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

This post was first reprised in 04/2016. I reread it as part of my preparation for Lent and for writing a post that follows up one I posted earlier today or very late last night. It also reflects a book I am reading for Lent this year, namely, The Wood Between the Worlds, A Poetic Theology of the Cross. It is a book about the way God uses Jesus' passion and death to reconcile this world with himself, thus transfiguring this world and the way we are called to perceive it.

Thus, considering the questions that follow and what I have written recently about eremitical life, I find a night and day difference between those whose illness is a sign of "the world's" power and those whose illness has truly been transfigured into a sacrament of the presence of God. Most of us with chronic illnesses or disabilities find ourselves between both of these worlds -- at least part of the time. Lent seems to me to be a good time to focus especially on the kinds of choices that allow us to stand firmly in the light of God's love so that even our illnesses and disabilities are transfigured and we come to know ourselves as precious and a delight to God. All of this is reflected in the following post.

______________________________________________________

[[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.

Does God Will or Need Our Suffering?

[[Dear Sister Laurel, does God will our suffering? Does he need it? Does he even send it?? I have been thinking about what it means to unite our sufferings with those of Christ. I can understand that as being about uniting ourselves with the God you write about --- the One who wants to dwell with us in everything, but I can't get my head around God needing me to suffer for some reason. Hasn't there been enough suffering? Isn't Jesus'  death supposed to have destroyed death and overcome sin"? One person I talk with occasionally has told me that we must suffer to make up for what was lacking in Christ's own sufferings but were his sufferings really inadequate?

I was recently diagnosed with a degenerative neurological disorder that has changed my life. The diagnosis was a relief in some ways (at least this has a name and is not about it being psychogenic or something like that!) but on the other hand, it has begun to hit me that this is going to get worse, not better. I know you have a disability and live with chronic pain as well so I wondered how you manage it all? How do you make sense of your illness? Is it about uniting your suffering with Christ's? Do you use medications for pain or seizures and if so, why do you do that if it's really all about uniting your sufferings to Christ? As you can tell, my mind is racing, I am angry and frightened, and I am thinking about things I have never thought about before. Can you help me?]]

Thank you for your questions and for the way you poured them out! Let me say that God, as I understand the question, does not will our suffering any more than he willed Jesus' torture and death by crucifixion. What God did will in that case was that Jesus continued living his life with integrity and faithfulness even in the face of serious threats and terrible danger. Jesus was to continue proclaiming the Kingdom of God in communion with the One he called Abba, but the actual torture and death perpetrated in the supposed name of God by idolatrous leaders was not the will of God. For most situations involving suffering that I can think of, the truth is the same. What God wills for us is that we live with integrity and faithfulness, in freedom and truth, empowered by God's love and that we do this sure of the value of our lives no matter the degree of our suffering, disability, illness, etc. We are to be people who live and thus proclaim the Gospel of Jesus Christ and the reality of the Kingdom (sovereignty) of God that gives our lives meaning despite and even in and through our suffering.

God does not need our suffering. What is true, however,  is that we need God's grace and must come to depend completely upon that grace. This requires a serious learning curve, including an inner conversion process if our dependence is to occur with the necessary depth, fullness,  and maturity. Suffering can help us grow in the various ways we must grow to truly depend on God to the extent Jesus demonstrates (reveals) is proper to authentic humanity. Even so, while suffering can assist in this necessary growth by helping to wean us from an overweening self-dependence or individualism, this does not translate into God sending or needing our suffering. God needs human beings to "let him in," if he is to be Emmanuel, God With Us. He does not, however, force himself on us in any way; God uses circumstances to find and create openings to our hearts and minds. While we can say that godless death has been destroyed and Jesus has won the decisive victory over sin, we still live in a world where sin and death have some power. We look ahead to the day when heaven and earth completely interpenetrate one another and are one. On that day there will be no death or sin, and no suffering because we will enjoy fullness of life and communion with (life in) God.

The idea of making up what was lacking in the sufferings of Christ is not about Jesus' suffering or death being objectively inadequate to redeem creation, but about the need for us to allow the fruits of Jesus' objective victory to become the subjective truth of our own lives. Sin and godless death have been overcome and transformed by the presence of God. Jesus' openness to God and the depth of his "taking on" sin and death for our sake opened these realities to God's presence more profoundly than we ever could, but at the same time, God does not force his way into our lives. Only we, empowered by the Holy Spirit can allow that. When we open ourselves to Jesus and all he accomplished objectively, then subjectively speaking, we are "making up for" what was lacking in Christ's suffering and death.

You ask how I manage the suffering in my life, or how I make sense of my illness, and so forth. First of all, I do not manage by assuring myself that any of this (illness, suffering) is the will of God. It is not and believing it was would distort my theology and prevent me from believing in God at all. What I know is that while suffering is real, it is not the only, much less the deepest or most meaningful reality of my life. There IS what God truly wills as well, and it is that I believe we each must hold fast to in faith, hope, love, and real joy! 

Our God is the One who wills to live with us, to walk beside us in every situation, to accompany, love, and strengthen us in any way we need. This is the God who wills fullness of life for every person and the abundance of love, meaning, and fruitfulness that characterizes such a life. Through and very much in spite of my suffering, this is the person God calls me to be. Jesus' story is the same. He was called to allow God to be Emmanuel and he did this openly and exhaustively --- even in the presence of and despite his sufferings. Do I unite myself to Christ's sufferings? Yes, but not only and not even primarily to those. I also unite myself with Jesus' mission, with his abiding will to be the One in whom God is truly revealed (made known and made real) as Emmanuel. I unite myself with his compassion and amazing thirst for life. I unite myself with his courage and faithfulness in the power of the Holy Spirit, not with just his sufferings.

