Hearing the Calls: The Need for an Ecumenical Theology of Monasticism and Consecrated Life for the 21st Century

Abstract

In the past sixty years the institutions of religious life (perhaps now more broadly and accurately named “consecrated life”) within the Roman Catholic world have experienced something of a crisis. In the midst of this crisis, many have called for a rethinking of the meaning and practice of consecrated life. During this same period, Protestants have grown ever more interested in forms of committed Christian living appropriate to their own traditions. Furthermore, there is indication that changes in the socio-economic conditions surrounding “Non-Western” monastic traditions are giving rise to a degree of rethinking within their circles. In this article I trace what I identify as a “call”—an accumulating expression of the need for an ecumenical theology of consecrated life for the 21st century—through writings published largely within the past sixty years. I review developments in thought and practice from each tradition in turn. Ultimately, I conclude that there is, in fact, a need for some kind of formal ecumenical and interdisciplinary reflection on the meaning of consecrated life, reflection that has remained incomplete at best for five hundred years.

1. Introduction

Some of us just want more. Indeed, I think God invites some of us into “more”, perhaps even necessitating a different way of life. That longing, that invitation, does not make some Christians more acceptable to God. Any and every human being possesses both the calling and the capacity for the fullness of Christian love. Nonetheless, some have felt compelled to “leave all and follow” Jesus since the moment he called his first disciples (see Matthew 19:16–30 and parallels. See also Metz [1977] 1978; Nichols 2015). Some of us today feel compelled to leave all—or at least to leave a great deal—and follow (see Wittberg and Gautier 2017; Howard 2023, pp. 191–208; Skobtsova 2003). Such is the impulse toward monastic, religious (or what I will often call here “consecrated”) life, whether embodied in the act of joining an Anabaptist community, a Roman Catholic religious order, an Egyptian hermitage, or helping to start a new intentional Christian community. I have known individuals who entered each of these, describing their journey as one of responding to the call for “more” through a process of leaving and following.

But what of a theology of monastic/religious/consecrated life? Sandra Schneiders, scholar in biblical studies and Christian spirituality and a sister within the Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, offers a worthy initial definition of such a theology when she states that it would involve “the elaboration of a theoretical framework within which all the elements of religious life can be explained and situated in relationship to each other and to the whole” (Schneiders 1986, p. 1). Schneiders wrote this definition in the introduction to a collection of talks and essays presented in the decade after the second Vatican Council of the Roman Catholic Church closed in 1965. Her conviction was that the time had come for a re-conceptualization of religious life. She proclaimed, “Nothing less than a full-scale re-examination and rethinking of religious life was called for” (Schneiders 1986, p. 27). In the nearly thirty years following, Schneiders penned three full volumes exploring the nature of religious life in the new millennium (Schneiders 2000, 2001, 2013; See also Schneiders 2011). Schneiders represents only one of a variety of voices calling for and contributing to a rethinking of religious life.

Yet the need is not merely for theologies of monastic/religious/consecrated life, but for ecumenical theologies. As I shall show below, “Protestants”, Anglicans, Anabaptists, and other Non-Western expressions have been exploring and thinking about consecrated life in their own somewhat disconnected ways. The fact of the matter is, Roman Catholic canon law is insufficient to provide, to use Schneider’s own words, a “framework within which all the elements of religious life can be situated in relationship to each other and to the whole”. The situation now requires the development of provisional integrative ecumenical syntheses that can help us imagine and explore consecrated Christian life today. Consequently, my aim here is to provide a “first look”—actually, as of the publication of this article I am aware of no study written by a Protestant that compares with the kind of project I am considering here—in hopes that these reflections can stimulate further conversation and creative reflection.

I begin with a parenthetical comment about vocabulary, perhaps to defend the existence of this contribution in a special edition on “Christian Monasticism Today”. As I state near the end, I believe that the work of defining is as much a fruit of theology as a prelude to it. Consequently, my hope is that my article would stimulate the kind of discussion necessary to define terms like “monasticism”, “religious life”, and “consecrated life”. Nevertheless, a few words about words are perhaps in order here at the start, particularly as I argue as a Protestant for an ecumenical theology of monastic/consecrated life.

While it is common, particularly among Catholic religious, to understand the term “monasticism” to refer to people who follow Christ through solemn vows, subject to a Rule of life, within a cloister, under the leadership of an abbess/abbot, this is not the only—nor, in my opinion, the best—way of understanding the term. The earliest uses of the term and descriptions of early monastic life display a wide range of expressions (for example, Judge 1977; Goehring 1999; Palladius 1964, #14; Theodoret 1985). Research in medieval monasticism is increasingly speaking of “monasticisms” and “forms” of life, intentionally pushing back on earlier narratives (for example, Melville 2016; Vanderputten 2020). The French and German equivalent of “monk” is applied equally to ‘monks’ and ‘friars’. Luther explicitly refers to Minorites (Franciscans) with the term “monk” (Luther [1522] 1966, p. 354). As the Oxford English Dictionary (2002) describes the period after the Protestant Reformation, the English term “monk” “was not applied before the Reformation to members of the mendicant orders, who were always called friars. Since then, however, it has been widely used for the members of these orders”. Kierkegaard’s praise of monastic life (Kierkegaard 2015, p. 275 [7 VIII 1 A 403 (1847)]), Bonhoeffer’s urging for a new kind of monasticism (Bonhoeffer 1990, p. 424), and Alasdair MacIntyre’s wait for another—doubtless very different—St. Benedict (MacIntyre 1981, p. 245) were not necessarily cries for cloisters. They were calls toward something like monasticism/religious life/consecrated life and at the same time calls for a rethinking of the very character of these terms. I could go on and on.

My conviction is that we are in need of just such a turning “toward” and a complete “rethinking” of the basic concepts, particularly within ecumenical contexts and I hope this contribution demonstrates that need. In the meantime, I will employ terms as befits each group and tradition’s own usage and understanding, often using “consecrated life” to refer more generally to the phenomena in view.

An ecumenical theology of monasticism and consecrated life? Do we really need it? I write in response to what I perceive as “calls”: calls to re-imagine—to theologize—consecrated life. I have experienced this call personally for many years as a married, non-Roman Catholic Christian (see Dirksen 2022). Yet I think I am not alone. Others are hearing and responding to similar calls. Whether consciously expressed or not, people are longing for such a theology, for someone(s) to construct integrative syntheses—theologies, if you will—of what a life consciously ordered in light of a commitment to something more might be all about. One can identify a number of such calls toward re-imagination: calls from Rome and calls from Christianity outside of Roman Catholic institutes. At times these calls are explicit. At other times they are vague but perceivable. Calls from some circles are perhaps not best described as calls to re-imagine, since, for example, monasteries and other expressions of religious life were eliminated from Protestant and Anglican countries for centuries. Calls from those circles are perhaps better described as invitations to imagine for a first time.

As I have reviewed the state of affairs in Christianity, I perceive these calls to have reached a significant nexus, particularly as one attends to the voices of those exploring consecrated life between 1960 and the present. On the one hand, we find examples during this period of calls from many circles to rethink the practice (and even the idea) of consecrated life. By studying these examples, we learn how expressions of the need for consecrated life (that we need it) have developed within the past half century or so. Yet the literature of this period often also addresses the nature of the reflection that is likely to prove most helpful (the “what”). Thus, my treatment of the call(s) between 1960 and the present will also contribute to my suggestive presentation of the character of an ecumenical theology of consecrated life itself. I will focus the present article on documenting my hearing of the calls themselves (that we need a theology) and conclude with a few reflections regarding just what that theology might entail. My future work, hopefully along with that of others, will respond to this need by reflecting on what kinds of methods and structures an ecumenical theology of consecrated life might involve (the how).

