At one monastic stop last summer, a guest forgot to silence her cellphone. Probably everyone who carries a phone knows the feeling of the phone ringing in an inappropriate moment. I can’t imagine a worse place, though, than the middle of a monastery church. The phone sounded out through the silence of dozens of monks and guests in quiet worship. Monastic churches are silent, reverential places. Many monks are jovial--at times silly--guys, but their worship is quiet and intentional. Chit-chat or jokes are saved for later, not for while they worship. Benedict knows we’re always in the presence of God, but he recognizes, in chapter 19, that “we should believe this to be especially true when we celebrate the divine office,” and he says we should focus ourselves accordingly.

Worship that is stuffy only for the sake of stuffiness doesn’t do anything for me (and I doubt it does anything for God). Just because something is solemn and sanctimonious doesn’t mean it’s worshipful. Everyone is different, too, with different cultures and different backgrounds; some are quiet and stoic, others are loud and boisterous. Whenever I read Psalm 150, with all its crashing cymbals and tambourines and dancing, it always seems like a blessedly noisy experience. I do appreciate, though, Benedict’s attitude and the monks’ focus on the presence of God. Benedict says, “Let us consider, then, how we ought to behave in the presence of God and his angels.” It’s good advice, whatever our way of worshiping.