Further on Chronic Illness and Discerning a Vocation to c 603 Eremitic Life

I wanted to continue the post I put up a couple of days ago. (cf., Followup on Chronic Illness) Specifically, I had not responded to the following affirmation: [[at the same time it is not what we bring that ultimately determines the truth of our call, even if it shapes how we may live it.]] and I want to do that. 

I tend to be in disagreement with this. I do agree that, ultimately, of course, a vocation is always a gift of God who calls as he will, but even so, I believe what we bring matters immensely to the truth of our vocation. That is because I do not believe a divine call is ever only about God alone. In this, I am thinking partly of the Frederick Buechner quotation that is so popular among consecrated women and men today: [[Vocation occurs where our greatest joy meets the world's deepest need.]] Thus, while I believe a call comes from God, I believe it is also shaped by God in the very giving of the call, both by God's awareness of our own deepest joy and the world's deepest needs.

Bearing this in mind, I believe God calls us not in spite of our weaknesses, frailties, etc., but because of them. Vocations are always a part of God's redemptive will and are always about our own redemption as well as that of others. While I don't believe God willed me to be ill/disabled, I absolutely believe he chose me to be a hermit in part because of my illness. That is, my illness is not an accident linked to the substance of my vocation, but instead is part of its very substance. What I am saying is that I believe that God called ME to this vocation, not me sans illness, or me sans my gifts and potentialities, or even me sans my own sinfulness -- though neither did God call me to this vocation to celebrate these things. My illness and disability are part of God's own call to me within the contemporary Church because they are a central dimension of my Selfhood. As I understand it, this is a desert vocation, and chronic illness and disability are part of the desert that makes such a call possible and meaningful for me. 

At the same time, my chronic illness and disability are indications of a profound need for God's love and life. They call out for redemption and echo the same calls from billions and billions of others in our world. They call out for being and meaning, and are a sharp reminder of my whole Self's call for these things. Likewise, when God in Christ is allowed, to redeem our lives --- to love us and be merciful to us, to strengthen us, to inspire and empower us to live truly human lives, whole and holy despite chronic illness and disability, then we will see the purpose of our vocations coming to fruition. Similarly, the world will be able to see it clearly and benefit from it. This becomes a significant part of what it means for God to will to be Emmanuel. In considering this, I also think of the gospel's affirmation that we are the clay and God is the potter. While I am not defined by my illness or disability (I, like anyone with an illness or disability, am very much more than these things!!), my illness and disability are elements of that clay, not only because they help shape the way I live this vocation, but because they are constitutive parts of the person I am.

Of course, they might not have been, they need not be, and I would continue to be myself nonetheless. Even so, they are real and currently condition my entire existence; I believe God's wisdom was shaped by considerations of these things as part of calling me to eremitic life. In part, I believe this because, while I have many gifts that I might have made use of for the sake of God's promises and plans, I also have significant frailties that cause me to seek God in an intense and more and more all-consuming way. My own illness and disability are clearly part of this. 

I cannot imagine God calling me to a more perfect vocation for all of this and, more especially, for (the sake of) his church and world. Eremitic life calls me to wholeness and holiness, it provides space for illness and disability while challenging me not to allow my life to be defined by these; it demands I develop many of the gifts God created me with while it also makes of my frailties the good ground of fruitful and compassionate ministry, and it summons me to an intimacy with God I might not have appreciated as much without illness and disability. Finally, with and in Christ, it absolutely makes of my life a living incarnation of Paul's divine affirmation, [[My grace is sufficient for you; my power is perfected in weakness.]]

Followup Questions on Chronic Illness and Discerning a Vocation to c 603 Eremitical Life

[[Sister Laurel, I think one of the things that struck me [and raised the question about chronic illness and discerning an eremitical vocation] was somewhere you had mentioned being able to offer chronic illness as a gift in this call, and my knee jerk reaction was, "yes, we bring ourselves and our gifts, talents, sorrows, etc., but at the same time it is not what we bring that ultimately determines the truth of our call even if it shapes how we may live it." 

