Where does Canon 603 Speak About Living a Desert Life?

[[ Hi Sister. Canon 603 doesn't say anything about living a desert vocation, but that's what you write about, so where does that come in? Do you see yourself living a desert vocation even though you live in a suburban apartment? How does that count as solitude?]]

Thanks for your questions. I will try to make this brief. The word eremitism means  (being about) desert dwelling. Eremos is the Greek word for desert, and eremite is a desert dweller or "hermit". Meanwhile, the constitutive elements of c 603 point toward the physical conditions of a desert dweller. What is important about this is that the call to be a desert dweller is the meaning of being called to be a hermit, NOT a call to merely (or even always) being alone -- though yes, in the midst of desert wastes, one is apt to find herself alone in a variety of ways. Remember that the desert Fathers and Mothers lived their eremitical lives in a variety of configurations: alone, with mentors or "elders", in groups of solitary cells, in the desert on the edge of villages, and in the deep desert, etc. Canon 603 recognizes the solitary eremitic or anchoritic life; that is, it recognizes individuals (not communities!) living desert life in the name of the Church. 

Of course, this does not mean that physical solitude is unimportant, but it does mean that it cannot be absolutized or defined as narrowly as some are wont to do (except in the case of pure reclusion). Physical solitude is not an end in itself. It serves communion with God, and thus too, with all that is precious to God. "Solitude" can also mean wholeness, and for the Catholic Hermit this integrative and integrated form of solitude is a central dimension of what c 603 calls "the silence of solitude" -- itself the fruit of communion with God, with others, and with oneself. It serves our formation as an authentic human being and counterpart of God. This is part of the reason I tend to identify "the silence of solitude" not only as a major dimension of the context of hermit life, but as goal, and even as charism of the eremitical vocation.

Your last question about living in an apartment is something of an ironic one for me. One of the criticisms of apartment living I hear most often is that no one knows their neighbors. Yet, when one hears a hermit is living in an apartment complex --- no matter how well designed for privacy and quiet --- one immediately thinks that means the hermit is surrounded by busy, noisy, intrusive people 24/7.  In my experience at least,  this is not the case. It means a way of living apart from others in a space that allows for prayer, study, work, and rest, and at the same time assists one in being truly aware of one's neighbors, their needs, etc.

Desert living is about putting one's relationship with God first within a context designed to assist in (or "prove") this. One stretches oneself (or perhaps better, one is stretched) to one's limits physically, spiritually, emotionally, and intellectually; as one comes to know oneself more and more truly and deeply, one comes into greater and greater communion with God, who is the source and ground of both one's existence and the meaningfulness of that existence. 

To depend upon God in the way eremitical life calls for, to actually allow God to be God, that is, to allow ourselves to be loved by God and to love God in return, means precisely that we allow God to be God. Over time, in relationship with God, and only in relation with God and all that is precious to God, we become complete human beings. The pain of yearning for something we can never supply on our own but must receive as gift quiets down; it reaches a state of quies and echoes the hope of the Gospel's ultimate promises. Our hearts become hymns of praise, and our lives glorify God as everything we are and do is transformed into God's own prayer in our world. This is what it means to live towards and into "the silence of solitude". It is what we mean by living as those created by God. We become one with God, and are profoundly related to the whole of creation that also stands grounded in God. Our solitude, and the silence of solitude, is not merely some externally imposed silence or lack of noise one takes on in a forced act of will. It results from healing, reconciliation, and taking up residence in the very life of God in Christ. This particular martyrdom or witness is part of the way the hermit gives her life for the sake of others! 

Congratulations, Sister Annie Gelles SHF and Dolphin GDB!!!

Sister Ann Marie and Earhart

 I just finished watching the graduation from the Guide Dogs for the Blind with Sister Ann Marie Gelles, SHF, and Dolphin, Annie's sixth Guide Dog throughout her adult life. (Annie is a big walker, and finding a dog that would be able to match her in speed and distance took some time.) Just two weeks ago, Annie celebrated her 50th jubilee as SHF, and she was able to join a later GDB class in order to attend both Jubilee and a two-week training course with Dolphie plus graduation.

Annie allowed Earhart, her last companion, to retire and return to one of her puppy raisers @26 months ago. Sister Ann Marie now teaches Braille at the California School for the Blind only part-time, and has been waiting for a new companion during this time. The graduation was lovely. There were four graduating students and their four Guide Dogs, plus a GD Buddy given to a younger girl. Each student was moved to tears by their new companion. What I thought Annie expressed more fully than most was how a Guide Dog can be a lifelong dream and need, and how her heart was full to bursting on this day because of Dolphie. (She thought her heart could not be any fuller than it was with Earhart, Honey, and the others, but as we each learn, if we are lucky, such love fills and expands our hearts beyond saying, and certainly beyond prior limits!!)

The puppy raisers also provided a wonderful picture of ongoing love because they called attention to the larger and extended family GDB actually is. With Annie and Dolphie, that larger family also includes, of course, the Sisters of the Holy Family, the Sisters of the Holy Names, and the Carmelite Sisters (especially Reno). Max helped raise Dolphin; She was his first Guide Dog puppy, and Max clearly loves her. As a part of the larger GDB family, he will, of course, stay in touch over the years. So, congratulations to Sister Ann and Dolphie, and to all the Sisters of the Holy Family who will be meeting their new community member this evening!!! Dolphie, you are one lucky doggo in so many ways and will enrich others' lives in uncountable ways as well!!!

Feast of the Assumption of Mary

I very much appreciate the Assumption of Mary as a sign of our life with God as inevitably embodied or incarnated, and this includes our lives post death. It was wonderful to read Father John Klassen's reflection for tomorrow and the way he stresses the nature of the human person as embodied Spirit. Those who stress that we are called to live disembodied spiritual lives that contrast with embodied or "temporal" lives forget that we Christians believe in resurrected life, and resurrected life is bodily life. Sister Laurel, Er Dio

A Spirited Whole

This feast of the Assumption of Mary is a celebration of the totality of the Incarnation. To believe that Mary was assumed bodily into heaven, that Mary is the first human being to follow in the footsteps of Jesus’ ascension into heaven, testifies to the dignity of the body. The body is not the discarded and expendable husk of the Spirit. The body is a flesh and blood, bone and sinew reality. Through our bodies, we as human beings come to know and believe; in them we are known and come to maturity in Christ.

The Assumption of Mary testifies that the human person is not split between body and soul, but is a living, breathing, spirited whole, wholly loved, wholly blessed, wholly redeemed by God. Mary enjoys what each of us will one day know and experience. As we celebrate her Assumption, we anticipate and hope for our own.

