Suchergebnisse

Supervision gilt im Krankenhaus als bewährte Methode der Personalentwicklung. Mit zunehmender Praxisverbreitung wird ein Bedarf nach wissenschaftlicher Evaluation und Weiterentwicklung formuliert, dem bisher nicht hinreichend Rechnung getragen wurde. Die Arbeit befaßt sich aus arbeits- und organisationspsychologischer Sicht mit Supervision in der Krankenpflege. Sie stellt den Stand der Forschung dar und untersucht, ob und in welcher Weise Supervision zur Prävention und Bewältigung arbeitsbezogener Belastungen dient. Untersuchungsfeld ist das Freiburger Universitätsklinikum, ein Krankenhaus der Maximalversorgung mit rund 8000 Beschäftigten, in dem die über 2500 Pflegekräfte die größte Berufsgruppe darstellen. Die Verfasserin ist als Diplom-Psychologin seit 1993 zur Supervision von Pflegenden und Stationsteams am Klinikum angestellt. Ziel ihrer Untersuchungen war es, den Stand der Supervision am Klinikum zu beschreiben und zu untersuchen, ob und inwieweit die intendierten Effekte und Ziele des Angebots erreicht werden. Pragmatische Perspektive war die Identifikation von Optimierungsmöglichkeiten, die für Konzeption und Durchführung der Supervision bedeutsam sind (formative Evaluation). Die Hauptfragestellungen umfassten deskriptive und evaluative Aspekte der Struktur-, Prozess- und Ergebnisqualität. Sie richteten sich auf das Erleben arbeitsassoziierter Belastungen, Erwartungen an Supervision, Akzeptanz und Inanspruchnahme, Inhalte der Sitzungen, Beurteilung des Nutzens und Prädiktoren für Supervisionsteilnahme. Durchgeführt wurden drei Studien. Datenquellen waren die fortlaufende Dokumentation der Supervisorinnen und Erhebungen bei Supervisanden, ehemaligen Supervisanden und einer vergleichbaren Kontrollgruppe Pflegender: Studie 1 Basisdokumentation Studie 2 Prä-/Postbefragung Studie 3 Katamnese mit Kontrollgruppe Die psychometrische Überprüfung der Gütekriterien der Instrumente erbrachte gute bis befriedigende Resultate, die Überprüfung der Skalenbildungen Hinweise auf eine reliable Erfassung der Konstrukte und Konvergenz mit der Literatur. Hauptergebnisse: • Pflege im Krankenhaus geht mit vielfältigen Belastungen einher. Zu den vorherrschenden zählen dabei neben hoher Arbeitsdichte Konflikte in der Zusammenarbeit im Pflegeteam und mit anderen Berufsgruppen. • Im Erleben der Pflegenden haben psychosoziale Belastungen einen höheren Stellenwert als die körperliche Beanspruchung durch ihren Beruf. Stress kann auf Ebene des Individuums, an der Schnittstelle Individuum-Organisation (im Team), sowie auf Ebene der Organisation entstehen. Umschriebene personenbezogene Faktoren (Alter, Geschlecht, Funktion auf Station) moderieren das Belastungserleben. Deutliche Effekte finden sich auch für das bedingungsbezogene Merkmal Abteilungszugehörigkeit. • Die Supervisionserwartungen und -bedürfnisse der Pflegenden sind realistisch an Möglichkeiten und Grenzen von Supervision geknüpft und dabei inhaltlich von den Arbeitsbelastungen auf Station bestimmt. Die Erwartungen sind in Abhängigkeit der Handlungserfordernisse Ziel- und Lösungsorientiert. • Bereichsspezifisch ist Supervision mit einem deutlichen Rückgang im Belastungserleben assoziiert. Unabhängig von personenbezogenen Merkmalen beurteilt die große Mehrheit der Pflegenden Supervision als wirksam zur Bewältigung ihrer Anforderungen im Krankenhaus. • Prädiktoren künftiger Inanspruchnahme sind neben den aktuellen Arbeitsbelastungen auch gute Erfahrungen mit bzw. ebensolche Erwartungen an Supervision. Letzteres verweist auf die Bedeutung einer bedarfsgerechten, umsetzungsorientierten Supervisionsgestaltung. Die Meta-Evaluation der Untersuchungen ergibt forschungsmethodische sowie praktische Konsequenzen für die Supervision im Krankenhaus: Bei expliziten Effizienzbetrachtungen (Kosten-Nutzen-Analysen) ist eine Ausweitung der Zielkriterien nötig. Neben subjektiven Aussagen müssen dann, unter Einhaltung des Persönlichkeits- und Datenschutzes, weitere quantifizierbare Daten erhoben werden (z.B. Leistungsdaten, Abwesenheitstage). Gleiches gilt für die vertiefte Erfassung personen- und zielgruppenspezifischer Effekte im Längsschnitt. Für die Supervision im Krankenhaus ergeben sich mehrere praktische Konsequenzen. Sie sollte niederschwellig angeboten werden, um zeitnah und bedarfsgerecht zum Einsatz zu kommen. Supervisoren sollten um die Determinanten arbeitsassoziierter Belastungen von Pflegenden wissen und diese situationsspezifisch sorgfältig identifizieren können. Bei Konflikten zwischen den Berufsgruppen ist es für die Effektivität einer Supervision unerläßlich, alle Konfliktparteien an einen Tisch zu holen. Ansatzpunkte von Supervision sind die individuelle Ebene, die Gruppenebene und die Schnittstelle Individuum – Organisation. Eine konsequent Lösungs- und Umsetzungsorientierte Supervision wird dem Bedarf von Pflegenden gerecht und erweist sich im Krankenhaus als effektiv. ; This thesis deals with psychological supervision groups for nurses working in hospitals. It reports on the state of the scientific research on work-related stress and on supervision groups in the hospital setting and evaluates empirically, whether and in what way these groups are being helpful in preventing and coping with work-related stress. The author is an occupational and organisational psychologist and psychological supervisor with Freiburg University Hospital. As a formative evaluation this work has two major concerns: firstly, to analyse scientifically the data collected in the field over several years in order to deduct evidence about the effectiveness of psychological supervision in a hospital setting; secondly, it reconsiders, develops and optimizes the practice of the so called "Freiburg Model" of psychological supervision groups for nurses. The conceptual background of the work is Occupational and Organisational Psychology. Freiburg University Hospital is a hospital of maximum care. All fields of medicine are represented by special clinics or institutes. More than 50.000 in-patients and nearly 380.000 out-patients are treated each year. The hospital employs a total of 8.000 people, among them 900 physicians. With over 2.500 nurses, this is the largest professional group. The hospital´s service of psychological supervision for nurses and ward teams aims at preventing psychosocial work hazards and at compensating for those hazards which are not fully inevitable in daily work on the ward. It is a hospital wide approach on the individual-organisational interface. The service was evaluated by three studies presented in this book: basic documentation, a longitudinal study and a cross sectional study with a control-group design. The psychometric properties of the instruments applied in the studies have been examined and proved to be good. The theoretical assumptions of the main dimensions based the on literature were confirmed. In summary, the scientific evaluation of the supervision groups´ effectiveness supports the following: Nurses are confronted with a great deal of work-related psychosocial stress. Characteristics of nursing are often a high work load and shortage of nursing staff, stress caused by patients´ problems, conflicts within the nursing team, poor work organisation and problems of communication and collaboration with doctors. The stress can arise at the individual level, at the individual-organisational interface and at the organisational level. Nurses´ assessment of work-related stress is moderated by personal and work-related factors. Nurses have a clear understanding of the potential and the limits of psychological supervision groups as a means of stress reduction. The expectations and needs regarding the supervision are articulated in a precise and goal-oriented way and relate closely to the specific stress at work. The perception of work-related stress decreases significantly after the supervision group sessions. The majority of the participants evaluate the psychological supervision as effective in preventing and overcoming psychosocial stress at work. This assessment is not affected by personal characteristics (e.g. age, gender, job position), thus indicating the effects of supervision being independent of these characteristics. Dealing with problems in interdisciplinary communication proves most successful when every party is represented in the supervision group. The wish of the former participants for future participation can be seen as a mathematical function of the present stress level at work and how they succeeded in translating groups´ outcome into action, whilst the wish of the so far non-participants for participating in the future is a mathematical function of the present stress level at work and their expectations regarding the groups´ effectiveness. The studies´ meta-evaluation emphasizes methodological as well as practical consequences. Methodological consequences for future research include investigating extended objectives -e.g. data on sick leave or rotation- when focusing on the cost-effectiveness of psychological supervision and using repeated measurement design for evaluating differential personal effects. In both cases, data protection legislation has to be fully taken into account. Practical consequences for psychological supervision groups in hospitals are: to provide easy access, to act early and in close response to demand, to acknowledge a problem at its source, to focus on problems on the individual-organisational interface, to include all parties concerned in a particular conflict and to translate resources into action.

The WSU Stewart Library Annual UC-UI Symposium took place from 2001-2007. The collection consists of memorabilia from the symposium including a yearly keepsake, posters, and presentations through panel discussions or individual lectures. ; Audio Recording ; " You Can't Get Anywhere Without Coming to Ogden: Railroading in the American West" a commemorative panel discussion presented at the 2004 Utah Construction/ Utah International Symposium Making Tracks by Dr. Richard Sadler Thursday, October 7, 2004 2 I grew up on the west side of the Salt Lake Valley and often was involved with, including a couple of summers, working on the railroad that went from Bingham to Magna that carried copper ore from the 1920s, and continues today to carry a concentrated copper that is milled at Copperton to the smelter and refinery on the north end of the Oquirrh mountains. In 1960 I traveled on a one way ticket from Salt Lake on the Western Pacific Railroad on the Feather River route. And as we talked about the Western Pacific I was telling my friend John Sillito I traveled that route, I can tell you what it was like. For many of us railroads are nostalgic. As I thought about us coming together today I thought some of you may have heard Peter, Paul, and Mary saying, " If you miss the train I am on, you will know that I am gone. You can hear the whistle blow…" How far? "… a hundred miles." Some of you will have heard Arlo Guthrie singing, " Riding on the city of New Orleans" traveling from Chicago through Tennessee to New Orleans. Some of you may have seen Gene Wilder in the film Silver Streak. We have railroads in both history and folklore. One hundred and fifty years ago people were talking all about John Henry, that steel driving man, who put himself up against a machine to see who could lay track the quickest. How about Casey Jones the engineer. And how about songs like, " I've been working on the railroad, all the live- long day. I've been working on the railroad to pass the time of day." Of course the live- long day may have meant a twelve hour working 3 day. " Don't you hear the whistle blowing; rise up so early in the morn. Don't you hear the captain shouting, Dina blow your horn." In 1765, the same year that the British Parliament passed the Stamp Act, which would lead, in part, to independence in America, James Watt, a Scotsman, invented an efficient steam engine. Seventeen years later in 1782 he patented it a steam engine that had pistons that would both push and pull and allow energy to be transmitted both ways when it pushed and pulled. The first important railroad in the United States was the Baltimore and Ohio which was begun in 1827 and then, in 1829, Peter Cooper, a New York manufacturer, built a steam engine he called the Tom Thumb. The Tom Thumb was an embarrassment to him because it lost a race against a horse because a belt slipped! It was still not powered in a way that locomotives would soon be powered. In 1833 when the Baltimore and Ohio had 133 miles of track, that was the longest stretch of track in the world. One American who dreamed of a transcontinental railroad and pushed for it in the decade of the 1840s was a man by the name of Asa Whitney. And, of course, two decades later Ogden would become the junction center for the first transcontinental railroad in the world. Railroads in the 19th and early 20th centuries were, to those folks, what today automobiles, rockets, and airplanes are all in one for us. So when we consider how important railroads were for those people, there is some nostalgia attached to it. For example, Carl Sandburg in his poem about Chicago said, " Hot butcher for the world, toolmaker, stacker of 4 wheat, player with railroads, and the nations freight handler, stormy, husky, brawling, a city of big shoulders." Not everyone loved railroads. Henry David Thoreau writing at Walden in 1846 said, " We do not ride upon the railroad, it rides upon us." So there were alternative points of view. I also liked him writing in Walden, " Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes." Another author, Philip Guedalla said, " The true history of the United States is the history of transportation. In which the names or railroad presidents are more significant than those of Presidents of the United States." Bret Hart writing about the May 10, 1869 joining of the rail said, " What was it that the engines said there, and for us we would say at Promontory, touching head to head, facing on a single track, with half a world behind each back?" Here we are in the area of the first transcontinental railroad of the world. Edna St. Vincent Malay and her poem entitled " Travel" said, " My heart is warm with the friends I make and better friends I'll not be knowing. Yet, there isn't a train I wouldn't take, no matter where it's going." And finally Langston Hughes, black poet with great feeling, wrote in his poem " Homesick Blues," " De railroad bridge's a sad song in the air. Ever time the trains pass I wants to go somewhere." So that whistle that still blows in Ogden, and Sacramento, and Omaha, and that even sometimes wakes us up at night, my friend Leisel Large up in Oregon, I am sure it blows a whistle up there too. We are going to be introduced today by my colleagues. I am delighted to introduce Dr. Kathryn MacKay, a member of our history faculty here at Weber, who is going to bring us to Ogden from the East and the Union Pacific Railroad. 5 She will be followed by Dr. Stan Layton, also a member of our history faculty but formerly the editor of the Utah Historical Quarterly for three decades. Stan does not look that old but he started young. He is going to bring us to Ogden from the West and talk about the Central and Southern and Western Pacific. And then our colleague Dr. Richard Roberts, emeritus professor of history, is going to talk about the Utah Central railroad and Ogden as a railroad center so we'll turn the time to these folks. Then we'll ask you for some questions and end up the discussion in that fashion. Does that sound alright? Thank you, Dr. MacKay.

[ES] En trabajos anteriores de este mismo autor se abordó el tema de los galeotes para el ámbito de la Corona de Castilla y para el período cronológico de los reinados de los Austrias. En esta ocasión el estudio de esta temática se ha extendido además a la Corona de Aragón y a los reinados de los Borbones del Antiguo Régimen. Como consecuencia de la politerritorialidad existente en la Monarquía Hispánica no hubo en sus dominios un único derecho penal aplicable en todos los reinos hasta la promulgación de los códigos penales de 1822 y 1848. En lo que se refiere a la implantación de la pena de galeras hubo una génesis y una evolución distinta en cada territorio. En Cataluña se comienzan a enrolar forzados en las galeras a comienzos del siglo XV. De tal forma que en 1438 esta pena está plenamente establecida en todos los territorios de la Corona de Aragón. Por lo que se refiere a Castilla, la pena de galeras fue introducida por Fernando el Católico y más tarde Carlos V, en 1530, la reguló plenamente y perfiló los delitos que se hicieron acreedores de la misma. Felipe II, por su parte, hizo un gran esfuerzo por aumentar el poderío de la flota de galeras. Por ello aumentó la duración délas condenas a galeras y amplió el número de delitos sancionables con ellas, tanto en la Corona de Castilla como en la de Aragón. En un principio no se estableció en ninguna parte la lista de delitos sancionables con la pena de galeras, sino simplemente se autorizó la conmutación de penas, corporales, destierros y otras similares por servicios de galeras. N o obstante la revisión de la legislación penal pone de relieve que con el paso del tiempo un buen número de delincuentes se fueron haciendo acreedores de trabajos forzados al remo: ladrones, blasfemos, bigamos, testigos falsos, desertores, huidos de prisión, vagabundos, resistidores de la acción de la justicia, etc. Como las necesidades militares fueron crecientes a medida que se fue desarrollando el proyecto hegemonista de los Habsburgo, se hizo imprescindible modificar algunos aspectos de la pena de galeras: Se aumentó la duración de las condenas, se introdujeron nuevos delitos en el catálogo de delitos sancionables con pena de remo, etc. Aunque no todos los remeros eran galeotes, éstos constituían la mayor parte de la fuerza propulsora de la marina de guerra mediterránea. La penuria de mano de obra forjó en la Corona una concepción utilitarista de la penalidad. En el artículo se analizan además los delitos castigados con galeras y la evolución seguida en tiempos de los Austrias y de los Borbones. Se finaliza explicando cómo era la vida diaria del forzado. El rigor del trabajo, la mala alimentación y las pésimas condiciones de la estancia ocasionaban altas tasas de mortalidad anual. Tras estudiar los tres siglos que aproximadamente componen la Edad Moderna, se llega a la conclusión de que con el transcurso del tiempo no se dulcificó la penalidad. Los ilustrados fueron conscientes de la necesidad de humanizar las penas, pero sus logros quedaron circunscritos al campo de las ideas en el siglo XVIII, preparando el terreno para que el gran cambio se produjera en el siglo XIX. Palabras clave: galeotes, criminalidad, pena de galeras. ; [EN] Previous studies of this author have dealt with the topic of convict oarsmen in the Crown of Castile during the period of Habsburg rule. For this study the theme has been extended to the Crown of Aragon and to the reign of the Borbons of the Old Regime. As a consequence of the multiple territories which comprised the Hispanic Monarchy, no one law applied to all of the kingdoms until the promulgation of the Penal Codes of 1822 and 1848. Regarding the implantation of the condemnation to the galleys each territory had its own genesis and separate evolution. In Catalonia convict oarsmen were first enlisted in the galleys at the beginning of the fifteenth century. By 1438 this punishment was fully established in all the territories of the Crown of Aragon. With regard to Castile, condemnation to the galleys was introduced by Ferdinand the Catholic and later in 1530, Charles V fully regulated condemnation to the galleys and the types of offences that incurred this punishment. For his part Philip II made a great effort to increase the power of the galley fleet. As a result he increased the duration of those condemned to convict galley service and widened the number of crimes sanctioned by it both in the Crown of Castile and that of Aragon. Initially neither territory established a list of crimes that incurred condemnation to the galleys. Instead capital punishment, exile and other similar penalties were commuted to convict galley service. Nevertheless, the revision of penal legislation highlighted that, as time passed, a good number of criminals became liable for forced labour at the oar: thieves, blasphemers, false witnesses, deserters, prison escapees, vagabunds, those who resisted justice, etc. As military needs grew as Habsburg hegemony developed, it proved necessary to modify some aspects of the condemnation to the galleys: the length of service of those condemned was extended, new crimes were added to those punishable by forced labour at the oar, etc. While not all oarsmen were convicts, they constituted a majority of the manpower that drove the Mediterranean war fleet. The shortage of manpower forced the Crown into a utilitarian concept of punishment. This article also analyses the crimes punished by condemnation to the galleys and the evolution that took place under the Habsburgs and Borbons. The article concludes with an account of the daily life of the convict oarsmen. The rigours of the work, the poor diet and the wretched conditions in which they lived produced high annual mortality rates. A study of the three centuries or thereabouts of the Early Modern period points to the conclusion that the passage of time did not moderate the punishment. Men of the Enlightment were conscious of the need to humanize the punishment, but their achievements were limited to the field of ideas of the eighteenth century, preparing the way for the great change that took place in the nineteenth century.

Part five of of an interview with educators in the Leominster, Massachusetts area. Topics include: Experiences as students in the Leominster school system. Kindergarten classes and moving students along in bilingual education. Funding to keep students in school and in programs that work for individuals. How parents support education. ; 1 SPEAKER 1: For example, um, we talked about the original Head Start. You went to kindergarten. I couldn't believe that. [Laughter] Okay. I mean, the whole intent, and correct me if you see it differently, but the whole intent of Head Start is that society sees that there's a group of children who don't have the exposure, whether it's cultural, whether it's language development, they don't have the exposure in their formative years. And when they get to kindergarten or when they get to first grade, they're kind of behind. And, primarily, we identify those kids as coming from lowest socio-economic backgrounds. Okay? So, the idea was to begin a Head Start program and target that population. But who will fund it? A wonderful idea. And I think that as you look at the longitudinal studies that have been done over 20, 30 years since Head Start, you see that kids who have gone through Head Start have been more successful in school, is less apt to drop out, less pregnancy, uh, less involvement with substance abuse, and so on. It seems to be a pair, okay? And yet, the federal government only funds Head Start to the point where only about 56 percent of the kids who are eligible, not all preschoolers, only the kids from socio-economic background who are financially eligible for Head Start, that's how many can go. You check with a Head Start program [alumnus], or you go to the government, you go anywhere you want, and they cannot take all of the kids who qualify. Why? Because the funding isn't there. That's the problem. A need is seen but the immediacy of that need is not recognized. SPEAKER 2: Is that why…? What is the reason that Lancaster Street had the only kindergarten? And you went to that. SPEAKER 3: You know, that I don't know. SPEAKER 1: But maybe, just… SPEAKER 3: My experience was like kind of just the opposite because my kindergarten teacher was Ms. [Trinkle]. She married another teacher. SPEAKER 4: Coach Sullivan.2 SPEAKER 3: Sullivan. Right. SPEAKER 1: Okay. SPEAKER 2: She married [unintelligible - 00:02:28]? How do you know so? SPEAKER 3: So, then I was ready for the first break. Now, I'm in kindergarten, and she felt I was ready for the first grade, so they sent me. My birthday was in January, so therefore, I was supposed to wait like another year. And I remember Miss Lincoln… do you remember her? She had some administrative position. And I remember her testing me [unintelligible - 00:02:55]. SPEAKER 2: Was the class at Lancaster Street predominantly Italian? SPEAKER 3: Everybody were. SPEAKER 4: I went to that one before she did and my kindergarten teacher was Ms. Kendall, and they started the kindergarten because the whole area was all Italian children. They did not speak English. SPEAKER 2: And that, really, in disguise, was the first bilingual program in Leominster. SPEAKER 1: Yeah. It was the forerunner. SPEAKER 3: I think so. Probably true. SPEAKER 2: That… really. SPEAKER 1: They were trying to address the same name in a different way. SPEAKER 2: But the way they went about it is a lot different from "transitional bilingual education." SPEAKER 3: But, instead of keeping me in that class for two years, she move me on. SPEAKER 1: If you want… to tell you the story, the same thing happened to him. They want to keep him back. Am I right? SPEAKER 3: No, I'm just saying age-wise. SPEAKER 2: Yeah. SPEAKER 1: Right. SPEAKER 3: I would have had to stay there another year. SPEAKER 1: Right. I see. SPEAKER 3: Probably because they felt that I was [pretty] and trusted me. 3 SPEAKER 4: And then, moving on. SPEAKER 1: Let's say they did something different. They did something different for that population. They put them in kindergarten. They brought them to school a year earlier. SPEAKER 4: That's right. SPEAKER 1: They didn't do that for the general population. Right? SPEAKER 3: A friend of mine gave me a copy of the class picture that I had never seen in my life until maybe the last year, year and a half, and I must tell you, we really did look like ragamuffins [laughter]. But it's such a pleasure to look at that picture. I mean, it's your roots. SPEAKER 2: Yeah. SPEAKER 3: It's your roots. SPEAKER 4: Now, my kindergarten class progressed as a whole. You were in kindergarten. The next year you're in first grade, second grade, and I don't remember a lot of kids being held back. They just went on. SPEAKER 2: This is my whole point of modern versus [test], need versus popularity -- popular to have the bilingual program, need to get these kids go on and started. SPEAKER 4: It's also numbers. SPEAKER 2: Absolutely. SPEAKER 4: It's also numbers. SPEAKER 2: Absolutely. And experiment. SPEAKER 3: We were a very small… Leominster was a very small… SPEAKER 2: But the philosophy. I don't care if there are a thousand or a hundred. The philosophy was different. That's my whole point. Our philosophy was to get them in there, teach them English, get them going, and they'll be fine. And that turns out to be exactly true because as Lucy said, you want to go back and trace the history of folk. Those Italian kids started that first bilingual class. They did fine. They did very well in the city of Leominster. 4 SPEAKER 4: On the other hand, there were kindergarten students [unintelligible - 00:05:29] were we at 12th grade, or…? SPEAKER 5: Well, they never had… SPEAKER 3: Twelfth. SPEAKER 1: With me, as I said, I was 9 years old, so I would have started third grade. I guess about third grade and I stayed just a couple of months. We came to the United States and landed in February and I was put into the first grade. I didn't speak a word of English. I was 9 years old put into the first grade just to be under that school year. And then, I spent that summer in Indiana. I came back in the fall. I went into grade 2. Halfway through the year, the teachers made a decision and they pulled me out of the second grade. They felt I knew English well enough at that point. And they brought me across the hall and put me in the fourth grade classroom. So I started the year on grade 2, ended the year on grade 4. That following September, I was in [unintelligible - 00:06:37] and went into grade 5 with Mrs. McGraw. SPEAKER 2: Today, if you were 12, you had a CORE evaluation. Think about it. SPEAKER 4: Yes. SPEAKER 1: I still graduated a year behind you know, my age group. I lost a year, okay, although I ended up you know, skipping a couple of grades. But I was fortunate in that I was able to survive that. But I'm telling you that there were many others who did not survive that kind of so called "immersion." So, you know, Vinnie is right. You have to look at the individual and say, you know, "What's best for this person?" Not just today, but think about what you're doing in terms of how it's going to affect that person's lifetime. Because the greatest cost for failure is after a person leaves school. Well, you can put a kid into special education as costly as that might be. You can put a kid into bilingual program and some added cost. But you 5 have a youngster who drops out of school and fails, end up in jail or gets pregnant, is on drugs. Your sending a youngster to jail is going to cost you $50,000 a year to keep that person. SPEAKER 3: And you know, when they went in, they will know when they come out because they learned from each other. There's a teaching going on there as well. SPEAKER 1: Exactly. And that's why I believe in you know, rehabilitation programs in prisons, because, I mean, what else are you going to spend that money for? If it's just for punishment, if it's just for revenge, you wanted… you know, a person did something wrong, you're going to pay. So you're going to spend 10 years behind bars. Okay? But then stop and think about what happens when that person comes out. Are you going to end up sending that person back? Hopefully, that person becomes a contributing member of the society or if not contribute, at least you know, not detract from society. It's you know, the longer range. We're all human beings. SPEAKER 2: If you wanted to trace back again to that kindergarten class and at the beginning of that program with Lucy's, and trace how many of those people "went to jail" or on drugs, that got in trouble? You'd find there are few. You'd find very few. Think about it. And, going back to the point, the last one, we didn't have to spend a lot of money on the law enforcement, okay? Because parents… let's get to that point. Ethnic families – French, Italian, and others [unintelligible - 00:09:04] – were very proud people. Okay? And they didn't want to be embarrassed by having an officer come to the house. They took care of their own problems. All the teachers had… I can remember breaking a window. It was an accident but I was throwing stones and threw it the wrong direction and broke a window. Ms. Gallagher called up my house, the principal, to tell my mother. End of problem. End of problem. [Laughs] I mean, guys, I didn't have to be told more than once. SPEAKER 4: No. That's right.6 SPEAKER 2: Okay? Because that's the difference there. SPEAKER 3: Starting with Miss [Partimo], she was a fourth grade teacher, I had [unintelligible - 00:09:44] Miss [Partimo] for two weeks. And it was [glorious]. So they somehow closed down the fourth grade, and they sent half the class to the third grade and half the class to the fifth grade. And I had Miss [Gallagher] and Miss [unintelligible - 00:10:01]. She was the principal and she taught girls. I went to see her. She is deceased this year. But a year ago, when we did all that for the honorary members, I brought flowers to each of these women that couldn't attend the meeting partially because of transportation. And Miss Gallagher was one of them. And we sat and had the longest chat and then we talked about [unintelligible - 00:10:28]. One of the things that I came away with, she marveled at how… she found her job as relatively easy because of the parents that she worked with, the Italian parents and how… they wanted the best for their children. They wanted an education for their children. But the teacher was always right that they were going to follow the rules. And boy, the last thing a teacher has to say to you was, "I'm going to tell your parents." Oh, my God. You'd shiver and shake because again that was the worst thing in the world. Not to say [unintelligible - 00:11:08]. I don't mean that but… SPEAKER 2: Do you remember when your mother went to the [unintelligible - 00:11:12] to the open house [unintelligible - 00:11:14] you know. I didn't worry about my mother saying, and I know your mother well… I didn't worry about my mother saying and the teacher saying "Joseph is not doing…" That was expected. You came from an Italian home. You're expected to do well. "How is he behaving?" The teacher said, "Well, Joseph is a little loquacious." SPEAKER 4: [Laughter].7 SPEAKER 2: [Laughs]. I would hide under the… like a fool, I was hiding under the sheets. [Unintelligible - 00:11:46] [Laughter] But that was called pride. Your parents had pride and you didn't embarrass them. SPEAKER 1: They wanted you to be respectful. SPEAKER 2: That's right. SPEAKER 1: But I have to believe that… I don't care what ethnic group you're talking about, that basically parents want their kids to succeed. SPEAKER 3: That's right. SPEAKER 1: Okay? And you know, today, we use the word partnership. Education is a partnership, you know, the home and the school. I mean, they're all elements in a successful equation, I guess, if you want to call it that. You do have to have parents that support kids and support education. You know, Vinnie, tell us the story about you that you were telling me last week when you came to the United States. And at some point, there was a decision to be made about you going on in school or going to work. I thought that was quite interesting, okay? You might share that. SPEAKER 2: Maybe the support system that we have today is quite different from what it used to be years ago when family would contribute their ideas. And what relatives would say would be very important to determine what young children would take as their career, would take as a job, would do as the next thing. In my own personal experience, I know that it wasn't easy for me to go to school, especially to middle school in Italy because first of all, conditions were right after the war. Everything was with much destruction all around. And the fields, I remember one of the main sources of our income was the vineyards. My grandfather produced grapes and wine to be sold and to be processed. And as the story goes, they just had an attack by [unintelligible - 00:14:03] which destroys the grapevines, and then you need seven years before you can get production up again. So, the source of income was not available. My father had just come back from being a prisoner of war, and of course, you don't earn money while you're a prisoner of war. You're as 8 destitute when you come out as you were when you went in. And he was there seven years. This was in 1947. And when you make a decision to have your son continue the education, you have to buy the books. You have to provide the money to go to the district school which is [unintelligible - 00:14:53], which is not very far, but the bus that took you there was a jungle bus that also went to Padova, and so it took about 45 minutes for what would nowadays be maybe a 10-minute ride. SPEAKER 1: It was seven miles, and [unintelligible - 00:15:06]. SPEAKER 2: [Unintelligible - 00:15:06] But it took at least half an hour, 45 minutes with a detour to [unintelligible - 00:15:14] with stops for the general public. But, if you have to go everyday to school like that, you have to have a subscription to the bus and you have to come up every month with the money to pay for this transportation, plus the books were expensive. The books that you buy are dictionaries, textbooks. And I remember, I still have some of my old textbooks. The paper on which they were printed was so flimsy and the margins almost nonexistent because they tried to cram as much print as possible in the fewest number of pages. But, anyway, I know that my mother, whenever we needed to buy a textbook and we didn't have the money, she'd have to go around and beg, borrow, steal, as they say, for money for me to buy these books so we could continue our education. So, when we finally decided that I would come to the States and the idea was, "Well, should I go to work or should I continue with my education, knowing I have done reasonably well in school and that my family has invested all this money and effort in my ongoing education?" And of course, my father at that time was not in the best of health and my relatives were pointing out you know, "He's young. He's strong. He can get a job and get relatively good money coming right away. 9 Whereas, if you decide that he should go to school, first of all, he'd have to learn English, second, you have no income for him, third, you have to provide him with decent clothes and food. So that's going to be, instead of a plus, a drain on the family." But…/AT/mb

