What do you Like Best About Eremitical Life?

 [[Hi Sister Laurel, I wondered if you could explain what you like best about the eremitical life? Since you don't do a lot of active minis-try that would provide variety, I am assuming that is not a favorite part, so what is? Maybe this is not the best way to ask the question. I guess I am really wondering what part of your life is most enriching or what part you look forward to every day especially if every day is the same because of your schedule. I hope you can understand what I am asking here. Thank you.]]

Now that is a challenging question! It is not challenging because I don't know what I look forward to each day or really like, but because there is no one thing I like best. I guess saying that out loud gives me the key to answering your question then.  What I like best about eremitical life is the way I can relate to God and grow in, with, and through him in this vocation. This is also a way of saying I like the way this vocation allows me to serve the Church and world despite or even through the limitations I also experience. Each of the elements of my life helps in this and some days I like one thing more than another but still, that is because each one contributes to my encounter with God --- usually in the depths of my own heart --- in different ways, to different degrees, on different days.

So, on most days I love the silence and solitude and especially I love quiet prayer periods or more spontaneous times of contemplative prayer which intensify these and transform them into the silence of solitude --- where I simply rest in God's presence or, in the image I have used most recently, rest in God's gaze. It is here that I come to know myself as God knows me and thus am allowed to transcend the world's categories, questions, or judgments. Sometimes these periods are like the one prayer experience I have described here in the past. But whether or not this is true, these periods are ordinarily surprising, or at least never the same; they are transformative and re-creative even when it takes reflective time to realize that this has been happening.

Another thing that I do each day which is usually something I really love is Scripture, whether I do that as part of lectio or as a resource for study or writing. Engagement with Scripture is one of the "wildest rides" I can point to in my life. It is demanding, challenging, and often exhilarating. Sometimes it doesn't speak to me in any immediately dramatic way. But it works on my heart like water on something relatively impervious --- gradually, insistently, and inevitably. Other times, for instance when reading Jesus' parables or other's stories about Jesus, or even the theological reflection of John and Paul, I have the sense that I am being touched by a "living word" and brought into a different world or Kingdom in this way. It always draws me in more deeply and even when I have heard a story or passage thousands of times before something speaks to me on some level in a new way, leads to a new way of understanding reality, or shows me something I had never seen before.

A third piece of this life I love and look forward to is the writing I do. Some of this is specifically theological and there is no doubt that my grappling with Scripture is important for driving at least some of my writing. Whether the writing is the journaling I do for personal growth work, the blogging I do which, in its better moments is an exploration of canon 603 and its importance, a reflection on Scriptures I have been spending time with, or the pieces which can be labeled "spirituality," they tend to be articulations of what happens in prayer and in my own engagement with Christ. One topic I spend time on, of course, is reflection on the place of eremitical life under canon 603 in the life of the Church herself. Since I am especially interested in the possibility of treating chronic illness as a vocation to proclaim with one's life the Gospel of Jesus Christ with a special vividness, and since I have come to understand eremitical solitude as a communal or dialogical reality which is especially suited to the transfiguration of the isolation associated with chronic illness, etc, I write a lot about canon 603 and the solitary eremitical vocation.

A second area of theology I return to again and again is the theology of the Cross. I remember that when I first met with Archbishop (then Bishop) Allen Vigneron he asked me a conversation-starter kind of question about my favorite saint. I spoke about Saint Paul (wondering if perhaps I shouldn't have chosen someone who was not also an Apostle --- someone like St Benedict or St Romuald or St John of the Cross) and began to talk about his theology of the cross.  I explained that if I could spend the rest of my life trying to or coming to understand his theology of the cross I would be a happy camper. (I have always wondered what Archbishop Vigneron made of this unexpected answer!)

I saw incredible paradoxes and amazing beauty in the symmetries and strangely compelling asymmetries of the cross and I still discover dimensions I had not seen. Most recently one of these was the honor/shame dialectic and the paradox of the glory of God revealed in the deepest shame imaginable. I have written previously about God being found in the unexpected and even the unacceptable place. This paradox is a deepening of that insight. The Cross is the Event which reveals the source even as it functions as the criterion of all the theology we have that is truly capable of redeeming people's lives. It is the ultimate source of the recent theology I did on humility as being lifted up to be seen as God sees us beyond any notions of worthiness or unworthiness. My life as a hermit allows me to stay focused on the cross in innumerable ways, not only intellectually (reading and thinking about this theology), but personally, spiritually, and emotionally. That is an incredible gift which the Church --- via the person of Archbishop Vigneron and the Diocese of Oakland --- has given me in professing and consecrating me as a diocesan hermit.

There are other things I love about eremitical life (not least the limited but still significant (meaningful) presence and ministry in my parish it makes possible or my spiritual direction ministry); these are also related in one way and another to the person I am in light of living contemplatively within the Divine dialogue I know as the silence of solitude. One of the things which is especially important to me is the freedom I have to live my life as I discern God wills.