2. Calls from Rome

The documents of the second Vatican Council of the Roman Catholic Church, along with statements issued in the years that followed, issued an explicit and official call for groups of nuns, monks, friars, sisters, and so on (later identified as “Institutes of Consecrated Life” and “Societies of Apostolic Life”) to reexamine their ways of life, rewriting their own constitutions in light of the fresh vision and mandates communicated by the council (Vatican Council II [1965a] 2014, [“Perfectae Caritatis”] #3). This official call was not, however, the first call to appear in Roman Catholic circles. Systems of comprehending and managing Catholic religious life—systems which were rooted in the theological framework of Thomas of Aquinas (1225–74) (see for example, Aquinas 2007; Motte 1987; Leroy 1992; Labourdette 1992; Van den Eijnden 1994; Van Engen 2008, locs. 5356–79; Nichols 2015), put in place at the Council of Trent (1545–63; see Waterworth 1848), codified in the 1917 Code of Canon Law (E. N. Peters 2001), and promulgated through manuals such as the Catechism of the Vows (Cotel 1924)—were found wanting even prior to the Vatican Council. The Roman call to re-imagine, and indeed the re-imagining itself, was foreshadowed in the mid-twentieth century by a variety of forces. European monks, like those of the community of Solesmes in France, explored liturgical roots through a fresh recovery of early forms of chant (Combe 2008). Monastic historians such as Jean Leclercq looked behind Aquinas to earlier sources for the meaning of monasticism (Leclercq [1948] 1961; Merton et al. 2008; Bouyer [1950] 2008). Spiritual writers like Thomas Merton emphasized the inner and spiritual over the external and juridical (O’Connell 2012). Some Roman Catholic theologians argued for the universal call of all believers to holiness (Garrigou-Lagrange 1937; Tanquerey 1930) while others reexamined Aquinas and pointed the Roman Church toward a new way of looking at traditional beliefs (see the works of Karl Rahner and Bernard Lonergan, for example). Of particular note is the Sister Formation movement, which in their journey toward a more appropriate life employed theological trends and experimented with novel practices, ultimately expressing what one writer describes as “a changed perspective on the vows: an emphasis on personalism, Scripture, the imitation of Christ, the vow as a public witness which speaks to a social reality” (Dries 1993, p. 485). Another historian comments, “It would be no exaggeration to say that the [Sister Formation] Conference was the most influential factor in preparing for and initiating change within religious congregations in the 1950s and 1960s” (Schneider 1988, p. 64). Nearly all of these individuals and groups were also reconsidering the theology of “the world” for religious life. From different quarters, religious were beginning to imagine their identity less in terms of an ecclesial institution and more as a spiritual movement.

After three years of preparation, Pope John XXIII opened the Second Vatican Council on 11 October 1962. The council met in four sessions: one that year and in the fall of the subsequent three years, concluded by Pope Paul VI on 8 December 1965. It is fair to say that the Second Vatican Council initiated changes in the Roman church unparalleled since the Council of Trent. Most significantly for those who had taken vows (or were considering taking vows), the Council declared (1) that religious profession did not secure a special call or anointing to holiness—God’s call to holiness was universal; and (2) that Christians were to see themselves less as “against” the world and more in terms of living a distinctly Christian life brought up to date with relationship to the world (summarized by the term aggiornamento—“updating”; see Vatican Council II [1964] 1996, [“LumenGentium”]; [1965b] 1996, [“Gaudium et Spes”]). These two shifts profoundly altered the self-image of Roman Catholic religious.

But there was more. In the document Perfectae caritatis, the council specifically identified two central elements in the renewal of religious life (see Vatican Council II [1965b] 1996, [“Perfectae Caritatis”] #2). First, it expressed the need of a constant return to the sources of the Christian life and the original spirit of the foundation of the group. Second was a similar expression of the need for an adaptation of their traditions for the changed conditions of our time—a look backward and a look forward. All aspects of religious life were to be reviewed. For example, the document urges that “the mode of governing the institutes should also be examined using the same criteria” (Vatican Council II [1965a] 2014, [“Perfectae Caritatis”] #3). Needless to say, the “mode of governing” a religious order is a big deal. Thus, the decree mandated that “For this reason, constitutions, directories, books of customs, of prayers, of ceremonies and such should be suitably revised, obsolete prescriptions being suppressed, and should be brought into line with this synod’s documents” (Vatican Council II [1965a] 2014, [“Perfectae Caritatis”] #3). An explicit call to re-imagine monastic and religious life had been issued, directly from the top.

At the same time, there were important matters related to a theological understanding of religious life that remained unchanged in the documents of Vatican II. Religious life continued to be identified with the “evangelical counsels” of the vows to poverty, chastity, and obedience, even though biblical and historical scholarship had begun to question the foundational character of these vows, particularly as interpreted since Trent. An overly (or improperly?) traditional understanding of religious obedience appeared to be maintained. Contexts of global poverty were not acknowledged (Cussianovich [1975] 1981, pp. 15–16; Murphy-O’Connor 1977, pp. 4–5; Schneiders 1986, pp. 23–28. See also Leclercq 1978, pp. 99–133; Moloney 1981; Lozano [1980] 1983, pp. 65–72; Moloney 1984). How then were institutes of religious life to re-imagine—much less reconfigure—their way of life in light of a fresh examination of their fundamental sources and contemporary contexts?

Things began to happen almost immediately: from below and from above. People followed the call to aggiornamento with a passion, and religious orders started making changes. Historian and monastic statesman Jean Leclercq wrote glowingly in May of 1965 to Thomas Merton about his own visits to African monasteries: “In fact, monastic usages, observances are adapted, even in the Trappist monasteries. Everywhere there is the vernacular, which the General Chapter has now allowed for your Order in African and other foundations” (Merton et al. 2008, p. 96. For the emergence of charismatic communities in France see Hébrard 1979). At the same time, statements were issued from the papacy and other official sources that, while affirming some aspects of the Council and contemporary concerns, seemed in other ways to backpedal towards a traditional understanding of religious life (For the documents see Paul VI 1967; Pironio 1969; Pontifical Commission 1977; Vatican 1983. For early responses see for example, Gelpi 1966; Tillard 1974; Cussianovich [1975] 1981; Leadership Conference of Women’s Religious 1977; R. A. Hill 1977; Cada et al. [1979] 1985). Some grew skeptical. Thomas Merton, for example, responded in his journal (24 December 1967) to an “appalling article” he read. He writes, “All this is based on Vatican II, which makes me wonder what is so new about Perfectae caritatis. The whole thing is sickening” (Merton 1998, p. 30). Some, such as emerging theologian Rosemary Radford Ruether, considered the elimination of religious life—or at least monastic expressions of religious life—entirely (Ruether 1967; Merton et al. 1995). By the time the final revisions of canon law had been published (1983) and institutions had begun to work things out in their own constitutions, a virtual flood of theological reflection on religious life had emerged. (In addition to the above, see Rahner [1974] 1976; Boff [1977] 1981; Metz [1977] 1978; Rees 1978; Gallagher 1984; Gray 1989; O’Murchu [1989] 1991). From my reading of this literature, I have been able to identify four themes—themes present in expressions from all forms of religious life that together express what I am calling a “call from Rome” for a re-imagination of consecrated life (or perhaps by 1989, it is not only a call from Rome, but also a call to Rome).

