"Ephphatha!": Obedience as the Dynamic of Authentic Humanity (Reprise)

Yesterday's Gospel brought us face to face with who we are called to be, and with the results of the idolatry that occurs whenever we refuse that vocation. Both issues, vocation and true worship are rooted in the Scriptural notion of obedience, that is in the obligation which is our very nature, to hearken --- to listen and respond to God appropriately with our whole selves. When we are empowered to and respond with such obedience our very lives proclaim the Kingdom of God, not as some distant reality we are still merely waiting for, but as something at work in us here and now. In fact, when our lives are marked by this profound dynamic of obedience, today's readings remind us the reign of God cannot be hidden from others --- though its presence will be seen only with the eyes of faith.

In the Gospel, (Mark 7:31-37) A man who is deaf and also has a resultant speech impediment is brought by friends to Jesus; Jesus is begged to heal him. In what is an unusual process for Mark in its crude physicality (or for any of the Gospel writers), Jesus puts his fingers in the man's ears, and then, spitting on his fingers, touches the man's tongue. He looks up to heaven, groans, and says in Aramaic, "ephphatha!" (that is, "Be opened!"). Immediately the man is healed and "speaks plainly." Those who brought him to Jesus are astonished, joyful, and could not contain their need to proclaim Jesus and what he had done: "He has done all things well. He makes the deaf hear and the mute speak."

I am convinced that the deaf and "mute" man (for he is not really mute, but impeded from clear speech by his inability to hear) is a type of each of us, a symbol for the persons we are and for the vocation we are each called to. Theologians speak of human beings as "language events." We are called to be by God, conceived from and an expression of the love of two people for one another, named so that we have the capacity for personal presence in the world and may be personally addressed by others, and we are shaped for good or ill, for wholeness or woundedness, by every word which is addressed to us. Language is the means and symbol of our capacity for relationship and transcendence.

Consider how it is that vocabulary of all sorts opens various worlds to us and makes the whole of the cosmos our own to understand, wonder at, and render more or less articulate; consider how a lack of vocabulary whether affective, theological, scientific, mathematical, psychological, etc, can cripple us and distance us from effectively relating to various dimensions of human life including our own heart. Note, for instance that physicians have found that in any form of mental illness there is a corresponding dimension of difficulty with or dysfunction of language. Consider the very young child's wonderful (and often really annoying!) incessant questioning. There, with every single question and answer, language mediates transcendence (a veritable explosion of transcendence in fact!) and initiates the child further and further into the world of human community, knowledge, understanding, reflection, celebration, and commitment. Language marks us as essentially communal, fundamentally dependent upon others to call us beyond ourselves, essentially temporal AND transcendent, and, by virtue of our being imago dei, responsive and responsible (obedient) at the core of our existence.

One theologian (Gerhard Ebeling), in fact, notes that the most truly human thing about us is our addressiblity and our ability to address others. Addressibility includes and empowers responsiveness; that is, it has both receptive and expressive dimensions. It is the characteristically human form of language which creates community. It marks us as those whose coming to be is dependent upon the dynamic of obedience --- but also on the generosity of those who would address us and give us a place to stand as persons we cannot assume on our own. We spend our lives responsively -- coming (and often struggling) to attend to and embody or express more fully the deepest potentials within us in myriad ways and means.

But a lot can hinder this most foundational vocational accomplishment. Sometimes our own woundedness prevents the achievement of this goal to greater degrees. Sometimes we are not given the tools or education we need to develop this capacity. Sometimes, we are badly or ineffectually loved and rendered relatively deaf and "mute" in the process. Oftentimes we muddle the clarity of that expression through cowardice, ignorance, or even willful disregard. Our hearts, as I have noted here before, are dialogical realities. That is, they are the place where God bears witness to himself, the event marked in a defining way by God's continuing and creative address and our own embodied response. In every way our lives are either an expression of the Word or logos of God which glorifies (him), or they are, to whatever extent, a dishonoring lie and an evasion.




And so, faced with a man who is crippled in so many fundamental ways --- one, that is, for whom the world of community, knowledge, and celebration is largely closed by disability, Jesus prays to God, touches, and addresses the man directly, "Ephphatha!" ---Be thou opened!" It is the essence of what Christians refer to as salvation, the event in which a word of command and power heals the brokennesses which cripple and isolate, and which, by empowering obedience reconciles the man to himself, his God, his people and world. As a result of Jesus' Word, and in response, the man speaks plainly --- for the first time (potentially) transparent to himself and to those who know him; he is more truly a revelatory or language event, authentically human and capable through the grace of God of bringing others to the same humanity through direct response and address.

Our own coming to wholeness, to a full and clear articulation of our truest selves is a communal achievement. Even (or even especially) in the lives of hermits this has always been true insofar as solitude is NOT isolation, but is instead a form of communion marked by profound dependence on the Word of God and lived specifically for the salvation of others. In today's gospel friends bring the man to Jesus, Jesus prays to God before acting to heal him. The presence of friends is another sign not only of the man's nature as made-for-communion and the fact that none of us come to language (or, that is, to the essentially human capacity for responsiveness or obedience) alone, but similarly, of the deaf man's total inability to approach Jesus on his own. At the same time, Jesus takes the man aside and what happens to him in this encounter is thus signalled to be profoundly personal, intimate, and beyond the merely evident. Friends are necessary, but at bottom, the ultimate healing and humanizing encounter can only happen between the deaf man and Christ.

