On Mottoes in the Consecrated Life

[[Dear Sister Laurel, do you have a motto? How did you choose it? I wondered if the other hermits you wrote about recently have mottoes?]]

Thanks for the questions. Yes, I do have a motto. It is taken from 2 Cor. 12:9, "My grace is sufficient for you, my power is made perfect in weakness." From that I had engraved on my ring, "[God's] power is perfected in weakness" and that is my motto. I chose this because throughout my whole life I have needed to learn the truth of it, not only that God's grace is sufficient for us, but the startling truth that where that grace is active, power can be manifested in weakness; even more, I have needed to learn that in weakness the power of God's grace will triumph in startling and paradoxical ways.

When I studied theology I learned Paul and Mark's theologies of the cross and did work on Paul Tillich and his own theology of the cross as well. This theology was, more or less, the focus and source for all other Christology and other theology I have done. It was the place where I became acquainted intellectually with the notion of a God whose power is perfected in weakness and who transforms reality with freedom-empowering love. Whether I was reading Jesus' parables, the paradoxes of Paul's theology, the "in-your-face" irony of Mark's portrait of divine Kingship and call to discipleship, or trying to teach or proclaim these as the heart of the Good News, I found myself being addressed by God: [[I have been with you since the beginning revealing a power made perfect in weakness -- both the weakness I embrace for your sake and your own as well. I will never leave you abandoned or alone nor will there ever be a form of human brokenness, alienation, or shame from which I can be excluded!!]] In this way intellectual and academic work complemented, supported, and brought meaning to my lived experience. It is also the source of my eremitical vocation: "My grace is sufficient for you. My power is perfected (made perfect) in weakness."

I suppose the Hermits I wrote about recently also have mottoes, but I can't say for sure. Perhaps they will write and share what these are and a little about why they chose them. If that happens I will add to this post with whatever is provided -- or I will add them to the posts on their professions. The bottom line here (and my own sense of what is involved in choosing a motto) is that when Sisters (or others) choose such things they do so in a way which represents the foundational truth of the way God works and has worked in their lives. It is a meaningful and profoundly intimate dimension of their lives. Sometimes one's motto comes to one during prayer or lectio; I know one Sister whose motto was given to her (i.e., she heard this spoken directly to herself) during her profession liturgy. Generally speaking, a motto will spell out a sense of the shape one's life is to take in response to God. It will be a promise of the way God will work in and through her for the life of Church and World, a statement of the way God is glorified in her life. Thus, for instance, the motto of the Sister who heard this at profession is taken from Rom 9:17, [["I raised you up for this very purpose, that I might display my power in you and my name might be proclaimed in all the earth."]] Mottoes embody an entire life with and in God in just a sentence or two. They are at once historical, aspirational, and inspirational as they encapsulate one's personal experience, spirituality, and vocation.

Touching the Wounds of Christ: Proclaiming a Power Perfected in Weakness (Reprise)

(Please note that while I am writing about eremitical and consecrated life in this article because of the questions posed, most of what I am writing here is completely applicable to lives transformed by and living the consecration of baptism. Similarly, while I am referring explicitly to chronic illness the same dynamics can apply to many aspects of our lives whether or not one is chronically ill.)

[[Dear Sister, if a person is chronically ill then isn't their illness a sign that "the world" of sin and death are still operating in [i.e., dominating] their lives?  . . . I have always thought that to become a religious one needed to be in good health. Has that also changed with canon 603? I don't mean that someone has to be perfect to become a nun or hermit but shouldn't they at least be in good health? Wouldn't that say more about the "heavenliness" of their vocation than illness? ]] (Combination of queries posed in several emails)

As I read these various questions one image kept recurring to me, namely, that of Thomas reaching out to touch the wounds of the risen Christ. I also kept thinking of a line from a homily my pastor (John Kasper, OSFS) gave about 7 years ago which focused on Carravagio's painting of this image; the line was,  "There's Another World in There!" It was taken in part from the artist and writer Jan Richardson's reflections on this painting and on the nature of the Incarnation. Richardson wrote:

[[The gospel writers want to make sure we know that the risen Christ was no ghost, no ethereal spirit. He was flesh and blood. He ate. He still, as Thomas discovered, wore the wounds of crucifixion. That Christ’s flesh remained broken, even in his resurrection, serves as a powerful reminder that his intimate familiarity and solidarity with us, with our human condition, did not end with his death. . . Perhaps that’s what is so striking about Caravaggio’s painting: it stuns us with the awareness of how deeply Christ was, and is, joined with us. The wounds of the risen Christ are not a prison: they are a passage. Thomas’ hand in Christ’s side is not some bizarre, morbid probe: it is a  union, and a reminder that in taking flesh, Christ wed himself to us.]] Living into the Resurrection

Into the Wound, Jan L Richardson

My response then must really begin with a series of questions to you. Are the Risen Christ's wounds a sign that sin and death are still "operating in" him or are they a sign that God has been victorious over these --- and victorious not via an act of force but through one of radical vulnerability, compassion, and solidarity? Are his wounds really a passage to "another world" or are they signs of his bondage to and defeat by the one which contends with him and the Love he represents? Do you believe that our world is at least potentially sacramental or that heaven (eternal life in the sovereign love of God) and this world interpenetrate one another as a result of Jesus' life, death, and resurrection or are they entirely separate from and opposed to one another? Even as I ask these questions I am aware that they may be answered in more than one way. In our own lives too, we may find that the wounds and scars of illness and brokenness witness more to the world of sin and death than they do to that of redemption and eternal life. They may represent a prison more than they represent a passage to another world.

Or not.

When I write about discerning an eremitical vocation and the importance of the critical transition that must be made from being a lone pious person living physical silence and solitude to essentially being a hermit living "the silence of solitude," I am speaking of a person who has moved from the prison of illness to illness as passage to another world through the redemptive grace of God. We cannot empower or accomplish such a transition ourselves. The transfiguration of our lives is the work of God. At the same time, the scars of our lives will remain precisely as an invitation to others to see the power of God at work in our weakness and in God's own kenosis (self-emptying). These scars become signs of God's powerful presence in our lives while the illness or woundedness become Sacraments of that same presence and power, vivid witnesses to the One who loves us in our brokenness and yet works continuously to bring life, wholeness, and meaning out of  death, brokenness, and absurdity.

To become a hermit (especially to be publicly professed as a Catholic hermit) someone suffering from chronic illness has to have made this transition. Their lives may involve suffering but the suffering has become a sacrament which attests less to itself  (and certainly not to an obsession with pain) but to the God who is a Creator-redeemer God. What you tend to see as an obstacle to living a meaningful profoundly prophetic religious or eremitical life seems to me to be a symbol of the heart of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. It also seems to me to remind us of the nature of "heavenliness" in light of the Ascension. Remember that one side of the salvation event we call the Christ is God's descent so that our world may be redeemed and entirely transformed into a new creation. But the other side of this Event is the Ascension where God takes scarred humanity and even death itself up into his own life --- thus changing the very nature of heaven (the sovereign life of God shared with others) in the process.

