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 is 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.