Feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel: on St Teresa's Eremitism

[[Dear Sister, I am still surprised at how you write about solitude. Your accent on the communal nature of it just seems different from what I understand hermits to be. It's hard to get it into my head. Do all hermits see eremitical solitude as a communal thing? How does a person know when they are living what you call eremitical solitude and when they are just wrecking that with contact with others? Do you measure your time in percentages or something like that, 90% solitude and 10% community, or something to be sure you are mainly living solitude?]] 

Great questions! I can't answer about all hermits but more and more the truth that becomes clearer to me is that hermits of all traditions see the integral link between solitude and community. Cornelius Wencel, Er Cam, stresses this in his excellent general approach to hermit life in the book The Eremitic Life. This week, partly because of today's Feast of OL of Mount Carmel, I was going back to Ruth Burrow's work, Essentials of Prayer. There is a chapter near the end of the book on Carmelite eremitism which draws not only from Burrow's experience but from the writings of Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross. What was striking in this chapter (which I had completely forgotten!) was Teresa's demand that her Sisters become not only nuns but also hermits. 

The basic point was that these Sisters entered Carmel in order to know truth and love -- both the truth of themselves and of God as they come to love themselves, their Sisters, and their God, more truly and deeply. This requires both solitude and community. (Here she seems using the term solitude somewhat differently than I do because it does not seem she is describing solitude as communal, but I suspect that I am mistaken in that conclusion. It is clear that though Burrows contrasts community and solitude, she also knows well that even the Sister's solitude in Carmel is a profoundly communal reality; not only is it lived for the sake of the larger community/charism, but it is lived because the community supports, ensures, and nurtures it. In all of this, the Cistercian and Carmelite approaches (and also that of the Camaldolese) to both solitude and community seem very close indeed.)

Below is some of what she says; I think you will also find real similarities to what I have said about solitude throughout the years here, along with what the Cistercians, the Camaldolese, the Franciscans, and even what the Carthusians say regarding the relationship of solitude and community. In all of these spiritualities there is a tension between solitude and community and each group works out this tension (or, maybe better said, negotiates and lives this tension creatively) in somewhat different ways. The tension is never simply ignored or obviated; it is lived faithfully, and the result is either a healthy and authentic coenobitism or a healthy and authentic eremitism.  Again, St. Teresa, for example, wanted nuns who would also be hermits and therefore, she created a coenobitical "eremitism" which at once cut Carmel off from the world around them with a strict enclosure -- stricter than occurred with the origin of the Order, perhaps; but at the same time, the desert she created was meant to allow for an exposure to reality (to God and one's deep self as well as to one's Sisters); it was a "solitude in which a woman's life could develop and expand"! Ruth Burrows, OCD, writes:

[[To be alone with Him Alone is, at bottom, to be detached from self, with mind and heart directed to pleasing God only --- something that is impossible without generous effort, searching purification, and --- let us not overlook it --- personal maturity. It is possible for someone to live in physical solitude, to follow a strict Rule of life, pray, experience great devotion or desolation, yet remain basically egotistical, undeveloped, and emotionally stunted: alone, not with God, but with the self and its projections of God. John of the Cross insists that we simply cannot, of ourselves, divest ourselves of our egotism. God has to act both directly and indirectly. Other people are his chosen instruments, and we have an absolute need of them in order to mature emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually and to learn how to love --- our life's greatest task.]] Later Burrows writes:

[[All human maturation and growth towards union with God demands a creative tension between solitude and community. Understood in a truly spiritual/Christian sense, we cannot have the one without the other, and each thrives in mutual proportion. Each of us must stand absolutely alone before God, assuming full responsibility for our attitudes and choices. At the same time, none of us can come to self-knowledge and maturity without others. The more truly solitary and personal the individual member, the more authentic the community --- a genuine communion of mind and heart. . .. Understanding the meaning of solitude and being faithful to it, and at the same time forgetting self in the service of community, enables divine Love to bring to being our true personhood. When that is so then, most truly, we are alone with God alone.]]

