Bishops and Delegates as Contrary to the "Supreme Independence" of a Hermit?

[[ Hi Sister Laurel, in your last post [09.September. 2022, On Needing People] the questions asked something about the supervision of the bishop being contrary to the vocation of a hermit. I don't think you answered that so let me ask it again even if it is not what the original questioner had in mind. I have always thought of hermits as supremely independent --- being able to walk away from everything and everyone to live alone, but c 603 requires one live one's life under the supervision of a diocesan bishop. You have written about having a delegate who serves you and the bishop in meeting with you regularly. Isn't all of this contrary to the supreme independence of the hermit? Thanks!!]]

Thanks for continuing the conversation and for taking it further than the original poster did. As you will no doubt guess, I am going to disagree with your position, not only because I differ somewhat (mainly in emphasis) on your understanding of hermit life but more, because I think you and I have different notions of independence.

In the first place, I don't think of a hermit as one who leaves everything and everyone "in order to be alone". I think of a hermit as having done these things to seek and live in communion with God and, therefore, to be the truest and fullest Self s/he can be. The purpose of the life is not about being alone, nor about being hidden, or poor, or any number of other things; the purpose of the life is to put God first, to allow God's will to love us fully and unconditionally to be realized in our one very singular and infinitely precious life. Yes, this will mean being alone, poor, hidden, chaste, celibate, and any number of other things, but all of those serve this foundational purpose; they must not be mistaken for it. There is a second half to this foundational purpose, namely, in real ways the hermit leaves everything and everyone and seeks to live in Communion with God and to become and be the truest, fullest, self she can be for the sake of others. 

Hermits are, first and foremost witnesses (martyrs) to the Love of God that is the deepest need of and sufficient for every person. We "leave everything and everyone" to the extent and in the way we do so in order to live in the silence of solitude (life with God alone) so that others may also know that God alone is enough (i.e., only God can create, sustain, and complete us as persons). I want to be clear that hermits are not the only ones who witness to this truth; for instance, men and women religious also do so, but they image the way that occurs in community and hermits image this truth in the vividness of the silence of solitude. (Both hermits and cenobites live community, silence, and solitude, but they do so differently with different emphases in their lives.) Again, who the hermit is and what the hermit does, is meant to be a gift and ministry to and for the sake of others; she lives her life for the sake of others -- beginning with God's own sake.

So, with that important piece in place let's think about the term independence and especially its sense in Christian theology. To be truly free is to be empowered to be the person God wills us to be. It is to be able to live authentically and fully, the potential which is ours by virtue of our creation by God. There is a "free from" dimension to this empowerment as well as a "free for" dimension. For the person who exists in and through God in Christ, and to the extent this is true, there is freedom from sin (that is, from estrangement from God, self, and others), from ego, from much of the woundedness our lives in space and time cause us. This means too then, that there is the freedom to be Oneself for God, for the sake of God's good creation, and certainly for the sake of all who are precious to God. The hermit's freedom is very much this kind of freedom in both senses and dimensions.

If what one calls independence is ruled by ego, it is not genuine freedom. If we are not free to receive our lives as gift or others in a similar way, we do not know genuine freedom. If we are not free to give ourselves generously, to love and trust others in ways that empower them similarly, we are not truly free at all. Because we are only human as part of a community, because our humanity is a gift of God which is realized in and through our love of God and others and theirs of/for us, we need these same others if we are to be free. God is a community of love and God wills to draw us into that same reality; indeed, he has made us for this. By definition, humanity itself, and human freedom therefore is defined in terms of such community.

All of this makes the solitude of the authentic hermit incredibly paradoxical. To the degree it is genuine, it will be an expression of our seeking and being in intimate community with God, with our deepest selves, and, in other ways, with others. No matter what else we walk away from, we cannot walk away from God or our deepest selves without betraying the very nature of our existence as human, and too then, our vocation and its solitude in the process. By extension, we cannot walk away from others --- though most of the time we relate to them differently than most people do.

The vocation I have begun describing here is both difficult, rare, and, as noted, incredibly paradoxical. It is easy to mistake it for the isolation and misanthropy that marks the loner in today's society because externally these two can look a lot alike. When one doesn't know that (seeking and receiving) communion with God is the primary motivation and goal of the hermit, it is easy to imagine that the vaunted "eremitical freedom" means the freedom to walk away from every relationship and responsibility and do whatever one wants whenever one wants to do it. Adding to the confusion is the fact that the word "hermit" has been used in these two antithetical ways, again based on some externals alone. But authentic eremitical life is demanding, and because communion with God (being loved and loving in return in the way God loves and empowers one to love) is a difficult goal which requires the whole of one's life, it really does require supervision and work with a skilled spiritual director, etc., to keep one moving forward in receiving and embodying one's deepest truth.

Sin is, in the way I have defined it above, easy; refusing Life, which is always a gift of God, allowing it to slip away, choosing counterfeits and substitutes is easy. Holiness (being true to God and to one's deepest self in order to love as God loves), requires discipline, patience, commitment, and love --- including the love of those who know us and God, and who can help empower us to choose and continue to receive Life at every turn. In my own life those persons are a rare and precious gift. They include those who have agreed to serve me as spiritual director, as well as Director or delegate on behalf of my bishop and diocese to be sure that this vocation is lived well and in a way which is edifying to the life of the church and the understanding of all the faithful. 

The irony is that I could never be a hermit as c 603 defines one and as Christian tradition understands us without the assistance of others. I could never live the aloneness of a hermit with an ecclesial vocation by myself. To say with my life that God alone is sufficient for us, requires not just being embedded in the People of God and in God's own life, it requires those others who mediate God's love to me and remind me of those for whom I live as well. Even as a recluse (were I to find myself called to this even rarer form of eremitical life) I would require others, and that means others to and for whom I would feel grateful, those I would pray for, come to know in one way and another, and whose lives would therefore enrich the tapestry of my life as integral threads composing dimensions of my solitude. 

I'll stop this here, because I think I could keep writing for quite a while on this critical paradox. If you haven't read the following post, you should give it a look. It approaches some dimensions of this response -- becoming human, becoming holy, etc. -- with different imagery. That might be helpful to you. Inner Work and transparency to God As always, please get back to me if you have additional questions! 

John W O'Malley, sj, Dies at 95!

John O'Malley, sj, a preeminent Catholic Historian specializing in Rennaissance Church history, Church Councils, and especially Vatican II died yesterday at the age of 95 years. Ecclesiologist Massimo Faggioli writes of him this way, [[In a unique way, O’Malley helped rescue Vatican II from oblivion but also from subtle forms of abrogation and delegitimization. He saw, before many of us, that there was a real need—if not an emergency—to make a new and different argument about Vatican II in the Catholic Church, where the memory of the conciliar event was often kept alive by those with a veterans’ mentality. This mentality was well-meant but also incapable of reaching newer generations or the peripheries of the post-Vatican II ecclesial establishment.]]

