Sisters of the Holy Family Jubilee Mass, August 1, 2026

 

One of the things I did with my morning and early afternoon. Congratulations to all of the Jubilarians, but especially to Sisters Ann Marie Gelles and  M Aurora Perez. Seven Sisters celebrated Jubilees today for a total of 420 years of daily committed service as Sisters of the Holy Family. Sister Carole Pesce 75 years, Sister Marie Stafford 75 years, Sister M Aurora Perez 60 years, Sister Mary Lange 60 years, Sister M Sandra Ann Silva 60 years, Sister Ann Marie Gelles 50 years, and Sister Kathy Littrell 40 years. I cannot adequately say how inspiring such commitments are to me!

I am interested in learning later this month what the name of Annie's new Guide Dog will be. Thanks too to Father Gerald Coleman for a really excellent homily. I know he has been a friend to the Sisters of the Holy Family for some time; his homily showed a profound sense of who they are and it was great to hear him speaking a bit about Leo XIV's Encyclical, Magnifica Humanitas. Father is a Catholic moral theologian and the author of The Many Faces of Transgender as well as a more general work, Human Sexuality. 

Sister Annamarie and Bishop Barber

A special note: The Sister welcoming everyone and making the opening and closing remarks is Sister Annamarie Therese Colapietro, SNJM. One detail that touched me deeply was the fact that she is wearing an SHF cross on this occasion. You see, Sister Annamarie is the Canonical Trustee (commissary) or Congregational President for the Sisters of the Holy Family at this point in the congregation's life. 

Sadly, as most readers here know, as vocations to religious life dwindle in the Church and the median age of congregational members rises, this is becoming a more common canonical arrangement for groups reaching "completion." Though the women of the congregations involved make the decisions for the future of their own congregational resources and charism, they rely on younger members of the collaborating congregation to fill canonical roles. My understanding is that Sister Annamarie Therese has been a great gift to the Sisters of the Holy Family. It was a joy to see her wearing their cross/logo today.

Followup questions on the Danger of Eremitical Life Without a Divine Call

[[ Dear Sister, why would the desert or a desert spirituality be considered dangerous? Why would it be dangerous for someone without a Divine call to be a hermit to try to live as one? I've heard a few times that the hermit life is dangerous, but hermits today don't live in real deserts, do they? So what's the danger?]]

I put up an older post before approaching this series of questions. Hopefully, any overlap will take the form of expansion. The basic truth at work in understanding various calls or vocational pathways is that each of us shares a single foundational vocation to authentic humanity. Authentic humanity is the task our lives are meant to accomplish, the single most important goal of our lives. Each of us must therefore discover the various pathways to authentic humanity that our own lives must follow. Some will tend towards marriage, some toward single life, some towards consecrated life, and some towards priesthood. Within these are various pathways that serve our fundamental vocations. Within both lay, clerical, and consecrated life, one important but rare pathway is eremitical life. What is critical regarding ANY pathway is that it helps lead us to authentic humanity.

The Great Commandment points us to the nature of authentic humanity and in the direction of both God and mankind. We are to learn to love as God loves, and we are to love both God, ourselves, and others as we love ourselves. Authentic humanity is all about loving both God and others more and more fully. Every genuine pathway must lead us to this, whether it focuses on union with God or communion with others. All persons depend on relationships with others to learn to love more authentically and fully. Such relationships are necessary for our humanity. So too is one's relationship with God. Every vocation must lead to our fulfilling of the Great Commandment. With eremitical life, we are looking at one of the rarest ways of achieving authentic humanity because our life with and for others is itself at once far more limited and essentially hidden from others. It is also more clearly dependent on one's developing life with God.

Unfortunately, the potential for self-delusion is very high with eremitical life, and the Church's corresponding responsibility is very high indeed with regard to discerning and supervising these vocations. Much passes for eremitism today; sometimes called "cocooning," much masks isolation, selfishness, misanthropy, covert narcissism, individualism, and other forms of "me first" (or "me only"!!) life. Regular spiritual direction is absolutely necessary throughout the life, and everyone must take care that the hermit is truly growing in her kenotic capacity for love of God and all that is precious to God. They must be aware of the hermit's growth in prayer and in the courage and generosity required to give herself completely to Union with God for the sake of the Church and witness to the Church's Gospel. They will watch for selfishness, fear, the hermit's relative inability to trust and love herself or others, as well as assessing her potential and capacity for fullness of life, and they will guide her appropriately on her path through darkness to light and authentic humanity.

It is in all of this that we begin to see the danger of eremitical life, especially when it is undertaken without ecclesial supervision or adequate spiritual direction. If one undertakes an essentially selfish or self-centered life while validating it with the name "eremitical", one has embraced the very world eremitical life requires one to renounce. More importantly, one claims to be witnessing to God and to the Gospel of Jesus Christ when one has really become antithetical to the God of Life. In such an instance, one's life is a lie, a sham, a fraud, and it doesn't matter how often one invokes the name of the Lord in one's "witness". This doesn't validate what one is living; instead, it may well condemn it. One misses or actually rejects the Divine gift of one's vocation to authentic humanity and the pathway(s) leading one there. This is the most obvious danger of claiming a vocation to eremitical life when one doesn't have one.

False hermits, of whatever stripe, also endanger the vocation itself. It has always been difficult for the majority of folks to understand how Christianity could see the eremitical life as valid because one's call to love others is largely a hidden dimension of the life. One other way we hermits might contribute to the falsification of our vocations without meaning to is by focusing our attention solely on the external constituent elements of that vocation without serious concern for the deeper journey these are meant to serve. For instance, some look at the degree of silence or solitude the person is living, the degree of poverty, prayer, limited ministry (which is ordinarily allowed so long as it is truly limited), etc., and try to discern whether or not the person is a hermit. The problem in measuring a vocation in these terms is that many people live alone without being hermits and many do the same without loving themselves, God, or others as every person is called to do. Many people embrace silence, reject actively ministerial lives, refuse to marry or live in community merely due to intense introversion, and many live relatively impoverished lives while mistaking these for lives of religious poverty. Similarly, many pray in ways that need to deepen without actually working toward this. Others embrace solitude because they are artists or writers without ever living desert lives. In other words, few of these are called to be hermits, and I seriously suspect a number have not yet discovered their own path to authentic humanity.

With regard to c 603 life, while the constitutive elements of the canon are indispensable elements that contribute significantly to an authentic ecclesial eremitical life, they are not, per se, the heart of the vocation. Instead, the heart of the eremitical vocation is one's journey towards authentic humanity via growing union with God. This is what the hermit is about. This is who she is and who she is called to be primarily. Her witness stems from this specific journey and what it reveals to the Church and world**, not only about God and authentic humanity, but also about the victory over sin and death achieved through the death and resurrection of God's Christ, the wisdom of faith, hope, and love, and the entire Gospel of Jesus Christ. The hermit witnesses in a particularly vivid way to all of these as reflections of her embodiment of the Great Commandment --- though the way she loves, and the degree to which she loves, will remain hidden from most.

