Quotes from Pere Louis Bouyer's The Meaning of the Monastic Life
...the monk is and must be the 'Spiritual' in the Chuch, the man of the spirit par excellence. All Christians have received the Spirit through the mystery of the Holy Chrism, but he does not manifest himself equally in all.
Confirmation confers the gift of the Spirit, yet the Sacrament of Chrism seems now downplayed. If the monastic life is defined within the integral Christian life, then it must be accomplished as a life in the Holy Spirit. Monks who attained to the heights of the spiritual life were to manifest the Holy Spirit to others. Such was the case of Saint Seraphim of Sarov (and others) who imparted the Holy Spirit to the faithful even appearing in vision to do so.
The world of the spirit seems to exist as a reality, to the senses, as a world behind, as it were, the world of the senses, and this is seen by the light of faith. The Spirit reveals a new world, a new life, through putting into us a new life and makes us discover this new life in others. The Spirit alone can give the experience of Agape, the love which St. John indicated as the life of God, that God is Love.
It is the kind of love that strips itself of the good it posesses, that strips its very self. It is the kind of love that gives, a love that gives itself. God alone is capable, properly speaking, fo giving--he to whom all things belong. And he alone, the infinite, can give himself continualoly with no loss or diminution. In God, the Spirit is precisely the Gift, in which the depths of the divine life, of hte divine being, are revealed as something utterly different from the being of a creature who by making himself the centre of all things becomes paralyzed. Thus, it is the Spirit communicated from God to man who will shed abroad in our hearts the love which creates, which is the life of God. The Spirit will enable us to live this life, all o fus together, transporting us all into God himself, or , i fyou prefer, by bringing God into us, at the root of all our thoughts and all our affections.
Just as the monk in his capacity as man of hte Spirit will be a prophet, because filled with the vision of the divine Wisdom, so he will be a wonder-worker because the mystery o flove which is the key to this Wisdom will operate in him and through him. Just as the Spirit creates in him spiritual senses which mean that even in the midst of this world he sees what God sees and as he sees it, so he creates in him a spiritual heart, through which creative and redeeming love permeates the world to create it anew. By his very contemplative prayer, in which his faith sees God's great design infalliby realized, his love--which, to repeat, is the very love of God himself shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Spirit--brings it about in the order of fact.
But the culminating effect of the Spirit in the soul is to bring about a relationship with God, a supernatural contact with God. This comes once more to the fundamental and overriding truth that God, and not ourselves, is the end and aim of our religion. Man is to glorify God.
In this sense, monastic/eremitic life is "theocentric"--turning man toward God and away from self.
The Holy Spirit assimilates God to us; this is the great work of the Spirit. This engrafting is that of our being taken into God, added to God in a way that our limitations vanish, that our lives become His life; we are one in Him and He in us. Thus we shall escape from our loneliness, from the solitude of every creature, of all creation separated from its Creator by sin. Henceforward, literally, "It is no longer I who live, it is Christ who liveth in me."
The flowering of the soul in the Spirit is beautifully expressed in The Odes of Solomon.
The monk is the man who is raised up by the Spirit, not this time from the primordial chaos...but from the sacrificial ashes in which death, freely accepted, has consumed sin....But this man reborn of Christ...is the man of the Spirit. He is not merely living soul but man living by the Spirit. His heart of flesh has become the temple of the true God. In him God begins to be all in all things. Henceforward he is free of the earth....He no longer gazes on the burning bush merely from outside. He himself is burning without being consumed amidst the lamps of the Spirit, around the Lamb Who was slain, standing near the throne.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Monk: Hermit; thoughts on contemplation
The monastic life is a contemplative life; the ideal must be the vision of God. To see God face to face for eternity is the very life of the angels and the saints. For us here, in its best state and that of one progressed in contemplation, we live in a twilight; and that vision in this twilight is what a monk/hermit must strive for.
The monk is the man for whom God is a person: a person whom he can meet, whom he longs to meet, a person to meet whom he abandons everything else. "Thine eyes shall see the King in his beauty"'; this promise is the motive power behind the monk's whole effort, once it has led him to loosen his hold on all those earthly things which so delight others.
This mystical element is central to the monk/hermit's life, to be alone with the One, solus cum solo. The genuine monk, who is such not only in external observances but interiorly from the heart, is a man who understands that he has undertaken the ascent of Mount Tabor. To see the light of Christ at the summit of the climb must be the monk/hermits highest aspiration.
A sense of the holiness of God is critical to the monk/hermit. He must be permeated with the holiness of God and to desire to exist on holy ground. God is not just a comrade or the gifter of benefits. The monk/hermit knows that God is the Lord, the Pure, the Inaccessible, the Wholly Other. The meaning of the word "holy" or "sacred" is "that which is set apart." To know God as Other includes entering into the Divine darkness, to comprehend that which God is not.
One has to reach this total obscurity in order to even begin to have a mere inkling of what God is. To speak of Him, to speak of seeking Him, is literally not to know what one is saying so long as one has not grasped something of this "mysterium tremendum". But the unsurpassable beauty of Christianity, the unrivalled grandeur of the monastic vocation, are revealed when, having attained to this holy fear of which we can truly say that it is the sole beginning of true wisdom, we can see welling up there what is to become the river of overflowing joy. For the divine Mystery, which is the "Mysterium tremendum", the mystery which communicates to us a fear which is like to us no other fear and which has been revealed to us in the Gospel in its fullness, reveals to us at the same time that it is also the "Mysterium fascinosum", the mystery which is supremely desirable [fascinating?].
Grace is the gift of God.
John Cardinal Henry Newman's poem, "The Dream of Gerontius", demonstrates man's being caught afire with desire for that which will seemingly shatter him. It is this mysterious, double movement toward God which is both desirable yet fearsome. The Psalms express this movement: the longing to be in God's presence; the fear of His awesome holiness; the inexpressible joy in God.
The monk is precisely the Christian who has recognized in Christ the way, the truth, the life, and intends to act logically over this discovery, a discovery of such a nature that it should not leave any of those who have made it tepid or indifferent...The monk, like the seer of the Apocolypse, has seen a door opened in heaven...From now on, for the monk, everything resolves itself into passing through that door, into plunging into the vision which it opens on to the Invisible.
All this is tantamount to saying that the ascent of the Thabor of contemplation, and the entering into the luminous cloud where God dwells, and the vision of Christ transfigured, are all one.
The monk is one who lives not only "with" Christ, but according to the extraordinary Pauline expression, "in" Christ.
This does not necessitate undergoing a mystical experience, although in another way, the mystical experience is what constitutes, for a monk/hermit, the daily existence. St. Gregory the Great wrote of contemplation as the natural environment o fhte monk/hermit:
There is in contemplation a great effort of the mind, when it rises to heavenly things, when it fixes its attention on spiritual things, when it strives to pass beyond all that is visible, when it withdraws into itself in order that it may be expanded. And sometimes, indeed, it is carried away and takes its flight above the darkness of its stubborn blindness, so that it reaches out in some measure to the infinite light, furtively and in an imperfect manner. But, in spite of all, immediately baffled, it returns to itself, and sighing, re-enters the darkness of its blindness, as it goes out into this light into which it passed trembling. [Homilies on Ezekiel II, 11.12 and ff.]
Jesus Christ, in whom God reveals himself in giving himself, is the sole Bridegroom of an unique Bride, the Church. The Church does not seek for the truth and knowledge of God. She has them...The individual Christian life, par excellence, that is monastic life, is then only an insertion by faith, the prayer of faith, and the reception of the mysteries of faith, into this life of the Church. It is by that and by that alone that such a life will enter into the heritage of the treasures of wisdom and knowledge which are hidden (and revealed) in Christ Jesus.
As a contemplative, the monk has in no sense to be a discoverer of new continents, nor, consequently, the subject of unheard-of or exceptional experiences. He has only to allow himself to be wholly absorbed by the realities of faith which were all set before him at the beginning of his believing, but which a whole life of detachment and prayer will not be too much to enable him to penetrate and in some measure to be penetrated by them.
And, the Mass is central to the reality of this mystery. Through the Mass we share in the mystery of redemption, through Communion we communicate in the Redeemer himself. And in the sacred psalmody, Christ the eternal Word of God, himself speaks in us to God; the Spirit who intercedes in us with unutterable groanings....
The monk/hermit then can say, "I live, not now I, but Christ liveth in me".
The monk is the man for whom God is a person: a person whom he can meet, whom he longs to meet, a person to meet whom he abandons everything else. "Thine eyes shall see the King in his beauty"'; this promise is the motive power behind the monk's whole effort, once it has led him to loosen his hold on all those earthly things which so delight others.
This mystical element is central to the monk/hermit's life, to be alone with the One, solus cum solo. The genuine monk, who is such not only in external observances but interiorly from the heart, is a man who understands that he has undertaken the ascent of Mount Tabor. To see the light of Christ at the summit of the climb must be the monk/hermits highest aspiration.
A sense of the holiness of God is critical to the monk/hermit. He must be permeated with the holiness of God and to desire to exist on holy ground. God is not just a comrade or the gifter of benefits. The monk/hermit knows that God is the Lord, the Pure, the Inaccessible, the Wholly Other. The meaning of the word "holy" or "sacred" is "that which is set apart." To know God as Other includes entering into the Divine darkness, to comprehend that which God is not.
One has to reach this total obscurity in order to even begin to have a mere inkling of what God is. To speak of Him, to speak of seeking Him, is literally not to know what one is saying so long as one has not grasped something of this "mysterium tremendum". But the unsurpassable beauty of Christianity, the unrivalled grandeur of the monastic vocation, are revealed when, having attained to this holy fear of which we can truly say that it is the sole beginning of true wisdom, we can see welling up there what is to become the river of overflowing joy. For the divine Mystery, which is the "Mysterium tremendum", the mystery which communicates to us a fear which is like to us no other fear and which has been revealed to us in the Gospel in its fullness, reveals to us at the same time that it is also the "Mysterium fascinosum", the mystery which is supremely desirable [fascinating?].
Grace is the gift of God.
John Cardinal Henry Newman's poem, "The Dream of Gerontius", demonstrates man's being caught afire with desire for that which will seemingly shatter him. It is this mysterious, double movement toward God which is both desirable yet fearsome. The Psalms express this movement: the longing to be in God's presence; the fear of His awesome holiness; the inexpressible joy in God.
The monk is precisely the Christian who has recognized in Christ the way, the truth, the life, and intends to act logically over this discovery, a discovery of such a nature that it should not leave any of those who have made it tepid or indifferent...The monk, like the seer of the Apocolypse, has seen a door opened in heaven...From now on, for the monk, everything resolves itself into passing through that door, into plunging into the vision which it opens on to the Invisible.
All this is tantamount to saying that the ascent of the Thabor of contemplation, and the entering into the luminous cloud where God dwells, and the vision of Christ transfigured, are all one.
The monk is one who lives not only "with" Christ, but according to the extraordinary Pauline expression, "in" Christ.
This does not necessitate undergoing a mystical experience, although in another way, the mystical experience is what constitutes, for a monk/hermit, the daily existence. St. Gregory the Great wrote of contemplation as the natural environment o fhte monk/hermit:
There is in contemplation a great effort of the mind, when it rises to heavenly things, when it fixes its attention on spiritual things, when it strives to pass beyond all that is visible, when it withdraws into itself in order that it may be expanded. And sometimes, indeed, it is carried away and takes its flight above the darkness of its stubborn blindness, so that it reaches out in some measure to the infinite light, furtively and in an imperfect manner. But, in spite of all, immediately baffled, it returns to itself, and sighing, re-enters the darkness of its blindness, as it goes out into this light into which it passed trembling. [Homilies on Ezekiel II, 11.12 and ff.]
Jesus Christ, in whom God reveals himself in giving himself, is the sole Bridegroom of an unique Bride, the Church. The Church does not seek for the truth and knowledge of God. She has them...The individual Christian life, par excellence, that is monastic life, is then only an insertion by faith, the prayer of faith, and the reception of the mysteries of faith, into this life of the Church. It is by that and by that alone that such a life will enter into the heritage of the treasures of wisdom and knowledge which are hidden (and revealed) in Christ Jesus.