My own education in Vatican I and Vatican II is dependent on O'Malley's work in big ways, including Vatican II, Did Anything Happen?; What Happened at Vatican II; After Vatican II (with James L Heft); Vatican I; Tradition and Transition, Historical Perspectives on Vatican II; and several volumes on Trent or more general Church history. I always found him readable, funny, insightful, and balanced (whenever balance was called for!) I take this moment to celebrate a life lived for the sake of the Church and lived very well!! AMDG, indeed!!!

The Three faces of Prodigality: Which Will we Choose? (Reprise)

 Commentators tend to name today's Gospel parable after the Merciful Father, because he is central to all the scenes (even when the younger Son is in a far off place, the Father waits silently, implicitly, in the wings). We should notice it is his foolish generosity that predominates, so in this sense, he too is prodigal. Perhaps then we should call this the parable of the Prodigal Father. The younger son squanders his inheritance, but the Father is also (in common terms and in terms of Jewish Law) foolish in giving him the inheritance, the "substance" (literally, the ousias) of his own life and that of Israel. His younger Son treats him as dead (a sin against the Commandment to honor Father and Mother) and still this Father looks for every chance to receive him back.

When the younger son comes to his senses, rehearses his terms for coming home ("I will confess and be received back not as a Son, but as a servant,"), his Father, watching for his return, eagerly runs to meet him in spite of the offense represented in such an act, forestalls his confession, brings his Son into the center of the village thus rendering everything unclean according to the law, clothes him in the garb of Sonship and authority, kills the fatted calf and throws a welcome home party --- all heedless of the requirements of the law, matters of ritual impurity or repentance, etc. Meanwhile, the dutiful older son keeps the letter of the law of sonship but transgresses its essence and also treats his Father with dishonor. He is grudging, resentful, angry, blind, and petty in failing to recognize what is right before him all the time. He too is prodigal, allowing his authentic Sonship to die day by day as he assumes a more superficial role instead. And yet, the Father reassures him that what is the Father's is the Son's and what is the Son's is the Father's (which makes the Father literally an "ignorant man" in terms of the Law, an "am-haretz"). Contrary to the wisdom of the law, he continues to invite him into the celebration, a celebration of new life and meaning. He continues to treat him as a Son. 

The theme of Law versus Gospel comes up strongly in this and other readings this week, though at first we may fail to recognize this. Paul recognizes the Law is a gift of God but without the power to move us to act as Sons and Daughters of God in the way Gospel does. When coupled with human sinfulness it can --- whether blatantly or insidiously --- be terribly destructive. How often as Christians do we act in ways which are allowed (or apparently commanded) by law but which are not really appropriate to Daughters and Sons of an infinitely merciful Father who is always waiting for our return, always looking for us to make the slightest responsive gesture in recognition of his presence, to "come to our senses", so that he can run to us and enfold us in the sumptuous garb of Daughterhood or Sonship? How often is our daily practice of our faith dutiful, and grudging but little more? How often do we act competitively or in resentment over others whose vocation is different than our own, whose place in the church (or the world of business, commerce, and society, for that matter) seems to witness to greater love from God? How often do we quietly despair over the seeming lack of worth of our lives in comparison to that of others? Whether we recognize it or not these attitudes are those of people motivated by law, not gospel. They are the attitudes of measurement and judgment, not of incommensurate love and generosity. 

At the beginning of Lent we heard the fundamental choice of and in all choices put before us, "Choose life not death." Today that choice is sharpened and the subtle forms of death we often choose are set in relief: will we be Daughters and Sons of an infinitely and foolishly Merciful Father --- those who truly see and accept a love that is beyond our wildest imaginings and love others similarly, or, will we be prodigals in the pejorative sense, servants of duty, those who only accept the limited love we believe we have coming to us and who approach others competitively, suspiciously and without generosity? Will we be those whose notions of justice constrain God and our ability to choose the life he sets before us, or will we be those who are forgiven to the awesome degree and extent God is willing and capable of forgiving? Will we allow ourselves to be welcomed into a new life --- a life of celebration and joy, but also a life of greater generosity, responsibility, and God-given identity, or will we simply make do with the original prodigality of either the life of the younger or elder son? After all, both live dissipated lives in this parable: one flagrantly so, and one in quiet resentment, slavish dutifulness, and unfulfillment. 

The choice before those living the latter kind of Christian life is no less significant, no less one of conversion than the choice set before the younger son. His return may be more dramatic, but that of the elder son demands as great a conversion. He must move from a quiet exile where he bitterly identifies himself as a slave rather than a free man or (even less) a Son. His own vision of his life and worth, his true identity, are little different than those of the younger son who returns home rehearsing terms of servility rather than sonship. The parable of the merciful Father puts before us two visions of life, and two main versions of prodigality; it thus captures the two basic meaning of prodigal: wasteful and lavish. There is the prodigality of the sons who allow the substance of their lives and identities to either be cast carelessly or slip silently away, the prodigality of those who lose their truest selves even as they grasp at wealth, adventure, duty, role, or other forms of security and "fulfillment". And there is the prodigality of the Father who loves and spends himself generously without limit or condition. In other words, there is death and there is life, law and gospel. Both stand before us ready to be embraced. Which form of prodigality will we choose? For indeed, the banquet hall is ready for us and the Father stands waiting at this very moment, ring, robe, and sandals in hand.

If you need People Perhaps you are not Called to Eremitical Life!? Really???

[[Dear Sister Laurel, While I appreciated your article on the role of the bishop in supervising the c 603 hermit, and while I think I can see how it is a delegate or delegates can be of aid to the bishop and the hermit both, I was struck by a sense that this kind of institutionalization is very far from traditional hermit life. Whatever happened to "God alone is enough"? I know you have written about charges of an inappropriate institutionalization in the past, once just recently, but I hope you will renew the discussion. If you need the Sisters you mentioned, or if a bishop is not able to supervise hermits in his diocese, mightn't this indicate either 1) you are not called to the kind of solitude eremitical life requires, and/or 2) canon 603's insistence on the supervision of the hermit's life by a bishop is contrary to the life of a hermit? I have posed my questions in a deliberately provocative way, but I hope you will take them as a challenge to answer questions which might trouble some readers. Thanks!]]

I very much appreciate your clarity in the way you posed your questions. I also agree that you have asked things which others are likely troubled by. For instance, I have been reminded freshly recently that there is a strong thread of anti-institutionalization among some lay hermits and I think that comes from several places: 1) a failure to understand the eremitical vocation as specifically ecclesial, 2) an ignorance of history and the way eremitical lives were discerned and lived through the majority of church history in the Western as well as the Eastern Church, and, 3) the emergence and near epidemic instance of an individualism which neglects or rejects the essential need for human intimacy and relatedness. Yes, I have written about all of these over the past decade and a half; I can try to summarize that here and I will try to draw from the article you mentioned specifically to explain both the way I live solitude, and the way the persons I mentioned (Sisters Susan and Marietta, and (by extension) my bishop and others) contribute to that rather than detract from it. Hopefully that will answer the specific questions you posed.

