Reflecting on an Experience of No Kings Day

Yesterday, I attended a small but effective "No Kings" event in my town. There was a very much larger rally in the next town over (10,000 people), but Sister Marietta and I had lunch here at Stillsong first and then walked over to the event occurring at the town's major intersection not far from here, where we joined with others to wave signs, beat drums, clap, thank those in cars waving and honking as they moved past us, and cheer for our country and those supporting our constitution. We were few in number, but passionate and peaceful in witnessing to our love for the US and our concern for the well-being of our democracy and all it brings to our world.

As we came to leave my place, Marietta stopped and quietly and clearly stated (prayed) our intentions to support the Nation and its values. In this way, we made even more concrete why we were going to this small protest and why we were joining our own minds, hearts, and bodies with those of other Americans throughout the country. These values and our participation were every bit as sacred as daily prayer or liturgy, and every bit as much a way of participating in the coming of God's Reign as the other things the consecration of our lives requires and empowers. Stopping to affirm our intention in this quiet, matter-of-fact way before stepping out of the door was powerful and helped set the tone of our participation. It remained with me throughout the afternoon.

The gathering was both intimate, peaceful, and celebratory. There were some great signs, one of the best being one that began, "I'll show you my civility if you show me yours . . ." Most were some variation of "No Kings." There were parents and children, people with disabilities, young and old, and even a large and very affectionate dog with us. You name it. Generally, we cheered and waved to (and often with) those who came past our corner. Lots of folks responded with smiles, cheers, honking, thumbs up affirmations,  and a few with the ASL sign 🤟 for love or I love you. One young woman stood up through the sunroof of the car she was in and waved her own sign and cheered with us. Others were silent, studiously avoided looking at us face to face, and a few used a rigid, solitary middle finger to tell us what they thought of what we were doing. One driver yelled out, "F__k y'all!" but in the main, people who disagreed with or disliked what we were doing were simply silent and moved past without a sign of actual animosity.

Until, that is, one man walked across the small park behind us and directly into our midst. He challenged us in a sentence I cannot now recall, and then, just inches from a number of us, he leaned close and continued to rage, "This is not Berkeley!" You're scum!! You should (or perhaps, "I hope you) all burn in hell!' We were stunned. Marietta felt chills and later sadly noted the shocking ugliness of the rant and grieved that any human being should speak that way to other human beings. I was bewildered by the man's anger and his decision to come all the way across the small park to confront us specifically. (Neither Marietta nor I were dressed differently from anyone else in the group, though we both wore small crosses and rings, so religious garb was not part of drawing his attention. It may, however, have been part of the reason he tailored his words regarding hell as he did.) Still, what we were doing was quintessentially American and positive. It created community and strengthened solidarity with other citizens and non-citizens alike. Therefore, what I was even more stunned by was the fact that this man was apparently an immigrant who had come here from Russia or some linguistically related, Slavic country, who was raging about the exercise of our constitutional rights and joy at being American. The irony was striking.

I woke up this morning with this man in my thoughts and prayers, along with the others I had spent time with yesterday afternoon. I was still struggling to make sense of the man's anger and verbal aggression. And, of course, I could not. In some ways, I felt grateful for the brief encounter the man offered because of the way it helped crystallize the brutality, ugliness, and inhumanity the No Kings movement, among others, is struggling against. I am not unfamiliar with evil as it consumes the hearts and minds of people and leaves them feeling hopeless, helpless, and profoundly angry in its wake. I think this is what I was seeing yesterday and part of the inhumanity "No Kings" stands against as it affirms the importance of maintaining America as a "shining democratic (not theocratic!) light on the hill".

America is not the Kingdom of God, nor is it meant to be, much less is it meant to supplant that. However, it is meant to participate in and witness in its own unique way to the gradual and universally inclusive coming of that reign. The democratic experiment in which we participate every day of our lives contributes uniquely here, but only if it does not succumb to the idolatry that seeks to set up a theocracy or enlists the energies of those who believe others are scum and should be excluded from this democracy and even (smugly, gratefully, and self-righteously) consigned to hell! Everyone on that corner yesterday was shocked by and concerned for the man who railed at and against us. I believe we all recognized the terrible bondage to which he was and is captive. And, of course, I know at least some of us prayed for him. Rooted in the love of God we also celebrated yesterday, we will continue to pray for him as we do what we can to dissent from and protest against the fear-inspiring, inhuman, and alienating perversions currently being done in the name of the United States and a Nationalism some mistakenly call "Christian". This was the intention Marietta and I set out with yesterday, and the intention I pray we all find the continuing courage to live into and represent to the world.

On the Question of Civic Activism and Eremitical Solitude

[[Sister Laurel, I wondered how it is you encourage civic activism if you are living solitude. How can you be engaged in this if you are called to be a hermit? The two things just seem to me to be incompatible and I wonder what you say to others who feel called to solitude but not to be engaged in the concerns of our country or the world around them?]]

Thanks very much for these questions. From something I read recently, I know that hermits and solitaries are asking the same questions. Some want to withdraw into solitude and not be engaged with the larger world or the politics of this country. Some likely feel differently, and more as I do. So let me tell you how I approach the issue. There are two main and interrelated pieces to my thinking. The first is the way I regard and think about my responsibility to citizenship in this country. The second is the commitment I have made to God and to God's Church and world to live in and towards the silence of solitude under c 603. Both of these, as you can see, involve significant commitments and sets of obligations.

