For some time now, the very word humility has been so distorted and misunderstood that one even hesitates to use it. In today’s world, with its strong emphasis on self-assertion and rights, to even mention this virtue of humility seems terribly out of place. For many today, "humility" means being weak, one we say, who has no backbone. It’s evident there is a lot of confusion about humility. Looking back in the history of Christian spirituality, especially from the Middle Ages on, humility is viewed simply as the virtue opposing the vice of pride. Even the great monastic writer, St. Bernard of Clairvaux, contrasts the 12 steps of humility in the Rule of St. Benedict to 12 steps of pride. True enough, it is that, but we'll see that humility is much more than simply the virtue opposed to pride.

We are faced with three difficulties:

1. Our contemporary confusion about humility as being a sort of weak-kneed approach to life.

2. The narrowing down of humility in Christian spirituality to just one of the virtues.

3. When we turn to the Rule of St. Benedict, we're faced with the additional difficulty of understanding the way which Benedict and the early Christian writers expressed their thoughts.

The RB is soaked in Sacred Scripture and has its own particular way of expressing itself. Here in the 21st century, we seem so distant from those early writers, that when we pick up the Rule and read Chapter 7 "On Humility," it's not surprising to learn that people have difficulty grasping the meaning and importance of humility for us today. What does St. Benedict propose to us as the import of humility? Why does he devote an entire chapter, and a long one at that, to what we commonly refer to as the virtue of humility? Let's take it step by step.

Step One: The first step of humility, is that one keeps the fear of God before one's eyes (Ps 35[36]:2) and never forgets it. Everything God has commanded must be constantly remembered, keeping in mind that all who despise God will burn in hell for their sins, and all who fear God will have everlasting life.

The base, the foundation of humility, is a sharp consciousness of being a sinner. It's a deep awareness of the need for redemption, salvation. In a sense, it's a persistent, open acknowledgement on our part that we can’t raise ourselves into eternal life by our own bootstraps! If the first degree of humility urges us to a conscious awareness of God's presence, "always," "constantly," "at every moment," it is to provide us with a foundation as needful persons for our God's help and strength. Don't misunderstand. An awareness of all that God has given us - talents, intelligence, health - is certainly in order. But unless we recognize such things precisely as gifts, unless we can add "0 God, be merciful to me, sinner that I am," our awareness is incomplete, unrealistic.

For St. Benedict, a sign of this recognition is found in the bowed head of Christ as He hangs on the cross, the ultimate act of humility, the ultimate act of love for us. For Jesus stands as our model in giving Himself for others. True humility, true awareness of self as sinner, leads us into the mystery of our dying and rising with Christ. For St. Benedict, humility is more than just one of the virtues. It is the daily participation in the mystery of Christ's dying and rising. This is why St. Benedict immediately adds, "the monk will quickly arrive at that perfect love of God which casts out fear" [1 John 4:18]. The practice of humility leads to an Easter blossoming of ourselves. Humility arrives at a flowering forth of love in us, right here and now in our earthly existence.

Step Two: The second step of humility, is that one loves not one's own will, nor takes pleasure in one's own desires. Rather, one shall imitate by action that which the Lord has said, "I have come not to do my own will but the Will of Him who sent me" (John 6:38).

Step Three: The third step of humility, is that one must submit to one's superior in all obedience for the love of God, and imitate the Lord of whom the Apostle says, "He became obedient, even to death" (Phil 2:8).

Such obedience is at the heart of the Benedictine spirit. The obedience a monk shows to his Abbot and not exclusively to the Abbot, but also to his seniors and for that matter to all his brothers, is an indication that he is actively seeking to do God's will.

Step Four: The fourth step of humility, is that in this obedience, even in difficult, unfavourable or unjust conditions, one's heart quietly embraces suffering and endures it without weakening or seeking escape.

To follow Christ into this daily mystery of dying and rising, means that we too have to make good decisions despite difficult and unfavourable circumstances. Indeed we can expect "difficult, unfavourable or even unjust conditions" in our lives since our model, Christ, experienced the same.

