NeuroDivine

Psalm 56 • Isaiah 10:20–32 • Matthew 8:1–13 • Rule of St Benedict, Chapter 41

The Rule today speaks of meals and their appointed hours, a rhythm of nourishment shaped by daylight, season, and the Abbot’s foresight. It is not simply about food, but about care: arranging life so that souls may be saved and murmuring avoided. Timing becomes mercy.

On this cold November morning, with the wind biting at the edges of Ireland’s fields, I hear the Rule’s insistence on daylight as a kind of tenderness. Meals should not be taken in darkness, lest the brethren stumble or strain. Even in austerity, Benedict insists on a humane rhythm.

For me, dialysis is its own appointed hour. The machine hums like a bell marking time, drawing blood and returning it cleansed. I cannot choose the hour, but I can choose how to inhabit it. Psalm 56 reminds me: “When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.” Fear and fatigue are real, but so is trust. The needle pierces, the cold settles in, yet God’s mercy is not bound by clocks or seasons.

Isaiah speaks of a remnant returning, leaning no longer on what oppresses but on the Lord. That image feels close: dialysis is both dependence and liberation, a leaning on technology that paradoxically allows me to lean more deeply on God. The remnant is small, but it is faithful.

And in Matthew, the centurion’s faith astonishes Jesus: “Only say the word, and my servant will be healed.” I hear in that faith a reminder that healing is not always instant, nor always complete, but always possible. Even the long winter of treatment is held within Christ’s authority.

So today, as the cold presses in and the hours stretch long, I take Benedict’s wisdom as a gift: arrange life so that souls may be saved, and murmuring avoided. For me, that means noticing small mercies—the warmth of a blanket, the steady rhythm of the machine, the daylight that still reaches through the window. Meals may be delayed, strength may falter, but grace is not rationed.