I really love today's Gospel, especially at the beginning of Lent. The thing that strikes me most about it is that Jesus' 40 days in the desert are days spent coming to terms with and consolidating the identity which has just been announced and brought to be in him. (When God speaks, the things he says become events, things that really happen in space and time, and so too with the announcement that Jesus is his beloved Son in whom he is well-pleased.) Subsequently, Jesus is driven into the desert by the Spirit of love, the Spirit of Sonship, to explore that identity, to allow it to define him in space and time more and more exhaustively, to allow it to become the whole of who he is. One of the purposes of Lent is to allow us to do the same.
A sister friend I go to coffee with on Sundays remarked on the way from Mass that she had had a conversation with her spiritual director this last week where he noted that perhaps Jesus' post-baptismal time in the desert was a time for him to savor the experience he had had at his baptism. It was a wonderful comment that took my own sense of this passage in a new and deeper direction. Because of the struggle involved in the passage I had never thought to use the word savor in the same context, but as my friend rightly pointed out, the two often go together in our spiritual lives. They certainly do so in hermitages! My own director had asked me to do something similar when we met this last week by suggesting I consider going back to all those pivotal moments of my life which have brought me to the silence of solitude as the vocation and gift of my life. Essentially she was asking me not only to consider these intellectually (though she was doing that too) but to savor them anew and in this savoring to come to an even greater consolidation of my identity in God and as diocesan hermit.
Hermitages are places which reprise the same experience of consolidation and integration of our identity in God. They are deserts in which we come not only to learn who we are in terms of God alone, but to allow that to define our entire existence really and concretely -- in what we value, how we behave, in the choices we make, and those with whom we identify, etc. In last year's "In Good Faith" podcast for A Nun's Life, I noted that for me the choice which is fundamental to all of Lent and all of the spiritual life, "Choose Life, not death" is the choice between accepting and living my life according to the way God defines me or according to the way the "world" defines me. It means that no matter how poor, inadequate, ill, and so forth I also am, I choose to make God's announcement that in Christ I am his beloved daughter in whom he is well-pleased the central truth of my life which colors and grounds everything else. Learning to live from that definition (and so, from the one who announces it) is the task of the hermit; the hermitage is the place to which the Spirit of love and Sonship drive us so that we can savor the truth of this incomprehensible mystery even as we struggle to allow it to become the whole of who we are.
But hermitages are, of course, not the only places which reprise these dynamics. Each of us has been baptized, and in each of our baptisms what was announced to us was the fact that we were now God's adopted beloved daughters and sons. Lent gives us the space and time where we can focus on the truth of this, claim that truth more whole-heartedly, and, as Thomas Merton once said, "get rid of any impersonation that has followed us" to the [desert]. We need to take time to identify and struggle with the falsenesses within us, but also to accept and appreciate the more profound truth of who we are and who we are called to become in savoring our experiences of God's love. As we fast in various ways, we must be sure to also taste and smell as completely as we can the nourishing Word of God's love for us. After all, the act of savoring is the truest counterpart of fasting for the Christian. The word we are called to savor is the word which defines us as valued and valuable in ways the world cannot imagine and nourishes us where the things of the world cannot. It is this Word we are called both to struggle with and to savor during these 40 days, just as Jesus himself did.
Thus, as I fast this Lent (in whatever ways that means), I am going to remember to allow myself not only to get in touch with my own deepest hungers and the hungers I share with all others (another very good reason to fast), but also to get in touch anew with the ways I have been fed and nourished throughout my life --- the experiences I need to savor as well. Perhaps then when Lent comes to an end I will be better able to claim and celebrate the one I am in God. My prayer is that each of us is able to do something similar with our own time in the desert.
Merton quotation taken from Contemplation in a World of Action, "Christian Solitude," p 244.
14 February 2016
Driven into the desert by the "Spirit of Sonship" (Reprise)
27 October 2014
On Natural and Unnatural Deserts
[[Dear Sister Laurel, in your own life when you refer to "the desert" you are not referring to a geographical place then are you? I understand that Thomas Merton wrote about the unnatural solitudes of the slums. You have referred to that here several times. Did Thomas Merton also mean the desert of chronic illness? Is this a valid extrapolation from the Desert Fathers' and Mothers' flight to the physical or geographical desert? Shouldn't hermits be living in physical wildernesses like these hermits or like John the Baptist, Elijah, and others?]]
No, you are correct that I am not ordinarily referring to a geographical place when I speak of deserts though I must say that the geographical places we call deserts are wonderful symbols or paradigms of the internal realities associated with desert spirituality. Further, while I don't think Thomas Merton was referring to the desert of chronic illness with his comment about city slums, neither do I think he was necessarily excluding it. I am not sure he considered it directly. Merton's concern was the isolation brought about by poverty and the harsh landscape poverty created in terms of human potential, the need for distraction, and the yearning for meaning and a sense that one's life was of some real worth or value. He was concerned with contemporary environments which lead to boredom and futility (as well as enhancing our fear of these) and he was concerned with situating the hermit's life and witness in a central place where the terrors of desert existence defined in terms of these specific contemporary realities could be effectively dealt with. Chronic illness is one of those "desert experiences" which calls out in all of the ways any desert experience does. I don't recall Merton addressing this directly but I have no doubt he would have included it in his reference to the unnatural solitudes associated with urban slums and other settings as well had he considered it at all.
Your question about a valid extrapolation asks if it is alright to understand desert in this non-geographical way. This objection is one that some hermits today make regarding those of us who live in urban areas and not in a physical wilderness. There is some validity to their objection because the physical silence and external solitude of the physical desert is so very different from the relative solitude of an urban hermitage. When one visits the desert both the physical silence and external solitude are palpable realities. There is a depth to them which one can almost touch and taste and smell. They press on one's skin and call to one's heart seeking a response, an answering embrace of sorts. They constitute a living presence which is undisputed and awesome in and of itself. Further, these interlocking pieces of desert wilderness form a reality which only seems to deepen in the face of the odd noise, movement, or other distraction --- a characteristic which makes it not only awesome but terrifying to us. I can completely understand the objection of hermits who contend the unnatural solitudes of an urban area are discontinuous with the awesome natural solitudes of the desert. Still, I cannot completely agree with them, especially when they begin to argue urban hermits are not real hermits, or the unnatural solitudes of urban life and chronic illness, for instance are not real solitudes.
Because I have written about the nature of wilderness in the Scriptures I am going to refer you to one of those posts Hermits are desert Dwellers with the request that you check it and others under the label "desert spirituality". In these posts I have pointed out that the real importance of the desert is as a place of meeting between a person whose poverty is writ large and the God whose merciful love transforms that poverty into the richness of adopted Sonship and Daughterhood. It is the place where one does battle with the demons of one's own heart and the world as well, the place where one consolidates the truth of one's identity in and for Love-in-Act --- or loses it entirely, whether in death or the various absurdities and insanities associated with human isolation. If this understanding of wilderness or desert is the heart of the Scriptural understanding, and I have no doubt that it is, then geographical setting, while not unimportant, is not critical to our definition of "desert dweller". More important by far is the potential for meeting God created by an intense and profound experience of human poverty and impotence.