The Assumption of Mary also tells us something fundamental about God. In imagining a way to fulfill the situation of creation, God always puts the response of human beings front and center. God never does an end run on the human condition. God does not give up on the experiment and walk away, as if it doesn’t matter. With all of our cloudiness of vision, our divided loyalties, our many loves, God never bypasses the human situation.

The most complete manifestation of this is the sending of the Son, born of Mary, born under the law, as St. Paul instructs in the letter to the Romans. This says to me that our response, like that of Mary, and all of our faith-filled forebears, matters.

Fr. John Klassen

John Klassen, OSB, is a monk of Saint John’s Abbey in Collegeville, Minnesota.

Respecting "the Most Humble of all Vocations"

[[Sister, are you aware that another hermit claims hermits never needed or wanted respect, so your argument that c 603 came about so the hermit vocation could be respected is invalid? What seems to be the point is that hermits are "the most humble of all vocations" and have never needed respect. Have you addressed this? Have you reversed your opinion?]]

Thanks for writing. I am aware. The main posts of this came up a couple of years ago, and I responded a couple of times around then. I have not only NOT reversed my opinion on this; my opinion has intensified as I have come to a more mature understanding of the vocation's ecclesiality. This vocation, when lived well and as the Church understands it, is worthy of respect. Every vocation and every person making a commitment to live such commitments deserves respect. (So do those who choose otherwise!!) With regard to being a c 603 hermit, I am not talking about seeking an unwarranted degree of prestige or recognition. Concerning c 603, I am speaking about a particular pathway to union with God, which is rare and countercultural and requires a demanding commitment to perseverance in the grace of God.

I don't see how humility necessarily means one cannot expect a vocation to be respected. After all, humility is a form of truthfulness, and a loving form of truthfulness at that. It does not mean denigrating oneself, but regarding oneself appropriately in light of who God makes us to be and the potential we carry within us for becoming God's true counterpart in our world. It seems to me that requiring respect for a vocation is really an appreciation of the way God works in and through us. Calling for respect for this vocation reflects an awareness of the dignity that belongs to the human person as a child and dialogical partner of God. That is certainly what led Bishop Remi de Roo to bring the question of making solitary eremitical life a canonical form of consecrated life to the attention of the Church Fathers at Vatican II. He knew the Hermits of St John the Baptist and highly regarded what they brought to and meant for the Church. It took the Church almost another 20 years from De Roo's intervention before Canon 603 was promulgated after a number of drafts and correlative discussions. 

The essential point, I believe, is that the countercultural life we call eremitical is significant for the life of the Church,  for appreciating the dialogical (and incarnational) nature of the human person, seeing clearly what it means to say the will of God is to be Emmanuel, and understanding that Jesus' entire life and death could be thought of as a desert existence no matter the number of people he taught, healed, preached to, or fed. He is the model of what it means to be a hermit and what Peter Damian called an ecclesiola, a little Church. All of this is part of the witness of the hermit's life, and while certain external conditions listed in the canon are necessary, it is the inner life of the hermit with God that is the heart of the vocation. It is this hidden reality that we especially respect, and part of the reason the vocation is seen as necessary to the life and well-being of the Church. 

Two additional points: First, I am aware that you have quoted someone on the notion that hermit vocations are the most humble of vocations, and, while I agree they require and exemplify humility, I dislike comparisons of the type provided. It seems to me that once we start saying one vocation is more humble than others (much less the most humble of all others!), we have adopted a more worldly way of regarding them. Secondly, I'm repeating what I have already written about this matter, so please check out other posts on the labels found at the bottom of this post. All my best!

Feast of the Transfiguration (Reprise)

Have you ever been walking along a well-known road and suddenly had a bed of flowers take on a vividness that takes your breath away? Similarly, have you ever been walking along or sitting quietly outside when a breeze rustles some leaves above your head, and you were struck by an image of the Spirit moving through the world? How about suddenly being struck by the tremendous compassion of someone you know well, or seeing their smile in a new way and coming to see them in a whole new light because of this? I have had all of these happen, and, in the face of God's constant presence, what is in some ways more striking is how infrequent such peak or revelatory moments are.

Scientists tell us we see only a fraction of what goes on all around us (and this is without accounting for the reality that can only be properly perceived by faith). It depends upon our expectations.  In an experiment with six volunteers divided into two teams in either white or black shirts, observers were asked to concentrate on the number of passes of a basketball that occurred as players wove in and out around one another. In the midst of this activity, a woman in a gorilla suit strolls through, stands there for a moment, thumps her chest, and moves on. At the end of the experiment, observers were asked two questions: 1) how many passes were there, and 2) did you see the gorilla? Fewer than 50% saw the gorilla.  Expectations drive perception and can produce blindness. Even more shocking, these scientists tell us that even when we are confronted with the truth, we are more likely to insist on our own "knowledge" and justify decisions we have made on the basis of blindness and ignorance. We routinely overestimate our own knowledge and fail to see how much we really do NOT know.

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

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

Looking at Today's Gospel:

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

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

The Lesson for Us Today:

The lesson could not be clearer, and yet, how hard it is for us to see what is right in front of us! Recently, I wrote about a view that sees the Church as "too temporal." This perspective is not merely concerned with the Church buying into models of power more appropriate to princes and potentates. It sees the entire Church, insofar as it is committed to this world, as having given itself over to something that is "not spiritual." But this perspective forgets it is speaking of a Church that lives in this world and mediates the Spirit to that world, a Church that mediates Christ's presence for those with eyes to see. It is not an either/or way of seeing, but a both/and way: both ordinary and extraordinary, both material and spiritual, both temporal and eternal. Central to this Church is the notion of Sacraments; in fact, the Church herself is a primordial sacrament, a sign where ordinary reality is allowed to shine forth the power and presence of God. They take the ordinary matter of our world and in them, see this transformed into the very power and presence of God. And yet, it requires the eyes of faith to perceive and appreciate this transformation. The either/or perspective I referenced above tends to see reality in a particularly Gnostic or neo-Platonic way. What it cannot see, and what remains scandalous to it is an incarnational God who is fully present in the ordinary matter of our world, divinizing it with God's presence. How very different is the Sacramental way of seeing reality!!

Here I am reminded of a story I once told of a video of a man who was given Enchroma glasses --- a form of sunglasses that allows colorblind persons to see color, often for the first time in their lives. By screening out certain wavelengths of light, someone who has seen the world in shades of brown their whole lives is finally able to see things they have never seen before; browns are transformed into yellows and reds and purples, and suddenly trees look truly green and three-dimensional while the colorful fruit of these trees no longer simply blend into the same-color background. The man was overwhelmed and overcome by what he had been missing; he could not speak, did not really know what to do with his hands, was "reduced" to tears, and eventually expressed it all as he hugged his wife in love and gratitude. Meanwhile, family members were struck by just how much they themselves may have taken for granted as every day they moved through their own world of "ordinary" color and texture. The entire situation involved a Transfiguration almost as momentous as the one the disciples experienced in today's Gospel.