As a contemplative, the monk has in no sense to be a discoverer of new continents, nor, consequently, the subject of unheard-of or exceptional experiences. He has only to allow himself to be wholly absorbed by the realities of faith which were all set before him at the beginning of his believing, but which a whole life of detachment and prayer will not be too much to enable him to penetrate and in some measure to be penetrated by them.
And, the Mass is central to the reality of this mystery. Through the Mass we share in the mystery of redemption, through Communion we communicate in the Redeemer himself. And in the sacred psalmody, Christ the eternal Word of God, himself speaks in us to God; the Spirit who intercedes in us with unutterable groanings....
The monk/hermit then can say, "I live, not now I, but Christ liveth in me".
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Andrew the Heron
The first glimpse out the window of Agnus Dei Hermitage this morning was of Andrew, a foot into the edge of Lake Immaculata, in silence, solitude and slowness. In fact, he was all but still until a train rumbled by.
Later I saw him glide a hundred or more feet to the end of the pond, where he proceeded to patiently fish.
The fog has lifted, the sun is breaking through overcast. I queried a Catholic newspaper I admire in case the editor is interested in what it is to learn to be a "complete hermit." I'd be surprised. It seems good to try, though, to hone the writing, but remain anonymous.
The glut of the world, the glut experienced last night and from being in a department store, to my detriment other than experiencing the results--is slowly, silently and in solitude, being soaked out of my system.
Now for a soaking in the tub. Pray. Allow the glut to be leached out of my exterior and interior.
It is Sunday, the Lord's Day, and one of Sabbath Rest.
Later I saw him glide a hundred or more feet to the end of the pond, where he proceeded to patiently fish.
The fog has lifted, the sun is breaking through overcast. I queried a Catholic newspaper I admire in case the editor is interested in what it is to learn to be a "complete hermit." I'd be surprised. It seems good to try, though, to hone the writing, but remain anonymous.
The glut of the world, the glut experienced last night and from being in a department store, to my detriment other than experiencing the results--is slowly, silently and in solitude, being soaked out of my system.
Now for a soaking in the tub. Pray. Allow the glut to be leached out of my exterior and interior.
It is Sunday, the Lord's Day, and one of Sabbath Rest.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Glutted
Today I learned that the world gives glut, leaves glut, is glut. I feel glutted. I am glutted.
Renunciation is needed: more renunciation of the world. I must be purged and expunged of this glut.
The day went off-kilter when I entered a store and wasted time wandering amidst the glut of material, fabric of clothing, colors, shoppers, clerks. Friendly people, but glutted people. I purchased a black dress. It reminds me of death. Other items, yes good deals, are coming, but thankfully I did not purchase them, and I do not need them.
The herons are more gray than blue. They are not glutted although they eat the fish they need, no more or less. They are free in simplicity; glutting is not natural to them; they glut not.
Such a stark transition from the world, just two and three miles from Agnus Dei Hermitage--more the real world of God's presence. At Mass, seven miles away, the glut of the world meets the real world of God's Presence, as we enter wearing the world on our persons and some inside our persons. But it is at the Mass in which only what is real and necessary and needed enters our minds, bodies and souls. For some, perhaps, the minds remain glutted. I suppose it all depends upon the state of the soul, the freedom of the mind at that point, to be open to God's graces and His Real Presence.
For me, all falls away, the world falls away, during Mass. God is the Presence and essence and power: the Holy Trinity reigns.
This is the world I need and desire. I must renounce more and more the other world, the world of glut. I am ill from glut.
Even dining out with the couple, lovely people, great conversation of spiritual matters--but it is glut. The food was unappealing; the sitting was too much; I now even smell of the restaurant, the people, the food, of the world. I stink of the world. I am glutted inside and out from the world, with the world, by the world.
It is good to know this, to feel this horrendous glutting. To be sick from the glut. Now, how much more do I need to know, to feel, to experience, in order to makes some firm decisions? St. Ignatius learned in this manner, to know and experience how he felt when reading books of the world, and of reading books of the saints and of Jesus, the Word.
I commented to the couple that perhaps I am not trusting God in that I think I must gradually go into the quiet, into the three s's: silence, solitude and stillness. But rather, perhaps I should pinch my nose and turn back to the world, and jump confidently, with full abandon.
It is not easy, for I drive by the material world each day going and coming from the Mass--holy world of God's Real Presence--and then return to experience the world of the three s's, also, in Agnus Dei Hermitage. God is really present here, as well, but not when I squeeze Him out from choosing glut, from glutting myself. Thankfully, I can learn. Now, can I renounce glut?
Renunciation is needed: more renunciation of the world. I must be purged and expunged of this glut.
The day went off-kilter when I entered a store and wasted time wandering amidst the glut of material, fabric of clothing, colors, shoppers, clerks. Friendly people, but glutted people. I purchased a black dress. It reminds me of death. Other items, yes good deals, are coming, but thankfully I did not purchase them, and I do not need them.
The herons are more gray than blue. They are not glutted although they eat the fish they need, no more or less. They are free in simplicity; glutting is not natural to them; they glut not.
Such a stark transition from the world, just two and three miles from Agnus Dei Hermitage--more the real world of God's presence. At Mass, seven miles away, the glut of the world meets the real world of God's Presence, as we enter wearing the world on our persons and some inside our persons. But it is at the Mass in which only what is real and necessary and needed enters our minds, bodies and souls. For some, perhaps, the minds remain glutted. I suppose it all depends upon the state of the soul, the freedom of the mind at that point, to be open to God's graces and His Real Presence.
For me, all falls away, the world falls away, during Mass. God is the Presence and essence and power: the Holy Trinity reigns.
This is the world I need and desire. I must renounce more and more the other world, the world of glut. I am ill from glut.
Even dining out with the couple, lovely people, great conversation of spiritual matters--but it is glut. The food was unappealing; the sitting was too much; I now even smell of the restaurant, the people, the food, of the world. I stink of the world. I am glutted inside and out from the world, with the world, by the world.
It is good to know this, to feel this horrendous glutting. To be sick from the glut. Now, how much more do I need to know, to feel, to experience, in order to makes some firm decisions? St. Ignatius learned in this manner, to know and experience how he felt when reading books of the world, and of reading books of the saints and of Jesus, the Word.
I commented to the couple that perhaps I am not trusting God in that I think I must gradually go into the quiet, into the three s's: silence, solitude and stillness. But rather, perhaps I should pinch my nose and turn back to the world, and jump confidently, with full abandon.
It is not easy, for I drive by the material world each day going and coming from the Mass--holy world of God's Real Presence--and then return to experience the world of the three s's, also, in Agnus Dei Hermitage. God is really present here, as well, but not when I squeeze Him out from choosing glut, from glutting myself. Thankfully, I can learn. Now, can I renounce glut?
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Some Thoughts in Process, as Incomplete Hermit
This life is not at all easy. I shared with my confessor that this is my greatest challenge, to live this life, as it seems I am dying. Then I later wrote to my spiritual director, when the life seemed all the more sucked from me, that this life of silence, solitude and slowness is "killing me."
When I began reading Pere Louis Bouyer's book The Meaning of the Monastic Life, I could begin to understand the motives and desires of hermits, and what it would take to be a complete hermit. I am only in the first chapters of the book, substituting the word "hermit" for "monk", and "hermitage" for "monastery." I was not at all surprised when I read that the monk/hermit is led into the desert and confronts the demons.
Did I share about how the devil impostured as my confessor just a few days ago, and how confusion came, and by the grace of God I told him as soon as I could of what had happened--still believing that it was true and not from the devil? Thankfully, the confessor immediately dispelled the situation, and a few days later I was consoled by his saying I'd handled that situation just right. Yes, the devil is here in this desert in many regards.
Some days are 23 and a half hours of silence, solitude and slowness. I consider Mass not to be silence or solitude, yet in a way, it is a time set apart from earth, all the same, and gloriously so. Other days, there are a phone call or two, and I may "treat" myself to stopping in a store and distracting myself, even purchasing something such as an orchid, or today, orchid pots to replant the orchids in, even though that won't be necessary for several weeks.
So, I see that it is not easy to be in the desert, and for me it is a gradual process, for I don't think my mind or emotions could handle the plunge of a Maria of Olonets! But, daily, and over many days, the stillness is coming in, and the battles are being fought, and mostly won.
I know that complete union will come only in suffering, through suffering, with and through and in Christ. This, too, when I am consumed by Him and consume Him in the Eucharist: His Body and Blood.
Today at Mass, on another thought, I realized that there are many aspects of current homilies in which I must interpolate the message for hermit life. It is much exhortation of the Faithful to be active in active apostolate and active works of mercy. Little is promoted for the life of hiddenness and prayer, of sacrifice and dying to self in solitude and silence. But, perhaps this must be for the bulk of humanity, in order to lead the world of people in the people's world to at least an exterior life of love.
When I began reading Pere Louis Bouyer's book The Meaning of the Monastic Life, I could begin to understand the motives and desires of hermits, and what it would take to be a complete hermit. I am only in the first chapters of the book, substituting the word "hermit" for "monk", and "hermitage" for "monastery." I was not at all surprised when I read that the monk/hermit is led into the desert and confronts the demons.
Did I share about how the devil impostured as my confessor just a few days ago, and how confusion came, and by the grace of God I told him as soon as I could of what had happened--still believing that it was true and not from the devil? Thankfully, the confessor immediately dispelled the situation, and a few days later I was consoled by his saying I'd handled that situation just right. Yes, the devil is here in this desert in many regards.
Some days are 23 and a half hours of silence, solitude and slowness. I consider Mass not to be silence or solitude, yet in a way, it is a time set apart from earth, all the same, and gloriously so. Other days, there are a phone call or two, and I may "treat" myself to stopping in a store and distracting myself, even purchasing something such as an orchid, or today, orchid pots to replant the orchids in, even though that won't be necessary for several weeks.
So, I see that it is not easy to be in the desert, and for me it is a gradual process, for I don't think my mind or emotions could handle the plunge of a Maria of Olonets! But, daily, and over many days, the stillness is coming in, and the battles are being fought, and mostly won.
I know that complete union will come only in suffering, through suffering, with and through and in Christ. This, too, when I am consumed by Him and consume Him in the Eucharist: His Body and Blood.
Today at Mass, on another thought, I realized that there are many aspects of current homilies in which I must interpolate the message for hermit life. It is much exhortation of the Faithful to be active in active apostolate and active works of mercy. Little is promoted for the life of hiddenness and prayer, of sacrifice and dying to self in solitude and silence. But, perhaps this must be for the bulk of humanity, in order to lead the world of people in the people's world to at least an exterior life of love.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Dying like Jesus: Louis Bouyer's Thoughts on Monks [for Hermits]
Jesus said, "This is why the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down on my own. I have power to lay it down, and power to take it up again. This command I have received from my Father" (John 10:17-18).
Pere Bouyer reminds the monk [hermit, Catholic, integral Christian] that we natural creatures, impure in sin, cannot come to God and to the source of life which is in God, without undergoing a total refashioning. It is necessary, thus, in order to see God and live, to die to oneself--no longer live a mortal life but to live life with the immortals, with the life of the angels in heaven.
How can this be? By passing through death. Yet it is not necessarily or at all a mortal death, but a death as St. Paul said: You have undergone death and your life is hidden away now with Christ in God (Col. 3:3). It is not a choice between the mysticism of the cross or resurrection but of both, and the cross is necessary to lead to the ascension. Bouyer emphasizes the point: One cannot live, like the monk [hermit], wholly for the world to come, unless one has abandoned everything in this present world. And dying means just that....'If anyone will come after me', he said,--'come after him, where to?--to the bosom of the Father--'let him follow me,' along what road?--that of the cross, for there is no other which leads in sinu patris.
