Religious Life today: One Heart, a Diversity of Expressions

I have received several comments and questions asking me how it is I can support the social justice vision of the Nuns on the Bus tour. It seems clear to those emailing that my life could not be more different than the Sisters on the Bus. How can an eremite living the silence of solitude be embracing the same values as active, ministerial Sisters? How can (as I put it) we share the same heart and embrace such very different lives?

One of the very startling emphases in Sister Simone Campbell's presentation (found in the video posted here a couple of posts ago) is the complementarity between individual responsibility and koinonia or solidarity with our brothers and sisters. In speaking about the intimate relationship between these two found in Caritas in Veritate specifically and in Catholic social teaching more generally, Sister Simone made essentially the following statement which I will need to paraphrase somewhat: [[. . .It is the role of government to counter the excesses of any culture. [It is the role of government in the US] to counter [our excessive] individualism with the keen knowledge of solidarity. . . .it is solidarity which prevents us from slipping into isolation, loneliness, and depression. The only time we are fully human is when we are connected to others.]]

I don't think anyone reading my blog for the past 5 years will be able to miss the similarities in what Sister Simone and I have been saying --- though I have been doing it from the perspective of a hermit calling attention to 1) the dialogical and covenantal nature of the human being, and 2) the distinction between genuine solitude (which is communal and other-centered) and isolation (which is often selfish, self-pitying, bitter, and/or misanthropic). Quite often here I have spoken of the individualism and narcissism of our world and especially our society as countered by the hermit's authentic life of "the silence of solitude." You may also remember the comment a friend of mine made re inauthentic vocations to eremitical solitude: "in solitude we should hear the anguish and cries of the world; if we do not we are not mature enough for such a vocation."

How like the talk Sister Simone gave the other night referring to her own prayer and Yahweh's speech to Moses: "I have heard my people's cry. . ." The only things I have perhaps spoken of more often are the unnatural solitudes of our world which need to be redeemed, and the fact that human beings are called to completion in community with God and others --- a fact which is true of hermits as well, though that completion assumes a paradoxical form in their lives. Both themes are also central to the life Sister Simone lives, the message she proclaims, the work she does, and the passion which drives both of those.

What Sister Simone represents very clearly is a form of life which is countercultural and so, unworldly in the best Christian sense. It is, in other words, rooted in and supportive of the values of the Kingdom of God. It is prophetic because it confronts a central untruth of our culture (individualism and its variations of narcissism, greed, selfishness, and misanthropy) with the Gospel of God that says that in God we are ALL equal, all gifted with God's grace (remember this week we heard the reading announcing that God causes it to rain on the just and unjust), all called to wholeness and holiness, and ALL called to support the dignity and integrity of our neighbors in their quest for wholeness and holiness (love them as you love me). What I represent and speak about is identical except that the form of life in which I find all of these dynamics embodied is that of eremitical solitude. Thus, it is no surprise to me that Sister Simone's prayer centers often on desert dwellers and prophetic images of burning bushes and the dry bones raised to new life in Ezekiel, nor that my own leads to a sense of the strong sense of the other-centered and covanental nature of genuine solitude.

There should be no surprise for any of us in this. We (the Nuns on a Bus type Sisters and diocesan hermits like myself) live two very different Religious lives embodying the very same values and commitments; more, we do so precisely because we both live lives rooted in the Gospel of Christ. Our hearts are the same though the lives they empower and call for are, superficially at least, very different. One of the reasons I have been posting about the Sisters of the LCWR and the Nuns on the Bus tour is precisely because I recognize my own heart in what they are about. I would say it is the heart of a hermit; Sister Simone would say, I think, it is the heart of a Sister of Social Service or other ministerial Sister. It could not be of greater importance that Catholics in particular look at the compassionate heart which empowers the variety of forms of Religious life extant in our Church today. I believe this unity, this sameness at the level of heart in the presence of great diversity is of critical importance to the Church and a sign of the authenticity of what we each represent. Being able to perceive and appreciate it is as important for anyone wishing to understand religious life today.

What is my word of encouragement then to all those who see only the clear but superficial differences --- and sometimes exploit them for various agendas? Look deeper to the Gospel underpinnings and the love of God which constitutes their unity. Look with the eyes of faith and see a love which does justice at the heart of these vocations to Religious life. After you have done that, then look at the elements or structures which order and support such love --- elements and structures like community (in a variety of forms), the vows, a deep prayer life, etc. Only then will the diversity of expressions make sense to you as wonderful expressions of the same reality.

Diocesan Hermit: a Risky Commitment?