Step Five: The fifth step of humility, is that one does not conceal from one's superior any sinful thoughts entering one's heart, or any wrongs committed in secret. Rather, these things are confessed humbly.

Step Six: The sixth step of humility, is that one is content with the lowest, most menial treatment and regards oneself as a poor and worthless worker in whatever task is given.

Step Seven: The seventh step of humility, is that one not only admits through speech, but is also convinced deep within one's heart, that one is inferior to all and of less value.

If St. Benedict teaches that we should be open and honest in our own hearts, it is only through a radical truthfulness that self-deception can be avoided. To enter the mystery of humility, to align ourselves with the dying and rising of Christ, progressively asks of us a crucial truthfulness, for which our awareness of God's continual presence provides the groundwork. For we must be keenly aware of our need for our God, of our gifted strengths and ever present weaknesses and not presume that we are able of our own accord to enter this mystery of humility. We are servants of the Master and on coming in from the fields, we prepare the Master's supper, declaring - "We are merely servants, we have done no more than our duty." [c.f. Luke 17: 7-10]

Step Eight: The eighth step of humility, is that one does only what is endorsed by the common rule of the monastery and by the example set by the superiors.

Attaining a freedom granted only by this radical truthfulness, we don't have to concern ourselves with the opinion of others, or search to distinguish ourselves from others by blatant forms of singularity. There is no "cult of the personality" when we can accept the wisdom of ancestors, when we can abide by the ordinary and not indulge the ever-so-current desire to be “different” just for the sake of being different. Only the person solidly based in Christ's dying and rising, can tranquilly accept himself or herself as is, without making comparisons with others.

Step Nine: The ninth step of humility, is that one controls one's tongue and remains silent, not speaking unless asked a question.

The monk is here reminded that humility at all times entails the control of not only his thoughts but also of his tongue. Benedict was extremely aware of the ease in which one inflicts injury through careless chatter. A monk is instructed to use his powers of speech in order to encourage his brothers.

Step Ten: The tenth step of humility, is that one is not given to ready laughter, for it is written - “Only a fool raises his voice in laughter” (Sir 21:23).

Step Eleven: The eleventh step of humility, is that one speaks gently and without laughter, seriously and with modesty, briefly and reasonably, and without raising one's voice, as it is written - "A wise man is known by his few words."

Is it any wonder then that St. Benedict so stresses the proper use of human speech? What we have to say and how we say it reveals just how truthful we are with ourselves. Even accepting differences in personalities, the constant talker, the buffoon, the consistently boring person, reveal an interior emptiness, a desire to cover over with sound and noise the aching hollowness. An ancient writing speaks of God as a sweet well for a person thirsting in the desert. This well is sealed up to the person who has discovered his or her mouth, but is open to the silent. A bit of an exaggeration perhaps, but surely the point is that the appropriate use of speech has far more to say about our interior life than the subject of our talk. If titillating gossip and detraction are so commonly among us, don't they reveal more about our interior life than the subjects of our gossip and detraction?

Step Twelve: The twelfth step of humility, is that one always manifests humility in one's actions, no less than in one's heart.

Underlying what St. Benedict has to say in this 12th degree is the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector[Luke 18: 9-14]. Each of these men produces a prayer. The Pharisee offers a prayer of thanks, the tax collector's prayer is simply a cry for forgiveness, for mercy. And how does Jesus react? The tax collector went home "upright in the sight of God," Jesus explains. The Pharisee does not. The self-confessed sinner was pleasing to God, the self-professed saint was not. Why? The Pharisee wasn't lying or exaggerating his actions. Jesus does not challenge the Pharisee's facts. Jesus does not say: "Man, you're a liar, on fast days you sneak chocolates and you actually give 5% to the temple and not 10%." No, the parable has bite to it precisely because the Pharisee does every single thing his religion demands of him and perhaps more. Looking at what he does, you cannot fault him. What's the problem then? Review the first verses of this parable. Jesus "told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were upright and despised everybody else." This Pharisee thought that what made him pleasing in God's sight was his own laundry list of good works. He looked down his arrogant nose at the rest of the human race, everyone who did not duplicate his good deeds. Yet the Lord applauded the tax collector because he trusted not in himself but in God. The man did not contrast himself with anyone else. He did not care to comment on any member of the congregation save himself: "0 God, be merciful to me a sinner!"