At the same time, as in any call, we are to bring forth our uniqueness as part of our self-gift, and disability is part of it. In other words, the truth of one's call is not determined by a unique gift one can give to God. I feared that the blog readers might use that idea of "unique" and feel inadequate in discernment. Put differently, if it takes the monumental ability to offer God disability to figure out that the eremitic life is for you, how is an able person to discern that it is for them as well because they don't have a unique gift?]]

Thanks for following up on your earlier questions. I am not sure what I actually said or what you read, so this will just have to look at the ways in which I might have been speaking about chronic illness and disability as gift. The first is the way you have taken it in your second paragraph. That's entirely valid, of course, and an important way of approaching the whole notion. We bring our whole selves as a gift, and chronic illness and disability might be part of that. However, another way of approaching it, and one I am more likely to have written about is from the perspective of allowing God to redeem chronic illness or disability, to make it a significant grace, to transfigure what was really simply a burden and personal weakness so that instead it becomes the ground for proclaiming the Gospel of God in Christ with a unique vividness and paradoxical power. 

I have no real sense of how I might be able to give God my illness as a gift, except to the extent I can allow it to become the basis of a divine victory of meaning over meaninglessness, and fullness of life over a diminished sense of living. In other words, I cannot see chronic illness being a gift unless it participates in God's promise of redemption in some way. This is the only way something so negative and life-denying could become a life-affirming gift. In part, this will depend on one's vocation and whether or not it serves to allow God to achieve the victory he does over absurdity (meaninglessness) and death (the diminishment or curtailment of life) in all the ways illness or disability cry out for. There are a number of vocations that would not have done this in my own life; instead, they would have accentuated my illness as a serious deficiency, possibly exacerbated it by judging it, but certainly have had no room for it --- or for me as one who suffers in this way. Eremitical life not only has room for chronic illness as an instance of desert experience, but it provides the space, time, and focus that brings one's entire life into a profound engagement with God so that it ALL might be redeemed and transfigured.

The motto I adopted at my consecration is from Paul's 2nd Letter to the Corinthians: [[My grace is sufficient for you, my power is perfected in weakness.]] (The second half of this is engraved on my profession ring.) While I can say I am inspired by that in several ways and aspire to letting it be true in those same ways, I can also say that it is the truth of my life in terms of chronic illness and disability. The fact and fruitfulness of God's loving mercy is something I know most fully in my weakness. God's mercy is an expression of a powerful love that can redeem any negative reality by bringing good from it. When I think of chronic illness as gift, it is that set of dynamics I am thinking about. Fr James Empereur, sj, once wrote a book on the Anointing of the Sick called Prophetic Anointing, in which he wrote compellingly about a vocation to being sick in the Church. I see the Sacrament of the Sick in the same way, and I also see chronic illness and disability themselves as potential vocations, not because God wills these things (he does not), but because he wills to be God With Us in every moment and mood of our lives.

I think you can hear how eremitical life provides the context and means to allow God to redeem my illness and transform it into a grace. In this weakness, God's love and mercy are perfected. I turn to God more and more fully in part because of my illness/disability. At the same time, I do so because my eremitical vocation calls for this as well. I turn to God in this way for God's own sake, so that his will to be God-with-us can be fulfilled. In the midst of this process, God's will for me is also realized, not only despite my illness, but even in and through it. My life comes, over time, to proclaim the Good News of God's sovereignty, God's Kingdom, not only in strength, but in weakness. In other words, Chronic illness becomes a gift, not only to me, but also to the Church and even to God.

At the same time, I am not saying that chronic illness is a prerequisite for discerning an eremitical vocation. Still, eremitic life is always about allowing God to redeem our weaknesses and frailties, our incapacities along with the realization of our potentialities. We embrace the silence of solitude, stricter separation, etc., so this redemption may be sought and received with a particular focus and intensity. Moreover, again, we do so for God's sake and the sake of all that is precious to God. We do it so that God's will and gospel may be fulfilled in our world. One traditional way of perceiving eremitical life is to accent its difficulty and the need for candidates to be able-bodied, strong enough to manage the rigors of the life. I see it somewhat differently. 

