On the Question of Civic Activism and Eremitical Solitude

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another Look at Eremitical Silence and Solitude in Light of "Ponam in Deserto Viam"

[[Hi Sister Laurel, I don't want to start a fight, but when c 603 talks about the silence of solitude, isn't it talking about being quiet, not speaking or listening to music, or watching TV and worldly things like that? [One online hermit] says that the idea of solitude means being alone, and like that, the word silence is simple and is about being silent and living in silence. . . .What's hard about that? But when you write about these things, you make them way more complicated than that!. . . I think you are trying to talk around the simple meaning of the words and [the online hermit] does too -- though I am not trying to speak for her! . . . My question is, where do you get the idea that silence means more than being silent and living without sound? Why doesn't "the silence of solitude" mean the silence that happens when there is no one else there?]] (Questions redacted by Sister Laurel)

Thanks for your questions.  Over the years, I have written a lot about "the silence of solitude," and I indeed understand both the term silence and the term solitude to mean more than the absence of sound or the absence of company, even though it may begin with some form of these. (Note well that sometimes we will have a deep insight that then calls us to external or physical silence and solitude to truly hear this insight, but in the main, our ability to truly listen to our own hearts requires external silence and solitude.) Moreover, I understand the silence of solitude as the state of inner quies (rest or peace) or hesychia (stillness) that obtains when one is not merely living alone, but, more primarily, is living with and in (or at least toward!) union with God. It is about the journey to become who we are made by God to be. This state of solitude is not simply about being by oneself with and in God, but necessarily implies the community of the Church and of the world of God's creation as well. The relationships implied are the result of our being in and with God as ground and source of all being and meaning, and therefore, with all of creation that is also related to God in some degree of communion. It is in exploring what it means to be in communion with God that I have come to understand the fundamental terms of c 603, but especially terms like silence, solitude, and the silence of solitude.

What you are asking about is what seems to you to be an idiosyncratic usage of such terms, no? I know that some have taken exception to the way I understand such terms and they have continued to object to this through the years. Thus, the question of where I get the ideas I write about is also a question about how I justify my literally eccentric (out of the center) usage and the way I live my eremitical life itself. I want to spend a bit of time then, trying to respond to that specific question.

There are three pieces to my answer. I depend upon, 1) personal experience in prayer and the silence of solitude, which especially leads me to a sense that silence, solitude, and the silence of solitude are richer and more complex realities than your friend (and many non-contemplatives) seems to allow for, 2) the insights and experiences of other hermits (both canonical and non-canonical) who have also explored these terms and found them to be similarly rich and multivalent, especially from contemplatives and monks and hermits like Cornelius Wencel whose book, The Eremitic Life is so well-done, or like Thomas Merton who speaks of solitude herself, "opening the door" to the hermit; and 3)  the Church's thought on eremitic life itself, particularly in what it writes of the c 603 vocation in its recent (2022), Ponam in Deserto Viam, (The Hermit's Way of Life in the Local Church), CICLSAL or DICLSAL (Congregation (now Dicastery) of Institutes of Consecrated Life and Societies of Apostolic Life).

Let me focus here on a couple of passages from Ponam to give you a taste of the rich sense in which the Church understands eremitical silence and solitude, and more specifically, maybe, the silence of solitude.  The first passage is from paragraph 14. Ponam explicitly identifies silence in a way very far removed from those who would like it to refer to a single, narrow meaning. It denies outright that it can be identified with external silence associated with physical or psychological isolation:

The term silence of solitude cherished by the Carthusian tradition, emphasizes that the hermit's silence does not consist in the absence of voices or noises due to physical isolation. Nor can silence be an outwardly imposed condition. Rather,  it is a fundamental attitude that expresses a radical availability to listen to God. Silence is a total focus on the search for union with Christ and open to the attraction of the Paschel dynamic of his death and resurrection. Silence is the experience of the mysterious fruitfulness of a life totally surrendered. Paradoxically it is also an eloquent witness when inhabited by Love. (Emphasis added)

(By the way, I would argue a bit with this last sentence and assert that the silence of solitude referred to in the canon only exists when inhabited by Love -- at least in the life of someone the Church would recognize as living an eremitic life; when Love is absent, Silence or the silence of solitude cease to be all the things this passage affirms.) It seems to me that this passage supports the contention that the silence of solitude is not only the environment in which the hermit lives her life, but even more importantly, that it is both the goal and charism of the solitary eremitical life. This underscores the idea that silence, especially the silence of solitude in c 603, does not merely refer to an external state of silence, but an inner state of relatedness and journeying with, to, and in God, which one undertakes not only for one's own sake, but for God's sake and the salvation of others. The emphasis on witness is very welcome here.

 The second passage is from paragraph 15, where Ponam is speaking of Peter Damian's observations on radical solitude, a reality that defines the ecclesial role of the hermits' way of life. In exploring this idea, Ponam says, Hermits are like a microcosm of the world and the Church in miniature (an ecclesiola). Therefore, they cannot forget the Church and world they represent in their totality. The more one is alone before God, the more one discovers within oneself the deeper dimension of the world.  While this quoted passage doesn't speak to the idea of eremitical silence, solitude, and the silence of solitude directly, it does imply a journey into a multivalent reality with various depths the hermit is called to explore and represent. When we think of the Church and world in their totality, we also must think of the way God's realm interpenetrates our historical reality, and that means looking at the hermit as a symbol of this interpenetration.

What paragraph 15 thus says here is that the hermit as a historical reality living in communion and towards union with God, stands at the heart of the Church and world, and reveals that same deepest reality to both the Church and the world itself. In this way, the passage begins to introduce us to the idea that the journey into the silence of solitude reveals the hungers of the human heart for communion with God (and all that is of God) and resting in the fullness of being and meaning which that communion entails. This is so even when this is experienced mainly in terms of hunger or yearning. (Cf. articles on existential solitude in the past several months.)  In another place, Ponam calls the hermit an ambassador of hope for both the Church and the world. She reminds the Church and world that one's true identity (and all authentic hope) are found only in God; for those hermits who choose to reject the larger world or who really just use the term hermit as a synonym for misanthropy, Ponam affirms, [[True identity is rooted in a vital tradition that neither excludes nor rejects, but includes, integrates, and reconstructs.]] (par 16).

