Like Water on Rock, the Hermit's Faithfulness to Her Rule of Life

[[ Hi Sister, I really liked your post on the process of discernment and formation and the way these grow organically out of the canon 603. Did you pick the picture you did, the one with the footprints worn in the floor to demonstrate the organic linkage to canon 603? I really love that picture!!]]

Yes, it's an incredibly evocative picture, I think. There is a second one which is like it that I also use sometimes. Yes, I did choose to use it because it reminds me of something growing organically out of the life of the canon. Hermits are formed in long periods of the silence of solitude, and these don't tend to fit normal canonical time frames that are more appropriate for the person in a coenobitical religious life. In some ways the picture also makes me think of the tedium of the cell and the hiddenness of the hermit's formation. Change happens so slowly-but-surely in the silence of solitude and faithfulness to one's commitment to prayer and the whole of one's Rule of Life; the picture also reminds me of this. 

If I were to entitle the picture, I might call it Stability (as in Benedictine stability) because it accents change and growth while remaining in the same place. Benedictines make a vow of stability because they believe God gives us all we need to grow to fullness of life in a given house or monastery. The grass may look greener elsewhere, but Benedictines trust they will be fed in precisely the way they need in the place they make their commitment. Finally, these pictures evoke for me the humble but real and, in fact, the powerful effect the hermit's life has on the Church and world simply by being faithful to the Rule of prayer and life the hermit has embraced. It is like water dripping on rock and is profoundly countercultural given our world's insistence on instant gratification and our expectations of immediacy (and disposability) in everything. It's a welcome reminder of a different wisdom, a different way of looking at reality. Thanks for the question!!

Seeking God: What does this Mean?

[[Dear Sister Laurel, I wondered what it means in monasticism to say one is "seeking God", I mean it's not like God is actually lost or something! Also one is entering a monastery where one is pretty sure God is present. Why do Benedictines define their lives or, I guess, the purpose of their lives as "seeking God"?]]

LOL! It's a serious question and yes, the phrase is a bit enigmatic isn't it? But you have actually implicitly answered the question in your own lightly poking fun at it. We can imagine someone wandering all over the place in search of God, and of course, we can imagine such a person eventually coming to the monastery to focus and deepen their search precisely because there is good reason to believe God may be found in a privileged way there. But once a search for God is narrowed in this way why would Benedictines define their lives in terms of "seeking God"?

As you say, it is true that God is not lost, but in some ways we and our world certainly are. The person we described earlier is looking for God and is thus simultaneously engaged in seeking her own truest self. She and we are each in search of a life which is meaningful; we are looking for a life that fulfills all the potential we carry (by the grace of God) deep within ourselves, a life that is purposeful and coherent; this is inherently wrapped up with the search for God. We find and embrace our truest selves only to the extent we find and are "found" and embraced by God. To commit to seeking God is to commit to finding, claiming, and thus becoming our truest selves in God; it is to commit to finding our way home to, with, and in God and it is to commit to living this "at-home-ness" wherever we are or go so that our lives are transparent to God's in the same way.

Another way of saying we are seeking God is to say we are seeking the best way possible for us to learn to love, to actually love, and to be loved into wholeness. These goals overlap and are dependent upon one another. Especially we cannot learn to love nor love without being loved; we cannot learn or be empowered to love as exhaustively as we are called to love without allowing ourselves to be loved in an analogous way. For this reason we are called first of all to be those who allow God to be God. Moreover, since God is Love-in-Act, this means allowing God to love us. Cistercian houses are known as "Schools of Love; their Benedictine nature "seeking God" and being a "School of Love" coincide. These two aims are the same.

There are more ways of saying this and other ways of thinking about "seeking God". While, as you say, it is true God is not lost, God is also not obvious to most of us nor can we find God in the way we find the keys we inadvertently left on the table earlier or someone in a game of "hide and seek". We have to understand that this commitment to seeking God is a commitment to allow God to be personally present to us; this in turn means making our very own those ways God is found by and finds us! We will travel all those pathways ordinarily supporting and guiding such a journey and make our own such things as lectio, Scripture study, prayer, journaling, community life, intellectual and physical work, liturgy, silence, solitude, ministry, time outdoors and with nature, etc --- all the privileged ways God speaks Godself to and is heard by human beings. We make these regular, familiar, and beloved parts of our everyday lives and (perhaps too) others which are special to us: music, art, writing, etc.

Gradually we learn to open ourselves to the extraordinary God of the ordinary so that we might walk through our days with the eyes and ears of our minds, hearts, and bodies wide open to the presence of God. We do all we can to cultivate this kind of openness and attentiveness, this kind of obedience to God and to our deepest selves. Remember that the very first line of the Rule is the imperative that we "hearken" or "listen" ("Ausculta!"); this focus on obedience is the key to any search for God; it is also the source and ground of the monastic value of stability, and so, to the Benedictine way of life. After all, obedience is also the way we will allow God to claim us as God's own while stability affirms our trust in the presence of God in all of what we consider "ordinary" reality, but certainly that God exists right here and right now. With each choice we make to hearken and embrace God in this way we also allow God to create the persons we are called to be.

Thanks for the good questions. I hope this is helpful.

On the Distinction Between Anchorites and Hermits

[[Dear Sister Laurel, I was recently reading a book on the history of Christian hermits. The book made the distinction between hermits and anchorites. I have read about this distinction before and it does seem present in the Middle Ages. Certain saints are described as either anchorites OR hermits. Not both. It would seem that the vocations are similar but different.

This book said that in the Middle Ages anchorites (either male or female) were known for their intense seclusion. Whereas hermits lived in solitude but were often integrated into the local community. For example, they would receive visitors, do service for the community like teaching, fixing roads and bridges and tend to the sick and poor all the while living in solitude and living an intense life of prayer. Apparently this was especially the case in England and Scotland during the Middle Ages.

There was a clear distinction between anchorites and hermits. Anchorites also seemed to be under certain canons and ecclesial discipline whereas hermits were a little more on the fringe (while still being faithful to the Church). From what I've read, hermits and their way of life has varied in the Church. Yes, solitude and intense prayer are essential but their level of interaction with "the world" has varied. Not so with anchorites. It seems their calling is predicated on intense solitude and ecclesial approval. 

As such, do you think canon 603 has confused the two vocations? Could there be an argument for reforming the canon to reflect the distinction between hermits and anchorites? Looking at your blog it seems that there may be many people called to a hermit vocation that would include solitude, intense prayer and celibacy whilst still serving the community like the hermits of the Middle Ages. In other words, some seem called to be hermits but not anchorites. Canon 603 does not allow for this distinction. Perhaps as the eremetic vocation is reborn in the Church these distinctions will become clearer. ]]

Thanks for writing again and for the interesting questions. I don't think a distinction between the two is absent throughout the history of eremitism, but, despite the term anachoresis meaning withdrawal, neither do I believe the real distinction is as was presented in the book you read. (My sense is originally the two words, hermit and anchorite were interchangeable. Only over time and especially as urban hermits --  especially women urban hermits -- became a reality did distinctions develop.) Still, both solitary hermits and anchorites lived lives of intense prayer and solitude (they all withdraw or are defined by anachoresis for the purpose of prayer) but the difference between the two seems to be in the degree and even more, in the kind of stability the two embraced.