The Ecclesial Nature of the Eremitical Vocation I Live:

I think it goes without saying that there are many "flavors" or "stripes" of solitude, but let me say it anyway. Some go off to physical solitude to test themselves and their own capacities. One example of this might be Richard Proenecke who, initially at least, went off to Alaska for a year, and who then found he thrived in the solitude while creatively meeting the various challenges he encountered every single day. His story is inspiring as he explores the limits and capacities of the human person alone (or nearly so since he received assistance from a friend who flew in supplies, and allowed access to a shelter which made initial survival a good deal easier). Even so, there is no doubt that Proenecke lived a clear and very significant solitude that would reduce most people to terror or functional catatonia in short order -- unless it killed them outright!

Another example I have referred to here a number of times is the misanthropy and failure to live one's life fruitfully with others represented by Tom Leppard (cf labels to right) and called eremitism by some. Tom Leppard identified others as the heart of his problems in life and hied himself off to the Isle of Skye where he could live without dealing with others often, if at all. Or, consider the solitude of the individual professed according to canon 14 in the Anglican/Episcopal Church who writes that his profession as a solitary religious was specifically meant to say he was not called to community of any sort at all; he was, he claimed, constituted by his anti-communal call and profession. Then again, recall the solitude of someone living in the wilderness of solitary confinement during a 30 year sentence in a US "Super Max" prison or the physical solitude of a child growing up with an impaired immune system who must live in a bubble, or of an elderly person who has lost all of  her family, has few remaining friends and has grown apart from the rhythms and activities of ordinary society. These forms of solitude are vastly different from one another in their shapes and motivations and they all contrast significantly with my own vocation to canon 603 eremitical life.

Finally, consider the person who embraces eremitical life because they feel God is calling them to this; they have a sense of wholeness as a human being in solitude and witness to the love of God by embracing such a call. They feel called to the desert as Jesus was called to the desert, 1) to do battle with the demonic dwelling in their own hearts and in the world around them, and 2) to consolidate their identities as Daughters and Sons of God for their own sake and, in some cases, for the the sake of others. These persons are hermits as the Church defines them generally, and this is what  I am called to as well. You can see how vastly different such vocations are from those described above. Even so, beyond this difference and further specifying it, is the single characteristic that further defines and modifies the distinctive shape and motivation of my own solitude; the very thing that makes it eremitical in a way which contrasts with all of these other forms is its ecclesiality.

Like other Catholic Hermits, I am called by God to live this vocation to the silence of solitude in the heart of the Church, both through her mediation and in her name. With her I have discerned this vocation and been professed, consecrated, and missioned (commissioned, in fact) to live eremitical life in a publicly committed way for the sake of God and all who are (and all that is) precious to God.  Unlike those who live eremitical life in the lay state, the Church directly supervises Catholic Hermits' living out of their vocations; she has allowed us to make a life commitment to this call and will help ensure it is truly a call to human wholeness which witnesses to the power of the Gospel of God in Jesus Christ. Because of this ecclesial dimension, we are empowered to live authentically human and eremitical life in a responsive and responsible way for the sake of others, and to do so in season and out, in times of darkness and of light.  It is the public and ecclesial dimension of these lives which transform and stabilize them into vocations.

"God Alone is Enough"

 So what happened to the famous (and in some senses infamous) saying, "God alone is enough?" Have canonical hermits dropped that for the sake of an institutionalization that curtails eremitical freedom and feeds the hermit's tendency to pride, for instance? I don't think so. The affirmation "God alone is enough" can be read several different ways. Two are critical for the hermit, 1) We need no one and nothing but God, 2) only God is able to complete us as human beings and we will be incomplete without God. Eremitical life has generally taken both of these affirmations to be true but recognized that the first cannot be taken literally; it is simply not true when understood literally. The second affirmation is always seen as true and most often is understood to be primary.  We take it literally. Sometimes the first affirmation has been made primary. This has happened with those who live reclusion, but it has also happened with those who criticize hermits who are active in their parishes or dioceses even when this is significantly limited in comparison to other religious or ministers.

Hermits have reached a place in their lives where they feel called to witness to the truth that only God can complete us as human beings. In fact, only God (including all the ways God is mediated to us through the lives and love of others) can call us to authentic human existence. We don't say "I don't need anything or anyone other than God" for that would be untrue and, in fact, result in a narrowed and cramped humanity, a shadow of the fullness of life one is called to in Christ. We need other human beings, friends who speak God's truth to us and call us to be our best selves, family who know us more deeply than maybe any others and who love us for who we are, superiors who allow us to be accountable for the gifts God has graced us with and who inspire us to fulfill the commitments we have made for the sake of ourselves and all those others we touch, priests and pastors, physicians, teachers, mentors, and all those who touch our lives and enrich them with their presence and the presence of God in all of the ways God seeks to come to us.

However, while we do not reject the important place of others in our lives,  we have come to a place there where we limit contact with others so we can witness in a more vivid way to the truth that without God we are less than whole, less than human, and that only God is the source of these; only God is sufficient to complete us as human beings. In that sense, "God alone is enough (or sufficient)"! (As Thomas Aquinas said, "Only God is sufficient" --- with all the rich and varied senses of "sufficient" that includes.) The solitude of the hermit says that "God alone is enough" and more, that some of the things our world counts as essential to life are simply not. It is not essential to be wealthy or powerful or to live without constraints. Freedom and well-being are defined differently for a Christian (or an authentically human being). The meaningfulness of our lives is measured in terms of love and generous service, not in terms of productivity or capitalism and consumerism. We are called to be attentive and responsive to the God who gives us life, not to the values of a world which too often defines humanity antithetically to the way the Kingdom (Family) of God defines this.

My need for others:

Your question in this assumes that eremitical requires a certain kind or degree of solitude and that my need for the mentoring, accompaniment, and supervision by others, indicates I am not called to eremitical life. in fact eremitical life has ALWAYS had such things, and required them. Ordinarily some needs have always been obviated by considering eremitical life as a "second-half-of life" vocation which builds on significant formation and assistance by others in religious life. Even so, the need for mentors was built into the Desert Abbas and Ammas lives when they moved to the desert (i.e.,  any wilderness outside the cities). Because I have written about this fairly recently I will refer you to a couple of posts which discuss this rather then repeating this material. Please see: Never Alone in This, The Place of Elders in Eremitical Life, and Religious Obedience and the Ministry of Authority See also other posts under the label, Ministry of Authority, Delegates, Spiritual Directors (or Spiritual Direction) or legitimate Superior.