Far from being an inadequate witness to "heavenliness" our wounds can be the most perfect witness to God's sovereign life shared with us. Our God has embraced the wounds and scars of the world as his very own and not been demeaned, much less destroyed in the process. Conversely, for Christians, the marks of the crucifixion, as well therefore as our own illnesses, weaknesses and various forms of brokenness, are (or are meant to become) the quintessential symbols of a heaven which embraces our own lives and world to make them new. When this transformation occurs in the life of a chronically ill individual seeking to live eremitical life it is the difference between a life of one imprisoned in physical isolation, silence, and solitude, to that of one which breathes and sings "the silence of solitude." It is this song, this prayer, this magnificat that Canon 603 describes so well and consecrated life in all its forms itself represents.

Bowl patched with Gold

We Christians do not hide our woundedness then. We are not ashamed at the way life has marked and marred, bent and broken, spindled and mutilated us. But neither are woundedness or brokenness themselves the things we witness to. Instead it is the Sacrament God has made of our lives, the Love that does justice and makes whole that is the source of our beauty and our boasting. Jan Richardson also reminds us of this truth when she recalls Sue Bender's observations on seeing a mended Japanese bowl. [[“The image of that bowl,” she writes, “made a lasting impression. Instead of trying to hide the flaws, the cracks were emphasized — filled with silver. The bowl was even more precious after it had been mended.”]]  So too with our own lives: as Paul also said, "But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing power will be of God and not from ourselves."  (2 Cor 4:7) It is the mended cracks, the wounds which were once prisons, the shards of a broken life now reconstituted entirely by the grace of God which reveal the very presence of heaven to those we meet.

Reflections from Friday's Readings

One of the fundamental keys for self-help groups and 12 step programs is the recognition that the person needing help "hits bottom" and comes to a profound sense of their own powerlessness to change things. Though we think of this as a contemporary bit of wisdom it is quite ancient and something Paul has been writing about in his Letter to the Romans for the last two weeks. From the portrait we find in Paul we are apt to recognize clearly that the dynamics of sin and of addiction are almost identical, especially as he describes things today: [["For I do not do the good I want, but I do the evil I do not want. Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells in me. So, then, I discover the principle that when I want to do right, evil is at hand. For I take delight in the law of God, in my inner self, but I see in my members another principle at war with the law of my mind, taking me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members."!]]

The "law of (the) mind" is the law (the inner drive and foundational dynamism) of the inner self, the good will and seat of the desire to do good, to know, embrace, and be truth. It is the fundamental law of the self, the God-given source of vocation and all creativity. It is the law which is at war with the law of sin. The whole self under the power of sin (the flesh) is at war with the whole self under the power of the Spirit (the spirit). What Paul knows with absolute certainty is that the attempt to keep the Law on his own power (flesh) only leads more deeply into sin. After all, to attempt to take what can only be received as gift is to betray both the giver and ourselves who are meant to be receivers. It is to increase the distance between ourselves and God.  Our inner self desires to do good and avoid evil but has no power of itself. Paul knew human beings to be locked in a situation of sin, a bondage of the will, and heart. In such a situation of bondage God's greatest gifts, the Law and the call to pray (to worship God in truth and purity of heart) become traps to idolatry and they occasion an even more extreme situation of estrangement and alienation (sin).

It is, as I described earlier in the week, a bit like jumping off a cliff in an attempt to fly and then trying to arrest the inevitable fall (much less believing we can somehow then launch ourselves into flight!) by pulling on the tops of our shoes! Thus, Paul follows his depressing and realistic analysis with a cry of abject helplessness: [[Who will save me from this body of death?]] But Paul's "hitting bottom" was also the moment of his being "exalted" to his original dignity and freedom. Judgment came in his meeting with God in Christ, but so did redemption and so, Paul's cry of abjection is followed by one of exultation, [[Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!]] The realization that he could do nothing to save himself and was thus in bondage to sin was turned on its head as he came to realize he need do nothing but embrace his powerlessness; in that moment he became open (obedient) and Absolute Power (in the weakness of the Crucified Christ) embraced him. Love-in-Act grasped, shook him, and freed him of "the law of sin" so that he might live instead from the grace of God.

Incapacity to Keep the Law or to be People of Prayer apart from God:

One of the striking pieces of Paul's insight here, an insight rooted in his experience of powerlessness is the way two things become complicit in our sin. The first is Law and the second is prayer. I have written recently about Paul's position on the Law. With Prayer what we need to see is that to truly pray we must admit our powerlessness so that God might then work within us. Paul said it this way, "The Spirit helps us in our infirmities. We do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit, with groanings too deep for words intercedes for us." My sense is the Church works very hard to make sure we model this in all of our prayer, all of our liturgy. Just as in addiction, so too in any spiritual life: everything hinges on our deep and dual confession of powerlessness and trust in God.

We begin every prayer with the sign of the cross and the words, "In the Name (that is, in the the dynamic, powerful, and empowering presence), of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit." In other words, we open ourselves to being moved and empowered by God's own presence. We complete our prayers in the same way, but this time, like Paul's dual confession in Friday's first reading, it is an expression of gratitude and hope rooted again in the powerful presence of the Triune God within and around us. In monastic life and the Liturgy of the Hours we begin the very first prayer of the day with the hopeful plea, "Lord Open my lips, and my mouth will proclaim your praise." Again, we know we are powerless to say a single word in prayer much less praise God with our lives unless God empowers us in this way. We trust that God will do so but we are equally clear that he must. At every subsequent hour we begin by intoning, O God, come to my assistance; O Lord, make haste to help me!" This is a prayer I personally pray many times a day in all kinds of situations. At these moments I am reminded of my own powerlessness, but also the power I have in Christ, and the covenant relation with God I truly am.

Paying Attention to the Weather?

Luke's Gospel reminds us how urgent this all is, and how attentive we must be at all times to the smallest sign of God's presence and our own powerlessness apart from that presence. Jesus begins by noting how clearly the people see and understand the signs of coming rain or hot winds. There is nothing trivial in this knowledge. In the Middle East of Jesus' day drought or famine led to social unrest and dislocation, loss of unity and death. Just recently we read that the war in Syria was caused in part by a terrible drought followed by the movement of 1.5M people to urban areas. The economy was destabilized, social unrest occurred and then war. Analysts note that because no one really paid attention to the drought as a factor in the county's situation they deemed Syria to be stable even the day before war broke out; this critical inattentiveness to what should have never been overlooked contributed to or (some opine) even caused the catastrophe in which many nations are now embroiled in one way and another. In California, where we are experiencing a serious drought people have begun to pay keen attention to clouds, water tables, fire conditions, El Nino, Hurricane Patricia, and so forth. We know how fragile the situation in which we find ourselves and we watch carefully lest we face disaster down the line. And yet, how many of us look so assiduously for the signs of God's presence --- or at the signs of our own critical need for God's presence?

As in these situations, and exactly like someone in a twelve step program who begins (and continues every step of) their journey into a hope-filled future by admitting the situation from which they cannot extricate themselves as they also open themselves to a "higher power," we are called to make our own Paul's dual confession of bondage to sin and the grateful celebration of freedom (being empowered by grace) in Christ.  At every moment and mood, with every prayer or attempt to be our true selves we are called to remember and claim our powerlessness so that God may simultaneously empower, free, and exalt  us to true dignity and humility. Embracing our personal poverty is the occasion for the triumph of God's great love. As Paul also reminds us, "(God's) grace is sufficient for (us). (God's) power is made perfect in weakness" --- both that of Christ and our own! We know how to do this:  + In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit we make our prayers and live our lives. + In the Name of God our lives are made God's own prayers. Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!