Anchorites tended to embrace a much more constrained physical stability so that they were  required to remain within a single small house or even a single room. Sometimes they were even locked or walled into such a place. Otherwise, however, both groups dealt with others (sometimes the degree of interaction was relatively extensive); similarly both were often approved to some extent by diocesan canons and local Bishops. Hermits (always men) who traveled from place to place were often granted the hermit tunic and permits to beg and preach by the local ordinary, for instance. But anchorites (who could include both women and men) lived their solitude within a fixed abode; hermits (who were, as you say, more marginal) could wander from town to town or otherwise live their solitude in less physically constrained ways. (Part of this, of course, was due to the fact that women living on their own (apart from the household of a husband) were suspicious to folks and this resulted in practices which brought anchorites under greater church control while hermits could mainly do and go as they pleased.)

Because anchorites tended to live in the midst of villages with a window on the Church altar and one on the village square, they were often unofficial counselors, spiritual directors, a friendly pastoral ear, teachers, wisdom figures, preachers (as, again, were itinerant hermits), etc. Contrary to what you have concluded, while some were certainly secluded like the modern day Nazarena (oftentimes reforms were attempted by priests who wrote Rules for them limiting and regulating their contact with others) the very fact that such reforms were seen as necessary confirms that anchorites were, generally speaking, not so secluded as all that.  The Ancrene Wisse seems to have been written for just such a reason. See also, for instance, Mulder-Bakker's Lives of the Anchoresses, The Rise of the Urban Recluse in Medieval Europe, Liz McEvoy's, Anchoritic Traditions of Medieval Europe, or Ann K Warren's, Anchorites and Their Patrons in Medieval England for portraits of their diversity. See also Thomas Matus, OSB Cam's Nazarena for a wonderful portrait of this anchoress and a detailed picture of strict anachoresis and physical stability.

(By the way, let me be clear that I am not including in my own thoughts here the lone individuals who simply go off on their own and even today are called "hermits" despite their lives often being little more than an expression of personal eccentricity, misanthropy, and disedifying individualism. Those have always existed and perhaps always will, but they can muddy the discussion, I think, especially with regard to canon 603 and the type of solitude it calls for. Today we would not call these folks hermits except in a common and somewhat stereotypical sense. Excluding them from the discussion changes the terms significantly I think. And of course canon 603 does NOT define  or govern this kind of "hermit.")

Even so, I don't believe canon 603 has confused the two vocations. When it says "the eremitical or anchoritic life" it may be using the oldest synonymous sense but it can also certainly be seen to mean eremitical life which includes but is not limited to the intense physical stability of the anchorite. I am not sure why you conclude "canon 603 does not allow this distinction". Canon 603 seems to me to be flexible enough to allow for both. It would depend entirely upon the Rule written by the individual and approved by the local diocesan Bishop. In fact, I would argue this is a real strength of canon 603. It does not unnecessarily multiply categories even as the requirement for the individual's own Rule accommodates personal differences and the charismatic work of the Holy Spirit including degree of contact with and ministry to others and the degree of physical stability. Neither does canon 603 distinguish between male and female and it has to be remembered that in much of the history of eremitical life women were not allowed to become solitary hermits living in mountains and forests. They had to live as anchorites in urban contexts. (Men could do either.) Again, I think this flexibility and universality is a real strength of canon 603.

What I am saying is that I don't personally see any need for a codified distinction. Partly that's because I only know of one diocesan hermit who calls herself an anchoress; she is completely free to do that under the canon and this speaks to the canon's sufficiency in this matter. Given the relative rarity of eremitical vocations of any sort a codified distinction seems relatively meaningless to me --- especially since, whether they are hermits or anchorites, those admitted to canonical standing must live the same essential elements of canon 603. Again, the differences will be defined by or otherwise reflected in the individual's Rule. I also mean that unless the definition of the anchorite or anchoress is "the hermit committed to living increased physical stability", the term's use as something distinct tends not to make sense to me today. After all, we already have the descriptor "recluse" to characterize the hermit or anchorite who is almost wholly without contact with others while both men and women under canon 603 are free to live as urban hermits or as solitary hermits in deserts, forests, or mountains.

In any case, each eremitical vocation will probably involve greater withdrawal at some points and greater contact with others at other points in the hermit's life. Again, canon 603 allows for this within given limits and provided there is adequate discernment involved. A multiplication of categories and distinctions might tend to stifle this pneumatic or charismatic quality of the contemporary solitary eremitical vocation. Throughout the history of the eremitical vocation the all-too-human attempt to codify and qualify (read control!) the movement of the Spirit resulted in somewhat "hardened" categories which could miss the diversity and freedom of the vocation --- part of the reason your author describes anchoritism in one way and mine describe its essence in another! Terms which were mainly descriptive (and helpful when merely descriptive) were made to be prescriptive and applied differently to women and men. As noted, Canon 603 is beautifully written in the way it combines non-negotiable elements and the flexibility of the hermit's own Rule. At least in regard to this discussion, I believe it would be a serious (and probably futile) mistake to codify definitions beyond the non-negotiable elements it already requires.

Excursus: I very much appreciate your putting "the world" in quotes when you describe the hermits' level of interaction with the realm outside the hermitage because we have talked about this before. Still, quotation marks or not, it remains a mistake to automatically call everything outside a hermitage, monastery, or convent "the world" when most truly, worldliness is a description of a resistance to Christ we primarily carry in our hearts. Perhaps a better term for the reference in your question is the longer, "the world (or just "those") outside the anchorhold", etc. So, while I thought the quotation marks were a definite improvement, if you merely mean "the world outside the anchorhold or hermitage" spelling it out might be a yet better choice.

Is your life as a diocesan hermit jeopardized by a new Bishop coming in?

[[Dear Sister Laurel,

Are the rights and obligations you accepted with public profession in jeopardy should another Bishop come in? What I am thinking is what happens if a bishop comes in who doesn't believe there should be diocesan hermits? Would you lose your vows or your relationship with the Bishop?]]

No. While the more personal dimensions of the relationship between hermit and superior might be less than ideal in such a case --- especially in the beginning before the two people know each other better or, in particular, have had a chance to meet with each other one on one to discuss the vocation and how things are going with it, the hermit's vocation or vows are not in jeopardy simply because a new Bishop is installed. In my last post I noted that one of the relationships established in public vows was established between the Bishop, his successors, and the hermit. It is the office of Bishop in this specific diocese acting in the name of the whole Church which assumes a relationship of specific rights and obligations with regard to this hermit while the hermit herself assumes specific rights and obligations in regard to the local ordinary of this diocese via public vows --- whoever he is in the future. Should this Bishop move or retire, the rights and obligations of the hermit continue and the new Bishop assumes his predecessor's place in the legal (that is, canonical) relationship.