We are indeed "workmen," as St. Benedict tells us, daily labouring in our dyings and risings, struggling with the aid of the Holy Spirit to bring forth that "love which casts out all fear." We do not, as it were, climb these steps of humility once and for all. Rather we return again and again throughout our lives, to this particular degree, or to another one or ones. As we move on in our pilgrimage, we meet new and different circumstances. Perhaps our health has deteriorated from our hale and hearty days. Our daily dyings and risings are now accompanied with aches and pains, pills and diets. We come back once again to climb this ladder of humility. We are "workmen" continually returning to repair, to improve, to rectify again and again our imitation of Christ. With God’s grace and help, we continually grow into the likeness of His Son, Jesus Christ.

For St. Benedict, humility isn't just one of the virtues, it's a whole way of the Christian life. Humility is like a small creek that begins in the hidden depths of a forest, yet in turn spills into a river and then into the ocean of God's infinite love and care. As we join ourselves on a daily basis to Christ, we too spill into a river and then into this ocean.

Humility for St. Benedict is a way of life. It's the Christian way of life. It embraces our consistent effort to model our lives on the passion, death and resurrection of Jesus. Simply put, humility is the wide-angle, all-embracing truth of our lives in this world. Despite our contemporary misunderstandings of humility and the narrow scope in some Christian writings, with further study, reflection and prayer on this wise chapter in the Rule, we gradually arrive at a more complete grasp of our lives here on earth and a clear intimation of what lies ahead. For St. Benedict, humility is a much broader and deeper reality than simply the virtue opposed to the vice of pride. It is the way of life, the lived Paschal Mystery, not just some sort of external patina that is exposed to others. True humility strikes deep roots that give us stability in the midst of this life's soft spring breezes and violent tornadoes.

Rosendo Salvado was born on 1 March 1814 in the small border town of Tuy, located between Spanish Galicia and Northern Portugal. The old three-storied house still stands in memory of this honoured son, who grew up here, together with his three brothers and two sisters.

Two of his older brothers had already begun studies for the priesthood, when on 24 July 1828, being then in his fifteenth year, he entered into the Benedictine Monastery of St. Martin, in Santiago de Compostela. It was a beautiful city and a superb monument to a cultured people. The monastery was famed for its scholarship and its observance of the Rule of Benedict. On Salvado’s arrival it housed 118 monks. For eight years he was to face a curriculum of rhetoric, logic, Greek, Hebrew, French, canon law, scripture, history, philosophy and theology. He also fitted in two years of tuition under one of Spain’s greatest musicians and organists, Padre Juan Copa. Special attachments were frowned upon, so he saw no more of his brother Santos but he became particularly impressed with a young man named Jose Maria Serra. He could not have foreseen the missionary intention that would unite them, nor the bitter contentions that were to divide them.

Salvado, summarising his career in later years, made the following brief but significant observation: ‘I was secularised like the rest of the religious in Spain on 4 September 1835’. This was a reference to the anti-church revolution commencing in 1834, which saw mobs burning churches and massacring friars and monks. In one part of the country after another the cry went up: ‘Death to the monks’. These persecutions spread to all Spanish capitals except Santiago de Compostela. The suppression of all religious communities was ordered in 1835 together with the sale of Church real estate to help reduce the massive public debt.

In 1838 Salvado set sail for Naples to join his friend Serra at the monastery of Cava. Salvado was able to recommence his studies and play the organ in the church. He was diligent in his work and within five months he was ordained to the priesthood. In a later letter he was to recall the occasion: ‘The 1 March is a memorable day for me for four reasons – It is my birthday, it’s my feast day, it’s my first Mass day and it’s New Norcia’s foundation day’.