In each of our lives there is deafness and "muteness" or inarticulateness. So many things are unheard by us, fail to touch or resonate in our hearts. So many things call forth embittered and cynical reactions which wound and isolate when what is needed is a response of genuine compassion and welcoming. Similarly, so many things render us speechless: bereavement, illness, ignorance, personal woundedness, etc. As a result we live our commitments half-heartedly, our loves guardedly, our joys tentatively, our pains self-consciously and noisily --- but helplessly and without meaning in ways which do not edify --- and in all these ways therefore, we are less human, less articulate, less the obedient or responsive language event we are called to be.  To each of us, then, and in whatever way or degree we need, Jesus says, "EPHPHATHA!" "Be thou opened!" He sighs in compassion and desire, unites himself with his Father in the power of the Holy Spirit, and touches us with his own hands and spittle.

May we each allow ourselves to be brought to Jesus for healing. May we be broken open and rendered responsive and transparent by his powerful Word of command and authority. Especially, may we each become the clear gospel-founded words of joy and hope in a world marked extensively and profoundly by deafness and the helplessness and despair of noisy inarticulateness.

LCWR Assembly: An Example of Waiting on the Lord

In reflecting on what was achieved at the LCWR assembly this last week I was reminded of a piece I wrote some time ago on the parable of the foolish (and wise!) virgins. In that piece I noted that the foolish virgins had failed, but they had failed because they had ceased being women who actively waited for the future coming of the Bridegroom. I noted: [[If I am correct about this it opens the way to understanding "waiting" -- and particularly waiting for the Lord -- as something tremendously active and demanding, not passive or lacking in challenge. I suspect it is also something most of us are not very good at, especially in terms of the coming of the Lord! So what does waiting mean and involve? According to today's parable waiting involves the orientation of our whole selves towards a reality which is still to be fulfilled in some way. It means the ordering of our lives in terms of promise, not merely of possibility, and it means the constant reordering of our lives accordingly as time goes on. Waiting involves the acceptance of both presence and absence, reality and unreality, already and not yet, and the subordination of our lives to the dynamics these poles point to or define.]]

Recently we have seen a striking example of women religious who epitomize the capacity to wait on the Lord and who show us what a challenging, active, prayerful, demanding reality it is. There is very little pure passivity or "quietism" about it (obedience is never merely passive), but it is a non-violent way of approaching reality, a way which takes responsibility for both present and future without attempting to coerce or control them. These women's lamps are full of oil because over the past decades they have filled and refilled them with their eyes on the one who is present and who is also to come in fullness. They have learned to act in the awareness and patience brought by hope, in a consciousness of the promise present within reality, and oriented towards the future while remaining fully committed to (not enmeshed in) the present.

Media expected a clash between the condemnation of the CDF and the pain, disappointment, confusion, and strength of the LCWR this last week. It did not come. They expected either an act of rebellion or of submissive and demeaning capitulation. Neither of these came, nor would they have been appropriate in Christ's own Church. Instead the LCWR prayed, discussed, and acted in precisely the way they have been formed to do from decades of prayer and the practice of non-violent communication. Some commentators described what they saw as similar to a judo encounter where one uses the force of one's opponent against them. Others spoke of the Sisters absorbing the force of the action taken against them and transforming it into something more positive.

Both images are good, though I prefer the second. Both demonstrate a kind of counter-intuitive, counter-cultural way of dealing with force or coercion. Jesus' knew this way intimately and referred to it when he asked his followers to 1) willingly take up the gear of the Roman soldier trying to commandeer them and 2) walk an extra mile with him. In such a scenario the Roman soldier would have ceased to hold a superior position and been required to ask his "servant" to cease his activity --- unless, of course, the two walked on together as equals in a mutual journey. (Roman soldiers could not require a person to go more than a mile and would have been guilty of breaking the law had he done so. The one being pressed into service assumes the role of equal or even superior in freely "going the extra mile.") And of course, we know that acting freely, generously, even in situations we would not have chosen transforms the entire situation from one of bondage and oppression to one of freedom and empowerment.

As I have written before, a similar dynamic is at work in Jesus' request of the one struck (backhanded) on one cheek --- as inferiors were always struck in Jesus' day --- to turn the other cheek to the one assaulting them. This meant requiring the one who had struck out to strike again with the front of their hand ---- something only done to equals. The alternative, of course, was for the one who had struck "his inferior" to refuse to strike again and to walk away. In either case the one struck assumes the place of an equal and demonstrates that justice is not accomplished by force. Jesus' asks us to do justice, but to do it in ways which are counter-cultural and invites those who would use force to simply walk in brotherhood with the other. The same is true when Jesus asks us to accept our part in his ministry of reconciliation, to be simple as doves and shrewd as serpents in this work, to commit to the kinds of death real life requires of us, and to participate in his passion so that our world may be transformed by him.

Waiting, especially waiting on the Lord, does not mean doing nothing. It means acting in ways which give the Lord a chance to act in power. It means acting in ways which allows life to grow where only death is seen to be operative. Waiting on the Lord means cultivating a mode and mood of listening, of openness and of hope (not wishfulness!). It really does mean being gentle as doves and shrewd as serpents --- because as we all know, real strength is gentle and demands the simplicity of a cultivated intelligence. It can disarm those who desire instead to control and overpower and certainly it will confound those who only expect a worldly way of handling conflict and disagreement. Finally, it will help transform structures of inequity and coercion into a reality more nearly that of the Kingdom of God.

The LCWR was told that they were to be involved in a collaborative process with the CDF. At the same time they are being required to submit to certain demands in order to achieve reforms, some of which have yet to be clarified by the CDF. The tension between these two elements, collaboration and constraint, can only be maintained without surrendering one's integrity if both sides are genuinely open to the other and to God in a way which models Jesus' own openness and obedience. If both can do this the reform involved will affect the entire church, not just the LCWR. If both can really allow this process to be the collaborative process the CDF called for we will see a hierarchy whose authority is made more credible than an authority of coercion and control can ever be except in entirely worldly terms. The LCWR has begun well and with the wisdom of the wise virgins in Jesus' parable.  We pray they will continue in the same way. Archbishop Peter Sartain has responded in ways which indicate his own commitment to a process which is radically Christian, profoundly Catholic, truly authoritative, and which therefore respects the time, patience, and collaboration "waiting on the Lord" requires. Let us hope that indication continues to be true of his part in this process over time.