The hermit in perpetual vows, then, is not at risk of ceasing to be a diocesan hermit each time a new Bishop is installed. This is so even if that Bishop does not believe in the vocation and so forth. The situation with temporary vows differs somewhat, so let me make a bit of an excursus here. In such a case, there is a chance that the new Bishop would choose not to renew these vows once they had expired; temporary vows are made for a certain period of time and this remains a time of discernment for all involved. Should a new Bishop decide the vocation is wrong for the diocese at this time, find the person is not really called to either renewal of temporary vows (whether now or for some time period,) or to perpetual vows, then he has the right to refuse admittance to these and, when the vows expire, the person will cease to be a diocesan hermit. They would probably choose to remain a lay hermit in such a case, difficult as this might be for them in some ways but they would need to discern this step afresh. Also, one would hope that a Bishop coming into a diocese where there are diocesan hermits in temporary canonical (public) vows would himself act out of true discernment, and not out of bias of course, but the latter does remain a possibility.

My own vows however are canonical, perpetual, and were made to God in the hands of the Bishop as representative of the Church. He was acting in her name in receiving those vows, and so, his act binds the Church and the hermit in a new legal and public relationship. (At profession besides a copy of the vows signed and witnessed during the ceremony, I received a notarized statement verifying the public and perpetual nature of these vows signed by both the Bishop and the Vicar for Religious and Ecclesiastical notary.) Only the canonical dispensation of my vows for significant valid reasons can alter the relationships, rights, and obligations which obtain in public profession. Your question is really a good one because it helps outline the relative security of the relationship per se, as well as illuminating a piece of what we mean by initiation into a state of life. The Church defines consecrated life in part as involving initiation into the consecrated state achieved in a definitive (permanent, solemn, or perpetual) act --- that is, into a stable and lasting state where one dedicates oneself, is set apart (consecrated) by God and acquires rights and obligations which do not themselves flow directly from one's Baptism. Once this occurs, all parties are obligated to respect the relationships, rights, and obligations which obtain. In regard to your question this means any future Bishop coming into the diocese as pastor.

Your question also helps illuminate the importance of canonical standing (standing in law) for those called to it. In the case of diocesan hermits, the hermit does not, at least, have the insecurity of wondering if she will continue to be able to live her vocation freely or explore the frontiers of solitude in God as she has covenanted to do on behalf of others and in the name of the Church simply because the diocese is going to experience a change in personnel. There is plenty of insecurity in the diocesan eremitical life just as there is in any eremitical life, but this one particular bit is not an issue. The Church itself is bound to assist the hermit in this and bound in specific legal ways. Standing in law is not a bit of mere formality or icing on the eremitical cake; it sets up stable and lasting relationships which all involved are bound to observe for the good of the vocation generally, the person called to this vocation specifically, and the church herself.

What we must remember is that law is meant to serve love; it is also meant to provide freedom, because constraints can serve genuine freedom. In other words, canon law sets up a number of constraints for the diocesan hermit, but these tend to serve her well in freeing her to live a life of solitude without being concerned with explaining herself to those around her, or being threatened with the fear that perhaps she has mistaken how she is to participate either in the world around her or the life of the church. Law's obligations assist the hermit in living her life, not just moving through day by day wondering if she has yet discovered what that life is actually meant to be. It outlines and binds the hermit to a life of the evangelical counsels, to a Rule she herself writes and a Bishop officially decrees is acceptable for living this life, and to a number of other canons which apply to anyone with public vows, but the realm it sets up in doing so is one of life in God. While the parameters may function as constraints in one way, they are precisely the things which help the hermit to go deeper and to explore this particular country as freely and exhaustively as possible.

In a sense this is an outline of what monastic stability means. Monastics relinquish the right to simply go wherever the grass seems greener at the time in order to live as fully as possible with the grace of God right here in this place. Married persons do something of the same. They bind themselves to the constraints of a commitment to this other, this family, these specific needs, the potential and limitations of this series of relationships at this time and in this place so that they can live out this love as fully and exhaustively as possible in the way they feel called to by God --- something which must often be distinguished from what a person merely WANTS to do. It is the role of civil and canon law to protect this possibility. It is ironic that this freedom comes with the imposition of constraints, but that is always the way of true achievement and true freedom. Writers are bound to the constraints of language to produce something which is truly transcendent. Musicians are bound to the constraints and capacities of instruments, music notation, physical abilities of musicians, etc in order to do likewise. Canonical hermits have their call and response mediated by the Church and that mediation includes the establishment of parameters and constraints which free for genuine transcendence.

In any case, the answer to your question is no, diocesan hermits' vocations/vows are not in jeopardy merely because of changes in episcopal personnel precisely because the vows are public. The related canonical relationships are established with the Church as a whole but through the office of Bishop within a specific diocese. (Should the hermit desire to leave the diocese, she must receive approval from her own Bishop and the Bishop in the diocese she proposes to move to. The new Bishop must specifically agree and act to take on the rights and responsibilities of legitimate superior to the diocesan hermit and do so on behalf of his successors as well. He must agree to receive vows in his hands --- or the canonical or functional equivalent.) If a Bishop refused to do so and the hermit moved to this diocese anyway, the new Bishop would indeed be her Bishop, but he would not be her legitimate superior and she would not be a diocesan hermit (her vows would cease to be binding due to the substantial change in circumstances and could be formally dispensed by her former diocese). The two relationships (pastor vs legitimate superior) obviously differ in significant ways. 

To summarize then, the act of making vows in the hands of her Bishop binds both the hermit and the Church as a whole in a constellation of mutual rights and obligations which differ from those which obtain at Baptism. Together, serving one another in a legitimate (that is, legal) relationship, they free the hermit to live the life she is called to and help ensure the eremitical life itself continues to be a vital and integral part of the church's patrimony.

On Books and Hermits Writing in (or out of) their Hiddenness

[[Hi Sister Laurel, I guess it is kind of funny to be asking about books by hermits since they are supposed to be hermits separated from the world, but I am interested in reading about hermits' lives and things by hermits. Do you have any suggestions for good books? ]]

Hi. This is a great question and it is the first time anyone has ever asked it, so thanks a lot! There is a lot of good writing about the hermit life available (well, lots more than there was just a few years ago anyway!). Let me start with the newest stuff out there --- or at least fairly new stuff. Regarding books by hermits, I think the best book available on the nature of eremitical life is The Eremitic Life by Cornelius Wencel. Fr Wencel is a Camaldolese, but from a different congregation than I am associated with. He is a Monte Corona Camaldolese whose "founder" (besides Romuald) is Paul Giustiniani, a Camaldolese reformer; also unlike the OSB Cam, this congregation (Er Cam) has hermits only --- there is no cenobitical expression. This is not a "how to" book, nor a description of day to day living, but an extended reflection on the heart of the life and vocation.

