me to see all of life — the quiet, the busy, the joyful, the exhausting — as part of a single sacred rhythm.
A life offered, imperfectly but wholeheartedly, to God.
And in the midst of noise and responsibility, it continually invites me back to that whisper:
“Be still, and know that I am God.”