While suffering is difficult (and sometimes it is especially so!), I try to keep this second constellation of things in mind. I try to remember who God calls me to be, who God has made me, and the mission in which I share. Suffering will inevitably come, but in the way I live my life, it must be secondary to the vocation and mission that God has entrusted to me in Christ. My suffering is thus contextualized within this larger and more powerfully sustaining reality. It becomes meaningful only in light of this larger context. Spiritual direction reminds me of who I am and my director encourages me to stay in touch with the deep truth and potential of that identity. To be frank, it is either that or it is to allow myself to be swallowed up by the suffering. I must not let that happen! 

When I have written about a vocation to chronic illness it is a way of maintaining the same perspective I have been outlining here. I have stressed, even in the work on chronic illness as vocation, that God does not call anyone to be chronically ill. Instead, he calls us to be ill within the church and Gospel so that we witness to Christ's love and compassion, and the possibility of essential wholeness even in the presence of various forms of brokenness or illness. Especially, I remind myself that we are all pilgrims on a journey to a time and place where God will be all in all and there will be none of the struggle or suffering that exists today.

Yes, I take meds for medically and surgically intractable seizures, chronic pain (CRPS), and several other things as well! (I am getting older, after all!) I do it because, as I said above, my own calling as a Christian (not to mention as a Catholic Hermit) is the witness to the truth of a larger reality and context than my own suffering per se. Medications help me in this and I honestly couldn't function, much less be or become fully human without them. Instead, the suffering would have swallowed up my life and any larger vision of its meaning or mission I might have had. This larger context doesn't make it impossible for me to suffer with Christ, but it does help me to live with and in him. It also allows even the suffering I experience to be transfigured into a source of grace. For me, it is critical that, as much as possible, one not focus on the suffering per se, but instead on the larger mission and vocation, both ours and Jesus' as well. Of course, it is important that we not deny or diminish our suffering either; still, we must not allow it to become the whole or even the predominant story of our life. Unfortunately, I have seen some people do this with their own suffering; they have no story to tell apart from their own conversations about their suffering. It is my sense that we are each called to much much more than our sufferings, even when these sufferings predominate. (Certainly, this is what is revealed in Jesus' life, death, resurrection, and ascension!!)  I believe that keeping suffering contextualized in this way is the very best way to suffer well!

What you are looking at in your Dx is both a terrible uncertainty and an equally terrible certainty. I will certainly pray for you and I ask that you pray for me as well. At the same time, I encourage you to do all you can to refuse to allow your diagnosis to take over your identity. This would be the worst kind of betrayal of either yourself or of God. God has made you much more than your illness and he has called you to witness to the power of his creative love. I think that is the only way to really manage serious chronic illnesses. We must find and witness to the larger hope to which we are called --- the larger life, meaning, and purpose that allows even suffering to be transfigured in Christ. At least, that is what I try to do myself.

I sincerely hope this is helpful!!

On Time Frames in Discerning and Forming Solitary Eremitical Vocations

[[Dear Sr Laurel, your post on chronic illness stressed the mutual nature of the discernment process between the diocese and candidate for canon 603 profession. You said something about time frames not being fixed under Canon 603. What did you mean here?.... Then can dioceses take as long as they want in making a decision about admitting someone to profession? How about the candidates, can they draw out the process as long as they want? (I don't mean there's any sneaky motives going on here. I hope you understand my meaning.) . . .What is a reasonable time frame and does this differ with someone with a chronic illness or disability than with someone who is entirely well?]]

Thanks for the follow up. With religious life canon law specifies the amount of time given to candidacy (a formal period in initial formation unlike the way I use the term with regard to c 603), novitiate, temporary profession, and the outside limits beyond which one must either be perpetually (or solemnly) professed or dismissed from the institute. Because of the nature of formation in community and the degree of oversight and direct supervision involved, these time frames are pretty well fixed and well-recognized as prudent and also as charitable. The eremitical life differs both in kind and in the nature of its formation and degree of oversight and direct supervision allowed. As a result the time frames for discernment and formation mainly do and must also differ. While it is possible to read even very current works by canonists today who affirm that one can simply borrow the canonical regulations for life-in-community and apply them without customization to eremitical life, such an application is naïve at best and dangerously destructive at worst. Eremitical life is neither discerned nor formed in the same way cenobitical life is; to expect it to conform to the same temporal parameters is wrong-headed.

I believe this is especially true when one is trying to discern and evaluate the vocation, formation, and even readiness for profession of the chronically ill or disabled hermit precisely because one must take the time to distinguish between isolation and solitude, and also, even within this distinction, one must understand the various kinds of isolation and solitude which may be (and are likely) involved. Chronic illness always isolates in varying ways and to varying degrees. Some of these are pathological; some are not. Some may predispose to eremitical solitude, some to temporary or transitional solitude; some speak clearly of personal disintegration or decompensation while for some this very decompensation occurs as part of a radical conversion process involving self-emptying and if given appropriate spiritual direction and support in accepting the grace of God, eventual healing and reintegration of the person's core identity. But this type of process is messy and time-consuming. It does not fit in the neat canonical boxes associated with socialization and formation in community of someone in fine physical health.