The Feast of the Transfiguration and the Story of the Invisible Gorilla

Transfiguration by Lewis Bowman

Have you ever been walking along a well-known road and suddenly had a bed of flowers take on a vividness which takes your breath away? Similarly, have you ever been walking along or sitting quietly outside when a breeze rustles some leaves above your head and you were struck by an image of the Spirit moving through the world? I have had both happen, and, in the face of God's constant presence, what is in some ways more striking is how infrequent such peak moments are.

Scientists tell us we see only a fraction of what goes on all around us. It depends upon our expectations. In an experiment with six volunteers divided into two teams in either white or black shirts, observers were asked to concentrate on the number of passes of a basketball that occurred as players wove in and out around one another. In the midst of this activity a woman in a gorilla suit strolls through, stands there for a moment, thumps her chest, and moves on. At the end of the experiment observers were asked two questions: 1) how many passes were there, and 2) did you see the gorilla? Fewer than 50% saw the gorilla. Expectations drive perception and can produce blindness. Even more shocking, these scientists tell us that even when we are confronted with the truth we are more likely to insist on our own "knowledge" and justify decisions we have made on the basis of blindness and ignorance. We routinely overestimate our own knowledge and fail to see how much we really do NOT know.

For the past two weeks we have been reading the central chapter of Matthew's Gospel --- the chapter that stands right smack in the middle of his version of the Good News. It is Matt's collection of Jesus' parables --- the stories Jesus tells to help break us open and free us from the common expectations, perspectives, and wisdom we hang onto so securely so that we might commit to the Kingdom of God and the vision of reality it involves. Throughout this collection of parables Jesus takes the common, too-well-known, often underestimated and unappreciated bits of reality which are right at the heart of his hearers' lives. He uses them to reveal the extraordinary God who is also right there in front of his hearers. Stories of tiny seeds, apparently completely invisible once they have been tossed about by a prodigal sower, clay made into works of great artistry and function, weeds and wheat which reveal a discerning love and judgment which involves the careful and sensitive harvesting of the true and genuine --- all of these and more have given us the space and time to suspend our usual ways of seeing and empower us to adopt the new eyes and hearts of those who dwell within the Kingdom of God.

It was the recognition of the unique authority with which Jesus taught, the power of his parables in particular which shifted the focus from the stories to the storyteller in the Gospel passage we heard last Friday. Jesus' family and neighbors did not miss the unique nature of Jesus' parables; these parables differ in kind from anything in Jewish literature and had a singular power which went beyond the usual significant power of narrative. They saw this clearly. But they also refused to believe the God who revealed himself in the commonplace reality they saw right in front of them. Despite the authority they could not deny they chose to see only the one they expected to see; they decided they saw only the son of Mary, the son of Joseph and "took offense at him." Their minds and hearts were closed to who Jesus really was and the God he revealed. Similarly, Jesus' disciples too could not really accept an anointed one who would have to suffer and die. Peter especially refuses to accept this.

It is in the face of these situations that we hear today's Gospel of the Transfiguration. Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up on a mountain apart. He takes them away from the world they know (or believe they know) so well, away from peers, away from their ordinary perspective, and he invites them to see who he really is. In the Gospel of Luke Jesus' is at prayer --- attending to the most fundamental relationship of his life --- when the Transfiguration occurs. Matthew does not structure his account in the same way. Instead he shows Jesus as the one whose life is a profound dialogue with God's law and prophets, who is in fact the culmination and fulfillment of the Law and the Prophets, the culmination of the Divine-Human dialogue we call covenant. He is God-with-us in the unexpected and even unacceptable place. This is what the disciples see --- not so much a foretelling of Jesus' future glory as the reality which stands right in front of them --- if only they had the eyes to see.

For most of us, such an event would freeze us in our tracks with awe. But not Peter! He outlines a project to reprise the Feast of Tabernacles right here and now. In this story Peter reminds me some of those folks (myself included!) who want so desperately to hang onto amazing prayer experiences --- but in doing so, fail to appreciate them fully or live from them! He is, in some ways, a kind of lovable but misguided buffoon ready to build booths for Moses, Elijah and Jesus, consistent with his tradition while neglecting the newness and personal challenge of what has been revealed. In some way Matt does not spell out explicitly, Peter has still missed the point. And in the midst of Peter's well-meaning activism comes God's voice, "This is my beloved Son. Listen to him!" In my reflection on this reading this last weekend, I heard something more: "Peter! Sit down! Shut up! This is my beloved Son! Listen to him!!!"

The lesson could not be clearer, I think. In this day where the Church is conflicted and some authority seems incredible, we must take the time to see what is right in front of us. We must listen to the One who comes to us in the Scriptures and Sacraments, the One who speaks to us through Bishops and all believers. We must really be the People of God, the "hearers of the Word" who know how to listen and are obedient in the way God summons us to be. This is true whether we are God's lowliest hermit or one of the Vicars of Christ who govern our dioceses and college of Bishops. Genuine authority coupled with true obedience empowers new life, new vision, new perspectives and reverence for the ordinary reality God makes Sacramental. There is a humility involved in all of this. It is the humility of the truly wise, the truly knowing person. We must be able to recognize how very little we see, how unwilling we are to be converted to the perspective of the Kingdom, how easily we justify our blindness and deafness with our supposed knowledge, and how even our well-intentioned activism can prevent us from seeing and hearing the unexpected, sometimes scandalous God standing there right in the middle of our reality.

