It’s easy to mistake charity for a transaction—money given, box checked. But real compassion asks more of us. It’s not just about what we give, but how. Without heart, giving becomes a way of outsourcing our humanity.

This principle extends far beyond formal giving money into the fabric of our daily relationships. Consider the parent who provides materially for their children but remains emotionally absent, or the friend who shows up to events but never truly shows up as a person. 

Most of the brothers I lived with in the monastery took naps regularly. Yes, you read that right. They napped. 

I’m not saying everyone can or should nap. Frankly, I struggled to nap myself - but I did try. 

These brothers also usually slept 7 or more hours per night on average. 

Why such dedicated sleeping habits? 

When I was in the monastery, I met a sister who had lived with Mother Teresa in Calcutta. I asked this sister, “Do you have any stories about Mother Teresa?” The sister told me this one: 

“When mother cleaned the sink, she always left it cleaner than before the last person used it.”

St. Therese of Liseux, a hidden cloistered Carmelite nun, died anonymously at the age of 24. Yet, within a few decades she became one of the most recognized spiritual figures in the world – her posthumously published autobiography Story of a Soul becoming one of the best selling spiritual works of the entire 20th century. 

Why? How? 

When I was in the monastery, the bell would ring at 5:30 AM for Lauds - our first prayer of the day. In the darkness before dawn, we'd shuffle into the chapel, half-awake, sometimes grumpy, definitely not feeling "holy."

But here's what I learned during those years: showing up is 80% of the spiritual life.

Discernment is more than decision-making. It’s the art of spiritual perception, learning to see with the eyes of the soul. The word comes from the Latin discernere, meaning to separate or sift. Discernment is the quiet work of sorting through noise to hear the whisper of truth.

Detachment is often misunderstood. It’s not about caring less. It's about holding what we possess – whether material or intangible – so lightly that we can let go when it no longer serves our greater mission of love. 

Recently, I was in Assisi, Italy praying at the tomb of Saint Francis. Here’s a reflection I wrote while there:

Sitting in the tiny chapel in front of the body of St. Francis. Thousands of people stream by throughout the day. The look on their faces and glistening eyes communicate that they feel deeply challenged and inspired — even 800 years after the saint’s death.

Once when I was in the monastery, I remember my cousin came to visit. As she was leaving, she asked me with a bit of sorrow in her tone,

"Don't you get lonely here?” 

The question surprised me a bit. Sure, loneliness happens to all of us from time to time. But, I didn’t consistently feel lonely. Most of all, because I was blessed to experience a closeness to God that was deeply nourishing and lifegiving. But secondly, because I was with a caring community day in and day out.

How often do we feel paralyzed by a decision that feels too big, too overwhelming, or too final? Whether it’s a career change, a move, or a personal commitment, the pressure to make the “right” decision can cloud our ability to take action. We sit with the weight of it—perhaps for days, weeks, or even months—feeling stuck and unsure.

Recently, a friend asked me for career advice. He was at a crossroads of making a big career change and felt crushed by the weight of that decision. I tried to lower the stakes: “Before you make this huge switch, can you test it out first?” Testing it out can be as simple as spending a few hours a week working in a similar role.

Love is the most fundamental human experience and the ultimate purpose of our lives. 

It has the power to both start wars and to create peace. Each one of us loves someone, whether it be our children, family, spouse, or friends.

Love is the firm cement which holds our relationships together. We deeply need it, but we find true fulfilment when love is pure—free of self-interest and hidden motives.

While in the monastery, I had a brief assignment to a missionary monastery in Uganda – yup, those exist. 

I had a habit of daily vigorous exercise – running, weight lifting, etc. However, it was harder to exercise in Uganda without access to running places or a gym. Part of me wanted to just skip exercise. But I knew that everything in my life – relationships, sleep, work, mood, etc – was better when I exercised regularly. 

So I had to improvise. 

In the Christian tradition, Lent is a period of letting go of idols that hold us back from becoming whom we yearn to be. 

Stripping off the idols that entangle us like bandages on a corpse, we begin to unravel our most true identity rooted in God. 

The 40 days of Lent mirror the 40 days Jesus spent in the desert praying and fasting in preparation for his public ministry. It’s a sacred time to prepare for rebirth in the joy of our own resurrection. 

When I was in the monastery, we often did a silent retreat to start Lent. During this time, I’d use the ancient Lenten spiritual framework of “prayer, fasting, and almsgiving” to set specific goals for how I wanted to be transformed during Lent. Here are some real examples from my monastic Lenten practices: 

The “desert fathers” who lived in the Egyptian desert in the 4th - 6th centuries sought a union with God through an intensely ascetic and prayerful lifestyle. 

Here, Evagrius, one of the most well-known of the desert fathers, describes the “noonday devil”, a popular metaphor in desert spirituality. 

Imagine the heat and torpor of being outside in the Egyptian desert after a hard morning of work. This is what Evagrius would experience most days. Naturally your mind and body would want an escape – to seek some other pleasure than to be present to your duties or life. Because of this natural reality, one becomes vulnerable to spiritual temptation. 

And we all have our own noonday devils don’t we?

In the monastery, we had dinner together every night. This was a privileged time for nurturing community and relationships. Of course, doing the same thing with the same people every day sometimes felt boring or mundane.

It can often be hardest to love those closest to us – members of our family, classmates and friends that we see all the time, people who no longer hold novelty or intrigue for us. But consistently finding little ways to serve and love those in our midst actually becomes the fabric of true heroism.

When I was in the monastery, every night before going to bed, I’d kneel on the cold tile floor and lean against my simple bed made from an old wooden door. 

I’d perform a meditative exercise called an “examination of conscience” in which you reflect meditatively on the day in order to improve the next day, and each day thereafter. 

Athletes watch the “game tape” of their own games to learn where they performed well, made mistakes, and how they can improve. If athletes do this for a game, why can’t we do it for real life?

People often ask me what the hardest thing to give up in the monastery was. I think they assume it's sex, and they want to hear me say that. 

Shortly after I entered, I remember a wise older brother telling me, “People think the hardest vow to keep is chastity. Actually, it's obedience.” 

I live in Washington, D.C., and the first question many ask upon meeting me is, “What do you do?”  Of course what we do matters, but ultimately, it’s secondary to the more fundamental questions: Why do I work? How do I work? 

Have you ever made a decision motivated by fear?

I have. Plenty of times. 

Whether its a fear of failure; fear of disappointing someone; fear rooted in a childhood wound… 

Have you ever made a decision motivated by fear?

I have. Plenty of times. 

Whether its a fear of failure; fear of disappointing someone; fear rooted in a childhood wound…