Moreover, the process being discerned is about hidden dynamics because it occurs in the silence of solitude. One must look specifically for the grace of God at work in this person's life and that means looking for the paradoxical presence of grace --- wholeness revealed in brokenness, power in weakness, strength in helplessness, and independence in dependence, for instance. One must learn to look for the Life of God within the imperfect life of one whom those in non-eremitical religious life (life in community) might well reject as "unsuitable". This takes time, courage, imagination, and a well-tempered faith. The Catechism of the Catholic Church describes the hiddenness of the eremitical life. The authors did not merely mean it all happens alone (with God) behind closed doors --- though of course it mainly does this; they knew that the real fruit and processes of eremitical life (and thus, of eremitical formation and discernment) have to do with the processes of the human heart being redeemed and transfigured (made whole and holy) by the invisible God within the context of silence and personal solitude in an intimate relationship which is mainly invisible and ineffable.

Imagine this!! Read the sentence ending in "ineffable" again! THIS IS what hermits witness to. THIS is the Gospel they proclaim with their lives and very much less so with any limited ministry they may also do. Assessing this is the key to discerning an eremitical life so it is no wonder some dioceses eschew accepting anyone for a process of mutual discernment leading to admission to canonical commitment. On the other hand maybe this is better than what often happens: it is scandalous, I think, that dioceses demand hermits live this kind of hiddenness while also expecting to discern or form such vocations on the basis of criteria culled from canon law geared to the dynamics of active religious lives which are mainly not particularly hidden.

In the Letter to the Hebrews we read that Abraham trusted the promises, no matter how unbelievable they seemed, because the One who made them was trustworthy. Vicars for Religious must be open to trusting that God is at work in the individuals that come to them and allow him the time to do the kinds of miracles only he can do. After all, God is the trustworthy one here, not the time frames culled from centuries of dealing with cenobitical religious formation. Of course this also leads directly to your questions about reasonable time frames and the drawing out of processes of discernment and formation. If the usual parameters (6-12 months candidacy, 1 year pastoral novitiate and 1 year canonical novitiate, followed by temporary profession for no more than 6 years and then perpetual profession and consecration) don't work well for hermits (and especially those who are chronically ill), then what time frames are reasonable and how does one proceed in truly discerning what is happening with the hermit's formation or growth? Is canon 603 itself helpful here or, if other canonical requirements are not helpful, are we left with nothing at all to go on?

While canon 603 does not specify time frames for discernment and formation leading to profession and consecration in the ways Canon Law does for cenobitical vocations, I believe canon 603 includes the key to both quality and flexibility here in its reference to a Rule of Life the hermit will write herself. It takes time and genuine formation in the eremitical life to be able to write a liveable Rule which is authentically eremitical and faithful to one's experience of God in the silence of solitude. This is because such a Rule involves not just a statement of ways one will live the central elements of canon 603, but also relies on and articulates the hermit's own sense of the vision and spirit which drives such a life in the 21st century. 

Thus, it is also possible to use the Rule a hermit writes (and conversations about the process of writing such a Rule) as a key to discerning the quality of the vocation standing before the diocese with a petition for profession and consecration. For this reason, after a hermit has lived eremitical solitude for several years I have proposed that only then do dioceses ask the hermit to begin constructing a liveable and normative Rule. They will then allow for the project to take several years (this is much more likely than not)! Subsequently, diocesan staff may meet with the hermit and discuss the project a couple of times a year or so to help with matters of both discernment and formation, using the Rule in its various incarnations (expect several!!) to help determine readiness for profession and consecration. Remember, the task is to write a liveable Rule rooted in the hermit's experience of the solitary eremitical life, not simply to churn out a list of do’s and don’ts

In this way, the discernment and formation process can be individually tailored and freed from the arbitrary constraints of cenobitical canonical time frames. I believe this would be particularly workable for solitary hermits, but especially for those with disabilities and chronic illnesses. Time frames would not be extended arbitrarily nor shortened in a similar way. (The period and process of discernment would need to show signs of ongoing growth in eremitical life and increasing readiness for a real and lifegiving commitment; so long as it does this the process allows for prudent patience.) Using the developing capacity to write a personal Rule in this way would mean that personnel discerning the vocation would have something objective to consider; moreover, conversations with candidates could be much more fruitful and free of bias (or the perception of bias). Meanwhile careful and judicious consideration of the work of spiritual directors, delegates, and others (including physicians and psychological screening -- if seen as helpful because of real concerns) could be used to inform a diocese's decisions in conjunction with the diocese's conversations with the hermit herself.

Gaudete Sunday and the Sacrament of Anointing

 Each year on this Sunday we celebrate the Anointing of the Sick; we did so this morning. I am always really moved by it as we each come forward and stand in a semi-circle in front of the whole assembly while facing the altar as Father John moves to each of us, lays on hands, prays, and then comes to each of us again anointing us on forehead and hands. I ordinarily come forward because I struggle with chronic illness and because I want to remain open to God bringing good out of whatever suffering is involved --- including whatever deep healing (he) will accomplish within me.

This year I felt keenly my need for healing, but too, my compassion for all those who stood in front of our brothers and sisters in Christ and implicitly proclaimed our vulnerability and need for one another and the prayers of each and all. We each have our own story of personal suffering, brokenness, illness, and neediness --- but we also have our significant stories of the Christ who comforts and strengthens us in every difficulty. I don't know the details of all of these stories -- though yes, I know a few, but I know how moving it is to witness to the Gospel in weakness and brokenness and how inspiring to stand silently with others who, though tacit about what the details of their vulnerability involve,  say clearly with their presence that they trust in God, trust in the Sacraments, trust in the support of the ecclesia and cannot, in fact must not, do otherwise.