I think you can see why, as noted above, a regular spiritual director is essential here. The journey the hermit makes is both hidden and countercultural in many ways. It is also contrary to the usual distractions and busyness of life in the world, even from ministerial life in the world. Because silence and solitude, especially together, break open our hearts and minds to the working of the Holy Spirit, this may involve their being broken open to past memories and woundedness as they come to know themselves ever more deeply and truly. The journey to union with God involves a journey to the depths of ourselves and thus, to darkness and, at least sometimes, to terror. When this happens, it is really important to have a spiritual director who can accompany us as we work and pray our way through such things while staying on our present path to union with God. There is a lot to discern in such a rich life, and while the hermit herself does this with God to whatever extent she can, talking things over regularly with someone who knows one and the spiritual life well is truly critical.

I'll end this for now. I hope it raises additional questions for readers. Thanks for writing!

** The Church's own mission, message, and ministries are meant to facilitate the same journey in its members. It calls us all to reconciliation with God, with ourselves, and with others. Hermits living in Christ reflect a commitment to pursue the most radical form of this dynamic and the most profound journey to self-knowledge and knowledge of God. Such a journey witnesses to the Church's ground of hope and holiness, namely, union with the God who has chosen to reveal himself as Emmanuel.

(Reprise) The Desert is a Dangerous Place, Eremitical Life is a Perilous Reality

I've been asked about this again, so before I write about it afresh, I want to include a reprise of the original article. This was originally written in August 2016.

 Dear Sister, usually when you write about the silence of solitude it is a positive thing but your last piece was pretty dark. I wondered if you were okay and if this was a new discovery you had made about the power of the silence of solitude? Someone else wrote about the suffering you were experiencing. Have I missed something (I ask because I care)!

Please don't be concerned. About three months ago I wrote about doing some inner work with my director which was demanding and challenging. I have continued with that and sometimes it has been reflected in my posts --- though generally it has meant fewer posts or posts which were poorly written and kind of rambling --- probably the result of putting these up before allowing my thoughts to mature and gel. I suspect the person referring to suffering was referring to some part of that constellation of posts. The piece I wrote a couple of days ago on Eremitical silence as harrowing as well as hallowing was not a new insight, no, but I certainly know it more deeply and extensively than I did from previous work. Moreover it is an important dimension of eremitical silence I have needed and now need to treat more explicitly --- especially in light of questions I am receiving about eremitical life and candidates with serious mental illness (I am working on one of these right now), or about topics like formation, the need for careful discernment, the indispensability of competent and regular spiritual direction, the danger of eremitical solitude, and so forth.

I have written before that eremitical silence and solitude are not easy and that the vocation itself is demanding. I have quoted Merton and others, noted that this is not a vocation generally suited for those with mental illness (though when it seems possible for someone who functions well and whose illness is stable this should be determined carefully by chancery, directors, therapists, etc on a case by case basis); I have explained that eremitical solitude is not the normal way to achieve personal wholeness and holiness, and I've described instances of individuals who were clearly decompensating as the result of living in an isolation they called "eremitical". I've even written a few times about battling with demons --- usually those of one's own heart! What I may not have done clearly enough is describe the way desert silence and solitude can strip away defenses and break open one's mind and heart to deeper and deeper levels of woundedness (some would speak of deeper or more foundational levels of sinfulness and alienation here but woundedness seems the better choice to me). This has always been implicit in posts referring to inner work, spiritual direction, and the other topics I have mentioned above and it was more explicit in the posts on battling with demons -- a perennial topic for the desert Abbas and Ammas --- but it needed to be made even more explicit I think.

The Desert is a Dangerous Place:

As I approach this anniversary of my perpetual profession as a diocesan hermit (02. September) I have looked back on some of the topics I have felt passionately (and sometimes written extensively) about. What is clear to me is that most of them have at their core the fact that this vocation is a gift of the Holy Spirit to the Church (and only then to the individual) and thus requires the church to treat it with real respect for precisely the gift it is. This means (or has meant) codifying it in canon law, carefully discerning candidates for profession, demanding Rules be written only after a candidate has sufficient experience living the life under competent direction, continuing direction and regular supervision (legitimate superiors), and providing lists of or even access to resources an individual may draw from in order to get the initial formation she needs to live this life well "in the name of the Church". But the flip side to all of this, the reason the charismatic nature of the vocation must be recognized and adequate care taken in all of these ways is also precisely because solitary eremitical life in the silence of solitude is dangerous for one not truly called to it --- or for one who undertakes it without sufficient support and assistance!

After all, one vows to listen in silence and solitude to the voice of God dwelling in one's heart. Moreover, one vows to give that entire heart over to God to love into wholeness and holiness; in this way one comes to know and reflect the silence OF solitude. That is what obedience is all about. But at the same time, the journey into the depths of one's own heart, as I wrote in the last post, can be a harrowing experience, for though one's heart is meant to belong to God alone, very much more dwells and often has dominance there than God alone. Similarly, while God never abandons us, there are times when God's presence takes the form of darkness and distance precisely so we can come to know those parts of our hearts which war against (him) --- against love and life itself --- and which divide us as persons so that quite often we stand diminished, fragmented and at war with ourselves. I wrote recently that the Holy Spirit maintained (was!) the bond of communion between Father and Son, but that additionally it was the Holy Spirit that maintained distance between them as well --- especially during Jesus' descent into hell, for instance. And so it is in the hermit's sometimes dark silence of solitude. God is experienced as absence or remoteness but it is still God's presence we know in these challenging ways.

Journeying With a Competent Director:

The listening (hearkening, obedience) one does involves a breaking open of the hardened and well-defended heart or false "self", and leads to a kind of stripping away of the false and distorted as well as to a revelation of the fearful, fragile, and (thanks be to God) the rich potential living at the core of ourselves. The result is a vulnerability which is excruciatingly painful and which absolutely requires the assistance of a competent director who knows not only how to do this kind of spiritual or "inner" work, but also when it is time to do it as well as when the hermit is strong enough (in her inner covenantal life with God or Selfhood) to attempt it. At these times some parts of the hermit's Rule may be suspended and other changes made to accommodate differing needs for rest, prayer, food, recreation, direction or contact with one's delegate, etc.

Though one's director need not (and probably will not) be a hermit, it takes someone knowledgeable and personally experienced in the same kind of inner journey to assist and accompany the hermit in all of this. Otherwise one will have the equivalent of the blind leading the blind into the pit and tragedy will ensue. (It should go without saying that a "hermit" attempting to live in the desert without the assistance of a competent director with whom they meet regularly is, from my perspective, perhaps the greatest fool I could name. Unfortunately it happens.) In any case, it is also at this time that the hermit's own knowledge, experience and faith, all tested over time, prove their greatest worth.

On my Anniversary:

Despite all I have said here and in a few recent posts which may have seemed uncharacteristically "dark", let me also reiterate that I could not be happier in my vocation as a diocesan hermit. While the inner work in which I have recently been engaged has been difficult and rending (harrowing) it has simultaneously been a clear source of abundant life (hallowing) as well. There is no doubt in my mind that the temporary suffering of this work itself is a grace of God, not simply a source of grace as much suffering is and can be, but a wounding and profoundly life-giving touch of God (him)self and one that I might never have known but for this vocation and those who assist me in it.