Like Peter, like the Gnostic or neo-Platonist who divvies reality up into the temporal and the spiritual. And like the colorblind man who needed to wear the glasses consistently enough to allow his brain to really begin to process colors in a new way, we must take the time to see what is right in front of us. We must learn to see the sacred, which is present and incarnated in ordinary reality. We must listen to the One who comes to us in the Scriptures and Sacraments, the One who speaks to us through every believer and the whole of creation. We must really be the People of God, the "hearers of the Word" who know how to listen and are obedient in the way God summons us to be. This is true whether we are God's lowliest hermit or one of the Vicars of Christ who govern our dioceses and College of Bishops. Genuine authority coupled with true obedience empowers new life, new vision, new perspectives, and reverence for the ordinary reality God makes sacramental. 

There is a humility involved in all of this. It is the humility of the truly wise, the truly knowing person. We must be able to recognize how very little we see, how unwilling or unable we often are to be converted to the perspective of the Kingdom, how easily we justify our blindness and deafness with our supposed knowledge, and how even our well-intentioned activism can prevent us from seeing and hearing the unexpected, sometimes scandalous God standing there right in the middle of our reality.

Chronic Illness as a Desert Vocation

[[ Dear Sister, what can I say to a diocese that doesn't believe that chronic illness is acceptable if one proposes to live a solitary eremitical life? The Vicar I spoke to said he thought the life is too austere for me because of my illness. He described the rigors of the life from several hermits' accounts in the early Church, and when he asked if I could live this degree of asceticism, I felt kind of ashamed and said, "No, probably not." But you know, I really think I can live as a hermit, and I believe God is calling me to do this. How do I explain things to my diocese?]]

Wonderful question and incredibly important in today's Church and world! Please look at other articles in this blog on Chronic Illness and Eremitical Life! The vocation you are petitioning to be consecrated in is first of all, a desert vocation. This means the one who chooses to live as a hermit chooses to live her life in a situation or context of liminality. She chooses to be a marginalized person living a literally eccentric (out of the center) life, and this liminality, of which her chronic illness is a major part, makes her more vulnerable and responsive to the deepest existential questions of being and meaning all human beings must contend with. Chronic illness will tend to radicalize these questions and allow the hermit to pose them with her life, and to do so with greater acuity, poignancy, and witness value than will hermits without such sources of foundational liminality.

Chronic illness represents a common desert experience. I say that because it is characterized and functions in the same way as other desert experiences. It locates the person on the margins of normal living, and makes them vulnerable as they pose the questions of being (existence) and meaning (purposeful life) as radically as they might. This is a vulnerability to God and the meaningful life God bestows on us. It witnesses to the way every prayer is answered with God's own presence. It is God's very Self that is the answer to prayers for healing, comfort, release from bondage and pain. Granted, we may not appreciate the forms in which such gifts come to us, but the hermit witnesses to this gift as she persists in living toward union with God. Desert vocations stress not only the importance of vulnerability, but the importance of encounter and relationality. 

If you can convey the powerfully vivid desert vocation chronic illness can be, you should do well in explaining your case. The rigors of eremitical life cannot be denied, but these do not have to be the same rigors the early desert Fathers and Mothers described. Anyone living with chronic illness knows how demanding such conditions can be! Each of us struggling with chronic illness is challenged to grow in patience, generosity, self-denial, openness to the will of God (who NEVER wills our illness per se, and who works to bring life and meaning out of it). As we allow God to be Emmanuel, our lives become witnesses, not to chronic illness, but to the loving presence of God that transforms us gradually and profoundly into images of his Crucified and Risen Son. This is the way the eremitical vocation works especially with those struggling with chronic illness. It is one of the most vivid expressions of and witnesses to the way God overcomes sin and death with obedient (attentive and responsive) life, and one the Church needs desperately.

You have no reason to be ashamed!! Persevere in your struggle with chronic illness and allow yourself to become more and more vulnerable to the dynamics of the desert it causes you to inhabit. I would bet that your own experience of the losses entailed by chronic illness, the loneliness it brings in its wake, the broken dreams, and marginality it casts you into, will test your faith and capacity for hope. It will be every bit as rigorous as eremitical life lived in the literal desert of earlier centuries, but in different ways!! Please remember me in your prayers and know I will do the same for you, your vocation, and your diocese whether or not c 603 is the route you decide to take!

Sisters of the Holy Family Jubilee Mass, August 1, 2026

 

One of the things I did with my morning and early afternoon. Congratulations to all of the Jubilarians, but especially to Sisters Ann Marie Gelles and  M Aurora Perez. Seven Sisters celebrated Jubilees today for a total of 420 years of daily committed service as Sisters of the Holy Family. Sister Carole Pesce 75 years, Sister Marie Stafford 75 years, Sister M Aurora Perez 60 years, Sister Mary Lange 60 years, Sister M Sandra Ann Silva 60 years, Sister Ann Marie Gelles 50 years, and Sister Kathy Littrell 40 years. I cannot adequately say how inspiring such commitments are to me!

I am interested in learning later this month what the name of Annie's new Guide Dog will be. Thanks too to Father Gerald Coleman for a really excellent homily. I know he has been a friend to the Sisters of the Holy Family for some time; his homily showed a profound sense of who they are and it was great to hear him speaking a bit about Leo XIV's Encyclical, Magnifica Humanitas. Father is a Catholic moral theologian and the author of The Many Faces of Transgender as well as a more general work, Human Sexuality. 

Sister Annamarie and Bishop Barber

A special note: The Sister welcoming everyone and making the opening and closing remarks is Sister Annamarie Therese Colapietro, SNJM. One detail that touched me deeply was the fact that she is wearing an SHF cross on this occasion. You see, Sister Annamarie is the Canonical Trustee (commissary) or Congregational President for the Sisters of the Holy Family at this point in the congregation's life. 

Sadly, as most readers here know, as vocations to religious life dwindle in the Church and the median age of congregational members rises, this is becoming a more common canonical arrangement for groups reaching "completion." Though the women of the congregations involved make the decisions for the future of their own congregational resources and charism, they rely on younger members of the collaborating congregation to fill canonical roles. My understanding is that Sister Annamarie Therese has been a great gift to the Sisters of the Holy Family. It was a joy to see her wearing their cross/logo today.

Followup questions on the Danger of Eremitical Life Without a Divine Call

[[ Dear Sister, why would the desert or a desert spirituality be considered dangerous? Why would it be dangerous for someone without a Divine call to be a hermit to try to live as one? I've heard a few times that the hermit life is dangerous, but hermits today don't live in real deserts, do they? So what's the danger?]]

