ARTICLES --- VOLUME 64, 2005 --- REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS
[NOTE: Beginning with the first issue of this new volume, some of the articles in each issue of Review for Religious are interactive. All of these will be reproduced here in full along with the interactive questions and a link to the space where readers can contribute there comments and reflections online. These comments and reflections will be gathered together monthly and posted in the Readers' Comments section at the end of each article.]
Mary, Woman of the Eucharist: A Contemplation by James A. Rafferty (64.4 RFR)
From Centering Prayer to Christian Meditation by Ernest E. Larkin OCarm (64.4 RFR)
Rekindling the Fire: Vocation Efforts by Sean Sammon FMS (64.4 RFR)
Community Chapters: Seven Personal Beliefs by Melannie
Svoboda SND (64.3 RFR)
Living In Community: Continuing the Conversation by Doris
Gottemoeller RSM (64.3 RFR)
Feet First Into Resurrection by Bonaventure
Stefun OFMCap (64.2 RFR)
Asceticism and Chaste and Celibate Love by Vilma Seelaus OCD (64.2 RFR)
Learning to Live Serenely: The Wisdom of Francis de Sales by Juliana Devoy
RGS (64.2 RFR)
Good and Bad Zeal: Good and Bad Spirits byJoseph I. Cisetti (64.2 RFR)
Reclaiming the Prayer
of Lament by Colleen Vogt (64.1
RFR)
The Role of Scripture on the Spiritual Journey by Matthias
Neuman OSB (64.1 RFR)
Ignatian Colloquies: Their Surpassing Value by A. Paul Dominic
S.J. ( 61.4 RFR)
Navigational
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Mary, Woman of the Eucharist: A Contemplation
By James A. Rafferty, a priest of the Diocese of Scranton, is chaplain and a campus minister at Marywood University ; 2300 Adams Avenue ; Scranton , Pennsylvania 18509 .
This reflection looks at the relationship between Mary and the Eucharistic Lord. It attempts to show, in particular, Mary's intimate presence to the Eucharist. As a woman at the center of God's love for all humanity, Mary may properly be identified as Woman of the Eucharist, the title both reverential and affectionate that Pope John Paul employs in his encyclical Ecclesia de Eucharistia. This title is not merely a clever theological phrase about Mary symbolizing the entire church by her faith and receptive cooperation. The title is about Mary's profound spiritual relationship with her Son. Attuned as no other to the intimate communion deep within the Trinity, Mary singularly understands Jesus' Eucharistic heart as it embraces all humanity in choosing Calvary , where self-surrendering love is displayed in shocking degree.
More than a theological category or doctrinal formulation, Mary, Woman of Eucharist, sings the hymn of one woman's surrender to the divine Love that gently invites people to become more like itself. The sacramental Eucharist we celebrate today has its peak expression in the Last Supper that opens the original drama of the paschal mystery, but Jesus' Eucharistic offering is not limited to those hours of his life. Rather, his entire being may be described as Eucharist—sacrificial self-offering emboldened by an enormous gratitude. Mary's life, too, chants her Son's Eucharistic hymn of praise and self-gift long before she accompanies him to the moment when he hands over all that he is on the cross. Eucharistic tones reverberate in Mary's immaculate conception, in the annunciation, in her hearing her Son proclaim the kingdom, in her presence at Calvary , and in her sharing in the Easter glory.
The first Eucharistic moment in Mary's life, as in everyone's, is the moment of conception. Like everyone else, Mary receives her unique and unrepeatable identity as nothing other than gift, gift to herself and to the world. Births celebrate the overflowing of love from the Trinity's heart into time and space, letting itself be known in the life of another. Life itself means receiving what we cannot give or produce on our own. This divine gift is always more splendid than cellular interactions and anatomical functions. The Spirit of God breathing into clay sacramentalizes the loving communion of the Creator with the created. Physical existence, even veiled in the womb, announces the divine creative imagination that renders each life sacred by bearing the image and likeness of the Triune God.
While every new human life arouses awe and thankfulness in the presence of this loving gift from God, the humble daughter of Israel has an unprecedented Eucharistic glow from her immaculate conception. The child of Anne and Joachim receives from her first instant the totally unmerited gift of being preserved by God from all stain of original sin. God creates Mary as one ready to welcome grace without resistance. Her very disposition is to seek always what is the delight of her Creator and Lord. In her immaculate heart Mary bows before the tender stirrings of the Spirit of Yahweh. She never lurches away from the Lord in willfulness. Her submission to God is like the strings of a peerless violin at the touch of a skilled violinist. The instrument exists precisely to give resonance to the master's melody and fill the air with music. The violinist's touch is not subjugation. It frees the instrument to be its fullest self.
Mary cooperates wholly in all that God desires for her. We pray during the liturgy for something of her receptivity when we say, “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word, and I shall be healed.” Although these words originate in Jesus' encounter with a centurion concerned for his servant's health, the liturgical context may suggest Zacchaeus, delighted to welcome Jesus to his home and almost happy at not concealing how much his soul has needed tidying up. As we approach the altar to receive the gift of Jesus' Body and Blood, it seems that Jesus wishes to evoke within us Peter's change of heart: first refusing to let Jesus wash his feet and then eagerly conceding at Jesus' insistence. Again, the Immaculate Conception is a permanent stance of receptivity. We seek that disposition in our own preparation for Communion.
The Eucharistic motif appears in Mary's life also in her obscurity and poverty. Her simple, humble existence in a tiny village reflects the Eucharist. There Mary depends utterly on God. Mary experiences a real, not just a romantic, poverty. She feels with all who are poor the realities of hunger, cold, and powerlessness. For her the cry of the poor is not a hypothetical, poetic verse; it echoes her authentic abandonment to the Lord's providence in situations where human efforts do not accomplish much. There is more here than a passive resolve to endure difficulty and want. Mary finds comfort and assurance in a faithful God who has pledged never to abandon the people he has chosen to be his own. As a woman of actual poverty, Mary relates to God as the provider of her daily needs. She carries within her a practiced confidence that God attends to her hunger and thirst, a heartfelt trust that breaks into the praise of the Magnificat. She lives out of the consciousness that it is God who feeds, nourishes, and sustains. Her poverty expresses solidarity with every child of the Covenant who awaits God's saving action. Such indomitable hope, passed on across centuries, has been planted deep in Mary's heart.
Mary's Eucharistic living is evident in the moment when divinity unites with human flesh at her consent, “Let it be done to me according to your word.” The Lord instituted the sacramental Eucharist for us to consume and thereby have the divine life pulsing strongly within us. Mary's “yes” to the invitation of God foreshadows our “amen” at being offered the Eucharist. Amen here means “Yes, I believe it is the Body of Christ, and, yes, I wish to receive it.” It is implicitly a consent that the Body of Christ broken, offered, received, and consumed may effect a change in us who partake of it. As believers we surrender before the mystery in a way similar to Mary's “Let it be done to me.” Like Mary at the annunciation, in the Eucharist we implicitly desire that the Trinity take over our life so that our identity, fused with Jesus himself, lets itself be guided by God the Father.
When the angel appears to Mary with the message that she will conceive and bear a son who will be called Son of the Most High, she perceives the compassion radiating from the heart of God. This radiance accompanies the self-surrender of the God who comes to dwell in flesh. By the grace of the Holy Spirit, Mary is drawn into God's plan, which includes Calvary . In the powerful current of paschal love, she more than anyone else glimpses the yearning of God to heal the rift that sin causes in the relationship between Creator and creature. Every act of God in the salvific economy bears a paschal orientation, and Mary intuits the paschal horizon of God's project. That is, she senses the truth of what she meets in the annunciation—a self-offering Love that knows no limitation.
Lacking the vocabulary of Trinitarian theology, Mary nonetheless encounters the Father offering his Son in the power of the Holy Spirit. She experiences deep within her the distinct energies of the Trinitarian persons, as if eavesdropping on the dialogue of the Trinity's plan for her. Mary knows, then, a Father sharing his Son with her, and she knows this contemplatively in the depths of her being. Mary's pregnancy does not begin as a mere procedural accomplishment, as valued possessions are handed over to faithful friends for safekeeping. Because the Spirit of God fills her, Mary senses the meaning of this act for the Father. The Father is handing over to her, and through her to all humanity, that which is most precious to him, his beloved Son. Mary knows this with her whole being.
She knows, too, the Son's active participation in this gift-giving. Before the throne of the Father in heaven, the Son exercises the characteristic obedience that he will manifest in the world even to death. Mary's fiat opens the path for the eternal Word to enact his incarnation in space and time. The Son exchanges the omnipotence of divine majesty for confinement in the womb of a young woman. The Second Person of the Trinity assumes human nature in its meekest form and progresses according to the physiological laws of the human condition. Mary, of course, does not, by virtue of her experience of the annunciation, have unrestricted access to the mind of God. She remains thoroughly finite. Like every other human being, she knows only what she can experience. There precisely do we find the glory in the incarnation, the splendid miracle that Mary is the first to perceive—God revealed in human frailty. Mary is present to the moment when the Son clothes himself in the frailty, dependence, poverty, and even death that mark every human life.
The words of consecration so familiar in the Eucharistic Prayer are already subtly present at the annunciation. “You will conceive and bear a son.” “How can this be?” “The power of the Most High will overshadow you.” It is as if all of creation—a suffering world yearning for the healing that it is helpless to achieve on its own—has been imploring the Holy Spirit, in one great wordless epiclesis, to fill the virginal womb with life. And God responds by making himself present in history for children and adults to see, hear, and touch—and be touched by. Mary's response is personal and collective. She speaks on behalf of a wounded race. Generation after generation of messianic hope permeates the Jewish faith. In Mary and others like Anna and Simeon, this hope is not merely a passive waiting and watching. More than that, it is an ever intensifying desire, calling upon God fervently and ceaselessly from amid the welter of the human condition. Here is the imploring epiclesis to which the Father answers in the incarnation of his Son.
To this intensification of Jewish prayer may be added the human hearts all over the world humbly defenseless under the weight and the stings of evil. Moved by their sobs and their silence, God intervenes decisively. Through the Holy Spirit and Mary's yes, God's Son becomes present in her womb. This is similar to what occurs in the liturgy. Mary offers herself in conjunction with the cries of a people lost in darkness, and the Holy Spirit completes her offering infinitely by bringing about the presence of Jesus in her womb. The divine love in this human form is Light itself amid earth's darkness. Surrendering himself to the human condition, the Son of God encompasses the human race's sad history in himself. He submits himself to the force of evil that pummels, confuses, and obliterates.
At the first moment made possible by Mary's assent, the world begins to hear the Son whisper, “Take this, all of you, and eat it, this is my body; take and drink, this is my blood, given up for you.” Mary silently possesses more than an inkling of the self-surrender that God envisions. The Son empties himself by taking on human nature, and Mary nourishes humanity's self-sacrificing Savior towards his birth. She and he both anticipate his self-offering on the cross, the offering that rises from burial into resurrection and is present each time the Eucharist is celebrated. Mary's praying heart delights in the wonder, adoration, and gratitude with which she accompanies the Child she carries. With maternal love she worships thankfully the Presence within her in a unique Communion.
The proclamation of the kingdom of God , too, is redolent of the Eucharistic. In the Spirit, all grace of whatever form moves human hearts to Communion. People's gifts or fruits of prayer come to naught unless they seek and find some externalization in unity, in Communion. The Spirit is Communio, and all grace drives toward perfect fulfillment in the heavenly banquet, the wedding feast of the Lamb, for which the liturgical sacrifice prepares us. No wonder, then, that the New Testament's Eucharistic imagery appears in the earliest moments of Jesus' public ministry. At the Jordan , Jesus, who is without sin, does not accept John's baptism as a gesture of solidarity with weaker brothers and sisters. He is maturely aware of his right relationship with Yahweh. His decision to approach the Baptist, like his acceptance of the cross, manifests publicly the full surrender to the Father's will that he has made in prayer many times. Here at the Jordan , Jesus offers himself unreservedly to his Father's plan. He pledges himself to the kingdom that John has heralded. In sublime intimacy the Son prays, “Take this, Father, it is yours.” He hands over to the Father all that he receives: his body, his energy, his desire, his relationships, his future. At the Jordan , at the proper time, the Son relives on earth his own unseen choice in eternity to become incarnate. His Father accepts his self-offering and blesses it with the epiphany that confirms the beloved Son's identity.
As Jesus undertakes his public ministry, right from the beginning he gathers a community from people who have little in common other than their friendship with Jesus and the willingness to risk being in his company. Jesus does not announce the kingdom as some exhilarating new ideology or political vision. Rather, he forms relationships and then sees to it that they form relationships with one another. And he gets them sharing in his own relationship, his own communion, with the Father. Today the Eucharistic table is the special place where the Father reaches out to his sons and daughters and where they seek the deep unity among themselves that they find occurs only when God is in their midst. In celebrating the Eucharist, Christians accompany Jesus and attend to his words and actions, and he forms the church in his paschal love just as he did with his first disciples.
Mary, Woman of the Eucharist, plays a role in this formation of Christ's followers into a Eucharistic community. Here this does not mean intuitions of their ritual participation in the Mass. Rather, it means learning a new way of being loved by God. Their souls are being awakened to tolerate and then to rejoice that Jesus comes not to be served but to serve. The Spirit is slowly instructing them in the language of God's heart, which speaks most eloquently in the silence of Good Friday. But, preparing for that day, Jesus brings his friends and coworkers home with him to Nazareth and to Mary. They have left home and livelihood to stay with him. They are good people. but they carry the soot of the world with them. Their hands and their hearts are stained with the grime of laboring in a world polluted by greed, prejudice, dishonesty, violence, and cynicism.
As if in a retreat in preparation for the work of the kingdom, the disciples notice the warmth of pure love between Jesus and his mother. The home at Nazareth serves as a chapel of adoration, of deep devotion, where the love that the graced human spirit is capable of becomes visible. In Jesus' relating with Mary, there is no hardness of heart, no defensiveness, no secrecy, no insecurity. The disciples could not have resisted being affected by the goodness of this mother and this Son. Long before Mary and John's presence on Calvary , Jesus is already drawing his friends into Mary's universal motherhood. At the same time, Mary quietly rejoices as she watches the glow of Trinitarian communion dawn in the lives of others. As the church begins to form, Mary joyfully waits at the center to share what she has received.
Eucharistic nuances continue to pervade Mary's discipleship of her Son, especially in her loyal, fearless participation in his death and resurrection. The full meaning of the Via Crucis opens up before people who contemplate it with Mary's eyes. Mary's consent to the angel at the annunciation reaches its climax in her yes beneath the cross, where her heart, united with her Son's, is in perfect obedience to the Father. Mary's obedience is not a horrified resignation to the inevitable, nor a resentful passivity in the face of something she desperately wants to alter. Mary cooperates in the sacrifice of Jesus. Indeed, as Jesus struggles toward the altar of the cross, Mary's spirit accompanies him with the prayer that nothing dissuade him from his goal. Whatever dark lies, taunts, or tortuous subtleties the tempter hurled at him in Gethsemane , Mary, in luminous contrast, gently urges him not to give up. Her intense love for Jesus cannot wish him to be other than who he is. In her Son's selfless desire to give himself away out of love, amid the horrific brutality of Calvary , Mary gazes upon the heart of the Trinity revealed in human history. Wondrously graced, she embraces both the incomparable grief of a woman who witnesses her son's execution and the awe of one who witnesses a compassion as vast as God himself.
Jesus gives forth his last breath, every last spark of energy in his being. For humanity's sake he surrenders to the Father all that he has and is, and Mary watches the birth of a New Covenant. In her excruciating sorrow there is an unshakable joy. What can possibly convey the significance of her tears shed that day? Hers are tears of pain and also overwhelming delight at a mystery so profound it takes an eternity to contemplate it. Mary does not impede or resist the cross of her Son. She lives and moves in the Spirit of the Father who hands over his beloved Son. Mary deeply comprehends the Trinity's sacrificial love.
She is the first human being to understand all that the Eucharistic sacrifice entails. Even more incredible, she prays for everyone to have the courage to approach the sacrifice of Jesus and with her to desire its fulfillment in a personal assent to Jesus' self-offering. The Eucharist derives its meaning and power from Jesus' passion, death, and resurrection. Mary teaches the church how to adore the Lord at the foot of the cross, where blood and water flowed from the Savior's pierced side. Jesus' disciples, even his closest friends, had to learn of the empty tomb before their despair turned to hope, but Mary is deeply consoled even as she cradles Jesus' lifeless body in her arms.
The resurrection and Pentecost show the redeeming power of the paschal mystery. So do present-day Eucharists. They do it not simply because Christ died on the cross, but because he lives now and forever, something our faith knows. Through her deep faith Mary is already disposed for Easter before her risen Son ever appears. For the faithful woman who can see more than loss and emptiness at Calvary , there is more than the silence of the grave. There is a confident communion with the Father, whose unwavering love Mary knows well. Her soul has felt the tender power of the Spirit bringing to birth what human imagination cannot fathom. Mary has learned well to trust in more than what her senses reveal. She is the authentic contemplative, familiar with the Spirit's movement, and it is not a spirit of despair. She remains a mother in those dark hours. She consoles and encourages the confused, disheartened disciples until the Paraclete fills their hearts with the light of Truth and with Pentecostal fire.
Deep faith in the Risen One sees more than any eyes can see. It sees that death itself is not the tragic loss it appears to be, but is the last measure of the prelude to the divine oratorio of eternal life. In the Eucharist, too, participants see and hear more than their senses perceive. The bread is no longer bread, the wine no longer wine, but the living presence of Jesus Christ, who makes of his members a living communion. It is Mary who leads the church to the Eucharistic Lord. Hers is no mere external presence or observance or performance. She is intimately involved in her Son's love for the world. Her heart comes to us with the Love that overflows the heart of God.
Sources
Pope John Paul II . Encyclical Letter Ecclesia de Eucharistia . 17 April 2003.
Corbon, Jean. The Wellspring of Worship , trans. Matthew J. O'Connell. NewYork:Paulist Press, 1988. Reprinted by Wipf and Stock Publishers.
Personal Prayer
In the context of the Eucharistic celebration, we might take up the following scripture passages for contemplation:
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From Centering Prayer to Christian Meditation
Ernest E. Larkin OCarm wrote for us last in July-August 2003. His address is St. Agnes Catholic Church; 1954 North 24th Street ; Phoenix , Arizona 85008 .
This paper is a bit of narrative theology, something of my personal journey over the last twenty-five or thirty years trying to practice meditation and contemplation. My account begins in midstream of my religious life, in the mid 1970s, with my introduction to centering prayer. Basically the journey has been from centering and centering prayer to Christian Meditation, the prayer discipline of John Main (+1982).
Three Ways to the Center
First, the point of departure. What do I mean by centering and centering prayer? These terms have become familiar and clearly defined today. It was not always so. Centering and centering prayer meant different things to different people in the 1960s and 1970s. An example is the article by Thomas E. Clarke SJ in the British journal The Way titled “Finding Grace at the Centre.” (1) The title may be familiar, because it named a collection of essays on centering prayer published by the Trappists in 1978 and again by Skylight Paths Publishing in 2002. The whole article was reprinted except for the last two pages, which at the time represented one of the chief contributions of the article.
So I have a quarrel with the editors for deleting the pages and not indicating they did so. Apparently they wanted to highlight the one form of centering prayer they were espousing in the booklet, and so dropped two other prayer forms that Clarke was presenting as ways to the center. In the article Clarke presented a philosophical exposition of centering and then posed the question: How does one make the journey to the center? His answer was threefold. The first way was classical centering prayer, the way of dark faith, which proceeds beyond images and concepts and seeks to rest in the indwelling God. The other two ways to the center used imagination and feelings; they were the prayer of images and fantasy and the practice of the examen of consciousness. All three were ways to the center, ways to dispose the soul for the great gift of contemplation. Together they offered a rich and broadly based prayer life.
Teachers of centering prayer should have applauded the connecting of centering prayer with other forms of active prayer. Centering prayer is contemplative in intent, but active in method, as are all forms of meditation. Centering prayer was not supposed to replace lectio divina, nor to become one's total prayer life. Centering prayer is a spiritual exercise to deepen one's whole spiritual life, animating, for example, the liturgy and one's devotions.