Deep healing and growth in holiness is clearly something God is calling me to "in the silence of solitude" and apart from canonical eremitical life I would have neither the time nor the space and discipline for prayer, the access to sufficient direction or supervision, the commitment of profession which empowers and sustains the work, nor would I have the motivation or have been able to grow as sufficiently as I have needed in the commitment which make perseverance in this specific journey possible. God has truly blessed me in this and though there is pain and a sense of great fragility right now, I approach this anniversary with even more life, strength, and gratitude than I have known in the past. The promise of the future, though still being worked out "in fear and trembling" as Paul might put it, is very full indeed.

Adequately honoring this Gift of the Holy Spirit:

Dioceses that fail to pay attention to the reality and perhaps the inevitability of this experience of God in the darkness and abject suffering of the silence of solitude will be unable to assist hermits they profess. Even more problematically they are apt to profess "hermits" who can neither negotiate nor thrive (come to the abundant life Jesus promises) in the desert of eremitical life. Outright illness or a lack of integrity marked by mediocrity and "vocations" which are thus disedifying and even scandalous to all involved will be the result.

To summarize, the desert is a dangerous place. Eremitical silence and solitude are perilous realities and dioceses professing hermits need to be keenly aware of these facts. Especially they must never believe they are merely entrusting individuals to some sort of prayer-filled life of mere peace and quiet! The eremitical contemplative life of prayer in the silence of solitude is wonderful, yes, but it is also a source of real and deep anguish. Becoming God's own prayer in this world is both hallowing and harrowing, often at the very same time. When Jesus said, "I did not come to bring peace but a sword!" he might very well have been speaking, for those called to it, of the significantly growth-full moments of eremitical life! Again, this is something of which dioceses and candidates to canon 603 eremitical life must be aware if they are to truly and adequately honor this rare, valuable, and mysterious gift of the Holy Spirit.

Followup Questions on Suffering and Eremitical Life

[[Hi Sister Laurel, I really appreciate what you wrote about suffering, but it raised more questions for me. One of these is whether, when you go silent, it means you are suffering and need prayers? Another is whether suffering has taught you anything about the Gospel and, if so, what? My third question is whether you understand suffering as a necessary part of eremitical life (I thought you said that in your last post), and if so, how come? (You wrote about sin and death, so maybe you could say more about that.]]

Great follow-ups!! Thanks!! There are three or four reasons I might go silent, and one of these is due to suffering, as it was recently. However, my silence can also be caused by a lack of questions from others that can be used online, and my own other writing projects. When all three of these reasons come together, the silence tends to be longer and more complete. (By the way, I always welcome prayers and also questions for this blog!!!) My fourth reason has to do with the demands of the silence of solitude and inner work. Usually I can continue to blog, but sometimes I must simply withdraw altogether.

Has suffering taught me anything about the Gospel? Absolutely!!! I have to laugh because in my first real meeting with Bishop Vigneron, he asked me about my favorite Saint. It was a good question, meant to start a conversation on the level of heart, and also simply to break the ice for ongoing conversations. As I have told the story in the past, I quickly answered Paul of Tarsus or Paul the Apostle. In my head, though, I was thinking, "Oh no, he probably wanted someone other than an Apostle; I should have referred to John of the Cross or, St Therese, or (and so it went as I catastrophized about my answer!!). 

I quickly followed up with comments about the theology I most love in Paul's writing, viz., his theology of the Cross. I said something like, "If I could spend the rest of my life coming to understand Paul's Theology of the Cross, I would be a happy camper!" Of course, I wasn't saying I wanted to understand this theology on a firsthand basis as Jesus did. I already knew this reality to some extent, but not to the extent I know it now, and I think will be asked to understand it throughout the rest of my life --- precisely as a theologian of the cross and as a hermit.

God has definitely taken me at my word in this matter, so the way I spoke to Bp Vigneron on that day makes me laugh re my own naivete. My own life is marked in a real way by the imprint of the cross, and in a very real way I know aspects of what Jesus suffered during his life as well as on the cross. This has been true throughout most of my life, though I didn't really appreciate it until relatively recently. What is most important in this pattern is the fact that we are made for God and our humanity is meant to mirror Jesus' pattern of humanity where God is Emmanuel in and through him. We are each called to be a revelation of the God who wills to be God With Us, so much so that authentic humanity is transparent to this God and can be identified by the same name. God the Father is Emmanuel, Jesus is the authentic human who is therefore also Emmanuel, and in Christ and the Holy Spirit, we are each called by God to be Emmanuel as well. The deepest questions we pose, the most profound questions we each represent, are questions of meaning and being; that is, they are questions of the source and ground of what it means not only to be, but also to be significant creations of God. The questions we pose and actually are, are existential questions of God and human being. Hermits are called to ask these questions --- to be and to pose them as nakedly, deeply, vividly, truthfully, and poignantly as possible. Suffering, to the extent we can truly set our egos aside, assists in this, and that is part of its grace.

Similarly, we are to be those who allow the answer God is to be received as fully as possible. We are, as authentic human beings, a capacity for God. Hermits witness to this foundational truth, just as they witness to the fact that God is Emmanuel, God With Us. God does not leave us, abandon us, or leave our world without his creative presence. Instead, in each of us the presence of God that Jesus made real (revealed) in space and time continues to be made real in our world. We are called to that in a variety of ways --- some active, some contemplative, some in formal communities, and others in solitude, for instance. 

I believe the Gospel can be summarized in the one word, "Emmanuel". Similarly, it is most exhaustively made real (that is, it is most fully revealed) on the cross. Almost all of the hermits I know tend to put the cross of Christ right at the center of their own eremitical lives, and that is especially true as they age or mature in eremitism. In my own experience, this is the heart of eremitical life; it is the way we grow in union with God. While sin and death have been defeated by God in Christ, God is not yet all in all. Hermits live in witness both to God's victory and to the fact that there is more to come when God definitively establishes a new heaven and a new earth.

Is it Unusual for Hermits to Suffer? Why Not Write About it?

[[Dear Sister Laurel, I was thinking about your not having written much recently. I have been praying for you, but I wondered if being ill changes the way you live eremitical life? You don't mention being ill very often or write about suffering. Why is that? . . .. Is it unusual for hermits to live with suffering? To write about it? It seems unusual for you.]]

Many thanks for your prayers. I do appreciate them --- as do so many of us. Yes, illness affects my eremitical life in a variety of ways, but I work regularly with my director, and (more so recently) with my doc to be sure I stay on my path.`Suffering is an important dimension of any spiritual life, not only because we must learn how to do so in a way that truly glorifies God, but because it is fundamental to human life here in this world. One of the best books I know of on human suffering is by Douglas John Hall, and is called God and Human Suffering. Hall observes that learning how to suffer is one of the things we need most to learn today. In my own life, I have come to believe that the most important way I can model "suffering well" is by focusing on the life and love God calls me to each day, in spite of whatever suffering is also present.

Focusing on this is what I have tried to do on this blog, except when I have experienced something unusual and can use folks' prayers. I don't believe focusing on suffering per se, particularly on my own suffering, is particularly helpful to folks unless they have some question about a very similar situation. Otherwise, in the past, I have described references to one's own suffering as being a bit like a drop of skunk scent. A tiny bit goes a very long way, and more than that can be simply overpowering and repellent!!! I do think that one can learn to speak credibly about suffering with Christ, as one comes to truly do this, but again, this is not usually expressed as an account of one's own suffering, so much as it is an account of how Jesus' suffering becomes a source of grace that strengthens and empowers us. This means that one will suffer over what is usually a long period of time until one comes to the point where one realizes one's union with Christ and comes to genuine peace in the face of whatever one is suffering. This is the interesting and truly inspired part of a story of suffering.