This does not mean a morbid desire for physical dying. Yet it is not meant to be toned down, either, to something less than what it means and is. It is not in imitating romantic ideas, such as mimicking the early desert fathers, and not a reminder that someday we will die physically; it is being really and truly dead: You are dead and your life is hidden away with Christ in God.
The monk/hermit no longer belongs to earthly humanity. Hebrews 13:14 applies literally: For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the one that is to come. Renunciation is necessary--renunciation of worldly items through poverty, of the body through chastity, of the will through obedience (in consideration of concrete actions). For all others, renunciation is necessary but not immediate; for the monk/hermit, it has an urgency to live dead to the world, here and now.
And here, Pere Bouyer makes an important distinction. What does this mean if not but this death finds its significance and its possibility in life--but a life at present hidden, although in no wise destined to be so always. In other words, what gives its meaning to the 'dead' life of the monk [hermit], that which alone renders it possible, is that it is the life of faith, life in faith....Without faith, monasticism [eremitic life] would be the most senseless undertaking conceivable. The cross transfigures the monks death into the life of ascension, but in Christ, all in Christ.
At this point, the monk/hermit must say with Christ, "This my Father loves in me, that I am laying down my life, to take it up again afterwards. Nobody can rob me of it; I lay it down of my own accord... That is the charge that my Father has given me." This is a mystery, and it must be accepted in faith.
And it is the confronting of this death to the world (and by this is meant the world that keeps us from ascending), death to the self requires struggles against the demons. The monk's/hermit's life is one of conflict, and it is meted out in actual experience.
Why go out into the desert? What is the desert? It is to go out to be tempted. The desert is the terrain in which man has not yet appeared, where the devil is sole master of the terrain. Here divine grace is pitted against the devil. As death is the supreme enemy of God, Christ goes out into the desert to confront it, to overcome death, and the monk/hermit must follow and do likewise. Christ conquers death and leads man back to paradise, and the monk/hermit must follow in order to return there, as well. It is sin that has kept man from paradise, and these chains must be broken.
Thus the deliberate confronting of death by the monk [hermit] brings us back to the fundamental aspect of monastic [eremitic] ascetism in the tradition of the Fathers. ...its aspect of struggle, of strife, and, more precisely, its struggle against the demons.
The monk/hermit does not retire into the "desert" for the comfort of solitude, serenity, detachment that aid the interior life, but goes to be buried there, driven by the Holy Spirit, as Christ was led out by the Spirit of God.
The supreme manifestation of God must be life, the divine life, communicated in the incarnation and final resurrection of Christ and of His mystical body. In the same way death is the supreme manifestation of Satan. And that is why, without accepting death, we cannot finally triumph over him. Thus is it in death the monk, like Christ, must overcome Satan if he is to overcome him at all.
The monk/hermit who imitates Christ successfully is precisely found to be conformed in Him in what is the essential act of his mission. The monk/hermit must freely accept death, as a death conceived of as a struggle not only with ourselves or with the world, but with Satan, the enemy of God. The monk/hermit loves and desires is the cross, but it is not simply death--physical, removal, escape--but it is the triumph, the life that is reverenced through the cross in faith.
It may seem that the body is merely a tomb for the soul, but it is only Christ who can kill death--who ransomed us from death by his own conquering of death, in rising to eternal life. It is through Christ that we can come alive again.
The monk [hermit] goes forward to meet death because he believes that this miracle, the greatest of all, has been accomplished in the death of Christ; because he believes that Christ was Life, the very Life of God, and in making physical death his own, he has robbed the evil one of all his power and all his empire which are annihilated by this very act. Again he goes forward to meet death because he believes that Christ now and for the future lives in him: and finally because what he believes has taken place in Christ will be reproduced in himself, in the same manner.
Pere Bouyer next offers the final and fundamental, the sole justification, for the existence of monasticism, and points out that it came into being when martyrdom was disappearing. As "martyr" means "witness", the monk/hermit is to be a witness, to carry forth the witness of Christ, of the death and resurrection, of triumph over evil and rising in Christ to eternal life.
Bouyer explains the motive which inspires the martyr, and which indeed inspires the monk/hermit. He advances toward death with the sole purpose of finding Christ there, or, what amounts to the same thing, to find himself in Christ. For him death is the place where he must meet Jesus, where he in some way must be identified with him. A second motivation is that of Eucharistic image: the martyr/monk/hermit [and integral Catholic!] desires the union with Christ's body and blood, to be the grain of wheat crushed, desire and love of the crucified flesh and blood.
And the Eucharist for him is at once the realization of the unity of the Church in God, through communion in love incorruptible, and the real consuming of Christ crucified and risen, who assimilates each and every one of us to himself.
Through dying to self, through martrydom, the monk/hermit/Catholic can truly experience the reality of the Eucharist. It is the passing of the Catholic Christian into Jesus Christ. St. Polycarp's martyrdom, in fact, seems like he himself is the altar bread transubstantiated into Jesus Christ. St. Gregory of Nyssa's account of his sister's death (Abbess Macrina) demonstrates the Christian's passing into Christ. Her final words express the desire for being consumed into Christ. Let not the spirit who is envious of the happiness of man appear in my path to hinder me from going to you.
Deaths can be like that of the martyrs, of like Christ Himself, if transfigured by the life led and consummated for and in Christ. They are no longer the fate to which we were inexorably destined by sin. They are sacrifices freely consented to, by faith in Jesus Christ, by the faith that literally transports us unto him: the sacrifice that a whole life of abnegation produces as its perfect fruit.
Pere Bouyer reminds the monk [hermit, Catholic, integral Christian] that we natural creatures, impure in sin, cannot come to God and to the source of life which is in God, without undergoing a total refashioning. It is necessary, thus, in order to see God and live, to die to oneself--no longer live a mortal life but to live life with the immortals, with the life of the angels in heaven.
How can this be? By passing through death. Yet it is not necessarily or at all a mortal death, but a death as St. Paul said: You have undergone death and your life is hidden away now with Christ in God (Col. 3:3). It is not a choice between the mysticism of the cross or resurrection but of both, and the cross is necessary to lead to the ascension. Bouyer emphasizes the point: One cannot live, like the monk [hermit], wholly for the world to come, unless one has abandoned everything in this present world. And dying means just that....'If anyone will come after me', he said,--'come after him, where to?--to the bosom of the Father--'let him follow me,' along what road?--that of the cross, for there is no other which leads in sinu patris.
This does not mean a morbid desire for physical dying. Yet it is not meant to be toned down, either, to something less than what it means and is. It is not in imitating romantic ideas, such as mimicking the early desert fathers, and not a reminder that someday we will die physically; it is being really and truly dead: You are dead and your life is hidden away with Christ in God.
The monk/hermit no longer belongs to earthly humanity. Hebrews 13:14 applies literally: For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the one that is to come. Renunciation is necessary--renunciation of worldly items through poverty, of the body through chastity, of the will through obedience (in consideration of concrete actions). For all others, renunciation is necessary but not immediate; for the monk/hermit, it has an urgency to live dead to the world, here and now.
And here, Pere Bouyer makes an important distinction. What does this mean if not but this death finds its significance and its possibility in life--but a life at present hidden, although in no wise destined to be so always. In other words, what gives its meaning to the 'dead' life of the monk [hermit], that which alone renders it possible, is that it is the life of faith, life in faith....Without faith, monasticism [eremitic life] would be the most senseless undertaking conceivable. The cross transfigures the monks death into the life of ascension, but in Christ, all in Christ.
At this point, the monk/hermit must say with Christ, "This my Father loves in me, that I am laying down my life, to take it up again afterwards. Nobody can rob me of it; I lay it down of my own accord... That is the charge that my Father has given me." This is a mystery, and it must be accepted in faith.
And it is the confronting of this death to the world (and by this is meant the world that keeps us from ascending), death to the self requires struggles against the demons. The monk's/hermit's life is one of conflict, and it is meted out in actual experience.
Why go out into the desert? What is the desert? It is to go out to be tempted. The desert is the terrain in which man has not yet appeared, where the devil is sole master of the terrain. Here divine grace is pitted against the devil. As death is the supreme enemy of God, Christ goes out into the desert to confront it, to overcome death, and the monk/hermit must follow and do likewise. Christ conquers death and leads man back to paradise, and the monk/hermit must follow in order to return there, as well. It is sin that has kept man from paradise, and these chains must be broken.
Thus the deliberate confronting of death by the monk [hermit] brings us back to the fundamental aspect of monastic [eremitic] ascetism in the tradition of the Fathers. ...its aspect of struggle, of strife, and, more precisely, its struggle against the demons.
The monk/hermit does not retire into the "desert" for the comfort of solitude, serenity, detachment that aid the interior life, but goes to be buried there, driven by the Holy Spirit, as Christ was led out by the Spirit of God.
The supreme manifestation of God must be life, the divine life, communicated in the incarnation and final resurrection of Christ and of His mystical body. In the same way death is the supreme manifestation of Satan. And that is why, without accepting death, we cannot finally triumph over him. Thus is it in death the monk, like Christ, must overcome Satan if he is to overcome him at all.
The monk/hermit who imitates Christ successfully is precisely found to be conformed in Him in what is the essential act of his mission. The monk/hermit must freely accept death, as a death conceived of as a struggle not only with ourselves or with the world, but with Satan, the enemy of God. The monk/hermit loves and desires is the cross, but it is not simply death--physical, removal, escape--but it is the triumph, the life that is reverenced through the cross in faith.
It may seem that the body is merely a tomb for the soul, but it is only Christ who can kill death--who ransomed us from death by his own conquering of death, in rising to eternal life. It is through Christ that we can come alive again.
The monk [hermit] goes forward to meet death because he believes that this miracle, the greatest of all, has been accomplished in the death of Christ; because he believes that Christ was Life, the very Life of God, and in making physical death his own, he has robbed the evil one of all his power and all his empire which are annihilated by this very act. Again he goes forward to meet death because he believes that Christ now and for the future lives in him: and finally because what he believes has taken place in Christ will be reproduced in himself, in the same manner.
Pere Bouyer next offers the final and fundamental, the sole justification, for the existence of monasticism, and points out that it came into being when martyrdom was disappearing. As "martyr" means "witness", the monk/hermit is to be a witness, to carry forth the witness of Christ, of the death and resurrection, of triumph over evil and rising in Christ to eternal life.
Bouyer explains the motive which inspires the martyr, and which indeed inspires the monk/hermit. He advances toward death with the sole purpose of finding Christ there, or, what amounts to the same thing, to find himself in Christ. For him death is the place where he must meet Jesus, where he in some way must be identified with him. A second motivation is that of Eucharistic image: the martyr/monk/hermit [and integral Catholic!] desires the union with Christ's body and blood, to be the grain of wheat crushed, desire and love of the crucified flesh and blood.
And the Eucharist for him is at once the realization of the unity of the Church in God, through communion in love incorruptible, and the real consuming of Christ crucified and risen, who assimilates each and every one of us to himself.
Through dying to self, through martrydom, the monk/hermit/Catholic can truly experience the reality of the Eucharist. It is the passing of the Catholic Christian into Jesus Christ. St. Polycarp's martyrdom, in fact, seems like he himself is the altar bread transubstantiated into Jesus Christ. St. Gregory of Nyssa's account of his sister's death (Abbess Macrina) demonstrates the Christian's passing into Christ. Her final words express the desire for being consumed into Christ. Let not the spirit who is envious of the happiness of man appear in my path to hinder me from going to you.
Deaths can be like that of the martyrs, of like Christ Himself, if transfigured by the life led and consummated for and in Christ. They are no longer the fate to which we were inexorably destined by sin. They are sacrifices freely consented to, by faith in Jesus Christ, by the faith that literally transports us unto him: the sacrifice that a whole life of abnegation produces as its perfect fruit.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
The Hermit Life and Monasticism (thoughts with Louis Bouyer's writings)
Comprehending what makes up the "complete hermit" takes me to Fr. Louis Bouyer's book, The Meaning of the Monastic Life.