When only Weakness and Incapacity are Enough

[[Hi Sister Laurel, you wrote a paragraph about Jesus recently but I am not sure which post it was in. Would you mind reposting it here all by itself? It was about him being stripped of all his individual gifts and talents so God could be the entire source of his honor, and value. I thought it was excellent --- and was intrigued by the idea that Jesus' miracles were not enough!]]

Sure, I think I have only written one paragraph on Jesus in the past week or so; here is the one I remember. It fits what you describe. I have broken it in two to make it a bit easier to read. I have written before about Jesus' miracles (in the NT these are really called "works (or acts) of power") not being enough to bring about the reconciliation of all reality so that God might be all in all. cf Madman or Messiah?

What stands out in light of this paragraph and the events of the cross (and the life of Maximillian Kolbe too) is that the greatest thing we can offer the world is our own emptiness made precious and transfigured by the presence of God. When acts of power aren't enough our own emptiness, weakness, and incapacity can be. Another way of thinking of this is that our own stripping and emptiness are themselves the greatest gift we bring, the basis of anything truly miraculous. God can and does work through these more powerfully and exhaustively than he can through anything else. That's one reason Paul says, "My [God's] grace is sufficient for you. My [God's] power is made perfect in weakness." This is, perhaps the Gospel's greatest paradox and the reason at Easter we sing, "O happy fault".

"The Paragraph" (From On Bringing our Entire Availability)

[[When we think of Jesus we see a man whose tremendous potential and capacity for ministry, teaching, preaching, simple availability and community, was stripped away. In part this happened through the circumstances of his birth because he was shamed in this and was seen as less capable of honorable contributions or faithfulness. In part it was because he was a carpenter's son, someone who worked with his hands and was therefore thought of as less intellectually capable. In part it was because he was more and more isolated from his own People and Religion and assumed a peripatetic life with no real roots or sources of honor --- except of course from the One he called Abba.

And in part it was because even his miracles and preaching were still insufficient to achieve the transformation of the world, the reconciliation of all things with God so that God might one day truly be all in all. Gradually (or not so gradually once his public ministry began) Jesus was stripped of every individual gift or talent until, nailed to a cross and too physically weak and incapable of anything else, when he was a failure as his world variously measured success, [or shamed and dishonored as his culture variously measured dignity and honor] the ONLY thing he could "do" or be was open to whatever God would do to redeem the situation. THIS abject emptiness, which was the measure of his entire availability to God and also to us (!), was the place and way he became truly and fully transparent to his Abba. It also made the effectiveness of his ministry and mission global or even cosmic in scope]] as it fully transformed him from Jesus of Nazareth to being the Christ of Faith.

The Power of Paradox Opened Our Eyes

In everything I write about spirituality or theology there is a foundational vision and truth. It is that where the real God reveals Godself paradox will abound. As I have noted before, sometimes when doing theology one of the surest signs I have strayed into heresy is an inability to point to the paradox involved! The post I put up marking Corpus Christi abounds in paradox. The questions which prompted the post seem to me to be impatient with (or perhaps incapable of) paradox and more taken with the "Greek" way of seeing things, namely thesis (the thing we are concerned with or desire), antithesis (the opposite of the thing), synthesis (a comfortable middle way, a compromise).

This approach to reality doesn't tolerate either contradiction or extremes. It does not allow for radicalness, for the radical choice or commitment! If we seek for wholeness it won't be in the midst of weakness; if we crave light we will not find it by stumbling along in the darkness of the nearest cave (or in the apparent fruitlessness of illness, etc!);  if we desire to live, we will not focus our efforts on dying to self! If we wish to be rich it will not be by giving ALL we have away. If we wish to be wise, it will not be by embracing any and all of these things in acts of prodigal foolishness. Moreover,  it will not be achieved in acts of radical commitment, and so forth: such commitments are simply too lacking in balance, moderation, or respectability for the Greek mind. Nor will the God of such a perspective reflect contradiction or tolerate anything compromising his purity. Is he omnipotent? Then he will not reveal himself in kenosis or weakness --- much less be perfectly or exhaustively revealed in these. Is he all good and holy? Then he will not take sin, death, or humanity itself up within himself as though union with created reality is the very goal of it all!

There are not many mansions or dwelling places for the hoi polloi in THIS God's life nor is he apt to think his divine prerogatives are NOT to be grasped at. They are. Rigidly. Unfailingly. They are to be held tightly clasped so that only divinity may touch them without defiling or denigrating them. And his Messiah? Well, what need is there of a Messiah? No one can share his life really anyway, no one can live in union with him. But even if there were a place for a Messiah --- maybe as one who meets out justice, strikes with well-deserved suffering, compels with unachievable commandments, and burdens with his capriciousness and unmitigated power, etc, he would not reveal himself in weakness or the radical love and compassion that regularly breaks his own heart and demands his very life!

But Christians, of course, believe in a very different God and model his presence in very different ways than in terms of Greek consistency or the various exclusionary "omni's" and "im's" (omnipotence, omniscience, immutability, impassibility, etc) which are  so characteristic of the Greek divine ideal. Ours is the Living God of paradox instead and, as Michael Card says so very well in the following song, this God's wisdom is revealed as scandal to Jews and foolishness in the eyes of "Greeks" ---  all through a Messiah and disciples who are God's own Fools.

(I have included two versions, the first done by someone else and the second done by Michael Card himself.) The professor I am most endebted to for my theology once said in one of the first theology classes I ever had that some people simply cannot think or see in terms of paradox while doing so is difficult for all of us. My prayer is that each and all of us may one day rejoice in the fact that the power of paradox, made incarnate in Jesus Christ, opened our eyes and let us glimpse and share God's own wisdom.

Witnessing to God's Power Made Perfect in Human Weakness: On Chronic Illness and C 603's Requirement to Write a Rule

[[Dear Sister,  in Writing a Rule, More Questions, you said that someone who is chronically ill and trying to write a Rule should include, [[a horarium which, at least generally, specifies the shape of one's day: rising, meals, prayer, lectio, work, ministry, recreation and errands, hours of rest and sleep. (If one has significant personal exigencies which bear on these (chronic illness, for instance) it is usually a good idea to state these up front and note that these occasionally demand some flexibility with regard to horarium, etc, rather than trying to minimize the demands of the life throughout the Rule. One's descriptions should be about what is generally possible and prudent for one --- not an idealization of what another hermit MIGHT live if they were able.)]] But what if a  person is so ill that they cannot live an ordered life in the way you describe? What if the disruptions they experience are not just occasional? How do they write a Rule? Could they still live as and be professed as a canonical hermit?]]

Thanks for what are really an important set of questions. They are also quite difficult to answer except in a general way. First though, as a kind of preamble, let me say that I wrote what I did to save someone from the difficulty of endlessly trying to qualify the Rule they write. I wanted each person to write a Rule reflecting how they really do live except for situations that cropped up relatively unexpectedly or occasionally. If the situation is more constant or frequent than occasional it is best simply to deal with it by spelling out the parameters of one's illness, including the situation in question in these along with what is usually possible and necessary for one to live a faithful life. Any diocese or Bishop will understand that illness will also produce some unexpected disruptions here and there. These don't ordinarily need to be spelled out unless they are more common than not.

