On Existential Solitude and Discerning my own Eremitical Vocation

[[I do have a question for you about you. I am trying to be respectful in how I word this. Chronic illness is an integral part of how you live your vocation. I got the impression not too long ago that you had struggled at one point about your vocation from one of our conversations. . . . What I am interested in knowing if you feel like sharing, is what helped you understand the difference between a call to the eremitic life as a vocation geared to you specifically, and a way of making lemonade out of lemons? The reason I ask is because I just have an overall impression from many of your posts... that there is a real emphasis on how this vocation really fits chronic illness and I wonder if people see it as a secondary thing, or the primary reason for seeking profession. . . . and yet there seems to be a liminality about it. . . that is, it is true that these factors are compatible with vocations and radically shape how it is lived, and yet [these factors] do not explain how a person identifies the vocation psychologically without a particular apostolate or chronic illness as being theirs. And perhaps this question makes no sense. . .]]

Thanks for your questions. They are important and point to a significant constellation of issues any hermit candidate and diocesan personnel along with mentors, spiritual directors, et al, will need to deal with in discerning a vocation to eremitical life when the candidate has a disability or chronic illness. Chronic illness certainly impacts the way I live my vocation; more importantly though, I think it is a foundational part of my vocation per se. I say this because it has been chronic illness along with personal woundedness that confront me with existential solitude most sharply and have done so all through the years, even when I was much younger. Existential solitude is something every genuine hermit comes to know, but chronic illness, for instance, introduces us to this much earlier and, perhaps, in a more consistent way than is ordinarily the case. Karl Jung once wrote about this (if I am remembering correctly). He noted that some younger people have certain lived experiences that suit them to a solitary life, even though we ordinarily think of eremitical life as a second half of life vocation. I believe chronic illness, some disabilities, and some other difficult situations experienced in early life represent such experiences.

While I believe the eremitical vocation is primary and the chronic illness must be secondary in one's discernment of the vocation and admission to profession and consecration, I also believe that one's illness can serve one's vocation to eremitical life precisely because it puts the person in touch with the deepest solitude we human beings know and that eremitical life is lived in terms of, namely, existential solitude. This is the solitude that recognizes our fundamental aloneness and separation from others no matter how close we also become to them or how well we love them and they love us. Existential solitude recognizes a gap that cannot be bridged as well as the fact that this aloneness is overcome in and by God alone who is "closer to us than we are to ourselves." As I wrote recently, in our hunger for being and meaning (that is, for the fullness or abundance of meaningful life,) we hunger for God and often know God's powerful presence best only in the sharpening and deepening of that hunger. I associate existential solitude with this hunger and with the sharpening of this solitude with both chronic illness and the call to eremitism.

The chronically ill already know the kind of solitude a hermit is called to get in touch with over time, though it may not be something they reflect on or come to appreciate. Those who are able-bodied are (or at least are more likely to be) less in touch with this deep solitude. They will come to know it in the various natural ways any hermit comes to know it in time, but perhaps not as profoundly; moreover, they will not be as likely to structure their life in terms of vows, prayer, and spiritual direction, that allow them to get into greater and greater touch with it. Discerning a true eremitical vocation takes real time whether one has a chronic illness or not, but my sense is that some persons with chronic illness (not all) are meant to live their existential solitude even more radically than most persons with chronic illness. I believe this is necessary for them to be whole and holy persons. It is also necessary if they are to witness to others that this foundational solitude is constituted especially by one's relationship with God lived in space and time. These persons will have discovered an eremitical vocation. Does this also make lemonade out of lemons? Yes, but it is not primarily about that, and it must be distinguished from that.

You see, for those without this vocation (and even with it), there is the question of whether one is JUST trying to make lemonade out of lemons. First of all, God can use the eremitical vocation to make lemonade, but this must still be God's project, not one's own! Was I trying to justify living as a hermit by convincing myself this was actually God's call? For me, this was a nagging question, though, through the years, it was countered more often and more profoundly than not. It took time to reach the depths of my own woundedness and discover there a Divine call to eremitical solitude, not just a neat way of justifying things that isolated me from others, prevented the use of personal gifts, or gave me a relatively restful life. The vocation to eremitical solitude is a vocation to engage with God at the point of one's existential solitude.** Physical solitude, silence, and prayer are essential helps and means to this but so are privileged relationships, for example. Still, it is a commitment to existential solitude and all that implies that defines the vocation, not merely physical solitude.

The question of I how discovered this is somewhat different. It began with an insight into c 603 and its possible place in my own life. I looked at that canon (even reading the canon at all, I believe, was providential) and began to see that it was a way of answering every question and yearning I experienced for a way to live my religious vocation that not only made space for but made sense of chronic illness at the same time. This was very like the deep insight I had had upon first attending Mass before I became a Catholic. On that occasion, as I knelt watching others go to Communion, I had the sense about the Church that "here every need I have, whether emotional, psychological, spiritual, intellectual, aesthetic, social, theological, etc., can be met." I was about fifteen years old then. But of course, the insight is not enough. It must be tested and proved.

So (the short version of things!), I began living eremitic life. As part of this, especially after perpetual profession and consecration, I also worked hard with my director to heal personal woundedness. Each major piece of work we undertook, each root of woundedness we dealt with, led to healing that was associated with the felt risk that I would discover I had been mistaken and was not really called to eremitical life as a Divine vocation. And yet, through the years, each piece of healing came with a reaffirmation that I was indeed called to this by God. (I can go into details about this ongoing discernment another time but for now, it is enough to say the Church affirmed this, my director affirmed it, and the fruits of my life and this work affirmed it.) Generally, the truth was that authentic eremitical life 1) was the very thing that called for the work we were doing, 2) it gave me the courage, will, and strength to undertake this work and sustained me in it, and 3) it was what I felt called to live upon "completion" of the work. (I say "completion" here because while we came to a significant point of healing, the work would also continue in a new key.) In any case, eremitical life proved again and again that it was the very reality that allowed for any significant healing to be accomplished. While the call to eremitical life made dealing with personal woundedness imperative, it also made it possible and fruitful for others.

The need to wrestle with existential solitude and the deepest truth of my identity throughout all of that was similar in both eremitical life, chronic illness, and personal woundedness. Each of these posed the crucial and sometimes excruciating questions of being (existence) and meaning (meaningful life) --- though in different ways; each touched on or tapped into what Tillich calls being grasped by an ultimate (or unconditional) concern and the gift of faith. The trick was teasing these apart from one another because similarity is not identity. Eventually, with eremitical life (lived well) as the context, goal, and gift that made all of this possible, we reached the depths of personal woundedness, and part of the healing there included (once again, but now without any nagging questions whatsoever) the affirmation and bone-deep sense that I am a hermit because God, through the mediation of God's Church, calls me to be one. It is, in other words, the call that allows me to achieve wholeness and holiness and be the person I was created to be.

You can clarify what you are asking if I have largely missed your point, and I am happy to clarify my initial response as well. This is not easy stuff to explain so I am grateful for the opportunity.

___________________________________

** Wherever I speak of eremitical life God is implicit in this term. Again, eremitical life is a life of engagement with God at the point of existential solitude.