We each come to this Sacrament looking for God to work miracles -- "acts of power" as the NT puts it ---  whether or not there is physical healing. We come as supplicants looking for God to transform our weakness into a complex canvas at once flawed and sacred, a Divine work of art, Magnificats proclaiming the One who is sovereign and victorious over the powers of sin and death even as (he) embraces and transforms them with his love and presence. It is especially significant that we do this on the day proclaiming the greatness of JnBap who is the greatest of "those born of women" and who prepared the way of the Lord who, [[Strengthen(s) the hands that are feeble, (and) make(s) firm the knees that are weak, say(s) to those whose hearts are frightened: Be strong, fear not! Here is your God, he comes with vindication; with divine recompense he comes to save you. Then will the eyes of the blind be opened, the ears of the deaf be cleared; then will the lame leap like a stag, then the tongue of the mute will sing.]] (Isaiah, today's first reading.)

Through the years I have written of a vocation to chronic illness -- a vocation to be ill within the Church, to bear our illness in Christ and (thanks to James Empereur, sj) of the sacrament of anointing as a prophetic sacrament of commissioning and call. This is what we celebrated today at St P's: brothers and sisters in Christ who came forth together in their vulnerability and need in order to be strengthened in our witness to Christ and help inspire the faith and prayer of the entire assembly. Physical healing is not necessary for the effectiveness of this sacrament (though we certainly open ourselves to it) but the increasing ability to bear our illness in Christ --- the ability to trust in and witness to the God whose power is perfected in weakness and who puts an end to fear and deep insecurity is the real vocation here. As Isaiah reminds us, such trust can lead to strong hands capable of touching others with compassion and gentleness; likewise it can result in "knees" that support us as we try to stand tall in our own truth and the ability to dance and sing our lives with a joy which comes when we truly know and trust in the love of God.

On Canon 603 and the Chronically Ill and Disabled (follow-up questions)

 [[Dear Sister, I have been interested in an article you wrote several years ago about eremitical life as a possible vocation for those who are chronically ill. Do dioceses consider that article when they are discerning whether or not to profess someone as a diocesan hermit? What about canon law that argues that candidates for religious life and priesthood must be in good health? Doesn't what you wrote conflict with these canons or do dioceses determine things on a case-by-case basis? I would think it might be a problem for dioceses to have writers like you seeing canon 603 as a kind of "haven" for those with mental and physical illnesses, wouldn't it? . . . Has anyone ever suggested your article makes it hard for dioceses considering canon 603 vocations?.... Has anyone suggested you are giving false hope to those who are disabled and expect to be admitted to profession when dioceses are really more likely to reject them?]]

Wow, good and difficult questions in some ways. Let me give them a shot! First of all, I have no idea if dioceses consider the article I wrote 30 years ago for Review for Religious (cf RFR archives: Volume 48, Number 2, March/April 1989). Certainly, there are copies out and about regarding this even though RFR is no longer, being published; also, I have posted a copy of it here on this blog ( cf, Review For Religious, Chronic Illness as Vocation and Possible Eremitical Vocation) as well as answered questions about it as follow-up. However, I really cannot say how widely read or influential the article is or has been over the years. On the other hand,  I hope that at least some dioceses, pastors, and spiritual directors have read and considered the article and that they bear it in mind as they consider candidates for public profession under c 603 or work with those who are chronically ill. Chronic illness prevents many of us from living in community and sometimes (I don't know how often) it may condition us in ways which predispose towards lives of the silence of solitude -- lives in which the isolation occasioned by chronic illness can be redeemed and transfigured into the silence of solitude associated with eremitical life. Dioceses must be able to recognize this dynamic at work in the lives of the chronically ill when it occurs and, when circumstances are right (meaning when many more circumstances than illness per se come together in the relatively clear pattern of a healthy and graced eremitical calling), they must be open to admitting such persons to profession and consecration under canon 603.

I wrote the article you mentioned because I had come to understand that while I could not live religious life in community (my illness was both too demanding and too disruptive --- though initially we had not thought this would be the case), I could certainly live as a hermit. In fact, I came to understand that the context of eremitical silence and solitude could allow my own life in  and with Christ to transform weakness and brokenness into a source and form of strength and essential wellness. I knew Paul's theology, "My grace is sufficient for you, my power is made perfect in weakness," and it seemed to fit the  situation perfectly. At the same time, while illness and the isolation it occasioned was one predisposing condition for a life of eremitical solitude, it was not enough of itself to suggest, much less indicate I had an eremitical vocation. On the contrary, it might have suggested that physical isolation was a component of something pathological that must be countered, not given the chance to be transfigured into eremitical solitude via even greater silence and physical separation from others.  For that reason, when I wrote the article in RFR I was very careful to indicate chronic illness was something which might indicate such a vocation; it was a possibility dioceses and spiritual directors should consider as they worked with those who were chronically ill or disabled.

In no way would I ever consider canon 603 a "haven" for the chronically ill and disabled but yes, I do think that despite its demanding character, eremitical life has the flexibility and freedom to allow for some among this population to discover the grace of God calling them to a wholeness and holiness via this path. When this happens their lives will makes a powerful witness to the Gospel of Jesus Christ --- in spite of and even especially in the case of their illness/disability. What Merton said about the necessity of Solitude herself opening the door to the one who would be a hermit remains true. I do believe that the canons requiring good physical and mental health for those entering religious congregations or moving towards ordination are necessary. However, today congregations can and do make case-by-case decisions on who they will allow to enter and who they will advance to profession while congregations and dioceses do the same with candidates for ordination. There are some absolute impediments to ordination, and  generally speaking, I agree with these, but profession as a diocesan hermit is really a very different matter and dioceses can afford to be more flexible without making the vocation a "haven" for the chronically ill and disabled; not only do hermits not live in community but they are self-supporting so that dioceses are not, generally speaking, responsible for medical expenses, insurance, living expenses and the like.