Regarding your actual questions, I have to say up front that the situation you describe is too vague to answer. Each case would need to be discerned individually and perhaps revisited at different points in the person's life. You see, they might not be able to live as a hermit or be professed at one point in time but later on that could well change. I do believe the person should be able to write a Rule for their own lives if they reach a point of vocational certainty and readiness.

I am personally familiar with chronic illness that can completely ruin any attempt at orderliness or regularity. At the same time during  large periods of this illness, even when it was profoundly disabling, I was still able to pray, rest, eat, medicate myself, do most chores, and, during some years, even engage in significant study --- all in an essentially solitary context. While I could not maintain a strict schedule I could do what was really essential to my life with God --- though there were limits of course. I could not do all I wanted to do and there were times when illness didn't allow much at all. Still, it always allowed (and called for) faith and a significant dependence upon God's love --- mainly in solitude. It still does. That is one side of my considerations and my ambivalence in answering your questions. Would it were the ONLY side!!

The Source of my Ambivalence:
 
What makes this situation difficult to address without serious ambivalence is that looking at myself at this point in time I could not have called myself a hermit, either formally or essentially. Perhaps I was a solitary person, but I had not embraced or even considered embracing eremitical life in a conscious way, and for that reason would not use the word to describe my situation. Even so, had I thought about the possibility of being a hermit at that particular time of my life (instead of beginning to do so five to ten years later) it might have been possible. I don't really know. That would have required serious discernment. What I do know is that every person that tries eremitical life must do so in a conscious way as a response to what they perceive to be God's own call while the life they propose to live must fit both them as an individual and the living eremitical tradition as well.

I am also clear that at that point (about six years before canon 603's publication) I could not have represented eremitical life either in the name of the Church or as a lay hermit unless it was very specifically as a recluse. Moreover, I could not at that time have said I thought God was calling me to this. While it might have seemed a way to give meaning to my life, that is not necessarily the same thing as a Divine call. Even more critically I believe the degree of illness I dealt with at that time did not leave me free enough to discern an eremitical call. I certainly could not have made a life commitment. Until and unless this freedom became a real part of my life --- even as illness continued to be a daily reality --- there was no way to claim I had such a vocation. No one else could have discerned such a vocation in me either.

So, I am sorry for all the autobiographical rehashing and dithering. The reasons for running through all of this are several fold. First, I want to indicate my opinions in this are not without personal experience; second, I am concerned to indicate they are neither arbitrary nor without significant reflection and even personal anguish; and third, they help explain why I believe each case should be discerned individually by the candidate and diocese with significant input from knowledgeable physicians, spiritual director and psychologists -- in other words, whoever is necessary to help the diocese really see the person before them.

Overall, unless the discernment from all of these sources argues that a life of the silence of solitude is a source of authentic freedom and human wholeness --- and thus, is truly God's own call, my inclination is to say no; if one is so sick that they cannot live a life which is regular enough to write and generally live a Rule which witnesses to their freedom in spite of illness, they ought not be professed as canonical hermits. The Rule they write does not need to look like that of other hermits (what constitutes assiduous prayer and penance may certainly differ, for instance, and illness with its correlative treatment, dependencies, and limitations will feature large here) but it does need to indicate a God-centered, profoundly peace-filled and authentically free life lived in the silence of solitude.

While my own ability to seriously  consider and then discern a vocation to eremitical life was partly influenced by chronic illness, even more fundamentally it was made possible by the freedom to envision my life and act in ways which were not merely determined by illness, but by gifts and talents as well --- not least the ability to lead a genuinely contemplative life in solitude, with all that generally requires. I have always believed both dimensions were essential for my own identity and for becoming a hermit. Especially, I have known from 1983 (when I first considered eremitical life) onwards that illness could not be the only or even the defining characteristic of such a life. Had this been the case, had illness been more than an important but definite subtext to a life with God, I could not have written a Rule or considered eremitical life as a vocation no matter how isolated illness caused me to be. In those early years I was certainly an isolated individual with profound gifts and yearnings (as well as very significant deficits) but I was not a hermit, nor again, until changes occurred, was I ready to become one much less make a life commitment to live eremitical life in the name of the Church.

The Requirements of Canon 603:

As I have written here many times Canon 603 is both demanding and very flexible. It requires a life of stricter separation from the world, assiduous prayer and penance, the silence of solitude, and the evangelical counsels lived under the supervision of one's Bishop and according to a Rule one writes oneself. The foundational life being described here is a contemplative one of pervasive and persistent prayer and penance entirely dependent upon the grace of God and ordered to union with Him. There are no more details given than this --- but how rich and profound are each of these terms! Of course "the silence of solitude' is a tremendously positive element which refers to the quies that results from living in the love of God. It indicates a sense of relatedness and psychological well being,  a sense of being relatively comfortable with oneself despite human weakness and sin, and capacity for creative engagement with the world despite embracing "stricter separation from the world". The evangelical counsels are our commitment to live out a life marked by a fundamental simplicity and richness in God even as we forego some of the legitimate 'richnesses' associated with a more ordinary life.

Through profession of these we promise to be open to the truly new, the future God summons us into moment by moment, and to close ourselves to the merely novel and distracting, to listen for the voice of God in all the moments and moods of our lives, and to love as only God can empower us to love. Stricter separation from the world is equally positive because it involves a commitment to be truly attached to that which is of Christ and detached from that which is not. It is a valuing of loving engagement without self-centered enmeshment as well as to really seeing the sacramental nature and potential of all reality. Because eremitism is not about escapism but about the disciplined and courageous commitment to a profound inner journey where God is hidden in everything including illness, it can certainly be made by someone suffering from serious chronic illness; it cannot, however, be made by someone whose whole life IS illness or who has ceased to believe in anything beyond the limitations and negativities of illness.

Growing in our capacity to transcend illness:

My own experience says it takes time to reach a point where illness is merely a subtext in what is a wonderfully personal and cosmic divine narrative. That narrative was summed up for me by Saint Paul who wrote to the Church in Corinth, "God's power is made perfect in weakness." It takes time to really know the victory faith can bring over illness so that while it remains problematical perhaps, it no longer defines who one is. It takes time, personal work, and discipline to embrace a life which is essentially affirmative and engaged with God's world in the silence of solitude rather than being negative and enmeshed in the isolation of illness and its prison of disappointment, disillusionment, self-pity, and fear. It takes time to move from God and faith as either opiates or facile justifications for the disorder caused by a state of sin (the state of reality's estrangement from God of which illness and suffering are signs and symptoms) to the God of Jesus Christ who does not explain away (much less cause!) the tragedies of our lives but instead redeems them --- if only we will trust in Him and the present and future he will weave with our collaboration.

The eremitical journey requires discipline, courage, love and the generous vision all of these give one. Though these two forms of "ordering" exist together in any life, the meaning and vitality which a creator God's love and mercy bring to chaos and emptiness is far more important than that imposed by external code, clock, and calendar. If the hermit is chronically ill she must show with her life that God is the true center of things, not her pain, not the disorder, inconstancy, and especially not the isolation illness occasions. Unless a person who desires to be a hermit can do this effectively and convincingly (and one piece of doing so which is required by Canon 603 is by writing of a Rule reflecting this), I would have to argue they have not yet discerned a call to eremitical life.