While the vocation still takes strength, perseverance, and courage, chronic illness and other frailties can provide the good ground out of which hermit life and God's redemption may grow. They are part of the penitential life of a hermit when the hermit is chronically ill or disabled. At the same time, no, I am not saying chronic illness is a necessary part of an eremitical call for everyone. I am thinking of a quote by Sister Kathy Littrell, SHF, who once said, [[One does not need to be a Sister to do what I am doing, but I need to be a Sister to do what I am doing.]] A variation of this, then, is [[While most folks do not need to be hermits to live chronic illness as God wills them to, I needed to be a hermit to do so.]]

Thanks for the opportunity to clarify some of this! I want to respond to your "kneejerk reaction" in another post and think about it a bit more before I do that. 

Followup Questions on Existential Solitude and Chronic Illness

[[Dear Sister, I was intrigued by what you wrote last week and yesterday about existential solitude. You haven't used that terminology before this, but I found it helpful in understanding why you insist physical solitude doesn't need to be absolute, while some self-described hermits insist that if a hermit lives with other hermits in a laura this can't be called solitude! You don't argue that the chronically ill make better hermits than others, but you do say they often live existential solitude more radically than the able-bodied. 

Would you suggest that chronic illness and personal woundedness predispose a person to being a better hermit? Too, I don't think I ever realized how profound and intense your own discernment of this vocation was. It helps me understand why you have written against stopgap vocations and those who use c 603 to achieve an agenda rather than answering a divine call to be a hermit. I can especially see what you mean when you speak of these vocations not being able to witness to those who really need their witness, the disabled, chronically ill and others who are isolated without a choice. Thanks for writing about this!]]

Thanks for writing and for your comments and questions. No, I wouldn't suggest that the chronically ill make better hermits because I don't think trading in that kind of comparison helps understand or evaluate eremitical life. Moreover, I'm not sure it is true in any case. However, persons with chronic illnesses, disabilities, early bereavement, histories of trauma, and personal woundedness from a variety of causes can certainly discover that their situations predispose them in an ongoing way to an awareness of existential solitude. Even so, as I also suggested yesterday, this is not something they necessarily reflect on or come to appreciate, much less build their lives around in terms of silence, solitude, prayer, vows, spiritual direction, etc. To be frank, existential solitude, while a source of great creativity and a condition of possibility everyone shares for a profoundly graced, even mystical relationship with God,  is still also a painful reality because of the state of estrangement in which we yet exist, and thus, is something most folks tend to evade and avoid for as long as possible. And in terms of society's needs for our active engagement with one another, this makes positive sense. 

On the other hand, those who do find their life circumstances predispose them to a radical awareness of existential solitude and who take this as an opportunity or actual invitation to embrace eremitical life, are apt to find that hermit life suits them very well and allows them to live a rich, full existence with God, where those contributing life circumstances (illness, etc.) are transcended in the unimagined fruitfulness of live lived for the sake of others. Still, others without the same or similar life circumstances could adapt to a desert situation in hermitage, and, with vows of the Evangelical Counsels, stability and/or conversatio morum,  stricter separation from the world, assiduous prayer and penance, the silence of solitude, and so forth, could find they were called to engage with existential solitude in an ongoing and consistently deepening way, and flourish in such an engagement.

I would argue that the typical environment of a hermitage, and the elements required by c 603, for example, produce a relative "desert" where an able-bodied person can more readily experience existential solitude. This can also prepare one for embracing the existential solitude that comes when illness, disability, and the other limitations and conditions associated with age strike. This is one reason eremitism is seen as a second half of life vocation; generally speaking, not only should one ordinarily live a more usual life as fully as one can with families, work and career, active contributions to society, etc, but conditions associated with a more radical experience of existential solitude ordinarily come later in the second half of life. (Remember Jung's comments here, though!) Unfortunately, what is also true is that many with chronic illnesses, disabilities, etc., will never be able to commit to engaging in a sustained or healthy way with existential solitude; for these persons, eremitical life will not be an option. 