Whether I am sick or well, able to keep strictly to a schedule or not, I have the sense that I live this life by the grace of God and that God is present with me in all of the day's moments and moods. It doesn't matter so much if writing goes well or ill, if prayer seems profound or not, if the day is tedious or exciting, all of it is inspired, all of it is what I am called to and I am not alone in it. This means that it is meaningful and even that it glorifies God. I try to live it well, of course, and I both fail and succeed in that, but I suppose what I love best is that it is indeed what I am called to live in and through Christ. It is the way of life that allows me to most be myself in spite of the things that militate against that; moreover it is the thing which allows me to speak of my life in terms of a sense of mission.  The difficulty in pointing to any one thing I most like about eremitical life is that, even if in the short term they cause difficulty, struggle, tedium, etc., all of the things that constitute it make me profoundly happy and at peace. I think God is genuinely praised and glorified when this is true.

I hope this gives you something of an answer to your question. I have kind of worked my way through to an actual answer --- from the individual pieces of the life that are most life giving to me to the reasons this life as a whole is something I love. One thing I hope I have managed to convey is that even when the schedule is the same day to day, the content is never really the same because at the heart of it is a relationship with the living and inexhaustible God. Your question focuses on the absence of variety and in some ways, the absence of novelty (neos). But really there is always newness rooted in the deeper newness (kainotes) of God.

Imagine plunging into the ocean at different points within a large circle. The surface looks the same from point to point but the world one enters in each dive is vastly different and differently compelling from place to place. So, following the same daily horarium, I sit in the same chair (or use the same prayer bench) to pray; I work at the same desk day in and day out. I open the same book of Scriptures and often read the same stories again and again or pray the same psalms, and so forth. I rise at the same hour each day, pray at the same times, eat the same meals at the same hours, wear the same habit and prayer garment, make the same gestures and generally do the same things day after day. There is variation when I am ill or need to leave the hermitage, but in the main it is a life of routine and sometimes even tedium. But the eremitical life is really about what happens below the surface as one opens oneself to God. It is the reason the classic admonition of the Desert Fathers, "Dwell (remain) in your cell and your cell will teach you everything" can be true, the only reason "custody of the cell" is such a high value in eremitical life or stability of place such a similarly high value in monasticism.

Is a Horarium Necessary?

[[Dear Sister, is it possible to live an eremitical life without a horarium? My life is complicated because of chronic illness and it is hard for me to commit to an hourly schedule. Can't I just live my day as the Spirit moves me to do?]]

Hi there and thanks for the question. As someone who deals with chronic illness myself I have to say it is not possible to live an eremitical life without a horarium. I have written about this before here. See the following:  Formation, Flexibility, and Making Room for the Holy Spirit. I don't want to repeat what I said there. Here I want to speak to the issue of chronic illness and a horarium.

What seems crucial is first of all that you not think of your horarium so much as an hour by hour schedule as something that divides your days into major chunks, and maybe the same with your week. At least liturgically your week should have a certain shape as much as possible, but a horarium can allow a week to hold all the elements your life needs week by week if you cannot manage an hourly or daily horarium. I don't know what illness you are dealing with but I am presuming you are ordinarily well enough to "pray assiduously" (in the language of canon 603) and keep the other elements of the canon as defining characteristics of your own life.  If that is the case generally, then there should be some regular scheduling of these things which realistically reflects your usual state of being and the commitment to the life which you have made. You are called to live your own life in Christ, not someone else's!

The second thing which is crucial is that you step back into your horarium as soon as you are truly able. I know in my own life that there are times when illness means spending time in bed or otherwise resting and sometimes I may mistakenly not step back into things as soon as I am really able. It is sometimes hard to discern the distinction between what is premature (and may contribute to relapse or injury) and what is timely in returning to a normal routine; it is also sometimes hard to not let the pattern of rest be extended unnecessarily -- either because we don't feel great (though we are still better), we don't have a job outside the hermitage to go to or children to take care of, or because once upon a time more serious illness caused us to necessarily embrace longer periods of inactivity, etc. We may thus tend to readopt that older pattern even though we don't truly need to do that today. A horarium serves to remind us what the shape of our days are NOW when we are feeling more or less our best (or at least are not acutely ill). Even when we are acutely ill, the horarium reminds us of our weakness and calls us to allow God to simply be with us so that all time is sanctified. It is important to allow the horarium to function in this way as well! It is a tool which is meant to serve us; we need to allow it to do that.

Remember especially that your horarium is first of all a schedule which respects your own needs for rest, work, prayer, study, liturgy, and recreation as these exist today. No one creates this horarium for us, nor do we use a horarium suited to a different time in our lives or a different degree of health or illness. For most of us horaria are not carved in stone except to the extent they really serve us in living our vocation every day. They mark the things which are ordinarily essential in each of our days and weeks.

When illness intervenes everything changes of course. Our need for rest increases and at the same time this means our ways of praying change as well --- not that we cease praying. You, for instance, may not be able to work, study, or attend liturgy, but perhaps you can read a few minutes here and there, listen to Taize or other tapes or CD's you don't always have time for, do a bit of journaling, read a book you simply enjoy (which invites you to really be present in that way), sit up for a while and work on a jigsaw puzzle (which can allow you to do a lot of gentle "inner work" as you remember, daydream, appreciate, etc.), consider a line or two of a psalm every few minutes, and simply allow God to companion you in a conscious way during all of these.