I put up an older post before approaching this series of questions. Hopefully, any overlap will take the form of expansion. The basic truth at work in understanding various calls or vocational pathways is that each of us shares a single foundational vocation to authentic humanity. Authentic humanity is the task our lives are meant to accomplish, the single most important goal of our lives. Each of us must therefore discover the various pathways to authentic humanity that our own lives must follow. Some will tend towards marriage, some toward single life, some towards consecrated life, and some towards priesthood. Within these are various pathways that serve our fundamental vocations. Within both lay, clerical, and consecrated life, one important but rare pathway is eremitical life. What is critical regarding ANY pathway is that it helps lead us to authentic humanity.

The Great Commandment points us to the nature of authentic humanity and in the direction of both God and mankind. We are to learn to love as God loves, and we are to love both God, ourselves, and others as we love ourselves. Authentic humanity is all about loving both God and others more and more fully. Every genuine pathway must lead us to this, whether it focuses on union with God or communion with others. All persons depend on relationships with others to learn to love more authentically and fully. Such relationships are necessary for our humanity. So too is one's relationship with God. Every vocation must lead to our fulfilling of the Great Commandment. With eremitical life, we are looking at one of the rarest ways of achieving authentic humanity because our life with and for others is itself at once far more limited and essentially hidden from others. It is also more clearly dependent on one's developing life with God.

Unfortunately, the potential for self-delusion is very high with eremitical life, and the Church's corresponding responsibility is very high indeed with regard to discerning and supervising these vocations. Much passes for eremitism today; sometimes called "cocooning," much masks isolation, selfishness, misanthropy, covert narcissism, individualism, and other forms of "me first" (or "me only"!!) life. Regular spiritual direction is absolutely necessary throughout the life, and everyone must take care that the hermit is truly growing in her kenotic capacity for love of God and all that is precious to God. They must be aware of the hermit's growth in prayer and in the courage and generosity required to give herself completely to Union with God for the sake of the Church and witness to the Church's Gospel. They will watch for selfishness, fear, the hermit's relative inability to trust and love herself or others, as well as assessing her potential and capacity for fullness of life, and they will guide her appropriately on her path through darkness to light and authentic humanity.

It is in all of this that we begin to see the danger of eremitical life, especially when it is undertaken without ecclesial supervision or adequate spiritual direction. If one undertakes an essentially selfish or self-centered life while validating it with the name "eremitical", one has embraced the very world eremitical life requires one to renounce. More importantly, one claims to be witnessing to God and to the Gospel of Jesus Christ when one has really become antithetical to the God of Life. In such an instance, one's life is a lie, a sham, a fraud, and it doesn't matter how often one invokes the name of the Lord in one's "witness". This doesn't validate what one is living; instead, it may well condemn it. One misses or actually rejects the Divine gift of one's vocation to authentic humanity and the pathway(s) leading one there. This is the most obvious danger of claiming a vocation to eremitical life when one doesn't have one.

False hermits, of whatever stripe, also endanger the vocation itself. It has always been difficult for the majority of folks to understand how Christianity could see the eremitical life as valid because one's call to love others is largely a hidden dimension of the life. One other way we hermits might contribute to the falsification of our vocations without meaning to is by focusing our attention solely on the external constituent elements of that vocation without serious concern for the deeper journey these are meant to serve. For instance, some look at the degree of silence or solitude the person is living, the degree of poverty, prayer, limited ministry (which is ordinarily allowed so long as it is truly limited), etc., and try to discern whether or not the person is a hermit. The problem in measuring a vocation in these terms is that many people live alone without being hermits and many do the same without loving themselves, God, or others as every person is called to do. Many people embrace silence, reject actively ministerial lives, refuse to marry or live in community merely due to intense introversion, and many live relatively impoverished lives while mistaking these for lives of religious poverty. Similarly, many pray in ways that need to deepen without actually working toward this. Others embrace solitude because they are artists or writers without ever living desert lives. In other words, few of these are called to be hermits, and thus, they have not yet discovered their own path to authentic humanity.

With regard to c 603 life, while the constitutive elements of the canon are indispensable elements that contribute significantly to an authentic ecclesial eremitical life, they are not, per se, the heart of the vocation. Instead, the heart of the eremitical vocation is one's journey towards authentic humanity via growing union with God. This is what the hermit is about. This is who she is and who she is called to be primarily. Her witness stems from this specific journey and what it reveals to the Church and world**, not only about God and authentic humanity, but also about the victory over sin and death achieved through the death and resurrection of God's Christ, the wisdom of faith, hope, and love, and the entire Gospel of Jesus Christ. The hermit witnesses in a particularly vivid way to all of these as reflections of her embodiment of the Great Commandment --- though the way she loves, and the degree to which she loves, will remain hidden from most.

I think you can see why, as noted above, a regular spiritual director is essential here. The journey the hermit makes is both hidden and countercultural in many ways. It is also contrary to the usual distractions and busyness of life in the world, even from ministerial life in the world. Because silence and solitude, especially together, break open our hearts and minds to the working of the Holy Spirit, this may involve their being broken open to past memories and woundedness as the person comes to know themselves ever more deeply and truly. The journey to union with God involves a journey to the depths of ourselves and thus, to darkness and, at least sometimes, to terror. When this happens, it is really important to have a spiritual director who can accompany us as we work and pray our way through such things while staying on our present path to union with God. There is a lot to discern in such a rich life, and while the hermit herself does this with God to whatever extent she can, talking things over regularly with someone who knows one and the spiritual life well is truly critical. We each need someone who can see the forest for the trees, and reflect this back to us when our journey is deep and intense.

I'll end this for now. I hope it raises additional questions for readers. Thanks for writing!

** The Church's own mission, message, and ministries are meant to facilitate the same journey in its members. It calls us all to reconciliation with God, with ourselves, and with others. Hermits living in Christ reflect a commitment to pursue the most radical form of this dynamic and the most profound journey to self-knowledge and knowledge of God. Such a journey witnesses to the Church's ground of hope and holiness, namely, union with the God who has chosen to reveal himself as Emmanuel.

(Reprise) The Desert is a Dangerous Place, Eremitical Life is a Perilous Reality

I've been asked about this again, so before I write about it afresh, I want to include a reprise of the original article. This was originally written in August 2016.

 Dear Sister, usually when you write about the silence of solitude it is a positive thing but your last piece was pretty dark. I wondered if you were okay and if this was a new discovery you had made about the power of the silence of solitude? Someone else wrote about the suffering you were experiencing. Have I missed something (I ask because I care)!