Summary:

Each situation is unique and each vocation must be discerned individually. What a genuine eremitical life looks like for those dealing with chronic illnesses can be seen today by looking at many of the lives of diocesan hermits who are pioneering this vocation for the Church. A number of c 603 hermits have been professed not despite their illness, but because God had redeemed their lives in ways which allowed illness to become transparent to a life giving grace which is much greater and stronger than the power of illness to disrupt, derail, and destroy.

Of course, it is also possible to find examples of isolated individuals who claim or aspire to be hermits, but whose lives are truly rooted in and centered not on God but on illness, pain, personal suffering and the limitations associated with these. It is actually not very difficult to discern the difference between these two if one gives just a bit of time and a listening ear to them. The first group is generally characterized by freedom and a kind of spiritual expansiveness even when chronic illness is seriously problematical because this person's life and attitudes toward reality breathe with the compassionate freedom and vitality of the Spirit. The second group is characterized by bondage and relative blindness to the lives, needs, and suffering of those around them, as well lacking insight into their own selves because these are precisely what the self-centeredness, disappointment, and self-pity associated with serious illness often occasion.

One day, with the grace of God, some of these latter individuals may make the critical transition from being the lone scream of anguish they are now to being the complex Magnificat which the grace of God's mercy and love makes possible. Often I think this suffering-tinged Song of joy and praise is what the Carthusians and c 603 call "the silence of solitude." In any case, I believe when this critical transition occurs and one reflects on it one will be able to see, articulate, and finally, codify what was essential to its realization in terms of asceticism, prayer, lectio, direction, therapy, rest, recreation, contact with others, etc. These "channels of grace" revealed in weakness along with the vision of reality they make possible will become the nuts and bolts of one's Rule.

"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!

On Divine Paradox: The God who is truly New because he is Eternal and Unchanging

I had a conversation with someone today regarding some questions she was asked to answer about the image of God she held. The questions were posed in an either/or format: do you believe in  1) a God that is unchanging or 2) a God that seems to change? Do you believe in a God of  1) might and majesty or 2) one who can be addressed as Daddy or Mommy? Do you believe in a God that is incomprehensible or a God who can be known and even described? That kind of thing. The problem with either/or formats is they never do justice to the paradoxical nature of God. In fact they are apt to tear the paradoxical nature of God asunder and in the process lose the really amazing qualities of the God of Christian Tradition. Now, I suspect posing questions in an either/or way is designed to see where the respondent stands generally in their approach to spirituality and reality. Those asking the questions are probably not ordinarily expecting a tremendously theologically sophisticated answer which demands BOTH answers be given their due in a paradoxical form --- although they may well be hoping someone will surprise them with their answers in this regard. Even so, depending on the context, asking questions in this way may be theologically misleading. In any case I want to look a bit at the first question because it came up recently, though indirectly, in the post "Always Beginners". Throughout I will refer to the distinction between kaine (qualitative newness) and neos (newness in time) raised in that earlier post.

I have written about paradoxes here quite a bit over the past five years but it is time to say something about these kinds of questions and how one addresses them adequately because the answers are never either or but both/and, and even more sharply, one BECAUSE the other. For instance, I recently wrote about the experience of being always a beginner in prayer and I explained that it was the fact that God was eternal and living that mainly accounted for that experience. Actually, there is a significant paradox here that has to be clearly affirmed, namely: to the extent God is eternal, so too is God always new. To the extent God always was, always will be (i.e., is immutable), to the extent God never grows, matures, or deteriorates (i.e., is ungenerated and incorruptible)) and does NOT change, so too is God ALWAYS new. Or, to the extent God is genuinely new (qualitatively or kaine new, not simply novel or new in time), God is truly eternal (ungenerated, incorruptible, immutable). We speak routinely of the God who is eternal and living to express this paradox. We are not speaking of a static God --- for static would not be living OR eternal. Static refers more to the realm of death than to One who would be the ground and source of ever-renewed life. (As Thomas Aquinas noted, rest or cessation of movement implies imperfection.) ONLY the eternal is always and everywhere new. Only the eternal God is truly dynamic. Only BECAUSE God is unchanging and always fully being-in-act is God ALWAYS NEW. Conversely, only because God is always new (kaine) and dynamic is God eternal.

 Michael Dodds, OP notes while commenting on Thomas Aquinas' theology, [[ Far from implying, therefore, that God is somehow static or inert, immutability directly signifies that God. as subsistent esse [which is not the same as simply existing], is pure dynamic actuality. And while we may still rightly predicate motion of God in virtue of his immanent activity of knowing and willing and in virtue of his causative act of creation and providence, we best designate the dynamic actuality of God who exercises, or better, is this act when we speak not of a changing God, who would possess only the limited actuality of a creature, but of the immutable God who is the boundless actuality of subsistent esse itself.]] The Unchanging God of Love, Dodd, Michael OP, pp 159-160

Problems occur in theology when paradoxes are neglected or unduly softened.  Thomas Aquinas had an appreciation of paradox and spoke, among other things, of the movement of the immovable God or the motion of the motionless God. Unfortunately those that followed him often did not appreciate paradox and used the categories of his thought in ways which betrayed Thomas' own insights and work. Thus, some who argued for God's immutability in language which was similar to Thomas' ended up with a static God and no way to do justice to his dynamism. In contemporary theology we most often find theologians trying to do justice to God's dynamism in ways which deny his eternity and immutability. This enterprise is important in light not only of the Biblical witness and Christ Event, but in light of an evolutionary world where science and faith learn to relate to one another as complementary approaches to reality. On the other end of the spectrum we still find theologians trying to do justice to God's eternity and immutability by denying his dynamism, his living quality, his always-qualitative-newness; sometimes this is because they resist or deny the truth of an evolutionary world or a God who creates via evolution and sometimes it is because they have not truly perceived the depth and uniqueness of Aquinas' own thought.

To deny God's eternity in order to stress his newness or apparent changeability is to substitute a God who may be novel (neos) but one who is incapable of making all things qualitatively new (kaine). He is insufficiently transcendent or sovereign and there is no reason to believe we can really hope for anything ultimate from him. Such a "god" may indeed change, evolve, and be an exciting reality in the short term, but unless he is ALSO eternal and immutable that change may well include ceasing to be as it does for everything else. On the other hand, to deny God's eternal qualitative NEWNESS (kainotes) in order to assert his eternity and immutability gives us a "god" who cannot relate to an evolutionary creation much less ground its newness and summon it towards fullness. What has to be maintained is the ever-new God who grounds evolutionary reality and does so precisely from a position of transcendence and eternity. He summons an evolutionary world into existence from the absolute future of his own being. In other words, without an eternal and transcendent God, there would be no evolutionary world moving towards fulfillment in greater and greater levels of complexity and intelligibility.