Connecting the three ways put flesh and blood on centering prayer by acknowledging that imagination and human effort can help in the process of centering. Clarke's paper stated a simple and even obvious fact, namely, that the search for contemplation, especially in beginnings, is not an abstract act; it invokes images and thoughts even while it strives to get beyond them. All three ways converge to the center. This was a welcome reminder in the early days of centering prayer.
I remember how the insight thrilled me. I talked about the distinctions with Father John Kane, a Redemptorist, who founded a contemplative house of prayer in Tucson , Arizona . We both agreed that the article was a breakthrough because it made room for the imagination at least in the beginnings of contemplative prayer. The search for contemplation was not restricted to forced abstract search; one did not have to empty the mind. Centering prayer was one way to contemplation and a good way, but it was not the only way. Clarke's article contextualized the search for contemplation and freed it from a one-track pursuit based on theoretical textbook definitions.
Before this time I had a philosophically correct but pastorally deficient understanding of contemplation as imageless prayer. I thought “Ignatian contemplation,” for example, which consists in reliving a gospel story, was a misnomer; the process was meditation, not contemplation. I did not cotton to Morton Kelsey's thesis that the imagination ruled the prayer practice in the church in the first millennium, and that abstract contemplation in the mode of John of the Cross was Johnny-come-lately in the second millennium. Kelsey argued this position in his popular The Other Side of Silence. To my mind, contemplation had no room for images; they belonged to discursive prayer, the way of meditation, which was a lesser species of mental prayer. But here was Tom Clarke connecting the imagination with centering, thereby broadening horizons in contemplative prayer.
The three ways of centering were a significant help to me. Two years earlier, in 1975, I had made a thirty-day Ignatian retreat and came away with the resolution to spend an hour each morning in mental prayer. I was faithful to the hour, but I lacked method. My prayer was amorphous. I read and reflected, I pondered, mused, stirred affections, and made resolutions. I also centered and sat for long periods of silence. But there was no particular order in my pondering. After two years of struggle to be faithful to the hour without a clear methodology, my prayer had became dry and difficult. I “white-knuckled” my prayer, holding on to the bench to fill out the hour. All this may have been a species of the determinada determinacion of Teresa of Avila, but it was probably closer to the “ zelus sine scientia corruit ” of St. Bernard: “Zeal without knowledge destroys.” How long could I hold on? Only the grace of God kept me from giving up on the hour.
My efforts in the hour were the same as my practice in the two daily periods of formal meditation in my Carmelite community over the years. These two periods were shorter, usually a half hour each, and I was able to handle them, though somewhat haphazardly. Because they were amorphous, I subsequently looked on them disparagingly. I thought I had wasted a lot of time in my mental prayer. I do not think that way now. I have come to take a more benign view. I realize with Woody Allen that ninety-five percent of life as well as of prayer is showing up. If we are there, putting in time with the Lord, the Lord will do the rest. We should not exaggerate the role of method.
But method helps. The three ways of Tom Clarke supplied a format for my contemplative prayer. I would do twenty minutes of classical centering prayer, twenty minutes of reflection on the day's readings, and then after Mass twenty minutes of journaling. I did not characterize the imaginative parts of my prayer—the biblical meditation and consciousness examen—as contemplative, but I saw them as part of my pursuit of contemplation. Moreover, the active prayers gave permission for elements of imagination to enter my centering prayer.
At this time I made a study of the prayer of St. Teresa of Avila in her early pre-mystical years to determine how she employed the imagination in her beginning contemplative prayer. (2) She later called this “practice of prayer” active recollection. In the paper I argued that the imagination played a significant role in her practice. Her prayer was her own making, hence active in form; but it was contemplative since her whole effort was to rest in the deep personal realization of the Divine Indwelling. This was her whole prayer. Teresa called it “re-presenting Christ within".
Commentators sometimes incorrectly interpret this phrase to mean the imaginative recall of some mystery in Christ's life, such as of his being scourged at the pillar. The imaginative recall is part of the prayer, but not its heart, since the recall is only the refocusing of the person in moments of wandering. The remembrance of an image from the passion serves the same function as the holy word in centering prayer. The holy word does not detract from the contemplative character of centering prayer any more than the image in active recollection.
I concluded my paper on Teresa by saying that her prayer was a mixture of imageless and imaged centering prayer. Today I agree that the term centering prayer should be reserved to the prayer of imageless dark faith. This primary thrust, however, leaves room for some imagination in the practice of this prayer.
Teresa's active recollection, which can rightly be called centering prayer, was both apophatic, that is, beyond imagining and thinking, and kataphatic, that is, with a role for the imagination. These insights into Teresa's prayer confirmed Clarke's suggestion and allowed me to accept a minor but real role for the imagination in my own practice and theorizing about contemplative prayer.
As late as the year 2000, I was still experimenting with a role for the imagination in my contemplative prayer. I was on another long retreat at the Camaldolese monastery at Big Sur in California . For five weeks I practiced Christian Meditation several times each day. I described three different experiences of my contemplative prayer in an article in Review for Religious in 2001. (3) Two of the patterns I reported engaged the imagination to a small extent. These points about the imagination and contemplation are not irrelevant; they continue to occupy the attention of writers. (4)
The Move to Christian Meditation
The centering and centering prayer so far described were the focus of my efforts at daily mental prayer for some fifteen years. I did not, however, practice it twice daily as was specified by Contemplative Outreach under the leadership of Thomas Keating. The two periods of twenty to thirty minutes, morning and evening, are essential for the discipline of centering prayer. These periods are catalysts for one's prayer life. They are like workouts in a physical-health regimen, and their role is to bring one's life to a deeper level in one's spirit. The outcome is the goal of contemplation in Carmelite terminology.
In the mid 1990s I switched my prayer practice to Christian Meditation, a similar but different form of centering developed by John Main, an Irish Benedictine from England . I did so mainly because I was not satisfied with my practice of classical centering prayer. Christian Meditation is promoted by the World Community for Christian Meditation, headed by Laurence Freeman osb . The major difference between centering prayer and Christian Meditation is the holy word versus the mantra. “Holy word” and “mantra” are not synonyms. Their difference specifies the two forms of contemplative prayer.
Christian Meditation repeats the mantra, usually the biblical prayer “ma-ra-na-tha,” which means “Come, Lord,” from the beginning to the end of the prayer. The holy word, on the other hand, is not repeated continuously, but only as needed to renew the consent to the Divine Presence. The holy word expresses the will of the person to rest quietly, silently, in the Lord. The mantra, on the other hand, carries the prayer. John Main does not tire of saying that the mantra is the prayer. It creates the silence that is emptiness and openness before God, the silence that invites the Divine Presence. The mantra nurtures the beatitude “Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God” (Mt 5:8). Purity of heart and contemplation are the two hinges of the door of the mantra. The mantra is not magic, but a simple device to shut down ordinary rational activity in favor of silence.
Since I switched my daily practice to Christian Meditation ten years ago, I have been faithful to the two times each day. My personal preference for Christian Meditation is not a condemnation of centering prayer; the same fruits and benefits are available in both forms. The choice of one or other of the two disciplines is a personal matter. I feel that centering prayer has a closer affinity with Teresa of Avila than with John of the Cross and that Christian Meditation has a closer affinity with John than with Teresa. I base these opinions on the similarity between active recollection and centering prayer, and a similarity of absolutes between the nada and the todo in John and the call to kenosis or self-emptying in Christian Meditation. In the final analysis the two approaches are more alike than different. For this reason I have studied them together and emphasized what is common to them. I have published several articles on the two forms, which I hope to gather into a book. The leaders in the two movements work closely together and see their ministries as parallel. One example of this close collaboration is a prayer center in Phoenix called the Cornerstone. It is sponsored by both movements, which share the same space in a former convent in the Carmelite parish of St. Agnes. The Cornerstone offers programs that are sometimes common to both groups and sometimes specific to one of them. It is lay organized and lay directed.
The Genius of Christian Meditation
I have come to see Christian Meditation as a companion piece, a “how to” addition to the teaching of St. John of the Cross on the passage from meditation to contemplation. This area is one of his specialties. He defines in precise terms both meditation and contemplation and why the transition from one state to the other can be difficult if not traumatic. Meditation for him is a rational activity, the work of the imagination and the discursive reason; it is active and self-directed. Contemplation is passive and receptive of the gift of the love and presence of God. The transition from one state to the other can be disturbing. Beginning contemplation may look like a step backward, even total loss. The old way of meditation is no longer appealing or even possible, and the new way of contemplation is not self-evident. The experience is the passive dark night of the senses. It is a great grace, but easily mistaken and open to misunderstanding. John gives his famous three signs to authenticate the state as well as detailed instruction on the conduct to be followed.
In discursive meditation one deals with concrete individual acts, striving to remove the bad ones and to promote good ones. So meditation is analyzing, evaluating, making choices and resolutions. The soul is like a windowpane, St. John says, and the work of meditation is to remove the smudges of bad habits and replace them with acts and habits that are bright with the light of Christ. The light of Christ is faith. The window pane is lighted up by faith-motivated activity. Over time the window becomes clear and the soul purified in the matter of concrete choices. The light of faith shines through with fullness, simplicity, and wholeness. This is the light of contemplation.
The light is always there, John of the Cross says. It is part of the state of grace. The perception of the light, however, is dependent on being rid of deliberate sinful habits. John writes as follows:
“This light is never lacking to the soul, but, because of creature forms and veils that weigh on it and cover it, the light is never infused. If individuals would eliminate these impediments and veils and live in pure nakedness and poverty of spirit, as we will explain later, their soul in its simplicity and purity would be immediately transformed into simple and pure Wisdom, the Son of God.” ( Ascent 2.15.4)
Thus these graces, when received, are “infused light and love,” that is, infused contemplation. The way of contemplation is self-awareness of this new state of being. One simply opens one's eyes and sees and basks in the love and presence of God.
At first there will be a going back and forth between meditation and contemplation. John of the Cross gives detailed advice on how to recognize the times for the one or the other, that is, when to continue to meditate and when to rest in the contemplative light and love. His teaching is renowned for its clarity and effectiveness for spiritual direction and retains its place in the life of every budding contemplative.
But it is a complicated teaching. Along comes John Main who sees meditation and contemplation in continuity with each other and as one process. The prayer or discipline of Christian Meditation is one dynamic that begins with the mantra and stays with it through multiple experiences of God's love. Contemplation is the awareness of Abba's love for me, who am bonded with the Son in the love of the Holy Spirit. The contemplative grows in the appreciation of this love and gets ever more deeply in touch with the knowledge and love that the Trinity showers on the world. There is communio , koinonia , participation in the reality of God and his creation. This communion is unitive knowledge, of subject and subject inhering in each other. It is not dualistic knowledge, from the outside, leaving subject and object apart from one another. It is not any particular psychological experience. There is at-oneness, a “common union” or communion, in which the Trinity and the human being enter into what Teresa of Avila called union, namely, “two things becoming one.”
Communion is the ontological reality; contemplation adds awareness and attention. Not every experience of Christian Meditation is infused contemplation such as John of the Cross has in mind. But every experience is communion and eventually will bring the fullness of contemplation.
The commitment to Christian Meditation is a commitment to a way of life. The way is always the same; it is the way of the mantra from beginning to end. The goal of the prayer is without limits. One stops saying the mantra only when one is reduced to silence. These are moments of special grace that John of the Cross calls “oblivion” (Living Flame 3.35). One resumes saying the mantra as soon as the silence is recognized, because that is the sign that the special mystical grace has passed.
John Main's program is one of utter simplicity. He does not stress, though he may acknowledge in theory, the abstract differences between meditation and contemplation or the different degrees of contemplation. But he treats them as one spiritual practice and says explicitly that meditation, meditative prayer, contemplation, and contemplative prayer are all synonyms. No need to be concerned about essences, he seems to say; the important thing is to grow in purity of heart and receptivity to divine grace. The journey is the same in both John of the Cross and John Main , but it is described from different viewpoints. The older John presents objective theology in the manner of the scholastics; the younger John has made the turn to the subject, and his exposition is experiential and practical.
Laurence Freeman remarks that John Main's purpose was to start people on the journey and let experience of the prayer teach the rest. The one task proposed is the mantra. The mantra does not deal with obstacles one by one or even supply building blocks for a spiritual edifice. It silences the mind, emptying it of its contents. The silence makes room for the Spirit to take over. “Be,” says John Main,” and you are in the Spirit.” (5)
The Spirit is already there with Father and Son in the Divine Indwelling. If the soul is silent and receptive, the Spirit will pray there beyond images and thoughts, in sighs too deep for words (Rm 8:26). The Spirit will do this because the soul is open and ready and God wants that mutual indwelling even more than the soul does who is sincerely seeking God. John Main's simple method frees the person so that the presence of the Trinity can come alive and be actualized. When there is space and freedom, the meditator is caught up in the prayer of Jesus. That prayer is the one and only prayer in the world since the Incarnation, because it is the love between Father and Son and envelops all of creation. Faithful meditators are woven into that salvific love.
The journey with the Son to the Father will traverse the stages of Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross. Christian Meditation will be the vehicle, the discipline to get one going and to help one stay on the path. These are astounding claims for Christian Meditation. Their justification is the beatitude “Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God” (Mt 5:8). The silence of the mantra produces the purity of heart, and the reward of purity of heart is the love of God, of people, and of the world found in the gift of contemplation.
How does silence accomplish this twofold task? By allowing one to escape from the false self by placing one beyond the toils of ego and the world it creates, by freeing one from the imprisonment of false desires. This healing produces purity of heart. The new freedom allows one to go deeper into the spirit, the domain of the Trinity. The reality of this state is primary and comes before awareness and appreciation. The reality is called communio or participation in the life of God; the awareness is contemplation. The Spirit will give us contemplation when we are ready.
Contemplation is thus the outcome of faithful practice of the mantra. Contemplation is the life of God received, the backdrop and engine of one's whole spiritual life. It is the life that animates one's community relationships, one's ministry, and one's prayer. The short definition is the realization of God's love for us, “the love of God poured forth in our hearts by the Holy Spirit, who is given us” (Rm 5:5). Contemplation is the outcome of a faithful life. It means claiming what was there from the beginning. It is the Abba experience of Jesus. In his human life Jesus was filled with the Father's presence and love. Certain events like the baptism or the transfiguration were climactic experiences of that love, but Jesus abided in that love always. He looked out upon the world bathed in the Father's love. He was the “beloved Son,” and in him the reign of God was established on the earth. That reign is the kingdom of God 's presence and love. It is the resurrection experience. It fills the world with the grandeur of God.
Christian Meditation promises this contemplation. Each practice will not necessarily bring forth a recognizable, reflexive experience of that love. But every exercise will put one a little more in touch with it and will be an experience of communion, of koinonia, of participation in that love. Transformation is taking place, slowly, incrementally, and the Christian is being formed in the Wisdom of God, the Son of God, in whom we live and move and have our being. Christian Meditation can indeed be one practical response of meditation and contemplation in our troubled times.
Notes
Reflection Questions
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Rekindling the Fire: Vocation Efforts
By Sean Sammon FMS, Marist Superior General. He writes from the congregation's generalate in Rome.
Dear Brothers and all who cherish the charism of Marcellin Champagnat,
It is early morning here in Rome . The last guests from Saturday evening's vigil celebration of the founder's feast have departed, the house is quiet, and the first hours of a new day are just beginning to unfold. What better time than the dawn of St. Marcellin's day to begin a letter to you about the awakening of vocations to his Little Brothers of Mary.
Please join me in this continuing effort, this continuing prayer. Like so many of you, I believe that God continues to move the hearts of young people and call them to a variety of vocations within our church. So let us pledge to do our best to foster their generous response, while concentrating our efforts on those called to our way of life and mission as Little Brothers of Mary. After all, our Marist Constitutions and Statutes reminds us that to do so is a sign of our vitality as an institute.
Awakening Vocations
Well-designed publications, attractive posters, lively and thoughtful presentations that deal with our life and ministry are all ways of cultivating vocations. They all help young people, their parents, and our church to have a better sense of who we are and what we do, and especially to learn something about what we cherish and hold dear. When all is said and done, however, isn't it actually the lives of thousands of brothers over the almost two-hundred-year history of our institute that are our most effective means to awaken vocations? And so your vocational tale and mine are good places to start if we want to understand more fully just what we are trying to do. It does no harm to ask ourselves from time to time what first brought us to the life of a Little Brother of Mary and what keeps us here.
My own story began when I met the small group of brothers who staffed the high school I attended in the heart of New York City . Even with the distance of years, I can still remember what it was about those men that captured my imagination and my heart. They were obviously religious people, and they appeared happy in their work together and in their commitment to it. There was a spirit of sacrifice among them that somehow appealed to my adolescent soul.
And there was passion. This element is at the heart of any vocation worth its salt. Though I may not have recognized it at the time, I realize now that there were some very passionate men in that small group of brothers. In retrospect I can see that, in their love for Jesus Christ and his Good News and for us their students, they shared with us some of the very qualities that our founder inspired in the young men we know today as François, Laurent, Jean-Baptiste, Dominique, and Louis-Marie. Even now I find myself surprised at how subtly God was at work in my life, though I surely would never have used that language when I was fourteen.
I have to say that I was blessed early in life to meet those men who took delight in helping a rather uncivilized crowd of young men to grow up and grow closer to God. These men—many were young themselves—were willing to waste time on us. Time, it was their only currency, and they shared it with us freely and generously. During the years since then, perhaps in imitation or through the mystery of grace, some of my happiest moments have been with young people, sharing their world, their hopes and dreams, their fears and concerns, their questions of faith.
Vocations for Mission and Not Survival
Vocation promotion should never be undertaken solely for survival. Nor is it simply a matter of numbers. Numbers are not necessarily a sign of viability, nor is age the best measure of vitality. Our zeal for mission, then, rather than a desire to survive “come what may,” must be our reason for awakening vocations. This tradition goes back to Father Champagnat. The ever unfolding tale of our institute records that Marcellin's visit to the bedside of a dying teenager is what persuaded him to found a community of brothers with this aim: to proclaim God's Good News to poor children and young people. We know the story well. Discovering that Jean-Baptiste Mongagne knew nothing about his faith, Marcellin instructed him, administered what were then called “the last sacraments,” and went on his way. Returning a short while later, he discovered that the lad had died.
I have often wondered about our founder's thoughts and feelings as he returned home to Lavalla that evening. We can imagine his pace quickening. We know that almost immediately upon his arrival he met Jean-Marie Granjon, who had been a grenadier in Napoleon's army. Picture their conversation taking place on the bridge near what today is the Hermitage. For Marcellin the mission was clear, the reasons for founding a community of brothers evident. As they talked on that bridge, our founder's passion convinced the former soldier to join him and give his heart to a corporate adventure soon to be known as the Little Brothers of Mary.
Marcellin loved the children and young people of his day. More than once he said, “I cannot see children without wanting to tell them how much Jesus Christ loves them, and how much I love them.” In today's world many children and young people are the victims of war, human trafficking, and the streets. Denied an education and other basic human rights, they are in desperate need of hearing God's Good News. And so, I ask you, do you believe as I do that the mission of our institute is as urgent today as it was in Marcellin's day, and that it will remain so for the foreseeable future? If you do, then let us agree that the awakening of new vocations can no longer be a sideline attraction for you or for me. Instead, we need to develop a plan for promoting vocations and then put that plan into action.
A First Set of Challenges
A few challenges before we go on. First, a challenge to my brothers in the institute. If you and I want to make vocation promotion a top priority, most if not all of us will need to arrange our other commitments so as to free up twenty percent of our best time for that work. Why twenty percent? Because there is a lot to learn and a great deal of work to be done. We can all beg off, citing good reasons not to get involved. Lack of time, the demands of ministry, age—who among us has not heard that litany before? But, if you and I want a future for the mission and life of our institute, we need to avoid making excuses and, instead, commit ourselves enthusiastically to promoting vocations.
And now a word to my lay partners. I ask you to join us in our efforts to educate parents, the young people in your care and ours, and the church at large about who we Little Brothers of Mary are, what our life is, and what our ministries are. You know us and know what we cherish and hold dear. Help others come to know us as you do. And help us, too, by inviting young people to consider making our way of life their own. I have no hesitation in asking you to give these efforts top priority. All who share our founder's charism should eagerly promote vocations to the brotherhood he established. God's Good News remains to be proclaimed to more children and young people than we might imagine.
And what happens if all of us—brothers and lay partners alike—decide not to make vocation promotion a major concern and not to give enough time to this important ministry? What are the consequences? Some would say that a failure to act and act decisively would diminish the probability of a vital and vibrant future for our way of life and ministry. Others would be harsher. If we fail to act, they would tell us, we probably do not deserve a future.
