Chosen to Clap and Cheer: Embracing the Future With Advent Gratitude

Last week in Advent: Shaping our Lives in Light of the Future I wrote that Advent is about embracing and preparing to embrace the future, and especially the future revelation of God rather than hanging onto the past as an adequate model of what will one day be. I reminded readers that our cosmos is an unfinished reality and that we are on the way to the day when Christ will "come to full stature" and God will be all in all. I also noted that theologians and exegetes today read the Genesis creation and fall narratives very differently than they once did --- not as pointing to a completed and perfected universe which then, through human disobedience or sin, fell from perfection, but instead to a perfected universe still coming to be.

Such a new reading does not leave human sinfulness out of the picture nor does it even change our definition of it much. It is still very much about an ungratefulness we link with disobedience and "falling short" of the reality God calls us to be and embrace in our loving, our stewardship of life in all of its forms and stages, and our worship of the One Creator God. Sin is still about substituting our own versions of God for the real One based on partial and fragmentary revelations and being "satisfied" with a religion whose focus is too much on the now-dead past while we resist (fail to entrust everything in faith to) the ever-surprising God who wills to make everything definitively new. Sin is about enmeshment in this passing world and its fragmentary vision; it shows itself in resistance to the coming Kingdom (the sovereignty and realm) of God which is already in our midst in a proleptic way and seeks to pervade and transfigure all we are and know. Sin is about a resistance or lack of openness to the qualitatively new and surprising (kainotes), the reality we know as eternal or absolute future; when we embrace or otherwise become enmeshed in that lack of openness we are left only with the world of transience and death. After all, sin and death, in all of their forms and degrees are precisely about a lack of future.

Today's readings from Isaiah and Matthew fit very well in underscoring these dynamics, both those of Advent and the futurity it inaugurates and celebrates, as well as of sin and its resistance to newness and future. Isaiah's language is classic for us. He reminds us that so long as we are disobedient to the Commandments of God we have no future; we will not prosper. I think today we need to hear the term "Commandments" as referring to those imperatives of gratefully loving, stewarding life, and worshiping God which are the keys to any futurity. Obedience is a matter of hearkening to these, that is, being open and attentive to them in all of the ways and places they come to us as we embrace whatever they call us to. Obedience is the responsive behavior of those who are grateful.

The Gospel lection tells a wonderful story of prophetic and messianic gifts of God (symbolized most fully by John the Baptist and Jesus of Nazareth) given freely to God's People --- only to be met with narrow minded criticism and hardhearted ingratitude. God is trying to do something new, trying to bring creation to fulfillment in a "New Creation" of freedom, holiness, and eternal life and human beings representing God's chosen people are resistant. Now John the Baptist himself had come to wonder if Jesus was really the Messiah John had prepared people for; things were looking bad for both John and Jesus and Jesus did seem to be pretty different than the One John had been proclaiming.

Jesus responded to John's questions by pointing to the things God was doing through him to give the blind and crippled a new and full future --- just as Isaiah had promised. Then Jesus uses the image of children engaged in petty bickering as they play games mimicking weddings and funerals. It is important to note that these are ordinarily the most joyful and poignant celebrations of life, love and the hope of a future grounded in God we know. Similarly funerals are those moments marking the terrible sadness and grief of sin and death in separation from God --- though they too may be transformed into celebrations of an eternal hope and future. Jesus reminds the adults listening to him that --- in something that was deadly serious --- God played them a dirge (called them to serious repentance and conversion) culminating in the prophet John and a wedding hymn in Jesus his Anointed One, but they resisted and rejected both. Instead, they criticized John as a crazy person, and called Jesus a drunkard and glutton. Theological arrogance, religious complacency (lukewarmness) or superiority, outright cynicism or hardheartedness --- whatever the roots of this ingratitude it gave no room at all to a faith (trust) that allowed God to do something new in and with our world.

Because Christmas and the exhaustive incarnation of God is, in some ways, not yet complete; because we look forward to the day when Christ will finally come to full stature (Paul to the Ephesians), both Isaiah and Matthew are urging us to adopt an attitude of gratitude and joyful openness to the God of Newness and the future we know as life in God. It is an attitude that contrasts radically with that of the children playing their games in today's gospel or of those rejecting Jesus and John and the Kingdom they inaugurate. Harold Buetow tells the following story which captures the childlike humility, excitement, gratitude, and openness we are to have in relation to the awesome Christmas drama of New Creation God is authoring right now in our lives and world.

[[Little Jimmie was trying out for a part in the school [Christmas] play. He'd set his heart on being in it though his mother feared he wouldn't be chosen. On the day when the parts were awarded, with some trepidation his mother went to collect him after school. Jimmie rushed up to her, eyes shining with pride and excitement: "Guess what, Mom," he shouted, and said, "I've been chosen to clap and cheer!"]]