Regarding your question on percentages, I never measure anything regarding solitude and community in that way. It is not helpful at this point. Instead, I recognize I am called to live with and for God alone and I do what is necessary to ensure that. That will mean meeting with my Director regularly, joining with my faith community at the parish when I can, doing the personal work I have committed to as part of my ongoing personal formation, and being accessible if someone needs to meet with me, including spiritual direction clients. But it will also mean living most, if not all of every day, with God for the sake of God and others --- alone in my hermitage. So long as prayer continues to support these activities and these activities continue to call me back to prayer in solitude, and so long as I continue to experience God calling me to all of this and find myself growing as a person in Christ, I think I am living exactly the kind of solitude God calls me to. And, though I am not a cenobite, I think it is the same kind of solitude St. Teresa wanted for her Sisters, specifically, "a solitude in which a woman's life could develop and expand," and do so in and with God. 

Personal growth in God (that is, in Love) will always be the key, I think. Because of the way I understand the two things, I live community with an accent on solitude and solitude with an accent on its communal nature. I hope this makes sense to you because it requires giving up the kind of calculus you (and most others, by the way), understandably propose and ask about. Meanwhile, all good wishes and prayers for my Carmelite brothers and Sisters. I am thinking especially of Ruth Burrow's Carmel and also the Carmel in Reno where friends are celebrating with the community today! May this Feast be a gift in every way it possibly could!!

All quotations taken from Essence of Prayer, "Alone with Him Alone: St Teresa's creative understanding of eremiticism", by Ruth Burrows, OCD, Hidden Spring Press, 2006.

A Contemplative Moment: Breathed into Wholeness

From Chapter 9, "Breathing With the Spirit Into Mission"

  Breathed Into Wholeness, Catholicity and Life In the Spirit

by

Sister Mary Frohlich, rscj

[[We have focused predominantly on the challenges of spiritual living from the perspective of the individual person, but it must always be remembered that the proposed model of personhood assumes that, both psychologically and spiritually, there is no person apart from participation in relationships. On the psychological level the dialogical model of the self places relationships with others into the very structure of the self, as each "part self" is formed within an ongoing dialogue with other persons, groups, or anthropomorphized beings, real or imagined. From the spiritual perspective, there is no person apart from the foundational relationship with the creator-God. Consequently, the authenticity of personal life is not to live simply for oneself, but always with and for others.

Thus, focusing on the individual does not mean downplaying the urgency of community building and communal change. Despite common tropes that suggest increasing individuality and increasing community centeredness work against each other, the opposite is the case when individuality is developed as the uniqueness of each one's relation to the Spirit. Indeed, Karl Rahner has noted that even at the subhuman level "the true law of things" is not: The more special and distinct in character the more separated, isolated and discontinuous from everything else, but the reverse: The more really special a thing is, the more abundance of being it has in itself, the more intimate unity and mutual participation there will be between it and what is other than itself." Thus, the greater is the individual capacity for individual relationship to the Spirit, the greater also is the capacity for intimate relationships and community building at all levels. . . .Individuals must become both more united and increasingly different.]]

Rahner quotation from "On the Significance in Redemptive History of the Individual Member of the Church" Mission and Grace, vol 1 (p. 118)

On the Validity of Defining Solitude in terms of Community

[[Dear Sister, if you define solitude in terms of communion with God I can understand that but I am not sure how you move from there to communion with others. I am having a hard time seeing the difference between life in solitude then and life in community. If both are communal then what is the difference? Why don't you just say that the eremitical vocation is about being alone with God?]]

Good questions, thanks for these. Remember that I (and most of the theologians I know) define God not as A Being but as the ground and source of all being and meaning, and therefore too, the ground and source of all that is truly personal and of all relatedness. In, with and through God, we are related to everything and everyone else. If we live in communion with God then to some extent we are in communion with the rest of reality. And of course this works the other way around -- though not in the same way. If we love others, honor creation, are stewards of reality, we also love and honor God.

Thus, when I think about eremitical solitude and especially, when I think about the difference between eremitical life and isolated, alienated, or estranged life the difference is in relatedness in and through God. To describe this I talk about the communal dimension of life in the silence of solitude. Still, this does not make my life one of cenobitical or community life since from 85-95% of my life is spent in solitude. Moreover, the time I spend with others is either in direct service to them (spiritual direction) or in order that I might live a richer and completely healthy solitude (occasional time with good friends). For a Trappistine Sister living, working, eating, praying, and recreating with others --- though often silently --- there are also periods of solitude: silent prayer, lectio, study, etc, but the context for everything is life in (and for) community and the search for God that community makes possible.