Issue 63.2 of the Review for Religious, 2004. ; 2004 Review for Religious helps people respond and be faithful to God's universal call to holiness by making available to them the spiritual legacies that flow from the charisms of Catholic consecrated life. Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published quarterly at Saint Louis University by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393 Telephone: 314-977-7363 ¯ Fax: 314-977-7362 E-Mail: review@slu.edu ¯ Web site: www.reviewforreligious.org Manuscripts, books for review, and correspondence with the editor: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, MO 63108-3393 Correspondence about the Canonical Counsel department: Elizabeth McDonough OP ° St. Joseph's Provincial House 333 South Seton Avenue ° Emmitsburg, Maryland 21727 POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ¯ P.O. Box 6070 ¯ Duluth, MN 55806. Periodical postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional mailing offices. See inside back cover for information on subscription rates. ©2004 Review for Religious Permission is herewith granted to copy any material (articles, poems, reviews) contained in this issue of Review for Religious for personal or internal use, or for the personal or internal use of specific library clients within the limits outlined in Sections 107 and/or 108 of the United States Copyright Law. All copies made under this permission must bear notice of the source, date, and copyright owner on the first page. This permission is NOT extended to copying for commercial distribu-tion, advertising, institutional promotion, or for the creation of new collective works or anthologies. Such permissign will only be considered on written application to the Editor, Review for Religigus. view for religious LIVING OUR CATHOLIC LEGACIES Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Editorial Staff Advisory Board David L. Fleming SJ Clare Boehmer ASC Philip C. Fischer SJ Elizabeth McDonough OP Mary Ann Foppe Tray Gramn~ Judy Sharp Sr. Raymond Marie Gerard FSP Eugene Hensell OSB Ernest E. Larkin QCarm Louis and Angela Menard Bishop Carlos A. Sevilla sJ Miriam D. Ukeritis csJ QUARTERLY 63.2 2004 contents 118 134 143 spirituaO wisdom Keeping a Balance: Contemplation and Christian Meditation Brian V. Johnstone CSSR proposes that some form of active vocal prayer may well go together with contemplation. Faith Seeking Understanding: Spiritual Direction's Sapiential Function Dennis J. Billy CSSR explains how spiritual direction is a divine (but also human) art that helps us "pray in truth" and come to an intimate personal knowledge of God. Windows of the Soul: Walter Ciszek SJ George Asehenbrenner SJ relates the incident in the life of the Jesuit Walter Ciszek that gave him the faith-filled freedom to survive twenty years of Communist prison. 148 158 men oring Merton and a Spirituality for Millennials Fred Herron proposes Merton's retrieval of the riches of the Benedictine Rule as a spirituality for the millennial generation. Paradox in the Monastery: Lessons from Two Ammas Laura Swan OSB reflects upon the paradox that oft-told stories reveal more about us and our current struggles than about the subject of the story. Review for Religious 169 Viewing Chapters as "Authorizing" Our Congregations' Narratives Patrick Sean Moffett CFC presents various aspects of religious-life chapters that emphasize the storytelling nature of these ecclesial events. 182 ignatian tradition Our Lady's Presence in the Spiritual Exercises J. Thomas Hamel SJ helps us to review the subtle, but penetrating, presence of our Lady to the prayer exercises of the Ignatian Spiritual Exercises. 192 The Spiritual Power of Matter: Teilhard and the Exercises Kathleen Duffy SSJ shows how the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius helped Teilhard de Chardin to synthesize the science of evolution with his Christian knowledge of God. departments 116 Prisms 204 Canonical Counsel: Mergers, Unions, Federations, and Confederations 211 Book Reviews 63.2 2004 Pentecost is the traditional birthday of the Christian church, and its mis-sionary effort began simultaneously with its birth. As we read in the second chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, Peter stood up "with the Eleven, raised his voice, and addressed the devout Jews of every nation staying in Jerusalem at the time. 'Jesus God has raised up, and we are his witnesses. Exalted at God's right hand, he first received the promised Holy Spirit from the Father, then poured this Spirit out on us. This is what you now see and hear'" (Ac 2:32-33). As a result of Peter's preaching on this first Pentecost day, some three thousand were bap-tized. This is the story of the church's birthday. After centuries of identifying mission just as one of the activities of the church, we now are returning to the church beginnings at Pentecost to realize how church and mission are a single reality. We might claim, then, that Christian theology has its beginnings in our reflection on mission. In the U.S. bishops' 1986 pastoral let-ter "To the Ends of the Earth," we read: "To say church is to say mission." Our way of theologizing about our Trinitarian God--Father, Son, and Spirit--is in terms of their active relationships, in terms of their mission. In Genesis, God pours forth the Spirit, and creation and life happen. In the Gospel of St. John, Jesus describes himself as the One who is sent. And, in that same Gospel, Review for Religious Jesus describes anew a sending of the Spirit from the Father and himself. Both creation and redemption can be described as salvific acts because God as "missionary" is always involved in being a saving presence in creation. As the Body of Christ, sharing in divine life, we the church also share in God's mission. The church, then, like our Trinitarian God, is missionary in its very being. The word missionary cannot be restricted only to those sent to evangelize in countries or cultures not their own. In fact, mission cannot be defined by geography, especially in our globalized world. Mission is not driven just by the zeal to expand the boundaries of the church. To be missionary, however, does call us to step out beyond the boundaries of our fears and our traditions and our cultures. If being church is being missionary, what does mis-sion mean for us? We Christians, members of Christ's Body, are missionary in our very baptismal being. Jesus has extended his mission to us all--proclaiming the reign of God (close around us) and so making people aware of the nearness of a saving, loving God. Just as the mis-sion of God is found incarnated in Jesus' life mission, we realize that our mission today must be exercised in the way we live and deal with others. It is the way that God respects and dialogues with us human beings. Only with such dialogue and respect can we make ourselves one with God's mission. As missionaries, like St. Francis of Assisi, we live, and sometimes we have to preach. There is a traditional saying, "You can only convert what you love." In an analogous way, we might need first to be "evangelized" by those that we intend to evangelize. But today we are being called anew to be who we are baptized to be: missionaries, made in the image and like-ness of our Trinitarian God, our Missionary God. David L. Fleming SJ 63.2 2004 spiritua wisdom BRIAN V. JOHNSTONE Keeping a Balance: Contemplation and Christian Meditation Some time ago Ernest E. Larkin OCarm pub-lished an article titled "Today's Contemplative Prayer Forms: Are they Contemplation?" After reviewing the different meanings given to "meditation" and "contemplation," he conclu-ded: "In this frame of reference, we see that centering prayer and Christian Meditation do not fit handily in the category of either meditation or contemplation. They are something new in contemplative practice.''1 The present article offers an account of what is different in these contemporary prayer forms and seeks to show how they are nevertheless related to tradition. The discussion will focus primarily on Christian Meditation. Meditation and Contemplation Contemplation itself, as understood for example by St. John of the Cross, is "pure Oft"; there is no place in it for active collaboration. Brian V. Johnstone CSSR, new to our pages, writes from Accademia Alfonsiana; C.P. 2458; 00100 Roma; Italy. Review for Religious Thus, Larkin concludes, "John's contemplation is not the immediate horizon of contemporary contemplative prayer forms.''2 In his writings, the Benedictine monk John Main, who is recognized as the original exponent of Christian Meditation, does not enter into lengthy, detailed analysis of the higher states of prayer such as we find in St. Teresa or St. John of the Cross. In his account of Christian Meditation, John Main says: "I am using the term meditation as synonymous with contemplation, contemplative prayer, meditative prayer, and so forth.''3 We do not find in his writings a sharp distinction between contemplation in the classic sense and the forms of prayer that entail the active engagement of the person praying. Is there an issue here? Perhaps the most practical question is whether Christian Meditation is to be regarded as a form of contemplation in the classic sense, that is, a type of prayer that is believed to be given freely by God, but usually only after a long process of many steps. In particular, for John of the Cross, contemplation begins with the passive, dark night of the senses. This would mean, at least in a commonly accepted interpretation of contemplation, that it would be a miraculous supernatural event reserved for an elite. Christian Meditation, as described by John Main, is not like this. It is a form of prayer in which, after some simple instruction, beginners can join. He is concerned to impart to interested persons a simple method which, being simple, is available to many. Participants are not encouraged to think of themselves as moving from stage to stage along a precisely delineated path towards a "higher" level of prayer. It is recognized that meditation over a long period, many years in fact, is usually necessary to acquire facility and skill, but experienced meditators are not considered as having attained a level of prayer with different requirements from those that are appropriate and possible for beginners. 63.2 2004 Johnstone ¯ Keeping a Balance A fear of mistaking "doing nothing, with nothing happening" for genuine contemplation has a long history in Christian prayer. This raises an important practical issue. In the traditional theological analysis, it was important that persons engaged in prayer recognize clearly the stage they had attained. A director was to assist discernment in this matter. Since there were particular rules and expectations for each stage, a mistake could have serious spiritual consequences. The issue is mentioned in Larkin's article; he cites James Arraj as warning that without "express contemplation" (which I take to mean contemplation in the sense of "infused" or passive contemplation) the person should continue to make acts of faith and love rather than be "simply idle in the prayer." 4 The practical problem seems to come when people think they have been given the pure gift of contemplation in the proper sense. Then, since this level is essentially passive and excludes the making of acts, they think they should drop such activity. But they may be mistaken. Having stopped making acts of faith and so forth, they may then just "hang out," doing nothing, thinking they are enjoying the gift of passive contemplation when they are merely being passive. They would be doing nothing, and nothing would be happening. This would be unlikely in the case of people following John Main's Christian Meditation. He insists on the continuous, quiet repetition of a short prayer that he calls the mantra; if persons at prayer should momentarily lapse into inactivity and find themselves Review for Religious doing nothing, they should immediately begin repeating the mantra again. A fear of mistaking "doing nothing, with nothing happening" for genuine contemplation has a long history in Christian prayer. On the one hand, it would be a serious mistake to lead people to believe that the hours they are spending in "contemplation" are just a waste of time, mere wool gathering. On the other hand, if a spiritual guide such as John Main strongly recommends that people continue to make acts during meditation, does this imply that in this form of meditation there is no place at all for contemplation in the classic passive sense? In offering an answer to this question, I will examine a prayer form recommended by St. Teresa and accepted also by some who followed her. As I will seek to show, she had a less restrictive notion of contemplation than the previous analysis suggests. This broader notion of contemplation, furthermore, may well have a parallel in Christian Meditation. Active Recollection Larkin takes note of St. Teresa's "active recollection," a form of prayer that she developed from her own experience,s He describes it as a "transitional prayer form that is very similar to modern contemplative prayer.''6 "Transitional" indicates that this way of praying is followed by those who are passing from simple meditation to the "higher" levels of contemplation, but have not yet arrived. St. Alphonsus de Liguori (+1787), in addition to his works on moral theology, wrote extensively on the spiritual life, and in particular on prayer. Following St. Teresa, he gives special mention to "active recollection," which he links closely to "contemplative repose," an expression he takes from "the mystics.''7 Contemplative repose, he explains, is vi.rtually the same as active recollection; it refers to a spiritual condition in which 63.2 2004 ,~obnstone * Keei~ing a Balance "the soul is focused on some spiritual thought and, absorbed in itself, feels gently attracted to God." I will analyze this type of prayer, "active contemplation," and compare it with Christian Meditation. Such a comparison will, I believe, serve to show the continuity of Christian Meditation with tl~e older tradition, and also bring to light those new features which it has to offer. What did St. Teresa mean by "active recollection"? She was familiar with what is called "discursive meditation." This form was promoted in the Dominican Luis de Granada's famous Book of Prayer and Meditation, which St. Teresa actually recommends in her con-stitutions. She herself, however, did not find this way of prayer suitable. About such works she wrote, "There are so many good books written by able persons for those who have methodical minds and for souls that are experienced and can concentrate within themselves that it would be a mistake if you pay attention to what I say about prayer" (19.1). But her own method is for those persons whose minds, like hers, are "wild horses" (19.2). How does St. Teresa deal with this mental rodeo in the context of prayer? She recommends .the Lord's Prayer. One would recite it phrase by phrase, slowly and attentively. In her view, vocal prayer does not exclude contemplation. She calls her method "active recollection." in this kind of prayer, she says, "the soul collects its faculties together and enters within itself to be with God" (28.4). This entails a centering of attention, plus awareness that God is near, fully with us at all times (29.5). We are to be fully present to God and to gaze upon him. Teresa uses the sight metaphor several times. It is not a matter of constructing arguments with concepts. She writes: "I'm not asking you now that you think about Him or that you draw out a lot of concepts or make long and subtle reflections with your intellect. I'm not asking you to do anything more than Review for Religio~ts look at Him" (26.3). She calls this a "method," and the one praying is required to make an "effort." This form of active prayer does not exclude contemplation, but promotes and may include it. From Teresa's experience she can affirm that this method disposes a person to the prayer of quiet (that is, a more passive kind) more readily and quickly than other methods. During this form of prayer, she writes, the soul will at times feel a passive quieting and be drawn gradually to a greater silence (30.7). For Teresa, the experience of passivity, that is, of contemplation in the proper sense, is not reserved to some final stage at the end of a long progression, nor is it reserved for spiritual experts. Is there a conceptual difference between the "prayer of quiet" and contemplation in the classic sense? St. Teresa refers to the former as "the beginning of pure contemplation" (30.7). But it still entails active recollection and may include vocal prayer. She insists that it is a mistake to believe that vocal prayer cannot go together with contemplation. There are no clear psychological gaps between vocal prayer, the prayer of quiet, and the beginning of contemplation. One fades into another as the felt need to initiate new effort yields to the sense of being moved by the impetus of the process one has already begun. This itself, of course, was begun as a response to the stimulus of grace, which in turn, as it emerges into consciousness, yields the awareness of being taken over completely by God. St. Alphonsus dealt specifically with the nature of the "prayer of quiet." According to his view, since in active recollection one's will is dominant, it will bring the imagination under control without any further effort on the part of the soul.8 There is, then, control, but it is the kind of control that follows the momentum of the earlier activity; there is no need for the further effort of making 63.2 2004 Jobnstone * Keeping a Balance new acts. This is a-form of quiet, but it is not completely passive. St. Alphonsus insists on some acts, those to which God is gently attracting us. The impetus of the divine initiative begins to emerge into consciousness, but this is not to say that the same initiative was absent before one's becoming conscious of it. The assumption that active and passive prayer are essentially different levels of prayer begins to appear as abstract theory that does not necessarily correspond to actual experience. For St. Teresa, the reason for active recollection is to become aware of Christ's presence. For example, we can be present to him in joy, being with him as risen. Here Teresa seems to imply reflection on the Gospel accounts. She has a theological support for this conviction: "Although risen, he still influences us through his earthly mysteries, by which he draws close to us in a more tangible way" (26.4,5,8). St. Alphonsus, as has been said, followed St. Teresa closely with respect to "active recollection." He is St. Alphonsus insists on some acts, those to which God is gently attracting us. perhaps more insistent than she is that the person at prayer continue to make acts. There may have been historical reasons for this emphasis, apart from A1- phonsus's own energetic personality. Pope Innocent XI in 1687 condemned the Quietists. This group taught, or is supposed to have taught, that making one intense act of love of God and never withdrawing it would assure union with God, and that no further effort was needed either in prayer or in living. It may be as a reaction against this that St. Alphonsus stresses the need for acts and more acts. Review for Religious However, while he emphasized the need for activity, it was certainly not his intention that the active contemplation become obsessively busy. Consider the following description of active recollection: "Without conscious effort, untroubled by external distractions, and totally absorbed within itself, experiencing at the same time a deep sense of serenity, the soul is able to concentrate on the mystery or the eternal truth in question.''9 These words would, on the whole, not sound alien to one familiar with Christian Meditation. But, to explain the differences between Christian Meditation and the active recollection of the Teresan tradition, a more detailed description of the former is needed. Christian Meditation John Main's account of Christian Meditation begins with an acknowledgment of the inveterate confusion of the human mind. While St. Teresa invoked the image of wild horses, John Main compares this condition of the mind of the would-be meditator to a "tree full on monkeys." Whether described in terms of horses or monkeys, the mental experiences are clearly similar. There is also a similarity in the way these two writers recommend that we deal with the problem. St. Teresa favors the Lord's Prayer; John Main also proposes a form of vocal prayer. The prayer he recommends is an attentive, mindful repetition of a phrase, a mantra. He recommends, in particular, Marana tha, an Aramaic expression which means "Our Lord, come." St. Paul ends his First Letter to the Corinthians with this invocation, and the Book of Revelation ends with the same prayer. The prayer is eminently Christian. For both St. Teresa and John Main, the aim of cultivating attention so as to make space for the experience of the presence of God is essentially the same. Main once wrote: 63.2 2004 Johnstone ¯ Keeping aBalance St. Thomas Aquinas says that "contemplation consists in the simple enjoyment of the truth." Simple enjoyment! Now it is true that thinking, analyzing, comparing, and contrasting all have their place in the various disciplines, including theology. But contemplation, as St. Thomas calls it, meditation as we would call it, is not the time for activity, for the activity of thinking, analyzing, comparing, or contrasting. Meditation is the time for being. Simple enjoyment. And the simplicity that St. Thomas speaks of, its oneness, union.1° Here no clear distinction is made between contemplation in St. Thomas's sense and meditation. The experience of oneness or union, however, seems to belong to contemplation in the classic sense, that is, something beyond active meditation; the soul is completely passive. For John Main, though, these distinctions do not seem to matter. There is a notable difference between the Weresan prayer of "active recollection," at least as understood by St. Alphonsus, and Christian Meditation. The first entails reflection on a "mystery" or "eternal truth," while the latter aims at a sense of union, without passing through the penetration of a "truth." In Christian Meditation, one does not concentrate, for example, on the meaning of the phrase "Lord, come," but repeats it as a way of focusing awareness on the presence of God. As we have seen, St. Teresa, and St. Alphonsus as well, would immediately affirm this goal. The point of difference is that they would include a concentration on a particular mystery or truth within the meditation itself. Truth in a more general sense, however, is intended as an element of Christian Meditation. John Main wrote: "Meditate every morning and every evening, faithfully, simply, and humbly. Contemplation consists in the simple enjoyment of truth.''11 This statement suggest two facets of the one event: the active meditation (that is, the Review for Religious repetition of the mantra) and the simple enjoyment that accompanies it. This is not all that different from St. Teresa's and St. Alphonsus's notion of "active recollection." Christian Meditation should not be misinterpreted. It is not antiintellectual or antitheological. It does not downplay the importance of truths. It merely leaves reflection on such truths outside of meditation itself. Indeed, within the movement there is available to meditators an extensive body of writing that offers ample reflection on the mysteries of faith. Because it is a popular movement, the reflection is generally not presented as systematic theology, but then neither are the reflections of St. Teresa or St. Alphonsus. I have noted above the particular place that St. Teresa gave to the resurrection; the same theme occurs frequently in the writings of John Main.~2 It would be a mistake to think that Christian Meditation plays down doctrine. Rather, we might say, it is presumed that study and reflection lead to a background awareness which, while not consciously evoked in the meditation itself, continues to support spiritual awareness. There can be no doubt that many people, growing numbers of them, have found Christian Meditation a most satisfactory way of prayer. Is there any compelling reason to choose between St. Teresa's more extensive use of words during meditation--in particular, the words of the Lord's Prayer--and the brief word recommended in Christian Meditation? There are many ways of praying, and people may be led by the Spirit along different paths. Some, perhaps because of different cultural backgrounds, have found the older approach rather too insistent on Christian Meditation is not antiintellectual or antitheological. 63.2 2004 Johnstone * Keeping aBalance repeated acts and a good many words. As I have noted previously, however, neither St. Teresa nor St. Alphonsus had in mind a multiplication of acts or a mechanical proliferation of words. For whatever reason, though, in our time the verbal austerity of Christian Meditation seems to appeal to many. The limited use of words, or even the deliberate renunciation of them, in Christian Meditation is connected to its nature as conceived by John Main. Spiritual authors in the past often spoke of "conversation" in their accounts of prayer. This conversation was to be a two-way affair, even if carefully structured. When God speaks, we listen attentively; when God does not speak, we engage actively in the conversation through acts of faith and love.~3 This "traditional" element John Main includes in his own words, although again with a significant modification: "Prayer is not a matter of talking to God, but of listening to him, of being with him. It is this simple understanding of prayer that lies behind John Cassian's advice that, if we want to pray, to listen, we must become quiet and still, reciting a short verse over and over again." ~4 Active Recollection and Contemplation At this point I move to a more theoretical discussion, but one with practical implications as well. The issue is the relationship between active recollection and contemplation. St. Teresa, from her own experience, taught that active recollection disposed to contemplation, but she also anticipated that contemplation itself might well arrive during the time of active recollection. The 4th-century monks of the Egyptian desert also expected that "higher" forms of prayer might suddenly break through more normal forms of meditation. During their periods of praying the psalms together, they were to curb their spitting, coughing, yawning, groaning, and Review for Religious similar noises. The only sound that was accepted was a spontaneous sigh of ecstasy.15 It was anticipated, apparently, that moments of "contemplation" would emerge within more ordinary prayer. St. Teresa seems to have had no difficulty in recognizing when such special moments occurred in her own prayer. For one whose spiritual sensibilities were as finely tuned as hers, there would probably be no reason to have any doubt about the presence of contemplation. What are we to think, then, of the advice of Arraj, mentioned by Larkin, that, until "express contemplation" is present, one should continue to make acts (of faith, love, and so forth)? The practical problem is how to know that such contemplation is present, and how certain we should be about it. To clarify the question, we could accept Karl Rahner's theological explanation, namely, that the experience of God in meditation, in human activity, or in classical spiritual doctrine's "infused contemplation" arises from the one same gift of God at work within us.16 Indeed this must be the case. To speak of "passive" contemplation as a pure gift must not be allowed to suggest that active recollection is not a gift, but somehow a product of our own efforts, before or apart from grace. We may say that recollection "disposes" us to the prayer of quiet, but we may not claim that recollection is the product of our initiative, which somehow, of its own power, engenders or earns the further state. "Pure," as applied to the gift of contemplation, does not imply that prayer such as active recollection is somehow impure, because contaminated with human activity. Nor can it be philosophically accurate to say that in "passive" prayer we are not active in any sense. The pure gift of God's grace cannot but raise us to the highest level of actuation. Our conscious experience may be one of pure passivity, but when God takes over completely our 63.2 2004 Johnstone ¯ Keeping a Balance The more intense the power of grace, the more we are fully active. 1-30J capacities are not simply extinguished. As is always the case with grace, the more intense the power of grace, the more we are fully active. The more God intervenes, the more empowered we become and the more free we are. Similarly, I would have difficulties with an explanation of infused contemplation according to which "the infused light and love go directly to the object without any return to the self.''17 In the "modern" philosophical era (that is, from the 16th century onwards), there has been a dissociation between subject and object)8 This seems to have been reflected in Catholic theo-logy, so that some traditions focus on the subject and others on the object. In these circumstances the interpretation of the spiritual experience involved here may tilt excessively towards the object. Perhaps such thoughts as these are ¯ improper philosophical intrusions on discourse about spirituality, but I would suggest that cutting or leaving the subject completely out of the picture is metaphysically impossible. Further, I would point out that what is interpreted as an absolute certainty of the presence of God, or of the state of "passivity," is a certainty on the part of the subject. When someone says "Whenever I experienced contemplative prayer, there was absolutely no doubt that I was in God's presence,"'9 we would need to add after "doubt" the words "in my mind." Without this qualification the interpretation veers too far towards the subjective. Such a state of consciousness is not a proof that God is present, or that the pure gift of prayer of quiet has in fact been granted. We cannot know definitively whether we have reached this "stage" or not. Review for Religious Such certainty as we have rests ultimately on the certainty of our faith, not on the felt quality of our experiences. This is not to return to a theory in which grace is beyond experience. We may indeed experience grace. But our conscious certainty cannot establish that grace is in fact present. What I am suggesting here is that the traditional language used in speaking of contemplation, meditation, and levels of prayer has problems. At least part of the difficulty with the older formulations is that they presupposed a rigid distinction between "natural" and "supernatural," and hence between "acquired" (or natural) contemplation and "infused" (or supernatural) contemplation. "Natural" meant what we do; "supernatural" meant what God does. Such a sharp distinction is understandable when we recall the theological disputes of the time (especially the controversies about grace), but we would express that difference somewhat more flexibly today. Perhaps we could say that it was and is a mistake to reify the various categories of prayer which the classic authors have named for us. Probably it was not so much these authors themselves, but the theological commentators who interpreted them, who made the mistake. To reify would mean to consider the distinct kinds of prayer as if they were things like quantitative blocks of consciousness that we could, as it were, line up one after another on a conveyor belt and then run the belt through our minds. Following on this thought, we might suggest that saying the petitions of the Lord's Prayer, as St. Teresa did, or repeating.the mantra, as John Main did, can dispose us to quiet and contemplation. But it is not necessary to turn them off, as it were, so that we can really appreciate the quiet. If we do so, the wild horses of our disordered minds are likely to gallop back again, or the screeching monkeys may well return to the 63.2 2004 Johnstone ¯ Keeping a Balance thickets of our consciousness, and quiet would be no more. In these reflections I am suggesting that the classic fixed distinctions between different forms of prayer may not be so important as they .were once thought to be. I suggest that it would not make a great deal of sense to say to oneself, "I have not yet arrived at the experience of passivity and received the pure gift of contemplation, and so I must continue with active prayer." Nor would the reverse be any better, namely, to convince oneself that one has indeed been given this gift and so to drop active prayer. The best solution, I suggest, would be to accept with St. Teresa (and St. Alphonsus) that some form of active, vocal prayer may quite well go together with contemplation. At root this is what John Main believed: the repetition of the mantra may accompany contemplation. We do not need to be scrutinizing our consciousness so as to find whether contemplation has occurred or not. The prayer of quiet, or gift of contemplation, may be given by God at any moment within that active prayer. We need not be surprised if this happens, and we may welcome it if or when it is given to us. To conclude, the form of meditation in which one repeats a short prayer continuously with the expectation that a prayer of quiet (with a sense of oneness and rest) may supervene has strong roots in the Catholic spiritual tradition. This is true not only of the earlier tradition, where we find Cassian commending this practice, but also of the more recent tradition, as expressed in particular by St. Teresa. The description of prayer in the texts on Christian Meditation does not include a description of contemplation in the classic sense, but who are we to say that the latter may not supervene? It is indeed God's gift--and may be given whenever God chooses to do so. Notes t Ernest E. Larkin OCarm, "Today's Contemplative Prayer Forms," Review for Religious 57 (1998): 83. Review for Religious 2 Larkin, p. 84. 3 Cited in Larkin, p. 78. 4 Larkin, p. 87 n. 12. 5 The Way of Perfection, in Vol. 2 of The Collected Works of St. Teresa of Avila, trans. Kieran Kavanaugh OCD and Otilio Rodriguez OCD (Washington, D.C.: ICS Publications, 1980). p. 140. The relevant passages are chaps. 28-29. Hereafter all references to Teresa will be to this work and edition, by chapter and section(s) given in the text thus: (19.1). 6 Larkin, p. 83. 7 Alpbonsus de Liguori: Selected Writings (Mahwah: Paulist Press, 1999), p. 170. The putting together of this "active" recollection with "contemplative repose" may seem perplexing. The essential point is that it still involves acting, as distinct from "infused contemplation," where there is no acting on our part. s Alpbonsus, p. 176, citing St. Teresa. 9 Alpbonsus, p. 170. ~0 John Main, The Inner Christ (London: Darton, Longman, and Todd, 1987), p. 203. " Main, p. 205. ~2 Main, pp. 116, 119, 132. '3illpbonscts, p. 171. ,4 Main, p. 22. ,5 Owen Chadwick, John Cassian (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1950), p. 69. ~6 Larkin, p. 81. ~7 1 refer here to the citation from Max Huot de Longchamp, Saint Jean de la Croix: Pour Lire le Docteur Mystique (Paris: Fac-editions, 1991), p. 164, cited by Larkin, p. 87. ~8 See Charles Taylor, The Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity (Cambridge: Harva~:d University Press, 1989), p. 188. ,9 Larkin, p. 78. 63.2 2004 DENNIS J. BILLY Faith Seeking Understanding: Spiritual Direction's Sapiential Function ~;l~you are a theologian, you will pray in truth; and you pray in truth, you are a theologian." 1 These words of Nilus of Sinai (+450), a 5th-century monk from Ancyra in Asia Minor who lived in the wilderness of Sinai for more than sixty years, remind us of the inti-mate connection between conversing with and under-standing the mystery of God. A true knowledge of God involves an experience of the divine mystery, not simply knowledge about it. Such experiential knowledge comes, not through rational analysis, but from a living rela-tionship with God nourished by prayer. This under-standing of theology emphasizes knowing God by participating in the intimate community of divine love. It values the living reality of God over theological constructions of that reality. That reality is closer to us than we are to our own selveS. We are invited to be pre-sent to God's pr.esence in us. Spiritual direction can help us become present to this reality. It is a divine (but also human) art that helps us "pray in truth" and come to an intimate personal knowledge of God. ._~,, ~ ~,~4_J 2D45e8n;n iRs oJm. Bai l0ly0 1C0S0S; RIt awlyri.tes again from Accademia Alfonsiana; C.P. Review for Religious Praying in Truth The theologian, in Nilus's eyes, is one who knows how to "pray in truth." To do so, we must strip off the old self and put on the new. Only then, by being renewed in the image of our Creator, will we gradually progress toward true knowledge of the divine (see Col 3:9-10). To pray in truth is to pray in Christ, the way, the truth, and the life (see Jn 14:6). Praying in truth means open-ing our hearts and being present to God as we really are. It means not being afraid to look inside ourselves and confront the various masks and self-deceptions we find there. It means bearing our souls to God so that God may bear his soul to us. Intimacy with God first requires intimacy with oneself. We cannot communicate with God in truth if we are unwilling to know the truth about ourselves. Coming to an intimate knowledge of ourselves, how-ever, is no easy task. Most of us cannot go it alone and are in dire need of help. We find facing our inner wants and insecurities much too threatening. Left to our own resources, many of us would end up rationalizing away our fears and discounting our deepest hopes about who we are and want to become. Spiritual direction helps us confront ourselves and open our hearts to God. It gently points out the voice of the Spirit manifested in the nitty-gritty circumstances of our lives. As the prophet Elijah reminds us, often that voice is found, not in whirlwinds, earthquakes, and fires about us, but in the small whisper that can only be heard in the solitude of our hearts (see 1 Kg 19:11-13). Spiritual direction seeks to settle our hearts so that we can rest in this solitude and become ourselves in our faith? Focusing on our conscious and unconscious inter-action with the divine, it helps us to follow the flow of troublesome and often conflicting personal narratives in our life and then to make responsible iudgments about 63.2 2004 Billy * Faith Seeking Understanding what we are being called to. It pays special heed to our prayer life, helping us to discern authentic prayer from its mean and paltry imitation. The goal of spiritual direction is for us to "pray in truth." We receive help to confront ourselves and thereby to discover our authentic voice. That voice alone will lead us to intimacy with God. We must be patient, how-ever, and ever so silent. We must listen to our heart and not be afraid to hear what it has to say. When we speak from the heart, we soon discover the gentle voice of the Spirit yearning within us. To pray in truth is to pray in the Spirit, the re-creative presence of God that hovers over and revives the primal forces within us. We know we are praying in the Spirit when our lives manifest the Spirit's various gifts and fruits (see Is 11:2-3, Ga 5:22-23). Spiritual direction helps identify these spiritual riches and let them do their quiet work within us, the work of gradual divinization, of greater sharing in the eternal love of the Godhead. Solitude of Heart The primary means by which the Spirit accomplishes its task is by nurturing in us a deep desire for solitude. As we empty our hearts of unnecessary attachments, we make room for the divine indwelling. Solitude of heart is the precondition for our experience of the fullness of life. "The glory of God," says Irenaeus of Lyons, "is a liv-ing human being."3 We who are created in the image and likeness of God become ourselves only by allowing God to be himself in us. Spiritual direction helps us open our hearts to the heart of God. It helps us by fostering a contemplative attitude toward life, enabling us to see all that happens in the light of God's providential plan. By offering their directees the hospitality of a lis-tening heart, directors set the tone for all that happens during the session. By being present in silence and with Review for Religious their full attention, directors affirm the seriousness of what is taking place and often form lasting friendships. These bonds spring from their reflective gaze upon the directees' unfolding experiences, from this sharing in their solitude. Three persons share in this solitude of heart: the director, the directee, and the Holy Spirit. In direction, directors and directees gradually turn their attention to this quiet partner in their midst. They discern the signs of the Spirit in the nar-ratives that directees share with their direc-tors. The Spirit leaves traces of its presence in the threads of people's lives. When we look at our lives prayerfully, these slight vestiges gradually become noticed and fit into conscious awareness. This is the time for directors and directees together to interpret these signs so that the directees can respond appropriately. One of these signs is peace. After his resurrection Jesus comforted his disciples with a message of peace that stemmed from his immediate and unquestioning trust in the Father's love (see Lk 24:36, Jn 20:19, 21). Today this same message comes to us through the yearn-ing of the Spirit in our hearts, who intercedes for us to the Lord with unutterable groaning (see Rm 8:26). Directors help their directees to recognize the factors in their life that contribute to peace. Such peace comes not from the world, but by giving ourselves whole-heartedly to the one thing that ultimately matters--the love of God dwelling in our heart. "The paradise of God," says Alphonsus de Liguori, "is the heart of man.''4 The peace of Christ works its The primary means by which the Spirit accomplishes its task is by nurturing in us a deep desire for solitude. Billy ¯ Faith Seeking Understanding way outward from within. Rooted in the love of the Lord, it eventually finds outward expression in our striv-ing to form right relationships with others on every level of human society (such as family, country, community of nations). Peace, "the tranquillity of order" as Augustine of Hippo refers to it, possesses personal, com-munal, and transcendent dimensions.5 For us to find it in our lives, solitude of heart is necessary. Spiritual direc-tion, in turn, is an important instrument given us by God to help in that discovery. Faith Seeking Understanding If theologians are persons who pray in truth, spiritual direction facilitates such prayer. Theology, we are told, "denotes. far more than the learning about God and religious doctrine acquired through academic study. It signifies active and conscious participation in or percep-tion of the realities of the divine world--in other words, the realization of spiritual knowledge.''6 To be even more specific, theology has to do with our attempt to reflect upon our experience of the indwelling of the Trinity in our hearts. When seen in this light, the classical Western understanding of theology as "faith seeking understand-ing" (tides quaerens intellectum)--which was developed by Anselm of Canterbury under the influence of the Latin Vulgate and Augustine of Hippo--needs to be rescued from the overrationalizing of later centuries and exam-ined in relation to acquiring Christian wisdom.7 When understood as a sapiential (as opposed to a narrowly ratio-nal) enterprise, theology's true task comes to the fore. All of us are called to reflect upon the meaning of our lives in the light of the gospel message. To accom-plish this task well, we must reflect on the experience of God in our hearts and try to ascertain what exactly is being asked of us. When understood sapientially, theol-ogy as "faith seeking understanding" tries to discern the Review for Religious movement of the Spirit in our lives so that we can bet-ter understand how to live out our call to discipleship in mature and responsible ways. Spiritual direction is an important place for acquiring spiritual wisdom. It helps us talk to God, listen to him, and engage in discernment that leads to deeper intimacy with him. Spiritual direction achieves this goal whenever there is an honest, sharing relationship between the two per-sons. This relationship, while complex and manifold, focuses primarily on the relationship of the directee with God. Directors help directees to understand their inter-action with God better and then to draw closer to God. This process is both challenging and consoling. Directors challenge directees to be honest and to identify areas for future growth. They also need to comfort directees in times of discouragement and imminent loss. Knowing when to exercise this dual role of challenge and comfort is one of the primary skills that directors need to have. Faith seeking understanding in spiritual direction calls for directors to have flexibility and strength. They need to adapt to changing times and circumstances and to withstand the adverse challenges that may occur. The fruits of the process become evident. To believe as one searches for meaning in life leads to a deeper under-standing of one's life situation, of one's relationship with oneself, with others, and with God. Spiritual direction, in its many forms, seeks to empower us to affirm our faith and in the process become ourselves more fully. Becoming Holy Becoming ourselves in our faith is but another way of speaking about our desire for holiness. Spiritual direction is not simply a matter of gaining greater insight into our relationship with God. It has very much to do with turn-ing those insights into concrete practices that lead fur-ther along the path of conversion. These practices must 63.2 2004 Billy ¯ Faitb Seeking Understanding Becoming ourselves in our faith is but another way of speaking about our desire for holiness. not be imposed from without; they must arise from within. They must correspond to a true assessment of our needs based on insights that spiritual direction has facilitated. A truly wise person is also a holy person, and vice versa. According to Thomas Aquinas, wisdom is the gift of the Spirit that corresponds to and is guided by and is a perfec-tion of charity.8 The sapi-ential function of spiritual direction leads us beyond simply knowing God to loving and serving him. "Faith seeking understand-ing" through spiritual direction leads not only to insights into divine things, but also to incorporating those insights into the way we live our daily lives. This close relationship between "being" and "action" is important for the sapiential function of spiritual direc-tion. The virtuous actions performed by people striving to be virtuous contribute to making them even more vir-tuous. When directees ask their director what they should do, they are ultimately asking about what kind of person they themselves wish to become. When prop-erly exercised, spiritual direction helps people see this important connection and encourages them to make "communion with God" the motivating force of all of their actions. Living in communion with God is another term for becoming holy. It is a primary concern of the direction process, helping people become themselves in their life of faith. As an element of "faith seeking understanding," spir-itual direction seeks to help us not only to discern but also to act. By far the most important thing any of us can ever do is pray. Prayer is "the great means of salva- Review for Religious tion.''9 Our manner of prayer--its frequency, its form, its content--is and should always remain a vital subject in spiritual direction. During direction we need to ask if our prayer addresses every dimension of our human makeup: the physical, emotional, intellectual, social, and spiritual.~° With the help of our director, we should try to identify what we may be neglecting in prayer and make appropriate changes. How we pray says a great deal about our own self-understanding and our rela-tionship with God. By examining our prayer carefully for ways to improve it, we demonstrate our love for God and our longing for holiness. Spiritual direction helps us to understand and prac-tice true prayer. It accompanies us on the way to self-knowledge and invites us to deeper intimacy with God. Such experiential knowledge transcends the conceptual world of the professional theologian. By it we share consciously in God's love and develop an intuitive aware-ness of the mind of God. By helping us to "pray in truth," spiritual direction assists our understanding and enables us to become ourselves in our faith, to live in the Spirit, to grow in wisdom and in the knowledge of God, to grow in charity throughout our lives. By help-ing us listen to the movement of the Spirit in our hearts and respond wisely and generously, spiritual direction enables us to see the world around us with something of God's zealous compassion, God's .intense longing to dwell in the hearts of us all. Notes 1 Nilus of Sinai, IY3 Texts on Prayer, no. 61 in Early Fathers from the Philokalia, trans. E. Kadloubovsky and G.E.H. Palmer (London: Faber and Faber, 1954), p. 134. 2 See Jean Laplace, The Direction of Conscience, trans. John C. Guinness (New York: Herder and Herder, 1967), p. 26. 3 Irenaeus of Lyons, Against the Heresies 4.20.7, in Vol. 1 of The Ante-Nicene Fathers, ed. Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1925), p. 490. 63.2 2004 Billy * Faith Seeking Understanding 4 Alphonsus de Liguori, The Way to Converse Always and Familiarly with God, in Vol. 2 of The Complete Works of Saint Alphonsus de Liguori, ed. Eugene Grimm (Brooklyn: Redemptorist Fathers, 1926), p. 395. s Augustine of Hippo, The City of God 19.13, in Vol. 2 of The Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, ed. Philip Schaff (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1903), pp. 409-410. 6 The Philokalia: The Complete Text, ed. and trans. G.E.H. Palmer, Philip Sherrard, and Kallistos Ware (London: Faber and Faber, 1981), Vol. 2, p. 389. 7 See Anselm of Canterbury, The Proslogion, chap. 1, in Vol. 1 of Anselm of Canterbury, ed. and trans. Jasper Hopkins and Herbert W. Richardson (Toronto and New York: Edwin Mellen Press, 1974), pp. 91-93; Biblia sacra vulgata, ed. Robert Weber (Stuttgart: Wiirttembergische Bibelanstalt, 1969), Vol. 2, p. 1103 (Is 7:9); Augustine of Hippo, On the Trinity 8.5.8, in Vol. 3 of The Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, ed. Philip Schaff (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1900), pp. 119-120. ~ See Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae, I-II, q.68, a.8; II-II, q.45, in Vol. 20 of Great Books of the Western World, ed. Robert Maynard Hutchins (Chicago: Encyclopaedia Britannica, 1952), pp. 95-96, 598- 606. 9 Alphonsus de Liguori, Prayer, The Great Means of Salvation, in Vol. 3 of Complete Works (1927), p. 23. 10 See Dennis J. Billy, Evangelical Kernels: A Theological Spirituality of the Religious Life (Staten Island: Alba House, 1993), pp. 167-184. Gift I am stunned by the gift you gave me. Not a sun or stars, not the sea or a pebble rounded to perfection. Not even forgiveness, although this was wrapped into the gift. You gave me love. Some day I may regard your gift indifferently, as something I deserve. For now, I know nothing but astonishment. Patricia Chaffee OP Review for Religious GEORGE ASCHENBRENNER Windows of the Soul: Walter Ciszek SJ T e eyes are often windows into the soul. A mother ows this as she gazes quietly into the eyes of her newborn child, dreaming and hoping about its future. Lovers and friends know this too. Gazing into each other's eyes opens a whole world, wide and deep beyond words. Most of us are unaware of how revelatory our eyes are. The grumpiness of discontented people lurks in their eyes for anyone to see. So, too, the limpid kindness of truly guileless people sparkles in their eyes. Yes, in many instances our eyes are windows into the soul. In fact, our eyes convey more and deeper messages as we grow through life. Forty years ago,. on 12 October 1963, BOAC flight #501 from London landed right on time at 6:55 a.m. A man in his late fifties wearing a heavy green overcoat shuffled down the stairway from the plane. A big floppy Russian hat concealed a lot of his face. But, under the brim of that hat, like beacons of a profoundly wise soul, George Aschenbrenner SJ has written for this journal every couple of years since 1966. His current address is Campion Hall; University of Scranton; Scranton, Pennsylvania 18510. r~l!4~a --- ~ 63.2 2004 Ascbenbrenner ¯ Windows of rise Soul two lively grayish-blue eyes greeted sights not seen for twenty-seven years. At least ten years before, his Jesuit brothers in the New York Province had offered for him the customary two Masses for deceased Jesuits. Now Father Walter Ciszek of the Society of Jesus had risen from the dead. Those dancing guileless eyes, those soul-beacons, told a stoW immediately that it would take years to get into words: two books written painstakingly with the gracious competent help of Father Dan Flaherty, a brother Jesuit. But, if you ever had the chance to meet Father Ciszek, you got the whole stoW in those eyes. My experience of Walter was that those lively eyes, those bottomless wells of love, joy, and humble confidence, conveyed more than any hand gestures ever could. Dramatic gesturing was not his way of communicating. Like a diamond those eyes sparkled with a wisdom, a peace, a humble confidence, but first and foremost a startling freedom. On that October day at New York's Idlewild airport, Father Walter was free, free from KGB surveillance, free from restriction on his priestly min-istry, free from the brittle cold, free from his starvation diet, free from the threat of death at almost any moment. But freedom was something he had known truly and profoundly for the last twenty-one years--ever since that time in the dreaded Lubianka prison, a time that marked his soul for the rest of his life, a time that he would never forget. (It was a soul-changing experience, too, for oth-ers when they met him: something smiled in and leapt out of those eyes to greet you.) Early in his captivity, solitary confinement and intense interrogations night and day were wearing him down. Knowing he was not guilty of the espionage charges, he thought that all he had to do was explain this clearly and definitely to his questioners. But a combination of forces--first the repeated questionings like a pile driver hammering into Review for Religious his head and heart and then the cold deaf ear to his labored and elaborately explicit defense--became too much for him. He gave up. He quit. He signed an admis-sion of his guilt--just to get it over with. Back in his cell, however, and all by himself again, it hit him. He had given in to free himself of this harass-ment of his soul. His motive had been selfish, filled with ego, and had lost much awareness of God's love and care. He felt ashamed and confounded. In that disheartened state of mind, though, he felt relief that, during the fif-teen years of hard labor in Siberia to which he had been sentenced, at least the solitary confinement and the mad-dening questions would stop. This relief was short-lived. Soon he was told that there would be four more years at Lubianka to "clarify" some of the issues to which he had confessed. The deaf-ening, soul-splitting interrogation began again. It seemed more than he could handle. What he had hoped to get out of by signing the paper was beginning all over again. An overwhelming despair descended upon him, a loss of hope and faith. He felt absolutely helpless. He was at rock bottom. You and I have sometimes felt helpless; we know that even brief moments of helplessness are fear-some. But most of us have never plumbed the depths to which he fell at that moment, all alone, in Lubianka. But, at this moment of feeling bankruptcy of soul, at this lowest point in his whole life, something happened. He stepped across a boundary line. No, to be more exact, he did not step across: he was lifted across. In that moment of despair, he remembered an olive grove some two thousand years ago. Jesus, Son of Mary and Son of God, having chosen to be faithful to his identity and mis-sion in the face of looming certain death, had collapsed in helplessness, had hit rock bottom (Mk 14:32-42). Through his surrender, through his self-abandon-ment, Jesus was rescued, he was freed. The impending 63.2 20O4 Aschenbrenner * Windows of the Soul Walter Ciszek's contemplation of Jesus" agony in the garden gave new meaning to his own despairing helplessness. horrific suffering and death were not taken away, but something shifted deep inside. A freedom, a humble con-fidence, lifted his soul because the eyes of a dearly loving, caring Father were still gazing on him, even in his utter helplessness. In fact, now he knew it in some new way: no depth of helplessness could ever be beyond the loving, life-giving gaze of those eyes. Those eyes, there in Gethsemane, both looked deep into his soul and also revealed a bottomless love and care deeper than any doubt or frustration. Walter Ciszek's contemplation of Jesus' agony in the garden--a prayer that just came upon him, he did not reach out for it--gave new meaning to his own despair-ing helplessness. As in the case of Jesus, Father Ciszek's fear was transformed into freedom, and his feelings of danger and despair became confidence and happiness. Now nothing seemed to worry or trouble him anymore. At an apparent depth of no return, he had learned that God would never leave him, but would take care of him even if he were killed. Astonishing, simply amazingm talk about a new heart and a new freedom! He could say with St. Paul: "I am ready for anything through the strength of the One who lives within me" (Ph 4:13). That prayer along with Jesus in the garden marked Walter Ciszek for life right into eternity. He would never forget that prayer. Yes, Walter Ciszek became profoundly free in Lubianka twenty-one years before he stepped off a plane in the United States. The Word of God had leapt off the page anew in the person, the presence, the eyes of the Review for Religious risen Jesus. Now nothing he did, nowhere he was taken, nothing that happened to him, absolutely nothing could separate Walter Ciszek from the risen Jesus. In his own agony of despair and helplessness, he had been gifted with a very special awareness of God's love. This gave him an invincible trust, whatever the future might hold. Nothing could really hurt him now because he was in God's loving hands, more than he had ever realized before. Yes, the eyes are windows into the soul. But the eyes of holiness are also reflectors. Holiness reflects the radi-ance of Someone Else's loving eyes. Just as Jesus knew the gaze of a dear Father's eyes, Walter Ciszek experi-enced God's loving gaze in the depths of his despair and helplessness. That same loving gaze blesses us all, each and every one, with a freedom and a trust that does not take all suffering out of our lives, but does enliven our hearts, our souls, and our eyes. It is no surprise that, whenever my friends and I met Father Ciszek, we felt we were meeting more than just that courageous, peaceful little man. Those lively, gray-ish- blue, dancing eyes were windows glistening with the wisdom, the freedom, the love of his soul. Those eyes mirrored the steady gaze of Jesus' love--a love that moti-vated everything Walter Ciszek did, a love that got him through fifteen years of undeserved hard labor in prison and five years of undeserved solitary confinement, a love that burned in his soul and left him unscarred by bitter-ness, anger, revenge. The eyes of Walter Ciszek told the story of his soul, a story of courageous love in incredible suffering and of invincible trust against all odds, because the most impor-tant story of love always glistens in the eyes of the risen Jesus. 6~.2 2004 mentoring FRED HERRON Merton and a Spirituality for Millennials Young people who grew up in the late 20th cen-tury, sometimes called millennials, easily relate to Thomas Merton as someone not entirely comfortable in any one place. Like him, they find it hard to root themselves in one "abiding place.''1 They are more comfortable describing themselves as "spiritual" rather than "religious." For them the paradigm shift that Merton illu-minated in his lifetime seems a dramatic release from the moorings of the stable past and an optimistic embarkation on a journey. By high-lighting such a change in his life and thought, Merton managed to offer direction and some cautions to those who would follow. Dwelling and Seeking Robert Wuthnow has argued convincingly that a major change took place in the spiritual Fred Herron is chairperson of the religious-studies depart-ment at Fontbonne Hall Academy and a member of the Department of Theology and Religious Studies at St. John's University, Staten Island. He may be addressed at Fonthonne Hall Academy; 9901 Shore Road; Brooklyn, New York 11209. Review.for Religious practice of the last half of the 20th century. He suggests that "a traditional spirituality of inhabiting sacred places has given way to a new spirituality of seeking." He con-trasts these two viewpoints this way: "A spirituality of dwelling emphasizes habitation: God occupies a definite place in the universe and creates a sacred space in which humans too can dwell." On the other hand, "a spiritual-ity of seeking emphasizes negotiation: individuals search for sacred moments that reinforce their conviction that the divine exists, but these moments are fleeting.''z Both forms of spirituality have found their place in the history of religions, and the world religions have sup-plied rich imagery for both. Wuthnow points out that, "in settled times, people have been able to create a sacred habitat and to practice habitual forms of spirituality. [However,] in unsettled times, they have been forced to negotiate with themselves and with each other to find the sacred." Settled times evoke an imagery of dwelling, and unsettled times one of journeys. In the former, "the sacred is fixed, and spirituality can be found within the gathered body of God's people; in the latter, the sacred is fluid, portable, and spirituality must be pursued with a sense of God's people having been dispersed.''3 A habitation spirituality is suggested by the Garden of Eden and a land of milk and honey. A spirituality of seeking, on the other hand, is illustrated by the taber-nacle and the tents of pilgrims and travelers. The first form can be seen in the secure routine of the monastery, the cloister, while the latter is seen as an ongoing journey. The story of the Shulamite woman draws the dis-tinction between these two spiritualities. At first she revels in the security of her spiritual home: "Our bed is green, the beams of our houses are cedar, and the rafters of fir" (Sg 1:16-17). Later, however, she wanders, seek-ing the warmth she has lost: "I will rise now., and go 63.2 2004 Herron ¯ Mertion and a Spirituality for Millennials about the city. In the streets and in the squares, I will seek the one I love" (Sg 3:2). Merton's metaphors of the "citadel" and of the "wide, impregnable country" point to similar visions.4 Note that both are images of security, but the former suggests secu-rity and the latter.openness and freedom. In the citadel there is isolation from others, whereas in the wide coun-try there is room for an indefinite number of people seeking God. A spirituality of dwelling seems to be more secure, while a spirituality of seeking seems less constraining. Both offer freedom, but quite different kinds of free-dom. Familiar places offer the freedom of not having to worry where the next meal is coming from, since both caring people and known resources are available. Anne Truitt describes this experience as "the lighthearted feel-ing of being in a litter of kittens.''5 That understanding of freedom is comparable to not worrying about achiev-ing any particular objective, that is, not feeling "bound by an inexorable result [but being] like the birds or lilies ¯. without care." 6 Seeking and Freedom The fifth volume of Thomas Merton's letters, VVitness to Freedom, suggests that there are three stages in his understanding of the growing freedom that is central to a spirituality of seeking.7 In Merton's youth, freedom meant doing whatever he pleased. The second stage came with his entrance into the monastery of Gethsemani in 1941. Merton recalls that, when Brother Matthew met him at the monastery gate, led him through that gate, and then locked it, "I was enclosed in the four walls of my new freedom." s This was the freedom of the citadel, the freedom to do what he was told and to keep the rules. Freedom here became obedience, one portion of the monastic Rule. Review for Religious Keeping the rules is central to both of these stages. In the first, the rules are the problem. In the second, the rules are the solution to the problem. The third stage led Merton to view freedom in a very different light: freedom as an inner reality guided much more from within than from without. In con-templation, Merton realized, we meet God, and in meeting God we discover our deepest freedom. People achieve this third level of freedom, a sense in which their deepest selves are in God and express God, to the extent that they rid themselves of the illu-sions that distort reality for them.9 Merton wrote to Jacques Maritain of these illusions: "There are great illusions to be got ridden of, and there is a false self that has to be taken off. There is still much to be changed before I will really be living in the truth and in nothingness and in humility and without any more self-concern." 10 The road to true freedom is strewn with idols: the false god, the false self, and the false image of God's crea-tures. A false vision of God causes us to see God as one among many, not as absolute, the Hidden Ground of Love, from whom all things come and in whom all things are sustained.ll From this arises the false self, for, instead of being an image of the true God, the self tends to become an image of the false god. Finally, to be fully free, we need to be liberated from the illusions that mark our relationships with other human beings and with the rest of God's creation. What, then, is the freedom that Thomas Merton con-siders essential to this spirituality of seeking? It is the freedom to choose the good and not to choose "freely" In contemplation, Merton realized, we meet God, and in meeting God we discover our deepest freedom. 63.2 2004 Herron ¯ Merton and a Spirituality for Millennials between two realities such as good and evil. Merton argues that "the free man is the one whose choices have given him the power to stand on his own feet and deter-mine his own life according to the higher light and spirit that are in him.''12 He says: "The mere ability to choose between good and evil is the lowest limit of freedom, and the only thing that is free about it is the fact that we can still choose good. To the extent that you are free to choose evil, you are not free. An evil choice destroys freedom . Perfect spiritual freedom is a total inabil-ity to make any evil choice." 13 St. Benedict's Rule and the Spirituality of Seeking The contrast between a spirituality of habitation and a spirituality of seeking is evident in the 6th-century Rule of St. Benedict. The Cistercian monk takes three vows: stability, obedience, and conversatio. Stability emphasizes setdedness, a "permanent and lifelong attach-ment to the monastery of one's profession." 14 Conversatio connotes the changeable life of the spirit. It is "a com-mitment to live faithfully in unsettled times and to keep one's life sufficiently unsettled to respond to the chang-ing voice of God." ~5 It involves a commitment to con-stant progress in virtue. The monk can never say that he has done enough. It is "the vow to respond totally and integrally to the word of Christ, 'Come, follow me,' by renouncing all that might impede one in following him untrammeled, all that might obscure one's clarity of intent and confuse one's resolve."16 As such, it is a source of peace. Peace comes when there is a "willingness to renounce our petty selves and find our true selves beyond ourselves in others, and above all in Christ." 17 Obedience here suggests a commitment to both sta-bility and conversatio. This is an obedience to God in all things. The monk uses this obedience as a means to grow closer to God. It is the obedience of faith in the context Review for Religious of love and discipleship. The wisdom of St. Bernard is that dwelling and seeking, stability and conversatio, are both part of what it means to be human.18 The desire for a dwelling, for a citadel or fortress of solitude, is evi-dent in the fact that people associate God with churches, synagogues, and temples. It is intimated by the feelings that are aroused by memories of the house in which we were raised or by the uprooting we feel when we need to move. A human habitat takes on sacred meaning, becom-ing a home that has a "heart and a soul," an abode that can be lived in with grace and in "the power of bene-dictions." 19 Merton spoke about Gethsemani, especially in his early years there, as a "sign of Christ.''2° Thomas Merton and a Generation of Seekers Americans live in increasingly complex and perilous times. We face conditions that appear to be spinning wildly out of control--terrorism, environmental pollu-tion, worldwide hunger and poverty, AIDS, crime. A spir-ituality of dwelling may appeal to many people, especially when reli-gious leaders promise secure space in which to worship God in famil-iar ways. For some, the purpose of any congre-gation will be to pro-vide a haven amidst the uncertainties of modern times. A spirituality of seeking, however, will appeal to more of the American people, precisely because it lets them choose their own understandings and their own ways of worshiping. For them, the believing community is less a haven than a supplier of spiritual goods and services. Neither style is entirely satisfactory. Both arise out of our conversation with our past. While earlier genera- The believing community is less a haven than a supplier of spiritual goods and services. 63.2 2004 Herron ¯ Merton and a Spirituality for Millennials tions found some peace and security in a spirituality of inhabiting, later ones take pride in being on a spiritual journey. This shift has roots in our immigrant history.21 Until the beginning of World War II, when Thomas Merton entered the monastery at Gethsemani, ethnic groups were still influenced largely by their immigrant experience. They had come looking for a better life. Together they built institutions. They came in search of both physical and spiritual homes. After the war they worked feverishly at the task of building new houses. Levittown came to symbolize that desire, and the Cold War represented a threat to that dream. The decade of the 1950s was to be an ending as well as a beginning in that regard. The world has changed substantially since the pres-idency of Dwight Eisenhower. Change has become a general condition of every part of modern life. The 1950s gave way to an era of racial unrest, political turmoil, and environmental havoc. The children of the 1960s seemed out of control and all too willing to question authority. That changing world is the world that Thomas Merton inhabited and somewhat came to personify. But the later Merton was firmly rooted in the earlier one. That is, his willingness to stand on his own two feet was not the mark of a radical individualist undertaking a ruggedly individualistic spiritual journey. Rather, it was the mark of a "free" human being dedicated to living faithfully in unsettled times as a person firmly in "one dear perpetual place." Stability, for Merton, was rooted in his relationship to his monastic family and his work within the monastery. It was the dedication of one who had come to grips with the allure of worldliness and won, leaving it behind in search of greener pastures. Merton was not claiming an "abiding place," for the Spirit of God did not let him put a mere place above the call of fidelity. His commitment was not simply to a commu- Review for Religious nity, but ultimately to the God who told him, "Come, follow me." A portion of Merton's enduring legacy to the mil-lennial generation rests precisely in his understanding of the Rule of St. Benedict. He cautions the next gener-ation about undertaking a journey for its own sake or in search of illusory goals. Better to live firmly in a com-munity that demands your constant focus on growth. If that involves a journey, so be it. But the journey, the "road trip," is not an end in itself. It needs to serve a greater truth. The challenge of conversatio for today's young people is to be constantly open to going where God takes them and not where the illusory goals of a consumer culture or a warrior culture might lead them. The call of obedience is to cling tightly to God and to the gift of true discipleship. Like the gyre that William Butler Yeats describes in his poem "The Second Coming," Merton struggled in his personal life and on his spiritual journey to find a way for the center to hold, to find a way toward some form of final integration[ The point where stability and conversatio meet was, for him, in obedience. Obedience holds both together, insisting that both are essentials in the spiritual life. Merton not only illuminates the dra-matic upheavals of our recent past, but points a way to our future. Notes ~ Dean Hoge, William Dinges, Mary Johnson SNDdeN, and Juan Gonzales, Young Adult Catholics: Religion in the Culture of Choice (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2001); James L. Heft SM and James D. Davidson, "The Mission of Catholic High School and Today's Millennials: Three Suggestions," Catholic Education 6 (June 2003): 410-422; T.P. Waiters, "Millennial Youth: Facts, Figures, and Priestly Vocations," in T.P. Waiters and B. Crawford, eds., The Millennial Generation: Hearing God's Call (St. Meinrad, Indiana: Abbey Press, 2001), pp. 15-25; and James D. Davidson et al., The Search for Common Ground: What Unites and Divides American Catholics (Huntington, Indiana: Our Sunday Visitor, 1999). 63.2 2004 Herron ¯ Merton and a Spirituality for Millennials 2 Robert Wuthnow, After Heaven: Spirituality in America since the 19YOs (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), pp. 3-4. 3 Wuthnow, After Heaven, p. 4. 4 Donald Grayston, Thomas Merton's Rewriting: The Five Versions of Seeds/New Seeds of Contemplation as a Key to the Development of His Thought (New York: Edwin Mellen Press, 1985), p. 371. See also Thomas Merton, The Seven Storey Mountain (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1948), p. 33. s Anne Truitt, Daybook, the Journal of an Artist (New York: Pantheon Books, 1982), p. 22. 6 Thomas Merton, "Elias--Variations on a Theme," in his The Strange Islands (New York: New Directions, 1959), p. 233. 7 Thomas Merton, Witness to Freedom: The Letters of Thomas Merton in Times of Crisis (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1994). 8 Merton, Seven Storey Mountain, p. 372. 9 Thomas Merton, Turning toward the World: The Pivotal Years, Vol. 4 of The Journals of Thomas Merton (HarperSanFrancisco, 1996), p. 146. ~0 Thomas Merton, The Courage for Truth: The Letters of Tbomas Merton to Writers (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1993), p. 39. ~1 Thomas Merton, The Hidden Ground of Love: Letters of Thomas Merton on Religious Experience and Social Concerns (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1985), p. 452. ,2 Thomas Merton, The New Man (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Cudahy, 1961), pp. 178-179. 13 Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation (New York: New Directions, 1962), p. 199. 14 Thomas Merton, The Monastic Journey (Kansas City: Andrews and McMeel, 1977), pp. 66-68. is Wuthnow, After Heaven, p. 6. ~6 Merton, Monastic Journey, p. 110. 17 Merton, Monastic Journey, p. 40. ~8 Timothy Fry, ed., The Rule of Saint Benedict (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1982); Brian C. Taylor, Spirituality for Everyday Living: An Adaptation of the Rule of Saint Benedict (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1989); Joan Chittister, Wisdom Distilled from the Daily: Living the Rule of Saint Benedict Today (New York: HarperCollins, 1991), Eviatar Zerubavel, Hidden Rhythms: Schedules and Calendars in Social Life (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981). 19 Mark Twain, cited in Witold Rybczynski, The Most Beautiful House in the World (New York: Penguin Books, 1989), p. 171. Review for Religious 20 Michael Mott, The Seven Mountains of Thomas Merton (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1984), p. 208. 2, Oscar Handlin, The Uprooted (New York: Little, Brown, 1951). Class Reunion The women, this fiftieth June after June Graduations, have buried the men: at this Table for ten, there are two husbands, Their two wives, a nun, and a quintet Of well-dressed, well-coiffed survivors, Not one a mere relict, but all Junoesque, Carrying Junoesque handbags at arms" ends. The nun carries nothing. The pair of men Draw together, only to be drawn apart Again by the women who treasure their presence: All that is left as stand-ins for the children. Amiably passed from widow to widow and back To spouse, they are lost, hosts at a table With too many partners, until saved, saved By the nun whose last name no one can Remember, sistering them with shy veiled Smiles, her innocence bridging the gap Between that June and this, seeming fifty Years younger than all the rest. The banquet Is served . Could Sister please bless? Nancy G. Westerfield 63.2 2004 LAURA SWAN Paradox in the Monastery: Lessons from Two Ammas Mwost of us have grown up with family stories that e have "always" been "familiar" with. This is oral tradition. Certain stories get told over and over, recalling the colorful, poignant, even troubling members and events of our families and congregations. Stories are retold among friends, families, and religious communities because the memory of them touches us deeply. They tell us something of who we are and where we have been. Stories unpack the mystery of the present and give us guidance into the future. We pass particular stories on because they have shaken something awake within us and we desire to share this awareness with others. We want to remember the lessons learned. Vowed religious remember stories retold about religious over the centuries along with the stories of their own monasteries and congregations. Which stories are dusted off and retold (and embellished) often says much about who we are and what we struggle with. Stories contain and sustain our cultural values. They assist in Laura Swan OSB, author of The Forgotten Desert Mothers, is prioress of St. Placid Priory; 500 College Street N.E.; Lacey, Washington 98516. Web page www.stplacid.org, and email to lswan@stplacid.org. Review for Religious passing on the traditions of our monasteries, congre-gations, faith communities, and families. In the desert of the early Christian movement, stories were collected, remembered, and passed on. Even today stories preserve the memory and teachings of the desert ascetics, the ammas and abbas who lived at the beginning of Christian monasticism. They sought the desert, a place of intense solitude, in order to focus their pursuit of the Holy One with single-minded devotion and limited distractions. Their goal was union with God. These stories formed an early oral tradition now known as Sayings (apothegms, apophtheg~nata). Side by side with this movement into the desert was a movement toward an evolving Christian monasticism. The desert ascetics were often associated with monastic communities. Eremitic communities were little more than groups of cells in the desert where the seekers occasionally met for teaching, prayer, and exhortation. There was no standard monasticism at this period. Religious life was quite diverse in all its expressions; every monastic community had its own rule and traditions. Two leading figures in the development of monasticism in Egypt were Pachomius (ca. 282-346) of Tabennisi in upper Egypt and Shenoute (ca. 348-464) of Atripe, also in upper Egypt. Writings of their followers, often called Lives, give us insight into the struggles and aspirations of early religious life and of Christianity itself. Many stories from the desert reflect the tensions of diverse expressions of Christianity and tensions between those seeking to articulate statements of belief, as in the Arian and Trinitarian controversies. The Holy Drunken Woman I would like to look at two stories. They confront us with paradox, and their themes are repeated in other stories from the desert) As the first story goes, on the feast 63.2 2004 Swan * Paradox in the Monastery of Abba Apollo, Abba Daniel went to the Upper Thebaid, visiting first the monastic community of men and then the monastic community of women. The community of three hundred women was called the Monastery of Abba Jeremiah, led by a "mother archimandrite.''2 In this story the women "violate" the tradition of not permitting men in their monastery in order to welcome a particularly venerated and beloved elder of the desert. In the tradition of desert hospitality, these monastic women welcome Abba Daniel and his companion into their monastery chapel and wash their feet. The women then bless themselves with the water used. Then they ask for a blessing and a word of teaching or exhortation. As the women seek a wise word from Abba Daniel--a common trait of desert stories--the scene shifts to an anonymous member of the women's monastery who remained away from the rest of the community. This anonymous nun believed to be drunk is asleep in the forecourt of the church, wearing clothing that is in shreds. Abba Daniel asks the mother archimandrite who this nun is, and he is told: "She's a drunk and we don't know what to do with her; we're afraid to take the responsibility of throwing her out of the monastery, and if we let her stay she demoralizes the sisters." 3 The community then redirects Abba Daniel to their refectory for a shared meal. Interestingly we are told that the women served the men simple vegetarian fare while they themselves ate well. When Abba Daniel inquires about this seeming disparity and violation of hospitality, the mother archimandrite responds: "You are a monk, and I served you a monk's food. Your disciple is a monk's disciple, and I served him a disciple's food. We, however, are novices, and we ate novices' food.''4 By example the women have exalted the venerable teacher by lowering themselves in an eccentric yet enticing paradox. Before leaving, Abba Daniel again concerns himself Review for Religious with the "drunken" nun, who was seen sleeping by the toilets. The men had been watching her. As the monastery retired for sleep, the woman rose and stood in a position of tearful supplication or prostrated herself in contrition. Whenever a nun came out to use the toilet, she would throw herself on the ground and snore. Abba Daniel calls the mother archimandrite, who joins him in observing this behavior. Realizing that the nun is merely feigning drunkenness and remembering her own mistreatment of her, the mother archimandrite confesses her own sin with deep conviction and contrition. When the "drunken" nun realizes that she has been discovered, she cleverly steals Abba Daniel's cowl and staff and disappears into the desert. The story concludes with Abba Daniel and the mother archimandrite declaring the "drunken" nun to be one of God's hidden servants. The woman rose and stood in a position of tearful supplication or prostrated herself in contrition. The Woman Who Feigned Madness From Palladius we learn of a women's monastery at Tabennisi in which a member feigned madness and demon possession.5 She was treated with contempt, and the other nuns avoided her company. This "mad" nun voluntarily worked at the most menial jobs in the kitchen. She wore a rag on her head while other members cropped their hair short and wore a cowl. She ate the scraps and leftovers only. She was never angry and never grumbled; she rarely spoke--all in the midst of being treated with contempt. She was insulted, cursed, and loathed by the other nuns. 63.2 2004 Swan ¯ Paradox in the Monastery An angel appears to Abba Piteroum, another venerated desert ascetic, inviting him to meet someone more holy then he, and a mere woman at that! The angel sends him to Tabennisi with a challenge: This woman is continually mistreated by her community and yet never takes her heart off God, while our venerable abba dwells in his cell yet wanders about the cities in his mind--a theme found throughout desert teachings, including the Sayings ofAmma Syncletica.6 For his angelic lesson, Abba Piteroum arrives at the women's monastery to see this holy woman, whom the nuns call "touched." She resists meeting him, but is physically forced into his presence. He immediately recognizes her as spiritually mature by an intuition of mind and heart. He falls at her feet seeking her blessing, and she responds by falling at his feet seeking his blessing, both vying to express their humility. The nuns are aghast. Abba Piteroum declares the touched nun to be the community's true spiritual mother. The nuns recognize the truth of his words and immediately begin to confess their mistreatment of this unknown amma and elder. Now elevated to "venerable," she cannot tolerate the place of honor and disappears from the community-- another common theme of the desert. The Paradox Most of us have experienced difficult people--in our congregations and monasteries, in our professional lives, in our faith communities and families. These are the people who know our buttons and hooks well. They have an innate ability to stir up our anger and impatience and frustration. These are the people who can make day-to-day living exasperating and an exercise in profound patience. Our inner reactions to these difficult people tell us more about ourselves than we care to admit. They gift us with all this opportunity for asceticism--and are Review for Religious usually quite unaware of it. While our history as religious seekers and as vowed religious includes eras of health-damaging fasts, hair shirts and nail beds, my Irish forebears standing for long periods in freezing cold water, and whips--these are all self-imposed ascetical practices of dubious value. These false ascetical practices betray our neo-Pelagian and neo- Jansenist hearts.7 Desert ascetics remind us that life hands us authentic asceticism: meetings, deadlines, "smallness" of income in the midst of aging, the ministrations that frail members call for, authority and obedience in tension in our individualistic culture, and difficult community members. Families have difficulty building and sustaining relationships in a culture that undermines those values and commitments. Desert ascetics sought to The desert tradition was intended to force the seeker to face self without distractions, illusions, or barriers. disappear, taking their wisdom with them. We know that the greater challenge is to build healthy communities and a healthy church. To us it seems the easier thing to disappear, to seek hiddenness. Yet the desert tradition was intended to force the seeker to face self without distractions, illusions, or barriers. Today's desert ascetics are, first and foremost, students of the desert and the spiritual difficulty encountered there. The desert teaches them self-knowledge and self-awareness. It teaches them to listen deeply and intensely. Daily they come to know a bit better who they are before God. While growing in awareness of who they are and who they are not, they detach themselves from reputation and any need to 63.2 2004 Swan ¯ Paradox in the Monastery defend themselves from those who may attack it. In the old and colorful stories, ascetics go beyond detachment from reputation to distancing themselves from others in order to live alone for God. We savor these stories because they invite us to multiple meanings, because they do not allow us a simplistic answer. Contemporary religious life recognizes--and painfully grows more aware of---fragile, disturbed, and disrupting members. Our call is to handle these troubling members wisely and compassionately, and at times firmly. We try to minimize the disruptions that wounded unruly members are capable of; we listen and ask ourselves what they are here to teach us. Often the stories we have retained and repeat pertain to the graced insights we have been given, the humor and lessons we have learned. Biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann speaks of the capacity of the Psalms to move us from orientation, through disorientation, to a new position of re-orientationf We experience times of disequilibrium, yet when God is there with us beautiful psalms can be birthed. In many ways this experience occurred in the lives of the desert ascetics. They were thrust into disorientation by accepting the gospel and striving to follow its earnest call by living in the desert or monastery. After each new experience of reorientation, the desert ascetics would be thrust again into disorientation through continued ascetical practices that could bring them to ever closer union with God. This rhythm stripped the seekers of all that separated their truest selves from God. The nun who feigned madness and the holy "drunken" woman open up the paradox that troubled members, nonconforming members, and the mentally ill confront us with. These women speak to us of the paradox of ultimate detachment, of letting go of all that keeps us from an intense relationship with God and our truest selves. And they are paradoxes because their pursuit Review for Religious of interior freedom causes disruption for others. These women certainly speak to us of ways that God is found outside our concept of "normal." And yet these women of old both challenge and help us to provide pastoral care for our nonconformist members who struggle with the daily reality of living out their vowed commitment or are mentally ill. We anguish on behalf of troubled members around questions of ability and willingness to live the demands of our life calling. Careful discernment is demanded of us. Is this person confronting a systemic problem in the monastery or community? Is she a prophetic element? What does the fruit of her behavior tell us? These women remind us that our teachers and mentors may come in the form of Balaam's ass--or a holy "drunken" woman or a woman who feigns madness. Indeed our troubling members call forth the strength of compassion and steadfastness and vision in ways we did not ever foresee. Sometimes we discover our best selves-- and sometimes our worst self comes out. These stories clearly teach the paradox of who was actually troubled: the woman or the community? The holy "drunken" woman and the woman who feigned madness behaved in disturbing ways, but were revealed to have pure hearts intent on God, while others manifested conformity and even appropriate conduct (not always the same thing) but inwardly lacked something even to the point of behaving badly. We are presented with a paradox, with a teach-ing/ learning moment. Discernment is necessary. What appears as "bad" is shown to be "good." What is in us-- our purity of heart, or our lack of it--is exposed. We are presented with classic stories of the desert, stories that support the desert goal of apatheia. Apatheia is the interior state in which people no longer have to struggle against inordinate attachments. Through 63.2 2004 Swan ¯ Paradox in the Monastery The desert ascetics taught all to deliberately let go of whatever keeps us from the single-minded pursuit of God. profound interior freedom, they are not pulled hither and yon by various worldly, desires. Apatheia is a mature mindfulness, a sound sensitivity, and a keen attention to one's inner world and to the outer world in which one has been living. Apatheia is purity of heart. The desert ascetics taught all to deliberately let go of whatever keeps us from the single-minded pursuit of God: feelings and thoughts that bind us or others, cravings and addictions that diminish feelings of worth, and attachments to self-imposed perfectionism. The paradoxical questions are: Does my purity of heart support my fellow seekers' own interior journey? Is it inappropriate if my purity of heart disrupts your journey? How do we discern this together? Desert ascetics faced suffering with determination and courage. They understood that suffering often has roots in their own attachments to thoughts, attitudes, motives, relationships, and reputation. Suffering was the avenue towards freedom, and detachment the avenue towards maturity and humility. And yet there are innumerable stories from desert monastic communities--possibly Shenouteand the White Monastery being the most famous--where misbehavior and harshness were too common.9 Benedict of Nursia's own Rule reveals a monastic leader purified by the fire of members' unruly misbehavior and matured by his attempts to curb it. The "mad" nun and the "drunken" woman remind us that the pursuit of holiness is a lifelong journey. Review for Religious As in all good stories, we are not given easy answers to hard questions. Paradox lives on and calls for discernment. We need self-awareness in order to understand what power the stories have and why we repeat them in our dining rooms. The "mad" nun and the "drunken" woman confront us: Who are our teachers? From whom are we willing to learn? At whose feet do we sit to receive the wisdom of desert cell and monastery? Are we alert to unexpected opportunities to learn? What do we do when our presumptions, prejudices, and expectations are exposed and thwarted? How do we discern? With whom do we discern? Who are our wise elders? Notes l I am drawing from Tim Vivian, "Witness to Holiness: Abba Daniel of Scetis," Coptic Church Review 24, nos. 1 and 2 (Spring and Summer 2003): 2-52. See also L~on Clugnet, "Vie et R~cits de l'Abbd Daniel de Sc~t~," Revue de l'Orient Chr~tien 5 (1900): 67-70. See also Witness to Holiness: Abba Daniel of Scetis, ed. Tim Vivian (Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications, forthcoming). z Archimandrite is a term usually used only in the Orthodox and Coptic Christian traditions, referring to a leader of the monastery. 3 Vivian, "Wimess," p. 36. 4 Vivian, "Witness," p. 36. 5 Primarily I am using Palladius, Lausiac History, ed. and trans. Robert Meyer, Vol. 34 of Ancient Christian Writers series, ed. Johannes Quasten (New York: Newman Press, 1964), pp. 96-98. 6 Palladius, p. 97, and see The Life of Blessed Syncletica by Pseudo- Athanasius, ed. and trans. Elizabeth Bryson Bongie (Toronto: Peregrina Publishing, 1995). 7 Pelagius's name is given to the heresy that denies original sin and claims that human beings can choose the good on their own and thereby effect their own salvation. We see echoes of this in the posunodern North American and western European culture. Jansen's name is given to the heresy that human nature is so flawed by original sin that special grace is needed to follow Christ. His teachings around determinism are quite similar to Calvin's teachings on predestination. Jansenism was a rigorous and austere movement. I suggest that much of our perfectionist drive comes from the Jansenist influence on our culture. 63.2 2004 Swan * Paradox in the Monastery 8 See Walter Brueggemann, Praying the Psalms (Winona: St. Mary's Press, 1986). 9 See Susanna Elm, Virgins of God: The Making of Asceticism in Late Antiquity (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994), and Rebecca Krawiec, Shenoute and the Women of the White Monastery: Egyptian Monasticism in Late Antiquity (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001). They Who Sow in Tears. These are not hollow hours that the spirit spends in tortured wrestling with a loneliness trenchant and piercing. Even this ache that rends our subtlest calm beyond each day's regress with sharp-toothed gnawing at the being's core is heaven-sent, is calculate, is more than all our orisons, presaging joyous yield. This is the "sowing in tears" within His field. Agnes Margaret Humbert CDP (nursing home, age ninety-one) Review for Religious PATRICK SEAN MOFFETT Viewing Chapters as "Authoring" Our Congregations' Narratives ~hSU~S offers us his story. While walking the streets, lls, and lakesides of his homeland, he authored in Spirited word and action the initial chapters of the defin-ing narrative of Christianity. All eyes were on him in his hometown synagogue as he proclaimed that the words of Isaiah were being fulfilled in their hearing: "The Spirit of God has been given to me and has anointed me. God has sent me to bring the good news to the poor, to proclaim liberty to captives and to the blind new sight" (Lk 4:18-19). Chapters have a unique function in the lives of reli-gious congregations and their members and in the wider church. They merit re-viewing and re-hearing from a number of vantage points. Here I present a perspective that emphasizes the storytelling nature of these eccle-sial events. Stories We Live By In the stories people tell about themselves, psychol-ogists find a manifestation of two great motivational forces: agency and communion.~ Agency refers to behav- Patdck Sean Moffett CFC writes again from Christian Brothers, Central Harlem; 74 West 124th Street; New York, N.Y. 10027. I.LJ~K.~'O"~ 63.2 2004 iors that individuals perceive as uniquely their own: I think, I feel, I do. Communion refers to people's percep-tions of relatedness, of belonging, of being integral mem-bers of a group that they experience as us or we. In chapter preparations, various "Emmaus Walks" have gained favor as ways of fostering shared discern-ment. They are making a reappearance, displacing a pre-vious decade's preference for evaluations and sorting exercises' designed to evoke an exchange on personality types or styles of human interaction. Gospel based and focusing on people's unique life journeys, Emmaus Walks facilitate personal narration. Participants are usually assigned a partner randomly. After a time of reflecting by oneself (perhaps on a given theme or a text of Scripture) or checking in on one's own current affect, the pair simply take a walk during which they express what is happening within them. These exchanges are sometimes followed by testimonies within small or large groups or by a period of shared silence and a concluding blessing or hymn. The Emmaus Walk serves as an example of the story-telling which begins anew with the announcement of a coming chapter and characterizes much of what happens throughout the time of chapter. Individual members are invited to reflect on the movement of the Spirit within their individual and. communal experiences and then to share their observations with their sisters or brothers in local, provincial, and eventually congregational contexts. "Time of chapter" is the full period extending from the first announcement through, the preparations, the prechapter gatherings, the formal opening, and the issue and voting sessions to the chapter's formal conclusion. Consecrated Life in a Time of Chapter "Why is this day different from every other day?" The child's question opening the Hebrew Passover ritual Review for Religious might be applied to the time of chapter. Consecrated life in the Christian tradition is nourished by daily atten-tion to the Spirit of Jesus working in and through the individual and the community. A call to chapter is an invitation to each and all of the members to engage in discernment that goes beyond the usual daily praxis. In personal reflection, in personal and communal prayer, in speaking and listening, the focus in the time of chap-ter is our unity within our brotherhood or sisterhood in Christ. Our individual stories are narrated within the communal story. We attend individually to movements of the Spirit that may be intended for the whole community. I attend within myself, within the community, and within the people we are called to serve. I willingly risk asking if there is something in our shared life that I am called at this time to affirm, to question, to challenge, or to propose. I risk accepting a call to prophesy, a call to speak to my brothers or sisters in the name of God. I listen with special attention to those who speak in ways that challenge me, that call me to deeper levels of relationship with them and with our God. I test the spir-its that are stirring among us. I listen with mind and heart, noting particularly what evokes strong signs of passion, dissonance, or consent. Collectively, the members of the congregation under-stand that a general chapter is a defining moment in the ongoing story of their institute. Canon law is quite explicit: In an institute the general chapter has supreme author-ity in accordance with the constitutions. It is to be composed in such a way that it represents the whole institute and becomes a true sign of its unity in char-ity. Its principal functions are to protect the patri-mony of the institute . . . and to foster appropriate renewal in accord with that patrimony. It also elects the supreme moderator, deals with matters of greater importance, and issues norms which all are bound to obey. (c. 631, §i) 63.2 2004 Moffett ¯ Viewing Cbapt~ The New Testament offers what might be considered models of chapter. Stories within a Story The New Testament offers what might be considered models of chapter. Jesus gathers the disciples on the return from their first mission. They share stories marveling at all they had done and taught (Mk 6:30). Jesus chooses a committee consisting of Peter, James, and John to wit-ness the transfiguration. As Jesus approaches the time of his passion, he gathers the full group as friends at a meal in an upper room. He ritualizes his role among them as one who serves, and he enjoins them to follow his example. He speaks with great intimacy of his rela-tionship with his Father and with them, and of their incor-poration into his continuing story. He announces a new commandment revealing the defining characteristics of their agency and their commu-nion. "As I have loved you, you love one another. By this all will know that you are my disciples" On 13:3 4). Several postresurrection encounters are similar. Peace, self-reve-lation, and a shared mission are the recurrent themes. In the Acts of the Apostles, as the members of the early church confront issues of leadership, community management, and inclusiveness, there is a coming together to consider what is happening among them, to recall the story of tlieir mission, and to decide--"we and the Holy Spirit"--where to go from here. Religious hold as a treasure, but also as a memory of painful moments, the chapter stories of their congrega-tions- times of jubilee, special fervor, and renewal, but also of schisms, suppressions, and even denunciations of their founders. In the treasures of Franciscan lore, the gathering of the friars in 1217 at Pentecost continues to suggest Review for Religious images and hopes for new generations of the sons and daughters of the Poverello. He writes to those who were to gather, encouraging them to have a listening heart and to be "cleansed and enlightened interiorly and fired with the ardor of the Holy Spirit": Listen, then, sons of God and my friars, and give ear to my words. Give hearing with all your hearts, and obey the voice of the Son of God. Keep his com-mandments wholeheartedly, and practice his counsels with all your minds. Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; extol him in your works. This is the very rea-son he has sent you all over the world, so that by word and deed you may bear witness to his message and convince everyone that there is no other almighty God besides him. Almighty, eternal, just, and merciful God, grant us in our misery that we may do for your sake alone what we know you want us to do, and may always want what pleases you; so that, cleansed and enlightened interiorly and fired with the ardor of the Holy Spirit, we may be able to follow in the footsteps of your Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, and so make our way to you, Most High, by your grace alone, who live and reign in perfect Trinity and simple Unity, and are glorified, God omnipotent, for ever and ever. Amen.2 In 1976 Eduardo Cardinal Pironio, in his role as pre-fect of the Sacred Congregation for Religious, offered a vision that anticipated many of the directions that chap-ters have taken during the past quarter century: A chapter is not a mere study meeting, a superficial gathering or a short-lived revision of life. A chapter is essentially a paschal celebration. For this reason it is above all a "penitential" celebration which aims at liv-ing two things deeply: a sincere attitude of conver-sion and a deep and painful search., for God's will in the present necessities of consecrated life. But, since it is a real paschal celebration, it is not just the penitential aspects that interest us in a chap-ter. It is the whole extent of paschal newness, a fresh- 63.2 2004 ness in the church and a good dose of pasc.hal opti-mism. If the chapter has been celebrated well, in poverty, prayer, and brotherly charity, it is a re-cre-ation of the institute, and its spiritual riches overflow upon the church and the world. Because of all this, the chapter is a salvific event, an ecclesial event, a family event. (L'Osservatore Romano, English edition, 16 September 1976) For many congregations the "time of chapter" has become increasingly inclusive of individuals and groups with whom they are associated in life and ministry. Coworkers and those served are invited to share in many aspects of the chapter preparations and celebrations. They respond with helpful and often challenging insights, genuine affirmations, and earnest testimonies to possible applications of the congregation's charism. They clearly have a role in the story of the institute. As the chapter moves into its more formal role of supreme authority with respect to the congregation's members and its choice of leaders, the various associates join with the universal church in prayerfully awaiting, outside closed doors, the moment of a new Pentecost. The church, historically the chief beneficiary of these charismatic moments, is most attentive in protecting the members' rights and asserting their duty to discern among themselves the movement of the Spirit. J Planning the Chapter Groups engaged in chapter preparations, when asked what outcomes are most desired, readily speak of a greater unity--unity in who they are and what they are about in the name of the Lord. "By this they will know that you are my disciples." A steering committee approaches the design of a chapter with the guidelines of canon law and with the congregation's constitution, statutes, directives, and cus-toms, but also with aspects of the "Zeitgeist" or cultural Review for Religious climate of contemporary religious congregations. Resources, facilities, travel possibilities, witness, means of communication, inclusiveness, ministerial pressures, and solidarity are some of the issues that have evoked creativity and diversity in the conduct of chapters. The Spirit has been called on to adjust to a great variety of venues. Faith is supported by Jesus' promise that, wher-ever two or three are gathered in his name, he will be around for whatever will be happening. Canon law offers chapter planners two notes: § 1. Participatory and consultative bodies are faithfully to carry out the task entrusted to them, in accordance with the universal law and the institute's own law. In their own way they are to express the care and par-ticipation of all the members for the good of the whole institute or community. §2. In establishing and utilizing these means of participation and consultation, a wise discernment is to be observed, and the way in which they operate is to be in conformity with the character and purpose of the institute. (c. 633) The initial request for community members' sug-gestions about the chapter tends to elicit many concerns about content and process that go well beyond what a large gathering could address within the limited time available, and so standing or ad hoc committees are assigned the tasks of: ¯ sorting through the initial input, ¯ performing or commissioning the research necessary for a more thorough study of stated expectancies and issues, ¯ developing preliminary drafts of papers or pro-posals, and ¯ offering opportunities for the members to share an emerging story in a variety of ways. (Letters, emails, calls, community and intercommunity gather-ings, retreats, liturgies, and assemblies become part of an extended effort to incorporate into the "time of chap-ter" the experiences and issues that may not find space and time in the formal chapter gathering.) 63.2 2004 Moffett ¯ Viewing Chapters A sacred history informs the narrative of our times. All recent retellings of the story of "consecrated life" make reference to defining characteristics articulated in the Vatican II Decree on the Appropriate Renewal of Religious Life, Perfectae caritatis. Religious hear a call to be faithful as men and women of our times, as followers of Jesus and his gospel, as members of the people of God sharing the mission of the church in the world, and as religious gifted with the charism of our particular congregation? The specification of a "time of chapter" is an invita-tion for members of a congregation to become more intensely engaged in sharing stories about the action of the Spirit in our personal and communal lives. My sisters and brothers encourage me: ¯ to attend to revelation I am receiving for the group, ¯ to share that truth in love, ¯ to attend to the prophecy of my sisters and brothers, ¯ to explore the differences, and ¯ to seek in faith the light, the direction, and the leadership that will guide our shared lives and mission toward the next chapter. When the members of the congregation or their del-egates come together for the formal affairs sessions and elections, it is a time for refinement, affirmation, and actualization of a consensus that has been emerging dur-ing several months of prayerful discernment, prophetic sharing, thoughtful listening, and rearticulation of the group narrative. In the process it is the movement of the Spirit that matters. The concluding chapter sessions, in their distinct moments, are a point of arrival and a new departure. Having clarified a shared vision for the life and mission of the congregation over the next few years, the members select those who will have a leadership role in helping Review for Religious membership remain attentive to the Spirit as together-- membership, leadership, and Spirit--they author the beginning lines of a new chapter in the continuing story of the congregation. The Zeitgeist and Some Dangerous Ideas As men and women of their times, members of reli-gious congregations, especially those working at the mar-gins of society, have a special vantage point for observing the surrounding culture, but also the risk of being affected by it. Much of what once happened only at general chap-ters has become part of congregations' ongoing admin-istration. Instant communication, travel opportunities, greater exposure to global issues, international and inter-cultural exchange, shared ministries, and increased col-laboration with governmental and nongovernmental organizations have broadened our ministerial vision and reduced our corporate response time. In the process, congregations have been exposed to prevalent cultural influences; sometimes they have regressed in search of past glories and a lost sense of security. Marist Father Gerald Arbuckle sounds the alert for "Avoiding Cultural Seduction in General Chapters" (Human Development 23, no. 3, Fall 2002). Recent terrorist activity has heightened awareness and concern about what propels groups toward conflict. Researchers are examining belief systems that seem to be fueling intergroup hostilities. Psychologists Roy and Judy Eidelson, in a review of the growing body of liter-ature, have identified five belief domains particularly important for further study: superiority, injustice, vul-nerability, distrust, and helplessness.4 They suggest a consideration of what happens as these ideas are incor-porated into the self-definition of individuals and then of the group to which they belong. 63.2 2004 Moffett ¯ Viewing Chapters Extraordinary times offer obstacles and opportuni-ties for evangelization. As in all instances of empathic ministerial response to hurt and evil, we are called to find within our own stories traces of what we seek to address. Our own sinful history attunes us to what makes Congregations sometimes have regressed in search of past glories and a lost sense of security. others particularly vulner-able to prevalent cultural influences, to what the Eidelsons call "dangerous ideas." Religious need not be suicide bombers or look beyond their own congre-gational experiences to have an initial insight into the dynamics of such ideas: "I and we are the superior ones. I and we have been the victims of injustice. I and we are particularly vulnerable. I and we cannot trust those who are not like us. I and we cannot do anything to change the situation." Significant insights become apparent in the telling of our stories. Chapters in an era of world conflict are called to attend afresh to the cry of the poor within and beyond the congregation. Those whose daily ministry affords them intimate interaction with the suffering Christ have stories that can lead to new life in the con-gregation. So can the stories of those who feel the dull pain of not having such opportunities. The challenge of chapter is that of evoking and attending to all these voices and recognizing the promised Spirit within them. From Our Stories to Our Story The current ages of those telling their stories can affect the themes that arise within the group. For exam-ple, a congregation that has numbers of older members and fewer young ones may find itself discussing genera- Revlew for Religious tivity (vs. stagnation) and integrity (vs. despair) and may be left with little time or energy for issues of identity, ministry, and intimacy, issues likely to concern the younger members. Accommodations may need to be made to assure that the group story will include the graces and struggles of all the members, not just the majority. Erik Erikson was in his eighties when he published a revision of his influential description of the life cycle. He focused on the way that personal identity, the "I," becomes ever more fully integrated into a "we." He said, "The sisterhoods and brotherhoods of the 'we' come to share a joined identity experienced as most real.''s A chap-ter needs to hear the congregation story as it is expressed anew in the lives of individuals and groups within the congregation. Not all the results will accommodate tran-scription onto paper or into electronic storage. Certain matters need to be transcribed. Constitutions and statutes govern the lives of the congregation's mem-bers. The approval process needs to be enlightened with all of the knowledge, wisdom, and grace available to those whose vote on specific matters will affect the future of all of their brothers or sisters. Records of valid voting procedures legitimate the transfer and continuity of lead-ership. Accounts and decisions concerning the patrimony of the congregation affect mission feasibilities and mem-bers' welfare, and they require skilled attention. All such matters are guided by canon law and by the law and cus-toms of the congregation. The experience of chapter, of specially shared broth-erhood or sisterhood and of the participants' careful pro-cedures and conscientious voting, is not easy to share with those who were not present. When words no longer adequately describe the lived reality of our being and doing, we struggle to find new words. We have a shared understanding of our collective story, about which words 63.2 2004 Moffett ¯ Viewing ~hapten The experience of chapter is not easy to share with those who were not present. fail, but the story is accurate. We measure other stories against that one. We likewise have intuitions of ourselves and of one another. By such intuitions we know for our-selves and others what is individually appropriate or not. Some words could be mine but not yours, some clothing would be comfortable for you but not me. In music, art, recreation, and so forth, in some way all that we become engaged in carries our unique signatures. Our collective images are shared. We can identify what is Franciscan, Dominican, Jesuit, typically Christian Brother, Mercy, or CND. Every document that is "ours" will have to fit within the domain of this collective vision. No document will ever capture it fully. As most of us sur-vive quite well without a definitive autobiography, so too our congregations. While described in a plethora of his-torical documents, as long as the congregation lives in its members, the story remains "in process." On the mountain Peter offered to capture in a build-ing project the brilliant manifestation of Jesus with Moses and Elijah. John probably had in mind a first draft of the account he never needed to write. James? For cen-turies great numbers of pilgrims to Compostela in Spain have touched into stories of this apostle's own manifes-tations. They speak of conversion and special graces. Yet all we know with some degree of certainty is that this James earned the crown of martyrdom in Jerusalem early in the story of the infant church (Ac 12:1). The words of Jesus reported in the synoptic accounts of his transfiguration suggest that each of the chosen delegates took from the mountain something to be cher-ished unspoken until it was time to proclaim the Son of Review for Religious Man's resurrection. Their privileged vision was not of something that was to come, but rather of that which always is. Together they beheld for a moment the light of the one God in whom they live and breathe and have their being. Such are our chapter stories. Notes t Dan P. McAdams, The Stories We Live By (New York: Wm. Morrow and Company, 1993); David Bakan, The Duality of Human Existence: Isolation and Communion in Western Man (Boston: Beacon Press, 1966); P.S. Moffett, "Promoting Agency among Children and Adolescents at the Margins" (invited address, American Psychological Association), Journal of Pastoral Counseling 30 (1995). 2 Taken from The Writings of St. Francis of Assisi, trans. Benen Fahy OFM (London: Burns and Oates, 1964), pp. 104 and 108. 3 Perfectae caritatis, Decree on the Appropriate Renewal of the Religious Life; Instruction on Essential Elements in the Church's Teaching on Religious Life as Applied to Institutes Dedicated to Works of the Apostolate, Congregation for Religious and Secular Institutes, 31 May 1983; lHta consecrata, apostolic exhortation of Pope John Paul II, 1996; Ytarting Afresh from Christ: A Renewed Commitment to Consecrated Life in the Third Millennium, CICLSAL, 19 May 2002. 4 Roy J. Eidelson and Judy I. Eidelson, "Dangerous Ideas: Five Beliefs That Propel Groups toward Conflict," American Psychologist 58, no. 3 (March 2003). s Erik Erikson, The Life Cycle Completed (London: W.W. Norton and Co., 1982). May Drunk on the wild plum, heady with endless stretches of bluebells surrendered to the woods (such are spring's goods, not to sell, but to sate novice eyes so long accustomed to the late gray winter's moods); all, all is given from these places where you, 0 Trinity, hide your faces. Eileen Haugh OSF 63.2 2004 J. THOMAS HAMEL Our Lady's Presence in the Spiritual Exercises gnatian tradition The first mention of our Lady in the Spiritual Exercises is in the first exercise of the First Week. "Preamble 1. This is the composition, seeing the place., the material place where the object I want to contemplate is situated . By 'mate-rial place' I mean, for example, a temple or a mountain where Jesus Christ or our Lady is to be found, according to what I want to contem-plate." ~ Is it by chance that the two examples given are a temple and a mountain? Major events took place in the temple (finding the lost twelve-year-old there) and, twenty years later, at the mount called Olivet (Jesus' ascension)--and who can doubt that our Lady was among the disciples there? (Lk 24:50-53; Ac 1:12-14). As a young child Mary was presented in the temple accord-ing to legend, even as later she presented her newborn to the Lord (Lk 2:22). Temple and J. Thomas Hamel SJ does spiritual direction and lives at College of the Holy Cross; 1 College Street; Worcester, Massachusetts 01610. Review for Religious mountain bring to mind what scripture scholars have long noted, that Mary was the only human person pre-sent to Jesus' life from beginning to end. The same is eminently true of her presence in the Spiritual Exercises. The first contemplation of the first day of the Second Week, on the incarnation, not only embraces the sacred event itself, but even invites retreatants to speak to "the eternal Word [so altogether newly] incarnate" in Mary's womb (§109). All of a sudden her womb is sacred space, a living temple. On the same first day, the presence and activity of our Lady is highlighted in the three points on our Lord's birth (§264). The second point simply quotes St. Luke: "She bore her firstborn son and wrapped him in swad-dling clothes and laid him in a manger" (Lk 2:7). In the third point the angelic choir sings "Glory to God in the highest" for Mary and Joseph and the child lying in the manger. (Ignatius conveniently forgets that the angels sang to the shepherds.) Putting her Son in a manger is our Lady's way of presenting him to the world. We can assume that Ignatius thought of that, and that the thought included a loving gaze at Jesus' entire life, the Life of the world. So aware of Jesus' birth in utter poverty, Ignatius recalls the arduous journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem. Ignatian contemplation is the exercise of being present first of all to details of some material things: the width of a road, its length, its smoothness or roughness, the width and depth of a cave, the size of a manger or trough, the height of a hill like Calvary. Imagined details about the route to Bethlehem invite us to be aware of the child pre-sent in Mary's womb on that long and arduous journey-- a prelude to journeys from Bethlehem to Egypt, and back to Galilee, later to the Jordan, to Samaritan territory, to Judea and Calvary. Jesus in the manger under his mother's care was the visible beginning of our finding our Savior 63.2 2004 Hamel ¯ Ou~ Lady's Pre~ence present everywhere in the world. Such is the way of the Holy Spirit at work in Ignatian contemplation. Our Lady's offering of her Son to the shepherds and to the world was a revelation, the source of Ignatius's own mysticism of apostolic gervice. Ignatian retreatants are invited to serve the needs of the mother, of Joseph, and the servant girl (§114) and, following the contem-plative gaze of Ignatius, are led on a journey that includes Christ carrying his cross to Calvary (§ 116). The mys-tery of the birth of Christ our Lord, or rather the mys-teries surrounding his birth, glow with something mystical. How else explain what Ignatius did when it was no longer possible for him and his first companions to go to the Holy Land? Thirteen months after his ordination to the priesthood, he celebrated his first Mass in the Church of St. Mary Major on 25 December 1538 at the altar of the manger in which Christ was said to have been placed. Once again Ignatius was reliving that sacred moment when our Lady placed her Son in the manger. Was the manger all along a kind of mystical manger which later prompted that long-standing desire of Ignatius that our Lady be pleased to place him with her Son? It is no sur-prise that her response was the mystical vision of La Storta in November 1537: He had resolved to remain a year, once he became a priest, without saying Mass, preparing himself and praying our Lady to be pleased to put him with her Son. And being one day