All of this implies that silence, solitude, and the silence of solitude, canon 603 sees as fundamental to the eremitical life, are most significantly not external states of the absence of noise or companionship, but rather, are rich, multivalent inner realities. Because, in part, they help form the context for one's journey to God, they include the external silence and physical aloneness you refer to, but they are also the goal of one's journey with, to, and in God. This is what Ponam is talking about when it reflects on Peter Damian's letter, Dominus Vobiscum, and speaks of achieving what is one's truest identity in God, or refers to the hermit being a microcosm of both Church and world, and revealing the nature of this journey into God to both. Finally, as I have written here over the years (and observed in my own Rule in 2006), the silence of solitude is the gift or charism that this vocation offers both the Church and the world so they might see themselves clearly, worship God appropriately, and glorify (reveal) him and the hope that is rooted in him in all they are and do.  

In God Alone (Reprise)

 

This may be a different and more challenging version of this chant than some are used to. The instruments improvising over the chant sometimes, even often, seem to miss the mark. And yet, under it all, grounding and giving coherence to every note --- if only we have the patience and trust to hear it --- is the profoundly stabilizing refrain or antiphon, [[ In God alone my soul can find rest and peace, In God my peace and joy, Only in God my soul can find its rest. Find its rest and peace.]]  As I listened this morning I found myself hanging onto the antiphon with a kind of fierceness during parts of this as I waited (and sometimes yearned intensely) for the improvising instrument to come to rest solidly again in the ground of the antiphon --- especially in the longer original recording.

So it is with us I think. We sing our lives improvising around this "theme" --- this internal antiphonal truth that sounds in our hearts; sometimes we seem to have journeyed so far as to have stopped listening and lost touch with it altogether --- though in our music-making we seek it still! And then, with patience, trust, and perseverance in our hearkening, we reconnect more clearly and come once again to that place of rest in God who alone makes sense of the whole of our lives --- even those bits which seemed to or may truly have lost touch with the Divine chant or "theme" grounding them.

For whatever else, the chant continues faithfully, unfailingly in a way that both shapes the improvisational journey and allows the player to finally come home once again despite the far and even foreign places to which they have traveled in the meantime: dissonances are resolved and the harmony of the whole is enriched with musical "stretches" and surprises that, rather than troubling or disturbing us, now delight and even move us with awe.

As we move into this Jubilee year of Hope I thought reprising this reflection would be appropriate. Hope is always rooted in truth and a kind of certainty or knowing, not in mere wishfulness, and the ever-present One we know as Emmanuel is the reality that is the ground and source of all of our hope. Despite the ups and down, the disappointments and struggle of our lives we need to stay in touch with that ground and source, just as the singers or instrumentalists hold firm to the chant that gives coherence to their improvistation. In this way we become the people of hope God calls  us to become and our world so desperately needs.

On Silence and Solitude in the Service of Intimacy with God

[[Sister, you write about hermits a lot. You don't take a vow of silence, do you? But why not if "the silence of solitude"is such an important element of c 603? At the same time why do you treat solitude as though it is not really about being alone?]]

Thanks for your questions. I think they are actually pretty common for non-hermits or for those whose notion of eremitical life is idealized. Similar questions could be asked about the other constitutive elements of the vocation including stricter separation from the world whenever "the world" is taken to mean anything outside the hermitage door. In each of these cases, solitude, the silence of solitude, and stricter separation from the world, what we find is that these terms are more nuanced than most people understand. None of them is absolute. By that I mean the eremitical life is not about absolute silence, absolute solitude, or absolute withdrawal from the world. Instead, these elements are real and substantial in a way that allows the vocation to be defined in terms of them, and at the same time, they are qualified by the needs of the hermit for growth, healing, and holiness as she moves toward maturity in her relationship with God and others in an ecclesial vocation.

So, for instance, no, I don't take a vow of silence nor do I hold myself to a Rule calling for absolute silence. I talk (to God and less frequently, to others), I sing, I listen to, compose (improvise), and play music, and all of this requires significant, but (obviously) not absolute silence. Silence is necessary to be a person of prayer because prayer is about listening and being available to God, and we are attentive and available to God so that God may recreate the world as he wills. That recreation begins with us and with the way God's love transforms us as human beings. Hermits cultivate silence for this purpose, not simply for itself alone. Moreover, silence can be external or internal; while both are important it is internal silence that is key in the hermit's life. The cultivation of inner silence and stillness is the aim of a life of stricter external silence. Whatever is happening externally leads us to the profound internal silence that allows for the song we are  to rise up within us and be "sung." 

What I am saying is that the hermit is silent and embraces silence to the extent it leads us to prayer and then, to union with God. The same is true of solitude. External solitude serves the hermit's life with God and her growth as a human being. One is alone with God for the sake of God's will and all that that Divine will desires and occasions. In some ways, there is also an inner solitude where the individual is at peace with themselves and with God. This solitude is about a harmonious relationship; one is truly oneself in this space, and one is oneself with God. It is the antithesis of isolation and when I write about it, I speak of it as the redemption of isolation. 

When c 603 speaks of the silence of solitude, most superficially it means the quiet that exists when one is not conversing with others or otherwise engaging with others, but at its deepest, it is an intimacy with God where God is allowed to be God and we are the human person God calls us to be. This silence of solitude is peaceful (though not painless!), profoundly energizing,  and marked by a sense of solidity and love in and through which one is truly oneself. It is therefore also about being profoundly in relationship with the whole of God's creation and the whole of God's People. When I write about the silence of solitude I also speak of it as involving the quieting of our existential anguish and pain. We can be screams of anguish and then be transformed through the love of God into a quiet and joyful song of praise. And of course, sometimes the anguish recurs and our personal song is transfigured into lament. This is still vastly different from simply being a scream of anguish! 

The bottom line in all of this is that when I speak of solitude it does mean being alone, but one is alone with God and, in varying degrees of intimacy, with all that is grounded in God. This is why I tend to usually say "eremitical solitude." There are a variety of forms of solitude; some are not healthy and most are not eremitical. The corollary is that when the hermit is not alone, but is with others, the inner silence and solitude of her relationship with God remains foundational. When a hermit has lived the silence of solitude for some time she does not need to be particularly concerned that contact with others, including occasional social functions, will destroy the silence of solitude that is so fundamental to who she is. 

