Feast of St Teresa Benedicta of the Cross

Today marks the day on which Sister Teresa Benedicta, OCD, was martyred in 1942.

"We bow down before the testimony of the life and death of Edith Stein, an outstanding daughter of Israel and at the same time a daughter of the Carmelite Order, Sister Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, a personality who united within her rich life a dramatic synthesis of our century. It was the synthesis of a history full of deep wounds that are still hurting ... and also the synthesis of the full truth about man. All this came together in a single heart that remained restless and unfulfilled until it finally found rest in God." These were the words of Pope John Paul II when he beatified Edith Stein in Cologne on 1 May 1987.

For a terrific biography of Sr Teresa Benedicta, try Edith Stein, The Life of a Philosopher and Carmelite, by Teresa Renata Posselt, OCD, ICS Publications. Posselt was the Novice Mistress and then the Mother Prioress when Edith Stein lived at the Cologne Carmel. The text has been reprinted and enlarged with scholarly perspectives published in separate "gleanings" sections, so they are available, but do not intrude on Posselt's text.

Another excellent biography you might check out is, Edith Stein, A Biography by Waltraud Herbstrith, OCD, Harper and Row. Sister Herbstrith knew Edith Stein well and has apparently spent a large part of her life making sure the story of Sister Benedicta's life and martyrdom was completely told.

New Novice! Congratulations Sister M Veronica, OSF!!

A week ago I posted a note that postulant Jaimie (Franciscan Sisters of Peoria) was beginning her pre-reception retreat. Well, she was received yesterday on the Feast of the Transfiguration, was clothed as a novice, and is now Sister M Veronica, OSF!!


Sisters from L to R- Sister Judith Ann (Major Superior), Sister M Veronica (new novice), and Sister Mary John (Director of Formation). Congratulations, Sister Veronica, and best wishes as you begin the next and critical stage of your initial formation!!

By the way, when I first posted Sr Veronica's new name, I inadvertantly left off the OSF. Readers should know that that was pretty careless of me because it is just now, with reception, that Sister Veronica can truly call herself a Franciscan Sister (Peoria), albeit as a novice. (In my defense, let me note that in some congregations, the use of congregational initials is actually reserved until after first profession.) Postulancy is a period of preparation and discernment (as is novitiate for that matter), but the postulant (from the Latin, postulare, to ask) is still not officially part of the Order or Congregation. This affiliation (and the life, in Christ, of complete self-giving to God and all he cherishes) is what she seeks and requests, hence the name postulant. Religious use the initials of their congregations to indicate precisely this belonging. Nor is this is a trivial matter because it points to a specific charism (that is, a unique gift quality) and mission to the church and world in which Sister Veronica now newly shares, and of which she will seek more and more to become an embodiment. (Along with the rights and responsibilities which come with profession, the need to grow in this embodiment is another reason some congregations reserve the usage until after first profession when they believe the Sister is more truly formed in these things.)

Beyond this, the initials adopted (along with the title, Sister) signals the ecclesial nature of a religious' vocation. That is, there is a mutual process of discernment going on: the one asking to be received into the community to try her vocation (the postulant) acts on what her heart tells her, but the church (in this case, through the mediation of the Franciscan Sisters of Peoria) also must determine the reality and the nature of the vocation and must officially extend God's own call to young religious. This is true of any vocation requiring and allowing public profession in the Church; someone must officially also discern and mediate the call of God to the person; hearing a call in one's own heart, while important, is inadequate. That the Franciscan Sisters of Peoria have welcomed Sister Veronica officially as one of their Sisters is a significant step. Now she and they move into her novitiate, a two year period where that discernment, and Veronica's formation as a Franciscan Sister of Peoria continues, and where in particular, Sr Veronica begins to prepare in earnest for her first profession and the assumption of some of the legal rights and responsibilities which come with the initials OSF.

Feast of the Transfiguration

Happy Feast day to Transfiguration Monastery, Windsor, NY (Camaldolese), and all others bearing the name Transfiguration!! May we each embrace the transfiguration of our own lives which God's love brings and challenges us to allow.

Icon in more detail:



Christ, Right hand raised in blessing

Moses (left), and Elijah (above) representing the Law and the Prophets which come to fulfillment in Christ.

Below Christ are the three Apostles, who, by their posture in the icon, show their response to the transfiguration of Christ. According to the commentator, James (right) has fallen over backwards with his hands over his eyes (Sorry, I admit I do not see this!). John in the center (cf below) has fallen prostrate.



The garments of the Apostles are in a state of disarray as to indicate the dramatic impact the vision has had on them.


Peter is kneeling and raises his right hand toward Christ in a gesture expressing his desire to build the three booths.

Pictures and some text are from the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America Website.

A Followup Question on "Bearing Our Crosses"

[[Can you say more about this idea that God does not send us crosses, but rather sends us into a world which is full of them and commissions us to carry them? How can you say that God did not send Jesus the cross he agreed to carry?]]

First, let me say that all the crosses that come our way come with the "permissive will" of God. However, too often we interpret the fact that God "permits" something to happen as though it is equivalent to the notion that he wants it to happen. The use of the word "will" in the term "permissive will" can be somewhat misleading therefore, and it can be associated with the idea that God is in total control (which, by the way, is not the same thing as affirming he is sovereign); sometimes when the term "permissive will" is used, we imagine something like options or possibilities being run past God so that he may intervene or not, say no or not: will she be sick or not; will disaster strike this person or not; should she suffer this pain or that loss, or not; will she die or not; etc? God is ALWAYS on the side of life, not death.

But God is NOT in total control, nor does he stand in the midst of the world's possibilities like someone making a deathcamp-selection of who shall suffer and who shall not. There are, as Paul clearly states, powers and principalities at work in our world, including death and sin, which God is in the process of bringing under complete subjection to himself. In Christ he has won the decisive victory over these realities or realms, but he is not yet "all in all" and some aspects of the world remain yet untouched or unchanged (or perhaps better said, inadequately or incompletely touched or changed) by his presence. Our world is marked not only by order, but by disorder, not only by meaning, but by senselessness, not only by truth but by falsehood and falseness. And God permits all this because it is the price of a free creation who can eventually turn responsively to him in genuine love.

My comments regarding God NOT sending us the crosses we are called upon to carry was largely based on the distorted but very common view of how permissive will operates or "what it looks like". It was meant to stress that, in fact, things happen which God does not directly will or send. That he permits them is not to say he wills them, nor even less that he wants them to happen. He works at all times to redeem the world, every aspect of it, and to reclaim it from the powers of sin and death. The decisive victory, once again, has been won, but there is yet work to do and the result for us is the crosses that ordinary life sends our way daily. Will these crosses eventually disappear? Yes, for one day God will truly be all in all and there will be complete victory over sin and death.