None of this is merely an exercise in logic. We assert paradox because God has revealed himself to be essentially paradoxical. He is the eternal, unchanging God who is both always new and, in his transcendence and immanence, is the source of all genuine newness. He is the sovereign God of might and power who reveals himself perfectly in self-emptying (kenosis) and weakness (asthenia). He is the God of justice who asserts his rights over reality and makes all things right or just via mercy. He is the WHOLLY OTHER God who is revealed most clearly in turning a loving heart and human face to the world while he reveals himself in Christ as the exhaustively compassionate one, the incomprehensible God who is known only to the extent he is an essential part of our lives and knows (embraces and inspires) us intimately. No part of these paradoxes can be sacrificed without sacrificing God's very nature. Thus, answers to questions like those with which  we began this post demand formulations like: "I believe in a God who is both/and," and further, to sharpen the paradox, "I believe in a God who is one thing only because or to the extent he is the other."

Personal Questions on the Vocation to Chronic Illness

 I have received several questions, some of them followup, during an email correspondence. Since they may reflect questions others are asking I have decided to post them here.

[[Sister O'Neal, you have written about chronic illness as vocation and explained the sources of your interest in your profile. Is your interest more personally motivated though? You write a lot about the God whose power is made perfect in weakness, and you adopted that as your motto for perpetual profession. That makes me think your interest is more personal than I have read up until now. I hope this is not too personal to ask about, but I understand if you choose not to answer.]]

Well, there is no doubt it is a personal question, and one I have not dealt with on this blog on purpose; neither is it one I will deal with again probably unless it raises significant questions for readers and I think saying more can actually help them; but yes, my interest in chronic illness as a vocation (or better, my conviction that there is such a thing) has a personal basis as well as the other reasons I have mentioned.

Since I was a young adult I have suffered from a medically and surgically intractable seizure disorder (epilepsy). For some years it went undiagnosed (or inadequately so), and for many more years (25 or more) it was life-threatening on a regular basis. It also resulted in injuries, some of which led to chronic pain because of Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy --- a condition characterized by neuropathic pain which results when soft tissue injuries do not heal quite properly. Today, the seizure disorder is relatively well, though not completely controlled (seizures are triggered by some types of external stimuli which are more prevalent today than in the past), but the chronic pain continues as a daily reality. Evenso, I take Rx pain relievers (which I believe is the only responsible thing to do here), and the med I now take for seizure control has a happy side effect of helping diminish neuropathic pain as well! The bottom line is that I function well in spite of these things, and am (Deo Gratias!!) graced by God in ways which cause other things than these to dominate!!

My real interest in the idea of God's power being perfected in weakness is first of all a function of my interest in Pauline theology which I began to develop in 1971 under John C Dwyer's tutelage. There is no doubt that Paul's Christology is kenotic, that is, it is centered on the self-emptying of God in creation which culminates in the Christ Event. Kenosis translates into asthenia or weakness. Our God is one who limits himself in order to create and enter definitively and exhaustively into our world. Further, redemption is effected only through Jesus' complete self-emptying in obedience to the will of God; obedience is an openness and responsiveness to God, a complete dependence upon him which implicates God in those places from which, by definition, he is otherwise excluded: the realms of sin and death in particular. It is above all the story of a God whose power is made perfect in weakness: his own, Jesus', and mine or yours as well; undoubtedly I was predisposed to hear this message with a particular keenness.

But it was not only Paul's theology that captured my imagination here. Throughout the Gospels we are confronted by a message where the values of God are not those of this world, where the poor are truly rich, the alienated and marginalized assume places at God's right hand, etc. These kinds of paradoxes intrigued and excited me; they still do, because they spell out the possibility of a life which is prophetic precisely because it does not measure up to, but rather criticizes ordinary worldly standards of productivity, status, value, etc. Still, in Pauline terms what they mean for me practically is that weakness in my own life has been capable of becoming the place where God's power is perfected, not because he delights in this kind of weakness or its attendant suffering (I sincerely believe he does not), but because he enters into our situation exhaustively and heals, transfigures, and redeems it. It can indeed become the place where his own power (love) is perfected in our world. Thus, 2 Cor 12:9 became not just the summary of Paul's gospel, but the summary of my own personal story as well.

Most importantly, it was the isolation occasioned by illness that demanded I confront unhealthy withdrawal, and eventually, to move through it to the legitimate anachoresis (withdrawal) of the eremitical life. That left me sensitive to legitimate and illegitimate forms of anachoresis, as well as to appropriate and inappropriate motivations for embracing the eremitical life, but it helped me to let go of the inappropriate and embrace the appropriate. (Yes the desert vocation involves contending with demons, and they are mainly our very own!!) It also forced me to confront my own essential poverty apart from God and learn how infinitely valuable and precious I am as one made in his own image. In light of his regard for me, and especially as one who (in Christ) is his counterpart --- called to assist in the coming of the Kingdom despite my weakness and personal inadequacies --- I am chosen as God's own bride and dignified beyond all counting by his love. What I discovered was that the call to eremitic life was in every way a call to wholeness, love, and joy. Additionally, it is a call to koinonia in solitude, not to an isolation masked in piety. There is withdrawal (anachoresis), yes, but there is a more profound connectedness or relatedness than is often apparent to those not living the life. In particular, for the diocesan hermit there is community on so many levels beginning with God that it is hard to describe the richness of relationship(s) within the solitude.

So, yes, my reasons for being interested in chronic illness as vocation stem from my own personal medical history as well as my experience as a hospital chaplain and work in neurosciences or clinical lab. Sometimes we witness to the power of the gospel in our weakness. As I have written before, I don't for a moment believe that God willed my illness nor desired the anguish and other suffering that accompany it, but I am convinced beyond all doubt that he willed to teach me how sufficient his love (grace) for me was in ANY situation. My own circumstances became a means to an end despite the fact that God did not will or send them. I came to hunger intensely for God's love, and for the capacity to return it very early on in my life; I also came to be aware of others' needs for it although I could not have explained that coherently at that point. And of course, God filled that hunger, even as he also sharpened it, and he commissioned me, as he commissions each of us, to bring that love to others in genuine compassion and service!

The story about how this all came to be is a complex one and unimportant in this context. What is important to say is that in my emptiness, weakness, brokenness, hunger, anguish, and pain, I met the God who brings meaning, strength, wholeness, satiety, joy, and delight out of all these things. The vocation I discovered is the vocation to witness to THESE latter things, to AUTHENTIC HUMAN EXISTENCE and the God who makes them possible in spite of and through the weakness and brokenness that besets us. God does not will the illness, pain, etc, but he does will their redemption, tranfiguration, and especially their transformation into a life of essential wholeness and compassion. THAT, afterall, is what a vocation to chronic illness is all about.

The reason you do not hear about the personal reasons that brought me to an understanding of this vocation is that while illness or injury remain problematical on a daily basis (this is mainly true of chronic pain), they do not define who I am. Especially I am no victim. Instead, my life is defined in light of God's grace and who that has made me; I want very much for that to be clearer and more primary to readers of my posts than these other things. God wills that I live as fully and lovingly as I can in spite of them. He has (with my cooperation) brought wonderful people into my life who have assisted in this including doctors, directors, teachers, pastors, friends who accommodate me in various ways, et al. In all these cases they have helped and challenged me to grow beyond an identification with illness and pain, and into an identification with God's grace, fullness of life, and growing personal holiness. Unless that is clear in what I write, live out, or otherwise proclaim, the suffering itself is meaningless and certainly not edifying; on the other hand, if the effects of the grace of God which transfigures both suffering and life IS clear in my writing and living, then there is rarely any need to focus on the suffering, and doing so would be a disedifying distraction!