What We Alone Can Do, We Cannot Do Alone (Reprise with redactions)

Today's Gospel was challenging, not least because we had children attending. They heard one of the more confusing directives of Jesus, "Unless you hate your Mother and Father, Brothers and Sisters, and even your own life, you cannot be my disciple!" Jesus follows this section of the lection with a couple of examples of why we must count the cost of things, first a parable about a man building a tower without sufficient planning and resources, and next a King with an army of 10,000 considering facing an army of 20,000. There is foolishness involved when we take on something serious and fail to count the cost. Discipleship is certainly the most serious life "project" we take on.

Folks thought perhaps I was doing the reflection today at Mass and asked that I make the context of the reading clear to the children who were coming. After all, what could it mean for Jesus to ask we love him at the expense of hating our own families and even our very selves? What kind of sense does that make, especially to children? What kind of discipleship would that be? But of course, Jesus' language is a Semitism in a language without the gradations we English-speakers and thinkers might take for granted. More, the absoluteness of this Semitism mirrors the absolute priority of loving God. Jesus is saying we must love God more than all others and really, before all others. Of course we owe God this --- God deserves this from us, but the reasons for this directive are also profoundly practical, namely we love God who is Love-in-Act by allowing God to love us and to fill us with the Divine Life that is meant to animate anyone who is truly human. 

Only then can we love anyone, including ourselves, as we really deserve and are called to do -- and this does not mean second best in some kind of worldly hierarchy, but radically, with one's entire heart and soul and strength. Love of God has a "priority" not in time, but in the geography of our hearts, that makes all other loves possible with a depth and fullness (radicality) we would not otherwise be able to achieve. The paradox that we love God by allowing God to love us, that is, by allowing God to be God and that means God-for-us, is not surprising once we consider Who and what God is. The fact that we only truly love others as radically as we are called by God to love them when we love God "first, " that is, as foundation of (and thus in a qualitatively different way than) the way we love every other love in our hearts.**

But the challenge of counting the cost of discipleship and allowing God to love and empower my love for self and others took my thoughts in the direction of my own vocation. Hardly surprising I guess. Especially it reminded me of something I read this morning early. By way of introduction, Martin Laird, OSA, has a new book on contemplation coming out in December. Fortunately, the Kindle version came out yesterday at midnight! I am already loving the book which develops themes from his first two books on contemplation and is geared to those facing expected difficulties in contemplative lives that are already-well-established. Laird does not deny we are all always beginners but he does recognize that different problems face us at different points along our journey to know or realize more fully our already-real union with God. But this morning one sentence in the first chapter struck me as wonderful and exactly right, "What we alone can do we cannot do alone"! The paradox of being truly ourselves only to the extent we are breathed forth and empowered by God --- that is, only to the extent we are a dialogical or covenant reality with God as our soul (the Divine breath that animates us), as well as only to the extent we are beings-in-relation-with-others comes up very often in what I write here (or anywhere!), and these are central to Laird's observation, "What we alone can do we cannot do alone"!

In my own life as a hermit, this is a central insight which helps determine the meaning of canonical terms like, "the silence of solitude" in canon 603. In the inner work I do with my director and accompanist it is similarly central and demands that I understand the gift of working with another is not a luxury, nor is it something which interferes with eremitical solitude. Instead, eremitical solitude is all about a relatively rare but also a universal way of "being relatedness" someone actually constituted by my relatedness to God, to others, and to all of reality. In the work Sister Marietta and I do, for instance, it is essential to being and becoming myself that I (allow myself to) be heard and find ways to express myself as well as I can --- as essential as it is that I hear God alive within me! This is absolutely critical to the effectiveness of the work I (we) do. And, though I do the majority of the work on my own, ultimately this means another person (and especially one with appropriate expertise and sensibilities!!) is also indispensable.

Even so, of course I often find it difficult to articulate what I am experiencing. Sometimes it is too vague, too visual or aural and too far from my thinking mind or the vocabulary that usually serves me so well; sometimes it is too painful or too frightening. Sometimes I know that because Marietta is compassionate and has chosen to accompany me, and because she listens so very well, my sharing will cause her some pain.  Compassion hurts; love is sometimes painful. Of course, this is her decision, not mine; only she can decide whether and how the demands of accompaniment are something she will undertake, and yet the desire to protect her comes up for me and sometimes this too prevents expression of what I am experiencing. But even at these times I am aware of her presence (and God's!) sitting near (or breathing gently and silently within), watching, waiting, praying, listening, and inviting my sharing --- for sometimes it is only her presence that gives me the courage to go deep within --- much less to share what occurs there; as I am often reminded, whatever sharing I can do is healing and strengthening. What we alone can do we cannot do alone.

And so, as a piece of genuine discipleship we count the cost. Many times over the past two years (and especially early on during this time) I have had to discern whether my eremitical life was jeopardized by the work I had undertaken with Marietta. I have noted this here before. Again and again the answer came back, "This is part of the cost of truly growing in wholeness and holiness." I know this. "It is absolutely necessary if you are to become the person (the hermit!!) I have called you from the beginning to be. Look! Look at how your prayer has been transfigured, how you have grown in freedom and how again and again your work together with Marietta deepens both your eremitical solitude and the silence of that solitude as your heart is enlarged and made more wholly My dwelling place!" I do try not to count the cost Marietta has determined she will accept and bear as part of her own vocational faithfulness; that really is something only she can and should do, just as only I can truly count and bear the cost of my own faithfulness to God's call.  After all, if I allow my own attention and discernment to be distracted, if I fail in this way to trust Marietta to do what she alone can do, I am pretty sure I "will not have the resources to finish" a process which is already costly indeed ---but even more worthwhile!!

I suppose this is on my mind in part because I continue to get questions from people who do not see how working in the way I have described over the past 2.5 years is consistent with eremitical solitude.  I do not know how to answer any better than I have in a number of posts throughout this period. But of course, ultimately, my own commitment to this work and to eremitical life as I and those mutually responsible for my vocation understand it, means I do not really have to explain further unless I believe it will be really helpful to someone. However, at bottom the work itself clarifies its own indispensable nature as it mediates God's love and empowers my own growth, healing, and sanctification precisely as a hermit living this life in the name of the Church. Those who are, to whatever extent, also responsible for my vocation see this clearly. What I alone can do I cannot do alone --- and this especially includes living into the context, charism, and goal of eremitical life c 603 hermits know as the "silence of solitude."

** I heard a homily this morning which treated hatred for Mother and Father, et al, rightly as a Semitism characterized by hyperbole in the absence of comparatives in the language. Unfortunately, the homilist went on to speak of greater love for God and lesser love for Mother and Father, et. al., as well as "detachment" from Father and Mother, et. el. Surely we have all thought and spoken about religious vocations in this way. But, it seems to me that today's Gospel reading is actually not speaking about detachment, and especially not about cultivating detachment as the means to our end, so much as he is talking about loving in and through and as empowered by the love of God which has a qualitatively different kind of priority. This is not about achieving detachment from loves or persons so much as it is about achieving the radicality of love required through the purification of our own hearts. Such purification results when Love of God (that is, letting God love us) has its rightful place in our lives; it does not mean loving anyone "less than" we once did, but rather loving them more than we ever imagined was possible.