No one has ever suggested my article makes it hard for dioceses trying to discern c 603 vocations, though I admit I hoped when I wrote it to introduce a possibility into their discernment processes they might not have considered adequately, namely, that chronic illness might be a source of the grace of an eremitical vocation which itself could contribute to eremitical formation in terms of several different and critical values (pilgrimage, solitude vs isolation, an independence rooted in radical dependence upon God, a paradoxical wholeness, etc). That was completely contrary to the wisdom of the time re religious vocations; but then canon 603 itself was also pretty contrary to what we were used to at that time as well! Again, my article did not argue that chronic illness is a kind of passport to profession. I did not say that illness provides sufficient grounds for professing someone or discerning eremitical vocations; it argued that in some cases there was the possibility that illness might condition one towards such a vocation, might make it easier for such a vocation to be received. At the same time then, I have not heard anyone suggest I am giving folks false hope. I have been clear that discerning an eremitical vocation takes time and serious attention and prayer; I  know that some dioceses may not consider chronic illness in the way I would hope they would, but at the same time I think dioceses in general do recognize the flexibility and freedom built into canon 603 even while they recognize the demanding nature of the life codified there.

It is the case that I hear occasionally from someone who is chronically ill or disabled and who read my article all those years ago (or more recently for that matter!) and have subsequently been profoundly disappointed by a diocese who will not admit them to profession. Those communications are some of the most difficult I receive; they cause me pain because my article did have a place in encouraging their imagination about and discernment of a vocation; I feel particularly sorry for the individuals involved and empathize with their disappointment. The difficulty of balancing the nature of a public vocation (consecrated life is always a matter of public commitments and obligations) and discerning a call in someone whose life does not fit all the standard criteria or who embody the grace of  God in a new and unexpected way, is very difficult for dioceses as well as for the individuals petitioning for admission to profession and consecration. Sometimes the answer is living eremitical life with a private commitment rather than as a consecrated hermit or anchorite. Sometimes the person needs to transition from the isolation occasioned by their illness to solitude-as-healing, and then to life in society. Sometimes (especially in these kinds of cases I think) both the individual and the diocese need to take more time together in their discernment. Canon 603, because it does not codify any specific time frames, certainly allows for this kind of time if dioceses take both its traditional elements and its uniqueness seriously.

What must be certain is that the person advanced to profession (public vows) and eventually to consecration can live c 603 in an exemplary (that is, an edifying) way which helps dispel the stereotypes which so accrued to eremitical life throughout history. This person MUST say to the whole Church that eremitical solitude is not about isolation but is instead about the redemption of isolation into a unique and often obscure but very real form of community lived in and with Christ for the sake of others. This is why I have written those admitted to profession must have experienced eremitical solitude as redemptive and be able to witness to that clearly with their lives. The witness given depends upon the authenticity and depth of the hermit's experience and ecclesial rootedness. This presence of a redemptive element is something I have put forward as a central element in discerning an eremitical vocation under c 603 and it is something I am more clear about now than when I first affirmed it. Still, if dioceses are to demand the presence of such an element they also MUST, for their part, be open to discerning its presence which builds on chronic illness and/or disability. The process leading to c 603 profession and consecration is meant be truly mutual.

On denying Chronic Illness in Order to be Admitted to Profession under Canon 603

[[Dear Sister, have you heard of dioceses that refuse to profess hermits because they have a chronic illness? I am concerned my diocese will not agree to profess me because I am chronically ill so I am thinking about not telling them about this until after profession.. What do you think of this idea?]]

Thank you for writing. I have to say frankly that I think this specific idea is really terrible. While I understand the fear you are experiencing, it makes no sense to approach your diocese with a petition to admit you to eremitical profession while considering withholding important (in this case critical) personal information from them. Canonically I believe your diocese could determine your profession to be invalid in such circumstances but I would need to check that out. (Addendum: see the following passage regarding malice in the making of a vow, The emboldened portion does indicate that a lie in a matter of external forum of the kind you are envisioning would lead to the invalidity of vows: [[Malice (dolus) in the context of this canon is the deliberate act of lying or of concealing the truth in order to get another person to make a vow which he or she would not do if the truth were known, or in order for oneself to get permission to make a vow, which would not be permitted if the truth were known. For example, a novice conceals from her superiors some external forum fact that, if known, would result in her not being admitted to profession of vows. Such malice invalidates the profession of vows (cf. C. 656, 4)]] I think a diocese could decide that they would have professed you in any case and not act on c 656.4, but the possibility of invalidating your vows clearly exists.

Canonical matters aside please consider the wisdom and import of approaching public profession while withholding such a significant piece of personal information. Your chronic illness is not something peripheral to your life, whether as a hermit or not, but central to it and to the witness you are called to give to the Gospel. Is there a dimension of your life which is not touched by your illness and its requirements?  In light of this, how will you write a Rule of life that binds you in law if you do not include the fact of chronic illness? How will you be bound in obedience to legitimate superiors who do not know this important truth about you? (In this matter consider how they would exercise a ministry of authority --- which is a ministry of love --- if they know you so incompletely or partially and in such a significant matter.) Whom do you expect to be for others who suffer from chronic illness or various forms of isolation? (I know you said you would let folks know the truth after profession, but consider if this is really the model of dealing with chronic illness you want to set for others in their own lives?) What is your relationship with the God of truth whose power is made perfect in weakness?

