"It is all of a piece --- ecstasy and epilepsy"

Yesterday's reading from Mark is always challenging for me. It is the story of the Father with the epileptic Son. Because of my own seizure disorder I have struggled my entire adult life with the situation described and the questions raised in Mark 9:14-29. I have struggled with injuries and memories of injuries or the sense of ever-present danger and threat Mark describes so well. For many years every day and even every hour was marked by terror because of this and I yearned to be able to embody Jesus' admonition to, "Be not afraid." I have reflected long and hard on the accusation of the age's faithlessness. Especially though I have struggled personally with the last exchange between the disciples and Jesus: [["Why could we not drive the spirit out?" He said to them, "This kind can only come out through prayer."]]

My own struggle to understand and accept my chronic illness and the things it has made both impossible and --- more importantly! --- possible in my life eventually found its summary and resolution in the words of Paul: "My grace is sufficient for you, my power is made perfect in weakness." (2 Cor 12:9) It underscored the importance of paradox in Christian life and especially the relationship of human poverty to Divine grace. So central was all of this to me that, as I have already noted here at other points, I used Paul's summary of the heart of an incarnational faith lived in and with Christ as the motto engraved on my perpetual (eremitical) profession ring.  I used the similar affirmation we find in the Gospel of John where Jesus responds to news of Lazareth's illness as a key text inspiring my life and therefore as a piece of the Scriptural underpinnings of my Rule, [[When Jesus heard that, he said, This sickness is not to death, but for the glory of God, that the Son of God might be glorified thereby.]] But every once in a while someone captures this same dynamic and affirmation in words I have not heard before. Sometimes they do it in a way which speaks directly and powerfully to me and my own experience.

Yesterday at the end of Mass, my pastor read a brief passage from the book Unexpected News, Reading the Bible with Third World Eyes by Robert McAfee Brown. The passage was titled (not by Brown; it was part of a small anthology of reflections), "Down from the Mountaintop": [[ As soon as the 'religious experience' of the  transfiguration was over, Jesus goes down from the mountain to respond to human need, the healing of an epileptic boy. When the boy's distraught Father asks for help, Jesus does not respond, "Look, I 've just had a marvelous experience and I don't want to lose the glow." No, things are immediately earthy, human, even ugly --- for a person in an epileptic seizure is not a pretty sight. It is all of a piece --- ecstasy and epilepsy. This is what messiahship is all about: being in the midst of the poor, the sick, the helpless, those with frothing mouths. Messiahship --- just like Christian living --- is not just "mountaintop experiences" or "acts of concern for human welfare":  it is a necessary combination of the two.]]


 I am grateful to have been present for the reading of this brief reflection yesterday. It was a very powerful moment for me: affirming, shaking, a little tearful, challenging,  and consoling all at once.  Pentecost continues bestowing its unsettling and sustaining gifts of wind and fire. In the power of the Spirit and from the perspective of the Kingdom --- it is all of a piece:  Mountaintop experiences and years in the desert; a power made perfect in weakness; a  bit of human brokenness and poverty made a gift to others by the whole-making grace of God; mute isolation  transfigured into the rich communion and communicative silence of solitude; a life redeemed and enriched by love. It is all of a piece ---  epilepsy and ecstasy. I am grateful to have learned that. In fact, I am grateful to have needed and been called to learn that!

Should Christians generally "Try to blend in?" How about hermits?

[[Dear Sister, a blogger wrote about a passage from the Office of Readings recently from a letter to Diognetus. In applying what s/he read, s/he said, [[And others, including [name], have pondered the externals in our lives in Christ. What is written approximately 18 centuries ago, seems sound. It runs counter to the ways of some in our time who dress as religious of the past several centuries, or who live their lives being noticed and in opposition to the life and culture of their environment.

This reading promotes invaluable reflection. By blending in, and the religious life remaining hidden, we give Christ the glory of His due by being Christians living in the world, yet not of it. Is this another way of describing the life of the temporal Catholic world, the visible Church, the social Church, the noticed and distinctively unusual lives--outlandish, if truthful--of some religious solitaries and groups? We may then place this externally-noticed way beside the option of remaining in Christ in the mystery of His life among us and of us subsumed in His life: the mystical Catholic world, the interior Church, the spiritual world.]] (emphasis added) I wonder if you agree with this reading of the passage? Should Christians "Blend in"? How about hermits or solitaries?]]