Pere Bouyer treats fully of the monastic journey, but I discover tenets pertinent to the complete hermit's life in his thorough examination.
In discussing the oldest systematic form of monastic spirituality, he reviews that finding God is to seek Him unceasingly and that the reward of the search is to go on searching. Taking inspiration from St. Gregory of Nyssa on the Word's drawing the soul to share in His transcendent beauty by renunciation, Bouyer writes:
We can see that this Word who seeks us and find us, that we may make response to him by seeking him in our turn, is the whole essence of the Gospel and the whole of Christianity. And in its turn monastic life is nothing else, no more and no less, than a Christian life whose Christianity has penetrated every part of it. It is a Christian life which is completely open, without refusal or delay, to the Word, which opens itself and abandons itself to it. This is the response that the Word expects--expects and elicits, for it is the creating and re-creating word.
Bouyer also iterates St. Augustine's image of the movement of the monastic life, as it is not a "state."
He comments that the monk is one who seeks God. 'To seek God,' to seek him as a person, as the Person par excellence, and not only as the 'Thou' to whom all our love should be addressed, but as the 'I' who has first approached us, whose word of love, addressed to the primeval chaos, drew us forth from it in the first place, and, spoken to us in our sin, draws us forth from it again: to be a monk is nothing else than this. To be a monk, then, is simply to be an integral Christian.
To be a hermit, is all this, as well. And more: ...the Christian himself is simply the man restored by the Word of the Gospel to the vocation which the creative Word destined for him: to respond to the Word of Agape by the word of faith, in order eventually to meet God face to face.
So, too, it could be said that the hermit is (submitting to Bouyer's words) one who does not limit himself to accepting the transition to God passively but responds with all his heart to the call which he realizes comes from the heart of God. He does not allow the divine Kingdom to fall upon him unawares but who takes it by storm in advance. He has staked his all, burned his boats. He knows that being is greater than having, and that being which is of value is not that which passes but which endures.
For man [monk,hermit, Christian] is born only as subject to the divine Word and he will only be fully himself the day when, freed from the nothingness which holds him prisoner, fully surrendered to the Word which calls him, he will at last come to discover the Face which promised him being in promising him His own image.
Quoting Newman, Pere Bouyer reminds us: "They think that they regret the past when they are but longing after the future. It is not that they would be children again but that they would be Angels and would see God...."
If we wish fully to understand the meaning of Christian life, and therefore of monastic life [of complete hermit life], we cannot attribute too much importance to this theme, to this ascensional motif, which we find in ancient spirituality. Any view of man's vocation which, in the last analysis, tied him down to earth would of necessity mean a disastrous mutilation of Christianity. Man is what God wills him to be only when he accepts and more than accepts--when he desires with all his heart, to advance beyond himself. But such an overstepping of self presupposes and involves a swift and glorious flight beyond the confines of this world. The only life which is worthy of man, the life that God, if one may dare to say so, expects of him, is not merely a human, but an angelic life.
The monk [the hermit] lives in the monastery [hermitage] which is or becomes the tabernacle, placed at the summit of the mount of contemplation, close to the everlasting dwellings. Within develops the heavenly character of life in the presence of God, wholly consecrated to the glorifying of that presence. For this to occur, there must be virginal purity and angelic liturgy. In the monastic society (and for the hermit) as in the incorporeal society described in the Apocolypse, the divine presence remains the one and only centre. Praying the Office and praise either alone or in a union of virgin souls joins with the angels present at the altar. The monastery, the hermitage, should be the earthly representation of the heavenly love and praise that the angel choir reflects from the Holy Trinity. Praise must be the basis of fraternity, as the monk or hermit's bond with others is not natural but rather is sacred, proceeding from the Father. The common prayer is the Eucharist and then the Office, the psalmody of praise throughout the day. The monk [hermit] must develop continual prayer: the Name of Jesus on the lips.
Is the monk [hermit] separated from humanity? The monk [hermit] is in statu angelorum; in place of angels; and like angels is guardian of the brethren in all truth, to love others in all humanity with the most effective of loves. Yes, the monk [hermit] must perform certain earthly obligations; but these services are not the real, indispensible work. God alone knows, the angels perhaps know along with him, what is done for the world by this society [this hermit] which in the midst of the world is no longer of the world. God alone knows the manifold richness, the supernatural protection brought into the world through these openings into heaven.
Pere Bouyer treats fully of the monastic journey, but I discover tenets pertinent to the complete hermit's life in his thorough examination.
In discussing the oldest systematic form of monastic spirituality, he reviews that finding God is to seek Him unceasingly and that the reward of the search is to go on searching. Taking inspiration from St. Gregory of Nyssa on the Word's drawing the soul to share in His transcendent beauty by renunciation, Bouyer writes:
We can see that this Word who seeks us and find us, that we may make response to him by seeking him in our turn, is the whole essence of the Gospel and the whole of Christianity. And in its turn monastic life is nothing else, no more and no less, than a Christian life whose Christianity has penetrated every part of it. It is a Christian life which is completely open, without refusal or delay, to the Word, which opens itself and abandons itself to it. This is the response that the Word expects--expects and elicits, for it is the creating and re-creating word.
Bouyer also iterates St. Augustine's image of the movement of the monastic life, as it is not a "state."
He comments that the monk is one who seeks God. 'To seek God,' to seek him as a person, as the Person par excellence, and not only as the 'Thou' to whom all our love should be addressed, but as the 'I' who has first approached us, whose word of love, addressed to the primeval chaos, drew us forth from it in the first place, and, spoken to us in our sin, draws us forth from it again: to be a monk is nothing else than this. To be a monk, then, is simply to be an integral Christian.
To be a hermit, is all this, as well. And more: ...the Christian himself is simply the man restored by the Word of the Gospel to the vocation which the creative Word destined for him: to respond to the Word of Agape by the word of faith, in order eventually to meet God face to face.
So, too, it could be said that the hermit is (submitting to Bouyer's words) one who does not limit himself to accepting the transition to God passively but responds with all his heart to the call which he realizes comes from the heart of God. He does not allow the divine Kingdom to fall upon him unawares but who takes it by storm in advance. He has staked his all, burned his boats. He knows that being is greater than having, and that being which is of value is not that which passes but which endures.
For man [monk,hermit, Christian] is born only as subject to the divine Word and he will only be fully himself the day when, freed from the nothingness which holds him prisoner, fully surrendered to the Word which calls him, he will at last come to discover the Face which promised him being in promising him His own image.
Quoting Newman, Pere Bouyer reminds us: "They think that they regret the past when they are but longing after the future. It is not that they would be children again but that they would be Angels and would see God...."
If we wish fully to understand the meaning of Christian life, and therefore of monastic life [of complete hermit life], we cannot attribute too much importance to this theme, to this ascensional motif, which we find in ancient spirituality. Any view of man's vocation which, in the last analysis, tied him down to earth would of necessity mean a disastrous mutilation of Christianity. Man is what God wills him to be only when he accepts and more than accepts--when he desires with all his heart, to advance beyond himself. But such an overstepping of self presupposes and involves a swift and glorious flight beyond the confines of this world. The only life which is worthy of man, the life that God, if one may dare to say so, expects of him, is not merely a human, but an angelic life.
The monk [the hermit] lives in the monastery [hermitage] which is or becomes the tabernacle, placed at the summit of the mount of contemplation, close to the everlasting dwellings. Within develops the heavenly character of life in the presence of God, wholly consecrated to the glorifying of that presence. For this to occur, there must be virginal purity and angelic liturgy. In the monastic society (and for the hermit) as in the incorporeal society described in the Apocolypse, the divine presence remains the one and only centre. Praying the Office and praise either alone or in a union of virgin souls joins with the angels present at the altar. The monastery, the hermitage, should be the earthly representation of the heavenly love and praise that the angel choir reflects from the Holy Trinity. Praise must be the basis of fraternity, as the monk or hermit's bond with others is not natural but rather is sacred, proceeding from the Father. The common prayer is the Eucharist and then the Office, the psalmody of praise throughout the day. The monk [hermit] must develop continual prayer: the Name of Jesus on the lips.
Is the monk [hermit] separated from humanity? The monk [hermit] is in statu angelorum; in place of angels; and like angels is guardian of the brethren in all truth, to love others in all humanity with the most effective of loves. Yes, the monk [hermit] must perform certain earthly obligations; but these services are not the real, indispensible work. God alone knows, the angels perhaps know along with him, what is done for the world by this society [this hermit] which in the midst of the world is no longer of the world. God alone knows the manifold richness, the supernatural protection brought into the world through these openings into heaven.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Hermit Life Like Hibernation
It seems that much of the hermit life, in the transitioning, at least, from the world, is like hibernation.
The days and hours and moments pass in a kind of quietude which at first makes one feel guilty at having such leisure. But the leisure is not boredom at all. Layers of skin must be peeled off the soul--layers of worldly accumulations of activity, words, thoughts, and must-do's and must-be's.
A realtor told me, when she saw the hermitage being built and the location, that it reminds her of "Come to the Waters." There is something restful about looking out on Lake Immaculata, of reading a little, praying, thinking, writing, and mostly resting.
For now.
The horrors come off and on in temptations and distresses which always have to do with doubts about being in such a state of hibernation or confusions from the world which necessarily reaches into the hermitage of today. For example, I am having difficulty with the mortgage company doing something quite unjust with the amount billed monthly, above the loan payment. But most horrors come from interior reachings in, which are allowed by the soul to cast doubts and fears. In time, these pass, or so it is written by saint hermits who hibernated with success, for the glory of God and Holy Mother Church.
Another thought: Union with Christ is achieved in suffering that is united with His.
The days and hours and moments pass in a kind of quietude which at first makes one feel guilty at having such leisure. But the leisure is not boredom at all. Layers of skin must be peeled off the soul--layers of worldly accumulations of activity, words, thoughts, and must-do's and must-be's.
A realtor told me, when she saw the hermitage being built and the location, that it reminds her of "Come to the Waters." There is something restful about looking out on Lake Immaculata, of reading a little, praying, thinking, writing, and mostly resting.
For now.
The horrors come off and on in temptations and distresses which always have to do with doubts about being in such a state of hibernation or confusions from the world which necessarily reaches into the hermitage of today. For example, I am having difficulty with the mortgage company doing something quite unjust with the amount billed monthly, above the loan payment. But most horrors come from interior reachings in, which are allowed by the soul to cast doubts and fears. In time, these pass, or so it is written by saint hermits who hibernated with success, for the glory of God and Holy Mother Church.
Another thought: Union with Christ is achieved in suffering that is united with His.
Solitude and Silence Challenges
I figure there are at least 23 hours of solitude a day. This is a lot of solitude and silence in this active, noisy world. I am not used to it, and when a friend called today, I jabbered for nearly an hour with her. I made a quick conversation with a clerk earlier, and other than the sign of peace at Mass, this is about how a day goes--a good day.
On other days I end up distracting myself with running an errand or two, being with people but not speaking much. Or, twice a month a friend who is reading some of the books I am reading, gets together with me to discuss them. On our most recent discussion, I found myself discussing too much otherwise, and I think this is due to the challenges of solitude and silence.
A week ago (or was it two?) I asked St. Sharbel and St. Pio to help me learn silence. Since then, it seems that my friendship base has dwindled, and the phone contacts and e-mails lessened. Even a daughter who used to call me three or four times a week, has ceased. When I send e-mails, more often than not they are not returned, and this from my adult children. It just is happening that way, and I only look to God for answering my prayer and slashing away what would hinder me from more solitude and silence.
In the silence and solitude, I find myself more tired. I take naps and rest much. This is surely due to the hectic, unhealthy, and unnatural pace in our lives which has accumulated over years to equal exhaustion. Viewing nature--the mallards, the heron, the trees and grass, the mud, the waters of Lake Immaculata--is restful. Soon the eyes are relaxing, the body reclines, the breathing slows, the tense muscles loosen, and a nap is around the corner.