Swelling numbers of monastics in inadequate accommodation in European monasteries eventually turned the minds of many superiors to foreign missions. Both Serra and Salvado became deeply attracted to them and made a commitment to go together to a mission field in a part of the world yet to be decided upon. They were given permission to travel to Rome under the pretext of making a pilgrimage and obtained an interview with the Secretary of Propaganda Fide to whom they made their request. Within a few weeks they were informed by the Congregation that they had been appointed to go to that ‘huge and uncultivated mission field of Australia’. The Abbot of Cava was upset and sorry to lose the two of them, especially Salvado but they were resolute in their determination. However, prior to their departure another incident occurred which was to affect their venture. They were introduced to John Brady, who had recently been consecrated Bishop of Western Australia and just happened to be in Rome at that time recruiting missionaries for his vast diocese. Whilst a missionary priest in NSW, he had shown a keen interest in the welfare of aborigines and greatly deplored both the callous ill treatment given at the hands of white settlers and the vices and sicknesses the settlers had introduced. His petition to Propaganda resulted in both Serra and Salvado being assigned to him for his missionary enterprise. Prior to departure the two Spaniards had an audience with Pope Gregory XV1, himself a monk. He received them graciously and recalled the past glory of the Benedictines as missionaries and exhorted them to be worthy of their heritage. Before setting off, they visited the famous holy cave, the Sacro Speco, on the hillside where the great St. Benedict had lived. It was in September 1845 that Brady gathered his assorted recruits from various parts of Europe and they set sail for Western Australia, arriving in Fremantle January 1846.

Salvado was thirty two years old, when clad in the black habit of a Benedictine, he disembarked at Fremantle. He was short, well knit and robust, with dark hair and a thick black untrimmed beard. The eyes, large, expressive and powerful were more than striking, giving the impression of a strong determined nature. Nevertheless, his disposition was kind and he had a cheerful temperament.

The fate of the aboriginal inhabitants was a sad one from the very beginning of the settlement. Initially, the aborigines had welcomed the newcomers and had neither shown resentment or offered resistance to the occupation of their lands. They were pushed on to alien territory, causing the breakdown of normal tribal life, of which the intruders were unaware. Some of the natives stayed around the streets of Perth and Fremantle, dispossessed, homeless, powerless and poverty stricken. There seemed no solution to the growing aboriginal problem.

Brady had been granted three blocks of land on the hill known today as Victoria Square. He erected there a skeleton of a church described by one of the Sisters of Mercy as ‘a room 30 feet long by 15 feet wide and perhaps as high, but with no doors, window spaces but no windows, no ceiling, with a few boards laid loosely on the ground. A wooden counter provided by a shopkeeper served as the altar’. He decided to Christianise and civilise the aborigines by splitting the work into three areas. Groups were sent out to the Southern, Northern and Central areas of WA. The Southern and Northern ventures both ended in failure, after much toil and hardship. The Central mission under Serra and Salvado however was a different story.