So, my answer to your last question is no, not necessarily. While physical solitude can help get us in touch with a sense of our smallness and need for God there are other situations and contexts which are every bit as huge and intransigent, every bit as humbling and existentially challenging, every bit as much authentic "deserts" as those the desert Fathers and Mothers fled to in order to really live an authentic and edifying Christian life. In every case the stories of hermits' lives remind us that an external situation can allow and call for a response to the God who brings life out of death and meaning out of absurdity, but of itself it does not make one a hermit. Sometimes human poverty remains merely that. Sometimes the proffered grace of God remains unaccepted, unembraced, and rendered powerless to transform or make fruitful. Sometimes the desert crushes the would-be hermit and instead of an eremite we get a personally desiccated casualty of human weakness and the desert's inexorable power. Again, it is the heart of the notion of the eremite that they be desert flowers blooming in the midst of life's harshest realities through the grace of God. Wherever this happens we have authentic hermits and authentic desert spirituality.
I hope this is helpful.
11 June 2014
Achieving Purity of Heart: Leaping into the Abyss of God's Love
As I noted on Monday the contrast we feel between the Easter season culminating in Pentecost and the immediate shift to ordinary time is mirrored in the readings which remind us that after the giving of the Spirit Jesus was driven into the desert where he had to come to terms with the temptations his own identity as Son brought to him and consolidate or claim that Sonship more fully and radically. On Monday we were told the story of Elijah fleeing to the desert where he is fed by ravens --- one of the paradigmatic stories hermits claim as part of their own desert tradition. We also heard the beatitudes, that paradoxical charter of Christian living which reminds us that in want, those who have faith are filled, in hunger they are nourished, in grief they are consoled and in all kinds of darkness persons of faith find God as their light. This too is the essence of desert living, the essence of the contemplative and Christian journey where overwhelming light is experienced by faith as darkness and darkness is the occasion of an unquenchable and eternal light.
The hinge on which all these things turn is the purification of our hearts so that we not only truly let go of or relinquish that which provides temporary and partial security, but we also truly entrust ourselves to the One who is the ground and source of reality and so too, of absolute security. Unfortunately, some seem to do the first (the work of renunciation) without ever being able to do the second (the leap of faith) while most folks try to do the second (entrust themselves to God in faith) without ever doing the first (letting go of all except God)! This, by the way, is the reason Luke tells the story of the house which is cleaned out of demons but is left vacant and therefore comes to an even worse end! It is never enough to relinquish everything except our fear of emptiness and nothingness; we must also cast ourselves completely into God's hands in faith. But this act too has a paradoxical quality. It is a final and wholehearted act of renunciation where we consciously embrace the fear we have held at bay in one way and another, let go of our distrust (of reality, of God, etc), and leap -- fear pulsing against our breast -- into the void. In that leap we entrust ourselves to God because there is literally NOTHING else. Either God IS that void, that abyss, or he is not. It is the ultimate act of risk --- and the ultimate occasion of security.
Looking ahead to Friday's readings we are again faced with a radical choice so typical of desert spirituality; Jesus' words help us to see how truly radical this choice is, how profoundly our hearts need to be remade! [[If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. It is better to lose one of your members than to have your whole body thrown into Gehenna. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one of your members than to have your whole body go into Gehenna.]]
I admit I can no longer hear this reading without thinking of the story of Aron Ralston as well as the OT command from the beginning of Lent, "Choose Life!". You will remember Ralston as the hiker who was trapped when a boulder he was climbing in a canyon in Utah was dislodged and his arm became wedged between it and the canyon wall. Mr. Ralston tried several times over the period of 127 hours to amputate his arm but was thwarted by the inability to cut the bones with the tool he had. He made superficial attempts in the effort to get his courage up. Finally, when his food and water were gone and it was clear that the choice was do it or die, he levered his arm in such a way as to break both bones in his forearm and took an all-purpose tool and severed the arm from his body. He then rappelled down a cliff and several hours later was rescued. Ralston was clear that if he had cut his arm off sooner he would have bled to death before being rescued and if he had waited any longer the rescuers would have found him dead and still-trapped. At great risk and embracing terrible fear and pain Aron chose life.The choices we Christians are called to make in order to truly be Christian are every bit as radical than the choice Aron Ralston made. The choices, both renunciations and affirmations, involved in opting for the life of God rather than a superficial and domesticated Christianity are momentous and difficult. It is the purification of our hearts that is needed so we look on others with the love of Christ rather than the lust of a divided and selfish heart. Our tendency to do what is lawful rather than what is right points similarly to a heart that needs to be remade by God's love so that it may really risk the vulnerability and generosity all true faith requires. Most importantly our choice of God before, after and underlying every other choice we make requires amputations and adaptations every bit as costly as Aron's. The choice Jesus faced in the desert was to really BE God's own Son or to exploit the power and authority that were his by virtue of the Spirit's gifts demanded he face and renounce those things which tempted him to something less than and other than this; it is essentially the same choice we are presented with in this week's post-Pentecostal readings.
Whether it requires the lopping off of a sense of entitlement, a tendency to see others as expedients to our goals, the insecurities and other passions that cause us to see and value ourselves and others less than (as) true daughters and sons of God, any tendencies to selfishness, fearfulness, addiction, or whatever it is that makes our own hearts less than pure and open to love, we are called to do whatever it takes to choose life, abundant life in Christ. God calls us to holiness rather than mere respectability and that means a host of choices more radical than our culture or mere institutions impose on us, or (with the exception of the Church) even allow us. After all, it is through our choices for God that purity or singleness of heart is achieved and even greater choices for God are put before us. It is only as we both let go of the securities we cling to in the world we know apart from God AND leap further into the abyss of his love that our hearts are truly remade into those of daughters and sons of God.
09 June 2014
On Dynamic Equivalence, the Beatitudes, and Being Driven into the Desert by the Spirit
One form of translation of the ancient (or really any) text is called dynamic equivalence. This means that rather than formal equivalence where a translator simply plugs in the proper word in English for the original Greek word as literal translations do, the translator opts to try and go the further step of giving us a translation which also conveys the idiomatic quality of the original. It is a form of translation in which the living character of the language is respected as well as the formal dimension. In today's gospel lection we hear the good news of Matthew's version of the Beatitudes. Unfortunately, it is one of those texts we know so well we might never truly hear it in a way which challenges and transforms. At my parish our pastor also provided us with a contemporary "dynamic equivalency" translation of the lection as part of his homily. It is wonderful in the dimensions of the text it opens up to us and in its ability to allow us to hear with new ears. I wanted to share it here.