As you begin to feel better you can either step back into the horarium as it is set out or you can step back into the activity which most calls to you at that point in time. If you continue to feel better then pick up the horarium wherever you are in your day. For instance, if you are usually up at 4:00am but have slept in until 8:00 am today because of illness, then ---  after you have washed, had breakfast, etc.--- begin your day wherever the horarium indicates --- or if you wish to begin with Lauds or are yearning for quiet prayer do that. If this works out and you continue to feel well, then move on to whatever the schedule calls for. If after or during this you instead find yourself exhausted or feeling truly sick again, rest until you are feeling better and then repeat this step as soon as you can. Whatever you do use the horarium as a way to measure how well you actually feel and more, how truly able you are to proceed normally at this point. Again, in this way too the horarium can function as a tool that serves in more ways than merely dictating what one "should" be doing.

Personally I think a horarium is critical if other things in our lives militate against order and regularity. When I am not feeling well I can always ask myself if I am feeling well enough to pray a psalm for instance or read a chapter of theology rather than a chapter of an Anne Perry (et al) book. I can always ask myself if I can do some piece of the day listed on the horarium at this point or if I simply cannot. At all times the horarium reminds me of those things which ordinarily allow me to be the person God calls me to be. In other words the horarium reminds me of the pieces of my life with God illness has demanded I set aside or modify just as it assists me to move back into my normal routine and let go of illness and the rhythms it sets up (or modifies and destroys) in my life. It is always more a companion and resource for discernment than it is a rigid or uncaring taskmaster. We need its challenge and support though because without it, we really might not accomplish as much as we can in spite of illness's deleterious effects in our lives.

I hope I have been clear that just as a horarium is not a rigid taskmaster --- especially for someone with chronic illness, neither is it something that can simply be cast aside entirely except for brief periods (like periods where  one is acutely ill, goes on a home visit, or takes a desert day apart for instance). I don't believe in living each day as the Spirit moves me if that also entails no schedule whatsoever.  A friend and I were talking about this yesterday and she noted that that was the surest way to get nothing done. The Spirit will certainly move us, but the horarium is actually one of the ways this will happen, especially over a period of a day or week or month. Assuming one's horarium is carefully discerned and the fruit of obedient living over a period of time, the prompting of one's horarium is as much the voice of the Holy Spirit as any other instance of this reality. Eremitical life is a supremely free one, but as I have written again and again, it is not a libertine or individualistic way.

Neither should we tempt the Lord by adopting an attitude that "He will tell me what I should be doing from moment to moment so I don't need a horarium"  God instructs our hearts to attend to what makes us whole. A horarium is the way we build those things into each day or week; it indicates the shape of our lives as well as the general way we have heard the voice of God as it has spoken to us over a long period of time and formation. It indicates the concrete temporal shape of that voice and of our overall response to it as this is generally embodied in our lives today -- including in our weakness and incapacity. Like other things I have written about recently it is there to serve love, both God's love for us and ours for God; it is a servant of Life rather than a rigid or uncompassionate master. While we cannot cast our horarium aside altogether in times of illness or retreat, for instance, (we need its guidance, encouragement, and challenge), we should always bear in mind the Sabbath (i.e., law, Rule, horarium) is made for the person, not the other way around.

What does it Mean to Live in the Present Moment?

[[Dear Sister, could you please write about what it means to be attentive to or "live in" the present moment? I have heard about this a lot but it is hard for me to understand. For example I need to plan for the future; does that mean I am not attentive to the present moment? Some-times I love to think about my past and the ways God has blessed me. Does this mean that I am not focused on the present moment? How could this be true? I keep thinking there must be some trick to this [idea of dwelling in or being attentive to the present moment] because the moment I feel like I am focused on the present moment that moment is gone! It reminds me of those optical illusions: when you look straight at them they slip away or turn into something else.]]

The Eternal God and Absolute Futurity

I like your sense of humor in all of this and yes, I think you are right that there is a kind of "trick" to it. Your observation on optical illusions is also very apt I think. From a theological point of view we are drawn into the future by God; God IS (the) absolute future so when we speak of being attentive to the present moment  (i.e., to the constant inbreaking of futurity) we are really speaking about living in God and allowing ourselves to be gifted by him at each moment of our lives.  Here is where I think your comment on optical illusions is especially appropriate because if we try to focus on achieving this by our own efforts, or look at time "straight on" as though it was an object somehow under our control, or if we think of the present moment as something other than the constantly renewed inbreaking of futurity we will miss our goal of attentiveness to the present moment entirely. Again, our experience of future is our share in God's own life and that is where our focus must be, not on time as separate from that. Our openness to futurity (and thus to the present moment) is a conscious share in eternal life and occurs as God draws us into it and into Godself. We can only be open to it and receive it as gift. As with the optical illusions you referred to, in part that means relaxing some and simply letting things come to us as they will.

Not too long ago I wrote about our hunger or yearning for newness and I pointed out the difference between the Greek words for newness. You may remember I spoke of kainotes or kaine as a qualitative newness which is tied to God's eternity. It differs from neos which is simply a newness in time or mere novelty (e.g., yesterday I did not own this book or this new pair of shoes, today I do). I noted that God is always new in the sense of kainotes because he is eternal and that God is eternal because he is "Living" or eternally new and makes all things new as well. cf Notes From Stillsong Hermitage: Always Beginners and/or Notes From Stillsong Hermitage: On Divine Paradox Theology's sense of God as absolute future is directly related to all of this and too to our experience of the gift of abundant or eschatological life.