Dietrich Bonhoeffer once summarized the entire situation in a quote I like very much, and have used here before, I think. He said, "Not everything that happens is the will of God, but inevitably, nothing that does happen happens OUTSIDE the will of God." God is sovereign in this world. Ultimately he will be the total victor, of that there is no doubt. But in the meantime he is not in COMPLETE control. For this to become reality means that you and I must take on the crosses life sends our way, wherever they come from! If we do this worthily IN CHRIST, then these symbols and bits of sinful, death-dealing reality will eventually be transformed into sacraments of God's presence and love, just as the cross WE PLACED ON JESUS' SHOULDERS, and the death he died, was transformed into a sacrament of God's presence.

There is one other problem with thinking that God sends the crosses that come into our lives. Most of the time these crosses are fashioned, as I noted yesterday or so, with bloody human hands and from the twisted, frightened, defensive human heart. Our tendency to think that God sent the cross that Jesus died on has sometimes prevented us from seeing that he REALLY AND TRULY died at our hands under the control of our torturers as crowds of us stood and jeered and mocked, and as our religious people orchestrated the matter even while they tore their clothes in anguish in feigned --- or delusional --- innocence. The cross was completely and wholly fashioned and laid on him by sinful human hands and hearts. When I consider what it was that God willed, it was that Jesus enter exhaustively into our flawed and distorted reality; God willed that he drink as deeply as possible from the cup of our lot, that he experience the very worst of what humans can do AND THAT HE REMAIN OPEN AND RESPONSIVE (OBEDIENT) TO HIS FATHER AND THE SPIRIT in spite of it all. Did he will Jesus' crucifixion per se? No, but there is no doubt it came to Jesus as a piece of the life he lived; still, it was very much something that WE WILLED and did to him. I can hardly agree that our will and God's were identical here except in the most paradoxical and ironic way!

On the other hand, there is another side to the equation I set out: namely, that God sends us, as he did Jesus, into our world and commissions us to carry the crosses the world lays upon us! God's will of course, is to be "all in all" as the Pauline phrase goes. The way that happens is by human beings bringing (allowing) God into those places he cannot force his way into. Jesus did this as exhaustively as he could by dying the deepest most "godforsaken death" one could die while yet remaining open to and dependent upon his Father to make sense out of it, to bring life out of it, and to turn the most horrific human injustice into the source and absolute measure of divine justice/mercy. We must extend this achievement to all the dark and unhealthy places that remain, and that means taking on life's crosses and allowing God to transform them with his presence. God has given us a mission in this world: we are to participate in its perfecting and being brought to fulfillment. This means we are to share in God's own destiny and make it our own; we do this by embracing both God and the crosses (as well as the great joys!) life sends our way.


But God goes further still than simply commissioning us to carry them. He accompanies us in this. More, like Simon the Cyrene, he helps us carry them; he takes a lot of their weight upon himself. He not only did this in Jesus so that our crosses are never as heavy as they might have been without the Christ Event, but he does it now, moment by moment. The image I like very much here is the picture of Jesus holding a young man up. The cross --- whatever it actually is is unclear, though the picture refers to the divine healer --- is the young man's, but the young man is Christ's and so Jesus carries or upholds both the young man and his burden. In all of this God wills to extend his sovereignty (that is, life lived solely in light of his love and mercy) to the whole of reality.

A Distinction between Willing and Commissioning

Perhaps another image will help us distinguish between what God wills for us, and what he commission us to do. When someone joins the armed services in order to protect or extend certain values to the whole world, the officers do not will for men and women to be hurt or die. The commission they are given is one of fighting and bringing peace and other values to a region, for instance. In the process, some will be captured, some will be tortured, others will suffer in all manner of other ways, and many will die. The officers do not will these things and they work in all kinds of ways to prevent them from happening, but the commission remains and it means taking on these kinds of things in the process of carrying it out. A less militant, but more effective image might be the peace corps: the commission is to educate, build community, enhance societies, etc. The means to carrying this commision will entail suffering, hardship, crosses. Does the peace corps as sponsoring organization WILL or WANT these things? No, but taking them on is very often part of the volunteer's commission and the Peace Corp will assist the person in doing so.

My response regarding Jesus is based upon this distinction. God willed for Jesus what was entailed in a life completely obedient to Him, or better, perhaps, he willed a completely obedient (open, attentive, responsive) life which would implicate Jesus' Father and their mutual Spirit into every moment and mood of human existence. Jesus was commissioned in this way. The general mission was God-willed; the specific cross on which he died, and thus, the manner of his passion and death was fashioned by the world and laid on Jesus' shoulders by human hands and hearts. Now let me say that I think it is possible and necessary to say that God willed this particular cross, and embraced it himself, but one needs to make our own role in it completely clear in doing so. That becomes even more important when we are dealing with the crosses that life hands us, but that God has never willed for us.

I hope this clarifies a bit more what I was saying in my last post. Again, please get back to me if it raises more questions or causes greater confusion!!

On Bearing the Crosses that Come our Way

[[1) Are there such things as "unworthy" crosses, or "unholy" crosses? 2) Is God only able to use "holy crosses", or "worthy crosses" in our lives?? 3) Does he simply remove these ["unworthy"] crosses for us??]]

Well, it's an interesting couple of questions, but the answer to the first one is no (or potentially so), and the answer to the second question is a definite no!! The third one is a bit more nuanced, so see below. Let me start with the second question, which is more straightforward, and more clearly theological. It will provide the basis for answering the first and third questions as well.



To begin we must start with the central paradigm and symbol of our faith, the Cross of Christ. When we think of the Cross of Christ and Christ's passion it is critically important to remember that what was most significant about it was not the agonizing physical torture associated with it, horrific as this was, but rather the shame, offensiveness, and scandal of the cross. There was nothing holy, or worthy, or respectable about the cross Jesus assumed as his own. Quite the contrary. It was in every way the cross formed and shaped from and by human sinfulness, depravity, cruelty, inhumanity, and shamefulness --- not from human nobility, compassion, integrity, or anything similar. This cross represented the antithesis of the holy, the good, or the noble. It was understood to represent Godlessness (anti-life, anti-holiness, etc.) in as absolute a way as anything could. And of course, it is THIS shameful, unholy cross that God uses to redeem and reconcile his entire creation! (I am not going into this theology of how that happens in detail here; I have done that other places so please check the tags in the right hand column to find those articles re how the cross works, or the "Theology of the Cross".)

With this in mind, I think I can now approach the answer to your first question. There is no doubt that many of the crosses that afflict our lives are the result of unworthy choices, whether our own or another's. Not all the crosses we are called to bear are the result of an unchosen illness, for instance. People hurt one another, sometimes deeply and in ways which leave wounds which are difficult to work with or treat. Children are abused by parents and their capacities to love, trust, or live can be badly impaired. Adults sin seriously and impair their own and others' physical and emotional health in the process. In so many ways we carry the scars of these events, sometimes for years and years, sometimes our whole lives long. When you refer to unworthy or unholy crosses I think you are probably referring to these kinds of things, crosses that are the result of sin, inhumanity, cruelty, and the like. They are not unworthy in and of themselves, but they are the result of choices which are unworthy of both God and mankind, so let me go with that understanding for the moment.

What do we do with the Crosses the World Sends our Way?