Most hermits I know deal with suffering routinely --- just as anyone else ordinarily does. These hermits have chronic ailments, many of which lead to significant limitations and even disabilities. What it seems to me we each and all focus on is the life God gifts us with each day and most especially with which the meaning the Cross of Christ imbues those lives. In that way we remain capable of witnessing to God's grace without merely speaking in a self-centered way about the pain we experience daily. Still, yes, suffering is a central element to eremitical life because we are called to union with God, and that includes our movement in and through the darknesses of sin and death, where God meets us as source and ground of life. In our suffering, then, we meet God in Christ and in this way, even our suffering is made meaningful. What would ordinarily be a sign of godlessness and the victory of sin becomes a sacramental reality instead. Moreover, it defines one's eremitical life as one of complete availability to God and helps to put ego in its proper place. Such a life is not always pleasant, no, but the profound presence of God, deeper than any suffering, is a source of great peace and joy, that witnesses to the Gospel from and for which the Church lives. 

What hermits witness to, therefore, is not primarily their suffering, but the way that is transformed by God. God always answers prayers and does so with himself. This is the focus of a life truly dedicated to God in and through suffering. God is not a postscript tagged onto the end of a long paean of misery in such a life, nor does every life punctuated by cries of "Thank you Jesus!" truly glorify God. (“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’" knows or will come to know the sovereignty of God.) God's presence transforms such paeans into victorious Magnificats of divine presence. Either the hermit can convey a sense of that presence and the transformation it brings --- which includes genuine growth in loving oneself and others in Christ --- or we will fail to do so, which may also mean a failure to live one's vocation. 

When our focus is on our own suffering, especially if we are writing publicly, I believe we detract from a genuine focus on God, except when requesting occasional prayers from others. In particularly poignant ways, suffering raises the question of God; the transformation of suffering into a grace-filled reality is something only the presence of God can do. When one's life is full (no matter the illness and suffering), and thus truly graced, the need to speak about one's suffering is greatly diminished, and one's references to God will be more credible, compelling, and inspirational. This, at least, is what my experience teaches me.

I sincerely hope this is an adequate response to your questions.

From the Dark Ages to Modern Times: Why Benedictine Spirituality Still Matters

 The following reflection by Fr Dorathick, OSB Cam, was shared by the Camaldolese monks and oblates. Best wishes for all my Benedictine Brothers and Sisters and particularly for those Camaldolese I count as extended family!!

Every year, on the Feast of St. Benedict, the Church remembers a man who wasn’t trying to change history. He was simply looking for God. And yet, by seeking God with sincerity, discipline, and humility, St. Benedict became one of history’s great spiritual builders. While the Roman world was falling apart and Europe was slipping into political chaos, violence, and cultural division, Benedictine monasteries became places where faith, learning, work, hospitality, and hope were kept alive. They were lamps in a dark age.

Our world today may not be trapped in that same kind of darkness, but plenty of people would say we’re living through a different sort of crisis. It’s psychological, social, and spiritual. We’re more connected than ever because of technology, and yet deeply lonely. We have endless information at our fingertips, but not much wisdom. We chase productivity nonstop, while still struggling to feel any real inner peace. Anxiety, burnout, broken families, social polarization, and a fading sense of meaning have become part of modern life. In a world like this, Benedictine spirituality feels surprisingly fresh.

At the center of St. Benedict’s vision is a simple belief: the deepest human trouble isn’t the chaos around us, but the disorder inside the heart. Modern culture often says happiness comes from getting more, moving faster, or endlessly remaking ourselves. St. Benedict points to another way: stability, simplicity, prayer, community, and careful listening. The first word of his Rule, “Listen,” may matter now more than ever. Before we speak, snap back, or pass judgment, we’re asked to listen, to God, to other people, and to what’s stirring in our own hearts.
Psychologically, this kind of listening can steady a restless mind. So many people move through life in a constant state of distraction, tugged by notifications, comparisons, and demands that never seem to end. Benedictine spirituality calls us back to silence, not as a way to hide from reality, but as the place where truth can rise to the surface. In silence, we can face our fears without letting them rule us. We begin to learn that our worth is not measured by what we achieve, but rooted in who we are: beloved children of God.

St. Benedict, though, never saw holiness as something a person achieves alone. He valued solitude, yes, but he also believed spiritual maturity is tested and shaped in community. For him, the monastery was a school of charity, a place where patience, forgiveness, humility, and mutual obedience are learned through ordinary daily relationships. That insight still speaks strongly today. We often want spirituality without commitment, choosing private inspiration over shared responsibility. Benedict reminds us that love becomes real only when it is lived out with actual people, each one carrying their own weaknesses and gifts.

Our society today badly needs this kind of wisdom. Polarisation has made real dialogue hard. Individualism has worn down our sense of belonging. Even in families and churches, many people struggle to stay together when conflict comes. Benedictine spirituality reminds us that communion doesn’t mean having no differences; it means doing the patient work of reconciliation. It calls us to be people who build bridges instead of walls, who listen rather than shout, and who choose mercy over resentment.

The Benedictine balance of ora et labora—prayer and work—pushes back against today’s culture of fatigue. Work should not become an idol that swallows up our identity, and prayer is not an escape from responsibility. The two belong together. Prayer gives work its deeper purpose, while work turns prayer into real service. Whether we are caring for a family, teaching, farming, studying, or leading an organization, every task can become an offering when it is done with love and integrity.

The Feast of St. Benedict, then, is more than a look back at history. It invites us to build an inner monastery in our hearts, a place where Christ lives, where silence quiets the noise, gratitude eases anxiety, and compassion overcomes fear. This kind of life doesn’t run away from the world. It steps into it more fully, bringing peace into our homes, workplaces, communities, and society.

As we celebrate the Feast of St. Benedict, we are called to do more than honor a saint from long ago. We are invited to take up a way of life that can change the present. The deepest darkness of our time is not around us, but inside us: the restless heart that no longer knows how to listen for God. Benedict’s lasting message is simple, and still deeply challenging: return to silence, return to prayer, return to community, and return to Christ. The renewal of the world begins one converted heart at a time. If we are willing to build an inner monastery, a place where God’s presence is welcomed each day, then our homes can become places of peace, our relationships can show compassion, and our communities can shine with hope. In a world weighed down by noise, division, and constant distraction, may we hear again the first word of the Rule of St. Benedict: “Listen.” Because those who truly listen become people of wisdom, communion, and peace, carrying the quiet light of Christ into a world still longing to come out of its own dark age.

Fr. Dorathick OSB Cam

The Feast of St Thomas, Apostle

Today's Gospel focuses on the appearances of Jesus to the disciples, and one of the lessons one should draw from these stories is that we are indeed dealing with bodily resurrection, but therefore, with a kind of bodiliness which transcends the corporeality we know here and now. It is very clear that Jesus' presence among his disciples is not simply a spiritual one, in other words, and that part of Christian hope is the hope that we as embodied persons will come to perfection beyond the limits of death. It is not just our souls which are meant to be part of the new heaven and earth, but our whole selves, body and soul.