Another book I would highly recommend and which written by a hermit in Wales is, A Simplified Life by Sister Verena Schiller. Sister writes beautifully, and gently introduces the reader to the daily life of a hermit by her own reflections on the landscape and history of her place. As she explores the place, she comes to live the eremitical life more and more deeply. It is a remarkable illustration of solitary stability as growth in depth (and deep truth). Sister Schiller is a member of the Episcopal (Anglican) Sisters of the Holy Name. Her work is studded with poetry and is laced with really good scriptural theology. For instance, she quotes Mary Lou Kowanacki, OSB (who is quoting Ryokan) on one essential and tension-filled dynamic of the eremitic life from Between Two Souls:

Some would say it is running away, others a running towards
This is the Way he travelled to flee the world;
This is the Way he travelled to return to the world.
I, too, come and go along this Sacred Path
That bridges life and death
And traverses illusion. (p.146)

Two other good books on the solitary life are, The Power of Solitude by Annemarie Kidder. Kidder deals with all the basic questions raised by solitude in a world dominated by "noise and numbers." (This includes friendship and mystical experiences and many other realities of a life focused "on God Alone".) It is a book I would recommend to hermits or to any serious Christian --- actually anyone trying to build in and negotiate the tensions involved in embracing solitude. The second book is Silent Dwellers, Embracing the Solitary Life, by Barbara Errako Taylor. While I disagreed with some aspects of this book (especially Erakko's understanding of the reason for and dynamic behind celibacy --- consecrated or otherwise) --- I thought she did a terrific job with things like the quest for simplicity, for instance.

Lastly for now, and certainly not least, I would recommend Sister Jeremy Hall's, Silence, Solitude, Simplicity, A Hermit's Love Affair With a Noisy, Crowded, and Complicated World. One of the most significant parts of this book is Sister Jeremy's description of the desert in desert spirituality as "A Place of Meeting." Another is her identification of Silence as "A reverence for speech". As with all authentic hermits, Sister Jeremy is deeply attuned to the reality of paradox and often pairs such things as "simplicity and inner riches", "silence and the word", "solitude and community", etc because these point to the various dynamics and tensions a hermit has to negotiate and embody in her life. One thing that comes through clearly in Sister Jeremy's work is the paradoxical fruitfulness of desert existence. At the same time, the subtitle of this book encapsulates the same paradox found in Wencel's book, namely, that hermits live a separation from the world not because they hate or reject God's creation, but in order to love it better and more honestly. 

By the way, ordinarily I would suggest several books by Thomas Merton regarding eremitical life, but I think those could wait until later. For now let me note merely the essay "Notes for a Philosophy of Solitude" in Disputed Questions. It is the heart of Merton's theology of eremitical life. Beyond this Merton often speaks directly to the first sentence of your own question --- the idea that it is strange to look to hermits to write about the essentially hidden life of a hermit. This raises the question of the interesting paradox that Merton lived and dealt with daily, that I myself deal with somewhat similarly because of this blog, for instance, and which Sister Verena also refers to in her book (A Simplified Life): [[ The very term hermit or solitary implies a reclusiveness, a living apart, a certain hiddenness, a life not to be exposed to the public gaze or written about. Yet it is through the writings of hermits and the faithful records of those who have visited them, dating back as far as the fourth and fifth centuries when the first Christan hermits began their lives in the Egyptian and Syrian deserts, that we owe much of their lives and spiritual insights.]] In its own way Cornelius Wencel's book deals with this same tension and dynamic, as does Sister Kowanacki in the passage cited above, etc.

I hope this helps as a start

"Of Gods and Men" and the Commitment to Stability

Last year (maybe even the year before that) I read the story of the Cistercian Monks who were living in Algeria and eventually were martyred for their faith. This last week I had a chance to see the movie made of this story with a couple of friends from my parish.

There are a number of wonderful aspects to this movie. It paints a beautiful portrait of monastic life and the centrality of liturgy in the life of the Trappist monk, but especially it makes clear the place of the psalms/Scripture in that life. The chanting was excellent and moving (not professional!) and the lyrics of the psalms mirrored the lives of these monks -- particularly as the crisis which enveloped the countryside also increasingly threatened the monks' own lives. The film clearly demonstrated the simplicity of the life, the silence and solitude, but also the community and the presence to others as the monastery becomes an integral part of the fabric of the local region --- trusted and beloved by the local residents. Especially wonderful (and deserving of a post all its own!) was the monk's ecumenical presence and sensitivity which is part of genuine Christianity. Scenes showed the Prior studying the Koran, a number of the monks celebrating Muslim festivities with local families, and of course, the monastery "doctor" was the doctor everyone -- including Muslim women -- turned to in need.

The aspect that was most moving to me was reflected in this last ecumenical dimension and bond; it was the struggle by the individual monks to determine how monastic stability would shape their lives as they, and everyone around them, undeniably came under threat and remained under threat. The threat to the monks grows. One knows that the alternatives are "stay and die" or "leave and live." Over the length of the film several monastic chapters are held --- periods where the monks meet (in this case) around a table and are given a brief lesson by the prior. (Chapters are a regular (daily or weekly, etc) part of monastic life and the prior or prioress is ordinarily the one who gives a lesson; in his or her absence monks and nuns might, for instance, listen to a series of tapes on the Rule or some other dimension of their lives.) Afterward there is a discussion and in Of Gods and Men the monks state honestly what their own feelings and discernment are regarding staying or returning to France in the face of the danger that accompanies their lives and grows evermore critical.

Initially several monks want to leave and return to France and monastic life there, but as days and weeks go by each man comes to terms with his fear and his commitment to remain here in this monastery and among these people --- all of whom are as threatened and terrified as the monks themselves. The psalms prayed during Office take on a sharper poignancy and striking relevance. Individual prayer in chapel or in their cells at night show them wrestling with their fear -- and with their commitment both to their brother monks and to the people they serve and rightly call "neighbor". At the final chapter shown in the movie, each man expresses his discernment that he is called to stay here. The choices are made in complete freedom, but they are anguished as well. The film flinches from neither the profound faith nor the abject fear which co-exist in this process of discernment and commitment.



Soon after, there is a scene where a military helicopter flies right up to the windows of the chapel, machine guns seemingly ready to annihilate the little community who prays within. The monks stand together in their cowls, hands around waists or on shoulders in affection, support, and solidarity, as they sing a hymn which grows in power and expression of conviction. It is almost a perfect portrait of the peace of Christ -- the peace the world cannot give, and of course the peace which is not without pain, fear, or struggle. As one of the monks summed up at the last chapter: "I am not afraid of death; I am a free man." These men know who they are most fundamentally, and why they are as well. They remain in Christ, and so too, they remain committed to one another and to all around them. They come to possess themselves completely in giving themselves over to that which is outside their control. Soon after, the monastery is broken into in the middle of the night and all but two of the monks (one of whom crawls under a bed and is missed) are taken further into the mountains where they are executed.