So, what are we to do with such crosses? And further, can God use these for his own purposes even if he does not "send them"? Well, as with any cross we are to bear them patiently. HOWEVER, to bear them in this way does not mean simply to carry on without treatment, therapy, necessary personal work, healing and the like. To bear these kinds of crosses REQUIRES we work to allow the healing we need to live and love fully as human beings. This correlative work is actually a piece of bearing our cross patiently, ironic or contradictory as that may initially sound.

Let me give you an example of what I mean. A child who is abused will grow up scarred; it is a cross she will have to bear for her whole life, though not necessarily always in the same way. However, it is a cross which will need to be borne precisely by taking on therapy and the hard work of healing. Were she to refuse this work and thus allowed her life to be dominated or defined completely by the past, she would not be embracing her cross or bearing it patiently, but denying and rejecting it. One does not embrace one's cross by refusing to live fully. To bear a cross patiently means to take on LIFE in its shadow, and marked by its weight and imprint, but also to do so with the grace of God which brings life out of death, wholeness out of brokenness, joy out of sorrow, and meaning out of senselessness. It does NOT mean to forego the challenges of living fully in the name of some piously-rationalized cowardice and "victimologization". For instance, the abused person would not be bearing her cross patiently if she said, "Well, God sent this cross, so I will simply accept all the consequences, dysfunction, crippled human capacities, and distortions that come with it. Don't talk to me about therapy, or moving out of this abusive relationship, or working hard to change the situation, etc!"

Prescinding from the idea that God sent this cross for the moment (a notion which I personally reject and explain below), what this attitude describes instead is capitulation to what Paul calls the powers of sin and death which are so active in our world. It is the refusal to allow God to redeem the situation, the refusal to be free in the Christian sense, and represents the embracing of bondage or slavery instead. It is an act of collusion with the destructive effects and process of the cross. Whether one is motivated by cowardice, hopelessness, masochism, or some other similar thing, in this case the pious sounding, "God sent this cross so I will accept it, all its consequences, dysfunction,. . ." is a refusal to live fully, to seek genuine holiness and humanity. It is a refusal of God's grace as it usually comes to us as well, for God's grace here ordinarily comes to us through things like the processes of therapy, spiritual direction, personal work, and all the relationships and changes which bring Christ's own hard-won healing and wholeness.

Can God Use unworthy Crosses?


Can God use these "unworthy" crosses for his purposes? Of course. Why would he not be able to? To suggest otherwise is to say that God is incapable of redeeming certain aspects of his creation, or of making all things work for good in those who love him and let him love them. It is to suggest the Christ Event was a failure, and today's passage from Romans 8 ("nothing will separate us from the love of God") is hyperbole at best, and a lie at worst. God may not have sent this cross, but there is no doubt that he can use it as a unique mediating source of grace in one's life. We grow in all kinds of ways when we embrace the unavoidable difficulties life throws our way, but especially when we do so in faith and in concert with God's grace. This points up another way of refusing to carry one's cross, an unusual way I think, but one nonetheless. It is a refusal to carry one's cross to say, "God did not send it, so let's just be rid of it (or ignore it, etc). I cannot grow in this virtue or that one in light of this cross because it is unworthy, unholy, and God did not send it." In fact, God ordinarily does NOT send the crosses that come our way. They are forged instead in the workshops of human sin, stupidity, cruelty and violence --- just as Jesus' cross was. And yet, he expects us to take them on with his grace so that he might redeem us and our world. I don't for an instant believe that God sent chronic illness, injury and pain for me to live with, however, he can use these with my cooperation to transform both me and my world. I don't for an instant believe that God sends the crosses that are the result of abuse, neglect, carelessness, cruelty and the like, but there is no doubt that he can use these to transfigure their sufferers and our world.

Does God Simply Remove unworthy Crosses?

Your last question was a bit more of a surprise than the other two and you may need to say more about it for me to answer adequately. Let me take a stab at it though. Does God simply remove these crosses for us? My first answer is no, though I am sure he COULD do. My second or related response is a question, namely, "why should he?" I suppose in some way this question stems from your other two: if a cross is unholy and unworthy and God did not send it, then why shouldn't he simply remove it? But the simple fact is that crosses become holy and worthy in the bearing of them! They are "worthy" or "holy" crosses only when the one afflicted by them bears them worthily and in holiness. These crosses become something other than the result of human sinfulness and cruelty only when they are borne with grace --- and here grace does not simply mean superficial equanimity (or something less noble like grudging resignation!); it means "with the life-giving life and power of God's accompanying love." God has chosen to redeem this world by participating in its crosses, but as with Jesus, that means that one has to take the cross on in a conscious way and walk with it. Of course we will fall under its weight from time to time. Jesus did as well. But in the end, it is only in this way that God can take on sin and death, enter into them exhaustively, and transform them with his presence. We take these things on as a piece of Jesus' own redemptive work; we cannot eschew such a burden and be true to our callings.

Theologically, it makes no sense to me to try and distinguish between those crosses which are sent by God and are worthy of being borne, and those which are not. Partly that is because I don't believe God sends crosses so much as he sends the means by which they may be redeemed and become redemptive. Partly it is because it is precisely the unholy and unworthy that God takes on WITH US (and in us!), in such cases, transforming them into something of real worth and holiness. Did God send Jesus the cross he took on! NO, it was entirely a human construct made with our own bloody hands and twisted, frightened hearts, but absolutely he did send Jesus into our world to TAKE IT ON! Do you hear the difference? Does he send us the crosses that come our way? No, but he sends us into the world so that we might be part of its redemption and fulfillment and that means he sends us into the world to take on the various crosses that COME OUR WAY "naturally" (and by "naturally" I mean that come our way through the human sinfulness, cruelty, and violence we meet everyday).



No cross is worthy or holy until it is borne with grace and courage. God does not send crosses per se, but he sends us into a world full of them expecting to help us in their redemption, and he certainly commissions us to carry the crosses that come our way. The only other point that needs to be reiterated is that we bear crosses patiently only when we choose to live fully in spite of them, and in taking them on with the grace of God accompanying and empowering us. That means we take on the therapy, medical care (including appropriate medications for pain, etc), personal work of healing, and so forth that are part of these crosses. If someone has hurt us, even if they have hurt us very badly, it also means taking on the work and the PROCESS of healing we call forgiveness. This can take years and years of course; it is not simply an act of will --- even though it involves such acts (sometimes many of them in renewed intentions to let the past go). It requires assistance, not only of God, but physicians, psychologists, confessors, spiritual directors, and friends. The bottom line is there are many ways to refuse to carry a cross including labelling them unworthy or unholy and waiting for God to simply remove them, but to carry them means more than to simply accept the events that forged them initially; it means to accept everything necessary to transform and redeem them and ourselves as their bearers as well.

I hope this answers your questions; if I misunderstood them in some way, please get back to me and clarify.

Horarium Question

[[Hi Sister Laurel! Recently you put up the horarium (schedule) of your days on retreat, but I was wondering what your horarium for your days is usually like. It is not included in the copy of the Rule of Life you put up last year. Would you mind sharing that? Also, if someone wants to create a schedule for themselves, what should they pay attention to? Thank you!]]

