On Lectio Divina, "Bible Roulette", etc.

[[Hi Sister, I know Lectio is an integral part of monastic spirituality; especially for hermits. What do you suggest? Do you think the daily Mass readings should be the source of our lectio (thereby being in tune with the liturgy), or do you think it's better to work though the Bible systematically? How should one structure their lectio? I don't think "Bible roulette" is the way to go (just open it wherever) so there must be a system. What do you suggest? Thanks!]]

Hi again, I do agree that Bible Roulette is not the way to go. It strikes me as a singularly "uncontemplative" and inattentive way to choose what one uses for lectio. It always makes me think of the NT admonition, "Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God" too. On the other hand I am not really sure what you mean by working through the Bible systematically. Some people believe they should read through the Bible starting with Genesis and then move on through every book as found in the canons. My sense is that most folks who use this approach tend to be confused by the mythical elements in Genesis and later get bogged down in the legal and history sections giving up before even reaching the New Testament.

Though the Psalms and Prophets may speak to the cries of their heart to some extent the rest tends not to do so. Culturally and in other ways it is simply inaccessible without real assistance (teachers, commentaries, lexicons, sociological and cultural commentaries, etc.). Thus, I don't recommend that any more than I recommend walking into a library, picking up the first book on the shelf nearest the entrance, and then reading through the library by progressing through the shelves one by one. For me that seems a particularly deadly way to approach or read in a library and so too, a particularly deadly way to try to read Scripture which itself is a library of many books and kinds of literature. In any case, like Bible Roulette, this approach seems to me to impose an artificial or arbitrary structure on lectio which does not pay adequate attention to one's own heart or the ways in which God is presently speaking to one. It is also blind to the riches and diversity of the library itself or to the myriad invitations it might offer us over time. It takes no time to gaze and wonder at all the library has to offer, to be grateful or intrigued or even overwhelmed with anticipation. That said, it seems to me that so long as one is spending time with Scripture in a way which does attend to one's own heart and allows God to speak to one every day, then that is what is called for.

Hermits, of course, have time for lectio as others may not so for them the approach that works may not be either/or as you have suggested but a kind of both/and. It will depend on the individual and their own responsibilities and personal inclinations. What I do and what seems to work for me is a combination of daily readings and in-depth attention to some aspect of Scripture. I use both approaches you refer to: 1) attention to the weekly readings, and 2) a second more "systematic" approach which focuses variously on one of the books being read, a particular theme (mercy, justice, heart, penance, conversion, the place of the desert in the formation of God's own People, etc.), some other book, or even a particular form of text (like the parables, the Lord's Prayer, the Passion Narratives), etc. I personally prefer using the second approach and I really miss it if I only use the daily readings. Even so, either one of these approaches can work for a reader; again, it depends on the person. Ideally they complement and reinforce one another.

I do both of these by using two periods of lectio each day (or one of lectio and another of related study and writing). This allows me to keep up with the liturgical readings and seasons but also focus on broader themes, literature, theological truths or positions, etc. It also allows me to do a reflection for my parish or a blog piece during most weeks. One of the tools I use in this approach is a white board where I keep random or disparate thoughts, insights, images, etc and brain storm reflections. This allows me to see various things that have struck me, pieces that might serve as seeds for further prayer, writing, study and so forth --- whether I am doing a formal period of lectio or not. The white board helps keep things "percolating". It means that generally, in one way and another, Scripture is working in my mind and heart. Besides this of course there is my regular journal where I write about what lectio has been for me, in what ways it challenges and consoles, speaks or fails to speak; I also I keep theological notes in separate books --- usually divided into themes, etc.

Regarding what is "best" though, let me say that I do believe it is important for the hermit to keep up with the liturgical year. This does not necessarily mean doing lectio with each or all of the daily readings. For instance you might find that the Sunday readings or those of another day are the source of an entire week's lectio and that this feeds you very well even as it challenges you in a way you particularly need. At the same time it may keep you in firm touch with the Church as she journeys through the year. For instance, I tend to skim the week's readings so I know what they are generally about and as I do this one or two texts in particular will catch my attention or "speak to me".

Those will be the "seeds" for lectio for the rest of the week. I will spend time with these "seeds", read commentaries, pray with them, journal about them, etc. Usually I will reread the contexts for these as well which is part of what the daily readings provide. Even so, I don't do lectio with or focus on every daily reading. I just can't do that; my mind and heart don't work that way. For the latter focus I really depend on the Mass homilies I hear. (One good way of allowing each day's readings some space when you are doing lectio with something else is to read them slowly once or twice before bed --- especially on the night before you will attend Mass. In that way you are ready to hear them proclaimed --- a different way of hearing them altogether because the proclaimed text is uniquely sacramental.) Otherwise, I personally do best by listening for the one or two texts or images that call out to me as I look over the week's readings and then living with those for at least the rest of the week.

Other things besides Scripture texts can be used for lectio as well. Last week, for instance, I referred to an image of a broken and mended piece of Japanese pottery along with a comment by Sue Bender on the way the repairs highlighted the cracks with brilliant silver making the mended piece more precious than it had been before being broken. Not only was that image (along with a related image from a poem by Jan Richardson) seared in my mind on Corpus Christi, but it became something that illuminated the texts from 2 Corinthians we were reading and let me reflect on the Feast of the Sacred Heart in new and fresh ways.

The idea I wrote about on the feast of the Sacred Heart --- the heart as the sacred space where all things are held together and reconciled in God --- is something I will be thinking and praying about for some time. Occasionally a movie, a painting, photograph, a piece of music, etc can serve in this way. In the past years I have seen perhaps four or five movies that might be used in this way including The Tree of Life, Of Gods and Men, The King's Speech, and the Life of Pi. The basic idea I think, is to allow God to speak to your mind and heart in ways which nourish, illuminate, and reshape them in whatever way God wills. I think part of doing lectio is knowing how this best happens in your own intellectual and affective life. If this means you need something new everyday, then okay; that can shape your basic approach. If you are like me and are fed by a single thing for a long time, then also well and good; you can allow that to be your primary approach --- though making sure you stay in touch with the liturgical year and the rich and varied menu it includes.

Thanks for being patient with me on this question. Thanks also for reminding me I hadn't finished answering you. I mainly dumped a lot of what I had written up until today as unhelpful but I do hope this is of some assistance. If it raises more specific questions I trust you will ask.

Feast of the Sacred Heart

Today's ordinary (daily Mass) readings use the text from 2 Corinthians I spoke about earlier this week, namely, "We hold a treasure in earthen vessels so that the surpassing power will be of God and not from ourselves." You may remember that in conjunction with that text and the Feast of Corpus Christi I spoke of Sue Bender's experience of seeing a broken and mended piece of Japanese ceramics. (Marking the Feast of Corpus Christi) She wrote, [[“The image of that bowl,” she writes, “made a lasting impression. Instead of trying to hide the flaws, the cracks were emphasized — filled with silver. The bowl was even more precious after it had been mended.”]]

That image has been with me all this week in prayer and also as I have reflected on the various readings, especially those from Paul. It seems entirely providential to me then that this year today, the day we would ordinarily hear a reading about treasure in earthen vessels, is the Feast of the Sacred Heart. The image of this bowl --- broken, healed, and transfigured  reminds me of the Sacred Heart --- traditionally the most powerful symbol we have of the indivisible wedding of human and divine and of the power of Divine Love perfected and glorified (revealed) in both human and divine weakness; thus it has provided me with a wonderfully new and fresh image of the Sacred Heart and (at least potentially) of our own hearts as well.

The heart is the center of the human person. It is a deeply distinctive anthropo-logical or human reality --- at the center of all truly personal feeling, thought, creativity and behavior. As a physical organ it stands at the center of all physical functions within us as well empowering them, marking them with its pulsing life.