This is one reason some theologians refer to God and the Kingdom of God as "The Eternal Now" (cf some of the sermons of Paul Tillich in a book of the same name). This is part of the reason I speak of heaven as a share in God's own life or sovereignty. Notes From Stillsong Hermitage: On the Feast of the Ascension Time (and the passage of time) is a dimension of our still-limited share in God's life, in the absolute future. It, especially as the inbreaking of futurity, must be continually renewed, continually received as gift until that day when God is all in all. Meanwhile our yearning for qualitative newness (kaine!) is also our yearning for the absolute future we identify as eternity; it is a yearning for the "day" (the eternal now) when our own share in the absolute future which is God's own life is fully realized.

Living in the present moment as Celebration!

All that said let me try to deal with your specific questions.  When you focus in a prayerful (i.e., an attentive and grateful) way on how God has blessed you in the past, you open yourself to God here and now and thus to future blessings and the blessings of futurity. Sometimes events of the past can constrain us and prevent openness to the future. For instance, this can happen when such events traumatize us or when we are unable to accomplish the healing of forgiveness. The past can also be merely constraining as when our relationship with it is one of mere sentimentality or when we enshrine it in forms of dead traditionalism and language. (This latter can be a serious instance of resistance to and even sin against the Holy Spirit!) But none of these are what you are describing here.

What you have described instead is a form of celebration and it seems to me that genuine celebration is always a way of living in the present moment which frees us from any enslaving constraints of the past and thus opens us to the future (or perhaps better said, marks us as open to the future, as truly drawn by and into the future). When we think of the Eucharist, for instance, it is significant that the very making present of the risen Christ in the consecration  is accompanied by Jesus' command that, "Whenever you do this remember me" (or, "do this in remembrance of me"). The rite of penance and the reading of our ancient Scriptural stories, for instance, also work in this way; they provide us a means of remembering which opens us to futurity and newness. Celebration is precisely that attitude and act of remembering which makes the past a present reality in a way which leaves us free and thus draws us into the future. This is very different from the ways the past may bind and enslave us and leave us unable to embrace the future.

You also speak of planning for the future and wonder if that means you are not being attentive to the present moment.  I think that so long as your planning does not mean being completely controlling of what will or can happen or does not refer to a lack of openness to the surprising ways life and meaning come to us you are okay. The paradox though (there is ALWAYS paradox!) is that if we do not do some planning for the future it cannot break in on us in the way it is meant to. Instead it will simply pass us by relatively untouched. We will be older, more bored by and perhaps more quietly despairing of the mere passage of time, but the future will not have broken in on us in the powerful way we know and mark with Pentecost for instance. (cf Notes From Stillsong Hermitage: Always Beginners) Remember that the inbreaking of futurity is not simply the arrival of empty time, but the arrival of a reality filled with meaning and hope that creates genuine future; it is the arrival of the presence of God to, for, and with us. Planning ordinarily indicates our own awareness of the limitations of time, an awareness of our own limitations in truly engaging with it, and our openness to the inbreaking of absolute future. Besides the relaxation spoken of above such openness requires work (cooperation) on our own part. It also requires structure or "routine".

This is one of the reasons hermits have Rules and horaria. Our days are structured in ways which allow opportunities for the inbreaking of God's powerful presence and for celebration of this presence. There is plenty of time and actual provision for prayer, personal work (journaling, the work connected with spiritual direction, etc), and recreation (not the same as mere entertainment!). Also built into the hermit's days are different kinds of prayer, different types and degrees of silence and solitude, and different kinds of penance (practices which generally are meant to help extend and support the celebration of the present moment we call  prayer; for some the very imposition of structure or routine is a piece of eremitical penance!).

I personally disagree with hermits who have no essential structure or shape to their days and say, for instance, that they depend entirely on responding to the Holy Spirit at each moment as the Spirit determines. I suspect they are fooling themselves --- at least a lot of the time; I am afraid that more often than not, time is merely sliding by in relative unfruitfulness and unresponsiveness. (Occasional desert days where we leave the usual schedule behind are important as PART of the overall structure of the life; so is sufficient time for true monastic leisure. By the way, I am also generally skeptical of the approach of spiritual direction clients, for instance, who make no room for formal prayer periods in their days and say, "Oh I pray all the time during the day and that's what works for me.") While we cannot force the Holy Spirit with the structure we build into our days, we can assist ourselves in achieving necessary attentiveness and focus in this way; we can create opportunities for the Spirit to touch, heal, convert, and thus draw us into the future. At the opposite end of the spectrum are those hermits whose horaria are so rigid and inflexible that the Spirit is given little space to work real newness or bring them beyond where they already are.