Matthew 5:1-12
from The Message, Eugene H Peterson
[[When Jesus saw his ministry drawing huge crowds, he climbed a hillside. Those were apprenticed to him, the committed, climbed with him. Arriving at a quiet place, he sat down and taught his climbing companions. This is what he said.
"You're blessed when you are at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.
You're blessed when you feel you have lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.
You're blessed when you are content with just who you are --- no more, no less. That's the moment you find yourselves the proud owners of everything that can't be bought.
You're blessed when you've worked up a good appetite for God. He's food and drink in the best meal you'll ever eat.
You're blessed when you care. At the moment of being 'care-full,' you find yourselves cared for.
You're blessed when you get your inside world --- your minds and hearts --- put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.
You're blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That's when you discover who you really are, and your place in God's family.
You're blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God's Kingdom.
Not only that --- count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens --- give a cheer, even --- for though they don't like it, I do! And all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company. My prophets and witnesses have always gotten into this kind of trouble.]]
Throughout the following couple of weeks we are going to be initiated into a vision of "desert spirituality" --- that spirituality associated with prophets, hermits, and even the occasional (and genuine) messiah; we will find it to be central to Israel's own identity, to those of her greatest leaders, and of course, to Jesus himself and the God he reveals in kenosis. It is that spirituality associated the Holy Spirit's impulse in our lives, with the opportunity to cast ourselves entirely on the Lord and the abundant nourishment, strength, and refreshment God faithfully provides so that we can become true daughters and sons of God.
During this time the basic struggle in the OT readings is between two forms of Kingship, two worlds or perspectives on reality, two different sets of values. The entrance to the reign of God, the values of his Kingdom and true discipleship is always through the desert. Elijah, in a paradigm of desert life, is fed by the ravens and drinks from living springs of water. In today's Gospel lection the Beatitudes are presented as the paradigmatic code or charter of desert spirituality and this new Kingdom. It defines what it means to be Jesus' own "apprentices," "the committed" -- as Peterson describes those who actually climb the mountain with Jesus. Throughout this post-Pentecost period we will find the Spirit of Pentecost is driving us each into the desert in these readings, into, that is, the privileged place where Jesus himself was driven by the Spirit, plumbed the depths of his own heart, and claimed and consolidated his own Divine Sonship while rejecting the temptation to exploit and distort it represented by Satan and the "other kingdom". Thus, we will find God calling us to do the same with our new gifts and Spirit-renewed identities.
See also, Driven into the Desert by the Spirit of Sonship
04 January 2013
The Life of Pi, A Portrait Painted in Strokes of Desert Spirituality
About once or twice a year I manage to get to the movies.Usually I go with a friend from the parish, another Sister, alone, or occasionally with or my pastor. Most often this happens around Christmastime. The day before yesterday I went to see the Life of Pi with friends (my pastor, another priest friend of his from San Diego, and another parishioner). Other Sister friends had seen it on Christmas day. They also recommended it. (It is a compelling movie, both reflective and full of surprising action. I learned yesterday that I actually screamed at one point --- though the person who told me said he did too and I learned last evening that apparently so did at least one other person in our little group! What a crew we made! I was actually unaware of anyone screaming, especially myself, but I know I did jump and grab my neighbor's shoulder at one point!) Needless to say perhaps, it was a completely engrossing movie and we all enjoyed it immensely.
That same year or the year before (I would need to check my journals to be sure) Of Gods and Men came out and that was significant as a source of reflection and prayer for me personally. I especially appreciated the realistic way the monks were portrayed and the accent on monastic stability and intrafaith relations was wonderful, but the story of their struggle to be faithful even in the face of impending martyrdom was inspiring. The Life of Pi was similarly inspiring; my own sense is that it is a story of desert spirituality and the struggle with demons that occurs for those journeying or dwelling in the desert (note the similarity of the picture below with that in the post on combatting demons a few weeks ago; also note it mainly takes place on the ocean --- a wilderness or desert reality --- especially for Irish monks and hermits. It is a similar symbol in the New Testament.) The Life of Pi seems to me to be the story of true versus false selves and the search for God. It is a parable which, like all parables, asks implicitly and (in this case) explicitly too in which story we will choose to reside, which story will be our very own, especially when we are truly brought to the limits of our own resources? And it is a story of epiphanies and illusions and delusions as well.
The cinematography and digital work was astounding. I can't say enough about it. While the Sisters I spoke of saw it in 2D and one spoke very positively of the experience (I have not spoken to the other about it), we saw it the day before yesterday in 3D and I would say it is definitely worth the extra money to do that. If you are a purist that insists on reading the book first, just be sure you are able to see this on the "big screen" before it leaves theaters. While I am sure the DVD will be good, this film is made for 3D and it is wonderful. (I am usually a purist who likes reading the book first, but in this case I am glad I saw the movie and will use the book enhanced with the images from the movie for lectio. I would recommend that too.)
Also, by way of postscript, if you can go with someone who won't mind a scream or two or your grabbing his/her shoulder because of surprise, definitely consider doing that! (Besides, you may need some time to reflect on and process what you have seen first, you will want to be able to talk about it afterwards.)
24 June 2012
Follow up: On Living Alone and Hermit Surveys
[[Dear Sister, thank you for answering my question on living alone and whether that makes one a hermit. How does "desert dwelling" relate to what you have said in the past about the difference between silence AND solitude and living the silence OF solitude? They are linked aren't they? I also have a different question. How would it impact your life to hear the results of a survey about "Who is the real hermit?" with answers to questions about what people think hermits are like, how they dress, eat, recreate, what they read, how they pray, what characteristics most mark them, etc? I read about two persons doing surveys. One was this type. The other seems to ask for responses from hermits themselves. Have you seen them? Why would a hermit participate in such surveys?]] (redacted)
In the second case which draws on the experience of hermits themselves, yes, I have seen the survey, and in fact was interviewed for a couple of hours by the author and researcher last year. He traveled here to CA and met with me here at the hermitage as well as visiting a couple of other eremitical houses in No CA. The experience was quite fine. It was good to be able to talk about this vocation with someone researching all kinds of experiences of solitude and the effect of several variables on the eremitical experience. That interview left me with questions I still ponder, or which come back to me from time to time in a way which is helpful. Thus, I do think surveys can be interesting and valuable sources of information --- especially if they are well done and accurately demonstrate what people believe to be true about hermits. Stereotypes are dangerous, particularly if they are held by people who are seeking to be hermits or those who participate in discerning eremitical vocations. The basic problem here is that hermits' lives are of tremendous value in a society which is intolerant of silence and touts individualism or narcissism rather than an individuality which is properly situated as a dimension of community. They are equally valuable for people who are trapped in situations which isolate or demean and require a way to redeem these because they suggest creative possibilities. But stereotypes --- which remain far too prevalent, do not serve in this way. Instead they tend to reinforce all of these elements: individualism, narcissism, isolation, etc. Surveys can help us be aware of and even understand such misconceptions; for chanceries or others dealing with eremitical vocations (or potential vocations) these may assist in recognizing when such things are driving an individual's desire to be a hermit or a diocese's admission to profession.