Yes, of course, care is always necessary and is part of a vow of obedience, but the silence of solitude rooted in God's love is still the pedal tone of the hermit's life and it both calls her to be present to others and summons her back to the hermitage. The image I have in mind here is a Taize chant (cf., In God Alone) where woodwinds, etc., may improvise a kind of obligato above and around the chant and even occasionally sound a bit dissonant as the linkage to the chant becomes strained for the hearer, but these instruments and the line they play always find their way back to the chant of which they are always an exploration and elaboration.

Once Again, On Whether Bishop Stowe Believes Cole Matson Has a Vocation

[[Sister Laurel, why would you say that Bishop Stowe seemed not to believe Cole Matson/Brother Christian had any real vocation at all? He professed him as a diocesan hermit! Doesn't that indicate a belief in a vocation?]] 

Thanks for your question. I had hoped this was clear from several different posts, but let me try and explain it a bit better. God calls each of us to do something unique, something only we can do because only we will meet the needs of the situation with the self we are. (God may call many individuals to do a larger work, but in every case, the vocation a person answers is their own individual and unique vocation.) Moreover, God calls each of us to a vocation where we ourselves will be fulfilled in the way God wills for us and in the way the Church and world really need.  This unique call is our vocation.

When Cole Matson convinced himself he was called to public vows rather than to the vocation he had described to me in terms clearly empowered by the Holy Spirit, and when he determined to use c 603 as a means to public profession despite the fact that the Church does not recognize any such vocation, Cole let go of his God-given vocation and substituted something else, and something far less worthy in its place. Tragically, Bishop Stowe colluded in this, and by affirming Cole in a vocation he claimed not to be called to, Bp Stowe seemed to indicate he really didn't care that Cole's true vocation was going unanswered. He may even have demonstrated he believed there was no such true vocation. Of course, Bp Stowe also indicated not only an ignorance of the nature of c 603 vocations, despite having been written about this to some extent by a diocesan hermit,  but he indicated he may not care about these vocations themselves.

When bishop Stowe described why he decided to (attempt to) profess Cole Matson it was a particularly anemic statement in terms of vocation. If you recall, he spoke mostly about what the vocation did not involve (ordination, sacramental ministry). He said, [My willingness to be open to him is because it’s [note the objectifying lack of personal pronoun] a sincere person seeking a way to serve the church,’ Stowe said of Matson. ‘Hermits are a rarely used form of religious life … but they can be either male or female. Because there’s no pursuit of priesthood or engagement in sacramental ministry, and because the hermit is a relatively quiet and secluded type of vocation, I didn’t see any harm in letting him live this vocation.’ . . .]] In other words, [[Whom could it hurt? It's not like s/he was asking to be made a priest! Hermits are tucked away from anything really central in the church, so what difference could it possibly make?]]

While technically true in several ways, all of this manages to misunderstand the nature and significance of the solitary eremitical vocation, the reasons discernment and formation of such vocations require real diligence, knowledge, and focused care, and it misunderstands especially the place they serve in the life of the Church. The idea of professing someone who does not honestly claim to feel called by God to this specific vocation, and who in fact, claims to feel truly called to another vocation entirely, does a disservice to the vocation and the person involved. Especially, eremitical life is not meant as a way of preparing one for the ministry apostolic religious are mainly involved in. For instance, eremitical solitude, in particular, is not about relaxing in one's hermitage or recharging one's spiritual batteries so one may minister elsewhere, like the theatre, where Cole Matson's main energies go for the majority of the day and evening.

The solitude of the hermit is the context of her main work, namely prayer. Moreover, it is an intensely demanding reality, not least because human beings are social creatures and are not ordinarily meant to come to human wholeness in solitude, but also because when this is the nature of one's solitude, it will be about meeting oneself and becoming more and more profoundly truthful with oneself about who one is and is called to be. One will deal with past woundedness, personal sin, frailties, limitations of all sorts, and the way one colludes with untruth and death even in a vocation given over to life and the very Source of Life we call Abba. Sister Jeremy Hall (Silence, Solitude, Simplicity: A Hermit's Love Affair with a Noisy, Crowded, and Complicated World) spoke of the desert as the place of encounter; above all, that means living towards, for, and from one's maturing encounter with God, but at the same time, it means living in light of a continuing encounter with oneself, a coming to terms with all of that, and, an integration of one's whole life in terms of these continuing forms of encounter. It is this integration that we call holiness while growth in this is what we call sanctification (but also humanization and divinization).

Most people have regular avenues of escape or at least significant relief from this kind of intensity of encounter. But not the hermit. Even her recreation serves the quality of her commitment to this paradoxical vocation of encounter. Witness to this encounter, an encounter that is meant to be at the heart of every Christian vocation, is the actual mission of the hermit. Yet, in Bishop Stowe's approach to and description of c 603 life, one would never imagine such an intense process lay at the heart of the vocation. The approval Stowe gave Matson to spend more than two-thirds of his day in the theatre underscores both parties' ignorance of this foundational dynamic of eremitical life; for Bp Stowe, this ignorance points to a failure to perceive Cole Matson as having been called to it as well. (If you don't understand it exists, how can you recognize someone is called to it? More, how can you affirm them in this vocation?) The tragedy of all of this, however, lies not only in the misrepresentation of this vocation (though I admit that tragedy is significant, indeed), but also in the failure involved by not finding (or creating) a more appropriate avenue for Cole to respond to his true vocation, which itself argues that perhaps Bp Stowe doesn't truly believe in Cole Matson's true vocation.