I am especially struck by how really involved and aware, how truly attentive to and appreciative of the work occurring right in front of one one must be to "clap and cheer" (or to be raptly silent!) in ways which support and move the drama of God's will forward. Isn't this the attitude of praise and gratitude evident in God's followers all throughout the centuries? Isn't this the attitude merited by an unfinished universe moving mysteriously but inexorably toward the day when its Creator God will be all in all?  And isn't this the attitude of obedient anticipation Advent asks each of us to cultivate?

Story of Jimmie's call is from Harold Buetow's, Walk in the Light of the Lord, A Thought a Day for Advent and Christmastide, Alba House, 2004. (Friday, 2nd Week of Advent, p 40.)

"How Can Someone Pray all Day?"

[[Dear Sister Laurel, I have a simple question. How can someone pray all day long? I mean is that even natural or healthy? I know it sounds like I am insulting your vocation or something. I don't mean to but I can't even begin to imagine praying all day.]]

Over the past several years I have described prayer in several basic ways. I have written that prayer is God's own work or activity within us. I have said that we pray when we are open and attentive to this ongoing activity. Similarly, I have suggested that prayer is that event wherein the question we are is posed and completed by the answer God is (though as I think about it, that is also not a bad description of redemption);  I have written about the human heart and what it means that we achieve singleness of heart where heart is that personal center wherein God bears witness to Godself.  In all of this I have said that human beings are dialogical by their very nature (just as the Trinity is a dialogical reality) and that prayer is an expression of this just as it is the expression of covenantal existence --- that existence in and with God we are all called to. 

In doing this I hope that one thing I have indicated is that many different activities can be truly prayerful or qualify as prayer. One has to be able to listen to one's own heart (again, where God dwells and speaks himself) and to the voice or Word of God as it comes to one from outside oneself. Deep speaks to deep. One learns to do this and does it in a privileged way in quiet prayer, lectio divina, journaling, praying Office (which builds on psalms, readings and canticles that both speak to and allow one to pour out one's own heart), etc. But beyond these things almost any activity can become prayer. As I think I have written before, some of my most profound prayer experiences have occurred as I enjoyed a hot cup of tea, washed dishes,  folded laundry, or took a walk. Conversations with friends can be profoundly prayerful as can meal times. The key in all of these is that we learn to listen both to and with our hearts and that we eschew distractions as much as we can or as is healthy for us. (Here I mean eschewing choosing those things which serve to distract us from the hard work of attending to reality; I am not referring to distractions that occur during prayer itself.)

Note well that I am not speaking of saying prayers all day long. These can certainly be helpful in listening to and expressing our own hearts, but they can also be a source of actual distraction and mere busyness.Thus, for instance, I don't pray more than three or four of the hours of the Liturgy of the Hours during a day because doing so is often more distracting and fragmenting than it is helpful to me in coming to pray my entire day. Nor do I simply fill my time with "saying prayers" instead of praying a pretty ordinary life. 

On the other hand, let's say I am out of the hermitage and the environment is noisy and distracting.  One of the things I do is to pray with regard to the people and events all around me. Here I ordinarily use beads and something like the Jesus prayer or the Hail Mary to help me as I look briefly at the folks nearby (say, on the train with me or in the doctor's waiting room) and pray for them.  Here rote prayers are really helpful in maintaining a connection between inner and outer dimensions of my attention. They help shape my attentiveness to others into something compassionate and generous rather than merely curious and distracted. The same is true when I am feeling distracted within the hermitage; then rote prayers serve as a means of maintaining focus and direction in my day. They also remind me of my own poverty in prayer, not only because of my own tendency to distraction per se, but because these words are "borrowed" from others and are a help when I am unable to pray otherwise.

How healthy or natural is all this? Given my understanding of the nature of the human person and especially of their relationship with and relatedness to God, prayer is the most natural activity we can undertake. I don't think that saying prayers all day is necessarily particularly healthy but praying our lives, doing all things together with and in God is both healthy and holy-making (because these two things are really one). Allowing our lives to be prayer means becoming truly or authentically human. It means becoming the dialogical realities real human beings always are --- both because of  and through our fundamental dialogue with God and because of and through our dialogue with others and the created world around us. We are made for this kind of life. It is essentially contemplative and serves as the the foundation of a compassionate life in which we can truly give ourselves to others and work towards the fulfillment of creation in justice. 

My question to you then is can you imagine living a life which is geared toward listening and responding to and from your own heart? Can you imagine allowing your heart to become "pure" or "single" in this way --- a single, focused, and compassionate "hearkening" to reality? Can you imagine living a life which is geared toward a love which does justice, that is, a love which makes all things right and brings them to completion or fulfillment? Do these things seem healthy to you? Desirable? If you say yes to these questions then you have affirmed what I describe as a prayerful life --- an essentially contemplative life in fact. If you add to these the affirmation that such a life requires one to spend time consciously listening and responding to the Love-in-act (God!) which is the source and ground of existence, and that one must do so daily as a very high priority in order to live  in the ways you have already affirmed to be healthy and desirable, then you have confirmed the place of a life of prayer as well  --- the very life whose naturalness and healthiness you questioned at the beginning of this post. Of course such a life is not nearly as common as a life of distraction and dissipation but I sincerely believe that it is upon such lives that our own authenticity and the future of our world depends.