Diocesan Hermit: a Risky Commitment?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On Spiritual Direction and Individual Responsibility

[[Dear Sister Laurel,

Peace Be with You. You stated that a director does not make the decision about whether a person has a vocation or not, he or she simply helps the person discerning to make a decision. That is an incredibly important distinction. It is easy to get the impression that a director is making a decision and you have no choice. I appreciate that you brought that out. Even in a religious order, that decision must be the decision of the person discerning, is that correct? Of course, a person is free to simply flip a coin or peremptorily decide by ignoring all advice.]]

Yes, it is an important distinction. The role of the spiritual director is not that of a superior or quasi-superior (c 603's "delegate") whom one owes obedience in the usual sense of that term. A director accompanies one in their own spiritual journey and helps one hear and clarify how God is speaking and working in her life. The hearing and clarifying must ultimately come from the one being directed --- and so do whatever decisions stem from these. In my own work, I will help a directee work through the things that may prevent them from hearing clearly as best as we are capable --- usually this means working through various forms of woundedness, bias, etc --- but the decisions are their own and will be made no matter the degree of ability to hear or not hear clearly that still exists at the time the decision must be made.

In regard to religious communities remember that a person will work with a spiritual director (usually someone outside the congregation), but they also work in a different way with formation people who do have some say regarding whether the person has a vocation to this particular congregation. A person who goes through initial formation (candidacy or postulancy, novitiate, juniorate) will, at each stage, petition the congregation to admit them to the next stage of discernment and formation based on their own discernment that they are called to follow Christ in this way. Finally they will petition to be admitted to perpetual or solemn vows. At each stage the community and/or congregation has a say in the matter, just as occurs with any ecclesial vocation. Spiritual directors may be asked for a recommendation, but in my own experience this does not (and cannot) rise to the level of saying the person has a vocation or not. Instead the director will speak of the person's growth, faithfulness to prayer and other spiritual practices, etc. These are ordinarily demonstrable aspects of the person's life. The point, however, is that the person petitioning must have come to the conclusion that God is calling her in this way and must therefore be open to hearing from her congregation, diocese, etc, that they concur in this discernment or not.

In spiritual direction it is not unusual to find persons who believe (or deeply desire that) their director will be the one making the decisions. Some speak as though they owe their directors obedience beyond a mutual obligation to listen attentively and respond appropriately. Some directees actually cannot seem to make a decision without seeing what their director recommends. (This problem becomes worse if encouraged by the director.) In one case dealing with the question of vocation I have heard a person speaking of seeing what her director desires her to do with regard to public vows and then acting on that. She spoke this way although affirming a number of times over the period of three years or so that she did not personally feel called to this vocation but would do what her director willed in this matter. The problems that stem from such an approach are serious and complex --- as is always the case when a person renounces personal responsibility.

At least as problematical is the director who takes on some sort of commitment to obedience with regard to a lay person who is not publicly vowed to obedience. (For that matter it is a problem when a director does this with a religious who IS vowed to obedience to LEGITIMATE superiors. A director is NOT a legitimate superior.) When a director acts in this way they ordinarily are acting unprofessionally --- at least according to contemporary models of professional conduct and ethics in spiritual direction. Since lay persons are not bound by vow, do not have the canonical and other legal protections which obtain in such cases, and in fact do not know what religious obedience does and does not mean, it does a serious disservice to them.

The relationship often infantilizes the directee in such cases and more often than not, the directee abdicates (and believes she is meant to abdicate) her responsibility to discern the will of God herself by accepting that somehow this director "speaks the will of God" directly. I personally know and have worked with very gifted directors; none of them presume to speak in such a way to clients (or for God!) --- nor even to know, except in a general way, what the will of God is in a client's life. (By this I mean they know clearly that God wills the abundant life, personal wholeness, and holiness of their client, and they will have a sense of what this might entail in given circumstances, but usually cannot speak more directly to the idea of vocation, etc.)

Vocations are personal matters and a person cannot live a vocation if they cannot even hear the call. The reason is simple. Living a vocation is a matter of responding to the continuing call of God on an ongoing day-by-day basis. One cannot respond to what one does not hear. In the case of ecclesial vocations which are mutually discerned and mediated by the church (via legitimate superiors, etc) as well as via the person's own heart and mind, there is still always a very strong emphasis on personal discernment, freedom, and responsibility. This is true whether one lives as a hermit or in community. In either case we are dealing with individuals who must be able to hear, take joy in, and respond as generously as possible to a call which is their very own and sounds in the very core of their being. The vocation will shape them, of course, but they will also shape the vocation (and the congregation or monastery) by the quality of their response.

Followup Questions: On Formation as a Lay Hermit

[[Hi Sister Laurel, I understand why you insist one should live as a lay hermit for some time before approaching a diocese to be publicly professed as diocesan. I hear you saying Lay eremitical life serves as the usual formative and discernment framework for any call to [solitary] eremitical life. But how does one determine and get the formation necessary to live as a lay hermit? Is the diocese's advice you referred to, "Just go live in solitude; it's all you need?" really sound advice? Is it really all one needs or is this the diocese's way to shunt a person off and not take them seriously?]]

Great questions. Yes, you clearly heard what I have said recently and have written here in the past as well. Living as a lay hermit is the most common way to discover and discern the shape of a vocation to solitary eremitical life. It is therefore also the usual state against which one must weigh any possible call to diocesan eremitical life. The other main way is by entering a community or monastery and, over time, determining that despite being called to the consecrated state one requires more solitude than this context provides. Even if this is true and one has lived as a religious for 25 years or more, one is not yet a hermit. The essential truth is that hermits are formed in solitude. There really is no other way. Lay eremitical life is the usual way one is formed in the life. But within solitude what helps with formation?