The first theme is that religious life (perhaps along with the church and the world more generally) is in a state of “crisis”. This term appears everywhere. American Jesuit theologian Donald Gelpi, for example, declares in 1966, that “things are building up to what could be a serious crisis. Vatican II indeed opened many Church windows that were for a long time sealed, and the winds have swept away many things that we had long thought were beyond question immovable. The coming generation of young religious has lots of questions to ask its predecessors. But they will not be content with catechism responses or snippets of some rule or custom book” (Gelpi 1966, p. 29). The back cover of French Dominican theologian J. M. R. Tillard’s Devant Dieu et Pour Le Monde: Le projet des religieux [Before God and for the World: The Project of Religious] pronounces, “Les Instituts religieux sont en crise” [Religious institutes are in crisis] (Tillard 1974, back cover). Peruvian Salesian scholar Alejandro Cussianovich devotes a section of his Religious Life and the Poor to a “comparative study of the various descriptions of the so-called “crisis” in the religious life and of the factors that account for its development” (Cussianovich [1975] 1981, p. 21. See also pp. 60–64, 112, 164; Boff [1977] 1981, pp. 4, 24). German theologian Johannes Metz in 1977 suggests that, “If I am right, the crisis of religious life is only secondarily a crisis of vocations. In my view it is primarily a crisis of function, caused by the absence of major specific tasks in the Church, tasks that to a certain extent cannot be handed over to others” (Metz [1977] 1978, p. 30. See also pp. 31, 69).

Second, religious life as it was understood in the 19th and early 20th century paradigm was deemed unacceptable by many. We can live the past no more. The rigid, juridical, institutional, canonical approach to religious life with its emphasis on external performance was considered inappropriate for the present day by many, particularly in light of an examination of the foundational sources. Patrick O’Connell, for example, summarizes in his introduction to Merton’s novice lectures, The Life of the Vows: “Too often in the course of monastic history”, Merton suggests, “the eschatological has been reduced to the institutional, the following of Christ to the following of rules…” Here, Merton touches on the central claim of all his mature writings on monastic renewal, “that it cannot simply be a reform of structures but must be a recovery of the monastic charism to witness to the hidden presence of God’s reign established definitively by the death and resurrection of Christ” (O’Connell 2012, p. 78. See also Merton 1964, p. 298; 1997a, p. 139; 1997b, p. 108; Merton et al. 1995, p. 37; and his own assessment of The Life of the Vows in Merton 1998, p. 40). Cussianovich complains that “the theology of the religious life came to be a theology of the states of perfection” (Cussianovich [1975] 1981, p. 35. See also pp. 18, 35). Daniel Rees and members of the English Benedictine Congregation similarly suggest that “external observances and structures are truly at the service of the spirit and that fidelity to tradition is understood not as a paralysing rigidity but as true responsiveness to a living inspiration” (Rees 1978, p. 6. See also Metz [1977] 1978, pp. 15, 18; Schneiders 1986, p. 19).

The clear cry was for a “rethinking” of religious life, what I would call a theological re-imagination of consecrated life. Thomas Merton, in his 1964 “The Monk in the Diaspora” writes that, “it would be a very serious mistake to assume that the monastic order simply needs to be reshaped in a new contemporary mode, without a painstaking study of what is really essential to monasticism and what is not” (Merton 1964, p. 299). Jean Leclercq in 1965 saw this task to be in the hands of a younger generation: “I think this young generation will have to carry on the creative task of re-thinking monastic spirituality” (Merton et al. 2008, p. 92). Donald Gelpi in 1966 wrote of the importance of the “task of rethinking” (Gelpi 1966, p. 77). Sandra Schneiders writes regarding the problems regarding our understanding of vows: “This does not, however, necessarily mean that they should be abandoned or replaced. It might mean, as I think it does, that profession itself and the vows in particular must be rethought for our time” (Schneiders 1986, p. 69). Similarly, Italian Claretian John Lozano proclaims, “Religious today must find a new explanation for their presence in the community of Jesus’ disciples by penetrating deeply into the biblical Word and the Church’s living tradition” (Lozano [1980] 1983, pp. xiii–xiv).

Finally—as the above mention of the biblical Word and Church’s tradition indicate—early post-conciliar dialog also suggested elements of a method of theological reflection on religious life. This kind of reflection must be relevant (aggiornamento—see Gelpi 1966, pp. 47–48. See also Merton [1977] 1992, pp. 121–32; Merton et al. 2008, p. 83. Cussianovich [1975] 1981, p. 20; Schneiders 1986, pp. 1–2; and the works of Metz, Rahner, and Leclercq in the context of a secularizing Europe). It must also be biblical (for example, see Leclercq [1948] 1961; Tillard 1974, pp. 135–96; Cussianovich [1975] 1981, p. 29; Murphy-O’Connor 1977; Moloney 1984), and grounded in a careful recovery of key historical sources (explicitly in Vatican Council II [1965a] 2014 [“Perfectae Caritatis”] #2. See also the work of Leclercq and Merton along with Schneiders 1986, p. 49). This rethinking must be foundational: mere “moving the furniture around” is insufficient (Merton et al. 2008, p. 97; Merton [1977] 1992, p. 166; Leclercq 1978, p. 182). Central to all this (and mentioned everywhere) is a complete re-understanding demanded of the relationship between consecrated life and “the world”. The rethinking must be sensitive to theological method and theological developments (Cussianovich [1975] 1981, p. 47; Schneiders 1986, pp. 21, 88). It must be interdisciplinary: integrating insights from world religions, the human sciences and more (Cussianovich [1975] 1981, p. 47; Rees 1978, pp. 8–10; Merton et al. 2008, pp. 87, 105; Boff [1977] 1981, pp. 6–10; Wittberg 1994; O’Murchu [1989] 1991). And finally, it must be practical, addressing such issues as common life, profession, vows, distinctions between lay and religious, friendships, asceticism, authority and so on.

It is interesting to note that as I reviewed this literature, I found different emphases reflecting the different traditions of the authors. “Monastics”, like Leclercq and Merton, emphasized the importance of a recovery of contemplation and the inner life. “Apostolic religious”, like Schneiders or Boff, emphasized presence to the world in need. Others, such as Murphy-O’Connor and Rees, place more emphasis on community life. It is interesting to see the classic distinction between “cave”, (contemplation) “refectory”, (community) and “road” (ministry) even in the discussions about religious life between 1960 and 1989 (see Adams 2010).

The forty-two years between 1983 and 2025 have been—given the expectations following Vatican II—somewhat surprising. And perhaps for that very reason, I am convinced that the Roman call for theological re-imagination remains an unfinished call and is therefore just as relevant today as it was in 1983. First, changes in the demographics of Roman Catholic religious life present us with a portrait of consecrated life different than that found in 1983. Second, Roman Catholic theological/ecclesiastical trends have developed in ways unexpected by many in the 1960s and this has shaped the character of the life many religious desire. Finally, on top of demographic and theological developments, general cultural shifts have required still further re-imagination. Thus, the call from Rome is, to my understanding, still clear, yet incomplete. To illustrate, I will simply review the four themes I employed above in my summary of the years 1960–1989.

Yes, twenty-first century nuns, monks, and sisters see themselves in crisis—just as was the case around the time of Vatican II. Yet now it is not simply a crisis of identity, but a crisis of survival. Membership in religious orders had reached a peak in the mid-60s, and the decline which followed into the 21st century was severe. Already in 1994, sociologist Patricia Wittberg documented these trends in her important account of The Rise and Fall of Catholic Religious Orders: A Social Movement Perspective. After rehearsing some of the statistics regarding religious life in the USA, she wrote that “the overwhelming impression left by these figures is that canonical religious communities—especially communities of women, which had once been by far the most numerous—are now experiencing severe difficulties, and may even be facing imminent extinction” (Wittberg 1994, p. 2. More recently O’Murchu [1989] 1991, p. 229). More recent data continues to show a general decline in membership in religious orders. We hear reports of mergers and reconfigurations as orders or convents do not have sufficient staffing to support their communities or facilities (for example, Johnson et al. 2014, pp. 4–24; Gautier 2018, pp. 15–35; Cimperman 2020, pp. 42–43). Furthermore, many monasteries were founded solely on the initiative of donors or bishops. As these interests or resources dwindled, communities suffered. One matter of importance is that the demographic balance is shifting in a more global and diverse direction (Johnson et al. 2014; Cimperman and Schroeder 2020). While some wring their hands and bemoan the inevitable demise of monastic or religious life, others perceive the situation as an opportunity for creative renewal. In his November 2014 announcement of the upcoming “Year of Consecrated Life”, (in the midst of this decline) Pope Francis called upon consecrated Christians to “wake up the world!” (Francis 2014. See also Gautier and Do 2020; Cimperman 2015; Mannion 2017; Park and Maya 2019). No matter how we assess these trends, we can see that the 1965 call to rethink religious life is still relevant today.