In 1822 Marcellin Champagnat faced a vocation crisis, the first in the history of our institute. And how did he respond? By taking action, beginning with his pilgrimage to the chapel of Our Lady of Pity. We do well today to follow his example. Today more than a few people use the term vocation culture to describe an environment in which a call or vocation can take root and flourish. You and I can foster such a culture by believing that vocations to Marcellin's Little Brothers of Mary exist today and that with God's grace and our human efforts we can find and cultivate them.
A Pastoral Plan for Awakening Vocations
A pastoral plan to awaken vocations can help us awaken vocations to our way of life and ministry. A number of provinces and districts already have a well-designed plan in place. Time will tell of its effectiveness. Other provinces and districts can take time or make time to develop a plan. The plan should be comprehensive and include in its details the province or district, all the members, each community, and every ministry—and, of course, all the others who share Marcellin's charism and want to help promote vocations.
In drawing up any plan, you and I are better off concentrating on what can be done rather than lamenting things we cannot change. In some parts of the world, for example, families are smaller than in the past, young people have far more vocational options to consider, and they may make their life commitments at a later age. Neither you nor I can do much to alter these realities. We can, though, invite young men to our way of life and ministry once again, and we can open our homes and hearts to them. We can also help them and others to understand all that has happened in religious life and in our institute during the forty years since Vatican Council ii. Let us do what we can, and not keep wringing our hands about what we cannot change.
In making plans we must be sure they are adapted to the culture in which we live. A universal pastoral plan for vocations is unrealistic. Differences exist between regions, and customs vary. What is quite acceptable in one part of our world is looked upon with suspicion in another. And so I offer below just a few ideas to get your thinking started. Be as creative as you can. And do not forget to include in the plan exactly what you plan to do personally.
a. Province or District : Provinces and districts should have at least one full-time vocation promoter, but everyone should promote vocations. The full-time promoter should help the others to do what they can. There should be a well-designed program that explains contemporary religious life to lay men and women. Some of our brothers will tell you that they feel shaken by the changes in our way of life during the last four decades. In that case, just imagine how shaken the average Catholic may be. In some countries, for example, people feel betrayed and confused about why we no longer staff the local school and do not live in the brothers' house next to the church. A good program could clarify the reasons behind such changes. It could also show that everyone—the laity, bishops and priests, and men and women religious themselves—has a responsibility for recruiting new members for religious congregations. Some among these groups appear reluctant to do so. I cannot help believing that such reluctance may stem from a lack of understanding about our life today.
Catholic parents deserve special attention. At one time they were great allies of ours in awakening vocations. Today many parents are confused about religious life, about why and how people are still living it. Where their trust has been eroded, we must work to restore it and enlist their aid once again.
Our program could include offering an adult education course in a local parish, or as in-service training for faculties in our schools, or as part of parent-teacher conferences, or as an Advent or Lenten series. Some could write articles for their parish bulletin or diocesan newspaper. Others could say a few words during or at the end of Mass on Sunday. The means are not quite as important as the message: our life and mission as brothers is alive and well and ready to receive new members.
The work described above could be coordinated by the full-time province vocation promoter. He should not, however, take on these tasks for a local community simply because its members do not want to. His time is better spent persuading them that the tasks mentioned are rightly theirs and that they have the resources to accomplish them. Finally, the media and the internet, where available, have great potential to awaken vocations. Where a province web page exists, the vocation promoter should make sure that the topic of vocations appears on it and is effectively presented.
b. Local Communities : Local communities have many opportunities to promote vocations. First of all, though, they should as a group agree to a common plan that ensures that their work will be effective and that nothing will be uselessly duplicated. Prayer must be part of any community's plan. Along with this, three or four times a year a community might invite groups of young people from their school or parish to an open house that is focused on religious life. Such a visit, particularly if it is well planned, can communicate more about religious life than a series of lectures would.
Another community might invite parishioners of all ages for a time of prayer, some refreshments, and some friendly conversation, particularly about religious vocations. Many people are willing and ready to participate and help, but they need to be asked. A brother's involvement in a parish's youth ministry program can be the occasion for young people to learn more about brothers and their life. Lay people involved in youth ministry, especially if they know us well, can also raise the topic or answer questions the young may have about religious life.
A community might also arrange to print a pamphlet describing our life and mission and place it in the vestibule of the local parish church. In places where the local newspaper or television station does human-interest pieces, one or two members of the community could commit themselves to write an article or be interviewed about our life and ministry.
c. Our Works : Visibility! That should be the yardstick for measuring efforts to promote vocations in the institutions where we serve. Posters, pamphlets, days set aside to present the history, life, and mission of the Little Brothers of Mary—all these should be regular fare in any school or social-service project in which we are involved. Our colleagues and those whom we serve should know clearly just what it means to be one of Marcellin's brothers.
While being happily aware that our schools, parishes, and agencies touch others' lives well beyond themselves, we must not overlook those with whom we share ministry. There may, for example, be lay faculty members in our schools who have given thought to religious life and our life in particular, but just do not know how to bring up the subject. We should make sure that opportunities exist to discuss the matter, and that they exist in abundance.
d. Each Brother and Lay Partner : If you asked me to suggest one thing that you as individuals could do to promote vocations, I would answer immediately: Invite young men that you know to think about making our life and ministry their own. Such an invitation by a brother is the factor mentioned most often by young persons and by those further along in years as well. So I say to my brothers: Awaken vocations, find persons who in good time can replace yourselves. And to my lay partners I say: Awaken vocations so as to ensure a vibrant partnership between brothers and yourselves. Without enough brothers, partnership with you is not possible. To all, I offer this reminder: Personal prayer is most important. So pray for those who have religious life on their minds. Pray for them daily. Pray for them by name.
If writing is your gift, put it to good use by writing about our life and mission. And if music, or art, or the media world is your passion, use it to awaken vocations. Teach about our life if teaching is your talent; encourage vocations if your gift is to motivate people. Above all, be creative in planning to awaken vocations. Keep asking yourselves how to use your God-given skills to promote vocations. Give twenty percent of your best time to the effort, and do not forget to invite.
Blessings and affection,
Seán D. Sammon FMS
Superior General
Reflection Questions
Spend some time thinking about young people that you know. They might be members of your family, the children of friends, students, those with whom you work in ministry, young people in the parish, or elsewhere. Once you have spent some time thinking about the young people in your life, please turn your attention to the questions below.
Spend some time thinking about what you might do individually to awaken vocations during this year ahead. What skills can you bring to the task, what will be helpful to young people, particularly those with an interest in our Institute, how can you best convey the many dimensions of our life rather than one or another? Yes, take some time to pray, seek to understand what God is asking of you this year in terms of awakening vocations, and then turn your attention to the questions below.
Is there a way you can combine your efforts with others to have even greater influence awakening vocations during this time of grace? Please explain.
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Community Chapters: Seven Personal Beliefs
By Melannie Svoboda SND, provincial of the Sisters of Notre Dame of Chardon, Ohio, who presented this material as part of the opening of their chapter of December 2003. Her address is 13000 Auburn Road; Chardon, Ohio 44024.
From
the 64.3 issue of Review for Religious
My personal beliefs about this chapter we are beginning amount to seven, the
perfect biblical number.
1. This chapter won't be easy. I say this not because I have some secret knowledge
of what will transpire here these next few days. I say it because this chapter
is a part of life and life is not easy. As we know, in the Bible the primary
image of life is a journey, and any journey is fraught with difficulties. It
takes courage even to embark on a journey, because we must leave where we are,
we must let go of the known. We cannot start on a journey and stay put at the
same time. Once we have taken to the road, we must negotiate unexpected turns,
steer clear of dangerous potholes, plan regular "pit stops," devise
detours around roadblocks, interpret road signs, and check the fuel gauge regularly.
(Recently I saw a cartoon of two men walking away from their car. They had run
out of gas. One man says to the other, "I thought the E meant Enough!" It is one thing to see signs, another to interpret them correctly!) Journeying
is hard work. Small wonder that we are often tempted to forsake the life journey
by going back into the past (it is familiar and feels safe), by stopping altogether,
or by taking a side road that is easier but leads to no place worth going.
At this chapter let us recommit ourselves to the hard work of daily living,
to the hard work of our earthly journeying. And let us commit ourselves to the
hard work of this particular chapter-four days of undeniable self-discipline,
the discipline of sitting, listening, speaking, praying, discerning, waiting
in line. Talk about modern asceticism!
2. This chapter will be fun. It will be fun because we are here --- and just
look at us! What a unique group we are! Has God got a sense of humor or what?
This chapter will be fun because where we are there is bound to be some joy
and laughter. When we did the recent interviews for the Appreciative Inquiry,
how many of us said that one reason we were drawn to the Sisters of Notre Dame
in the first place was their joyfulness! This chapter will be fun also because
the planning committee has thought up some fun activities for us to do. But,
most of all, it will be fun because we know who is ultimately in charge of this
chapter. Not me, not our facilitator, but God! Yes, at this chapter we will
discuss some serious issues. Yes, we will make some serious decisions. Yes,
there may even be a few tears as we try to express what is deepest in our hearts.
But I hope we will do the work of this chapter with a lightness of heart that
comes from our charism: that deep experience of God's goodness and provident
care.
Jesus is at this chapter. Maybe we should have made a folder with his name on
it. Jesus is here in word, in sacrament, in each other. It is in Jesus' name
that we are gathered here, and, as Jesus promised, "Where two or three
are gathered in my name, there I will be!" Jesus is with us. Emmanuel.
That fact cannot help but bring smiles to our faces!
3. This chapter needs me. This chapter needs every sister regardless of her
age, education, health, ministry, temperament, background, mood. It needs every
sister regardless of her chosen level of participation. In the name of all of
us, then, I welcome every sister to speak. And I welcome every sister to listen
and to pray. Throughout these days we will have times of formal discussion.
But we will also have times of informal sharing as we gather around the coffee
urn, eat lunch together, meet in the hall, or ride back and forth in a car.
The Spirit can use even these times to move hearts. Perhaps I may never say
anything at the open mike, but I can still influence this chapter by something
I say in my small group or even while standing in line for the restroom.
4. This chapter must be rooted in the real world. God is found only in the real
world-not some fantasy world of our own making. No, in the real world. And what
does the real world look like? First of all, it is a world of incomparable beauty-from
stars to snowflakes, roses to mountains, sunsets to the Grand Canyon. So much
beauty! It is a world filled with innumerable people of goodwill-in all lands,
in all cultures-people who live their lives with faith and love. But the real
world is also a world steeped in war and violence. Historians tell us the 20th
century was the bloodiest century in human history. Ours is a world of the obscenely
unfair distribution of the world's limited resources-where 1.2 billion people
live on less than one dollar a day. The Jesuit Jon Sobrino calls this reality
a "macro blasphemy." It is a world filled with hunger, poverty, greed,
corruption, and wanton disregard for the sanctity of human life. I could go
on.
But, the fact remains, this is the world into which Jesus was born over two
thousand years ago, the world in which he still lives. And it is the world he
calls us to serve today. This chapter, therefore, must acknowledge both the
beauty and the ugliness of the real world. It must take into consideration both
the light and the darkness in the world-the world not only out there, but the
world in here, in our community and in our own hearts. We began our chapter
with a reconciliation service. That was no accident. May forgiveness and reconciliation
be an underlying theme of everything we do here these days-and beyond.
5. This chapter can't do everything, but it must do something. When we contemplate
all the needs of the world, we can become overwhelmed. So many voices crying
out for help! Yet our resources are so limited. At times the incessant cry of
the poor can even paralyze us. We can find ourselves crying, "We can't
do everything!" And that is true. We cannot. But, for God's sake, let us
do something. I believe this chapter will do something. I do not know what,
but it will. That something might be the passing of a proposal dear to my heart-or
the defeat of one I cherish. Maybe this chapter will result in a single step
in a new direction or an old one. Or maybe this chapter will begin to name the
content of our next province plan, the focus of future province summer assemblies,
or the agenda for the next provincial leadership team.
Whatever this chapter does, I hope and pray it will result in some definite
corporate movement forward. But I also hope this chapter will challenge me on
a deeply personal level. I hope it will make demands upon me, stretch my thinking,
and cause me to question some of my daily choices-and cause me to alter them
in perhaps subtle but very real ways.
6. This chapter will not be perfect. That is because we are not perfect. And
imperfect people do not a perfect chapter make! Sometimes I hear sisters say, "I don't expect much from this chapter, because all we do is talk about
the same stuff over and over again. I'm tired of it!" Well, I'm not! I
am not tired of the fact that we often end up talking about the "same stuff"-like
community, ministry, prayer, the vows, mission. I am not surprised or disappointed
either, because that "stuff" lies at the very core of our identity
as women religious. The way I see it, we will always be talking about these
things-we should be! Why? Because we are on a journey, and, as we go forward,
life will continuously challenge our understanding of who we are and what we
should be about.
Could we ever exhaust the topic of prayer? No. Will we ever be "finished"
with mission? No. Will we ever be able to say, "Well, we have no more problems
with community living." Or, "Well, we've got poverty down pat now,
so let's move on to something else. How about chastity?" No. In the novel
The Secret Life of Bees, August, a middle-aged black woman, says to the little
girl Lily, "There is nothing perfect. There is only life." We could
say something similar: there is no perfect chapter. There is only this chapter.
The feast of Christmas reminds us that Jesus came into our broken and messy
world. He did not wait for the ideal time to come. Let us not let our hopes
for the ideal chapter prevent us from doing something good with this real one.
7. This chapter must be about loving. Let there be no mistake: we are gathered
here these four days for one purpose only: to become better lovers. That is
the bottom line. This chapter must help us to love better the incredible God
who seduced each one of us into making a lifelong commitment of "chastity,
poverty, and obedience according to the spirit and content of the Constitutions
of the Sisters of Notre Dame." God seduced us. I know of no better word
to describe the experience we all underwent. As consecrated religious we have
the duty to keep ourselves in this ardent, passionate, and dangerous state of
loving.
May this chapter rekindle our wholehearted and reckless love for God, for Jesus.
May it remind us that we are partners with Jesus in his mission-not because
we have signed up for a cause, but because we have said a loving yes to a person.
May this chapter rekindle our love for the church. Oh, the church! Our poor,
poor church! The terrible scandals! The unspeakable crimes! The betrayal, the
deceit! But may we remember that this church is still our church. It is still
Christ's church. As Archbishop Sean O'Malley, of Boston, said at his installation
ceremony, "though we are living through a sad chapter in the church's history,
we must recall that it is a chapter, not the whole book!" And then he said
these profound words: "We come here today to ask God to make our pain redemptive." What fitting words for us, as Sisters of Notre Dame who have a 153-year-old
history of being marked by the cross and a 153-year-old tradition of loyalty
to the church.
And, finally, may this chapter rekindle our love and devotion to one another.
May it remind us that, by making our vows, we have bound ourselves to one another
for the term of our whole lives. We have promised to live religious life not
in the abstract, but within this particular, concrete congregation, the Sisters
of Notre Dame. For most of us that means being embedded in the province of Christ
the King of Chardon, Ohio. We live in a culture that deifies privacy, individualism,
and control of one's destiny. Such a culture desperately needs our witness of
community, the witness of diverse individuals living and working together-selflessly
and joyfully-in Jesus' name to bring about the kingdom of God.
My final prayer is a simple one. May this chapter rekindle in us the hope-filled
daring of St. Julie, of Sister Aloysia, and of those countless sisters who have
gone before us. And may our hope-filled daring be an inspiration for those Sisters
of Notre Dame who will come after us-in whatever country they may be. In his
apostolic exhortation Vita consecrata (§110), Pope John Paul says these
words to us: "You have not only a glorious history to remember and recount,
but also a great history to be accomplished." May this chapter be one small
step toward the accomplishment of that great history.
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Living
in Community: Continuing the Conversation
By Doris Gottemoeller RSM who last wrote for us in our 62.2 issue of 2003.
Her address remains Catholic Healthcare Partners; 615 Elsinore Place; Cincinnati,
Ohio 45202.
From the 64.3 issue of Review For Religious.
Six years ago I published an article titled "Living in Community: Beginning
the Conversation." In it I suggested that the unwillingness or inability
of contemporary religious congregations to discuss this aspect of our way of
life may well be our Achilles' heel, the point of vulnerability that diminishes
our integrity and threatens our future. The article included some definitions,
theological underpinnings for community living, supportive spiritual practices,
reflections on the role of leadership in creating and sustaining community,
and some special challenges. (1)
The dozens of responses to this article that I received from readers in the
United States and abroad convince me that I touched on a neuralgic point. I
would say the responses fall into three categories: (1) Yes, you have touched
on a vital topic, tell us what to do; (2) Yes, you have touched on a vital topic,
but it is too late --- we have lost too much to ever regain a commitment to
community living; and (3) No, you do not know what you are talking about; it
is the wrong issue and the wrong premise. In these pages I would like to dialogue
with these groups.
"Tell Us What to Do"
The first two groups affirm the significance of community living, but seek direction
for its revitalization, so I will respond to them together. Several authors
offer helpful insights. In a talk given to the National Religious Vocation Conference
Study Days in September 1999, Nancy Schreck OSF addressed "The forces that
push us toward and pull us away from community." (2) She begins with the
assumption that community involves persons living together in shared space with
shared resources, not in order to re-create family relationships, but in order
to create the possibility of a radical following of Jesus. She develops a force
field analysis in which competing forces or energies impinge on the reality
of community. The driving forces that she identifies include cosmic awareness,
the struggle with diversity, the need for prophetic witness, the action of the
Spirit, the identity of religious life, mission effectiveness, a new desire
in the members, the desire of new members, and limited resources. The forces
that move against community include paradigm paralysis, U.S. mainstream culture,
patriarchal influence, drift, lowest-common-denominator performance, adjustments
made in good faith, lack of need, lack of energy, community as an event, ability
of members, public witness, the asceticism of personal growth, and participation
in multiple communities. This is not the place to analyze these competing forces.
They are, however, part of the ambiance of religious life today, and have to
be taken into consideration in any effort to energize community living. Her
article could be a wonderful starting point for a conversation in any local
community or congregation.
Another analysis of the current reality comes from women religious under fifty
in their newsletter Giving Voice. The December 1999 issue addresses this
topic in a number of thoughtful reflections. (3) The editor, Jan Hayes rsm,
reports that the editorial team received "an avalanche" of responses
to the questions: How do you define community? Does it include communal living
or doesn't it? What is your experience of communal living? What is it that you
bring to group living situations? What is it that you need? Does communal living
add to the vitality of the larger community or doesn't it? Is communal living
still an integral part of religious life? Space precludes summarizing all of
the excellent contributions on this issue, both in the articles and in the comments
received from e-mails and letters to the editor. The overall tenor of the contributions,
however, affirms the centrality of communal living to the sisters' understanding
of their vocation and their desire to grow in this dimension of their life.
The sociologist Mary Johnson sndden addressed the issue in these pages in her
article titled "Bowling Alone, Living Alone: Current Social Contexts for
Living the Vows." (4) She responds to an article by Robert D. Putnam titled
"Bowling Alone: America's Declining Social Capital" (5) and to my
earlier article. Putnam's thesis is that there has been a loosening of communal
bonds across U.S. society in the last thirty years. His provocative title comes
from his observation that persons tend to bowl alone or in small groups today,
rather than joining leagues, which require regular attendance. He has presented
this viewpoint in White House conferences and national workshops and in other
publications as well, and he has been quoted frequently. In Putnam's analysis,
communal bonds, norms, and networks constitute "social capital" that
facilitates coordination and cooperation for mutual benefit. He cites evidence
of decline in religious involvement, labor-union membership, involvement in
parent-teacher associations, and volunteering in civic, fraternal, and women's
organizations like the Red Cross, the Boy Scouts, the Shriners, the Jaycees,
and the League of Women Voters. He acknowledges that groups like the Sierra
Club, the National Organization for Women, and the American Association of Retired
Persons have seen a dramatic rise in membership in recent decades. But, as Johnson
notes, while the political clout of these organizations is considerable, the
nature of involvement is vastly different from the organizations discussed previously.
Putnam says: "For the vast majority of their members (Sierra, now, aarp,
and so forth), the only act of membership consists of writing a check for dues
or perhaps occasionally reading a newsletter. Their ties, in short, are to common
symbols, common leaders, and perhaps common ideals, but not to one another.