Eremitical life involves prayer, penance, study, lectio divina, and manual and (for many of us) intellectual labor done within the context (and for the sake of) of the silence of solitude. Formation in the life then includes formation in all of these things. Work with one's spiritual director can assist with prayer (and in learning and discerning all the various forms of prayer to which one might be called), penance, as well as with lectio divina. The director will maintain the focus on God's own voice within our lives, but she will be sure we recognize this voice in all the ways it calls us to wholeness, as well as all the ways it summons us to more abundant life in Christ. This is really the heart of one's formative work since it is through prayer, lectio, and the resulting inner work these require, that we really become persons who listen to the Word of God and allow it to be our constant companion, counterpart, center, and challenge(r).

However, one will also read about these things and doing so will allow one to be taught by authors one will likely never meet otherwise. This reading does not replace prayer, penance, lectio, or the required inner work they call us to, of course, but it will support them. If one is going to be doing intellectual work (theological, psychological, historical, sociological, etc) one will need an academic grounding in whatever discipline one will want to pursue. This is meant to provide not advanced degrees (though it's fine if you can get them), but a strong background which supports continuing well-directed solitary reading, research, and reflection. If one is lucky one will find mentors within the field who will help direct one's reading and writing. All of this is formative --- not least in the self-discipline and inner directedness required to live the eremitical life with integrity --- and it is a formation which will continue as an ongoing need and responsibility for the rest of one's life.

There are a few pertinent areas a lay hermit will read regularly in including, the desert Fathers and Mothers, the history of eremitical life (including contemporary eremitical life), contemplative prayer, Scripture (including contemporary commentaries, books of homilies, etc), desert spirituality more generally, the evangelical counsels (important whether one lives these as a lay Christian or a vowed hermit), theology, monastic life -- its history and values, etc. Any specialized areas of interest, including those having to do with her work, will also be included in the hermit's bibliography. While these general areas of reading will apply to most serious hermits, the ways each one will specifically go within them -- the focus one will take at any given time -- is entirely up to what one determines one is called to. If one wants to take formal courses in monastic life under recognized specialists, these can be done online for very reasonable tuition. One should probably consider doing some work in theology in a Master catechist program, etc or online if one can. (Some dioceses require a Master Catechist's certificate for those aspiring to diocesan eremitical life just to be sure they have a minimum of theological grounding.) Meanwhile, any specialized areas of interest, including those having to do with her work, will also be included in the hermit's bibliography.

Your last questions regarding the diocese's response about "just living in solitude" are excellent and perceptive. Even so, while it is true that dioceses sometimes don't believe in or esteem eremitical life, have no intention of professing diocesan hermits under Canon 603, and sometimes use this line about "Just go(ing) and liv(ing) in solitude; it's all you need" as a way of shunting the person's petition aside, this is not, I don't think, the usual reason one hears this advice. Instead it is often given to those who have not lived as a hermit at all (merely living alone is not the same thing!), much less for any length of time, and who may tend to believe the diocese will make them into hermits by putting them through some formal formation program with recognizable stages and public recognition for those accomplishing those stages. In such cases the dioceses that use this line are really saying, "Go, live in solitude and see if solitude is what God is calling you to for the rest of your life. We cannot form you as a hermit; only God in solitude can do that, so if you feel called to the silence of solitude, go and live it out." This is advice the desert Abbas and Ammas would have also given, "Just dwell in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything."

So long as the diocese is not simply dismissing the person in this way, and is being honest with them, the advice is sound. So long as this advice includes the requirement of regular spiritual direction with a qualified person, and allows for followup appointments with someone in the chancery the advice is sound. So long as the time one is asked to wait for more formal consideration is not more than several years and is at least loosely (but really) supervised, then the advice is sound. Finally, so long as the diocese will engage in serious and formal discernment of the person's petition for profession under Canon 603 if they persevere in this way for several years, then yes, the advice is far more than just shunting the person aside. It reflects the Church's wisdom on how it is any person comes to know a call to eremitical life, namely by living it and trying to persevere in it with God's help.

[[When you say that formation takes place in solitude, does this preclude spiritual direction, mentoring and other forms of personal work?]]

Not at all. As I have already written it includes these things in significant measure. However, the work of spiritual direction mainly takes place apart from the meeting with one's director. One prepares for these meetings and follows up on them with the kind of writing, journaling, prayer, reflection, reading, etc that the meeting points up the need for. In one's struggles within solitude one comes into contact with all of the false, distorted, and inauthentic parts of oneself. One meets face to face those characteristics which come from woundedness, sin, etc, and require healing and conversion. While these things may require the assistance of directors, physicians, etc, the work remains mainly done in solitude where one battles things out alone with God as one's only immediate companion and support. Mentoring is similar. The one being mentored may write or otherwise talk to the mentor about difficulties she is having and the mentor may make suggestions on ways to approach these areas, but the doing of it is up to the one being mentored to accomplish in the silence of solitude.

As I have written recently, my own life was especially blessed with people who assisted me in working through the things I needed to work through, but they could not do this work for me. Certainly they could and did meet with me regularly (and in some instances still do!) but I would never have become a hermit, much less a diocesan hermit, without the capacity to internalize and process in solitude what those meetings raised or revealed --- both the divine and the human realities this involved! Some have the mistaken idea that obedience means mainly doing as one is told, but actually, it is an attitude towards reality which one cultivates --- an attitude of active and respectful listening and engagement where one meets and comes to terms with truth as well as coming to love its source and all those who reflect it in even the slightest way. Learning this kind of obedience requires assistance usually, even if the majority of the cultivating occurs in the silence of solitude.

I hope this helps!