The Importance of Authentic Eremitical Vocations:

I have always written here about the way stopgap vocations, part-time or otherwise inauthentic eremitic vocations fail to serve those who need the witness of genuine hermits. One article that summarized a lot of this writing is Whom Does it Hurt?  A friend and diocesan hermit in England wrote me with the hope that some of what I wrote recently would help do away with the cartoonish caricatures so many have of hermits.  With her I hope that this is the case! Especially, I hope that dioceses will see not only that the chronically ill and disabled can have religious vocations, but even more importantly, that some with vocations to solitary consecrated eremitical life live these lives because of a radical experience of existential solitude that can speak in an inspiring and even redemptive way to those suffering from and marginalized by many conditions that separate them from friends and the ordinary rhythms and activities of daily life. 

As I noted a number of years ago in an article in Review For Religious (@1986, cf Chronic Illness as Vocation) the Church does a relatively good job with ministry to the chronically ill and disabled, but it does not do well at all in allowing for or providing ministries of the chronically ill and disabled. And isn't that ironic in a church that considers itself the assembly of broken and alienated ("sinners") who are reconciled, healed, and redeemed by God in Christ? That article was on the idea of chronic illness or disability as a vocation to be ill within the Church and it raised the possibility that for some, eremitical life could be a specific instance of such a vocation. 

What seems clear to me, however, is that while one cannot deny the place of suffering in one's life, particularly in experiences that reprise Christ's own suffering and death, the emphasis of the hermit's ministry to others cannot be on the hermit's own suffering!! Neither can it be about theologically naive (not to say erring) protestations that God wills one's suffering or that hermit life is all about that! There is a very real danger that self-obsession and self-centeredness will replace the quest for self-awareness and self-knowledge in the chronically ill person who attempts to live as a hermit. (To be more accurate, this is always a danger, but I believe it can be even more so in the chronically ill and disabled, especially when allied with simplistic theologies of suffering and incarnation.) 

Instead, eremitical life is rooted in the paradox that the engagement with God at the level of our deep existential solitude leads to the new life of the resurrected Christ. It is that to which the authentic hermit life leads and witnesses, including and perhaps particularly so, in one who lives with chronic illness and disability. The ability to live resurrection life on the other side of the deep loss and anguished questions of Holy Saturday, and to do so for the sake of God and others, marks the authenticity of an eremitical vocation.

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.

Dealing With Chronic Illness as a Hermit

Because a couple of people have already asked about this because of my last post, I am reprising it now. 

[[Dear Sister, you have written you have chronic illness with chronic pain. I was wondering if that gets in the way of living of living eremitical life. For example, if you have a bad spell or relapse or something what happens to your Rule? Have you ever had to deal with long-term hospitalization or surgical rehabilitation? Did that change the way you prayed?. . . Do you ever feel like a failure as a hermit or contemplative?. . . Do you ever worry that God will not be able to put up with your weaknesses or failures (or falling short)? . . . I wonder if you would ever consider seeking dispensation of your vows for any of these reasons.]]

Interesting questions. I think I have answered something like this before but I looked for it and couldn't find it. You might want to check through the list of posts (under months and years) or the labels to the right and see if you can do better. Still, let me answer this briefly. Neither illness nor the chronic pain get in the way of my eremitical life per se. Both have led me over time to consider chronic illness as a potential vocation with eremitical life as a specific instance of this. (Remember that eremitical life is a desert life with a desert spirituality and chronic illness is, by definition, a desert experience.) However, there are certainly times when there are flares of illness and when pain is more difficult to control than other times. When this is the case my horarium changes, I spend more time in bed, I am unable to do some of the limited ministry I usually undertake, I tend not to study or sing as much, and my reading choices change. What does not change is my approach to the day as one sanctified by God through prayer at intervals throughout the day, some lectio divina, and some inner work via journaling or other writing.