From the point of view of social connectedness, the Environmental Defense Fund
and a bowling league are just not in the same category."
Similarly, Johnson adds, "a group of friends that meets quarterly, a prayer
group that meets monthly, and a support group that meets weekly are just not
in the same category as a community that lives under the same roof and interacts
daily." Johnson goes on to compare the loosening of communal bonds in American
society to the same phenomenon in women's religious life. As evidence she cites
research findings, funded by the Lilly Foundation, from a national survey of
women who entered apostolic, monastic, and evangelical orders since 1965. Her
data, based on responses from 70 percent of the women's institutes (whose membership
constitutes 84 percent of the sisters in the United States), indicate that 69
percent of religious houses consist of one or two sisters. When asked "If
you had your preference right now, with how many sisters would you prefer to
live?" these post-Vatican ii sisters responded as follows: with none (11%);
with one other sister (14%), with two other sisters (12%); in a group of 4-7
sisters (45%); in a group of 8-10 sisters (6%); in a group of 11-15 sisters
(2%); in a group of 16-20 sisters (4%); in a group of more than 20 sisters (6%).
The gap between what sisters experience and what they would prefer is intriguing.
No doubt the restraining forces cited by Schreck above would help explain the
disparity. There is much more in Johnson's article, but overall she believes
that "the work of sharply defining and rebuilding community is essential
to the mission and future of apostolic religious life in the United States and
other nations where religious life struggles to free itself from the hegemonic
hold of middle-class values." This probably summarizes the opinion of most
of the respondents in this first group. Now to another viewpoint.
"Wrong Issue, Wrong Premise"
The most explicit argument is voiced by Barbara Fiand SNDDeN in Refocusing
the Vision: Religious Life into the Future. (6) In chapter 4 she differs
strongly with Johnson and me (pp. 147-149). Citing both of our articles, she
accuses us of a bias toward living together and a "high-handed" rejection
of other experiences, saying that something new is evolving from the grassroots
which needs to be taken into consideration. Because of the diversity of living
situations today, she says, "the whole tenor of what used to be called
'community living' has changed." She adds that the alleged desire of potential
new members for residential community living needs to be probed further lest
it be mistaken for an adequate reason for becoming a religious. Finally, she
suggests that Johnson's bias toward community living prejudices her as a professional
investigator.
Fiand seems to believe --- as do others with whom I have spoken --- that promoting
communal living today would be an example of restorationism, a regrettable regression
into some prerenewal version of religious life. It is regarded as giving way
to nostalgia, a selective memory about the benefits and joys of living together.
Nostalgia screens out, she says, the struggles and dysfunctions that were part
of the reality. In response I would suggest that to restore an earlier practice
with a renewed understanding of its value and with suitable adaptation to changing
circumstances can be a valuable retrieval.
Others object to efforts to restore community living on historical grounds.
They charge that women religious lived "in community" only because
the hierarchical church imposed this on us. Or, similarly, they say that something
which was essential to monastic life was inappropriately required of evangelical
and apostolic religious life as well. This objection would require substantial
historical research. Investigation would probably show, for example, that the
Council of Trent's effort to insist on cloister for women's religious orders
was widely resisted, as much by bishops as by women themselves, since the works
entrusted to them required the ability to be out and among the people. Cloister
or papal enclosure, of course, is not what today's supporters of communal living
envision for their apostolic lives. Investigation would probably also show that
various founders from the 16th century to the present have had different ideas
about the significance and modality of community living, and so the research
would need to make a congregation-by-congregation review.
The most neuralgic point in any discussion of community living is whether a
congregation should express and promote any norms around living "in common," that is, in groups of two or more. The most helpful resource here is Sandra
Schneiders IHM's treatment of the issue in Selling All: Commitment, Consecrated
Celibacy, and Community in Catholic Religious Life. (7) The premise and
context of her discussion is life in a "mobile ministerial religious congregation."
Her thesis is that community life, "an intrinsic and constitutive dimension
of ministerial religious life, is theologically necessary for all members of
the congregation, but that it can be embodied on the personal level in a plurality
of lifestyles, both group and individual, which are related to each other as
equally valid variations, not as legitimate to aberration, normative to exceptional,
or superior to inferior" (p. 350, italics added). Specifically, she discusses
congregational group living (pp. 317-330) and three varieties of individual
living. She defines each and spells out the circumstances which may prompt it
and the major advantages and challenges each brings.
The three forms of individual living are living singly (pp. 330-335), living
alone (pp. 336-339), and living in solitude (pp. 339-349). The first is the
case of someone who would not choose individual living, but is compelled to
do so by educational, ministerial, or personal responsibilities (such as the
care of aging parents). When the circumstances change, persons in this category
are likely to return to group living. The second is the case of someone who
is self-marginalized, on a sort of exclaustration without going through the
formalities. This is the person who probably has not been seen at a community
event in anyone's memory.
The third form of individual living is the case of persons who seek and choose
solitude for their own spiritual development and psychological health. Schneiders
describes them as neither alienated nor estranged, but deeply committed and
actively involved, perhaps even holding congregational leadership posts. They
are fully accountable to congregational leadership in regard to finances, ministry,
and personal lifestyle; they are frequently involved in very demanding ministries;
they are actively committed to the justice agenda.
My observation about sisters in this third category is that they are the very
persons with whom I would like to share community living and that, for every
one of them who opts for solitary living, there is one less companion available
to those who desire healthy group living. And so I do not agree with Schneiders
that the choice to live individually is without consequence for the rest of
the group, or that a norm favoring group living would be inappropriate. Each
member's choice enlarges or diminishes options for others. The more often healthy
and active sisters choose to live alone, the more the impression may be given
that those who choose to live together are immature, dependent, and nonrenewed.
Creating the Future
What are some considerations for sisters who want to break through the hesitancy
and silence that surround the issue of community living? Here are four suggestions.
First, the venue for choice of a norm around community living is the congregational
chapter. By the very nature of what is involved-an authoritative interpretation
of the commitment to community-an individual sister or small group of sisters
cannot be determinative. As with any norm, interpretations in specific cases
and exceptions for specific individuals can be made by the leadership. This
authority to interpret the Rule and to apply it in specific circumstances is
one of the highest obligations of leadership. If done sensitively and consistently,
it will build up the common good and respond to individual needs. Exceptions,
then, will not detract from the clarity of the ideal embraced by the membership
and the good-faith efforts to strive toward the ideal.
Second, congregations will legitimately differ in their interpretation of their
commitment. Their history, traditions, and present circumstances may prompt
some to choose the norm of living in common, others of living singly, and others
of honoring individual choice. Clarity about what the normative interpretation
of community is may lead to less diversity in lifestyle within a congregation
and more diversity among congregations. This clarity should be valuable in describing
a congregation to the larger church and to potential new members.
Third, in discerning their choice around community living, each congregation
should factor in how its choice influences its practice of poverty, of obedience,
of celibacy, of prayer, and of ministry. Each of these elements of religious
life is meant to interact with the others to create a synergistic whole. How
is a communal spirituality built up through the daily efforts of the members?
How is the sharing of goods implied by poverty realized in practice? And so
forth. In a way the manner of community living chosen creates a template for
the realization of each of the other elements. The discernment should also project
the possible impact of the choice into the future. What will be the possible
impact of the congregation's present choice a generation from now?
Fourth, the congregation's choice of a norm around community living must be
supported by appropriate resources, both material and spiritual. If it is true
that forty-five percent of sisters desire to live in groups of four to seven,
and this is consistent with the congregation's norm, then housing must be found
to make that possible. The loss of parish convents is one of the factors that
led to the drift into individual living, and apartments will seldom accommodate
more than two people. Of course, the investment in living space requires a good-faith
commitment on the part of groups to use the space. Congregational leadership
has to invite and promote the dialogues that lead to these choices. Leaders
also have to make available other resources, such as materials for group prayer
and ritual, occasional group facilitation, intervention in crisis situations,
and a general climate of encouragement and support.
The intention in pursuing this conversation is not to simplify what is a very
complex issue, having historical, cultural, sociological, and theological dimensions.
Nor is it to minimize the experience of anyone living religious life today.
Rather, the purpose is to call attention to a principal dimension of religious
life and to invite a corporate discernment. Few questions cut closer to the
reality of a congregation's identity than its norm or lack of norm around community
living.
Attempts at dialogue are sometimes stalled by the prospect of choosing between
ministry and community living, with the assumptions that members cannot be expected
to bring energy to both and that ministry is to be preferred. A better perspective
would be to view both ministry and community as equally valuable expressions
of mission, each strengthening the other. The presence of adults living together
in simplicity and harmony, sharing prayer, hospitality, and the duties and struggles
of daily living, is an uncommon and striking witness to the power of the gospel
and the dynamism of a congregation's charism, so much so that it deserves to
be called a prophetic stance.
Six years ago I closed with the phrase that is the subtitle of the Vatican document
on community, "The Love of Christ Gathers Us into Unity." This phrase
captures the motive and dynamism of community life. Only the love of Christ
is enough to support and sustain this way of life. Love attracts and gathers
us. The process is never finished, always calling us to greater unity, greater
generosity, greater zeal. We will all fall short of this ideal, but it is one
that will never be approached unless it is articulated in behavioral expectations
appropriate to a congregation's charism and mission.
Notes
1 Review for Religious 58, no. 2 (March-April 1999): 137-149. See also
my article "Community and Communion: Making the Connections," Review
for Religious 60, No. 2 (March-April 2001): 139-151.
2 Horizon, Spring 2000, 7-15.
3 Giving Voice 1, No. 3 (December 1999). Contributors include Denise
Starkley OP, "Community: An Essential Part of Charism"; Rayleen Giannotti
RSM, "A Common Life and a Vibrant Spirituality"; Janice Bader CPPS,
"Commitment Grows through the 'Rubbing of Elbows'"; Debbie Wells CPPS,
"Generation Xers in Community: A Cultural Expert --- No Experience Necessary!";
and Kathy Wright SL, "Community Is for Mission."
4 Review for Religious 59, no. 2 (March-April 2000): 118-130.
5 Journal of Democracy 6, no. 1 (January 1995): 65-78.
6 Barbara Fiand SNdeN, Refocusing the Vision (New York: Crossroad Publishing
Co., 2001).
7 Sandra Schneiders IHM, Selling All, Vol. 2 of Religious Life in a New Millennium
(New York: Paulist Press, 2001).
Prayer:
Psalm 122:1-3, 6-9
I rejoiced because they said to me,
"We will go up to the house of the Lord."
And now we have set foot
within your gates, O Jerusalem-
Jerusalem, built as a city with compact unity.
Pray for the peace of Jerusalem!
May those who love you prosper!
May peace be within your walls,
prosperity in your buildings.
Because of my relatives and friends
I will say " Peace be within you!"
Because of the house of the Lord, our God,
I will pray for your good.
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By Bonaventure Stefun OFMCap, who writes this reflective article from St. Augustine Friary; 221-36th Street; Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 15201
From the 64.2 issue of Review for Religious
Only with
the beginnings of scholasticism in the 11th or 12th century was there a careful
and systematic distinguishing of sacraments from sacramentals. In 1274 the Council
of Lyons (DS 860) listed the church's seven sacraments. In earlier centuries,
preachers would include various actions in Christian life as grace-giving sacraments/sacramentals,
without contrasting them. One action of Christ commonly followed was his washing
of his disciples' feet at the Last Supper.
In an age when most travel was by foot, one would think that people would take
feet for granted --take them in stride and ignore them. Once people's feet developed
calluses, it would seem that they could go on forever with a minimum of care.
Paul blithely considered feet to be less majestic parts of the body, even though
essential for carrying the faith beyond the mountains. As insignificant as feet
would have seemed, people could not forget what the Master had done. One can
imagine Peter welcoming visitors to his place of abode with a basin and a towel.
Feet took on such an importance that washing guests' feet was seen as a kind
of sacrament in the church for hundreds of years.
Imagine how the concept of a body's importance may have developed in the early
church. First came the grueling crucifixion and then the gradual realization
of resurrection, both actions involving the Lord's body. What Jesus did in washing
the apostles' feet became a way of understanding his resurrection, for it was
a complete and natural demonstration of his incarnation, his embodied life on
earth. His concern for a lowly part of the human anatomy reminds us that his
own mortality came from his human makeup. Disciples could simply follow footsteps
into the theology of a Lord who could die and then be raised from the dead.
The story began on Easter Sunday. Once the Sabbath restrictions were ended,
disconsolate women set out for the tomb where their Master had been quickly
buried. These were the women from Galilee who used to accompany Jesus and his
Twelve. They liked to prepare the little that he ate and to minister to his
various needs, tiny as those needs usually were.
This time, with desolate hearts, they wanted to perform their final service
with all their deepest love. They wanted to provide for Jesus' body the anointing
that had to be cut short when the Sabbath followed so closely on his dying.
Their hearts were filled with love and with an overflowing sorrow, the ambivalent
feelings the living experience in taking care of the dead.
All those feelings were suddenly turned to alarm as they drew close to the tomb.
It was gapingly open, and they could see that it was empty. Immediately they
feared desecration or vandalism or strong intimidation on the part of the soldiers
or the city's leaders. In their bewilderment the women turned back to their
homes, stumbling along in stunned silence. Just a short way along their return
road, they were jolted to a stop. There was Jesus, just standing there, not
a desecrated corpse but alert and fully alive. He lifted his hand in silent
blessing and greeting. He had come on purpose, knowing the familiar road they
would use.
Without hesitation the women knelt in a cluster and embraced his feet. Their
prostration was typical enough for their day, more than just a simple bow when
paying respect to a beloved teacher. Disciples would kneel to acknowledge how
superior the person was who taught them and made sense of life's daily struggles.
This time, embracing their Master's feet implied something even greater than
deep respect. Jesus himself had embraced his disciples' feet with his hands,
washing their feet and drying them with the padded caress of a towel. The women
marveled when they heard the Apostles tell the story.
Once that ritual of washing feet was completed on the solemn occasion of his
last meal with them, Jesus told his disciples to do what he had done, and they
told others. This would be a sign that they were Jesus' disciples. The whirlwind
events of the next days prevented any development of the new rite of service,
but all would have been thinking of his command to wash one another's feet,
serve one another, love one another just as Jesus loved each of them. Even the
children would have to be part of this new and loving ritual of washing feet.
Jesus said plainly that all such service, even to the very least, was really
done for him.
The Gospel of John (Jn 12:3-7) subtly connects this foot-washing by Jesus with
the tearful washing and costly anointing of Jesus' feet by a woman of tarnished
reputation in the house of Simon the Pharisee (Lk 7:37-38, Mk 14:3-8, Mt 26:7-12).
Judas called the flood of oil a dreadful extravagance. We all are inclined to
thoughts like that, John seems to imply, and perfumed oil belongs on the head,
not the feet! It certainly seemed wasteful until Jesus said it was part of the
preparation for his burial.
Now, on the road returning home, the women realized that the pre-burial anointing
by one or two women was more important to Jesus than what they were attempting
to do by going to his tomb early in the morning. He seemed to accept that anointing
of his feet at a Pharisee's interrupted dinner as a special sign, a sign which
indicated an intense love and an immense faith.
John suggests in his Gospel that the woman, named Mary, was showing the kind
of reverence a body deserves that brings God's presence into salvation history.
Jesus kept saying that he knew he was about to be executed. He would die and
bring about forgiveness of sin, and he would do it through his body. He would
put his body into total submission to God, and in dying he would trust the Father
to take care of him, including his body, and even his feet.
The woman herself seemed to be saying the same thing with her aromatic anointing.
The body she anointed would not carry the stench of corruption but rather the
fragrance of God's presence. In accepting this service for his burial, Jesus
was indicating that he had no fear of physical corruption after death. Psalm
16 had long before assured him of his Father's intervention to keep his body
from decay. He needed just to trust his Father, to live by faith as completely
as he asked his disciples to do.
As the women of Easter Sunday embraced their Lord's feet along a familiar road,
they understood the fuller meaning of washing and anointing feet. They concluded
that every washing was also an anointing, a preparation for his burial. All
the daily care for little children and other needy persons was part of his burial,
as were all the care and respect shown for the bodies of persons who had died.
The very care became the perfume of love and the promise that the Father would
be present even when bodies succumbed in death.
What this woman did in anointing his feet, Jesus said, would be recalled wherever
he would be remembered and his gospel proclaimed. When he made this remark,
it seemed like simple gratitude on his part, but he was really saying that every
disciple of his could help prepare his body for burial. Their daily acts of
service to their brothers and sisters would be an anointing with perfumed oil,
a symbol of God's presence and a pledge of resurrection, his own first, and
then that of all his disciples.
It was natural for people in the early church to conclude that the washing of
feet was a kind of sacrament, a sign of the Lord's presence and a channel of
grace. Gradually, in the course of centuries, feet became pampered by socks
and sturdy shoes and comfortable transportation and no longer looked forward,
upon arriving, to the soothing removal of mud and dust.
Not just tramping feet but all parts of a Christian's body took on the role
of signifying the body of Christ. Instead of a washing only, at baptismal rites
the body would be anointed, as it would also at confirmation and the sacrament
of orders. Often a healing anointing would be given to the sick, and the sacrament
of healing addressed the greater healing of sin's wounds and the grand hope
of sharing in our Lord's risen life.
In these latter-day circumstances, the washing of feet has taken on the appearance
of an act of penance and humility, a virtuous act, but no longer a sort of sacrament
like the seven described by the Councils of Lyons, Florence, and Trent. Not
just the washing of feet, but all thoughtful care of others used to be understood
as a path toward understanding and being involved in Christ's dying and rising.
If feet no longer need gentle washing as a matter of kind hospitality, some
other service in Jesus' name for a poor child or a travel-worn person on life's
journey would keep Jesus' disciples aware day by day of him dying and rising
among us, or us dying and rising in him.
Questions for
Reflection and Discussion
1. How do we understand our Catholic distinction between sacraments and sacramentals?
Perhaps we may need to review "Sacramental" in the Catechism of the
Catholic Church, Part Two, Chapter Four.
2. We experience the washing of the feet during the Holy Thursday Eucharistic
celebration. Have we experienced other sacramental moments during the Eucharist
or other Catholic prayer service? Why was this action sacramental for us?
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Asceticism
and Chaste Celibate Love
By Vilma Seelaus OCD who last wrote for
us in September-October 1999. Her address is Carmelite Monastery; 25 Watson
Avenue; Barrington, Rhode Island 02806.
From the 64.2 issue of Review for Religious
The biblical
understanding of God is captured in three words: God is love. Created as we
are in the image and likeness of God, the core of our being is a "being-in-love"
with God. (1) Because of our radical connection with God, we are conceived and
born into the world as preconscious predispositions for love. As Rahner puts
it, "man is the event of God's absolute self-communication."(2) Love
therefore is the root and foundation of our being. Life's deepest challenge
is to fully accept and give human expression to this foundational reality of
love. The vow we call consecrated chastity, or chaste celibacy, has everything
to do with love. By it we open ourselves to becoming fully loving persons.
Chaste love is love that is single-hearted. Single-hearted love does not of
itself exclude a genital expression. Chaste loving is the universal call that
includes both married persons and persons who remain single. In marriage, love
is meant to have a genital expression. The religious vow is not only of chaste
love, but also of chaste celibacy intended as a total response to God's unconditional
love. The single-hearted love to which religious vow themselves is at the heart
of the kind of loving to which we are all invited as human beings. As consecrated
celibates we vow to live out in a chaste celibate way the love relationship
with God, and with one another, to which all persons are invited.(3)
Fidelity in chaste celibate loving has its own unique call for asceticism; celibate
love must include asceticism. Celibacy for God means that one has a desire to
receive God's love and to become passionately in love with God, expressing it
in the vow of chaste celibacy. Today we increasingly recognize what the mystics
have known for centuries: that, in our universe and in the heart of every human
person, there is an energy which as Christians we know to be God's creating
love in all that exists. St. Teresa of Avila in her Sixth Dwelling Place describes a remarkable vision in which she sees all things in God. In this vision, "God is like an immense and beautiful dwelling or palace, and this palace
is God himself." Teresa now sees all things as taking place in God and
therefore in Love. All human love is either an expression or a distortion of
this one love, namely, God's unconditional love embracing and encircling the
human family. Teresa writes:
Could the sinner, perhaps, so as to engage in his evil deeds leave this palace? No, certainly not; rather, within the palace itself, that is, within God himself, the abominations, indecent actions, and evil deeds committed by us sinners take place. . . . The greatest evil of the world is that God, our Creator, suffers so many evil things from his creatures within his very self and that we sometimes resent a word said in our absence and perhaps with no evil intention.(4)
Our life
unfolds in God! Postmodern Christian ecological theologians see this reality
as the basis of God's radical immanence in the world and as the human challenge
to respect and care for the ecological systems of our planet earth, symbolized
as the body of God.(5) Chaste loving extends itself to loving care of the world
in which we live, which, in one of his less-known poems, John of the Cross images
as the palace created by God for "all the members of the just," who
are "the body of the bride" of the eternal Word.(6) In viewing all
of human love within the ambience of God's creating energy of love, we see how
out of harmony is the so-called "sexual revolution," which seeks sexual
pleasure apart from genuine love between persons. Yet even self-centered, narcissistic
love contains within itself in a diffused, distorted way the energies of divine
love. The human urgency for union with God, who alone can offer unconditional
love, easily finds expression in diffused and distorted ways when God's love
is unrecognized or rejected. Aware of this reality, Jesus had and has great
compassion for all of us, who in ways small or great live love's distortions.