El presente trabajo analiza la actividad profesional realizada por el arquitecto mexicano Carlos Obregón Santacilia. La premisa sobre la cual se desarrolla desconoce las posiciones tradicionales de la historiográfia mexicana ya que considera sólo se han dedicado a encajonarlo dentro de rígidos marcos estilísticos que poco han aportado para atrapar la esencia de la historia. La incursión a la microhistoria es el camino tomado por el autor a fin de acercarse a los acontecimientos en los cuales se desenvuelve el personaje estudiado. En un primer apartado se adentra en la ruta recorrida dentro de la enseñanza y actividad constructiva de los arquitectos mexicanos. De la mano de eso nos muestra el acontecer político, social y cultural así como a los personajes que van transformando el paisaje de las ciudades. La revolución mexicana crea nuevas necesidades de representación de grupos humanos que reniegan de su pasado inmediato y buscan en el pasado colonial o prehispánico referentes formales con los cuales identificarse, es ese el momento en el cual se forma profesionalmente Carlos Obregón Santacilia quien se relaciona con los nuevos grupos emergentes del quehacer cultural y político. Su incursión en la revista Azulejos y el triunfo en el concurso para el pabellón de México en la exposición de Rió de Janeiro le permiten mostrar a los intelectuales que es capaz de incursionar en el lenguaje formal buscado por estos. El llamado neocolonial va ha aparecer como motor que aglutine a los mexicanos quienes tras de la revolución requieren de una representación que cubra sus expectativas y con las cuales se identifiquen. Los acontecimientos armados precipitan la llegada de nuevos vocabularios en los cuales la nueva nación se busca nuevamente con la finalidad de encontrarse a la altura de sus vecinos: desean el reconocimiento de los gobiernos extranjeros y desean demostrarles que el México bárbaro ha sido superado. El promotor del neocolonial queda fuera de la escena al tener la pretensión de alcanzar la silla presidencial, Carlos Obregón se acerca a los ideólogos que buscan un nuevo código que muestre una nación en auge, les es necesaria otra representación la cual sume a los diferentes grupos y que a su vez se aleje del vocabulario de quien había pretendido la presidencia de la republica. Busca e incursiona en nuevas manifestaciones que respondan a las necesidades del Estado. Parte siempre del reconocimiento de materiales y esquemas en los cuales identifica la tradición mexicana. Incursiona en las técnicas desarrolladas e impulsadas por considerar que la fusión de técnica y tradición consecuentemente le llevara a un vocabulario ideal en el cual se reconocerá la manufactura mexicana. El vocabulario moderno será retomado por Carlos Obregón y se mantendrá en la adelante en sus obras aunque desde luego jamás abandonara lo que él ha comprendido como elementos necesarios para capturar la tradición y que entrar a formar parte de una tradición que ahora será la suya. Ese recorrido es mostrado paralelo al desarrollo de los avatares nacionales, al quehacer de pintores y políticos, a la actividad de sus contemporáneos y a las teorías arquitectónicas que los mueven, todos ellos se conocen y reconocen, se encuentran trabajando en la invención de un mundo diferente. Trabajan juntos en más de una ocasión y compiten por ser los mejores en sus áreas, tienen querellas que llevan al ámbito gremial, buscan ser los personajes que del lado del Estado construyan un México diferente. En suma un trabajo que nos aproxima de la mano de uno de sus representantes a la invención de la tradición arquitectónica mexicana. ; This article presents the professional activity of the mexican architect Carlos Obregon Santacilia. The point in wich it develops, doesn't recognize the traditional positions of the mexican historiography, because he considers it has been closed inside hard stylistic patterns that had even aported to get the essence of the history. The incursion into the microhistory is the way taken by the author to get close in the sucess among is this character studied. In a first part, this work, comes in along the way walked on the teaching and constructing activity of the mexican architecs. Beside this, it shows us the political, social and cultural, and the characters were perfoming the city landscape too. The mexican revolution creates new necessities of representation from some human communities, that denie their inmediat past and look in the colonial or prehispanic past some formal referents in wich identify theirselves. That is the moment in wich Carlos Obregón Santacilia is forming professionaly and relating himself to the new emergent cultural and political groups. His incursion in the Azulejos magazinne and the success in the concurse of the mexican pavillion on the Rió de Janeiro Exposition, allows him to show the intelectuals his capacity to get into the formal language by them searched. The neocolonial call will appear as the integrating motor of the mexicans, who after the revolution want a hole expectations satisfing and identificable representation of themselves The armed sucess hurried the income of new vocabularies in wich the nation search to get to the level of the neighboors: they want the foreing Goverment recognizement and want to show that the barbarian Mexico is passed. The colonial promotor stays outside the scene when he pretends to get the presidential chair. Carlos Obregón get close to the ideologs that look for a new code of the rising nation. It is them necessary another representation that adds the differents groups and at the same time get away of the presidential chair pretender vocabulary. He looks and works in new manifestations that answer the Goverment necesities. He departs always from the material and patterns recognition on them is the mexican tradition identified. He works in the developed and supported technics thinking that the fusion of technic and tradition will consecuently take him to the ideal vocabulary in wich the mexican manufacture will be recognized. The modern vocabulary will be retaked by Carlos Obregón, who keept ahead on theirs works; but, never leaving what he has understood as necessary elements to capture the tradition and incorpore himself in a tradition that will then become his. This walk is shown parallel to the national avatars, the work of politics and painters, the activity of theirs contemporaries and the architectonical theories that move them. All of them get to know themselves, recognize themselves, find each other working in the invention of a different world. They worked together more than once and compite to be the best of his area, fighting until getting to the gremial ambit, look to be the characters who beside the Goverment will build a different Mexico. In sume, a work that near us, in the hand of one of his representants, to the invention of the Mexican architectonic tradition. ; Postprint (published version)

El presente trabajo analiza la actividad profesional realizada por el arquitecto mexicano Carlos Obregón Santacilia. La premisa sobre la cual se desarrolla desconoce las posiciones tradicionales de la historiográfia mexicana ya que considera sólo se han dedicado a encajonarlo dentro de rígidos marcos estilísticos que poco han aportado para atrapar la esencia de la historia. La incursión a la microhistoria es el camino tomado por el autor a fin de acercarse a los acontecimientos en los cuales se desenvuelve el personaje estudiado. En un primer apartado se adentra en la ruta recorrida dentro de la enseñanza y actividad constructiva de los arquitectos mexicanos. De la mano de eso nos muestra el acontecer político, social y cultural así como a los personajes que van transformando el paisaje de las ciudades. La revolución mexicana crea nuevas necesidades de representación de grupos humanos que reniegan de su pasado inmediato y buscan en el pasado colonial o prehispánico referentes formales con los cuales identificarse, es ese el momento en el cual se forma profesionalmente Carlos Obregón Santacilia quien se relaciona con los nuevos grupos emergentes del quehacer cultural y político. Su incursión en la revista Azulejos y el triunfo en el concurso para el pabellón de México en la exposición de Rió de Janeiro le permiten mostrar a los intelectuales que es capaz de incursionar en el lenguaje formal buscado por estos. El llamado neocolonial va ha aparecer como motor que aglutine a los mexicanos quienes tras de la revolución requieren de una representación que cubra sus expectativas y con las cuales se identifiquen. Los acontecimientos armados precipitan la llegada de nuevos vocabularios en los cuales la nueva nación se busca nuevamente con la finalidad de encontrarse a la altura de sus vecinos: desean el reconocimiento de los gobiernos extranjeros y desean demostrarles que el México bárbaro ha sido superado. El promotor del neocolonial queda fuera de la escena al tener la pretensión de alcanzar la silla presidencial, Carlos Obregón se acerca a los ideólogos que buscan un nuevo código que muestre una nación en auge, les es necesaria otra representación la cual sume a los diferentes grupos y que a su vez se aleje del vocabulario de quien había pretendido la presidencia de la republica. Busca e incursiona en nuevas manifestaciones que respondan a las necesidades del Estado. Parte siempre del reconocimiento de materiales y esquemas en los cuales identifica la tradición mexicana. Incursiona en las técnicas desarrolladas e impulsadas por considerar que la fusión de técnica y tradición consecuentemente le llevara a un vocabulario ideal en el cual se reconocerá la manufactura mexicana. El vocabulario moderno será retomado por Carlos Obregón y se mantendrá en la adelante en sus obras aunque desde luego jamás abandonara lo que él ha comprendido como elementos necesarios para capturar la tradición y que entrar a formar parte de una tradición que ahora será la suya. Ese recorrido es mostrado paralelo al desarrollo de los avatares nacionales, al quehacer de pintores y políticos, a la actividad de sus contemporáneos y a las teorías arquitectónicas que los mueven, todos ellos se conocen y reconocen, se encuentran trabajando en la invención de un mundo diferente. Trabajan juntos en más de una ocasión y compiten por ser los mejores en sus áreas, tienen querellas que llevan al ámbito gremial, buscan ser los personajes que del lado del Estado construyan un México diferente. En suma un trabajo que nos aproxima de la mano de uno de sus representantes a la invención de la tradición arquitectónica mexicana. ; This article presents the professional activity of the mexican architect Carlos Obregon Santacilia. The point in wich it develops, doesn't recognize the traditional positions of the mexican historiography, because he considers it has been closed inside hard stylistic patterns that had even aported to get the essence of the history. The incursion into the microhistory is the way taken by the author to get close in the sucess among is this character studied. In a first part, this work, comes in along the way walked on the teaching and constructing activity of the mexican architecs. Beside this, it shows us the political, social and cultural, and the characters were perfoming the city landscape too. The mexican revolution creates new necessities of representation from some human communities, that denie their inmediat past and look in the colonial or prehispanic past some formal referents in wich identify theirselves. That is the moment in wich Carlos Obregón Santacilia is forming professionaly and relating himself to the new emergent cultural and political groups. His incursion in the Azulejos magazinne and the success in the concurse of the mexican pavillion on the Rió de Janeiro Exposition, allows him to show the intelectuals his capacity to get into the formal language by them searched. The neocolonial call will appear as the integrating motor of the mexicans, who after the revolution want a hole expectations satisfing and identificable representation of themselves The armed sucess hurried the income of new vocabularies in wich the nation search to get to the level of the neighboors: they want the foreing Goverment recognizement and want to show that the barbarian Mexico is passed. The colonial promotor stays outside the scene when he pretends to get the presidential chair. Carlos Obregón get close to the ideologs that look for a new code of the rising nation. It is them necessary another representation that adds the differents groups and at the same time get away of the presidential chair pretender vocabulary. He looks and works in new manifestations that answer the Goverment necesities. He departs always from the material and patterns recognition on them is the mexican tradition identified. He works in the developed and supported technics thinking that the fusion of technic and tradition will consecuently take him to the ideal vocabulary in wich the mexican manufacture will be recognized. The modern vocabulary will be retaked by Carlos Obregón, who keept ahead on theirs works; but, never leaving what he has understood as necessary elements to capture the tradition and incorpore himself in a tradition that will then become his. This walk is shown parallel to the national avatars, the work of politics and painters, the activity of theirs contemporaries and the architectonical theories that move them. All of them get to know themselves, recognize themselves, find each other working in the invention of a different world. They worked together more than once and compite to be the best of his area, fighting until getting to the gremial ambit, look to be the characters who beside the Goverment will build a different Mexico. In sume, a work that near us, in the hand of one of his representants, to the invention of the Mexican architectonic tradition. ; Postprint (published version)