A Contemplative Moment: The Silence of Solitude

In the Silence of Solitude

The term silence of solitude (solitudinis silentio), cherished by the Carthusian tradition, emphasizes that the hermit's silence does not consist in the absence of voices or noises due to physical isolation. Nor can silence be an outwardly imposed condition. Rather, it is a fundamental attitude that expresses a radical availability to listen to God. Silence is a total focus on the search for union with Christ and open to the attraction of the Paschal dynamic of his death and resurrection. Silence is the experience of the mysterious fruitfulness of a life totally surrendered. Paradoxically it is also an eloquent witness when inhabited by Love.

from

Ponam in Deserto Viam, DICLSAL, 2021

To be a hermit means to relate to the mystery that is present in every human life and that makes one feel small and powerless. To see with the eyes of faith the marvelous and eternal beauty of God means to be invited to come out of oneself and to give oneself up to God. Therefore, the only possible life option  that makes sense for the hermit is to become fully open to that absolute perspective of giving himself as a gift to God. In this sense, "the eremitic calling is a consequence of meeting the original depths of of the Trinity's solitude. God is the living interpersonal relationship of solitude and silence. The reality of God is thus the original source of any solitude, an impenetrable abyss that calls to the profound depths of solitude of the human heart. Having heard that existential call of God's solitude, people respond to it by opening up the whole secret of their hearts.

from

Cornelius Wencel "The Gift of Solitude" in

The Eremitic Life, Encountering God in Silence and Solitude

The Silence of Solitude: A Share in the Abyss of God's Own Heart (Reprise)

As we move into Holy Week, a week I will spend mainly in solitude, I wanted to reprise the following post as part of my reflection on the self-gift God gives us so that he might dwell with us eternally and we, in turn, may dwell with and in him in the same way.

 [[Hi Sister, I wondered why you speak of solitude in personified terms. You say "she herself must open the door to the hermit". Do you think of solitude as a living thing?]]

Thanks for the question. I have repeated Thomas Merton's observation that one cannot choose solitude as one's own vocation; solitude must open the door to the hermit or there is no vocation. I can't say why Merton used this personification with real certainty, but I  know that it reminds me of references to Wisdom in the OT, where Wisdom or Sophia, is a dimension of God --- and a distinctly feminine one at that! I suspect that this same sense might have been true for Merton. In describing the Eremo which is the Motherhouse of the OSB Camaldolese in Tuscany, Merton writes: [[In order to seek Him who is inaccessible the hermit himself becomes inaccessible. But within the little village of cells  centered about the Church of the Eremo is a yet more perfect solitude: that of each hermit's own cell. Within the cell is the hermit (himself), in the solitude of his own soul. But --- and this is the ultimate test of solitude --- the hermit is not alone with himself: for that would not be sacred loneliness. Holiness is life. Holy Solitude is nourished with the Bread of Life and drinks deep at the very Fountain of all Life. The solitude of the soul enclosed within itself is death. And so, the authentic, the really sacred solitude is the infinite solitude of God Himself, Alone, in Whom the hermits are alone,]] (Disputed Questions, A Renaissance Hermit, p. 169)

What Merton is getting at, I think, is that eremitical solitude is not only lived in communion with God, but it is communion with God lived in one's cell and within the very life of God. It is, of itself, a dimension of the God who exists both as a community of love and as an abyss of solitude. It is the life of God which is opened to us when solitude opens her door to us. Cornelius Wencel, Er Cam, says something very similar in speaking of two freedoms meeting one another in The Eremitic Life. He writes: [[In this sense the eremitic calling is a consequence of meeting the original depths of the Trinity's solitude. God is the living interpersonal relationship of love inasmuch as he is the presence of the original abyss of solitude and silence. The reality of God is thus the original source of any solitude, an impenetrable abyss that calls to the profound depths of solitude of the human heart. Having heard that existential call of God's solitude, people respond to it by opening up the whole secret of their hearts.]]

So, yes,  I personify Solitude because I understand it as a dimension, even the most fundamental dimension of God's own heart. To speak of Solitude opening the door to us is to speak of God opening a particular dimension of God's own heart to us and inviting us to dwell there in silence and solitude and coming to the human wholeness, holiness, and rest hermits call "the silence of solitude" and hesychasts call "quies". It is critically important that we understand how qualitatively different from  ("mere") silence and solitude is the reality we call "the silence of solitude" or "eremitical solitude". The first is simply the (still important!) absence of sound and others; the latter is life lived in the solitary abyss of God's heart and so, a living and communal reality. This is also the reason I identify the Silence of Solitude not only as environment, but also as goal, and charism of the eremitical life.

External Silence versus the Silence of Solitude

One of the sets of topics I think about a lot is the silence of solitude as 1) context of the eremitical life, 2) goal or telos of the life (where solitude implies communion with God and silence implies completion), and 3) the charism the world needs so badly. Isn't the silence of solitude just about the silence of being alone? It certainly is about this, but it is also more, and over time dwelling in the silence of solitude one comes to know and live ever more fully toward and into this "more". Today I ran across a quote by Thomas Merton I thought was suggestive of the more nuanced and multivalent understanding of the silence of solitude I think hermits will grow into for the sake of the Reign of God and the salvation of others. I thought it might be helpful in explaining a little of why I understand this term of Canon 603 in the way I do. Merton wrote:

[[It is not speaking that breaks our silence, but the anxiety to be heard.”]]

It is not hard to see what Merton means here. We can easily imagine being in a situation where we are meant to listen and yet find ourselves listening only for a chance to throw in our opinion, suggestions, and advice, or tell our own story. Similarly, I would bet every reader can picture a meeting where participants can hardly be silent as a need to speak out stands in tension with the requirement for patience and the need to hear and learn from others. We will recognize the anxiety thrumming through a person who can hardly contain their desire to interrupt a conversation in order to add their own voice and perspective. While they might be able to maintain an external silence, there is a noisiness about them, a noisiness that interferes with receptivity and infects the entire situation with unquiet. Imagine a child who has raised her hand desperately seeking to answer the teacher's question.  The answer itself is not nearly so important as the need to be recognized, affirmed, and given a place to stand in the teacher's awareness and regard. 

The need to be truly heard is a profound and legitimate need for every person at every stage of their life. Human beings are "language events" in this way as well. We are incomplete to the degree we have not been heard. The drives to be recognized, to succeed, to use one's gifts and talents, even to make a name for oneself, and so forth, stem from this need to be heard, accepted, affirmed, and loved for who we are. This, combined with the failure to have these fundamental needs met fuels the anxiety to be heard Merton speaks about. At the same time, it illuminates something of the nature and import of what it means to seek or achieve the silence of solitude.