There is little push to accomplish unpacking, sorting files, or arranging clutter in the rooms that are easily shut off and not used except to put more stuff in for later sorting. Rather, the priorities are shifting to reading books that will help assuage the sense of loneliness that creeps in, the temptation to doubt what is being done in this hermit life, and to uplift the spirit with friendships in the books, with the authors themselves, many saints and all experts in the spiritual life.
Then there are the candles being lit for prayer intentions, and placing them in front of statues. Or to mist the orchids once a day, or even yesterday's enjoyable task of naming the orchids, naming them each for a line in the Litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary. So far there are five orchids in residence at Agnus Dei Hermitage. The old spiritual da knew what he was about when he told me to grow orchids.
A major temptation occurred after noon Mass. I saw people leaving and going about their busy business, and of important people meeting together for important reasons. I somehow felt the isolation from the world, of not being a part of it, as I walked to my car and drove off very much alone, knowing that the remainder of the day and night would exist in silence and solitude. Or so I assumed; one never knows.
Early Sunday morning I had a dream in which I was kneeling and my confessor came up and stood behind me; I could see him from another angle, as if out of myself. He spoke to me, unmistakenly, and said there were concerns about the stability of my psychological balance, and that they would like me to be tested. My response was that I had been through this years ago, and with no results other than that I have some spiritual gifts or inclinations that might be considered by some to be unusual but nothing more or less. Then, in typical punch, I said I have no health insurance, but if the Diocese pays, I'll do whatever they'd like. There were a couple other aspects of the dream that seemed strange, but I awoke in much physical pain.
The dream hung on, and I began to wonder if my confessor truly does have these concerns about me. Who could blame him if he did? I examined the odd elements of the dream, and decided that they could be a kind of "test" in a couple other areas of past weaknesses. I wondered why he couldn't tell me these concerns to my face, and began to be concerned, myself, that I was in trouble with the confessor, and if I would need to leave that parish.
Now, this seems rather extreme and unstable in thinking, but at the time it all seemed very reasonable indeed. I went to Mass, and that priest was celebrating. After, I tried to ask, to explain, and did a poor job. However, I got it out, and he very sternly told me that if he had any concerns, he would say them to me directly. In relief but also much embarrassment, I said that fortunately Lent would be over in three weeks; he replied that he certainly hoped I'd be better after Easter. I assured him I would be.
But later, I realized there is no guarantee of this, is there?
So today, I began thinking that perhaps if I had some responsibility of using my talents and gifts, something important to do at the parish, that maybe I'd not be having this adjustment, this difficult Lent (which my spiritual director says is very good to have such a Lent). But no, thankfully I see through the temptation to do, to be a success, to be busy, to be important or do important things.
This is opposite of seeking God for God's sake. This does not go along with what I've just read in Fr. John Kane's book, Holy Mary, Mother of God. I am to imitate Mary, my mistress, as I am her maidservant. She chose silence and solitude, particularly after the death and resurrection of her Son. And, if the devil tricked me by appearing as my confessor, so what? All the better for humility; and my goofiness these days will ensure that I'd be the last person chosen to be on a committee or to help in any capacity at the Cathedral.
So there is no point in yielding to that sort of silly temptation.
Faith is critical in the hermit life. Even with the silent noise of e-mail, the silence and solitude can be deafening and intensely exhausting. One must learn to see with eyes of Faith, of trusting God and that all that happens is from His choosing and allowing. Even the imposter by the devil, which ends up a good. Yes, I am thankful that I was so easily tricked. When Mary's life was one of self-extinction, being so easily tricked and making a fool of oneself leads to the path of self-extinction without having tried.
If what I read is correct, and how can I doubt the saints and Jesus Himself?--then dying is necessary for rising. But I ask, "How long does it take to die to oneself?"
Am reading now Louis Bouyer's The Meaning of the Monastic Life, and there are concurrent truths in this book for a complete hermit, or for one who is incomplete but desiring completion. Perhaps another time I'll write what Bouyer explains more fully, but for now, I mention that he says the meaning of the monastic life, or of the Christian life in fullness, is to seek God. Yes, to seek God above all things. That is simple, huh?
On other days I end up distracting myself with running an errand or two, being with people but not speaking much. Or, twice a month a friend who is reading some of the books I am reading, gets together with me to discuss them. On our most recent discussion, I found myself discussing too much otherwise, and I think this is due to the challenges of solitude and silence.
A week ago (or was it two?) I asked St. Sharbel and St. Pio to help me learn silence. Since then, it seems that my friendship base has dwindled, and the phone contacts and e-mails lessened. Even a daughter who used to call me three or four times a week, has ceased. When I send e-mails, more often than not they are not returned, and this from my adult children. It just is happening that way, and I only look to God for answering my prayer and slashing away what would hinder me from more solitude and silence.
In the silence and solitude, I find myself more tired. I take naps and rest much. This is surely due to the hectic, unhealthy, and unnatural pace in our lives which has accumulated over years to equal exhaustion. Viewing nature--the mallards, the heron, the trees and grass, the mud, the waters of Lake Immaculata--is restful. Soon the eyes are relaxing, the body reclines, the breathing slows, the tense muscles loosen, and a nap is around the corner.
There is little push to accomplish unpacking, sorting files, or arranging clutter in the rooms that are easily shut off and not used except to put more stuff in for later sorting. Rather, the priorities are shifting to reading books that will help assuage the sense of loneliness that creeps in, the temptation to doubt what is being done in this hermit life, and to uplift the spirit with friendships in the books, with the authors themselves, many saints and all experts in the spiritual life.
Then there are the candles being lit for prayer intentions, and placing them in front of statues. Or to mist the orchids once a day, or even yesterday's enjoyable task of naming the orchids, naming them each for a line in the Litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary. So far there are five orchids in residence at Agnus Dei Hermitage. The old spiritual da knew what he was about when he told me to grow orchids.
A major temptation occurred after noon Mass. I saw people leaving and going about their busy business, and of important people meeting together for important reasons. I somehow felt the isolation from the world, of not being a part of it, as I walked to my car and drove off very much alone, knowing that the remainder of the day and night would exist in silence and solitude. Or so I assumed; one never knows.
Early Sunday morning I had a dream in which I was kneeling and my confessor came up and stood behind me; I could see him from another angle, as if out of myself. He spoke to me, unmistakenly, and said there were concerns about the stability of my psychological balance, and that they would like me to be tested. My response was that I had been through this years ago, and with no results other than that I have some spiritual gifts or inclinations that might be considered by some to be unusual but nothing more or less. Then, in typical punch, I said I have no health insurance, but if the Diocese pays, I'll do whatever they'd like. There were a couple other aspects of the dream that seemed strange, but I awoke in much physical pain.
The dream hung on, and I began to wonder if my confessor truly does have these concerns about me. Who could blame him if he did? I examined the odd elements of the dream, and decided that they could be a kind of "test" in a couple other areas of past weaknesses. I wondered why he couldn't tell me these concerns to my face, and began to be concerned, myself, that I was in trouble with the confessor, and if I would need to leave that parish.
Now, this seems rather extreme and unstable in thinking, but at the time it all seemed very reasonable indeed. I went to Mass, and that priest was celebrating. After, I tried to ask, to explain, and did a poor job. However, I got it out, and he very sternly told me that if he had any concerns, he would say them to me directly. In relief but also much embarrassment, I said that fortunately Lent would be over in three weeks; he replied that he certainly hoped I'd be better after Easter. I assured him I would be.
But later, I realized there is no guarantee of this, is there?
So today, I began thinking that perhaps if I had some responsibility of using my talents and gifts, something important to do at the parish, that maybe I'd not be having this adjustment, this difficult Lent (which my spiritual director says is very good to have such a Lent). But no, thankfully I see through the temptation to do, to be a success, to be busy, to be important or do important things.
This is opposite of seeking God for God's sake. This does not go along with what I've just read in Fr. John Kane's book, Holy Mary, Mother of God. I am to imitate Mary, my mistress, as I am her maidservant. She chose silence and solitude, particularly after the death and resurrection of her Son. And, if the devil tricked me by appearing as my confessor, so what? All the better for humility; and my goofiness these days will ensure that I'd be the last person chosen to be on a committee or to help in any capacity at the Cathedral.
So there is no point in yielding to that sort of silly temptation.
Faith is critical in the hermit life. Even with the silent noise of e-mail, the silence and solitude can be deafening and intensely exhausting. One must learn to see with eyes of Faith, of trusting God and that all that happens is from His choosing and allowing. Even the imposter by the devil, which ends up a good. Yes, I am thankful that I was so easily tricked. When Mary's life was one of self-extinction, being so easily tricked and making a fool of oneself leads to the path of self-extinction without having tried.
If what I read is correct, and how can I doubt the saints and Jesus Himself?--then dying is necessary for rising. But I ask, "How long does it take to die to oneself?"
Am reading now Louis Bouyer's The Meaning of the Monastic Life, and there are concurrent truths in this book for a complete hermit, or for one who is incomplete but desiring completion. Perhaps another time I'll write what Bouyer explains more fully, but for now, I mention that he says the meaning of the monastic life, or of the Christian life in fullness, is to seek God. Yes, to seek God above all things. That is simple, huh?
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Saint Seraphim of Sarov
Br. Francois e-mailed that I should be reading more of the hermits, of the desert fathers.
I happened to unpack a box of books and came across a paperback I'd found awhile back at H. B. Reading the back cover, i realized that this book is intended for me. St. Seraphim spent many years as a hermit and even more in silence, solitude and slowness. Yes, it is a slow process.
I've been very ill with sickness of body and soul again. Last night I awoke and could only put my rosary on the sore point in my side. I cannot pray in words, not much other than to repeat the prayer printed on the coffee mug, a prayer to St. Joseph, as a friend e-mailed instructing to begin the novena for his upcoming feast day. Drinking from the mug is all I can muster of a novena.
Thankful for two days' respite, I am plunged once more and feel as if I could die, that all has drained from my body with little left of my mind. But my confessor told me in the two days' of lightness, that my soul would not die. It seemed in the previous plunging, that it surely would.
Last night, then, I realized that I am merely being immolated and nothing to be done about it. Rather than struggle as the temptation for survival comes, I am practicing resignation. Thy will be done, O Lord. My spiritual da wrote me a letter mildly chastising me and trying to do a basic "jump start", but my battery is nearly dead, it seems. He wants me to get to the garden, but there is none until I am able to work the soil, or rather the hard clay stamped down by a small, rumbling "cat". He wants me to then build a greenhouse and grow beautiful orchids. He writes, "You don't seem to be able to enjoy all the good things God has given you. You need to get to your garden. You can later build a greenhouse and grow orchids and people will come to see their beauty and be led to think of God. I can see you being known as "The Orchid Lady"! What a beautiful title. You can be beautiful yourself through union with God and at the same time reveal the beauties of His creation."
This morning I left my Spiritual Da the message that the orchids will have to wait, that I am being immolated, had written him a letter, but doubted I could even get it out to the mailbox yet.
How could anyone comprehend, truly? I call and leave a message for my confessor, telling him thanks for praying for my son, and that another cause for reparative suffering, but also rejoicing as he seems to be taking a step to turn slightly to the right, to the light, although he knows not how deformed is his soul from some choices made. I leave the message to my confessor that I am grateful for the two days' respite, but that I am being immolated and this is to be expected, and that I must conserve all my energy so as to put on a good "front" in case I encounter people, for how could they comprehend what is happening? That is all, other than my heart suffers most.
But St. Seraphim is a guiding light in this way of silence, solitude and slowness. And might I add, "of suffering"? So I am calm and learning to be resigned to God's will. I am assured in the night that this is from God, although I fell back asleep briefly to intense and instructional dreams, and also disturbing. God allows the devil his small space in the fireplace.
The image strongest when awake, however, explains it all: I am a small cleaning rag, and I am being lifted up out of the water, wrung out, used to wipe dirt all about, and then plunged into the bucket, lifted up, wrung out, used to wipe dirt, and the process repeats, over and over. Each time, though, the water in the bucket becomes more and more gray with grit.