Asceticism enlarges the heart to receive a greater outpouring of God's love.
It also allows the energies of divine love to flow more freely through us into
the lives of others. This asceticism is a matter of self-denial and self-emptying.(7)
What we deny ourselves and allow God to empty out are the things within us or
around us that we tend to hold on to tenaciously. The purpose of asceticism
is freedom for self-surrender, not self-punishment, not the giving up of things
out of self-hate. Rather, genuine asceticism springs from a desire to be rooted
in love. It is an expression of our willingness for our love to be freed of
its distortions. The asceticism that leads to self-surrender can be sustained
only in prayerful communion with God and is itself a form of prayer. Self-surrender
softens the soil of our inner being so that stubborn willfulness may more easily
be uprooted by God, leaving room for God to plant seeds of willingness.(8) These
are seeds of the Christ-life. Josef Van Beeck, the Dutch theologian, in an early
work of his titled Christ Proclaimed, points out that Jesus "was
without the need for anxious self-possession, self-maintenance, and self-affirmation." Jesus was content to receive his being in a stance of total surrender to his
Father.(9)
To love is to love someone -- other persons as well as God. Self-denial can
be psychologically harmful and even sinful outside of the context of our relationship
with other people and with God. There is, however, something in our being that
clings to aloneness, to private and even narcissistic self-possession, distorting
the inner solitude of our uniqueness. This distortion, the denial of relatedness,
is sin. Sin would have us cling to our separateness as something absolute. This
is an ontological illusion, but it nevertheless lures us to rest on its comforting
bosom in the hope of avoiding the pain that comes with reaching out in love.
Relatedness can be painful, as we discover early. Although other persons reflect
our uniqueness and help us discover our gifts and potential, they also mirror
our inadequacies. As we struggle with the demands of friendship and human encounter,
that relatedness undermines personal myths of omnipotence and reveals our finitude.
The insecurity of finitude is hard to accept, and, just as others willy-nilly
make demands of us, we place all kinds of expectations on ourselves to be all-knowing
and all-capable, to be fully adequate to every situation. Amid these usually
unconscious self-expectations, the gifts and talents of others threaten us,
so we turn then off or become defensive. Insofar as we are out of touch with
these inner movements, envy, jealousy, and competitiveness keep us outside of
the unifying energies of God's love that flow between people. The opposite can
also happen. Self-doubt can so overwhelm us that we give up trying.
The gentle vigilance of self-knowledge is an excellent form of asceticism. Self-knowledge
keeps us in touch with the polluting elements that can be present in love's
stream. Self-knowledge looks squarely at emotional and attitudinal dams that
cause love's flow to stagnate.(10) It strengthens us to bear the pain of our
failures as we struggle to learn new patterns of behavior more expressive of
love. The asceticism of self-knowledge necessarily opens us to a deeper understanding
of God in our life. God is compassionate, unconditional love; God accepts us
just as we are. Imperfection is normative to our finitude. For us to be perfect
is to accept the reality of our imperfection. God's only expectation seems to
be that we surrender to God's Trinitarian love and that we ourselves become
passionate lovers.
Fasting is a very traditional and helpful form of asceticism. As self-punishment
it is harmful; nevertheless, fasting can be sincere worship. It can express
genuine love toward God, who is father, mother, beloved, and friend, the source
of all we have and are. The stomach's empty feeling reminds us that we are a
hunger for God, who alone can fill our emptiness. Fasting can be an expression
of praise and adoration of the One in whom we live and move and have our being.
Jesus, alive in his Spirit worshiping in us, becomes more than a desire; he
fills our emptiness with his own praise of his Father. Like the young Carmelite
Blessed Elizabeth of the Trinity, we too are destined to be a "praise of
His Glory."(11)
Fasting is a form of worship; it is also a form of the prayer of petition. Our
finitude has many needs. We easily come to the limits of our human potential,
especially in the realm of love and relatedness. Times exist when a relationship
reaches an impasse or when persons dear to us seem stuck in self-destructive
tendencies, or are struggling with seemingly impossible situations. Our fasting
for them can be a hidden silent petition that God nourish the loved one to newness
of life. Fasting can also be a prayer for the gift of detachment from the things
we cling to in anxious self-possession and which keep us from self-surrender.
Asceticism therefore can take many forms. It is crucial to the critical moments
when a committed celibate is being tempted along a path whose ending would inevitably
be genital intimacy. Here one is faced with the asceticism of choice. One needs
to set appropriate boundaries to love's expression while still fostering warmth
and caring in the relationship. Fidelity to love is always a paschal experience.
The asceticism of choice, in this instance the appropriate channeling of love's
warmth, can be painful. But it is pain that is life-giving. Unlike the repression
of feelings, which imprisons the self in the turmoil of unacknowledged emotions,
the asceticism of choice is an encounter with greater inner freedom and is a
call to growth in love. One's pain becomes redemptive not only for oneself and
the loved person, but for others as well, because it springs from genuine love
and is a true love response.
Because love is the creating energy that sustains the universe, and its energies
flow through all of humankind, it is necessarily the very heart of the church.
Therefore any decision that one makes out of love and with the intent of fostering
love has apostolic value. It shares in the life-giving, redemptive mission of
Christ. This reality is worth pondering. It broadens one's understanding of
the apostolate and of the meaning of mission for consecrated celibates. We participate
in God's creating action through the choices we make, and in doing so we inevitably
affect the lives of others. Decisions drawn from the deep well of love enter
into love's stream flowing from the womb of God, the source of life, the one
life that flows through all of humankind. Even the smallest of our decisions
is like the proverbial pebble thrown into the water whose ripples expand in
ever widening circles.
Here I am reminded of an experience in my own life that becomes increasingly
meaningful. My monastery in Rhode Island is located on Narragansett Bay. Occasionally
I take an early morning walk along the beach to enjoy the sunrise reflecting
itself across the waters. One such morning the bay was unusually calm. As I
walked along I heard a sudden strong swish of incoming surf. This usually announces
the changing of the tides, but the waters of the last high tide had not yet
fully ebbed out. I turned and scanned the bay. In the far distance a tiny craft
was speeding across the waters, splitting its quiet surface, and leaving behind
rolling waves of water. As the craft disappeared between the islands, the waters
returned to their previous unruffled state. The swish at my feet settled to
a calm.
I have experienced this phenomenon many times, and it never ceases to amaze
me that the movements of such a small craft, hardly visible in the distance,
can affect such a large expanse of water even to a distant shore. This symbolizes
for me the awesome reality that the choices we make, no matter how small, are
not insignificant. Humanity is bonded in a common stream of consciousness and
love; the movements of one person, toward life or toward diminishment, necessarily
affect the whole. Asceticism in its many forms is a prayerful desire that not
only our activity but also our entire being may be apostolic, that is, life-giving
for others. It fosters human solidarity as an enduring reality, by creating
a freer channeling of divine life through the collective body of humankind.(12)
Notes
1. See Bernard Lonergan, Method in Theology (New York: Seabury Press,
1972), p. 105
2. Karl
Rahner, Foundations of Christian Faith (New York: Seabury Press, 1978),
p. 126.
3. This paper was first written in the 1970's. Since then, much of great value
has been written regarding the vows. In this recent minor revision, no attempt
was made to connect with the fine work of recent authors.
4. Interior Castle, VI.10.2-3. Collected Works of St. Teresa of Avila,
Vol. 2, trans. Otilio Rodriguez OCD and Kieran Kavanaugh OCD (Washington, D.C.:
ICS Publications, 1980), p. 419.
5. See Life Abundant: Rethinking Theology and Economy for a Planet in Peril
by Sallie McFague (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001), pp. 138ff. See also the
writings of Thomas Berry and Brian Swimme.
6. Romances, nos. 3-6, "On Creation," in The Collected Works of
St. John of the Cross, trans. Otilio Rodriguez OCD and Kieran Kavanaugh
OCD (Washington, D.C.: ICS Publications, 1991), pp. 62ff. [See especially no.
4, pp. 63-64. Ed.]
7. See Vilma Seelaus OCD, Self-Emptying: Philippians 2 and the Carmelite
Tradition (Washington D.C.: ICS [Audio] Publications, 2004).
8. See Gerald May MD, Will and Spirit: A Contemplative Psychology (San
Francisco: Harper and Row, 1982).
9. Frans Jozef Van Beeck SJ, Christ Proclaimed (New York: Paulist Press,
1979), p. 421.
10. For a further development of the value of self-knowledge, see Vilma Seelaus
OCD, "Effective Ministry through Contemplative Self-Knowledge," Review
for Religious 41 (May-June 1982): 390-399.
11. See Elizabeth of the Trinity, The Complete Works (Washington, D.C.:
ICS Publications, 1984).
12. The asceticism of chaste celibate love has yet a deeper dimension, which
is the asceticism of prayer, especially contemplative prayer. To remain faithful
to love and to prayer during the painful times of dark night and the seeming
void of love would be a topic in itself. See Hein Blommestijn, Jos Huls, and
Kees Waaijman, The Footprints of Love: John of the Cross as Guide in the
Wilderness, trans. John Vriend (Leuven [Bondgenontenlaan, 153; B-3000 Leuven;
Belgium]: Peeters, 2000).
Prayer
Psalm 73
Let the words of the psalm help you pray:
Yet with
you I shall always be;
you have hold of my right hand;
With your counsel you guide me,
and in the end you will receive me in glory.
Whom else have I in heaven?
And when I am with you, the earth delights me not.
Though my flesh and my heart waste away,
God is the rock of my heart and my portion forever.
But for me, to be near God is my good;
to make the Lord God my refuge.
I shall declare all your works
in the gates of the daughter of Zion.
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Learning to Live Serenely: The Wisdom of Francis de Sales
By Juliana Devoy RGS
who last wrote for us in May-June 1999. Her address remains Good Shepherd Sisters;
30 Estrada da Vitoria; Macao.
From the 64.1 Review for Religious
Every day in the Eucharistic liturgy we pray the words "Protect us from
all anxiety." The daily repetition of this invocation is not without meaning.
We have only to open the newspaper or turn on the evening news to find plenty
of material for angst. After 9/11 and its consequences, not only individuals
but whole nations are experiencing increased anxiety. But it is not only the
world scene that disturbs us. We witness divisions in the church, breakdowns
of family life, loved ones' illnesses, financial reversals, and many other problems
that threaten our peace of heart. Undue worry, anxiety, and agitation not only
are detrimental to our psychological well-being, but also impede our spiritual
growth.
A spiritual guide who can teach us serenity and Christian optimism no matter
what happens in the world is St. Francis de Sales (1567-1622), bishop and doctor
of the church, a man with a wonderfully balanced and integrated personality,
who combined a deep spirituality with a penetrating insight into human psychology.
Separated from him by a cultural, theological, and linguistic gulf of four centuries,
we nevertheless find in his published works and in his letters of spiritual
direction gems of wisdom which, if we take the trouble to extract them, will
both counsel and console us on our spiritual journey. In this essay we will
examine several points of Salesian spirituality that can aid us in gracious
living and tranquillity of spirit.
Befriending Reality
In his Introduction to the Devout Life, Francis says that, aside from
sin, anxiety is the greatest evil that can happen to us. "It proceeds,"
he says, "from an inordinate desire to be freed from a present evil or
to acquire a hoped-for good. Yet there is nothing that tends more to increase
evil and prevent enjoyment of good than to be disturbed and anxious."(1)
In one of his colorful images, he likens anxiety to birds caught in a net: the
more they flap their wings trying to escape, the more they become entangled.
Francis knew well what he was talking about. As a nineteen-year-old student
in Paris, he had undergone a spiritual crisis over predestination, asking himself
whether it was possible for him to be separated from God for all eternity. The
moral and spiritual anguish that he suffered was so great that he fell ill and
could not sleep or eat. The crisis was resolved only when he abandoned himself
unconditionally to God's love, praying for the grace to love God here and now
if he could not love God in eternity.(2) Francis emerged from his personal "dark
night" with two profound convictions about reality: his radical dependence
on God and God's utter trustworthiness.
In the Salesian
worldview, creation is suffused with God's goodness and our peace is found in
conformity to God's will because God is a God for us. Our particular life circumstances
are where we will find God. Francis, therefore, counsels a loving acceptance
of the situation in which we find ourselves. His Introduction was written
especially for lay people who desired to live in closer intimacy with God. Predating
Vatican Council II by hundreds of years, he taught that every vocation is the
locus for meeting God and that every Christian is called to a life of holiness.
But the way to holiness would be different for everyone because the practice
of devotion must "be adapted to the strength, activities, and duties of
each particular person." A bishop is not called to live like a Carthusian,
nor a skilled workman to spend his day in church like a religious. There is
no need to emulate the lifestyle or the virtues proper to a vocation that is
not one's own. His letters of direction illustrate this teaching in practice:
I should like you to consider how many saints, both men and women, have lived in the married state like you, and that they all accepted this vocation readily and gladly. We must love all that God loves, and he loves our vocation; so let us love it too and not waste our energy hankering after a different sort of life, but get on with our own job. Know that God wishes nothing else of you save what he sends at the moment, and do not be on the lookout for other things. . . . What is the use of building castles in Spain when you have to live in France? What a marvelous thing you said when you wrote to me: as long as I am serving God I don't care what kind of sauce he puts me in. . . . Come now, you know very well into what sauce he has put you, into what state of life and condition; and, tell me, is it all the same to you? (3)But it would be a mistake to imagine that what is being advocated is a passive acceptance of the status quo. In his Treatise on the Love of God, Francis devotes a large section to "The Will of God."(4) He distinguishes between God's signified will and the will of God's good pleasure. Although obviously God has only one will, our discernment of what God wants of us will have to take account of two different sets of realities. In the first case we are guided by the commandments, the counsels, teachings of the church, and holy inspirations. When there is question of something clearly ordained by God, there is nothing to discern; we have only to obey. For choosing a vocation, however, or choosing one action rather than another, Francis counsels a great liberty of spirit since it is impossible to know God's will absolutely. In important matters we should pray, consult a spiritual director, and then do what we think is best. Even if doubts arise afterwards about whether we chose well, we should remain in peace and continue on the course we have chosen. In lesser matters we should "do freely what seems good to us, so as not to weary our minds, waste our time, and put ourselves in danger of disquiet, scruples, and superstition."
My third rule is that you should be like a little child who, while it knows that its mother is holding its sleeve, walks boldly and runs all round without being distressed at a little fall or stumble. . . . In the same way, as long as you realize that God is holding on to you by your will and resolution to serve [her], go on boldly and do not be upset by your little setbacks and falls; there is no need to be put out provided you throw yourself into [her] arms from time to time and kiss [her] with the kiss of charity. Go on joyfully and with your heart as open and widely trustful as possible.(6)Living Jesus
Soon we shall be in eternity, and then we shall see how insignificant our worldly preoccupations were and how little it mattered whether some things got done or not; however, right now we rush about as if they were all-important. When we were little children, how eagerly we used to gather pieces of broken tile, little sticks, and mud with which to build houses and other tiny buildings, and, if someone knocked them over, how heartbroken we were and how we cried! But now we understand that these things really didn't amount to much. One day it will be like this for us in heaven when we shall see that some of the things we clung to on earth were only childish amusements.Notes
I am not suggesting that we shouldn't care about these little games and trifling details of life, for God wants us to practice on them in this world; . . . but at the same time let's not take them too seriously . . . because when night falls and we have to go indoors -- I'm speaking of our death -- all those little houses will be useless; we shall have to go into our Father's house. Do faithfully all the things you have to do, but be aware that what matters most is your salvation.(7)
Reflection and Questions
Consider
the advice of St. Francis de Sales:
"My soul is constantly in my hands, O Lord, yet I do not forget your law," said David often during the day or at least at morning and evening. See if you have your soul "in your hands" or if some passion or fit of anxiety has robbed you of it. Consider whether you have command over your heart or if it has slipped out of your hands and into some disorderly passion of love, hatred, envy, covetousness, fear, uneasiness, or joy. If it has gone astray, look for it before doing anything else and bring it quietly back into God's presence, subjecting all your affections and desires to the obedience and direction of his divine will. Just as men who are afraid of losing some valuable object hold it firmly in their hands, so also in imitation of this great king, we must always say, "O my God, my soul is in danger. Hence I always carry it in my hands, and in this way I have not forgotten your holy law."
Introduction to the Devout Life
Questions
1. What does it mean for us "to carry our soul in our hands"?
2. How do we try to maintain our peace in time of anxiety?
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Good
and Bad Zeal, Good and Bad Spirits
By Joseph I. Cisetti, a priest of the Diocese of Kansas City-St. Joseph
and a candidate for an M.A. in Christian spirituality at Creighton University,
is pastor of St. Bridget Catholic Church; P.O. Box 43; Pleasant Hill, Missouri
64080.
From
the 64.2 issue of Review for Religious
Both the Rule of St. Benedict and the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius have
exercised profound influence on Western Christian spirituality and Western civilization.
Both are the foundational documents for movements that sustained and reinvigorated
learning, faith, and culture and still serve that end today. More significantly,
these succinct writings have for centuries led people to holiness of life and
union with God and continue to do so. These people include not only Benedictines
and Jesuits but also the many who have either embraced these spiritual values
consciously or been influenced by them.
While both works challenge their readers with a dedicated, demanding following
of Christ, both are also marked by a certain moderation and personal attention.
St. Benedict insists that the abbot recognize the different personalities of
his monks and then, like a coach, find the best way to motivate them. Similarly,
St. Ignatius instructs the director to be flexible according to the needs and
experience of the retreatant. Both Benedict and Ignatius reveal their genius
by an objective structure that makes allowances for the spiritual well-being
of the subject. They seek objective without rigidity and adaptation without
laxity.
This paper will examine one aspect from each of these works, zeal as described
by St. Benedict in Chapter 72 and the good and bad spirit outlined by St. Ignatius
in §332 (of the modern numbering convention). Connections will be drawn
between these two ideas and then summarized in a conclusion.
Good and Bad Zeal
Chapter 72 (the second-last) of the Rule of Benedict begins:
Sicut est zelus amaritudinis malus qui separat a Deo et ducit ad infernum, ita est zelus bonus qui separat a vitia et ducit ad Deum et ad vitam aeternam.(1)
Just as there is an evil zeal of bitterness that separates from God and leads to hell, so too there is a good zeal which separates from evil and leads to God and to eternal life.