Finally, please consider that many diocesan hermits have chronic illnesses while others are aging and becoming more or less disabled in this way. We are finding our way in this as in many things. In my experience dioceses do not usually refuse to profess a person simply because of a chronic illness if that person can live the central elements and spirit of eremitical life at the same time. Some illnesses will not allow this (nor will some vocations), but since a major part of eremitical solitude is its distinction from isolation, most of us find that chronic illness is something eremitical life can redeem in ways which allow illness to be a significant witness to the individual's true value even (and maybe especially) when eremitical life does not occasion healing from the illness itself. If one cannot risk being truthful in this matter it may suggest that one is simply not suited to the risk of eremitical life itself or the radical honesty it demands --- at least not at this point in time. On the other hand, if one's diocese is talking about making a blanket rejection of a chronically ill hermit, perhaps it is time for candidates to educate them, at least generally, re the place of chronically ill hermits in c 603 vocations.

To achieve such education, however, means living the truth in a transparent way, and doing so long and faithfully enough that you can articulate it clearly for your diocese. Eremitical life itself is edifying; the eremitical life of one who is chronically ill or disabled is meant to be doubly so. The basic question your own query raises and which one must answer convincingly will always be, which does one desire more, to live eremitical life and serve the merciful God of truth in this way or to be professed canonically? Canonical profession can and does serve our living out of eremitical life, especially as an ecclesial vocation, but it is a means to the journey of radical truthfulness, authentic selfhood and holiness; it is not the end in itself.

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.

Followup Questions on the notion of Bringing "One's Entire Availability"

[[Sister Laurel, Can it be that simple - that God just wants me to live "on friendly terms" with him? (It brings tears to my eyes to just write this sentence.) Is that what the "abyss" is all about? Just to live with him even when I don't feel him present and only know by faith he has promised to be there - "on friendly terms?" To  do all the mundane things "with him" - not even "for him" - because I can't bring anything worth having except my being entirely available to him? So where, then, does the "doing" fit in -- the seeking/seeing him in others, serving him by serving others? Since I am not a hermit, how does this translate to the active life - because I think it must. How do I "spend myself" if I bring nothing worth having to him? ]]

Thanks for your questions and the chance to reflect on all this further. My own thought is coming together in new ways in all of this so I offer this response with that in mind. Here is a place where words are really critical. First, yes, it is that simple but no one ever said simple meant easy or without substantial cost. Neither does simple mean that we get there all at once. This is simple like God is simple, like union with God is simple, like faith is simple. In other words it speaks as much of a goal we will spend our whole lives attaining as it does the simplicity of our immediate actions. That quotation (from The Hermitage Within regarding bringing one's entire availability and living on friendly terms with God) is something I read first in 1984 some months after first reading canon 603. I posted it in the sidebar of this blog in 2007 as I prepared for solemn profession. And now I have returned to it yet again only from a new place, a deeper perspective. It represents one of those spiral experiences, the kind of thing T.S. Eliot writes about when he says: [[We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.]]

Secondly, the quotation referred to bringing " my entire availability" not just to "being entirely available". While these two realities are profoundly related and overlap, I hear the first as including the second but therefore as committing to something more as well. I think bringing one's entire availability means bringing one's whole self for God's own sake so that God might really be God in all the ways that is so. As you say, it implies being available to God, doing things with God, being open to awareness of God and God's will, but more, it says "I bring you all my gifts, all my neediness and deficits, myself and all the things that allow you to be God. I open myself to your love, your recreation, your healing, your sovereignty, your judgment; I bring myself in all the ways which might allow you to be God in my life and world." It means, I think, that I allow myself to be one whose entire purpose and meaning is in the mediation of God's presence and purposes. And this, I think, is a commitment to being entirely emptied and remade so that my whole life becomes transparent to God.

As I think more about this it seems to me "my entire availability" is something we can only offer God.  "My entire availability" seems to me to mean bringing myself to God in ways which would possibly be an imposition, unsafe (for them and for me), and pastorally unwise or simply unloving in the case of others. "Being entirely available," on the other hand, sounds to me like bringing myself as I am and allowing God to share in my activities and life as it is but, for instance, not necessarily giving God my entire future and past, my entire self -- body and soul, physically, mentally and spiritually. It also sounds like the focus is on gifts, but not on emptiness and need. Our world is certainly familiar with the idea of bringing one's gifts, but to bring one's "weakness," "shame", and inabilities is rarely recognized as something we are called to sign up for at church (or wherever) to offer to others. Despite the importance of vulnerability in pastoral ministry bringing one's "weakness," "shame", deficits, and inabilities is rarely recognized as something we must offer to God if we are to bring others the Gospel as something whose truth we know intimately.

Thus, I think, that "entire availability" means that I also bring my deficits and deficiencies and that I do so trusting that God can make even these bits of emptiness something infinitely valuable and even fruitful to others. To be available to God and to bring one's entire availability may indeed be the same thing but they sound different to me --- overlapping, yes, but different. Whether I am correct or not in this, the formulation in the passage quoted from The Hermitage Within pushes me to envision something much more total and dynamic than the other formulation. Other things push me to this as well, not least Paul and Mark's theologies of the cross, Jesus' kenosis even unto godless death and descent into hell, and the conviction I have that every hermit must be open to being called to greater reclusion.