I don't speak about eremitical solitude ONLY as being alone with God for a couple of reasons. First my experience is that even (and perhaps especially) in the most profound prayer experiences I have had --- those where there was an undoubted union with God in a way which even involved typical physical effects, either others were present supporting me and/or there were reminders in my prayer itself  of the fact that in God I was related to all others and all else. (I have noted before that in one prayer period I experienced having the entire attention of God and the moment I noted that --- with a kind of awed "This is so but how can this be so?" --- I was reassured that everyone else ALSO had God's entire attention; no one was being shortchanged or disregarded here.) It was another of those great paradoxes that underscored the truth of the experience. While I was not really aware of others per se, I was aware of them in a general sense through their relationship with God. In other words, at those times I was most completely taken up in God I was also clearly concerned with and reassured about others. I was aware of them more than at other times, in part because God, who never ceased being wholly or exhaustively concerned with each and all of us, directed my attention there as a consequence of his immeasurable love.

The second reason has to do with canon 603 itself. It describes this vocation as one of stricter withdrawal or separation from "the world" (i.e., from that which is resistant to Christ), the silence of solitude, the evangelical counsels, assiduous prayer and penance under a rule I write and the supervision of my Bishop. But it also says this vocation is one undertaken for the praise of God and the salvation of the world. By definition, I do not live it merely alone with God but for the sake of all those God holds as precious. So far as I can see this essential element of the canon is no less important or central than any other element. It implies and perhaps demands that my life is not merely absorbed in God as a life of personal piety, but that it is also is concerned with witnessing to some basic truths every person needs to hear and know. It is also, then, a life of prayer for others --- though I consider this secondary to the witness it offers. (Some hermits clearly consider this primary instead of secondary and are entirely free to do so.)

 Moreover, canon 603 says that to the extent my life is absorbed in God it will necessarily be concerned with all God calls his own. While I am certainly concerned with my own salvation, eremitical life is not simply a solitary quest for my own salvation, my own perfection. It is not some form of pious navel gazing or self-centeredness. The focus in not on me but on God and allowing God to be God, not only for myself, but for the whole of creation. Thus, while on one level I can speak of the eremitical vocation being one of being alone with God I think generally this is misleading to others, whether they be other candidates, Bishops and Vicars for Religious, or simply those looking into what a contemporary vocation to eremitical life is all about in the face of a culture taken up with individualism or given over to "cocooning". For all these reasons I have tried to be careful to define eremitical life as one of "being alone with God for the sake of others." Now I may need to say instead that it is "being alone with God in communion with as well as for the sake of others." If any of these elements is missing, then we don't have authentic eremitical life as the Church defines it. We do not have the silence of solitude but instead a life of dumb isolation and individualism.



Artist, Mary Southard, CSJ

In either solitude or community the aim of religious life (or of the lay eremitical life) is the same, namely, to seek and give ourselves over to God for God's own sake (for this is God's deepest desire) and for the sake of the perfection or fulfillment of God's entire creation. But the contexts are different. In my hermitage I mainly do this while physically alone and linked to others through my relationship with God. In community Sisters or nuns mainly do this while physically together and more directly dependent on the environment created by others to facilitate every Sister's quest for God. There is a communal dimension to my solitude (or that of any authentic hermit) but physical solitude is primary. For cenobites there is naturally a strong solitary dimension to their life in community but the context of community is still primary or definitive of the life they live.

Lauras: On hermits and Community

[[ Dear Sister, I have one question. Why are colonies of hermits called lauras. How can hermits live in colonies and still be hermits?]]

Thanks, good questions. The term laura comes from the Latin word for pathways or paths. A colony of hermits usually consists of individual hermitages, each fairly isolated from the others whether architecturally, by geography, etc. These individual hermitages are linked to one another by paths (including by cloisters) and as well to the central Church or chapel. I think it is particularly telling that such colonies are named after the external reality which links all the hermits and makes of each hermitage or "cell" an integral part of a local church or living organism. This makes clear that hermits are always part of a larger body; their lives are lives of communion, first with God and through God with one another and the whole of Creation. No hermit is ever truly alone. They are always alone with God for others --- and quite often, with others as well. Certainly they live their vocations in the heart of the Church.