Issue 60.2 of the Review for Religious, 2001. ; Making Connections Livin g S p i r i tu ally C o,mmunjty Living Refl:ections MARCH APRIL 2001 VOLUME 60 NUMBER 2 Review for Religious helps people respond and be faithful to God's universal call to boliness by making available to them the spiritual legacies tbat flow from the cbarisms :of Catholic consecrated life. Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published bimonthly at Saint Louis Universi .t-y by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393 Telephone: 314-977-7363 ¯ Fax: 314-977-7362 E-Mail: review@slu.edu ° \Veb site: u~'w.reviewforreligious.org Manuscripts, books for review, and correspondence with the editor: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, MO 63108-3393 Correspondence about the Canonical Counsel department: Elizabeth McDonough OP Mount St. Mary'~ Seminaw; Emmitsburg, Maryland 21727 POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ¯ P.O. Box 6070 ¯ Duluth, MN 55806. Periodical postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional mailing offices. See inside back cover for information on subscription rates. ©2001 Review for Religious Perlnission is herewith granted to copy any material (articles, poems, reviews) coutained in this issue of Review for Religious for personal or internal use, or for the personal or internal use of specific library clients within the limits outlined in Sections 107 and/or 108 of the United States Copyright Law, All copies made under this permission must bear notice of the source, date, and copyright owner on the first page. This permission is NOT extended to copying for commercial distribu-tion, advertising, institutional promotion, or for the creation of new collective works or anthologies. Such permission will only be considered on written application to the Editor, Review for Religious. 0 for religious LIVING OUR CATHOLIC LEGACIES Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Editorial Staff Advisory Board David L. Fleming SJ Clare Boehmer ASC Philip C. Fischer SJ Elizabeth McDonough OP Mary Ann Foppe Tracy Gramm ¯ Judy Sharp " James and Joan F~lling Adrian Gaudin SC Sr. Raymond Marie Gerard FSP Joel Rippinger OSB Bishop Carlos AI Sevilla SJ Patricia Wittberg sC MARCH APRIL 2001 VOLUME 60 NUMBER 2 118 139 Feeding the Beast: Postmodern Anxiety and Generational Challenges Christopher Robinson CM reflects on the question "Who are you and what do you mean?" asked by a postmodern consciousness or sensibility. Community and Communion: Making the Connections Doris Gottemoeller RSM presents four dimensions of a powerful analogy between Eucharistic life and religious community life that sheds light on both and shows between them a common spirituality. 152 Contemplatiori to Attain Love: A Paradigm for Apostolic Prayer Gerald M. Fagin sJ explains the four points of the final exercise in the Ignatian Exercises as a description of the prayer of an active minister. 162 What to Know about Discernment Ernest E. Larkin OCarm provides a succinct explanation of the cognitive, affective, and mystical ways of evaluating our experiences which we identify as discernment. Review for Religious 171 179 Apostolic Community in the Assumptionist/Augustinian Tradition John L. Franck AA sees, with St. Augustine, that religious communities work to shape our very lives and thus our very work in the world. Mission and Community in the Neighborhood: A Personal Reflection Catherine M. Harmer MMS shares her experience of being a religious community m(rnber living and participating in the community and ministry of neighborhoods. 187 196 201 Taking the Psalms to Heart Francis Dorff OPraem walks us reflectively through St. Romuald's Brief Rule so that we may live the psalms wholeheartedly. The Cross of Auschwitz: A Lenten Reflection Dennis J. Billy CSSR enters us into the silence of Auschwitz and its mystery of evil met by the mystery of the cross. The World Will Be Saved by Beauty Joan L. RoccasalvoCSJ revives, in ways both simple and subtle, an awareness of, a yearning for, the several transcendentals that have their warm, bright oneness in God. epzr me s 116 Prisms 206 Canonical Counsel: Incorporation into an Institute of Consecrated Life or a Society of Apostolic Life 212 Book Reviews March-April 2001 As John Paul II closed the holy doors at St. Peter's in Rome on January 6, the day that the Jubilee of the Year 2000 ended, he issued an apostolic letter titled "At the Beginning of the New Millennium." Similar to the apostolic letter issued in November 1994, "As the Third Millennium Draws Near," this letter challenges all Catholic people in the everyday practice of their faith. The pope acknowledges that in the first letter it was easy to name specific themes and suggest certain practices as he outlined a program of preparation for us Catholics as we looked towards the new millennium. Now that we are living in the new millennium, it appears more difficult to suggest some sort of schedule for a seemingly unending roll of future years. Not to be daunted, the pope sums up his approach in his call to contemplate the face of Christ, with the manifold ways that this face appears to us in all life's circumstances. He grants that he is not inventing some kind of new program, but rather looking afresh at the program found in the Gospels and in the living tradition of the church. What receives strong emphasi~ is the pope's desire for us to make our own a spirituality of communion. This phrase, spirituality of communion, the pope had identified in his 1994 ap6stolic letter, Vita consecrata, as describing the mission especially appropriate to Review for Religious members of consecrated-life institutes. No matter the charism that specifies the mission of particular religious lifeforms, the pope had requested that all men and women vowed in conse-crated life embrace a spirituality of communion. Religious were encouraged to consciously work at a communion spirituality as an essential part of the gospel spirituality which all share. This spir-ituality of communion needs to inform their community life and their mission. By his extension of the call to a spirituality of communion to others, John Paul II has not taken away his invitation to those living the consecrated lifeform to be grounded in a spirituality of communion. Proclaiming now that all Catholics have a respon-sibility to work at developing this spirituality of communion for our times, the pope underlines a special charge for those vowed in consecrated life to both educate and form others in the Catholic community to understand and live this spirituality of communion. He tells us that this effort will make the church "the home and school of communion." Such creative energy is a spirituality that enhances our awareness of the trinitarian God dwelling within us and embracing us with a divine life of communion. It is a spirituality that makes come alive our real-ization of the mystical Body in which we see our brothers and sisters truly living a life that is "part of us." It is a spirituality that brings us to see and appreciate the gifts of others not only as gifts from God to them, but also as gifts from God and them to us. It is a spirituality that teaches us how to make room for all our brothers and sisters, so that we truly exclude no one from the table of God our Father and accept what it means to bear one another's burdens. What is so often lacking in the services that are provided secularly (and perhaps we need to examine our own ministries too) is not the actual "body'-' of services but the "soul" people must put into those services. We must take any "mechanisms" of service and put a soul into them, a soul that gives them full meaning through fullness of communion. In a postmodern culture, a wise and holy man has proposed linking our Catholic growth in holiness with the special needs of our new millennium. The spirituality of communion he proposes is a privileged and relevant way of imitating Jesus, our incarnate and redeeming Lord. David L. Fleming Sy March-April 2001 CHRISTOPHER ROBINSON Feeding the Beast: Postmodern Anxiety, and Generational Challenges A little story in Charles Lamert's 1997 book on post-modernism seems pertinent to many current discussions on the past, present, and future of religious life: One fine morning the residents of a small village woke to find a very big but not unfriendly beast well settled in the center of their small town and mundane lives. Being by nature trusting and kind, the people repressed fear and welcomed the beast. In spite of its enormous height and girth, and the mass of its settled flesh, the beast posed no threats. All he did, in the most matter-of-fact way, was say "Feed me." The villagers complied. Upon devour-ing what he had been fed, he simply repeated his demand, without inflection, "Feed me." Eventually, without vote or complaint, feeding the beast came to be what the village was about.' Concern about the future of religious life and its unique contribution to the church has been around for as long as I can remember. It has become, for some of us, an all-too-real version of the village beast. Let me try to clarify just exactly what I mean. In the preface of her recent book Finding the Treasure, Sandra Schneiders says that "virtually every Christopher Robinson CM is completing a doctorate at Louvain with a focus on the theology of religious life. His address is Leopold I Straat 41; B-3000 Leuven; Belgium. Review for Religious question raised today leads directly into the issue of what religious life is and means.''2 The questions I raise here are directly related to what religious life actually is, as distinct from what religious may do. The question of meaning is related, as Schneiders shows, to the pervasive postmodernism in Western industrial countries. At least in the United States, this has affected the young people; they have been socialized from birth with a postmodern consciousness. Whether or not religious life in the West continues depends upon having a plausible description of it that is intelligible to those who are significantly affected by this consciousness. My hope is that either we can befriend these questions of being and meaning, our village beast, without constantly serving it or we can actually turn the tables. The village beast might be capable of feeding us. .What Is Our Village Beast? In the context in which I found it, the story of the not-unfriendly lumbering beast refers to the effect that some ques-tions of meaning have upon the people who entertain them: "Before long, it grows to become that which preoccupies, even defines, the villages.''3 Today many of us are preoccupied with the nature and meaning of religious life. The question of who we are and what meaning we offer to the church and the world is not a non-friendly one, even if it is consuming our energies. It is not non-friendly because postmodernism, the sensibility operative in the West, is not by its nature hostile. Though postmodernism has been defined in many ways and will continue to present itself as a sensibility worth studying, here I wish to highlight its more pos-itive attributes without discounting negative ones. Postmodernism is playful, it deligt]ts in the unique, it is non-linear. It is suspicious of universals and of supposed evolutionary trajectories that are bound to arrive at bigger and better things. For it, there is no self-evident center of all meaning. Postmodern sen-sibility distrusts global institutionalization and celebrates nonuni-formity. Intrinsically pluralistic, it rejects exclusivist claims and triumphalist truth statements. Schneiders emphasizes three postmodern characteristics that are necessary for locating religious life in the contemporary con-text. She says that postmodernism is "a child of and a protest against modernity.''4 In other words, postmodern sensibility rejects the unifying yet reductionist approach of modernity that subjects March-April 2001 Robinson ¯ Feeding the Beast reality to what can be proven, manipulated, or categorized by an objective scientific method. Postmodernism is radically conscious of how science has both enhanced human life and brought enor-mous risks to it and the environment. It insists that modernity has not lived up to its claims of creating a better world through rationality. Second, Schneiders points out that the postmodern con-sciousness has eroded or simply refused to acknowledge the foun-dations upon which many modern projects have risen: "Who is to say that any construction of reality, any set of beliefs or mode of behavior, has universal validity and therefore any claim on me?''s On the negative side, this position means that postmodern thought is relativistic. On the positive side, postmodern thought has effec-tively eroded the foundations of ethnic hatred, anthropocentrism, sexism, and so forth. Third, postmodernism rejects the idea that there is a grand story, a metanarrative, that can provide universal meaning for all people of all times in all places. The metanarrative purports to present the ideal of what all people should be; persons who are not in the story are hounded until they come around to the group's way of thinking. Postmodernism's suspicion of the grand story subverts such use of force to make all people over into a general-ized image, an image devoid of particularity or difference. On the negative side, postmodern consciousness may produce alienation because no acceptable common story bridges the distances between people.6 Meaning and Being Our village beast is more complicated than the brief question "Who are you and what do you mean?" The beast is this ques-tion as asked by a postmodern consciousness or sensibility. The question threatens because many religious congregations and communities (if not all) are firmly rooted in modernity, not post-modernity. Consequently, the beast appears threatening but is not unfriendly. The postmodern question is really not unfriendly because postmodernism is not necessarily antagonistic and may be favor-able. For example, postmoderns are captivated by the unusual, and what could be more unusual in the contemporary world than a life characterized by celibacy? Postmoderns reject the negative Review for Religious and sometimes disastrous effects of metanarratives because meta-narratives envision all people as the same. Religious men and women have a similar view that often puts them on the margins of society for rejecting metanarrative rhetoric that would keep the alienated far from the resources they require for self-actual-ization and fulfillment. Such rhetoric includes the opinions that "if they would only work hard enough they wouldn't be poor" and "if they would stay at home and have children they wouldn't be harassed." Particularly in the Western world, certainly in the history of the United States, religious communities have consis-tently promoted human well-being through education, healthcare, and social service regardless of the creed of those receiving assistance. What could be more postmodern than that? Religious often find themselves in prophetic positions in relation to the univer-sal church. Such elements of decentralization are, in a way, the human side of the gospel message lived out through the charisms of particular communities made up of particular persons. The explicit goal, obviously, is not to decentralize the church. But the human face, voice, and touch provided by dedicated religious create a space in which people hear the gospel in unique and specific ways. Such efforts and understandings of decentralization are postmodern. So what is the problem? The postmod-ern phenomenon has entered our lives and, in a manner neither unfriendly nor always unattractive, asks: Who are you and what do you mean? The problem is that we continue to feed the beast, this lumbering postmodern.collection of con-tradictor~ images, with rationalizations that stem from modernity. Of course, feed it or not, it is not going to go away. The beast story describes the lives of the villagers as mun-dane. Postmoderns have critiqued modernity for exactly that, being boring and mundane. Universals are boring. Nondifferentiation has no room for distinctive and entertaining attributes. Whether or not the perception is true, the postmodern West sees religious men and women as being just like everyone else, and so we are largely Postmodernism rejects the idea that there is a grand story, a metanarrative, that can provide universal meaning for all people of all times in all places. March-April 2001 Robinson ¯ Feeding the Beast invisible. We have done a good job of assimilating and affirming the world. We live individual lives in individual ways in individual spaces. Postmodernism consciously ignores anything that is "the same" in favor, of the new, distinct, unusual, entertaining, distracting, and so forth. There is a dangerous .and antihuman element to this that includes consumerism, materialism, trivial distraction. There is also something of positive value. I have not claimed and would not and cannot claim that, because of postmodern consciousness, religious need to create distinctive-lifestyle enclaves that provoke the curiosity and interest of the others in society. To keep the postmodern sensi-bility entertained, we would have to have general chapters and assemblies adopting new gimmicks every six months. The question of our invisibility is, however, a serious one. Because postmod-ernism disdains rationalistic answers, seeing them as dank mush-rooms emerging from metanarratives, it is not going to wait for an explanation from us about our lifestyle. As soon as a religious begins, "Well, you have to understand that once upon a time the Second Vatican Council created a spirit of openness to the world that we as religious had forgotten," the postmodern mind closes down. Even for the educated young adult Catholic, Vatican II is "that great thing that happened sometime in the middle of the last century. Have you read it? The language is hopelessly gender exclusive." The revolutionary event that altered the course of religious life is now considered a metanar-rative from a time long past. Add to this that the same Vatican is now the source of documents like DominusJesus that remind every-one that there is only one true and universal Christian church. " Truth claims aside, such statements sound to the postmodern mind like metanarratives. Postmodernism is fast paced and will not wait for us to explain endlessly our being and meaning through solemn discourses, province plans, and mission statements. This is particularly true when the observable reality does not live up to the written ideology. We appear as more of "the same." Modernity Is Still Operational There is a certain logic to keeping our roots in modernity. First, our charisms, congregations, communities, and reforms are based on great stories, not the least of which are the gospel nar-ratives. Second, it is Vatican II that ushered us into the modern Review for Religious world. Ironically, it did so just as the world was on the brink of postmodernity. The call to return to the charism of the founder resulted in a great deal of historical research and theological reflection. Much of this was dependent upon the historical-crit-ical method that typifies modernity. Third, through our com-mitted lives we are striving in God's name to make the world a better place for everyone and everything. Without nuance this can be translated by radical postmoderns into a universalizing, nonparticularizing amalgamation of all peo-ple into one standard of living, one creed, and one political system. So the village beast that has lumbered into our midst is the postmodern question of being and meaning. It is a not-unfriendly thing, but it is a very intimidating, beastly thing. From the modernist perspective, reli-gious and their communities have welcomed the beast into their villages. It has been ana-lyzed, considered, weighed, measured, and .continuously fed with the best sociological, historical, and systematic information in the hope that it will remain docile or maybe even go away. But our numbers continue to shrink, morale among the membership is precarious, and questions about our congregations; future often preoccupy at least some of us. The popular perception today might be that feeding this beast is what we are all about. It seems we have'not found a solid faith-based solution to the vocation crisis through the human sciences--which, to the modern mind, have always served humanity well. Postmodernism is a sensibiiity. The West itself still operates according to the rationalism of the modern era and will most likely continue to do so, with some revision. And so we religious are challenged to find our own methods of drawing together the best of both expressions of reality: postmodern sensibility and the dependability of a reformed modernity. This is not as difficult as we may imagine--given our access to resources, the security of our traditions, the creativity among us, and the presence of the Spirit of God, who called us into being in the first place. The challenge, however, is to discover how the village beast, the ques-tion of being and meaning, has begun to create internal conflicts The village beast that has lumbered into our midst is the postmodern question of being and meaning. t23 -o- ~lqarcb-Aptql 2001 Robinson ¯ Feeding the Beast within congregations and communities, particularly between moderns and postmoderns. The Village Beast Is a Member of the Community The postmodern questions about meaning and being will not simply disappear. There are two ways of dealing with the ques-tions, two ways of feeding and befriending the village beast. Oversimplifying for brevity's sake, I would say that postmodernism is present in religious life in two different forms. Religious over forty have assimilated surprising amounts of postmodern sensi-bility, and religious under forty were practically born with a post-modern consciousness. Accordingly, many believe that the vocation crisis is a solvable problem while others see it as a sign that reli-gious life is incomplete or inadequate for the present age. These are modern assessments. We are working against ourselves if we seek answers in modernity when we ourselves have assimilated or have been socialized by postmodern sensibilities. We will not accept modern answers if we are postmoderns ourselves. Community leadership, usually held by persons over forty, seeks modern rational avenues for vocation initiatives or charism rein-terpretation while living mostly postmodern lives themselves. Being born into the postmodern culture is distinct from assim-ilating it. Se~in D. Sammon FSM, in his "Last Call For Religious Life," expresses well the internal and external collisions occurring in religious life between Baby Boomers and the Thirteeners, those who constitute the thirteenth generation produced by the United States.7 Others have referred to this cohort as Generation X or Gen-X, although Thirteeners is a more accurate term for those born between 1961 and 1981. Identifying the tensions that exist between generations is, I believe, as important as identifying the darker side of the postmodernism that has crept into religious life through assimilation. Postmodernism as Assimilated The Future of Religious Life in the United States (FORUS), a study by Miriam Ukeritis CSJ and David Nygren CM, alerted congre-gations to many things, two of which I will emphasize here. First, the data showed that many individual religious have attitudes and lifestyles, values and behaviors, that reflect cultural assimilation. Review for Religious This cultural assimilation is not necessarily indicated by the clothes we wear or the style of housing we have adopted, but it is observable in attitudes. The individualism indicated by the FORUS data in areas of career, self-determination, and affective-support systems reflects current postmodern sensibilities. Many religious find that their ministerial careers, whether parochial, diocesan, or institutional, require dedication and energy that prevent their participation in projects and activities within their congregation,s Their primary relationships begin to reflect their ministerial setting. In this, Baby Boomers and Thirteeners share a similar postmodern attitude. Sammon notes, "Most Thirteeners feel that the people with whom you have day-to-day contact and share meaningful conversations and a sense of closeness consti-ruie family. They trust their friendships over all other relation-ships.'' 9 FORUS indicates that day-to-day contact with their community is, for many, minimal or nonexistent. Assimilation is not necessarily a good or a bad element pre-sent in contemporary religious life. It is data. The interesting thing to consider, I think, is that many religious over the age of forty have accepted various attitudes and lifestyles that reflect postmodern culture and yet continue to live under a rule that assumes only the modern. For example, religious who live alone and work diligently within a nontraditional ministry might, in spite of efforts, find it difficult to follow various aspects of their constitutions, such as communal prayer, daily Eucharist, annual retreat, and general chapters. True to postmodern sensibilities, the same religious might also defend their right to exercise their ministry in ways that elude strict modern principles. They do not abide by their constitutions or statutes or provincial norms with exactitude because, in their assessment of their specific ministerial context, it simply cannot be done. In other words, the postrnodern question "What are you and what do you mean?" cannot simply be answered by handing over the constitutions. Members of teaching communities (founded to teach the chil-dren of immigrants) who are now pastoral administrators cannot point handily to a founding story to explain their doing this particular ministry. The members each have different, unique stories that are loosely connected to their community's charism as reinterpreted by its mission statement over the past twenty or forty years. This, in my view, is evidence o.f postmodern assimilation. I25-- Marcb-Ap~ql 2001 Robinson ¯ Feeding. the Beast L Postmodernism as Culturally Intuited Add to this the complicated problem of generational corn-munication. What those over forty have assimilated through expe-rience and reflection, those born after 1961 know intuitively. Their entire way of interacting with the world is steeped in postmod-ernism. Sammon clarifies this issue when discussing the current tensions between the Baby Boomer generation and Thirteeners: Many midlifers judge Thirteeners to be a disappointing ¯ bunch: ill-informed, intellectually dull, politically inactive, religiously conservative, and hopelessly materialistic. [Thirteener~] have grown tired of hearing their foiebears take credit for things they believe their elders did not do: invent rock and roll, start the civil-rights movement, stop the war in Vietnam, reform the Catholic Church single-hand-edly with Vatican II. The vast majority of Thirteeners ques-tion the self-perception of a number of boomers that they and their middle-aged compatriots have been the most creative, idealistic, morally conscious generation in the his-tory of the nation and church, if not the world.~° Those in midlife have assimilated certain postmodern sensi-bilities without having been to the manner born. This is why their sense of individualism and meaning can be distinguished from that of Thirteeners. Many midlife religious, looking back on their for-mative years with love-hate nostalgia, may find themselves won-dering why their younger compatriots have not had to work very hard to get to where they are: The latter were not put through rigorous formation practices, tests of blind obedience in trivial matters, the wearing of strange garb; they have not feared the imposition of some penance for having a particular friendship as we were! Such memories and ~eflections would indicate, to a degree, the older generation's dependence upon a grand story or metanarrative. The younger generation have not "earned their place"!--which is an assessment based on modern values, not post-modern ones. On the other hand, midlifers, with their assimilated postmodernism, refuse to alter certain lifestyle patterns that appear to be departures from the constitutional religious life they still see value in. Thirteeners are genuinely suspicious of any all-encompass-ing story that is supposed to somehow explain reality for them: What lies behind this aversion is [Thirteeners'] opposition to the sixties idealism of their older brothers and sisters. Young people of the 1960s won many gains for those who previ- Review for Religious ously had no voice. The decade failed, however, to achieve its promises. One generation's gains eventually became the losses of another. With their high ideals, baby boomers (born between 1943 and 1960) undertook organized social actions--but with what results for the generation that followed? An AIDS epidemic rather than sexual liberation; nuclear anxiety rather than peace; skyrocketing college tuition instead of low-cost education. Xers quickly came to the conclusion that they had been left with a culture in crisis,n Tension and Deeper Irony There is yet a deeper irony contained within this tension. Efforts in the 1960s to raise social consciousness were truly suc-cessful. Now it is quite common for parishes and parochial and public schools to engage in ~fforts on behalf of the poor and dis-possessed, the underrepresented populations, and also to be con-scious of global justice issues. The irony inherent in this dynamic is simple: Thirteeners are not interested in religious life for the good works the previous generation did accomplish and still strives to accomplish. Their postmodern minds and hearts take their awareness of the need for ecohuman well-being for granted and assume that efforts for such well-being will continue. What the Thirteeners want and seek is the spirituality and the communal life that have consistently been the essential meaning of conse-crated religious life, whether contemplative, monastic, mendicant, or apostolic. Sammon says, "Xers ultimately have a yearning, both implic-idy and explicitly, for an almost mystical encounter with the human and the divine. They find the religious more readily in personal experience and regard their own experience as superior to the accounts of others or truths handed down by way of creed or cus-tom.'' 12 A ramification of this sensibility is that Thirteeners who are currently members of or interested in some religious congre-gation remain or join because 'of who the community are for them, not what works they perform. This does not mean that the work is not important or attractive or life-giving or God-sent. But rarely does a community member do a ministry that could not be done without the benefit of religious life. The focus on practical purpose is a trait of modernity that the older generation of religious retain. On this front, there can be little agreement between Baby Boomers March-April 2001 Robinson ¯ Feeding the Beast and Thirteeners, both of whom exhibit the extremes and incon-sistencies of their cohort characteristics. The difficult task, in my opinion, is to admit that the post-modern village beast is in our midst, in the form of the tension between the assimilated postmodernism of the Boomers and the socializing postmodernism that has enveloped and permeated the Thirteeners from the day of their birth. It is present in the ways that religious have--for forty years and counting--been assimi-lating various cultural sensibilities such as individualism and careerism. It is present each time younger religious hear with skep-ticism of the solidly valuable accomplishments their elders are justly credited with. The postmodern questions of meaning and being are not merely coming at us from the larger society. They are a part of who we are. I mentioned earlier that many of us, of several generations, are concerned and sometimes even preoccupied with the question of our future as religious and members of vowed institutes. Our future relates directly to the question of who we are and what we mean in the contemporary world. The several generations approach and answer these questions differently. Taming this beast so that it does not define us--becoming what we are all about, becoming our very identity--requires two things. We need to understand explicitly and clearly the culture in which we find our-selves without making knee-jerk negative judgments, and we need to engage in unavoidably difficult conversations about genera-tional tensions. The Media as Language In contemporary American culture, postmodern sensibilities are inculcated most clearly through the mass media. The obvious places to start identifying postmodern tendencies are television, popular music (especially so-called alternative radio stations), movies, videos, and cyberspace. This may appear to be old news. But I mean more than simply watching or listening and letting a previously adopted metanarrative do the interpreting. We should not approach the media with dismissive attitudes. The media are the languages of the culture. Languages themselves are not flawed, unjust, shallow, or materialistic, though much that fills the media is all of the above. Still, there is a message to be heard beneath the glitz and glitter, the shallow sounds and images. In recent years the Review for Religious number of films without a "happily ever after" ending perhaps indicates a low-grade belief that the metanarrative that brings everything neatly together in the end is over. Many popular songs contain spiritual images, perhaps indicating that Thirteeners and their children are not as materialistic as people imagine. Many websites come up if one types in the word God, too many to inves-tigate in a single sitting, and they run the gamut of traditions and expressions. If we understand the media somewhat, or at least are alert to the undercurrent messages they may be communicating, we can begin to tame the question of meaning among ourselves. Patricia Wittberg SC has claimed that religious life's attractiveness for potential members relates directly to how well we understand and con-verse about our specific culture's areas of social discontinuity. Her claim, supported by others such as Sammon, is that Thirteeners particu-larly are looking for community and spiritual-ity. This seeking shows perhaps the deepest anguish of Western industrial culture and calls attention to the dark side of postmodernity. On the other hand, specific works of religious communities are directed at poverty, abandonment, alienation, and other symptoms of a society's anguish--but such symptoms are not the anguish itself. This anguish is expressed by a society's operative language; in our case, this is the media.'3 Understanding postmodernity involves engaging the media. One example among many is the ability to live and relate vicari-ously or virtually. In this world of what has been called hyperre-ality, the communication accomplished through media images is perceived as more real than the things themselves: reality is what is communicated in this hyperreal or superreal way. Charles Lamert, noting the effect on viewers of a movie like Dead Man Walking, asks: "What is the power of the movies to evoke deep feelings in such an artificial environment, bad popcorn and all? Somehow this is a medium that by projecting images before us causes us to project ourselves into those images, drawing out feel-ing from our unconsciousness . When a movie is over we leave, and leave behind the feelings."~4 In other words, because our primary means of gaining infor-mation and making sense of our culture is the media, our sensibility Understanding postmodernity involves engaging the media. March-April 2001 Robinson ¯ Feeding the Beast might last only as long as what is immediately before us. The feelings have been real. Television sight-and-sound images of Balkan ethnic cleansing produced real horror, genuine sadness and empathy. But, simply by watching CNN, we cannot say we have experienced ethnic cleansing or known anyone who has. We do, however, tend to base our belief about the world and our involvement in it on these feelings evoked by real experiences that in fact we have not experienced. Consequently, we are living virtually. Engagement and Risk Virtual living can be translated into virtual ministry if one is not careful, and so it is essential to be aware of this dynamic in order to respond to society's deepest anguish, recognizing that longings for the spiritual or the transcendent, and for a real and not merely a virtual community, are true 10ngings deserving of true ful-fillment, not virtual fulfillment. I recently removed my name from a list-serv so as to distance myself from the temptation to live vir-tually- isolated from the real. One list member wrote, "All of you are my community." Of the more than one thousand subscribers, I have never consciously met a single one in person. The feelings shared, the stories told, and the wisdom exchanged were valid and also hyperreal. I was personally moved by many of the stories and certainly prayed for many who requested prayers. The dark side of postmodernity, however, its alienation factor, is in the inevitable realization that this "community" of mine consists of more than a thousand persons with whom I have never had a face-to-face con-versation and never shared a meal. Religious life offers people real, not hyperreal, community and a real context in which to explore spirituality. From the mod-ern perspective, the ability to connect and interact electronically with thousands of people is a miracle. For those born into post-modernism, it simply is not real and cannot provide real commu-nity. Perhaps it is now time to ask whether offering invitations to religious life's real community may not itself be a valid ministry-- as valid as any other social-welfare ministry! My own congregation has been reminding my confreres and me that, as a society of apos-tolic life, we live in common for the sake of the mission. What I am suggesting is that, in light of postmodern questions of mean-ing and being, we notice that common life itself is a mission in a culture that hungers for real community. Review for Religious We can come to a clear understanding of this culture and its anguish only if we understand its language. We cannot use the various forms of media well enough to change the image of con-secrated life in the popular mind if we do not speak this language. It is futile to use postmodern media to send modern messages. Resisting the temptations inherent in the media culture (such as virtual living) and simultaneously becoming fluent in mediaspeak are the means to make the postmodern beast begin feeding us. Intergenerational Dialogue This leads us to the complicated issue of intergenerational dia-logue. We feed thevillage beast through our intergenerational struggles. Baby Boomers have indeed assimilated much of the media culture, but have done it selectively. Thirteeners, on the other hand, learned to communicate under the broad umbrella of the media; for them it is not a learned or second language. Consequently, differences in communication become apparent when identity and meaning are discussed in relation to the vocation crisis. If we cannot in some way formulate a cohesive self-image and rationale for existence among ourselves, no amount of media expo-sure can change the pattern of decreasing membership. I believe that for some communities and congregations, if not most, the intergenerational challenge is greater than the reality of overall diminishing numbers. Sammon states, "So great is the suspicion about Xers among a few midlife priests, sisters, and brothers that they would go so far as to risk. the future of their congregations rather than admit a significant number of them to membership. Xers in religious life find their situation equally oppressive.''~s The generations share the suspicion equally. Boomers accuse younger religious of conservatism, materialism, and an absence of passion about social issues. Thirteeners are weary of being measured against a supposed Vatican II norm of authenticity, namely, the Boomers' sense that their own Catholic understanding of the contemporary world is better than their elders' understanding of it; the Thirteeners are also weary of the ineffective ideological psychobabble they perceive in many for-mation programs. It is important, then, to find concrete ways in which both groups can genuinely share each other's wisdom. Recalling Patricia Wittberg's use of social-movement theory to examine religious life, one can say that a group or a community March-April 2001 Robinson ¯ Feeding the Beast succeeds when it speaks to a specific discontinuity present in soci-ety. For Boomers, discontinuities include poverty, oppression, dis-crimination, sexism, and racism. Baby Boomers, having lived their formative years during an age of idealism and social activism, speak well to these discontinuities, tl~ese signs of deeper anguish. Thirteeners, having spent their formative years recovering from effects of some misplaced 1960s idealism, have unavoidably embod-ied the anguish itself in their longing for transcendence and com-munity. The original anguish and its subsequent effects are elements of the same reality. Schneiders says: "The distinguishing characteristic of reli-gious life (in any of its forms) is the exclusive commitment to the God-quest that precludes any other primary life commitment, such as that to spouse and family, profession, or project . For religious the love of Jesus, unmediated by any other primary com-mitment, is the constitutive factor in life.''16 Whether one's energy is centered on social discontinuities themselves or on consequences of efforts to deal with them, the primary commitment to God in Jesus Christ through the Spirit provides common ground. Schneiders goes on to explain that the fundamental call to religious life belongs to the nature of charism on the first level. This call as "lived in and through the love and direct service of the neighbor" belongs to the nature of charism on its second level.17 While it would be scientifically inaccurate or simplistic to divide the Baby Boomer and Thirteener generations into clear categories, I tend to believe that one generation can more properly be described as on one level, the other on the other. Schneiders locates religious life on the margins of culture: The relation of the religious to culture is one of voluntary marginality rather than total absorption. By not undertaking one's species role as reproducer of the race, by not partici-pating in a capitalistic economy by the acquisition or use of wealth for personal purposes, by not exercising political power for individual goals, the religious situates herself at the edges of the systems that make the culture function. From this marginal position, religious share in the "hermeneutical advantage of the poor," the vision of the sociocultural sys-tem from the standpoint of those who are not primary ben-eficiaries of that system but often its victims.~8 In other words, the me.aning of the evangelical counsels of poverty, chastity, and obedience is the site from which to begin genera-tional dialogue. Whether initially motivated by a longing for corn- Review for Religious munity and transcendence or by a love for justice and for the socially disadvantaged, both Baby Boomer and Thirteener reli-gious are characterized by their voluntary marginality in rela-tionship to the culture that produced them. This is common ground, which we call the evangelical counsels. The Unity between Postmodernism and Modernity My point here is that discovering the common ground between generations provides the space in which to discover the other's world. This is of utmost importance, given these genera-tions' responsibilities for taking religious life into the future. There are two ways of approaching this common ground. The prophetic character of Baby Boomers, which gets them involved in the social activism, corresponds well to Schneiders's views of the centrality of the vow of consecrated celibate chastity. The existential angst of the Thirteener generation corresponds well to Michael J. Himes's reflections on the vow of poverty last year in this journal.~9 Granted that trying to offer a clear-cut typology is risky at best, it can serve as a point of departure for some interesting discussion. The particular strengths of the Baby Boomer generation and of the Thirteener generation are all-too-able to keep the ques-tion of being and meaning at bay and thus to keep anxiety about the future our primary concern. These strengths are likewise capa-ble of eliminating any future whatsoever for many religious con-gregations. But let us look more closely. Schneiders says, "The constitutive feature of religious life as a state of life, in other words, that which both organizes it as a form of life in the church and distinguishes it from other forms, is lifelong consecrated celibacy." She adds, "Celibate solitude is the root of immediacy to God as a mode of Christian experience and of social marginality as a position in the world which, oper-ating together, ground religious life as a prophetic lifeform in the church.''2° During the renewal efforts that followed the Second Vatican Council, many religious congregations and communities took being prophetic as that which distinguishes religious life. Engagement with the world had been motivated by the zeal to continue the ministry of Jesus Christ, particularly among the most abandoned. In order to be prophetic, religious entered into study, discernment, and activity that placed them truly on the far margins of contemporary society and away from the large institutions which Mard~-.4pril 2001 Robinson ¯ Feeding tbe Beast had previously defined or identified them. This was in line with the social activism of the generation and found support from many quarters. The movement was into the world, into social justice, into solidarity with the materially poor and into a variety of direct-service ministries. How does this connect with Schneiders's views on consecrated celibacy? First, one's commitment to the God-quest is clear within such a consecration, at least theoretically. Second, making Jesus Christ the center of one's life includes loving the people whom Jesus loved, particularly the most abandoned. Finally, the prophetic witness of consecrated celibacy needs to be concrete and incar-national. This appealed to a generation that had not been as close to the breakdown of marriage as the Thirteeners were. For them the consecration to celibacy involved a far greater prophetic com-mitment than to marriage. There is a twofold dynamic operating here. On the one hand, committing oneself to God stirs up zeal for justice and people's welfare, and, on the other, seeing the image of God in those who are served stirs up zeal for the commitment. Combining Strengths The Baby Boomer generation has been and is an active, "doing" generation. It believes that it can make a difference and is willing to live consecrated celibacy for the sake of those whose lives are improved by their commitment. The vow enables the religious to serve more people expeditiously and well. This, in a sense, touches again upon the issue of modernity. Baby Boomers were socialized within a modern world that was on a continuum towards better and better things. The utility of the vow is consis-tent with this mentality. For its part, the Thirteen generation is characterized by its existential poverty. This is altogether distinct from the issues of either material poverty or affluence. By existential poverty I mean that the Thirteener generation has been given no great social quest, does not believe in unlimited linear progress (because modernity has failed it), and perceives that it has not contributed greatly to the larger social reality. Sammon claims that Thirteeners appear to be "the cleanup crew of this century: whatever conse-quences America must face, they'll bear the brunt of it.''21 The resulting attitude constitutes a certain existential poverty. This generation has no grand story to tell, it has grown up living virtual Review for Religious instead of actual reality, and it has been left to confront the future with something less than hope. Members of this generation have experienced a great deal of death by way of suicide, drugs, and local violence, such as drive-by or school shootings. Although often caricatured as a materialistic, spoiled genera-tion, middle-class Thirteeners were provided with a great number of things by the previous generation, who considered such accu-mulation a sign of success. They watched as success ripped fami-lies apart, leaving them the first victims of what some have called America's divorce epidemic. Sammon states, "They are., the first generation of Americans whom other people took pills not to have. From the very beginning of their lives, this message was passed along to them: Children are avoidable or, in the case of abortion, disposable.''22 These social perceptions include an intuitive sense of the poverty of the human condition. Material well-being is a secondary issue. Michael J. Himes has proposed that "poverty is the key value in the vows . It is to recognize that there are radical limits on me.''23 Thirteeners have internalized the entire postmodern critique of modernity's limitations. Regarding relationships, Thirteeners draw on their experience of watching their parents divorce. Regarding beliefs, Thirteeners have carried the brunt of religious pluralism, picking up the notion that every belief is as good as the next because none can be proven and all have been touched by some kind of scandal. Regarding institutions, ,they are aware that the social-security system may ~ail and leave them without its benefits; they know that a good university education may not provide a lifelong upwardly bound career. In their perception of the world, everything is suspect because everything is radically limited. I would suggest that Thirteeners, through their sense of rad-ical existential poverty, have something important to contribute to vowed or consecrated life. It is no wonder that they turn instinc-tively towards community and spirituality. They do not appear to be seeking definitive answers because they would not believe them anyway. But their ability to live with ambiguity without idealism provides a different edge to prophecy. As Himes says, "Your life is a public witness to the fact that unfulfillment is what is character- The Thirteen generation is characterized by its existential poverty. March-April 2001 ,Robinson ¯ Feeding the Beast istic of being a human being.''24 Fo~: the Thirteener who has made the God-quest her primary life-commitment, the clear message is that only God provides fulfillment, not the promises of modernity or the fleeting, noncommittal character of postmodernism. So what does feeding the village beast have to do with the above generalizations? Those who feel an affinity with Schneiders's sense of consecrated celibacy can say, "I am a person whose pri-mary affective life-commitment revolves entirely around Jesus Christ. Because of this, I continue to do what Jesus did in order to announce the good news to the poor." Those who resonate with Himes's view can say, "I am a person whose primary affective life-commitment revolves entirely around Jesus Christ, who taught us that only God can satisfy the deepest of human longings. I gladly live a life proclaiming this message, particularly to those who are most abused by the lies of materialism and the false belief that it can provide fulfillment." These two essential stances can help keep beastly postmodern anxiety at bay and not allow our lives to be consumed by obsession about our future--or about whose vision of the future is most accurate and correct! The challenge, then, is to find ways of sharing equally valid expressions of our primary life-commitment. One emphasis is no less valid or worthy than the other; both of them result from generational experiences, perceptions, and worldviews. We can begin honestly and peacefully to identify in ourselves and in one another which tendency manifests itself in our lives together, together in our communities and in our ministries within the larger church and world. No One Answer From the perspective of modernity, we are challenged to come together to discuss the constituent factors of our form of life, par-ticularly as they are embodied in ourselves. From the postmodern perspective, we cannot allow one emphasis or one manifestation to be considered the grand story, the metanarrative which will solve all problems. There is no one answer, there is no universal solution, and in a sense there is nothing to be repaired. As Schneiders points out, religious life is a lifeform, an organic reality that has the abil-ity to grow, develop, change, and move through space and time. I have covered a great deal of territory in this reflection. It began by identifying a dynamic that is operative in many congre- Review for Religious gations and communities, namely, a preoccupation with our future. One of the reasons that we are confronted by this village beast is the presence, in different degrees in two generations, of a post-modern sensibility, a sensibility most clearly evident in contem-porary society's operative language, the media. The postmodern question of meaning and being presents itself not only from outside our community boundaries but also within the community itself. The Baby Boomers retain the idealism of their modern upbringing, but have indeed assimilated selectively some aspects of the postmodern sensibility. Thirteeners, on the other hand, were socialized into postmodernism from birth. Consequently, the question of meaning and being takes on different characteristics for the two generations. In order to stop being menaced by challenges that our future presents, I believe that all the generations in religious life, par-ticularly Baby Boomers and Thirteeners, need to discover the common ground of their basic life-commitment. I believe that the language used in this discovery will indicate that the prophetic activism surrounding the idea of consecrated celibacy, as out-lined by Sandra M. Schneiders, can peacefully coexist with the language of existential human poverty, as outlined by Michael J. Himes. The question about our future may lumber around and not go away altogether. This not unfriendly village beast may continue to say, "Feed me." But feeding it must not be what we are all about. Notes J Charles Lamert, Postmodernism Is Not What You Think (Malden, Mass.: Blackwell Publishers, 1997), p. 5. 2 Sandra M. Schneiders IHM, Finding the Treasure: Locating Catholic Religious Life in a New Ecclesial and Cultural Context (Mahwah: Paulist Press, 2000). 3 Lamert, Postmodernism, p. 51 4 Schneiders, Finding, p. 111. 5 Schneiders, Finding, p. 113. 6 See Schneiders, Finding, p. 113. 7 See Sefin D. Sammon FMS, "Last Call for Religious Life," Human Development 20, no. 1 (Spring 1999): 12-27. 8 David J. Nygren CM and Miriam Ukeritis CSJ, The Future of Religious Orders in the United States: Transformation and Commitment (Westport, Conn.: Praeger Publishers, 1993), p. 158. March-April 2001 Robinson ¯ Feeding the Beast 9 Sammon, "Last Call," p. 15. t0 Sammon, "Last Call," p. 17. " Sammon, "Last Call," p. 17. 12 Sammon, "Last Call," p. 16. 13 Patricia Wittberg SC, Pathways to Re-Creating Religious Communities (Mahwah: Paulist Press, 1996), pp. 81-85; Sammon, "Last Call," p. 20. 14 Lamert, Postmodernism, pp. 29-30. 15 Sammon, "Last Call," p. 17. 16 Schneiders, Finding, p. 313. J7 Schneiders, Finding, p. 314. 18 Schneiders, Finding, p. 327. 19 Michael J. Himes, "Returning to Our Ancestral Lands," Review for Religious 59, no. 1 (January-February 2000): 21. 20 Schneiders, Finding, p. 129. 2, Sammon, "Last Call," p. 16. 22 Sammon, "Last Call," p. 16. 23Himes, "Returning," p. 21. 24Himes, "Returning," p. 22. In a Time of Trial In my Friday-grief I seat myself by your shrouded body in the dark stone-stopped tomb while I await the sudden trembling of the earth, the harsh scraping at the entrance, the rustle of spice-scented linens, and know that I can now step out with you into the sun-drenched dawn of an Alleluia-day. Franklin Cullen CSC Review for Religious DORIS GOTTEMOELLER I Community and Communion: Making the Connections p~.pe John Paul II speaks of some aspects of the Eucharist in ta consecrata, his postsynodal apostolic exhortation on the consecrated life: By its very nature the Eucharist is at the center of the con-secrated life, both for individuals and for communities. It is the daily viaticum and source of the spiritual life for the indi-vidual and for the institute. By means of the Eucharist all consecrated persons are called to live Christ's paschal mystery, uniting themselves to him by offering their own lives to the Father through the Holy Spirit. (§95) These words of the pope describe an ideal that seems far from the daily experience of most religious I know. It is not that we do not affirm the ideal. But the realities of community and liturgy seldom come together in the life-giving way envisioned in Vita consecrata. The reasons are many and complicated, and the solutions will require imagination and passionate desire. Here I want to explore some factors that inhibit the integration of Eucharistic devotion and community life, to identify some values common to both, and to name some steps we can take to reanimate our communal and Eucharistic life. First let us describe the present reality of Eucharistic practice among religious. I will focus in this section only on common, Doris Gottemoeller RSM presented this paper first at the Eucharistic Congress in Washington, D.C., on 7 October 2000. She is Senior Vice President for Mission and Values Integration at Catholic Healthcare Partners; 615 Elsinore Place; Cincinnati, Ohio 45202. March-April 2001 Gottemoeller * Community and Communion L J Religious community is meant to be a tissue of daily relationships, the context in which we realize all the other dimensions of our vowed life. observable practice. Let us begin by looking at large community houses such as motherhouses and retirement communities. Many of them still have the benefit of a daily Mass, but a significant number can no longer count on the daily presence of a priest. Since these sisters tend to be old and infirm and unable to go out to a parish, they substitute a communion service on the days a priest is not available. Sisters in smaller local communities seldom live in traditional parochial convents; even if they minister in a parish, they may well choose to attend Mass at a different parish. Where two or more sisters live together but work in different ministries, they may well attend different parishes. In short, the practice of a community attending Mass together is becoming increasingly rare. A few sisters minister in settings too far from a resident priest to expect to attend Mass more than once a week, if that often. In some cases, what counts toward the choice of where to worship is convenient location, convenient time, and a congenial celebrant. At times anonymity and speed are the operative criteria for selection. Add to this general picture of behav-ior some frequently expressed thoughts and feelings: "I cannot attend Mass daily and have it be a real celebration. IfI go less frequently, each cel-ebration becomes more meaningful." "My ministry requires me to work long hours, and there is no liturgy that fits into my sched-ule." "The Church's exclusion of women from presiding at liturgy and the use of exclusive language in readings and prayers make Mass attendance too painful for me to endure." I make no attempt to quantify these practices or feelings--only to note that they are part of the experience of at least some religious and therefore, in a sense, part of the experience of us all. What about the experience of community life today? Elsewhere I have suggested that our inability to be clear about what community living means or what it calls us to is our Achilles' heel.' Even raising the topic provokes equivocation, defensiveness, rationalizations. Everyone affirms community as an ideal, but few agree on how to realize it in practice. In the same vein, we are Review for Religious not clear on how it relates to, shapes, or determines our practice of the evangelical counsels and ministry. Going deeper, we have not chaJlenged ourselves to articulate a theology or spirituality of com-munity living adequate for our time. In the complicated process of adapting our way of life to modern and postmodern realities over recent decades, we have been clearer about what we were dis-carding than about what we were setting up as a corporate choice. Hence we find it difficult to say with any clarity or assurance what we are inviting potential and new members to share. Given our uncertainties and ambivalence about Eucharistic devotion and community living, it is no wonder that the ideal of Eucharist-centered consecrated life, for both individuals and com-munities, seems a dream still to be accomplished. The foregoing sketch of the present situation may sound somewhat pessimistic. But there is, I believe, a renewed hunger among religious today for authentic expressions of the deepest meaning of our life, and so these considerations are important. I suggest that there is a powerful analogy between Eucharistic life and religious community life that can shed light on both and show between them a common spirituality. The analogy has four dimensions. The Word Is Made Flesh Religious community and the Eucharist are incarnational. There is a physicality about each that is intrinsic to its nature. Our Eucharistic belief and piety embrace the concept of the Real Presence: that under the appearances of bread and wine the whole Christ is truly, really, and substantially present. If the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity had not assumed human nature, human soul and body, there would have been no Last Supper and no enduring Eucharistic presence today. The accidents of bread and wine are able to be seen and eaten; they are tangible. We know that religious community is also tangible: it is a social experience in which real people, through their physical senses, relate to one another in significant and mutually supportive ways. Sometimes we speak of community as an abstraction, one that is easy to affirm because it makes no demands on us. But reli-gious community is meant to be a tissue of daily relationships, the context in which we realize all the other dimensions of our vowed life: prayer, poverty, celibacy, obedience, mission. Take poverty as an example: not only do we share our income in common, but we March-April 2001 Gottemoeller ¯ Community and Communion also discern together how much is enough, whether for the present living situation or for future needs. Living religious community requires interacting in significant ways with companions whom we can see, address, challenge, praise, forgive, and even embrace. A priest celebrating Mass alone, without the company of an altar server or any other worshiper, is an anomaly. So, I would suggest, is a religious living alone. Something intrinsic to the expe-rience of Eucharistic or religious community is missing. Carrying the incarnational analogy further, we may say that both Eucharist and religious community are preeminent realizations of church. As Vatican Council II's Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy reminds us, "The liturgy is the outstanding means by which the faithful can express in their lives, and manifest to others, the mystery of Christ and the real nafure of the true church. It is of the essence of the church that she be both human and divine, visible and yet invisibly endowed . Day by day the liturgy builds up [the mem-bers] of the church into the Lord's holy temple, into a spiritual dwelling for God--an enterprise which will continue until Christ's full stature is achieved. At the same time the liturgy marvelously fortifies the faithful in their capacity to preach Christ. To out-siders the liturgy thereby reveals the church as a sign raised above the nations" (§2). In short, when the faithful gather to celebrate Eucharist, Church "happens." The Synod on Consecrated Life also saw a unique ecclesial manifestation in this life. Vita consecrata (§§41 and 42) calls com-munity life "an eloquent sign of ecclesial communion," that is, of the church's fundamental identity. Community demonstrates that sharing in trinitarian communion can change human relationships and create a new type of solidarity, built not on family ties or nat-ural attraction, but on common values and commitments. "In this way it speaks to people both of the beauty of fraternal commu-nion and of the ways which actually lead to it. Consecrated persons live 'for' God and 'from' God, and precisely for this reason they are able to bear witness to the reconciling power of grace, which overcomes the divisive tendencies present in the human heart and in society." Community is described as a "God-enlightened space in which to experience the presence of the risen Lord." In literature the figure of speech called synecdoche uses a part to represent the whole and thus even to contain the whole. Perhaps this figure of speech can illustrate a similarity between the Eucharistic assembly and religious community: each in its own Review for Religious way, limited in time and space, is a special manifestation of the church, past, present, and future, throughout the world. Do This in Memory of Me Whenever Mass is celebrated, the story of our redemption is retold and the stuff of our lives is incorporated into that story. In the penitential rite we are reminded that Jesus heals the wounds of sin and division, and then we recall our sins and ask and receive forgiveness. Scripture readings highlight some aspect of salvation history, and the homily applies it to our lives. In the creed we recite the ancient truths and affirm our contemporary belief. In the offertory our gifts are brought to the altar in order to be become Christ's Body and Blood. The words of consecration recall the Last Suppe~:--for the sake of the present action. The telling and retelling of the story of salvation is not a sterile repetition, but an opportunity for us to be drawn into an ongoing story and to make it our own. It is ultimately a transforming story. One day recently the postcommunion prayer included the words "become what we have received." We could never exhaust the meaning of that short phrase. Nourished by Christ's Body and Blood, we are incorporated into him and become Christ in the world. Each religious institute also lives by a story. The circumstances of the founding, the teachings of the founder, the sufferings and hardships of early members, accounts of new missions undertaken, tales of saintly individuals--all of these are elements in a congre-gational history that is still being written. A new member is grad-ually introduced to that s~ory in a process analogous to the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults. Bit by bit she learns the stoW and becomes a part of it. The story is more than facts: it includes beliefs, values, and customs which have to be interiorized if the new member is to be really incorporated. These are best instilled by example. The new member lives in a community that shows her in a natural and unselfconscious way what it is to be a Sister of Mercy or Daughter of Charity or Franciscan. Gradually she takes on the new identity and lives out of it in an authentic way. Both processes--Eucharistic and congregational incorpora-tion- illustrate the meaning of theological tradition. This term refers to the preservation and development by which some truth, whether divine revelation itself or a founding charism, is made available to succeeding generations. Through successive genera- March-April 2001 Gottemoeller ¯ Community and Communion t_ions of recalling and living and praying that truth, new persons are enabled to enter into the community of belief and practice and to contribute their insights. The words used may differ, as languages and cultures change, but the essential identity perdures, under the guidance of the Spirit. Eucharistic community and religious com-munity are communities of memory, nourished by retelling the story. The words of the Evangelist John apply to both, "What we have seen and heard, we proclaim now to you, so that you may have communion with us" (1 Jn 1:3). That All May Be One No group on earth is more diverse than the community of Christian believers. A Coptic Christian in a refugee camp in Ethiopia, a campesino in the highlands of Peru, a Midwest tourist at St. Patrick's Cathedral, all take part in the same liturgy, albeit in different languages and rites. Nor does the diversity end there. Even within the same national or ethnic group, vocational choices, personal gifts, economic circumstances, theological tendencies, and spiritual preferences may differentiate worshipers from one another. Just look around the church some morning and appreci-ate the diversity present there. Retirees, business executives, stu-dents, factory workers, a few street people--all feel comfortable. The church's identity as communio means that all members share a fundamental unity, rooted in baptism. Whatever their differ-ences, the liturgy inspires the faithful to become of one heart in love by being "filled with 'the paschal sacraments'" (Sacrosanctum concilium, Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy, §10). The sociologist Robert Bellah asserts that the fundamental practice that tells us who we are as Christians is worship? When we all gather to partake of the same Eucharistic banquet, we are drawn into an embodied world of relationships and connections, a world of human solidarity. Furthermore, he suggests, this soli-darity is an antidote to the radical individualism so characteristic of modern society. Every Eucharistic celebration is an opportunity to model hospitality and inclusive love. When we detect that dif-ferences have become barriers to communio, we must seek recon-ciliation and the restoration of harmony. Religious community has its own diversity. Before renewal we often ignored our differences or tried to eliminate them through adherence to minutiae of rules and customs. Once we began to Review for Religious recognize and appreciate individual differences, however, we did not always differentiate between wholesome and destructive diver-sity. Perhaps more accurately, we did not always differentiate between accidental differences, which can enhance community, and substantive differences, which can erode common meaning. We easily think of examples of diver-sity within a single congregation: national origin (especially if it is an international institute), ethnicity, age, personality types, education, professional expertise, ministry experience, tendencies in theology and spirituality, preferences in art, music, and recreation. On the one hand, this variety of gifts is a wonderful treasure. On the other, it creates a formidable obstacle to the unity of mind and heart which is the ideal of religious life. If this unity is to flourish, it must include a common under-standing of the core commitments of the vowed life and a common passion for the mission, and it must be nourished by the sound traditions of the congregation. For we are not on individual spiritual journeys that intersect only occasionally; we share one journey on which everyone's successes and failures challenge all to be better pilgrims. Successful integration of the varied gifts within a religious community mirrors ecclesial community and contributes to its flourishing. Hospitality and inclusive love are characteristics of both Eucharistic and religious community celebrations. The sociologist Robert Bellah asserts that the fundamental practice that tells us who we are as Christians is worship. Go Forth to Love and Serve the Lord As the liturgy draws to a close, we are sent forth on mission. In the prayers of petition, we remembered the needs of our fam-ilies, friends, community members, church, and world. We offered ourselves with the bread and wine, and now Christ has incorpo-rated us more deeply into himself so that our hands will be his hands, our hearts his heart, on a mission of service to others. Each liturgy ends in a commissioning that echoes the commissioning of Jesus' disciples before his ascension: "Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father Marcb-April 2001 Gottemoeller ¯ Community and Communion and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always until the end of the age." The message is not "Keep safe and stay well until we meet again," but rather "Go forth to love and serve me in the least of my brethren. What you have received, give freely. And, when next you gather at my table, bring the cares and needs of your neighbors with you." Liturgy is not a place to retreat from the world's problems for an hour of spiritual comfort. It is a time to penetrate more deeply into the meaning of the world's problems through the lens of Jesus' life, death, and resurrection. Communion should help us see with his vision. This means seeing beneath the surface of events to the roots of the world's problems. Seeing with Christ's eyes-- we call this contemplation--is necessary for entering into the strug-gle against evil in the depths of human hearts and in the structures of society. Similarly, religious community life is oriented toward mis-sion. "Nor for ourselves alone" should be the watchword. Consecrated life is apostolic in its very essence. This means, not that persons in religious congregations do apostolic works or have individual ministries, but that our whole way of life is for the sake of making the love of God visible and attractive. Community life, therefore, as an intrinsic element of the consecrated life, should be mission oriented in both intention and expression. An apostolic community welcomes neighbors and friends and even, at times, aliens and strangers. An apostolic community weaves the needs of the world into its spiritual consciousness and common prayer. An apostolic community shares its resources with people who are poor. An apostolic community responds to the needs and priori-ties of the larger congregation and also welcomes new members, introducing them to this way of life. In short, an apostolic com-munity is not turned in on itself, isolated and self-sufficient, but receives from others and shares with them. Eucharistic and reli-gious communities--both of them generate apostolic engagement and support. Reanimating Our Eucharistic and Communal Life At the beginning of these reflections, we noted that one of the challenges of living Eucharistic and religious community enthu-siastically is the dailiness of the two experiences. Building on the Review for Religious strength of the analogy between them, let us imagine some ways to make each experience more life-giving. In order to do so, you may want to recall some especially meaningful community cele-bration- perhaps a patronal feast, a jubilee or anniversary, a pro-fession ceremony, even a funeral. Are there elements of that well-remembered celebration which can be incorporated into daily experience? Let me suggest a few. The first dimension of any celebration is anticipation, together with preparation and planning. We look forward to community celebrations, choosing the time and place with care, sending out invitations, preparing the space, devising a menu. If the celebra-tion is to include a liturgy, additional preparations are made--a celebrant is engaged, the choir and musicians rehearse, programs are printed, the altar is adorned. Far from being a burden, these preparations add to the greatness of the occa-sion. We enjoy imagining what the result will be. We look forward to the delight others will experience, perhaps to elements of surprise or special beauty they will enjoy. By our antici-patory efforts we are giving the message that what is to follow is important. In some way the element of anticipation and preparation can be incorporated into the daily rhythm of our Eucharistic and commu-nal life. A simple way to anticipate the Eucharist is to reflect on the scriptural texts before Mass, to pray for grace to hear the word of God and to live it gladly. If we have options, the choice of a time and place to attend Mass is also part of the anticipation. Because community life is not a single event, but an ongoing rela-tionship, the note of anticipation may not seem applicable. I believe, however, that we have to be every bit as intentional about when and how we will gathei', what we will do to enhance the meeting, who we might invite to join us. Mealtime, prayer times, and recreation--three common points of encounter--can all be enriched by thoughtful anticipatory gestures. Gathering flowers for the dinner table can say to your companions, "You are important to me. I am happy to spend this time with you." After the preparation comes the event itself, the celebration of Eucharist, the experience of community living. Harking back to the The element of anticipation and preparation can be incorporated into the daily rhythm of our Eucharistic and communal life. March-April 2001 Gottemoeller ¯ Community and Communion community celebration we specially remember, we note that pres-ence to one another and attention to detail are key ingredients. A sister that I lived with for many years told me this story not long ago. She recalled returning from a trip very late at night and very tired. We used to gather for our community prayer at 7:15 each morning. The following morning she was very tempted to sleep in and skip prayer; she felt she was too tired to contribute anything to the community's effort. But she came, and she had a vivid expe-rience of being borne up and carried by the prayer of the rest of us. Then, when she went to morning Mass with us, she had the same experience at church. The presence of the other parishioners, many of whom we did not know by name but recognized from seeing them frequently, "bore her up." Their faith sustained and animated her. This story is, I suggest, a parable about the nature of Eucharistic and religious community. In times of fatigue, dis-traction, boredom, the community is there for me. When others are similarly challenged, I want to be there for them. Attention to the details of presence enhances Eucharistic cel-ebrations and community experiences. The visibility of sisters, at least occasionally attending Mass together in a parish church, gives a clear reminder that we are still here, that ours is an ecclesial vocation, that our apostolic works are rooted in a life of commu-nal and liturgical prayer. Participation as a lector, Eucharistic min-ister, choir member, or bearer of the offertory gifts can help focus our attention on what we are doing together. Attention to our posture, dress, and demeanor can all help us remember that each celebration, no matter how frequently repeated, is an incalculable opportunity to be united with the whole church living, striving, and praying throughout time and space. Similarly, in local community settings, cultivating habits of courtesy and thoughtfulness can ele-vate the daily humdrum into graced encounters. Finally, a meaningful celebration is prolonged beyond the event itself. The liturgical year supplies us with a cycle of special feasts, but, except for Christmas and Easter, the celebration is usu-ally over and forgotten by eight o'clock in the morning. Are there ways in which we can remind ourselves and one another of the morning's scripture reading, the day's feast, or the spirit of the season (the anticipation of Advent, the joy of Christmastime, the penitential spirit of Lent, the daily challenge of Ordinary Time)? Our community gatherings give us the opportunity to prolong the Eucharistic celebration into the rest of the day. Review for Religious All of these suggestions, simple as they are, are ways in which we can integrate our communal and liturgical prayer. And, of course, there are ways in which all of this can relate to our personal prayer. If one dimension is weak, neglected, or underdeveloped, the others suffer. Each part of our spiritual journey is meant to sup-port the others. In these reflections on the connection between liturgy and community life, I have suggested that there is an anal-ogy which illuminates each. Each in its own way is incarnational and ecclesial, an experience of living memory, a manifestation of varied gifts subsumed into a common unity, and a sending forth on mission. Of course, every analogy is limited, and I do not mean that the two realities are comparable in all respects. Perhaps we can switch for a moment from analogy to metaphor--my English teacher would be so proud! Both liturgy and community life are paths to the same goal of union with God, and so it is not sur-prising that, the closer they approach that goal, the more they converge. The metaphor is limited too, however, for in this life of ours we can take both paths at the same time. I found the intimate relationship, the reciprocity, between Eucharist and community summed up in the following passage by Marcello Azevedo SJ: "The Eucharist is the soul and inspiration of community [living]. The Eucharist makes community viable and challenges us to live up to its truth. And community provides a way for the Eucharist to become authentic. Where community cracks or becomes truncated, where there is community but not a living communion, there we find less of an opportunity for the Eucharist to be consistently credible. There may be a formal cel-ebration, but the very act may empty the meaning and implica-tions of what we are celebrating."3 Azevedo goes on to say that it is necessary to assist young and not-so-young religious to under-stand the immense and unique implications of the Eucharist for community life. He comments that, if we do not make the effort to teach them, daily Eucharist will seem a meaningless legalistic obligation to the young. The not-so-young, for their part, having become accustomed to a disciplined ritual, may not be aware of a problem. But, while attending the Eucharist faithfully, they might fail to grasp its new dimensions and appreciate its many benefits for the life of the community. Before closing let me return to one of the issues identified at the beginning of this reflection, namely, the alienation of some women religious from liturgy because of their feelings of exclusion. March-April 2001 '!49-- !50 Gottemoeller * Community and Communion At times the institutional church--which publicly validates our lives through canonical recognition and affirmations of many kinds--also seems to go out of its way to distance us from the Eucharist through clericalist assertions. As a result some women have sought to nourish their communal spirituality by retrieving women's rituals from Native American, Eastern, and ancient pagan sources. This issue, this phenomenon, has not been the focus of my remarks, but, because of its relationship to the overall question of Eucharistic participation by women religious, it is important to at least touch on it. Mary Collins OSB provides some relevant insights in her essay "Is the Eucharist Still a Source of Meaning for Women?''4 After noting that the Eucharistic Christ has brought prayerful women-- including our congregational founders--to a depth of spiritual identity, vision, and power generation after generation, she says: "This meaning and power do not lie exclusively in the past; they have a present and future for those who trust themselves to Eucharistic action in troubled times. To insist upon construing Eucharist solely as a symbol of male power is to squander a known source of spiritual vitality in the Catholic community." She addresses the issue of substituting other rituals for Christian liturgy: Where such impoverished constructions of the Catholic Church's Eucharistic tradition have been accepted as the whole truth or the only significant truth, some Catholics have begun to identify themselves as post-Christian and to look elsewhere for the way, the truth, and the life. Will a neopagan quasi-retrieval of rites of empowerment for women guarantee a better future for the human community than the service of the gospel and the Eucharistic celebration of the mystery of salvation? Nobody has ever been able to pre-vent people from squandering real assets when the lure of fool's goal overtakes them, nor from risking a solid future on the futures market. Neoclericalism and neopaganism both look like fool's gold to me.s Collins challenges us to hold fast to the treasure which has been entrusted to us and to the whole Christian community. As reli-gious living a communitarian life, we have a special affinity for the communal dimension of Eucharist. I hope that our reflection on these matters will stir our imaginations and irrigate, from the wellspring of our communal religious lives, our desire to celebrate Review for Religious the Eucharist. I hope that the Eucharist will be for all of us what it has been and is: our "daily viaticum and source of the spiritual life." Notes ~ "Community Living: Beginning the Conversation," Review for Religious 58, no. 2 (March-April 1999): 137-149. 2 "Religion and the Shape of National Culture," America (31 July 1999): 9-14. 3 The Consecrated Life: Crossroads and Directions, (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1995), p. 87. 4 Living in the Meantime: Concerning the Transformation of Religious Life, ed. Paul J. Philibert OP (New York: Paulist Press, 1994), pp. 185- 196. ~ Philibert, Living, p. 195. Easter Jesus rose like a gleaming daffodil, starting a trend of risings from cold mud - purple crocus and wild violet, pale narcissus looking too fragile for spring blasts, and the hooded heads of tulips waiting to unscarf themselves in coral and flame. You feel again your own mud and wonder each drab day what seeds unknown to you might be risii~g from the humus of your Lenten days and almost ready for your alleluias. PatSchnapp RSM March-April 2001 GERALD M. FAGIN Contemplation to Attain Love A Paradigm for Apostolic Prayer Every Christian faces the challenge of integrating prayer and ministry, for every Christian is called to a contemplative relationship with God and a life of service. Baptism missions a person to labor with Christ in building the reign of God in our world, but the desire and energy for that mission must come from an experience of God, a relationship with God that is fos-tered by a life of prayer. Prayer encourages and informs a life of ministry, and ministry enriches and gives renewed motivation for prayer. Our traditions provide a rich variety of definitions and methods of apostolic prayer. In this article I will suggest that the final exercise of Ignatius Loyola's Spiritual Exercises, the Contemplation to Attain Love, offers a helpful paradigm and even a partial description of the prayer of an active minister. It names the qualities of an apostolic prayer and outlines the stages of growth in such a prayer. There is no evidence that Ignatius pre-sented this exercise as a methodology of prayer, but in obvious ways the four points of the contemplation indi-cate the kind of prayer that best suits an active Christian. Many commentators point out that the Contemplation to Attain Love describes the summit and Gerald M. Fagin SJ teaches theology at Loyola University; 6363 St. Charles Avenue; New Orleans, Louisiana 70118. Review for Religious summation of the Spiritual Exercises and captures the heart of Ignatian spirituality. Michael Bucldey, in an insightful article on the contemplation, parallels the four points of this exercise with the Exercises' four Weeks.' As the four points recall what we have received, how God dwells in the gifts, how God labors in the gifts, and how the gifts lead us back to the Giver, so the four Weeks center on God's gifts of creation and redemption, on God's indwelling in the world in Jesus, on Christ laboring in the pas-sion, and finally on surrender to and union with Christ risen in glory. The grace prayed for in the contemplation also sums up the graces prayed for in the Exercises: "To ask for interior knowl-edge of all the great good I have received, in order that, stirred to profound gratitude, I may become able to love and serve the Divine Majesty in all things" (§233).2 The goal of the Exercises is to bring one to freedom to hear God's call and respond in love and service. That also articulates well the grace prayed for in any apostolic prayer. Apostolic prayer must begin with attentive listening that presumes an open heart. It results in a commitment to service that flows from a loving desire to share gospel truths and values. The contemplation at the end of the Exercises also enables and facilitates the transition from thirty days of prayer in solitude to the active life of the minister of the gospel. Prayer that was nurtured in the solitude of the desert now must find a way of expression in everyday life filled with demands and distractions. Contemplation must become a certain contemplation in action, and the God found in the quiet world of retreat must be found in all things, in all the people and events, the joys and challenges, of everyday life. This is not an easy task. The felt intimacy and strong resolutions often experienced in retreat prayer can quickly dissi-pate when confronted with the challenges of family life, commu-nity life, and ministry. Prayer must take a shape and an expression appropriate for an active and engaging life. Prayer must attune the heart to the many revelations of God in life. The four points of the Contemplation to Attain Love invite us to four forms of prayer that define the minister's relationship to God. As with the four points of the contemplation, there is a certain sequence to these prayer forms, but the rhythm of prayer implies a constant interplay between the forms. All four expressions of prayer must continually inform and enrich one another and enliven the minister. Marcb-April 2001 Fagin ¯ Contemplation to Attain Love First Point. Recall the Gifts I Have Received I will call back into my memory the gifts I have received-- my creation, redemption, and other gifts particular to myself. I will ponder with deep affection how much God our Lord has done for me, and how much he has given me of what he possesses, and consequently how he, the same Lord, desires to give me even his very self, in accordance with his divine design. (§234) Without a sense of thanksgiving, there is no true motivation for Christian service. The foundational grace of the Christian life is the grace to know God's personal love for oneself. God's love finds expression in the gifts of creation and redemption as well as in the endless other graces poured out upon us. All of life is seen in faith as a gift from the hands of a loving God who, as Ignatius indicates, finally desires to share God's own life with us. Ignatius experienced this powerfully in his own vision at the River Cardoner, where he saw all of creation coming down from God as a gift and returning to God. This dynamic view of creation defined for Ignatius the rhythm and meaning of life and the flow of all of life and salvation history. Our response in prayer to God's plan of salvation begins, then, with a sense of gifted-ness in our creation and redemption. We stand before God as a creature totally depen-dent on God and as loved sinners aware of God's forgiving and healing love. Christian prayer begins as a response to God's initiative toward us, a response first of profound gratitude for all that God has given us. It is no wonder that Ignatius recognized gratitude as central to Christian life and a sure measure of Christian faith. In the grace prayed for in the contemplation, Ignatius presumes that an interior knowledge of all God's gifts would "stir one to profound gratitude" (§2 3 3). The prayer of an apostle must be rooted in gratitude. Without a sense of thanksgiving, there is no true motivation for Christian service. Gratitude leads to magnanimity, to greatness of heart, and impels one to service. To sustain and enliven ministry, Christians must return to a sense of being gifted and rekindle desire to share all the gifts received and to proclaim to others the presence of God's gifts in their lives. One central goal .of ministry is to enable others to notice and claim their own gifts from God and then to Review for Religious foster those gifts in others. The first point of the contemplation reminds us that all prayer and all ministry flow from a grateful heart. The prayer of every minister must first be a prayer of gratitude. Second Point. God Dwells in All Creation I will consider how God dwells in creatures; in the elements, giving them existence; in the plants, giving them life; in the animals, giving them sensation; in human beings, giving them intelligence; and finally, how in this way he dwells also in myself, giving me existence, life, sensation, and intelli-gence; and even further, making me his temple, since I am created as a likeness and image of the Divine Majesty. (§235) The prayer of a minister must also be a prayer of contemplative presence. Ignatius reminds us in the second point that God dwells in all of creation, is present in every dimension of reality. To be a contemplative is to notice and be in touch with the presence of God. Ignatius spoke of acatamiento or reverence, an awareness of God's presence, a sense of awe that resulted in love, a sense of the utter gratuity of creation.4 Contemplative presence implies paying attention to God and becoming absorbed in God dwelling in and revealing himself in the world about us. God reveals himself in nature, in the events of life, in other people, and in ourselves. First, contemplative presence enables us to listen to God in nature. The beauty and grandeur of creation, the majesty of life expressed in plants and animals, the power of nature manifested in wind and storm--all of these reveal the splendor and majesty of God and call forth awe and wonder that draws the human heart to the presence of God alive in the world. The beauty and wonder of creation invite our hearts to move beyond what we experience and become centered on God. This calls to mind the simple act of contemplation that Julian of Norwich describes: seeing a tiny hazelnut, she recognizes that God made it, loves it, and preserves it.s Her heart is lifted to God her creator, her lover, and her pro-tector. All of creation is a manifestation of God that guides us into a deeper awareness of God's loving presence all around us. Second, contemplative presence also attunes us to God present in the events of our lives, events of joy and grace as well as painful and challenging events. God dwells with us, supports and strength-ens us, and faithfully walks with us in significant, life-changing March-April 2001 Fagin ¯ Contemplation to Attain Love events and in ordinary, routine events. We can recall significant moments of insight or forgiveness or renewed hope or grief at the loss of a loved one--moments of grace as dramatic as the birth of a child or as simple as a consoling word spoken in love. A con-templative presence enables us to find God dwelling in all life's events. Third, God dwells in a special way in the people we encounter in our lives. A contemplative presence gives rise to reverence and awe before others. We recognize and acknowledge God dwelling in them. We give thanks for the giftedness of others and see the face of God in them. We recall experiences of friendship that have been powerful sacraments of God's love in our lives. As the poet Hopkins proclaims it, "Christ plays in ten thousand places, lovely in limbs and lovely in eyes not his, to the Father through the features of men's faces." God is revealed as well in community, in the people God calls together. "For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them" (Mr 18:20).6 How often we find God in our sisters and brothers called together in word, sacrament, and service! God dwells powerfully in the com-munity of humankind and in the more particular communities of family and church that surround us with love and support. Finally, God dwells within our own hearts--creating us, loving us, and sustaining us. We find God in our needs and feel-ings and desires, in the movements of our hearts. God forever desires to make his home with us. Jesus' words to Zacchaeus are spoken to us each day, "I must stay at your house today" (Lk 19:5). We can recall the searching words of Paul, "It is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me" (Ga 2:19) or the words of Jesus in John's Gospel, "Abide in me as I abide in you" (Jn 15:4). These words of Scripture call to mind the mysterious truth of the life of grace: God dwells within us. Contemplative prayer puts us in touch with that intimate presence and fosters our shared presence with God. The second point of the contemplation, then, elicits the grace of finding God in all things. For the Christian in active ministry, the grace of finding God in the flow of life means more than bringing the fruit of our prayerful contemplation to our ministry. It implies being contemplative in the midst of our action, finding God present in the events and people in our lives. So often we long for and wait for epiphanies of God in our lives, those dramatic and unmistakable revelations of God that capture our attention Review for Religious in sudden and unpredictable ways. A contemplative presence empowers us to notice the constant diaphanies of God, the ways God shines through all of creation and all the events of our lives. Contemplative presence is a prayer of the apostle because it allows us to find God in life and to be present ourselves to God present to us. Third Point. God Labors in All Creation I will consider how God labors and works for me in all the creatures on the face of the earth; that is, he acts in the man-ner of one who is laboring. (§236) In the third point Ignatius highlights how God is at work in all things, how God labors to bring all things to salvation. The Christian is called to labor with God to bring all of creation to salvation. Apostolic prayer, then, is always a prayer of discernment about choices and decisions.7 If Christ labors in the world, redeeming it and bringing it back to the Father, the ques-tions before the minister are always: How do I become part of this labor of Christ? What is my role in salvation history? Ignatius experienced this in his mystical vision at La Storta where the Father placed him at the side of Jesus carrying his cross. Ignatius was to labor alongside Christ to bring the world back to God. The challenge was to discover what laboring with Christ meant in the con-crete circumstances of his life. The chal-lenge for every minister is to come to decisions that are true to the mind of Christ and apt for building the reign of God. What can I do for and with Christ in my life situation? A decision flows out of a conversation between my gifts, the needs of the Christian community, and the particu-lar call of Christ in my life. Discernment is the art of finding God's will in the concrete details of my life. Discernment is a gift of the Spirit that attunes our heart to the heart of Christ so that our min-istry is shaped by the hopes and desires of the Lord and not our own agenda. The challenge for every minister is to come to decisions that are true to the mind of Christ and apt for building the reign of God. March-April 2001 Fagin ¯ Contemplation to Attain Love In the second Week of the Exercises, Ignatius invites retreatants to an imaginative prayer that leads them into the events of Christ's life. The invitation to be present to a person or event in the Scripture calls them to be present with Christ in a given mystery of his life. The grace prayed for is a deep-felt knowledge of Christ and love for Christ. Ignatian imaginative prayer or con-templation also teaches one to discern God's will in the specifics of life. Where am I to be inserted into God's plan of salvation as it unfolds today? How I am to labor with Christ to make this plan a reality? This twofold purpose of imaginative contemplation in the second Week of the Exercises--intimacy with Jesus and discern-ment-- corresponds to the grace of the second Week: to know and love Christ by being present to him in the events of his life and to follow him by learning my role in salvation history day by day. Returning to the Contemplation to Attain Love, the second point focuses on God dwelling in the world. For a Christian, focus-ing on God means being present to Christ and noticing him in the world. The third point of the contemplation centers on God laboring in the world, especially in Jesus' life, passion, and death. As the second point suggests a prayer of contemplative presence, so the third point encourages a prayer of discernment, of finding God's will in my life. Ministers of the gospel must grow into dis-cerning hearts that define and direct their service. The gift of dis-cernment enables them to sift through interior movements to discover what is from God and leads to God and what leads them away from God. Without such discernment, choices in ministry are not founded on God's call to labor with Christ for God's reign. Fourth Point. From Gift to Giver I will consider how all good things and gifts descend from above; for example, my limited power from the Supreme and Infinite Power above and so of justice, goodness, piety, mercy, and so forth--just as the rays come down from the sun, or the rains from their source. (§237) The fourth point shifts our focus to God, the source of all good. God is loved not simply for what he has done for us, but for who God is. If apostolic prayer begins in gratitude, grows into contemplative presence, and finds expression in prayerful dis-cernment, union with God and others remains the goal. "Our hearts are made for God and they are restless until they rest in Review for Religious him.''~ Prayer is the language of relationship, a posture of listen-ing and responding to God that gives expression to our faith, hope, and love and grows into a shared presence with our God who desires to draw close and be one with us. Prayer is creating a space where God can be welcomed and intimacy nourished. Prayer is the experience of our hearts being one with the heart of God. Jesus, in John's discourse after the last supper, voices his desire to be one with us as he and the Father are one. He uses the image of the vine and the branches to speak of the dynamic connection between his life and ours. He invites us to "abide in his love" and share in the love the Father has for him. Jesus promises his disci-ples that "whoever loves me will keep my word and my Father will love him and we will come to him and make our dwelling with him" On 14:23). They are to be disciples on a mission, but dis-ciples rooted in mystical union with God. Prayer ultimately leads to this familiarity with God, this union, this sharing in the very life of God. This should be true for apos-tolic ministers. As the gifts lead us back to the Giver in the fourth point of the contemplation, so a contemplative prayer of discern-ment leads our hearts to a deeper union with God. The graces of the third and fourth Weeks of the Spiritual Exercises, to be united with Jesus in his suffering and in his joy, lead a person into a prayer of union and in the end to the total surrender to God expressed in the prayer of the contemplation: "Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding, and also my will--all that I have and possess. You, Lord, have given all that to me. I now give it back to you, O Lord. All of it is yours. Dispose of it accord-ing to your will. Give me love of yourself along with your grace, for that is enough for me" (§234). This is the prayer of total detachment from everything that is not God, a prayer of union that finds ultimate fulfillment in God alone. In his second preliminary observation for the contemplation, Ignatius says: "Love consists in a mutual communication between the two persons. That is, the one who loves, gives and communi-cates to the beloved what he or she has, or part of what one has or can have; and the beloved in return does the same to the lover" (§231). Love finds fullest expression in union and mutual shar-ing. Intercommunion and personal communication, mutual giving and sharing, lead to a profound union. Apostolic prayer finds ful-fillment in a profound union of heart and desire between God and the apostle. March-April 2001 Active ministers must find God in the midst of their ministry and not simply in solitude and quiet prayer. t60 ' Fag~n ¯ Contemplation to Attain Love Apostolic Prayer This essay suggests that the final exercise of the Spiritual Exercises provides the retreatant not only with a summation of the four Weeks and a synthesizing grace of the Exercises, but also with a guideline for apostolic prayer. Implicit in Ignatius's four points in the contemplation, which moves the retreatant from the world of retreat to a world of active ministry, is a description of the forms and qualities of prayer necessary to sustain the retreatant in a life of ministry. Active ministers must always center their hearts on the gifts of God so as to be continuously grateful for them. Without such gratitude the minister's heart will narrow and grow cold and lose the expansiveness and generosity essential to ministry. Ministry flows from a grateful heart. At the same time, active ministers must find God in the midst of their ministry and not sim-ply in solitude and quiet prayer. Though such solitude and quiet time is absolutely necessary, ministers must foster a contemplative presence that is attentive to God in all the dimensions of life. Such contemplative presence joins prayer and ministry, action and contemplation, and makes it possible for the minister to find life and consolation in ministry. Genuine ministry will always be the fruit of discernment and prayerful decision making. Ministers must grow in the gift and art of dis-cernment so that their ministry carries on the ministry of Jesus in service of the reign of God. To labor with Christ presumes a heart in union with Christ and a heart free to hear God's personal call to service. Apostolic prayer nurtures a discerning heart sensitive to the ongoing call of God in our lives. Finally, all prayer moves us back to the Giver of all gifts. Apostolic prayer reaches its goal in total surrender and union with God. Ignatius, in his Spiritual Diary, records the depth and full-ness of his own prayer of union with God. Ignatius's Trinitarian mysticism was the fruit of a life of prayer and service and his final surrender to the Giver of all gifts who dwells and labors in cre-atiom This is not only a prayer for the select few. It is the desire of God's heart for all believers. Review for Religious The four points of this Ignatian contemplation invite us to a prayer rooted in gratitude, embodied in a contemplative attitude, focused on discernment of God's will, and brought to culmina-tion in a deep union with God and creation. Such a description seems at least a partial summary of Ignatius's own prayer and not far from naming the gift of prayer Ignatius would ask for those who make his Spiritual Exercises. Notes ~ Michael J. Buckley SJ, "The Contemplation to Attain Love," Way Supplement 24 (Spring 1975): 92-104. Buckley's interpretation of the contemplation lays a foundation for my reflections on the prayer forms suggested by the Ignatian Contemplation to Attain Love. ~ Spiritual Exercises citations are from The Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius, trans. George Ganss SJ (St. Louis: Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1992). 3 See Gerald M. Fagin SJ, "Stirred to Profound Gratitude," Review for Religious 54, no. 2 (March-April 1995): 237-252. 4 See Charles O'Neill SJ, "Acatamiento: Ignatian Reverence," Studies in the Spirituality of Jesuits 8, no. 1 (January 1976). s Julian of Norwich, Showings (Long text), chap. 5. 6 All scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard. Version. See Buckley, p. 102, St. Augustine, Confessions, Book 1, chap. 1. March-April 2001 ERNEST E. LARKIN What to Know about Discernment One of my teachers in Rome was the famed Dominican Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange. He often shared bits of worldly wisdom like the following: A young teacher teaches even what she does not know, a middle-aged teacher teaches only what she knows, and an old teacher teaches only What is necessary. Twenty years ago, as a middle-aged teacher, I wrote a little book on discernment, called Silent Presence. Recently, as an old teacher, I was asked to write a summary statement on the topic. Here it is. It will appear as an epilogue when Dimension Books republishes the book, which is undergoing wholesale revision for its renewed life. What, then, is necessary for discernment? Discernment as Process and Problem Discernment has two focuses: process and problem. It is pro-cess insofar as it is a progressive awareness of the movements of the spirits in our consciousness. The "spirits" are thoughts, desires, and affective moods, which are the telltale signs of the Holy Spirit or opposing influences. In the discernment process we become more sensitive to the movements of grace or the temptation to sin in our lives. Discernment is mindfulness, recollection, centeredness. It is being aware of what is going on spiritually. Ernest E. Larkin OCarm wrote about St. TMr~se for our September- October issue last year. His address is Kino Institute; 1224 East Northern; Phoenix, Arizona 85020. Review for Religious Discernment as problem solving is interpreting thespirits in order to determine God's will. Where are these feelings and sen-timents tending? Are they moving the person toward or away from God? What behavior and choices are they suggesting? Discernment is not concerned with the emotional or physiological sources of these feelings, but only with their trajectory or orientation. Where are they pointing? God leads us by means of these secondary causes. The two functions of discernment coalesce in our daily, moment-to-moment responses to God calling us forth in the concrete situations of daily life. This process is the "obedience of faith" (Rm 1:5), which is saying no to selfishness and yes to tran-scendence. We are called to live beyond rote rules and in accord with God's particular will for us. The ordinary teaching and ministry of the church provide the boundaries or the playing field. But God leads each of us one by one in the community of the church. God's project for me is that I become the unique person I was created to be. Discernment is the tool for the process. The How of Discernment There are three ways of evaluating our experiences. One is cognitive: we use our heads to analyze the experiences, we objectify the experiences, and we hold them before our eyes to understand and interpret them. The other two ways involve our heart: I call one mystical, the other affective; in these two ways we feel our way to the conclusion. Cognitive discernment stays on the level of thinking. It thinks about holy thoughts and desires and their unholy counterparts as well. It asks which are which, with a view to following the good and avoiding the evil. It makes a judgment based on theoretical knowl-edge about what is virtuous and what is not. This endeavor prescinds from the affective states; in cognitive discernment the feelings are beside the point. The norm is right reason and good sense. Mystical discernment is the experience of ourselves being lifted up to God in loving surrender. At the time there is no contrary movement of affectivity; experiencing a mystical grace, we have no doubt that we are in God and God is in us. Affective discernment involves an awareness of the comings and goings of a divided affectivity. We note the ambivalence in our lives between yeses and noes to God. We observe both positive and negative March-April 2001 Larkin ¯ What to Know about Discernment affections over the same one issue, the positive ones being love, peace, commitment (all of which are signs of God's presence) and the negative ones being anxiety, alienation, rebelliousness (potential obstacles between us and God). In the to-and-fro of this experience, we sense the calling of God. A simple image may clarify this matter. Each of us is like a cone standing on its point and divided by a horizontal plane halfway up. The upper half is our conscious self, our soul or psy-che; the lower half is our spirit. God dwells in the depths of our spirit at the point of the cone. He may activate his role as the point of the cone by letting our whole being sink more deeply into himself so that our deeply spiritual sense of contact with him is now much more than a point; it is a complete circle, a divine interface, a total saturation--this is the mystical grace referred to above. Or his action, instead of being mystical, may consist of helpful waves sent from the point through our being, waves that reverberate in our consciousness along with contrary movements from our old self. Affective discernment takes note of these contrary and selfish iinpulses as well as the resonances of God's presence. A sense of that presence and absence emerges. Discernment takes place in the upper, conscious level of our being. In the mystical grace, the spirit dominates the psyche; the whole person feels raised up by God, by the sovereign action of Love. The consciousness of this divine gift is the mystical dis-cernment. The person experiences wholeness, peace, humility, a joyous faith, hope, and charity, along with immense gratitude and all the fruits of the Spirit (Ga 5:22). There are no contrary affections as long as the experience lasts. The recipient knows and loves God and all that God stands for; at this point there is complete submission to the divine will, which is intimated in the exchange. The action of grace in our being is not usually so total. Grace builds on nature and meets people where they are in their spiritual journey. Most people do not have perfect purity of heart; they are divided in their allegiance to God. So the Holy Spirit enters their consciousness via holy thoughts and desires; these are actual graces. They vie for attention and acceptance against the contrary entice-ments of the world, the devil, and one's own unredeemed self. God's action does not wholly envelop the person. Part of the person is lifted up in noble sentiments, but another part is reneg-ing and lagging behind; part is saying yes and part no. Affective dis- Review for Religious cernment senses these two directions in the affections themselves and interprets them intuitively as by a sixth sense. We thus have three ways of doing discernment, one of them following objective norms and two of them reading the affections. In actual practice, discernment usually is a mixture of the cogni-tive and the affective, with occasional experiences of the mysti-cal. We now address each of these three at greater length. Cognitive Discernment Cognitive discernment applies appropriate knowledge of the spiritual life to the issues at hand. Teresa of Avila puts a high pre-mium on learning in spiritual directors, whose function is to assist in the process of discernment by confirming or questioning the conclusions of the client. Her teaching on the importance of knowledge in the spiritual life is germane here. She wants both experience and learning in the spiritual guide. But, if forced to choose between the two qualities, she favors experience (see her Autobiography, her Vida, chap. 13), but she always prizes the confir-mation of a learned person. What knowledge is involved in discernment? Knowledge of God's ways as revealed in the Scriptures, wisdom gleaned from the sages of Israel, from Jesus, and from the New Testament, knowl-edge of the spiritual life as it has developed in history. The knowl-edge is about human beings as much as it is about God. Today some knowledge of depth psy-chology is presumed. The ancients and the medieval writers did not have the benefit of Freud, Jung, or Adler, but they knew human nature in its mysterious vagaries. Applied psychology in programs like the enneagram, Myers-Briggs, transactional analysis, and the stages of growth in Erikson and his successors is helpful. All sources of knowledge about ourselves and our world are potential helps: anthropology, biography, literature, even journals of current events that record "signs of the times," indications of what God is doing in the world today. Discernment usually is a mixture of.the cognitive and the affective, with occasional experiences of the mystical. March -April 2 O01 Larkin ¯ What to Know about Discernment Cognitive discernment is the way for beginners, who by def-inition struggle with disordered affections and moral limitations and cannot trust their feelings to be indicators of the divine presence. Beginners need to recognize their feelings, own them, and act beyond them by hewing to the line set by objective crite-ria.° This is the teaching of the rules for discernment for the First Week of the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius Loyola. The rules suggest what feelings to expect at the beginning and along the way and how to handle them. The beginners' immediate goal is purity of heart, freedom of spirit, detachment, indifference, all of which terms are basically synonymous. This condition is the prerequisite for exercising affective and mystical discernment. Cognitive discernment is not limited to beginners. Mature Christians use it when they are not experiencing turbulence or strong desires. At such times they work up the pertinent informa-tion in two columns (pros and cons) and make a rational decision, confirming the decision if possible by a subsequent affective dis-cernment. St. Ignatius calls this mode of decision-making the "third time," his "first time" being mystical discernment and his "second time" affective discernment. Prayer and consultation are part of all discernment, as is confirmation by the community, usu-ally through a representative like a spiritual director. The execution of cognitive discernment may be assisted by one or more of the following suggestions: (1) Examine an area of your life such as pra~er, relationships, or ministry by reading some basic reflection on the topic and consulting your conscience on your own performance. (2) Look for models or ways to proceed in people who faced similar questions or situations (such as making a vocational choice or dealing with a significant loss). (3) Listen attentively tO what others say about you in praise or criticism for insights into self-knowledge. (4) Collect words of wisdom that may help you understand a specific question,, such as the follow-ing words of Anthony De Mello about relationships: "You are pre-cious to me, but you are not my life. My life is distinct and separate from you. I thank you for coming into my life. Good-bye." Mystical Discernment "The love of God poured forth in our hearts by the Holy Spirit" (Rm 5:5) orients one's life to God. It roots a person in God and constitutes the state of grace. One may experience this grace Review for Religious as a special mystical gift. This experience is an awareness of one's whole person surrendered to God in faith, hope, and love. This experience is the perception of one's true self in a pure state, with-out any mixture of contrary desire. It is called mystical discernment because it depends on God's free action and the content of one's mind and heart, and their contentedness, are entirely of God. Mystical discernment is the first principle of affective discernment, for it represents the fullness against which subse-quent movements toward God are measured. These lesser affective movements are not the experience of total surrender; they are graces promoting love for God and are experienced positively because they are consonant with the original experience of the pure love of God. St. Ignatius calls them consolations. They are virtuous affections, expe-rienced as harmonious with the fun-damental option; they come across as feelings of well-being, authen-ticity, peace, and love. Their opposites are called des-olations by Ignatius; they obstruct one's surrender to God. They are negative feelings or reactions, and they come across as disruptive, alienating, and destructive. While the good movements are con-gruent with one's ultimate orientation to God, these bad spirits or sentiments oppose submission to God. Affective discernment.moves back and forth between these two sets, whereas in mystical discernment there is only consola-tion- in Ignatius's classic words, "consolation without previous cause" (Spiritual Exercises, §330). This grace is the spontaneous, unmerited inbreaking of God that absorbs the whole person in the love of God. No previous acts of the person explain its presence. It is the gustos of Teresa of Avila, which she calls the prayer of quiet; it is the experience of mystical union in both Teresa and John of the Cross. In this experience one discerns one's true self, not through knowledge about one's self, but through personal, intuitive con-tact. One "knows" God and knows one's self in the union with God, in the way St. Paul wants to "know Christ and the power of Mystical and affective discernment do not establish what is right and wrong; these matters are to be decided by moral reasoning. Malvh-April 2001 Larkin ¯ What to Know about Discernment his resurrection and the fellowship of his suffering" (Ph 3:10). Paul seeks an affective experience, not abstract knowledge. This affective knowledge is not new truths or objective moral theology about right and wrong. Mystical and affective discernment do not establish what is right and wrong; these matters are to be decided by moral reasoning. The discernment has to do with one's sub-jective stance before God; it is about recognizing and responding in freedom to grace, and thus it is about being good, not about being right--just as people sometimes do the right thing for the wrong reason. In mystical discernment there is no intrusion of the false self. The false self is the part of one's being that is not rooted in God. It does not come out of the spirit, but is the construction of one's own ego, a figment of one's imagination and feelings. One must be careful, therefore, not to confuse mere euphoria or "sensible con-solations" in prayer with this special grace. Visions and locutions, even when miraculous, are likewise experiences of the psychic self, on the level of imagination; they are not the same grace as "con-solation without previous cause." The distinctive mark of this truly mystical grace is wholeness: body, soul, and spirit are touched by God. The true self includes all of these. What happens in that mystical union with God, therefore, is totally of God. The false self may awaken after the event and masquerade as part of the gift in the afterglow of the mystical experience. Ignatius warns about this danger (Spiritual Exercises, §336). These subsequent thoughts and affections, like visions and locutions themselves, are to be treated like all other particular ideas and feelings: they must be submitted to cognitive or affective discernment. Typical questions that may help to identify the mystical expe-rience are the following: (1) Is the experience a fantasy, euphoria gone wild, a projection, or wishful thinking, or does it represent my actual self, my reality, my truth? (2) Is the exaltation of this experience corroborated by high standards of moral attitudes and behavior? (3) Is there congruence between the experience and my deepest desires? Affective Discernment The true self and the false self at work in ordinary conscious-ness are good handles for grasping this normal and recommended way of doing discernment. Both of these parts of one's being Review for Religious express themselves in thoughts, desires, feelings, moods, and sentiments. The true self is in touch with the spirit as well as with the soul or psyche. When it operates, there is an element of whole-ness and peace along with other virtuous attitudes and movements. The false self has no roots in the spirit, is superficial and disinte-grated, and acts only at the level of imagination and emotion, with no regard for basic spiritual truth and goodness. Its hallmarks are fragmentation, alienation, irritation, and the seven capital sins. Ordinary Christians live in the state of grace; they are com-mitted to the true self. But whole areas of their lives ha

