Serenhedd James talks to Brian Scarffe, the founder of Monastic Order, about his project and his vision for its future.
Another day; another interview. This time about a company that’s importing monastic wine and beer from Europe to the UK. No doubt the usual trope of bibulous monks, and a hefty side-helping of qui bibit, sanctus est. I thought the director of the company would probably be in the “spiritual but not religious”, category, and so on. Well (and I can already hear the rest of the Herald editorial team discreetly scribbling a note in their diaries), I was wrong.
Within a few minutes of meeting Brian Scarffe, the founder of Monastic Order, it is obvious that this is much more than a business venture. After a houseful of welcome we sit down to talk over beer brewed by the monks of Norcia, in southern Umbria, where St Benedict was born. It quickly transpires that Brian is a convert, and a member of the Ordinariate of Our Lady of Walsingham.
He runs the business with his wife, Macey, and his brother Aidan, and tells me of his journey to Rome and the influence on him of the religious life and the historic impact of the monasteries. “The ancient monasteries of Europe spread their branches in such a way that almost the entire development of Christian civilisation took place within their protective arms,” he says.
Brian likens the old monasteries to the oak trees with which Europe was once blanketed, and talks of what he calls the “mysterious synchronicity” of their disappearance. “The loss of the great European oak forests is mirrored by the destruction of the great monastic houses of Europe: whether by Henry VIII, or European revolutions and the Napoleonic Code, or as the result of subversive reforms of Catholic rulers like Joseph II of Austria,” he says.
“Our great spiritual institutions have become an endangered species,” he contends, as we open another beer. “Once you become aware of the degree of devastation the monasteries underwent, but also just how vital they were to the transformation of European culture and its formation of the European soul, you begin to feel the responsibility to support the houses that are left. Wherever you look in Europe, the monastic influence is there.”
As Brian continues I sip my bionda – it’s light and fresh with a nice foam on top, notes of hop and malt lingering under hints of herbs and citrus, and a pleasing dry fizz on the tongue. He talks about how his own life has been “entangled” with Norcia, where Benedictine life was refounded in 2000. After the notorious earthquake of 2016 the monks are once again rebuilding – but this time literally, on a hill above the town.
He thinks it’s fitting that what he calls “a true Renaissance of the Benedictine way” would come not from one of the great abbeys like Monte Cassino (which itself rose from the rubble after its destruction in the Second World War) but rather in St Benedict’s quiet, backwater hometown, where he didn’t personally found a house. “It reflects the truth that St Benedict understood,” he explains, “that it was through humility that greatness would come”.
Brian is evidently inspired by the work at Norcia, and he sees stirrings of that greatness on the slopes above Norcia: “Over the last few decades a small number of dedicated young men have turned to a life of work and prayer, of austerity and fidelity to the spirit of St Benedict rarely if ever seen today.” With their long black habits and big bushy beards, the members of the community look very much like the monks of a millennium past transported to the present.
He reminds me that the Rule of St Benedict lays down that each monastery is to earn its own keep by the work of its hands. For the monks of Norcia, this means brewing – a return to ancient monastic practice. They now brew three beers – Nursia Bionda, Extra and Tripel – and during Covid lockdown Brian decided, with all his newly-found spare time, that he was going to do his bit to help raise awareness of their work by importing their products to the UK.
While devoted to Norcia – Brian says that from the outset he wanted the project “to be something of a love letter to the monks” to underline the appreciation of their mission – he also has a soft spot for Le Barroux, in south-east France. We move away from beer to sample a bottle of one of their monastic whites: it’s delicious and full-bodied, with shades of Meursault that you’d expect from a bottle five times the price. I gush its praises with genuine surprise.
It’s all available on the website, Brian chuckles, and I make a mental note to do some ordering when I get home. “We’ve tried to avoid setting up another generic store – I wanted to create something beautiful which would honour the effort the monks pour into the work of their hands.” We have talked long and drunk deep; Macey now produces plates piled high with slices of Italian charcuterie and cheese, and we move on to the Extra. It complements the food beautifully, which is just what the monks intend. Deep reddish brown, it’s yeasty, fruity and chocolatey all at the same time, with just a hint of pepper.
It has been an utterly convivial afternoon, and the sun is just beginning to set over London – almost all of which seems visible from the Scarffes’ flat, high up in one of the new blocks next to Battersea Power Station. We toast the venture: all that has been, and all that is to come.
By now Brian has laid out his plans. “Just as the great monastic houses oversaw the flourishing of the great cultural expressions of Christendom,” he says, “my vision is to open a cultural space in the heart of London where the greatest food and drink produced by today’s monasteries can be enjoyed in an environment designed to spark the sort of conversations and relationships that foster cultural renewal.” Not only that, but he wants to put it at the disposal of the Church.
“We’ll have exhibitions of art and music which can inspire a new generation of artists who may begin to lead the Church back into a genuinely influential cultural position where it leads rather than follows. History shows us how powerful cultural movements can emerge from European café culture, yet the fruits of these places has so often been not only deleterious to the remains of Christendom but has set the scene for much of the cultural devastation we have today.”
Nevertheless, Brian Scarffe lives in hope. “Signs of new life can be found at the peripheries of Catholic life and adjacent non-Catholic territories,” he insists, “and space must be made for the cross-fertilisation of talents and spiritual vitality. At the moment the best we can offer is church halls, which although important for flourishing parish life remain too ecclesial to be true spaces for the laity to pursue the highest things.”
I leave totally signed up to the whole project, and firmly resolved to visit Norcia and Le Barroux to sample their products in situ and to feel for myself the rhythm of life that underpins these powerhouses of prayer where the monks pray and live as their forebears did centuries ago.
Boarding the train, I sit down and soon have a vision in which Gregorian chant drifts over the Umbrian countryside as I wander happily through sun-dappled lanes towards a hillside monastery. Perhaps inevitably, I wake up to find that I have missed my stop.
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