"Ephphatha!": Obedience as the Dynamic of Authentic Humanity

Tomorrow's lections bring us face to face with who we are called to be, and with the results of the idolatry that occurs whenever we refuse that vocation. Both issues, vocation and true worship are rooted in the Scriptural notion of obedience, that is in the obligation which is our very nature, to hearken --- to listen and respond to God appropriately with our whole selves. When we are empowered to and respond with such obedience our very lives proclaim the Kingdom of God, not as some distant reality we are still merely waiting for, but as something at work in us here and now. In fact, when our lives are marked by this profound dynamic of obedience, today's readings remind us the reign of God cannot be hidden from others --- though its presence will be seen only with the eyes of faith.

In the Gospel, (Mark 7:31-37) A man who is deaf and also has a resultant speech impediment is brought by friends to Jesus; Jesus is begged to heal him. In what is an unusual process for Mark in its crude physicality (or for any of the Gospel writers), Jesus puts his fingers in the man's ears, and then, spitting on his fingers, touches the man's tongue. He looks up to heaven, groans, and says in Aramaic, "ephphatha!" (that is, "Be opened!"). Immediately the man is healed and "speaks plainly." Those who brought him to Jesus are astonished, joyful, and could not contain their need to proclaim Jesus and what he had done: "He has done all things well. He makes the deaf hear and the mute speak."

I am convinced that the deaf and "mute" man (for he is not really mute, but impeded from clear speech by his inability to hear) is a type of each of us, a symbol for the persons we are and for the vocation we are each called to. Theologians speak of human beings as "language events." We are called to be by God, conceived from and an expression of the love of two people for one another, named so that we have the capacity for personal presence in the world and may be personally addressed by others, and we are shaped for good or ill, for wholeness or woundedness, by every word which is addressed to us. Language is the means and symbol of our capacity for relationship and transcendence.

Consider how it is that vocabulary of all sorts opens various worlds to us and makes the whole of the cosmos our own to understand, wonder at, and render more or less articulate; consider how a lack of vocabulary whether affective, theological, scientific, mathematical, psychological, etc, can cripple us and distance us from effectively relating to various dimensions of human life including our own heart. Note, for instance that physicians have found that in any form of mental illness there is a corresponding dimension of difficulty with or dysfunction of language. Consider the very young child's wonderful (and often really annoying!) incessant questioning. There, with every single question and answer, language mediates transcendence (a veritable explosion of transcendence in fact!) and initiates the child further and further into the world of human community, knowledge, understanding, reflection, celebration, and commitment. Language marks us as essentially communal, fundamentally dependent upon others to call us beyond ourselves, essentially temporal AND transcendent, and, by virtue of our being imago dei, responsive and responsible (obedient) at the core of our existence.

One theologian (Gerhard Ebeling), in fact, notes that the most truly human thing about us is our addressiblity and our ability to address others. Addressibility includes and empowers responsiveness; that is, it has both receptive and expressive dimensions. It is the characteristically human form of language which creates community. It marks us as those whose coming to be is dependent upon the dynamic of obedience --- but also on the generosity of those who would address us and give us a place to stand as persons that we cannot assume on our own. We spend our lives responsively -- coming (and often struggling) to attend to and embody or express more fully the deepest potentials within us in myriad ways and means; we spend our lives calling others to this same embodiment and expression.

But a lot can hinder this most foundational vocational accomplishment. Sometimes our own woundedness prevents the achievement of this goal to greater degrees. Sometimes we are not given the tools or education we need to develop this capacity. Sometimes, we are badly or ineffectually loved and rendered relatively deaf and "mute" in the process. Oftentimes we muddle the clarity of that expression through cowardice, ignorance, or even willful disregard. Our hearts, as I have noted here before, are dialogical realities. That is, they are the place where God bears witness to himself, the event marked in a defining way by God's continuing and creative address and our own embodied response. In every way our lives are either an expression of the Word or logos of God which glorifies (him), or they are, to whatever extent, a dishonoring lie and an evasion.




And so, faced with a man who is crippled in so many fundamental ways --- one, that is, for whom the world of community, knowledge, and celebration is largely closed by disability, Jesus prays to God, touches, and addresses the man directly, "Ephphatha!" ---Be thou opened!" It is the essence of what Christians refer to as salvation, the event in which a word of command and power heals the brokennesses which cripple and isolate, and which, by empowering obedience reconciles the man to himself, his God, his people and world. As a result of Jesus' Word, and in response, the man speaks plainly --- for the first time (potentially) transparent to himself and to those who know him; he is more truly a revelatory or language event, authentically human and capable, through the grace of God, of bringing others to the same humanity through direct response and address.

Our own coming to wholeness, to a full and clear articulation of our truest selves is a communal achievement. Even (or even especially) in the lives of hermits this has always been true insofar as solitude is NOT isolation, but is instead a form of communion marked by profound dependence on the Word of God and lived specifically for the salvation of others. In today's gospel friends bring the man to Jesus, Jesus prays to God before acting to heal him. The presence of friends is another sign not only of the man's nature as made-for-communion and the fact that none of us come to language (or, that is, to the essentially human capacity for responsiveness or obedience) alone, but similarly, of the deaf man's total inability to approach Jesus on his own. At the same time, Jesus takes the man aside and what happens to him in this encounter is thus signalled to be profoundly personal, intimate, and beyond the merely evident. Friends are necessary, but at bottom, the ultimate healing and humanizing encounter can only happen between the deaf man and Christ.