Second, whereas one could speak of a “progressive majority” soon after Vatican II—at least in terms of the discomfort of religious regarding the reigning paradigm of religious life (Schneiders 1986, pp. 87–88)—the situation has become more complicated since then. Issues of theology, culture, loyalties, and more are all intertwined in the developments between 1983 and 2023. In 1992, a group of women in the USA who were concerned with the direction of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious (LCWR) received formal approval as the Council of Major Superiors of Women Religious (CMSWR—see (Council of Major Superiors of Women Religious 2009). Around this time, institutions of consecrated life began to emerge, which leaned in a more “traditional” direction with regard to things like wearing formal religious clothing, recitation of the divine office, residence in common, interpretation of the vows and other matters. And of course, the question of just what is “traditional” is itself one aspect of the question. Part of the mandate of Vatican II was to reassess each congregation in light of the original traditions of the founders and the early charism of the community. Some have argued that a careful recovery of those original sources calls into question what many have considered the “traditional” paradigm of religious life dominant from Trent through 1950. Nevertheless, a cursory review of the communities affiliated with the CMSWR indicates that nearly one-third were founded after 1982 (CMSWR 2025). The fact of the matter is, the pendulum has swung a little and some are rethinking the rethinking. In 2009, Cardinal Rodé, representing the Congregation for Institutes of Consecrated Life and Societies of Apostolic Life (CICLSAL) announced a formal “Apostolic Visitation” of American religious women, and in the same year, the Vatican’s Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF) declared that it was beginning a doctrinal assessment of LCWR’s faithfulness to the Catholic Church. This began a journey that threatened the very existence of the majority of vowed religious in the United States (a journey which has been appropriately termed a “crisis”; see McCarthy and Zollmann 2014; Sanders 2018), a difficult journey that was not resolved for six years and after a change in papacy (Braz and Carballo 2014; Sartain et al. 2015).

My point in rehearsing all this drama is simply to state that the Roman call to reimagine monastic/religious/consecrated life is plainly unfinished. Indeed, one of the disputed matters among those who disagree about the nature of religious life is how faithful each has been to the mandate of the second Vatican Council to re-imagine their life. Sandra Schneiders in her Foundations series, for example, repeatedly addresses the varied interpretations of the council. We must now assess not only Thomas Aquinas, but also Karl Rahner. We must sympathetically weigh the strengths and weaknesses of different models of religious obedience. We must evaluate religious life as both an ecclesial institution and a spiritual movement. All this and more must shape the development of a theology of consecrated life for today.

And yet (third), whereas the call from the 60s through the 80s was a call to rethink, the recent call from many Roman Catholic religious is a call to (re)found (O’Murchu 2016; Hereford 2018; Cimperman 2020; Hart 2006). Indeed, a number of new and creative institutes have emerged in the last thirty years (Wittberg and Gautier 2017). Of course, refounding requires rethinking. As Cistercian Francis Kline asserts, “the foundations for our place in the Church are going to have to be (re?)discovered from our own lived experience, which may then feed academic and theological reflection” (Kline 2006, p. 166). Nevertheless, the theologies emerging from practical experiments take on a different character than merely reflective theologies. Indeed, this is one point that Latin American theologians of religious life made in the 70s. A theology of religious life must emerge from lived experience.

Part of the recent interest in founding new institutes of consecrated life develops from the revised categorization of consecrated (and religious) life expressed in the 1983 Code of Canon Law. While this code has received mixed evaluations regarding its treatment of consecrated life, one matter is clear. The new code opened the doorway for hermits, virgins and other new forms of consecrated life to establish themselves in formal association with the Catholic church. In her “Toward a Theological Theory of Religious Life” (with material developed between 1976 and 1981), Schneiders wrote that “what is especially interesting in our own times is the re-emergence within the movement of a wide variety of forms of religious life with which the juridical categories cannot deal” (Schneiders 1986, pp. 18–44). Whereas the Beguines of the thirteenth century—and indeed prior to 1983—had a difficult time finding any “place” to be welcomed by the church, the new code—more accurately, steps taken in canon law around 1900, 1940, 1983 and now since 2015—provide pathways of welcome for many who are longing for more (Hereford 2018; Hip-Flores 2018).

Finally, we must consider what we learn about theological method from the developments within Roman Catholic consecrated life between 1989 and the present. First, the suggestions from 1960 to 1989 are still appropriate. Our reflections regarding consecrated life must be scripturally rooted, historically sound, interdisciplinary informed, and so on. At the same time, some are approaching religious life guided by a renewed interest in Thomistic frameworks or canon law, or by a desire to integrate sociological data (see for example, Council of Major Superiors of Women Religious 2009; see also works emerging from the Canon Law Society of America workshop in 2015 [for example, Hereford 2018; Hip-Flores 2018 and work forthcoming Karla Felix-Rivera] and from the Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate [for example, Gaunt 2018]; much of this is North American). What this means is that—as with my comments on theological shifts above—reflections on consecrated life today require a broader conversation than might have been the case in 1970. We re-examine the assessments of Thomas Aquinas. We struggle to make meaning of canon law in dialog with various official statements since Vatican II. We consider current trends regarding why people today enter or leave consecrated life. Merton’s exhortation toward a “painstaking study of what is really essential to monasticism and what is not” feels to me more important now than it was when he wrote it. We must consider not only a new range of sources but even a new range of ways of looking at the sources, as we attempt to contribute to the development of a theology of consecrated life for the 21st century.

Second, as I mentioned above, a primary interest currently is in (re)founding. Furthermore, it is an interest in founding from a wide range of global contexts. What this means for someone attempting a theology of consecrated life today is that (1) conclusions or syntheses can only be understood as provisional and limited, and (2) that part of the development of a theology of consecrated life must be a careful listening to the stories of those who are founding.

Is there a need for a theology of consecrated life? Yes. The current crisis calls for the completion of this unfinished task (or at least some conscious progress in light of current circumstances). Even within the context of Roman Catholic institutes, the call issued in Vatican II to rethink consecrated life remains both incomplete and now more complicated than ever.

Yet, as the title of this article indicates, my interest lies beyond merely the Roman Catholic sphere. I am asking for an ecumenical theology of consecrated life. Thus, we must listen not only to the voice of Roman Catholicism, but also to the calls from outside the Roman Catholic sphere.