I suppose the main problem I see with this analysis is that the Letter to Diognetus (at least the passage from the Office of Readings from about a month ago,@ p 840 of the Easter Season breviary) says nothing about Christians blending in, but rather is concerned with the exceptional and pervasive ways Christians stand out despite their normality. While the author makes clear that it is true they do not stand out because of what they wear for everyday things, or what they eat, or because they flout civil laws, fall into ecstasies in the midst of communal celebrations, or buy into a spirituality that is so other-worldly they cannot work for their livelihoods, it is also true that at every turn they are distinguished by the extraordinariness of their lives. They marry and have children, but they protect and honor those children; they do not expose them to the elements or to wild animals and therefore to death when they are unwanted or sickly. They love all men, with a preference for the weak and poor but are universally persecuted, etc. This too is something the author makes very clear.

Remaining in Christ and living in the world means that one will be noticed in one way and another --- at least it means that in "the world" which is essentially contrary and resistant to Christ. It is not necessarily contrary to [[...the option of remaining in Christ in the mystery of His life among us and of us subsumed in His life.]] This is so because life in Christ does not necessarily mean "hidden," nor does it mean working to blend in. Especially it does not mean buying wholeheartedly into one's culture, or refusing to be counter cultural! Emphatically not !!! (If one's culture is basically contrary and resistant to Christ then one has to be counter cultural in significant ways.) But the reason one is noticed, is not due to externals pointing to a disordered or fanatical life. Christianity is eccentric in the technical ("out of the center") sense of the word, not in the common sense of being crazy or bizarre. The author to the letter to Diognetus is concerned with establishing first of all how very normal in every way Christian life is, and for that reason how truly inexplicable the hatred with which Christians are met at every turn. He is absolutely not concerned with arguing that Christians should "blend in" so they are completely indistinguishable from anyone else.

The Paradox the Author is Dealing With

Instead, he wants people to know that Christians are good, even exemplary citizens with a higher moral code than many, and that they serve much as a soul to a body in their presence within their societies. At the same time the author says no one can explain the hatred experienced from both Jews and Greeks (i.e., every non-Christian), he points out that there is a clear reason for the hatred Christians experience; namely, Christians serve to judge the world and its disorder by placing restrictions on its activities just as the soul places a restriction on the body's pleasures. They are very much contrary to aspects of the dominant culture. Thus, the author of the letter is walking the fine line of paradox and indicating that precisely where Christians live completely normal, loving lives, they also live the most exceptional and provocative lives. They are like the soul in the body or like leaven in a loaf of bread, and to some extent they will be indistinguishable, but at the same time, they will stand out because their presence imparts a character to the whole which is undoubted and undeniable. The Christian's religious life is hidden (in the sense that s/he does not ordinarily stand on street corners praying in public, etc,) but it is also supremely perceptible in the way s/he lives.

The General Truth Today

In today's world it remains the case that Christians should be the soul of the body, that we should be primarily distinguishable because of God's love of us, and our love for God and one another. We must remain in Christ precisely so we serve as yeast for the dough, light in the darkness, salt or savor in the food of life, and so forth. This "being in the world but not of it" is the very essence of the lay vocation. But within Christianity, there are specific vocations which are defined even more intensely in terms of their counter cultural nature. The solitary or eremitical vocations the blogger refers to are among these, and these lives, unlike the lay vocation, are characterized precisely by their stricter separation from the world. They are meant to be counter cultural in almost every way I can think of. Is this unusual? Yes, and it is meant to be. Is it noticed? Yes --- even when hermits are unavailable to speak about their lives, this vocation is noticed in a general way.

Hermits live lives of essential hiddenness and stricter separation from the world in part so they may address the world in the same way prophets of old addressed their cultures and world --- to call these to their truest reality, to challenge them to conversion and fulfillment in Christ. A conscious (or self-conscious!) attempt to blend in, which seems to me to include something other than an honest or transparent living out of one's Christianity in the normal incarnational way life in Christ dictates, is very far from such a vocation. Understanding, empathy, compassion, and prophetic presence which are rooted in the Hermit's honest and loving solidarity with the humanity and situation of others are another matter. The hermit must be a convincing example of the latter without falling into the disingenuousness of the former. When Paul spoke of becoming all things to all people, for instance, I think this is what he was speaking of.

