Men of God—men for humanity. A community of monks had chosen a life of nearly continuous prayer, liturgy, and contemplation, yet they lived in profound closeness to the people around them and served them as Jesus did. Their contemplation humanized them; their service drew them back to prayer. They lived in Tibhirine, about a hundred kilometers south of Algiers, in gentle mountain country near a village of poor Muslims. The friendship between the villagers and the monks was beautiful—as deep as it was simple. Brother Luc, a doctor-monk, was always there for those needing care. Others tended the public market where they sold honey. Monks and Muslim neighbors alike knew themselves loved by God; each bore witness to that love according to his own calling.
On the night of March 26-27, 1996—ten days before Easter—armed rebels entered the monastery and abducted seven of the nine sleeping monks. Two managed to hide. The film traces the monastery's life in the years before: the monks had already endured a similar raid at Christmas 1994, after which Algerian authorities urged them to return to France. It shows the community's anguished debate: stay in the monastery? move to another one? go back to France? But the question cut deeper: were they willing to risk death in a land that had become hostile?
It was, at bottom, God's question to sinful humanity—so often driven by hatred rather than love. As they meditated Scripture, they contemplated God's own choice. Slowly, under their superior's guidance, each entered the full depth of his vocation: to be with and like Christ. Should they remain in the village and continue their friendships? Flee to safety? At one point in the film, some monks tell the villagers they feel like birds on a branch someone is sawing away. The villagers reply: we are those birds—you are what protects us.
To walk in Jesus's footsteps all the way—to the point of laying down one's life out of love. The director never reveals who killed them. It could have been the rebels, or government soldiers, by accident or design. We never know. Yet it seemed important to know who was responsible. What matters more, though, is the witness of lives given for love, for following the Master of love, Jesus.
A beautiful film that became a commercial success. I'm told it was shown in Rome to cardinals and bishops, who chattered among themselves before the screening but filed out in complete silence afterward, recalled to the seriousness of their first love. In the film, Brother Luc speaks to a young village woman seeking his advice about her romantic love. He tells her he too once loved beautiful young women—until he encountered another love, a total one. There it is: a film about total, divine love. What measurable political result? None, really—like the death of Jesus. For this reason, I think, whether consciously recognized or not, the film found such wide success, even among those who don't practice the faith. All of us hunger for the witness of people who give everything to the Living God and to their brothers.
Paul Gilbert, 2011
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