Entire Availability for Jesus and for the Hermit:

In light of these, I think for the hermit "my entire availability" means bringing (and maybe relinquishing or actually being stripped of) precisely those discrete gifts which might be used for others, for ministry, for being fruitful in the world. Gifts are the very way we are available to others. Alternately, those ways we are available to others are our truest gifts (including --- when transfigured to mediate the love and mercy of God --- our emptiness and incapacity). This is why a person claiming to be a hermit as a way of refusing to use her gifts or simply failing to be available to others, a way of being selfish and misanthropic, is one of the greatest blasphemies I can think of. But to be stripped of gifts or talents in solitude so that God's redemption is all we "have" is an entirely different thing indeed --- and one which absolutely requires careful and relatively lengthy mutual discernment. In any case, the eremitical life means bringing to God every gift, every potentiality and deficiency one has so that God may do whatever God wishes with them. Eremitical solitude is not about time away so one becomes a better minister (though that may also happen), nor greater degrees of prayer so one's service of others is better grounded (though it will surely do that as well). For those called to these eremitical solitude and commitment to eremitical hiddenness reflect an act of blind trust that affirms whatever God does with one --- even if every individual gift is left unused --- will be ultimately significant in the coming of the Kingdom because in this way God is allowed to be God exhaustively in these lives.

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, 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.

This, it seems to me is really the model of the hermit's life. I believe it is what is called for when The Hermitage Within speaks of the hermit's "entire availability."  One traditionalist theology of the cross suggests that Jesus raised himself  from godless death to show he was God. The priest I heard arguing this actually claimed there was no other reason for the resurrection! But Paul's and Mark's theologies of the cross say something very different; namely, when all the props are kicked out, when we have nothing left but abject emptiness, when life strips us of every strength and talent and potential, God can and will use this very emptiness as the source of the redemption of all of reality --- if only we give that too to God. Hermits, but especially recluses, are called by God to embrace a similar commitment to kenosis and faith in God. We witness to the power of God at work when perhaps all we can bring is emptiness and "non-accomplishment".

Questions on Active Ministry:

Nothing in this means the non-hermit is not called to use her gifts as best she can. Of course she is called to minister with God, through God, and in God. Her availability to others is meant to be an availability to God and all that is precious to God. We all must spend ourselves in all the ways God calls us to. But old age, illness and other circumstances make some forms of this impossible. When that is true we are called to a greater and different kind of self-emptying, a different kind of availability. We are called to allow God to make of us whatever he wills to do in our incapacity. We are called to witness to the profoundest truth of the Gospel, namely, that not only does our God bring more abundant life out of life and move us from faith to faith but he will bring life out of death, meaning out of absurdity and senselessness, and hope out of the desperate and hopeless situations we each know.

All we can bring to these situations is our entire availability whether measured in talents or incapacity. For Christians our human emptiness is really the greatest form of potential precisely because our God is not only the one who creates out of chaos, but out of nothing at all. Our gifts are wonderful and are to be esteemed and used to serve God and his creation, but what is also true is that our emptiness can actually give God greater scope to be God --- if only we make a gift of it to God for God's own sake. (Remember that whenever we act so that God might be God, which is what I mean by "for God's own sake," there is no limit to who ultimately benefits.) The chronically ill and disabled have an opportunity to witness to this foundational truth with the gift of their lives to God. Hermits, who freely choose the hiddenness of the silence of solitude, I think, witness even more radically to this truth by accepting being freely stripped of every gift --- something they do especially on behalf of all those who are touched by weakness, incapacity, and emptiness --- whenever and for whatever reason these occur.

The Abyss:

You and I have spoken about the "leap into the abyss" in the past and you ask about it specifically so let me add this. For those not part of that conversation let me remind you that I noted that while leaping into the abyss is a fearful thing (i.e., while, for instance, it is an awesome, frightening, exhilarating thing), we don't have to hope God will eventually come to find us there; God is already there. God is the very One who maintains and sustains us in our emptiness and transforms that emptiness into fullness. That is the lesson of Jesus' death, descent, resurrection and ascension. There is no absolutely godless place as a result of Jesus' own exhaustive obedience (openness and responsiveness) to God.

Yes, I believe the emptiness I have spoken of through this and earlier posts is precisely the abyss which Merton and others speak of. Kenosis is the way we make the leap. The notion of "entire availability" involves a leap (a commitment to self-emptying and stripping) into the depths of that abyss we know as both void (even a relatively godless void) and divine pleroma. (In Jesus' case his consent to enter the abyss of sinful death was consent to enter an absolutely godless void which would be transformed into the fullness of life in and of God). It is first of all the abyss of our own hearts and then (eventually) the abyss of death itself. We ordinarily prepare for the abyss of death to the degree we commit to entering the abyss of our own hearts. Whether we experience mainly profound darkness or the glorious light of Tabor, through our own self-emptying in life and in death we leap securely into God's hands and take up our abode in God's own heart.

Is a Horarium Necessary?

[[Dear Sister, is it possible to live an eremitical life without a horarium? My life is complicated because of chronic illness and it is hard for me to commit to an hourly schedule. Can't I just live my day as the Spirit moves me to do?]]

Hi there and thanks for the question. As someone who deals with chronic illness myself I have to say it is not possible to live an eremitical life without a horarium. I have written about this before here. See the following:  Formation, Flexibility, and Making Room for the Holy Spirit. I don't want to repeat what I said there. Here I want to speak to the issue of chronic illness and a horarium.