When I speak of the silence of solitude as context of my vocation as a hermit I mean exterior silence and physical aloneness --- things that are necessary to create the space and time to seek and be exhaustively heard by God. But I also mean the silence and solitude necessary to learn to listen to our own hearts and pour them out to God as well as to come to know that in God's abiding love we are truly heard (accepted, affirmed, loved, and valued) in every dimension of our being. The learning and degree of inner work this takes over time also explains the importance of spiritual direction in the life of anyone moving toward fuller and fuller existence in God. 

When I speak of the silence of solitude as goal I mean that we move toward the completion or fullness of communion with God in which we are completely known and loved, and therefore, know and love in return --- and do so as naturally possible. Any anxiety to be heard, accepted, affirmed, and loved for who we are is entirely quieted while we are more able to be ourselves with clarity and articulateness. More, we are able to be open to others and to empower them to come to the same articulateness --- the same ability to speak themselves to the world. The silence of solitude here sings with life and wholeness. It is poor, chaste, and obedient!! We are fully ourselves with and in God and, to the extent we have been drawn into and reflect the silence of solitude, we are this without striving or struggle. 

I may develop this post further (at the very least I need to address the idea of the silence of solitude as charism), but I think this is enough for the moment. My hope is that it gives some basic sense of how truly profound Canon 603's "silence of solitude" really is. To reduce it to the external silence of  physical aloneness implies we have not yet lived it well enough, with sufficient attentiveness to its depths and nuance. The eremitical journey is a journey into the silence of solitude. It is a journey of growth, healing, sanctification, and communion --- a journey toward fulfillment and completion of our very selves in God.

Follow-up on Growing as a Hermit: The importance of Others and Learning to Listen

[[Dear Sister, first of all, thank you for your response to my question. Also, thank you for the chance to follow up. What I was interested to hear was how does a hermit with little access to other people measure their [own] growth? Here's where I was coming from in my question. I know that it is in my relationships with others that I really find out whether I have been growing or not. Sometimes I think I've got some hang up taken care of and all of a sudden there's an encounter with someone at my parish and any thought that I have grown in my ability to love others, or my capacity for patience, or whatever --- is shown for the delusion it is! It just seemed to me that a hermit has less chance to have the kinds of experiences that prove whether they have grown or not.

I also wanted to follow up on what you said about letting God be God. I never made the connection before between letting God be God, letting ourselves be loved by God, and loving God ourselves. They really are all the same thing, aren't they? Thank you for that insight!]]

Thanks again for getting back to me. I understand where you are coming from in your observation regarding access to people or relationships. My own experience is, in some ways, the same as yours with regard to seeing how I have grown as a hermit. One source of gauging or measuring growth will be how I deal with other people. Sometimes this has to do with how others still trigger reactions in me, how I get irritated or impatient or judgmental --- all that kind of thing. Sometimes I will notice shifts in relating that are more positive (though I might be noticing how much less irritated or impatient or judgmental I get than I once did, and this represents growth and healing). Yes, there's nothing like relating to others, especially after periods of solitude, to help one see the work that has been done and the work (or conversion, growth, or healing) that still needs to be done!!!

Sister Marietta Fahey, SHF

I do pay attention to the keys these kinds of encounters with others give me, but the source of growth, healing, and conversion will always mainly be my relationship with God. I grow in that relationship and as I do that, I find that it bears fruit in other relationships, in the way in which I see reality around me (for instance, is my realism tinged (or strongly colored) by cynicism or by hope?), and in the way I experience or know myself as well. It also bears fruit in the way I live each day, how I handle illness and chronic pain, how faithful, caring, creative, and courageous I am able to be in spite of limitations, and in all of this, how faithful to prayer.) There are certainly times when all of that is harder (and sometimes very much harder) than at others and I depend on regular meetings with my director to share it all and to maintain perspective and direction. In between meetings for SD, it is journaling, prayer periods, and my time with Scripture that help keep me in touch with who I am called to be and who I am becoming. 

I think what I want you to hear here is the fact that a hermit's life is not ordinarily entirely closed off from others, or from the kind of listening and responding that characterizes relationships with these same others. Eremitical solitude is not isolation, after all!  Also, there are other ways to listen. I know, for instance, that when I stop journaling (or blogging!!) for a period of time something needs special attention. I know something is up when my prayer -- or my approach to prayer -- changes (for instance, I resist prayer or can't return to a normal pattern after a period of illness), or Scripture feels relatively flat to me. Note, however, the changes can also indicate something positive is going on with me and certainly in my relationship with God (and others), so, for instance, the need to add a third period of quiet prayer to the day.)  All of this, and what it all means for being faithful to (growing in) my identity and vocation in Christ depends on a commitment to listening and openness to myself and to God, and so, all of it is implicated in what I refer to as faithfulness to prayer. 

I remember writing here once about Thomas Merton saying that to be really crazy requires other people and that sanity was gained with the trees and mountains (probably a bad paraphrase but it will do for a very limited application). We really have to learn to listen to the content and quality of our own hearts if we are to grow. Moreover, we must learn to hear who God says we are --- how he loves and takes delight in us!! I think that best occurs in the silence of solitude, whether that solitude is about being in touch with ourselves while resting in the heart of God alone, being in touch with ourselves through the abundant life of God's creation, or seeing ourselves anew as we speak our truth to a good friend who generously gives herself over to hearing and accompanying us in this journey toward the fullness of Selfhood. In all of these situations we can hear our own hearts gently reflected back to us if we have learned to listen. That way lies growth, no matter who we are. Sometimes, our encounters with others result in inner turmoil, a kind of cacophony that doesn't serve growth in quite the same way --- if at all!

Thanks again for the follow-up question. I enjoyed pursuing this a bit further than I pursued it originally! And yes, "Letting God be God" etc.,  all mean essentially the same thing!!! Pretty cool, isn't it?