[[Do you think it is important for people to know how to suffer? Do you think you have a responsibility to teach people how to suffer or to speak about your suffering?]]

While I think it is important for people to learn to suffer, and while I think suffering well is one of the things we are least capable of today, I believe that the way to teach (model, or witness to) that is NOT by focusing on suffering itself. In particular, speaking about my own situation is rarely necessary (or helpful) except when it is important to remind someone what is possible with the grace of God. For instance, occasionally a client will wonder if healing is really possible, or if it is possible to transcend a given set of circumstances. In such a situation I will refer to my own illness or pain. Here my own suffering is important, but only so long as it does NOT dominate my life or define me, and only in order to underscore the possibility of healing, essential wholeness and humanity along with the capacity to be other-centered and compassionate in spite of negative circumstances. God's grace ALWAYS heals and brings life out of that which is antithetical to these things, so what one wants to witness to is the transformation of one's life as one moves from faith to faith and from life to more abundant life. His love ALWAYS transfigures our reality, not least because he is WITH US in ways which remind us of how precious we are to him, how much he wants for us, how much he longs to share with us, etc.

Even in situations where it is helpful to speak of one's suffering one needs to recall that it's a lot like a single microdrop of skunk spray: a very little goes a very long way and "scents" everything in its path --- for a very long time!! Also, if you think about the stories of suffering that really inspire and move you, they are ordinarily the stories where courage, patience, joy, wholeness, dignity and selflessness predominate and the pain or suffering is recognized but allowed to disappear into the background. They are the stories where humanity triumphs (and this means a person living from the grace of God); they are not exercises in navel gazing or detailed and repetitive accounts of one's pain. Suffering well is, after all, about courage, about affirming life and meaning in spite of destruction and absurdity, and especially, it is about LIVING AS FULLY as one is able. There is no way to do this if one focuses on the suffering per se. This kind of focus is ALWAYS self-centered and can be temptingly and distractingly so both for oneself and for others; it is ALWAYS a bid for attention to self (even when appropriately used this is the case). It is also focused on the thing which God's grace helps overcome rather than on the effects of that grace (or the one who gives it). Neither of these (self-centeredness, or a focus on evil) is generally edifying, and can be quite disedifying except in certain limited circumstances. The question is always what does one want to witness to; viz, what do you want others looking at, God's grace and the possibilities for hope and wholeness or one's own self, brokenness, and suffering? For these reasons if one MUST refer to or focus on these latter things one must ALWAYS do so rarely and briefly.

What I am saying is that in "teaching" (I would prefer to say assisting or encouraging) people to suffer well, as far as I know, the only way to do that is to teach them how to live, how to pray, how to give themselves over to God's grace, and especially how to cope so that life and not pain per se is the focus. In my experience, a sure way to FAIL to suffer well (or to fail to inspire someone to bear their own pain well) is to focus on the suffering per se. By the way, "teaching" someone to suffer well presupposes one DOES that oneself, and I wonder how many of us can say that is honestly true of us? It is another reason to focus on life, on hope (both of which are the result of God's grace), and on placing oneself in God's hands so that he may redeem and transfigure the situation as far as possible. We need this encouragement and focus on a continuing basis as much as anyone we might witness to.

Eremitism: Call to the Chronically Ill and Disabled

(First published in Review For Religious @ 1986. Reprints available in "Best of the Review #8, Dwelling in the House of the Lord, Catholic Laity and Spiritual Tradition, or through Ravensbread Newsletter for hermits)

While applauding the end of a long period of narcissistic privatism in the church, Thomas Merton in his posthumously published, Contemplation in a World of Action makes an important case for the eremitism (that is, the lifestyle of anchorites and hermits) as a significant monastic lifestyle. Almost twelve years later in the 1983 Revised Code of Canon Law makes room explicitly for the inclusion of "nonmonastic" (that is, not associated with monasteries per se) forms of eremitism through canon 603, which outlines a life "in which Christian faithful withdraw further from the world and devote their lives to the praise of God and the salvation of the world through assiduous prayer and penance." Despite this attention, this little-known and mostly ill-regarded vocation has been ignored for far too long, and it is time to ask what vision Thomas Merton, perhaps the best-known of contemporary hermits, had of the eremitical life, and what vision others have of the nature and significance of this vocation in a contemporary church. In particular, with regard to this latter vision, I would like to explore the idea that the chronically ill and disabled may represent a specific instance of the eremitic life today.

At a time when religious and consecrated persons are described within their communities and the church as Poets, Prophets, and Pragmatists, the solitary vocation has achieved new vigor and significance. In some senses the eremitic vocation has always served to challenge society and the institutional church. Always hermits find themselves on the margin of society. Always they live at extremities which, whether gently or harshly, confront and challenge others in the mainstream of things. Unfortunately, the extreme marginal position has not always been one of marked sanity. Often hermits have justifiably earned and borne the label of lunatic, eccentric, rebel, heretic, or fanatic. But truly, whether the individual hermit functions as a prophet or as poet, the vocation is an eminently pragmatic one marked by sanity and profound sense, and is often possessed of a deep and significant conservatism. In fact, the vocation of the hermit today is seen by some as preeminently a vocation of healing, wholeness, and essential well-being in a society characterized by the sickness and disorder of alienation and disaffection.

Both theoretically and practically Merton has prepared the way for this understanding, while others, mostly in the Anglican confession, have confirmed it in their own living. Contemporary hermits live on the margins of society, but they neither remain on nor belong to its periphery. Instead, through simple and uncomplicated lives of prayer and penance, lives essentially free from the "myths and fixations" (Merton) imposed by and inordinately artificial society, they occupy a central role in calling a fragmented and alienated world back to truly human values and life. Above all, it is eremitism's characteristic and conservative witness to wholeness and spiritual sanity (sanctity) which is so very vital to a contemporary church and society.

Solitude is, after all, the most universal of vocations, and a specifically eremitic vocation to solitude serves to remind us of its basic importance in the life of every person, not only as existential predicament, but, as Christian value, challenge, and call. All of us struggle to maintain an appropriate tension between independence and committedness to others which is characteristic of truly human solitude. At the same time, all of us are, in some way, part of the societal problem of alienation, whether we are members of the affluent who contribute materially to the alienation of the poor even while struggling perhaps to do otherwise, or whether we are members of the impoverished who are consigned to what Merton refers to as "the tragically unnatural solitudes" of city slums and ghettos. It is to the church in and of this society that the hermit speaks as prophetic witness. In fact, it is as prophetic witness that the contemporary hermit is part of the answer to society's problems, and it is to that answer that we now turn.

Two dominant scriptural themes are absolutely central to the eremitic vocation. The first is that of wilderness, and the second, and related motif, is that of pilgrimage or sojourn. Together these make up the desert spirituality that is characteristic of eremitism, and constitute the major elements of the powerful criticism of the world of which it is a part. Additionally, in a world which is truly more characteristically "rite of passage" than anything else, these two themes and the life of religious poverty and consecrated celibacy which they attend provide a deeply apologetic spirituality which is an effective answer to lives marked and marred by the affectation, artificiality, estrangement, futility, and emptiness of our contemporary consumerist society. Perceptively, the church today recognizes that she is made up of a "pilgrim people." Hermits are quite simply individuals who choose to stand on the edge of society as persons with no fixed place and witness to this identity with absolutely no resources but those they find within themselves and those they receive through the grace of God. Further, they attest to the fact that these elements alone are indeed sufficient for a genuinely rich and meaningful life. Above all, in a world whose central value seems to be acquisitiveness, whether of goods, status, or of persons, the hermit lives and affirms the intrinsic wholeness and humanity of a life that says, "God is enough."