In colonies, of course, the lion's share of the hermit's life is spent alone with God. Hermits in lauras come together for Mass, for occasional meals and some celebrations of the Liturgy of the Hours. They may also join once a week or so in a long walk or other recreation. As I have written here a number of times solitude, including eremitical solitude does not refer simply to physical isolation from others, but to a form of communion with God lived for the sake of others in the heart of the Church. This means it is supported solitude which contributes to life in the Church. While it is not the same as cenobitical life in community, and while it means aloneness with God, neither is it in conflict with some degree of community.

The Camaldolese, for instance refer to it as "living together alone." For the diocesan or "solitary" hermit who does not ordinarily have other hermits to live in a colony with, her primary community will be her parish and though she spends the majority of her time alone with God, she may also see folks at Mass several times a week, meet with a couple of clients during the week, and interact briefly with folks at the grocery store, drug store, etc. What defines her life however is aloneness with God lived for the sake of others in the heart of the Church and this remains true whether she sees one person in a month or several people in a week, or whether her only companions during this time are the people she reads, or the Communion of Saints and pilgrim ecclesial community in which she prays as an integral part.

I hope this is helpful.

More on Diocesan Eremitism: Charism, Stability, Authenticity of Eremitical Life

The relationship between the Benedictine vow/value of stability and the diocesan charism of the canon 603 hermit brought some comments from a friend and diocesan hermit from New Zealand. Now, in her spirituality, she is Carmelite; she has a keen sense of the diocesan charism I have been mentioning in this blog and she reminded me of some basic facts about being a diocesan hermit that underscore this charism. Noting that diocesan hermits are built right into "the texture of their dioceses," she affirmed that while a diocesan hermit might live temporarily in another diocese for some good reason they couldn't simply pick up and go." Also, she noted that if a diocesan hermit wants to transfer to another diocese not only must she secure the permission of both Bishops involved in the move, but ordinarily the receiving diocese will demand a period of discernment before accepting her commitment or transfer. I have read in the past that the position of the diocesan hermit is akin to that of an incardinated priest, and I was aware of one hermit who had once transferred her vows to another diocese, but I was unaware of the details involved. They don't surprise me however. The canon 603 hermit (with these exceptions in mind) belongs to the diocese in which she makes her profession. After all, she has made those vows in the hands of a particular Bishop and his successors. As my friend noted, this was all something she thought Benedictine monasticism could really resonate with!! No doubt at all!! Benedictine stability understands this concept very well indeed.

At the same time my friend asked if I had written anywhere at greater length about the apparent oxymoron some think the term "(sub)urban hermit" is. In fact I have not. It is true I have mentioned the problem here a few times because some hermits really denigrate the idea of such an animal. They object that one must go off into the true (physical) wilderness apart from all others if one is to really embrace solitude and silence, prayer and penance in the way the desert fathers and mothers once did. I should point out that first of all the church disagrees with this position. More, the church is in touch with what Merton once referred to as the unnatural solitudes of the cities, and urban hermits themselves --- at least those I know --- are also very sensitive to these unnatural solitudes and the need to redeem them.

I think of the older people in my community who no longer drive, are often too infirm to get out much (sometimes even to church!), have lost spouses and sometimes all other family, whose incomes are fixed at barely subsistence levels quite often, and who struggle to come to terms with their lives and live them worthily despite their isolation. Can one really seriously suggest that they do not live in an unnatural solitude which is one an urban hermit can and should embrace? Would they be any more isolated in a desert or mountain wilderness? Do they really have more company and resources than did, for instance, the desert Fathers and Mothers in the "desert cities', Franciscan hermits who, with two or three other Friars fell under the care of a superior who acted in the role of "Mother," an anchorite nun shut up in a room in a convent who is supported by her Sisters, or hermit monks who depend upon their communities to support them in their vocations, provide food and shelter, participation in liturgy and the like? In fact, it seems to me they often have far fewer or less.