[[Dear Sister Laurel, I have wondered before - and have read a lot of your material which relates to [the question of] just why you would choose to put yourself under obedience to a bishop - since being a lay hermit wouldn't require that. From my perspective it was a very radical choice at a time in modern church history when it seems particularly risky. Don't you find it so yourself? Do you have a Bishop you see eye to eye with?]]

Thanks for the comment and questions. I have written about this a lot in the past, as you are clearly aware, but given all the things that are happening in the Church and news in the past weeks, especially regarding women religious, women theologians (or theologians more generally) there is no doubt that questions regarding my own relationship to the institutional church, especially to my diocese and local Bishop are raised afresh or with more urgency than at other times. As I prepare for an annual meeting with my Bishop precisely at a time when I stand with the women of the LCWR or reflect on my own vocation as a theologian, the question surfaces in my own mind as well --- not so much as one prompted by doubt about the wisdom of my vocational commitment, but as one which I personally must answer afresh for myself.

Your related comments about lay hermits are also well taken and, as I have written before, one of the responses one sometimes gets from lay hermits regarding the question of seeking canonical standing is that canonical standing binds the hermit too closely to the institution and curtails the freedom typical of the eremitical life. One has only to recall the example of the desert Fathers and Mothers who moved to the desert to disassociate themselves from an institutional Church they felt had compromised itself because of its Constantinian ties to the world of power, politics, and pressure. It is a valid answer for some, even relatively many of those embracing eremitical life, but not for me.

I don't want to repeat everything I have said here before except to recall that solitary life is about relatedness, first of all to God and to the proclamation that God alone is sufficient for us, and then to all that (he) regards as precious --- God's people, God's world, God's Church, etc. It is a mistake to think of a hermit as someone who lives in a sort of isolated splendor or that our lives are marked (or marred!) by alienation of whatever sort. Hermits are hermits because they are loved and love in return. The very word solitude in the Christian eremitical tradition does not simply mean being alone, but rather being alone with God and for the sake of others. The silence of solitude embraced by the hermit is not the mere absence of sound; it is the silence which occurs when one exists with and in the love of another --- the silence of completion, the quies of shalom, the hesychasm resulting from being exhaustively known and wholly accepted and regarded as precious. It is the silence of two friends sitting quietly together in grateful presence each for the other and the God (and others) that made this friendship possible.

As a hermit I am not silent (or solitary) for instance, because woundedness and pain have rendered me mute and cut off from others, but because silence and solitude are the accompaniment and context for profound speech and articulateness. Silence is part of the music of being loved completely by God; it is a piece of allowing the separate notes of one's life to sound fully, but also to be connected to one another so that noise is transformed into a composition worthy of being heard and powerful and true enough to be inspiring to others. It is an empowered silence and solitude, the silence of solitude, which finds its source in God's love and reflects relatedness to God and others at its very core. Something similar could be said of all of the elements which comprise the life described in Canon 603. The eremitical life, especially in its freedom, is one of relatedness and love in all of its dimensions.

For me, because I want to live this fully and witness to it with my life, this has meant responding to an ecclesial vocation, a call specifically and concretely mediated to me by the Church and for which I am therefore answerable in specific and concrete ways. We have all done something similar in agreeing to baptism --- though I wonder sometimes if the average person in the pew understands well enough that gifts oblige us to act out of our giftedness, and that a gift which recreates us completely requires the corresponding gift of our whole selves. Eremitical life, especially solitary eremitical life, is simply too difficult, too rare, too fragile and too threatened by the world around it as well as by dimensions of the hermit's own inner world to live without concrete limits, mediating structures, formal relationships, concrete expectations, and avenues for sharing. At the same time it is a rich and fruitful life because of its close and dedicated relationship with God; Hermits stand at the heart of the Church and say something about this rich identity but they therefore do not do so in some merely abstract way. Because of this too they require concrete limits, mediating structures, formal relationships, concrete expectations on the part of their brothers and sisters, and avenues for sharing.

I think most solitary hermits (lay or consecrated) who embrace such a life because they feel God has called them to do so belong to a parish community which supports them in their life. (Religious hermits live as part of a community which functions similarly.) Most have spiritual directors and confessors who assist them and help them be accountable for their life. For me, however, it was not simply that I felt called to live as a hermit; it was that I felt called to represent a specific vocational tradition in the church --- a tradition which I felt was very important and even redemptive especially with regard to certain segments of the population --- and which therefore could represent not only continuity with the desert Fathers/Mothers and the whole history of eremitical life, but which could suggest new instances and "applications" of it. To do this meant not only the requisite experience, theological education, and sensibilities but, again, an ecclesial vocation which was supervised, inspired, and rendered accountable by the Church in some formal and concrete way.