P.S., For those interested, Martin Laird, OSA's third book in the trilogy I mentioned is called, An Ocean of Light.  While it may be helpful, one does not, Laird assures us, need to read the first two books before this one.

Once again, On Ezekiel, the Theology of the Cross, and the Foolish Wisdom of God we call Compassion

(Turning a corner on my struggle with Ezekiel's reading of the Valley of dry bones.)

When I first met Bishop Vigneron to talk about the possibility of being professed as a diocesan hermit, he asked me who my favorite Saint was, partly as a way of breaking the ice, and partly as a way of introducing serious dimensions and getting to know me. I found myself saying, "St Paul!" -- and then, in my mind second guessing myself with thoughts like, "No, he's an Apostle, you should have said someone like John of the Cross or Teresa of Avila" and then I went on out loud to explain my choice: " I love Saint Paul's theology and especially his theology of the cross; if I could spend the rest of my life coming to understand his theology of the cross I would be a happy camper!" (And the critical part in the back of my mind was saying, Laurel!! You're speaking to a bishop. . . a happy camper? What kind of language is that??!!). 

More seriously though, as I thought about this memory while outlining a reflection on the first reading  for Friday -- Paul's comment in 1 Cor on the foolishness and wisdom of the cross --- something I also have selected in the motto on my profession ring: "God's power is made perfect in weakness" (2 Cor 12:9) -- I was also reminded of the truism, "Best watch out what you wish for!!" After all, it is one thing to aim for intellectual understanding of Paul's theology, another thing entirely to ask to understand the cross completely from the inside out!! And this message re the foolishness of the cross was what both I and the folks in my parish really needed to hear afresh.

You see, the past weeks have been difficult ones for our parish and those weeks were capped (for the time being) by difficulties in chapel the week before last. On Wed - Friday things came to a boil with events in our small chapel community. So, all of this was on my mind when I met with my director Friday afternoon to continue our work, to inform her of how things were going in the parish community, and also to tell her how inadequate I was feeling through all of this. I had been thinking about the first reading from that morning, the Ezekiel reading about the valley of dry bones and I found I could not it out of my mind. As I think I wrote in an earlier post, I could hear the splintering of bones as Ezekiel walked. I could not get past the question in the first portion of the lection: Can these bones live? As the reading shifted to the promise of life coming from the Word of God and the Holy Spirit and the need for Ezekiel to prophecy, I found I could not turn the corner with Ezekiel, so to speak. I could not even read the second half of the lection; I certainly couldn't believe it!

And so, at the end of our session I found myself saying, [[Marietta, I don't feel particularly faithful; I don't feel all that prayerful, or spiritual, or knowledgeable; I am not even sure I feel all that adult! I know I don't feel like I am suited to being any kind of leader in this faith community!]] At that moment I had a vivid memory of a time with my original pastor, Rev John L Brennan. It pulled everything together for me and was a complete gift of God (and, I had the sense at that moment, of John Brennan himself); it became the heart of the reflection I gave last Friday.

I was visiting Father John B in the hospital. The Archdiocese had begun, belatedly, implementing Vatican II and Father Brennan was devastated by the changes that were coming our way. We had been talking about the things we each found hard to understand in our lives --- I, a surprising Dx of epilepsy and the need to leave the Franciscans as a result, and Fr B, his own illness and even more Vatican II and its apparent ramifications for liturgy, priesthood, the laity, devotions and so much more. We were on opposite sides of the spectrum in this matter, but that was beside the point. He had catechized me and watched out for me after I was baptized. Our conversation was deep and serious. At one point Fr B held out his hands in a kind of "what are we to do gesture" and, with his eyes brimming with tears and just a bit of a self-deprecating laugh, said, [[Laurel, I don't understand ANY of this!!]] -- gesturing not just to his hospital room but to everything in the church, his pastorate, etc. Never before had I seen the depth and extent of the pain he carried for those he served!!  And, as I recounted this story to Marietta, I realized I had probably never seen a more perfect image of faithfulness, of "crucifixion" for the sake of those he loved, and of the meaning of God's power being perfected in weakness.

What I saw two Fridays ago in that memory was how John Brennan had continued to lead the parish in spite of the pain he held. He was grieving incredible loss, and struggling to continue his pastorate despite everything and he kept on keeping on. I am sure he knew precisely what I was saying to Marietta because he had felt it all himself and said so that day in the hospital. And so, from the other side of death, he, in the power of the Risen Christ, nudged my memory and gave me a wonderful picture of the foolishness of God's wisdom and the wisdom of God's foolishness. I realized that perhaps, from childhood onward, my life had helped suit me for a role as a particular kind of leader in the parish --- one who knew the call to hold the pain of this time of transition and continue to proclaim the good news of a God whose grace is sufficient for us. (2 Cor 12:9) I don't mean "hold the pain" in some kind of crude victim-soul-or-pseudo-masochistic way. I mean "hold the pain" without being destroyed by it or having one's theology distorted or one's faith crushed by it. Indeed, I mean holding the pain in a way which allows the grace of God to bring us to deeper faith. Specifically, I mean holding the pain in the way Jesus, at the very peak of human weakness and helplessness, held the anguish of our broken existence within himself in his embrace on the cross as he remained open to his Father's vindication and victory over sin and even over godless death.  In this way Jesus carried our anguish and alienation into the very heart of God making it part of God's own life and transfiguring it forever. Foolishness? Wisdom!! Compassion!!!

An Image of Compassion

A leadership with roots in the compassion of God is the kind of leadership we need today in the whole church, the kind of leadership that allows us to truly walk together in the way synodality demands. And while it does not mean I (or any of us) need to relinquish theological acumen or scholarship (or any of the gifts our communities have come to depend upon), for instance, nor to simply submit to moves by clergy rooted in a failure to listen to the whole community, it requires faith in the Word of God in which we are called to steep ourselves and a profound trust that even a valley of dry bones can echo with the sound of new life as a community is reknitted in the power of the compassion of the Crucified One. Leaders in this time of church reform and resistance to reform must struggle with the query God put to Ezekiel, "Can these bones live?" and in struggling come to a deeper faith in the power that is truly perfected in weakness, a faith that answers, [[Yes, even if I cannot see how or when!!]]

The Peril and Promise of Parish Transitions: Dwelling In Ezekiel's Valley of Dry Bones

There have not been a lot of times in my life when Ezekiel's, "valley of the dry bones" reading has struck me as forcibly as it has in the past week. And this week I surely needed this reading; I needed to spend time with it, to really hear what it promises --- the wonder of what God's Word can do with a collection of dry bones in a world of death and destruction. Because of changes in my parish I am watching  what is, at least potentially, the slow death-by-attrition of a faith community that was once vibrant, excited, faithful, and generous in its use of talents and treasure. 