I have spoken in the past of diocesan hermits witnessing to the redemption and transfiguration of such "unnatural solitudes." I have also mentioned what Thomas Merton said about these and witnessing to what is possible for human beings when Divine Grace is allowed to work to transform their circumstances. I have spoken of the Benedictine value/vow of stability and the correlative commitment to find God in the ordinary circumstances of life, and how that affects me particularly as a diocesan hermit. I have also mentioned the true nature of human freedom and its relation to what Jung called "Fate" --- the power to be the persons we are called to be not only in spite of the non-negotiable elements of our lives, but through them as well. Finally, I have mentioned a number of times the fact that the eremitical life is motivated by love and solidarity with others, and that the contemplative life often (always!) drives a person back out of strict solitude to love their sisters and brothers in some concrete way, shape, or form. Christian love is never a mere abstraction. All of these are basic Christian values or dynamics, and the hermit is called upon to embrace and embody them. Wouldn't it be ironic if she could not do so unless she lived in a natural physical solitude?

It should go without saying that genuine solitude is an inner reality as well as an outer one. We cultivate it by cultivating a relationship with God that transforms our isolation and estrangement into singleness of heart and a burning love for God and all he cherishes. We cultivate it by allowing God to live fully in us not only as source and ground of all we are, but as goal as well. Does it help one to spend time in the natural solitudes our world offers in order to allow God to achieve this? Absolutely. But unnatural solitudes drive us within to seek God with a hunger and intensity I think is unrivalled even by natural solitudes. Grief, illness, poverty, loss, alienation, abuse, all these and many more are the caves and deserts occupied in our contemporary world. Do we really want to argue that God cannot be found in these places or embraced as fully as is the case in the physical desert or mountain? And while we must recognize the myriad ways one might distract oneself from genuine eremitical life in such a context, do we really want to say an authentic eremiticism can only be lived in natural solitudes? I don't think so. However, I personally have to do some more thinking about all this before I can write about it at length. It is a huge part of the charism of the diocesan hermit however; about that I am absolutely clear.

In raising some of this herself, and in commenting on my own personal work in translating a classically Franciscan vow formula into more strictly Benedictine terms, Sister ___(NZ) left me with the following thought and suggestion: [[perhaps (as) a diocesan hermit you can say that you dwell in that sacred space of solitude and apostolic love which is essential to and shared by all three traditions [(Camaldolese) Benedictine, Franciscan, Desert Fathers and Mothers] because the "heart" is the same: a solitary figure who is embraced and nurtured by the desert, in solidarity with all human beings.]] Well, Sister, I COULD say this, but, since I can't improve on your own formulation, I think I should just quote YOU!

Are you allowed to. . .?

More questions arrived in my email box, and I am glad people are making use of that, especially since I do not have comments in this blog. The question is pretty typical and I hear it from others occasionally so it is a good one, especially because it also gives me a chance to think a little more about the unique charism of the diocesan hermit. I have spoken of this before in terms of expectations (that is, people necessarily have a right to certain expectations of a canonical hermit), but I might well have reflected more directly on the idea of unique charism in terms of relationships. The following question allowed me to do a little of that:

[[Do you attend daily Mass? Weekly Mass? If so, do you communicate with people while you are there? Are you allowed to speak to others? Is the hiddenness of your life disrupted by these encounters with people?]]

Yes, I generally attend daily Mass (though I also have Eucharist reserved in the hermitage for a Communion service when that is not possible, along with doing daily adoration, etc), and usually I attend the Sunday vigil Mass and one Mass on Sunday mornings as well. Recently the Bishop came to our parish to confirm 50 young adults and I attended that too; I was present early enough to casually assist the emcee and others in small ways (the same emcee who helped orchestrate my perpetual profession in September) and served as EEM as well.(It was good to have a chance to meet Deacon Bothe again since I was hardly aware of all he did during the profession rite; we shared a big hug and some laughs, so that was all very nice and vastly different from the formality of the profession rite.) The point is, of course, I choose which events I will participate in in the parish, but yes, I am active there and communicate variously on a number of different levels!

I have to laugh about the questions regarding being allowed to speak to people, etc. The question that raises for me is, "How in the world could I be said to be loving or engaging in genuine liturgy if I refused to do so?" Yes, I am a hermit, but when I am in a communal setting I act as part of the community --- that is also part of who I am, and part of the witness to the fruit of solitude. (Can you imagine a grumpy or distant hermit who comes to Mass but refuses to speak to anyone because s/he is too taken up "in Christ"? Chances are more likely s/he is missing the Christ who stands in front of him/her needing to talk or calling for a normal greeting!) But no, I do not have a vow of silence. I am vowed to celibate love, and for me at least, love in this situation means (or, rather, includes!) active, attentive, and compassionate participation in the community.