I think if someone is trying to work out a schedule for themselves they have to strive to embody balance and order. As you will see, my own schedule (horarium) is oriented around liturgical prayer, lectio divina, study/writing, and quiet prayer (which actually accompanies all the other activities either before or after them). Those are the main elements, the things without which I don't function well and/or to which I am publicly committed to be faithful; this includes related practices or activities which fit around and support them.They are meant to alternate work, prayer, study, lectio, and I try to do this even when I cannot keep to a clock schedule. I also was given some great advice by the hermit monk who first read my Rule for suggestions. He said, "I hope you are careful to build in enough time for rest and recreation." Because of that, I take those things more seriously than I have at other times in my life, and everything is better because of it. I would certainly suggest people seeking to establish their own horaria do something similar.

In any case, here is the general weekday horarium for Stillsong Hermitage.

4:00 rising
4:15 Vigils.
4:30-5:30 quiet (contemplative) prayer
5:30 Lauds
6:00- 8:00 writing
7:00 breakfast (may skip on Fridays. may have after Mass)
8:30 Mass

9:15 Small chores around hermitage (during school year I first have coffee once a week on Fridays with parishioners at a small cafe run by school parents to benefit the parish "garden of learning"; during the Summer we go to coffee elsewhere.)

9:30 or 10:00 Lectio Divina: (Scripture)

12:30 Lunch (Dinner)
1:00 Rest, walk or nap
3:30 or 4:00 Writing, etc (work, theological study, occasional client). Afternoons are variable and may be taken up with whatever needs doing. This includes the period from 1:00 to 5:00pm.

5:00pm quiet prayer/meditation
6:00 Vespers (sung)
6:30 Supper and small chores
7:00 work (house chores, study, occasional clients --- depends on day. Wednesdays, orchestral rehearsal)

7:30- 8:30 Journaling (most days except Wednesdays and evenings with clients)
8:30 compline (sung)
9:00 pm bed --- earlier if no nap in afternoon (later on Wednesdays: @11:00pm)

Saturdays: as on weekdays until breakfast. Then, large chores, shopping, errands away from hermitage, etc.
5:00pm vigil Mass
6:30 supper
7:30 journaling, quiet prayer
9:00 compline
9:15 bed

Sundays: as on weekdays until breakfast. (May begin an hour later)
9:30am Mass at parish (time with friends afterward)
12:00 or 12:30 pm Lunch
2:00pm, quartets or quintets
4:15 quiet prayer (45 min-1 hr)
5:15 Vespers
6:00 supper and chores
8:00 journaling or lectio divina
9:30 Compline and bed


I tend to pick up email, check blog, etc several times a day, whenever there are a few extra minutes. On days when there are major errands to run I get less studying done, and a shorter time of lectio, but otherwise things go pretty much according to this schedule. During the Fall, Winter and early Spring, Wednesday evenings are set aside for orchestra rehearsals. Saturdays are the day for large errands, evening (vigil) Mass, etc. Sundays I often have quartets in the afternoon, and the whole day is a bit more relaxed; this is also the day I take Communion to neighbors unless they are seriously ill, in which case I will do that at any time, day or night. I may have lunch or dinner with friends (e.g., quartet members and their families), or just catch up on reading, etc, I have not had time for during the week.

Because I am active in my parish, and certainly more active than I was even a year ago (though this remains a limited thing), I do have to accommodate that in some way. Until recently I was simply trying to maintain regularity and balance in my daily horarium, but after this year's retreat it became clear that that is insufficient for me personally. Thus, besides the general daily horarium, each month I take a full week of strict anachoresis besides the more usual silence and solitude. My participation in any active ministry is the spillover of a contemplative life, not just one that includes contemplative prayer, so I am careful to be sure this remains true. What is generally the case is that every hermit determines how best to balance the solitary and the evangelical aspects of her vocation. Most do develop a rhythm like this, just as lay people and active religious may take a desert day every week or month. Sometimes a hermit may be accessible for several months and then retreat more completely for several. In any case, I do suggest that people trying to develop their own horaria experiment with desert days added either weekly or monthly. Hermits should experiment with extended periods of solitude to balance any periods where they are called on to minister in more active ways.

Hope this helps.

(The second picture is one of the clocks I have here in the hermitage. The other is a "zen clock" which allows me to set a timer for prayer or have the "alarm" (a single E flat bell) sound once an hour. (Yes, I respond to and order my life in some ways around bells, just as monastics have done for centuries!) I liked the contrast between the picture of the sundial and this particularly contemporary clock. Eremitical life has persisted in Christianity for almost two millennia. We live the tradition in a contemporary world.)

Calla Lilies

Calla Lilies by Sister Kristine Haugen, ocdh. Please see links for Hermitage Arts in the lower right hand panel for a way to contact Sister Kristine regarding her work and her life. (If this seems like Deja Vu, Yes, I have posted this before. May do so again! I like it that much!)

Postulant Jaimie, begins pre-reception retreat

Prayers are appreciated for Jaimie, postulant and soon-to-be-novice with the Franciscan Sisters of Peoria. Jaimie began her pre-reception retreat today. She will receive the habit and novice's white veil at the end of that period (Aug 6) along with being received formally into the community. She will then continue her discernment and formation as a novice Franciscan Sister. (At the end of retreat, it will be cool to hear what her new name will be! As is sometimes still done, Jaimie's community picks names from among several choices selected by the postulant.) You can check out Jaimie's blog from the list below on the right. She has shared some of the ins and outs of her postulancy during that time. We met recently through the blogging connection. Jaimie has read this blog for awhile now. Her own was her community's first experiment in such an enterprise, and, like several other blogs by religious women you might have seen, followed the suggestion coming out of Rome that young religious use blogs to communicate with other young people who might consider religious life as a vocation.

The Unique Charism of the Diocesan Hermit: Another look at Aspects of Desert and Benedictine Stability

Throughout its history monasticism has recognized several kinds of stability. Augustine Roberts, OCSO, in his work, Centered on Christ, A Guide to Monastic Profession lists five different forms: 1) stability in cell,(this form was made famous by the Desert Fathers and Mothers) 2) stability under an Abbott (who might be the spiritual Father of several monasteries), and associated with Cistercians of the 12-13th centuries; 3)Stability on the pillar (associated with Simeon the Stylite, certain hermits, anchorites, and recluses who were closed up, walled off, or chained to walls); 4) stability of a traveler, which may seem like an oxymoron, especially given Benedict's comments on gyrovagues, but which allowed temporary movement to another monastery; and 5) stability in (the) community, which is Benedict's interpretation of the value, and which involves stability in the community of profession.

It seems to me that the diocesan hermit is asked to embrace implicitly (if not explicitly by vow) the fifth and first forms. (Non-diocesan hermits (that is non-canon 603 hermits) may be called primarily to that stability associated with the desert Fathers and Mothers but are not called to stability in the community in the same sense the diocesan hermit is. If they live in a laura or monastery, they would certainly be called to stability in community, but not in the same way a diocesan hermit with her commitment to diocese and parish.) I think everyone is used to thinking of a call to stability of the cell; who has not heard the comment, "Remain in your cell and your cell will teach you everything"? But, the notion of a "stability in community" which binds the diocesan hermit in a particular way is less familiar, I suspect.