At the same time, it is primarily a theological term. It refers first of all to God and to a theological reality. Of course it cannot be divorced from the human (and that is the very point!), but theologically speaking, the heart is the place within us where God bears witness to God's self, where life and truth and beauty, love, integrity call to us and invite us to embrace them, reveal them in our own unique ways. As I have noted before, in some important ways it is not so much that we have a heart and then God comes to dwell there; it is that where God dwells within us and bears witness to himself, we have a heart. The human heart (not the cardiac muscle but the center of our personhood) is a dialogical event where God speaks, calls, breathes, and sings us into existence and where, in one way and degree or another, we respond to become the people we are and (we hope) are called to be.

Everything comes together in the human heart --- or is held apart and left unreconciled by its distortions and self-centeredness. It is in the human heart broken open by love that the unity between spirit and matter is imagined, achieved, and then conveyed to the whole of creation. Here the division between earth and heaven, human and divine is bridged and healed. It is in the human heart that the unity of body and soul is achieved and celebrated.

The vulnerable and broken human heart is the paradoxical place where everything is brought together in the power and mercy of God's love; it is the place where human life is transfigured and then --- through us and the ministry of reconciliation entrusted to us in Christ --- extended to the whole of creation itself. It is in the human heart that prejudices, biases, bitterness, selfishness, greed and so many other things are brought into the presence of God to be healed and transformed. At least this is the potential of the heart which is meant to be truly human and glorifies God. The human heart is holy ground and despite its limitations, distortions, darknesses, and narrownesses it is meant to shine with the expansiveness of God's creative "Yes!" Here is indeed treasure in earthen vessels.

And if this is true anywhere it is true in the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus. The Sacred Heart is the symbol of the reunion of all of reality, the place in that unique life where human life becomes completely transparent to the love of God, the sacrament par excellence of the ministry of reconciliation where human and divine are inextricably wed.

Imagine then an image of the Sacred Heart similar to the image Sue Bender described, a clay pot broken and broken open innumerable times by and to the realities it dares to be vulnerable to and allows to rest within itself. Imagine too that God, that supreme potter refashions it, mends it with his love --- a love that allows the cracks to glow with the light of heaven, a light that transforms the entire pot and all who are touched by its transcendent beauty and truth. This is what we celebrate on today's Feast. The scars will remain, but transfigured --- as though mended with brilliant silver. Light and love, water and blood will pour from this heart and, in time, God will love all of creation into wholeness through Jesus' mediation and through the ministry of each of us who allow our hearts to become the Sacred places God wills them to be.  We "hold" a treasure in earthen vessels. In us the surpassing power of God in Christ is at work reconciling all things to himself.

The Power of Paradox Opened Our Eyes

In everything I write about spirituality or theology there is a foundational vision and truth. It is that where the real God reveals Godself paradox will abound. As I have noted before, sometimes when doing theology one of the surest signs I have strayed into heresy is an inability to point to the paradox involved! The post I put up marking Corpus Christi abounds in paradox. The questions which prompted the post seem to me to be impatient with (or perhaps incapable of) paradox and more taken with the "Greek" way of seeing things, namely thesis (the thing we are concerned with or desire), antithesis (the opposite of the thing), synthesis (a comfortable middle way, a compromise).

This approach to reality doesn't tolerate either contradiction or extremes. It does not allow for radicalness, for the radical choice or commitment! If we seek for wholeness it won't be in the midst of weakness; if we crave light we will not find it by stumbling along in the darkness of the nearest cave (or in the apparent fruitlessness of illness, etc!);  if we desire to live, we will not focus our efforts on dying to self! If we wish to be rich it will not be by giving ALL we have away. If we wish to be wise, it will not be by embracing any and all of these things in acts of prodigal foolishness. Moreover,  it will not be achieved in acts of radical commitment, and so forth: such commitments are simply too lacking in balance, moderation, or respectability for the Greek mind. Nor will the God of such a perspective reflect contradiction or tolerate anything compromising his purity. Is he omnipotent? Then he will not reveal himself in kenosis or weakness --- much less be perfectly or exhaustively revealed in these. Is he all good and holy? Then he will not take sin, death, or humanity itself up within himself as though union with created reality is the very goal of it all!

There are not many mansions or dwelling places for the hoi polloi in THIS God's life nor is he apt to think his divine prerogatives are NOT to be grasped at. They are. Rigidly. Unfailingly. They are to be held tightly clasped so that only divinity may touch them without defiling or denigrating them. And his Messiah? Well, what need is there of a Messiah? No one can share his life really anyway, no one can live in union with him. But even if there were a place for a Messiah --- maybe as one who meets out justice, strikes with well-deserved suffering, compels with unachievable commandments, and burdens with his capriciousness and unmitigated power, etc, he would not reveal himself in weakness or the radical love and compassion that regularly breaks his own heart and demands his very life!

But Christians, of course, believe in a very different God and model his presence in very different ways than in terms of Greek consistency or the various exclusionary "omni's" and "im's" (omnipotence, omniscience, immutability, impassibility, etc) which are  so characteristic of the Greek divine ideal. Ours is the Living God of paradox instead and, as Michael Card says so very well in the following song, this God's wisdom is revealed as scandal to Jews and foolishness in the eyes of "Greeks" ---  all through a Messiah and disciples who are God's own Fools.

(I have included two versions, the first done by someone else and the second done by Michael Card himself.) The professor I am most endebted to for my theology once said in one of the first theology classes I ever had that some people simply cannot think or see in terms of paradox while doing so is difficult for all of us. My prayer is that each and all of us may one day rejoice in the fact that the power of paradox, made incarnate in Jesus Christ, opened our eyes and let us glimpse and share God's own wisdom.

Marking (the Feast of) Corpus Christi: Divine Power Perfected in Weakness

[[Dear Sister, if a person is chronically ill then isn't their illness a sign that "the world" of sin and death are still operating in [i.e., dominating] their lives?  . . . I have always thought that to become a religious one needed to be in good health. Has that also changed with canon 603? I don't mean that someone has to be perfect to become a nun or hermit but shouldn't they at least be in good health? Wouldn't that say more about the "heavenliness" of their vocation than illness? ]] (Concatenation of queries posed in several emails)

As I read these various questions one image kept recurring to me, namely, that of Thomas reaching out to touch the wounds of the risen Christ. I also kept thinking of a line from a homily my pastor (John Kasper, OSFS) gave about 7 years ago which focused on Carravagio's painting of this image; the line was,  "There's Another World in There!" It was taken in part from the artist and writer Jan Richardson's reflections on this painting and on the nature of the Incarnation. Richardson wrote:

[[The gospel writers want to make sure we know that the risen Christ was no ghost, no ethereal spirit. He was flesh and blood. He ate. He still, as Thomas discovered, wore the wounds of crucifixion. That Christ’s flesh remained broken, even in his resurrection, serves as a powerful reminder that his intimate familiarity and solidarity with us, with our human condition, did not end with his death. . . Perhaps that’s what is so striking about Caravaggio’s painting: it stuns us with the awareness of how deeply Christ was, and is, joined with us. The wounds of the risen Christ are not a prison: they are a passage. Thomas’ hand in Christ’s side is not some bizarre, morbid probe: it is a  union, and a reminder that in taking flesh, Christ wed himself to us.]] Living into the Resurrection

Into the Wound, Jan L Richardson

My response then must really begin with a series of questions to you. Are the Risen Christ's wounds a sign that sin and death are still "operating in" him or are they a sign that God has been victorious over these --- and victorious not via an act of force but through one of radical vulnerability and compassion? Are his wounds really a passage to "another world" or are they signs of his bondage to and defeat by the one which contends with him and the Love he represents? Do you believe that our world is at least potentially sacramental or that heaven (eternal life in the sovereign love of God) and this world interpenetrate one another as a result of Jesus' life, death, and resurrection or are they entirely separate from and opposed to one another? Even as I ask these questions I am aware that they may be answered in more than one way. In our own lives too, we may find that the wounds and scars of illness and brokenness witness more to the world of sin and death than they do to that of redemption and eternal life. They may represent a prison more than they represent a passage to another world.

Or not.