This is Lent. My Spiritual Da also wrote that it is very good, this Lent, and my being able to clearly see my sins. He also says I seem fragmented. Oh, how true this is! I am as fragmented as the dirt being wrung out of the rag. But resignation to the process helps, and I rest. Both he and my confessor, without knowing what the other has said, tell me to rest in God's mercy.
St. Seraphim had a coffin in his cell. He lit candles before an icon of Our Lady of Tenderness. A candle is lit before my statue of Our Lady of Grace which stands upon one end of my coffin here at Agnus Dei Hermitage. It overlooks the pond. The ice has all melted, and two mallards swam the perimeter early this morning--the perimeter of the final skiff of ice in the pond's center.
St. Serphim advises to call upon the Virgin Mary to help guide and lead and protect. I do so. Thanks, St. Seraphim, for the help through the paperback book and now in presence allowed by the Holy Ghost. It is all grace, and that also a matter of faith.
I happened to unpack a box of books and came across a paperback I'd found awhile back at H. B. Reading the back cover, i realized that this book is intended for me. St. Seraphim spent many years as a hermit and even more in silence, solitude and slowness. Yes, it is a slow process.
I've been very ill with sickness of body and soul again. Last night I awoke and could only put my rosary on the sore point in my side. I cannot pray in words, not much other than to repeat the prayer printed on the coffee mug, a prayer to St. Joseph, as a friend e-mailed instructing to begin the novena for his upcoming feast day. Drinking from the mug is all I can muster of a novena.
Thankful for two days' respite, I am plunged once more and feel as if I could die, that all has drained from my body with little left of my mind. But my confessor told me in the two days' of lightness, that my soul would not die. It seemed in the previous plunging, that it surely would.
Last night, then, I realized that I am merely being immolated and nothing to be done about it. Rather than struggle as the temptation for survival comes, I am practicing resignation. Thy will be done, O Lord. My spiritual da wrote me a letter mildly chastising me and trying to do a basic "jump start", but my battery is nearly dead, it seems. He wants me to get to the garden, but there is none until I am able to work the soil, or rather the hard clay stamped down by a small, rumbling "cat". He wants me to then build a greenhouse and grow beautiful orchids. He writes, "You don't seem to be able to enjoy all the good things God has given you. You need to get to your garden. You can later build a greenhouse and grow orchids and people will come to see their beauty and be led to think of God. I can see you being known as "The Orchid Lady"! What a beautiful title. You can be beautiful yourself through union with God and at the same time reveal the beauties of His creation."
This morning I left my Spiritual Da the message that the orchids will have to wait, that I am being immolated, had written him a letter, but doubted I could even get it out to the mailbox yet.
How could anyone comprehend, truly? I call and leave a message for my confessor, telling him thanks for praying for my son, and that another cause for reparative suffering, but also rejoicing as he seems to be taking a step to turn slightly to the right, to the light, although he knows not how deformed is his soul from some choices made. I leave the message to my confessor that I am grateful for the two days' respite, but that I am being immolated and this is to be expected, and that I must conserve all my energy so as to put on a good "front" in case I encounter people, for how could they comprehend what is happening? That is all, other than my heart suffers most.
But St. Seraphim is a guiding light in this way of silence, solitude and slowness. And might I add, "of suffering"? So I am calm and learning to be resigned to God's will. I am assured in the night that this is from God, although I fell back asleep briefly to intense and instructional dreams, and also disturbing. God allows the devil his small space in the fireplace.
The image strongest when awake, however, explains it all: I am a small cleaning rag, and I am being lifted up out of the water, wrung out, used to wipe dirt all about, and then plunged into the bucket, lifted up, wrung out, used to wipe dirt, and the process repeats, over and over. Each time, though, the water in the bucket becomes more and more gray with grit.
This is Lent. My Spiritual Da also wrote that it is very good, this Lent, and my being able to clearly see my sins. He also says I seem fragmented. Oh, how true this is! I am as fragmented as the dirt being wrung out of the rag. But resignation to the process helps, and I rest. Both he and my confessor, without knowing what the other has said, tell me to rest in God's mercy.
St. Seraphim had a coffin in his cell. He lit candles before an icon of Our Lady of Tenderness. A candle is lit before my statue of Our Lady of Grace which stands upon one end of my coffin here at Agnus Dei Hermitage. It overlooks the pond. The ice has all melted, and two mallards swam the perimeter early this morning--the perimeter of the final skiff of ice in the pond's center.
St. Serphim advises to call upon the Virgin Mary to help guide and lead and protect. I do so. Thanks, St. Seraphim, for the help through the paperback book and now in presence allowed by the Holy Ghost. It is all grace, and that also a matter of faith.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
A Complete Hermit Dines Out and Thoughts on St. Seraphim
When relatives want to gather, charity seems to call for dining out with them.
Somehow I am not ready to have guests, in general, visit Agnus Dei Hermitage on Lake Immacula. It is enough for people, when they ask, to be given an address in an area unfamiliar to them and so seemingly safe for continuing privacy and solitude. At some point I will be ready for guests in general.
In particular, guests are coming Thursday evening for supper (pizza is what they like; children are included). I like pizza, too. Plain cheese is fine. They are a holy family and know what this hermitage is about. We will watch the remainder of the St. Francis of Assisi DVD. The large television will be used for the third time in seven weeks. I'm still not sure if it will remain past a year or be donated to the Women's Care Center for their parenting instruction needs.
But today the incomplete hermit dined out in a rather noisy restaurant, but lovely, and conversed with the cousins. We discussed what family members are doing and where located now, and of moves and possible moves. We discussed the doing in life, and these cousins are more iconoclastic than any of my other relatives. They are fascinating to speak with and observe, and the incomplete hermit did her fair share of talking, maybe more so.
The topic of the woodpile came up. One cousin owns some woods with a cabin and goes there for short periods. He cuts wood and stacks it. He sent a photo of his woodpile, and truly it is a work of art. I keep the photo on my refrigerator as a reminder of silence, solitude, and slowness.
The topic of books and bookshelves arose, and I mentioned the current book about Saint Seraphim, hermit of Russia, on the cusp of the 18th-19th centuries. This conversation coincided with their asking me about my writing.... No, I am not writing anything publishable; I tell them I am writing about what it could be in our time period and culture to be a "complete hermit."
A complete hermit would dine out in these circumstances mentioned above. The conversation would turn, after a period of time, to something rather spiritual but without being pointedly Catholic since some do not at all appreciate Catholicism nor are willing to discuss the Church and Christ. Yet, St. Seraphim is an interesting and holy soul through which to share a life meaningful and Catholic Christian.
The incomplete hermit returned to the hermitage and began again to put order to the disorder of clutter. The woodpile is a fine example of functional order. At lunch the cousin had pointed out that not only does the wood dry out best if stacked and stacked well, but the wild turkeys love to perch on top of a solidly placed woodpile. "Does it give them a sense of superiority in a pecking order of which they are rather low?" I had asked. We pondered that and concluded there is something empowering for the wild turkeys to be able to be high without flying, to have a different view of the world, and in a sense of safety in so doing.
Maybe this is also for the incomplete hermit to note. Perch on something rather firm and solid which will provide a different view of the world, without having to expend much effort of which one is not so capable (such as flying), and be relatively secure.
St. Seraphim was brutally attacked by peasants who heard rumors he had great wealth and gold hidden in a bag. Rather, the bag was filled with stones, and it served as his mattress. This attack broke the hermit's health, and he was required to return to the monastery where he proceeded to remain in his cell for the next 15 years to complete his education in silence, solitude and slowness.
During this time food was brought to the door of his cell which at some unknown point would open and the food disappear within. Sometimes the food would remain on the floor outside the door, uneaten. Yet St. Seraphim advises that he learned well after suffering in his health, that a hermit should take care of himself and take proper nutrition, for the Lord may have work later which requires much energy with people who may need spiritual guidance, not to mention the hours of prayer required for the salvation of souls.
St. Seraphim did not dine out, but rather in, but given certain circumstances, he might well have dined out.
He would have chosen something inexpensive on the menu, and eaten all on the plate so as to not waste, and to have listened and spoken of matters charitable and of, for example, wood piles well stacked so that wild turkeys would have a secure and height to perch.
Somehow I am not ready to have guests, in general, visit Agnus Dei Hermitage on Lake Immacula. It is enough for people, when they ask, to be given an address in an area unfamiliar to them and so seemingly safe for continuing privacy and solitude. At some point I will be ready for guests in general.
In particular, guests are coming Thursday evening for supper (pizza is what they like; children are included). I like pizza, too. Plain cheese is fine. They are a holy family and know what this hermitage is about. We will watch the remainder of the St. Francis of Assisi DVD. The large television will be used for the third time in seven weeks. I'm still not sure if it will remain past a year or be donated to the Women's Care Center for their parenting instruction needs.
But today the incomplete hermit dined out in a rather noisy restaurant, but lovely, and conversed with the cousins. We discussed what family members are doing and where located now, and of moves and possible moves. We discussed the doing in life, and these cousins are more iconoclastic than any of my other relatives. They are fascinating to speak with and observe, and the incomplete hermit did her fair share of talking, maybe more so.
The topic of the woodpile came up. One cousin owns some woods with a cabin and goes there for short periods. He cuts wood and stacks it. He sent a photo of his woodpile, and truly it is a work of art. I keep the photo on my refrigerator as a reminder of silence, solitude, and slowness.
The topic of books and bookshelves arose, and I mentioned the current book about Saint Seraphim, hermit of Russia, on the cusp of the 18th-19th centuries. This conversation coincided with their asking me about my writing.... No, I am not writing anything publishable; I tell them I am writing about what it could be in our time period and culture to be a "complete hermit."
A complete hermit would dine out in these circumstances mentioned above. The conversation would turn, after a period of time, to something rather spiritual but without being pointedly Catholic since some do not at all appreciate Catholicism nor are willing to discuss the Church and Christ. Yet, St. Seraphim is an interesting and holy soul through which to share a life meaningful and Catholic Christian.
The incomplete hermit returned to the hermitage and began again to put order to the disorder of clutter. The woodpile is a fine example of functional order. At lunch the cousin had pointed out that not only does the wood dry out best if stacked and stacked well, but the wild turkeys love to perch on top of a solidly placed woodpile. "Does it give them a sense of superiority in a pecking order of which they are rather low?" I had asked. We pondered that and concluded there is something empowering for the wild turkeys to be able to be high without flying, to have a different view of the world, and in a sense of safety in so doing.
Maybe this is also for the incomplete hermit to note. Perch on something rather firm and solid which will provide a different view of the world, without having to expend much effort of which one is not so capable (such as flying), and be relatively secure.
St. Seraphim was brutally attacked by peasants who heard rumors he had great wealth and gold hidden in a bag. Rather, the bag was filled with stones, and it served as his mattress. This attack broke the hermit's health, and he was required to return to the monastery where he proceeded to remain in his cell for the next 15 years to complete his education in silence, solitude and slowness.
During this time food was brought to the door of his cell which at some unknown point would open and the food disappear within. Sometimes the food would remain on the floor outside the door, uneaten. Yet St. Seraphim advises that he learned well after suffering in his health, that a hermit should take care of himself and take proper nutrition, for the Lord may have work later which requires much energy with people who may need spiritual guidance, not to mention the hours of prayer required for the salvation of souls.
St. Seraphim did not dine out, but rather in, but given certain circumstances, he might well have dined out.
He would have chosen something inexpensive on the menu, and eaten all on the plate so as to not waste, and to have listened and spoken of matters charitable and of, for example, wood piles well stacked so that wild turkeys would have a secure and height to perch.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Canonical Approval to be a Complete Hermit?
A couple of weeks ago I mentioned to a priest the notion of a "complete" hermit. He immediately said, "Oh, well you cannot be a complete hermit unless the Bishop designates you as one," and he proceeded to list out technical terms and Latin phrases. But his bottom line was that one cannot consider oneself to be a hermit unless so designated and approved.