Solidarity and Christ-consciousness versus Estrangement and Self-Consciousness

What I am trying to say is there is a vast difference between fitting in because in one's basic Christianity one knows on a deep level how very like every other person one is, and therefore, truly belonging in any circumstance or set of circumstances, and trying to "blend in." The first is motivated by humility and carried along by one's genuine love of others. The second is too self-conscious and seems to me to not be motivated by humility or an honest love of others. Abba Motius of the Desert Fathers says it this way, "For this is humility: to see yourself to be the same as the rest." The first is marked by the freedom of the Christian, the second is marked by its lack. The first can and will go anywhere, but will go there as a Christian (including as a Christian hermit) with all the commitments and differences that ALSO entails, the second is less about being present to and for others, and is more concerned with being indistinguishable or blending in --- self-conscious motives, both of them. Let me give you an example of what I mean.

In my town we have a small restaurant, a converted house, which is a favorite of everyone from every strata of our generally (but not universally) affluent society. On any given weekday morning one may find, especially at some of the larger tables which seat ten or more, the mayor sitting elbow to elbow with the guy who picks up her garbage, the single mother who needs government to pay better attention to her needs, the businessman who regularly leaves a $50 tip, the college student who eats there for free because the owner doesn't want her sick or starving, along with the owner of one of the local (and national) sport franchises, et al. Conversations are not strained, nor are they meant to presume on others. They are simply human. Everyone belongs, no one tries to "blend in." If the college student tried to dress up, or the mayor to dress down, or the sanitation worker to do something similar, etc, then something crucial and crucially honest to this place would have been lost due to self-consciousness and a sense of difference, whether of superiority or inferiority. Residents of our town don't go here to blend in; instead we go here to relate and to be ourselves in a diverse environment. This restaurant is a gift to the community, and it allows the kind of presence the Christian is supposed to cultivate I think. When I eat here (unfortunately, very rarely these days!) I simply am who I am as well --- both in my more fundamental solidarity with others as well as in what distinguishes me. I think this is really what the author of the letter to Diognetus was talking about.

I hope this helps.

Another Look at Humility from the Perspective of Matthew 23:1-12

Today's Gospel presents us with an analysis of the nature of humility and a reminder about its importance. This lection is concerned with the image of authentic humanity seen in contrast with the inauthentic humanity of the pharisees. Three things in particular struck me about humility as a result of today's gospel passage.

First, while most of us would say the antithesis of humility is pride, and today's gospel certainly portrays pride as a symptom of the lack of humility --- the pharisees love their special seating at the synagogues and places of honor at the banquets as well as their titles and elaborate religious garb --- pride is an aspect of a deeper reality. That deeper reality is the real opposite of humility; it is HYPOCRISY which means play-acting, pretending or dissembling. What the pharisees show us is that there is a kind of forgetfulness in this hypocrisy, a willingness to ignore some aspect of the truth about themselves and others and to play up (or deprecate) other aspects, or the persons as a whole. The pharisees are indeed guilty of pride, but it is a symptom of this deeper problem, this need to pretend and live a lie.

One thing today's Gospel makes clear (and we will hear the same thing in tomorrow's) is that this kind of pretense is always at someone else's expense. If we cannot be truthful about ourselves and accept the whole of ourselves in light of God's love for us, in light of the infinite dignity we possess as his own, neither will we be able to be truthful about others. Because we feel ashamed and threatened on some level, we will need to put others down or oppress them in some way. For the pharisees, treating religion as a means to status for themselves also means making sure others are seen as less religious or even irreligious. The burdens they tie up and impose on others which they then do not lift a finger to help them bear is the burden of religious law. As a result of some of these laws some people cannot worship with their brethren, some are by definition unclean, etc. Their very livelihoods prevent them from being Jews in good standing, so to speak. For them, religion is oppressive and a means of disempowerment. It denigrates rather then exalting and empowering.