During the rite of my solemn profession last year, Marietta Fahey, shf (rather than a Deacon) did the formal "calling forth" on behalf of the diocese. Since the profession liturgy involves the literal mediation of God's call to the hermit as well as her response, and since the rite of calling forth is a direct expression of this, the formula we used was, "On behalf of the Church of the Diocese of Oakland and the Faith Community of St Perpetua('s Catholic Church), I call forth Sister Laurel O'Neal." At the time I was clear that diocesan status bound me to the diocese itself, but I had not considered as much the parish dimension of my commitment. And yet, I was clear that I was being called out of this specific assembly, this specific faith community and also as I have written before, it is this specific community which supports me in my vocation on a daily basis. Yet, it seems clear that the rite of profession itself prepared for my own reflection on the unique charism of the diocesan hermit and its relation to Benedictine stability; it (the rite) was also informed by it and became an expression of it.

But another thing this particular piece of my profession rite underscores is the personal nature of that stability. While it is true stability generally binds one to a place, it is far more fundamentally communal or relational. As Roberts affirms, [[Stability is personal. It is interpersonal communion, or, more precisely, it is perseverence in this communion.]] In embracing Benedictine stability as a diocesan hermit one commits oneself to a community, first (or more generally) to a diocese, and then (or more immediately) to a parish. For the diocesan hermit this is the community in which one's profession is made and in which it is lived out. While for truly legitimate reasons one might change one's stability, it seems to me that a diocesan hermit considering the unique charism of their vocation would need to discern these with the same seriousness a Benedictine monk or nun in a monastery discerns such things.

If the vow or value of stability is essentially personal or interpersonal, what are its most fundamental values for the hermit, especially compared to other Benedictine values, for instance? Both forms, stability in cell and stability in community have them and they are very high values indeed. The first would be communion or koinonia I think. The hermits is, for all her solitude, still a community builder and nurturer. Certainly that happens through her prayer, but it also happens as she brings an essentially contemplative presence into her contacts with the parish. It happens as she learns to love in this context more fully and exhaustively not only because stability binds her here, but because it is the logical outgrowth of her vows of celibate love/chastity. Of course, koinonia is built on charity, and especially one's love relationship with God. It is stability though which helps assure that one's commitment to loving others in God is not some abstract, intellectualized form of "loving" in which no one is really touched or nourished or healed. And of course, it is stability which ensures the hermit grows personally. We do not grow in isolation from others, nor when we run from situations, conflicts, challenges, and the like (an important reason eremiticism cannot be built on the desire to escape the demands of human society), but only in communion with others, and especially in faithful communion --- whatever the form that takes.

A second value of stability it seems to me is hope. Hope is rooted in the certainty that God can work to the good in all situations in one (or in those) who love him and therefore allow him to love them. Stability very much addresses this virtue because it underscores the need (and ability) to find God where one is, to come to holiness in the limited and conditioning circumstances in which one finds oneself. Stability is the value that underscores the incarnational essence of Christianity, the fact that our God comes to us in weakness, in the unexpected, even shameful events of our day to day lives. Ours is the God who dwells and remains with us in all of life's moments and moods; He calls us to remain with him in the same way. Prayer happens not in idealized situations (though it happens in ideal ones), but more usually in the situations that are far from ideal and often apparently adequate for nothing else! Stability commits us to lives of holiness and prayer wherever we find ourselves. For the diocesan hermit who often lives as an urban hermit, stability is the value that reminds us all that it is the nitty gritty pressures and irritations of everyday life that become the womb of the pearl of great price. Contemplative life need not be lived in the literal desert or mountain environment, but it must be lived in the solitude and communion of the heart of God, and THAT reality is available to us wherever God is found if only we will "remain in him." (John 15)

A related value of stability is perseverance. In the Rule Of Saint Benedict they are synonyms. Our society or culture is not particularly committed to this. It is instead a culture of quick fixes, and when that is not possible, quick escapes. We run out on marriages, children, relationships where the going gets demanding, courses of study, jobs, our employees and employers, parishes, particular church denominations, etc, etc. You name it and we ordinarily look for the easy way out, the place or situation where the "grass is supposedly greener," or where we face less difficulty and need to be less concerned with doing right in difficult circumstances, acting with patience, sustained courage, integrity, or loving profoundly and faithfully. This disvalue is personal, yes, but it is also interpersonal and affects negatively our culture and society. Meanwhile, its opposite, perseverance/stability cuts the heart out of our tendency to look for quick fixes and escapes; it commits us to giving each situation, each person, each set of circumstances all the time, prayer, effort, and work needed to allow the seeds of life, growth, wholeness, and indeed, holiness, to take root and grow to maturity. In this sense it is the parable of the wheat and the tares that remind us of the value of and need for stability.

In any case, it seems to me that the diocesan hermit is called upon to embody these values in unique and intense ways. Yes, she is to remain in her cell and allow it to teach her all things. Even this can be a witness to others simply in their knowing it is happening somewhere in their midst (which, as noted in other places on this blog, is a central reason for public profession and consecration). But a diocesan hermit is also called to stability in community. She is able to catalyze or otherwise contribute to the growth of community in hidden and not so hidden ways --- and she has an obligation to do this as part of the eremitical life and mission! Most particularly she will do so on the parish level, and in a day when sensitivity to the vitality and importance of local churches and base communities remains quite high, this is a significant aspect of her unique gift/charism to church and world. Stability is rooted in other personal and interpersonal or communal values as well. Perhaps I can say more about those in another post.

On detachment, and finding the pearl of great price!

My pastor tends to give really good Sunday homilies! (His daily homilies are usually fine too, but his Sunday homilies tend to be sterling.) Last evening at the vigil Mass, Fr John had some great stuff on the gospel reading, but three things stood out for me. (I'll share two here, and save the third for another post.) The first was one of the best definitions of detachment I have ever heard. He defined it terms of, "having found a love so great that everything else falls into place." What I found so excellent about this was the way it moves right to the heart of the matter and short-circuits any attempt to define detachment in the more usual negative terms of stripping things away (not that stripping away does not have a place, mind you, but it is secondary, not primary). Detachment is seen first of all in terms of appropriate ATTACHMENT, that is, a defining or foundational relatedness. We are truly detached from "worldly things" when we have discovered and embraced this great love, when we have allowed it to embrace and ground us, and when everything we see, or have, or know, is seen, had, or known, in light of this.

The second thing was a poem Fr John finished with. Once upon a time it was found in the pocket of a confederate soldier, and was something John had read for the first time years ago. There is no doubt at all that this soldier, despite everything, had found the love which allowed all else to fall into place, and for all things to work together for good:


[[I asked God for strength, that I might achieve,
I was made weak, that I might learn humbly to obey.

I asked God for health, that I might do great things,
I was given infirmity, that I might do better things.