I was aware previously of the category, and it is outlined in The Catechism of the Catholic Church. I think it is under consecrated religious, in the category of consecrated eremitics, or religious solitaries. Maybe I should just quote it right now.
The Consecrated Life
914 The state of life which is constituted by the profession of the evangelical counsels, while not entering into the hierarchical structure of the Church, belongs undeniably to her life and holiness.
Evangelical Counsels, Consecrated Life
915 Christ proposes the evangelical counsels, in their great variety, to every disciple. The perfection of charity, to which all the faithful are called, entails for those who freely follow the call to consecrated life the obligation of practicing chastity in celibacy for the sake of the Kingdom, poverty and obedience. It is the profession of these counsels, within a permanent state of life recognized by the Church, that characterizes the life consecrated to God.
916 The state of the consecrated life is thus one way of experiencing a "more intimate" consecration, rooted in Baptism and dedicated totally to God. In the consecrated life, Christ's faithful, moved by the Holy Spirit, propose to follow Christ more nearly, to give themselves to God who is loved above all and, pursuing the perfection of charity in the service of the Kingdom, to signify and proclaim in the Church the glory of the world to come.
One Great Tree with Many Branches
917 "From the God-given seed of the counsels a wonderful and wide-spreading tree has grown up in the field of the Lord, branching out into the various forms of the religious life lived in solitude or in community. Different religious families have come into existence in which spiritual resources are multiplied for the progress in holiness of their members and for the good of the entire Body of Christ."
918 From the very beginning of the Church there were men and women who set out to follow Christ with greater liberty, and to imitate Him more closely, by practicing the evangelical counsels. They lived lives dedicated to God, each in his own way. Many of them, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, became hermits or founded religious families. These the Church, by virtue of her authority, gladly accepted and approved....
The Eremitic Life
920 Without always professing the three evangelical counsels publicly, hermits "devote their lives to the praise of God and salvation of the world through a stricter separation from the world, the silence of solitude and assiduous prayer and penance. [Canon 603]
921 They manifest to everyone the interior aspect of the mystery of the Church, that is, personal intimacy with Christ. Hidden from the eyes of men, the life of the hermit is a silent preaching of the Lord, to whom he has surrendered his life simply because He is everything to him. Here is a particular call to find in the desert, in the thick of spiritual battle, the glory of the Crucified One.
This morning and even last night, I realized that I have relapsed, it seems. This is Lent, and it is a very challenging one for me. My confessor tells me to rest and to absorb the mercy of Christ. I need His mercy! I have veered further from the evangelical counsels than in a long while in that I have been muddling in the white mold of materialism and not been silent. That is all changeable, though; this morning I begin again. I slash away the noise and bleach the mold.
This morning, also, I listened carefully to the Bishop's homily in a rare preaching on a weekday morning. Two pews were reserved, and I noted wealthy who-who's in those pews, and then followed Mass the swishings of a very important meeting with the Bishop. I felt rather sorry for him, in some ways, that he had to spend time catering to the wealthy and important folk; I also feared ever looking like the old women dressed finely and with guishy make-up and fur coats, but with hearts no doubt of gold and generosity. The Bishop had spoken of our need to help the poor, a theme especially brought out in Scripture during this Lenten Season. These wealthy people help the poor; and us less than wealthy people help the poor, and it is no great thing.
I live in such comfort. I live in far more comfort than I did over two years ago, prior to my mother's suffering and death. It haunts me, even purchasing the furnishings for the hermitage, even if I give other furnishings to the poor. It haunts me. But I appreciate the comfort and am grateful.
O Lord, how shall I serve? This thought arises as I drive home after Mass. Am I bored? Not really. But what is there for me to "do"? And again, I recall the direct message of now 8 weeks ago today, from my angel Beth, that the Lord has chosen me to this hermit life and I have not appreciated or valued it as He does.
So I must apply myself more to this life, and re-reading the portions quoted above has helped me. And I do think there is a purpose in being canonically approved as a consecrated eremitic. Why? Not to boast about a designation, not to stand out or be labeled, not to begin a community of hermits--none of these reasons are for me.
Somehow, I feel as if I need the inherent, mysterious graces that such an approval by the Bishop would bring. Somehow, I feel as if I need to make a formal offering which binds me to this life and for the purposes stated, for the commitment not only spiritual and private but to the superior of this Diocese.
It would anchor me in this life, exteriorly and interiorly, to the hermit life.
I don't know if I'd all of a sudden do a better job at daily routine and structure, but the graces would somehow do their work on me, all the same.
I'm not sure how to approach this with anyone, with my director, my confessor, or the Bishop. My spiritual director has in the past pointed out that this designation is not necessary, that more it is to actually live the life. I believe this to be true. Yet, something remains unsettled within, and that is the point of the graces which are bestowed supernaturally; and these I desire and need.
So we shall see if the Lord brings this canonical approval about.
One thing I do not desire, and this from seeing it in a "hermit newsletter." A hermit wrote some advice of her experience, and within the lines she stated how long she'd been a hermit, and in parenthesis put the years of "canonically approved." This I do not need: more pride.
I was aware previously of the category, and it is outlined in The Catechism of the Catholic Church. I think it is under consecrated religious, in the category of consecrated eremitics, or religious solitaries. Maybe I should just quote it right now.
The Consecrated Life
914 The state of life which is constituted by the profession of the evangelical counsels, while not entering into the hierarchical structure of the Church, belongs undeniably to her life and holiness.
Evangelical Counsels, Consecrated Life
915 Christ proposes the evangelical counsels, in their great variety, to every disciple. The perfection of charity, to which all the faithful are called, entails for those who freely follow the call to consecrated life the obligation of practicing chastity in celibacy for the sake of the Kingdom, poverty and obedience. It is the profession of these counsels, within a permanent state of life recognized by the Church, that characterizes the life consecrated to God.
916 The state of the consecrated life is thus one way of experiencing a "more intimate" consecration, rooted in Baptism and dedicated totally to God. In the consecrated life, Christ's faithful, moved by the Holy Spirit, propose to follow Christ more nearly, to give themselves to God who is loved above all and, pursuing the perfection of charity in the service of the Kingdom, to signify and proclaim in the Church the glory of the world to come.
One Great Tree with Many Branches
917 "From the God-given seed of the counsels a wonderful and wide-spreading tree has grown up in the field of the Lord, branching out into the various forms of the religious life lived in solitude or in community. Different religious families have come into existence in which spiritual resources are multiplied for the progress in holiness of their members and for the good of the entire Body of Christ."
918 From the very beginning of the Church there were men and women who set out to follow Christ with greater liberty, and to imitate Him more closely, by practicing the evangelical counsels. They lived lives dedicated to God, each in his own way. Many of them, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, became hermits or founded religious families. These the Church, by virtue of her authority, gladly accepted and approved....
The Eremitic Life
920 Without always professing the three evangelical counsels publicly, hermits "devote their lives to the praise of God and salvation of the world through a stricter separation from the world, the silence of solitude and assiduous prayer and penance. [Canon 603]
921 They manifest to everyone the interior aspect of the mystery of the Church, that is, personal intimacy with Christ. Hidden from the eyes of men, the life of the hermit is a silent preaching of the Lord, to whom he has surrendered his life simply because He is everything to him. Here is a particular call to find in the desert, in the thick of spiritual battle, the glory of the Crucified One.
This morning and even last night, I realized that I have relapsed, it seems. This is Lent, and it is a very challenging one for me. My confessor tells me to rest and to absorb the mercy of Christ. I need His mercy! I have veered further from the evangelical counsels than in a long while in that I have been muddling in the white mold of materialism and not been silent. That is all changeable, though; this morning I begin again. I slash away the noise and bleach the mold.
This morning, also, I listened carefully to the Bishop's homily in a rare preaching on a weekday morning. Two pews were reserved, and I noted wealthy who-who's in those pews, and then followed Mass the swishings of a very important meeting with the Bishop. I felt rather sorry for him, in some ways, that he had to spend time catering to the wealthy and important folk; I also feared ever looking like the old women dressed finely and with guishy make-up and fur coats, but with hearts no doubt of gold and generosity. The Bishop had spoken of our need to help the poor, a theme especially brought out in Scripture during this Lenten Season. These wealthy people help the poor; and us less than wealthy people help the poor, and it is no great thing.
I live in such comfort. I live in far more comfort than I did over two years ago, prior to my mother's suffering and death. It haunts me, even purchasing the furnishings for the hermitage, even if I give other furnishings to the poor. It haunts me. But I appreciate the comfort and am grateful.
O Lord, how shall I serve? This thought arises as I drive home after Mass. Am I bored? Not really. But what is there for me to "do"? And again, I recall the direct message of now 8 weeks ago today, from my angel Beth, that the Lord has chosen me to this hermit life and I have not appreciated or valued it as He does.
So I must apply myself more to this life, and re-reading the portions quoted above has helped me. And I do think there is a purpose in being canonically approved as a consecrated eremitic. Why? Not to boast about a designation, not to stand out or be labeled, not to begin a community of hermits--none of these reasons are for me.
Somehow, I feel as if I need the inherent, mysterious graces that such an approval by the Bishop would bring. Somehow, I feel as if I need to make a formal offering which binds me to this life and for the purposes stated, for the commitment not only spiritual and private but to the superior of this Diocese.
It would anchor me in this life, exteriorly and interiorly, to the hermit life.
I don't know if I'd all of a sudden do a better job at daily routine and structure, but the graces would somehow do their work on me, all the same.
I'm not sure how to approach this with anyone, with my director, my confessor, or the Bishop. My spiritual director has in the past pointed out that this designation is not necessary, that more it is to actually live the life. I believe this to be true. Yet, something remains unsettled within, and that is the point of the graces which are bestowed supernaturally; and these I desire and need.
So we shall see if the Lord brings this canonical approval about.
One thing I do not desire, and this from seeing it in a "hermit newsletter." A hermit wrote some advice of her experience, and within the lines she stated how long she'd been a hermit, and in parenthesis put the years of "canonically approved." This I do not need: more pride.
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Sick in Soul and Body
This is the condition today, looking out on the bumpy frozenness of Lake Immaculata.
I am sick in soul and body. The pain is in direct correlation to sin. Too much melting and freezing over, then melting, then snow and more freezing, then melting. The pond is mottled like a face bumpy with acne scars.
Such is the face of my soul and down under the skin, deep into its pores. Maybe even into the bones.
DeRoy the Handyman came again yesterday. He made a huge error the last time, wrongly hooking up the hard water faucet to the soft water line, taking two or more hours finding parts and fussing around trying to do it--wrong. Then he charged for all the hours and the mistake. The next day I called to see if he would be charging me again when he returned to correct the mistake. He said of course he would not. But he did. And he called to say he would be 15 minutes later than noon, and yet when it came time to pay him, he said he had come at noon, and charged for the full time, including the (granted, short) time to re-do the error.
He spoke of helping the poor, though, and of helping at his Missionary Baptist Church. And he did do over the course of three trips, many good tasks which I could not do myself.
The greatest thing he did, though, is to tell me (the clock ticking but what the difference?) about how he had been forced out of a job that he'd worked for 30 years, along with several other men. Then he got a different job, working nights, and would come home and sleep a few hours and go out and work several hours at his handyman business. He is a good handyman, too, in being thorough and kind.
But he said that one morning he woke up and asked, "What are you doing, DeRoy?" That night he told his wife that something had to go. Later that night he told his boss at the company that he was giving 30 days' notice. The boss did not want him to quit as he liked how he taught the younger men a good work ethic. But he knew he had to do something different with his life, and so he did. He now is busy and very happy with the handyman work, with many jobs, nearly too many if he doesn't watch it.
So I wrote the check for more than the time he was there, and figured I'd gained more than the $37. For one thing, I learned that one needs to simply make profound changes from time to time in life. For another thing, I saw clearly that while we think we might be very good indeed, we don't see the sometimes small ways in which we maybe don't have a good work ethic if it comes to not being totally honest. I would have rather paid $35 an hour for a full hour's work than $25 an hour for incorrect time charged. I would have been told that one does not know how to do something than to pay to have that person figure out through error how to do it.