The valley is not yet covered in dry bones but there is no doubt that there are a number of ministerial dismemberments and liturgical limbs and corpses already moldering on the ground after having been discarded without a second thought, several more that are in their death throes or lined up for destruction, and we could be well on the way to becoming what Ezekiel describes. The slow, "death-by-attrition" way of proceeding is stunning to me in its effectiveness;  the pathogen that is slowly, but inevitably chewing the life and flesh from the bones of our parish, the destructive acid eating away at the sinews of our community and hemolyzing the blood in our very veins is an ancient one. Pope Francis has taken it on after and in the somewhat the same terms that Vatican II did. It is clericalism  possibly undertaken in the name of some version of  a "reform of the reform" or "returning (us) to the diocese" we never actually left. 

The imagery of Ezekiel is strong in my mind and even my ears. In last Friday's reading he is not speaking of those who died a natural death but instead, those who were slain by an enemy. I can see the valley floor littered with the remains of these murdered ones and I can hear the crunch and splintering of their bones as Ezekiel walks through in prayer (or new parish leadership rushes through without slowing, hearing, or seeing). I feel incredibly sad at the needless pain, loss, and at the carelessness and shortsightedness of it all --- as a community of faithful people, nourished consistently and carefully over decades and at different points in their own growth in faith, has the underpinnings of their faith decimated and the victims left to lie and die and disintegrate where they fall. Will something else grow in place of all of this? Yes, very likely; in fact, it is already growing --- much like a garden when it is taken over by an invasive plant like mustard. (The parable of the mustard seed is about the fruitfulness of the tiniest bit of faith, yes, but it cuts another way as well, taking advantage of a property which made the parable scandalous to hearers, namely, the tendency of mustard to choke out less hardy or more fragile plants and established growth and supplant them so gardens or more nutritious crops were impossible.)

And yet, in these parables and the reading from Ezekiel, what is essential for growth and everlasting life is the Word of God -- and that, Ezekiel tells us we have every right to expect, does miracles. So, while it is striking to me that the very first victim of clericalism in our parish is the Word of God, and while it is stunning how little time it takes for death to set in when people are not truly nourished with the Word of God day in and day out, and while yes, there is the odor of disease and death about our community these days, yet, I also believe, God is asking us to come together as church in and through the Word of God. We simply (were it so simple!!) must find ways to allow that Word to live and thrive and bring us (all of us, both clergy and laity alike!) to a new vibrancy as a single pilgrim People of God.

One word we don't hear spoken a lot in our everyday experience is liminality. Liminality is the state of being betwixt and between realities. It is to stand on the margin of one with a foot in the other and to try to stand secure. Celtic spirituality speaks of this way of being in terms of "the thin places" --- when the transcendent is "just there beyond the horizon" of our perception and other references may use the idea of marginality to describe living in liminal spaces. My own director calls it "the muddy middle". Liminality is uncomfortable and Christians are called to become adept at negotiating this reality. When I speak of Jesus' parables as creating a sacred space where one is off-footed or thrown off balance by the second set of values or the second perspective Jesus "throws down" (parable = para=alongside, ballein/ballo=to throw down), I am speaking of Jesus' parables creating and causing us to stand in a liminal space, a space which is on the margins between the world we know so well, and the Kingdom of God we know so much less well. This space created by Jesus' parables is one of Krisis (Gk) or crisis, a place where we are called to make decisions regarding which world we will truly be citizens of and who we will really be.

Our parish stands in a liminal state, a state of transition and crisis; thus, we need to discern carefully and make appropriate decisions regarding who we are and will be going forward. Of course, we know the decisions to be made are not so black and white as all that. After all, the Kingdom of God interpenetrates this world and this world is often falsely clothed in the garb of light. The mustard seed is awesome in its potential for growth and teaches us about the unsuspected and miraculously incommensurate power of just a tiny bit of faith, and at the same time it is dangerous in its capacity to choke out more fragile and established growth. The wheat and weeds of another of Jesus' parables are almost indistinguishable from one another in their earlier stages of growth and, only as the two are allowed to grow to maturity together, can the differences come to be seen truly, the wheat be brought to a fruitful harvest, and appropriate use of the weeds is made possible as well.

But in all of this, I am reminded again and again of the power and place of the Word of God in re-membering dry bones, reknitting their sinews and reconstituting and renewing their flesh and blood. The Word of God has the power to raise from the dead, to bring to new life, to make one of many, and to breathe soul and personal being into the dust of earth and death. This is Ezekiel's promise from last week's readings and while I continue to hear the crunch of dry bones and sorrow over the unnecessary and unnatural loss already very real in our community; it is the promise I know to be true in my own life and which I hope I can convey to those whose faith feels as threatened as my own has sometimes felt in the past several years --- as fragile (and as potentially strong!!) as I feel even in the present circumstances!  For in all of this, when I hear the desperate plaint of Ezekiel, "Can these bones live??", I also draw on Paul's writings, especially the text I chose all those years ago as the motto of my religious life, and I hear God reminding me, "Laurel, My grace is sufficient for you (all), my power is perfected in weakness!!" (2 Cor 12:9) O God, that it may be so, Amen!

The Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard (Reprise)

Today's Gospel is one of my all-time favorite parables, that of the laborers in the vineyard. The story is simple --- deceptively so in fact: workers come to work in the vineyard at various parts of the day all having contracted with the master of the vineyard to work for a day's wages. Some therefore work the whole day, some are brought in to work only half a day, and some are hired only when the master comes for them at the end of the day. When time comes to pay everyone what they are owed those who came in to work last are paid first and receive a full day's wages. Those who came in to work first expect to be paid more than these, but are disappointed and begin complaining when they are given the same wage as those paid first. The response of the master reminds them that he has paid them what they contracted for, nothing less, and then asks if they are envious that he is generous with his own money. A saying is added: [in the Kingdom of God] the first shall be last and the last first.

Now, it is important to remember what the word parable means in appreciating what Jesus is actually doing with this story and seeing how it challenges us today. The word parable, as I have written before, comes from two Greek words, para meaning alongside of and balein, meaning to throw down. What Jesus does is to throw down first one set of values -- one well-understood or common-perspective --- and allow people to get comfortable with that. (It is one they understand best so often Jesus merely needs to suggest it while his hearers fill in the rest. For instance he mentions a sower, or a vineyard and people fill in the details. Today he might well speak of a a CEO in an office, or a mother on a run to pick up kids from a swim meet or soccer practice.) Then, he throws down a second set of values or a second way of seeing reality which disorients and gets his hearers off-balance. This second set of values or new perspective is that of the Kingdom of God. Those who listen have to make a decision. (The purpose of the parable is not only to present the choice, but to engage the reader/hearer and shake them up or disorient them a bit so that a choice for something new can (and hopefully will) be made.) Either Jesus' hearers will reaffirm the common values or perspective or they will choose the values and perspective of the Kingdom of God. The second perspective, that of the Kingdom is often counterintuitive, ostensibly foolish or offensive, and never a matter of "common sense". To choose it --- and therefore to choose Jesus and the God he reveals --- ordinarily puts one in a place which is countercultural and often apparently ridiculous.