I asked for riches, that I might be happy,
I was given poverty, that I might be wise.

I asked for power, that I might have the praise of men,
I was given weakness, that I might feel the need of God.

I asked for all things, that I might enjoy life,
I was given life, that I might enjoy all things.

I got nothing that I asked for
- but everything I had hoped for.

Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered.
I am among men, most richly blessed.]]

I sat there listening to this while slowly fingering my profession ring whose visible engraved motto reads, "My power is made perfect in weakness," and considering what the past years have been for me, but especially the one just coming to a close. They have come to fruition in amazing ways. As today's readings also affirmed and John Kasper (osfs) reiterated, All things do indeed work together for good for those who love (that is, by those who let themselves be loved by) God. It was a very powerful homily and I felt a special bond not only with this confederate soldier, but with all those I know who have or once embraced this as their own story as well, especially those in my parish, but also around this ever and ever-smaller world! For this and other reasons (not least the gift of a reunion that morning with two old college friends which initiates a new phase of friendship for each of us), it was an occasion of singular wonder, joy, and gratitude. Our God is indeed very good and gracious!

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!

More Faces From Retreat

From above left to right on down: Dick (Cam Oblate), Dorothy, Rev Jim, Rev Anne (Deacon)







Rev Basil (beige vest), Cheryl, Rev Steve, Jude (Cam Oblate)

Can Canonical Eremitical Profession Be Kept completely Secret?

[[I was told recently that a hermit was anticipating accepting canonical profession and consecration but that if s/he did so, it would have to be completely secret. By this s/he meant unknown to parish, family, etc. (As far as I could tell, it was the hermit who insisted this needed to be the case, not the Bishop.) Can you explain how this can be so? Thanks.]]

I am afraid I cannot explain what s/he means by this. It simply makes no sense except possibly in countries where there is pronounced and widespread religious persecution which might mean that consecrated life must grow underground. By definition canonical profession and consecration is a particular and public gift or charisma of and for the church and world. It establishes a person as a public person therein and, as I have noted before, entails certain rights and responsibilities as s/he acts (lives, prays, ministers) in the name of the church. It involves public promises and therefore, it is meant to be a public witness (not least to the action of the Holy Spirit in the Church) even though the majority of the hermit's life is hidden. Even so, people are to KNOW there is a consecrated hermit in their midst, look to them as a source of prayer and a kind of spiritual presence or even center in the parish and diocese, and also be able to turn to them within established limits to meet spiritual or other legitimate needs.

A Gift With Necessary Expectations:

Beyond this, the parish and diocese are allowed certain necessary expectations of the diocesan hermit, not least that they publicly witness to the fact that a life of  the silence of solitude, prayer, and penance lived in God's grace is possible and says certain things about the human capacity for God AND for authentic humanity; this means it says certain things about the relationship of nature and grace, and that the meaningless human isolation, estrangement, or alienation so often experienced today can be redeemed and transfigured into the almost infinitely meaningful reality of true solitude by the grace of God. The same is true of lives lived ensnared by what Thomas Merton calls the myths and fixations of a consumeristic, secularized society.

Other expectations which necessarily attach to public profession and consecration, as I have written here before, involve personal integrity, spiritual and personal (that is moral, emotional, and psychological) health, adequate and ongoing spiritual formation, the quality of the Rule of Life which is officially approved as part of the process of canonical approval and admission to profession, adequate education and training to carry on in this life and minister in the occasional ways legitimately open to the hermit, and above all, that the person accepted for profession, called forth publicly and professed and consecrated publicly, is motivated by love of God and others and is responding to a Divine call the church herself has also discerned.

On the Vocation's Essential Hiddenness:

The eremitical life is one of essential hiddenness, but that does not mean it is secret, and it certainly does not mean that a public commitment (canonical profession and consecration) can or should ordinarily be kept secret. The fact is that though my own life involves the free and public commitment to a life of eremitical hiddenness and people are apt not really to know what that looks like, etc, they still know who and what I am, and that I am in their midst. No, a secret canonical profession and life is not simply a contradiction in terms, it is completely wrongheaded and shows one has not thought sufficiently about the reasons for seeking (or being granted) canonical status. Additionally, in a church where vocations to the consecrated or religious states are suffering, and some wonder if God is working in his church in this way any longer, it hardly makes sense to admit someone to the public rights and obligations of canonical status and then allow them to keep the whole thing secret. Again, hiddenness and secrecy in this whole area are different and, in some significant ways, contradictory realities.

I personally can't imagine a Bishop going along with such an arrangement (except in the condition first mentioned re religious persecution). It seems far more likely he would simply ask the person to remain non-canonical if s/he had such "conditions." But again, Canonical profession and consecration are, by definition, public commitments. While this does not entail notoriety, and may well involve relative or absolute reclusion for the hermit, these persons ARE known to exist and to have been professed.

On Recluses: Hiddenness Without Secrecy

In the Camaldolese Benedictines there have been recluses (there are none right now as far as I know)**. These hermits never see the public, are free from the obligations of attending community liturgies, meals and the like. The community supports them in their reclusion as a special instance of the eremitical vocation. However, this kind of reclusion is not secret. Everyone knows the monks exist and that their vocation is a special gift to the community, church, and world.

We note or mark all of this in a number of ways. Publicly professed/consecrated hermits' participation in public liturgy is marked by the wearing of a prayer garment or cowl and ring, for instance, and everyday life by the wearing of a habit (though this latter is not essential). Even if the hermit never attended public (parish) liturgy (and I admit I don't know how this would be possible unless the hermit is also a priest), the parish has a right to know who and what s/he is for s/he is "theirs" and serves them precisely as hermit. As mentioned above, one of the things which allows us each to be faithful to our own calls are the expectations the church as a whole, and the people in our parishes and dioceses in particular are allowed to have of us. We serve them, and their expectations serve our vocation as well. Public profession means a public life of service EVEN IF that life is mainly hidden in a hermitage.

** Excursus. A fellow Oblate informed me that there are apparently two recluses associated with the Monte Corona Camaldolese (Er Cam) living at this time. One, Fr John Mary, lives outside Padua, Italy. The second, Fr Nicolas lives at the hermitage in Ohio. In the Roman Catholic Church only the Camaldolese (OSB Cam and Er. Cam) and the Carthusians are permitted to have canonical recluses or anchorites; thus, as rare as canonical hermits are, canonical recluses or anchorites are far far rarer. It is true, however that the OSB Camaldolese have no recluses at the present time. Until just recently New Camaldoli Hermitage in Big Sur, California did have two canonical anchorite (recluses), however both died relatively recently. The most recent to die (April 8, 2005) after years of reclusion was Fr. Joseph Diemer, OSB Cam. So, are such lives hidden? Absolutely, but CERTAINLY NOT secret!!

The Diocesan Character of Canon 603 Hermits and Commitment to or Within Specific Spiritual Traditions

Recently a blog writer and soon-to-be conse-crated virgin, in a quite generous reference to my blog opined that she personally believed diocesan hermits should not adopt the spirituality of any particular religious community/order. She thought it rather defeated the purpose of being diocesan.