Reflections on the Eremitical Vocation from the perspective of Allegri's "Miserere Mei, Deus"

Recently, in part because of the question I was asked about whether or not a hermit could or should sing office, I have been thinking more about the various tensions that exist in the eremitical vocation, especially the tension that exists between ecclesiality and solitude and also that between physical silence and what canon 603 calls "the silence of solitude". While I was listening to a favorite piece of music -- Allegri's Miserere Mei, Deus done by the Tenebrae Choir  under the direction of Nigel Short -- I thought I could see a perfect representation of these elements and the tensions that exist between them at work in what is one of the most beautiful pieces I know. In some ways they reflect in a more vivid way the dynamics I know personally not only from living as a hermit with an ecclesial vocation, but also from playing violin both alone and in chamber groups and orchestras. I'll say a little about what I heard and saw in this production that was helpful to me in thinking about these central vocational elements and tensions below, but for now you might listen to this piece once or twice before reading on.

 

What struck me first is the dialogical nature of the work --- dialogical in a broad yet still profoundly personal sense of the term. Each and every person is dedicated to listening and responding on a number of levels, first of all to the composer and his music, notations, and text, but also to the director who interprets these realities and communicates this to the singers in gestures and expressions.  Every person is listening not only to themselves and the quality of sound they are producing, but to every other person in the ensemble. Each person is listening to a pulse within themselves which moves through the music and silences (rests) as well as to a mental sense of the music-as-heard over many different and differing performances. These will all guide the music each singer makes in response as they perform or live this work with personal and musical integrity.

What also struck me about this particular performance is the way one can hear the massed sound of all the voices but also clearly distinguish the individual voices (sometimes with the aid of one's eyes as different singers enunciate different syllables and/or notes in time --- we listen with all of our senses). The singers blend perfectly but they only do so insofar as they sing their own part in careful response to the the dynamic context which lets them be themselves alone in relationship. I was reminded most of the ecclesial nature of the eremitical vocation as I thought about this --- the way a beautiful performance is enhanced and completed only as it is sung/lived as an integral part of the whole. I thought this was especially true of the young male soloist whose silence was as critical to the balance and completion of the music as were his solos.

The way the schola in the main stands apart from the larger choir and at times is entirely silent but still very much part of the music as they listen so as to respond appropriately also made me think of the distinction between physical silence and the silence of solitude. And again, that was even more clear to me with the single voice of the young man standing up and "apart" in the arches above the nave and schola. His voice was often "heard" only in its silence and always in relation to others' welcoming  or receptive silence. How very much more than simple physical silence is this listening and participative silence!! It is foundational to the whole piece. When I think as well of the hidden but still-startlingly pervasive presence of the composer, his music, notations (not always easy to imagine what is meant here or there!), and depth of meaning of the text he is communicating, I think of the presence and place of God in the hermit's life --- and again, of the meaning of being bound to obedience in all of the myriad ways we must each allow and achieve if the music we are called to be is to be realized in all of its potential.

And finally, I was struck (and moved with a kind of poignant joy) at the way the now-silent soloist remained apart but very much present in the performance as the schola moved closer to the choir during the last portion of the piece and joined them in singing it. Again, a striking symbol or image for me of the profound difference between eremitical solitude or eremitical anachoresis (withdrawal) and being a lone person or individualist. It is the distinction between belonging integrally to the choir while making music in one's silence and merely standing apart mutely. It is this kind of silence the hermit brings to the Church as a whole, the charism or gift quality of eremitical life c 603 calls "the silence of solitude". As I have written here before, my very first experience of solitude (as opposed to isolation) and also of genuine community was of playing violin, both alone and in orchestra. That was in grade school when I was nine or ten. Now, all these years later music is still the most vivid symbol for my own understanding the nature of eremitical life and what canon 603 could well refer to instead as "the deep music of personal wholeness and holiness in God".

N.B., I am aware there were things which struck me about the Allegri which I haven't mentioned here --- not least the incredible control, power, and brilliance of the diminutive soprano doing the very high solo line. I thought how incredibly suited the human voice is for this and what an incredible instrument God has made in us as I watched and listened to her sing. In this way too we are language events. I was also struck afresh at how it is the way tensions are created and resolved in music that makes the most wonderful harmonies and create moments of real transcendence. Perhaps some of you will have other observations or reflections on the way the piece resonates with your own understanding of eremitical life or prayer, etc.

The text in both Latin and English can be found online (or cf. Psalm 51). Gregorio Allegri: Miserere Mei, Deus

Can/Should Hermits Sing Office??

[[Dear Sister, I do have a question, or rather a question put to me by some people. My prayer-life is structured around the Liturgy of the Hours, which I chant/recite and sing out loud on my own. When hearing about how I pray the Hours vocally, the questioners (priests) could not get their heads wrapped around the fact that I could try and live a life of silence and then not pray the Hours silently(!). I think their surprise mostly has to do with how they perceive silence and the silent life. Their question has set me thinking. I am planning to give them an answer.

There are some points I want to address in my answer. - The difference between personal prayer and the prayer of the Church. - How the Church’s liturgy presupposes a holistic (non-dualistic) anthropology. Celebration/worship is therefore not just something cerebral or disembodied, but uses all our senses and physical, mental and emotional faculties, and sanctifies our entire person. - How silence can lead to song, and in fact is a prerequisite for true sound/song/speech/word/Word. - How the General Instruction on the Liturgy of the Hours speaks of moments of ‘Sacred Silence’ and in doing so therefore implies vocal prayer. - How although external silence is an important instrument in prayer-life, it does not determine and qualify the silence of solitude.

How would you react? What would be the points you would want to make clear? Perhaps you feel the Hours should indeed be prayed silently by a hermit? And if so, why? Are these suitable questions for a nice long blog-posting?! I hope so👌 If they are, there is no rush. First enjoy Christmas as well as enjoying rounding off your Mark-studies! (I have a another question up my sleeve, but will reserve that for 2021.....)]]

Many thanks for your question and your patience. We did finish the Gospel of Mark about a week and a half ago and are preparing to do the Gospel of Matthew now. But I have some weeks before that needs to be ready so here I am, finally getting to your question!!! Moreover, it's my Feast Day (Conversion of  St Paul in case I don't get this finished this evening) so it's a very good day to think and write about singing Office and the place of singing more generally in my own life!