Now, I do a few things to be sure that time is bracketed by silence and solitude. Office (Vigils and Lauds) and silent prayer precede Mass, and at daily Mass I generally serve as sacristan and I find that puttering around getting everything ready before anyone arrives is a wonderful way to prepare myself AND the chapel while maintaining silence and solitude. Also, I tend to be early enough many mornings to be able to sing Lauds there rather than at home. And, if I am praying quietly and am wishing for a few more minutes of solitude, I will have my hood up and people know not to interrupt me at those times --- though they can certainly visit with one another still! (As soon as the hood is down things change completely and it is time for catching up on the news, finding out who needs prayers, sharing my own needs, etc).

I also serve as EEM sometimes, and have even served Mass --- though I am just learning how to do this. After Sunday Mass the parish has either doughnuts and coffee or (once a month) a pancake breakfast and I participate in these events and times. Having breakfast or coffee with people I would not otherwise see, catching up on their news, family, concerns (to a limited extent at these times), activities, etc is important to me and to who I am as a diocesan hermit. What I mean by that is that my profession as a diocesan hermit sets up particular relationships which partly define who I am to be. During profession I was called forth in the name of the local church of the Diocese of Oakland AND the faith community of St Perpetua. My vocation is a call by God, yes, but it is mediated to me by these communities, and my response, though a response to God, is also a response to and for these communities --- these people. So, while my response is most often the prayer and love that happens in silence and solitude, it is nourished and renewed as I come to know and love the people who make up this community, just as through my presence it nourishes and renews them too.

So, far from disrupting my solitude then, these contacts GENERALLY serve to enrich and invigorate it. Silence and solitude is lived for them to some extent and these are always conditioned by them. That is, they are always present in my heart and held before God even when prayer seems to be a matter of "just me and God." But your question is a very good one and I absolutely have to take care with the things I do outside the hermitage --- and I do. My point is first, that these things may enrich as easily as distract, and secondly, that these things may be demanded by the vocation itself --- so in all things one must pay attention to not only to one's Rule of Life, or to the eremitic tradition as lived throughout the centuries, but to the state of one's heart and mind where God's will is also heard --- and of course, act accordingly!

I hope this answers your questions. Thanks for sending them! Please feel free to get back to me if something is unclear or needs elaboration.

True and False Solitude/Solitaries

Recently a neighbor asked me some questions about the significance of my perpetual profession. She wondered what it meant, what would be different, what does it do? I started with the most basic ideas. Did she know what a hermit was? She responded, "Yes, it is someone who hides. . ." and then her statement sort of broke off, as if she realized how unflattering to me that definition must be!

And yet isn't my neighbor's idea pretty common? Isn't it true that even among hermits or those wanting to become religious hermits, there are strange ideas of what constitutes genuine solitude? Isn't there a sense sometimes that hermits embrace silence and solitude because they cannot and do not relate well to others? Isn't there a strong popular sense that hermits do not have close friends? That affirming that God alone is sufficient for us means we can dispense with the demands of social interaction, and beyond that, of deep friendship? Now let me be clear, reclusion is a unique vocation, and I am not referring to it here (though ordinarily authentic reclusion involves profound relationships and deep friendships too). I am talking about the genuine solitude of most hermits, a solitude whose heart is communion with God, and therefore, a solitude which spills over and finds another whole dimension of itself in relationships with others, and beyond that with the whole of God's creation.

Thomas Merton wrote about true versus false solitude and solitaries. For instance, he noted: [[“[the false solitary’s] solitude is imaginary … the false solitary is one who is able to imagine himself without companions while in reality he remains just as dependent on society as before – if not more dependent. He needs society as a ventriloquist needs a dummy. He projects his own voice and it comes back to him admiring, approving, opposing or at least adverting to his own separateness.”. . . “The true solitary does not renounce anything that is basic and human about his relationship to other men. He is deeply united to them – all the more deeply because he is no longer entranced by marginal concerns.”