Interview with Phyllis Lanza Caligaris. Topics include: Family history. Immigration of her grandfather, Emmanuel Montagna, and grandmother, Francesca Marrama, to the United States from Italy. Work history of her grandfather and how he would create a business, build it up, and sell it. Eventually, he opened Monty's Garden Restaurant in Leominster, MA. Her grandparents rented rooms to Italian immigrants in Leominster. What Monty's was like when it first opened, the people who worked there, the menu, the patrons, the hours. How the business changed over the years as it was passed on from Phyllis' grandfather, to her father, to her husband. Memories of her grandfather. What it means to be Italian. What it is like to be in business with family. ; 1 SPEAKER 1: It's Friday, December 7th. It's 10:20. We're at Monty's Restaurant, Central Street in Leominster. We're interviewing Phyllis Lanza Caligaris, and thank you, first of all, Phyllis. And I'm not sure; did I say your last name correctly? PHYLLIS: Correctly. SPEAKER 1: Okay. All right, and it's my understanding that your grandfather started Monty's. PHYLLIS: Yes. SPEAKER 1: So can you tell me a little bit about him personally? Not just the restaurant business, but… PHYLLIS: Okay. SPEAKER 1: What you remember about him? PHYLLIS: I can't determine what year he immigrated to the United States. There's no records in the Ellis Island files, so I assume he sailed into Boston. As with the rest of his siblings, I cannot find any info. But I know he was born 1879 and died 1960, and he came to America from a town called LaRocca. SPEAKER 1: Can you spell that? PHYLLIS: L-a capital R-O-C-C-A in the province of Abruzzi, A-B-R-U-Z-Z-I. SPEAKER 1: Okay. PHYLLIS: I have no idea what year. SPEAKER 1: Now, what is his name? PHYLLIS: Emmanuel Montagna. SPEAKER 1: Okay. And when he came, you think, to Boston, was it alone? Or was he traveling with other people, do you know? PHYLLIS: I have no idea, I have no idea. SPEAKER 1: Did he ever mention why he left? PHYLLIS: Well, I imagine like all other immigrants, for a better life here in the United States. In Italy, there were no jobs, no future. As well as my father immigrated to the United States as a young boy at the age of 12. But this person, my grandfather, when he immigrated -- I don't know too 2 much about his early childhood, only from when he married my grandmother, and then his education and his endeavors from that point on. And if you'd like me to… SPEAKER 1: Tell me what your grandmother. Who did he marry? PHYLLIS: He married Francesca Marrama. SPEAKER 1: Can you spell that? PHYLLIS: M-A-R-R-A-M-A. SPEAKER 1: Okay. And was she from Abruzzi? PHYLLIS: The province of Abruzzi, but the town, the next town to LaRocca called Pendama. And that is spelled P-E-N-D-A-M-A. SPEAKER 1: Okay. PHYLLIS: But they didn't know each other, and they met in Reedville, Mass, which is outside of Boston. They married in 1900 at the Stone Church where the reservoir is in West Boylston. And he, when he was a young man, was in construction and worked on that and helped build that church. It has nice memories, you know? To think that he worked on that church and helped build the reservoir, and he got married there. SPEAKER 1: Now was that -- I don't really know the history of that church. Was it indeed a church? PHYLLIS: Oh yes, yeah, yeah, yeah. And then for the longest time, it went idle, so to speak. And I still don't know today if they've refurbished it and are using it. SPEAKER 1: They don't use it as a church. I've actually never been inside, but I do know a lot of couples get their wedding. [Crosstalk] But I believe there aren't even windows in it. I think it's just a construction. PHYLLIS: Yeah. SPEAKER 1: So anyway, what was he doing in Reedville? PHYLLIS: I have no idea. For most of this history, comes down to me from my mother and what she remembered. And when I asked the question how they met, she said they met in [Ricco]. SPEAKER 1: Okay.3 PHYLLIS: And then at one point my grandmother was living in West Boylston, and he was working construction on the reservoir and the church; and whether they met there, I don't know, but I know they got married there. SPEAKER 1: Now what was your grandmo-, oh your grandmother was Marrama, okay. PHYLLIS: Marrama. SPEAKER 1: Marrama, okay. PHYLLIS: And she was 16 years old and he was 21. SPEAKER 1: Do you have any idea of why your grandfather would've come to Leominster? PHYLLIS: Usually, what happens with immigrants, they go to the town where other family members have gone before them, and they live with these family members until they get on their feet. And I'm sure that was the case because all of his siblings located in the Leominster area. SPEAKER 1: Okay. Do you want to tell me more about the church or West Boylston? PHYLLIS: No, no. I have no history on that at all. SPEAKER 1: Okay. PHYLLIS: I do have a lot of history on him, and he couldn't speak English when he came here, so he knew in order to advance himself he would have to -- he taught himself as well as going to night school. And I was reading an article about him, and this is quoting the article: "After moving to Leominster, he took advantage of night school, where he was accorded one of the best pupils in the school, making rapid strides under the tutorship of Attorney J. Ward Healey, who was principal of the night school at that time." You know, it just was interesting. SPEAKER 1: Now where was that clipping from? PHYLLIS: It was from a 25th anniversary write-up about my grandmother and grandfather. SPEAKER 1: Oh, I see. Now, did your grandmother speak English? PHYLLIS: No, I'm sure she didn't. SPEAKER 1: So you didn't know her?4 PHYLLIS: Yes, I did. By the time I arrived, she spoke broken English, but you could understand her. See, these people were self-taught. You know, in order to survive, you had to learn English. SPEAKER 1: So he was working construction. How did he get involved in the restaurant business? PHYLLIS: That comes at the end. This gentleman was into everything. SPEAKER 1: Oh, okay. PHYLLIS: Everything. You'd be amazed at his life. They had three children. SPEAKER 1: Okay. PHYLLIS: One son, who died, and two daughters. One of the daughters was my mother. SPEAKER 1: Okay. Why don't you tell me their names, the daughters? PHYLLIS: All right, okay. One was Mildred Lanza, Mildred Montagna Lanza, and the other one was Alice Montagna Tossi. SPEAKER 1: The son who died? PHYLLIS: His name was Henry Montagna. SPEAKER 1: I never thought of Henry as an Italian name, and I keep hearing it. PHYLLIS: I thought about that. I thought about that. And knowing my grandparents, I would've thought that they would've named him Henrico, which is Italian for Henry. But on the gravestone, it says Henry. So I was really surprised because that is not an -- well, they do have Henry in Italian. SPEAKER 1: I just interviewed someone with -- a Henry is in their family, too. PHYLLIS: Really? SPEAKER 1: So, okay. So unfortunately, their baby boy died. But you can just continue and tell me what you know about him. PHYLLIS: All right. My grandfather was as an ever-young man as well as through his adulthood, was a very enterprising man. In 1911 he opened the first movie house in Leominster called the Past Time. It was a silent movie house, and he charged 5 cents per person, and he gave away dishes to attract customers. The movie house was located in the old wood block in 5 the center of Leominster in Monument Square, and I imagine it was located there because he lived there with his family on the 3 rd floor. SPEAKER 1: Now, I think it was pretty common for theaters to offer dishes and plates, was it? PHYLLIS: Yep. SPEAKER 1: Do you have any of those original plates? PHYLLIS: No, no, no. Because I wasn't even born. My mother never kept anything, and I don't think Depression glass was in 1911. That was -- Depression glass was 1929, you know, so. But my mother told me this, she said… SPEAKER 1: So this is about 1911 then. PHYLLIS: 1911 when he opened the first movie theater in Leominster called the Past Time. SPEAKER 1: Okay. PHYLLIS: And after the movie house, he went to work for Yale Novelty Manufacturing Company on the corner of Johnson and Lancaster Street in Leominster. And my grandmother also worked there, and they made celluloid hairpins. SPEAKER 1: Now, is this before your mother would've been born? PHYLLIS: My mother was born in 1904. So this was after. SPEAKER 1: Okay. PHYLLIS: I think 1906. I think he was 2 years old when he died. SPEAKER 1: Right, so was he born… PHYLLIS: He was born first; probably 1902. SPEAKER 1: Okay. Working at the Yale Manufacturing Company, and when is this? Did they sell the movie house, or…? PHYLLIS: He would start businesses, prosper, and then sell them. And this is the events, how they transpired, according to my mother. So I don't know who he sold the movie house to, but then he went on to the Yale Novelty. SPEAKER 1: Okay. PHYLLIS: Also worked for the Far Florist Company on Orchard Street, and there he developed a love of flowers and gardens, which would be incorporated 6 into the name of his last endeavor, which was this restaurant, Monty's Garden Restaurant. SPEAKER 1: Now, where did Monty come from? Montagna? PHYLLIS: Okay, that is the last endeavor, and that will explain all the names. Okay, if I can explain them? SPEAKER 1: Okay. PHYLLIS: And getting back to the timeline, he then opened the first pool parlor on Pleasant Street where the day and night store is. And during his ownership of the pool parlor, he promoted wrestling matches at the town hall featuring a man named Jack Morrow. Now, Jack Morrow was Italian, but they Americanized his name. I don't know what his Italian name was. SPEAKER 1: Okay. PHYLLIS: Next business, he started the first bus line in Leominster at the start of Lancaster Street bringing workers down to the viscaloid shop on Lancaster Street. He had an open-bed truck with chairs in the back of it, and he would transport workers that worked in the factory down there. And eventually, if he made more money, he bought buses and had a bus company. The bus company he then sold to his brother Antonio Montagna. SPEAKER 1: I was wondering, did he have a partnership with his brothers when he was doing this? PHYLLIS: No, no, no. He did this all on his own. SPEAKER 1: On his own? PHYLLIS: Yeah. His next venture was an open food store in Monument Square, which is right where Friendly's is about now. And it was called the Montagna Food Company. As the business grew, he became partners with Luigi DiGiovanni, and he sold out to his partner, and the store was eventually to be named the Gloria Chain store, which became a full-service Italian market. SPEAKER 1: The Gloria Change Store? PHYLLIS: Chain.7 SPEAKER 1: Chain. PHYLLIS: Chain, C-H-A-I-N. SPEAKER 1: Where did Gloria come from? PHYLLIS: I have no idea; you'd have to ask descendents of Luigi DiGiovanni. Now, his next venture was selling oil burners in a building at the rear of 35 Central Street. It was called the Rainbow Oil Burner Company. And his future son-in-law, Phillip Lanza worked for him. He then bought the 3-decker building in the front of this 35 rear Central Street. He bought the 3-decker building that faced Central Street, and his family lived on the 3rd floor. The 2nd floor he rented out rooms to roomers, and the first floor he rented out to retail business. Always had an income coming in. And he had a lot of vision and he could foresee in 1933 that the repeal of prohibition was going to happen. So he went out and applied for the first liquor license in Leominster and opened the first restaurant in Leominster called Monty's Garden Restaurant. SPEAKER 1: This is the first restaurant? PHYLLIS: Restaurant, yep. SPEAKER 1: Wow. PHYLLIS: Now, Monty's… SPEAKER 1: Now what year was this? PHYLLIS: 1933. Monty's is short for Montagna; they used to call my grandfather Mr. Monty. And garden was because of the murals he had painted on the walls. And in fact, we still have some of the murals in the old section of the restaurant. He just loved the flowers and gardens. His home on Fort Pawn when he had it built, he had trellises and flowers hanging gardens all over and maintained them mostly himself. SPEAKER 1: Now, did he paint these murals, or he had…? PHYLLIS: He had them painted by a gentleman from Connecticut, and I believe his name is still on the mural, I think. We'd have to go look. Now this restaurant is still in the family, and with the 5th generation great-great 8 granddaughter working here, [Alana Fruschett]. Two of my daughters and one of my sons runs the restaurant. The other children, another son owns his own restaurant in Worcester. SPEAKER 1: And that was Stefano's. PHYLLIS: Stefano's, and my daughter and her husband own the pasta company below the restaurant, and her sister works there. So everyone in my family is in the food industry in one aspect or another. SPEAKER 1: Wow. So this is the same location as 1933, well I can see that it is. PHYLLIS: Yeah. SPEAKER 1: And did you ever think of expanding downstairs, to have the restaurant also downstairs? PHYLLIS: Well, my grandfather never wanted -- everybody's asked, why is the restaurant upstairs? Because he wanted to have retail stores down there to have the income. Plus, there are a lot of taverns located in this area. And he didn't want the people frequenting the taverns to just pop into the restaurant. Going up the stairs kind of prohibited -- it made for selective customers, let's put it that way. Okay? SPEAKER 1: So is this a 2-story building? I guess I didn't pay attention. PHYLLIS: Three-story. SPEAKER 1: Three? So what's above? PHYLLIS: Right now, they're using it for office space and storage. SPEAKER 1: And what was it used for back then? PHYLLIS: They lived on the 3rd floor, my grandparents and my aunt and my mother. Second floor was for roomers. He had tenants, you know, that would rent rooms. SPEAKER 1: On the second, here? PHYLLIS: Yes. SPEAKER 1: In this building? Behind the restaurant, or where? PHYLLIS: You know, this is a 3-story building. SPEAKER 1: Aren't we on the 2nd? PHYLLIS: This is where the roomers were, on this floor. 9 SPEAKER 1: Oh okay, before he opened the restaurant. PHYLLIS: Before he opened the restaurant. Once he opened the restaurant, on the 2nd floor -- he still had roomers on the 3rd floor because by then my aunt and my mother had moved out into their own homes. SPEAKER 1: Okay. PHYLLIS: So they still rented rooms up there, and my grandmother was such a hard worker. She not only helped with the restaurant in cooking and cleaning, she'd have to take care of the rooms of the roomers too, you know? SPEAKER 1: So let's talk a little bit about the boarding, the rooms. Who did they rent these rooms to? PHYLLIS: Well, you know, what I mentioned how when an immigrant comes to an area where there are other relatives or people that they knew in Italy, they want to congregate or relocate in the same area that they do? Well, sometimes they're not necessarily people that have families here. So they didn't have anyone and they didn't know where to go, or where to live, or they didn't have the funds, and people would tell them to go see Mr. Monty, he will help you. So my grandfather rented out rooms to people that -- immigrants from Italy. And some were not immigrants, some were just people that relocated here and they would just say Mr. Montagna has a rooming house, he will help you. You know? And many people came here and rented rooms at one time, just to get started, you know? SPEAKER 1: About how many rooms are we talking about? PHYLLIS: About 4 rooms. SPEAKER 1: Four? PHYLLIS: Four rooms. Once he had the restaurant, now I don't know how many rooms -- there must have been quite a few rooms on the 2nd floor before the restaurant. See, I only have knowledge of the four upstairs. But before them, I have no idea. SPEAKER 1: And now there are offices up there, you said? PHYLLIS: Yeah, yeah.10 SPEAKER 1: So was it basically word of mouth? PHYLLIS: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I can remember when I lived above the restaurant with my family, because I think it was a stopping place for many people because we didn't have to pay rent, and we still had roomers, and I remember the Salvation Army calling a lot of times asking if we had rooms for people that they couldn't house, you know? But after awhile we just stopped doing it because it was too much work. By the time my father took over the restaurant, and my mother -- I remember she had a few roomers, but then by the time -- and then I had, when I lived up there, I took care of some rooms too. But after I moved out, they discontinued having the rooms. SPEAKER 1: Now, did your mother or sister also get involved n the restaurant business? PHYLLIS: Well, my aunt -- no, but her husband did work as a bartender for my grandfather early on in 1930s. SPEAKER 1: I'm not sure, did you give -- you did give me her married name. PHYLLIS: Yes, Tossi. SPEAKER 1: Tossi, okay. So your mother. PHYLLIS: My mother. SPEAKER 1: She worked so hard? PHYLLIS: Well, that was my grandmother. SPEAKER 1: Yes, your grandmother. PHYLLIS: My father also worked for my grandfather as a bartender, and later on becoming the cook. And my mother worked very hard too. She didn't do much down here in the line of cooking, but she cleaned the downstairs, and she cleaned the rooms for the roomers, so she worked hard also. SPEAKER 1: Now your grandfather, was he primarily a manager/owner of this restaurant, or did he actually cook? PHYLLIS: No, he didn't cook. He was out front management, the best salesman you could ever have. He treated his customers like royalty, knew everybody by their name, his old cronies, would pour them extra drinks, you know. 11 He'd be behind the bar most of the time, and that's where his customers wanted to see him, behind the bar. "Oh, here's Mr. Monty. Hi Monty, how you doing? How's this going?" You know, that's part of the out front management, know your customers, treat your customers well. And I have to go into his other life away from the restaurant. He had a very active life, and that is my next segment. SPEAKER 1: Okay, can we still talk about the restaurant a little bit more? PHYLLIS: Sure, sure. SPEAKER 1: Who did he hire as a cook? Was that also a family member? PHYLLIS: No, no, these two gentlemen were from Boston. He hired a Paul [Solafia], and we used to call him Tiny [Bissonet]. Now his descendants are still around as well as Mr. Solafia's descendents, but they have both passed on. And after that, then there was my father in the kitchen, and my father taught my husband what he knows today. And then my husband passed all those learning techniques to my sons and one daughter who worked in the kitchen. And you know, it's been passed down like that, same recipes. SPEAKER 1: Back then was there a specialty that people would come in for? PHYLLIS: I should show you the old menu. SPEAKER 1: Oh yeah. PHYLLIS: Do you want to [show that]? SPEAKER 1: Well we'll look at it after we're done. PHYLLIS: I mean, when you consider spaghetti and meatball and a salad for 50 cents. SPEAKER 1: That would be like a dream come true now, wouldn't it? PHYLLIS: Oh boy, that was wonderful. And don't forget, this was the only restaurant. You know? Maybe they had diners, but this was the only restaurant, and they served Italian and American food. At one point he was serving Chinese food, chop suey, chow mein, and remember the Asian gentleman coming in and delivering his product, and it seemed funny that an Italian restaurant would serve that. But then you think back, there was no other really sit-down nice restaurant. SPEAKER 1: Was there an Asian population that used to come in?12 PHYLLIS: No. SPEAKER 1: So this is just… PHYLLIS: This is, you know, people that were used to going to Boston to get Chinese food, thereby thinking again, you know, why let them go to Boston when they can get it here? My grandfather was always thinking, always thinking. SPEAKER 1: Now, who primarily were the customers? I mean it's my understanding that people back then, let's say Italians, didn't really go out to dinner. Or is that just a myth? PHYLLIS: That's a myth. That's a myth. Many couples today that have passed on used to tell me when I worked here, you know, we got engaged up here in the booth. I presented my wife with her diamond, or I asked her to marry me, and they continue to bring their children and their grandchildren. So it's a tradition, you know? Oh boy, when I was working I would hear many stories from the customers, "Oh, your grandfather did this," or he was that. But to pinpoint people, there were so many, and there were a lot of Italians. SPEAKER 1: There were. PHYLLIS: A lot of Italians, a lot of politicians because my grandfather was involved, not directly with politics but committees, civic committees. But we'll go into that after we finish here. SPEAKER 1: Well I imagine it was sort of exciting back in the early '30s and mid '30s to share the Italian culture with the rest of Leominster. Do you remember ethnic group coming in and maybe being used to that kind of food? PHYLLIS: Well, I really don't want to pinpoint. SPEAKER 1: You don't have to pinpoint particular people. PHYLLIS: Just even particular ethnic backgrounds, you know. But I remember working when I had customers come in. Sugar on the [unintelligible - 00:26:58]. Another time I remember serving—because I waitressed here too—I remember ketchup on their spaghetti and sauce. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't go back to the table, you know. 13 But your Italian people were used to eating food like that, that they would serve here, and American people that weren't familiar with some of the dishes. But once they tasted it, you know, they would always order certain things. And of course the menu items changed over the years. They still served meat, steaks. SPEAKER 1: So did your grandfather introduce that, steak? PHYLLIS: Oh yes. He used to go to Boston, I don't know how many times a week, whereas now with the expressway, and he would go to the butcher shop and he would buy sides of beef and cartons of fruit and cartons of fresh vegetables and bring them back. And I remember going with him when I was a little girl; it was so interesting, you know, and everybody knew him in Boston in the market area. But he could get a better price by doing it that way than going through a third person, you know? A middleman. So you know, I can remember when my father was cooking here seeing him go in the big walk-in cooler and taking a knife and cutting off steak, of a side of beef. Or cutting off a certain portion and making hamburger or a roast or whatever, you know? Those are my memories of the kitchen. SPEAKER 1: Now, did he have maybe a different clientele? Let's say for the bar area, there were kind of regulars there? PHYLLIS: Yeah, oh yeah, yeah, yeah. A lot of people would come in just to have a drink. But these were -- they were not the tavern people that would go for a drink. They'd come in, in suits, and you know, they may have a drink before they went to the movies. See, the movie house was right adjacent to this building, and many people would either come before the movie or after the movies because we were open until two o'clock at that time. SPEAKER 1: Two o'clock in the morning? PHYLLIS: Yep. The only restaurant in Leominster, you're going to stay open for your customers when, you know -- of course the movie house would run two shows, and people would want to eat after the show or before. SPEAKER 1: Would it be a full menu still until two o'clock?14 PHYLLIS: Oh yes, oh yeah. I can remember when my father came into the business, he would tell me it was really hard to work until two o'clock in the morning and then go to bed and get up the next day and work the next day, you know? So when he took it over, he did away with two o'clock. Twelve o'clock. And then when my husband came into the business, it was 11, and then it went to 10. He said this, you know, it's too much. SPEAKER 1: I was just reading that Americans in particular, they're getting up earlier, they're going to bed earlier. So do you see that? PHYLLIS: Well, yes. SPEAKER 1: I mean, not necessarily not to go to dinner. PHYLLIS: Well yes, we do. Because your dinner hour is -- you have your early birds at four o'clock; those are the ones that go to bed at eight. And then about 8:30 it dies down, and you'll have your stragglers who are coming in after shopping, or a movie will come in, and we're open until 10 for that. SPEAKER 1: It's so different let's say in Europe where things are just heating up then, right? PHYLLIS: I went to Spain and things -- you know, 10 o'clock was very early for them to go out to eat. You know? And breakfast, you couldn't get any breakfast until 11. SPEAKER 1: It's so different. PHYLLIS: Unless you just wanted a coffee. SPEAKER 1: So first of all, was the restaurant set up in this way? PHYLLIS: No, this room here was always here, but there were booths all along the wall. They remodeled it to make it a banquet room, and the addition -- oh goodness, I can't think of it. They put the addition on -- my daughter would know, from seating maybe 50 people, we expanded it to… SPEAKER 1: When he opened it he could seat about 50? PHYLLIS: Well yeah, yes, yes. I'd say that, 50, 60. But when my husband and I took it over, our business was booming so much that people -- there was a 2-hour wait. SPEAKER 1: Now when was this?15 PHYLLIS: 1960, when my husband -- well, we knew, first of all we asked our children before we think of an addition, are you willing to stay on and work? And they said yes. And we went on and added a whole new kitchen and a whole new dining room, keeping the same décor in the booths that our customers insisted upon. They said if you don't have these booths in your new section, we're not coming back, you know? And they were so happy to see that we did. SPEAKER 1: There's so much more pride… PHYLLIS: Oh God. SPEAKER 1: So now your grandmother, how involved was she in this enterprise? PHYLLIS: Well, she went right along with my grandfather. She helped cook, she helped cleaned the downstairs for the downstairs restaurant, and she maintained the cleaning in the rooms of the roomers. So she was busy, she was a hard worker, a very hard worker. SPEAKER 1: So your grandfather, he must have been satisfied finally because this is his -- was this his last endeavor? Or was that… PHYLLIS: Well, it was his last business endeavor. SPEAKER 1: Business? PHYLLIS: Yeah, once he moved from above the restaurant, he built a home on Fort Pond, and he was more or less in retirement. He would still come in to check and make sure everything was okay, that my father was doing what he wanted my father to do; but eventually he became sickly, and that's when he stopped. SPEAKER 1: How many days was it open? PHYLLIS: He had it open seven days a week. SPEAKER 1: Wow. PHYLLIS: But this is my grandfather the businessman, you know? You have customers, they want to eat, you open seven days a week. SPEAKER 1: So I don't imagine you had a big Italian population for Sundays, or did you?16 PHYLLIS: No, it was mostly the other ethnic backgrounds that came in on Sunday. Because, you know, the Italians always gathered at their grandmother's house or their mother's house for Sunday dinner. It was, you know, a lot of loners, a lot of other ethnic background couples that would come as a treat to go out on Sunday, you know? SPEAKER 1: Do you think this was all of his employees back in 1933? PHYLLIS: Oh yeah, yeah. SPEAKER 1: And did they typically stay with him for a long time? PHYLLIS: Well, I was born in '34, the only ones I don't remember, this gentleman, this gentleman, the rest I remember. SPEAKER 1: So the two… PHYLLIS: I don't remember their names except her. They stayed. Her name is Gabrielle [Grenash]. SPEAKER 1: Grenash? PHYLLIS: I don't remember the others. SPEAKER 1: So it looks like two, four, twelve, eleven to twelve employees. PHYLLIS: Yeah. SPEAKER 1: And I think marking before the tape was running, but can you just explain those costumes a little bit that the waitresses wore? PHYLLIS: Well, in Italy, each little province or town had their own native dress, and I think he probably wanted to incorporate that with the red, the white, and the green colors of the Italian flag. So where my grandfather came from, the women wore these vests, and it was like a -- what's the word? SPEAKER 1: Bra? PHYLLIS: Bustier? SPEAKER 1: Oh yeah. PHYLLIS: You know, similar to that with black and white peasant blouse. Their hair in some kind of black scarf. And I'm sure it was similar to that where my grandfather came from, and he wanted something that was going to be reminiscent of Italy and with the Italian colors as well. Now, I don't know if I still have [age groups]. The first one did go into something similar to 17 that, trying to keep a tradition, but then it just became too cost-effective, you know, [unintelligible - 00:36:47] them and launder them and everything. SPEAKER 1: I'm thinking of keeping them clean. PHYLLIS: Well, yeah. SPEAKER 1: Because that looks difficult to do. PHYLLIS: Yeah. SPEAKER 1: There's so much white. Now, was he open for lunch also? PHYLLIS: Oh yeah. SPEAKER 1: For lunch and dinner. PHYLLIS: Just lunch and dinner seven days a week. Then as a new generation took over, they'd cut the hours down, although my father did keep seven days a week. When my husband and I took it over, we decided on Tuesday to close, on Tuesday because all the other restaurants were closed on Monday, so why not stay open on Monday? SPEAKER 1: So you have some of your grandfather's marketing expertise, evidently. So tell me what a day in his life was like owning the restaurant. PHYLLIS: Well, it was mostly -- you know he'd come in to his office, he'd go over the books, he'd do his bookkeeping, you know, his daily bookkeeping. And then he would take my grandmother and then go into Boston and spend the day in Boston purchasing the items I told you. And going to visit other friends, and then coming back so he could work the bar at night. SPEAKER 1: This is obviously after he became successful, but that's when you really remembered anyway. PHYLLIS: Yeah, I don't remember him working at the floor. I have pictures of him -- or in any other businesses he had, I wasn't around. And you know, it seems as though they didn't save too much then, like pictures and things. It was hard to come by some of these pictures that I do have. Now my children are all clamoring for them, you know? They want to carry on this heritage, and I'm so glad I talked to my mother. SPEAKER 1: Oh, I know. You have…18 PHYLLIS: So glad I talked to my mother about all this. SPEAKER 1: So what's the day for you like? Was it similar in any way? PHYLLIS: Well, when I was working here, I just worked the weekends because they were the busiest, keeping in mind I had six children at home [unintelligible - 00:39:13], and I'd be working. It was so busy, so very, very busy. Very stressful. Worrying about my children, are they okay, my teenagers, what are they doing, are they home on time, getting ready to seat the next customers, getting a call from home, it was horrible, it was horrible, that aspect of it. But the other aspect, the gratifying aspect was seeing customers that were older than me coming back and telling me stories about my grandfather, "Oh, Mr. Monty did this," or, "We've been coming here for 25 years," and knowing your customer by name. You know? They loved that if you recognized them, it meant something to them. And my husband was even busier than I was. He would be working 60 hours a week, it was hard for him. And that's when he decided to start cutting down the hours, the night hours, closing hours, and closing one day a week. He says, "I need that one day—not to relax, just to get things done," to have improvements done, or repairs done, or certain cleaning done to the stove, and things like that. He needed an extra day; and on his day off he was here all day. SPEAKER 1: Actually, you both talked about this. So you're glad that you continued with the business? PHYLLIS: Yes in one aspect because it's a two-sided feeling. The good side was it provided us with a very excellent way of life. Secondly, the other side of the coin, we had no family life. You know how the Italians get together on Sunday? We didn't have that. My husband was always working. So my father, who loved -- I'm an only child, so he just loved being with my children. He would take us out to dinner with all my children, so they got used to going out to eat very 19 young and being very critical of the menu and, you know. Being in the food business, you know, they grew up that way. Holidays my husband insisted, when he had the business, we close on Christmas, close on Thanksgiving, and close on Easter. We were open for New Year's Day, but you know, you had everybody that had hangovers come in on New Year's Day, so my husband said, we're closing New Year's Day, too. And that was really the only time we could get together as a family. So you have your advantages and you have your disadvantages, and you try to mesh them together. SPEAKER 1: Now, does that mean your grandfather was open during Christmas Day, Thanksgiving Day? PHYLLIS: Always the businessman. I remember coming up here into this room having Christmas dinner with my grandparents and my mother, and myself and my aunt and her family, and my father having to cook, you know, for us, for our customers that came in. You know, and he'd run in, you know, because he was busy in the kitchen. I always remembered that. I remember one Thanksgiving I had it by myself in a booth, I felt so terrible. Because my father was working, and my mother, she was upstairs, she didn't want to come down, and I don't know where the rest of the family was then, you know? But I remember being alone then. SPEAKER 1: Did that in any way become a stimulus for you to have six children? PHYLLIS: Well, it provided the stimulus to have as much family get-togethers as possible. You know, there's a lot of family time, let's all be together. If you want to bring your friends over that's okay, but this is our time. Tuesdays, Tuesday night it was a special time; either we went out to eat as a family, or we had people over. But that was our Sunday dinner, like -- because everybody would be home, my husband; and I would say don't plan anything for Tuesday night. That's our family night, you know? And I feel badly because today my children have to work around the schedule here, so they guard their time-20 off very, very much. So, "Ma, this is my only day off, you know? I'm going to do this; I'm going to spend time with my family." So it's hard even to get together now with them because they're, you know, six children. My son is working hard at his restaurant, my daughter downstairs who works all week long wants her Sundays to herself. In that aspect I'm sorry that we're not an average Italian family. But on the other hand, it's providing us with other things in life. SPEAKER 1: I'm sure you did the right things only because your children are in the business. PHYLLIS: Oh yes, oh yes. We provided a business for four of our children who -- my son also worked here, but then he wanted to have his own restaurant, which I think is wonderful. Now he knows how hard his father worked. You know, when I go to visit him, he'll say, "I can't get everything done. "This has happened, "that, and then one thing or another, and I laugh and I look at him and I say, "Think about your father, what he went through." SPEAKER 1: Your mother saw her father work like that. PHYLLIS: Yeah. SPEAKER 1: You saw your father. PHYLLIS: And she was used to it by the time her husband was in the business; she was used to seeing her father work all those hours. So she didn't -- I never heard her complaining that much about my father having to go into work certain nights, days, holidays, because she was brought up in that. Although I saw it, and I accepted it, I didn't like it. But I accepted it because it was our way of life, you know? But now the restaurant has provided my husband and I with so much opportunity, to travel and to do the things that we couldn't do, to have a social life, to have friends, and you know, we're appreciating that now. SPEAKER 1: Good. Your mother, your grandmother, you? PHYLLIS: Well, my grandmother did. I remember going to visit and staying with her at their home on Fort Pond, I used to love to go there because she would cook my favorite foods, like pancakes from scratch and different kind of 21 pastas, and it was nice being there. And we were right on the pond and I would bring all my friends over, and she'd feed everybody and we'd go swimming. My mother cooked when she lived in her own home, but when she moved above the restaurant, she didn't cook. "You hungry? Go ask your father for something to eat," you know? We didn't have meals together. My daughters all cook, are wonderful cooks. The one that has the store downstairs, out of this world, she's fabulous. But they all cook. And both my sons, even the son that works here, he cooks. So it's all in the food industry throughout the whole family. SPEAKER 1: Now I see… PHYLLIS: Oh yes, the veal parmesan was a specialty. SPEAKER 1: Was that offered every day? PHYLLIS: Yes. You know, as the different owners took leadership of the restaurant, they brought in different foods, you know, different menus. My children today have much more on their menu than we had only for the fact that preparation time, you know, you can only do so much. You can't be making these very fancy dishes to order because we had a small kitchen and you couldn't do that. When they expanded, then they started expanding their menu. I will show you the original menu that's on the wall in the waiting room. SPEAKER 1: Was Friday a big fish day? PHYLLIS: Oh yeah, yes. He also went in and bought his -- I'm sorry, he bought his fish fresh in Boston also, transporting it back and forth. You know, he made sure he'd be there first thing on Thursday to pick up his fish supply, scallop, shrimp, haddock. SPEAKER 1: That leads me to another question. I was wondering if Fridays are still a big fish day. PHYLLIS: Oh yeah, oh yes, yeah. You'd be surprised, especially with today's customers are so health conscious. They'll have fish any time during the week, not only on Friday because it's, you know, it's good for you. So we 22 have a few specialties during the week of fish as well as our fish menu ever, not just on Fridays. SPEAKER 1: Is that different? I'm wondering, do people really primarily fish only on Fridays back then? And now it's more [accepted]? PHYLLIS: I have to think. You know, fish was very inexpensive years ago. Today fish is as expensive as steak, you know, certain types of fish. So I would assume fish could've been on the Italian table more than once a week if they could afford to buy it. You know, there was only one fish market in Leominster at the time, and I still remember my own family having fish more than once a week on Fridays. But I can't speak for others. You know, with the sauce, you can make a marinara -- what do you call it? I need to get -- a certain kind of sauce made with squid. SPEAKER 1: I don't know what it's called. PHYLLIS: I can't think of the name, senior moment. I'll think of it. And that's made with sauce. So Italians would have that with pasta, or they would make, good pasta. Anything -- clam sauce, they would make. And that wasn't just on Friday; that was anytime, you know, that the mother wanted to cook it. SPEAKER 1: Now did you call -- do you just call sauce "sauce"? I mean did you ever call it gravy? PHYLLIS: No. SPEAKER 1: Why is that? PHYLLIS: I don't know. But any Italian that's Italian calls it sauce. Anybody else, if they're not Italian, calls it gravy. When people say I want gravy, if somebody says gravy they bring them out brown gravy. SPEAKER 1: So how have things changed over the years? Let's say the clientele. PHYLLIS: The clientele changes with the times. I remember when I worked I had a lot of yuppies, that they wanted to go out; and no matter what the cost, they wanted good food. And they expected for you to provide that with a smile and excellent service, and then they were yours forever. I remember that in particular, a lot of young people, young professionals…23 SPEAKER 1: What year, about? Oh, they have to come. PHYLLIS: Do they have to come? SPEAKER 2: Yeah they have to -- unless you guys want to go into the lounge. PHYLLIS: Go into the lounge. SPEAKER 1: Sure. PHYLLIS: And then he had a mahogany bar, a 10-foot mahogany bar. But when that 4th generation came in, they decided it would be a business move, a better business move, to increase the size of the other dining room to have large parties come in. So, you know, the little bit of business the bar did there, they decided to take it out. SPEAKER 1: So the 4th generation is your children. PHYLLIS: Yes. SPEAKER 1: And you said the 5th is working too, your grandchildren? PHYLLIS: One of my daughters Darla is waitressing here. Who knows what she wants? It's a start. They all started working here when they were young, all my children. As soon as they were tall enough to wash dishes, they were behind there washing dishes. And then they learned how to make the salads and work the kitchen line. SPEAKER 1: How has the restaurant business changed over the years? Oh, first of all we were talking about the clientele and how you mentioned the people who were coming in. PHYLLIS: Yeah, that I thought were yuppies. SPEAKER 1: Yuppies. And I asked you what year. PHYLLIS: '79 is when we remodeled. SPEAKER 1: Remodeled? PHYLLIS: And enlarged the restaurant. SPEAKER 1: So how have people's expectations changed when they come out to eat? PHYLLIS: I think they're more knowledgeable today. Even then in 1979 people knew what they wanted. They wanted good quality, and they let me know about it. Whereas years and years ago, they just took whatever you put in front of them and were happy. They never would complain. Not that we 24 didn't give them good service or good food, but I note the clientele today are very discriminating, if that's the correct word. They know what they want and you gotta provide it. SPEAKER 1: I noticed the sign when we just walked in here to the lounge is catering, you offer catering now? PHYLLIS: Yeah, they just started doing that. You know, a lot of the restaurants are doing that now. People would come up and -- see, we don't deliver, but people would come up and say, well I want such and such for a group of 30. And we would suggest certain foods, certain sizes; do you want it hot or do you want it oven ready? You know, it's a big help. A lot of people -- you know, more people are eating out. There's two workers in the family all the time and they don't have time to come home and cook. So anything that makes life easier for them, and that's why the store downstairs, she has all prepared foods that people can buy by the pound and go home and heat it up and have a meal. SPEAKER 1: But do you do a take-out? PHYLLIS: Oh yeah. SPEAKER 1: When did that really start, do you think? PHYLLIS: Forever. SPEAKER 1: Forever? PHYLLIS: When my grandfather had it, he was -- I remember having take-out, and the customers that were shut-ins would call a taxi and call here and say, I'd like such and such, and the taxi is picking it up. SPEAKER 1: So you went from only one restaurant, you're the only restaurant in town, so now there's so many. PHYLLIS: Five or six Italian restaurants. And we know the owners very well, because they're all mostly Italians other than the ones that are in Fitchburg. And we're all very friendly with them, you know. SPEAKER 1: Do you try to offer something different than let's say their restaurants offer?25 PHYLLIS: Not really. We go our own way and do our own thing. They're always looking for new menus, new preparation of foods, different foods introduced, you know, all the specialties, that they will try different. LINDA: Hi, I'm Linda. SPEAKER 1: Linda. PHYLLIS: She's interviewing for Fitchburg State College. SPEAKER 1: We're almost done. SPEAKER 2: All right. Did you want to look at that box on my truck so I can leave it here? Because he's worried about these two. PHYLLIS: Nothing but good about you, honey. SPEAKER 1: A different type of menu. PHYLLIS: Menus. People are starting to come in. SPEAKER 1: Let me ask you about your grandfather as far as he was civic-minded. PHYLLIS: Yeah. SPEAKER 1: Okay. PHYLLIS: They would ask him to be their Marshall of their mini-parade, and I remember seeing a picture of my grandfather on a horse leading a parade. SPEAKER 1: Maybe the historical society has that. PHYLLIS: Maybe. I know they have a wonderful film that they just put on video that I was asked to go and see, and my grandfather is in many of the scenes, and my grandmother as well. I could not believe my grandmother was in them. SPEAKER 1: How exciting. PHYLLIS: It was. And the most exciting part for me was the last shot. They had shots of all the children in all the schools, and these Lancaster Street schools, it showed a shot of all the children, and of course they put the nursery school children in the front, there I was. I couldn't believe it. And I knew it was me. I knew it because I said I had a coat just like that. And I go, "Oh my God, that's me." It was so interesting. SPEAKER 1: Now, who produced that?26 PHYLLIS: It's the historical society. They showed it to the public, I had a private viewing, and then they showed it to the public and as soon as they get enough money, they're going to mass produce them to sell to different people. SPEAKER 1: Was this related to Italians or just Leominster in general? PHYLLIS: Leominster in general. It had pictures of the restaurant, scenes of the waitresses serving customers, my grandfather standing there, my grandfather behind the bar with my father and my uncle. They had a shot of the walk-in cooler with the beef hanging. I think it was a promotional film depicting what's in Leominster because certain businesses were depicted also, like Fuller Lumber Company that no longer exists, shots of them; DuPont; people coming out of work. So it looked like a promotional thing. It showed city council and my grandfather was on a lot of committees. So anyway getting back to -- he was a founding father of Saint Anna's Church. He served on many committees, and one of which was the selective service board, otherwise known as the draft board. And I remember hearing how difficult it was for him to draft some of the sons of his closest friends, draft them to go to war. It was very difficult for him. And as I said before, he helped many immigrant Italian families to get established once they arrived in Leominster; and if anyone needed financial help for a business or money to send their son to college, they would always come and ask my grandfather for a loan. And you know, he would help many Italian families become assimilated in the American culture; and as a result he became godfather to many Italian sons and daughters, many, because that was a note of compliment to someone to ask them to be godparent to their child. And as I said, he was a man ahead of his time with his wisdom, his vision, his kindness and generosity. And that's how we'll always remember him. SPEAKER 1: He died when you were in your 30s or so?27 PHYLLIS: No, I was married and had children. He died in 1960. My husband was working at the restaurant. We were living above the restaurant and I had three children. SPEAKER 1: But the point is you really got to know him. PHYLLIS: Oh yes, yes. I'd like to think I was one of his favorites. I wasn't afraid of him. He was a very stern man. He seemed stern to all the grandchildren, but he really was an old softie. And I'd always -- when I was away at school, when I was at private girl's school, and I'd come home, and I'd always want to be with him, or I would like pestering him, you know, and he would make like I was pestering him, but really not, you know? And I used to kid with him, and I used to play with his single strand of hair that he had, that you could curl it, and he'd let me do it, you know? But the others never got close to him because they thought he was so stern, but he wasn't. I'll always remember him. SPEAKER 1: You know, a question comes to mind, because usually I ask people if it was important for them to marry Italian. PHYLLIS: Yes, it was. SPEAKER 1: But in your instance I'm wondering how important it was to marry someone who liked the restaurant business. PHYLLIS: Well, when I first met my husband, that had no bearing whatsoever how I became falling in love with my husband, because his parents also owned a variety store/restaurant in Leominster, and he worked there. So in 1960 after we came back from Italy—because he was in the service—he had a decision to make whether to stay in the service and go to Korea, or get out of the service and either take over his father's business or take over my father's business, and he chose this restaurant. SPEAKER 1: And briefly about the last name Caligaris. You said it's Italian. PHYLLIS: It is. If you're in Italy, it's spelled with a C. In Greece, it's spelled with a K because there's no C in the Greek alphabet and there's no K in the Italian alphabet. And we assumed that it was an intermarriage between 28 some Greeks, you know. The Caligaris originated in the southern part of Italy, but my husband's relatives came from northern Italy; the [Piedmont] area, which is not in Italy. We have Turin and Milano, so you can see they intermarried and then they moved to northern Italy. And his family had vineyards in the province of Asti, where they make Asti Spumante. They used to make barberra wine, red wine. It's interesting going there to see the oxen come up the hill loaded with mounds of grapes. People would handpick the grapes. I remember my mother with the scissors, snipping off the grapes and putting them in the basket. [Unintelligible – 01:06:20] SPEAKER 1: Your grandfather was the founder of Saint Anna's, was he a religious man? PHYLLIS: Yes. He had the -- what do I want to say? The degree, the bishop Evans degree in the Knights of Columbus; it's one of the highest degrees you can get. And he was very active with the Knights of Columbus. Very religious, very generous to the church. SPEAKER 1: What would he think of the business today? Let's say he walked up the stairs like I just did. PHYLLIS: I often think about that, and I would say, if only my grandfather lived, you know, to see his different generations, what they've done to the restaurant and how they've improved on it and how his grandchildren and great grandchildren and great-great grandchild have still maintained ties to the restaurant, that would please him so much. SPEAKER 1: He would be shocked by the way food is prepared now? PHYLLIS: No, because my grandfather, as I said, is before his time. He knows there's always improvements. You have to be better and best yourself, so he would understand this. You know, he wasn't set in his ways. No, he would be very proud, very proud. He would be very proud that the new section still maintained the atmosphere of the old. He would be the happiest to know it was still family that was running the restaurant. SPEAKER 1: One more question, what does it mean to be Italian to you?29 PHYLLIS: We have such a proud heritage. I can't imagine being anything else than Italian. We're a very warm people, loving, family-oriented, giving. We understand the plight and unfortunate incidents of other ethnic people because we were in their place at one time, you know, and I think that helps us to understand the other ethnic backgrounds. I think being Italian has given me a wonderful sense of different types of food, not only Italian food but other foods that we would be willing to try, because it would be different. I'm sure you've heard of the saying Italians live to eat, not eat to live. And that is so true, so true. The first thing someone comes to your house, sit down, "Have this, have that," you know, that's our first thing that comes to mind is food. It's a big part of our life, a part of our heritage. Unfortunately the younger people don't have the time—let's put it that way—to become involved where they can be with fellow Italians like the Italian center down on Lancaster Street where we are members of and we have social gatherings with a lot of other Italians. You know? And it reinforces our heritage. Unfortunately the younger people don't do that. So consequently what's going to happen, the heritage, it's going to lose its meaning, you know? And there's so many intermarriages that it's thinning out, you know? My generation, they really would've liked you to marry someone of your ethnic background, which I did. The generation before mine, it was insisted upon. You marry your own. You know? Like every other ethnic background went the same way. But today's generation, it doesn't make any difference. SPEAKER 1: Did it make a difference with your children's generation? PHYLLIS: No, no. They were the ones that intermarried other backgrounds. I have -- let's see, one child that married a half-Italian, that's the best we could get. She was half-Italian. And all the rest married, you know, French, or Irish, Yankee or whatever. 30 And you know, they adapt to our ways. They learn how to eat the foods that we eat, albeit it was very foreign to them. But now they love it. And I have one French son-in-law and he keeps reminding me, "Oh Ma, remember when you put that on the table for the first time and I didn't know what it was? And now I love it." SPEAKER 1: Now, were the spouses involved with the restaurant? PHYLLIS: At some point as an extra job, you know, bartending, one thing or another, you know? The wife would bartender or waitress. You know, that was just as extra money, not really -- the family really was the mainstay. They managed the restaurant and manned the restaurant. It's best not to have the in-laws on any decision. It has to be family, and they have to get along. They make a big effort. SPEAKER 1: Do they? PHYLLIS: They make a very big effort to get along. They have meetings. If anything happens they discuss it, which is good. You just can't have siblings run a restaurant and they're not happy about it, and it festers and festers, and -- no. That's why it's so out of the ordinary to have a restaurant go five generations. And if Alana is really not in a management end of it, who knows what she wants to do? Taking business administration, so who knows what she wants to do? SPEAKER 1: Are there any restaurants in the state, let's say, that span five generations? PHYLLIS: Not that I know of. SPEAKER 1: That really is amazing. PHYLLIS: What happens with people -- like in the Boston area, I know the Union House is an old restaurant. They claim to be the first restaurant in Massachusetts, and sure, if it's still owned by the same owner. SPEAKER 1: I thought it was sold. PHYLLIS: It could be. SPEAKER 1: I don't know. PHYLLIS: That never entered our mind. SPEAKER 1: Never?31 PHYLLIS: Never. SPEAKER 1: Even now? PHYLLIS: Never. Never entered our mind. SPEAKER 1: What was your hardest experience? PHYLLIS: Working those weekends when my children were home, worrying about them, not being able to be there to go over, you know, what was going on in my house. I found that very difficult. The stress working here -- I loved being—I'm a people person—I loved being with my customers, interacting with them, hearing if they enjoyed it, if they didn't enjoy it, why. But the stress was the cause of a heart attack for me. So after then my children became really involved and said, "Look, you just go up in the office and do a few things, and between the four of us we'll take care of the downstairs." And then eventually after awhile, they could handle everything. So I didn't have to work. SPEAKER 1: So what role do you play now? Do you play any in the restaurant? PHYLLIS: Nope. I come in, see my children on Friday, "Hi, how are you? How are you doing? How is this one doing? What's up?" and this and that, and just to keep in contact, go downstairs and see my two daughters. Once in awhile I'll go into Worcester to see my son and his wife and four children. SPEAKER 1: Do they live in Worcester? PHYLLIS: Yes, yeah, yeah. I'm enjoying life now. My husband and I are really enjoying life and we're reaping the rewards of hard work at the restaurant. And I know someday my children will too. They believe in more -- other management, other family members being managers, thereby giving them more time off to be with their families. They still work the weekends, but not all of them. One will be here. And then they rotate, so they all have time off, which is good. With my husband and I, I had no sisters, and his brother has another profession, so it was kind of all up to us to do it. SPEAKER 1: Please tell me now, your two daughters that work downstairs, that own that -- what's it called?32 PHYLLIS: The [Pasta] Company. My daughter, Sandra [Osborne] and her husband Richard own that. And I'm going to have to take you down there to show you. SPEAKER 1: Yeah, I want to see that. PHYLLIS: And just recently her sister came to work for her, and it's so wonderful. SPEAKER 1: And what's her name? PHYLLIS: Lynn. SPEAKER 1: Lynn? PHYLLIS: It's so wonderful that she's working for her sister just because family is there. When my daughter's not there she knows her sister is, and all will be run right. SPEAKER 1: And now the children up here, what are their names? PHYLLIS: Leslie. SPEAKER 1: Leslie. PHYLLIS: There's Dean. And they all have their own department that they run. Leslie is the -- she assists, manager, bookkeeper. Dean is the out front manager, hiring, firing waitresses, training them. Brian does the bar and hiring the bartenders and the cooks, overseeing the kitchen, at times, cooking himself, dishwashers. You know, it's divided up nicely, but at one point I was doing it all. My husband was doing the bookwork, but I was doing the hiring and firing of everybody, and it was so stressful. SPEAKER 1: And Steven is at Stefano's. PHYLLIS: Yeah. And, you know, his wife helps him. She has her own teaching job, but she helped him on the weekends, and his oldest daughter works on Saturday because it's that busy, as a waitress. And he was telling me that she knows the business already, that she could manage that business. So I can foresee his children going right through his business, which is -- it's good. You know, there's nothing like having family there. SPEAKER 1: That's right. Thank you, is there anything else you'd like to add? PHYLLIS: No, I think I covered my grandfather's life pretty much.33 SPEAKER 1: He sounds like a wonderful man. PHYLLIS: Wasn't he? SPEAKER 1: Remarkable. PHYLLIS: A remarkable person, you know? And my son said to me the other day -- he was interviewed by Maria Populous, she has the "Cooking with Maria." SPEAKER 1: Oh, okay. PHYLLIS: And they did an hour-segment on Stefano's and they interviewed him. At the initial interview, he said how disappointed he was that he never got to meet who all started this, you know? Shot of him cooking and doing his specialty, what he liked, and then his other two chefs. It was great. I was so proud of him. SPEAKER 1: So proud of your past, and it sounds like you're so proud of your future. PHYLLIS: Oh yeah, I've often said I want to be in the know. You know, when you look in the world today, you always have to be thankful for what you have because things could've been -- my parents had a good life, my father and mother, well, they worked hard. They worked very, very hard. SPEAKER 2: I'm putting my [unintelligible - 01:19:40] so don't worry about it. PHYLLIS: Okay dear. My children, they'll have a good life, because they married men who have good businesses, and they'll support them with a good life. So I can rest knowing that all my…/AT/pa/tf/es