Hermits and Loneliness

[[Sister Laurel, I have read your post on loneliness and the eremitic lifestyle and it was focused on whether or not loneliness might indicate a calling to be a hermit. I understand what you said in the post about loneliness possibly being an indicator that one should look inward for the cause of the loneliness. My question pertains to loneliness once you have become a hermit. I imagine that you at times feel lonely and I am interested in learning about what you do when you feel that way.]]

Thanks for the question. Yes, I do occasionally feel lonely, but as I have explained in the past it is rarely a malignant kind of loneliness. Instead, it usually happens when I experience something in prayer I would like to share, or read something I am excited about and would likewise desire to share and explore with someone, but cannot. One of the most powerful experiences I have had this year is that of several days away from the hermitage where, in the mornings I sat writing while another Sister did her own work at the other end of the table. We rarely spoke, but we were free to do so, and the experience of shared solitude was simply excellent! I was surprised at the period of transition which occurred when I returned to the hermitage --- brief though it was. I felt loneliness then. I am happy in solitude, no doubt about it, but at the same time I honor and appreciate experiences which remind me of what it means to live otherwise.

Loneliness, despite what some non-hermits say about hermits never feeling such, is simply a normal reaction to the absence of human company, and this can mean the absence of various degrees or types of intimacy. Often this means missing someone in particular --- someone who shares the same values, for instance, who invariably makes me laugh --- especially at myself, who struggles with prayer in some of the same ways I do, who challenges me theologically and personally, or whose smile I simply miss seeing, etc. As often it means wondering how someone is doing and bringing them to prayer. However, it can also include transitional times when prayer moves from being consoling to times when it is dry, for instance, or when I feel the need for a simple hug so that even though I am certain of God's presence, I can also feel loneliness.

Simple loneliness does not need anything done about it ordinarily --- except to note it, perhaps, and to bring it to prayer. I try to use it as an occasion to thank God for whatever led to it (the thing read or experienced, for instance, or the people who are present in my life whom I miss --- or my vocation itself, of course). With simple loneliness, I maintain my horarium, pray as I am called, write, study, work, and recreate as usual. I do note in my journal the feeling and the context of the experience; I also record anything I know about what triggered it or might be part of it in case down the line this turns out to be something more than simple loneliness, or in case a pattern emerges (recurrent periods of loneliness triggered by the same situation or occurring in the same context, for instance). Sometimes this will lead immediately to more personal (inner) work than anticipated, but most often it does not. Sometimes I will send out an email to a friend or write them a letter. This can mean setting up some time in the next couple of weeks or so when we can see each other or just spend some time talking. If we meet it will usually be for Mass, coffee, a walk, even dinner, but it can (as a clear exception) mean a day out to see an exhibit at a museum, or an afternoon out to hear a concert, etc. Most often though, it means just touching base enough to help me get in touch with the gratitude I feel for this person as gift, and really, for the whole of my life.

But some "loneliness" is more than "simple loneliness". It can include anxiety, depression, profound sadness and senses of isolation, meaninglessness, a need for affirmation or validation, self-pity, anger, etc. I suspect that many times what we call loneliness is not really that at all, but some of these other things along with whatever is their source. Too often we call this loneliness because there is simply no one around to distract us from it, and no way to fill the need, for instance. But many times being with someone is not the solution here, and so, loneliness is not what we are actually dealing with --- at least not fundamentally. In any case, when loneliness hangs in or is complicated by any of the above feelings then, at least for the hermit, it demands attention with the help of one's director. One really needs to talk things over with someone who knows one well, and can see things from a fresh perspective. This is especially true if one has been journaling right along and using all the tools one has at one's disposal, but is still suffering. I rarely experience this kind of loneliness at this stage of my life and associate it with times of serious illness, grief, loss, unmet needs for love, etc, all of which need to be worked through. Except in the last case (unmet needs which produce a kind of deep and aching loneliness or emptiness) I do not call it loneliness even though my need (or at least my desire) for company is exacerbated at these times --- but I know people who do call it loneliness, so I address it here.

Simple loneliness, to some extent, is, as I have already implied, a natural even penitential part of the hermit's life. Again, I disagree with those people who say hermits (should) never feel loneliness. Usually though, as you can tell from my comments, this is not a problematical reality. It comes from the fact that the hermit loves and is loved by others, as well as from the fact that she has not yet achieved complete union with God. It can, if attended to mindfully, strengthen prayer and one's gratitude towards God for all his gifts --- of which friends and the love and compassion which comes as a part of friendship are a particularly privileged instance. As you can also tell, I don't tend to equate simple loneliness with a general unhappiness which seems to me to be a more global and problematical reality. Instead, simple loneliness seems to me to be a dimension of the love and richness which marks one's life. Should it seem to be a piece of a more general unhappiness, or become an omnipresent sign of deprivation or narrowing of life, then I would agree this is not something that should be happening to a hermit, and it requires special attention.

I hope this helps. If not, or if it raises more questions, please feel free to get back to me. Again, thanks for the question!