I haven't spoken about the more mundane elements involved in living in the present moment except by way of allusion (healing of memories, the place of spiritual direction and therapy, the role of journaling, the place of detachment which helps break the bonds of enmeshment, etc.); instead in this post I have mainly spoken of the theological underpinnings of the idea of living in the present moment and intended it as a beginning.  Because of this I think it is likely this response will raise more questions for you. If so, or if I need to clarify something, please get back to me. In the meantime, the following post may also be of some help: Notes From Stillsong: A Missed Opportunity, A Moment of Judgment

On Family Visits and Visits with Friends

[[Dear Sister,
      When you visit your family or stay with friends do you keep the same horarium you do in the hermitage? Do you only talk about spiritual things? I am trying to live as a hermit but I am finding it very difficult to keep my mind on God when I go out with friends or visit my family. I think maybe I should cut off relationships as part of separating myself from the world or when I am with friends I should either be silent or only talk about spiritual things. What do you think? What would you do?. . .(Some questions held for later)]]

Thanks for your questions. (I have held the questions about the frequency of home visits or visits with friends until later.) That said, I am not sure where to begin really. Probably many of the things I have written about in the past years are indirect answers to your questions so I would urge you to look through the list of labels and see what strikes you as related. Meanwhile, the first answer that comes to mind is, "You must be yourself." Wherever you are and with whomever, you MUST be yourself, not someone playing hermit, but whoever you are with whatever spirituality is central to your life without affectation or pretense. You must be genuinely loving, truly available,  and attuned to the needs, desires, and boundaries of those you are with. Let me try to explain what I mean.


When I visit with my family I am a hermit visiting with her family. I am there so we have (an unfortunately rare) time with each other and really quality time as much as that is possible. My family (and most friends for that matter) do not know what being a hermit means in day to day terms and of course, if there are questions, curiosity, concerns, we will talk about these. But I am there as Laurel, not as Sister Laurel (though my sister, who is not Catholic, affectionately calls me "Sis") and though we will talk about work and daily life (my sister's AND my own for instance) I do not impose my own religious practices on the visit. However, that does not mean the visit is not profoundly spiritual in significant ways. It does not mean I cease (as best I can) to pray the visit or that the time we spend together is not holy time. It is all of these things no matter what we do together. Meals are special (for instance, my sister --- who, unlike myself, is a good cook --- tends to cook the things she remembers me loving growing up as well as things she loves herself and loves to make). We talk about the past and the present because of these things and the sharing can be wide-ranging.

I think of Eucharist a lot when I visit my Sister and the words eucharistein (thanks-giving, gratitude) and anamnesis (recalling to living presence) predominate for me. Do we talk about God? Not by name usually, but we talk about life and love and wholeness and brokenness and hope and disappointment and a host of other things which are part of life in and in search of God. The wisdom of Benedictinism is, in part, that it focuses us on seeking God, and doing so in ordinary life. One does not have to use the word God to be dealing with spirituality and the Divine. In fact, it is often more revealing of the authenticity of one's spirituality if one does not need to.

Regarding my horarium, I generally count the strict obligation to that suspended, but of course I tend to wake at the same time I usually do (even when I have gone to bed late!) and will often pray in the early morning hours, journal, etc. At the same time, if I sleep in, that is fine too. Again, I am there visiting my family and for that reason I do what serves my well-being and that of my family. When I visit with friends all of this holds true there too. With some we talk about theology and God more explicitly. With some we regularly say grace or attend Mass together or pray evening prayer, for instance. With others we do not do any of these things. If I have a need for some time alone whether for rest or some prayer I take that (and so do they!). The same is true when I visit my sister, for instance.

Bearing in mind what I said about Benedict-inism and also calling to mind the sacra-mentality of all of creation, I should note that my family and friends are not "the world" and I do not cut myself off from them because of a requirement of "stricter separation from the world." I limit contacts with others because I am called to the silence of solitude. Dimensions of their lives and hearts are worldly just as dimensions of my own are also more or less "worldly," but more generally they reveal God to me --- if only I have eyes to see!

Here is where drawing a black and white line between hermitage and "world" can also be particularly damaging. What would be worldly in the situations you have asked about however are selfishness or rigidity or inaccessibility or affectation for instance. Insisting we only talk about God or "spiritual things" would, paradoxically, be "worldly" and destructive (or at least disedifying) as would any inability to discern God's presence in the genuinely human relationships and interactions we are called to as family. Remaining silent and letting others talk as a general principle simply because "one is a hermit" seems to me to be particularly pretentious and self-centered --- particularly "worldly" and to be eschewed. Assuming these people are genuinely friends who care about us as much as we do about them, refusing to go out to dinner when it is something our friends love to do (and something we would truly enjoy as well), not allowing them to show us the world they love and delight in (and failing to take appropriate delight in it too), spending hours apart in prayer (unless this was time everyone desired) and generally refusing to really enter into and contribute to a special time together --- all because one is "a hermit" --- could be particularly unloving and ungracious.

At the same time I am not suggesting one be dishonest about one's faith --- merely that one be low key about it unless others are clearly comfortable relating in the same terms and "language". In other words, be yourself and use the "language" folks are comfortable speaking. If they want this kind of "language lesson" no problem. But don't insist on speaking "Religious" in such a situation if the language the others are comfortable with is "Secular."  God talk "translates" very well into meaning and beauty and struggle and love and life, etc; if we are not comfortable with this, we may find we are not truly comfortable with the self-emptying, incarnate God of Jesus Christ. I think this notion that the real God can be spoken of in many different ways which are still truly Christocentric is the idea behind Paul speaking of being all things to all persons. It is certainly part of the reason St Francis said to "proclaim the Gospel; use words if necessary".

For me the bottom line is that we be ourselves and the things which really make a hermit who she is as a person are always with her motivating, enlivening, and empowering her. I would encourage you to let, or better, trust that those things which make us who we are do that even if it is in a different language or a different key than you usually "sing" yourself in. Your family and friends should not be seeing, much less have to be relating to someone playing a role but instead to the PERSON you are. One hopes that is a loving, patient, warm person with a good sense of humor and some of the deep wisdom that comes from faith and a contemplative life, but whoever it is with whatever gifts or foibles, that is who you are being called to be WITH and FOR them.