While morally and canonically binding, my Rule is written more in terms of gospel and less in those of law. What I mean by this is that it lays out the ways I live the Gospel of Jesus Christ as the source and ground of life, love, and meaning for me, and it does this less than it spells out things I must or must not do. It defines what makes my life healthy and whole as a contemplative and eremitical life. But in times where I am not well or where chronic illness flares up especially, I will not be able to live this without modifications. Yes, at these times the ways in which I pray will likely differ in one way and another. For instance, rather than praying the whole of any hour of the Office I am more apt to pray a single psalm with antiphons, the Lord's Prayer and a canticle, but slowly while letting myself rest in God's hands. If I miss an hour I miss an hour. When I am awake or up again I pick up what seems most important to me --- the part that draws me most, for instance or the piece missed where I am most truly at home. Sometimes I will substitute a hymn on CD or a Taize chant for structured prayer/Office and just give myself over to the music. If I miss lots of prayer periods (and unfortunately this is sometimes unavoidable), I trust that "God gives to his beloved in sleep" (Psalm 127:2) and pick up wherever I can with whatever I most need once I am awake (whether prayer, food, water, shower, sunshine, contact with my director, etc). I think during times of flareups or extra difficulties it is critically important to keep in mind the difference between "praying all the prayers" and "praying always."

My Rule is helpful in letting me move back into various rhythms of the day as I can, but even more it is helpful in reminding me of the vision I seek to live whether well or ill, namely, "My grace is sufficient for you, my power is made perfect in weakness." I know that God is with me in every circumstance including sin and death! God accompanies me whether I am conscious of that or  capable of cooperating with him or not. So long as that is the case every moment of my life, from chronic pain, to intractable seizures and post ictal sleep, to the emotional pain and joy of inner work, to the favorite or latest Chaim Potok or Anne Perry book, can become a prayer and a source of growth in holiness. Again, prayer is the work of God within us. As for God giving up on me or some other absurd notion that somehow or other I could exhaust his patience, love, mercy, or will to accompany me well, that's the same as suggesting that my weakness might be too much for God to be the God Christ revealed! Whenever I am even tempted to give up on God in this way (not something that has happened often!), I remind myself of the following from Paul, [[ But God demonstrates his own love for us in this, that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.]] (Rom 5:8) In other words, when we are at our worst God loves us and gives his very life for us.

I don't feel (and have never felt) like a failure as a hermit or contemplative but I (like anyone else I imagine) always fall short in the sense that I can always grow in my vocation/authentic humanity and prayer. Again, my Rule (and the God and Gospel that inspires it) envisions and helps empower my growth in this vocation and in communion with God and love of myself and others. Sometimes I will fail at a given task (for instance, a reflection I am supposed to give, inability to meet with a client and need to postpone sessions, etc), and sometimes I will resist what is happening in prayer or the personal formation work I am doing, but while I find these failures frustrating, this is not the same as failing as either a contemplative or a hermit. When physical pain is a problem I treat it in the ways I can (medicine, TENS, exercise, meditation) and I do what I need to do while meds are kicking in (online scrabble, coloring or painting, walking around, . . ., reading an engrossing novel, etc***) --- things which are engrossing and distract from the pain while ensuring I give the meds a complete chance to work as they usually do. I ordinarily cannot sit in quiet prayer at these times because I really cannot be physically still in the way that requires. Even so, whatever I do to get through these periods, I pray and entrust myself to God's care as I wait. 

There are periods when illness dominates (and yes, I have had periods of hospitalization that extended for weeks or even several months at a time including a period of (7) experimental neurosurgical interventions --- this latter [took place] about 8 years before I became a hermit). On the whole, the essential elements of my Rule remain in some form or configuration. Were I to be unable to live major dimensions of my Rule for a significant period I would need to redact these to account for necessary changes while ensuring it remains an eremitical Rule with the same vision of such a life. (Since my Rule is drawn from my own experience it could change on the basis of my own experience --- though my vision of the nature and importance of eremitical life according to canon 603 is very unlikely to change radically; I just can't see that happening, especially because of illness/pain.)