Zeal holds both a negative and positive connotations in Scripture and even in the Rule itself. It is the root for the word "jealousy." It may be expressed in both bitterness and jealousy or in fervor and loving ardor. In his commentary on the Rule, Paul Delatte (in language that is strikingly Ignatian) notes:
The idea is as old as Christianity, and very familiar to St. Benedict, that every human life has the choice between two directions or ways and two only: the way of evil, of separation from God, and hell; and the way of good, of separation from vice, of union with God, of life everlasting. On these two roads two hostile armies are hastening, and between them are continual conflicts. Each has its chief and its standard, each its motto, its tactics, and its proper arms. . . . Our Holy Father speaks to us here of two sorts of zeal as St. Augustine spoke of two loves.(2)After noting these external dimensions, the same author directs his thought inward with greater affect and with a greater personal dimension:
So it is perfectly clear that the starting-point of all moral activity is within; and it is to the interior, to the soul, that our Holy Father looks, and there that he wishes to evoke our decisive action. The important point is to know what we have in our hearts . . . and since I am not alone in the world . . . my zeal easily becomes impatience, anger, contentiousness, and rebellion: the evil zeal of bitterness. . . . Mere external correction has no value or lasting effect. If we assume an inert and frozen attitude, we have already chosen death.(3)
While not distinguishing two categories of bad zeal (that which is obviously evil and that which appears as good), Delatte intimates an exterior and interior dimension to this notion. Benedict does not directly say that bad zeal can express itself in both obvious and subtle ways, but it may be seen as implicit. Reflecting on bad zeal appearing as good from a more contemporary perspective, Joan Chittister notes:
Wicked zeal is that kind of religious fanaticism that makes a god out of religious devotion itself. Wicked zeal walks over the poor on the way to the altar. Wicked zeal renders the useless invisible and makes devotion more sacred than community. Wicked zeal wraps us up in ourselves and makes us feel holy about it. Wicked zeal renders us blind to others, deaf to those around us, struck dumb in the face of the demands of dailiness.(4)St. Benedict goes on to explain good zeal with more detail. It is something monks are to pursue with a fervent love expressed in mutual charity and support. They are to show greater concern for others than themselves, engaging in a "holy rivalry,"(5) living harmoniously within the monastic family, and preferring nothing to Christ. Thus, good zeal is self-giving, and, while Benedict does not explain bad zeal as much as good zeal, by implication at least it could be seen as self-seeking.
Proprio es del ángel malo, que se forma sub angelo lucis, entrar con la ánima devota, y salir consigo; es a saber, traer pensamientos buenos y sanctos conforme a la tal ánima justa, y después, poco a poco, procura de salirse trayendo a la ánima a sus engaños cubiertos y perversas intenciones.(6)Thus, the evil spirit strives to appear as something good rather than evil. It knows that proposing something overtly evil (Let's go rob a bank!) will be rejected, and so it disguises itself. This might be taking on devotions that are burdensome and inappropriate to one's state in life. It might be doing in the name of devotion things that will lead one into rigidity, pride, and fanaticism. These things may be good in themselves and yet be likely to lead this or that person to evil. In other words, the evil spirit may appear as wholesome zeal and yet, after careful consideration, be recognized as causing more difficulties instead of greater good.
It is proper to the evil angel,(7) who forms himself under the appearance of an angel of light, to enter with the devout soul and go out with himself: that is to say, to bring good and holy thoughts, conformable to such just soul, and then little by little he aims at coming out drawing the soul to his covert deceits and perverse intentions. (Elder Mullan SJ translation)
Reflection Questions
1. How can
I apply some of the directions of Benedict and Ignatius to circumstances of
my own spiritual growth?
2. What perspectives of Benedict and Ignatius would be helpful in our ministry
together with others?
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Reclaiming the Prayer of Lament
By Colleen Vogt
From the 64.1 issue of Review for Religious
Prayer has
been described as "an exercise in dialogue with a deity that holds simultaneously
great hope and immeasurable risks." (1) Christians, at least popularly,
are taught to ask for what we need and to praise God for what we are given,
bearing pain and pleasure just the same, as God's will. While there is, of course,
value to prayer in a "Thy will be done" stance, we lose much if we
cannot hold God accountable for our suffering as our Israelite ancestors did.
Walter Brueggemann articulates well this "costly loss of lament."
(2) This paper addresses a loss of lament and suggests that lectio divina can
show how one might "inhabit the psalms of lament," (3) in particular
Psalm 69, and thus enter into dialogue with God while feeling pain and anger.
Costly Loss of Lament
Much in today's world calls for lament: violence and war, our complicity in
social sin, slander of one another, and even petty disagreements. We need to
be able to bring such laments to prayer not only in petition and confession
to be rid of them, but also from the very midst of our feelings of anger and
anguish. Without lament in our prayer and worship, we live an impoverished relationship
with God. We lose an element of authenticity in our prayer if we do not honestly
face our faith's bewilderment at evil that still exists when God is all good
and all powerful.
Prophets offer us examples. Jeremiah speaks of being overpowered by God (Jr
20:7). If he does not take up this concern of his with God, he cannot grow in
his relationship. Brueggemann suggests object-relations theory about mothers
and their children as a parallel, but any human relationship can show this human
concern for authenticity. When people feel trampled upon, they must speak up
or risk not being a full person in relation to the other. As Brueggemann says, "the absence of lament makes a religion of coercive obedience the only
possibility." (4) A pattern of coerced obedience is likely to think "If
I am suffering, it must be God's will, and 'his will be done'" without
us liking it, and in fact smothering some truth. At this point we need not become
violent or abusively assertive, but we can ask for respect.
Lament leads to asking questions of theodicy. By lamenting we express that all
is not well with the world, that this state of affairs is changeable, and that
it seems to be God's responsibility to change the situation. Just to form this
thought has a benefit all by itself. Brueggemann points out that Jeremiah seems
happy simply in the hope of having his say, without expecting anything to change: "You will be in the right, O Lord, when I lay charges against you, but
let me put my case to you" (Jr 12:1, NRSV throughout). Jonah, however,
clearly expects God to respond. He asserts that God has "cast [him] into
the deep" and declares as an accomplished fact that God brought him back
up from the pit (2:3-6). God is the one responsible for his downfall and the
one who can restore him. "Deliverance belongs to the Lord" (Jon 3:9).
The ancients reasoned that in a world without an evil God, and ruled over by
an all-powerful God, if something is wrong it must be because of God. Speaking
to God about this, or "holding God against God," is risky, but it
allows one to continue.(5) Otherwise, without admitting one's true feelings
of lament, one could not truly express praise as a free person: "praise
can retain its authenticity and naturalness only in polarity with lamentation." ( 6) If we admit this need for lament, how do we go about restoring it? There
are a number of ways in our tradition. I suggest lectio divina as a help
to inhabiting a lament psalm prayerfully.
Lectio Divina
Several recent books introduce lectio divina in an accessible manner. They provide
slightly different ways of prayerfully reading the Bible (or some other text).
The following is an amalgamation of these sources and my own experience.
Lectio: reading. What does the text say? What do the words actually say?
Also, what is its literary or historical setting? One may read several translations
or glance at the accompanying notes. Cross-references may provide insight into
the text at hand. For those familiar with Scripture, connections may occur of
their own accord. Lectio divina is not the time for more extensive research.
Meditatio: meditation. One explores the text further, making room for
it in our hearts. What word or phrase stands out? By focusing on short sections,
we have time to mull things over. We may learn small parts by heart, to help
our heart to become more involved. (7) We reflect prayerfully, drawing personal
meaning from the text. (8) We trust in the grace of God to lead us.
These first two steps are closely tied to each other and are similar to what
I learned about exegesis as a theology student. Lectio, however, is private
prayer, and exegesis seeks more universal and communal insights. It is best
not to double up and intermingle these two practices .(9)
Oratio: prayer. Once we have become familiar with the text, we are ready
to relate it to our life. Perhaps the words invoke our deepest desire; they
may help us find meaning in suffering. They may have reminded us of others who
need our compassion. Other words, too, may come to mind at this moment in a
prayerful way.
Contemplatio: contemplation. Here, more or less beyond words, one sits in
the presence of God.During prayer these stages are not always clearly delineated,
but they have a general movement toward contemplatio. Often one reads slowly
and mindfully until a word or phrase catches one's attention or tugs at one's
heart. Then one pauses for a shorter or longer time. When attention wanes, one
returns to the same text or moves on. (10)
Lectio and a Psalm of Lament
Let us now apply this to a psalm. I chose a psalm because, as a postulant in
a Benedictine community, I look to know them more deeply and because the "psalms
invite us to be honest." (11) They give us scriptural language to express
and transform deep and dark emotions such as anger, self-righteousness, and
sorrow. And I have come to appreciate the special relationship between the psalms
and lectio. Bernard of Monte Cassino says, "In psalmody we speak to God,
in lectio God speaks to us through the Scriptures. In the first we ask him about
things, and in the second we understand the answer." (12)
Lectio/Meditatio
I put these two steps together to bring some exegesis to the prayerful reading,
for it can provide enrichment. When one has great familiarity with Scripture,
a kind of exegesis arises spontaneously in prayer, but beginners can use help
in making connections and understanding the psalms' literary style.
In Psalm 69 there are many graphic images: "waters have come up to my neck,"
more enemies "than the hairs of my head," poison and vinegar for food
and drink, and enemies "blotted out of the book of the living." These
give readers pause and invite them to react. The images of distress may stir
compassion for the psalmist or a memory of having felt like that. One may think
of examples of unjust sufferers: prophets of the gospel, persons falsely accused
of crimes, the church itself, or Jesus, the ultimate innocent suffering servant.
The strong curses may evoke immediate resistance because Christians should "love
your enemies"-or perhaps agreement with the vindictive sentiment as personal
enemies come to mind. But any of these reactions may signal that God is trying
to say something to our heart. The reactions may be invitations from God to
go deeper. They may suggest that we pause and ponder.
What is God saying through this text? Alternate translations may help. The words
quoted above from the New Revised Standard Version are almost the same as those
in the New American Bible, except that "poison" becomes "gall."
Are there cross-references provided for this text? This is, in fact, the psalm
most quoted in the New Testament.(13) "Gall and vinegar" appears in
the Gospel accounts and in Romans 15:3 and Hebrews 11:26. Verse 25 about a camp
made desolate is used in Acts 1:20 to refer to Judas. Revelation 3:5 mentions
"the book of life" of verse 28 (and elsewhere in the Hebrew Scriptures).
Seeing the psalmist's words reinterpreted on Jesus' lips in the Gospels or used
in explaining theological concepts in Paul's letters brings new levels of meaning.
Christological interpretation of the psalms is very much a part of the patristic
tradition.
Biblical notes and commentaries offer background information on several phrases
and themes. The "deep waters" of verse 2 suggest the chaos engulfing
the earth itself along with this innocent person. In the praise at the end,
even the sea, which was a threat in the beginning, offers its praise to God.
The water reference could also refer to a river ordeal, a trial by water to
test the innocence of a person.(14) This ancient practice was revisited in European
medieval and American colonial witch trials.
Praise as a sacrifice or offering to God is another theme in this psalm. This
usage helps scholars to date this psalm. Because verses 30-31 say that a song
of praise is worth more than an animal (or grain) sacrifice, the psalm is probably
exilic or postexilic; there is no temple in which to offer sacrifices.(15) Prophets
and psalmists determine that God does not want animals ("Do I eat the flesh
of bulls or drink the blood of goats?" Ps 50:13), but prefers people's
obedience and songs of praise instead.
Cursing enemies is a difficult theme, one with which many modern Christians
are uncomfortable. The strong words are frequently omitted from the lectionary
cycles even when the rest of the psalm appears. They are sometimes excised from
communal prayer. But it is important to understand this literary device in its
context. Hebrew is a particularly metaphoric and graphic language. Though desires
for punishment are certainly expressed, the words are not all meant literally,
(16) nor are the psalmist's words a decree of punishment --- this is no vigilante
justice seeker. In the Israelite understanding, the curse was only to be effective
upon God's judgment that the person was indeed guilty. This was helpful to Israel
as a people without a modern justice system as we know it. This is the reasoning
behind trials by ordeal. If God finds guilt in someone, he or she will die.
This practice is not in accord with modern thought and sensibilities, but, in
many cases, allowing God to do the punishing is an idea needed as much today
as ever. Many a lawsuit or personal vendetta might be prevented if those involved
brought their laments to God and left the case in the hands of divine justice.
Another relevant aspect of cursing is that there is indeed evil in the world
that needs to be exorcized. Though the Israelite understanding did not easily
distinguish between the sin and the sinner or between the individual and the
community, we can take a cue from the psalmist and curse the sin, asking God
to purify this blot in our community. We can curse an evil on behalf of those
who cannot, namely, the victims who have been so dehumanized that they can no
longer pray themselves. (17)
Claus Westermann has noted the following elements in biblical laments: address
or introductory petition, lament, turning toward God (confession of trust),
petition, and vow of praise. (18) We see them to some extent in this psalm. "Save me, O God" invokes God in verse 1. Then there is a long lament
to God over the psalmist's situation: false accusations, desertion by friends
and family, ridicule for religious practice (vv. 2-12). There is a confident
petition to God for help (vv. 13-18). "Answer me, rescue me, let me be
delivered," verse 13 cries out. After more lamenting about his sorry situation
(vv. 19-21), the psalmist expresses a desire for God to punish his enemies (vv.
22-28). This cursing is especially graphic and invites us to admit our own inner
violence. A final petition for salvation in verse 29 makes way for a song of
praise that calls all the earth to praise God (vv. 30-36). This praise ends
the mood of sadness and vindictiveness and moves the psalmist to trust that
God will make salvation known by vindicating him in the here and now.
Westermann offers another helpful observation. Three subjects or characters
have a part in many of the lament psalms: God, the psalmist, and the enemies.
Westermann traces the history of the lament psalms by noting the balance between
the three subjects. Accusations against God become more and more subtle, perhaps
representing a trend like the one we know today of being hesitant to accuse
God. As this is a later psalm, the small accusation against God in verse 17
is couched in restrained terms: "Do not hide your face from your servant"-words
that hint that God be not silent or absent.(19)
This close and prayerful reading of the psalm helps us see how others prayed
this psalm in the past. We understand the situation and the words and phrases
better, sharing in the tradition. But we do this in order to communicate with
God better, and so we turn now to oratio and contemplatio.
Oratio
Looking again at the text, we pray it with new eyes and a new heart. Perhaps,
by God's grace, we are inhabiting the psalm, or perhaps the word dwells in us.
God spoke to us as we came to understand the psalm more deeply. Now we speak
to God as we understand our own relation to the psalm. We pray as the innocent
sufferer, declaring anger at God (a little) and at enemies and problems (a lot).
We trust in God to restore our fortunes, sure that it will happen. We may repeat
our prayer, perhaps going deeper. More understanding may come, or more earnest
petition. At some point this dialogue is finished, and we are left without words,
or "we read under the eye of God until the heart is touched and leaps to
flame." (20)
Contemplatio
We may image contemplation as gazing at God or just being in God's presence.
(21) No deep searching of our own into the text can force this. Our reflection
on the text is mere preparation, tilling the soil and watering the seeds. It
is God who brings forth the fruit of the land and the fruits of contemplation.
We move forward, changed by this encounter with God through the word of God.
We have followed the traditional lectio model for expressing and transforming
deep emotions. By inhabiting the words and the world of the psalmist, we are
brought into relationship with our tradition and with God. We go forward by
witnessing to the Word as committed Christians, in a stage one writer calls
operatio. (22)
Notes
1 Samuel E. Balentine, Prayer in the Hebrew Bible: The Drama of Divine-Human
Dialogue (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), p. 168.
2 Walter Brueggemann, "The Costly Loss of Lament," in his The Psalms
and the Life of Faith (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1995).
3 Michael Jinkins, In the House of the Lord: Inhabiting the Psalms of Lament
(Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1998).
4 Brueggemann, "Costly Loss," p. 104.
5 Balentine, Prayer, p. 146.
6 Claus Westermann, Praise and Lament in the Psalms, trans. Keith R.
Crim and Richard N. Soulen (Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1981), p. 267
.
7 Mariano Magrassi, Praying the Bible: An Introduction to Lectio Divina,
trans. Edward Hagman (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1998), p. 109
.
8 Thelma Hall, Too Deep for Words: Rediscovering Lectio Divina (New York:
Paulist Press, 1988), p. 9.
9 Michael Casey, Sacred Reading: The Ancient Art of Lectio Divina (Liguori,
Mo.: Triumph Books, 1996), p. 80.
10 Charles Cummings, Monastic Practices (Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications,
1986), p. 8.
11 Elizabeth Canham, Praying the Bible (Cincinnati: Forward Movement
Publications, 2001), p. 33.
12 Quoted in Columba Stewart, Prayer and Community: The Benedictine Tradition,
Traditions of Christian Spirituality, ed. Philip Sheldrake (Maryknoll: Orbis
Books, 1998), p. 34.
13 Carroll Stuhlmueller cp, "Psalms," in HarperCollins Bible Commentary
(rev. ed.), ed. James Mayes (HarperSanFrancisco, 2000), p. 420.
14 John Kselman and Michael Barrd, "Psalms," in New Jerome Biblical
Commentary (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice Hall, 1990), p. 537.
15 Kselman and Barrd, "Psalms," p. 537.
16 Stuhlmueller, "Psalms," p. 420.
17 Stuhlmueller, "Psalms," p. 420.
18 Westermann, Praise, p. 170.
19 Westermann, Praise, pp. 169, 170, and 181.
20 Dom Marmion, cited in Hall, Too Deep for Words, p. 44.
21 Hall, Too Deep for Words, p. 9.
22 Mario Masini, Lectio Divina: An Ancient Prayer That Is Ever New, trans.
Edmund C. Lane (New York: Alba House, 1998), p. ix.
Prayer / Reflection
What happens
in us when we trust in the grace of God to lead us?
Cursing enemies is a difficult theme, one with which many modern Christians
are uncomfortable. What is my response?
Let
us use the fourfold traditional approach of reading, meditation, prayer, and
contemplation as we enter into Psalm 69.
In the Spirit of Psalm 69
Come and
save me, O God, for the floodwaters rise,
and my body has sunk in the depths of the mire;
There is no footing left in this bottomless pit,
which keeps dragging me under to make me expire.
I am wearied
from weeping and crying aloud,
and my throat has dried up like a desert of clay,
And my eyes swollen shut are consumed by my tears,
while I wait for the Lord and continue to pray.
They are
numerous, more than the hairs of my head,
they who hate me, unjustly, insisting I die;
They are many and mighty, who force me to pay
what I never did steal, which they claim, but they lie.
O my God,
you have known all my follies and sins,
for my guilt I have never concealed from your sight;
I admitted my faults and confessed them to you,
and for these you have punished me, that is but right.
But that
they who have trusted in you, O Lord God,
should be shamed, and through me, how could that
ever be?
How could they who have sought only you be disgraced?
God of Israel, never permit it, through me!
It was only
for you that I suffered reproach,
every insult and shame they could throw in my face,
Like a stranger to brothers, an exile from home,
by the sons of my mother cast out in disgrace.
For the
zeal of your house had consumed me with fire;
these reproaches I bore were intended for you;
When I wept for my sins and I fasted for days,
those reproaches were mine, and the insults were true.
I repented
my ways, put on sackcloth for clothes,
and became like a fool for my sins which I grieved;
How the mouths in the marketplace laughed me to scorn,
and the drunkards reviled me with songs they con-
ceived.
But for
my part, I sought only you, O Lord God!
Come and favor me now, come and answer my prayer!
O my God, in your greatness, be tender and kind!
Come and show me you love, show me how much you
care!
Let your
faithfulness come to my aid even now,
lest I sink ever deeper and deeper in mire;
Let my enemy fail, as you rescue my life
from the bottomless waters before I expire.
Let the
waters abate and not sweep me away;
let the ocean not cover and choke me to death;
Let the depths not rise up and then swallow me down,
nor the grave close around me and smother my breath.
Hear and
answer me, Lord, in your bountiful love,
all the mercy and goodness befitting your grace;
Turn your face to me, gently, with deepest concern;
take me into your arms with your fondest embrace.
Turn your
face not away from your servant in need,
but have pity and answer me quickly instead;
Draw me closer and closer to you, O my God,
as you ransom me back from the fate of the dead.
You have
known all my shame, my abuse, my disgrace,
the reproaches which crushed me and wasted my soul;
This disease has consumed me and broken my heart,
and my spirit, now helpless, has lost all control.
When I looked
for somebody to comfort my pain,
there was no one with mercy or pity around;
When I looked for consolers to share in my grief,
there was no one who cared, there was none to be
found.
But they
poisoned my food and they sickened my thirst,
when they gave me the dregs of their wineskins to
drink;
May their tables be turned into deathtraps for them,
their companions, the pits which they fall in and sink.
May their
eyes grow too dim and distorted to see,
and their thighs never cease from convulsing with fear;
May you pour out your just indignation on them,
and in fury destroy all the things they hold dear.
May their
camps be deserted like desolate wastes,
no inhabitants left who could live in their tents,
For the one you have wounded, they wounded the more,
with their slanderous stories of sins he repents.
Take account
of the crime upon crime they commit,
lest they enter your meadow, the pasture you tend;
May their names be erased from the record of life,
with the just be not listed in life without end.