Please don't be concerned. About three months ago I wrote about doing some inner work with my director which was demanding and challenging. I have continued with that and sometimes it has been reflected in my posts --- though generally it has meant fewer posts or posts which were poorly written and kind of rambling --- probably the result of putting these up before allowing my thoughts to mature and gel. I suspect the person referring to suffering was referring to some part of that constellation of posts. The piece I wrote a couple of days ago on Eremitical silence as harrowing as well as hallowing was not a new insight, no, but I certainly know it more deeply and extensively than I did from previous work. Moreover it is an important dimension of eremitical silence I have needed and now need to treat more explicitly --- especially in light of questions I am receiving about eremitical life and candidates with serious mental illness (I am working on one of these right now), or about topics like formation, the need for careful discernment, the indispensability of competent and regular spiritual direction, the danger of eremitical solitude, and so forth.

I have written before that eremitical silence and solitude are not easy and that the vocation itself is demanding. I have quoted Merton and others, noted that this is not a vocation generally suited for those with mental illness (though when it seems possible for someone who functions well and whose illness is stable this should be determined carefully by chancery, directors, therapists, etc on a case by case basis); I have explained that eremitical solitude is not the normal way to achieve personal wholeness and holiness, and I've described instances of individuals who were clearly decompensating as the result of living in an isolation they called "eremitical". I've even written a few times about battling with demons --- usually those of one's own heart! What I may not have done clearly enough is describe the way desert silence and solitude can strip away defenses and break open one's mind and heart to deeper and deeper levels of woundedness (some would speak of deeper or more foundational levels of sinfulness and alienation here but woundedness seems the better choice to me). This has always been implicit in posts referring to inner work, spiritual direction, and the other topics I have mentioned above and it was more explicit in the posts on battling with demons -- a perennial topic for the desert Abbas and Ammas --- but it needed to be made even more explicit I think.

The Desert is a Dangerous Place:

As I approach this anniversary of my perpetual profession as a diocesan hermit (02. September) I have looked back on some of the topics I have felt passionately (and sometimes written extensively) about. What is clear to me is that most of them have at their core the fact that this vocation is a gift of the Holy Spirit to the Church (and only then to the individual) and thus requires the church to treat it with real respect for precisely the gift it is. This means (or has meant) codifying it in canon law, carefully discerning candidates for profession, demanding Rules be written only after a candidate has sufficient experience living the life under competent direction, continuing direction and regular supervision (legitimate superiors), and providing lists of or even access to resources an individual may draw from in order to get the initial formation she needs to live this life well "in the name of the Church". But the flip side to all of this, the reason the charismatic nature of the vocation must be recognized and adequate care taken in all of these ways is also precisely because solitary eremitical life in the silence of solitude is dangerous for one not truly called to it --- or for one who undertakes it without sufficient support and assistance!

After all, one vows to listen in silence and solitude to the voice of God dwelling in one's heart. Moreover, one vows to give that entire heart over to God to love into wholeness and holiness; in this way one comes to know and reflect the silence OF solitude. That is what obedience is all about. But at the same time, the journey into the depths of one's own heart, as I wrote in the last post, can be a harrowing experience, for though one's heart is meant to belong to God alone, very much more dwells and often has dominance there than God alone. Similarly, while God never abandons us, there are times when God's presence takes the form of darkness and distance precisely so we can come to know those parts of our hearts which war against (him) --- against love and life itself --- and which divide us as persons so that quite often we stand diminished, fragmented and at war with ourselves. I wrote recently that the Holy Spirit maintained (was!) the bond of communion between Father and Son, but that additionally it was the Holy Spirit that maintained distance between them as well --- especially during Jesus' descent into hell, for instance. And so it is in the hermit's sometimes dark silence of solitude. God is experienced as absence or remoteness but it is still God's presence we know in these challenging ways.

Journeying With a Competent Director:

The listening (hearkening, obedience) one does involves a breaking open of the hardened and well-defended heart or false "self", and leads to a kind of stripping away of the false and distorted as well as to a revelation of the fearful, fragile, and (thanks be to God) the rich potential living at the core of ourselves. The result is a vulnerability which is excruciatingly painful and which absolutely requires the assistance of a competent director who knows not only how to do this kind of spiritual or "inner" work, but also when it is time to do it as well as when the hermit is strong enough (in her inner covenantal life with God or Selfhood) to attempt it. At these times some parts of the hermit's Rule may be suspended and other changes made to accommodate differing needs for rest, prayer, food, recreation, direction or contact with one's delegate, etc.

Though one's director need not (and probably will not) be a hermit, it takes someone knowledgeable and personally experienced in the same kind of inner journey to assist and accompany the hermit in all of this. Otherwise one will have the equivalent of the blind leading the blind into the pit and tragedy will ensue. (It should go without saying that a "hermit" attempting to live in the desert without the assistance of a competent director with whom they meet regularly is, from my perspective, perhaps the greatest fool I could name. Unfortunately it happens.) In any case, it is also at this time that the hermit's own knowledge, experience and faith, all tested over time, prove their greatest worth.

On my Anniversary:

Despite all I have said here and in a few recent posts which may have seemed uncharacteristically "dark", let me also reiterate that I could not be happier in my vocation as a diocesan hermit. While the inner work in which I have recently been engaged has been difficult and rending (harrowing) it has simultaneously been a clear source of abundant life (hallowing) as well. There is no doubt in my mind that the temporary suffering of this work itself is a grace of God, not simply a source of grace as much suffering is and can be, but a wounding and profoundly life-giving touch of God (him)self and one that I might never have known but for this vocation and those who assist me in it.

Deep healing and growth in holiness is clearly something God is calling me to "in the silence of solitude" and apart from canonical eremitical life I would have neither the time nor the space and discipline for prayer, the access to sufficient direction or supervision, the commitment of profession which empowers and sustains the work, nor would I have the motivation or have been able to grow as sufficiently as I have needed in the commitment which make perseverance in this specific journey possible. God has truly blessed me in this and though there is pain and a sense of great fragility right now, I approach this anniversary with even more life, strength, and gratitude than I have known in the past. The promise of the future, though still being worked out "in fear and trembling" as Paul might put it, is very full indeed.

Adequately honoring this Gift of the Holy Spirit:

Dioceses that fail to pay attention to the reality and perhaps the inevitability of this experience of God in the darkness and abject suffering of the silence of solitude will be unable to assist hermits they profess. Even more problematically they are apt to profess "hermits" who can neither negotiate nor thrive (come to the abundant life Jesus promises) in the desert of eremitical life. Outright illness or a lack of integrity marked by mediocrity and "vocations" which are thus disedifying and even scandalous to all involved will be the result.