The scenario with Thomas continues this theme, but is contextualized in a way that leads homilists to focus on the whole dynamic of faith with seeing, and faith despite not having seen. It also makes doubt the same as unbelief and plays these off against faith, as though faith cannot also be served by doubt. But doubt and unbelief are decidedly NOT the same things. We rarely see Thomas as the one whose doubt (or whose demands!) SERVES true faith, and yet, that is what today's Gospel is about. Meanwhile, Thomas also tends to get a bad rap as the one who was separated from the community and doubted what he had not seen with his own eyes. The corollary here is that Thomas will not simply listen to his brother and sister disciples and believe that the Lord has appeared to or visited them. But I think there is something far more significant going on in Thomas' proclamation that unless he sees the wounds inflicted on Jesus in the crucifixion, and even puts his fingers in the very nail holes, he will not believe.

What Thomas, I think, wants to make very clear is that we Christians believe in a crucified Christ, and that the resurrection was God's act of validation of Jesus as scandalously and ignominiously Crucified. I think Thomas knows on some level anyway that, insofar as the resurrection really occurred, it does not nullify what was achieved on the cross. Instead, it renders permanently valid what was revealed (made manifest and made real) there. In other words, Thomas knows if the resurrection is really God's validation of Jesus' life and establishes him as God's Christ, the Lord he will meet is the one permanently established and marked as the crucified One. The crucifixion was not some great misunderstanding that could be wiped away by resurrection. Instead, it was an integral part of the revelation of the nature of truly human and truly divine existence. Whether it is the Divine life, authentic human existence, or sinful human life --- all are marked and revealed in one way or another by the signs of Jesus' cross. For instance, ours is a God who has journeyed to the very darkest, godless places or realms human sin produces, and has become Lord of even those places. He does not disdain them even now but is marked by them and will journey with us there --- whether we are open to him doing so or not --- because Jesus has implicated God there and marked him with the wounds of an exhaustive kenosis.

Another piece of this is that Jesus is, as Paul tells us, the end of the Law, and it was the Law that crucified him. The nail holes and wounds in Jesus' side and head -- indeed every laceration which marked him -- are a sign of legal execution -- both in terms of Jewish and Roman law. We cannot forget this, and Thomas' insistence that he really be dealing with the Crucified One reminds us vividly of this fact as well. The Jewish and Roman leaders did not crucify Jesus because they misunderstood him, but because they understood all too clearly both Jesus and the immense power he wielded in his weakness and poverty. They understood that he could turn the values of this world, its notions of power, authority, etc, on their heads. They knew that he could foment profound revolution (religious and otherwise) wherever he had followers. They chose to crucify him not only to put an end to his life, but to demonstrate he was a fraud who could not possibly have come from God; they chose to crucify him to terrify those who might follow him into all the places discipleship might really lead them --- especially those places of human power and influence associated with religion and politics. The marks of the cross are a judgment (krisis) on this whole reality.

There are many gods and even manifestations of the real God available to us today, and so there were to Thomas and his brethren in those first days and weeks following the crucifixion of Jesus. When Thomas made his declaration about what he would and would not believe, none of these were crucified Gods or would be worthy of being believed in if they were associated with such shame and godlessness. Thomas knew how very easy it would be for his brother and sister disciples to latch onto one of these, or even to fall back on entirely traditional notions in reaction to the terribly devastating disappointment of Jesus' crucifixion. He knew, I think, how easy it might be to call the crucifixion and all it symbolized a terrible misunderstanding which God simply reversed or wiped away with the resurrection -- a distasteful chapter on which God has simply turned the page. Thomas knew that false prophets showed up all the time. He knew that a God who is distant and all-powerful is much easier to believe in (and follow) than one who walks with us even in our sinfulness or who empties himself to become subject to the powers of sin and death, especially in the awful scandal and ignominy of the cross --- and who expects us to do essentially the same.

In other words, Thomas' doubt may have had less to do with the FACT of a resurrection than it had to do with his concern that the disciples, in their loss, grief, desperation, guilt, and the immense social pressure they faced to renounce Jesus and the God he revealed, had truly met and clung to the real Lord, the crucified One. In this way, their own discipleship will come to be marked by the signs of the cross as they preach, suffer, and serve in the name (and so, in the paradoxical power) of THIS Lord and no other. Only he could inspire them; only he could sustain them; only he could accompany them wherever true discipleship led them.

Paul said, "I want to know Christ crucified and only Christ crucified" because only this Christ had transformed sinful, godless reality with his presence, only this Christ had redeemed even the realms of sin and death by remaining open to God even within these realities. Only this Christ would journey with us to the unexpected and unacceptable places, and in fact, only he would meet us there with the promise and presence of a God who would bring life out of them. Thomas, I believe, knew precisely what Paul would soon proclaim himself, and it is this, I think, which stands behind his insistence on seeing the wounds and put his fingers in the very nail holes. He wanted to be sure his brethren were putting their faith in the crucified One, the one who turned everything upside down and relativized every other picture of God we might believe in. He became the great doubter because of this, but I suspect that instead he was the most faithful and astute theologian among the original Apostles. He, like Paul, wanted to know Christ Crucified and ONLY Christ Crucified.

We should not trivialize Thomas' witness by transforming him into a run-of-the-mill empiricist and doubter (though doubting is an important piece of growth in faith)!! Instead, we should imitate his insistence: we are called upon to be followers of the Crucified God, and no other. Every version of God we meet should be closely examined for nail holes and the lance wound. Everyone should be checked for signs that this God is capable of and generous enough to assume such suffering on behalf of a creation he would reconcile and make whole. Only then do we know this IS the God proclaimed in the Gospels and the Epistles of Paul, the only one worthy of being followed even into the darkest reaches of human sin and death, the only One who meets us in the unexpected and even unacceptable place, the only one who loves us with an eternal love from which nothing can separate us.

Personal Update: That which only I can do . . .

Just a brief thank you and update on the reasons for my recent silence! First of all, thanks to everyone for your prayers. The treatment used was extremely helpful, and the signs I had developed that suggested further problems resolved almost immediately upon dropping one med from my regimen --- a very good sign. There is still some testing to be done, and an alternate treatment to be decided on, but on the whole, I am feeling much better!!! Writing continues, and I have managed to begin work on this blog again, so again, many thanks for your prayer. It is always helpful, but has been especially so recently!! It reminds me of a quote I love and believe is especially true for eremitical life's dependence on radical community: [[That which only I can do, I cannot do alone!]]

Questions on the Constituent Elements of c 603 and Writing a Rule of Life

[[Hi Sister Laurel. I read an older post you wrote about the beauty and depth of Canon 603. I was surprised at the way you read the canon and treat what you call "the constituent elements" of the Canon and the vocation itself. When a hermit writes a personal Rule for life under c 603, do they really have to write about all of these "constituent elements"? What does it mean if they don't write about everything? Isn't it possible to be living something without including it in your Rule? How long does it take before one can write about all of the constituent elements of C 603? . . . my own diocese is not really helpful in this process of writing a Rule, and I am really struggling to write one. . . . I am afraid my diocese will think I am goofing off, or that I am not really serious about becoming a diocesan process. . . .  Do you think that dioceses understand the time it takes to really live all of these elements and write about them?]]