One of the things that has become clearer and clearer to me as I live in solitude is just how much LIKE others I really am, and above all, how deeply related to them. This is true whether I am speaking about members of my parish, members of the orchestra I play violin in, clients, family, friends, etc. My vocation is unique but I am not. My circumstances are pretty common: a life marked and marred by illness, ordinary successes, some spectacular failures (some I am still coming to terms with and still feel embarrassment over), dreams yearning for fulfillment, a strong need to share what I have been given, etc. I spend a lot of time in silence and solitude, in contemplative prayer and study, and there is no doubt that I enjoy it and am sometimes tempted to use it as a way to withdraw defensively. But most of the time, so long as my life is profoundly prayerful, I do it because it allows me to be truly related in healthy ways with others, not to hide from those relationships. The hermit dwells in the heart of God, and the heart of God is a pretty populated place!!

[[The true solitary is not called to an illusion, to the contemplation of himself as a solitary. He is called to the nakedness and hunger of a more primitive and honest condition.”]]

Many things drive us to solitude and the notion of "hermitage", not all of them, or even most of them, necessarily positive. The immediate tendency when in physical solitude is to focus on self. One may be enamored of the IDEA of being a hermit, or even of the ROLE one is trying to assume instead of the person one actually is (not to mention the God who resides in one's heart). If one writes about eremitic life (or tries to do so!) this writing may simply be a not-so-veiled exercise in navel gazing and either self pity or self-aggrandizement. One could, conceiveably, justify many failures on many levels by considering oneself a hermit: social failures, emotional immaturity and the failure to achieve individuation, etc. Such a person might say to themselves, "Hermits don't have deep friendships!" "Hermits don't have to interact with the business/academic/ecclesial or other worlds; a hermit afterall, is 'dead to the world'", or again, "It is fine to rest in my suffering or to refuse to care appropriately for one's physical state, etc, because this is a form of 'mortification' in which I as victim participate in the redeeming suffering of Christ!", "God wills such suffering in my life," etc. Nevermind that such spiritualities are inherently dangerous and often the refuge of the deluded, or that their underlying theology is often bankrupt and a serious distortion of Christian theology.

But in an authentically DIVINE vocation to eremitic life, one will not indulge such pretense. If one has been brought to the desert by circumstances which are traumatic or negative and result in defense mechanisms which are destructive, in a genuine vocation, these will gradually be transfigured and transmuted into something far more positive and healthy. Religious language can be used to cover a plethora of sins: the inability to relate to others or reality can become a prohibition on particular friendships and allusions to dying to the world; a sense of victimization which casts the rest of the world in the role of perpetrators, can be recast and apparently (but not really) legitimized through the pious language of "victim souls" and "reparative suffering", one's own inner demons and need for either good spiritual direction or psychological assistance and personal work can be avoided, externalized, and superficially legitimated by calling our emotional states and defenses "attacks by the devil which God wills"

The hermitage is part sanctuary, part crucible, part battle ground, and part therapy space. No one comes to the desert for completely pure motives. We are all ambivalent. We are all complex and ambiguous mixtures of worthy and unworthy motives because at bottom we remain imago dei who are also sinners. At some point, in the authentic eremitic vocation though, the unworthy motives are worked through and discarded, while the worthy ones are purified and enhanced. If, once upon a time, our solitude, to whatever extent, was an escape and prison, it will become the doorway to engagement or communion and real freedom. If the subject of our meditations was ourselves AS SOLITARIES, our meditations will change and become those of a profoundly related solitary interested in and compassionate for others, and committed to God and God's OWN world of people --- with their problems AND possibilities.

Merton once pointed out that the person who went off into solitude also held a mirror up to themselves, and they would come away from that encounter either completely self-centered and insane, or other-centered and whole/holy (I admit this is a bad paraphrase, but it has been a number of years since I read this, and I would need to look up the exact statement to reprise it better; apologies to Merton). Either the things that pursued us into the desert will, with the grace of God, be met and transformed and transcended, or they will continue to define us, no matter what religious jargon we use to try to hide or "describe" the fact. Discernment of an eremitic vocation is not always easy, and when there are elements of a true vocation mixed with so much that is false, the job is always to move from inauthentic to authentic vocation, from false solitude to true solitude, from isolation and self-centeredness to a profound and compassionate relatedness established in the heart of God and spilling over into the rest of one's more tangible world.