Den Kern der hier vorliegenden Arbeit bildet die Gliederung der Keramikfunde von drei Siedlungshügeln aus den Tonebenen (auch firki genannt) des südwestlichen Tschadbeckens Nordost- Nigerias. Obwohl das Gebiet in den 60er Jahren bereits archäologisch erschlossen wurde, waren die keramikchronologischen Aspekte nur oberflächlich abgehandelt worden. Ziel der Arbeit war somit die Erstellung einer grundlegenden Keramikchronologie anhand der sehr umfangreichen Fundmengen aus den Siedlungshügeln Kursakata, Mege und Ndufu. Ihre Stratigraphien erlaubten es, eine Keramikchronologie für die letzten 3000 Jahre zu erstellen. Das Gebiet der dem Tschadsee vorgelagerten firki-Tonebenen konnte erst ab 3000 BP besiedelt werden, wie die C14-Datierungen der Fundplätze bezeugen. Vorher war der auch als Chad Lagoonal Complex bezeichnete Raum von den Wassern des Mega-Tschadsees bedeckt. Diese sogenannte 3000- Jahresgrenze gilt aber nur für die firki-Region, denn in den westlich angrenzenden Sandebenen (Bama Deltaic Complex) war eine Besiedlung um 1000 Jahre früher möglich. Das Siedlungsmaterial der drei Hügel wurde mittels Veränderungen in der Keramik in Bezug auf Verzierung und Form sowie mehrerer C14-Daten in verschiedene Perioden gegliedert: Later Stone Age (1000-500 cal BC), Early Iron Age (500 cal BC-500 cal AD), Late Iron Age (500- 1600 cal AD), Historisch (16.-19 Jh. AD), Subrezent (19.-20. Jh. AD). Later Stone Age und Early Iron Age zeigen in der Keramikentwicklung eine Früh- und Spätphase. Den wichtigsten chronologischen Faktor bilden die Verzierungstechniken, denn vom Later Stone Age bis zur subrezenten Periode ist eine Abnahme von unverzierten Scherben im Verhältnis zu verzierten Scherben zu beobachten, d. h. größere Flächen wurden auf der Keramik verziert. Der Keramikhorizont von Ritz-, Stich- und Wiegebandtechnik im Later Stone Age wandelt sich über das Early Iron Age zu einem Matten- und Roulettehorizont schließlich zu einem Roulettehorizont im Late Iron Age. Den Entwicklungen in der Verzierung lassen sich Veränderungen bei den Gefäßformen gegenüberstellen, die sich von geschlossenen zu offenen Formen wandeln. Das Later Stone Age ist durch Kümpfe, dagegen das Early Iron Age durch Töpfe geprägt. Offene Schalen-Schüsseln bestimmen das Gefäßinventar ab dem Late Iron Age, aber auch verschiedene neue Gefäßtypen wie So-pots, Dreifußgefäße, Gefäße mit flachem Boden sowie solche mit langen konischem Rand treten jetzt in Erscheinung. Die zunehmende Bedeutung der Verzierungstechniken Matte und Roulette in den Fundplätzen spiegelt sich in ihrer Variationsbreite wider. Einzelne Matten- und Roulettetypen nehmen die Stellung von Leitformen ein. Im Later Stone Age sind nur Randparallele/Diagonale Geflechte und kombinierte Roulettes (cord wrapped stick roulette) vorhanden. Ab dem Early Iron Age wird das Formenspektrum erweitert. Zwirnbindige Geflechte und gezwirnte Schnurroulettes (twisted string roulette) bilden die charakteristischen Arten in der Frühphase des Early Iron Age, aber ab der Spätphase des Early Iron Age gewinnen die kombinierten Roulettes (cord-wrapped stick with spacing roulette) wieder an Bedeutung. Danach treten nur noch Roulettearten neu hinzu. Im Late Iron Age ist es das Schnitzroulette (carved roulette) und gegen Ende des Late Iron Age, aber vor allem ab der historischen Periode das gezwirnte Bandroulette (twisted strip roulette). Anders als bei den Roulettetechniken ist das Vorkommen von Matten an bestimmte Herstellungstechniken von Gefäßen gebunden, vorausgesetzt die Matten wurden nicht nach der Herstellung in die Oberfläche des Gefäßes eingeklopft. Ihr flächendeckender oder auf das Gefäßunterteil beschränkter Auftrag auf der Keramik der untersuchten Fundplätzen deutet auf die Anwendung von Treibtechnik zur Herstellung der Gefäße hin. Die begrenzte Handhabung der Matten und ihre primär technische Bedeutung (Oberflächenbehandlung) spielten vermutlich eine Rolle bei ihrer Verdrängung durch die Roulettetechnik. Insgesamt zeigt die chronologische Entwicklung der Keramik, daß die Tonebenen ohne längere Unterbrechung kontinuierlich besiedelt waren. Der Übergang von einer Periode zur nächsten ist zwar durch Veränderungen im Keramikmaterial gekennzeichnet, es werden aber immer auch verschiedene Merkmale aus der vorangegangenen Periode übernommen. Am markantesten stellt sich der Übergang vom Later Stone Age zum Early Iron Age dar. Hier finden Entwicklungen in der Keramik statt, die heute noch ihren Niederschlag (Roulettetechnik) finden. Die politischen Veränderungen im Gebiet der firki zu Beginn der sogenannten historischen Periode (Integration in das Kanem-Bornu-Reich) fallen keramiktypologisch betrachtet weniger ins Gewicht, d. h. die bestehende Keramiktradition wurde nicht vollständig durch eine andere ersetzt. Das Keramikmaterial aus den firki-Tonebenen Nordost-Nigerias zeigt, wie zu erwarten, die größten Übereinstimmungen zu dem anderer Fundplätze aus den Tonebenen der heute angrenzenden Staaten Kamerun und Tschad. Mit den Fundinventaren aus der südlich angrenzenden Mandara-Region in Kamerun und Nigeria haben unsere Keramikinventare die Entwicklung zu vorwiegend Rouletteverzierter Keramik (genauer gesagt Schnurroulette) in der Eisenzeit gemeinsam. In der nördlichen Mandara-Region scheint die Keramikentwicklung allerdings statischer verlaufen zu sein, da hier die markanten Veränderungen aus der firki während der Eisenzeit fehlen. Dennoch läßt das Keramikmaterial auf Beziehungen zwischen beiden Regionen schließen, die nach der Fundlage im Handel von Steinen und vermutlich auch Eisenerzen und Metallobjekten bestanden. Ebenso ist die politische Entwicklung in den Tonebenen (Integration in das Kanem-Bornu Reich) eng mit der in der nördlichen Mandara-Region (Bildung des Wandala-Reiches) verknüpft, was sich auch im Keramikmaterial widerspiegelt. Dagegen offenbaren die Fundstellen des östlichen Tschadbeckens in der Republik Tschad gänzlich andere Keramiktraditionen. Typische Keramikelemente aus der firki treten dort erst später oder gar nicht auf. Die Integration der firki Nordost-Nigerias in das Kanem-Bornu-Reich stellt sich als eine Verbreitung bestimmter Keramikelemente (twisted strip roulette, Sgraffito) westlich des Tschadsees (Yobe Valley) weiter nach Süden dar, wobei diese Keramikmerkmale von der autochthonen Bevölkerung westlich des Tschadsees schon vor der Ankunft der Kanuri verwendet wurden. Dies bedeutet, daß die Kanuri die Keramikmerkmale entweder von der einheimischen Bevölkerung übernommen haben oder schon vorher ein kultureller Austausch zwischen dem Yobe Valley und Kanem bestand. Die firki-Region war im Laufe ihrer Besiedlung verschiedenen Einflüssen anderer Regionen ausgesetzt. So müssen die ersten Siedler von außerhalb in das Gebiet eingewandert sein, da es längere Zeit für eine Besiedlung unzugänglich war. Weder die westlich angrenzenden Sandflächen noch die südlich angrenzenden Ebenen der Mandara-Region oder der östliche Teil des Tschadbeckens kommen derzeit dafür in Frage. Die Wirtschaftsweise der ersten Siedler deutet in nördliche Richtung, denn sie brachten domestizierte Rinder, Schafe, Ziegen und die Kenntnis vom Anbau domestizierter Perlhirse (Pennisetum glaucum) mit. Ihre Keramik steht in der Tradition des saharischen und sudanesischen Endneolithikums, was sich aus zonal begrenzten Verzierungen und der häufigen Verwendung von Ritztechnik und Spatelstich ableiten läßt. Die für das Later Stone Age in der firki typische Rouletteund Mattentechnik wurde in der Sahara/Sahel entwickelt. Ob die ersten Siedler nun aus östlicher oder westlicher Richtung kamen, läßt sich nicht definitiv sagen. Allerdings ist eine westliche Richtung durch die dort nachgewiesene Verwendung von Matten in Köperbindung und der eines kombinierten Roulette (cord-wrapped stick with spacing roulette) zu favorisieren. Der Übergang zum Early Iron Age in der firki ist mit neuen Einflüssen aus der südwestlichen Sahara und dem angrenzenden Sahel verbunden. Dies geht aus der Verwendung von twisted string roulette und zwirnbindiger Geflechte hervor. Auch wirtschaftlich hat mit Beginn des Early Iron Age ein Wandel stattgefunden, denn zu diesem Zeitpunkt setzt ein großflächiger Anbau von Perlhirse (Pennisetum glaucum) ein. Erst jetzt kann man von einer vollentwickelten seßhaften Lebensweise in der firki sprechen. Archäobotanische und archäozoologische Untersuchungen bezeugen einen Umschwung zu arideren klimatischen Bedingungen am Übergang vom Later Stone Age zum Early Iron Age, der die wirtschaftlichen Veränderungen nach sich gezogen haben könnte. Die grundlegenden Veränderungen in der Keramik unterstützen diese Hypothese, denn sie spiegeln vielleicht dieselbe Entwicklung nur auf anderer Ebene wider. Der Einfluß von Keramiktechniken aus dem Nordwesten läßt Bevölkerungsverschiebungen aus dem trockenen Norden in die von Wasservorkommen begünstigten firki-Tonebenen vermuten. Ein Einfluß aus anderer Richtung zeigt sich für das Late Iron Age. So hat sich wahrscheinlich die Technik des carved roulette im Savannenraum von Nigeria, Kamerun und der Zentralafrikanischen Republik entwickelt und weiter ausgebreitet. Für die historische Periode und den mit ihr in Zusammenhang stehenden politischen Veränderungen wurde schon auf Einflüsse aus dem westlichen Tschadbecken (Yobe Valley) Nordost-Nigerias hingewiesen. Dennoch muß die Bevölkerung in den Tonebenen nicht erst mit der Ausbreitung der Kanuri am Ende des 16. Jh. AD mit der Verwendung von twisted strip roulette in Berührung gekommen sein, wie Funde aus dem Late Iron Age zeigen. Diese Technik ist typisch für die Eisenzeit in Mali, sie wurde aber auch im 1. Jt. AD in der nördlichen Mandara-Region vereinzelt verwendet. Die Verbreitung der Roulette- und Mattentechniken ist für die Rekonstruktion von Beziehungen zu anderen Regionen ausschlaggebend. Am Keramikmaterial von Kursakata, Mege und Ndufu läßt sich sehr gut beobachten, daß verschiedene Roulette- und Mattentechniken hier zeitlich versetzt voneinander im Later Stone Age und Early Iron Age in Gebrauch kommen, die weiter nördlich schon im Later Stone Age bekannt waren und gemeinsam verwendet wurden. Die Bedeutung von twisted string roulette als Indikator für das Early Iron Age teilen sich die Fundplätze aus der firki mit anderen Fundplätzen aus dem Savannenraum. In der firki stehen Schnurroulettes und zwirnbindige Geflechte als Synonym für Eisen und seßhafte Lebensweise. Mit der hier vorliegenden Arbeit ist zum ersten Mal eine grundlegende Keramikchronologie für die firki-Tonebenen Nordost-Nigerias erstellt worden. Die verschiedenen Verzierungstechniken und auch die bislang wenig berücksichtigten Gefäßformen wurden näher bestimmt. Weiterhin ermöglichten es die Analysen, das Fundmaterial anderer Plätze besser zu beurteilen bzw. eine fundiertere Grundlage für Vergleiche zu bilden, d. h. es wurde ein detaillierter und kritischer Vergleich mit allen wichtigen Fundplätzen aus dem südlichen Tschadbecken vorgenommen. Darüber hinaus wurden die für die Keramikchronologie wichtigen Roulette- und Mattentechniken dokumentiert und anhand ihrer technischen Merkmale definiert. Eine zusammenfassende Darstellung zur Verbreitung der Rouletteund Mattentechniken in Afrika erlaubte es, ihre Vorkommen in Nordost-Nigeria in einen größeren vorgeschichtlichen Zusammenhang zu sehen. Somit bietet die hier vorliegende Arbeit genügend Grundlagen, auf die nachfolgende Forschungen aufbauen können. Für das östliche Tschadbecken und die nördliche Mandara Region steht bislang eine solche Keramikchronologie noch aus. ; The central part of this dissertation describes the classification of pottery from excavated sites in the clay plains, called firki, of the southwestern Chad Basin in Northeast Nigeria. Although archaeological research in this area already took place in the 1960's, the different chronological aspects of pottery have been treated only superficially. Therefore the objective of this work has been the development of a fundamental chronology on the basis of the large amount of pottery material from the settlement mounds Kursakata, Mege and Ndufu. Their stratigraphies comprise the last 3000 years. C14 dates of the archaeological sites confirm that the firki clay plains south of Lake Chad were settled around 3000 BP. Before that time this area - also known as the Chad Lagoonal Complex - was flooded by the Mega Lake Chad, which had its maximum extension during the middle Holocene. After its regression, due to increasing dryness between 1500-800 BC, the area could be settled again on relict islands of sand dunes, which interrupt the clay soils and protect the people from flooding in the rainy season. Continuous occupation led to the accumulation of stratified deposits and finally to the development of settlement mounds. However the 3000 year limit for reoccupation is only valid for the firki since the adjacent sand plains of the Bama Deltaic Complex were settled 1000 years earlier. The settlement remains of the mounds Kursakata, Mege and Ndufu, all located near to the village of Ngala, can be subdivided into different phases by changes in the ceramic material and dated by several C14 dates: Later Stone Age (1000-500 cal BC), Early Iron Age (500 cal BC-500 cal AD), Late Iron Age (500- 1600 cal AD), Historic phase (16th-19th century AD), sub-recent phase (19th-20th century AD). Furthermore the pottery of the Later Stone Age and Early Iron Age show an early and late sub-phase. Changes in the decoration techniques are the most important chronological factor during the single phases. A tendency towards more complete surface decoration becomes obvious as the percentages of undecorated potsherds are highest in the Late Iron Age but gradually decrease from the Iron Age onwards. The typical decoration techniques of the Late Stone Age are incision, impression and rocker stamping, changing to a mainly mat and roulette decorated pottery horizon in the Early Iron Age, and finally to an almost nearly roulette decorated one in the Late Iron Age. Both techniques (mat and roulette) cover a greater part of the vessel than the incised, impressed and rocker stamped motifs arranged in single or multiple, horizontal bands. Changes of pottery decoration go along with changes in vessel forms. They show a development from more restricted to more open forms. The Later Stone Age is characterised by deep bowls with simple and vertical rims whereas the Early Iron Age by nearly globular vessels with everted rims. Open bowls with simple and everted rims dominate the vessel types from the Late Iron Age onwards but different new forms like So pots, tripods, flat bottomed types and pots with long conical rims enrich the spectrum of vessel forms. The increasing importance of mat and roulette decoration techniques in the sites is reflected in their variety of types. Some of the types take up the position of key forms for the single phases. During the Later Stone Age only plaited basketry and the composite roulette type cord-wrapped stick were used. In the Early Iron Age different new roulette and mat techniques became common. Twined basketry and flexible string roulettes, especially twisted string roulette, form the dominant types in the early sub-phase, but in the late sub-phase of the Early Iron Age the composite roulette cord-wrapped stick with spacing gain in importance. After this period only new roulette types appear: for the Late Iron Age it is the rigid roulette type carved roulette and mostly for the historic and sub-recent period (but in small quantities already for the Late Iron Age) it is the flexible strip roulette type twisted strip roulette. In contrast to the roulette techniques the use of mat decoration depends on special pottery manufacturing techniques, provided the mat has not been applied to the vessel after its manufacture. The placement of mat impression to the lower part or all over the vessel in the sites indicates the use of the tamping manufacturing technique. In all probability the limited handling of mats and their prior technical function (surface treatment) led to their replacement by roulette techniques in the Iron Age. As a whole, the chronological development of pottery demonstrate, the firki clay plains have been continuously settled without long interruptions of occupation. Although the transition from one phase to the other is marked by changes in the ceramic material, different pottery features are always taken over from the foregoing one. However the transition from the Later Stone Age to the Early Iron Age is most striking and the occurring changes in the pottery material can still be recognised today in the use of roulette techniques. This is opposite to the integration of the firki plains into the Kanem-Borno Empire at the historic phase, where the existing pottery tradition was not replaced by another one, as seen in the pottery typology. The pottery material of the firki clay plains in Northeast Nigeria show the greatest correspondence to other settlement mounds in the firki which extends to Northern Cameroon and westcentral Chad. With the inventory of finds from the southerly adjacent Mandara plains in Cameroon and Nigeria the archaeological sites of the firki clay plains share the development to almost only roulette decorated pottery (strictly speaking string roulette) in the Iron Age. But in the northern Mandara region the changes in the pottery seem to proceed more statically because the obvious changes in the firki during the Iron Age are missing here. Nevertheless the typological correspondence in the pottery material points to a cultural relationship between the two regions, which, according to the archaeological finds, have existed in the exchange of stone raw material and presumably also of iron ore and iron artefacts. The political changes in the firki clay plains (integration into the Kanem-Borno Empire) are closely connected to the political changes in the northern Mandara region (formation of the Wandala Empire). These changes are reflected in the pottery material. On the other hand the archaeological sites in the eastern Chad basin of the Republic of Chad reveal a complete different pottery tradition. Typical pottery elements from the firki sites occur much later or have not been found. The integration of the firki plains into the Kanem-Borno empire at the end of the 16th century AD is represented in the pottery material by the distribution of certain pottery elements (twisted strip roulette, sgraffito) from the Yobe valley west of Lake Chad to the south. As these pottery elements had been used there prior to the arrival of the Kanuri in the Yobe valley it means either the Kanuri had taken over the elements from the indigenous population or cultural exchange between the Yobe valley and Kanem must have formerly existed. During its long settlement history the firki plains have been exposed to different influences from other regions. People who first settled south of Lake Chad must have come from outside this region because it was flooded until 3000 BP. Currently neither the sand plains of the Bama Deltaic Complex to the west nor the plains of the Mandara region to the south or the eastern Chad Basin can be considered as their homeland. The economy of the first settlers points to a migration from the north as they brought domesticated cattle, sheep and goat as well as the knowledge of pearl millet cultivation (Pennisetum glaucum) with them. Their pottery stands in the tradition of the Saharan and Sudanese Late Neolithic shown by zonal arrangements of motifs and the frequent use of incision and spatula impression. Furthermore the typical roulette and mat techniques of the Later Stone Age in the firki had been developed in the Sahara/Sahel. It cannot be said for sure if the first settlers migrated into this area from the west or the east. But the west seems to be more likely for two different reason: the proved use of plaited basketry decorated pottery and the use of a cord-wrapped stick (with spacing) as a roulette. With the beginning of the Early Iron Age new influences from the southwestern part of the Sahara and the adjacent Sahel has to be taken into account. Twisted string roulette and twined basketry had already been invented there in neolithic times but remained unknown in the eastern part until the first millennium AD. The transition to the Early Iron Age is also marked by notable changes in the economy of the inhabitants. Large amounts of pearl millet in the deposits of the sites demonstrate a sudden beginning of large scale farming. From this time a fully developed permanent settlement way of life had been established in the clay plains. Archaeobotanical and archaeozoological investigation suggest also a shift to a more arid climatic condition during the transition of the Later Stone Age to the Early Iron Age in the firki, which may have led to the intensification of pearl millet farming in the economy of their inhabitants. The fundamental changes in the pottery material support this hypothesis as they probably reflect the same development only on a different level. Together with the appearance of new pottery techniques from the northwest in the firki it can be suggested aridity forced people from further north to go south and to settle in the well watered firki plains. In the Late Iron Age the sphere of influence had changed because the use of carved roulete seems to have been developed in the savannah region of Nigeria, Cameroon and the Central African Republic. A shift of pottery elements from the Yobe valley west of Lake Chad to the firki in the south has been suggested for the historic phase due to the political changes which took place. Because finds of twisted strip roulette already occur in the Late Iron Age the inhabitants of the clay plains may have known the technique before the spread of the power of the Kanuri at the end of the 16th century AD. The use of twisted strip roulette is not restricted to Nigeria or a special ethnic group. This technique is typical for the Iron Age in Mali and is also used in small quantities in the northern Mandara region at the first millennium AD. As we have seen, it is the spread of the roulette and mat techniques which is important for the reconstruction of the relation of the firki plains to its surrounding area. From the ceramic material of Kursakata, Mege and Ndufu it can be clearly observed that individual, separate roulette and mat techniques appear shifted in time in the Later Stone Age and Early Iron Age. These techniques are known to have been used together at several sites further to the north in the Later Stone Age. With other sites of the West African savannah the archaeological sites of the firki plains share the importance of twisted string roulette as an indicator for the Early Iron Age. In the firki the twisted string roulette and twined basketry decorations can be seen as synonyms for iron and a permanent settlement way of life. In this dissertation for the first time a fundamental pottery chronology has been developed for the firki clay plains south of Lake Chad in Northeast Nigeria. Different decoration techniques and the so far less considered vessel forms have been defined. A detailed and critical comparison with all the important archaeological sites of the southwestern Chad Basin has been carried out and, in addition, all the existing roulette and mat types have been documented and classified under technical aspects. Besides the pottery analyses made it possible to interpret the pottery material of earlier excavated sites in the firki in a better way. With a summarised outline of the spread of roulette and mat techniques over Africa, their appearance in Northeast Nigeria could be placed in a greater prehistoric context. Thus the dissertation offers a good fundament for further investigations. A comparable pottery chronology for the eastern Chad Basin and the northern Mandara region is still lacking.

蹂닿굔�븰怨�/諛뺤궗 ; [�븳湲�] �솚寃� 臾몄젣�쓽 �슦�꽑�닚�쐞 �룄異쒖쓣 �쐞�븳 鍮꾧탳 �쐞�빐�룄 �떆�뒪�뀥 媛쒕컻�뿉 愿��븳 �뿰援� 蹂� �뿰援щ뒗 �떎�뼇�븳 �솚寃쎈Ц�젣濡� �씤�븳 �뿬�윭 媛�吏� �쐞�빐�룄(�씤泥� �쐞�빐�룄, 寃쎌젣 �쐞�빐�룄, �씤吏��쐞�빐�룄) 寃곌낵瑜� 蹂묐젹�꽑�긽�뿉 �넃怨� 鍮꾧탳�븯�뿬 臾몄젣�쓽 �슦�꽑�닚�쐞瑜� �꽕�젙�븯�뒗 鍮꾧탳 �쐞�빐�룄 遺꾩꽍 �떆�뒪�뀥�쓽 ���쓣 媛쒕컻�븯怨�, �떎�젣 �꽌�슱 吏��뿭�쓣 ���긽�쑝濡� �옄猷뚮�� �닔吏묆냽議곗궗�븯�뿬 �쟻�슜�븯���떎. �뿰援� �궡�슜�쓣 �궡�렣蹂대㈃, �겕寃� �떆�뒪�뀥 �궡�뿉 �룷�븿�릺�뒗 �쐞�빐�룄 吏��몴�뿉 �뵲�씪 3媛�吏� �쓲由꾩쑝濡� 遺꾨쪟�븯���떎. 泥� 踰덉㎏�뒗 �뿰援� ���긽�쑝濡� �꽑�젙�맂 �솚寃쎈Ц�젣�뿉 ���븳 �씠濡좎쟻 �궗留� �쐞�빐�룄瑜� 異붿젙�븯���떎. 留덉�留됱쑝濡쒕뒗 �룞�씪�븳 �솚寃쎈Ц�젣�뿉 ���빐 �궗�쉶�쟻�쑝濡� �씤�떇�븯怨� �엳�뒗 �쐞�빐 �젙�룄瑜� �꽕臾몄"�궗瑜� �넻�빐 痢≪젙�븯���떎. �뿰援щ궡�슜�쓣 醫� �뜑 �옄�꽭�엳 湲곗닠�븯硫�, 泥ル쾲吏�(Part 1) �꽭 媛�吏� �씤泥� 二쇱슜 �젒珥� 留ㅼ껜 �삤�뿼(��湲곗삤�뿼, �떎�궡怨듦린 �삤�뿼, 癒밸뒗 臾� �삤�뿼)�뿉�꽌 以묎툑�냽�씠�굹 �쐶諛쒖꽦 �쑀湲곗삤�뿼臾쇱쭏怨� 媛숈� 媛쒓컻�쓽 �솕�븰臾쇱쭏, �떎�솚 諛⑺뼢議� �깂�솕�닔�냼瑜섎굹 �떎�씠�삦�떊瑜섏� 媛숈� 蹂듯빀臾쇱쭏, 洹몃━怨� �씪�룉怨� 媛숈� 諛⑹궗�꽑臾쇱떎, 誘몄꽭遺꾩쭊 �벑 媛곴컖�쓽 臾쇱쭏 �듅�꽦�뿉 �뵲瑜� �쐞�빐�꽦 �룊媛� 諛⑸쾿濡좎쓣 �쟻�슜�븯�뿬 �븫 諛쒖깮�쑝濡� �씤�븳 �씠濡좎쟻 �궗留앹닔瑜� 遺덊솗�떎�꽦 遺꾩꽍(uncertainly analysis)�쓣 �넻�빐 異붿젙�븯���떎. �몢踰덉㎏ �뿰援�(Part 2)�뒗 �솚寃� �삤�뿼�쑝濡� �씤�븳 10�뀈媛� 5/1,000 (�뀈媛� 5/10,000)�뿉 �빐�떦�븯�뒗 �쐞�빐�룄 媛먯냼�뿉 ���븳 吏�遺덉쓽�궗湲덉븸�쓣 異붿젙�븯湲� �쐞�븯�뿬, �꽌�슱 �떆誘� 600紐낆쓣 ���긽�쑝濡� 媛쒖씤硫댁젒�쓣 �넻�븳 �꽕臾몄"�궗瑜� �떎�떆�븯���떎. �꽕臾몄� 援ъ꽦�� 珥� 6媛� �쁺�뿭�쑝濡� 吏�遺� �쓽�궗湲덉븸�쓣 臾삳뒗 遺�遺꾩씠�쇅�뿉 5媛� �꽭遺� �쁺�뿭�쑝濡� 遺꾨쪟�븯���떎(Part A:嫄닿컯�긽�깭 諛� �궣�쓽 吏� 議곗궗, Part B:�쐞�빐�룄 �씤�떇, Part C:�솗瑜� 諛� �쐞�빐�룄�뿉 ���븳 �씠�빐�룄, Part D: �냼�뱷 諛� 吏�異쒕퉬�슜, Part E:吏�遺덉쓽�궗湲덉븸, Part F:湲고��젙蹂�). 吏�遺덉쓽�궗湲덉븸�� 3媛�吏� �쑀�삎�쓽 紐⑤뜽(lower-bounded Turnbull method, dichotomous Weibull, logistic and normal distribution model, and Spike model)�쓣 �씠�슜�븯�뿬 �룊洹좉툑�븸�쓣 �궛痢⑦븯��怨�, 吏�遺덉쓽�궗湲덉븸�뿉 ���빐 �쁺�뼢�쓣 誘몄튂�뒗 �씤�옄�뱾�쓣 遺꾩꽍�븯���떎. �삉�븳 泥ル쾲吏� �뿰援ъ뿉�꽌 �룄異쒕맂 �씠濡좎쟻 �궗留앹닔 異붿젙移섏� �몢 踰덉㎏ �뿰援ъ뿉�꽌 �룄異쒕맂 吏�遺덉쓽�궗湲덉븸�쓣 �씠�슜�븳 �넻怨꾩쟻 �깮紐� 媛�移섏븸(吏�遺덉쓽�궗湲덉븸 첨�쐞�빐�룄 媛먯냼遺�)�쓣 議고빀�븯�뿬 �씠濡좎쟻 �궗留� �넀�떎鍮꾩슜(�넻怨꾩쟻 �깮紐� 媛�移섏븸 * �씠濡좎쟻 �궗留앹닔)�쓣 異붿젙�븯��怨�, �씠�뱾 �넀�떎鍮꾩슜�쓽 �겕湲곗뿉 �뵲�씪 �슦�꽑 �닚�쐞瑜� 寃곗젙�븯���떎. �삉�븳 �넀�떎鍮꾩슜�뿉 ���븳 遺덊솗�떎�꽦 遺꾩꽍�쓣 �떎�떆�븯���떎. �꽭踰덉㎏ �뿰援�(Part 3)�뒗 鍮꾧탳�쟻 媛꾨떒�븳 �꽕臾� 議곗궗瑜� �넻�빐, �빐�떦 �솚寃쎌삤�뿼�뿉 ���븳 �궗�쉶�쟻�씤�떇�쓣 議곗궗�븯���떎. 寃곌뎅, �떎�뼇�븳 �솚寃쎌삤�뿼 臾몄젣(3媛�吏� �긽�쐞 �솚寃쎈Ц�젣{��湲곗삤�뿼, �떎�궡怨듦린�삤�뿼, 癒밸뒗 臾� �삤�뿼}�� 媛곴컖�뿉 �룷�븿�릺�뒗 8媛�吏� �븯�쐞臾몄젣[��湲곗삤�뿼;HAPs, PM10, �떎�씠�삦�떊瑜�, �떎�궡怨듦린�삤�뿼;IAPs, �씪�룉, 癒밸뒗 臾� �삤�뿼;DWPs, DBPs, 吏��븯�닔以� 諛⑹궗�꽦臾쇱쭏)�뿉 ���빐 �씠�뱾 3媛�吏� �쁺�뿭�뿉�꽌 �룄異쒕맂 �삤�빐�룄 寃곌낵瑜� 蹂묐젹�꽑�긽�뿉 �넃怨� 鍮꾧탳�븯�뿬, 媛쒕퀎 諛� �넻�빀 �슦�꽑 �닚�쐞瑜� �꽕�젙�븯���떎. �떆�뒪�뀥�뿉�꽌 �룄異쒕맂 媛곴컖�쓽 寃곌낵瑜� �슂�빟�븯硫� �떎�쓬怨� 媛숇떎. 異붿젙�맂 �씠濡좎쟻 �궗留앹닔瑜� �씠�슜�븳 �씤泥� �쐞�빐�룄 �닚�쐞 寃곌낵�뒗 �긽�쐞�솚寃쎈Ц�젣�뿉 ���빐�꽌�뒗 �떎�궡怨듦린 �삤�뿼, ��湲� �삤�뿼, 癒밸뒗 臾� �삤�뿼�닚�씠�뿀怨�, �븯�쐞臾몄젣�뿉 ���빐�꽌�뒗 �떎�궡怨듦린 以� �씪�룉, 誘몄꽭癒쇱�(PM10), IAPs, HAPs, DWPs, ��湲곗쨷 �떎�씠�삦�떊瑜�, DBPs, 吏��궗�닔以� 諛⑹궗�꽦臾쇱쭏�쓽 �닚�씠�뿀�떎. �씠�� 媛숈씠 異붿젙�맂 �씠濡좎쟻 �궗留앹넀�떎 鍮꾩슜�쓣 �씠�슜�븳 寃쎌젣 �쐞�빐�룄 �닚�쐞 寃곌낵�뒗 �씤泥� �쐞�빐�룄 �닚�쐞�� �룞�씪�븯���떎. 利� �긽�쐞�솚寃쎈Ц�젣�뿉 ���빐�꽌�뒗 �떎�궡怨듦린 �삤�뿼, ��湲곗삤�뿼, 癒밸뒗 臾� �삤�뿼�닚�씠�뿀怨�, �븯�쐞�솚寃쎈Ц�젣�뿉 ���빐�꽌�뒗 �떎�궡怨듦린以� �씪�룉, 誘몄꽭癒쇱�(PA10), IAPs, HAPs, DWPs, ��湲곗쨷 �떎�씠�삦�떊瑜�, DBPs, 吏��븯�닔以� 諛⑹궗�꽦臾쇱쭏�쓽 �닚�씠�뿀�떎. �솚寃쎌삤�뿼�쑝濡� �씤�븳 �쐞�빐�꽦�뿉 ���븳 �씤�떇�룄 議곗궗 寃곌낵, 7�젏 留뚯젏�뿉�꽌 �룊洹� 6�젏�뿉 洹쇱젒�븯寃� �쓳�떟�븯�뿬 �쟾泥댁쟻�쑝濡� �넂�� �쐞�빐�룄 �씤�떇 �닔以��쓣 �굹���궡�뿀�떎. �긽�쐞 �솚寃쎈Ц�젣蹂꾨줈�뒗 ��湲� �삤�뿼, 癒밸뒗 臾� �삤�뿼, �떎�궡怨듦린 �삤�뿼�닚�쑝濡� �쓳�떟�븯��怨�, �븯�쐞臾몄젣�뿉 ���빐�꽌�뒗 HAPs, �떎�씠�삦�떊, 吏��븯�닔以� 諛⑹궗�꽦臾쇱쭏, 洹쒖젣 臾쇱쭏(PM10), DWPs, IAPs, �떎�궡怨듦린以� �씪�룉, DBPs�닚�쑝濡� �쓳�떟�븯���떎. 媛� �쐞�빐�룄 理쒖쥌 �닔移섏뿉 ���븳 寃곌낵臾쇱쓣 踰붿<�삎 �닚�쐞 遺꾨쪟 湲곗��뿉 �쓽嫄고븯�뿬, 5媛�吏� 踰붿<(High, Medium~High, Medium, Low~Medium, Low)濡� 媛� �솚寃쎈Ц�젣瑜� �븷�떦�븳 寃곌낵, �씤泥� �쐞�빐�룄�쓽 寃쎌슦 Medium 踰붿<�뿉�뒗 �씪�룉怨� �떎�궡怨듦린�삤�뿼臾쇱쭏(IAPs), Medium~High 踰붿<�뿉�뒗 PM10�씠 �냽�븯��怨�, 寃쎌젣 �쐞�빐�룄�쓽 寃쎌슦�뒗 Medium 踰붿<�뿉�뒗 HAPs, Medium~High 踰붿<�뿉�뒗 IAPs, High 踰붿<�뿉�뒗 �씪�룉怨� PM10�씠 �냽�븯���떎. �씤吏� �쐞�빐�룄�쓽 寃쎌슦�뒗 紐⑤뱺 �솚寃쎈Ц�젣�뱾�씠 Medium~!High 踰붿<�� High 踰붿<�뿉 �냽�븯���떎. �쟾泥댁쟻�쑝濡� 媛� �쐞�빐�룄�뿉�꽌 Medium�씠�긽�쓽 踰붿<�뿉 �냽�븯�뒗 怨듯넻�맂 �솚寃쎈Ц�젣�뱾�� �씪�룉, PM10, IAPs 諛� HAPs濡� ��湲곗삤�뿼怨� �떎�궡怨듦린�삤�뿼�뿉 ���븳 �븯�쐞臾몄젣�뱾�씠�뿀�떎. 留덉�留됱쑝濡� �꽭 媛�吏� �쐞�빐�룄�뿉 ���븳 �닔移� 寃곌낵瑜� 5媛�吏� 踰붿<濡� 遺꾨쪟�븳 寃곌낵瑜� �떎�떆 Highest Rule怨� Average Rule�뿉 �쓽�빐 �쐞�빐�룄瑜� �넻�빀�븳 理쒖쥌 寃곌낵瑜� 蹂대㈃, Highest Rule瑜� �쟻�슜�븯硫�, 3媛�吏� �긽�쐞臾몄젣(��湲� �삤�뿼, �떎�궡 怨듦린 �삤�뿼, 癒밸뒗 臾� �삤�뿼)媛� 紐⑤몢 "High"濡� 遺꾨쪟�릺怨�, Average Rule�쓣 �쟻�슜�븯硫�, ��湲� �삤�뿼�� "High", �떎�궡怨듦린�삤�뿼�� "Medium-High"濡� 遺꾨쪟�릺硫�, 癒밸뒗 臾� �삤�뿼�� "Low-Medium"�쑝濡� 遺꾨쪟�릺�뿀�떎. 洹몃━怨� 8媛�吏� �븯�쐞 臾몄젣�뿉 ���븳 �넻�빀 寃곌낵�뒗 Highest Rule�쓣 �쟻�슜�븳 寃쎌슦, �씪�룉, PM10, HAPs, �떎�씠�삦�떊瑜섎뒗 "High"濡� 遺꾨쪟�릺怨�, IAPs, DWPs, DBPs, 諛⑹궗�꽦臾쇱쭏�� "Medium-High"濡� 遺꾨쪟�맂�떎. Average Rule�쓣 �쟻�슜�븳 寃쎌슦�뿉�뒗, �씪�룉, PM10,IAPs�뒗 "Medium-High"濡� 遺꾨쪟�릺怨�, HAPs, DWPs, �떎�씠�삦�떊瑜섎뒗 "Low-Medium"�쑝濡� 遺꾨쪟�릺硫�, DBPs�� 諛⑹궗�꽦臾쇱쭏�� "Low" 踰붿<濡� 遺꾨쪟�릺�뿀�떎. �븯吏�留� �뿬湲곗꽌 媛� �쐞�빐�룄 �넻�빀(intergration)�쓽 臾몄젣�뒗 醫� �뜑 �끉�쓽�맆 �븘�슂�꽦�씠 �엳�떎. �씠 �뿰援ъ뿉�꽌�뒗 怨쇳븰�쟻�씤 諛⑸쾿濡좎쓣 �넻�빐 �끉由ъ쟻�씤 �떆�뒪�뀥�쓣 媛쒕컻�븯怨�, �씠�뱾 �떆�뒪�뀥�뿉�꽌 �젙�웾�쟻�씤 �뿰援ш껐怨쇰�� �룄�댋�븯�뿿�쑝誘�濡�, �젙�웾�쟻�씤 �뿰援ш껐怨쇰�� �룄異쒗븯���쑝誘�濡�, �젙�꽦�쟻�씤 �룊媛��뿉 �쓽�빐 二쇨��쟻�씤 寃ы빐媛� 媛쒖엯�릺�뼱 �룄異쒕릺�뒗 �닚�쐞蹂대떎�뒗 �떊猶곗꽦�씠 �엳�뒗 寃껋쑝濡� �뙋�떒�릺怨�, �떒吏� �뮮諛쏆묠�릺�뒗 怨쇳븰�쟻�씤 �옄猷뚮뱾�씠 遺�議깊뻽湲� �븣臾몄뿉 3媛�吏� �긽�쐞 臾몄젣(8媛�吏� �븯�쐞臾몄젣)�뿉 ���빐 痍④툒�븯�뿬, �꽌�슱吏��뿭 �쟾諛섏쓽 �솚寃쎈Ц�젣瑜� �뙆�븙�븯湲곕뒗 �뼱�젮�썱�떎. �븯吏�留� �씠 �뿰援ъ뿉�꽌 �떎瑜� 二쇱슂 臾몄젣�뱾�� �씤媛꾧낵 吏곸젒�쟻�씤 �젒珥됲븯�뒗 留ㅼ껜 �삤�뿼�씠�씪�뒗 �젏�쓣 媛먯븞�븷 �븣, 占폩 �쓽�쓽媛� �엳�떎怨� �뙋�떒�맂�떎. �뵲�씪�꽌 寃곌낵 �빐�꽍�떆 遺덊솗�떎�꽦�뿉 ���븳 遺�遺꾩쓣 �옒 媛먯븞�븯怨� �솢�슜�쓣 �븳�떎硫�, �꽌�슱�떆 �솚寃쎈Ц�젣�쓽 �젙梨낃껐�젙�뿉 screening tool濡� �쑀�슜�븷 寃살쑝濡� 湲곕��맂�떎. �빑�떖�씠 �릺�뒗 留�: ��湲� �삤�뿼, �떎�궡怨듦린 �삤�뿼, 癒밸뒗 臾� �삤�뾼, �씤泥� �쐞�빐�룄, 吏�遺덉쓽�궗湲덉븸, �넻怨꾩쟻 �깮紐� 媛�移섏븸, �씠濡좎쟻 �궗留� �넀�떎 鍮꾩슜, 寃쎌젣 �쐞�빐�룄, �씤吏� �쐞�빐�룄, 鍮꾧탳 �쐞�빐�룄 遺꾩꽍 �떆�뒪�뀥 [�쁺臾�] In practice, environmental protection initiatives are often motivated by legal mandate, public clamor, scientific evidence, benefit, cost, politics and other factors. CRA provided a systematic framework for first evaluating different environmental problems that pose different types and degrees of risk to human health and the environment, and then for deciding what to do them. The important goals of CRA is to involve the public in the priorities-setting process and to identify and incorporate their concern, to identify the greatest environmental threats and rank them accordingly, to establish environmental priorities and to develop action plan and strategies to reduce risk. The basic premise of CRA is that risk provides an objective measure for comparing the relative severity of different environmental problems. CRA generally has the three main components as health risk assessment, ecological risk assessment, economic or welfare risk assessment, and involves risk management factor such as public perception. Comparative Risk Assessment (CRA) had initiated by US EPA in 1987 and its guideline proposed named as "A guidebook to comparing risk and setting environmental priorities" in 1993. Since the original publication of Unfinished Business, more than half of the states in the U.S. and more than 50 localities have employes the CRA approach for identifying and addressing important environmental issues. In Korea, there is no CRA studies and has not well known CRA and not well established their methodologies. Therefore, objectives of this thesis is to establish the framework of CRA consisting of health risk, economic risk and perceived risk and the detail methodologies of three main component of estimating and comparing those risks for on the three environmental problems of air pollution, indoor air pollution and drinking water contamination which being subjective to the eight sub-problems of hazardous air pollutants (HAPs), regulated pollutants (representative as PM10) and Dioxins (PCDDs/ PCDFs) in air pollution, and indoor air pollutants (IAPs) and Radon in indoor air pollution, and drinking water pollutants (DWPs), disinfection-by-products(DBPs) and radionuclides in drinking water contamination in Seoul, Korea. And then, their problems set priorities by individual and integrated risk(Figure A). The index of human health risk is the theoretical mortality incidence from exposure to carcinogens of 84 chemical and physical agents. Risk assessment were conducted to the individual agent in according to the agent_spectific approach. Human risks from environmental problems and sub-problems were assumed as the sum of that of each chemical corresponding to each problem. All of environmental agents and problems were not considered in estimating theoretical mortality incidence. However, this study were tried almostly to manage the important agents in main human-contact media except for several riskly agents such as formaldehyde and 1,3-butadiene in outdoor air. The index of economic risk is the theoretical mortality damage cost estimated from willingness to pay (WTP) and value of statistical life (VSL) by contingent valuation method (CVM) and that of perceived risk is the scale of seven score. Questionnaire survey was conducted to 600 subjects (200 subjects of each problem) by personal interview in order to elicit WTP on annual risk reduction of 5/10,000 causing by environmental problems. The target population consisted of persons between 20 and 60 years of age in Seoul. Characteristics distribution such as age and sex of survey respondents to the WTP represent for those of Seoul population, but education level, proportion of his/her own house and household income were higher than those of Seoul population. The payment vehicle was private donation and the initial bids set 10,000won, 20,000won, 40,000won and 60,000won with double-bounded dichotomous choice and the main(median) WTP estimated by models of three types of lower_bounded Turnbull method, Weibull, log-normal model and spoke model. Risk perception survey was also conducted with WTP survey, to the same subjects, contemporarily. Several risks were compared among 3 environmental problems and 8 sub-problems and those problems were ranked by the magnitude of each risk endpoint. As a results, ranking of health risk were the following order of indoor air pollution, air pollution and then drinking water contamination, in three environmental problems and of radon, PM10, IAPs, HAPs, DWPs, Dioxins, DBPs, and then radionuclides in eight sub-problems. And that of economic risk were the same order. In the contrary, ranking of perceived risk were the following order of air pollution, and of HAPs, Dioxins, radionuclides, PM10, DWPs, IAPs, Radon and then DBPs. In addition, estimates of the different risks were classified with 5 categories such as high, medium-high, medium, low-medium and low category. As a result, in case of human risk, PM10 was allocated to the medium-high category, radon and IAPs, were medium category. In case of economic risk, radon and PM10 were allocated to the high category, IAPs, to the medium-high category and HAPs, to the medium category. In case of risk perception, HAPs and Dioxins were allocated to the high category and other sub-problems, to the medium-high category. In order to present as an integrated index on the human, economic and perceived risk Highest rule (pose priority on the highest score or category of several values) and Average rule (pose priority on the category of several values) were adapted to the category value of each risk. As a result, radon, PM10, HAP and Dioxins were allocated to the high category, IAPs, DWPs, DBPs and radionuclides, to the medium-high category, if, according to the highest rule. Radon, PM10 and IAPs were allocated to the high category, HAPs, DWPs, Dioxins, to the low-medium category, and DBPs and radionuclides, to the low category, if, according to the average rule. These procedures of quantitative risk evaluation involved assembling and analyzing relevant data and actually investigating and estimating parameters by the scientific methodologies. Although risk estimates calculated by the scientific procedure, there is extensive need for value judgment and uncertainties. ; open