Thanks for your questions! They are great and important. Moreover, even though the post you are talking about was written a while ago, it is one I am just now looking at again as part of another writing project. So let me take a shot at your questions. First of all, as kind of a backstory, or underlying foundation, I should note that I understand c 603 as a template of a lived vocation, not just a canon under which a person is professed and consecrated. Instead, I think of the canon as a model of one's embodiment of this vocation, a summary of the values one incarnates as one journeys to union with God in the silence of solitude. I think I said as much in the earlier post you referenced. Thus, while c 603 does not say everything about an individual's eremitic life, it does outline the elements critical to organically shaping what it means, in the Church, to live a consecrated solitary hermit life. (As a reminder for readers, these "constitutive" elements are 1) assiduous prayer and penance, 2) the silence of solitude, 3) stricter separation from "the world", 4) the Evangelical counsels, 5) A self-written and liveable Rule, 6) all lived under the supervision of the diocesan bishop.)

What is most striking to me is that, while c 603 does not literally mention the hermit's journey to union with God, each element presupposes, participates in, and provides necessary dimensions of this specific journey. This means the elements must be there in the hermit's Rule. She must explain what she understands by these elements, something of their spiritual and personal importance, and how she lives them because they are part of the template of a c 603 vocation and shape her as a hermit. If they are not present, or the hermit or hermit candidate does not demonstrate how she lives them and why, it may well be a sign of her incomplete embodiment of this vocation. That said, a couple of caveats are needed here. I don't mean one must live each element perfectly, only that they are substantive dimensions of the particular vocation and its journey to union with God, and need to be present. If they are not, the diocesan team has a good reason to enquire about this, how the candidate is planning to address the lack, and whether the diocese can help in some way. Without this attention, the hermit's journey to union with God and her witness to the Church and world will be frustrated and fail.

 This also means that one lives all of the constitutive elements of c 603 only with practice, prayer, study, or effort. One grows in one's understanding and living out of these elements. One needs to see them lived by others, discuss their importance in the consecrated eremitical life, and experiment with how one can best live them out at this particular stage of one's vocation. One needs to see them in conjunction with the other constituent elements and the whole tapestry of one's eremitical life. And one needs to understand the many ways in the life of the Church, each element has been legitimately lived in the Church, and why. So, for instance, despite some similarities, religious (or evangelical) poverty looks different for Franciscans than it does for Benedictines, and it certainly looks different for solitary hermits who are self-supporting. Moreover, religious poverty has a variety of levels or dimensions, some more superficial than others. Exploring these invites growth. So, what one says about this element of the canon and vocation, for instance, will say something about one's experience of religious poverty, and the pathways (or potential pathways) towards growth in eremitism that religious poverty provides. 

Similarly, stricter separation from the world looks different for the recluse and anchorite than for other hermits, etc. When I wrote my first Rule, I didn't even include stricter separation from the world. I wasn't sure I understood the term and didn't know if I believed in it anyway. I thought it might be consummately selfish and conflict with both the Christian eremite's mission and witness. It took study, reflection, prayer, and consultation before I could be sure of what I was proposing to commit myself to and why! Each of the constituent elements of the canon will reflect dimensions of our own growing maturity in the eremitical life. There are good reasons to refrain from writing about them in one's Rule, but not from a Rule which is written in preparation for profession and/or consecration. One may still be coming to greater clarity on the nature, the importance, or, for instance, the shape one of these elements takes in one's own eremitic life. One may not have adequate time to truly reflect on the element at all. Alternatively, one may have lived the element in one form of life and may be just coming to understand (or even just perceive!) the differences between this and c 603 life. Whatever the reason, what we write or fail to write can be a guide to our need for growth in the vocation.

I would encourage you not to worry about your own difficulty in writing a liveable Rule of Life. Treat the process of writing as part of a process of growth and trust that God is directing your work. Keep notes on what is changing for you, and in what way (i.e., note experiences, questions that have been raised, reading, conversations, etc.), during different periods. When you meet with diocesan staff or communicate with them, provide an overview of what has been happening for you over the months. Because very few dioceses have much, if any, experience with adequately implementing c 603, you will be educating your diocese on the nature and importance of the very process of writing a Rule of Life, even as you strengthen your working relationship with them. I do believe this kind of education is particularly important concerning the organically determined time frames involved, the role of the diocese in accompanying the candidate, the difference between writing a Rule and writing a liveable Rule, and especially, the use of the process of writing as a key to mutual discernment and personal formation.

Feast of St Romuald and the Camaldolese Congregation (Reprise)

 From the Camaldolese newsletter regarding today's feast:

June 19th is an official feast for the Camaldolese congregation. It marks the feast of the founder of the Camaldolese Congregation, Saint Romuald of Ravenna.

Born in 951 AD, Father Romuald, lying on his bed, gave his life back to God on the 19th of June 1027- (Saint Peter Damian: The Life of Blessed Romuald). As a young man, Romuald did penance for 40 days at the monastery of Sant’Apollonare near his home region of Ravenna, which was then an administrative city for the destroyed western Roman Empire, simply for being a witness of a duel where there was a death. He then became a monk there, but shortly afterward came under the tutelage of a hermit monk in Venice named Marino, with whom, among other things, he prayed the 150 psalms every day. Venice was at that time considered Byzantine territory. It was common practice for hermit monks to pray constantly, especially to pray the entire psalter daily. This was a tradition shared with the Levite priests of Judaism praying the Tehillim, the same tradition for monks of the desert in the north of Africa and the Middle East, as well as among both the eastern and western monks of the Roman Empire. In 978 Romuald left Venice to travel with an abbot of Cluniac tradition, Abbot Gari, to one of his monasteries under his jurisdiction located in Cuxa (the Pyrenees). There Romuald lived for almost 10 years as a hermit, but also participated in the cenobitic life with other monks. There, he was also ordained a priest.

These two pivotal places, Venice and the Pyrenees, marked the formative moments in his monastic life, where he realized the importance of a balance of eremitism and cenobitism in the spiritual life. After Cuxa, Saint Romuald returned to Ravenna and immediately to Montecasino for a short period of time. Then, and for the rest of his life, he moved through different areas in central Italy, mainly within what was then the Papal states, and Istria, which was part of the republic of Venice and is now Croatia, founding hermitages, reforming monasteries, and mentoring other monks.

Saint Romuald lived in tumultuous times, where alliances, principalities, empires, duchies, provinces, and new marquisates were forming. Unfortunately, during this period in history, nepotism (the favoring of relatives or friends) existed in order to secure geographical territory. Monasteries and abbeys were appointed or granted to secure some favor in government, alliances, or power. Simony (the buying and selling of religious posts or pardons) was also common.

Within this environment, Saint Romuald was appointed to various abbacies and also twice threatened with death. He rejected the threats and avoided compromising situations with his religious fervor and piety, always responding to the call to serve and surrender to God’s call. He preferred times of prayer and seclusion above all; in his interactions with other monks, as is stated in both documents that narrate his life (Saint Peter Damian’s The Life of Blessed Romuald and Saint Bruno of Querfurt’s The Life of the Five Brothers), he always gave counsel to monks to return to their cells and pray. He attracted multiple candidates to monasticism, and his fame grew in the region of what is now Tuscany, Venice, Croatia, and Rome.