Dispensation of vows would be unlikely to come up as an issue or option, and certainly is not something I can see myself requesting! (More likely the question of a change of vocation would come up at the beginning of a hermit's professed life, especially if there is a radical change in circumstances occurring before they have developed the heart and prayer life of a hermit.) Once these are formed, however, and the hermit has been admitted to perpetual profession and consecration, dispensation is much less likely to be something that will be considered because of illness. It is possible, however, that significant illness can reveal an eremitical life that is inadequately formed and rooted in the first place. Suffering is a wonderful (and awful!!) test of the foundation of our lives and spirituality! At this point in my life, however, I am a hermit; it is a matter of my deepest inner truth as well as outer expression and even canonical standing; this means that I have and will always live illness and pain as challenging but integral parts of eremitical life. I think all the hermits I know, but especially those with chronic illnesses, feel essentially the same way about this.

*** (Note: this past year (2023-24 I have been experimenting with a Kailo (TM) patch a parishioner gave me. It has been very effective for some neuropathic pain, and I have mainly been able to reduce some meds by at least 50%! This means I can do quiet prayer more easily while up from pain.)

Canon 603, Desert Spirituality, and Chronic Illness or Disability

[[Hi Sister, I just wondered if it was right to exclude someone from profession just because they have a chronic illness or disability. I know that religious communities do this because they feel the person can't keep up or do all the things active ministry requires, but how does this work with eremitical life? You write about chronic illness as vocation so I thought you might have already written about this. If you have, could you point me to where I might find that? Thanks!]]

Thanks for this question. It is an important one and one I care about more than most. I get occasional anecdotal information about this question from hermits seeking to be professed under c 603 in various dioceses. Still, I have only received a report about one diocese that excluded a candidate because of chronic illness per se; in this case, they cited the impediment to orders 1044.1 which struck me negatively in several ways. First, the candidate was not petitioning for admission to orders or to a highly social lifestyle. This made the canon noted doubly irrelevant, nor did the diocese have a general prohibition on professing anyone with any history of mental illness. If there was some such history (the canon still uses the terms "insanity" and "psychic defect") it needed to be assessed in terms of the solitary eremitical vocation and the candidate him or herself. 

Also, a diocese needs to be able to give sufficient time and attention to discerning such a vocation or simply refuse to profess anyone under c 603. In the case mentioned here, this "impediment" was only noted after the candidate was asked to write a Rule of Life and had worked hard on it. (Writing a Rule is not an easy project; moreover, it takes a significant period of time, prayer, reflection, and probably, several consultations with a mentor to complete an adequate (liveable) Rule that is deeply rooted in both c 603 and the candidate's lived experience. Dioceses must understand all of this before requesting someone even begin writing their Rule, particularly if one is planning on using something like C 1044.1 as an absolute impediment to eremitical life.) Thus, in this case, the chancery's decision and justification struck me as lazy, essentially dishonest, and disrespectful. Again, it is not a surprise to find a diocese not understanding c 603 or vocations lived under it, but applying c 1044.1 after several meetings with the candidate coupled with the prior request that s/he write a Rule of Life, offends against the canon and the candidate pursuing profession under it.

Chronic Illness and the Desert Vocation:

It is especially important that a diocese recognizes that eremitical life is a desert vocation with desert spirituality at its heart. By definition, chronic illness is itself a profound desert experience. The Gospel that eremitical life witnesses to is the Gospel of a God whose power is perfected and most perfectly revealed in weakness. (2 Cor 12:9) Thus, dioceses who have a good sense of the vocation in general, will recognize not only that each vocation must be individually discerned, but that various forms of chronic illness, far from serving as impediments to eremitical life, may be important formative influences that allow one to form an essentially eremitical heart long before one embraces eremitical life in a formal or even a conscious way. This is a really critical element of the discernment of such vocations that flies in the face of much writing about eremitical life focusing on its austerity and physical demands.

While some few contemporary eremitical vocations may look like images of eremitical life drawn from past centuries and instances of solitary eremitical life, and while it remains true that this vocation is demanding and should not be watered down, it is also true that theologies of prayer, penance, the silence of solitude, and the other central elements of the canon have shifted some to allow the demands of the life to be primarily spiritual and holistic, not narrowly physical. What cannot be lost sight of is the desert character of the calling and our expanding sense of the myriad ways such a vocation is encountered and expressed. 