15 June 2012
Hermits: Not Merely People who Live Alone but Desert Dwellers
Dear Sister, recently I read a hermit who claimed the word hermit meant one who lived alone. They said, [[The very word hermit is a label that means "solitary" in Old French, late Latin, and Greek. So perhaps the first hermit was simply someone who lived alone in a time when all other people lived together in family units, and a single person living by themselves would be unusual enough to have a word coined to describe the phenomena. Then others began to live like that first hermit, alone, or in whatever other ways that first hermit appeared, acted, and was for what purpose of being.]] Is this correct? Is it how the Church uses the word hermit? Thank you.
Solitariness is a part of the eremitical life, yes, but the word hermit (eremite) has its origins in the Greek word eremos, which means desert. An eremite (hermit) then is a desert dweller and there is much more involved in truly being a desert dweller than simply being alone. Consider what it means to live in the desert generally, and then in terms of the judeo-Christian heritage. It is in this way we come to understand what a hermit is from the Catholic perspective and how the eremitical life differs from simply being or living alone. After all, many people live alone; does this of itself make them hermits? I would say no.
Deserts and wildernesses are equivalent concepts or realities. They are places where human poverty and weakness are writ very large, where the horizon of human existence is seemingly infinite, and where the ability to be one's own source of life, to secure oneself whether physically, psychologically, or spiritually, simply and clearly doesn't exist. There is no room for delusions in the desert. Delusions kill. We know how fragile, finite, and threatened we are in such a place. In the face of such reality we ask the really huge questions implied by existence but often crowded from our vision by the comforts and distractions with which we live every day: Who am I? Why am I alive at all? How can I continue to live? How can my puny, insignificant existence really be of any meaning in the grand scheme of things? Is my life simply absurd? Should I hold onto life, should I fight for it or let go of it? Why or why not? And if I choose to live, then what is essential to that and how do I find it, supply it, or open myself to it?
These are some of the questions which well up in the wilderness in the absence of distraction and satiety. These are the questions the hermit lives out in one form and another every day of her life. But the hermit, especially the Christian hermit, also lives the answer to these found in the Gospel of Jesus Christ. For the Christian hermit, the wilderness/desert is also the place where the Jewish refugees from Egypt came to terms with and claimed their identity as God's own, ratified the covenant with their lives, and became Israel, the covenant partner of God. The desert is the context where the prophet John the Baptist was nurtured and called to proclaim a baptism of repentance. It is also the place where he learned clearly who he was and was empowered to proclaim the One he was not. The desert is the place where Jesus was driven by the Spirit of God's love to grapple with his newly divinely-affirmed identity as Son of God and the shape that Sonship would take in this world. Here he struggled with the temptation to misuse the gifts which were his: his power, his authority, his very identity; here he struggled with the temptation to relinquish his complete dependence upon God the Father and act autonomously. It was in the desert that in a special way Jesus claimed his own identity and embraced the values and wisdom of the Kingdom rather than the identity, values and wisdom the world affirmed and offered him.
Similarly, the desert is the place where Paul, following his Damascus experience and his initial acceptance by the primitive Christian Church spent time consolidating the changes in understanding his meeting with Christ occasioned. It was here that Paul reframed his own understanding of Law in light of the Gospel, where he worked out the meaning of Jesus' scandalous death on the cross, where he came to part of an ecclesiology which would move Christianity from being a sect of Judaism to being a universal faith. In short, in Scripture, the desert is the place where we are remade in solitary dialogue with God. It is where we do battle with the demons that dwell in our own hearts and the world around us; it is where we learn to live our own human poverty and weakness because we also live from a grace that enriches and strengthens us; it is where we learn to see our own smallness and insignificance against the infinite horizon of a God who loves us immeasurably and eternally.
More, we do these things not only for ourselves, but for what the Scriptures call the glory of God. What this means is that we do it so that God's presence and nature may be clearly revealed in our world through our lives. That is what it means in the Bible to speak of God being glorified. And of course, we do this so that others might be nourished and inspired by it; we do it so that people may find hope when there seems nothing and no one to hope in, so that people may be nourished and their thirst quenched when the landscape of their lives seems entirely barren. We do it so that the least of the least among us may discover and be affirmed in the infinite value of their lives and so even the most isolated may find that God is with them ready to transfigure isolation into solitude. Eremitical life witnesses to the essential wholeness that we are all called to in God through Christ, no matter our poverty, our weakness, or our brokenness and isolation.
The hermit's life then is not merely about living alone, but rather living alone WITH, FROM, and FOR God, and in a way which is specifically FOR others as well. That is why Canon 603 defines it in part as follows: [[Can 603 §1, Besides institutes of consecrated life, the Church recognizes the life of hermits or anchorites, in which the Church's faithful withdraw further from the world and devote their lives to the praise of God and the salvation of the world through the silence of solitude and through assiduous prayer and penance.]]
There is nothing unusual about people living alone today (nor in the past!). Many do so for unworthy or unavoidable reasons (selfishness, misanthropy, chronic illness, incarceration, bereavement, isolated old age, etc); some of these are --- or may be made --- even relatively pious. But very few have given their lives over to the redemptive dynamics and demands of desert living as epitomized by figures in our history like Elijah, John the Baptist, Jesus, Paul, the Desert Fathers and Mothers, and so forth. For this reason I have to say the person who wrote the passage you cited is inaccurate on the very nature of what a hermit is and is about. This life involves living alone --- especially when one is a diocesan or solitary hermit --- but that is part and parcel of a desert existence which is very much more as well. One must define eremitical life in these (desert) terms or miss the mark completely.
Note: some of this I spoke of relatively recently --- not least in a post for the first week of Lent : Notes From Stillsong Hermitage: Driven into the Desert by the "spirit of Sonship". Folks might want to check that out as well. It is also linked to the term "desert spirituality" below.
26 February 2012
First Sunday of Lent: Driven into the Desert by the "Spirit of Sonship"
I really love today's Gospel, especially at the beginning of Lent. The thing that strikes me most about it is that Jesus' 40 days in the desert are days spent coming to terms with and consolidating the identity which has just been announced and brought to be in him. (When God speaks, the things he says become events, things that really happen in space and time, and so too with the announcement that Jesus is his beloved Son in whom he is well-pleased.) Subsequently, Jesus is driven into the desert by the Spirit of love, the Spirit of Sonship, to explore that identity, to allow it to define him in space and time more and more exhaustively, to allow it to become the whole of who he is. One of the purposes of Lent is to allow us to do the same.