Now let me say first of all that the blog in question (Sponsa Christi) seems, from the very little I have read to be fair and quite thoughtful; anyone interested in becoming a consecrated virgin should pay some (perhaps a good deal of) attention to it. But in this matter I think the author has mistaken the difference between diocesan priests and order priests as being directly analogous to the difference between diocesan hermits and hermits belonging to religious communities. I think in explaining her own vocation to those who wonder why she doesn't just become a nun, she also is used to pointing to the difference between consecrated virgins and religious women (who, by definition, belong to a community). Again, she believes the distinction between consecrated virgins who are diocesan (and apparently not linked to a specific community or spirituality) and religious women (forgeting that some are diocesan right) is analogous to the difference between diocesan hermits and hermits who are members of Orders/confederations, etc. I simply cannot agree here.

 What the comment seems to presuppose is that there is a specific spirituality attached to being diocesan and that somehow this is defused or weakened ("defeated") by the diocesan hermit's adoption of a specific spirituality (Franciscan, Benedictine, Camaldolese, Dominican, Carmelite, etc) or by the hermit's association with a specific Order or congregation (Oblature with the Camaldolese or Benedictines, for instance). It is an interesting position and one which I have thought about a bit in the last month not only because the author referenced my own blog in commenting, but more especially because of my own interest in the unique charism of the diocesan hermit. (After all, It would be extremely ironic if someone stressing this unique charism was actually guilty of undermining it by her affiliation with Camaldolese Benedictinism and a specific monastery in another part of the country!) In particular, I am concerned to reflect on why it is a good idea for the diocesan hermit to subsume their own Rule under that of another vital spiritual tradition, and why that does not detract from (but in fact, may enhance) one's diocesan character.

 Consecrated Virgins do not write Rules of life, nor do they have vows (which of course is fine!). It may be that the absence of these things however, and especially the lack of need to either write or live (AND GROW!) by a specific Rule also means a failure to understand the importance of having such things subsumed under some larger and established Rule of Life or spiritual tradition. In any case I know from experience that trying to live according to the Rule one has written without this is limiting and limited. I wrote my first Rule in @ 1983-84. At the time I was living as a hermit (though I was a complete novice) and my Rule pretty much described what I was doing that was successful, and what I felt I needed in order to continue in this. (No one provides a "how-to" manual on how to write a personal Plan or Rule of Life, so initially at least, one has to borrow from others or simply write up a mirror image of what one is doing and feels one needs to continue to do in order to stay on track.)

At the time this Rule at least alluded even then to my own felt sense of needing to be informed by a broader spirituality and resolved to look into this, but only noted this as a felt need. The second Rule I wrote and submitted to the Diocese was a revision of this one, and was written two decades later. It included all the categories this one did, but this time added a theology of eremitical life, a theology of the vows, a larger spiritual context for this personal Rule in the Rule of Saint Benedict and the Camaldolese Constitutions and Statutes as well as their Oblate Rule, and a grounding in Scripture which was never made explicit in the first version. All of these additions grew out of my own felt sense of the inadequacy of the first Rule and the need for it to be subsumed under a "larger" and VITAL (tried and true living) spiritual tradition which provided an overarching vision and values which made of it more than a collection of "things to do everyday." Most important to me was to account and provide for my own continued growth in the vocation.

 Why is this the case? It is true because a Rule of Life is NOT simply a collection of things to do each day, and because most of us are not spiritual geniuses who are capable of writing a Rule which all by itself provides the wisdom or vision to direct our lives sufficiently. This is particularly true when we are in the beginning stages of a vocational journey, but it is also true right along the way simply because we are so capable of fooling ourselves, and often so blind to our own needs and deficiencies, especially deficiencies of vision. In Christianity we stand on the shoulders and see with the eyes of prophets and visionaries who have gone before us. If we don't we ordinarily can't see far enough to move ahead with focus and direction, and our growth will be haphazard at best. It happens because one can only write a Rule of life from where one stands at the time, and unfortunately, that may be completely insufficient as a challenge and spur to continuing growth simply because it lacks adequate vision or breadth.

But for the hermit this is all particularly true. Eremitism is a dangerous vocation (solitude is always as dangerous as it is a context rich in potential), and becomes all the more perilous if one is cut off from the tradition of eremitical life as it has been lived (with both its successes and failures) through the millenia. But for me the real question in this specific discussion is whether my own identity as Camaldolese Benedictine detracts from or enhances my diocesan identity and focus. One of the ways I can ask this is what is it precisely about my Benedictinism that makes me so enthusiastic about the option of a specific and unique charism in the canon 603 hermit? And here, I have to say it is precisely the Benedictine emphasis on stability and the capacity to find God in the ordinary that undergirds and perhaps has actually prompted my belief that canon 603 hermits have a unique charism which is different than hermits who belong to orders or even who live in Lauras.

A second element which has contributed to my sense of unique charism has been my experience of the difference in expectations a parish necessarily has (and is allowed to have) of the publicly professed hermit (as opposed to the non-canonical hermit). It is NOT some notion of diocesan spirituality or the idea that my identity is analogous to that of a diocesan priest as opposed to an order priest that leads me in the direction my thought has gone. It is Benedictinism and Camaldolese Benedictinism especially, with its accent on "The Privilege of Love" and the "threefold good" which includes solitude, community (koinonia), and evangelization (or martyrdom). Let me note that had I begun with these ideas from a non-eremitical tradition, I could never have believed it was possible to reconcile them with the true life of a hermit. There are too many stereotypes and preconceptions which refute them (and too many genuine examples as well). The notion of living as an urban hermit in the middle of an urban diocese under the direction of a secular priest Bishop, despite its allowance in Canon Law, would simply have made no real sense and would have been constantly assailed by idealizations or different notions of the hermit vocation which would suggest Canon 603 was a bad idea and a misconceived experiment by a post Vatican II Church who had lost touch with eremitical tradition. I might also have had to be continually concerned that my sense of a unique charism which focuses on the hermit as resource to parish and diocese was simply a way to rescue an eremitism that was not "pure enough" or not sufficiently reclusive or "detached".

In other words, without the Camaldolese Benedictine underpinnings the whole notion of a diocesan hermit, much less the notion of a unique charism would have been a contradiction in terms. (And let me tell you, there are hermits, both canonical and non-canonical living today who come from different perspectives who stress the absurdity of such a reality as a "diocesan hermit"!) At the same time, my own Camaldolese Benedictine affiliation challenges me to remember at all times that I am part of the eremitical and monastic tradition of the church, and not merely the diocesan or cathedral tradition. It reminds me that eremitical life sprang up in the soil of a necessary and prophetic anti-institutionalism and because the institutional church had succumbed to the power of the state and actually become a state power. It reminds me that eremitical and monastic life has always had a prophetic and even salvific role within the institutional church, sometimes saving her from aspects of herself. It reminds me that the eremitical life can be lived poorly or inauthentically, that when one is detached from monastic roots, one loses one's way rather rapidly and readily.