Similarly, we cannot forget what it means to witness to the Gospel in significant and fruitful ways for the praise of God and the salvation of others. Hermits are not navel-gazing nutcases who isolate themselves from the larger world for fear of being contaminated nor because they are on an entirely individualistic quest for holiness. They are individuals committed to living ecclesial lives of wholeness in a unique relationship and dialogue with God. In the silence of solitude, they do this in Christ through the power of the Holy Spirit of love and communion. When this is lived with integrity, others will also come to know that however fragile or threatened their lives, the faithfulness of God will not allow them to return to Him void. This "for others" quality is the reason for everything the hermit lives in her hermitage; it marks every movement toward authentic holiness just as it defines the risen Christ and every member of the Communion of Saints.

For the chronically ill or disabled who are already marked as separated from the world of the differently abled and whose illness isolates them, the solitary eremitical life may be the context in which their anguish and isolation can be redeemed by the love of God. In this context, the hermit becomes a person of prayer meeting the pain of a suffering world with compassion. The poverty of spirit demanded by being chronically ill can be transformed into the inner wealth of one who knows s/he is deeply regarded by God. Many of the values associated with our consumerist world, the ways meaning and success are measured are countered by the hermit, especially the chronically ill hermit. To be a person who encounters the pain and anguish of the world with the compassion of eremitical prayer is to share in the fundamental vocation of Jesus. It is to live a penitential life oriented toward health and wholeness and builds on the suffering already built into human life. Dioceses need to be able to see the possibilities chronic illness and/or disability create for authentic eremitical life.

All that considered, it remains true that not all chronic illnesses lend themselves to eremitical life. This is especially true of some forms of mental illness. More to the point, however, not every person with a chronic illness will be able to come to live and pray their illness in the way a solitary hermit must come to do.  While endurance is important, one is called to do more than endure the illness; one is called to allow it to become subject and transparent to the transforming love of God so the world might be blessed by it and the life of the one who suffers from it. The bottom line in all of this, however, is that the diocesan team or personnel charged with discerning and assisting in the formation of the solitary hermit must discern on a case-by-case basis with the requirements of c 603 and the life it envisions uppermost in mind. To answer your question in your own terms, No, it is wrong to exclude someone from profession and consecration under c 603 merely on the basis of a chronic illness.

On Withholding the Truth of Chronic Illness in Order to be Admitted to Profession under c 603 (Reprise)

Originally posted in 2019, this issue was raised again by a different reader, so I have significantly clarified or enlarged on a few points:

 

[[Dear Sister, have you heard of dioceses that refuse to profess hermits because they have a (serious) 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. Assuming the situation (the illness) is a serious matter, I have to say frankly that I think your 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. While not every form of illness needs to be disclosed to the diocese professing you, truly serious illnesses that impact the way you write and live your Rule do need to be disclosed to and understood by your diocese before they agree to profess you. (Not least, any form of chronic illness must be considered and assessed as the diocese discerns one's ability to live the life one proposes to live in the name of the Church. This includes mental illnesses, and certain neurological illnesses or disorders that are progressive in nature, or which are intractable.) To refuse to do this would be tantamount to a lie. Canonically, I believe the Church could determine your profession to be invalid in such circumstances (they could be said to involve fraud), but, as I am not a canonist, I would need to check that out. 

(Addendum:  Canon 656.4 reads: [[For the validity of temporary profession, it is required that, (4) the profession is expressed and made without force, grave fear, or malice (fraud). [[Malice (dolus), also sometimes translated as fraud, in the context of this canon is the deliberate act of lying or of concealing the truth 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)]] The emboldened portion indicates that a lie in a serious matter of external forum of the kind you might envision would lead to the invalidity of vows. By the way, lies or fraud on the part of others in order to get someone professed, given the qualifications noted, would also constitute grounds that invalidate the profession. 

Canonical matters aside please consider the wisdom and import of approaching public profession while withholding such a significant piece of personal information. If it is serious, 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 and identity that 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.)