So what happens in today's Gospel? Again, Jesus tells a story about a vineyard and a master hiring workers. His readers know this world well and despite Jesus stating specifically that each man hired contracts for the same wage, common sense says that is unfair and the master MUST pay the later workers less than he pays those who came early to the fields and worked through the heat of the noonday sun. And of course, this is precisely what the early workers complain about to the master. It is precisely what most of US would complain about in our own workplaces if someone hired after us got more money, for instance, or if someone with a high school diploma got the same pay and benefit package as someone with a doctorate --- never mind that we agreed to this package! The same is true in terms of religion: "I spent my WHOLE life serving the Lord. I was baptized as an infant and went to Catholic schools from grade school through college and this upstart convert who has never done anything at all at the parish gets the Pastoral Associate job? No Way!! No FAIR!!" From our everyday perspective this would be a cogent objection and Jesus' insistence that all receive the same wage, not to mention that he seems to rub it in by calling the last hired to be paid first (i.e., the normal order of the Kingdom), is simply shocking.

And yet the master brings up two points which turn everything around: 1) he has paid everyone exactly what they contracted for --- a point which stops the complaints for the time being, and 2) he asks if they are envious that he is generous with his own gifts or money. He then reminds his hearers that the first shall be last, and the last first in the Kingdom of God. If someone was making these remarks to you in response to cries of "unfair" it would bring you up short, wouldn't it? If you were already a bit disoriented by a pay master who changed the rules of commonsense this would no doubt underscore the situation. It might also cause you to take a long look at yourself and the values by which you live your life. You might ask yourself if the values and standards of the Kingdom are really SO different than those you operate by everyday of your life, not to mention, do you really want to "buy into" this Kingdom if the rewards are really parcelled out in this way, even for people less "gifted" and less "committed" than you consider yourself! Of course, you might not phrase things so bluntly. If you are honest, you will begin to see more than your own brilliance, giftedness, or commitedness; You might begin to see these along with a deep neediness, a persistent and genuine fear at the cost involved in accepting this "Kingdom" instead of the world you know and have accommodated yourself to so well.

You might consider too, and carefully, that the Kingdom is not an otherworldly heaven, but that it is the realm of God's sovereignty which, especially in Christ, interpenetrates this world, and is actually the goal and perfection of this world; when you do, the dilemma before you gets even sharper. There is no real room for opting for this world's values now in the hope that those "other Kingdomly values" only kick in after death! All that render to Caesar stuff is actually a bit of a joke if we think we can divvy things up neatly and comfortably (I am sure Jesus was asking for the gift of one's whole self and nothing less when he made this statement!), because after all, what REALLY belongs to Caesar and what belongs to God? No, no compromises are really allowed with today's parable, no easy blending of the vast discrepancy between the realm of God's sovereignty and the world which is ordered to greed, competition, self-aggrandizement and hypocrisy, nor therefore, to the choice Jesus puts before us.

So, what side will we come down on after all this disorientation and shaking up? I know that every time I hear this parable it touches a place in me (yet another one!!) that resents the values and standards of the Kingdom and that desires I measure things VERY differently indeed. It may be a part of me that resists the idea that everything I have and am is God's gift, even if I worked hard in cooperating with that (my very capacity and willingness to cooperate are ALSO gifts of God!). It may be a part of me that looks down my nose at this person or that and considers myself better in some way (smarter, more gifted, a harder worker, stronger, more faithful, born to a better class of parents, etc, etc). It may be part of me that resents another's wage or benefits despite the fact that I am not really in need of more myself. It may even be a part of me that resents my own weakness and inabilities, my own illness and incapacities which lead me to despise the preciousness and value of my life and his own way of valuing it which is God's gift to me and to the world. I am socialized in this first-world-culture and there is no doubt that it resides deeply and pervasively within me contending always for the Kingdom of God's sovereignty in my heart and living. I suspect this is true for most of us, and that today's Gospel challenges us to make a renewed choice for the Kingdom in yet another way or to another more profound or extensive degree.

For Christians every day is gift and we are given precisely what we need to live fully and with real integrity if only we will choose to accept it. We are precious to God, and this is often hard to really accept, but neither more nor less precious than the person standing in the grocery store line ahead of us or folded dirty and disheveled behind a begging sign on the street corner near our bank or outside our favorite coffee shop. The wage we have agreed to (or been offered) is the gift of God's very self along with his judgment that we are indeed precious, and so, the free and abundant but cruciform life of a shared history and destiny with that same God whose characteristic way of being is kenotic. He pours himself out with equal abandon for each of us whether we have served him our whole lives or only just met him this afternoon. He does so whether we are well and whole, or broken and feeble. And he asks us to do the same, to pour ourselves out similarly both for his own sake and for the sake of his creation-made-to-be God's Kingdom.

To do so means to decide for his reign now and tomorrow and the day after that; it means to accept his gift of Self as fully as he wills to give it, and it therefore means to listen to him and his Word so that we MAY be able to decide and order our lives appropriately in his gratuitous love and mercy. The parable in today's Gospel is a gift which makes this possible --- if only we would allow it to work as Jesus empowers and wills it!

Parable of the Unmerciful Servant (Reprise)

The Bible study we began at my parish six or seven weeks ago (this week's sessions are the sixth of eight meetings) has been going well. My sense of the power of Jesus' parables has only been strengthened. In the past two sessions we spent 4 hours on just two parables in Matthew! (Ordinarily we break for 20-25 minutes to do individual lectio but for both of these parables folks were so engaged and the discussion so lively that we continued through the entire 2 hours; it was exhausting and exhilarating all at once.) What we were reading were, 1) Matt 18:23-34, the parable of the unmerciful or unforgiving servant (today's Gospel lection!), and 2) Matt 20:1-15, the parable of the workers in the vineyard. These particular stories of Jesus are often referred to as "antithetical" parables, that is, parables that say, "the Kingdom of God is NOT like this;" or "the Kingdom of God is opposed/antithetical to this."  In both of these I came to see the parable very differently than I once did and certainly came to a more profound sense of why it was Jesus' preaching could have gotten him crucified! Commentators who speak of such parables point out how Jesus' parables are examples of subversive speech, stories which undermine the dominant political, economic, and religious structures of the day. (cf William Herzog II, Parables as Subversive Speech, Jesus as Pedagogue to the Oppressed)

At the heart of the way Jesus' parables do this is the insight that sometimes we are so enmeshed in a situation that we can't even see ourselves as oppressed. When that is the case we need someone to hold a mirror up which reveals our own situation to us, which allows us to begin to think of ourselves in different terms, and which, when all goes well,  can challenge and empower us to change our society and our own lives to those of greater dignity and freedom. In the parable of the unmerciful servant the key question we must ask ourselves is, "Does the king in this parable represent God?" If the answer is yes, we will be led to say many things about divine justice, divine mercy, the actions taken by the servants, and the nature of the Kingdom of God which we would never say if we answered "No, the king in this parable does not represent God." Beyond this, the next questions we must ask ourselves are, "If the king represents (or does not represent) God, then for whom is this parable good news and why? For whom is it not and why not?"