It follows then that one of the central signs of a lack of humility (hypocrisy, pretence, dissembling, etc) is seeing others as competitors or rivals. For this reason Jesus directly opposes this with the notion that those who really follow him are brothers and sisters to one another, and have a vocation to serve, that is, a call to ease the burdens of our neighbors. We do that in many ways, but one of the most important is by giving these neighbors access to the life of Christ and his gospel, a life which supports them in their preciousness and allows them to live up to their potential and dignity as human beings. Ironically, the biggest bit of forgetfulness the pharisees are guilty of is how TRULY gifted they were --- they and everyone else. That is, they forgot that where God was concerned they were truly beggars; their whole selves are gifts of God, given at every moment, inspired by his breath, sustained with his mercy and love, and given every good gift from beyond themselves. To say one is gifted requires a giver of gifts, and to acknowledge true giftedness is also to admit one's dependence on the giver.

Secondly then, it is from an examination of its opposite, and also from looking to Jesus that we come to see humility as a loving truthfulness about ourselves, especially vis-a-vis God and others. To be humble requires an awareness and acceptance of who we really are, not just in terms of limitations, brokenness, sinfulness, and the like, but our strengths, talents, and gifts as well. This is true not only because simple awareness is important in the spiritual life and pretense is disastrous, but because this kind of awareness and acceptance allows us to really live for others. For the sake of the kingdom, for the sake of our brothers and sisters and with the knowledge that we are essentially no better nor worse than anyone else, we are free to work on our limitations, whether that be with therapy, spiritual direction, education, etc. And for the sake of our brothers and sisters and the building up of the kingdom we will be free to develop and use our gifts, talents, and strengths --- but not if we remain either reticent or embarrassed about admitting them, or if we claim them as our own possessions and the means to self-aggrandizement.

Thirdly then, we have to renounce the notion that humility is about self-denigration or self-deprecation. It is not about putting ourselves down, and particularly not in hypocritical or insincere ways. Humilty is not about a lack of self-esteem or feeling and operating out of a lack of personal dignity. Instead, humility is about being exalted in the truest sense, that is accepting our identities, our preciousness and dignity in God, letting him lift us up from the dust of the earth and breath into us a spirit which sets us apart from the rest of creation making us uniquely gifted for the sake of the whole of his creation. Humility allows our greatest truth to be the fact that God is continually merciful to us, continually regards us as and makes us precious, continually loves us beyond and in spite of anything unworthy of his love in a way which makes us the very result of that love.

Genuine humilty recognizes and accepts both dimensions of our lives, the limitations and sinfulness, AND the giftedness and strengths, particularly since the latter do not come from us, but from the giver of all gifts. It is for this reason that other signs or symptoms of a lack of humility besides pride, competitiveness, and rivalry include false modesty, perfectionism (a lack of honesty about our own giftedness and its imperfection), a lack of self-esteem and all the actions that come with these. Embracing the whole truth of ourselves is both freeing and empowering. Not least it opens us to accept and use God's gifts (for which we need no longer be ashamed or self-conscious) on an ongoing basis. (After all, it is not easy to be rescued or saved, but for the humble person, it is the simple fact of who they are and who they will continue to be.) Further, it allows us to accept others for who they are as well, neither threatened by their gifts nor repulsed by their limitations and weakness. This empowers us to really be brothers and sisters to one another, and to serve as best we can.

We should always bear in mind that the word humility comes from the Latin, humus, which means earth or ground or soil. Humility reflects several senses of this word: 1) it recalls that we are creatures made from the dust of the earth, but also spirit-breathed, inspired beings with an innate dignity which is incomparable to any other creatures we yet know. 2) humility is the soil out of which all other virtues grow. It is akin to the good soil in the parable of the soils which allows the Word of God to take root and grow deeply and lastingly without being stunted or distorted while we proclaim it boldly with our very lives, and 3) it is indeed the ground of our salvation in the sense that it is the precondition, the loving truthfulness necessary for receiving fully the gift of salvation.