Moreover, how do you build a relationship of trust which such a vow requires if you withhold such a significant dimension of your life? If you can't be honest in this, you might be determined to be incapable of making such a vow or any profession at all. Also, 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? How will you proclaim the freedom from fear such a God inspires?

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 that 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 chronically ill hermits, perhaps it is time for candidates to educate them, at least generally, regarding the place of chronically ill hermits in c 603 vocations.

To educate one's diocese in this way, however, means you must live 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 because it demonstrates what is possible when God is with us in abject human poverty. 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. You would betray all of that if you had a lie or serious deception at the heart of your profession.

Clarification: Are you Saying We must Deny our Suffering?

[[Dear Sister, you are not saying a person must hide or deny their illness or suffering are you? I know you read [Joyful Hermit's] blog and she seems to believe you (or maybe it's someone else she reads) are saying that one ought to hide their suffering or illness.]]

Yes, I read Joyful Hermit's blog and if she is referring to my position on the place of suffering in a hermit's witness, she seems to have seriously misread or misunderstood it. In any case, I am certainly not saying one must hide or deny their illness and suffering --- although there will assuredly be times when revealing these is not helpful and may even be harmful or destructive to the witness one is called to give. One must know (discern) when such times are and be able to act appropriately. What I have said very clearly instead, is that one's illness must not define them. It will condition or qualify everything but it cannot be allowed to dominate (note the link to lordship or sovereignty in this word). I have also said that one's illness or suffering must become transparent to the love and life of God. In part this means a hermit's illness or suffering will not obscure the witness to the life and love of God a Canon 603 hermit will give to others. In part, it means it will remain unseen and unspoken of until and unless it can serve the witness to the mercy, love, and life of God we are each called to manifest to others. And in part, it therefore means learning to witness to realities that allow us to transcend our suffering, not by leaving it behind or denying it, but by allowing it to be transfigured in light of the grace and mercy of God. Please note the distinction between sovereignty (defining) and servanthood (conditioning) in these two manifestations of illness or suffering.

We read accounts of the Risen Christ's appearance to others after Jesus' passion and death. We use images of the risen Christ on crucifixes today. Both of these are important in understanding what this learning will look like. Consider that when Jesus appeared to his disheartened and terrified disciples he was not without wounds and scars, even in his risen state. Thomas was invited to put a hand in Jesus' side. Even so, it is not the wounds and scars that dominate the picture. When we look at a crucifix with the risen Christ, the cross and all it represents is clearly present, but it does not dominate what we see or what we are called to believe. In each of these examples of Christian suffering and redemption, it is life, love, and joy that are dominant. The cross conditions everything and, as it should for Christians, it will always do so; after all, with Paul, we believe in a crucified Christ as the source of authentic life and hope. But the cross does not define who Jesus was nor who he is today as God's own Christ. In all of this, the cross is a servant of God's life and love, and it is this life and love which is dominant.

Illness is an incredibly important reality that we must learn to live with and accommodate appropriately, while not allowing it to swallow us up in the process. One of the crucial ways of doing so is by learning to live from and for the life and love of God. This is a difficult process and takes time to achieve. Anyone with a chronic illness knows the ways we learn to accommodate (and, alternately, sometimes even collude with) it. Illness limits but we anticipate these limits and the disappointments that accompany them and, unfortunately, over time we may even begin to limit ourselves. Illness does not do this; we do. Eventually, we will have a whole host of limitations associated with illness and suffering --- many of which can be unlearned and transcended. But it takes something really powerful to encourage and enable us to do this. In my experience, it is the unconditional love of God mediated to me by others as well as in prayer which makes this possible. Yes, there will be significant work in spiritual direction and perhaps even in therapy or in the kind of inner work (PRH) I have spoken of before, but more and more, one's suffering assumes the place of the cross in representations of the risen Christ --- important ("critical" -- pun intended!) but not dominant. A hermit's vocation (and there are a number of us with chronic illnesses!) is to make evident this kind of transparency to the love of God.

I do hope this helps to clarify my position for anyone for whom I failed to be clear. Let me know if it raises more questions.

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.