“Follow me and I will make you fishers of men.” And immediately they left their nets and followed him. -Mark 1:17-18

During my two weeks at Holy Wisdom Monastery near Madison, Wisconsin, the rhythm of prayer and work shook up my understanding of what’s limited and what’s not. I think we all have innate tendencies to treat some resources as limited and others as unlimited. These habits are shaped by our culture no doubt, but can also be quite personal– money, time, love, food, can of course feel luxuriously abundant or sorely scarce to different people.

As society becomes increasingly aware of our poor stewardship of limited environmental resources, I have hope that we are ushering forth a paradigm shift regarding the limitations that our common life on this planet requires. But as the Benedictine tradition suggests, we must realize that our physical limitations intertwine with our emotional and spiritual limitations too. We learn love and interdependence not because we make the rational decision to do so, though I suppose this is possible, but because we are all faulty and limited creatures. Our weaknesses and limitations are not unfortunate or shameful; they are the very avenue by which we allow others to love us, and by which we accept our place in this interdependent universe. We need sustenance from people and powers beyond us. As the Bible says, only for God are all things possible.

I just finished reading the book Lost Icons by Rowan Williams, the former Archbishop of Canterbury. His discussion of the concept of “choice” in our modern times highlights, perhaps at first counterintuitively, the limitations bound up in decision-making. We can tend to treat choices like unlimited resources, and cling to options that will allow us to change and modify as we go. As “consumers,” we are poked and prodded to embrace the “freedom” of choosing whatever we want– and the consequences are often overlooked. Yet I don’t want to make a decision to start a job or enter a commitment without understanding that this commitment limits my options. It’s not something I’ll leave on a day I just don’t feel like it- hopefully my choice will come to define my path in a substantial way. Hopefully I won’t spend every day critically analyzing if it was the “wrong” choice, if I might in fact be able to magically make everything perfect by making a couple new choices that will put everything right.

I don’t at all mean to belittle the power of moving with our journeys as they unfold and require bold new steps. I especially don’t mean to suggest that we “tough it out” through soul-draining situations that beg for new life. Yet I do feel that an undue glorification of unlimited choice can be misleading, if not paralyzing. Viewing my individual choice as an unlimited resource can be just as anxiety-provoking as it is out of touch with a reality in which our choices affect one another and the earth in profound ways.

On the other hand, we can tend to treat the unlimited resources of love, compassion and forgiveness as bitterly lacking. And I won’t argue that they often might feel that way among people, but we are asked to live outside of these fear-ridden limits. We’re asked to color outside of the lines. As this weekend’s Gospel reading from Matthew 11 emphasizes, the ways and treasures of God’s kingdom aren’t achieved by those who are convinced they are limited. They have been “hidden from the wise and learned,” and revealed to “little ones.” Those who are convinced they have earned some kind of esoteric knowledge by the sweat of their brow are not the winners. The “little ones,” on the other hand, have accepted their earthly weaknesses and limitations– it is thus that they can thirst for and put their trust in the unlimited resources of God.

What if we truly allowed for every valley to be exalted- for every resource that we are so afraid of running dry (kindness? gentleness? understanding) to be sustained by the endless Source? What if we humbly let the mountains whose already full bellies we habitually keep feeding (wealth? success? activities?) be made low?

As I reflect on the discernment between limits I hope to respect more firmly and those whose bonds I hope to see broken, I can’t help but think of the yoke that Christ invites us to take up in that reading from Matthew. He tells his disciples, “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy and my burden light” (Mt 11: 29-30). We are asked to learn from this yoke of being human together, in all our limitations, not to shoulder the journey alone.

In the Benedictine lifestyle I experienced for a couple weeks, there was a joy in limits. Thrice a day, we stopped whatever we were doing to pray. We took Monday off completely. We spent evenings and breakfasts in silence. These limits allowed me to recognize the power of God slowly and steadily working in my heart, not requiring me to push beyond what I can, but gently expanding through these everyday disciplines of rest and silence and inquiry. By respecting and working within my limits, I experienced a different kind of freedom, a freedom to taste those gifts of God which truly are without end. Instead of worrying about how I’d spend my time or when I’d eat, submitting to the common way of life opened up a freedom to accept the gifts that were present where I was. I did not have to constantly seek the next “limited” resource- the limits were drawn, and I could focus on the unlimited power that sustained every part of our day.

God sometimes speaks through a torrential sign or a revelatory bolt of lightning. But more often than not, I am convinced that God speaks too through our humble and limited experiences, as we constantly lay down our fierce hoarding of resources that pass with this life and turn toward a gentle surrender into those that are infinite.