A sister friend I go to coffee with on Sundays remarked on the way from Mass that she had had a conversation with her spiritual director this last week where he noted that perhaps Jesus' post-baptismal time in the desert was a time for him to savor the experience he had had at his baptism. It was a wonderful comment that took my own sense of this passage in a new and deeper direction. Because of the struggle involved in the passage I had never thought to use the word savor in the same context, but as my friend rightly pointed out, the two often go together in our spiritual lives. They certainly do so in hermitages! My own director had asked me to do something similar when we met this last week by suggesting I consider going back to all those pivotal moments of my life which have brought me to the silence of solitude as the vocation and gift of my life. Essentially she was asking me not only to consider these intellectually (though she was doing that too) but to savor them anew and in this savoring to come to an even greater consolidation of my identity in God and as diocesan hermit.
Hermitages are places which reprise the same experience of consolidation and integration of our identity in God. They are deserts in which we come not only to learn who we are in terms of God alone, but to allow that to define our entire existence really and concretely -- in what we value, how we behave, in the choices we make, and those with whom we identify, etc. In last year's "In Good Faith" podcast for A Nun's Life, I noted that for me the choice which is fundamental to all of Lent and all of the spiritual life, "Choose Life, not death" is the choice between accepting and living my life according to the way God defines me or according to the way the "world" defines me. It means that no matter how poor, inadequate, ill, and so forth I also am, I choose to make God's announcement that in Christ I am his beloved daughter in whom he is well-pleased the central truth of my life which colors and grounds everything else. Learning to live from that definition (and so, from the one who announces it) is the task of the hermit; the hermitage is the place to which the Spirit of love and Sonship drive us so that we can savor the truth of this incomprehensible mystery even as we struggle to allow it to become the whole of who we are.
But hermitages are, of course, not the only places which reprise these dynamics. Each of us has been baptized, and in each of our baptisms what was announced to us was the fact that we were now God's adopted beloved daughters and sons. Lent gives us the space and time where we can focus on the truth of this, claim that truth more whole-heartedly, and, as Thomas Merton once said, "get rid of any impersonation that has followed us" to the [desert]. We need to take time to identify and struggle with the falsenesses within us, but also to accept and appreciate the more profound truth of who we are and who we are called to become in savoring our experiences of God's love. As we fast in various ways, we must be sure to also taste and smell as completely as we can the nourishing Word of God's love for us. After all, the act of savoring is the truest counterpart of fasting for the Christian. The word we are called to savor is the word which defines us as valued and valuable in ways the world cannot imagine and nourishes us where the things of the world cannot. It is this Word we are called both to struggle with and to savor during these 40 days, just as Jesus himself did.
Thus, as I fast this Lent (in whatever ways that means), I am going to remember to allow myself not only to get in touch with my own deepest hungers and the hungers I share with all others (another very good reason to fast), but also to get in touch anew with the ways I have been fed and nourished throughout my life --- the experiences I need to savor as well. Perhaps then when Lent comes to an end I will be better able to claim and celebrate the one I am in God. My prayer is that each of us is able to do something similar with our own time in the desert.
Merton quotation taken from Contemplation in a World of Action, "Christian Solitude," p 244.
08 December 2008
Renunciation and Trust
[[You wrote that at bottom renunciation is really about trust. Can you say more about that please?]]
Sure, I am glad to, though I don't time to answer more than briefly. If you consider the context of my comments you know that I was talking about letting go of distractions, things that draw our attention away from the Word of God that sounds in the depths of our own being, and from the various feelings and sensations which rise up in our hearts when we are truly silent and refuse to distract ourselves in all the ways our culture offers us. (Distractions can anesthetize as well as merely diverting our attention from.) I was speaking about renouncing the kinds of things which prevent an experience in the desert from being a true desert experience, that is, an experience of being vulnerable and completely dependent upon God for the meaning and security of our lives.
The reasons we hang onto things seems to me to be about security, comfort, status, and meaning, as well as the distraction they provide from the struggles and difficult emotional dimensions of life. The latest electronic gadget may say that we "have arrived," whether in our careers, or just in keeping up with the Joneses or with advances in technology ("I need to be at the forefront here; it says I am knowlegeable and technologically savvy. I have important needs which these things symbolize and serve, and which other people don't really have --- and, after all, I can afford these where some cannot!" is one set of reasons, often unarticulated which we use to justify the latest acquisition). Similarly, we may need the larger and newer TV set or iPod, or whatever because media use distracts us from the demands and call of our own inner lives. We may keep UPS delivery folks busy with our purchases from Amazon despite the fact that we have not read what we already have because we are insecure, or bored, or struggling with depression and a new book (or anything else) relieves the symptoms temporarily. The same may be true with any shopping compulsion, the constant need for new clothes and the like. These are just a few of the kinds of things I was referring to in my earlier post.
Possessions become extensions of ourselves. They become sophisticated security blankets except that they also say that we are important or educated or affluent where childhood security blankets do not. They make us a little less naked it seems to us, a little less poor, a little less vulnerable because they comfort us, and a little less empty if, and to the extent, our hearts and lives are devoid of ultimate love and meaning. But as we heard in today's first reading, the inability to bear the anxiety and vulnerability of being naked selves gets us into all kinds of trouble. In today's passage from Genesis Adam realizes he is naked and becomes self-conscious. As a result, he hides from God and sins in the attempt to be more than he actually is. His heart is filled with anxiety and thoughts of himself and he no longer walks with God in the simple trust he was created for. For all of us this option is fundamental: we can either stand naked before God and trust in his love for us, or, because of anxiety and self-consciousness, we can cover ourselves with fig leaves (and all the more sophisticated contemporary equivalents in material possessions, status, etc.) and hide from him and ourselves.
If we can let go of the things we ordinarily cling to to comfort us and mitigate our "nakedness" and vulnerability we will need to turn to God instead. We will need to trust him and the sense his love makes of our lives. We will be challenged to come to terms with the emptinesses and wounds which afflict our hearts, and allow God to comfort and heal us as he wills. We will need, that is, as this season says so well, to learn to wait on him with open hands and hearts dependent and childlike. Renunciation itself signals our willingness to trust all things to God. It allows us to stand before him in all of our human poverty and discover where out true wealth lies. This was what I was referring to in my original posts on desert experiences, retreats, etc. So, a very brief outline of the dynamics of possession and renunciation which I hope explains why I suggested renunciation was, at bottom, a matter of trust. As always, please let me know if this raises more questions or leaves something obvious unaddressed.
05 December 2008
iPods, Technology, Retreat, and desert Experiences
[[Is it wrong for a person to have iPods and other technological conveniences? How about taking them on retreat? Is that wrong?]]