Issue 60.4 of the Review for Religious, 2001. ; tiving i:iturgy dialogue ~ ~ormation meeting God JULY AUGUST 2001 VOLUME 60 NUMBER 4 Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published bimonthly at Saint Louis University by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393 Telephone: 314-977-7363 ¯ Fax: 314-977-7362 E-Mail: review@slu.edu ¯ ~¥eb site: www.reviewforreligious.org Manuscripts, books for review, and correspondence with the editor: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, MO 63108-3393 Correspondence about the Canonical Counsel department: Elizabeth McDonough OP Mount St. Mary's Seminary; Emmitsburg, Maryland 21727 POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ¯ P.O. Box 6070 ¯ Duluth, MN 55806. Periodical postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional mailing offices. See inside back cover for information on subscription rates. ©2001 Review for Religious Permission is herewith granted to copy any material (articles, poems, reviews) contained in this issue of Review for Religious for personal or internal use, or for the personal or internal use of specific library clients within the limits outlined in Sections 107 and/or 108 of the United States Copyright Law. All copies made under this permission must bear notice of the source, date, and copyright owner on the first page. This permission is NOT extended to copying for co~nmercial distribu-tion, advertising, institutional promotion, or for the creation of new collective works or anthologies. Such permission will only be considered on written application to the Editor, Review for Religious. ~ fe0 rVreligious LIVING OUR CATHOLIC LEGACIES Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Editorial Staff Advisory Board David L. Fleming SJ Clare Boehmer ASC Philip C. Fischer SJ Elizabeth McD6nough OP Mary Ann Foppe Tracy Gramm J.udy Sharp James and Joan Felling Adrian Gaudin SC Sr. Raymond Marie Gerard FSP Eugene Hensell OSB Ernest E. Larkin OCarm Bishop Carlos A. Sevilla SJ Miriam D. Ukeritis CSJ JULY AUGUST 2001 VOLUME 60 NUMBER 4 contents 342 living liturgy Eucharistic Praxis in Ecological Perspective: A Capuchin Look Edward Foley, Capuchin, proposes that shaping a liturgical ecosystem for a community includes creating a rhythm of corporate worship that provides space, time, and energy for private prayer and devotion. 365 377 dialogue Being a Hermit: W~nere and How? Kenneth C. Russell sees present-day hermits as needing, for practicality's sake, to build their lives out of solitude and humble earnings understood in tandem. Learning a Foreign Language: Continuing the Dialogue on Homosexuality Christopher Renz OP considers the continuing dialogue a way for all to find their deepest human identity in the God they seek to know better. formation 387 Reflections of a Novice Director George J. Auger CSV pictures the kind of candidates coming to religious life and why, and then proposes what we should be offering them. Review for Religious 397 What Can a Seminary Do? Donald Macdonald SMM develops the notion of a seminary as a place where individuals are helped to mature within a gospel framework. 408 Commitment to Faithfulness Elizabeth McDonough OP briskly reminds herself and other religious that God's faithfulness through the changes and tensions of thirty-some years calls them today to the same fidelity their vows joyously witnessed to on the day of their first profession. 413 419 Flames of Love: Living Contemplatively Carolyn Humphreys OCDS describes holiness in terms of living a contemplative life, that is, an adventure in love. An Experience of Christian Meditation Ernest E. Larkin OCarm offers some theological observation, simple personal description, and succinct analysis of his own experience of the Christian Meditation of John Main OSB. 338 Prisms 432 Canonical Counsel: Renewal of Vows and Perpetual Profession 438 Book Reviews July-August 200 t prisms Ppe J~)hn Paul II has declared more men and women blessed and canonized saints than any of his predecessors in the papacy. He himself has explained his action by saying that we are more than ever in need of many models--some from within our countries or cultures, others closer in time--to aid us in our own Christian living. We also might suspect that the need for recognition of holy women and men as models and helps for our life is heightened by the individualism that has become embedded in our United States culture and similar cul-tures. When we move about in a cultural individualism, there is a tendency to make even our faith an individual conquest. "I" will save my soul--of course, with Jesus' saving grace. But still it is "my" effort. From the very beginning of the Christian com munity, St. Paul stressed the importance of our being a communion of saints. Although Paul's Greek word koinonia is rendered by the English fellowship more often than the English communion, the idea cannot be mistaken. Paul's conversion experience on the road to Damascus would never let him waver from the conviction that the (persecuted) Christians' union together with Christ is so intimate that Jesus can say "I am Jesus, the one you are persecuting." That same experience roots the Pauline image of the Body of Christ in which all Christians are members, differing in gifts and functions, but all being necessary for the healthy functioning of the Body. Review for Religious The reality that we need to hold on to today is the truth that "we all need one another." The communion of saints reminds us of this fact. As it has developed over time, the communion of saints refers first to us baptized and now living our seemingly humdrum lives within our church communities. The communion of saints means also those who have died and are officially recognized by the church as the holy ones giving example for us. The communion of saints includes finally those who have died--sometimes identified as the "souls in purgatory"--many of whom we remember dearly and who for their part still remain caring and concerned for us. The fullness of the meaning of the communion of saints keeps all of us caring and concerned for one another--in our union with Christ and in the power of the Spirit. In our creed, we profess that we believe in the "sanctorum communio"---that is, not only a union among holy people but also a people made holy by their participation (communio) in holy things (the sacraments). Today we are being called to put that belief into action. In our remembering those who have died, both the recog-nized saints and those everyday ones of our families and friends, we are joined in a conversation--a special conversation that has been traditionally called prayer--praying for one another! We need to be aware of the stories of their lives so that we can know and feel their strength and their compassion and their receiving of God's grace through participation in the sacramental life. We, the now-members of this church on earth, must hold one another in prayer, both public liturgical and personal private, and reach out with helpful hands to one another because we are in communion, the union of holy ones sustained by holy things. We are not alone; we live our life of faith in communion. David L. Fleming SJ P.S. Our advisory board--one concrete instance of the communion of saints--says a goodbye full of gratitude to Sister Kathryn Richards FSP, Father Joel Rippinger OSB, and Sister Patricia Wittberg SC on the completion of their terms. We welcome with thanks Sister Raymond Marie Gerard FSP, Father Eugene Hensell OSB, Father Ernest E. Larkin OCarm, and Sister Miriam D. Ukeritis csJ. ff~uly-August 2001 EDWARD FOLEY Eucharistic Praxis in Ecological Perspective: A Capuchin Look living liturgy The teaching of the Catholic Church on the Eucharist is both clear and challenging. As the primary sacrament of the church, the Eucharist, like the liturgy itself, is the "font and summit of the church's life." Therein, how-ever, lies a certain paradox, for how are both the whole of the church's liturgy and the Eucharist itself the fount and summit of the church's life? Sometimes our response to this mystery is to oppose various aspects of the church's liturgy, one against another: Eucharist vs. the Liturgy of the Hours, Eucharistic liturgy vs. Eucharistic devotions, and so forth. The tension in such pairings appears in the shaping of an horarium for community prayer. Sometimes an horarium has little place for any-thing but the celebration of Eucharist; other times community prayer makes little space for the celebration of Eucharist. Maybe there is another way. This is a time of unusual theological ferment and liturgical turmoil, specifically regarding the role and manner of celebrating the Eucharist. Exceedingly diver-gent understandings of Eucharist mark the present-day Edward Foley OFMCap, a professor of theology, wrote this position paper (here somewhat revised and abridged) for three Capuchin provinces. Its reflections may well have relevance for others too. Foley's address is Catholic Theological Union; 5601 South Cornell Avenue; Chicago, Illinois 60615. Revie~ for Religious Catholic Church. In this global, ecclesial, and Capuchin context, the following reflections cannot resolve all differences. The mod-est goal here is to provide some theological and pastoral principles as a basis for dialogue in full view of our commonalties and dif-ferences. Though addressing specifically Capuchin life and prayer, these principles may be helpful to members of other religious com-munities too. There is no little irony in the fact that contemporary exchanges about this central sacrament of love have been among the most cantankerous, even vitriolic, that the modern church has witnessed. The differences in eucharistic theologies among Catholics have often degenerated into questioning others' moral integrity and even challenging of their fidelity to the church. For the followers of Francis, there is another way. Embracing our founder as a true vir catholicus,2 we assume that those who profess to follow the gospel after him are also viri catholici. Thus, trusting in the authen-tic Catholicity of our brothers, "let us cultivate mutual dialogue [and] let the spirit of brotherly understanding and sincere esteem permeate everyone." 3 Theological and Pastoral Principles Among the many theological and pastoral principles that are important for reflecting on the Eucharist in the lives of 2 lst-cen-tury Capuchins, six seem particularly important. Liturgy as fount and summit. As previously noted, the Second Vatican Council asserts that the liturgy is the fount and summit of the church's life.4 This pivotal dogmatic assertion is often recast in the language of theologia prima. Recognizable across the Christian traditions (asserted by Catholics,5 Protestants,6 and Orthodox7 alike in this postconciliar era), this ancient belief holds that the act of worship is the church's first theology and a prized expression of our faith and our dogma. Liturgy as expressive and creative. A corollary of the dogmatic assertion about the liturgy as fount and summit of the church's life is that worship not only expresses the church's faith but also creates it. While the former is readily recognized, the implica-tions of the latter are seldom acknowledged. To admit worship as creative and generative of faith and belief is to say that worship not onl~ announces what has been accomplished, but also proclaims what is yet to be achieved. Our common prayer is just as much July-August 2001 Foley * Eucharistic Praxi~ in Ecolog~cM Perspective about our future as it is about the present or the past. Worship is thus a critical and corporate rehearsal of the church's mission and is essentially formative for all Christians and all Capuchins, whether they are in initial or ongoing formation. Liturgy is for people as well as for God. Liturgy's expressive-creative power is directed not only to God, but to people as well. The Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy repeatedly connects "human sanctification" and "God's glorification" when it speaks of the purpose of the liturgy,s In most of these formulations, the sanctification of people is actually mentioned before the glorification of God. While this might strike some as odd if not problematic, implicit in this ordering of the text is the ancient Christian understanding that, while liturgy (in order to be true to its nature) must give glory to God, God is not in need of the liturgy or sacraments; only people are. Thomas Aquinas, like 6ther Christian theologians throughout the ages, affirms the perfection of God,9 who is in need of nothing from humanity, while affirming that human beings need sacraments,l° Furthermore, giving priority to the sanctification of people in worship acknowl-edges God's initiative in the liturgy and admits that our glorifying response is secondary. Thus the Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches that the signs and symbols of the liturgy "can become means of expressing the action of God who sanctifies men, and the action of men who offer worship to God" (§1148). Liturgy must address human need in its cultural context. For wor-ship to achieve effectively the sanctification of people, it must address their local cultural contexts. The church is always made present in a given place and time by a local church through its liturgy,n In each setting the rites "need to be adapted to the capac-ity of the faithful.''12 If culture is "the whole of human activity, human intelligence and emotions,''~3 then attending to human need in its cultural context requires consideration of ethnic and linguistic differences and attention to the broad diversity that marks any and every worshiping community?4 It is only by respect-ing the local contexts that the liturgy will meet the magisterium's variously articulated criterion that worship "be meaningful and appealing to the body of worshipers." ~s Liturgical practice heeds to be understood within our pluriform tradition. A myth of Christian beginnings is that Christianity was born in unity and moved toward pluriformity. The opposite is true, however. The noted biblical scholar Raymond Brown could Review for Religious write about the churches--not church--the apostles left behind26 The diversity of early liturgical practice appears in the fact that a common institution narrative cannot be found across the New Testament.17 Regarding issues like the frequency of eucharistic celebration, the tradition is similarly diverse. In primitive, patristic, and even early-medieval Christianity, there seems to be no common pattern for the celebration of daily Eucharist. It certainly was not part of early Christian monasticism.~s It is only in the 8th century that there is evidence for daily Eucharist for the church of Rome, and then only during the solemn season of Lent. 19 Fasting in this period presumed fasting from Eucharist; this concept of "fasting from Eucharist" for the sake of a later heightened experience of Eucharist marks the spirituality of various individuals; groups, and movements in the church and is an instance of one among var-ious ways of valuing Eucharist.2°~As to our Franciscan tradition, daily Eucharist does not appear to be a presumed part of the ear-liest vision of Francis for his community, though there is a pre-sumption of a daily celebration of the Divine Office.2~ Well into the Middle Ages, some communities of religious had an ordinary horarium that did not include the daily Eucharist, but rather a Communion service, as attested by various medieval ordines for Communion without celebration of the Eucharist.22 Even today, for significant segments of the Catholic Church, daily Eucharist has never been the norm.23 Our liturgical tradition is dynamic. In order to contribute to people's sanctification according to their particular needs in their particular culture, our liturgical tradition must be living and dynamic. Our Franciscan history demonstrates the dynamic nature of the church's liturgical tradition in response to the prophetic. For example, Innocent III and the Roman curia granted Francis and his followers the unprecedented permission to develop as a community of penitential preachers. Until that time, permission for groups to do itinerant preaching and to practice mendicant poverty In primitive, patristic, and even early-medieval Christianity, there seems to be no common pattern for the celebration of daily Eucharist. July-August 2001 Foley * Eucharistic Praxis in Ecological Perspective had been extended only to established communities previously declared heretical and now being reunited with the church.24 Francis's "novel" request and prophetic vision to live the idea of evangelical perfection, however, both challenged and changed the church's tradition regarding who can and should preach. Admitting the diverse and dynamic nature of our tradition suggests that shaping worship patterns cannot be reduced to find-ing the answer from the past, but instead requires us to make care-ful decisions--not only drawing upon but also contributing to the church's ever evolving tradition. An Ecological Vision of Liturgical Praxis One cannot appropriately discuss the Eucharist in the life of any Christian without seeing it in the life .of the church. After asserting that the whole of the liturgy and not just the Eucharist is the fount and summit of the church's life, Vatican II then notes the special importance of Eucharist within the liturgical economy.2s Asserting this, however, is ipso facto to assert the rela-tionality of the Eucharist to the other sacraments, to the rest of the church's liturgy, and to the whole of the church's life as well. Included are the Liturgy of the Hours, sacramentals, and popular devotions. Endorsing popular devotions, the council directs that these devotions "should be so fashioned that they harmonize with the liturgical seasons, accord with the sacred liturgy, are in some way derived from it, and lead the people to it.''26 I propose to consider this liturgical relationality by means of an ecological metaphor. A relatively new science, ecology studies the relationship of plants and animals to their physical and bio-logical environment.27 Among its major emphases is the depen-dence of every form of life on other living things and on the natural resources in its environment--an insight already recorded in the writings of Charles Darwin (+1892). While it may seem odd to employ what could be considered a naturalistic framework for reflecting on Catholic worship,'recent developments in theology suggest otherwise. Since the late 20th century, theologians around the world have recognized the link between social harmony and ecoharmony and shown the impor-tance of an ecological perspective.2s In 1988 a consultation by the World Council of Churches recognized what they called the integrity of creation, that is, "the value of all creatures in and for Review for Religious 'themselves, for one another, and for God, and their intercon-nectedness in a diverse whole that has unique value for God.''29 Theologies of ecology, according to Robert Schreiter, are a major flow in contemporary global theological discourse.3° Recendy the ecological perspective has been employed in liturgical theology?' For Franciscans the ecological perspective comes from the spiri-tuality of our Father Francis, who our constitutions remind us "felt united by a fraternal bond not only to people but to all crea-tures as well" (§97:1) and whom the church has proclaimed the patron saint of ecology. Here it will be useful to offer a few ecological principles to facilitate our using the ecological metaphor when speaking of community worship: ¯ Changes made in any environment affect all of the organisms in that environment. ¯ The continued existence of a whole group or life community involves a shifting balance or "dynamic equilibrium" among its members. ¯ A community and its environment constitute an ecosystem which draws vital materials from its surroundings and transfers materials to it, ¯ Competition, a characteristic of all communities, is unusually keen in areas where one type of community overlaps with another. ¯ An orderly, predictable sequence of development or "ecological succession" takes place in any area. With these principles it becomes clear that no one liturgical element in a community's liturgical ecosystem can be modified or eliminated without the other liturgical elements in the life of a faith community being affected. Just as apparendy inconsequential species of fauna or animal life contribute to the health of an ecosystem and cannot be altered or eliminated without creating an imbalance, so is it advisable to consider the whole of a faith community's public prayer life from perspectives of holistic health and balance. All the elements are interrelated. This means, for example, that considering the frequency of Eucharistic liturgies separately is inadequate. Not to consider them in relation to the Liturgy of the Hours could unintentionally diminish the latter, which is important to the life of the church and our brotherhood. Furthermore, given the foundational prin-ciple that worship shapes faith and is essentially formative, an isolated emphasis on Eucharist could give Capuchins an impaired perspective on the nature of Christ's presence and inadequate experiences of the multiple modes of his presence as dogmatically asserted by Vatican II.32 July-August 2001 Foley * Eucharistic PraMs in Ecological Perspective In shaping a liturgical ecology for any community, a number of elements need to be kept in balance. One is frequency of cele-bration. The issue of frequency needs to be raised about all elements of worship and not .just the Eucharist. Another issue is quality for each and every ritual element in a community's life of faith. Quality is affected by the amount of time both ministers and community have in preparing for worship and also by the resources available in that preparation. A third issue is continuity across the ritual life of a community. Each facet of a community's prayer life should reflect the quality and richness of the ritual resources avail-able to a community. Music, multilingual prayer patterns, ritual gestures, enhanced environment, and so forth should not be limited to one element in a community's worship repertoire, but should enhance the whole of its liturgical life. These resources need to be shared so that one element of a community's prayer does not drain all of its energy and resources, reducing the remaining elements to secondary experiences. Such continuity respects the principle of progressive solemnity,33 which admits a certain rhythm of more or less festivity, more or less simplicity, according to the day or the season. Shaping a liturgical ecosystem for a community includes creating a rhythm of corporate worship that provides space, time, and energy for private prayer and devotion. This is essential if corporate worship is to be truly life-giving and spiritually nour-ishing. The rhythm, quality, balance, and intensity of corporate prayer cannot be so overwhelming or burdensome that it hinders personal lives of prayer. An authentically hea!thy liturgical ecology not only requires a rhythmic balance of frequency, quality, continuity, shared resources, and progressive solemnity in a faith community's worship, but also in the whole of its life. Recall that the council has said that the liturgy is the fount and summit of the church's life, not simply its worship. Liturgical spiritualities are not shaped in a vacuum, but emerge and flourish in the interplay of liturgy and life. This vital connection is clearly shown in the New Testament, where the Greek words leitourgia (service) and leitourgein (to serve) do not occur as isolated terms for worship, They also refer to the missionary proclamation of the gospel, taking up a collection for the poor, and even the state's function as appointed by God.34 Commenting on this New Testament language, Ferdinand Hahn says that "the terminological evidence means not only that any Review for Religious cultic understanding of Christian worship is out of the question, but also that there is no longer any distinction in principle between assembly for worship and the service of Christians in the world."" Karl Rahner speaks about this living service of Christians as the "liturgy of the world," the name he gives to that "terrible and sub-lime liturgy, breathing of death and sacrifice, which God cele-brates through the length and breadth of human history.''36 Following upon the belief that God's self-communication (grace) is always present in the world, Rahner believes that every genuinely human experience at least implicitly mediates God's self-communication to us. Concerned that--unlike the experience of the early Christian community--liturgy today is too isolated from the rest of reality, Rahner poses the whole of human life as a kind of "liturgy." When we gather for the church's explicit public worship, according to Rahner, we are not doing something apart from what we are called to do in the rest of our lives. Thus "the liturgy of the church is the explicit manifestation of the implicit liturgy of our lives.''3~ An ecoliturgical approach to worship, then, demands not only a balance of resources, time, energy, quality, and continuity across the cultic aspects of a community's life, but also between cult and living, between liturgy and life. It is such an image that comes to us in that idyllic picture of early Christian living from the Book of Acts: They devoted themselves to the apostles' instruction and the communal life, to the breaking of bread and the prayers . Those who believed shared all things in com-mon; they would sell their property and goods, dividing everything on the basis of each one's need. They went to the temple area together every day, while in their homes they broke bread. With exultant and sincere hearts they took their meals in common, praising God and winning the approval of all the people. Day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved. (2:42-47) A Capuchin Ecology of Liturgy: The Components According to our constitutions, there is a foundational triad for any authentic Capuchin liturgical ecosystem: Eucharist, the Liturgy of the Hours, and contemplation. The Eucharist. Regarding the Eucharist, the constitutions call for full, conscious, and active participation in the Eucharistic sac-rifice (§48:1). They instruct that in our fraternities a community July-August 2001 Foley ¯ Eucharistic Praxis in Ecological Perspective Mass should be celebrated each day, and, where this cannot be done each day, it should be celebrated periodically and partici-pated in by all brothers (§48:2). Notable in this'instruction is the emphasis on appropriate preparation (§47:3), active participation (§48:1), and especially the building up of the fraternity (§§47:1, 2, 3; 48:2, 5). It is reasonable, therefore, to conclude that, while our constitutions present daily Eucharist as the ideal, it is not one to be achieved at any cost. Eucharistic celebrations without deliberate preparation, a spirit of "creativity and spontaneity" (§47:3), and especially a rhythm of celebrating Eucharist that does not contribute to the building up of the experience38 of fraternity is to be avoided. This last emphasis on the Eucharist's contribution to a spirit of fraternity takes on new meaning as we become increas-ingly aware of the way that our order was clericalized early in its history, and today are conversely experiencing a renewal of the foundational vocation of brotherhood. The Liturgy of the Hours. As for the Liturgy of the Hot~rs, our constitutions call for the daily celebration of the church's prayer, and, where it cannot be celebrated in its entirety, at least Morning and Evening Prayer are to be celebrated (§50:2). Besides this "house obligation," there is the further canonical requirement that all fri-ars in major orders and solemn vows are bound to pray the Liturgy of the Hours. Embedded in the instruction and laws regarding the Liturgy of the Hours is a series of important principles. Consistent with their instruction on Eucharist, our constitutions again empha-size how the Liturgy of the Hours contributes to building up the fraternity (§§47:2; 50:2, 5)--thus the importance of communal rather than individual celebration of the Hours. Beyond the brotherhood, however, the constitutions also recognize that the Liturgy of the Hours is the prayer of the whole church and recommends that, according to local circumstances, the Liturgy of the Hours should be celebrated with the faithful (§50:3). Finally, it is again notable that, when discussing the Liturgy of the Hours, our constitutions speak about not only frequency but also quality of celebration. Building on the concept of Franciscan prayer as "affective," the constitutions talk about the word of God in the Liturgy of the Hours penetrating our hearts (§51:2). To that end, these celebrations are to be "living and vibrant, with praiseworthy intervals of silence" (§51:2) and, as far as possible, celebrated with song (§51:3). Mental Prayer Our constitutions say that mental prayer is an essential spiritual exercise of the brothers and should be practiced Review for Religious daily (§52:3). The constitutions note that this exercise of mental prayer not only unites us individually with Christ, but also contributes to the efficaciousness of the corporate experiences of the Sacred Liturgy (§52:2). The constitutions expend a consider-able amount of energy exhorting the brothers to engage in con-templation and, in particular, charges superiors and local chapters with fostering this spirit of prayer (§§52:4; 53:3, 4). They also encourage the brothers to cultivate this spirit of prayer among the people of God (§53:6). What is somewhat surprising, however, is that the constitutions do not give much attention to the fraternal aspects of mental prayer or examine how contemplation has corporate as well as individual benefits and builds up the fraternity. Devotions. Besides this foundational triad of Eucharist, Liturgy of the Hours, and mental prayer, the constitutions give some atten-tion to devotions. In particular, they note the importance of devotion to the mysteries of the humanity of Christ, especially his nativity and passion (§54:2). They encourage us to venerate Mary, our mother and patroness, especially through liturgical wor-ship and the rosary (§54:3). They encourage us to venerate St. Joseph (§54:4), our holy Father Francis, and the saints, especially Franciscan saints (§54:5). They note the importance of reading Sacred Scripture and other spiri-tual books (§58:1). Echoing the teaching of the council, the constitutions wisely say that these devotions should always be in conformity with the spirit of the liturgy. And they are consistent in emphasizing that recollection and contemplation, especially apparent in the gift of silence, should mark our prayer (§57~ 1). A rhythm of celebrating Eucharist that does not contribute to the building up of the experience of fraternity is to be avoided. A Capuchin Ecology of Liturgy: The Principles Following basic laws of nature, every healthy ecosystem achieves its own natural equilibrium of the given particulars. So too does every healthy liturgical ecosystem, balancing particulars according to the basic principles of liturgy and Christian life. In pursuing this reflection on liturgy in Capuchin life, let us look at :~dy-dugust 2001 Foley * Eucharistic Praxis in Ecological Perspective certain particularities of our Capuchin charism, of our various ecclesial and provincial contexts. Fraternity. Few images permeate our tradition as much as that of fraternity. Our constitutions not only stress the cultivation of fraternal life among members of the order (§§84-96), but actually approach all of humanity (§83) and even all of creation (§11:2) fraternally. A Capuchin ecology is a.fraternal ecology, and broth-erhood is a privileged way that Capuchins perceive each other, the church, all human beings, and every creature. Our constitutions recognize, too, that the liturgy must nourish our fraternal life (§47:1); it must be the fount and summit of our fraternal life. For fostering brotherhood throughout the order, the province, and the local community, the constitutions mention "common prayer" first (§11:3). They also suggest that growth in fraternity and the flourishing of fraternal charity become an important criterion for evaluating a community or province's prayer life. If the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy could say that "the full and active participation by all the people is the aim to be considered before all else,''39 analogously it seems appropriate to suggest that fraternal development among Capuchin brothers is the aim to be considered before all else in a Capuchin ¯ liturgical ecology. If growth in fraternal charity is a necessary outcome of authentic Capuchin worship, then worship must not only intend to enhance fraternity, but must do so in fact. Worship needs to satisfy certain human needs if it is to be an effective source of sanctification. What differentiates liturgy after Vatican II from that of the previous period is the contemporary emphasis on pe.rformance that actually satisfies this human need, rather than simply intending to do so. Intention is important but insufficient. There are few more telling statements of this principle than the United States bishops' assertion that "good celebrations foster and nourish faith; poor celebrations may weaken and destroy it.''4° In the "performance" of our common worship, therefore, it is essential that our patterns of prayer support the fraternal hospitality and inclusivity which are the hallmarks of our life. Given that the official liturgy of the church is traditionally a clerical domain, there is a special responsibility among Capuchins to develop prayer patterns that are inclusive of the nonordained. While ordained brothers may not intend to marginalize nonor-dained brothers, it can and does happen. The advice of the U.S. Review for Religious bishops directed to preachers is useful to ponder here: "If exclu-sion is heard, then exclusion is communicated, whether intended or not."41 More pointed is the language of the Fourth Plenary Council of the order (CPO IV), which expresses concern about "a community of priests who draw inspiration from Franciscan spir-ituality., without sufficient discernment" and therefore risk pro-pelling the order towards increasing clericalization" rather than being "a fraternity of lesser brothers endeavoring to live the gospel.''42 Minority. A pivotal concept for the essence of Capuchin fraternity is that of "lesser brothers." Minority, as outlined by CPO VI, is "a genuine manifestation of interior poverty, which in the Franciscan life-project also expresses itself externally as humility of heart and lack of power, and as solidarity with the needy and the deprived.''43 As noted by the gen-eral ministers of the First Order and the Third Order Regular (TOR), while the Franciscan order at its foundation was in fact a mixed institute, Francis did not intend to retain both cleric broth-ers and lay brothers as necessary components of the fraternity. The general ministers conclude: "In order to be 'religious' according to Francis's project, a 'lesser brother' does not need to be either cleric or lay."44 If all future applicants sought to be one or the other, the order's foundational concept would be undisturbed. The Second Plenary Council of the order challenged us "to pray as lesser brothers.''~s This challenge is to pray and live out that prayer in such a way as to avoid any and every impression of the superiority of one brother over another. Maintaining this spirit is a particular challenge in the context of Eucharistic worship, which many in recent years have experienced as.a source of oppression, not grace.46 Eucharistic leadership is not a right but a privilege. In a Capuchin context, it must contribute to the sense of meekness and minority among all the brothers. Only then will it fulfill the vision of CPO II, which imaged prayer--especially the Eucharist-- as an act of conversiono47 If that is not a fruit of Eucharistic or any other worship, the worship is for naught and actually diminishes the fraternal bond. The personal preferences and prerogatives of A pivotal concept for the essence of Capuchin fraternity is that of "lesser brothers." July-August 2001 the ordained, then, should not dominate any aspect of a Capuchin liturgical ecology. Rather, the ordained brothers need to under-stand and accept that in the liturgy they are special servants48 and that their concern is "the common spiritual good of the people of God [and all the brothers]49 rather than., personal inclination or arbitrary choice." so A Mixed Community. One recent contribution to understanding Capuchin life that can help in shaping a Capuchin liturgical ecology is the language of a "mixed institute." Pope John Paul II used this language in his letter to our minister general, John Corriveau, when he recognized that the Capuchins "constitute a fraternity made up of clerics and lay people who share the same religious vocation according to the Capuchin and Franciscan charism.''~ Mixed communities, according to the postsynodal apostolic exhortation l, qta consecrata, are .institutes "envisaged as a brotherhood in which all members, priests and those who [are] not priests, [are] considered equal among themselves."52 Some of the brothers, admittedly, 'think that the language of "mixed institutes" is not the best way to consider our life together. At the same time, th~ image of a mixed institute or community has a certain apostolic breadth that is lacking in our language of fraternity or minority. Our constitutions exhort us to "strive to nourish our spiritual life and that of the fraternity from the liturgy and .to open its treasures to the faithful" (§47:1). In a parallel vein, the Fourth Plenary Council of the order said that the aim of formation was to have men capable of living the gospel life in the worldS3--which implies that they be capable of praying and worshiping with all the p~ople of God, not just Capuchins. Most of the faithful in the Catholic world and most secular Franciscans are not "brothers" but "sisters." And so "fraternity" is not the best term to suggest our desire to share the treasures of the liturgy with them. Also, the terms "lesser ones" :and "minority" can be perceived as contributing to condescension towards and oppression of vast numbers of our sisters and brothers whom the world daily percei'(es as less valuable politically, economically, and personally and "minor" in worldly importance. The prophetic language of a "mixed community," whilenot suggesting fraternity and minority, does propel us into an apos-tolic mode regarding our liturgical ecology. If worship is .the fount of all Christian life, then it must also be the fount of Capuchin ministry and fratern)ty. The liturgy is a type of "rehearsal" of the Review for Religious Christian life. Rehearsal, in this sense, is neither the dramatic enactment of some long-finished historical event nor an imper-fect repetition of some act in order to get it right. Rather, it is a continual reentry into and appropriation of a rich and inexhaustible reality. Rehearsal so imagined is neither artificial nor preparatory; rather, it is ritual engagement with the truth. To rehearse, in the liturgy, our vocation as a mixed community is, therefore, to rehearse not only fraternity and minority among us Capuchin brothers, but also mutuality and collaboration among all the people of God.54 It is to announce prophetically the equal dignity of all the baptized in a "mixed" church and to honor each as integral and necessary to the church's worship. This is the "becoming" .and "living" of alternatives to oppression in a liturgical mode which CPO V called for?~ If we can tune our prayer life with sensitivity to the mixed community that is the church and can craft worship that is empathetic to all the baptized, thbse accomplishments will redound to the building up of the Capuchin fraternity and further realize our charism of minority. A Capuchin Ecology of Liturgy: The Contexts Besides considering the components and basic principles of a Capuchin liturgical ecology, it is important for us to look at the particular context which--given the ecological interconnectedness noted above--must impact one's own particular community's wor-ship, I will use my own context to illustrate this point. I belong to the St. Joseph (Midwest)Capuchin province in the United States. Two aspects of this context have a notable impact on shaping a Capuchin ecology for my province. One is the declining number of priests, especially apparent in the midwest and western United States. The other is a formation program that my province shares with the St. Mary province in the eastern United States and the Mary Mother of the Good Shepherd province in Canada. Working collaboratively .on initial formation has challenged my province to think interprovincially regarding continuing formation as well. I will flesh out some of the implications. The Broader Ministerial Situation. One context we must consider is the broader liturgical landscape of the church in which we are called to serve so that we can form and sustain men who are both comfortable and effective in that landscape. Of particular note in the United States is the declining number of active priests in the Jul)'-AUgltSt 2001 Foley * Eucharistic Praxis in Ecological Perspective U.S. and Canada and the growing phenomenon of Sunday Assemblies in the Absence of a Priest.s6 This reality grows in magnitude the further one moves away from the northeastern seaboard and travels west and south. For many people in the U.S. and Canada, not only is daily Eucharist an impossibility, but Sunday Eucharist is less and less frequent. Both the U.S. and Canadian bishops have issued ritu-als for Sunday Assemblies in the Absence of a Priest, The dif-ference between the two rituals demonstrates the wide range of possible responses to the shifting ecclesial landscape. What is most striking in this regard is the prominence the U.S.ritual gives to Holy Communion as a presumed' and integral part of the Sunday service in the absence of,the priest, whereas the Canadian ritual gives Holy Communion a secondary emphasis in its ritual,s7 Given this context, our minority can call us both to help people gather for Eucharist and also to stand in solidarity with them when they are forced to fast from Eucharist because of a lack of priests. The Formation Context. The other context for us Midwest Capuchins to consider in forming a healthy liturgical ecology is the joint formation setting (postulancy, novitiate, and year of integra-tion) that my province shares with two other provinces. The three provinces together stretch for several thousand miles, from Montana to Massachusetts. Distinctive ecclesial and community cultures are apparent across the vast populations of Catholics that we serve. Worship is often a focal point for these differences. This is especially true in a joint house of formation, where the expec-tation is that young Capuchins will be shaped in prayer patterns that not only' are credible for them but also will not create disso-nance with others in their home provinces, Like the liturgy, formation is about both the present and the future. Worship is not formation per se, but it is formative. Worship has an essential role to play in initial formation, as in all Capuchin life. For those in initial formation, however, worship serves some distinctively different functions from those it serves for Capuchins in continuing formation. Worship, for Capuchins as for all other Christians, is of course for their sanctification and God's glorification. In initial formation, however, it has the added functions of acclimating and sensitizing beginners to lifelong rit-ualizing in a fraternal, minorite, mixed religious community. Furthermore, in my particular context, it has the function Of shap- Revie~v for Religious ing future ministers to serve in the diverse and shifting liturgical landscape of the North American church. Consequently, a liturgical ecology for Capuchins in our initial formation program must respond not only to the needs of the can-didates but also to the needs of the local Capuchin com.munity, and must also successfully expose them to the range of official worship patterns that currently mark the North American church. Furthermore, their worship should help beginning Capuchins not only in their personal prayer life but also in acquiring skills in liturgical planning and leader-ship. Beginners should develop more than toleration for various worship patterns. They should develop the litur-gical flexibility necessary for flourishing and ministering within those patterns. While it is possible to generalize about the worship needs of men in initial forma-tion, there is also ~normous diversity that must be taken into account. The somewhat leisurely, almost idyllic setting for novitiate, for example, is quite different from the frenetic pattern often apparent in a house where our simply professed are attending school. The centripetal momentum of the former is clearly different from the centrifugal forces of the latter. Thus, important nuancing and even differen-tiation in the patterns of a liturgical ecosystem seem to be required. One size does not fit all here. CPO IV speaks of initial formation as a process of apprentice-ship which initiates one into the proper balance between fraternal life, prayer, and workY If this apprenticeship is to be "organic," as cPO 1v suggests,s9 and in continuity with the fullness of Capuchin life, then the prayer patterns of any house of formation must be in continuity with the fullness of Capuchin prayer as well. Life and prayer in houses of formation must be considered in concert with the life and prayer of all the houses of the province. The Provincial and Interprovincial Context. An ecological perspective sees all worship patterns within the larger provincial The expectation is that young Capuchins will be shaped in prayer patterns that not only are credible for them but also will not create dissonance with others in their home provinces. ¯ Fo~ " Eucharistic Praxis in Ecolo~cal Perspective and interprovincial ecology we call Capuchin life. No house is an isolated liturgical ecosystem, but is part of a larger Capuchin environment. A sound liturgical ecology within any house, there-fore, must be in relation to the liturgical ecology of the province (which CPO IV calls the "the prime fraternity"6°) or provinces in which it exists. Otherwise a single community (for. example, the novitiate house) can be reduced to a hothouse, and the chances of successful transplant--or ecological succession--anywhere else in the community will be seriously diminished. Prayer patterns across a province should be familiar, hospitable, and of such quality that they beckon any friar who would visit that house to share in the prayer. Provincial leadership, and not simply a single house or two, has primary responsibility for addressing the health of the entire provincial and even interprovincial liturgical ecosystem. This means that prayer life, prayer leadership, prayer quality, prayer frequency, and prayer commitment are concerns for all members of a province and of all the provinces. These are con-tinuing- formation issues. To expend energy only on the liturgical life of specially designated "houses of prayer," retreat centers, or houses of initial formation, and not expend the same energy on the other communities contradicts the principles of fraternity, minority, and mixed communities articulated above. Suggestions for a Liturgical Ecosystem for Capuchins We have provided some fundamental theological and pastoral principles, introduced the concept of a liturgical ecology, and noted the unique components and principles of Capuchin life. We have also noted the need to address the specific Capuchin context in which a liturgical prayer pattern must be shaped. What follows is a recapitulation and an array of specific suggestions. General Liturgical Principles ¯ Quality61 is as important as frequency in shaping worship patterns. ¯ Some prerequisite factors for sustaining that quality are sufficient time for preparation, especially for the various min-isters; sufficient time for celebration, allowing for appropriate periods, of silence; sufficient energy for celebration so that a spirit of "creativity and spontaneity" marks the worship. ¯ Continuity across various worship forms is essential. ¯ Resources of time, energy, and the various liturgical arts need be shared across the vai'ious liturgical celebrations of a community's life. ¯ The principle Review for Religious of progressive solemnity needs to be observed, so that there is a reasonable and effective rhythm of celebration in each house of formation. ¯ Creativity, spontaneity, and a spirit of contemplation need to mark this worship. ¯ Eucharist, the Liturgy of the Hours, and contemplation are the foundational triad for community prayer. ¯ It is the local community that is best able to assess its needs, and thus is the primary agent for setting its prayer horar-ium. ¯ Capuchins in initial formation need to be exposed to the central worship forms of the people to whom they will be minis-tering in the future. ¯ Continuity of values, quality, frequency, and resources are necessary across a province (and sometimes among provinces) for the integrity of a liturgical ecology. Eucharist ¯ A rhythm of quality daily community Eucharist is the ordinary ideal for Capuchins. ¯ Besides the general prerequisite factors for sustaining this quality noted above, quality daily com-munity Eucharist also requires a sufficient number of competent62 ordained brothers to share the leadership of presiding. ¯ Sunday Eucharist, as the central worship act of the church, is more prop-erly celebrated with the larger ecclesial community. ¯ On some occasions other than Sunday, it is~appropriate for the brothers to have their need for Eucharist served by the wider ecclesial com-munity. ¯ On some occasions Communion services are an appro-priate communal prayer experience for the brothers. ¯ On some occasions "fasting" from Eucharist is appropriate in order to heighten a forthcoming Eucharistic celebration, for example, fasting from Eucharist on the vigil of a great feast with an enhanced celebration of First Vespers. ¯ Concelebration is not an absolute canonical right, and is properly regulated by both the ordinary of a diocese and the ordinary of a religious community.63 ¯ Concelebration is a value which must be balanced with other values such as fraternity; it is possible that in some situations con-celebration is not the ideal in 'a Capuchin community; it should not simply be the prerogative'of an individual concelebrant, and must be considered in view of the wider needs of the community. The Liturgy of the Hours ¯ Quality daily celebrations of Morning and Evening Prayer are the ideal for Capuchins. ¯ Besides the general prerequisite factors for sustaining the quality noted above, quality daily cele-brations of Morning and Evening Prayer presume a notable level of musicality. ¯ The Office of Readings is highly recommended July-August 2001 Foley * Eucharistic Praxis in Ecological Perspective as a form of individual lectio divina. * The Liturgy of the Hours is sufficiently important that it needs to stand on its own as a central form of community prayer, and thus ordinarily should not be com~ined with the Eucharist as a matter of expediency. Contemplation ¯ The daily exercise of mental prayer.is the ideal for Capuchins. ¯ Besides specific time devoted to mental prayer, a spirit of contemplation should mark community celebrations of Eucharist, the Liturgy of the Hours, and other devotional activities. Popular Devotions ¯ Popular devotions observed by individual friars or local com-munities need to contribute to the overall liturgical health of the community, especially the central triad noted above. ¯ Since such devotions often have strong cultural references, it is often better for the brothers to celebrate such devotions with the cultural and linguistic communities that embrace these devotions (for example, in my own context, the Guadalupe novena and Eucharist are best celebrated with a Latino community).¯ Popular devo-tions are clearly secondary in Capuchin prayer life. Decision Making ¯ Decisions about a local community's liturgical ecology belong to the local community, facilitated by the leadership. ¯ The decision-making process should be in a "convergence" mode (that is, based upon the convergence of the multiple factors which need be considered in planning), rather than a "displacement" mode (that is, focusing on one factor which displaces all other factors in the decision-making process).64 ¯ Decisions about a commu-nity's liturgical ecolbgy are not permanent but cyclic. A process of decision making and evaluation and new decision making is essential for the vitality and renewal of the ecosystem. ¯ The deci-sion- making process should be flexible enough that there is room for proper experimentation and error. Both are part of the cycle of growth and development. Notes ' Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy (Sacrosanctum concilium; here-after CSL), §10. 2 From the first antiphon of First Vespers of the Office of St. Francis, composed by Julian of Speyer and others, Officium S. Francisci, Ad I Vesperas, Antiphonae I, Analecta Franciscana X, p. 375. English translation in Francis of Assisi: Early Documents, Vol. 1, ed. Armstrong et al. (New York: New City Press, 1999), p. 327. Review for Religious 3 Constitutions of the Capuchin Friars Minor, 84:2. 4 CSL §10. s For example, Aidan Kavanagh, On Liturgical Theology (New York: Pueblo, 1984), pp. 3, 8, passim, and David Power, "Cult to Culture: The Liturgical Foundation of Theology," Worship 54, no. 6 (1980): 484. 6 For example, Gordon Lathrop, Holy Things (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1989), p. 5; Don Saliers, Worship as Theology (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1994), passim; Geoffrey Wainwright, Doxology (New York: Oxford University Press, 1980), p. 8. 7 Mexander Schmemann, Introduction to Liturgical Theology, 2nd ed. (New York: St. Vladimir Press, 1975), p. 12. 8 For example, §5 speaks of "the work of Christ our Lord in redeem-ing mankind and giving perfect glory to God"; §7, "Christ, indeed, always associates the church with himself in this great work in which God is perfectly glorified and men are sanctified"; §10, "From the liturgy, there-fore, and especially from the Eucharist, grace is poured forth upon us as from a fountain, and the sanctification of men in Christ and the glo-rification of God, to which all other activities of the church are directed as toward their end, are achieved with maximum effectiveness"; §61, "There is scarcely any proper use of material things which cannot thus be directed toward the sanctification of men and the praise of God"; and §112, "the purpose of sacred music, which is the glory of God and the sanctification of the faithful." 9 Summa theologiae I, q.4, aa. 1-3. 1o STIII, q.61, aa.l-4. 1, Congregation for Worship and Sacraments, Inculturation and the Roman Liturgy, §26. 12 Inculturation and the Roman Liturgy, §35; see CSL §34. 13 Pontifical Council for Culture, Toward a Pastoral Approach to Culture, §2. 14 For example, age, class, abilities and disabilities, educational back-ground, theological differences, and devotional needs. is This formulation is taken from the U.S. his.hops' 1972 document (rev. 1983) Music in Catholic Worship, §7. ~6 Raymond Brown, The Churches the Apostle~ Left Behind (New York: Paulist Press, 1984). 17 See, for example, Joachim Jeremias, The Eucharistic Words of Jesus, trans. Norman Perrin (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1977), pp. 138-203. 18 Adalbert de Vogii~, "Le Pr~tre et la Communaut~ monastique dans l'Antiquit~," La Maison-Dieu 115 (1973): 62-65. For one relatively exhaustive treatment of the gradual clericalization of monasteries and introduction of daily Eucharist, see Angelus Albert Hiiussling, "M6nchsKonvent und Eucharistiefeier," Liturgiewissenschaftliche Quellen und Forschungen 58 (Miinster: Aschendorffische Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1973). ffuly-August 2001 Foley * Eucharistic Praxis in Ecological Perspective ~9 See Antoine Chavasse, "Les grand cadres de la c~l~bration ~ Rome in Urbe et extra muros jusqu'~ VIIIe si~cle," Revue B~n~dictine 96 (1986): 7-26. 20 See Caroline Walker Bynum, Holy Feast and Holy Fast: The Religious Significance of Food to Medieval Women (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987). Zl See chap. 3 of both The Earlier Rule and The Later Rule in Francis of Assisi: Early Documents, Vol. 1, pp. 65-66 and 101-102; also A Rule for Hermitages, which makes no allowance for Eucharist but only for the Liturgy of the Hours, despite the presumption of three or four broth-ers living together, pp. 61-62. It was only in 1224 that the order was given papal permission to celebrate Mass within community houses, an act that commentators call "a clear testimony to an increasing clerical orientation in the order," p. 562. 22 See Jean Leclercq, "Eucharistic Celebrations without Priests in the Middle Ages," Worship 55, no. 4 (July 1980): 308-325. 23 Many churches in union with Rome (that is, part of the Catholic Church) that follow the Eastern rites limit the celebration of Eucharist to Sundays and major feasts. 24 See the assessment of the originality of the Franciscan project by Herbert Grundmann in his Religious Movements in the Middle Ages, trans. Steven Rowan (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1995), pp. 55-58. 2s "From the liturgy, therefore, particularly the Eucharist, grace is poured forth upon us as from a fountain." CSL §10. 26 CSL ~ 13. 27 Much of what follows is dependent upon the article "Ecology" by E.J. Dyksterhuis, in Compton's Encyclopedia On-Line (http://comp-tonsv3. web.aol.com/current_events/top_science.html), I.X~II.00. 28 See Dianne Bergant, The Earth Is the Lord's: The Bible, Ecology, and Worship (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1998), esp. pp. 14-16. 29 Bergant, Earth, pp. 15-16. 30 Robert Schreiter, The New Catholicity (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1997), p. 16. 3~ See "The Preparatory Rites: A Case Study in Liturgical Ecology," coauthored by Kathleen Hughes, Gilbert Ostdiek, and me, in The Ecological Challenge: Ethical, Liturgical, and Spiritual Responses, ed. Richard Fragomeni and John Pawlikowski (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1994), pp. 83-101. 32 CSL §7 speaks of Christ's presence in the ministers, the Eucharistic species, the sacraments, and the word and when the community prays and sings. 33 The General Instruction on the Liturgy of the Hours, §273. 34 See "leitourgeo" by H. Strathmann in Theological Dictionary of the Review for Religious New Testament, ed. Gerhard Kittel, trans, and ed. Geoffrey W. Bromiley (G~and Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1967), Vol. 4, 226-228. 3s Ferdinand Hahn, The Worship of the Early Church (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1973), p. 38. 36 Karl Rahner, "Considerations on the Active Role of the Person in the Sacramental Event," in his Theological Investigations, Vol. 14: Ecclesiology, Questions in the Church, The Church in the World, trans. David Bourke (New York: Seabury Press, 1976), p. 169. 37 Michael Skelley, The Liturgy of the World. Karl Rahner's Theology of Worship (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1991), p. 101. 39 Earlier in the constitutions it is noted that "Franciscan prayer is affective" (§46:6, emphasis mine). In view of this characterization and the previously noted need that liturgy be humanly appealing (see n. 14 above), it seems reasonable to assert that this ideal of daily Eucharist must be balanced with the need of a community for effective and affec-tire worship. 39 CSL §14. 4o Music in Catholic Worship, §6. 41 Fulfilled in Your Hearing, §8. 42 §§20-21, on p. 76 in The Path of Renewal: The Documents of the Five Plenary Councils and the First Assembly of the Order of Capuchin Friars Minor, ed~ Regis Armstrong. 43 §3, on p. 8 of Living Poverty in Brotherhood (Rome: Curia generale dei Frail Minori Cappuccini, 1998). ~4 The Identity of the Franciscan Order at the Moment of Its Foundation (1999), p. 35. 4s §14, on p. 31 in The Path of Renewal. ~ See Can VVe Always Celebrate the Eucharist? ed. Mary Collins and David Power (New York: Seabury Press, 1982), esp. the article by Enrique Dussel, pp. 56-65. 47 §16, on p. 31 in The Path of Renewal. 4s See §25 of the new Institutio Generalis Missalis Romani (2000). 49 The author's interpolation. so IGMR, §42. s* Letter of John Paul II to John Corriveau, 18 September 1996, as cited in Analecta OFMCap 112, nos. 3-4 (1996): 566. s2 Vita consecrata, §61. s3 §4, on p. 72 in The Path of Renewal; this image is reflected in our constitutions, §54. s4 See the related discussion in chap. 11 of the Fifth Plenary Council of the Order, in The Path of Renewal, pp. 116-121. ss §95, on p. 137 in The Path of Renewal. s6 In a recent report by the U.S. bishops on the priest shortage, the 3~uly-August 2001 Foley ¯ Eucharistic Praxis in Ecological Perspective following statistics were offered: total number of priests, 47,600; num-ber active in parishes, 27,000; ratio of priests to Catholics, 1 to 1257; number of dioceses reporting fewer priests than needed, 83 percent; parishes without a resident pastor, 2334; parishes directed by a nonpriest, 437; dioceses closing parishes, 13 percent; dioceses reducing number of Sunday Masses, 42 percent; dioceses expecting major increase in lay min-istry in the next 10 years; 86 percent. From the U.S. bishops' study The Impact of Fewer Priests on the Pastoral Ministry, as reported in the National Catholic Reporter, 30 June 2000. s7 Whereas the U.S. ritual provides for Communion as a possibility in all rituals presented (see §§25-36 in the U~S. publication Sunday Celebrations in the Absence of a Priest (New York: Catholic Book Publishing Company, 1994), the Canadian ritual provides only for Celebrations of the Word and of the Hours, without Communion (Sunday Celebrations of the Word: Gathering in the Expectation of the Eucharist [Ottawa: Canadian Conference of Catholic Bishops, 1995]). s8 §50, on p. 88 in The Path of Renewal. s9 §57, on p. 92 in The Path of Renewal. 60 §80, on p. 101 in The Path of Renewal. 61 While there is no universal agreement on the meaning of "qual-ity," the U.S. bishops offer direction in this definition: "Quality means love and care in the making of something, honesty and genuineness with any materials used, and the artist's special gift in producing a harmonious whole, a well-crafted work," Environment and Art in Catholic Worship, §20. 62 While there may exist no unanimity regarding what constitutes "competency" for presiders', the point is that, given the critical and for-mative nature of Eucharist for beginning Capuchins, presidency is not a slot to be filled by anyone. Someone (presumably the directors of the various levels of formation) needs to take responsibility for quality con-trol in this area. My working definition of competency in presiding is: "an obvious level of development in the priest-presider that combines (1) solid knowledge of the liturgy with (2) competence and ease in perfor-mance skills (gestures, proclamation, and so forth) for enacting the rites, (3) a clear pastoral sensitivity for the assembly and other ministers, and (4) a transparent spirit of personal prayer," from Integration for Beginning Preachers and Presiders: A Study Funded by the Wabash Center fir the Teaching and Learning of Religion and Theology (1999). 63 See John Huels, "Concelebration," in Disputed Questions in the Liturgy Today (Chicago: Liturgy Training Publications, 1988), pp. 39-45. 64 See my "Evaluation of Roman Catholic Ritual Music: From Displacement to Convergence~" in my Ritual Music (Beltsville, Maryland: Pastoral Press, 1995), pp. 173-189. Revi~ for Religious KENNETH C. RUSSELL Being a Hermit: Where and How? Hermits face a basic practical problem: how to pay for the withdrawal from society that defines them. And their "apartness" does define them, as Jacques Winandy emphasizes: "'If separation from the world, and this alone, makes the monk' (Dom Gu4ranger), it must also, and by an even stricter claim, make the hermit."1 But how can hermits reconcile their desire to withdraw from the world and their need to be connected to it for financial reasons? Can hermits live at a distance from society and still be self-supporting--as the earliest eremitical tradition says they should be2--or is their solitude something to be paid for by others, either through outright gifts or a willingness to pay inflated prices for the small items they manufacture? How are they supposed to manage? After all, not everyone with a vocation to the eremitical life is a successful artist or a popular writer or a computer whiz who can sit on a distant hilltop and still earn real money. Not everyone who desires to be alone with God has a pension or investments to pay. the bills. For the last few centuries, no one has given much thought to where hermits should live and what work they might do. In fact, there was a tendency to regard Kenneth C. Russell, a frequent contributor, writes from 40 Landry Street, Apt. 1505; Ottawa, Ontario; K1L 8K4 Canada. JMy-August 2ool dialogue Russell ¯ Being a Hermit them as good-for-nothing nobodies who had no proper place in the regular structure of respectable consecrated life. But, after a long campaign by the pioneers of the eremitical revival, hermits have, as it were, been cleaned up and brought in from the cold. Canon 603 of the 1983 Code of Canon Law provides a much-appreci-ated mechanism by which they may gain recognition as individuals "dedicated to God in consecrated life." What effect, though, does this official recognition have on a hermit's fundamental problem: how to withdraw from society and still find money to keep a roof over his or her head and food on the table? Three Commentaries Canon 603 itself says nothing about the tension between the hermit's quest for solitude and his or her need of money. But, of course, the commentaries on the canon cannot ignore it. How do they deal with it? These commentaries are of some importance because they are among the texts likely to be consulted when a hermit seeks to be recognized as "one dedicated to God in consecrated life" by the profession of the evangelical counsels in the hands of'the diocesan bishop. These texts are also likely to influence those counseling would-be hermits on an appropriate course of action. I have focused on three commendable texts, each of which has much to offer anyone seeking information on the eremitical life. The first of these was prepared by the French Canonical Committee for Religious in 1993 at the request of the Episcopal Commission for the Religious State) (It is worth noting that in 1989 there were an estimated 150 hermits in France. Of the 79 female and 39 male he~rmits known to the episcopal authorities, 57 were monastics, 35 were religious, 7 were diocesan priests, and 19 were lay people.) The second text, written by D.J. AndrOs, was prepared in response to a request for guidance made to the Instituto Juridico Claretiano by some bishops from Spain, Brazil, and Italy. This long text, first published in 1986, offers a detailed model of dioce-san regulations which.might govern hermits in a particular church.4 The third text is an oft-referred-to article by Helen L. MacDonald titled "Hermits: The Juridical Implications," which appeared in 1992.5 I want to consider two questions. First, where do the authors Review for Religious of these texts think hermitages should be located? Second, what work do they suggest hermits do? In other words, I want to examine how these references deal with the tension between the hermit's distance from the world and his or .her need of cash. These are not directly questions of canon law, although the pattern of the canons dealing with religious life may influence how they are answered. Certainly the writers' conception of the eremitical life and the weight to be given to its various elements plays a role in determining where they think hermits should live and what they should do. Location and Work The outline of statutes Andr6s offers is the most restrictive of the three documents in regard to place and work. It situates hermits in isolated areas of mountainous regions. There is a practical reason for this idyllic setting since AndrOs, who.insists that hermits not work for others, recommends herbal gardening, beekeeping, and care of a flock as suitable employment for hermits. While he notes that the work undertaken by hermits' should not be too absorbing or exhausting, he also says that hermits should be financially independent. They should not expect the bishop or their family to bail them out when they have difficulties. AndrOs obviously believes that the "separation from the world" which characterizes hermits should be taken in a material, measurable sense. He also insists that physical labor should be part of hermits' penitential regime. Hermits, in other words, should not be exempt from the obligation to earn their living by the sweat of their brow. MacDonald takes a softer position in regard to hermits' paying their own way. She speaks of a need to determine how a candidates for recognition as hermits "will be financially supported. ,,6 This may come, she says, from work done in the her-mitage, contributions from family or a religious community, or, in the case of priests, from Mass stipends. She mentions the correc-tion of papers from college extension courses, weaving, painting, and making small crosses and other salable objects as work that could be done within the hermitage. The only exterior money-earning activity she mentions for nonclerical hermits is the possibility of part-time teaching. Like AndrOs, she points out that hermits have no right to expect support from the bishop. She Jnly-August 2001 Russell * Being aHermit find locations that foster the degree of isolation they need. notes, however, that he may fully or partially support a hermit if he chooses to do so. She concludes that "it doesn't matter much what the hermit does, as long as it is in keeping with the eremit-ical vocation and is approved by the bishop."7 MacDonald's openness to the idea that hermits might be supported by others or helped along with gifts of food or clothing suggests that she does not really expect most hermits to be self-sup-porting. It may be significant, therefore, that when she speaks of the work hermits do she puts the word labor in quotation marks. Since MacDonald situates hermits' work within the hermitage, she feels no obligation to locate the cell in a specific kind of place. She notes, in fact, that hermits can be found almost anywhere. Hermits, she argues, must find locations that foster the degree of isolation they need. Her understanding of solitude seems quite flexible; she believes that many hermits "will make daily visits to the poor or the sick.''s She maintains, nonetheless, that the loca-tion of hermitages should indi~:ate "a real sociological separation from the community.''9 She does not, then, measure hermits' iso-lation in miles or kilometers. Hermits need not, in her opinion, flee to hidden spots in the green countryside. The document of the French Canonical Committee for Religious also qualifies the sociological separation of hermits by pointing out that it does not exclusively or Hermits must even primarily refer to the avoidance of con-tact with others. The text notes, however, that individuals are not so caught up in eco-nomic and societal affairs as large groups. This peripheral status of hermits--compared, say, with that of a religious community-- should show itself by the solitaries' simplic-ity of life. But how is this life to be maintained? This document recognizes that the need to work can become a determinative factor in the sched-ules of hermits. It is a serious matter. Hermits are expected to support themselves. Candidates for official recognition are asked to consider what type of work they can do that both suits their aptitudes and respects the form of life they are about to embrace formally. The text does not suggest what sort of work hermits might take up. Nor does it indicate where they should locate their hermitages. It merely insists that the silence hermits need must be guaranteed by the solitary location of their dwellings. Revie~v for Religious Poverty Since work and a hermit's standard of living are integrally linked, we must look briefly at how the texts under consideration view the commitment to poverty that formally recognized hermits make. First of all, each text acknowledges the tradition that the poverty of hermits is a real, physical limitation. It is quite different from the poverty of members of religious institutions who, though they theoretically possess nothing in a personal way, share in the corporate sufficiency of the order or congregation to which they belong. Hermits obviously lack this "cushion," and, since they salvage as many hours as they can from the tyranny of work because of their desire to be silently with God, they are reduced to a standard of living that provides nothing but the basics. Even when hermits do not have to depend on work for their income, their focus on God alone strips away the distraction of material comforts. The poverty of hermits is neither the poverty of the destitute nor the poverty of religious. It is not a matter of not owning things, but of having little, whether owned or not. MacDonald explicitly acknowledges the difference between religious and eremitical poverty: "While poverty in an institute consists in being dependent on the superior or community for ~verything, the hermit may, in fact, own what is necessary while at the same time be lacking the very real security offered by belonging to a community.''1° The French committee of canonists points out, however, that the poverty of hermits poses a problem since canon 600 governing poverty in all forms of consecrated life does not seem to fit their situation. The committee notes that there are two ways of dealing with this issue. The first, which is more in conformity with tradition, views the poverty of hermits as a stripping to essentials in accord with the nature of the eremitical life. The second makes the diocesan bishop the hermits' superior in the strict sense, and not merely the overseer of their plan of life. The bishop, then, is seen as the "superior" whose administration and regulation control hermits' poverty. Although AndrOs emphasizes the real poverty of hermits, he seems, nonetheless, to be sympathetic to this second approach. When he states that solitaries should not own their hermitages, he is obviously bringing their poverty into conformity with the nonownership model of canon 600. His statement vividly illus-trates iust how untraditional this view of eremitical poverty actu- Russell ¯ Being aHermit ally is. Egyptian hermits may not have had a land claim on file in the local registry office, but they certainly thought of the huts they built with their own hands and at their own expense as belonging to them! I would argue that, while it may be inappropriate for a religious to own his or her dwelling, there is no reason why a contemporary hermit should not do so, if earlier savings make the initial down payment possible. A hermit's ownership of a modest apartment or cottage will not compromise the real poverty in which he or she lives. In fact, paying the mortgage will probably ensure it. Resolving the Tension Of the three texts examined, two attempt to resolve the tension between physical withdrawal from society and the need to make money by contact with it. Andr~s's document does this by locating the hermitage in a pastoral setting where the kinds of work it recommends can be done. MacDonald makes the hermitage the site of a cottage industry and then situates it to fit the hermit's tolerance for solitude. The French text does not address the tension directly. It vaguely locates the hermitage in solitude and leaves the question of how hermits might earn a living open, with the proviso, of course, that the work done not be detrimental to the lifestyle it is supposed to support. But how helpful are these texts? The mountaintop solution of Andr&s document obviously gives priority to the location of the hermitage. Isolation makes the hermit, as it were, and consequently the solitary place determines the work done. The text resolves the tension between the need to be connected for economic reasons and the desire to be separated, but unfortunately it limits who can be hermits since many people lack the aptitude for the work he thinks ideal. MacDonald's solution to the tension between withdrawal and the need to work is equally unsatisfactory. The hermitages may be located anywhere, but solitaries work in them at tasks that are unlikely to pay the bills. In this scenario hermits come close to being licensed charities like their medieval predecessors. MacDonald's attitude toward the economic status of hermits directly contradicts the French committee's insistence that hermits not be a burden to others. Unfortunately, its text says Review for Religious nothing about how hermits are supposed to pay for the solitude they are required to seek. Its silence, however, may indicate that the committee thinks bishops and hermits should adopt a practical attitude to the reconciliation of finances and solitude. Why There Is a Problem Why do hermits find it so hard to reconcile the need for soli-tude and the need to earn a livelihood? Why is this a problem? I believe there are two reasons. First of all, the recognition of the eremit-ical life in canon law has brought regulations in its wake. This was inevitable. Bishops cannot be expected to be responsible for what they cannot regulate. The real issue is just how much regulation is required. Andr~s's text goes into great detail on the various material and spiritual aspects of the solitary life. MacDonald's article and the document of the French committee "of canonists are more restrained. All the texts, as might be expected, fill in gaps in canon 603 by refer-ence to the canons governing individuals in religious communities. The consequence of all this is that, though hermits recog-nized by canon 603 are not religious according to the definition in canon 574, they tend to think of themselves and to be thought of as such. They are, as it were, drawn by the strong gravitational pull of religious life into a zone wher~ certain proprieties influence the conception of the kind of work they might do. Some jobs are thought respectable, some not. You might find a religious distributing clothing at her community's secondhand depot, but you will not find one handing customers their garments at the local dry cleaners. There is a good reason for this. Congregations have specific missions to fulfill in the church. The only problem is that this "religious" reason does not apply to hermits. They do not work to do good, but to earn the money they need to maintain their life of prayer. The fact that many hermits are monastics or priests or former religious strengthens this pull to conform to the respectability the Egyptian hermits certainly thought of the huts they built with their own hands and at their own expense as belonging to them! '371 . July-August 2001 Russell ¯ Being aHermit faithful associate with religious life. It is as though there is a line in the sand. On one side is the lay world with its way of doing things and, on the other, the religious world with its conventions. Canon 603 has clearly reached across the line and drawn the erstwhile solitary misfit out of secular society into a world where only certain ways of earning a living are considered proper. The shabby, "good-for-nothing" dropout whom no respectable order would admit has been spruced up and given standing in the church. It is only fitting, apparently, that such a "cloistered" individual earn his or her living "religiously." Hence we get the manufacture of pious items or other genteel pursuits within a hut up the lane from the "hermit lives here" sign. Benedict Joseph Labre and his fleas are still out in the cold! The second reason for the unrealistic approach to hermits' need for cash and quiet is, I suspect, an idyllic image of medieval hermits. Solitude is given such a priority in this conception of the eremitical life that any place other than a mountaintop or forest glade seems inappropriate for a hermitage. Unfortunately, the taming of hermits (whom Jean Leclercq called the least institu-tional of people) and the medievalizing of the image of solitaries hinder the adaptation of the eremitical life to the conditions of our time. Hermits face what might be called a Cluniac tempta-tion: to emphasize prayer to such an extent that work (penance!) and humility are neglected. Toward a Solution What, then, is the solution? How can the various components of the solitary life find their proper place in the regime of the hermit? The first step is to realize that the designation hermits is a catch-all word for a disparate group of men and women who, though they share certain common features, live these out in ways that are unique to each. The authors of the texts examined admit this. They tend to forget, nevertheless, that as a consequence the eremitical life resists organization and detailed regulatory prescriptions. If hermitswI am speaking here of nonmonastic hermits and of those who are not members of congregations tolerating them in their midst--can free themselves of the propriety associated With religious and can shed the medievalimage of the hermit, there is no reason why there should be any tension between their quest Review for Religious for solitude and their need to support themselves. Once the two issues are considered in tandem--as they were in the case of the solitaries in the Egyptian desert--hermits can seek solitude where they. can earn a living. And, if hermits are willing to live the hidden life of aloneness with God without display or privilege, there is no reason why those who lack the skills that make country living profitable should not find employment in the city. There is no rea-son why they should not take the same menial, part-time jobs that many lay people work at and live on. Living in the city will not compromise their anonymity or their noninvolvement in society's preoccupations or even their real phys-ical solitude. One can live in an apartment building for years with-out knowing one's neighbors by name. Encounters in the elevator seldom get beyond chitchat about the weather. In fact, the city offers greater possibilities for alone-ness than the country, where friendly and curious neighbors are likely to try to inte-grate the stranger in their midst into the community. The quiet of city hermits may not be the idyllic quiet that can be found The city offers greater possibilities for aloneness than the country. in the countryside (when snowmobiles and all-terrain vehicles are not on the move), but it can be authentic nonetheless. However, just as the need for quiet must determine where hermits live, even in the city, so their focus on God must govern the kind of work they do. A long tradition discourages work that wears the hermit out or that demands so much attention that there is no room for God. It may well be, then, that hermits, most of whom are mature individuals, will find that the skills they have acquired over the years do not fit their new calling. They may have to look for simpler, less demanding jobs that can be done and forgotten about when the shift ends. A Summary and Some Questions In this paper I have been concerned with how some influen-tial scholarly texts deal with the tension created by the need of hermits to distance themselves from society while remaining linked to it for sustenance. I have argued that there is a disturbing tendency to deal with hermits as though they are quasi-religious. I have expressed the fear that this conception of the hermit, which J~dy-August 2001 Russell * Being aHermit goes hand in hand with a rather romantic image of the medieval solitary, will stifle the development of the eremitical life. It threatens to freeze the life into a privileged leisure enjoyed by pensioners, the financially secure, and those willing to take hand-outs from others. The texts I have looked at are concerned with her~nits "rec-ognized by law as. dedicated to God in consecrated life" by a public profession of the evangelical counsels before the diocesan bishop. One need not make such a profession to lead an eremitical life. Many hermits never take this official step, some because they are satisfied with the private vows or promises they have made, and some because they have not been able to find a bishop willing to accept hermits. Do some hermits perhaps feel uneasy about being recognized? Is the term public profession another example of a concept borrowed from religious life that does not quite fit the reality of the eremitical' regime? Should it, like the notion of poverty, be reinterpreted? Of itself, the technical canonical term public does not seem to imply publicity. Elizabeth McDonough states that "the vows or other sacred bonds (that is, promises or formal commitments) pronounced by hermits are public because the canon refers to them as such and because they are received by the diocesan bishop in the name of the church (c. 1192, §2).''~ Both AndrOs and MacDonald, however, make the commitment of the hermit public in the ordinary sense of the word. AndrOs recommends that it take place in the subject's parish church on a Sunday or a feast day. MacDonald insists that the congregation be involved "whether the ceremony takes place in the cathedral, the nearest parish church, or the hermit's 'home parish.'''~2 This kind of public event may be fitting for someone making a monastic commitment or taking vows in a religious congregation. But does this understanding of public fit a hermit? Does it not vio-late the radical hiddenness the hermit seeks? Does it not tend to make him or her a religious in the eyes of the people? Does it not awaken expectations that he or she will conform to what is expected of religious? I am reminded of Emily Dickinson's remark in her pbem that begins "I'm Nobody! Who are you?" When she surmises that she is not alone because the reader may well be Nobody too, she cau-tions the person not to tell: "they'd advertise - you know!" Exactly. It seems to me that big public celebrations, newspaper articles, Review for Religious television coverage, and so forth are hindrances to the witness of hermits. This should depend on the peace that goes forth from them and not on the fact that others know they are hermits. They should have faith that living a hidden life has value even if only the bishop and a few intimates know about it. It would be unfortunate if a split developed between the offi-cially recognized hermits and their untamed, unregulated, scruffy counterparts. It would be a setback for the eremitical tradition if hermits recognized in law pursued a somewhat stylized and regulated eremit-ical life while their freelance peers held firm to the nonconformity that' has always pushed hermits to the fringe of society and the church. The following statement, however, by a renowned canonist, J. Beyer, suggests that this is just what is happening: "Today, besides the public witness of the hermits through their abandonment of the world, austerity of life, and external soli-tude, there are also hermits who remain in the world, live in reserve, supporting themselves by common manual labor. They are almost unknown, and in their cities they pray and work to the praise of God and for the salvation of the world.''3 I argue that this distinction between publicly recognized her-mits following a "classical" eremitical regime, on the one hand, and hermits living hidden lives "in the world," on the other, is detrimental to the renewal of the eremitical life. The distinction is a false one produced by an unrealistic religious view of how soli-taries should earn their living and where they should locate their hermitages. Unfortunately, the commentaries studied do not come to grips with these issues in a practical way. MacDonald and Andrts offer unrealistic advice while the French canonists leave the whole matter vague. Authentic hermits--whither recognized in law or not--want to be anonymous nobodies alone with God in a simple life of prayer and work. They need to be able to support their arduous, insecure, and unapplauded lifestyle in any appropriate way they can. They need to live where work is available. Formal recognition according to canon 603 should intensify their commitment to this hard life, not restrict their ability to live it. The witness of hermits should depend on the peace that goes forth from them. ffu~-August 2001 Russell ¯ Being a Hermit Notes ~ [Jacques Winandy], A Manual for Hermits:for the use of the Hermits of St. John tbe Baptist (privately printed, 1964), p. 10. For a revised version of this manual, see Jacques Winandy, Vie drdmitique: Essai d'ini-tiation, Vie monastique, Vol. 6 (B~grolles-en-Manges: Abbaye de Bellefontaine, 1976). 2 See my article "Must Hermits Work?" Review for Religious 59, no. 2 (March-April 2000): 156-174. 3 "Les ermites," in Comitd canonique fran~ais des religieux, Vie religieuse, dr~mitisme, consecration des vierges, communaut~s nouvelles: ~tudes canoniques (Paris: Cerf. 1993), pp. 163-181. 4 D.J. AndrOs, "Proyecto de estatutos diocesanos para los ermitafios de la iglesia particular de. Comentario aplicativo al can. 603 del CIC," Commentarium pro Religiosis et Missionariis 65 (1986): 185-248. s Helen L. MacDonald, "Hermits: The Juridical Implications of Canon 603," Studia canonica 26 (1992): 163-189. 6 MacDonald, p. 177 (italics added). 7 MacDonald, p. 186. s MacDonald, p. 187. 9 MacDonald, p. 184 10 MacDonald, p. 185. 11 Elizabeth McDonough, "Hermits and Virgins," Review for Religious 51, no. 3 (May-June 1992): 305. 12 MacDonald, p. 180. ~3 Quoted in The Code of Canon Law: A Text and Commentary, ed. James A. Coriden et al. (New York: Paulist Press, 1985), p. 468 (italics added). Cleft for Me The hand that formed the firmament, that fit galaxies together and fashioned me, now hangs limp, nailed to a tree. Yet that mangled hand still has the power to cleave the rock inside of me. Teresa Burleson R~view for Religious CHRISTOPHER J. RENZ Learning a Foreign Language: Continuing the Dialogue on Homosexuality I;his poem "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," Robert rost describes the woods as dark and deep, an appropriate metaphor for emotions present in discussions on homosexuality in religious and priestly life. One need only compare two recent articles to get a feel for the deep and opposing sentiment on this issue. Paul Shaughnessy claims that homosexual i~riests are "legion" within the priesthood, that they are a problem to be solved (which will be tough, he says, because at issue is a fight between liberal and conservative Catholics), and that the solution to this problem is to reject all homosexuals who apply to the seminary2 James Martin, in sharp contrast, says that a clear and dispassionate review of the major issues raised by the presence of homosexual priests will help significandy.2 The question, he says, is not whether God is calling homosexual men to the priesthood, but why. Martin responds by analyzing the gifts that homosexual priests bring to the church: a profound compassion (arising from their personal experience with persecution, rejection, and suffering), a deep spirituality, and an artistic creativity. Any attempt to resolve these conflicting views can seem intimidating, like a journey into Frost's woods. A clear and Christopher J. Renz OP, director of formation for the Western Dominican Province, lives at St. Albert Priory Studentate Community; 5890 Birch Court; Oakland, California 94618. ' Renz ¯ Learning a Foreign Language dispassionate first step is Donald Cozzens's Changing Face of the Priesthood, and specifically chapter 7, "Considering Orientation.''3 The book's purpose is to describe the current state of the priesthood and review the issues and challenges that lie ahead. In chapter 7, Cozzens discusses the so-called "crisis of orientation" under three headings, "homosexuality and the seminary," "throughout the ages," and "the priesthood as a gay profession." He says that a delay in facing this crisis will cause great harm to the church and the priesthood. Though Cozzens's reflections specifically deal with seminarians and priests, I believe they are also relevant to religious formation communities. As director of formation in my province, I am particularly interested in exploring how this crisis affects women and men in formation programs. In this paper I will explain why I believe the religious formation community is a more helpful working model for discussing this "crisis of orientation" than Cozzens's seminary model. As his purpose is only to raise issues, Cozzens offers no in-depth look at possible causes or specific solutions to the "crisis of orientation" he sees, but, by linking it to a "disproportionate" number of homosexual men in seminary life and the priesthood, he seems to imply that this crisis is best resolved by establishing a more "proportionate" balance between homosexual and heterosexual men in the priesthood. He discusses the expanding social phenomenon of homosexual orientation and the conflicted relationship of gay and lesbian groups with the church, particularly as regards its consistent teaching on homosexuality (that homosexual women and men are to live lives of celibate chastity). Two related paradoxes arise. First, while gay and lesbian activists claim that the church denies them their sexual rights, they also note that the church has been an historical haven for homosexuals, particularly through religious life and the priesthood. Second, as a requirement common to both homosexually oriented people and to the priesthood and religious life, the church's teaching on celibate chastity has made priesthood and religious life naturally attractive for them. Cozzens does not consider a large number of homosexual men and women in the priesthood and religious life to be surprising. Cozzens's brief treatment indicates the tensions between the church and the gay and lesbian community and presents a forum for reflection and discussion. The tensions may involve doubts and Review for Religious even suspicion. Cozzens correctly notes that some gay4 networks and subcultures use the priesthood to legitimize sexual acting out. As he addresses concerns about the consequences of a priesthood seen to be a "gay profession," one is left with the impression that the real issue is whether or not homosexuals who enter religious life or the priesthood bring with them the sexual attitudes of the so-called gay subculture. More bluntly, are homosexually oriented religious or priests trustworthy as regards upholding the church's teaching on homosexuality? The implication seems to be that many will use religious life and the priesthood as "fronts" for their sexual activity. Such assumptions are harmful because they tend to dismiss the sincere and good intentions of at least some homosexual women and men. On the other side, homosexual persons who enter priesthood or religious life may have their own counterreactive suspicions. They may wonder if the church trusts them, if their religious community assumes that they will act out, if they will find support among their colleagues. Addressing these tensions is essential in order to allay such mutual distrust. Cozzens looks at two consequences of the disproportionate numbers between homosexual and heterosexual seminarians: the psychological effects and the threat to unity and integrity of the community. As a psychologist, Cozzens claims that a large number of gay men in their community brings about in straight seminarians and clergy a "chronic destabilization." This produces self-doubt, and has implications for both spiritual vitality and emotional balance. In the seminary the energy used to cope with this psychic unrest is energy diverted from study and prayer, putting heterosexual seminarians at a disadvantage. Cozzens compares this phenomenon to the stress experienced by a traveler in a country whose language is unfamiliar. Such chronic destabilization can be particularly problematic in a closed system such as a seminary because the unconscious stress can cause a loss of psychic energy, a sense of not fitting in, that may suggest to a seminarian that he is not called to the priesthood. Granting for the sake of argument all of this to be true, one is left to wonder about the psychological effects on homosexual Addressing these tensions is essential in order to allay such mutual distrust. Renz ¯ Learning a Foreign Language seminarians or religious in a predominandy heterosexual seminary or formation program. Will they not experience the same kind of psychic destabilization? Will they not feel out of sync too? And what about all the energy they use up in stabilizing themselves in the predominantly heterosexual environment? Would the simply professed who have a homosexual orientation not be tempted to leave the religious community for the same reasons? Would it matter if they did? Is it not true that the traveler will become more stabilized when committed to learning the language of that foreign country? Is this not the expectation placed upon homosexual women and men? One means to alleviate the chronic destabilization induced by the disproportionate number of homosexual seminarians might be the limiting (or elimination) of homosexual men in the seminary. Cozzens raises this possibility as important for consideration. It is clearly Shaughnessy's choice. Such an option would perhaps fall within the guidelines established by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF): "There are areas in which it is not unjust discrimination to take sexual orientation into account; for example, in the placement of children for adoption or foster care, in the employment of teachers or athletic coaches, and in military recruitment.''s This approach would provide a quick solution to a perceived problem. It seems short-sighted, however, and could be a greater threat to the stability of priesthood than that posed by the disproportion. Chronic destabilization may loom large in Cozzens's view because a seminary community is a closed system that is small in several ways. Seminary communities are transient in nature. They exist for the sake of educating men for priesthood within a few years. The focus is more on the individual than the group. Once formal education is completed, the community dissolves and is replaced by the "brotherhood of priests," a less tangible body. Religious communities, in contrast, are much more permanent. Members make lifetime commitments to the group, whose interests are given some priority over the individual's. This is not to deny that there are comparisons to be made to the "brotherhood of priests." But it is to suggest that religious communities are better places in which to understand and deal with the benefits and risks of chronic destabilization. What is learned in religious formation programs can be applied to seminary formation programs later. Review for Religious Formation in religious life is an inculturation process, a reeducation into the values of the religious community. Many wtio come to us carry with them the goals and values of the contemporary culture. Formation programs gradually confront these values and then see if they can be aligned with those of the church and the congregation or order. This process produces a sort of culture shock, a dis-ease not unlike chronic destabilization. It might be useful, therefore, to consider Cozzens's observations under this light. The issue at hand is not destabilization (which must occur), but how the formation program responds to it. Initial formation provokes successive levels of chronic destabilization. The first levels involve "externals" (times, places, schedules) and ways of socialization (inductive explanations, patterns of obedience, and so forth). Eventually, other personality values are encountered and challenged, including those dealing with psychosexual development. Being asked to replace personal values with the new ones belonging to the religious community and the church causes a psychic distress that usually lasts through the first few years of simple vows. The destabilization is indeed chronic and, left unattended, is detrimental to the formation process. Religious life brings under one roof a variety of people, including those with differing sexual orientation. Perhaps for the first time heterosexual persons will live and interact with homosexual persons. This experience will undoubtedly produce destabilization, more so for one in the minority. I view this crisis of sexual identity as part of the formation process. The psychic and spiritual unrest can be an opportunity for the individual to open up to the community's core values. It can, however, also induce a rigid shutdown. A healthy formation program, then, must examine why each person is being destabilized, that is, what values, prejudices, or expectations are being disturbed. The destabilization is then corrected through a gradual reeducation process, which includes both classroom and applied lessons. Living with people of the opposite orientation becomes an important part of this reeducation (restabilization) process. It is an opportunity to learn about someone who is different. It is also the time to establish Initial formation provokes successive levels of chronic destabilization. ffuly-August 2001 Renz ¯ Learning a Foreign Language common values and goals, including the community's choice for celibate chastity. Religious formation programs that reduce in number or remove homosexual members because they "destabilize" the community fail in their task of formation because they do no.t attend to the restabilization of the heterosexual candidates. Because their secular heterosexual values are not destabilized and in the process replaced with celibate Christian heterosexual ones (instead, the stimulus is removed), the destabilization can happen in an altogether different way, with the presence of homosexual religious. Heterosexual candidates whose formation programs do not destabilize them are ill-prepared for religious life because they are less likely to integrate the values of the community and church: celibate chastity, tolerance, charity, and so forth. Another problem with limiting or eliminating homosexual persons from the priesthood or religious life is that the developmental needs of those homosexual persons do not get addressed. A responsible formation program promotes good psychosexual development in all its candidates through things like course work, facilitated discussion, spiritual direction, and psychological counseling (where indicated). The result is greater psychological and spiritual well-being for the individuals and hence for the community. In many formation programs, sexual orientation is taken as part of a larger picture of the psychosexual composition of a candidate. Orientation is usually not, per se, the determinative factor for suitability in seminary or religious formation programs. As Timothy Radcliffe, master of the Order of Friars Preachers, notes, we human beings are "more than our sexual orientation. For none of us, heterosexual or homosexual, can find our deepest identities in our sexual orientation."7 This idea finds its origins in the CDF document "The Pastoral Care of Homosexual Persons.''s Cozzens's concern about chronic destabilization in seminary life is problematic precisely because it overemphasizes sexual orientation to the exclusion of the whole person. This overemphasis, not the number of homosexual men, becomes the real concern. The second problem Cozzens identifies with these numbers is an inevitable emergence (he thinks) of a gay subculture, dangerous because it can cause a split within the seminary community and threaten unity. Consequendy, he sees a need for "determining the kind of vocational support appropriate to the straight seminarian Revie~ for Religious living in the midst of a gay subculture.''9 Cozzens quotes Radcliffe to support his position: "It can threaten the unity of the community; it can make it harder for the brethren to practice the chastity which we have vowed. It can put pressure on brethren to think of themselves in a way that is not central to their vocation as preachers of the kingdom.''1° It is not clear what it means to have a support system that is "appropriate to the straight seminarian." One might infer that Cozzens either would develop separate support systems for homosexual and heterosexual seminarians or, in order to keep their number to a proportionate level, would limit the number of homosexual applicants. There are several problems with this analysis. First of all, Cozzens has taken Radcliffe out of context, who states just above the quoted passage: "If a brother comes to believe that he is homosexual, then it is important that he knows that he is accepted and loved as he is. He may live in terror of rejection and accusation. But ¯ this acceptance is bread for the journey as he moves to discover a deeper identity, as a child of God . So, every brother should be accepted as he is.'''1 Radcliffe assumes that homosexual subgroups would be highly divisive because he also assumes that the homosexual friar has found support and acceptance as a homosexual in the community because of the community's healthy way of life. He implies that, when homosexual friars feel supported, there is" no reason to form a subgroup and that such groups would be disruptive. Another problem with a "vocational support appropriate to the straight seminarian" is that it presupposes an irreconcilable disunity between homosexual and heterosexual seminarians. It proposes to deal with the subculture by either ignoring or removing it. The better course is to deal direcdy with the subculture by looking at its values, introducing correctives where necessary, building up the values of the church and community (especially as regards celibate chastity), and exploring the common needs of the two groups. The concern over subcultures is legitimate. The presence of a subculture often indicates poor communication, stereotyping, prejudice, and exclusion. I take issue with Cozzens's "straight only" response to the Acceptance is bread for the journey as he moves to discover a deeper identity, as a child of God. July-August 2001 Renz ¯ Learning a Foreign Language presence of a gay subculture because it short-circuits an adequate analysis of the problem and creative solutions for it. One important difference between seminarians and new members of a religious community is in types and levels of commitment. Seminarians often do not choose the place where they will study. They may not think the seminary community and their personal investment in it are essential to their formation because this community is a temporary reality. Bycontrast, those who enter religious life choose the religious community for life. Initial formation is directed towards creating a viable community, and new members are willing to invest great personal energy in this process. These personal commitments help the religious formation director deal with a subculture within the community. Creating unity in a seminary would probably be more difficult because such personal investment in the group is likely to be lacking. The commitment by Cozzens to unity within the seminary seems to be a commitment to similarity (same orientation) rather than unity, the Pauline concept of unity embracing diversity (see 1 Co 12:4-26). Such an approach might be reasonable in the absence of a deeper group commitment by the seminarians. But separate vocational support systems for heterosexual and homosexual persons would amount to sides in opposition, the gay subculture versus the straight mainstream culture. The effect, then, could be an even greater disunity, O~en discussion (under the careful guidance of formation directors) is an essential means to develop this unity in the formation community. Fear can usually be eliminated through careful education and open dialogue. But is this "unity at a price"? Despite his concern for unity, Cozzens never suggests that homosexual and heterosexual persons come together for dialogue. Why? Is this a bit too frightening? Is this the deepest darkest part of the woods; where people are either unwilling or unable to go? The evangelical counsels call religious to be witnesses. In the presence of this fear of the "crisis or orientation," religious can offer a calming influence. The Dominican friars, for example, have formally stated at the general chapter of Caleruega (1995): "The same demands of chastity apply to all brethren of whatever sexual orientation and so no one can be excluded on this ground . No sexual orientation is a priori incompatible with the call to chastity and the common fraternal life.''~2 Other religious communities have formulated similar statements. This kind of leadership can create a Review for Religious proper climate for the "clear and dispassionate review" desired by James Martin. Formation directors should show a similar leadership. Keeping in mind the common responsibility of all members to adopt church and religious community values, formation directors can encourage open discussion on this "crisis of orientation." There remains one final issue: What would it be like for heterosexual and homosexual seminarians and religious to sit down. with one another and openly discuss the fears and prejudices that they have about each other? Would anyone come out alive from the depths of that conversation? How can we prepare a place where no one gets destroyed? I would suggest that the way is, as Cozzens describes, something akin to learning a foreign language. At first the student is disoriented. Learning the new language requires courage, patience, and the willingness to sound and look foolish at times. With diligent persistence, however, the ear, mind, and tongue gradually adjust to the foreign sounds and symbols. As proficiency grows the student opens up to experience the new culture. Eventually the differences fade away and the person feels "at home." This is the goal of the good formation program. Respon-sible formation directors model patience, openness, a desire for unity, charity, and a fidelity to the home we call religious life. In this way they gently guide the destabilization-restabilization process for new members. In addition to noting that the woods were dark and deep, Frost saw them as "lovely." The dialogue on the "crisis of orientation" in the priesthood and religious life, however dark and deep, will inevitably lead us to a beautiful place. By offering their experience to the church, religious communities show forth the beauty that results when people become "of one mind and heart on the way to God" (Rule of St. Augustine). This unity is, after all, the path by which we leave the dark woods. Cozzens is correct when he notes that a delay in facing this "crisis of orientation" will cause damage to the church and the priesthood. I believe that the church will effectively face this crisis only by journeying into fear, suffering, and pain. When undertaken with a genuine intellectual curiosity informed by a gospel charity, this journey can lead to peace and healing for all. There is no Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female, gay or straight in God's kingdom-~only redeemed persons. But there are ffuly-August 2001 Renz ¯ Learning a Foreign Langnage miles to go--are there not?--before we rest peacefully in that blessed unity. Notes ~ Paul Shaughnessy, "The Gay Priest Problem," The Catholic World Report (November 2000): 52-58. 2 James Martin, "The Church and the Homosexual Priest," America (4 November 2000): 11-15. 3 Donald B. Cozzens, The Changing Face of the Priesthood: A Reflection on the Priest's Crisis of Soul (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2000). 4 There is a problem of terminology in Cozzens's work. Specifically, what is meant by "gay"? For Cozzens it refers to some homosexual men (in the seminary and the priesthood) associating with one another. One secular definition means the part of the homosexual community that is politically charged and sexually active (whose ideologies and way of life are in opposition to church teaching). One understanding is rather innocuous, the other is not. This distinction illuminates those places where education on church teaching and healthy psychosexual development are necessary. s Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, "Some Considerations Concerning the Catholic Response to Legislative Proposals on the Non- Discrimination of Homosexual Persons" (1992), § 11. 6 See Gerald D. Coleman SS and Roger L. Freed MD, "Assessing Seminary Candidates," Human Development 21, no. 2, pp. 14-20. 7 Timothy Radcliffe, Sing a New Song: The Christian Vocation (Springfield, Illinois: Templegate Publishers, 1999), p. 146. s Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. "The Pastoral Care of Homosexual Persons," Origins 16, no. 22, pp. 377-382, §16. 9 Cozzens, Priesthood, p. 103. ~0 Cozzens, Priesthood, p. 103. " Radcliffe, Sing a New Song, pp. 146-147. ~2 Initial Formation of tbe Friars Preachers: Recent Documents (Rome: Santa Sabina, 1999), p. 217. Review for Religious GEORGE J. AUGER Reflections of a Novice Director CNoardinal Basil Hume OSB, in his Footprints of the rthern Saints, said, "I always think that people join a religious order for one reason, and stay for the proper one." I suppose that could be said of all vocations, be they to the religious life, marriage, priesthood, the single life, or even various professions and occupations. One might say that all life is "becoming," a process of gradual growth. For Christians this means entering ever rdore deeply into the paschal mystery of the life, death, and resurrection of the Lord. What follows are simply reflections, hopefully practical, on the process of entering the religious life, that is, on the novitiate. I offer a few things I have learned as novice director through reading, reflection, experience, and of course prayer. I shall consider first the candidates coming to us and why and then what we are called to offer them. Bear in mind that, though we speak of a "formation process" for those entering religious life, a novice director does not "form" novices--they form themselves. One can do no more than God, that is, invite persons to prayerfully discern and perhaps freely choose religious life as lived by a given religious congregation and as George J. Auger CSV presently ministers as novice direc-tor for the Chicago province of the Clerics of Saint Viator. His address is 1212 East Euclid Street; Arlington Heights, Illinois 60004. 2~uly-August 2001 Auger * R~flections of a Novice Director inspired by the charism of its founder. Of paramount importance is respect and reverence for those seeking entrance into religious life. Here we are dealing with the unique mystery of people's relationship with the Lord. What is good and spiritually wholesome for novices is also good for a congregation, and this whether the persons remain or leave. As Charles de Foucauld said, "Why I left the Trappists is why I entered the Trappists." The attitude of a novice director should be first and foremost the good of the novices, even before that of the congregation. The good of the novice is the good of a congregation. Congregations are of the temporal order, individuals of the eternal. No religious congregation is simply of divine origin. For apostolic religious congregations today, it is evident that novices are far less numerous than in the past. Some congregations are disappearing just as others are being born. The history of religious congregations down through the centuries bears this out. Who Are Coming to Us and Why? Those coming to us are sons and daughters of a culture vastly unlike that of most congregational founders. True, the charism of a founder may well be alive, but the living of it is expressed differently in differing historical settings. (The congregations founded during and after the French Revolution are but one example.) Still, all have common thread running through them: they all desire to bring Christ's compassionate love to the needy and poor of their time, and this in spite of the prevailing culture of their day. They are evangelical and they are countercultural. Specific details of their lives come from the living charism of each founder. Those entering religious life today are older than formerly. Most have college degrees, something often required before entry. (Is it not strange that before Vatican Council II there were "lay" brothers and sisters, members with relatively little formal education? Most were religious in the full sense of the word, yet today few if any would be accepted into active apostolic congregations. What was perhaps done for nondiscriminatory reasons had a way of discriminating. Surely the term "lay religious" is passe, yet are there not men and women called to the religious life who do not have and do not desire the academic knowledge required by many congregations? Where do such religious vocations go?) Many of those entering our novitiates have been Review for Religious successful in their secular endeavors. Some have had a "conversion" experience. Others find themselves unfulfilled and resdess and in this hear God's call for "the more." These are women and men full of enthusiasm and idealism, searchers seeking fulfillment and happiness in giving of themselves for the good of others. Generosity is not lacking. They are not looking for an easy bourgeois lifestyle. They are looking for challenges, unafraid of the unknown and willing to take risks for the sake of God's reign. It is a mistake to sell them short. It has been my limited experience that those entering our communities are children of the computer and television age. Some have read relatively little and are unaccustomed to sit still with a book. They have learned to live in an individualistic and "consumer" society, as have many of us seasoned religious as well. Silence, solitude, disciplined regularity, a simple lifestyle, faith sharing, an openness to the divine presence, and prayer are, for some, unfamiliar even though these things are essential avenues of spiritual growth. For some the primary motivation in seeking entrance into religious congregations is external. They see religious life primarily in terms of ministry or what they feel called to do (ministry to youth or to the poor and neglected, teaching, parochial ministry, and so forth). But these same persons often lack a theological foundation, both dogmatically and ascetically. The spiritual life is foreign territory to them. For them religious life is not a mystery of intimacy, but a means to the end of ministry. The contemplative dimension of religious life is seen only vaguely. Others seek religious life after having had an "experience of God." These are attracted to the person of Jesus and see religious life as a way to deepen their intimacy with the Lord of their lives, yet this intimacy is with a resurrected Lord and neglects the cross. All seems "sweetness and light," They forget that God's desire and theirs will only connect on Calvary. With Paul they must learn "to glory in the cross of Christ." The human existential experiences of those joining our ranks is far different from those of the past. For the most part, those entering before Vatican 17, and they were numerous, led a sheltered For some the primary motivation in seeking entrance into religious congregations is external. July-~lug71st 2001 Auger ¯ Reflections o~a Novice Director life supported by a regime that somehow guaranteed, in the end, some kind of fulfillment. They were inspired by men and women who lived the religious life of their day to the full and radiated the secret of a life rooted in Christ. In formation, when things became difficult, there was always the support of brother or sister novices. Life was lived in terms of a goal, and that goal was often seen in terms of a life following the years of formation. Certainly one indirect but real incentive was the respect and even reverence with which religious life was held by the Catholic community at large; added to this was a subde desire for recognition or advancement on the social scale. A religious was somehow a "special" person, respected and sometimes even revered. How things have changed! Gone are the years when our novitiates were filled. Gone is the ministerial certainty of those in charge of formation. Gone is the high esteem religious life was once given. Gone are those ministries once held to be for all time. Today it is difficult to speak of a novitiate community with only one or two novices! It is not uncommon for congregations to experience one or several "noviceless" years. Of course, there are many reasons for this, some mentioned above; yet this is no cause for discouragement. Many of the ministries once undertaken by religious are now taken by laypersons, some of whom are now called associate members of a congregation, enthusiastically embracing the vision of its founder. The Holy Spirit is present and guiding us, offering us the grace to read the "signs of the times." One must not forget nor disparage the past; rather, one must build on a past marked by generosity, sacrifice, and a willingness to give one's all for the sake of God's reign. This element in religious life has not changed, nor will it in years to come. I believe that those entering our ranks are sold on our mission. This is usually the most attractive element presented by vocation directors, and this is good. There is, however, a difficulty. Our mission is frequendy in a transitional stage. It is seldom limited to one specific mission, though there remain congregations with only one, such as nursing or caring for the aged. For congregations that once taught in primary and secondary schools, teaching is no longer exclusively a matter of schools. Parochial ministry, social services, and chaplaincies are now rightly seen as having a teaching dimension. Religious women and men consider all sorts of ministries as teaching, often resulting in small local communities and even one-person assignments. This can and does create a Review for Religious problem, for those entering our ranks seek community. They seek a community where men and women share a vision and are willing to sacrifice for it. The problem is that all too often apostolic congregations voice their common vision in such abstract and general terms that, in the end, these mission statements say and mean very little. The focus of such congregations is blurred or nebulous, and so those entering them may find themselves confused and uncertain regarding both identit3) and mission. It is well and good to say that our mission is to advance God's reign, but must one enter religious life to advance the reign of God? There has to be something more. In such instances the deep mystery of religious life is obfuscated. The purpose, I believe, of the novitiate experience is to clarify the meaning of religious life, a life devoted to a mission, yes, but at the same time rooted in and nourished by a personal relationship with the Lord. In reality and in the practical order, one's mission and identity as a religious are one: "I am my mission." The attractiveness and appeal of religious life comes from religious afire with the love of God and impelled irresistibly to love and help others (Col 1:28-29). Mission is rooted in one's intimate and personal relationship with the Lord. What Are We Called to Offer Them? There is an advantage to the paucity of novices today. We are now able to minister to one by one, getting to know them in depth and letting them get to know us as we live the mystery of our religious life. The novitiate is a time for internalization, of interiority: knowing and experiencing a deeper relationship with the Lord. It is a time to nourish the seed of divine love within them, to foster the contemplative in them, inviting them to experience God's presence and abiding love. To paraphrase an early father of the church, the measure of our love of God will always be commensurate to our conviction of God's love for us. "You have not chosen me, I have chosen you" (In 15:16). Mission is important, yet it is not primary in the novitiate experience. The external and all-too-human excitement and enthusiasm for what novices will do at some future time must somehow b