It was on 18 February 1846 that Serra and Salvado with some companions set off with a guide provided by a prominent settler. Their route led from Perth via Guildford along the Swan River to Toodyay, driving the bullocks across the Darling Range some forty miles. They pressed on to Bolgart another twenty miles north where they spent three days with friends, before heading off into the unknown bush. They were now a week away from Perth and were already physically and mentally weary. They pressed on through sand, scrub, endless plagues of flies and large ants. They eventually came across a tributary of the Moore River and their guide and bullocks left them to return to Bolgart. Salvado was experiencing for the first time the beauty and the terror of the Australian bush. The tributary had turned out to be only some mud puddles. The following day, they were led by an aborigine to some fresh water where they replenished their stocks. That evening a number of aborigines surrounded them, however they appeared curious, never having had a chance to examine white people before. The intent curious stare unnerved the missionaries, plus the aborigines were naked, their bodies cut and marked to present a horrible, fearful spectacle. The following day the missionaries began to build a hut and the natives appeared and disappeared at will, never making any attempt to approach or molest them. After a few days Serra and Salvado took the initiative and approached them with an offer of food. This proved only too successful, for with the first taste of sugar the men and boys were around the camp like flies. The women, embarrassingly naked, at first ran away but became more trusting when they saw how the missionaries played with their children. The missionaries commenced the arduous task of winning the natives confidence and decided that they needed to observe the aborigines at close quarters. They commenced by inviting them to join them in eating and working with them, in and around the camp and eventually to ask them if they could join them in their wandering lives. Salvado wrote that ‘a victory had been obtained by the peaceful missionaries without bloodshed or noise of arms’. The missionaries found nothing cruel or mean about the aborigines, as the corrupting ways of the coastal settlements had not yet reached them. In fact they were attracted by many of their ways. There was a close unity among them, strong bonds of kinship and true hospitality. The way they looked after their old people impressed them very much. Food was distributed according to priority; the old people, the women, the children, the missionaries and lastly the hunters looked after themselves. They were welcomed amongst this tribe, that occupied the Victoria Plains area. They saw that aborigines did not assume ownership of land the way Europeans did, but wandered over it, hunting and searching for its fruits. Salvado grasped what generations of others failed to see – the peculiar relationship between the aboriginal people and the land. Salvado set himself to learning their language, whilst the aborigines accustomed to the multilingual situation of tribal life, grasped the elements of English at least as quickly. As well as the interaction of each other’s language, Salvado led the way in sampling aboriginal food. On one trek back to Perth, his guide handed to him ‘the choicest of the worms’. He fingered them gingerly, considering refusal, then bracing himself, he swallowed in a gulp. He remarked dryly, ‘I resigned myself’. On another occasion he was on an excursion with two aborigines and it was approaching nightfall. They had failed to find water and were hungry. Salvado was becoming concerned. Suddenly one of the aborigines made a suggestion. He asked for some flour to make a rough bread they called damper. Salvado who was accustomed to look on the bright side, asked the obvious question: ‘How do you make bread without water?’ The native hesitated, then he asked for a promise from Salvado that he would join him in eating the damper. No sooner had Salvado agreed than the aboriginal filled his mouth with the flour and began to masticate it. He then spat it out on a kangaroo skin. The other aboriginal followed his companion, having first lit a fire. Between them they made enough dough for three dampers. Salvado simply stared like one seeing a miracle. When offered the cooked product, he waved his hand in a gesture of rejection. Then the truth struck him, the aboriginal had faced the situation with stern initiative. So Salvado abandoned his code of hygiene and submitted to the ultimate demands of native hospitality.

Bishop Brady was not able to financially help the mission endeavour and it soon became obvious that he was running up greater and greater amounts of debt in the colony and later put considerable pressure on Salvado to bail him out. Resourceful as ever, Salvado decided to put on a musical performance. He was able by the strength of his own personality to gather some seventy of the colonial elite to a performance that included a three hour solo effort. He played the piano and sang popular Spanish songs and even added a local touch, with a mimicry of aboriginal musical sounds from a corroboree. There were enthusiastic reports from all who attended, with a newspaper comment that ‘he was a fine performer with an extraordinary natural talent for music’. The takings amounted to seventy pounds sterling. Salvado himself comments about his appearance on stage: ‘I wore my usual monastic habit, but it was in a very sorry shape indeed. My tunic reached only as far as my knees and from there on was a thing of rags and tatters. My black trousers were patched with pieces of cloth and thread of all different colours. My socks after I had darned them, looked fairly respectable, but my shoes – a good pair that I had bought in Italy – had parted company with the soles somewhere in the Australian bush, so that my toes were kissing Mother Earth. Add to that a beard which needed more than a touch of the comb and a deep tan on my face and hands, close enough for all intents and purposes, to the colour of the natives. Altogether I cut a comical and pitiful figure.’

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SALVADO & THE FOUNDING OF NEW NORCIA