But, we humans are imperfect even if we think we are very good. And we might be very good but still bad in some ways.
I am very bad and maybe a little good in some ways.
My sinfulness is so readily seen like the bumpy pond ice, that I am sick of myself.
I won't go into what I have done this time. It is more of the same, and of seeing through people (and myself), and of complaining and knowing that something just isn't right, and motives aren't so good in a certain situation, and of not wanting to deal with the other persons or myself. Or maybe just learn to deal with myself.
Or maybe it has to do with trying to have a discussion with people who do not read the material, difficult as it is. And of reading, for example, Tanquerey, and then of realizing that once deeper into the contemplative aspects written, there becomes a difficulty in discussing it, as reading about the contemplative life and mystical life becomes very interior and private.
There is a division going on, and I awoke this morning, and I said, "What are you doing?"
"You have a direct call to the hermit life, you know for certain that this is what God has chosen for you. So why aren't you living it? Why do you dabble with people or a person who is on a different track? And then you complain and criticize which is totally sinful--(and maybe, I hope in this solitary conversation, that it is not so sinful after all but just a means to see that I am at loggershead with someone I am better off not encountering)."
It has to come sometime, this being shut down and cut off from so much people-izing. The world needs to be protected from me, also, from the sickness of soul and body.
Pain and sin do have direct correlation. My sin makes me sick; the pain makes me sin.
Now, how does pain make a person sin? Well, it makes one tired, and then the resources are weakened, the will is undermined, and before long and in me quite soon, words are spoken or thoughts made which are not charitable. They might be true, or maybe just assumptions. Nonetheless, they go against what contemplatives saints advise--go against how Jesus would act. When he was in pain, he kept quiet except to forgive people and to commend his soul to the Father.
St. John of the Cross wrote this counsel: "...resignation--he must needs live in the monastery [hermitage of the world] as if no other person lived there; and thus he should never intermeddle with them, in order to preserve his tranquility of soul, remembering Lot's wife, who, because she turned her head on account of the cries and noise made by those that were perishing, was turned into hard stone. This the religious [even a hermit] must observe very straitly, and he will then free himself by its means from many sins and inmperfections, and will preserve his tranquillity and quietness of soul, and will make great progress in the sight of God, and in that of men [not that being seen by men is all that good except for being a good example and displaying Christ to all]."
Another counsel that I must take seriously is this: "Withdraw from creatures if you desire to preserve, clear and simnple in your soul, the image of God. Empty your spirit and withdraw far from them and you will walk in divine lights, for God is not like creatures."
And yet another in conclusion: "...but leave all those other things and attend to one thing alone, which brings all these with it, namely holy solitude, together with prayer and spiritual and divine reading, and persevere there in forgetfulness of all things. For if these things are not incumbent upon you, you will be more pleasing to God inknowing how to guard and perfect yourself than by gaining all other things together, for what does it profit a man if he gains thewhole world and suffers the loss of his soul?"
[Matt. 16:26.]
I am called to this, and the way has been cleared for it. In many instances, a person may desire this call to contemplative life, to a more clear-cut contemplative life, and yet be called to active duty, such as work in a Diocese or in a family. But my life has been cleared of these things, and sometimes harshly so, like God's axe felling huge trees in a woods, making a vast clearing.
So why have I continued to wander out into the world, even the world of goodness in good spiritual activities?
This morning I awoke and asked, "What am I doing?"
Now I am returning to the clearing of God's choosing. Maybe the soul will lose some of its sickness. The pond will melt and be smooth either in another freezing or in springtime.
I am sick in soul and body. The pain is in direct correlation to sin. Too much melting and freezing over, then melting, then snow and more freezing, then melting. The pond is mottled like a face bumpy with acne scars.
Such is the face of my soul and down under the skin, deep into its pores. Maybe even into the bones.
DeRoy the Handyman came again yesterday. He made a huge error the last time, wrongly hooking up the hard water faucet to the soft water line, taking two or more hours finding parts and fussing around trying to do it--wrong. Then he charged for all the hours and the mistake. The next day I called to see if he would be charging me again when he returned to correct the mistake. He said of course he would not. But he did. And he called to say he would be 15 minutes later than noon, and yet when it came time to pay him, he said he had come at noon, and charged for the full time, including the (granted, short) time to re-do the error.
He spoke of helping the poor, though, and of helping at his Missionary Baptist Church. And he did do over the course of three trips, many good tasks which I could not do myself.
The greatest thing he did, though, is to tell me (the clock ticking but what the difference?) about how he had been forced out of a job that he'd worked for 30 years, along with several other men. Then he got a different job, working nights, and would come home and sleep a few hours and go out and work several hours at his handyman business. He is a good handyman, too, in being thorough and kind.
But he said that one morning he woke up and asked, "What are you doing, DeRoy?" That night he told his wife that something had to go. Later that night he told his boss at the company that he was giving 30 days' notice. The boss did not want him to quit as he liked how he taught the younger men a good work ethic. But he knew he had to do something different with his life, and so he did. He now is busy and very happy with the handyman work, with many jobs, nearly too many if he doesn't watch it.
So I wrote the check for more than the time he was there, and figured I'd gained more than the $37. For one thing, I learned that one needs to simply make profound changes from time to time in life. For another thing, I saw clearly that while we think we might be very good indeed, we don't see the sometimes small ways in which we maybe don't have a good work ethic if it comes to not being totally honest. I would have rather paid $35 an hour for a full hour's work than $25 an hour for incorrect time charged. I would have been told that one does not know how to do something than to pay to have that person figure out through error how to do it.
But, we humans are imperfect even if we think we are very good. And we might be very good but still bad in some ways.
I am very bad and maybe a little good in some ways.
My sinfulness is so readily seen like the bumpy pond ice, that I am sick of myself.
I won't go into what I have done this time. It is more of the same, and of seeing through people (and myself), and of complaining and knowing that something just isn't right, and motives aren't so good in a certain situation, and of not wanting to deal with the other persons or myself. Or maybe just learn to deal with myself.
Or maybe it has to do with trying to have a discussion with people who do not read the material, difficult as it is. And of reading, for example, Tanquerey, and then of realizing that once deeper into the contemplative aspects written, there becomes a difficulty in discussing it, as reading about the contemplative life and mystical life becomes very interior and private.
There is a division going on, and I awoke this morning, and I said, "What are you doing?"
"You have a direct call to the hermit life, you know for certain that this is what God has chosen for you. So why aren't you living it? Why do you dabble with people or a person who is on a different track? And then you complain and criticize which is totally sinful--(and maybe, I hope in this solitary conversation, that it is not so sinful after all but just a means to see that I am at loggershead with someone I am better off not encountering)."
It has to come sometime, this being shut down and cut off from so much people-izing. The world needs to be protected from me, also, from the sickness of soul and body.
Pain and sin do have direct correlation. My sin makes me sick; the pain makes me sin.
Now, how does pain make a person sin? Well, it makes one tired, and then the resources are weakened, the will is undermined, and before long and in me quite soon, words are spoken or thoughts made which are not charitable. They might be true, or maybe just assumptions. Nonetheless, they go against what contemplatives saints advise--go against how Jesus would act. When he was in pain, he kept quiet except to forgive people and to commend his soul to the Father.
St. John of the Cross wrote this counsel: "...resignation--he must needs live in the monastery [hermitage of the world] as if no other person lived there; and thus he should never intermeddle with them, in order to preserve his tranquility of soul, remembering Lot's wife, who, because she turned her head on account of the cries and noise made by those that were perishing, was turned into hard stone. This the religious [even a hermit] must observe very straitly, and he will then free himself by its means from many sins and inmperfections, and will preserve his tranquillity and quietness of soul, and will make great progress in the sight of God, and in that of men [not that being seen by men is all that good except for being a good example and displaying Christ to all]."
Another counsel that I must take seriously is this: "Withdraw from creatures if you desire to preserve, clear and simnple in your soul, the image of God. Empty your spirit and withdraw far from them and you will walk in divine lights, for God is not like creatures."
And yet another in conclusion: "...but leave all those other things and attend to one thing alone, which brings all these with it, namely holy solitude, together with prayer and spiritual and divine reading, and persevere there in forgetfulness of all things. For if these things are not incumbent upon you, you will be more pleasing to God inknowing how to guard and perfect yourself than by gaining all other things together, for what does it profit a man if he gains thewhole world and suffers the loss of his soul?"
[Matt. 16:26.]
I am called to this, and the way has been cleared for it. In many instances, a person may desire this call to contemplative life, to a more clear-cut contemplative life, and yet be called to active duty, such as work in a Diocese or in a family. But my life has been cleared of these things, and sometimes harshly so, like God's axe felling huge trees in a woods, making a vast clearing.
So why have I continued to wander out into the world, even the world of goodness in good spiritual activities?
This morning I awoke and asked, "What am I doing?"
Now I am returning to the clearing of God's choosing. Maybe the soul will lose some of its sickness. The pond will melt and be smooth either in another freezing or in springtime.
Friday, March 2, 2007
Thoughts from Agnus Dei Hermitage
As I recline on the deep salmon-colored sofa in Agnus Dei Hermitage, I look out onto thick snow blowing from west to east across the pond, spikey trees muted in the background. Earlier, a colorful train lopped by. Now it is total solitude and silence.
In a couple of hours I will drive to St. Joseph's Hospital where our Serra Club will have Mass at the chapel and then a luncheon meeting. But for now, I am trying to gaze interiorly upon the patience of Christ. It is not unlike the way the snow is blowing across and down.
I have a picture, a detail from some famous painting, of Jesus' face. I found it several years ago in a magazine, and I have framed it because it seems to tell me most of Jesus' patience in suffering. He looks in the direction, across and down, like the snow falling, and a tear trickles down each cheek of His face. A crown of thorns pierces His head like a cap, and blood drips down from His head. the picture is cropped to just this image. His eyes are compassionate and quiet, filled with patience and silence.
My spiritual father yesterday spoke to me of Tanquerey and of the need to gaze upon some attribute of God, to learn the Prayer of Simplicity. He says I am in the simple unitive way and must develop this simple way of praying, which is a form of contemplation. Another descriptor is to adore Him. Somehow, though, my Irish Da's way of saying that one must gaze upon God helps me know how to arrive at adoration. Gazing and loving = adoration.
He also spoke of the need for forgiveness.
So this morning, in the Office of Readings, I found St. Aelred's writing on forgiveness and of contempating Christ's patience to be the assignment from the Holy Spirit for this very day.
I am gazing upon the patience of Christ, with much love for His patience, with desiring this very same patience, and in adoration of He Who Is Patient Love.
In a couple of hours I will drive to St. Joseph's Hospital where our Serra Club will have Mass at the chapel and then a luncheon meeting. But for now, I am trying to gaze interiorly upon the patience of Christ. It is not unlike the way the snow is blowing across and down.
I have a picture, a detail from some famous painting, of Jesus' face. I found it several years ago in a magazine, and I have framed it because it seems to tell me most of Jesus' patience in suffering. He looks in the direction, across and down, like the snow falling, and a tear trickles down each cheek of His face. A crown of thorns pierces His head like a cap, and blood drips down from His head. the picture is cropped to just this image. His eyes are compassionate and quiet, filled with patience and silence.
My spiritual father yesterday spoke to me of Tanquerey and of the need to gaze upon some attribute of God, to learn the Prayer of Simplicity. He says I am in the simple unitive way and must develop this simple way of praying, which is a form of contemplation. Another descriptor is to adore Him. Somehow, though, my Irish Da's way of saying that one must gaze upon God helps me know how to arrive at adoration. Gazing and loving = adoration.
He also spoke of the need for forgiveness.
So this morning, in the Office of Readings, I found St. Aelred's writing on forgiveness and of contempating Christ's patience to be the assignment from the Holy Spirit for this very day.
I am gazing upon the patience of Christ, with much love for His patience, with desiring this very same patience, and in adoration of He Who Is Patient Love.
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