No, there is nothing wrong with iPods, laptops, or other conveniences in themselves. I hope I didn't give that impression in the posts I wrote on desert experiences! Someone else kidded me about something similar after reading them. Neither is it wrong to bring them on retreat depending on the use one makes of them of course. It is not even wrong to have these things as a hermit, and they can add greatly to the richness of one's prayer life. In the scenarios I drew a post or two ago (assuming your questions come from reading those) I somewhat overstated the differences between the two scenarios. I could have pointed out that the woman in the second scenario had an iPod with her as well, and used it at various points to assist with her prayer for instance. She has Morning and Evening Prayer settings from various artists and monasteries, a number of recordings of psalms and other liturgical or Christian music, and she uses these as appropriate to enhance prayer, but NOT to distract from the silence or from the feelings and sensations that rise up within her in solitude.
For instance, if she uses a laptop for journaling routinely, then that too is completely acceptable and CAN help enhance the desert experience, but if she is linking up to the internet, reading email, shopping on Amazon, etc, then that is another matter entirely. The same is true with a cell phone: it is good to have for emergencies, but otherwise should be left unused or even turned off. I think you understand what I am trying to describe here, right?
Retreats are meant to allow a person to have a desert experience. They are ordinarily designed to let a person sink into the silence and solitude and to listen to all that their hearts give voice to in such an environment. If anxiety and tension occur, bits of "cabin fever," boredom, and the like surface, then retreats invite a person to deal with these in prayer and in other ways one is not really used to (for instance, a quiet walk around the grounds instead of a trip to the mall, or without turning to the usual distractions), as well as to get some spiritual direction if that seems appropriate. Silence and the relative solitude of the retreat are lifegiving realities, as are the ordered days, the time away from ordinary responsibilities, etc. One should simply take advantage of all this as best one can. However, doing so may also mean sleeping a bit more than one is ordinarily able to, reading a bit of fiction here and there, listening to a bit of music, etc. One simply needs to discern what really serves one best here, that is, what allows the retreat to be what one's heart, mind, and body need at the time (and what one needs is what God wills for one, by the way)!
Personally, I would draw the line at bringing along a TV set (I am mainly kidding here since I doubt anyone actually would, but the example in my story included an RV with a TV set, so I am mentioning that -- and no movies on CD either for viewing on laptops!!) The rules for retreat are pretty general and simple. Take what you need to be comfortable and travel light. Trust that the retreat house or center generally has what you need (reading material, CD's, etc), and try to believe that God really does provide. Ordinarily that means he provides himself, and retreats are times and spaces set aside so that God may really have access to you he does not get otherwise. He is always knocking, always calling, but ordinarily there is simply too much noise, whether internal or external, for us to listen well. So the general rules of retreat "stuff" basically boil down to, "whatever helps you hearken (listen and respond)" in all the ways you are called.
Again, the scenarios I drew in the last posts were not meant to condemn modern conveniences or technology. However, there is no doubt that these things can and often do mitigate desert experiences. Hence, I will ask directees to put the iPod away more even if they are using it to listen to Christian music. I do the same thing myself and what I see and hear is vastly different when I am listening to an iPod while taking a walk, than when I am not listening to music. Desert experiences come in a variety of depths and intensities. So long as one is doing the will of God (again, taking care of our truest needs), and being sensitive to the retreat environment for others, limited use of technology can enhance the experience rather than detract and distract from it. One caveat however, since it is easy to rationalize and fool ourselves in this matter, one would do better to err on the side of caution and forego whatever one can.
At bottom desert experiences are about taking time with God to consolidate and deepen our identities as daughters and sons --- just as Jesus did, and, in becoming the People of God, just as Israel did in their extended time there. We do this by attending to God and our relationship with him in a way which makes us heirs and prophets of HIS Kingdom instead of the others at hand. If technology assists in this to some limited extent, then well and good. Otherwise, leave it at home! (The very fact that you do this is an act of renunciation and trust (because that is really what renunciation is about at bottom) which will help initiate you into a true desert experience long before you arrive on retreat.)
22 November 2008
Followup Questions, Experience of the desert vs desert experience
[[Hi Sister. You have written that hermit life is flexible, but at the same time you seem to want to rule out part-time hermits. You also distinguish between desert experiences and experiences in the desert. I sort of get what you are saying here but I am not sure I see the importance.]]
Yes, eremitical life is flexible, that is each individual hermit needs to work out her own needs for sacraments, work, prayer, study, rest and recreation. She also needs to work out when and where community can be part of her days, what kind, and how it is she compensates for or balances this. Further, hermits who are "night persons" may use a somewhat different horarium than a hermit who is not a night person, and this is true even if one lives in a Laura of hermits. However, there remain certain elements in each hermit's life which are non-negotiable: stricter separation from the world, a LIFE of silence and solitude (and more, the silence OF solitude), assiduous prayer and penance. While she is not a recluse (usually at least), she IS a SOLITARY (something which BY DEFINITION conflicts with the notion of being married, by the way).
The significance of the distinction between an experience of the desert and a desert experience might be clearer, so let me try to make that so. Suppose a person goes into the desert with all her camping equipment, her RV, cell phone, TV, Stereo, etc. She drives into the desert and noticing the beginnings of a rise in temperature, cranks up the AC immediately; when she arrives at her destination she finds a suitable campground with amenities, and plugs in the RV. She sets out her chair and begins to sense the vastness of the place, the feeling of the air, the hugeness of the horizon, and her own insignificance in all of this. She takes a walk and for a while these impressions continue to speak to her in some way, but it is an uncomfortable experience. So, she takes out her iPod and turns it on to a favorite tune, one she listens to all the time at home. Immediately, the desert fades somewhat, the memories of home and all that is familiar resurface. She is still alone, but She has opted out of the desert experience, at least for the time being. Later, when she has eaten and the cold has set in and the fire died down, she spends a little more time looking at stars she never sees at home, but before long this too becomes a bit overwhelming and she feels somewhat uneasy, though she cannot put her finger on why that is. Besides, she thinks, there are animals preying about now, and bugs everywhere, so she goes into the RV shuts the door on her surroundings, takes a shower, climbs into a warm and comfy bed, turns on the TV set and forgets about all the desert itself. Soon she is asleep. Once again, she has opted out of the desert experience (and to some extent even out of an experience of the desert).
Note that despite the fact that she is alone and God is all around as well as within in no way is she really alone with God. While she begins to experience the awesomeness of the desert and also what calls to her there (the feelings of uneasiness or discomfort), she refuses to listen to these and distracts herself in various ways. She insulates herself from the desert experience, distances herself from her feelings and does not listen to God either within her heart or without. SO, there is physical solitude (there is no other living person around), but it is hardly an experience of solitude, much less eremitical solitude.