I am a citizen of the United States. The freedom I have to practice my faith, to live as I am called by God, to be able to do so in relative security, and to pursue my prayer life, writing, limited teaching of Scripture, etc., are all due to rights the Constitution of the United States has granted me. I fulfill the responsibilities of a United States citizen, including paying taxes, voting, staying informed about current events and issues, and speaking out when I believe it is right to do so in good conscience. I sign petitions, write postcards (sometimes), and very occasionally, I will blog about something that seems really critical to me. I don't consider myself an activist, but neither do I take my citizenship for granted. In recent politics, some issues are very concerning to me and I will definitely speak out on those, not least, the gutting of the rule of law (which includes the way immigrants are being treated and the President's tendency to authoritarianism), moves that endanger religious freedom (like gutting the Johnson Amendment, setting up a US President as an "anointed leader", or creating an office for religion in the White House and fostering so-called "Christian" Nationalism on the way to some form of  "theocracy"). As a Catholic Christian, I am beholden to this nation for extending the rights it does to me, and I extend my gratitude by exercising those rights intelligently and faithfully.

The second set of commitments is related to the fact that the Church called me to profession and consecration as a solitary hermit under c 603. My vocation is an ecclesial one, not only because it originates in the patrimony of the Church and her eremitical tradition, but because it makes me responsible for contributing to the Church's own holiness and ministry. Thus, I try to live my vocation well and faithfully. The silence of solitude is a central element and can even be considered the charism of this vocation; I understand this element of the vocation -- including the ways it differs from most people's sense of what it means and requires of a hermit. Initially, what is especially surprising to some people is that the silence of solitude, coupled with stricter separation from the world, does not make the hermit a recluse. Moreover, it is not another name for isolation. Instead, it allows the hermit to be prudently and responsibly engaged with the larger world outside her hermitage, but (and this is really critical) without becoming enmeshed in it! In my experience, eremitical solitude is the redemption of isolation; it is also a form of freedom from enmeshment. As I understand it, eremitical solitude is a rare form of community. One lives it with God in the context of the local Church, precisely so one can live it for God's own glorification and for the sake of others' wholeness and holiness. (This includes, by the way, living our lives responsibly for the sake of the eremitical vocation itself; because it is a gift of God to the Church and larger world, hermits do what they can to ensure the gift continues to be available in the way it is needed.)

I recognize that I need greater and lesser degrees of reclusion at various points in my life, but even when I  am more fully reclusive, I depend upon others and do what I do for the sake of others, first God and God's Church, but also for this country, and the whole of God's creation. I am struck by the fact that the Church has only allowed two congregations to have recluses, the Camaldolese and the Carthusians. As I have noted before, the recluse depends mightily on his/her congregation, not only for material support, but for spiritual nourishment and more general fraternal and sororal understanding as well. For the non-recluse, for the more usual diocesan hermit, the dependence we have on those around us is at least as great. At the same time, while people may not understand how the hermit contributes to their own well-being or the well-being and holiness of the Church, the Church is clear about the matter, and it is something hermits take seriously. 

All of this (and I have not even mentioned the Church's teaching on social justice!) indicates a real, though often missed, interrelationship between the hermit and her Church, country, and larger world. Not least, it does so because the hermit's vows commit her to cherish all that is cherished by God. (This is an explicit obligation in my own vow formula, but I don't know any hermits who would reject it as part of their ecclesial obligation.) None of this requires that I become an activist in the sense many people mean that word, but it does mean that I must do what is appropriate to my own commitments to God, my country, and the Church. At this point in the United States' history, I see things that endanger the very freedom I have been granted to pursue my vocation faithfully. To neglect doing what I can within the legitimate (civil, canonical, and personal) constraints of my life to assure the continuing ability of every person to pursue their God-given vocation would be no less faithless and irresponsible than abandoning my prayer life and my engagement with Scripture or the Sacraments, for example. 

If I were to push this answer further, I would need to discuss the innumerable and consistent choices Jesus made for the Kingdom of God in the face of empire and culture, the way he asserted and allowed the revelation of God's sovereignty in everything he said and did, even though it got him crucified. After all, I am his disciple! I would need to discuss the Church's teaching on social justice, the Biblical admonitions to love our neighbor as ourselves, the call to make neighbors of the alien and friends of neighbors, and so forth. Eremitical solitude does not allow misanthropy or quietism. It is a commitment to love, first God and then all that God loves in the way God loves it. After all, eremitism is about a commitment to journey with God through the whole of one's life to greater and greater union with God. This is the essence of the Christian notion of authentic humanity. How can one do that while completely turning one's back on the very things God loves and is acting to love into wholeness? So, engagement, yes. Enmeshment, no. That's how I (begin to) think about these things.

What I say to other hermits (i.e., consecrated hermits with canonical vows, and thus, public ecclesial commitments that are binding in law and recognized in civil law as well) is to consider these points and act in good conscience. I cannot say that what I choose is the right thing for every hermit discerning what God is calling them to, but I can say that it is what God calls me to for several substantive reasons. Neither I nor other hermits can live our lives with integrity and compromise our eremitical vocations. At the same time, the meanings of the constitutive elements of the c 603 vocation are more flexible and often richer than stereotypes or common misconceptions allow for. For those hermits who are not bound by legitimate public (canonical) commitments beyond those of baptism (i.e., non-canonical or lay hermits), I would urge them to consider not just the points I have raised, but their baptismal promises, and, again, that they act in good conscience.