In the past weeks I have been reflecting on and writing about stability -- not merely for this blog, but for my own Rule which I am revising some. Some of the impetus for this reflection involved the recent questions on the relationship between struggle and the peace of Christ in authentic vocations, and this movie would certainly illustrate some of what I said in reply in my last post. For that matter, Lent also has been a stimulus to this reflection as the stories of Jesus lead into the increasing tension between Jesus and the religious authorities of his day -- and to a sense that there is an inevitable and apparently senseless execution in the offing unless Jesus chooses another course. But of course, Jesus does not move on or away; he chooses to cast his lot in with sinful humanity -- and with God's own purposes. And so too with these Trappists. They cast their lots in with one another in THIS monastery and with the Muslim people of this area of Algeria, and they lose (and find!!) their lives in the process.


Here again is part of Charles Cummings', OCSO, description of stability which I posted several entries ago: [[ Stability is the promise to stay here with Christ and with these others, and to stay awake to support each other during the struggle. The interior aspect refers to the heart awakened to the needs and feelings of others, to the will and the word of God in our midst. The contrary attitude is to stay on in monastic [or eremitical] life with increasing hardness of heart and dullness of hearing, until the sparkle goes out of our eyes and we only hang around waiting for the evening paper.]] (Cummings, Monastic Practices, p 173.)

In today's highly mobile society where convenience often wins out over commitment and we live among others we generally allow to remain strangers -- who, that is, we never make neighbors (much less truly love as we love ourselves!), where we parish shop to find the perfect faith community which best serves us, and where sometimes even our own spiritual sojourning is less a journey in Christ than it is a search for the next spiritual high or a way to fulfill our own wholly selfish desires, we need the story of these monks. Martyrdom is not merely an ancient reality but a contemporary one, while stability is not merely a monastic discipline and value, but a human one --- necessary for finding and claiming ourselves, necessary for truly loving others. It is, as I noted recently, the quintessentially Christian value --- the commitment to remain with (and in) Christ in this place and with these people so that we may all grow to fullness of humanity together.

Addendum: Last Will and Testament of Father Christian (Prior)

If it should happen one day - and it could be today - that I become a victim of the terrorism which now seems ready to engulf all the foreigners living in Algeria, I would like my community, my Church and my family to remember that my life was GIVEN to God and to this country.

I ask them to accept the fact that the One Master of all life was not a stranger to this brutal departure. I would ask them to pray for me: for how could I be found worthy of such an offering? I ask them to associate this death with so many other equally violent ones which are forgotten through indifference or anonymity.

My life has no more value than any other. Nor any less value. In any case, it has not the innocence of childhood. I have lived long enough to know that I am an accomplice in the evil which seems to prevail so terribly in the world, even in the evil which might blindly strike me down.

I should like, when the time comes, to have a moment of spiritual clarity which would allow me to beg forgiveness of God and of my fellow human beings, and at the same time forgive with all my heart the one who would strike me down. I could not desire such a death. It seems to me important to state this. I do not see, in fact, how I could rejoice if the people I love were indiscriminately accused of my murder. It would be too high a price to pay for what will perhaps be called, the "grace of martyrdom" to owe it to an Algerian, whoever he might be, especially if he says he is acting in fidelity to what he believes to be Islam.

I am aware of the scorn which can be heaped on the Algerians indiscriminately. I am also aware of the caricatures of Islam which a certain Islamism fosters. It is too easy to soothe one's conscience by identifying this religious way with the fundamentalist ideology of its extremists. For me, Algeria and Islam are something different: it is a body and a soul. I have proclaimed this often enough, I think, in the light of what I have received from it. I so often find there that true strand of the Gospel which I learned at my mother's knee, my very first Church, precisely in Algeria, and already inspired with respect for Muslim believers.

Obviously, my death will appear to confirm those who hastily judged me naïve or idealistic: "Let him tell us now what he thinks of his ideals!" But these persons should know that finally my most avid curiosity will be set free. This is what I shall be able to do, God willing: immerse my gaze in that of the Father to contemplate with him His children of Islam just as He sees them, all shining with the glory of Christ, the fruit of His Passion, filled with the Gift of the Spirit whose secret joy will always be to establish communion and restore the likeness, playing with the differences.

For this life lost, totally mine and totally theirs, I thank God, who seems to have willed it entirely for the sake of that JOY in everything and in spite of everything. In this THANK YOU, which is said for everything in my life from now on, I certainly include you, friends of yesterday and today, and you, my friends of this place, along with my mother and father, my sisters and brothers and their families,

You are the hundredfold granted as was promised! And also you, my last-minute friend, who will not have known what you were doing: Yes, I want this THANK YOU and this GOODBYE to be a "GOD-BLESS" for you, too, because in God's face I see yours.

May we meet again as happy thieves in Paradise, if it please God, the Father of us both.

AMEN ! INCHALLAH !

Postscript: Despite winning a number of international awards, "Of Gods and Men" is not playing at many theaters and it will probably not be out much longer, but I sincerely recommend you see it if you can. It is perfect for Lent, of course, but is simply wonderful generally.

On Diocese-Shopping by Hermit Candidates, Stability, etc.

[[Hi, Sister Laurel. I guess my question has to do with "stability". I read in the blog of another hermit that she or he planned to go on a "road trip" to different abbeys and dioceses to find someone to make him/her a canonical hermit. Is this okay to do?]]

Interesting question. My own sense is that first of all such a quest would be fruitless, and that it ought to be fruitless except in limited instances. I don't think any Bishop would seriously entertain such a request from someone merely shopping for someone to profess and/or consecrate them. For that matter, a person in such circumstances is unlikely to even get an appointment with the Bishop.

In my own diocese, for instance, people work through Vocation directors and/or the Vicars for Religious before ever seeing the Bishop in such a matter. They do this in part because these persons can discern vocations and work with individuals in ways the Bishop cannot do. Once they have determined there is a likely vocation here and are willing to recommend admission to profession, the Bishop is notified and the candidate for profession begins meetings with him. He too needs to discern this vocation as well as make decisions for the diocese, for as I have written recently, the diocese is committing to a change in its own life here and taking a chance on this candidate in admitting her to profession. The Bishop is also responsible for making sure the eremitical vocation itself is protected and nurtured under his supervision, so his own discernment is required for this reason as well.