I hope this is helpful.

Life in Sonata Form, On Hermits, Horaria, and the Freedom of Limits

During the podcast I did for A Nun's Life recently, Sister Maxine noted that the way my day was divided, especially knowing I was a violinist, sounded a bit like movements in music. I agreed it did seem a bit like a sonata form, and I have had some time to think about this aspect of my horarium. Probably some of the impulse to do that was provided by a question Sister Julie asked about the structure of my day, my schedule or horarium, and what it provided besides the discipline per se. As I recall (for I have not yet had the courage to listen to the podcast!) my answer had something to do with not functioning well without the structure. But, of course, this is only a piece of the answer --- the tiny (and negative) tip of the real and far more positive truth. It was Sister Maxine's comment about movements that has helped me come to a bit greater clarity more generally on what my horarium as horarium provides --- and what such limits more generally really make possible.

Sonata Form and Creative Freedom

Generally (and very simplistically) sonata form is a classical form of music in three movements. The first movement (exposition) is dedicated to the basic themes of the rest of the piece. There is variation, exposition in various related keys, etc, but this is the movement where the basic musical thematic and harmonic material is presented. The second movement is also known as the development. Here the composer develops or explores the music laid out in the exposition. The material remains tied to the exposition but the exploration can be far ranging both thematically and harmonically and one may not be able to easily hear the relation of this material to that of the exposition. Sometimes it is a rhythmic motif that carries through in a recognizable way (think of the first four notes of Beethoven's fifth symphony. The "dot dot dot dash" rhythm is one basis of the development.) The third movement is one of recapitulation and it is here that the thematic and harmonic explorations, the tensions and conflicts which developed during the development movement, etc, are resolved.

There are all kind of limits and requirements intrinsic to the form but what remains true is that this form allows for tremendous freedom in exploring the thematic and harmonic possibilities of what may, by themselves, be very simple themes or motifs. At the same time it is not a question of "anything goes". There is coherence and consistency, not only because of the external structure per se, but because this structure allows for the space and time in which the original themes may be explored and developed musically while constraining the composer to do so in a way which maintains thematic and harmonic integrity as well as in a way which allows listeners to hear and appreciate that this is precisely what she is doing. We do not all have the skills, imagination, or vocation to compose and explore thematic material (music) in this way, but we can share in the experience because of the way a composer exercises these things. The constraints of sonata-allegro form, for instance, serve the freedom of the musician. They define limits in ways which challenge the imagination, require substantial musical knowledge and skill, and generally guide the composer to explore the limits of her own capabilities.

Horarium and Human Freedom

So too does the horarium of the hermit allow the hermit to explore the limits of her own capabilities. And this is the key to understanding the positive and more substantial truth of the reason I need a horarium. It is entirely true that I don't function well, and that my life goes off the rails pretty quickly without one. But what is also the case is that without the space and time its constraints provide, I fail to live my life. While I may do many things during the hours of days I am not following a horarium, I may well not actually be living the life I am called and covenanted to live. Doing things (even pious things!) and filling space with these is not necessarily the same as living one's life.

As I have noted before, a schedule is one piece of the constraints which create the "laboratory" -- or perhaps, better, the studio -- in which my life is composed, and especially, where God is given the space and time to work with and within me in special ways with my conscious cooperation. As we all know, it is possible to fill our lives with all kinds of activities. Much of the time they may well be significant activities which serve others, but even then, they may not be part of the life we are called or covenanted to live.

In a related way, then, the schedule reminds me of and calls me back to the priorities which mark my life. In a negative sense it reminds me, for instance, that I am not an apostolic religious, but also that I am not free to do whatever I want whenever I want. More positively it reminds me that if my life is to be the magnificat God wills it to be, the essential themes, rhythms, and harmonies that are fundamental to it must form a regular part of things. More specifically, my "sonata-form schedule" works because it allows a dedicated period from 4:00am to 12:00 noon or 1:00 pm for the very basic elements of a prayerful life. This is the foundational part of everything else that happens during a day. In the afternoons I "develop," or perhaps better, allow God to develop these fundamental elements during the activities of everyday life, work with clients, errands, study, occasional time with friends, etc, and in the evenings, there is a conscious return to the fundamental themes again with journaling, quiet prayer, a brief lectio, and Compline.

When "life" intervenes: a parishioner who needs to talk, illness, a doctor's appointment, an errand which requires depending on another for transportation when it is convenient for them, and so forth, the horarium allows me to interrupt or postpone the present "movement" and do what is genuinely needed. However, it also allows me to step back into the day at another point and move forward from there. More, it reminds me I must do this if I am not to altogether lose myself and the composition God seeks me to become. The horarium anchors all I do; it embodies values and activities which are the source of life for me, and continually summons me back to myself and to these sources. At the same time it allows flexibility precisely because it serves authenticity, charity, and those other values which are part of life in fullness. Once again, the horarium serves and promotes authentic freedom --- and that is all about helping empower me to be the person I am called to be.

Question on Horarium and the Divine Office

[[Dear Sister, I see from your horarium that you do not pray the minor or little hours of the Office. Why is that? Aren't you obligated to say the whole Office?]]