To summarize, the desert is a dangerous place. Eremitical silence and solitude are perilous realities and dioceses professing hermits need to be keenly aware of these facts. Especially they must never believe they are merely entrusting individuals to some sort of prayer-filled life of mere peace and quiet! The eremitical contemplative life of prayer in the silence of solitude is wonderful, yes, but it is also a source of real and deep anguish. Becoming God's own prayer in this world is both hallowing and harrowing, often at the very same time. When Jesus said, "I did not come to bring peace but a sword!" he might very well have been speaking, for those called to it, of the significantly growth-full moments of eremitical life! Again, this is something of which dioceses and candidates to canon 603 eremitical life must be aware if they are to truly and adequately honor this rare, valuable, and mysterious gift of the Holy Spirit.

Followup Questions on Suffering and Eremitical Life

[[Hi Sister Laurel, I really appreciate what you wrote about suffering, but it raised more questions for me. One of these is whether, when you go silent, it means you are suffering and need prayers? Another is whether suffering has taught you anything about the Gospel and, if so, what? My third question is whether you understand suffering as a necessary part of eremitical life (I thought you said that in your last post), and if so, how come? (You wrote about sin and death, so maybe you could say more about that.]]

Great follow-ups!! Thanks!! There are three or four reasons I might go silent, and one of these is due to suffering, as it was recently. However, my silence can also be caused by a lack of questions from others that can be used online, and my own other writing projects. When all three of these reasons come together, the silence tends to be longer and more complete. (By the way, I always welcome prayers and also questions for this blog!!!) My fourth reason has to do with the demands of the silence of solitude and inner work. Usually I can continue to blog, but sometimes I must simply withdraw altogether.

Has suffering taught me anything about the Gospel? Absolutely!!! I have to laugh because in my first real meeting with Bishop Vigneron, he asked me about my favorite Saint. It was a good question, meant to start a conversation on the level of heart, and also simply to break the ice for ongoing conversations. As I have told the story in the past, I quickly answered Paul of Tarsus or Paul the Apostle. In my head, though, I was thinking, "Oh no, he probably wanted someone other than an Apostle; I should have referred to John of the Cross or, St Therese, or (and so it went as I catastrophized about my answer!!). 

I quickly followed up with comments about the theology I most love in Paul's writing, viz., his theology of the Cross. I said something like, "If I could spend the rest of my life coming to understand Paul's Theology of the Cross, I would be a happy camper!" Of course, I wasn't saying I wanted to understand this theology on a firsthand basis as Jesus did. I already knew this reality to some extent, but not to the extent I know it now, and I think will be asked to understand it throughout the rest of my life --- precisely as a theologian of the cross and as a hermit.

God has definitely taken me at my word in this matter, so the way I spoke to Bp Vigneron on that day makes me laugh re my own naivete. My own life is marked in a real way by the imprint of the cross, and in a very real way I know aspects of what Jesus suffered during his life as well as on the cross. This has been true throughout most of my life, though I didn't really appreciate it until relatively recently. What is most important in this pattern is the fact that we are made for God and our humanity is meant to mirror Jesus' pattern of humanity where God is Emmanuel in and through him. We are each called to be a revelation of the God who wills to be God With Us, so much so that authentic humanity is transparent to this God and can be identified by the same name. God the Father is Emmanuel, Jesus is the authentic human who is therefore also Emmanuel, and in Christ and the Holy Spirit, we are each called by God to be Emmanuel as well. The deepest questions we pose, the most profound questions we each represent, are questions of meaning and being; that is, they are questions of the source and ground of what it means not only to be, but also to be significant creations of God. The questions we pose and actually are, are existential questions of God and human being. Hermits are called to ask these questions --- to be and to pose them as nakedly, deeply, vividly, truthfully, and poignantly as possible. Suffering, to the extent we can truly set our egos aside, assists in this, and that is part of its grace.

Similarly, we are to be those who allow the answer God is to be received as fully as possible. We are, as authentic human beings, a capacity for God. Hermits witness to this foundational truth, just as they witness to the fact that God is Emmanuel, God With Us. God does not leave us, abandon us, or leave our world without his creative presence. Instead, in each of us the presence of God that Jesus made real (revealed) in space and time continues to be made real in our world. We are called to that in a variety of ways --- some active, some contemplative, some in formal communities, and others in solitude, for instance. 

I believe the Gospel can be summarized in the one word, "Emmanuel". Similarly, it is most exhaustively made real (that is, it is most fully revealed) on the cross. Almost all of the hermits I know tend to put the cross of Christ right at the center of their own eremitical lives, and that is especially true as they age or mature in eremitism. In my own experience, this is the heart of eremitical life; it is the way we grow in union with God. While sin and death have been defeated by God in Christ, God is not yet all in all. Hermits live in witness both to God's victory and to the fact that there is more to come when God definitively establishes a new heaven and a new earth.

Is it Unusual for Hermits to Suffer? Why Not Write About it?

[[Dear Sister Laurel, I was thinking about your not having written much recently. I have been praying for you, but I wondered if being ill changes the way you live eremitical life? You don't mention being ill very often or write about suffering. Why is that? . . .. Is it unusual for hermits to live with suffering? To write about it? It seems unusual for you.]]

Many thanks for your prayers. I do appreciate them --- as do so many of us. Yes, illness affects my eremitical life in a variety of ways, but I work regularly with my director, and (more so recently) with my doc to be sure I stay on my path.`Suffering is an important dimension of any spiritual life, not only because we must learn how to do so in a way that truly glorifies God, but because it is fundamental to human life here in this world. One of the best books I know of on human suffering is by Douglas John Hall, and is called God and Human Suffering. Hall observes that learning how to suffer is one of the things we need most to learn today. In my own life, I have come to believe that the most important way I can model "suffering well" is by focusing on the life and love God calls me to each day, in spite of whatever suffering is also present.

Focusing on this is what I have tried to do on this blog, except when I have experienced something unusual and can use folks' prayers. I don't believe focusing on suffering per se, particularly on my own suffering, is particularly helpful to folks unless they have some question about a very similar situation. Otherwise, in the past, I have described references to one's own suffering as being a bit like a drop of skunk scent. A tiny bit goes a very long way, and more than that can be simply overpowering and repellent!!! I do think that one can learn to speak credibly about suffering with Christ, as one comes to truly do this, but again, this is not usually expressed as an account of one's own suffering, so much as it is an account of how Jesus' suffering becomes a source of grace that strengthens and empowers us. This means that one will suffer over what is usually a long period of time until one comes to the point where one realizes one's union with Christ and comes to genuine peace in the face of whatever one is suffering. This is the interesting and truly inspired part of a story of suffering.