Imagine instead though that she arrives in a small car with cooking gear, sleeping bag, hiking gear and sturdy clothes, a journal, lantern, a book of psalms, and a New Testament. She sets up camp, sits quietly until the awesomeness of the setting touches her, and meditatively reads an account of Jesus in the desert while being sure to stay in touch with the sense of the awesomeness of her surroundings, and also her own solitude with God as she does so. Feeling a bit uneasy and restless, she puts on a jacket, gets a canteen, a compass and a bit to eat for later and sets out on a hike during which she drinks in her surroundings and continues to let the feelings that began to arise in camp intensify and speak to her. When she returns to camp, she chants a psalm, sits quietly meditating and attending to all that happens; then she pulls out her journal and begins to write. Later she prays again, lights a fire and cooks some dinner. She cleans up, watches the stars with God, considers the animals that are out there just beyond the light and warmth of the fire, prays in thanksgiving, but also with a sense of her insignificance and in supplication, slowly rereads the text on Jesus in the desert, commits herself into God's hands and climbs into her tent and sleeping bag to sleep. The next day will look very much the same except that the silence and solitude will continue to work on her heart and uncover darkness, fears, insecurities, difficult memories, and some joys she has lost touch with. She will deal with them in just the same way, and go to sleep to prepare for another day which will also look very much the same as those preceding it. There is nothing here to distract her from all of this. As her supplies dwindle she will use them even more sparingly and she will plan for a trip to a store to replenish what she needs. When she returns, she will settle in once again, and continue as before.
In the first situation I described, what I tried to show was the difference between a greatly moderated or mitigated experience of the desert (for it could have been vastly richer and more intense) and a desert experience itself . In the second the accent was on a desert experience per se, though clearly the woman involved also experienced the desert itself in a greatly less-mitigated and more intense way than in the first scenario. (Note that this experience was also mitigated, however. The woman had sufficient clothes, shelter, food, water, etc, so as not to feel completely at the mercy of the elements and God's mercy.) Despite the necessary overlap there can be a vast difference between the two, and between the types of solitude experienced. In the first scenario the woman was physically alone but hardly experiencing an inner solitude. Instead she resisted this and distracted herself from it at every turn. In the second there is both physical and inner solitude. It is a desert experience, an experience where she really does have to deal with the loneliness, the dangers, the inner demons and insecurities with nothing but herself and God. Her other life is far away; she has not brought it with her, and except for her car, her journal, books, and few clothes there is little to remind her of it. When she is reminded, it is with a keenness that affirms for her just how much she has left behind, how alone she is with God, how little resources OTHERWISE she really has at hand, and she deals with this in prayer/journaling.
The differences between the two pictures are important because one is eremitical and the other is not; one is an example of desert spirituality and in this case, solitary desert spirituality, while the other is not --- despite the fact that the person is alone. I hope this helps in drawing out the distinction and also pointing up its significance. If it does not help enough, or raises more questions please get back to me.
Part-time Hermits? Objections?
[[Dear Sister, you have objections to "part-time" hermits. You also are emphatic that the word hermit should not be used for just anyone. Can you please say more about your objections?]]
I am not sure how much more I can say about this topic, but yes, I will be happy to explain what I have written up until now. First, the use of the term hermit for just anyone: apparently there is something intriguing to people about the idea of being a hermit but what is focused on is the physical solitude, and not the underlying motivations for the life, the community or ecclesial aspect, nor that this is a contemplative life rooted in a relationship with God and all that he cherishes. What the hermit says with her life is that God alone is sufficient for us, and I mean that in two senses: 1) we are made for communion with and in him and all else (including all other relationships) is a piece of this, and 2) if we live with and for God alone, as hermits do, then that provides all we need for authentic human maturity and psychological well-being. Thus, hermits in their solitude affirm the first statement with their lives: God alone is sufficient for us, and they witness to others that the same is true for them. Of course others may also witness to this and be very far from being hermits. Every Christian, in fact, is called to make this statement with their lives, no matter their state of life. But hermits really accent the second statement, and no one else does so in the same way. It is what makes their lives eremitical: they live with and for God alone in a more literal sense (others are a significant piece of this because the hermit cherishes what/whomever is cherished by God), and that is sufficient for them and their achievement of human maturity and psychological well-being.
While the first aspect mentioned is critical to the quality of the eremitical life, it is this latter aspect of the eremitical vocation which makes it truly eremitical. The hermit vocation is the vocation of a SOLITARY, not merely an introvert or loner (indeed, the hermit may be neither of these), not someone who has a bit of physical solitude on the weekends or when the spouse and children leave the house for a few hours, but a true solitary --- one who has given her life, body and soul to God and witnesses to what life with God alone can be. Hermits are those persons who live with, in, and from God alone 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. While their love for God, and his for them will spill over and touch and include others, there should be no doubt that the primary environment of their lives is both the physical and inner solitude peculiar to the hermit. There should be no doubt that their inner and outer lives consciously reflect an accepted identity as a hermit.
So, why is all this important? Why can't a mother who prays while others are out of the house call herself a hermit, and why shouldn't she? Why can't a person who goes off to solitude on the weekends call himself a hermit, and why shouldn't he? I may have used the term "truth in advertizing" before somewhere in these blog posts, but let me use it again. The first reason these persons cannot call themselves hermits has to do with truth in advertizing. They ought not call themselves hermits because they simply are NOT living contemplative lives in solitude (each word in this phrase is important to the definition of a hermit). The second reason is related and has to do with witness. Hermits are the ones in the Church who say with their lives that it is possible to live ALONE with God for the whole of their lives and that their lives are meaningful, and in fact, that one may come to human wholeness and holiness in this way. They say that while this is a rare vocation, the person who finds herself in physical solitude and cut off from others for whatever reason: illness, bereavement, etc, has a life which is still infinitely precious and significant, and can continue to grow or develop into greater and greater fruitfulness --- an almost unimaginable fruitfulness in fact. The hermit witnesses to this truth even if the person can no longer work, has lost friends whose lives move at a different speed and rhythm, or struggles with illness which seems to dehumanize and cut off all human possibilities for growth or life, because these things are merely one side of the equation; God's grace is the other, and the hermit witnesses to what is possible when human weakness and limitations are joined by the grace of God.
The hermit's life therefore speaks in a special way to these people, people who will not have a husband (wife) and children returning at the end of the day, people who cannot spend their days cleaning FOR husband and children or planning outings, or shopping for them, people who have no one to comfort them in their pain and no breaks in the continuing solitude of their situation. The numbers of persons who live like this today are phenomenal, and someone calling themselves a hermit when they no more live a solitary life without respite is insulting and insensitive not only to authentic hermits who do live healthy and truly solitary lives, but to those living in the unnatural solitudes of illness, bereavement, old age, abandonment, etc, without choice or options otherwise.