Even the hermitage itself testifies to the eminent sanity of the hermit’s vocation. As Merton observed, the first function of the contemporary hermitage is “to relax and heal and to smooth out one’s distortions and inhumanities.” This is so, he contends, because the mission of the solitary in the world is, “first the full recovery of man’s natural and human measure.” He continues, “Not that the solitary merely recalls the rest of men to some impossible Eden. [Rather] he reminds them of what is theirs to use if they can manage to extricate themselves from the web of myths and fixations which a highly artificial society has imposed on them.” Above all, as Merton concludes, “the Christian solitary today should bear witness to the fact that certain basic claims about solitude and peace are in fact true, [for] in doing this, [they] will restore people’s confidence first in their own humanity and beyond that in God’s grace.” The hermitage represents for the individual and society that place where the hermit “can create a new pattern which will fulfill (her) special needs for growth. . .and confront the triple specters of ”boredom, futility, and unfulfillment, which so terrify the modern American.”

One group of people are prepared better than most to assume this prophetic role in our world,and I think may represent a long-disregarded instance of the eremitic call to solitude. These persons are members of the chronically ill and disabled, and in fact the prophetic witness they are prepared to give is far more radical than that already suggested. The idea of a vocation to illness is a relatively new one, stemming as it does from renewed reflection on the meaning of illness and the place of the sacrament of anointing in the life of the church. But in fact the idea that the ill might be called to solitude rather than the cenobium dates back at least to the Council of Vannes (463) in a phrase reading "propter infirmitatis necessitatem." If no more than a suggestion, there is at least a similarity between this older notion and the one I am presenting here. The difference, however, stems from the fact that, far from suggesting a somehow inferior cenobitic religious life which must be accommodated by extraordinary provisions for solitude, I believe the call to chronic illness is itself, at least for some, an eremitic vocation to "being sick within the church" as a solitary whose witness value is potentially more profound because such a person is generally more severely tyrannized by our capitalistic and materialistic world.

In the first place, the chronically ill, whose physical solitude is not so much clearly chosen as it is accepted, testify to the poverty of images of human wellness and wealth that are based upon the productivity of the individual in society. They are able to clearly challenge such images and testify further to the dual truth of the human being's poverty and genuine human possibilities. Humanity possesses not only great richness, but an innate poverty as well, which is both ineluctable and inescapable --- a poverty in the face of which one must either find that God is enough or despair. It is a poverty that cannot be changed by a life of busy productivity or by any infusion of accomplishment, and it is a poverty that points to the essentially paradoxical "unworthwhileness" and simultaneous infinite value of the human life. The chronically ill and disabled live this "poverty of worthwhileness" and yet witness to the fact that their lives are of immeasurable value not because of "who" they are (Status) or what they do, but because God himself regards them as precious.

In the second place, the chronically ill person who accepts his or her illness as a vocation to solitude is capable of proclaiming to the world that human sinfulness (existential brokenness and alienation) can and will be overcome by the powerful and loving grace of God. Once again this is a radical witness to the simple fact of divine sufficiency, and it is a witness that is sharpened by the reintegration achieved in the recontextualization of one's illness.

In this recontextualization, illness assumes its rightful position as rite of passage, which, although difficult, need be neither devastating nor meaningless, and it appears clearly as a liminal (or boundary) experience which testifies to transcendence. In accepting this as a call to solitude, the chronically ill person is freed from the false sense of self provided by society, and, in the wilderness of the hermitage, assumes the identity which God himself individually bestows. And finally, the chronically ill solitary says clearly that every person, at whatever stage in his or her own life, can do the same thing --- a task and challenge which eventually eludes none of us.

Today the church has moved to appropriate more completely a lifestyle that has been part of her life since the 3rd century, and one which is rooted in her Old Testament ancestry. It is my hope that those doing spiritual direction, hospital chaplaincy, and so forth, will familiarize themselves further with the spirituality which undergirds this significant way of life, and, whether dealing with the chronically ill or not, maintain an attitude of openness and even of encouragement to their clients' exploration of eremitism as a possible vocation. This is particularly true with regard to those whose vocation "to be sick within the church" may represent a vocation to eremitical solitude. As Merton concludes, in a society fraught with dishonesty and exploitation of human integrity, the Christian solitary stands on the margin and,

[[in his prayer and silence, explores the existential depths and possibilities of his own life by entering the mystery of Christ's prayer and temptation in the desert, Christ's nights alone on the mountain, Christ's agony in the garden, Christ's Transfiguration and Ascension. This is a dramatic way of saying that the Christian solitary is left alone with God to fight out the question of who he really is, to get rid of the impersonation, if any, that has followed him to the woods.]]

Breaking away from the exorbitant claims and empty promises of contemporary society is crucial for each of us. The solitary, and especially the chronically ill solitary, fulfills this challenge with special vividness.

Profession Ring, "Power perfected in weakness"

This ring is the prototype for the profession ring I had made, and will be given this weekend. The difference is that the motto which is engraved on the ring is in Greek, and therefore does not cut all the way through the white gold to the yellow as Hebrew script allows. (Greek is composed of circles, so if they cut all the way through, most of the letter would fall right out!)

Also, it is taken from Paul's 2nd letter to the Corinthians, and is an abbreviation of his statement that, "My grace is sufficient for you; my power is perfected (or made perfect) in weakness." This is, of course, the way Paul characterizes the sovereignty of God being revealed in our world through and in the Christ Event, but for a very long time now, I have known this verse also characterizes my own personal story.

So much of spirituality is a matter of "staying out of God's way" and letting him work in us! By that I simply mean that self-assertion gets us into more trouble in the spiritual life than we can ever guess! But we are indeed, poor, fragile and ultimately ineffective individuals (ineffective in the sense of doing good of ourselves, though not in the sense of doing evil!), and to succeed in the spiritual life we really do have to learn not only notionally that God's grace, his powerful presence, is sufficient for us; we have to really let that be the case.

We may be tempted to hear this motto that God's power is perfected in weakness in a cynical way --- as though God enjoys lording it over us, or takes advantage of our weakness, but the real meaning is far from such a reading. Where we are weak, broken, and godless, God will step in and make us strong, whole, and holy. Where we are unable to save ourselves, God will step in and save us, and in all of these cases he does so by assuming a position of ultimate weakness and loving vulnerability himself in Christ. Where we are wont to resort to self-assertion, God shows us the way himself in kenosis or self-emptying. Where we grasp at life (which is not at all the same thing as receiving life as gift!), God submits to death, so that ultimately life-as-gift may win out over sin, and even over death.

This was the story of Paul's life, and it is the story of most hermits I know (admittedly, this is a fairly small group!). Certainly it is my own, and is one of the key things being celebrated this weekend! (Postscript: I want to thank my sister, Cindy, who bought this ring as a gift for my perpetual profession! She has always been generous, and once again, she demonstrates that; it is just one of those characteristics that has made her so very special to me through our lives as sisters.)