 When I think of the way folks reacted to you I would be inclined to react myself by laughing a bit and commenting on how little hermits and their lifestyle are understood today (and have been all through history for that matter)! All of your points are fine; any complete response would include them or some version of them. (I have a quibble or question regarding your use of the term "qualify" in your observation on the silence of solitude and its relation to physical or external silence, but I get your main point and agree with that.) What seems especially important to me are your emphases on the whole person and the relation of physical  or external silence to Word; the distinction (and overlap) between physical silence and what canon 603 calls "the silence of solitude" is also critical. In order to speak about these important elements, I would contextualize them within a theology of the obedient life (the life of prayer) and of human being as a dialogical reality or language "event" which is meant and called to mediate the presence of the real God in space and time. So, does the silence of eremitical life prevent hermits from singing Office? Why or why not?

First of all then, I suppose I would not say that I live a life of silence so much as I live a life of prayer centered on God which is open, attentive, and responsive to God. More, I live this life within an ecclesial context of physical solitude. That, of course absolutely requires physical silence, but important as it is, the eremitical life is not primarily about silence. If your friends, for instance, believe that silence is the overarching value of your life or is something you value without reference to a larger reality, viz, the call to obedient life, it could lead  to their misunderstand the nature of eremitical life. On the other hand, if they understand that it is seeking or being open to God that is primary,  that we are committed to learning to listen for/to as well as to respond fully to the One who reveals Godself in Christ to/in every person as well as in the whole of creation, they might have a bit easier time understanding the relative importance of silence and too, the difference between physical or external silence and the silence of solitude. 

My first point would be then that in the eremitic life obedience is more primary than silence; silence serves obedience in the eremitical life, both in terms of listening and in terms of being appropriately responsive. Both dimensions are included in the Christian notion of "hearkening" or "obedience". Thus, precisely because silence serves obedience (as does physical solitude in this context), it means that other things can and will relativize the hermit's physical silence. This is especially true if these things also contribute not only to her prayer, but to becoming God's own prayer in the world.

This last week I was rereading Wencel's book on Eremitic Life and I came across a passage I had once marked: "To search for God means above all to enter the way of faith and silence that releases the spring of prayer at the bottom of the human heart." I believe, though, that he would agree with me that once it is released, it may express itself in song. (It may also express itself in poetry, painting, music, writing, etc.) Wencel also identifies God as the original abyss of silence, and in the same sentence he refers to this same reality as a "song of love." Wencel understands the Mystery which is at the heart of eremitic life and finds no conflict in identifying the deepest silence one can know with the song of love it also is. He is not concerned about the paradox he has constructed here because he knows these two things held together in tension express a larger and ineffable truth. Prayer shares the same paradox and is moved by the same Mystery. Hermits know silence. They move in it and through it and look for it to help transform them into an expression of the "silence of solitude" -- something much richer than the sum of physical silence and aloneness. It seems to me then that as I point to and then celebrate the coming to be of that deeper, richer reality canon 603 calls  "the silence of solitude," it is entirely  appropriate, even necessary that one will often do so in song!

Another piece of my own thought on this is the notion that human beings are dialogical at their very core. We are, in Gerhard Ebeling's terms, "language events" --- brought into being by the Word/Logos of God and brought to ever greater maturity and articulateness by every lifegiving word spoken to us and every integral response we make. We are beings who are summoned into existence and called to ever greater authenticity and fullness of being by God and our lives are shaped by the way we hearken to this Presence. We begin our lives incapable of speech or of choosing our own direction or allowing God to shape our lives. Circumstances may keep us relatively incapable, relatively mute -- though at the same time they may wound us so seriously that we are little more than a defensive "No!" or a scream of anguish. When we are loved, however --- consistently, truly, and profoundly loved, more and more we will find our own voice and express the love that has called us to growing wholeness. 

Sometimes our expression of this true existence will be silence, but it will not be the silence of muteness. Rather it will be the silence of a heart too full of awe and gratitude to express with words. Other times we will (try to) find words for it and write poetry or prose commensurate with what we are trying (and always failing) to express. And sometimes it will be in music or song. This does not mean we only sing when we are joyful; sometimes what we sing will have the character of lament, for instance. What is always true is that as we respond to the prayer God is making of us, we use the form of response which best suits the situation and who we are at that moment in time. Just as we learn to pray our lives, so too do we learn to sing our lives. Again, it seems appropriate then that some of our prayer, but especially psalms and canticles be sung when that fits the circumstances.

I do sing Office (especially Compline or Night Prayer) --- unless I have a cold or (sometimes) am otherwise not feeling well. You are entirely correct that silence can lead to song and that it is a prerequisite to speech/word/ song. I remember in High School being taught in a music class that the rests (silences) in the music were as important as the notes because the rests helped transform noise into meaningful sound or music. The teacher pointed out that without rests (appropriate, measured silences) we would have only (meaningless) noise. If we are to become God's own prayers in our world, if we are to hear God and respond appropriately, then silence is critically necessary. We need silence to become an articulate expression of and response to God's own song of love. And if we are moved to sing in response, then sing we must. That is the way of genuine obedience; after all, c 603 hermits make vows of obedience, not silence!

I will leave this here for now. You have been more than patient and for right now this is all I have to add to the points you made so well. If I should think of something I left out I will add another post -- a kind of "part II" perhaps. I am well aware I have not spoken at all about the ecclesial nature of the consecrated hermit's vocation here and though there are a number of articles here about that, I well may need to do that as an enlargement on your own point re: private and liturgical prayer. At the same time I haven't said much here about the distinction between physical or external silence and the "silence of solitude" and I definitely may need to say more about that. Significantly, Canon 603 does not read "silence and solitude" but rather "the silence of solitude". The most important thing about it for the purposes of this post is that it is always richer than the apparent sum of its parts because eremitical solitude itself is not just about being alone, but about existing fully and integrally in an ongoing, active, dialogue with God (and all that is of God). In the meantime, I hope this finds you well and in good voice!!

To What or Whom is the Hermit Called and Sent?

[[Dear Sister, you wrote recently about anointing as a prophetic sacrament and one which marks one's call or "commission" to be sick within the Church. How do you understand your own call to eremitical life? Do you feel called to be a prayer warrior or to teach Scripture? You were commissioned at your profession but what were you commissioned to do? Was it to pray? To do penance? Because you do some limited ministry in your parish do you see these things as part of your commissioning or mission? To what and to whom is the diocesan hermit sent?]]