In each of our lives there is deafness and "muteness" or inarticulateness. So many things are unheard by us, fail to touch or resonate in our hearts. So many things call forth embittered and cynical reactions which wound and isolate when what is needed is a response of genuine compassion and welcoming. Similarly, so many things render us speechless: bereavement, illness, ignorance, personal woundedness, etc. As a result we live our commitments half-heartedly, our loves guardedly, our joys tentatively, our pains self-consciously and noisily --- but helplessly and without meaning in ways which do not edify --- and in all these ways therefore, we are less human, less articulate, less the obedient or responsive language event we are called to be.

To each of us, then, and in whatever way or degree we need, Jesus says, "EPHPHATHA!" "Be thou opened!" He sighs in compassion and desire, unites himself with his Father in the power of the Holy Spirit, and touches us with his own hands and spittle. May we each allow ourselves to be brought to Jesus for healing. May we be broken open and rendered responsive and transparent by his powerful Word of command and authority. Especially, may we each become the clear gospel-founded words of joy in a world marked extensively and profoundly by deafness and the helplessness and despair of noisy inarticulateness.

Questions on Suffering and the Exaltation of the Cross

[[Could you write something about Sunday's feast of the Exaltation of the Cross? What is a truly healthy and yet deeply spiritual way to exalt the Cross in our personal lives, and in the world at large (that is, supporting those bearing their crosses while not supporting the evil that often causes the destruction and pain that our brothers and sisters are called to endure due to sinful social structures?]]

The above question which arrived by email was the result of reading some of my posts, mainly those on victim soul theology, the Pauline theology of the Cross, and some earlier ones having to do with the permissive will of God. For that reason my answer presupposes much of what I wrote in those and I will try not to be too repetitive. First of all, in answering the question, I think it is helpful to remember the alternative name of this feast, namely, the Triumph of the Cross. For me personally this is a "better" name, and yet, it is a deeply paradoxical one, just like its alternative.


(Crucifix in Ambo of Cathedral of Christ the Light; Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross, or Cathedral Sunday in the Diocese of Oakland)


How many times have we heard it suggested that Christians ought not wear crosses around their necks as jewelry any more than they should wear tiny images of electric chairs, medieval racks or other symbols of torture and death? Similarly, how many times has it been said that making jewelry of the cross trivializes what happened there? There is a great deal of truth in these objections, and in similar ones! On the one hand the cross points to the slaughter by torture of hundreds of thousands of people by an oppressive state. More individually it points to the slaughter by torture of an innocent man in order to appease a rowdy religious crowd by an individual of troubled but dishonest conscience, one who put "the supposed greater good" before the innocence of this single victim.

And of course there were collaborators in this slaughter: the religious establishment, disciples who were either too cowardly to stand up for their beliefs, or those who actively betrayed this man who had loved them and called them to a life of greater abundance (and personal risk) than they had ever known before. If we are going to appreciate the triumph of the cross, if we are going to exalt it as Christians do and should, then we cannot forget this aspect of it. Especially we cannot forget that much that happened here was NOT THE WILL OF GOD, nor that generally the perpetrators were not cooperating with that will! The cross was the triumph of God over sin and sinful godless death, but it was ALSO a sinful and godless human (and societal!) act of murder by torture. (In fact one could argue it was a true divine triumph ONLY because it was also these all-too-human things.) Both aspects exist in tension with each other, as they do in ALL of God's victories in our world. It is this tension our jewelry and other crucifixes embody: they are miniature instruments of torture, yes, but also symbols of God's ultimate triumph over the powers of sin and death with which humans are so intimately entangled and complicit.

In our own lives there are crosses, burdens which are the result of societal and personal sin which we must bear responsibly and creatively. That means not only that we cannot shirk them, but also that we bear them with all the asistance that God puts into our hands. Especially it means allowing God to assist us in the carrying of this cross. To really exalt the cross of Christ is to honor all that God did with and made of the very worst that human beings could do to another human being. To exult in our own personal crosses means, at the very least, to allow God to transform them with his presence. That is the way we truly exalt the Cross: we allow it to become the way in which God enters our lives, the passion that breaks us open, makes us completely vulnerable, and urges us to embrace or let God embrace us in a way which comforts, sustains, and even transfigures the whole face of our lives.

If we are able to do this, then the Cross does indeed triumph. Suffering does not. Pain does not. Neither will our lives be defined in terms of these things despite their very real presence. What I think needs to be especially clear is that the exaltation of the cross has to do with what was made possible in light of the combination of awful and humanly engineered torment, and the grace of God. Sin abounded but grace abounded all the more. Does this mean we invite suffering so that "grace may abound all the more?" Well, Paul's clear answer to that question was, "By no means!" How about tolerating suffering when we can do something about it? What about remaining in an abusive relationship, or refusing medical treatment which would ease mental and physical pain, for instance? Do we treat these as crosses we MUST bear? Do we allow ourselves to become complicit in the abuse or the destructive effects of pain and physical or mental illness? I think the general answer is no, of course not.

That means we must look for ways to allow God's grace to triumph, while the triumph of grace ALWAYS results in greater human freedom and authentic functioning. Discerning what is necessary and what will REALLY be an exaltation of the cross in our own lives means determining and acting on the ways freedom from bondage and more authentic humanity can be achieved. Ordinarily this will mean medical treatment; or it will mean moving out of the abusive situation. In ALL cases it means remaining open to and dependent upon God and to what he desires for our lives IN SPITE of the limitations and suffering inherent in them. This is what Jesus did, and what made his cross salvific. This openness and responsiveness to God and what he will do with our lives is, as I have said many times before, what the Scriptures called obedience. Let me be clear: the will of God in ANY situation is that we remain open to him and that authentic humanity be achieved. We MUST do whatever it is that allows us to not close off to God, and to remain open to growth AS HUMAN. If our pain dehumanizes, then we must act in ways which changes that. If our lives cease to reflect the grace of God (and this means fails to be a joyfilled, free, fruitful, loving, genuinely human life) then we must act in ways which change that.