Feast of the Sacred Heart of Jesus (partial reprise)

 Thanks to everyone who has contacted me this last week, because I have not been posting for several weeks! I really appreciate it!! I want to request prayers for the next two or three weeks. I have some new medical problems made even more complicated by the side effects of the necessary meds we've tried. So please, keep us (me, my docs, et al) in your prayers!!!!! Prayers, too (please), for the writing I have been doing. The project is both more demanding and more exciting than I had expected. Many thanks!!! (And for those awaiting responses, thanks for your patience; I am getting those out today.)

Meanwhile, (and I am aware of the irony of this feast), today we celebrate a feast that sometimes seems irrelevant to contemporary life. The Feast of the Sacred Heart developed in part as a response to pre-destinationist theologies, which diminished the universality of the gratuitous love of God and consigned many to perdition. But the Church's own theologies of grace and freedom point directly to the reality of the human heart -- that center of the human person where God freely speaks himself and human beings respond in ways which are salvific for them and for the rest of the world. It asks us to see all persons as constituted in this way and called to life in and of God. Today's Feast of the Sacred Heart, then, despite the shift in context, asks us to reflect again on the nature of the human heart, to the greatest danger to spiritual or authentically human life the Scriptures identify, and too, on what a contemporary devotion to the Sacred Heart might mean for us.

As I have written here before, the heart is the symbol of the center of the human person. It is a theological term that points first of all to God and to God's activity deep within us. It is not so much that we have a heart and then God comes to dwell there; it is that where God dwells within us and bears witness to himself, we have a heart. The human heart (not the cardiac muscle but the center of our personhood, which the Scriptures call heart) is a dialogical event where God speaks, calls, breathes, and sings us into existence and where, in one way or another, we respond to become the people we are called to be. It is therefore important that our hearts be open and flexible, that they be obedient to the Voice and love of God, and so that they be responsive in all the ways they are summoned to be.

Bearing this in mind, it is no surprise that the Scriptures speak in many places about the very worst thing that could befall a human being and her spiritual life. We hear it in the following line from Ezekiel: [[If today you hear [God's] voice, harden not your hearts.]] Many things contribute to such a reaction. We know that love is risky and that it always hurts. Sometimes this hurt is akin to the mystical experience of being pierced by God's love and is a wonderful but difficult experience. Other times, love wounds us in less fruitful ways: we are betrayed by friends or family, we reach out to another in love and are rejected, and, of course, a billion smaller losses wound us in ways from which we cannot seem to recover. In such cases, our hearts are not only wounded but become scarred, indurated, less sensitive to pain (or pleasure), stiff, and relatively inflexible. They, quite literally, become "hardened," and we may be fearful and unwilling or even unable to risk further injury. When the Scriptures speak of the "hardening" of our hearts, they use the very words medicine uses to speak of the result of serious and prolonged wounding: induration, sclerosis, callousedness. Such hardening is self-protective, but it also locks us into a world that makes us less capable of responding to love with all of its demands and riskiness. It makes us incapable of suffering well (patiently, fruitfully), or of real selflessness, generosity, or compassion.

It is here that the symbol of the Sacred Heart of Jesus is instructive and where contemporary devotion to the Sacred Heart can assist us. The Sacred Heart is clearly the place where human and divine are united in a unique way. While we are not called to Daughterhood or to Sonship in the exact same sense of Jesus' (he is "begotten" Son, we are adopted Sons --- and I use only Sons because of the prophetic, countercultural sense that term had for women in the early Church), we are meant to be expressions of a similar unity and heritage; we are meant to have God as the well spring of life and love at the center of our existence. Like the Sacred Heart, our own hearts are meant to be "externalized" in a sense and transparent to others. They are meant to be wounded by love and deeply touched by the pain of others, but not scarred or indurated in that woundedness; they are meant to be compassionate hearts on fire with love and poured out for others --- hearts which are marked by the cross in all of its kenotic (self-emptying) dimensions and, therefore, too, by the joy of ever-new life. The truly human heart is a reparative heart that heals the woundedness of others and empowers them to love as well. Such hearts are hearts that love as God loves, and therefore, do justice in our world. I think that allowing our own hearts to be remade in this way represents an authentic devotion to Jesus' Sacred Heart. There is nothing lacking in relevance or contemporaneity in that!

Why are Hermits Known for Their Freedom? Part 1: Foundational Freedom

[[ Sister, why are hermits known for their freedom?  Is it because they can do whatever they like? I mean they can go off and leave their families and live alone and do whatever they love to do, right? Were you looking for freedom when you decided to become a hermit? What about the ones who were shut away in a cell next to a church? They weren't free in living that way were they? Are they also hermits who would be known for their freedom?]]

Thanks for your questions. Hermits are indeed known for their freedom, and this includes not only "freedom from" a lot of truly good stuff, but also "freedom for" in really significant ways. The most important and characteristically Christian form of freedom is the power to be the persons we are called to be, and hermits are free in this way especially. Human beings are themselves free when and to whatever extent they are in a heart-level dialogue with God. This means allowing God to call us to wholeness, to humanness, and learning and being empowered to love ourselves and one another in light of that. It also means allowing God (Love-in-act) to reside at the center of our lives and letting all else fall into place in light of that theocentric way of relating to reality.  

For the hermit (and for every authentic Christian), everything is relativized in light of one's life with God, but this does not mean the hermit is free to forget or neglect "everything else" as one focuses on God. Instead, because life in dialogue with God (and here I mean the really deep dialogue that comes from posing the profound questions of being and meaning we each are and listening to or receiving the response that God is) represents freedom from the false self and the freedom of the true self, the hermit comes to know and love all of reality in God, in the truth. We reject enmeshment in the distorted reality c 603 calls "the world," with all that fosters the false self, and we embrace authentic engagement, that is, we love and revere the truth and beauty of all reality in God. 

This is genuine freedom. It is the way Christ perceived and loved God's creation, the way empowered by the Holy Spirit, the way that sees everything that is with a clarity and reverence we are made for, but are incapable of when we are enmeshed and unfree. This shift from false to true self, from the inability to see rightly to clarity of perception, and the inability to love as Christ loves to being one in whom Christ lives and loves ("I live, yet not I, but Christ lives in me!" Gal 2:20) is the very essence of the freedom of the hermit. And yet, it is not always easy to love in the selfless way Christ loved and with the generosity of God. We must be reborn and remade for that. 

Hermits commit (dedicate) themselves to being remade (consecrated and sanctified) in and by God. They literally dedicate themselves to being loved into wholeness/holiness in the way only life with and in God can do. This means they commit themselves to becoming the very place where heaven and earth come together and interpenetrate one another. They dedicate themselves to God's project of being Emmanuel to his creation, and the corresponding human vocation of being Emmanuel in and through Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit. The natural outflow of this dedication is an active love for all that God holds as precious. In Christ, our lives of prayer are not just a matter of praying for others, though of course we do that, but of becoming the intercessory "place" in our world where Human and Divine truly meet and come to abide in one another. We become symbols of what c 603 calls "the silence of solitude", symbols of genuine freedom to truly be ourselves for and in relation to others, signs of liberation from the noise and enmeshment of what c 603 calls "the world", and made prophetic with lives commissioned to challenge our Church and creation to truly become and be what God wills these realities to be.