Thanks for your questions and observations. Because of a conversation I had with a hermit living back East (soon to be perpetually professed under canon 603!), I think I may have written about this in the past two or three years but I can't find the post so I'll just start over. In that conversation we talked about the hermit being sent, but not being sent out to teach or nurse or do pastoral ministry as a chaplain might, but rather, being sent into the hermitage.  I want to enlarge on this idea; in doing so I will speak of the hermit's mission and the charism of her life which I identify as canon 603's "the silence of solitude".

Three and a half years ago, as some readers will know, I began a process of focused personal formation with my Director. It was a process of spiritual formation, but also of personal healing (the healing of memories, of trauma associated with chronic illness, etc) and  personal growth which supported my maturation as a theologian and hermit. The process was (and is) an intense one which demanded time taken from other things on my part and on the part of my Director as well. I remember saying to her, that the Church had professed me to live this vocation in her name and that if we discerned that this work was a piece of growing in this vocation then the Church had implicitly given me permission to undertake this work. I felt entirely free to undertake something which would demand time, energy, and certain limitations on writing, study, and limited ministry in my parish. What I did not say to Sister M (though I'm sure she knew this anyway) was that I thought this was actually part of the charism of an eremitical vocation, and part of what I was actually commissioned to undertake.

So what is the hermit called to and what is the charism (unique gift quality) of her vocation? More, what is she commissioned or missioned to do/live? Most simply put I think, a hermit is called to witness to the fact that human beings are completed by God, that God alone is sufficient for us ("My grace is sufficient for you, my power is perfected in weakness."), and that union with God is the goal and fulfillment of human life. I am not commissioned to go out into the world and teach or preach or do retreats, or even spiritual direction, etc --- at least I am not primarily called to these things! Hermits are not sent out into the larger world but into the silence and physical solitude of the hermitage so that in that desert environment -- with, in, and through Christ -- we may let God be God and be made into and be the human beings God calls us to be. If we succeed in this, then our lives will witness to Paul's affirmation about the sufficiency of grace in 2 Cor 12:9 and we will be a source of hope to those who need it most --- those estranged from God, themselves, and others, those who believe their lives are worthless or empty of meaning, those who have nothing to recommend them in terms of the powers and values of this world and who feel unloved and lost.

God alone is sufficient for us. No one and nothing else is. We are made for a love which is greater than anything we might have known or imagined apart from God. We are called to a life which transcends the limits and horizons of this entire world/cosmos. We are precious beyond saying, treasures in earthen vessels who are completed by the God who made all we know and summons it to fulfillment in Him. The love of/by others prepares us for this infinite, transcendent love but cannot replace it. Again, God alone is sufficient for us. Hermits are sent into the narrow confines of their hermitage in order to witness to the fact that this limited space (and this limited human life!) opens up onto eternity in God. They give themselves over to God in prayer and penance, study, spiritual direction and similar personal formation and, in every way they can, say yes to being God's counterpart, God's covenant partner. During this Advent season we prepare ourselves for a God called Emmanuel, a God who promises to be with us -- a healing, sanctifying, comforting and empowering Love-in-Act who will allow nothing to separate us from Him (Rom 8). Hermits say (and have been commissioned to say with their lives) that indeed God IS with us!!

The wholeness, peace, hope, and the cessation of all striving, fear, and anxiety in Christ, is what "the silence of solitude" refers to when it is seen as the goal of eremitical life. This "stillness" both leads to and is the result of eremitical solitude or communion with God. It is the essence of hesychasm. In a more immediate sense the silence of solitude is the environment of being alone with God, and in the more ultimate sense it is the gift (charism) which the hermit witnesses to/is for the whole church and world. We are each sent into the hermitage, a place of silence and solitude to allow God to make of us instances of "the silence of solitude" --- where solitude is defined in terms of wholeness and the fulfillment of individual truth/selfhood (holiness) in the Spirit of God.  Each person is a language event -- the embodiment or expression of the Word of God spoken within them to others. Hermits are a particular kind of language event, a contemplative instance of what canon 603 calls "the silence of solitude",  something formed in and ever so much richer than mere silence and solitude added together. The Church commissions her hermits to proclaim the Gospel to others in a way which allows them to hope in the promise of their own lives and look to God as the ground and source of all their truest potential and yearning.

Beyond this I personally do not feel called to be a prayer warrior --- though of course I pray for others and otherwise. I have written here in the past that the hermitage is a place where the hermit battles with demons, especially those of her own heart, so that God might be God exhaustively in space and time. However, the "warrior" description is something I personally dislike because it sounds too much like prayer is something I do rather than something God does within me. Because my education is in systematic theology with a foundation in Scripture I have discerned a call to do some Scripture/theology in my parish so the answer to this question is yes, I feel called to do this as well as spiritual direction and (perhaps) Communion Services once a week in our parish chapel on our pastor's day off. I also feel called to do this blog and to write more systematically re eremitical life, especially under canon 603. What seems clear to me is that these limited instances of apostolic ministry are the consequences of life in eremitical solitude. They come from it and they lead me back to it so that my prayer, study, lectio divina, and the work I do in personal formation become a direct gift to others. Let me be clear though: they could not function in this way unless they were expressions of who I am in Christ -- and so they lead me back to the hermitage cell where God and I speak, love, laugh, dance, sing, and cry together for the sake of the salvation of the whole cosmos.

To whom or what is the hermit sent, then? The hermit is sent to her hermitage in order to be there for God's own sake, that God might be God. This is true so that others might know themselves as made for God and fulfilled by God alone. She is sent into the hermitage for God's own sake so that the true measure of her humanity may be achieved in Him  and she may serve as a model for others. She lives from God in the solitary Christ so that others may know who God is, who we each are, and what God wants us and our world to be about. For this reason it is particularly important that hermits not be caricatures or stereotypes, and that their lives not be focused merely on their own salvation or perfection. Will they be perfected? Yes, but only as they give themselves over to God for God's own sake and the sake of a world in desparate need of God and all that God makes possible and dreams for us.