3. Calls from “Protestant” Christianity

First, let me say that I do not like the term “Protestant”. Anabaptist communities were persecuted by Catholics and “Protestants” alike. Anglicans often saw themselves as in-between Protestant and Catholic. Nevertheless, in following the language of my sources, I will retain the term (along with the inadequate identification of the “Non-Western” Christianities of Russia, Greece, Ethiopia, Syria, and so on), periodically encasing the term within quotation marks to highlight the ambiguity. Second, we cannot attend to the call(s) for a theology of consecrated life from outside Roman Catholic circles as we did from those within. Whereas we can trace—at least to some extent—the call(s) within Roman Catholicism by examining official statements and the history of their interpretation and embodiment, we are obliged to detect the calls from outside Roman circles as we observe those scattered statements and experiments that arise and connect. It is inappropriate to make too much of any one of these statements or experiments. We must not try to develop a full-blown theology of consecrated life, for example, from Alister McIntyre’s plea for a new Benedict, or from Bonhoeffer’s experiment at Finkenwalde. Furthermore, we must not identify the Protestant calls for more with appeals to greater holiness, a higher Christian life, a new baptism in the Spirit, or an increased faithfulness to the demands of Scripture. As we shall see, the “consecrated life”—at least as I am treating it here and unlike some Protestants understand the phrase—is not simply a matter of increased devotion or experience, but of the commitment to a distinct form of life (on “forms of life” and “lifeforms” see Howard 2023, pp. 101–2; Wittgenstein 1958, I.#23; I.#241 and pp. 174, 226; Agamben 2013; Melville 2016; Schneiders 2000), whether this distinct form of life is understood as the norm of all Christians (as with some Anabaptist expressions), or whether it is promoted as a model for a segment of the church (as is the case with some Protestant religious orders).

I will organize my treatment of the development of the Protestant call(s) by means of an image: that of the accumulation of precipitation. Rain falls, perhaps even a shower, and drops of water hit the ground. Each drop—here or there—does not carry much significance of itself. But as these drops travel, they collect in rivulets, beginning to flow in some direction. The rivulets direct the flow itself. Some rivulets then gather into streams and streams into rivers, while others dissipate in somewhat random locations into the soil. With the formation of rivers, precipitation acquires force sufficient to make significant change in the surrounding environment. Discerning the force of precipitation is not simply a matter of noticing a few drops, but rather paying attention to the course of the flows (where it moves, calls…).

3.1. The Development of Protestant Christianity and the Raindrops of a Call: 1518–1950

Just as we observed the call from Rome in light of Thomas Aquinas, the council of Trent, the liturgical renewal, and so on, so we must observe the Protestant calls in light of Martin Luther, the English Reformation, Anabaptist movements and more. It is a commonplace to proclaim that from the sixteenth to the mid-twentieth century, these groups abandoned both the concept and the institutes of consecrated life. What is less common is examination of the exceptions to the norm, or reflection on themes that appear in early Protestant history only to reappear in new or revised forms in Protestant explorations of consecrated life. I see these exceptions and themes, along with a number of interesting isolated statements by Protestant figures, as raindrops falling upon the soil. I can provide here only the most minimal treatment and documentation, simply in order to demonstrate the developing call(s) to rethink consecrated life (see G. Peters 2014 generally).

Martin Luther—and most Protestants following him—employed the term “monasticism” to refer to all forms of religious life he encountered (on Luther and the magisterial reformers, see Howard 2021, pp. 38–71). He was not the first to critique monasticism. Diocesan priests, humanists, and monks themselves (even members of Luther’s own order) had pressured for the reform of religious life long before Luther wrote his De Votis [On Monastic Vows] in 1521. Yet Martin Luther—the monk, the priest, and the theological instructor—articulated a condemnation of the monasticisms of his day that galvanized the Protestant rejection of institutions of religious life. According to Luther, a vow that pleases God is rooted in Scripture, is wed to baptismal commitment and God’s universal invitation, and is made in faith appropriate to any earthly vocation. A vow that displeases God goes beyond Scripture or our baptismal vows, misunderstands the notions of precepts and counsels, and wrongly measures perfection. For these reasons (and more), Luther was convinced that the institutions of monasticism needed to end. Yet Luther’s “rejection” was not as simplistic as it may seem. Luther recognized the value of communities living distinct forms of life. Lutherans permitted the Benedictine monastery at Schlüchtern to continue their life together, albeit with necessary reforms. Luther advocated for the model of monastic life to be adapted for educational purposes, without the elitism of monastic presumptions. More profoundly, as Leland Saak argues, “In the course of twenty years, Luther domesticated monasticism, transforming the school of Christ into church, school, and family, the three institutions that were to form and shape the morals and faith of the new religion” (Saak 2016, p.12). This is not merely a shallow rejection of “monasticism”, but rather a complete rethinking in light of a Protestant theological perspective. For the most part, John Calvin (1509–1564), Huldrych Zwingli (1484–1531), and the promoters of the English Reformation (particularly from 1521 to 1543) ultimately followed Luther in these matters, both disbanding and re-purposing monastic institutions in light of Protestant theological interests.

The magisterial forms of Protestantism—Lutheran, Reformed, Church of England—were not the only forms of European religion to break with Rome. We must also examine what are often labeled “Anabaptist” forms of life (on “Anabaptist” forms, see Erb 1986). On the one hand, like the magisterial Protestants, Anabaptists broke with Rome. They had no interest in affiliation with bishops, abbots, or orders. And yet, some exhibited sufficient similarities to monastic communities that sixteenth-century magisterial Reformers derided them by associating them with Roman monastic expressions (Troutner 2020. See also Erb 1986, p. 87). Some communities lived together, sharing possessions. They expected a high level of obedience within their ranks, both to the Sermon on the Mount and to their leaders. They spoke of entrance as a second (re)baptism, and more. What we must perceive here is the Anabaptist rethinking of the monastic ideal in the context of their own situation and theology. While it is difficult to identify the direct influence of monastic literature on Anabaptist formation, it is clear that Anabaptist groups often expressed values and encouraged practices (emphasis on formation, formal conscious commitments, common life…) that closely resembled monastic, or at least semi-monastic, life.

My point in all of this is that it is a superficial assessment of the “Protestant Reformation(s)” simply to say that “they rejected Roman Catholic monasticism”. Deeper rethinking was involved: rethinking regarding the relationships between theology, community, spirituality, and practice. Furthermore, we must recognize that till the eighteenth century, this “Protestant” rethinking was comprehended—with few exceptions—within the context of “church”, a single-form ecclesiology which had little place for any distinction between “religious” and “secular” vocations.

That single-form ecclesiology—and the institutional framework that reflected it—was to be stretched in the centuries that followed. In the early seventeenth century, Nicholas Ferrar and family formed a community known as “Little Gidding” in Cambridgeshire, England, a community whose life together was criticized as being a “Protestant nunnery” (G. Peters 2014, pp. 54–55; Mayor 1855; Carter 1893; Maycock [1938] 1960; Van de Weyer 1988). Count Nicholas Ludwig von Zinzendorf in 1716 formed, with a group of students, a kind of knightly order, The Order of the Mustard Seed, dedicated to the glory of Jesus Christ. Their order was expressed through a simple Rule, sealed by a solemn covenant, and was symbolized by clothing: the wearing of a ring (see Hutton 1909; Langton 1956; Lewis 1962; Anderson 2020). Eighteenth-century Methodist “bands” employed common practices, not expected of all Christians, to grow in maturity and express the faith to others (see Watson 1986; Heath and Kisker 2010; Dobson 2024).

In the nineteenth century, interest grew further and deeper, at times expressing explicit interest in monastic institutions. Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard wrote (1847), “Of this there is no doubt, our age and Protestantism in general may need the monastery again, or wish it were there. The ‘monastery’ is an essential dialectical element in Christianity. We therefore need it like a navigation buoy at sea in order to see where we are… But if there really is true Christianity in every generation there must also be individuals who have this need” (Kierkegaard 2015, p. 275 [7 VIII 1 A 403 (1847)]). The nineteenth-century Oxford Movement (also identified by the term “Tractarians”) explored the nature and practice of consecrated life. Ruth Kenyon writes, “The revival of the ‘Religious’ or Monastic Life in the English Church was an aspiration of the Tractarians from the very beginning” (cited in G. Peters 2014, p. 67). A wide range of experimental “utopian” communities emerged in the nineteenth century, particularly in the United States, some of them shaped by or at least bearing similarity to monastic forms of life (See Kanter 1972; Fogarty 1990; Miller 1998, pp. 1–41; Ferrara 2020). Raindrops and small rivulets point to the need to continue thinking about consecrated life.