Most hermits I know deal with suffering routinely --- just as anyone else ordinarily does. These hermits have chronic ailments, many of which lead to significant limitations and even disabilities. What it seems to me we each and all focus on is the life God gifts us with each day and most especially with which the meaning the Cross of Christ imbues those lives. In that way we remain capable of witnessing to God's grace without merely speaking in a self-centered way about the pain we experience daily. Still, yes, suffering is a central element to eremitical life because we are called to union with God, and that includes our movement in and through the darknesses of sin and death, where God meets us as source and ground of life. In our suffering, then, we meet God in Christ and in this way, even our suffering is made meaningful. What would ordinarily be a sign of godlessness and the victory of sin becomes a sacramental reality instead. Moreover, it defines one's eremitical life as one of complete availability to God and helps to put ego in its proper place. Such a life is not always pleasant, no, but the profound presence of God, deeper than any suffering, is a source of great peace and joy, that witnesses to the Gospel from and for which the Church lives. 

What hermits witness to, therefore, is not primarily their suffering, but the way that is transformed by God. God always answers prayers and does so with himself. This is the focus of a life truly dedicated to God in and through suffering. God is not a postscript tagged onto the end of a long paean of misery in such a life, nor does every life punctuated by cries of "Thank you Jesus!" truly glorify God. (“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’" knows or will come to know the sovereignty of God.) God's presence transforms such paeans into victorious Magnificats of divine presence. Either the hermit can convey a sense of that presence and the transformation it brings --- which includes genuine growth in loving oneself and others in Christ --- or we will fail to do so, which may also mean a failure to live one's vocation. 

When our focus is on our own suffering, especially if we are writing publicly, I believe we detract from a genuine focus on God, except when requesting occasional prayers from others. In particularly poignant ways, suffering raises the question of God; the transformation of suffering into a grace-filled reality is something only the presence of God can do. When one's life is full (no matter the illness and suffering), and thus truly graced, the need to speak about one's suffering is greatly diminished, and one's references to God will be more credible, compelling, and inspirational. This, at least, is what my experience teaches me.

I sincerely hope this is an adequate response to your questions.

From the Dark Ages to Modern Times: Why Benedictine Spirituality Still Matters

 The following reflection by Fr Dorathick, OSB Cam, was shared by the Camaldolese monks and oblates. Best wishes for all my Benedictine Brothers and Sisters and particularly for those Camaldolese I count as extended family!!

Every year, on the Feast of St. Benedict, the Church remembers a man who wasn’t trying to change history. He was simply looking for God. And yet, by seeking God with sincerity, discipline, and humility, St. Benedict became one of history’s great spiritual builders. While the Roman world was falling apart and Europe was slipping into political chaos, violence, and cultural division, Benedictine monasteries became places where faith, learning, work, hospitality, and hope were kept alive. They were lamps in a dark age.

Our world today may not be trapped in that same kind of darkness, but plenty of people would say we’re living through a different sort of crisis. It’s psychological, social, and spiritual. We’re more connected than ever because of technology, and yet deeply lonely. We have endless information at our fingertips, but not much wisdom. We chase productivity nonstop, while still struggling to feel any real inner peace. Anxiety, burnout, broken families, social polarization, and a fading sense of meaning have become part of modern life. In a world like this, Benedictine spirituality feels surprisingly fresh.

At the center of St. Benedict’s vision is a simple belief: the deepest human trouble isn’t the chaos around us, but the disorder inside the heart. Modern culture often says happiness comes from getting more, moving faster, or endlessly remaking ourselves. St. Benedict points to another way: stability, simplicity, prayer, community, and careful listening. The first word of his Rule, “Listen,” may matter now more than ever. Before we speak, snap back, or pass judgment, we’re asked to listen, to God, to other people, and to what’s stirring in our own hearts.
Psychologically, this kind of listening can steady a restless mind. So many people move through life in a constant state of distraction, tugged by notifications, comparisons, and demands that never seem to end. Benedictine spirituality calls us back to silence, not as a way to hide from reality, but as the place where truth can rise to the surface. In silence, we can face our fears without letting them rule us. We begin to learn that our worth is not measured by what we achieve, but rooted in who we are: beloved children of God.

St. Benedict, though, never saw holiness as something a person achieves alone. He valued solitude, yes, but he also believed spiritual maturity is tested and shaped in community. For him, the monastery was a school of charity, a place where patience, forgiveness, humility, and mutual obedience are learned through ordinary daily relationships. That insight still speaks strongly today. We often want spirituality without commitment, choosing private inspiration over shared responsibility. Benedict reminds us that love becomes real only when it is lived out with actual people, each one carrying their own weaknesses and gifts.

Our society today badly needs this kind of wisdom. Polarisation has made real dialogue hard. Individualism has worn down our sense of belonging. Even in families and churches, many people struggle to stay together when conflict comes. Benedictine spirituality reminds us that communion doesn’t mean having no differences; it means doing the patient work of reconciliation. It calls us to be people who build bridges instead of walls, who listen rather than shout, and who choose mercy over resentment.

The Benedictine balance of ora et labora—prayer and work—pushes back against today’s culture of fatigue. Work should not become an idol that swallows up our identity, and prayer is not an escape from responsibility. The two belong together. Prayer gives work its deeper purpose, while work turns prayer into real service. Whether we are caring for a family, teaching, farming, studying, or leading an organization, every task can become an offering when it is done with love and integrity.

The Feast of St. Benedict, then, is more than a look back at history. It invites us to build an inner monastery in our hearts, a place where Christ lives, where silence quiets the noise, gratitude eases anxiety, and compassion overcomes fear. This kind of life doesn’t run away from the world. It steps into it more fully, bringing peace into our homes, workplaces, communities, and society.

As we celebrate the Feast of St. Benedict, we are called to do more than honor a saint from long ago. We are invited to take up a way of life that can change the present. The deepest darkness of our time is not around us, but inside us: the restless heart that no longer knows how to listen for God. Benedict’s lasting message is simple, and still deeply challenging: return to silence, return to prayer, return to community, and return to Christ. The renewal of the world begins one converted heart at a time. If we are willing to build an inner monastery, a place where God’s presence is welcomed each day, then our homes can become places of peace, our relationships can show compassion, and our communities can shine with hope. In a world weighed down by noise, division, and constant distraction, may we hear again the first word of the Rule of St. Benedict: “Listen.” Because those who truly listen become people of wisdom, communion, and peace, carrying the quiet light of Christ into a world still longing to come out of its own dark age.

Fr. Dorathick OSB Cam

The Feast of St Thomas, Apostle

Today's Gospel focuses on the appearances of Jesus to the disciples, and one of the lessons one should draw from these stories is that we are indeed dealing with bodily resurrection, but therefore, with a kind of bodiliness which transcends the corporeality we know here and now. It is very clear that Jesus' presence among his disciples is not simply a spiritual one, in other words, and that part of Christian hope is the hope that we as embodied persons will come to perfection beyond the limits of death. It is not just our souls which are meant to be part of the new heaven and earth, but our whole selves, body and soul.