There are certain situations in which a person might legitimately consider moving to another diocese in order to eventually request profession/consecration as a diocesan hermit, but I would not call this particular situation "diocese-shopping." (What you describe is different, and not particularly edifying.) In my own diocese there was a time when the Bishop determined he was not going to profess anyone as a diocesan hermit. He had good reasons for this, but it also meant that for more than 23 years there were not going to be any professions/consecrations under Canon 603, and as a result individuals suffered inordinate waits which had nothing to do with a mutual process of discernment. In such a case, where the decision is a blanket one and not guided by individual concerns, a person may therefore have very good reason for moving to another diocese that already has diocesan hermits, or which is open to having them given suitable candidates. However, in doing this the person needs to understand that each vocation is mutually discerned (something which is always true in ecclesial vocations) and there is no assurance that they will be admitted to vows and consecration. It should also be understood that a time is required to establish one's relationship with a parish, find and work with a spiritual director in this place, work out suitable employment and living arrangements, and similar things before one can even consider petitioning for profession here.

The question of going to an Abbot is even more complicated and questionable. My sense is that Abbots generally do NOT have the power to consecrate hermits under Canon 603. They can certainly govern their own monks and admit to vows, etc, but their authority is limited here. In a few countries I think there are still Abbots with jurisdiction over a larger geographical territory than their Abbey per se, and in these areas they might well have the same authority as diocesan Bishops, but these are exceptional cases. I cannot see such an Abbot admitting someone from another country or at least outside their jurisdiction to vows as a hermit, even if he had that authority. Instead I suspect he would simply counsel the person to work through their own diocesan Bishop. This is especially true given the monastic value of stability and the Benedictine sensitivity to what were called "gyrovagues" --- monks who moved from monastery to monastery whenever things got difficult or too challenging, for instance. (The Rule of Benedict is quite harsh with regard to this class of "monk".) To do otherwise would involve the Abbot in an act which, potentially at least, disparages legitimate authority and the ecclesial nature of the vocation. It would also be meaningless unless the one professed decided to remain in this abbot's territory because for one's vows to be valid in another diocese, one requires the input of the current bishop who assures the new bishop the hermit is a professed hermit in good standing, and the permission of new bishop (who agrees to accept the hermit's vows).

All of this does raise the questions you ask either explicitly or implicitly: is shopping around for someone who will profess one the right thing? Does it violate at least the value of stability? I would add to this, "does it demonstrate too individualistic an approach to vocation?", which is really part of the question of stability. I am completely sympathetic to a person who determines they feel called to diocesan eremitical life but whose diocese has decided, for whatever reason, simply not to profess ANYONE. In such a case, I don't think there is a real problem with going elsewhere to engage in a more honest process of discernment with another diocese ---so long as the person does not intend to automatically move to another diocese if the determination does not fall her way. But diocese-shopping is a different problem, and it tends to say the person is insensitive to the notion of ecclesial vocations or how they are discerned or lived out.

As noted, stability implies a commitment to live with others, to cast one's lot in with them so that all may come together to fullness of Life in Christ. It is a generous rather than selfish stance which is marked by the sense of what is best for the community, and not simply for oneself. For the diocesan hermit who does not live in community, stability may mean a commitment to a particular parish --- to its life, and the well-being of those who comprise it. It certainly includes such a commitment to the diocese itself --- even when things are not going as one likes. Legally, of course, the hermit is bound to a particular diocese unless and until she is dispensed and/or transfers to another diocese. She is bound by vow in obedience to the Bishop as legitimate superior --- and this includes being committed to mutual discernment in matters regarding this particular vocation. The vocation is highly individual but not individualistic. But even before one makes such a vow, she must demonstrate the capacity for such a commitment and the sensibilities and personal requirements it necessitates. Stability is a communal virtue oriented to the good of the community as a whole, and all ecclesial vocations which are mutually discerned emphasize the same communal sensitivity.

Stability is also a virtue of trust and patience. Eremitical life requires both in large amounts. Becoming a diocesan hermit rightly requires these virtues, for ordinarily it takes some time for dioceses to decide to profess people, and generally they will only profess those who have lived as hermits for some time (at least five years of supervised living is not an unusual number to hear from Bishops) before a person will be admitted even to temporary profession. Eremitical life itself is a function of time and grace. It is such an individual and disciplined vocation that growing sufficiently to be able to claim the label "hermit" takes time and patience. Becoming a person who lives "the silence of solitude" rather than simply with some silence and some solitude takes both time and grace. When it happens it is a gift to the person but more, it is a gift to the entire faith community, and for that reason a person who engages in diocesan Bishop/Abbot shopping just to get canonically consecrated is not demonstrating the right mindset or attitudes of heart either.

After all, one part of the witness the hermit gives to others is that some things (including, and perhaps especially, the fruition of the grace of God!) take time. Waiting (and especially waiting where we are, but without immediately visible results) is a skill we simply don't practice well in our society, but it is one we need; a hermit witnesses to this in a special way. This is true with regard to the everyday discipline and even tedium of the cell, and it is true with regard to the process of becoming a person of prayer, particularly as a diocesan hermit. So long as one is being dealt with expeditiously and in good faith, and the diocese is honest with her about the possibility of future profession, none of this process is a waste. All of the time spent waiting is spent becoming, growing, maturing as a hermit who will be able to take on the additional rights and responsibilities of a diocesan hermit --- or, really, any vocation which requires substantial personal and spiritual formation. Stability, even without a specific vow, is intrinsic to the life of the diocesan hermit so again, it is only right she demonstrates a capacity for stability before a diocese even considers professing her. I wonder if this capacity is demonstrated by someone who is driven by a "my way or the highway" approach --- which, unfortunately, is what a diocese/abbot shopper, a contemporary form of gyrovague, seems to symbolize.

The Unique Charism of the Diocesan Hermit: Another look at Aspects of Desert and Benedictine Stability

Throughout its history monasticism has recognized several kinds of stability. Augustine Roberts, OCSO, in his work, Centered on Christ, A Guide to Monastic Profession lists five different forms: 1) stability in cell,(this form was made famous by the Desert Fathers and Mothers) 2) stability under an Abbott (who might be the spiritual Father of several monasteries), and associated with Cistercians of the 12-13th centuries; 3)Stability on the pillar (associated with Simeon the Stylite, certain hermits, anchorites, and recluses who were closed up, walled off, or chained to walls); 4) stability of a traveler, which may seem like an oxymoron, especially given Benedict's comments on gyrovagues, but which allowed temporary movement to another monastery; and 5) stability in (the) community, which is Benedict's interpretation of the value, and which involves stability in the community of profession.

It seems to me that the diocesan hermit is asked to embrace implicitly (if not explicitly by vow) the fifth and first forms. (Non-diocesan hermits (that is non-canon 603 hermits) may be called primarily to that stability associated with the desert Fathers and Mothers but are not called to stability in the community in the same sense the diocesan hermit is. If they live in a laura or monastery, they would certainly be called to stability in community, but not in the same way a diocesan hermit with her commitment to diocese and parish.) I think everyone is used to thinking of a call to stability of the cell; who has not heard the comment, "Remain in your cell and your cell will teach you everything"? But, the notion of a "stability in community" which binds the diocesan hermit in a particular way is less familiar, I suspect.