In the first half of the twentieth century, we witnessed the drops and rivulets growing. The Bruderhof (Anabaptist roots) was founded in the midst of the devastation on Germany after World War I during the 1920s (see Zablocki [1971] 1980). The Iona community (originally affiliated with the Church of Scotland) was formed in the midst of the hardships of the 1930s (see Ferguson 1998). From 1935 to 1937, Dietrich Bonhoeffer established and directed Finkenwalde, an alternative community/seminary in Germany with a semi-monastic rhythm and common life. On 14 January 1935, he wrote to his brother proclaiming the need for “a sort of new monasticism” (Bonhoeffer 1990, p. 424). The (ultimately ecumenical, but initially Protestant) Taizé community in France was founded in 1940 during the Second World War (see Santos 2008). Koinonia Farm was founded in 1942 by Baptists Clarence and Florence Jordan and Mabel England as a “demonstration plot for the kingdom of God” (Chancey 1991, pp. 321–53). These are only samples. What is important here, I say again, is to see the somewhat isolated drops falling here and there, yet communicating similar themes and pointing toward the need to rethink consecrated life more generally.

3.2. Rivulets’ Develop: @1950–Mid-1980s

What I notice between 1950 and the mid-1980s are small, but real, developments. We see networks of Christian communities emerge (both formal and informal). We see Protestants (or Roman Catholics writing about Protestants) beginning to reflect theologically about monasticism. We see Protestants starting to promote some kind of recovery of religious orders and such. Together, these forces begin to collect and distribute the disparate longings of Protestant Christians for both expressions and theologies of consecrated life. Drops are forming rivulets.

The dual but interpenetrating movements of evangelicalism and the charismatic renewal gave birth not only to a number of Christian communities, but also to networks of communities. Just as the monastery of Cluny in the Middle Ages spawned daughter communities, so the pioneering evangelical community of L’Abri in Switzerland (founded in 1955) spawned a daughter community in England in 1971 (see Schaeffer [1976] 1992; L’Abri Fellowship International 2025). The evangelical “Jesus movement”, usually dated from the late 1960s through the early 1970s, inspired converts to experiment with Christian “communes” and other expressions of intentional Christian community. These Christian expressions—such as the Jesus People USA community in Chicago, Shiloh ministries in Oregon, the houses associated with the ministries of David Wilkerson in New York City, and many more—often would connect with one another through informal visits, mutual support, or through media such as the Voice of Elijah’s Truth from Spokane, Washington, a Jesus People newspaper which highlighted stories from a variety of communities within their pages (see Enroth et al. 1972; Bustraan 2014; Allan 2016). Similarly, the charismatic renewal fostered the establishment of a number of Protestant, Catholic, and ecumenical communities, many of which connected through conferences, shared literature, and more (see Hocken 2002; Howard 2020). A number of influential communities with an interest in social engagement were also started during this period, for example, Reba Place Fellowship [1957], Post-American/Sojourners [1971], and Jubilee Partners [1979], communities which supported one another and ultimately fostered the Shalom Mission Communities and the Nurturing Communities Network (see Jackson 1978; Janzen 1996).

During this same period, and perhaps in light of the flowering of Christian communities, some began to reflect—even theologically—on the phenomena of Christian community. Karl Barth, in part IV.2 of his monumental Church Dogmatics, asked about the value, embodied in monastic institutions, of a rhythm of withdrawal. Barth developed his thoughts on monasticism further in a letter responding to the inquiry of a Vatican commission in 1966. In this letter he affirms that “monasticism has an exemplary role in the life of the Church”, that it gives witness to God “in the world, towards the world, and for the world”, and that it stands or falls on its being “summoned and steered only by the Word of God” (Gioia 2017, esp. 419–420). Donald Bloesch, decades before the publication of his multi-volume theological survey Essentials of Evangelical Theology, published two books reflecting on the development of Christian communities, communities he saw as “centers” or “wellsprings” of Christian renewal (Bloesch 1964, 1974. See also G. Peters 2014, pp. 127–54). In each book, along with documenting the life of a number of communities, Bloesch offers reflections on what a Protestant theology of intentional Christian community might look like. In his 1978 treatment, he openly begins a dialog with Christian monasticism, a dialog he maintains throughout his works (see also G. Peters 2006; 2014, pp. 91–126). In 1963 (during the proceedings of Vatican II), Helicon Press published the English translation of The Rise of Protestant Monasticism by François Biot, a Dominican scholar. In the first half of his book, Biot covers similar ground as I have done here, documenting the development of Protestant experiments and attitudes from Luther through the 1950s. In the second half of the book, Biot presents “theological justifications”, reflections on the awakened church, on the church and the world, and on vocation. In these reflections, Biot begins to imagine—on behalf of Protestants—a theology of consecrated life (Biot 1963). Similarly in 1971, Anglican A. M. Allchin penned a little pamphlet entitled The Theology of the Religious Life: An Anglican Approach. In this fifteen-page pamphlet Allchin expresses—as a Protestant—a conscious re-imagining of a theology of religious life (Allchin 1971). And finally, I must mention here the landmark work of missiologist Ralph Winter, who in 1973 published an article on “The Two Structures of God’s Redemptive Mission”, openly promoting the value of the Roman Catholic understanding of religious orders (see Winter 1974). Winter’s musings became concrete experiments in the decades that followed.

3.3. Outpouring Rains and Streams Forming: Mid 1980s to 2010

Roman Catholics had already begun to rethink their life, and some of their reflections were available to Protestants, who in turn translated the wisdom for their own circles. In 1978, Quaker author Richard Foster published Celebration of Discipline, a moment that perhaps marked a turning point in the Western Protestant world: the beginning of the spiritual formation movement (summarized in Howard 2018, pp. 7–8). Right about this time, biblical scholar Marcus Borg, then in his mid-30s, was beginning to have encounters with God, encounters that identify a transition I label the shift from “academic liberal” to “spiritual progressive” (see Borg 1994, pp. 8–17). Through the books, magazines, courses, conferences and much more that followed, many Protestant Christians became exposed to literature, practices, experiences and values associated with historic Christian monasticism. In the context of the outpouring rains of the spirituality movement, fresh waters fell and gathered into a number of streams.

One stream was the new friars network. Emerging out of Ralph Winter’s vision of Christian sodalities inspired by Catholic religious orders, a number of mission organizations—with perhaps 100 teams worldwide—emerged, which consciously sought to blend Protestant mission interests with aspects of consecrated life (see Bessenecker 2006, 2010). Around this same time in the United Kingdom, two developments were taking place. The first was a rediscovery of the Celtic monastic heritage, a rediscovery that involved the cooperative work of scholars, like Ian Bradley, and creative foundations, like the Northumbria community (see Bradley 2018; The Northumbria Community n.d.). The second was the Fresh Expressions movement, emerging from the Church of England and beyond. The Fresh Expressions movement re-oriented local church to think of their life more missionally, and advocated for creative experiments to explore this mission. A number of mutually supporting Christian communities—many of them with conscious connections to Christian monastic traditions—were formed in the midst of this season of experiment (see Cray et al. 2010; Fx 2022).