What seems crucial is first of all that you not think of your horarium so much as an hour by hour schedule as something that divides your days into major chunks, and maybe the same with your week. At least liturgically your week should have a certain shape as much as possible, but a horarium can allow a week to hold all the elements your life needs week by week if you cannot manage an hourly or daily horarium. I don't know what illness you are dealing with but I am presuming you are ordinarily well enough to "pray assiduously" (in the language of canon 603) and keep the other elements of the canon as defining characteristics of your own life.  If that is the case generally, then there should be some regular scheduling of these things which realistically reflects your usual state of being and the commitment to the life which you have made. You are called to live your own life in Christ, not someone else's!

The second thing which is crucial is that you step back into your horarium as soon as you are truly able. I know in my own life that there are times when illness means spending time in bed or otherwise resting and sometimes I may mistakenly not step back into things as soon as I am really able. It is sometimes hard to discern the distinction between what is premature (and may contribute to relapse or injury) and what is timely in returning to a normal routine; it is also sometimes hard to not let the pattern of rest be extended unnecessarily -- either because we don't feel great (though we are still better), we don't have a job outside the hermitage to go to or children to take care of, or because once upon a time more serious illness caused us to necessarily embrace longer periods of inactivity, etc. We may thus tend to readopt that older pattern even though we don't truly need to do that today. A horarium serves to remind us what the shape of our days are NOW when we are feeling more or less our best (or at least are not acutely ill). Even when we are acutely ill, the horarium reminds us of our weakness and calls us to allow God to simply be with us so that all time is sanctified. It is important to allow the horarium to function in this way as well! It is a tool which is meant to serve us; we need to allow it to do that.

Remember especially that your horarium is first of all a schedule which respects your own needs for rest, work, prayer, study, liturgy, and recreation as these exist today. No one creates this horarium for us, nor do we use a horarium suited to a different time in our lives or a different degree of health or illness. For most of us horaria are not carved in stone except to the extent they really serve us in living our vocation every day. They mark the things which are ordinarily essential in each of our days and weeks.

When illness intervenes everything changes of course. Our need for rest increases and at the same time this means our ways of praying change as well --- not that we cease praying. You, for instance, may not be able to work, study, or attend liturgy, but perhaps you can read a few minutes here and there, listen to Taize or other tapes or CD's you don't always have time for, do a bit of journaling, read a book you simply enjoy (which invites you to really be present in that way), sit up for a while and work on a jigsaw puzzle (which can allow you to do a lot of gentle "inner work" as you remember, daydream, appreciate, etc.), consider a line or two of a psalm every few minutes, and simply allow God to companion you in a conscious way during all of these.

As you begin to feel better you can either step back into the horarium as it is set out or you can step back into the activity which most calls to you at that point in time. If you continue to feel better then pick up the horarium wherever you are in your day. For instance, if you are usually up at 4:00am but have slept in until 8:00 am today because of illness, then ---  after you have washed, had breakfast, etc.--- begin your day wherever the horarium indicates --- or if you wish to begin with Lauds or are yearning for quiet prayer do that. If this works out and you continue to feel well, then move on to whatever the schedule calls for. If after or during this you instead find yourself exhausted or feeling truly sick again, rest until you are feeling better and then repeat this step as soon as you can. Whatever you do use the horarium as a way to measure how well you actually feel and more, how truly able you are to proceed normally at this point. Again, in this way too the horarium can function as a tool that serves in more ways than merely dictating what one "should" be doing.

Personally I think a horarium is critical if other things in our lives militate against order and regularity. When I am not feeling well I can always ask myself if I am feeling well enough to pray a psalm for instance or read a chapter of theology rather than a chapter of an Anne Perry (et al) book. I can always ask myself if I can do some piece of the day listed on the horarium at this point or if I simply cannot. At all times the horarium reminds me of those things which ordinarily allow me to be the person God calls me to be. In other words the horarium reminds me of the pieces of my life with God illness has demanded I set aside or modify just as it assists me to move back into my normal routine and let go of illness and the rhythms it sets up (or modifies and destroys) in my life. It is always more a companion and resource for discernment than it is a rigid or uncaring taskmaster. We need its challenge and support though because without it, we really might not accomplish as much as we can in spite of illness's deleterious effects in our lives.

I hope I have been clear that just as a horarium is not a rigid taskmaster --- especially for someone with chronic illness, neither is it something that can simply be cast aside entirely except for brief periods (like periods where  one is acutely ill, goes on a home visit, or takes a desert day apart for instance). I don't believe in living each day as the Spirit moves me if that also entails no schedule whatsoever.  A friend and I were talking about this yesterday and she noted that that was the surest way to get nothing done. The Spirit will certainly move us, but the horarium is actually one of the ways this will happen, especially over a period of a day or week or month. Assuming one's horarium is carefully discerned and the fruit of obedient living over a period of time, the prompting of one's horarium is as much the voice of the Holy Spirit as any other instance of this reality. Eremitical life is a supremely free one, but as I have written again and again, it is not a libertine or individualistic way.

Neither should we tempt the Lord by adopting an attitude that "He will tell me what I should be doing from moment to moment so I don't need a horarium"  God instructs our hearts to attend to what makes us whole. A horarium is the way we build those things into each day or week; it indicates the shape of our lives as well as the general way we have heard the voice of God as it has spoken to us over a long period of time and formation. It indicates the concrete temporal shape of that voice and of our overall response to it as this is generally embodied in our lives today -- including in our weakness and incapacity. Like other things I have written about recently it is there to serve love, both God's love for us and ours for God; it is a servant of Life rather than a rigid or uncompassionate master. While we cannot cast our horarium aside altogether in times of illness or retreat, for instance, (we need its guidance, encouragement, and challenge), we should always bear in mind the Sabbath (i.e., law, Rule, horarium) is made for the person, not the other way around.