During the rite of my solemn profession last year, Marietta Fahey, shf (rather than a Deacon) did the formal "calling forth" on behalf of the diocese. Since the profession liturgy involves the literal mediation of God's call to the hermit as well as her response, and since the rite of calling forth is a direct expression of this, the formula we used was, "On behalf of the Church of the Diocese of Oakland and the Faith Community of St Perpetua('s Catholic Church), I call forth Sister Laurel O'Neal." At the time I was clear that diocesan status bound me to the diocese itself, but I had not considered as much the parish dimension of my commitment. And yet, I was clear that I was being called out of this specific assembly, this specific faith community and also as I have written before, it is this specific community which supports me in my vocation on a daily basis. Yet, it seems clear that the rite of profession itself prepared for my own reflection on the unique charism of the diocesan hermit and its relation to Benedictine stability; it (the rite) was also informed by it and became an expression of it.

But another thing this particular piece of my profession rite underscores is the personal nature of that stability. While it is true stability generally binds one to a place, it is far more fundamentally communal or relational. As Roberts affirms, [[Stability is personal. It is interpersonal communion, or, more precisely, it is perseverence in this communion.]] In embracing Benedictine stability as a diocesan hermit one commits oneself to a community, first (or more generally) to a diocese, and then (or more immediately) to a parish. For the diocesan hermit this is the community in which one's profession is made and in which it is lived out. While for truly legitimate reasons one might change one's stability, it seems to me that a diocesan hermit considering the unique charism of their vocation would need to discern these with the same seriousness a Benedictine monk or nun in a monastery discerns such things.

If the vow or value of stability is essentially personal or interpersonal, what are its most fundamental values for the hermit, especially compared to other Benedictine values, for instance? Both forms, stability in cell and stability in community have them and they are very high values indeed. The first would be communion or koinonia I think. The hermits is, for all her solitude, still a community builder and nurturer. Certainly that happens through her prayer, but it also happens as she brings an essentially contemplative presence into her contacts with the parish. It happens as she learns to love in this context more fully and exhaustively not only because stability binds her here, but because it is the logical outgrowth of her vows of celibate love/chastity. Of course, koinonia is built on charity, and especially one's love relationship with God. It is stability though which helps assure that one's commitment to loving others in God is not some abstract, intellectualized form of "loving" in which no one is really touched or nourished or healed. And of course, it is stability which ensures the hermit grows personally. We do not grow in isolation from others, nor when we run from situations, conflicts, challenges, and the like (an important reason eremiticism cannot be built on the desire to escape the demands of human society), but only in communion with others, and especially in faithful communion --- whatever the form that takes.

A second value of stability it seems to me is hope. Hope is rooted in the certainty that God can work to the good in all situations in one (or in those) who love him and therefore allow him to love them. Stability very much addresses this virtue because it underscores the need (and ability) to find God where one is, to come to holiness in the limited and conditioning circumstances in which one finds oneself. Stability is the value that underscores the incarnational essence of Christianity, the fact that our God comes to us in weakness, in the unexpected, even shameful events of our day to day lives. Ours is the God who dwells and remains with us in all of life's moments and moods; He calls us to remain with him in the same way. Prayer happens not in idealized situations (though it happens in ideal ones), but more usually in the situations that are far from ideal and often apparently adequate for nothing else! Stability commits us to lives of holiness and prayer wherever we find ourselves. For the diocesan hermit who often lives as an urban hermit, stability is the value that reminds us all that it is the nitty gritty pressures and irritations of everyday life that become the womb of the pearl of great price. Contemplative life need not be lived in the literal desert or mountain environment, but it must be lived in the solitude and communion of the heart of God, and THAT reality is available to us wherever God is found if only we will "remain in him." (John 15)

A related value of stability is perseverance. In the Rule Of Saint Benedict they are synonyms. Our society or culture is not particularly committed to this. It is instead a culture of quick fixes, and when that is not possible, quick escapes. We run out on marriages, children, relationships where the going gets demanding, courses of study, jobs, our employees and employers, parishes, particular church denominations, etc, etc. You name it and we ordinarily look for the easy way out, the place or situation where the "grass is supposedly greener," or where we face less difficulty and need to be less concerned with doing right in difficult circumstances, acting with patience, sustained courage, integrity, or loving profoundly and faithfully. This disvalue is personal, yes, but it is also interpersonal and affects negatively our culture and society. Meanwhile, its opposite, perseverance/stability cuts the heart out of our tendency to look for quick fixes and escapes; it commits us to giving each situation, each person, each set of circumstances all the time, prayer, effort, and work needed to allow the seeds of life, growth, wholeness, and indeed, holiness, to take root and grow to maturity. In this sense it is the parable of the wheat and the tares that remind us of the value of and need for stability.

In any case, it seems to me that the diocesan hermit is called upon to embody these values in unique and intense ways. Yes, she is to remain in her cell and allow it to teach her all things. Even this can be a witness to others simply in their knowing it is happening somewhere in their midst (which, as noted in other places on this blog, is a central reason for public profession and consecration). But a diocesan hermit is also called to stability in community. She is able to catalyze or otherwise contribute to the growth of community in hidden and not so hidden ways --- and she has an obligation to do this as part of the eremitical life and mission! Most particularly she will do so on the parish level, and in a day when sensitivity to the vitality and importance of local churches and base communities remains quite high, this is a significant aspect of her unique gift/charism to church and world. Stability is rooted in other personal and interpersonal or communal values as well. Perhaps I can say more about those in another post.

"In Shoes Too Small": Jung and Benedictinism

I was fortunate enough to attend a day's workshop on the relationship between Jungian psychology and spirituality yesterday at San Damiano's Retreat House in Danville, CA. The presenter was Brother Don Bisson, FMS, D Min, and the focus was on the nature of Individuation as a Spiritual Practice. The title was "Walking in Shoes too Small", and ironically, this was a phrase from Jung I had heard for the first time just last week while on retreat when Sister Donald mentioned it in a conference on Benedictinism, the enlarging of our hearts, and the critical need for the recovery of soul or soulfulness in our culture. There was a lot of good material and a great deal to assimilate (I have not even begun!), but a couple of points struck me because they reprise central aspects of Benedictine spirituality. One of these had to do with the Jungian concept of fate. For Jung, fate has to do with the non-chosen, non-negotiable elements in our lives. Fate for Jung is to embrace these elements; it is especially to embrace this (our own) time and place and not some other. In genuine individuation one comes to embrace and even love our fate, all while recognizing that fate in the Jungian sense (unlike some notions of fate) includes the capacity to choose.