Regarding my vow of obedience. It is not primarily to my Bishop nor, by extension, to my delegate, but to God. Of course, this does not mean that I do not owe either my Bishop or others he delegates my obedience, but merely that they are a part --- a significant one, but a part nonetheless -- of my discerning how God is speaking to me and what he is calling for from me. It is true that because I don't belong to a congregation and, except for my delegate who can and would speak for me, I have no legitimate superior between myself and the Bishop it can sometimes seem a bit "risky." What if we disagree on something central to my life, for instance? What happens then?

My own sense of obedience means attentive listening first of all and honest and open discussion as needed to assist my discernment. I listen carefully to my Bishop, and (fortunately for me) my experience is that he listens carefully to me. He asks good questions, gives me time to answer completely, allows me to ask him questions, and answers himself. As you will have read, we meet only annually (more frequently if I need something) and in the meantime I meet with my delegate. Should something happen which has either myself or my Bishop concerned and needing to talk about it, or if he should himself require more information or assistance, my delegate is there to serve in that way as well.

No, my Bishop and I probably don't "see eye to eye" on a few things (I am not speaking of doctrinal matters here nor of our vision of the eremitical life), but we are also bound in a canonical relationship because of two distinct but related ecclesial vocations which the Church has recognized and affirmed, as well as because of the related commitments which we have made and she has accepted. We both love Christ and Christ's Church and care that the eremitical life is lived with integrity and faithfulness. At the risk of sounding self-serving, I trust and desire to trust that with the help of the Holy Spirit and for these overarching reasons we will both continue to act attentively and responsibly, as well as with charity and respect for one another in this common project. I have hope then that what risk there is is worth it --- particularly for this vocation and for the Church as a whole. I suspect that in this I am not much different from anyone with public vows.

The Sound of Silence

I asked an old monk, "How long have you been here?"
"Forever," he answered. " I smiled.
"Fifty years, Father?"
"Forever."
Did you know St. Benedict?"
"We are novices together."
"Did you know Jesus?"
"He and I converse every day."
I threw away my silly smile, fell to my knees, and clutched his hand.
"Father, " I whispered, "Did you hear the original sound?"
" I am listening to the original sound."

Those who pray contemplatively know this experience. It is the experience of being at the center, of having everything make a new kind of sense and having it feel alive with a new kind of life and light; colors are more vibrant, flowers and plants seem lit from within with a unique iridescence; the gentle movement of the breeze through the branches occasions awe and even a sudden intake of breath as the everpresent movement of the Holy Spirit becomes symbolically "visible" for a moment. It is the experience of being part of the same story with our Sister, Mary, and our Brothers, Paul and Benedict, alive in the God who grounds us and resides deep in the core of our being, but who silently and as insistently summons us from without as well.

It is the experience of resting, really resting -- of being where one is meant to be, where one has ALWAYS been meant to be --- the experience of stepping out of time and taking up a place in the eternal heart of the Holy Trinity. God in us, we in Him, a communion of saints learning to love as God loves, to listen as God listens, to sing our lives and celebrate the singing of others' lives, to be the inestimable gifts to one another in Him we were always called to be --- and yet, always beginners, and always with everything ahead of us. It is the experience of being comprehended in every sense of that word: being profoundly heard, understood, known, held securely in God's hands, and completely encircled by his presence. It is the sound of silence and the compassionate space of contemplative solitude.

Time travel is an interesting subject for speculation, but for contemplatives, it is something known from regular experience. Every day eternity breaks in upon us. Every day we slip the bonds of mere temporality and participate in time's transfiguration. Chronos becomes Kairos; linear time dissolves into an eternal now, and our citizenship in this world is shown for the pale reflection it is of our truest citizenship in the Kingdom of God. But we do not do this to reject the created realm for some "supernatural" one, much less to leave it behind in a misguided anti-world asceticism. We do it so this world may BE transfigured, and God may come to be ALL in ALL.

Contemplation, after all, is not escape, but a quiet confrontation, a gentle capitulation to being, and the silent mediation of life; it is not flight, but the still celebration of an all-accepting and transforming presence. The hermitage or cell is separate from the world only so the world may be truly loved into its own in genuine intimacy --- for real intimacy requires distance as well as closeness. An anchorite has a window into the church and peeks out onto eternity as it breaks in on the world in the liturgy. But really, every true hermitage (and every true hermit!) is a window through which the love of the living God radiates to transform the world of space and time into heaven itself.