As for me,
in my pain and affliction, O God,
be my help and my bulwark of strength from on high;
Only let me sing praise to the Name of the Lord
and give thanks for His glory extolled to the sky.
For what
pleases the Lord, more than oxen or bulls,
with their horns and their hoofs, is the praise of His
Name!
So, take courage, you faithful ones who are oppressed,
and your heart will rejoice in the God you proclaim!
For the
Lord in His love hears the cry of the poor,
and He never forsakes those who cry out in need;
They are bound unto Him who created their lives,
who has bound Himself to them, His creatures, to feed.
Let the
heavens declare it, their God is the Lord!
Let the earth sing His praise for its life that He gives!
Let the sea that is full of the creatures He feeds
praise the Name of the Lord, their Creator, who lives!
Know that
God will save Zion and bring exiles home!
They shall dwell in the cities of Judah restored!
Know the seed of His servants inherit the land,
all who love Him and trust in the Name of the Lord!
Joseph E.
Brown SJ,
Jesus Sings the Psalms in Your Heart (1980)
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The Role of Scripture on the Spiritual Journey
by Matthias Neuman OSB
From the 64.1 issue of Review for Religious
The Bible
has played a variety of roles in the personal spiritual lives of Catholic Christians
through the centuries. In the immediate pre-Vatican ii church, the Bible had
little impact on ordinary Catholic spirituality; Mary, the saints, and popular
devotions held the dominant places. The Bible was certainly revered as a source
of religious truth, and many good Catholic homes had a family Bible, but not
many Catholics read it regularly for their own spiritual nourishment and their
relationship with God. Students in my theology classes over the past twenty
years --- who have been mostly of the post-Vatican ii generation --- are amazed
to learn that the Bible seldom played a direct role in the religious formation
of their parents and grandparents. Since the council the Bible enjoys a larger
role in everyday spirituality, but usages still vary widely among Catholics.
In a course called "The Documents of the Second Vatican Council," one assignment I give is to conduct a number of personal interviews, some with
Catholics who lived through the years of the council and can remember the pre-Vatican
ii days and some with persons born after the council. A key question of the
interviews concerns the role of the Bible in the personal spiritual life of
the respondents. Their answers range widely, but three groups typically appear.
One comprises those Catholics who still have little awareness of the Bible,
who do not read it even occasionally or consider it a guide for their own spiritual
lives. (Many of these same people can make little sense of the lectionary readings
at Mass.) A second group reads the Bible in a fundamentalist way. It functions
in their lives about the same as it does in the lives of Protestant fundamentalists
--- as the literal source of all religious truth. Their interpretation of many
passages tends to be simplistic. A third group consists of Catholics who have
developed a significant and balanced practice of Bible reading. Scripture functions
in their lives as a source of spiritual direction and nourishment. Other variations
could be identified, but these three suffice to show what a complex situation
exists among the Catholic faithful with regard to the Bible and its role in
their lives.
In this article I want to explore the connections between a prayerful reading
of Scripture and the application of that reading to a person's spiritual life
journey. My intent is to get at a number of ways in which the "meanings" in the Bible help people set and seek their spiritual goals and make practical
decisions. Beginning with a historical overview of the Bible's role in Catholic
spirituality through the ages, I move to the church's current teaching on Bible
reading as a personal spiritual practice. In a final section I suggest some
specific ways the Bible can guide a person's spiritual journey.
The Bible in Catholic Spiritual Life through the Centuries
Private Bible reading was not much encouraged throughout much of Catholic Christian
history. Vatican II stands as a refreshing new beginning in this regard. Make
no mistak --- the Bible has always been crucial to the Catholic Christian tradition,
all the way back to the 2nd century, when the various books of the New Testament
began to be collected. But the Bible was usually seen as the source of authentic
religious truth for the church as a whole, rather than as reading material for
individuals. In the liturgy the "meaning" of the Scriptures that were
read or sung was usually "given" through the spoken word of the preacher.
Personal reading for meaning and application seldom occurred.
There were, of course, exceptions. In the 3rd and 4th centuries, the Egyptian
desert monks used the Book of Psalms as a "manual of conversion." The individual monks wanted their reading to effect a gradual conversion of
their raging emotions, a principal goal of theirs. The practice of lectio divina
that developed later, in cenobitic life, continued and broadened this application
of the Bible to the monks' personal lives, but the practice was not widespread
in the church. (1) A second exception was the use of Scripture in the Spiritual
Exercises of St. Ignatius Loyola. Scenes from the Bible served as starting points
for many of his exercises. But here again the practice was confined to limited
numbers of directors and retreatants. Over the centuries, of course, personal
reading of the Bible was encouraged by particular spiritual directors. In the
late 6th century, St. Gregory the Great, in his letters, often recommended the
reading of Sacred Scripture to his correspondents. (2) But these people were
generally wealthy persons who could afford manuscript copies of a book or books
of the Bible. This luxury precluded its use by the general populace until the
invention of printing in the 15th century.
Before then, not many individuals or families possessed a Bible. The cost was
prohibitive. An entire parish congregation might have only one copy of the Sacred
Scriptures (usually locked up, except for services, or chained to the lectern).
When the printing press began to make books more affordable in the early 16th
century, the strong connection seen between printed books and the "private
interpretation" of the Protestant Reformation made Catholic leaders try
to limit Bible reading while Protestant leaders --- with numerous Bibles printed
in the vernacular languages --- encouraged the reading of the Bible by everyone.
The famous Catechism of the Council of Trent or Roman Catechism
(1564) made no mention at all of reading the Bible as a spiritual practice for
Catholics. (3) In short, good Protestants read the Bible; good Catholics did
not, for it could lead to doctrinal or moral error.
Another change had been gradually happening in post-Reformation Catholic circles
that also moved attention further away from the Bible. As Catholic leaders became
increasingly concerned with "correct doctrine and teaching," catechisms
became the primary ways to teach people the true faith. Moreover, since some
of those Catholic teachings (on the priesthood, the seven sacraments, and the
Roman primacy, for example) were not clearly apparent in the Bible itself, catechisms
became the immediate basis of instruction, without, of course, claiming to replace
the Bible. In the long period between the close of the Council of Trent (1563)
and the opening of the Second Vatican Council (1962), Catholics were sometimes
counseled against reading the Bible personally.
A New Perspective
The Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation (Dei Verbum) of
Vatican ii stands, therefore, as a strikingly new statement of the Catholic
Church. It encourages ordinary believers to read the Bible regularly for their
spiritual nourishment. Chapter 6, "Sacred Scripture in the Life of the
Church" (§§21-26), forged a new direction for Catholic spirituality.
How that chapter came to be is an amazing story. (4) The preliminary schema
of the constitution contained warnings about laypersons reading the Bible. They
were reminded to approach the sacred text with the church's teaching in mind
and with careful preparation. They were to be ready to accept willingly any
definite assertions of meaning the magisterium made about individual passages.
(5) There was no mention of personal spiritual nourishment.
Two factors seem to have brought about the radical shift that occurred in the
writing of this chapter of the document. The first was the comments and testimony
of several Protestant observers about their own personal and communal church
experiences of Bible reading and the many spiritual benefits it brought to people.
(6) The second factor was a principle from the patristic era, one that had slipped
out of modern Catholic awareness, the strong parallelism between Sacred Scripture
and the Eucharist. Several Catholic theologians had persuasively brought this
idea to the committee's attention. In the end the drafting committee included
a strong encouragement of Scripture reading for believers' personal spiritual
benefit. This decision ranks as one of the major achievements of the council.
Let us review this pivotal chapter, "Sacred Scripture in the Life of the
Church." (7) It begins by noting that Scripture along with Tradition is
the supreme rule of the church's faith (§21). But then the text goes on
to assert that the word of God also serves as "strength for faith, food
for the soul, and a pure and lasting fount of spiritual life" (§21).
This reading is for all believers. "Access to Sacred Scripture ought to
be wide open to the Christian faithful" (§22). There are no restrictions.
This practice is not limited to the clergy and to scholars, but is for everyone.
Church leaders are to see that adequate translations in vernacular languages
are available for the faithful (§22). Preachers, patristics scholars, exegetes,
and catechists are to help people understand God's word (§23). The ordinary
faithful themselves are encouraged to pick up the Bible and read: "Let
them go gladly to the sacred text itself, whether in the sacred liturgy, which
is full of the divine words, or in devout reading, or in suitable programs and
various other helps" (§25). Here the council fathers begin claiming
Scripture reading as a spiritual practice for the Catholic Church.
This section of Dei Verbum ranks among the more important of the council's
pastoral decisions, because it led to many changes in the practical spiritual
life of the church. Soon after the council, dioceses and publishing houses began
to develop "biblical study programs" for groups and parishes. Interest
in these programs ran high and gave many lay Catholics their first real familiarity
with the sacred texts. Renew, the Little Rock Bible Study, the Paulist Press
Bible program, and other endeavors began to make the Catholic faithful better
acquainted with the Old and New Testaments as a resource for living their faith.
Small neighborhood groups started meeting regularly to read and discuss the
Bible. The spiritual lives of innumerable Catholics were deeply affected by
these developments.
Almost thirty years after the council, the Pontifical Biblical Commission issued
a document to assist such developments. Although this document, The Interpretation
of the Bible in the Church, is intended primarily for scholars, it has several
pages that are relevant to us. (8) Its section IV, "The Interpretation
of the Bible in the Life of the Church," advances beyond Dei Verbum.
First, it identifies a specific purpose of reading the Scriptures spiritually,
a purpose it calls "actualization." Actualization means putting the
meaning of the Bible into action as a value or norm of behavior. It is not sufficient
to read the Bible and merely understand its meanings; those meanings must begin
to make a difference in how the reader perceives, judges, and acts as a believing
Christian.
Second, actualization presupposes a correct exegesis (explanation) of the text,
part of which is the determining of the literal sense-what the historical writers
intended to communicate in their time, place, and culture. Rejected here is
any literary theory or assumption that the only real meaning is what the text
immediately means to each reader. There is, however, a recognition that every
text contains more meanings than the literal one; the richness of a written
text is not limited by the literal sense alone. (9) This richness is part of
the spiritual guidance of Sacred Scripture. The document recommends especially
the Scriptural texts used in the liturgy as excellent for both personal and
communal reflection.
Finally, the document promotes the ancient monastic practice of lectio divina (divine reading), which is "a reading, on an individual or communal level,
of a more or less lengthy passage of Scripture, received as the word of God
and leading, at the prompting of the Spirit, to meditation, prayer, and contemplation." (10) We have come a long way from the wariness of pre-Vatican II days, with
its warnings about the dangers of false interpretation.
Applying the Bible's Meanings to Personal Life
We can now proceed to three specific ways of reading Sacred Scripture as nourishment
or companion on our personal spiritual journeys. The first way is to examine
and apply the large patterns and themes which the books of the Bible offer.
This knowledge can guide or challenge us into new areas of faithful Christian
living. Sometimes these patterns will be quite obvious, for example, Job's struggle
with God's justice. Sometimes a secondary book can help us get off to a good
start on one or another biblical theme. Andrew Ryder's Following Christ:
Models of Discipleship in the New Testament can help us discover the various
ways in which the following of Christ is depicted in the New Testament and might
be pursued today. (11) Afterwards we will be ready to read and understand various
suggested passages of Scripture more carefully. I have used this book in spiritual-direction
sessions; it has helped people find a pattern of discipleship that fits their
own life circumstances.
In Matthew's Gospel, discipleship is expressed in community building; a beginning
parish minister found in that Gospel a sense of direction for his spiritual
journey. Luke's Gospel sees discipleship more as an individual stance in a large
society; a young adult new to a large city reflected and prayed over that Gospel
as a welcome way of maintaining strong faith in an unfamiliar setting. Another
example of large Scriptural patterns guiding people's faith would be the contrasting
Christologies of the Gospels of Mark and John. For those with too "divine" an image of Jesus, reading Mark slowly and meditating on its descriptions of
Jesus' weaknesses and struggles can help towards appreciating the full down-to-earth
humanness of Jesus (3:20-30; 6:1-6; 7:14-23; 8:16-21; 11:12-21). On the other
hand, John's Gospel will definitely strengthen people's view of the divine nature
of Jesus and his mission (1:1-18; 5:1-47; 6:35-58).
Various attitudes toward "law" are reflected in the writings of Paul
and Matthew. For people struggling to overcome a paralyzing sense of law, Paul's
letter to the Galatians highlights Christian freedom, especially 5:13-26. That
passage was of great importance in my own spiritual maturation as I began theology
studies. On the other hand, people who need a deeper appreciation of the place
of law in Christian life can benefit from sustained reflection on the Gospel
of Matthew (5:17-20; 12:1-13; 15:1-14; 19:16-24). Sometimes struggles dealing
with anger, especially towards God, are a problem. Reading the sections of Jeremiah
called "Jeremiah's confessions" (11:18-12:6; 15:10-21; 17:14-18; 18:18-23;
20:7-13; 20:15-18) assist people to see how anger can change into improved prayer.
One advantage of large Scriptural patterns and various contrasts is that they
can help Christians to be more sensitive to the differences in people's spiritual
lives. Today many legitimate spiritualities exist in the church, many ways of
actualizing the gospel in one's life. Instead of acting like competitors, all
can benefit from a healthy exchange of ideas and practices. To acknowledge and
celebrate these differences and similarities remains an ongoing challenge for
everyone in our variously pluralistic church.
A second method of reading the Bible personally uses individual passages as
answers to personal questions or as directives for daily living. Christian history
provides many examples of this. In late-3rd-century Egypt the young man Anthony,
hearing in church the words "If you would be perfect, go sell what you
possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven" (Mt
19:21), took them as addressed directly to himself. Thereupon he sold his many
belongings and took up the life of an ascetic. Over a century later another
famous African, Augustine of Hippo, torn by internal turmoil, picked up Paul's
Letter to the Romans and read: ". . . not in riots and drunken parties,
not in eroticism and indecencies, not in strife and rivalry, but put on the
Lord Jesus Christ and make no provision for the flesh in its lusts" (13:13-14).
He describes its effect on him: "At once, with the last words of this sentence,
it was as if a light of relief from all anxiety flooded into my heart. All the
shadows of doubt were dispelled." (12) This method is often used in modern
Catholic retreat practice. Individuals or groups are assigned a passage for
them to reflect on and pray over, listening for how it "speaks" to
them. The contemporary spirituality movement Focolare makes a monthly practice
of reflection on a specified Bible passage.
Some potential problems with this method need to be addressed. People may take
the ideas that come from these passages as special divine messages, divine answers
to some difficulty of theirs. Such interpretations need to be balanced with
other factors: discussion with a spiritual director, prayerful reflection, practical "testing," and so forth. People need to be cautious of "absolute"
interpretations, taking them as God's direct inspiration. Some of Benedict Groeschel's
guidelines for evaluating "private revelations" would apply: (1)
Keep all claims of revelations in perspective; (2) no private revelation
comes directly from God and therefore none can be assumed to be inerrantly true;
(3) a private revelation by definition is personal and therefore must
be carefully applied and must never be considered an infallible guide in any
situation. (13) Still, this use of Scripture can be beneficial. Biblical quotations
often grace calendars, diaries, and notebooks. Using them as thoughts for the
day or week or month can be a helpful spiritual practice.
A third method of using the Bible for personal spiritual nourishment is lectio
divina. For years lectio divina was seen as a uniquely monastic spiritual
practice. In recent decades it has come to be used widely in the church. The
document mentioned earlier, The Interpre-tation of the Bible in the Church,
encourages all Catholics to consider lectio divina as a way of reading the Sacred
Scriptures. (14) The lectio divina of the monastic tradition differs
from "spiritual reading," as a practice of the 16th and 17th centuries
came to be known. Spiritual reading has meant a "set time" for reading
a variety of religious books. Its primary purpose is religious information. Lectio divina means an in-depth reading of the Scriptures that challenges
readers to personal conversion. The text is read slowly, more than once, and
its meanings are mulled over in an effort to see their application to one's
life. Lectio divina demands unbiased and receptive reading. It demands
prayer and concentration. Focused attention demands discipline of body and mind,
and one prays for honesty, openness, and insight and for the grace to bring
them into one's daily practice.
The Bible has always been the favored material for everyone's lectio divina,
but that does not mean it is an impersonal generic record. The books of the
Bible are the word of God, but also are the faith accounts of real men and women,
and so lectio divina is a unique form of listening. The reader continually asks:
What do these particular words coming down to me from these particular people
say to me? Those spiritual experiences are allowed to challenge my own. My faith
is confronted with the faith of another, and in that encounter I may glimpse
my own need for conversion. As I read St. Paul's words to the Philippians, "I
thank my God every time I remember you, constantly praying in every one of my
prayers for all of you" (1:3), I am led to explore thankfulness in my own
life. How often do I thank God, even for my best friends? How often do I pray
for them? At this point we have arrived at the heart of lectio divina.
By these questions in this context, the Christian feels happily invited once
again to conversion; God's grace to change for the better is there.
A succession of such moments becomes a conversation between the Christian and
the Lord, a loving interchange between ourselves and the Mystery of God, mediated
by the faith-filled words of the Bible. Many use the daily lectionary passages
for their lectio. In any case this conversation with God should be continued
day by day. In it we will find ourselves noticing our motives, the effects our
attitudes and actions are having on ourselves and others, and the shape our
hopes and dreams are taking.
The Second Vatican Council blazed a fine trail for Catholic spirituality by
encouraging more reading of the Bible. Many have been following it with enthusiasm,
but much remains to be done. The Bible and its many stories and poems of faith
have the potential to guide people's faith life amid today's formidable challenges
to it. Many need to become more aware of how much they need this treasure trove
of Christian tradition for their own peace and happiness. The council says it
well: "Such is the force and power of the word of God that it can serve
the church as her support and vigor, and the children of the church as strength
for their faith, food for their soul, and a pure and lasting fount of their
spiritual life" (DV §21).
Notes
1 Michael Casey, Sacred Reading: The Ancient Art of Lectio Divina (Liguori,
1995); Matthias Neuman OSB, "The Contemporary Spirituality of the Monastic
Lectio," Review for Religious 36, no. 1 (January 1977): 97-110.
2 Peter Brown, The Rise of Western Christendom (Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell
Publishers, 1996), p. 137.
3 [Addressed to pastors of parishes, the Roman Catechism (1566) does,
however, cite explicitly about a thousand short Scripture passages throughout-somewhat
like the references made on pp. 59-60 above-and quietly weaves another thousand
biblical allusions into the discourse. There are some twenty-five pages explicitly
devoted to prayer and eighty-five more pages on the Our Father, all of them
laced with Scripture. Ed.] The ten-year-old Catechism of the Catholic Church devotes eight pages specifically to the importance, place, meaning, and use
of Scripture in the church (CCC §§101-141) and seventy-five pages
to prayer (§§2558-2865), with considerable Scripture weaving in and
out and the Our Father given pride of place as in the Roman Catechism.
4 Stanislas Lyonnet sj, "A Word on Chapters IV and VI of Dei Verbum:
The Amazing Journey Involved in the Process of Drafting the Conciliar Text," in Vatican II: Assessments and Perspectives, ed. René Latourelle,
Vol. 1 (Mahwah: Paulist Press, 1988), p. 187.
5 Lyonnet, "Word," pp. 198-199.
6 Lyonnet, "Word," pp. 178-179.
7 Texts of Dei Verbum are taken from Vatican Council II The Conciliar
and Post-Conciliar Documents, Vol. 1, ed. Austin Flannery OP, rev. ed. (Collegeville:
Liturgical Press, 1992).
8 Pontifical Biblical Commission, The Interpretation of the Bible in the
Church (Washington: USCCB, 1994; also in Origins 23, no. 29 [6 January
1994]).
9 This issue is dealt with in detail by Sandra M. Schneiders IHM, The Revelatory
Text, 2nd ed. (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, Michael Glazier, 1999). See
especially pp. xxx-xxxiv.
10 Interpretation of the Bible in the Church, p. 38 (iv.B.2).
11 Andrew Ryder, Following Christ: Models of Discipleship in the New Testament
(Franklin, Wisconsin: Sheed and Ward, 1999).
12 Augustine, Confessions, trans. Henry Chadwick (New York: Oxford University
Press, 1992), p. 153 (Book 8, no. 29).
13 Benedict Groeschel CFR, A Still Small Voice: A Practical Guide on Reported
Revelations (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1993).