The general opinion of both our morning and evening group was that the king was not a stand in for God in this parable. (A similar conclusion was shared by most --- but not all -- of us with regard to the Master of the Vineyard in the second parable.) The king did show the servant great mercy but this was sandwiched in between terrible harshness and merely served to demonstrate the tragic inconsistency and instability of a kingdom built around a human autocrat and despot. In the end we discussed the difference between human justice and the powerful and consistent mercy of God that does justice and how very difficult it is in our world to try to accept and live this mercy consistently. We simply do not trust it sufficiently, nor are our institutions structured to mediate this in a consistent or powerful way.

Sin is still at work in our world; it is present in everything we build or create and we are enmeshed in it in ways which make it almost impossible to see ourselves clearly or envision things differently. Jesus' parables -- and this is certainly true of the parable of the unmerciful servant -- give us a unique place to stand from which we can question everything we take for granted otherwise: our notions of justice and mercy, our sense that these complete one another, a sense that God's justice is the same as our own --- only writ very large, the sense that mercy is the weaker and exceptional element in the equation justice and mercy, the notion that if there is a heaven there must also be a hell where we are turned over to torturers as in the parable, and so forth.   If sin is at work, the parables are a place where grace reigns and can be encountered and allowed to embrace and change us. When we step into these unique stories, these sacred spaces where we meet the God Jesus knows intimately, we can begin to allow God to free us of the enmeshment that makes us so blind to the systemic evil that touches and tragically distorts everything we know. This is part of the power of Jesus' parables part of the way these often not-so-simple stories reveal a divine power which is made perfect in weakness.

Perhaps over time the mirror that Jesus holds up and the mercy he reveals (i.e., the mercy Jesus makes known and makes real in space and time) can lead those who are oppressed to a different world where God's mercy is sovereign, but in the meantime the questions these pose to his hearers include, "Can you believe that the God I reveal is not like this king only writ-infinitely-large? Can you believe that the God whose presence I mediate is not like this Vineyard owner only writ-large? Can you find it within yourselves to trust that the Kingdom I am proclaiming as being at-hand in my teaching and touching is vastly different from and even antithetical to the economic and political realms of this world --- and often to the religious ones as well? Can you trust that the way I assert my rights over this world, the way I do justice and set all things to rights, is through a greater mercy than you have ever known or even imagined? Can you trust that your own value, your own worth and dignity is infinite in my eyes, no matter the ways sin has degraded you?  Can you trust all this and build your lives on it? Will you do this?"

Jesus' parables can easily be domesticated; it takes little effort to turn them into quaint religious stories with some kind of comforting moral. When we do this they are neither truly good news for us or for anyone else except those who are comfortable in their current positions of power and privilege. But Jesus' stories are meant to turn things on their heads, they are meant to subvert the oppressive structures of this world and replace them with the Word of a God who frees and proclaims the dignity of the degraded, the anawim ("little ones") and marginalized of our world. Ash Wednesday found us marked with the cross and commissioned to "Repent and believe in the Gospel." As we move through our Lenten journey to the culmination of Jesus' life in death and resurrection we are asked to examine where we have placed our trust or found our true worth and dignity. If Jesus' parables, including his "antithetical parables" are genuinely Good News to us then perhaps they can empower us to make Jesus' prayer our own in ways that allow God's  "will (to) be done and (his) kingdom (to) come on earth as it is in heaven." I sincerely hope so!

Feast (Memorial) of St Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, OCD

Today marks the day on which Sister Teresa Benedicta, OCD, was martyred in 1942. "We bow down before the testimony of the life and death of Edith Stein, an outstanding daughter of Israel and at the same time a daughter of the Carmelite Order, Sister Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, a personality who united within her rich life a dramatic synthesis of our century. It was the synthesis of a history full of deep wounds that are still hurting ... and also the synthesis of the full truth about man. All this came together in a single heart that remained restless and unfulfilled until it finally found rest in God." 

These were the words of Pope John Paul II when he beatified Edith Stein in Cologne on 1 May 1987. When I first began studying theology my major professor told us, [[If you are serious about doing theology you will need to come to terms with the holocaust.  If you can't do that, you shouldn't even try to do serious theology!]] What Dr Dwyer was talking about is the same thing JP II was describing when he spoke of all of those things that came together in Edith Stein's single heart and remained restless and unfulfilled until she finally came to rest in God.]] The holocaust embodied both the most exhaustively ignoble and inhuman aspects of our most venal existence, as well as the noblest aspects of divinely fulfilled humanity. The stories of the holocaust are full of killers and cowards, saviors and martyrs, appalling cruelty and creative, sacrificial courage. As a whole it revealed the depths of our need for a merciful God whose chosen solution to our profound inhumanity was, in Christ and his Cross, to take that terrible depravity into himself so that it could be conquered and transformed with a love that suffers for the sake of the other for God's own sake. All of this did St Teresa Benedicta of the Cross reprise in her own life as a Carmelite nun, philosopher, and martyr for her own Jewish People.

For a terrific biography of Sr Teresa Benedicta, try Edith Stein, The Life of a Philosopher and Carmelite, by Teresa Renata Posselt, OCD, ICS Publications. Posselt was the Novice Mistress and then the Mother Prioress when Edith Stein lived at the Cologne Carmel. The text has been reprinted and enlarged with scholarly perspectives published in separate "gleanings" sections, so they are available, but do not intrude on Posselt's text. Another excellent biography you might check out is, Edith Stein, A Biography by Waltraud Herbstrith, OCD, Harper and Row. Sister Herbstrith knew Edith Stein well and has apparently spent a large part of her life making sure the story of Sister Benedicta's life and martyrdom was completely told. Finally, for a theology book that takes both the Cross and the Holocaust with complete seriousness check out Regis Martin's, Suffering of Love, Christ's Descent into the Hell of Human Hopelessness. It does just what Prof Dwyer told his own students to aim for.

Feast of the Transfiguration: Learning to See with New Eyes

 Although today's Gospel is Luke's version of the Transfiguration, I am reprising a post I put up looking at Matthew's version of the story. I hope it is helpful. The painting, Transfiguration, is by Lewis Bowman.

Have you ever been walking along a well-known road and suddenly had a bed of flowers take on a vividness which 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. 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 the 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.

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 in the midst of 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! Listen to him!!!"

The lesson could not be clearer, I think. In this day where the Church is conflicted and some authority seems incredible, we must take the time to see what is right in front of us. We must listen to the One who comes to us in the Scriptures and Sacraments, the One who speaks to us through Bishops and all believers. 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 we 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.