The scenario with Thomas continues this theme, but is contextualized in a way that leads homilists to focus on the whole dynamic of faith with seeing, and faith despite not having seen. It also makes doubt the same as unbelief and plays these off against faith, as though faith cannot also be served by doubt. But doubt and unbelief are decidedly NOT the same things. We rarely see Thomas as the one whose doubt (or whose demands!) SERVES true faith, and yet, that is what today's Gospel is about. Meanwhile, Thomas also tends to get a bad rap as the one who was separated from the community and doubted what he had not seen with his own eyes. The corollary here is that Thomas will not simply listen to his brother and sister disciples and believe that the Lord has appeared to or visited them. But I think there is something far more significant going on in Thomas' proclamation that unless he sees the wounds inflicted on Jesus in the crucifixion, and even puts his fingers in the very nail holes, he will not believe.

What Thomas, I think, wants to make very clear is that we Christians believe in a crucified Christ, and that the resurrection was God's act of validation of Jesus as scandalously and ignominiously Crucified. I think Thomas knows on some level anyway that, insofar as the resurrection really occurred, it does not nullify what was achieved on the cross. Instead, it renders permanently valid what was revealed (made manifest and made real) there. In other words, Thomas knows if the resurrection is really God's validation of Jesus' life and establishes him as God's Christ, the Lord he will meet is the one permanently established and marked as the crucified One. The crucifixion was not some great misunderstanding that could be wiped away by resurrection. Instead, it was an integral part of the revelation of the nature of truly human and truly divine existence. Whether it is the Divine life, authentic human existence, or sinful human life --- all are marked and revealed in one way or another by the signs of Jesus' cross. For instance, ours is a God who has journeyed to the very darkest, godless places or realms human sin produces, and has become Lord of even those places. He does not disdain them even now but is marked by them and will journey with us there --- whether we are open to him doing so or not --- because Jesus has implicated God there and marked him with the wounds of an exhaustive kenosis.

Another piece of this is that Jesus is, as Paul tells us, the end of the Law, and it was the Law that crucified him. The nail holes and wounds in Jesus' side and head -- indeed every laceration which marked him -- are a sign of legal execution -- both in terms of Jewish and Roman law. We cannot forget this, and Thomas' insistence that he really be dealing with the Crucified One reminds us vividly of this fact as well. The Jewish and Roman leaders did not crucify Jesus because they misunderstood him, but because they understood all too clearly both Jesus and the immense power he wielded in his weakness and poverty. They understood that he could turn the values of this world, its notions of power, authority, etc, on their heads. They knew that he could foment profound revolution (religious and otherwise) wherever he had followers. They chose to crucify him not only to put an end to his life, but to demonstrate he was a fraud who could not possibly have come from God; they chose to crucify him to terrify those who might follow him into all the places discipleship might really lead them --- especially those places of human power and influence associated with religion and politics. The marks of the cross are a judgment (krisis) on this whole reality.

There are many gods and even manifestations of the real God available to us today, and so there were to Thomas and his brethren in those first days and weeks following the crucifixion of Jesus. When Thomas made his declaration about what he would and would not believe, none of these were crucified Gods or would be worthy of being believed in if they were associated with such shame and godlessness. Thomas knew how very easy it would be for his brother and sister disciples to latch onto one of these, or even to fall back on entirely traditional notions in reaction to the terribly devastating disappointment of Jesus' crucifixion. He knew, I think, how easy it might be to call the crucifixion and all it symbolized a terrible misunderstanding which God simply reversed or wiped away with the resurrection -- a distasteful chapter on which God has simply turned the page. Thomas knew that false prophets showed up all the time. He knew that a God who is distant and all-powerful is much easier to believe in (and follow) than one who walks with us even in our sinfulness or who empties himself to become subject to the powers of sin and death, especially in the awful scandal and ignominy of the cross --- and who expects us to do essentially the same.

In other words, Thomas' doubt may have had less to do with the FACT of a resurrection than it had to do with his concern that the disciples, in their loss, grief, desperation, guilt, and the immense social pressure they faced to renounce Jesus and the God he revealed, had truly met and clung to the real Lord, the crucified One. In this way, their own discipleship will come to be marked by the signs of the cross as they preach, suffer, and serve in the name (and so, in the paradoxical power) of THIS Lord and no other. Only he could inspire them; only he could sustain them; only he could accompany them wherever true discipleship led them.

Paul said, "I want to know Christ crucified and only Christ crucified" because only this Christ had transformed sinful, godless reality with his presence, only this Christ had redeemed even the realms of sin and death by remaining open to God even within these realities. Only this Christ would journey with us to the unexpected and unacceptable places, and in fact, only he would meet us there with the promise and presence of a God who would bring life out of them. Thomas, I believe, knew precisely what Paul would soon proclaim himself, and it is this, I think, which stands behind his insistence on seeing the wounds and put his fingers in the very nail holes. He wanted to be sure his brethren were putting their faith in the crucified One, the one who turned everything upside down and relativized every other picture of God we might believe in. He became the great doubter because of this, but I suspect that instead he was the most faithful and astute theologian among the original Apostles. He, like Paul, wanted to know Christ Crucified and ONLY Christ Crucified.

We should not trivialize Thomas' witness by transforming him into a run-of-the-mill empiricist and doubter (though doubting is an important piece of growth in faith)!! Instead, we should imitate his insistence: we are called upon to be followers of the Crucified God, and no other. Every version of God we meet should be closely examined for nail holes and the lance wound. Everyone should be checked for signs that this God is capable of and generous enough to assume such suffering on behalf of a creation he would reconcile and make whole. Only then do we know this IS the God proclaimed in the Gospels and the Epistles of Paul, the only one worthy of being followed even into the darkest reaches of human sin and death, the only One who meets us in the unexpected and even unacceptable place, the only one who loves us with an eternal love from which nothing can separate us.

Personal Update: That which only I can do . . .

Just a brief thank you and update on the reasons for my recent silence! First of all, thanks to everyone for your prayers. The treatment used was extremely helpful, and the signs I had developed that suggested further problems resolved almost immediately upon dropping one med from my regimen --- a very good sign. There is still some testing to be done, and an alternate treatment to be decided on, but on the whole, I am feeling much better!!! Writing continues, and I have managed to begin work on this blog again, so again, many thanks for your prayer. It is always helpful, but has been especially so recently!! It reminds me of a quote I love and believe is especially true for eremitical life's dependence on radical community: [[That which only I can do, I cannot do alone!]]