The infirmarian’s day was the monastic day, turned toward the sick. The customaries of the eleventh century—books that set down, hour by hour, how a great monastery actually lived—describe his duties closely, and what they describe is not a shift of work but a round of prayer and service fitted into the Hours.

The day began in the dark. Before the night office, while the community rose for Vigils, the infirmarian went through the sick rooms with a lantern, to see who was awake, who was in pain, who needed water or a blanket, and who could not be left alone. Then he went to the church, or said the office with those of the sick who were able.

After the morning office he brought food. The meals of the sick were made in the infirmary’s own kitchen, apart from those of the healthy brothers, and served at their own times. The sick did not wait for the community’s single main meal; they ate earlier and more often, and they were given what the rule allowed them and the community did not have—meat for the very weak, white bread, eggs, a measure of wine. The infirmarian served them himself and cleared away after them.

The hours of the day were given to the garden and the store room. He tended the herb beds, cut plants and hung them to dry, kept his jars and boxes in order, and prepared the infusions and warm drinks that would be wanted through the day. He kept the infirmary’s fire and lamp, and saw that its bath was ready when one had been allowed. Between these tasks he sat with the sick, read to them, and prayed with them.

The customaries gave him one freedom that almost no other monk had. The cloister lived in silence; speech was kept to a minimum and often replaced by signs. But the infirmarian could speak to the sick whenever their needs required it, and the sick could speak to him. The rule of silence, which governed nearly every other moment of monastic life, gave way before the needs of the sick.

He was also their messenger to the priest. When a sick brother wished to confess, the infirmarian brought a priest to him. When he could not come to the altar, the infirmarian arranged for Holy Communion to be carried to his bed, and prepared the place with a light and a clean cloth. The sacraments were not his to give; seeing that they reached the sick was his to do.

After Vespers he made the beds ready for the night, changed what needed changing, and saw that each of the sick had what he would need until morning. After Compline, the last office of the day, when the community went to its rest, he made the round once more. Often he slept near the sick, so that he could be called.

There was one more duty, the gravest of all. When a sick brother seemed near death, the infirmarian, or a brother set to watch, struck a wooden board with rapid blows. At that sound the whole community left whatever it was doing, even the office in choir, and came at once to the bedside, so that no one would die alone and every brother would pray for the one who was departing.

What the customaries describe, then, is a life in which the care of the sick is woven into prayer at every point. The infirmarian’s rounds fall at the hours of the office; his service begins and ends with the community’s prayer; and the most solemn moment of his work calls the whole house to the bedside.

At IHS Bethlehem Church, our day is ordered by the Hours in the same way. Four times each day—in the morning, at midday, in the evening, and at night—we pray for every name entrusted to us. Company offered online is arranged to fall at these same times, so that those who join us from a sickbed pray at the very hour when the corporation is praying for them.