When I write about discerning an eremitical vocation and the importance of the critical transition that must be made from being a lone pious person living physical silence and solitude to essentially being a hermit living "the silence of solitude," I am speaking of a person who has moved from the prison of illness to illness as passage to another world through the redemptive grace of God. We cannot empower or accomplish such a transition ourselves. The transfiguration of our lives is the work of God. At the same time, the scars of our lives will remain precisely as an invitation to others to see the power of God at work in our weakness and in God's own kenosis (self-emptying). These scars become Sacraments of God's powerful presence in our lives, vivid witnesses to the One who loves us in our brokenness and yet works continuously to bring life, wholeness, and meaning out of  death, brokenness, and absurdity.

To become a hermit (especially to be publicly professed as a Catholic hermit) someone suffering from chronic illness has to have made this transition. Their lives may involve suffering but the suffering has become a sacrament which attests less to itself  (and certainly not to an obsession with pain) but to the God who is a Creator-redeemer God. What you tend to see as an obstacle to living a meaningful profoundly prophetic religious or eremitical life seems to me to be a symbol of the heart of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. It also seems to me to remind us of the nature of "heavenliness" in light of the Ascension. Remember that one side of the salvation event we call the Christ is God's descent so that our world may be redeemed and entirely transformed into a new creation. But the other side of this Event is the Ascension where God takes scarred humanity and even death itself up into his own life --- thus changing the very nature of heaven (the sovereign life of God shared with others) in the process.

Far from being an inadequate witness to "heavenliness" our wounds can be the most perfect witness to God's sovereign life shared with us. Our God has embraced the wounds and scars of the world as his very own and not been demeaned, much less destroyed in the process. Conversely, for Christians, the marks of the crucifixion, as well therefore as our own illnesses, weaknesses and various forms of brokenness, are (or are meant to become) the quintessential symbols of a heaven which embraces our own lives and world to make them new. When this transformation occurs in the life of a chronically ill individual seeking to live eremitical life it is the difference between a life of one imprisoned in physical isolation, silence, and solitude, to that of one which breathes and sings "the silence of solitude." It is this song, this prayer, this magnificat that Canon 603 describes so well and consecrated life in all its forms itself represents.

Bowl patched with Gold

We Christians do not hide our woundedness then. We are not ashamed at the way life has marked and marred, bent and broken, spindled and mutilated us. But neither are woundedness or brokenness themselves the things we witness to. Instead it is the Sacrament God has made of our lives, the Love that does justice and makes whole that is the source of our beauty and our boasting. Jan Richardson also reminds us of this truth when she recalls Sue Bender's observations on seeing a mended Japanese bowl. [[“The image of that bowl,” she writes, “made a lasting impression. Instead of trying to hide the flaws, the cracks were emphasized — filled with silver. The bowl was even more precious after it had been mended.”]]  So too with our own lives: as Paul also said, "But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing power will be of God and not from ourselves."  (2 Cor 4:7) It is the mended cracks, the wounds which were once prisons, the shards of a broken life now reconstituted entirely by the grace of God which reveal the very presence of heaven to those we meet.

Witnessing to God's Power Made Perfect in Human Weakness: On Chronic Illness and C 603's Requirement to Write a Rule

[[Dear Sister,  in Writing a Rule, More Questions, you said that someone who is chronically ill and trying to write a Rule should include, [[a horarium which, at least generally, specifies the shape of one's day: rising, meals, prayer, lectio, work, ministry, recreation and errands, hours of rest and sleep. (If one has significant personal exigencies which bear on these (chronic illness, for instance) it is usually a good idea to state these up front and note that these occasionally demand some flexibility with regard to horarium, etc, rather than trying to minimize the demands of the life throughout the Rule. One's descriptions should be about what is generally possible and prudent for one --- not an idealization of what another hermit MIGHT live if they were able.)]] But what if a  person is so ill that they cannot live an ordered life in the way you describe? What if the disruptions they experience are not just occasional? How do they write a Rule? Could they still live as and be professed as a canonical hermit?]]

Thanks for what are really an important set of questions. They are also quite difficult to answer except in a general way. First though, as a kind of preamble, let me say that I wrote what I did to save someone from the difficulty of endlessly trying to qualify the Rule they write. I wanted each person to write a Rule reflecting how they really do live except for situations that cropped up relatively unexpectedly or occasionally. If the situation is more constant or frequent than occasional it is best simply to deal with it by spelling out the parameters of one's illness, including the situation in question in these along with what is usually possible and necessary for one to live a faithful life. Any diocese or Bishop will understand that illness will also produce some unexpected disruptions here and there. These don't ordinarily need to be spelled out unless they are more common than not.

Regarding your actual questions, I have to say up front that the situation you describe is too vague to answer. Each case would need to be discerned individually and perhaps revisited at different points in the person's life. You see, they might not be able to live as a hermit or be professed at one point in time but later on that could well change. I do believe the person should be able to write a Rule for their own lives if they reach a point of vocational certainty and readiness.

I am personally familiar with chronic illness that can completely ruin any attempt at orderliness or regularity. At the same time during  large periods of this illness, even when it was profoundly disabling, I was still able to pray, rest, eat, medicate myself, do most chores, and, during some years, even engage in significant study --- all in an essentially solitary context. While I could not maintain a strict schedule I could do what was really essential to my life with God --- though there were limits of course. I could not do all I wanted to do and there were times when illness didn't allow much at all. Still, it always allowed (and called for) faith and a significant dependence upon God's love --- mainly in solitude. It still does. That is one side of my considerations and my ambivalence in answering your questions. Would it were the ONLY side!!

The Source of my Ambivalence:
 
What makes this situation difficult to address without serious ambivalence is that looking at myself at this point in time I could not have called myself a hermit, either formally or essentially. Perhaps I was a solitary person, but I had not embraced or even considered embracing eremitical life in a conscious way, and for that reason would not use the word to describe my situation. Even so, had I thought about the possibility of being a hermit at that particular time of my life (instead of beginning to do so five to ten years later) it might have been possible. I don't really know. That would have required serious discernment. What I do know is that every person that tries eremitical life must do so in a conscious way as a response to what they perceive to be God's own call while the life they propose to live must fit both them as an individual and the living eremitical tradition as well.

I am also clear that at that point (about six years before canon 603's publication) I could not have represented eremitical life either in the name of the Church or as a lay hermit unless it was very specifically as a recluse. Moreover, I could not at that time have said I thought God was calling me to this. While it might have seemed a way to give meaning to my life, that is not necessarily the same thing as a Divine call. Even more critically I believe the degree of illness I dealt with at that time did not leave me free enough to discern an eremitical call. I certainly could not have made a life commitment. Until and unless this freedom became a real part of my life --- even as illness continued to be a daily reality --- there was no way to claim I had such a vocation. No one else could have discerned such a vocation in me either.

So, I am sorry for all the autobiographical rehashing and dithering. The reasons for running through all of this are several fold. First, I want to indicate my opinions in this are not without personal experience; second, I am concerned to indicate they are neither arbitrary nor without significant reflection and even personal anguish; and third, they help explain why I believe each case should be discerned individually by the candidate and diocese with significant input from knowledgeable physicians, spiritual director and psychologists -- in other words, whoever is necessary to help the diocese really see the person before them.

Overall, unless the discernment from all of these sources argues that a life of the silence of solitude is a source of authentic freedom and human wholeness --- and thus, is truly God's own call, my inclination is to say no; if one is so sick that they cannot live a life which is regular enough to write and generally live a Rule which witnesses to their freedom in spite of illness, they ought not be professed as canonical hermits. The Rule they write does not need to look like that of other hermits (what constitutes assiduous prayer and penance may certainly differ, for instance, and illness with its correlative treatment, dependencies, and limitations will feature large here) but it does need to indicate a God-centered, profoundly peace-filled and authentically free life lived in the silence of solitude.