I can go on to speak of the “community of communities” stream, groups of communities associated with Reba Place Fellowship, Hope Fellowship and their circle (which itself morphed into the Nurturing Communities Network stream); the Study Center movement, some of whom were experimenting with community life in the context of higher education; the communities that ultimately formed the North American Network of Charismatic Covenant communities; or the semi-monastic experiments that were explored among mainline churches associated with the Missional Wisdom Foundation (see Nurturing Communities Network n.d.; Consortium of Christian Study Centers n.d.; North American Network of Charismatic Covenant Communities n.d.; Heath and Kisker 2010; Heath and Duggins 2014). Yet perhaps more significant was the birth of “new monasticism”: as a phrase, an identifiable social movement (covered in media), and as a stream that then inspired other streams (see for example, Rutba House 2005; Howard 2008). Once again, the sharing of members, the mutual creation of gatherings and literature, the shared email lists and so on all demonstrate the “flowing together” character of this stream at that time. Yet consciously associated with this stream was the term “monasticism”. Once again, a significant contingent of people were consciously identifying with something monastic. Daily office, Rules of life, and vows of stability were all part of the conversation. Protestants were rethinking and refounding consecrated life. As with Athanasius’ Life of Antony (@356) and Thomas Merton’s (1948) Seven Story Mountain, Shane Claiborne’s (2006) Irresistable Revolution captured the longing of a generation and people flocked to join what they thought might be a clear, tangible expression of the heart of God.

3.4. Rivers Form as Streams Connect: 2010—The Present

The heat of the “new monastic” trend has passed. Yet—in spite of misunderstandings—it was never the new monastic movement, but was rather (as we have seen) one stream feeding others even while dissipating here or there. Indeed, new streams have emerged and are (1) interconnecting with one another more and more and (2) more consciously “monastic” than ever before (see Howard 2025). We see the emergence of the European Network of Communities, the Nurturing Communities Network, the Order of the Common Life, the Order of the Mustard Seed, the New Monastic Roundtable, and much more. The book tables at their gatherings share resources from one network to another. Folks associated with one stream now attend gatherings of other streams. Like root systems between trees, communities are connecting, catalyzing, collaborating, and cultivating each other’s lives as they cooperatively rethink the nature of consecrated life for the twenty-first century. This is not, like MacIntyre’s call for a new Benedict, or Bonhoeffer’s short-lived experiment at Finkenwalde, merely a matter of isolated affirmations of monasticism. The rain has already fallen and we are now seeing rivers, cutting into the soil with force. This river calls for our attention.

Yet I repeat, the call(s) from Protestant Christianity are not explicit, as with those within the context of Roman Catholic circles. There is no common and clear statement like Perfectae caritatis, to which all might examine. Rather we must notice the not-quite random distribution of calls that collect and interpenetrate. We must recognize fragments: valuable, yet fragments nonetheless (on “fragments” see Jennings 2020, pp. 25–26). The call(s) to rethink consecrated life must be collected and distilled, a process which both sees and distorts what it sees. It is difficult to find an explicit and developed Protestant “theology of religious life” to which one might turn for models of how to proceed with this (re)imagining. Roman Catholics have been thinking about this for a long time. Still: a “Protestant” theology of consecrated life is not enough. We must forge ecumenical theologies of consecrated life.

4. Select Calls from “Non-Western” Christianities

I have given primary focus thus far to developments within the Western Church. Yet it is possible to perceive something of a call to rethink “monastic theology” even within Christian communities outside the traditional “West” (for example, in Greece, Russia, Syria, Egypt, and Ethiopia). Due to my own limitations, I can only offer here a few suggestive comments oriented around a few select locations.

Monasticism in Russia cannot be comprehended without a grasp of the horrors of the persecutions conducted between 1914 and 1939 (for specifically “Russian” monasticism, see Paert 2010; Wynot 2004; Shevkunov 2012; Binns 2020, pp. 213–35). John Binns summarizes: “Statistics state that there were, in 1914, … 1105 monasteries… By the end of the Civil War in 1921… only 352 of the 1105 monasteries were still open… The number of monasteries fell from 101 in 1945, to 90 in the 1950s and then to sixteen in 1968. Of the sixteen monasteries and nunneries open in 1968 all but Trinity-Sergius were in western areas which had been occupied by the German army during the war” (Binns 2020, p. 215) Nuns and monks in Russia were forced to rethink their life in radically new circumstances and to re-express that life in radically new ways. Monasteries that escaped closure in the earlier period became refuges for monks and nuns displaced from other locations. Secret monasteries, secret seminaries, and clandestine celebrations became common. The use of vestments and other liturgical items was virtually eliminated as valuable items were repurposed by officials. Books were burned or taken and monastic services had to be recreated by memory or re-invented whole cloth. Father Valentin Sventisky and others began to educate the people toward becoming networks of elders and laity as “monasteries in the world” (Wynot 2004, loc 1598, 1610). As so many learned, “the Soviets could close all of the monasteries, but they could never eradicate their essence so long as monastics continued to exist. Despite the arrests and executions, the ranks of monasticism continued to be filled” (Wynot 2004, loc 1916).

A new—and at times conflicted—diaspora of Russian monasticism was birthed out of the persecution. Some renewed an old tradition of wandering monks, simply to avoid detection and arrest. Others fled to France, California, or elsewhere, giving rise to various expressions of Russian monasticism in exile. Some, both within and without Russia, supported the Soviet-recognized church authorities as the legitimate succession of Orthodox authority. Others saw the official church or their supporters as traitors and betrayers of the faith. Residue of these tensions still remains today, though signs of healing are evident.

The trials and travels of Russian monasticism post-Soviet Union have left a measure of both renewal and rediscovery around the globe. On the one hand, some have spoken of a revival of traditional Russian monastic life in Russia (for example, Rock 2009; Silouan 2017). Others, like Russian-born Catholic Catherine Hueck Daugherty, founder of Madonna House, and Mother Maria Skobtsova, pioneer in Russian-engaged monasticism in France, have explored fresh ways of imagining consecrated life for their own time and place (see for example, De Hueck [1947] 2011; Skobtsova 2003; Preble 2015). It remains to be seen—and to be explored—what the shape of Orthodox monastic life will look like in the century to come.

In the midst of Syria’s civil war and the decline of the Christian population, the revitalized Mar Musa Monastery near the city of Nebek, an experimental reconciling monastery including Syrian Catholic along with Orthodox and some Protestants, stands as a “beacon of hope” (Gavlak 2024). Monasticism has long been a respected component of Syrian Christianity. Egypt has also, in the past century, experienced something of a monastic revival, particularly after 1969 through the influence of Matta el-Maskeen [Matthew the Poor]. As I have witnessed first hand, the reshaping of the entry system of monks, the use of the land for agriculture and manufacturing, the retreats and visits by local Coptic schools, and more have made the ancient Coptic monasteries fresh/old destinations for Coptic Christians (see also Binns 2017, pp. 230–31).

Finally, the situation in Ethiopia calls for a rethinking (see Binns 2017; Lusini 2020). It is said that, “Perhaps the most important aspect of Ethiopian Christianity is its monasticism” (Haile n.d.). The separation of church and state in Ethiopia has caused a significant measure of uncertainty within the monastic institution. How does religious life influence culture, ecology, spiritual life, and more? One association, the Mahabere Kiddusan [The Community of the Saints] is exploring new expressions, particularly in relationship to students. Traditions, monasteries and evangelistic work are combined in a unique effort to both recover and renew the central—yet now marginalized—monastic life (Binns 2017, pp. 242–44).

It appears, more generally, that changes in socio-political context may stimulate rethinking, even though the longing of many is not radical reorganization, but a deep recovery of tradition in the face of changing cultures. The well-known monastic center of Mt. Athos, perched on a northeastern Greek peninsula, faces legal challenges which could shape the monastic self-understanding of this holy site (see Semenova et al. 2019). Russia, Syria, and Ethiopia all face governmental transitions that have implications for the status and lifestyle of monastic institutions. John McGuckin writes in his introduction to a collection of essays on Orthodox Monasticism past and present, “Today monasticism must learn, in the main, to do without its princely sponsors” (see McGuckin 2015, p. ix). The support of monasticism by governments—and vice versa—has been a central characteristic of Non-Western forms of monasticism for centuries. The collapse of this arrangement in many countries may trigger a re-imagining of Non-Western forms of monastic life.