This is not about just doing anything at all, or even about doing just what we truly like doing (though we are apt to really love doing what we do in this way, and being who we are in Christ). Again, it is about doing the will of God in our world. It is about being the persons God calls us to be, and doing so for the sake of God, God's Church, and the whole of God's creation. In embracing this kind of freedom and letting God grasp us, we sacrifice many of the discrete gifts God has given us in order to become the single overarching gift he makes us to be in His Son and Spirit. 

We trust that God knows how best to use us, and, when we look back over the whole scope of our lives, we will be amazed at the wondrousness of the tapestry he has woven with the woof of our sinfulness, illness, suffering, death, betrayals and infidelities, struggles, incapacities, ignorance, venality, etc, and the graced warp of our love of others, the passion and hard work of our own dedication to life and Love-in-Act, and the victory of Divine meaning over absurdity. Because this use of the material of our own lives by God is not manipulative, but transformative and transcendent, it sings of an otherworldly freedom. Most people will never perceive the truth of this -- at least not this side of death. Others will catch glimpses of it. A relative few will know it themselves, even if they are not hermits. This, by the way, is one reason the life of hermits and the anchorites you refer to is known as "hidden". Superficially, such lives look so limited and constrained that most people will miss their real depth and breadth.  That different way of seeing (or not seeing) is what your questions reflect --- the difficulty of seeing the profound freedom that constitutes a truly human life grasped by and grounded in God, especially when that person is a hermit or anchorite. 

We tend to mistake the nature of the lives of such persons in two main ways: first, we can see them as narrow, limited, or constrained in a way that seems to mean they are neither free nor particularly human, and second, we can see them as wholly disengaged from and uncaring of everything and everyone of real value, and so, empty and meaningless. (This latter mistake is one  that some who have called themselves "hermits" through the centuries have made, and currently still make!) The freedom of the hermit, however, is one of deep and broad engagement, pervasive and abiding love, not in the abstract, but concretely, really, humanly. Hermits reject enmeshment so that we might be engaged with reality as Christ was and is.  We do it so that he might be uniquely embodied in us in anticipation of the New Heaven and New Earth that Jesus' death and resurrection inaugurated. We reject enmeshment so we might love --- fully, freely, truly, and more profoundly in Christ than "the world" can even imagine. This is the foundational freedom of the hermit. Every other freedom flows from this and serves it.

Why is Star Trek Easier to Imagine than the Ascension? (Reprise)

[[ Hi Sister Laurel, in your post on the Ascension, you said that it was difficult for us to believe that Jesus was raised bodily into "heaven". You suggested it might be easier to imagine the Star Trek story as true instead. I wondered why you said that. Thank you.]]

I appreciate your question. Thanks. We humans, tend to draw distinct lines between the spiritual and the material, and often we rule out any idea that has the two interpenetrating the other or being related in paradoxical ways. We simplify things in other ways as well. For instance, do you remember when the Soviet Cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin first orbited Earth and made a pronouncement that he had now been to space, had looked and looked for God, and did not find him? The notion that God's relation to the cosmos was other than as a visible (and material) being among other material beings present in "the heavens" was completely beyond this man's ideology or imagination. The idea of God as Being itself, being (not A being) that grounded and was the source of all existence while transcending it all was simply too big an idea for this Cosmonaut. Imagine what he would have done with the notion that everything that once existed, now exists, or is on its way to existing, does or will do so within the very life of God! (Gagarin is now said never to have affirmed this; instead, Soviet authorities did and used his flight to do so.)

Another example might be better. When I was young (grade school), I went to a Christian Scientist Church and Sunday School. There, every Sunday we recited what was called, "The Scientific Statement of Being". It was a bit of neo-Platonic "dogma" written by Mary Baker Eddy. It was the heart of the faith: [[There is no life, truth, intelligence, nor substance in matter. All is infinite Mind and its infinite manifestation, for God is All-in-All. Spirit is immortal truth; matter is mortal error. Spirit is the real and eternal; matter the unreal and temporal. Spirit is God, and man is his image and likeness. Therefore, man is not material; he is spiritual.]] By the time I was seven or eight I was questioning what it meant to say matter is unreal (or, more often, how could I be asked to deny the truth of matter's reality). Imagine what it was like to fall off your bike and tell yourself the blood and pain was "unreal" --- only Spirit is real. 

Donna Korba, IHM

The answers never satisfied, but I think you get the point. The human mind has always had difficulty not drawing a distinction between the material and the Spiritual, even to asserting the two things are antithetical --- even to the extent of denying either matter or spirit actually exists at all.  (Christian Science said matter was unreal, not just in the Platonic sense of being less real than the ideal, but in the sense of asserting that materiality is a delusion; on the other hand, contemporary science often says anything except matter is unreal.) An incarnate God, or a God who would make room within his very life for embodied existence like ours (in whatever form that embodiment occurs) would be anathema and literally inconceivable to either of these! So yes, we often suspend disbelief in reading science fiction or fantasy literature in order to enter deeply into the story. But what is also true is that we need to learn to suspend disbelief in intelligent ways in order to appreciate the Mystery of God and the cosmos; we need to do this in order to enter deeply into this great theodrama. Star Trek's stories may seem easier to believe than stories of the Ascension because the Mystery we call God is greater than anything we can create or even imagine ourselves.

One last point. Early on in my studies of theology (probably during my BA work), my major professor answered the question, "What do I do if I cannot believe in God?" His answer was, "I would encourage you to act as though it (God's existence) is true and see what happens." My own objection at the time was that that would be encouraging people to engage in pretense, not real faith, and John Dwyer responded further, " Perhaps it seems like that superficially, but what would really be happening is that one would be opening oneself [or remaining open] to allow those things that God alone can do." Another way of saying this is to affirm that one would thus be refusing to close oneself to the Holy Spirit. Once one allowed or embraced this openness, one would then compare the differences between one's life before and after such openness. I didn't find John Dwyer's initial answer much more convincing than I found the Christian Science answer re: matter's unreality when I was 8 or 9 yo, but I also mistakenly thought my faith was relatively strong and sufficient. 

I now know that learning to trust (and to be open to Mystery) in the way John described is both more difficult and more intelligent than any cynical skepticism scientific materialism offers us today. And one grows in faith (thanks be to God)! I have experienced things in my life which God alone could do, and I recognize the wisdom (and the humility!!) of John Dwyer's advice to students believing they were atheists or that faith was naive, namely, that they suspend their disbelief, open themselves to new ways of seeing, and see what happens. Of course, this specific form of suspension of disbelief would result in a vocation to commitment to a world itself called to be something ever greater than even the limitations of science can imagine. What is often difficult for us is understanding that this specific suspension of disbelief is more profoundly wise than science itself can know, or our often-earth-bound imaginations can create.

 Authentic faith (which, again, is not the same as naive credulity) is something different, and in some ways, both more challenging and compelling than the more superficial suspension of disbelief we adopt when we read science fiction or fantasy literature. The essential difference, I think, is that the first type of suspension of disbelief is a form of chosen naivete adopted temporarily for the sake of recreation and enjoyment; it allows us a vacation from reality, while exercising imagination in the service of creativity. This certainly enlivens us. The second type of suspension of disbelief, that of faith, while also exercising imagination in the same service, requires more than our imagination. It is neither naive nor credulous and requires the whole of ourselves in a more direct commitment to enlivening others; as a result, faith opens us to a more intense and extensive commitment to reality itself and is simply more difficult.