While my own ability to seriously  consider and then discern a vocation to eremitical life was partly influenced by chronic illness, even more fundamentally it was made possible by the freedom to envision my life and act in ways which were not merely determined by illness, but by gifts and talents as well --- not least the ability to lead a genuinely contemplative life in solitude, with all that generally requires. I have always believed both dimensions were essential for my own identity and for becoming a hermit. Especially, I have known from 1983 (when I first considered eremitical life) onwards that illness could not be the only or even the defining characteristic of such a life. Had this been the case, had illness been more than an important but definite subtext to a life with God, I could not have written a Rule or considered eremitical life as a vocation no matter how isolated illness caused me to be. In those early years I was certainly an isolated individual with profound gifts and yearnings (as well as very significant deficits) but I was not a hermit, nor again, until changes occurred, was I ready to become one much less make a life commitment to live eremitical life in the name of the Church.

The Requirements of Canon 603:

As I have written here many times Canon 603 is both demanding and very flexible. It requires a life of stricter separation from the world, assiduous prayer and penance, the silence of solitude, and the evangelical counsels lived under the supervision of one's Bishop and according to a Rule one writes oneself. The foundational life being described here is a contemplative one of pervasive and persistent prayer and penance entirely dependent upon the grace of God and ordered to union with Him. There are no more details given than this --- but how rich and profound are each of these terms! Of course "the silence of solitude' is a tremendously positive element which refers to the quies that results from living in the love of God. It indicates a sense of relatedness and psychological well being,  a sense of being relatively comfortable with oneself despite human weakness and sin, and capacity for creative engagement with the world despite embracing "stricter separation from the world". The evangelical counsels are our commitment to live out a life marked by a fundamental simplicity and richness in God even as we forego some of the legitimate 'richnesses' associated with a more ordinary life.

Through profession of these we promise to be open to the truly new, the future God summons us into moment by moment, and to close ourselves to the merely novel and distracting, to listen for the voice of God in all the moments and moods of our lives, and to love as only God can empower us to love. Stricter separation from the world is equally positive because it involves a commitment to be truly attached to that which is of Christ and detached from that which is not. It is a valuing of loving engagement without self-centered enmeshment as well as to really seeing the sacramental nature and potential of all reality. Because eremitism is not about escapism but about the disciplined and courageous commitment to a profound inner journey where God is hidden in everything including illness, it can certainly be made by someone suffering from serious chronic illness; it cannot, however, be made by someone whose whole life IS illness or who has ceased to believe in anything beyond the limitations and negativities of illness.

Growing in our capacity to transcend illness:

My own experience says it takes time to reach a point where illness is merely a subtext in what is a wonderfully personal and cosmic divine narrative. That narrative was summed up for me by Saint Paul who wrote to the Church in Corinth, "God's power is made perfect in weakness." It takes time to really know the victory faith can bring over illness so that while it remains problematical perhaps, it no longer defines who one is. It takes time, personal work, and discipline to embrace a life which is essentially affirmative and engaged with God's world in the silence of solitude rather than being negative and enmeshed in the isolation of illness and its prison of disappointment, disillusionment, self-pity, and fear. It takes time to move from God and faith as either opiates or facile justifications for the disorder caused by a state of sin (the state of reality's estrangement from God of which illness and suffering are signs and symptoms) to the God of Jesus Christ who does not explain away (much less cause!) the tragedies of our lives but instead redeems them --- if only we will trust in Him and the present and future he will weave with our collaboration.

The eremitical journey requires discipline, courage, love and the generous vision all of these give one. Though these two forms of "ordering" exist together in any life, the meaning and vitality which a creator God's love and mercy bring to chaos and emptiness is far more important than that imposed by external code, clock, and calendar. If the hermit is chronically ill she must show with her life that God is the true center of things, not her pain, not the disorder, inconstancy, and especially not the isolation illness occasions. Unless a person who desires to be a hermit can do this effectively and convincingly (and one piece of doing so which is required by Canon 603 is by writing of a Rule reflecting this), I would have to argue they have not yet discerned a call to eremitical life.

Summary:

Each situation is unique and each vocation must be discerned individually. What a genuine eremitical life looks like for those dealing with chronic illnesses can be seen today by looking at many of the lives of diocesan hermits who are pioneering this vocation for the Church. A number of c 603 hermits have been professed not despite their illness, but because God had redeemed their lives in ways which allowed illness to become transparent to a life giving grace which is much greater and stronger than the power of illness to disrupt, derail, and destroy.

Of course, it is also possible to find examples of isolated individuals who claim or aspire to be hermits, but whose lives are truly rooted in and centered not on God but on illness, pain, personal suffering and the limitations associated with these. It is actually not very difficult to discern the difference between these two if one gives just a bit of time and a listening ear to them. The first group is generally characterized by freedom and a kind of spiritual expansiveness even when chronic illness is seriously problematical because this person's life and attitudes toward reality breathe with the compassionate freedom and vitality of the Spirit. The second group is characterized by bondage and relative blindness to the lives, needs, and suffering of those around them, as well lacking insight into their own selves because these are precisely what the self-centeredness, disappointment, and self-pity associated with serious illness often occasion.

One day, with the grace of God, some of these latter individuals may make the critical transition from being the lone scream of anguish they are now to being the complex Magnificat which the grace of God's mercy and love makes possible. Often I think this suffering-tinged Song of joy and praise is what the Carthusians and c 603 call "the silence of solitude." In any case, I believe when this critical transition occurs and one reflects on it one will be able to see, articulate, and finally, codify what was essential to its realization in terms of asceticism, prayer, lectio, direction, therapy, rest, recreation, contact with others, etc. These "channels of grace" revealed in weakness along with the vision of reality they make possible will become the nuts and bolts of one's Rule.

On Wearing the Cowl While in Discernment

[[Dear Sister, when a person is  going through the discernment process of becoming a diocesan hermit can the cowl be worn?]]

Presuming you mean initial discernment with a diocese prior to admission to any profession, the simple answer is no. The cowl is only given with perpetual profession and then only when the diocesan Bishop grants the cowl canonically. (Not every Bishop does so and some hermits decide to use a different prayer garment.) A simple personal prayer garment can be used in private during the discernment period but cannot be worn publicly since this would imply public standing, rights, and obligations. Similarly, such a garment is NOT given to one by the Church but instead is privately or self-assumed.

In monastic communities a modified cowl (short sleeves, for instance) is given with simple (temporary) vows (and sometimes a shortened tunic, cape, or otherwise modified cowl (sans sleeves) is given with entrance into candidacy and the novitiate). The full cowl is always reserved for solemn profession (in the picture to the right Sister Ann Marie, OCSO, will receive the full cowl after she signs her vows just as Sister Karen, OSCO is shown doing below). Generally. a person just discerning whether or not they are truly called to consecrated eremitical life under c 603 is not allowed to wear a habit of any sort. Doing so is also linked to a public state of life with public rights and obligations as well as with the Bishop's permission and ordinarily someone in initial discernment is not in such a position.

Remember that a candidate for possible profession under c 603 is usually a lay person with the rights and obligations of any lay person. Because they are not being incorporated into a community in stages (postulancy, novitiate, juniorate, perpetual profession) with commensurate legal (canonical) rights and obligations they are solitary individuals bound "only" by their baptismal commitments. (I do not disparage such commitments by using "only" here. Baptismal commitments are extremely significant but public profession and consecration imply added canonical rights and obligations.)

Moreover, discernment as to whether one is actually meant to be a hermit of any sort can take a number of years. It simply makes little sense for such a person to be given permission to wear representative eremitical garb when they are neither hermits yet (the transition from lone individual to hermit in an essential sense is something one usually negotiates during discernment and initial formation)  nor canonically responsible for the continuation and protection of a vital eremitical tradition. Traditionally, the cowl is associated with the assumption of responsibility for living and representing the fullness of monastic and eremitical life in a formal and canonical sense. When one sees the cowl this is what it indicates or symbolizes. To be faithful to and retain this meaning it is necessary to restrict the ecclesial granting of it to the occasion of perpetual or solemn profession.

I hope this is helpful.

In Christ we are ALL Sons and Heirs, Sharers in the Patrimony of the Kingdom of God

In today's second reading from Romans for Trinity Sunday the text read, [[Brothers and sisters: For those who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God.For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you received a Spirit of adoption, through whom we cry, “Abba, Father!”]] In my own parish  the text was amended slightly to read, "For those who are led by the Spirit of God are sons and daughters of God."