Good questions. I pray (usually singing) four of the Hours of the Divine Office, Lauds, Vespers and Compline and Vigils. (Vigils may be done in the middle of the night or a little before Lauds.) Between those periods I either work, study, or pray in other ways (including Mass or Communion services, lectio divina, and contemplative prayer). I will also run errands, take meals, or rest during some of those times. For me personally, I find that pausing to do the little hours fragments the day rather than helping me to pray better or make a prayer of my life. I tend to work better (especially if I am writing (including journaling) or studying) if I have a couple to several hours of dedicated time. Except for the work I do on computer this all occurs in cell so it is done in the presence of the Eucharist. That presence becomes a touchstone at those times especially. For that reason too I don't feel the need to pause to do the little hours, and my horarium is divided into blocks of time which are punctuated by the four main hours of the the Office.

As to what I am obligated to, the short answer is no, I am not obligated to say the whole Office. My Rule of Life includes the four hours I mentioned above. However, if I am away from the hermitage for some time (errands, trips to the City, etc) I will sometimes pray the minor hours while on the train. (Sometimes I will simply use a small bracelet of prayer beads I wear and pray the Jesus prayer as I look briefly at each person on the train with me and pray for them.) At those times the little hours do indeed help me to maintain a sense of quiet and continuity with the hermitage cell, but again, I do it because it functions for me in this way, not because I am obligated to do so.

Hope this is helpful.

Eremitical Horarium : Followup Questions

[[Hi, Sister Laurel! I read your post on your daily schedule from about a month ago. One thing struck me as very funny, probably because I am not a hermit and not called to solitude. You said you were taking one week per month of strict solitude or reclusion, but isn't that what you are already about? Isn't there enough solitude in your life already, or aren't you already living a pretty strict solitude? It seems like it to me! I don't get it I guess.]] (Questions are culled from email and put together en bloc. Pardon my redaction!)


Good questions. First, yes eremitical life is already about solitude and a hermit is committed to living a life of prayer and penance in silence and "stricter separation" from the world. As I noted in my earlier post, yes I do that already. However, my life in the hermitage is punctuated by several different activities which move away from strict PHYSICAL solitude. The first is some spiritual direction. The second is orchestra and quartets (each occurs once a week and is written into my Rule). Further, I attend daily Mass most mornings, act as sacristan on many of those mornings, and am occasionally responsible for other things in the parish. Now all of these things are important in various ways for feeding me and supporting my life, and they flow FROM my solitude, but they also tend to draw me away from strict anachoresis (withdrawal). What I must be sure of is that they continue to flow FROM solitude and lead back to it.

I referred to physical solitude so let me first be clear that solitude can be either physical (involving actual physical withdrawal and time alone with God) or inner solitude, a matter of the heart. Ideally they go together and should physical solitude be compromised to any extent solitude of the heart should remain. (This explains why a hermit can be involved in a parish to a limited degree without negatively affecting their own inner solitude or being a breech of the eremitical life.) For the hermit who is not usually a recluse it is often solitude of the heart which predominates. Evenso, it cannot exist without significant degrees of physical solitude (usually much greater degrees than are needed by the non-hermit, and more than that required by the semi-eremite, I think).


A second element which is related to solitude per se is prayer, in particular liturgical and contem-plative prayer. Every hermit builds significant periods of both liturgical and contemplative prayer into their days, and must be faithful to these practices if they are to remain healthy. I have done that and will continue to do so; evenso, contemplative prayer per se is not quite the same as a contemplative life. Even what is sometimes called "contemplative living" which focuses on attention to the present moment and a life lived in this way is not necessarily the same thing as a contemplative life (or the life of a contemplative!). What I came away from retreat convinced of was not only my need for regular extended periods of strict solitude, but that I am essentially called to a contemplative life, not just contemplative prayer and not even simply to what is popularly called contemplative living. (I am not sure how to make clear the distinction between these two things, but there is no doubt in my mind they do differ.) At bottom it is a way of putting God first (not the only way, but A way), of loving him and letting him love me.

So, don't I already live a fairly strict solitude? Yes, in the sense that I live a far greater level or degree of physical solitude than most people this is true, however like all hermits, my own call to solitude falls along a continuum. In order to be faithful to the activities I am called upon to undertake whether in the parish, or in my own writing, direction, etc, I also need periods of MORE concentrated time alone with God. For this reason, at present, one week a month is a more strictly reclusive time for me. It will allow more contemplative prayer and I will allow some chores and activities to wait until later for the time being (I may ask parishioners to take care of one or two I can't put off); finally, except for once or twice, I will celebrate Communion in the hermitage rather than attending the daily parish Mass.


In doing this, I am seeking to respond to a deeply felt need and call I experienced at retreat especially, and have sensed other times as well. God has called me to love him and to let myself be loved by him in this way generally, and so more concentrated time alone with him is a natural thing --- not a corrective for something I am not already doing. I think it is important to understand this. For the present this means one week a month. It could well require two, so time will tell. One of the things a hermit has to be open to is being called to greater and greater degrees of reclusion. At the same time she may be called to various activities on behalf of others as contemplative prayer spills over and outward. Besides attending to the call I have heard my secondary goals are severalfold: 1) make sure that inner solitude of the heart is adequately supported by physical solitude, 2) strengthen the solitary context for the things I do in the parish; in the end I think that these activities will benefit from this time, not that I will end up cutting them out. They will, as they should do, clearly flow from my solitude, and this solitude should help me serve better. 3) translate into the life of a solitary contemplative, not simply a solitary life where there is contemplative prayer or even one as noted above of what is commonly referred to as "contemplative living"

I hope this helps answer your question. As always, if it does not, or if something more needs clarification, please get back to me.