These reasons all have to do with the witness value of the eremitical life, but we need to look at the reasons which have simply to do with the nature and quality of the hermit life itself even apart from witness value --- and again, it is a matter of truth in advertizing. By definition eremitical life is solitary life, that is, life lived in, with, for and from God ALONE. Solitude (inner and outer) does its work over time, it develops, grows, changes the human heart only over time and in physical solitude. Consistency is necessary, and consistency here means long term ongoing physical solitude. This is not necessarily the same as complete reclusion, but to call oneself a hermit when one simply spends a few hours a day alone, but waits for the return of husband and children, or when one works with others all week (even if one never speaks to them), and then goes camping or fishing alone on the weekend is analogous to someone calling herself a mother because she baby sits several days a week a few hours in the morning and afternoon. I suspect any mothers reading this would merely laugh at how ridiculous such an idea is. The same is true when hermits hear of people who build a little solitude into their lives calling themselves hermits. We both know "these people don't have a clue" --- not about real motherhood and its unceasing demands and concerns, or about giving one's life (one's whole life) for these others, nor about solitude or what it means to live as a solitary, and certainly not about what it means to be thrust back on God as the sole source of strength and meaning in one's life --- the essence of Christian eremitism.
A few days of solitude is usually welcome for most people: time to rest, read, pray, reflect, and even then the first 24-48 hours might be very difficult as silence challenges them initially. A few hours of solitude a day can also be quite welcome, and can be used fruitfully for prayer, rest, chores, etc, but in each case the solitude is temporary and one does not need to deal with the dark parts of the human heart, with the demons which inhabit our personal worlds. These things can be put off, and may not even appear because after all, the solitude is only partial. As noted above, one is not completely thrust back upon God alone to make sense of one's life, one is not faced with ALL OF ONE'S SELF AND LIFE in an environment where it MUST be faced. Distractions one has left behind (TV, work, relationships, etc) may not fill the hours of solitude themselves, but they wait in the wings moderating the solitude, either because someone is coming home at the end of the day, or because one can return to one's REAL world if one just guts this relatively brief period of solitude out. One's life makes sense APART from solitude: marriage, children, work, etc, and solitude itself may be the real distraction (even prayer can be a distraction!).
The point here is that such part-time solitude is relative, and also that it is neither as deep nor as intense nor as all-claiming and challenging as is genuine eremitical solitude. A trip to the desert is simply not truly a desert experience if one arrives in one's RV and drives away at the end of the day or week, even if one hikes out for a few hours each day. One may experience the desert to some extent in this way, but it is not truly a desert experience. (That could be had if one hiked out a few miles and then realized one had forgotten one's compass, lunch and canteen and would need to spend the night out alone without food or shelter, for instance. THEN one begins to sense the difference between an experience of the desert and a desert experience.) You see the distinction I think. Similarly then, one may experience solitude without ever coming close to solitary experience, without ever being a solitary.
But this is not true of the hermit. Her life makes sense within solitude, as a solitary because her life says that these things are an essential function of her relationship to God and living with and for God alone. Her experience of solitude is a desert experience. It is in solitude that she comes to grapple with the darknesses of her own heart, with the demons that do indeed inhabit this desert in which she lives. Yes, there can be occasional distractions (a direction client, Mass (I use the term distraction here only to the extent this is not a solitary experience), an orchestra rehearsal, an occasional dinner with friends), but unlike the person whose "solitude" is merely part time, whose children return to tell about their days, whose husband comes home to eat together and share the same bed, the hermit's solitude always beckons, at meals, at bedtime, while one does laundry or cooks for oneself alone. Every activity, and even the distractions merely point to her solitary existence. She knows she cannot justify that existence with motherhood or marriage, or even with productive work. Prayer cannot be just an important aspect of her life, much less a pleasant distraction from her usual activities. It must be THE work of her life (the work of God in her), her very lifeblood which sustains her without question. Either her life makes ultimate sense in and through her solitude because God has called her to this WITH and in HIM, or it is the greatest and most tragic absurdity a person can devise. This is the risk the hermit takes in faith and the desert is the place this is lived out.
I think there is still a great deal to say here (especially since I have not spoken of semi-eremitism), and I had not expected that, but hopefully I have begun to answer your questions. We ought not allow just anyone to call themselves hermits because doing so empties the term of meaning. It strips away the boundaries which definitions set up. Definitions are drawn on the basis of experience, they are not arbitrary. There are many many people who live lives with some degree of time alone to pray. Every person actually fits (or should fit) this picture in one way or another. Do we call all these people hermits? Of course not, no more than we call teenagers who babysit regularly Mothers. These people have time for solitude and should take it, but they do not live solitary lives with all that means. On the other hand there are many people in our world living true desert experiences already who could find the word hermit gives meaning to lives that otherwise seem to have none in worldly terms, but that cannot happen if the word hermit is emptied of meaning by dilettantes.
17 July 2008
For a Child of God
While on retreat, as I already noted, one of the topics we touched on was the enlarging of our hearts. It is a central Benedictine theme --- indeed a central theme of all good spirituality. If you have read my blog for some time you know that the dynamic and dialogical nature of the human heart (and of the soul, for that matter) is something that has intrigued me for some time. Our hearts are quite literally the place where God bears witness to himself. Heart is, in the NT (and I think the OT as well), a strictly theological term: it refers first of all to God's activity within us. As I have posted here before, it is not the case that we have a heart and that God comes to dwell there, but that that "place" within us where God dwells, speaks himself continually, calls us by Name and summons us to life and meaning, is called "heart."
If you are familiar with the sayings of the desert Fathers, you will know the story about the disciple who came to one of the Abbas saying he had kept the fast, been faithful to all the daily ascetic practices, prayed the psalms, etc but wondered what more he could do. Abba Moses raised his hands and moved his fingers back and forth, and as he did so he said, "If you would, you can become all flame!" It is a tremendous goal, and the very same thing as becoming authentically human and functioning as the heart of the church and world --- an image which resonates with monastics, and especially (from my perspective) for hermits. It also relates to the interpenetration of heaven and earth those of us who share in the life of the risen Christ know first hand.
Well, with these images and themes in mind, there were a couple of poems shared during retreat during Sister Donald's conferences; both had to do with the human heart and use the metaphor of flame. One of them, a poem by Jessica Powers (sister Miriam of the Holy Spirit) I would like to share now.
The saints and mystics
had a name
for that deep
inwardness of flame,
the height or depth
or ground or goal
Which is God's dwelling
in the soul.
Not capax dei
do you say;
nor yet
scintilla animae
nor syndereisis ---
all are fair ---
but heaven
because God is there.
All day and when
you wake at night
think of that place of living light,
yours and within you
and aglow
where only God
and you can go.
None can assail you
in that place
save your own evil,
routing grace.
Not even angels
see or hear,
nor the dark spirits
prowling near.
But there are days
when watching eyes
could guess that you
hold Paradise,
Sometimes the shining
overflows
and everyone
around you knows.
"For a Child of God" (1953)
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