Now let me say up front that I completely understand that amended usage; in the 21st Century it is an important shift required to indicate the equal place of baptized women and men in the life of the Church; inclusive language is critically important. But to be honest, I believe in this single case, the original reading is as challenging to those glorifying masculinity over femininity as it is profoundly consoling to women who feel disenfranchised by the text's focus on sonship to the apparent (but only apparent) exclusion of daughterhood. I believe it is more effective theologically than the inclusive language version in calling us to a true Christian egalitarianism. In truth the text first addresses both Brothers and Sisters and then affirms that in the Holy Spirit God raises both male and female to the status of Sons of God in Christ, the only-begotten Son --- human anatomy, physiology, and gender politics of whatever stripe notwithstanding!! In other words, to be baptized each and all of us as Sons of God in Christ's own death and resurrection means this new identity we have assumed transcends human biology and gender. Moreover it transcends these while allowing and requiring their full expression. Therefore, while I only posted this at the beginning of the month, I believe I will close the month with it as well.

Today's readings struck me in several places. One of these was the responsorial psalm whose antiphon we repeated several times:  "You are my Son, this day I have begotten you." I know that many persons will change the language here so that it does not seem sexist but I think we have misunderstood what is being affirmed in this reading if we hear it in a sexist way. We are losing the countercultural sense of the usage in such a reading, blunting its sharpness and capacity to undercut our usual ways of seeing reality. Jesus made no distinctions between who became heirs of the Kingdom of God, whether women or men, no distinction based upon gender was involved here. Moreover to be called God's Son meant that one had been baptized into Jesus' own death and were indeed an heir to his resurrection and the Kingdom of God. The use of the term "Son" indicates an identity dependent upon and a literal share in Jesus' OWN Sonship, an identity we share in without losing our own unique masculine or feminine characteristics. It meant one was a new creation in whom godless death had been transfigured by the very presence of God. We, as heirs of this Kingdom have become responsible for proclaiming the Good News in season and out --- a good news that turned the gender-based society of the time on its head. (Please check out an original post on this subject: Driven into the Desert by the Spirit of Sonship)

The second place I was most struck was in the story of Jesus' farewell  as he promises that he goes to the Father to prepare a place for us. So long as we think of heaven a some space separate from (though including) God Himself we will not understand how incredible this affirmation is but as we prepare for the Ascension and Pentecost we need to start thinking about this. Once upon a time our world had no room for God, and certainly not for a God who assumed human life and turned a human face toward us so that he might be fully revealed both in the sense of being made fully present and in the sense of being made fully known to us. This revelation of God walked among outcasts, ate with sinners (and here we mean BIG TIME sinners), touched the untouchable, made the rich poor and raised them to the humility of those who know they are loved by God no matter what! That has all been blunted somewhat by the Greek notion of God's omnipresence but we must see the original scandal, the terrible offense of such a God.

But heaven means a share in God's own life and sovereignty, wherever that exists! It is not a space somehow surrounding God but separate from Him where God is a Being --- just a Supreme Being. Instead, since God is not A Being but instead the ground, source and goal of all being, the hope of Christians is that one day we will all dwell in God's own life. When Jesus says he goes to prepare a place for us it means he goes to the Father with whom he is in the most intimate union and through his mediation human life will now have a place in God's own life. God's and Jesus' descent and kenosis is mirrored by an ascent and glorification or movement to pleroma or fullness. This is simply part of God's becoming All in All. It is the Love that does Justice, that sets all to rights. We focus on the first movement (descent and kenosis) but not sufficiently on ascent and pleroma. Imagine a God who has made room for us in his own life! A God who has taken sinfulness and death inside himself and not been destroyed by them! Imagine a God who humbles by raising us to life within the delight of his gaze, who forgives guilt and heals shame with a simple embrace, who makes whole by making us and the whole of creation one with himself!

This, after all is God's will, the desire and intention that one day God will be all in all. It is a vision with cosmic scope but at the same time does not exclude the smallest portion of God's creation, not the greatest sinner or the most humble saint, the smallest virus or the largest star. As Sons of God we are part of a new creation which calls upon us to see with new eyes. Old exclusionary ways of doing business, conceiving of justice and of entrance into God's presence must be jettisoned as some of the baggage belonging to a different story and Kingdom. 

A Tale of Two Kingdoms

 One of the problems I see most often with Christianity is its domestication, a kind of blunting of its prophetic and counter cultural character. It is one thing to be comfortable with our faith, to live it gently in every part of our lives and to be a source of quiet challenge and consolation because we have been wholly changed by it. It is entirely another to add it to our lives and identities as a merely superficial "spiritual component" which we refuse to allow not only to shake the very foundations of all we know but also to transform us in all we are and do. 

Even more problematical --- and I admit to being sensitive to this because I am a hermit called to "stricter separation from the world" --- is a kind of self-centered spirituality which focuses on our own supposed holiness or perfection but calls for turning away from a world which undoubtedly needs and yearns for the love only God's powerful Spirit makes possible in us. Clearly today's Festal readings celebrate something very different than the sort of bland, powerless, pastorally ineffective, merely nominal Christianity we may embrace --- or the self-centered spirituality we sometimes espouse in the name of "contemplation" and  "contemptus mundi". Listen again to the shaking experience of the powerful Spirit that birthed the Church which Luke recounts in Acts: 

[[When the day of Pentecost came, they were all together in one place. Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting. They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire that separated and came to rest on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues as the Spirit enabled them.]]

Roaring sounds filling the whole space, tongues of fire coming to rest above each person, a power of language which commun-icates (creates) incredible unity and destroys division --- this is a picture of a new and incredible creation, a new and awesome world in which the structure of power is turned on its head and those who were outsiders --- the sick and poor, the outcast and sinners, those with no status and only the stamp of shame marking their lives --- are kissed with divinity and revealed to be God's very own Temples. The imagery of this reading is profound. For instance, in the world of this time coins were stamped with Caesar's picture and above his head was the image of a tongue of fire. Fire was a symbol of life and potency; it was linked to the heavens (stars, comets, etc). The tongue of fire was a way of indicating the Emperor's divinity.  Similarly, the capacity for speech, the fact that one is given a voice, is a sign of power, standing, and authority.

And so Luke says of us. The Spirit of the Father and Son has come upon us. Tongues of Fire mark us as do tongues potentially capable of speaking a word of ultimate comfort to anyone anywhere. We have been made a Royal People, Temples of the Holy Spirit and called to live and act with a new authority, an authority and status which is greater than any Caesar. As I have noted before, this is not mere poetry, though it is certainly that. On this Feast we open ourselves to the Spirit who transforms us quite literally into images of God, literal Temples of God's prophetic presence in our world, literal exemplars of a consoling love-doing-justice and a fiery, earth-shaking holiness which both transcends and undercuts every authority and status in our world that pretends to divinity or ultimacy. We ARE the Body of Christ, expressions of the one in whom godless death has been destroyed, expressions of the One in whom one day all sin and death will be replaced by eternal life. In Christ we are embodiments and mediators of the Word which destroys divisions and summons creation to reconciliation and unity; in us the Spirit of God loves our world into wholeness.

You can see that there is something really dangerous about today's Feast. It is dangerous if you are a Caesar oppressing most of the known world with his taxation and arbitrary exercise of power depending on keeping subjects powerless and without choice or voice; it is dangerous if you are called to live out this gift of God's own Spirit as a prophetic presence in the same world which put your Lord to death as a shameful criminal, traitor, and blasphemer. Witnesses to the risen Christ and the Kingdom of God are liable, of course, to martyrdom of all sorts. That is the very nature of the word and it is what Friday's gospel lection referred to when it promised Peter that in his maturity he would be led where he did not really desire to go. But it is also dangerous to those who prefer a more domesticated and timid "Christianity", one that does not upset the status quo or demand the overthrow of all of one's vision, values, and the redefinition of one's entire purpose in life; it is dangerous if you care too much about what people think of you or you desire a faith which is consoling but undemanding --- a faith centered on what Bonhoeffer called "cheap grace". At least it is dangerous when one opens oneself, even slightly, to the Spirit celebrated in this Feast.