Horarium Question

[[Hi Sister Laurel! Recently you put up the horarium (schedule) of your days on retreat, but I was wondering what your horarium for your days is usually like. It is not included in the copy of the Rule of Life you put up last year. Would you mind sharing that? Also, if someone wants to create a schedule for themselves, what should they pay attention to? Thank you!]]

I think if someone is trying to work out a schedule for themselves they have to strive to embody balance and order. As you will see, my own schedule (horarium) is oriented around liturgical prayer, lectio divina, study/writing, and quiet prayer (which actually accompanies all the other activities either before or after them). Those are the main elements, the things without which I don't function well and/or to which I am publicly committed to be faithful; this includes related practices or activities which fit around and support them.They are meant to alternate work, prayer, study, lectio, and I try to do this even when I cannot keep to a clock schedule. I also was given some great advice by the hermit monk who first read my Rule for suggestions. He said, "I hope you are careful to build in enough time for rest and recreation." Because of that, I take those things more seriously than I have at other times in my life, and everything is better because of it. I would certainly suggest people seeking to establish their own horaria do something similar.

In any case, here is the general weekday horarium for Stillsong Hermitage.

4:00 rising
4:15 Vigils.
4:30-5:30 quiet (contemplative) prayer
5:30 Lauds
6:00- 8:00 writing
7:00 breakfast (may skip on Fridays. may have after Mass)
8:30 Mass

9:15 Small chores around hermitage (during school year I first have coffee once a week on Fridays with parishioners at a small cafe run by school parents to benefit the parish "garden of learning"; during the Summer we go to coffee elsewhere.)

9:30 or 10:00 Lectio Divina: (Scripture)

12:30 Lunch (Dinner)
1:00 Rest, walk or nap
3:30 or 4:00 Writing, etc (work, theological study, occasional client). Afternoons are variable and may be taken up with whatever needs doing. This includes the period from 1:00 to 5:00pm.

5:00pm quiet prayer/meditation
6:00 Vespers (sung)
6:30 Supper and small chores
7:00 work (house chores, study, occasional clients --- depends on day. Wednesdays, orchestral rehearsal)

7:30- 8:30 Journaling (most days except Wednesdays and evenings with clients)
8:30 compline (sung)
9:00 pm bed --- earlier if no nap in afternoon (later on Wednesdays: @11:00pm)

Saturdays: as on weekdays until breakfast. Then, large chores, shopping, errands away from hermitage, etc.
5:00pm vigil Mass
6:30 supper
7:30 journaling, quiet prayer
9:00 compline
9:15 bed

Sundays: as on weekdays until breakfast. (May begin an hour later)
9:30am Mass at parish (time with friends afterward)
12:00 or 12:30 pm Lunch
2:00pm, quartets or quintets
4:15 quiet prayer (45 min-1 hr)
5:15 Vespers
6:00 supper and chores
8:00 journaling or lectio divina
9:30 Compline and bed


I tend to pick up email, check blog, etc several times a day, whenever there are a few extra minutes. On days when there are major errands to run I get less studying done, and a shorter time of lectio, but otherwise things go pretty much according to this schedule. During the Fall, Winter and early Spring, Wednesday evenings are set aside for orchestra rehearsals. Saturdays are the day for large errands, evening (vigil) Mass, etc. Sundays I often have quartets in the afternoon, and the whole day is a bit more relaxed; this is also the day I take Communion to neighbors unless they are seriously ill, in which case I will do that at any time, day or night. I may have lunch or dinner with friends (e.g., quartet members and their families), or just catch up on reading, etc, I have not had time for during the week.

Because I am active in my parish, and certainly more active than I was even a year ago (though this remains a limited thing), I do have to accommodate that in some way. Until recently I was simply trying to maintain regularity and balance in my daily horarium, but after this year's retreat it became clear that that is insufficient for me personally. Thus, besides the general daily horarium, each month I take a full week of strict anachoresis besides the more usual silence and solitude. My participation in any active ministry is the spillover of a contemplative life, not just one that includes contemplative prayer, so I am careful to be sure this remains true. What is generally the case is that every hermit determines how best to balance the solitary and the evangelical aspects of her vocation. Most do develop a rhythm like this, just as lay people and active religious may take a desert day every week or month. Sometimes a hermit may be accessible for several months and then retreat more completely for several. In any case, I do suggest that people trying to develop their own horaria experiment with desert days added either weekly or monthly. Hermits should experiment with extended periods of solitude to balance any periods where they are called on to minister in more active ways.

Hope this helps.

(The second picture is one of the clocks I have here in the hermitage. The other is a "zen clock" which allows me to set a timer for prayer or have the "alarm" (a single E flat bell) sound once an hour. (Yes, I respond to and order my life in some ways around bells, just as monastics have done for centuries!) I liked the contrast between the picture of the sundial and this particularly contemporary clock. Eremitical life has persisted in Christianity for almost two millennia. We live the tradition in a contemporary world.)