While my Bishop is sensitive to the need for eremitical life and has been open to my vocation, and while he is my legitimate superior and the one under whose direction I am to live my Rule of Life, at the same time he is not the person to whom I can turn for day to day wisdom in living this life. Neither is my pastor (though he has been of immense help in this). No, it is to my spiritual director, and my Benedictine sources and resources that I mainly turn for this daily wisdom and encouragement. (I am hoping that it goes without saying that prayer is my primary help!) Again, let me be clear that I believe profoundly in the reality of a diocesan charism, and I surely believe the canon 603 hermit should embody that charism. The notion that there is really such a ting as a diocesan spirituality is far less convincing to me. In any case, hermits represent more than the cathedral or diocesan tradition in the church, and to be honest, the diocesan or cathedral tradition has never provided an adequate context for authentic (true) eremitical life. In my experience both aspects of the vocation have to be provided and allowed for. For me that means not just profession according to canon 603 and a commitment to my parish community, but an integral relationship to the essentially monastic tradition of eremitical life as it has originated, developed and persisted within the church. Personally that translates into Camaldolese Benedictinism, but others are possible.

In particular it is the Benedictine value of stability with the insistence that the monk find God in ordinary life (a part of the vow/value of stability) that allows me to consider seriously and commit myself to the existence of such a thing as a unique charism for the canon 603 (diocesan) hermit. My thanks to the author of Sponsa Christi for spurring me to pursue this line of thought. I have only just begun it and foresee that it can be taken much farther --- especially given the reality of Rule and vows and all the ways these can be interpreted and lived out. Perhaps she will say more about her own perception of this notion of a "diocesan spirituality" and that will clarify matters for me. Perhaps too what I have identified as a unique charism of the diocesan hermit is what she is thinking of as an actual spirituality.

However, the bottom line at this point is that consecrated virgins and canon 603 hermits, despite both being "diocesan" have different roots, different charisms, and quite different demands and forms of embodiment. The canon 603 hermit (as opposed to the order hermit) is not analogous to the diocesan priest (as opposed to an order priest). Diocesan or not, the hermit remains an instance of the eremitic tradition and must live from this tradition as well as one's diocesan context. (In fact, it occurs to that dioceses recognize this in allowing the adoption of a monastic habit by the hermit and insisting that she adopt the cowl or other prayer garment at solemn profession.) To do otherwise is to cut oneself off from a source of life and order in one's vocation. It is, at least in my experience, to open oneself unduly to the risk of distortion and inauthenticity.

"In Shoes Too Small": Jung and Benedictinism

I was fortunate enough to attend a day's workshop on the relationship between Jungian psychology and spirituality yesterday at San Damiano's Retreat House in Danville, CA. The presenter was Brother Don Bisson, FMS, D Min, and the focus was on the nature of Individuation as a Spiritual Practice. The title was "Walking in Shoes too Small", and ironically, this was a phrase from Jung I had heard for the first time just last week while on retreat when Sister Donald mentioned it in a conference on Benedictinism, the enlarging of our hearts, and the critical need for the recovery of soul or soulfulness in our culture. There was a lot of good material and a great deal to assimilate (I have not even begun!), but a couple of points struck me because they reprise central aspects of Benedictine spirituality. One of these had to do with the Jungian concept of fate. For Jung, fate has to do with the non-chosen, non-negotiable elements in our lives. Fate for Jung is to embrace these elements; it is especially to embrace this (our own) time and place and not some other. In genuine individuation one comes to embrace and even love our fate, all while recognizing that fate in the Jungian sense (unlike some notions of fate) includes the capacity to choose.

Now, one of the things which is most striking about Benedictine spirituality (and one of the first places it differs from the classic Franciscan vows) is the vow (or value) of stability. The Benedictine monk, nun, (or, similarly though in their own way, the oblate) commits themselves to a particular monastery for life. That is, they commit themselves to this community, this group of people with all their weaknesses, foibles, gifts, capacities, etc. And generally they commit themselves to place and time as well, to this time in the history of the church with all its challenges and frustrations, to this world with all its needs, potentialities and deficiencies, to this community (as a whole) with its vitality and lack of vitality. All of this is a part of a contemplative commitment to live in the present moment. As Elizabeth J Canham writes, [[ The vow of stability affirms sameness, a willingness to attend to . . . the reality of this place, these people as God's gift to me and the setting where I live out my discipleship. We are discouraged from fantasizing some ideal situation in which we will finally be able to pray and live as we should. Instead, Benedict says, be here, find Christ in the restless teenager, demanding parent, insensitive employer, dull preacher, lukewarm congregation.]] (Weavings, Jan-Feb 1994)

In the more personal sense Benedictine stability means, [[standing in my own center and not trying to run away from the person I really am.]] (Tomaine, St Benedict's Toolbox) The linkage between the Jungian concept of fate, and the Benedictine vow/value of stability could not be clearer. It is also linked intimately with a truly Christian notion of human freedom. As I have written here before just recently (July 4th) too often people mistake the power or ability to do anything we want as freedom. But in Christianity freedom is the power to be the persons we are called to be; it is the capacity to be (and become) ourselves in spite of limitations or circumstances, and in fact THROUGH these limitations and circumstances.

At the same time stability does not imply a static response to life, for Benedictines also make a vow (or embrace the value) of conversatio morum, which is both a commitment to fidelity to monastic life and to continued conversion of life. (Besides, stability is a commitment to community more than place, and how can THAT be static??) Obedience (whether vow or value) also is a commitment to an ongoing responsiveness to God, and THAT kind of responsiveness, because of its "object," is just about as dynamic as one can get! As Brother Don stressed at the workshop/day of reflection yesterday, individuation is a process of transformation which involves not just embracing fate, but also the negotiation of liminal spaces (the desert is a symbol of this), places where one really encounters the shadow self and awakens to the true self. It implies conscious choices to deal with our own deep woundedness, to heal from this, and yet, in the process to risk the inevitable wounding which comes WITH the process of healing and individuation. In fact, "standing at the center of ourselves" is not a static but rather a dynamic event full of both risk and promise, suffering and peace. It implies not just contemplative withdrawal but return to our world to serve it.

So, I have begun my own examination of the Benedictine vows and how my own translate into specifically Benedictine terms. Interestingly, many of the themes shared by both share commonalities with Jungian and (perhaps) transpersonal psychologies. They echo as well some of the concerns (and courage, faith and hope) another Sister shared with me when she sent me a program from a ritual during her own community's recent Assembly. One of the quotes from the closing liturgy was very striking to me, and I think you will see how it ties in with both a Benedictine vow/value of stability and the Jungian notion of fate: [[ Especially do not lose hope. Most particularly because the fact is we were made for these times. Yes, for years we have been learning, practicing, been in training for and just waiting to meet in this exact [place] of engagement.. . .When a great ship is in harbor and moored, it is safe, there can be no doubt. But that is not what great ships are built for. . . .This comes with much love and prayer that you remember Who you came from and why you came to this beautiful, needful Earth.]] (C Pinkola Estes, "Letter to a Young Activist in Troubled Times")