A few years ago my pastor quoted from Annie Dillard's book, Teaching a Stone to Talk. It may have been for Pentecost, but I can't remember that now. I got the book though, and here is the passage he cited, [[Why do people in church seem like cheerful, brainless tourists on a packaged tour of the Absolute? … Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake someday and take offense, or the waking god may draw us to where we can never return.]] Clearly both my pastor and Ms Dillard understood how truly dangerous the Spirit of Pentecost is.

We live in a world where two Kingdoms vie against each other. One is marked by oppression, a lack of freedom --- except for the privileged few who hold positions of wealth and influence --- and is marred by the dominion of sin and death. It is a world where the poor, ill, aged, and otherwise powerless are essentially voiceless. In this world Caesars of all sorts have been sovereign or pretended to sovereignty. The other Kingdom, the Kingdom which signals the eventual and inevitable end of the first one is the Kingdom of God. It has come among us first in God's quiet self-emptying and in the smallness of an infant, the generosity, compassion, and ultimately, the weakness, suffering and sinful death of a Jewish man in a Roman world. Today it comes to us as a powerful wind which shakes and disorients even as it grounds and reorients us in the love of God. Today it comes to us as the power of love that does justice and sets all things to right.

While the battle between these two Kingdoms occurs all around us in the way we live and proclaim the Gospel with our lives, the way, that is, we worship God, raise our children, teach our students, treat our parishioners, clients, and patients, vote our consciences, contribute to our society's needs, and generally minister to our world, it is our hearts which are ground zero in this "tale of two Kingdoms." It is not easy to admit that insofar as we are truly human we have been kissed by a Divinity which invites us to a divine/human union that makes us whole and results in a fruitfulness we associate with all similar intimate unions. It is not easy to give our hearts so completely or embrace a dignity which is entirely the gift of another. Far easier to keep our hearts divided and ambiguous. But today's Feast calls us to truly open ourselves to this union, to accept that our lives are marked and transformed by tongues of fire and the shaking, stormy Spirit of prophets. After all, this is Pentecost and through us God truly will renew the face of the earth.

A Contemplative Moment: The World of Silence

Silence is not simply what happens when we stop talking. It is more than the negative renunciation of language; it is more than simply a condition we can produce at will. When language ceases, silence begins. But it does not begin because language ceases. The absence simply makes the presence of Silence more apparent. Silence is an autonomous phenomenon . . . it is . . .an independent whole subsisting in and through itself. It is creative as language is creative; and it is formative of human beings as language is formative, but not in the same degree. Silence belongs to the basic structure of man.

Silence is nothing merely negative; it is not the mere absence of speech. It is positive, a complete world in itself. Silence has greatness simply because it is. It is, and that is its greatness, its pure existence. There is no beginning to silence and no end: it seems to have its origins in the time when everything was still pure Being. It is like uncreated, everlasting Being. When Silence is present, it is as though nothing but silence had ever existed.

Where silence is, man is observed by silence. Silence looks at man more than man looks at silence. Man does not put silence to the test; silence puts man to the test. One cannot imagine a world in which there is nothing but language and speech, but one can imagine a world where there is nothing but silence. Silence contains everything within itself. It is not waiting for anything; it is always wholly present and it completely fills out the space in which it appears.

The World of Silence by Max Picard

Called to Discipleship: Talking the Talk and Walking the Walk (Reprise)

Written Reflection for the End of the Parish 2011 School Year based on John 21:15-19:

How many of you have ever done something wrong, or hurt someone in a way which made you feel like you would or could never be forgiven or trusted again? Let me give you an example of how this happened in the life of a Sister friend of mine. Mary was about 12 or 13 years old and her parents had asked her to watch her younger sister.

She had other things she might have preferred to be doing, but she said sure, and the two of them went out to play. While Mary's little sister was swinging on a swing Mary looked away for just a moment and, in just that tiny space of time, her sister fell off the swing and struck her head on the concrete. It seemed like there was a lot of blood, and she was clearly hurt in a way a band-aid alone wouldn't fix! Mary's parents came out when Mary called. They did not yell or scold, but neither was there time to talk. Instead they whisked M's sister away to the hospital leaving Mary home alone with her fears and thoughts. You can imagine what was going on inside her: "She's going to die! People who are hurt badly enough to go to the hospital die!!", "Will mom and dad ever forgive me? How can they ever trust me again?" "Do I love my Sister? How could I let something like this happen to someone I really love??" "If she dies, my life will be all over!"

I am sure that Peter is probably feeling and thinking some of these same things in today's Gospel. Remember that the last time we hear much about Peter in John's Gospel before this it is around the time of the Last Supper, and Jesus' following arrest, trial and execution. Always full of bluster, and never really in touch with his own weaknesses, Peter is protesting that he will never betray Jesus, that he will follow him anywhere; that he'll even die for him if necessary, and when soldiers step forward to arrest Jesus, it is Peter who rushes forward to lop the ear off of one of them! But once Jesus is taken away, Peter is a different guy altogether. He skulks around the temple precincts trying to see what is happening to Jesus, but when people ask him three separate times if he is Jesus' disciple, he denies it. And when Jesus is crucified, Peter is off hiding with most of the other disciples so he won't also be arrested and killed (only the beloved disciple remained with Jesus, Mary, and the women). Peter could talk the talk, but, when left to himself, when Jesus was gone, he wasn't strong or courageous enough to walk the walk.

So, although Jesus has appeared several times to the disciples, this is the first time John tells us that he and Peter will talk face to face. Imagine the questions and concerns roiling or boiling around inside Peter's heart! "What does he want? What will he say?" "Does he want to tell me how awful my failure was, and how disappointed in me he was/is?" Does he want to explain how unworthy I am to be his disciple and a leader in his Church?" Will he tell me to just forget it! Oh I hope he doesn't say just forget it --- that would hurt even worse. He knows I can't do that, and besides it would feel like he was dismissing me as a person! I really hope he doesn't do that!" "Does he know how much I really do love him?" "Will he forgive me? Can he ever trust me again???

And Jesus, who knows Peter better than Peter knows himself asks him three times, one for each denial, "Do you love me Peter?" And Peter answers, quieter, humbler now, "You know Lord, that I love you!" Jesus' questions are not a test in the usual way we use that word. The only right answer is the truth. These questions remind Peter of his denials and all the fear, self-centeredness, need for self-preservation and failure that drove them, but they also help to put him in touch with something which is deeper and truer, something which is more real than these. They help Peter to get in touch with his deeper self, the one God calls him to be, the one who is capable of generosity and empathy and compassion, and who really does love Jesus and others more than himself. Each time Peter answers from this deeper place, Jesus entrusts him with a charge or responsibility: "Feed my Lambs, Tend my lambs, Feed my Sheep!" He doesn't shame Peter. Neither does he treat his denials and failure as though they never happened. They were real and they mark him the same as Jesus' wounds mark his own hands, feet, and side, But Jesus empowers him to move beyond them. This is how Jesus forgives. This is how he creates a future for us.

My friend's parents did something very similar. When they returned home from the hospital with Mary's sister, stitched up and bandaged, they let Mary touch her, and kiss her. Then they asked her a couple of questions: "Did you do the best you could do?" Do you love your sister?" And Mary answered yes to both questions, but with the second one she added: "I thought I loved her but now, after all this, I know how much I REALLY do love her!!" Then her parents reminded her that they were going to need to go away in two more weekends, and they wondered if Mary would be okay to take care of her sister for them. Once again she answered yes, yes to her love, yes to her parents and sister, yes to the future.