The same is true in society more generally. We must act in ways which open others TO THE GRACE OF GOD. Yes, suffering does this, but this hardly means we simply tell people to pray, grin, and bear it ---- much less allow the oppressive structures to stay in place! As the gospels tell us, "the poor you will always have with you" but this hardly means doing nothing to relieve poverty! Similarly we will always have suffering with us on this side of death, and especially the suffering that comes when human beings institutionalize their own sinful drives and actions. What is essential is that the Cross of Christ is exalted, that the Cross of Christ triumphs in our lives and society, not simply that individual crosses remain or that we exalt them (especially when they are the result of human engineering and sin)! And, as I have written before, to allow Christ's Cross to triumph is to allow the grace of God to transform all the dark and meaningless places with his presence, light and love. It is ONLY in this way that we truly "make up for what is lacking in the passion of Christ."

The paradox in Sunday's Feast is that the exaltation of the Cross implies suffering, and stresses that the cross empowers the ability to suffer well, but at the same time points to a freedom the world cannot grant --- a freedom in which we both transcend and transform suffering because of a victory Christ has won over the powers of sin and death which are built right into our lives and in the structures of this world. Thus, we cannot ever collude with the powers of this world; we must always be sure we are acting in complicity with the grace of God instead. Sometimes this means accepting the suffering that comes our way (or encouraging and supporting others in doing so of course), but never for its own sake. If our (or their) suffering does not result in greater human authenticity, greater freedom from bondage, greater joy and true peace, then it is not suffering which exalts the Cross of Christ. If it does not in some way transform and subvert the structures of this world which oppress and destroy, then it does not express the triumph of Jesus' Cross, nor are we really participating in THAT Cross in embracing our own.

I am certain I have not completely answered your question, but for now this will need to suffice. My thanks for your patience. If you have other questions which can assist me to do a better job, I would very much appreciate them. Again, thanks for your emails.

Magnificat: On the song Which IS the Hermit

Theologians often think of the human being as a "word event," that is, we are responses to the words and being of others, crafted and shaped by those words and persons and creating ourselves (or being created) in response to reality around us. We can wander lost through the world, unformed and unknown, we can even impinge on others' lives without the dynamic of dialogue, or address and response, but it is only in response to another person's address that we actually have a personal place to stand, or that we come to be the persons we CAN be. More fundamentally, theologians recognize that we are each the answer or response to a divine word of address and summons spoken in the very core of our being. We speak of this reality variously: "God calls us by name to be"; "we have a vocation or call to authentic humanity"; "the human heart is, by definition, a theological reality and the place where God is active and effectively present in the core of our being", etc.

Of course, the definitive image of authentic humanity is Christ, Divine Word-made-flesh. Theologians reflect that each of us are called to be "Word made flesh" --- though not as definitively as that incarnation accomplished in the Christ Event, still with coherence and cogency, articulateness, truth, and power. Throughout our lives the incarnational word we are is shaped and formed, redacted and composed, in response to the Name or summons God speaks in the core of our being, and which ALSO comes to us (or is sympathetically sounded in us) in a variety of forms and intensities from without in the Scriptures, Sacraments, other people, nature, etc. And of course, it is also distorted and falsified by our own sinfulness, and by our defensive responses to the sinfulness and influence of others in our lives. While we are called to be joyful and coherent embodiments of the Word of God incarnated in our world, we are as often cries of anguish, snarls of anger, sobs of pain, and the lies of insecurity and defensiveness which so lead to the falsification of our being.

Ordinarily, of course, the responsive composition we each are is a mixture of true and false, real and unreal, coherent and incoherent, articulate and inarticulate, anguished and joyful. Only in Christ are we rendered more and more the response we are MEANT to be. And yet, deep within us God speaks the Name we are to embody, the vocational summons we are to incarnate in all of its uniqueness AS our own lives in this world. It is an unceasing, unremitting hallowing right at the core of who we are, and when we are truly in touch with this and truly responsive we become the Word event which God wills us to be. If, as Fr Robert Hale, OSB Cam, once remarked, it is true that "God sustains us as a singer sustains a note," then we are each called to become a song, a particular fiat witnessing to the grace (that is, the powerful presence) of God in our lives. God is the breath which sustains us moment by moment, and we are the song which embodies this breath.

The hermit's existence is paradigmatic of this reality. She really is called to be the song at the heart of the church. Birthed in silence and solitude, shaped by obedience to the Word and breath of God, exercised in the singing of psalms daily --the regular chanting or recitation of the divine Office, the reading of scripture both aloud and in silence, held in the heart of God and steeped in the formative rests of contemplative prayer and shaped by the stories of all those persons she holds in her own heart, the hermit moves day by day towards becoming the articulate and coherent expression of God's creative providence we recognize as a magnificat.

Of course, gestation and birth are both (or together) demanding, painful, and messy businesses. So is the composition of a truly responsive life. Those cries of anguish, snarls of anger, defensive lies, and sobs of pain we ALSO ARE, don't simply "go away" of themselves without the hard work of recognition and repentance. Healing, sanctification, and verification (making whole and true) is God's work in us, but it requires and involves our active cooperation. It is this dynamic that makes of the eremitical silence, solitude, prayer, and penance a therapeutic crucible or editor's desk where we are --- sometimes ruthlessly --- revised, redacted, and recreated. Evenso, at bottom eremitic life (indeed ALL christian life!) is a joy-filled reality; we incarnate the merciful love of God which heals and sanctifies, enlivens and sustains. We become a coherent articulation or expression of the breath and word of God spoken both in the core of ourselves, and in so many ways in our church and world. We ARE the songs which God sings in the heart of his church, magnificats of God's love and mercy sounding in (and out of) the silence of solitude.