Now, one of the things which is most striking about Benedictine spirituality (and one of the first places it differs from the classic Franciscan vows) is the vow (or value) of stability. The Benedictine monk, nun, (or, similarly though in their own way, the oblate) commits themselves to a particular monastery for life. That is, they commit themselves to this community, this group of people with all their weaknesses, foibles, gifts, capacities, etc. And generally they commit themselves to place and time as well, to this time in the history of the church with all its challenges and frustrations, to this world with all its needs, potentialities and deficiencies, to this community (as a whole) with its vitality and lack of vitality. All of this is a part of a contemplative commitment to live in the present moment. As Elizabeth J Canham writes, [[ The vow of stability affirms sameness, a willingness to attend to . . . the reality of this place, these people as God's gift to me and the setting where I live out my discipleship. We are discouraged from fantasizing some ideal situation in which we will finally be able to pray and live as we should. Instead, Benedict says, be here, find Christ in the restless teenager, demanding parent, insensitive employer, dull preacher, lukewarm congregation.]] (Weavings, Jan-Feb 1994)

In the more personal sense Benedictine stability means, [[standing in my own center and not trying to run away from the person I really am.]] (Tomaine, St Benedict's Toolbox) The linkage between the Jungian concept of fate, and the Benedictine vow/value of stability could not be clearer. It is also linked intimately with a truly Christian notion of human freedom. As I have written here before just recently (July 4th) too often people mistake the power or ability to do anything we want as freedom. But in Christianity freedom is the power to be the persons we are called to be; it is the capacity to be (and become) ourselves in spite of limitations or circumstances, and in fact THROUGH these limitations and circumstances.

At the same time stability does not imply a static response to life, for Benedictines also make a vow (or embrace the value) of conversatio morum, which is both a commitment to fidelity to monastic life and to continued conversion of life. (Besides, stability is a commitment to community more than place, and how can THAT be static??) Obedience (whether vow or value) also is a commitment to an ongoing responsiveness to God, and THAT kind of responsiveness, because of its "object," is just about as dynamic as one can get! As Brother Don stressed at the workshop/day of reflection yesterday, individuation is a process of transformation which involves not just embracing fate, but also the negotiation of liminal spaces (the desert is a symbol of this), places where one really encounters the shadow self and awakens to the true self. It implies conscious choices to deal with our own deep woundedness, to heal from this, and yet, in the process to risk the inevitable wounding which comes WITH the process of healing and individuation. In fact, "standing at the center of ourselves" is not a static but rather a dynamic event full of both risk and promise, suffering and peace. It implies not just contemplative withdrawal but return to our world to serve it.

So, I have begun my own examination of the Benedictine vows and how my own translate into specifically Benedictine terms. Interestingly, many of the themes shared by both share commonalities with Jungian and (perhaps) transpersonal psychologies. They echo as well some of the concerns (and courage, faith and hope) another Sister shared with me when she sent me a program from a ritual during her own community's recent Assembly. One of the quotes from the closing liturgy was very striking to me, and I think you will see how it ties in with both a Benedictine vow/value of stability and the Jungian notion of fate: [[ Especially do not lose hope. Most particularly because the fact is we were made for these times. Yes, for years we have been learning, practicing, been in training for and just waiting to meet in this exact [place] of engagement.. . .When a great ship is in harbor and moored, it is safe, there can be no doubt. But that is not what great ships are built for. . . .This comes with much love and prayer that you remember Who you came from and why you came to this beautiful, needful Earth.]] (C Pinkola Estes, "Letter to a Young Activist in Troubled Times")

Choosing Manna and Water from the Rock, Numbers 21:4-9

Tomorrow's first reading is a challenging one for us. Christians may forget that the serpent was a powerful symbol of both death and life, poison and healing, resurrection and eternity, as well as sin and sinful death prevalent in Middle East religious cults. They may also forget that Satan was not unequivocably evil in Jewish thought, but instead always served God, or was constrained in some way by the purposes and will of God. And of course, we are apt to ask ourselves why it is a golden calf is condemned but a brazen serpent is acceptable. But, as thorny as some of these issues are, they are not where the challenge of this reading lays for us, I don't think. And, as central and significant as the image of the coming passion of Christ is with its parallel to the raising up of the serpent on the staff, with life coming from death, and the defeat of sinful death especially, I don't think this is where the challenge of today's first reading lays for us either.

Instead, I think the challenge lies in the area of the idea of pilgrimage, of life journeys, of impatience with and ingratitude for the day by day nourishment God provides. It has to do with accepting the perks of being God's chosen people, but rejecting the more tedious, mundane bits of day to day life in complete dependence upon God. It has to do with looking for God's mercy when we are desperate, but becoming bored with it on an everyday basis. It has to do with allowing God's love to be sufficient for us, recognizing the miracles that accompany us on our DAILY journeying, and not rejecting (or ignoring) the food God provides us as "worthless" or "tasteless" or "empty."

The first lection is the story of a people eating manna God provides daily, and drinking water which comes from supernatural sources, and growing bored with these and forgetful of how truly miraculous they are. The journey is tiring. The food is neither varied nor can it be stored up. It must be gathered daily or it corrupts and can no longer nourish. It is truly "daily bread" and must be received in that way. Israel ceases to recall the reasons she should be grateful and does what she and we often do all so well in such cases, she grumbles and whines! Things look better to her on the other side of the Red/Reed sea; the grass is greener in Egypt it seems. In fact, slavery looks better to Israel than the freedom which God has brought them to and whose fulfillment he promises in the future. Slavery was hard work, but freedom is also not without its tedium, responsibilities, and difficulties --- not least the day to day, moment by moment praxis of dependence upon the power and mercy of God, which, miraculous as it is, demands one remain completely mindful, open, and grateful.

We often extol how faithful God is from moment to moment. In fact, we note that should he forget us or his covenant at any point, we will simply cease to be. And yet, in our own lives we forget we are participants in a covenant which requires ongoing, moment by moment faithfulness. We tend instead to try to get by on "saved up grace" or skate along on yesterday's prayer, Sunday's liturgy and readings, last year's retreat, the sacraments and catechetical education we received as adolescents or young adults. Some few may make it to daily Mass, and that is surely an improvement, but how many read spirituality and/or theology regularly in ways which nourish them afresh? How many do lectio? How many pray office, or stop for quiet prayer once a day? How many of us are really concerned with making our entire lives into a prayer, or, in the words of Scripture, "praying always"? Few of us are really as faithful to these sources of miraculous nourishment as we could be, I think, and this is true whatever our state of life or vocation.

Today's first reading gives us an immediate image of the passion by recalling the serpent raised on a staff, and calls to mind the healing that can come from something deadly. On our way to Holy Week and Easter, that is surely significant. The challenge, at least as I read this lection however, is not located here but in recognizing how similar we are to the Israelites and their forgetfulness, blindness, and ingratitude. In a culture which offers us entertainment, diversion, and novelty in every conceivable form we are apt to choose these things over the more difficult and even tedious manna and water which God asks us to live on, no matter how miraculous it is! I think the challenge of today's first reading is in demanding we examine our own lives for signs of ingratitude, forgetfulness, impatience, boredom, and a desire for security, independence from God, and the entertainment and novelty which distracts us from the difficult praxis of choosing and valuing the daily bread offered us by God, whatever form that food takes.