Here at the end of the school year we should hear the same questions that Peter did. Do you love me?? Perhaps we have not always been great friends. Maybe there have been times we have been thoughtless, or selfish, or insensitive to the needs of others. Perhaps we have not been the best classmates. Maybe we have bullied others or laughed at them because in some way they are different than we are. Maybe we formed exclusive cliques and shut others out, or otherwise acted or spoke at the expense of another's dignity. Perhaps we have not been the best sons and daughters and failed to listen to or respect our parents. But as we hear the same questions, so too should we hear the same commissioning Peter heard: Feed my Sheep! Jesus knows we are better than this; that deep down we are simply awesome, and so, as he did with Peter, he calls us all to grow into that --- and some of us he just plain calls to grow up --- to take care of the least and the weakest as he does us --- the least and the weakest.

At the end of the Gospel today Jesus tells Peter that when he was younger he could go anywhere he liked, but now that he is older, someone will gird or dress him and lead him where he would rather not go. Today, you sit here in your Summer clothes, all set to have a great vacation from school. Your teachers, your pastor, and all the parish staff all hope you will have a terrific time, full of fun and a different kind of learning. But come September, we will ask you to put your St P's uniforms back on, and leave your younger, less mature selves behind while you to step up to even greater challenges, even more responsibility, and show us your better, truer selves. We know you are capable of this. We trust that you are each capable of fulfilling Jesus' charge to "Feed my Lambs, Tend my Sheep. Feed my Sheep." We know that you will return to us ready and eager not only to talk the talk but to walk the walk of the community leaders and disciples of Christ you truly are.

Do you Love Me Peter? Being Made Fully Human in Dialogue With God (Reprise)

Friday's gospel is the pericope where Jesus asks Peter three times if he loves him. It is the first time we hear much about or from Peter since his triple denial of Christ --- his fear-driven affirmations that he did not even know the man and is certainly not a disciple of his. After each question and reply by Peter, Jesus commissions Peter to "feed my lambs, feed my sheep." I have written about this at least three times before.

About two years ago I used this text to reflect on the place of conscience in our lives and a love which transcends law. At another point I spoke about the importance of Jesus' questions and of my own difficulty with Jesus' question to Peter. Then, last year at the end of school I asked the students to imagine what it feels like to have done something for which one feels there is no forgiveness possible and then to hear how an infinitely loving God deals with that. The solution is not, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer would have termed it, "cheap grace" --- a forgiveness without cost or consequences. Neither is it a worthless "luv" which some in the Church mistakenly disparage because they hear (they say) too many homilies about the God of Love and mercy and not enough about the God of "justice". Instead, what Jesus reveals in this lection is a merciful love which overcomes all fear and division and summons us to incredible responsibility and freedom. The center of this reading, in other words, is a love which does justice and sets all things right.

But, especially at this time in the church's life, tomorrow's gospel also takes me to the WAY Jesus loves Peter. He addresses him directly; he asks him questions and allows him to discover an answer which stands in complete contrast to and tension with his earlier denials and the surge of emotions and complex of thoughts that prompted them. As with Peter, Jesus' very presence is a question or series of questions which have the power to call us deeper, beyond our own personal limitations and conflicts, to the core of our being. What Jesus does with Peter is engage him at the level of heart --- a level deeper than fear, deeper than ego, beyond defensiveness and insecurity. Jesus' presence enables dialogue at this profound level, dialogue with one's true self, with God, and with one's entire community; it is an engagement which brings healing and reveals that the capacity for dialogue is the deepest reflection of our humanity.

It is this deep place in us which is the level for authentically human decision making. When we perceive and act at the level of heart we see and act beyond the level of black and white thinking, beyond either/or judgmentalism. Here we know paradox and hold tensions together in faith and love. Here we act in authentic freedom. Jesus' dialogue with Peter points to all of this and to something more. It reminds us that loving God is not a matter of "feeling" some emotion --- though indeed it may well involve this. Instead it is something we are empowered in dialogue with the Word and Spirit of God to do which transcends even feelings; it is a response realized in deciding to serve, to give, to nourish others in spite of the things happening to us at other levels of our being.

When we reflect on this text involving a paradigmatic dialogue between Peter and Jesus we have a key to understanding the nature of all true ministry, and certainly to life and ministry in the Church. Not least we have a significant model of papacy. Of course it is a model of service, but it is one of service only to the extent it is one of true dialogue, first with God, then with oneself, and finally with all others. It is always and everywhere a matter of being engaged at the level of heart, and so, as already noted, beyond ego, fear, defensiveness, black and white thinking, judgmentalism or closed-mindedness to a place where one is comfortable with paradox. As John Paul II wrote in Ut Unum Sint, "Dialog has not only been undertaken; it is an outright necessity, one of the Church's priorities, " or again, "It is necessary to pass from antagonism and conflict to a situation where each party recognizes the other as a partner. . .any display of mutual opposition must disappear." (UUS, secs 31 and 29)

But what is true for Peter is, again, true for each of us. We must be engaged at the level of heart and act in response to the dialogue that occurs there. Because of the place of the Word of God in this process, lectio divina, the reflective reading of Scripture, must be a part of our regular praxis. So too with prayer, especially quiet prayer whose focus is listening deeply and being comfortable with that often-paradoxical truth that comes to us in silence. Our humanity is meant to be a reflection of this profound dialogue. At every moment we are meant to be a hearing of Jesus' question and the commission to serve which it implies. At every moment then we are to be the response which transcends ego, fear, division, judgmentalism, and so forth. Engagement with the Word of God enables such engagement, engagement from that place of unity with God and others Jesus' questions to Peter allowed him to find and live from. My prayer today is that each of us may commit to be open to this kind of engagement. It makes of us the dialogical reality, the full realization of that New Creation which is truly "not of this world" but instead is of the Kingdom of God.

Sister Megan Rice's Conviction Overturned

A federal appeals court on Friday overturned the sabotage charge against an 85-year-old nun and two other protesters who broke into a nuclear facility in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, in 2012.

The U.S. Court of Appeals for the 6th Circuit issued a 2-1 decision to uphold a conviction of injuring government property but overturn the more serious conviction of sabotage against Sister Megan Rice, 59-year-old Greg Boertje-Obed and 66-year-old Michael Walli.

The protesters broke into the Y-12 National Security Complex outside Knoxville in 2012 and spray-painted quotes from the Bible on its walls.

Rice is currently serving a prison sentence of 35 months but could walk free in a matter of weeks, her lawyers told NPR Wednesday.

"We felt from the moment we got this case that it was not properly charged," lawyer Marc Shapiro, who represented the protesters pro bono, told NPR. "[W]hatever one might say about their trespass or destruction of property that clearly their intent was not to injure the national defense," he said.





Gregory Boertje-Obed, Sister Megan Rice, and Michael Walli await their federal trial in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, on February 6, 2013.

The court ruled the trio's nonviolent protest had not posed a threat to national security. The opinion read, in part:

If a defendant blew up a building used to manufacture components for nuclear weapons ... the government surely could demonstrate an adverse effect on the nation’s ability to attack or defend ... But vague platitudes about a facility's 'crucial role in the national defense' are not enough to convict a defendant of sabotage.

A judge sentenced Rice to 35 months in prison in February 2014 for breaking into the complex, one of the largest of its kind in the United States. The nun and her fellow activists cut 14-inch openings in the fence and spray-painted quotes from the Bible on the walls of a uranium enrichment facility. They also splashed a vial of human blood on the exterior.

"Please have no leniency with me," Rice said at the time of judge's ruling. "To remain in prison for the rest of my life would be the greatest gift you could give me."

In January, the New York Daily News revealed the harsh conditions in which Rice was living at the Metropolitan Detention Center in Brooklyn.

Jumping Through Needless Hoops? More on Writing a Rule of Life

[[Hi Sister, maybe you have already answered this, but isn't it unreasonable to expect a person to write several different Rules over a period of 6-9 years? It does seem like a lot of needless hoops to make someone jump through. I can't believe that a first Rule would differ from a third or fourth Rule so much as all that. I mean it covers the basics or fundamentals of one's life. These don't change so dramatically in the life of a hermit do they? Isn't this really just busy work to give the diocese something to look at? So what do they look at if nothing really changes from one Rule to another? And what do they do if the hermit is not a writer? I am certainly not one so the whole prospect of my diocese asking me to do this would completely turn me off from pursuing profession under c 603!]]

