John Kiser’s book, The Monks of Tibhirine (St. Martin’s Press, 2002), tells one of great stories of the 20th century. The 2010 film, Of Gods and Men (loosely based on Kiser’s book), presented the same true story about seven Trappist monks who faced a martyr’s death in Algeria almost 30 years ago.
The book and film ask hard questions: “Why would anyone choose to live in mortal danger? And if that danger’s noose tightened into choking death, why would residents refuse to leave?”
The answers came down to this: Trappist monks live according to the “Rule of St. Benedict,” rules that cover normal life actions like prayer, study, work, etc. But one of the rules, the “Vow of Stability,” means you join a community and stay there. You stand. You are stable. In every season. Like a tree.
Trees that Exist in Obscure Silence, but by Their Presence Purify the Air
Obviously, this story is deeply relevant today, first because it portrays ordinary life among Muslims and Christians—normal relationships marked by mutual love, respect, and support. Second, because it describes the face of terrorism. At the time and in the place of the story, Algeria was convulsed by “violence done in the name of Islam.” Yet, in the movie and the book, Islam was not the issue. Just as it really isn’t today. Most of life occurs at eye level, far away from isms and ologies.
So, what was the issue? Terrorism, by its very nature, threatens stability. It convinces victims the only firm ground is fear and chaos. I think Thomas Merton captured the real issue when he spoke of monks as “trees that exist in obscure silence, but by their presence purify the air.” By their created purpose, you might say (with small poetic license) that trees take a Vow of Stability. They stay. They stand. They purify. Just by being there.
For example, one monk, Brother Luc, a medical doctor, took care of everyone in the village of Tibhirine. No questions asked. Although he was old and ill, Luc treated up to 100 people a day. Every day. The monks were very poor, so he often had no medicine. But he still purified the atmosphere by his very presence.
The monks were not naïve; they knew the danger. They frequently gathered (often with their Muslim neighbors) around the issue of leaving or staying; they prayed, talked, and voted. But, as Kiser describes in his book, “As each man expressed his view, the vow of stability kept returning as the touchstone of their thinking. Stability meant they were bound … to their neighbors and to one another.”
The Love of Jesus Did Not Wait for a Response
Christian de Chergé, the abbot of the monastery, is the conscience of the story. A man of deep humility, he infused his time and place with a generous vision of faith and community. He also poured his life out in service in the place of his planting. Christian loved everyone and loved them unconditionally, knowing, as he said, “the love of Jesus did not wait for a response.”
Christian’s note of thanks to his executioner perfectly captured that spirit:
“In this Thank You … I certainly include … you, my friend of the last moment, who will not know what you are doing …Yes, for you, too, I wish this thank-you, this ‘A Dieu,’ whose image is in you also, that we may meet in heaven, like happy thieves, if it please God, our common Father. Insha Allah!”
If you resonate with this post, please find this story... as a movie or as a book. Each can renew your vision and strength for the journey.
This voice version of the article is so good! Really wakes it up. I wrote it, but heard new ripples and wrinkles in your excellent vocal interpretation. Thank you so much.
A vow of stability. How rare these days. What an example to guide us. And we get the chance to choose it for ourselves. What a challenging but worthy call!