One final word on the last line of today's Gospel. We might be tempted to read this line as punitive (or alternately implying reward): if we lift ourselves up, God will knock us down, whereas if we denigrate ourselves, God will exalt that and us as a reward. I think this is a serious misreading of the line. What Jesus (via Matthew) is giving us here is the PARADOX of humility: if you are honest about yourself and who you really are, God's work to gift you will bear incredible fruit. His Word within you will be ABLE to exalt you further and further and make you even more who you are called to be. You will truly be God-breathed or inspired dust of the earth, and your inheritance will be eternal. If, on the other hand, you are unable to admit or accept the truth of yourself God's loving mercy will not be able to find a place to grow in you and will not bear fruit in abundance. If, and to whatever extent you cannot be gifted by and dependent upon God, then life and death will eventually take whatever status you have enjoyed away from you, and you will return to the dust of the earth as nothing more lasting than that.

Reflections on Humility as the Dignity of True Humanity: A Beginning

"How does a person seek union with God?" the seeker asked.
"The harder you seek," the teacher said, "the more distance you create between God and you."
"So what does one do about the distance?"
"Understand that it isn't there," the teacher said.
"Does that mean that God and I are one?" the seeker said.
"Not one. Not two."
"How is that possible?" the seeker asked.
"The sun and its light, the ocean and the wave, the singer and the song. Not one. Not two." Taken from The Rule of Benedict, Insights for the Ages by Joan Chittister, OSB

Over Lent I am going to be working through the chapter of Benedict's Rule dealing with humility. Though I am doing this for myself (that is, for my own Lenten concentration or focus), I anticipate some of it will spill over onto this blog. As will become obvious I think, I believe this is one of the most misunderstood and (in those instances where this is so) potentially destructive concepts in Christian spirituality --- though often because of what has at times passed for Xtn spirituality among the "professional" religious! However, it seems to me that all the posts I have put up here in the past weeks about the dialogical reality which is the human person (or the human soul or heart!) are fundamental to a right understanding of this foundational state of being we call humility.

It also seems to me therefore, that Sister Joan Chittister's short dialogue above can serve as a summary and a touchstone for recalling the basic and covenantal nature of the human self. Without this, we cannot begin to approach a Christian conception of humility, for above all, humilty has to do with a foundational integrity and dignity which is imminently and authentically human. This integrity involves a particular kind of poverty, a brokennness and distortion, a sinfulness, yes, but the real focus of genuine humilty is not that poverty or sinfulness (eventhough these are always present as the background of our perception), but rather the rich giftedness which is their counterpart through the merciful grace of God.

Humility then is, like most Christian realities, a paradoxical one. It is paradoxical just as the human being called to and made for humility is a paradoxical reality: dialogical, "not one, not two", so to speak. We are instead, "a covenantal self." The humble person is the one embodying and living out of this covenantal relationship, identified with it, rejoicing in it, sustained in and strengthened by it --- at once poor beyond telling, a sinner, abject and pitiful, and at the same time rich beyond all measure, righteous, exalted, loved, and infinitely valued by the merciful God who forgives and heals every need. Humility is paradoxical because in spite of the fact that it implies abjection, and specific forms of "loss of self", it is above all a form of real dignity, a matter of being exalted in Christ and empowered by the Living God to attain our truest and most authentic humanity.

What I think will become clear over the next number of posts is that when we focus on the human, sinful side of things, the brokenness and distortion, the abjection, the very real loss of self or self-abnegation involved in true humility, when these become the focus and God is left outside somewhere waiting to act, to dwell within, to forgive and grace and heal us, we have destroyed the paradox and lost sight of genuine humility in the process. Humility is what happens when light SHINES in the darkness of our Selfhood; it is what is realized when the would-be-singer discovers the song right at the heart of her existence and allows it to sound in and through her --- a clear and pure paean of joy both of, and to, the mercy of God.

Humility is the song, the pedal note sounding below, and grounding every other Christian virtue, which results when one accepts and celebrates their dignity as Daughter or Son of God in Christ. It is not an achievement of ours, not the result of some teeth-gritting asceticism or straining spiritual athleticism. It is, instead, the way or state of being of one who knows that in spite of everything, every failure, every misstep or betrayal of her very self --- and her God --- she has been known and loved with an everlasting love, and ministered to with an unearnable mercy which cannot be bounded or contained.