Thanks for your questions. For those who are relatively new to this blog, and because I have not written about this recently, let me say that they refer to a suggestion I have made which allows a diocese and a hermit to engage in a process of formation and mutual discernment which 1) protects the freedom and solitude of the hermit, 2) provides a meaningful way the diocese can gauge the growth of the individual vocation before them and discern the suitability for and timing of eremitical profession and consecration, and 3) allows the hermit to take the initiative in working at both discernment and formation but in a significantly accountable way. Specifcally, over a period of about 6-9 years a candidate for consecration under c 603 will move through various natural stages in her formation and discernment as a hermit; as she does this she will mark --- as well as signal to those discerning with her --- her readiness to enter the next stage of the process by writing a Rule which, depending on the stage involved, will serve either relatively casually or more strictly and even canonically to structure and govern her life. The posts introducing this idea can mainly be found at Why Several Rules over a Period of Time? and under the labels, "Formation Programs?" and "Discernment" as well as, "Writing a Rule of Life".

Do Rules Change Much in the Life of a Hermit? 

Yes and no. The central elements of the Rule are unlikely to change significantly but the person's understanding of and relation to these elements will change significantly over time. The Rule this person writes at different points in her formation will reflect these changes especially as the person's life comes to embody them in more and more integral ways. Similarly then the elements of the Rule will cease to be merely external constraints as the person comes to explore and understand the depths of the realities to which they point. So, for instance, a Rule might speak of the silence of solitude in the beginning of a person's formative process and reflect a sense of external silence and solitude. While this sense will always remain, always be presupposed in any maturation in the silence of solitude, it will become less important than the deeper reality it expresses. Later on in her formation then, her Rule will reflect a sense that this element (the silence of solitude) is the goal of her life; for the hermit it will involve an essential quies which results from union with God and reflect a sense of being comfortable in her own skin --- possessing a wholeness without noisy striving or self-centeredness. In other words, the Rule's central elements begin more and more to define not only what the hermit does but who she is!

Similarly one might begin their approach to 'stricter separation from the world' by focusing on the things and people she cannot do or see but in time this element of the canon will reflect more the remaking of the hermit's heart into one that loves with a singleness and purity of focus. The physical separation remains and is presupposed in all else that happens in this solitary life, but it is the vision of the Kingdom and the claim the God of Jesus Christ has on her heart that will come to drive her understanding of this element or aspect of her eremitical life. The same kinds of changes tend to occur with the other non-negotiable elements of canon 603: poverty, chastity, obedience; there will be a deepening and broadening of experience and understanding which will be reflected in the subsequent Rule one writes.

As this process of internalization and integration occurs, the way the hermit comes to envision these elements changes and the emphasis in the Rule itself will also change to reflect this. In some cases an emphasis that was entirely absent will emerge as will a vision of eremitical life that was not present in one's first and/or second Rule. In this process the Rule's central or defining elements cease to be disparate requirements governing different parts of the hermit's life and instead come to express related emphases in a life reflecting the Gospel of God lived in solitude with God. A Rule written just prior to perpetual profession, for instance, is more likely to represent a vision of eremitical life lived in the 21st century with specific essential emphases than it is to be simply a list of things one contracts to do. Again, the Rule will often shift to define who the hermit is and her sense of mission and charism than it is merely a list of things she covenants to observe.

If one were to look at the various Rules a hermit writes over time this is the pattern one is likely to find. Even when the Rule itself does not explicitly reflect such changes through various versions, conversations with the hermit or hermit candidate is apt to elicit a clear sense of such change and growth. (If these conversations do not reflect such changes one has good reason to suspect either, 1) there is no eremitical vocation here, 2) the candidate is not living her Rule well (faithfully or wholeheartedly), or 3) something else is going on that is stunting or short-circuiting the formation process --- whether that centers on the failure of her (relationship with her) director, medical problems of one sort or another, or other difficulties. In such instances there need to be conversations with the candidate, her delegate, et al, to ascertain and resolve the problem.)

Jumping Through Needless Hoops?

As you can tell, I believe this process is not mere "busy work". It is important for discernment (both the hermit's AND the diocese's) and for formation. Likewise, it assures accountability on both the hermit's part and on the diocese's while it provides an objective focus for evaluating a life lived in solitary hiddenness. I have already discussed the major aspects of these things so I won't repeat them here. It is important that dioceses give hermits sufficient time to discern suitability and, when determined, achieve readiness for profession. It is similarly important that candidates allow themselves sufficient time while negotiating a process that is not marked by somewhat arbitrary time frames like those associated in canon law with postulancy and novitiate. The writing of appropriate Rules to focus and mark the hermit's personal stages of formation can substitute in a vocation that does not lend itself so well to such arbitrary time frames --- 9 mos for candidacy and 1-2 years novitiate, etc; while these work well for communal or coenobitical vocations, they work less well for the solitary eremitical call. At the same time, the process I have outlined does not allow the process to go on forever and especially not without accountability on both sides, diocese and candidate.

Further, while it is true that the use of this process does give the diocese something to "look at" this is not objectionable; it is part of what they require as part of their own call to discern, encourage, assist in the formation of, and protect ecclesial vocations. The process I have outlined eliminates some of the guesswork and complete subjectivity from the entire discernment and formation process, and I believe it does so while protecting the hermit's freedom to respond to God as she hears God in solitude.

What if the Hermit/Candidate is not a Writer?

I don't think this is really an insurmountable problem. After all, I am not speaking of writing a dissertation or book or something similar on eremitical life. I am talking about writing a Rule of life which is actually required by the Canon itself. It is a document which reflect the hermit's experience and codifies her own wisdom about how God calls her to live her life. On the whole it is less about writing per se than it is about attending to and reflecting on the vocation one is called to live. The Rule codifies what is necessary for a person to do that. In my own experience, in writing the Rule I submitted to my diocese prior to perpetual profession, I spent about one full month writing (at least a few hours a day) but months and even years were given to reflecting on canon 603 itself and how its elements related to the way God was working in my own life.  It seems to me that one needs far less to be a writer than one needs to truly be a contemplative who has come to know herself in light of God through an experiential knowledge of the constitutive elements of canon 603. I think that is by far the harder task, and probably the real obstacle to being able to write a Rule.

At the same time writing is an important way of becoming clear about who one is and why one is doing something. It is one of the ways we come to be articulate about what is most life giving for us and what is indispensable and normative in our lives. We shouldn't really expect to be able to write a liveable Rule unless and until we have spent time writing really unlivable and inadequate Rules or at least practice Rules we are comfortable using to "walk around in" for a time in order to learn more about ourselves and the way God is working in our lives. In the beginning hermit candidates ordinarily write Rules which are really little more than lists of "Thou shalts" and "Thou shalt nots".  In time they come to see these are wholly insufficient to describe or govern lives marked by the power of the Holy Spirit,  much less to challenge and even to inspire them adequately. That is why I say over time one will come to write a Rule which is more a vision of eremitical life as God inspires one to see and live it than it is a list of do's and don'ts --- even when it includes these, as it inevitably must. In any case, one comes to learn what being a hermit is by living the life; likewise one comes to learn to write a Rule which serves as c. 603 requires and envisions by writing several of them over time.

In a genuine eremitical life, none of this time and effort will be wasted. One is, after all, growing in, exploring, and learning to articulate who one is in light of one's solitary relationship with God. If one is never professed as a canon 603 hermit one has still benefited by the canon's requirement that one write a Rule because it has been a formative experience, not merely a sterile requirement to "get professed". Meanwhile, if one's diocese admits one to profession and then consecration as a diocesan hermit one will only be grateful for all the work it took to get there and will benefit from it in a more direct way every day for the rest of her life. In either case it is something like last Friday's Gospel passage: when the labor is accomplished and the child born, one forgets the pain it all took and feels only joy at the new life which has been brought forth.