5. Conclusions: That It Is Needed/What Is Needed

I return to the outline of the call we heard from Rome after Vatican II, which was confirmed in the decades following. Only now I wish to integrate what we have heard from Christian traditions outside Rome—“Protestants” and “Non-Western” Christians—into our perception of this call. Is it still relevant to call our era a crisis with regard to the embodiment of consecrated life? What can we say about our relationship with tradition? Can we identify in all this a call to rethink or to refound expressions of consecrated life? And finally what methods of rethinking might be recommended in light of the calls we have heard? And when we get to this last question, we will move from suggesting that there is a need for an ecumenical theology of monasticism and consecrated life, to exploring what such a theology might involve.

First, is the word “crisis” appropriate? In the literature surrounding Vatican II, “crisis” communicated the theological and practical uncertainties—the important questions—rising regarding religious life. Things were in flux, in debate, and these were not minor matters for those in religious institutes. The term “crisis” took on an even more serious character in the decades which followed, suggesting even the threat of extinction. What can we say about the use of this word having heard from traditions outside Rome? Of course, we cannot speak of a crisis of religious life for Protestants, because Protestants have no heritage of religious life. The crisis is not a crisis of identity or of extinction, but rather a crisis of formation. Is it legitimately possible (theologically or practically)—and if so how—to empower expressions that have been suppressed for five hundred years? Yet the stakes are high. We are all aware of dwindling attendance in churches throughout the Protestant West. Could a “new monasticism” be one path of reform? Even when I attend to trends in Non-Western countries, I can imagine a few cries for rethinking in lands where the changes in governments might be described as crises, challenging the self-understanding of monastic communities.

I think it is fair to say, when we try to listen to the whole in the first decades of the twenty-first century, that there is a crisis and a call from the world itself. Indeed, perhaps this may be the most significant call. The current conditions surrounding church–world relationships beg us to imagine once again what it means to live the Christian life, and particularly to imagine what it might mean to want more in that life. Perhaps things like loss of focus in a digital age, hyper-individualism, and addiction rates all suggest that late modern society has produced many individuals but few healthy solitaries, mass consumers, but few healthy communities (see Reynolds 2023; Dreher 2017). Perhaps, in the midst of the crisis of “post-modernity”, it is time to rethink the place of consecrated life.

Second, how do we understand our relationship with tradition? Roman Catholic religious who pioneered theological thinking about religious life had found their traditions regarding central aspects of that life wanting. Orthodox nuns and monks did not find their traditions wanting so much as devastated. And in the rebuilding, new questions of tradition naturally arose in the new settings. It is interesting to see, in the writings of a Protestant like Donald Bloesch or a Russian Orthodox woman like Maria Skobtsova, careful attention to reviewing essential themes and documents of their own traditions (Bloesch rehearses a gospel of grace; Skobtsova reviews the turn toward others in the Orthodox devotional classic, The Philokalia). Yet Protestants also have found their own traditions wanting. And it is partly for this reason that Protestants are exploring forms of consecrated life. For us today, the need is for an ecumenical theology of consecrated life, where we mine the depth and breadth of thought and life in the history of the Christian Church. We need to re-tradition ourselves afresh—without abandoning our own particularities—through the questions and concerns that have shaped both religious life and the rejection of it in history (see Buschart and Eilers 2015 and especially Eilers’ chapter on new monasticism). Just what, in this broad and long tradition, is worthy of keeping, adjusting, and rejecting, and why?

Third, do we hear a call from the whole Church to rethink? Roman Catholics spoke of the need to rethink, and then that call was absorbed within the need to refound. Nevertheless, we can recognize rethinking even in the midst of refounding. We can also see a creative blend of practical exploration and theological reflection in the myriad experiments of Protestants in the last century and in a few select models of renewal within Non-Western monasticism. Rethink. Refound. Reflect. I do not think we will be able to escape this blend of activity in the years ahead.

And finally, what can we say about the method of rethinking called for? To me, this is really asking the question of what we are asking for in an ecumenical theology of consecrated life. What might an ecumenical theology of monasticism and consecrated life involve? Certainly, it will have to define terms carefully, particularly since terms like “monasticism”, “religious”, “consecrated life”, and so on have meant different things within different traditions within different centuries. I have avoided offering any solid definitions here, in part because I think that the work of defining is as much a fruit of theology as a prelude to it. Ultimately, an ecumenical theology of consecrated life, however defined, must be a treatment of the central questions or issues that have guided the presence or the rejection of monasticism and religious life throughout history. Is there a place for vows in the Christian life? Should some be permitted or encouraged to live differently than others? Does this make them “better”? Do people live well within Rules of Life? And so on.

Secondly, it would require reflection on Christian scripture. Interpretation of (or shall we say “obedience to”) key Biblical texts has been at the foundation of many expressions of consecrated life. Biblical interpretation has also fueled the Protestant rejection of religious life as well as some of the rethinking undertaken by Roman Catholics in mid-twentieth century. We must return to the text again.

Third, as I have already mentioned above, our theology of consecrated life must involve a reconsideration of history. But now it must also be a reconsideration of reconsiderations. We can no longer be satisfied with a confessional recovery of respected ancients. We must let the ancients of one tradition challenge the ancients of another. We must let critical historical methods—and the criticism of critical historical methods—challenge our readings of these ancients. A truly ecumenical theology of consecrated life must at least try to give a fair hearing of all the players. It is not about trying to produce a statement that will satisfy the needs of Christians from all traditions. Indeed, that is why an ecumenical theology of consecrated life can never be produced by any one person. This is a collaborative task, both in the listening and in the experimenting. We must assume the presence of all in our own process of theological reflection.

Fourth and finally, an ecumenical theology of consecrated life for the 21st century must be interdisciplinary. There is an entire sociological literature touching on matters of consecrated life: community, commitment, identity, and much more (see, for example, Goffman 1961; M. Hill 1973; Silber 1995; Hostie 1972; Wittberg 1994; Jonveaux and Palmisano 2017). Barry Shenker, in his sociological study of intentional communities, draws attention to three expressions that persevered over time in contrast to so many communities that did not. He declares, “By comparison we have three other communal movements in western society: the Hutterites, the Kibbutzim and the monastic movement, against which the ‘successful’ American ones seem gross failures” (Shenker 1986, p. 9). Shenker then spends the rest of the book exploring the Hutterites and the Kibbutzim. The monastic movement—some expressions of which far surpass the Hutterites and the Kibbutzim in perseverance—is left unstudied. In addition to the field of sociology, we must consider the field of comparative world religions in our ecumenical theology. Monasticism is not simply a “Christian” phenomenon, and it behooves us to examine the similarities and distinctives of forms of consecrated life worldwide as we rethink our own (see for example, Davis 2018; Silber 1995; Sharot 2001). Further, as I have mentioned above, an ecumenical theology of consecrated life must arise from the experience of those who are living—or at least experimenting with—consecrated life. Thomas Merton’s series of lectures on “Initiation into the Monastic Tradition” and Sandra Schneiders’s Religious Life in a New Millennium trilogy are theologies of monasticism and religious life developed by “insiders”. We need to continue to listen to—and to give voice to—those who are on the ground exploring the lifeforms of consecrated life.

In sum, the call(s) for a theology of consecrated life are not only unfinished, but are now more relevant than ever, particularly when we approach the topic from a consciously ecumenical perspective. The demographic, theological, and cultural shifts on planet Earth since 1960 have made a rethinking of what following Jesus means in his invitations to “more” not merely interesting, but perhaps vital.