14 The Interpretation of the Bible in the Church, p. 38 (iv.B.2).
For Reflection
How do we
experience preachers, patristics scholars, exegetes, and catechists helping
people understand God's word?
How can we witness to the fact that today many legitimate spiritualities exist
in the church, many ways of actualizing the gospel in one's life?
Prayer
Litany to the Holy Spirit
Come, Spirit
of wisdom, and teach us to value the highest gift.
-Come, Holy Spirit.
Come, Spirit of understanding, and show us all things in the light of eternity.
-Come, Holy Spirit.
Come, Spirit of counsel, and guide us along the straight and narrow path to
our heavenly home.
-Come, Holy Spirit.
Come, Spirit of might, and strengthen us against every evil spirit and interest
which would separate us from you.
-Come, Holy Spirit.
Come, Spirit of knowledge, and teach us the shortness of life and the length
of eternity.
-Come, Holy Spirit.
Come, Spirit of godliness, and stir up our minds and hearts to love and serve
the Lord our God all our days.
-Come, Holy Spirit.
Come, Spirit of the fear of the Lord, and make us tremble with awe and reverence
before your divine majesty.
-Come, Holy Spirit.
Viterbo University Book of Prayers
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Ignatian Colloquies: Their Surpassing Value
by A. Paul Dominic S.J.
From the 64.1 issue of Review for Religious
For all
his greatness in church and world history, Ignatius Loyola is not a popular
saint like St. Anthony of Padua, who perhaps overshadows even St. Francis of
Assisi. Is he as popular among the Jesuits as St. John Bosco is among the Salesians?
It would not be uncommon to find Salesians mentioning their founder in the Eucharistic
Prayer at Mass, but it seems somewhat rare for Jesuits to mention St. Ignatius
there. While directing retreats, would Jesuit directors pray to St. Ignatius,
the official patron of retreats? During the one-month retreat based on the Ignatian
Exercises, would they direct their retreatants to pray to St. Ignatius on occasion?
With these questions in mind, imagine what I felt when Velanganni, a young fine-tuned
novice retreatant, asked me during the Second Week of the Exercises: "In the triple colloquy, can we not add a colloquy with St. Ignatius?"
Though not a little surprised, I said yes quickly enough and, hiding my curiosity,
asked her a director's question: "What made you think of this?" "Well,"
she said, "it is through the Exercises of St. Ignatius that we benefit
so much and receive so much grace. So it occurred to me that his prayer will
be of special help in our efforts to attain the fruit of the Exercises to the full." Admiring her inspiration, I seconded her spontaneous idea
without further probing.
But that left me probing my own experience of the Exercises. Slowly I
found myself discovering the value of the Ignatian colloquies, single and triple.
I began to consider modifying the triple colloquy by adding one with St. Ignatius.
What follows is an account of this train of thought.
A Myth
about the Exercises
One of the myths about the one-month Ignatian retreat, a false one, is that
it is difficult and requires no little stamina on the part of the retreatants.
Like all myths, it is not without an element of truth. Rightly, then, does Ignatius
caution against promotion and direction of the Exercises that would fail
to take into account whether the would-be exercitants may be "poorly qualified
or of little natural ability" (18:8). (1) If misunderstood, however, this
caution may suggest to a good many people that the thirty-day retreat is intellectually
elitist and spiritually snobbish.
Then again the full Exercises are not simply easy. They are far from
being a piece of cake. They not only propose a regimen of five full hours of
prayer that could be forbidding for many, but they also propound certain tasks
that could he threatening by their very nature. One retreatant, hearing about
the serious election her whole group had to make before making their final profession,
unguardedly remarked aloud: "It is like the drop of a bombshell!"
The Difficulty in Perspective
The difficulty thus encountered in the Exercises is, however, not more
severe than what generally obtains in life. If life is difficult, (2) making
the Exercises is no more or less difficult. As in life people grow according
to their openness to what life brings, so do exercitants progress according
to their receptiveness to what the Exercises specifically offer. Ignatius insists
that "exercitants should be given, each one, as much as they are willing
to dispose themselves to receive, for their greater help and progress" (18:3).
The most that can be given is, of course, the full Exercises to be gone through
carefully and conscientiously. The idea is to lead people first to the experience
of being a loved sinner (First Week) and then to that of straining (to put it
in Pauline terms, Ph 3:12) to capture the prize for which Christ Jesus captured
them in the first place (Second to Fourth Weeks). In these Weeks they have to
face the difficult moments, which are somewhat alike, except of course those
of the Fourth Week because of its unearthly, though human, atmosphere. They
meet the first difficult moment in the First Week when they are led beyond their
own sickening sin to grapple with the glaring sin of their society. During the
Second Week they encounter more than one hard moment. From the Two Standards
through the Election, they have to engage in a series of hard exercises; even
the daily contemplations on the life of Jesus turn out to be not simply enjoyable
but decisively challenging as the Election is in some way processed through
them (pace William Peeters). The Third Week is all the harder by reason
of its content, namely, the Passion confronting our passion, varyingly sinful
and virtuous.
The Ignatian
Way to Tackle the Difficulty
Something least expected about these successive hard moments and exercises lies
in the means, at once easy and potent, which St. Ignatius advocates to tackle
them. His suggestion is not simply to rely on our supposed resources nor somehow
to fend for our poor selves. At the very height of the most demanding exercises,
when all is said and done as it ought to be, the bold and earnest exercitants
are not left beaten. Far from being left to their own devices, they are directed
to tap the real source of power and love. The hopeful way that Ignatius maps
out for them is as easy to do as it is easy to understand. It is the triple
colloquy. Shorn of all pride and fear (322:4, 325:6), it is a threefold petitionary
prayer --- addressed first to our Lady, then to Jesus, and then to the Father
--- for obtaining certain graces according to the progress made in the retreat.
Once introduced at a crucial meditation on sin (62-63), it does not pass from
the scene; it stays for most of the remaining contemplations, certainly from
the Two Standards all through the rest of the Second Week (156:1, 159:3) till
the close of the Third Week (199:4).
To grasp the double value of the triple colloquy, namely, its ease and efficacy,
one must first appreciate the value of any colloquy in the Spiritual Exercises.
The colloquy initiates the formal conclusion of every single exercise of the
Exercises. As such it is a time for reaping and relishing the fruit of
the exercise that is coming to an end. Far from being a moment of hard thinking
or reflecting as the preceding time of prayer may have been, the colloquy is
the time for trusting, aspiring, asking, and receiving. As such, it is the easiest
thing for exercitants to do, even if they are tired at the end of the exercise.
It is a conversation (53:1) with Christ or any other human or divine or heavenly
person, according to the situation (109). It is not much different from the
prayer learned in childhood. "A colloquy is made, properly speaking, in
the way one friend speaks to another, or a servant to one in authority --- now
begging a favor, now accusing oneself of some misdeed, now telling one's concerns
and asking counsel about them" (54:1-2).
So describing a colloquy, Ignatius impresses upon exercitants the ease with
which it can and must be done. To those who miss such an obvious thing, he would
say that it is like saying the Our Father, as easy as that! In this spirit,
I believe, he directs the exercitant to close every single exercise of prayer
with the colloquy of the Our Father, that is, talking to the Father in the words
of Jesus. In other words, even when, for real or imaginary reasons, the meditation
or contemplation has not gone well, the retreatant should finish any hour of
prayer in a spirit of quiet confidence, (3) having the (final) (4) colloquy
with one or more heavenly persons, and ending always with the words of the Lord's
Prayer to the Father. (5)
Closely connected with the ease of colloquy is its power, the power of asking.
Colloquies are certainly moments of intimacy, and intimacy is power. Whatever
we may do in it, the most important thing is asking --- making bold to ask God
--- for a needed and longed-for favor. To the mind of St. Ignatius, "begging
a favor" (54:2) is the first of many possible things to do in a colloquy.
Its importance is that the spirit of the colloquy pervades the whole prayer
exercise. For one thing, at the beginning, the second or third prelude expressly
asks for the grace wanted and desired by the retreatant (48:1, 104:1) in this
hour of prayer. Colloquy takes up the same issue at the end of the prayer, only
more urgently and fervently. And, what is more, as the spirit of colloquy is
already indicated in the second or third prelude, it is in the nature of things
that it comes up and expresses itself now and again during the course of prayer
and not only at the very end, though it is mentioned formally only at the end.
(6) So the final colloquy turns out to be a last act of insistent eagerness
for gathering, without fail, all the good offered by God, who is at work in
us, enabling us both to will and to work for his good pleasure (Ph 2:13).
We know, as St. Ignatius did, Jesus' advocacy of the prayer of asking and receiving.
Matthew (7:7) and Luke (11:9) report the saying, "Ask and it will be given
you." John has a slightly different wording: "Ask and you will receive
so that your joy may be complete" (16:24). Mark has a related saying: "So
I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it,
and it will be yours" (11:24). The very easy and simple act of asking God,
and repeating the asking, is a sure way of receiving. This engaging and assured
way of repetitive, believing prayer could free people from unexamined anxiety
about their ability to achieve the aim of their prayer. It could thus enliven
their prayer, especially in the light of the Ignatian emphasis, not on knowing
much, but on experiencing deeply (2:5; 53) that God is the ground of all beseeching.
(7)
The
Ease and Power of the Triple Colloquy
If colloquy is easy and powerful, the triple colloquy is more so. It is, perhaps,
three times easier, because the time for aspiring and asking is tripled while
the time for reflection is much reduced. The matter of the triple colloquy is
more concrete and definite than in the ordinary colloquy. It engages the mind
and heart in a livelier way, and it is surprisingly more effective, as experiments
have shown. (8) Further, the triple colloquy, directed not to one but to three
persons, has room for both spontaneity and formal prayers such as the Hail Mary,
Soul of Christ, and Our Father. This variety helps concentration, reduces distraction,
and fosters fervor, deeper devotion, and thus greater spiritual benefit. Since
the triple colloquy tends to take more time than one single colloquy, it is
likely to give us greater assurance regarding what we deeply desire and to make
us more ready to receive the gifts destined for us by God, "who by the
power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we
can ask or imagine" (Ep 3:20).
The ease of the triple colloquy has led us to touch upon its power. The very
simplicity of the triple colloquy should open us to its richness and fruitfulness
just as the Exercises, based on nothing more than the basic knowledge
of the catechism (23:2) and the life of Christ (261-312), lead people to a deep
and lasting commitment to God. In the spirit of thinking with the church on
the saints (358), the triple colloquy is an exercise of faith in the communion
of saints and a source of benefit from it, as St. Ignatius suggests several
times in his Exercises (98:1, 151:1, 232:1).
He does not, however, propose sheer multiplicity, though he had been inspired
by St. Francis and St. Dominic, and had a special devotion to St. Peter, and,
as Harvey Egan notes, at times had recourse to a whole host of saintly mediators
including "the angels, the holy fathers, the apostles and disciples, all
the saints." (9) He believed in their spontaneous, unsolicited, effective
intercession for us all before God (58:2, 60:2-3, 232:1), and particularly,
of course, in that of holy Mary, our Lady, the firstborn of the blessed. (10)
He singled her out and urged his retreatants to pray to her, not as a deity
or goddess, but as an intercessor specially favored by God.
To appreciate his faith in Mary's intercession, which is eminently representative
of that of all the saints, we must turn to an intercession infinitely greater
than that, as St. Ignatius directs his retreatants to do in the triple colloquy.
It is the unique intercession of Christ, who, as an early writer had said, always
lives to make intercession for people (Heb 7:25). Christ's own intercession
is an answer, sure and final, to the great, constant desire of God the Father
to see at least one single person of worth interceding with him for the salvation
of all (Jr 5:1, Ezk 22:30). An instance of it was the great priestly prayer
he made to his Abba, in the presence of his disciples at his last supper, for
all those who believed or would believe in him.
Another scriptural instance is the heavenly vision of his mediatorship including
and summing up the intercession of the holy angels and saints before God, as
presented in Hebrews 12:22-24. St. Ignatius had a privileged experience of it. "Experiences of feeling or seeing disclosed . . . Jesus as the means of
union with the eternal Father [and disclosed] the manifold ways in which Jesus
mediated between Ignatius and the Trinity or the eternal Father. Moreover, mystical
experiences of seeing or feeling terminated not only in Jesus, but also in Mary
and in the saints." (11) This grace St. Ignatius urges his retreatants
to enjoy in their own way in the triple colloquy. St. Ignatius combines here
the witness of Scripture and tradition regarding the intercession of the saints,
at a time when would-be reformers were choosing the first and rejecting the
second.
It must be clear in this context that Mary does not dispense any blessing on
her own, any more then her son Jesus does in his humanity. Mary intercedes with
her Son and Lord on our behalf, and so does Jesus with his Father. There is
thus a hierarchy of intercession. Such intercession at whatever level produces
its own fruitfulness,12 but all of our grace comes from the Father. That is
why the triple colloquy ends with the Father. It is not for nothing that Jesus
teaches his disciples, "The Father will give you whatever you ask him in
my name" (Jn 15:16). At the same time he lets them know surprisingly that
the Father will give even without being asked, and the reason he gives is this:
"The Father himself loves you" (Jn 16:27).
In the Father's prerogative of generosity there is, according to his own will,
a unique, privileged place for his mediating Son and, secondarily, also a place
for saints and other sharers in and mediators of that Fatherly generosity. When
we look to these intercessors, we open ourselves to their benefactions in the
economy of salvation that God wills and works out in history. St. Ignatius's
experience in this regard is illustrative, extraordinarily so. "Even after
Ignatius had enjoyed numerous mystical experiences of each divine person . .
," as Harvey Egan remarks, "mediators continued to be decisive in
his relationship with the Trinity." (13) If, therefore, even mystics do
not rise above the ambience of mediators, there is no denying their role in
our own relationship with God.
It is not that these mediators are indispensable. Their role is that of being
members of the communion of saints, to which we ourselves belong. Their activity
consists in being benevolently disposed to those who cry to the Infinite whose
nature is benevolence. They share God's concern for the welfare of those on
earth. Humanly speaking, their role amounts to serving those in need by being
actively concerned about their well-being in God. It is not unlike what the
Spirit and Jesus do in different ways. "The Spirit helps us in our weakness;
for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes
with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is
the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according
to the will of God" (Rm 8:26-27).
As Hebrews tells us, Jesus "continues" or "remains" forever
(Heb 7:24). Having conquered death, he remains permanently in his priestly office
and continues to serve. William Barclay explains: "When the writer to the
Hebrews says that Jesus remains forever, there is wrapped up in that phrase
the amazing thought that Jesus is forever at the service of men. In eternity
as he was in time, Jesus exists to be of service to mankind. . . . On earth
he served men and gave his life for them; in heaven he still exists to make
intercession for them." (14)
The Spirit and Jesus intercede for the human race, (15) and the saints follow
suit. In the network of their loving heavenly relationships, they cannot do
otherwise.
There is another comparison we can make: between the way we human beings pray
on earth for ourselves and the way the saints in heaven pray for us. The comparison
may become clear from what St. Teresa of Jesus says about interceding for others.
Explaining how her intercession fails and succeeds, she writes:
In the one
case [of praying for things the Lord finds unsuitable], I don't cease forcing
myself to beg the Lord, even though I may not feel in myself the fervor-although
the petitions are close to my heart-that I feel for other petitions. I feel
like someone whose tongue is tied. Although he may want to speak, he cannot;
and, if he does speak, he does so in such a way that he finds he isn't understood.
In the other case [of things the Lord is going to do], I feel like one who speaks
clearly and diligently to someone who is listening very eagerly. In the first
case the petition is made, let us say for now, as it is in [unrecollected] vocal
prayer. In the other it is made in sublime contemplation. The Lord so manifests
himself that he makes it known he hears us and is glad we ask this of him and
to grant us the favor. (16)
Our colloquies with God involving very important but difficult petitions (157:1-3)
could turn out to be, for some reason for which we may or may not be responsible,
somewhat like Teresa's first kind of intercession; but, in their heavenly contemplation,
the saints' petitions for us are surely like the second. And so our lack or
even failure in intercession is made up for by the saints' success. It turns
out that, through the saints' prayer, God has fashioned a way for us to overcome
our hesitation and inhibition and so come to enjoy divine benefaction. In this
way, as Simon Tugwell says, "we are all living off" (17) the faith
of the saints.
Given this benevolent atmosphere, there is perhaps a way to claim and experience
the intercession of some favorite intercessors. If Ignatius had a striking "mystical
sensitivity about when and which mediator he should call upon to intercede with
the Father," (18) there should be no surprise if his retreatants should
find themselves invited to some similar communion with God and certain saints.
Such sensitivity reflects and accords with the historical revelation of God
himself choosing some souls to plead for others. As St. Ignatius was convinced
that all he had experienced was somehow available to all Christians, he would
have no objection to his retreatants' being moved to seek the intercession of
one or more of their favorite saints. I sense that the retreatant Velanganni
was asking about a colloquy with St. Ignatius, not out of intellectual curiosity,
but out of inspired fervor. I have every reason, then, to believe that he fulfilled
his humble duty to her joyously, having the same dispositions towards her as
the God who moved her in the first place.
Notes
1 The numbers given in parentheses in the text and endnotes include the verse
enumerations inserted in recent editions of St. Ignatius's original Spanish
and in The Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, trans. and ed. George
E. Ganss sj (St. Louis: Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1992, and Anand: Gujarat
Sahitya Prakash, 1993). Hereafter Ganss, SpEx.
2 F. Scott Peck opened his first bestseller The Road Less Travelled (London:
Arrow Books, 1978) with these three words, and he went on to say that, once
this fact or truth is accepted, one transcends the difficulty and lives one's
life fruitfully.
3 The confidence is based on the perception of God's good dispositions towards
the retreatant right from the beginning (75:2).
4 As will be shown presently, there can be intermediary colloquies, though not
mentioned explicitly by St. Ignatius.
5 From this viewpoint every colloquy in the Exercises is at least a double colloquy.
6 See Ganss, SpEx, pp. 156-157 n. 39.
7 The phrase "ground of beseeching" is from Julian of Norwich, but
the spirit is evocative of Ignatius, who speaks of God embracing the soul in
love and praise (15:4).
8 A good book in this connection is William R. Parker and Elaine St. Johns,
Prayer Can Change Your Life (New York: Pocket Books, 1974).
9 Harvey D. Egan SJ, Ignatius Loyola the Mystic (Collegeville: Liturgical
Press, A Michael Glazier Book, 1991), p. 88.
10 See Egan, Ignatius, p. 115. "Towards the end of the Autobiography,
Ignatius spoke of visions of the 'Virgin, at times interceding, other times
confirming.'"
11 Egan, Ignatius, p. 185.
12 See Egan, Ignatius, p. 116, for an extraordinary experience of this
kind that St. Ignatius recorded in what has come to be known as his Spiritual
Diary: "[I] could not help feeling and seeing her, as someone who is
a part, or the doorway, of so much grace that I felt in my soul."
13 Egan, Ignatius, p. 89.
14 William Barclay, The Letter to the Hebrews (Bangalore: Theological
Publications in India, Daily Study Bible, 1990), p. 82.
15 The triple colloquies refer to Jesus but not to the Spirit. The omission,
deliberate on the part of St. Ignatius, was to keep his name from being connected
with the alumbrados, with their extreme claims on the intervention of
the Spirit in their lives. But he did lead retreatants to experience the working
of the Spirit by his sober but subtle suggestions about the interior working
of God, without however giving offense to those suspecting heresy everywhere.
See in his Spiritual Exercises the following references: 15:3-4, 234:1-2,
320, 322:3-4, 324:2, 330, 365:2-3.
16 The Collected Works of St. Teresa of Avila, Vol. 1, trans. Kieran
Kavanaugh ocd and Otilio Rodriguez ocd (Bangalore: AVP Publications, 1982, and
Washington, D.C.: ICS Publications, 1976), p. 269.
17 Prayer in Practice (Springfield, Illinois: Templegate Publishers,
n.d.), p. 103.
18 Egan, Ignatius, p. 88.
Reflection and Discussion
"How we believe makes a difference in how we pray." Ruminate about the statement, consider personal experience, perhaps talk with God about it, or perhaps share reflections with friends.
Have I experienced that if life is difficult, making the Exercises is no more or less difficult?
How do I explain that colloquies are certainly moments of intimacy, and intimacy is prayer?
Do I accept that the triple colloquy is an exercise of faith in the communion of saints and a source of benefit from it?
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