La tesis doctoral se refiere al proceso fundacional escasamente conocido por encontrarse sus fuentes primarias en los archivos de Londres y París de la población menorquina anteriormente denominada Georgetown, hoy Es Castell, planificada por el ingeniero militar escocés Patrick Mackellar en el puerto de Mahón durante la segunda dominación británica de la isla (1763-1782). Se trata de una labor de investigación que está estructurada en tres partes. En la primera, se realiza una aproximación al urbanismo de origen militar desarrollado por Gran Bretaña a lo largo de los siglos XVII y XVIII, coincidiendo con el auge de la artillería bélica. En este sentido es demostrable la influencia, en el plano teórico, de la supremacía militar de Francia y sobre todo, de la polifacética labor de Vauban reflejada, entre otras cuestiones, en los Manuales de Fortificación de obligatorio estudio durante la formación de los ingenieros militares británicos. Hasta el siglo XVIII, los ingenieros agrupados en torno a la Board Ordnance tuvieron escasas ocasiones de crear nuevas ciudades, fundamentalmente por dos razones. La primera, que Inglaterra no inició su expansión colonial hasta la resolución de sus problemas internos que finalizaron con la anexión de Irlanda y Escocia. La segunda, que su condición insular la obligó a basar la defensa de sus territorios en el desarrollo de una poderosa flota armada. Sin embargo, el modelo colonial inglés, basado en el protagonismo de las compañías comerciales, propicia la intervención de los ingenieros militares en las labores de planificación y verificación de los nuevos asentamientos del norte de Irlanda, la costa de Coromandel, el este norteamericano y las Antillas. La segunda línea de investigación incursiona en la vida del planificador de Georgetown, destacando su experiencia bélica en los frentes americanos durante la Guerra de los Siete Años (1756-1763). Gracias a su participación en las campañas militares, Patrick Mackellar conoce en primera persona las características del urbanismo practicado por Inglaterra y Francia en los territorios de ultramar, y se dota de un importante bagaje cultural que demostrará cuando, en su definitivo destino como Ingeniero-Jefe en Menorca, acomete la empresa de planificar y diseñar una nueva ciudad. La tercera línea de investigación se centra en el proceso fundacional de Georgetown. La operación basada en razones defensivas consistió en demoler un asentamiento surgido a los pies de la principal fortaleza de la Isla, y trasladar la morada de sus casi cuatro mil pobladores a una enclave prudentemente alejado de la fortificación. Llamada Vila Jordi por sus primeros moradores, Georgetown resultó un excelente ejemplo de pragmatismo urbanístico. La plaza central o génesis del asentamiento, se ubicó sobre una pequeña meseta portuaria que ya había sido elegida por un ingeniero militar galo durante la dominación francesa de la isla y se aprovechó el trazado de una antigua vía de comunicación territorial como eje longitudinal del nuevo conjunto urbano. Igualmente, el reparto de suelo se realizó en función del tamaño de las parcelas existentes en el pueblo anterior. Sin embargo, la atención a las gentes y a una geografía del lugar marcada por la costa portuaria, no impidió a Mackellar el desarrollo de un conjunto urbano de calles rectas, paralelas y jerarquizadas trazadas a partir de un espacio central conformado por las edificaciones propias de una ciudadela militar barroca. Tras una comparación formal con otras poblaciones estudiadas, el desarrollo de la tesis analiza, finalmente, los elementos principales de la población, tales como la anchura y distancia de las calles, los edificios cuarteleros y otras construcciones notables, la tipología residencial y la historia de la población en los dos últimos siglos. Como conclusión, el autor considera que el proyecto de Mackellar para Georgetown combina acertadamente las bases empíricas que lo sustentan con una variante del prototipo urbanístico aplicado en la colonización de Nueva Escocia como garantía de la satisfacción de las exigencias de orden y regularidad propias de la planificación militar y del urbanismo dieciochesco. Nacida entre la agonía del Antiguo Régimen y el estallido de las revoluciones americana y francesa, hija del Barroco y madre del urbanismo decimonónico, esta operación urbanística financiada por la corona inglesa fue el fruto de un compromiso, un proyecto de transición. ; The doctoral thesis refers to the foundation process quite unknown, as the first sources are in the archives of London and Paris of the Minorca's town before named Georgetown, nowadays known as Es Castell, planned by the Scottish military Engineer Patrick Mackellar in Mahon's harbour during the second british domination on the island (1763-1782). It is a research work and is structured in 3 parts. First part, it's an approximation to a source of military urbanism developed by Great Britain during the XVII and XVIII centuries, coinciding with the increase of war artillery. This is shown by the influence in the theoretical survey, of France's military supremacy and above all, the versatile labour of Vauban revealed, apart from other issues, by the Guides of Fortifications which were of compulsory study, for the british military engineers during their training. Until the XVIII century, the engineers round about the Board Ordnance had few occasions to create new towns, basically for two reasons. The first, is that England didn't begin its colonial expansion until it had solved its own internal problems, which came to an end with the annexation of Ireland and Scotland. The second, that it's insular status obliged it to base its defence of its territories in the development of a powerful navy. Nevertheless, the english colonial model, based on the commercial companies playing the main part, helped the intervention of the military engineers in the work of verifying and planning the new settlement in North Ireland, the Coromandel Coast, the east part of North America and the Antilles. The second line of research attacked the life of the planner of Georgetown, emphasising his war experience on the american front during the Seven-Year War (1756-1763). Thanks to his partaking in the military campaigns, Patrick Mackellar found out himself the characteristics of English and French development overseas, and he endowed himself with an important cultural knowledge which he revealed when, in his last post as Chief Engineer in Minorca, he undertook the designing and planning of a new town. The third research is centred in the foundational process of Georgetown. The transaction based on defensive reasons consisted in demolishing a settlement at the foot of the main fort of the island, and moves the homes of its almost 4.000 inhabitants to a more prudential area, away from the fort. Named Villa Jordi by its first inhabitants, Georgetown was an excellent example of city planning pragmatism. The central square or genesis of the settlement, was built on a small portside plateau which had already been chosen by a french military engineer during the France's domination of the island and, an old communicating land route, was made use of as an essential longitudinal part of the new urban unit. In the same manner the distribution of the ground was made according to the size of the existing plots in the old village. Nevertheless, the attention to the people and the geographical situation, marked by the port coastland, didn't stop Mackellar developing an urban unit with straight roads, parallel hierarchical layout from a central space, almost exactly like the buildings of a baroque military fortress. After a formal comparison with other populations under study, finally the thesis development analyses the principal elements of the population, like the length and the distance of the streets, the barrack buildings and other notable constructions, the residential types and the history of the population over the last two centuries. Concluding, the author considers that Mackellar's project for Georgetown, succeeds in combining the empirical bases that maintains it with a variation of the urban prototype applied in the colonization of New Scotland as a guarantee of satisfaction for the demand and regularity of a military planning as well as eighteenth century urbanism. Born between the agony of the Old Regime and the outburst of the american and French revolutions, daughter of the Baroque and mother of nineteenth century development, this town planning exploitation financed by the English Crown, was the result of a commitment, a design of the transitional period. ; Postprint (published version)

La tesis doctoral se refiere al proceso fundacional escasamente conocido por encontrarse sus fuentes primarias en los archivos de Londres y París de la población menorquina anteriormente denominada Georgetown, hoy Es Castell, planificada por el ingeniero militar escocés Patrick Mackellar en el puerto de Mahón durante la segunda dominación británica de la isla (1763-1782). Se trata de una labor de investigación que está estructurada en tres partes. En la primera, se realiza una aproximación al urbanismo de origen militar desarrollado por Gran Bretaña a lo largo de los siglos XVII y XVIII, coincidiendo con el auge de la artillería bélica. En este sentido es demostrable la influencia, en el plano teórico, de la supremacía militar de Francia y sobre todo, de la polifacética labor de Vauban reflejada, entre otras cuestiones, en los Manuales de Fortificación de obligatorio estudio durante la formación de los ingenieros militares británicos. Hasta el siglo XVIII, los ingenieros agrupados en torno a la Board Ordnance tuvieron escasas ocasiones de crear nuevas ciudades, fundamentalmente por dos razones. La primera, que Inglaterra no inició su expansión colonial hasta la resolución de sus problemas internos que finalizaron con la anexión de Irlanda y Escocia. La segunda, que su condición insular la obligó a basar la defensa de sus territorios en el desarrollo de una poderosa flota armada. Sin embargo, el modelo colonial inglés, basado en el protagonismo de las compañías comerciales, propicia la intervención de los ingenieros militares en las labores de planificación y verificación de los nuevos asentamientos del norte de Irlanda, la costa de Coromandel, el este norteamericano y las Antillas. La segunda línea de investigación incursiona en la vida del planificador de Georgetown, destacando su experiencia bélica en los frentes americanos durante la Guerra de los Siete Años (1756-1763). Gracias a su participación en las campañas militares, Patrick Mackellar conoce en primera persona las características del urbanismo practicado por Inglaterra y Francia en los territorios de ultramar, y se dota de un importante bagaje cultural que demostrará cuando, en su definitivo destino como Ingeniero-Jefe en Menorca, acomete la empresa de planificar y diseñar una nueva ciudad. La tercera línea de investigación se centra en el proceso fundacional de Georgetown. La operación basada en razones defensivas consistió en demoler un asentamiento surgido a los pies de la principal fortaleza de la Isla, y trasladar la morada de sus casi cuatro mil pobladores a una enclave prudentemente alejado de la fortificación. Llamada Vila Jordi por sus primeros moradores, Georgetown resultó un excelente ejemplo de pragmatismo urbanístico. La plaza central o génesis del asentamiento, se ubicó sobre una pequeña meseta portuaria que ya había sido elegida por un ingeniero militar galo durante la dominación francesa de la isla y se aprovechó el trazado de una antigua vía de comunicación territorial como eje longitudinal del nuevo conjunto urbano. Igualmente, el reparto de suelo se realizó en función del tamaño de las parcelas existentes en el pueblo anterior. Sin embargo, la atención a las gentes y a una geografía del lugar marcada por la costa portuaria, no impidió a Mackellar el desarrollo de un conjunto urbano de calles rectas, paralelas y jerarquizadas trazadas a partir de un espacio central conformado por las edificaciones propias de una ciudadela militar barroca. Tras una comparación formal con otras poblaciones estudiadas, el desarrollo de la tesis analiza, finalmente, los elementos principales de la población, tales como la anchura y distancia de las calles, los edificios cuarteleros y otras construcciones notables, la tipología residencial y la historia de la población en los dos últimos siglos. Como conclusión, el autor considera que el proyecto de Mackellar para Georgetown combina acertadamente las bases empíricas que lo sustentan con una variante del prototipo urbanístico aplicado en la colonización de Nueva Escocia como garantía de la satisfacción de las exigencias de orden y regularidad propias de la planificación militar y del urbanismo dieciochesco. Nacida entre la agonía del Antiguo Régimen y el estallido de las revoluciones americana y francesa, hija del Barroco y madre del urbanismo decimonónico, esta operación urbanística financiada por la corona inglesa fue el fruto de un compromiso, un proyecto de transición. ; The doctoral thesis refers to the foundation process quite unknown, as the first sources are in the archives of London and Paris of the Minorca's town before named Georgetown, nowadays known as Es Castell, planned by the Scottish military Engineer Patrick Mackellar in Mahon's harbour during the second british domination on the island (1763-1782). It is a research work and is structured in 3 parts. First part, it's an approximation to a source of military urbanism developed by Great Britain during the XVII and XVIII centuries, coinciding with the increase of war artillery. This is shown by the influence in the theoretical survey, of France's military supremacy and above all, the versatile labour of Vauban revealed, apart from other issues, by the Guides of Fortifications which were of compulsory study, for the british military engineers during their training. Until the XVIII century, the engineers round about the Board Ordnance had few occasions to create new towns, basically for two reasons. The first, is that England didn't begin its colonial expansion until it had solved its own internal problems, which came to an end with the annexation of Ireland and Scotland. The second, that it's insular status obliged it to base its defence of its territories in the development of a powerful navy. Nevertheless, the english colonial model, based on the commercial companies playing the main part, helped the intervention of the military engineers in the work of verifying and planning the new settlement in North Ireland, the Coromandel Coast, the east part of North America and the Antilles. The second line of research attacked the life of the planner of Georgetown, emphasising his war experience on the american front during the Seven-Year War (1756-1763). Thanks to his partaking in the military campaigns, Patrick Mackellar found out himself the characteristics of English and French development overseas, and he endowed himself with an important cultural knowledge which he revealed when, in his last post as Chief Engineer in Minorca, he undertook the designing and planning of a new town. The third research is centred in the foundational process of Georgetown. The transaction based on defensive reasons consisted in demolishing a settlement at the foot of the main fort of the island, and moves the homes of its almost 4.000 inhabitants to a more prudential area, away from the fort. Named Villa Jordi by its first inhabitants, Georgetown was an excellent example of city planning pragmatism. The central square or genesis of the settlement, was built on a small portside plateau which had already been chosen by a french military engineer during the France's domination of the island and, an old communicating land route, was made use of as an essential longitudinal part of the new urban unit. In the same manner the distribution of the ground was made according to the size of the existing plots in the old village. Nevertheless, the attention to the people and the geographical situation, marked by the port coastland, didn't stop Mackellar developing an urban unit with straight roads, parallel hierarchical layout from a central space, almost exactly like the buildings of a baroque military fortress. After a formal comparison with other populations under study, finally the thesis development analyses the principal elements of the population, like the length and the distance of the streets, the barrack buildings and other notable constructions, the residential types and the history of the population over the last two centuries. Concluding, the author considers that Mackellar's project for Georgetown, succeeds in combining the empirical bases that maintains it with a variation of the urban prototype applied in the colonization of New Scotland as a guarantee of satisfaction for the demand and regularity of a military planning as well as eighteenth century urbanism. Born between the agony of the Old Regime and the outburst of the american and French revolutions, daughter of the Baroque and mother of nineteenth century development, this town planning exploitation financed by the English Crown, was the result of a commitment, a design of the transitional period. ; Postprint (published version)

Part one of an interview with Amelia Gallucci-Cirio. Topics include: Recognition of the September 11th tragedy underway. Amelia's involvement in the Center for Italian Culture and the Alba Program. Pride in the Italian heritage and the importance of preserving it. The history of where Amelia lived in Connecticut and Massachusetts, while she was growing up. Memories of her relatives. What Amelia's childhood was like. Where in Italy her parents were from. Amelia's experience attending Fitchburg Teachers College from 1934-1938. Attending band concerts in Caldwell Park. Dressing up for Sundays, holidays, and to go downtown. How Fitchburg has changed. How people's values have changed. The role of church in a community. Social clubs. How Amelia met her husband. Where Amelia and her husband have traveled together. What inspired Amelia to donate money towards the education of others and the preservation of Italian culture. ; 1 LINDA: This is Linda [unintelligible – 00:00:02] for the Center of Italian Culture. We are interviewing Amelia Gallucci-Cirio. And I'm sure I didn't say that in the Italian way. I'm sorry. AMELIA: Yes, you did. That was right. LINDA: Okay. It's Wednesday, September 11, and we are in the home of both Anna [unintelligible – 00:00:23] and Amelia's cousin, Rachel Montorri, and the address is 479 Lindell Avenue in Leominster. It's a beautiful morning. It's 10:20 a.m., and we're starting a little bit late today because there was a national tragedy today, and there are unconfirmed reports that there was a terrorist attack against the United States, and there have been two planes, at least two planes, that have flown and struck the World Trade Center. There was a plane that struck the Pentagon about a half an hour after that. There are unconfirmed reports of a fire at the State House, and The White House has been evacuated and the Blair House, many buildings in Washington. People are very, very nervous today. So we will talk a little bit about that, I'm sure, but Anna and Amelia and Rachel are here with us today, of course to talk about the Italian-American experience, particularly in Fitchburg and Leominster. And Amelia, thank you very much. I suppose that we have to thank you for a lot of different things. Not just for appearing today to… AMELIA: Well, I'm happy to do it. May I preface this by quoting something from Cicero? Cicero, the great Roman orator and statesman, said, "Not to know what happened before we were born is to remain perpetually a child, for what is the worth of human life unless it is woven into the life of our ancestors by the records of history." I think that's so important. LINDA: Now, did that sort of formulate your reason for creating the center? AMELIA: Yes. Yes, and one of the reasons was I wanted to -- I'm very much interested in Western civilization and the Italian language and its culture, and I thought I think I'm capable of making donations, and my Fitchburg 2 State College would be the first to accept it, although I've also made donations to other organizations. In Waterbury, Connecticut, we have a program that I hope is going to carry on here in Leominster also. It's the Alba Program, in which children ages 6 to about 13, 14, study Italian through playing games and celebrating holidays and birthdays and so on. And we've been doing that in Waterbury, Connecticut for about five years, and I hope the Center for Italian Culture will also take that on as another project. And I've already talked to Anna, and they're very much interested in it. LINDA: Now, this is in Italian language? AMELIA: Yes, studying the Italian language and its culture, and there will be four or five teachers teaching the youngsters. LINDA: Now, has it been successful in Waterbury? AMELIA: Oh, yes. They've been working for about five years, and it's down to Teikyo Post University in Waterbury, Connecticut, and they meet there at the center every Saturday morning for about an hour and a half, two hours. And the children play games and they learn Italian expressions, and when it's a birthday they celebrate and say buon compleanno and so on. And the grandmothers just love it because the children go up and talk to Nonna and Nonno and so on. Yeah. And I hope that that is one of the projects they're going to take on, and talking to Anna they seem to be very interested in doing that. LINDA: Certainly anything that perpetuates the culture. AMELIA: Yeah, that's right. LINDA: Now, what's that, the Fitchburg State College website—and I'm not sure, you probably know this, but your profile has an alumni. AMELIA: Yes. LINDA: And I read -- and the very first item is that there is, "Know thyself." AMELIA: Yes. Socrates said, "Know thyself." And so we've translated that into Italian. [Foreign language – 00:04:58], meaning "Know thyself." And I 3 think I'd like to use that as our motto for the Center for Italian Culture, and not always is it included, but that's what it means. LINDA: What does it mean specifically to you? And how does it help you live your life and give donations? AMELIA: It means that… well, I know when I was a child it was difficult. We didn't have everything. My father died when we were quite young, and there were seven in the family. My older brother, Joseph, who Rachel knows, took on the responsibilities of father. It was an old Roman custom that the oldest son in the family would take over when the father died. So I thought since I am capable of doing it, I want to help children who weren't capable of learning their language or taking part in going to school, and that's what I'm doing now. LINDA: And why do you think that's important to learn about your heritage? AMELIA: It's so very important because today with so many different ethnic groups, oftentimes Italians of the TV and radio programs always talking about the mafia, and I feel that we are somehow -- Italian people don't defend themselves. But I think during the Clinton Administration they did pass a ruling wherein the Italians during World War II -- I know my mother, she wasn't a citizen, and during that time she couldn't travel. She had to go to the post office to get permission to attend a wedding in Waterbury, in Rhode Island, rather. And we are often made the scapegoat, and I think that we have to educate our people and teach them something about our background, something about our culture. We have a great culture, and the school systems at one time didn't talk about that, but I think it is being included in the curriculum today. LINDA: How do you feel about The Sopranos then? AMELIA: Oh, I'm very much not in favor of that at all. And I think that the Sons and Daughters of Italy and the NIF, and now that we have several, much more than we did in the past, congressmen of Italian origin, I think they are working to try to get them to remove that stereotype and talk more 4 about what Italian Americans have contributed to society. Going back to the time of the Romans and so on. LINDA: How did you feel when Geraldine Ferraro was running for vice president? Not necessarily her as a person or what she stood for, but was there a particular pride, ethnic pride? AMELIA: I don't know, but I know when she was running for vice president, we attended the NIAF dinner in Washington, D.C., my brother Joe, Christine, my two sisters and I, we all went down to Washington. We all went there, and she was a speaker, and we were very much in favor, naturally, being Italian American. But unfortunately there was some negative advertising about Geraldine, and that didn't help at all. LINDA: I remember specifically that there were some questions about her husband's dealings, possibly in the mafia. AMELIA: Oh, yes, yes. LINDA: There was a real backlash with that just because they have an Italian last name, and just because they're successful, it doesn't automatically make you… ANNA: What is she doing now? LINDA: I think she's quite sick, or she was. AMELIA: Yes, I think she is. LINDA: I'm not sure the form of cancer. ANNA: Oh, that's too bad. LINDA: One thing has confused me, because I read that you were born in Fitchburg… AMELIA: Yes, I was born in Fitchburg. LINDA: We'll have to change that on the website. It says that you were born in Connecticut. AMELIA: No, we were born in Fitchburg. We were born on my grandpa, my grandpa Luigi Scarano came from Italy with my mother. Mama was 17 years of age, and with Rachel's mother, Filomena, who was 13. Grandpa came with his two daughters to America, and then my grandmother came 5 with the rest of the family, and they settled down first in Boston, I think. [Foreign language – 00:10:10] Did you hear your mother talk about it? They went there and then they all came to Fitchburg, and Grandpa built that tenement house on Second Street? Did you see it? RACHEL: Middle Street Lane. AMELIA: Right. When my mother married my father, they lived in Clinton. My brother Joe was about 5 years old. Then we moved to Fitchburg, and my sister Christina was born in the block where Grandpa, Grandma, your mother was there. We all lived in the block. And then I was born the following year, May 12, 1915. And we were there for a couple of years. RACHEL: Yeah, not very long. AMELIA: And then we moved back to Connecticut. My father followed a young sister—he was always protecting her—and we lived there for a while and then back again to Fitchburg, and my brother Tommy was born here. LINDA: No wonder you like to travel. AMELIA: And then we moved back again to Waterbury, Connecticut. My father was a baker. He came from a family of bakers, and he set up a grocery store and a bakery shop, and we were there about three years, and then we moved to Naugatuck, Connecticut because his sister moved closer to another brother, and we have been there ever since 1925. But I came back to Fitchburg where I was born to attend -- it was called Fitchburg Teacher's College, and I lived with my grandmother and my uncle Joe, who was a violinist. And Anne studied violin with my uncle, and I remember when she was downstairs practicing and I was upstairs studying. So I was going to Fitchburg, we lived in Connecticut, and then I came back to Fitchburg for my bachelor's degree, and then I taught in Naugatuck in Connecticut for about eight years, and then I married in '52 and went to Phoenix. LINDA: Could you spell Naugatuck?6 AMELIA: Yes. N-A-U-G-A-T-U-C-K. It's a small community. Well, I wouldn't say small. It's about 35, in between Waterbury and New Haven, Connecticut. ANNA: That's what it is now? The population? AMELIA: Yeah, I would say. But my mother was never happy there because her mother was in Fitchburg and her sisters and brother and so on. LINDA: So do you have any memories of Fitchburg? Let's say your earliest memory. AMELIA: Yes. I remember when we all lived on 2nd Street in the block. [Unintelligible – 00:13:07] Oh, I thought it was 2nd Street. ANNA: I think you're right. AMELIA: I always remembered 2nd Street. And I remember when Anna's mother also lived there. Her uncle, who was Rachel's father -- was he responsible for bringing your mother to Fitchburg? RACHEL: Yeah. AMELIA: I remember her father must have been courting her mother, and he was such a wonderful man. Oreste. We used to go there and we'd sit on his knee, and he would give us all – that, I remember very distinctly. Those were happy days. LINDA: So what were their names? We should get that on tape. ANNA: Oreste. O-R-E-S-T-E. Guglielmi. G-U-G-L-I-E-L-M-I. And my mother, Carmela. C-A-R-M-E-L-A. Giammarino. G-I-A-M-M-A-R-I-N-O. And my mother came to America when Rachel's father, who was Michael Giammarino, called for her to come, and my father at that time was living in that neighborhood. He was boarding in a house there. Yeah, he was boarding on 3rd Street, at the Lily House. And he courted my mother, and they were married in 1920. LINDA: So your father -- tell us the relations. ANNA: Yeah, okay. My mother, Carmela, and Rachel's father, Michael, were brother and sister. Now, Rachel's mother, who was Filomena, F-I-L-O-M-E-N-A, and Amelia's mother…7 AMELIA: Anna Maria. ANNA. Her first name was Anna, Anna Maria, were sisters. So we're first cousins. AMELIA: What would the relationship between you and me be? RACHEL: Distant cousins. AMELIA: Yeah, I guess. LINDA: So getting back to your earliest experiences, so you remember her father? AMELIA: Oh, yes, yes. ANNA: He would bounce them on his knee. AMELIA: In fact, my sisters always say that -- yeah, we remember when Oreste used to sit us on his knee and… ANNA: He loved children. AMELIA: Yeah, he did. He was a wonderful man. And then of course I remember when I lived on Blossom Street with my uncle after they moved, Uncle Joe with Grandma and Grandpa moved to Blossom Street, 82 Blossom Street, and that's where he taught violin. And he used to come there summers, and they had a beautiful home, and Tommy would get on the banister and slide all the way down to the first floor. RACHEL: We've gone by that house. AMELIA: Oh, it's terrible. RACHEL: There was one house that we went by and you were disgusted. Maybe that was your first home? ANNA: No, I remember just saying what a shame to see it like that. RACHEL: But it wasn't Blossom Street. LINDA: So now is Blossom Street considered part of the Patch also? ANNA: No. Blossom Street is towards Fitchburg State College. LINDA: Okay. Who owned that house? ANNA: Her uncle? AMELIA: Oh, Uncle Joe. And Grandmother and Joseph Scarano. ANNA: Who was the son of her grandfather, her grandparents? LINDA: Okay. So tell me more about the Patch.8 ANNA: The Patch started at First Street right near where St. Bernadette's Church. RACHEL: It used to be the school. ANNA: St. Bernadette's Elementary School at that time. And it went down to Fifth Street where they have the Fifth Street Bridge, which is now being repaired and remodeled. And it started from Water Street going back to Railroad Street. That whole small section, they called it the Patch. RACHEL: And it was predominantly Italian. ANNA: Yes. LINDA: But Amelia, do you have any vivid memories of maybe what you did for fun? AMELIA: As a child? LINDA: As a child. AMELIA: I really don't know, because when I left Fitchburg, I was about 3 or 4 years old, and then we did come back there during the summer months in our teen age. Prior to that, we didn't. Uncle Joe used to come down with Grandma during the summer months when we lived in Naugatuck, but not until my late teens, probably. LINDA: How did you travel back and forth? AMELIA: Uncle Joe used to come down and pick us up. Uncle Joe would come down and pick us up in Naugatuck. LINDA: What kind of car? What kind of automobile was he using? AMELIA: Uncle Joe always had a Chrysler. ANNA: We were young, and we thought that was special. AMELIA: And he always got a Chrysler because I think he had stock in the Chrysler. RACHEL: Could be. LINDA: When he came down to Connecticut to pick you up, how many of you were there? AMELIA: Well, my brother Joe was always working to support us. There was Christine, Connie and I, Tommy and Donald, and Mama. ANNA: Anne.9 AMELIA: Oh, and Anne too. Yeah, we used to come summers for a couple of weeks or so and then go see an aunt. The youngest of the Scaranos was Aunt Rosella. Do you remember her, Anna? ANNA: I do. AMELIA: She played the piano. RACHEL: She was the most Americanized than the rest of them. She played the piano… AMELIA: Well, she was the youngest and had more schooling than the older ones. LINDA: And where are you in relation to your siblings? Are you -- you're in the middle, perhaps? AMELIA: There's Joseph, Christine, and then I. I'm about the middle, the third. There were seven in the family. Two boys are gone, and there are four sisters, three are in Phoenix. No, two are in Phoenix, and I'm with them, too. So there will be three in Phoenix and one sister is still in Naugatuck, Connecticut. And Donald, the youngest -- actually, his name was Dante. Papa called him Dante. But when they went to school they Americanized it to Donald. Donald is in Phoenix also. LINDA: How was it growing up in Connecticut? Did you see… maybe you didn't get to Fitchburg enough to notice any differences, but do you recall any differences? AMELIA: In what? LINDA: On just growing up in your area in Connecticut and then coming up to Fitchburg, which is probably booming at that time. AMELIA: In Fitchburg? LINDA: A lot of different people. AMELIA: No, we lived in this tenement house that we bought, and my father ran a grocery store and a bakery shop on the first floor. You know, I have a lot of pictures that -- did you say that you wanted them? I could send them to you. I don't have them with me. And there's a picture of the family is standing in front of the grocery store and going to school in a two-room schoolhouse on Groveside School and going to the Naugatuck High 10 School. Christine and I were very much interested in books and studying, and we spent a lot of time in the library. So the years in Naugatuck when we didn't come to Fitchburg were not very interesting. It was mostly studying and being with my brothers and sisters and my mother, because my father left -- well, he went back to Italy when Donald was a baby, and my brother, Joe, being the oldest went to work. So Papa left when I was in the 7th or 8th grade, and when I was a sophomore in high school we found out that he passed away. So he's buried in Italy, and I've gone to visit him many times when I went to Italy with my husband. LINDA: Did you live in a predominately Italian section? AMELIA: Yes. We lived on what they call Little Italy. And speaking about Italian section, for the past couple of years when I go back to Connecticut, to Naugatuck, we have a little reunion. We had it last year, and all the Italian Americans from that Little Italy section, we get together and I entertain them to dinner. We had a trio come and play for us. We've done that for several years, but because my two sisters didn't come with me this year I'm not going to do it. I'm spending more time in Fitchburg. LINDA: So tell me a little bit about growing up in your family with seven children, your father's a baker, then he leaves to go back to Italy… AMELIA: Well, the reason for going back to Italy was that he wanted to claim his share of the inheritance, but unfortunately it didn't work out that way because his brother, his oldest brother, Pasquale… Oh, hi Kathy. This is Rachel's daughter. LINDA: Hi, I'm Linda. KATHY: Hi, Linda. [Crosstalk - 00:24:04] RACHEL: So, what have you heard from the last half hour?11 KATHY: Well, you know about the Pentagon? And now they just said there was another plane crash outside of Pittsburgh about 30 miles. They don't know if it's related. Pittsburgh, a big aircraft went down. ANNA: Another building? KATHY: No. It crashed. RACHEL: That's too bad. KATHY: Are you crying? AMELIA: No. I have tear duct blockage, so I've got -- no, no. I'm fine. KATHY: Well, don't let me interfere. [Crosstalk – 00:24:38] LINDA: Are there any reports of who's responsible? KATHY: What's his name, Arafat there, he said he thought it was a horrible thing, and he would never ever have caused such a turmoil – but who knows if you can believe him? But that's what he said. A lot of people. I called [unintelligible – 00:25:19] because she had worked there at the Trade Center, but she and her husband are okay. They weren't there at the time. [Crosstalk – 00:25:27] KATHY: Hopefully all the planes are now secure. All right, ladies. RACHEL: Where are you going? KATHY: I'm going to the dentist now. I'm getting my teeth cleaned. I'll see you. Take care. Goodbye. Nice meeting you. AMELIA: So you asked me about what was it like growing up in a family of seven? LINDA: Yes. AMELIA: So where was I now? So my father went to Italy to claim his share of the inheritance. The family came from a business family, and they were well to do, and Papa was one of four. So he went back, and his brother, who was the oldest in the family, and he evidently didn't get along, so he didn't get anything. He just passed away in '31 when I was a sophomore and Christine was a senior in high school. We were a very close-knit family. We worked together and studied together, and as I said Christine and I 12 were very much interested in the library. We worked at the Naugatuck Public Library, and we got a scholarship that summer, both Chris and I. RACHEL: And she lived in Spain. AMELIA: Well, Christine studied Spanish. This is after I got married. LINDA: Which town was your family from in Italy? AMELIA: My mother was from Lacedonia. Her mother was born there, and of course Rachel's mother. Lacedonia [unintelligible – 00:27:45] Cavallino, Italy. And I've been to there. When I went with my husband after we married and lived there for two years, we were coming back to America and he said, "You've got to see where your mother was born." So we went to Lacedonia, and we met some relatives. I have pictures; that was back in Connecticut. And then we also went to visit my father's home place. My father came from [unintelligible – 00:28:13] in Italy, and we went to visit the family home. And at that time we met this aunt who I asked if I could visit my father's grave, and she had a niece of hers take me to the cemetery, and he was not buried in the family mausoleum. He was buried just as a commoner. She didn't want him there. So we visited… LINDA: What region is that in? AMELIA: Pardon? LINDA: The region. AMELIA: Well, it's all Campagna, it's all that region, it's Campagna, but it's [unintelligible – 00:28:55]. Mama's was Campagna also, but it was [unintelligible – 00:29:00]. It's a little inland from Naples, right. And you know, right at the foothills, going up to [unintelligible – 00:29:10], it's in the mountains, it's a little town by the name of Galluccio. It ends in an "o." Our name was Galluccio. When Papa came to Ellis Island in about 1902, the immigration authorities couldn't spell it, so they left the "o" out. So "Gallucci" means roosters, it's the plural. And "Galluccio" is the singular rooster.13 LINDA: That's interesting. AMELIA: And we have roosters all over the house. LINDA: Did your parents ever share with you their trip to Ellis Island? AMELIA: No. I don't remember, but I know my mother said that when they came to America with Grandpa and her sister Filomena, it was a rough crossing on the French ship Nuestri, N-U-E-S-T-R-I. Mama did tell me that. And she said it was a very rough crossing. LINDA: The courage… AMELIA: Oh yeah. I don't know what ship my father came on, but he must have come about the same time. LINDA: It's really simple now. There's a website, although it's impossible to log on. AMELIA: Oh, I know. My brother Donald had a hard time getting that information. Grandpa came on May 27, 1902. He did get that information. LINDA: So it sounds like you're a very educated family, or at least you and your sister. And musical, too. Who instilled those qualities? AMELIA: Pardon? LINDA: Who instilled those qualities? AMELIA: Well, when we came to visit Grandma in Fitchburg there was always music, you know. Uncle Joe played the violin, Bella played the piano, and the [Guiliamus] were all musicians in their family. The four girls all played an instrument. Did you know that? Yeah. Her sister Lena played the piano, Anna played the violin, Mary played the… LINDA: The saxophone. AMELIA: Saxophone. LINDA: And Helen, drums. AMELIA: Right. And Helen the drums. And then my father learned opera. We had an old mahogany victrola that you used to wind up, and we had all the records of Caruso and [Jean B.[ and [unintelligible - 00:31:45], so we grew up in a family that was always moving. [Crosstalk] So in fact, even now, they're still very much interested in music. The opera season starts 14 in Phoenix during the second week in October; that's one of the reasons I want to get back. LINDA: Yeah. Where do you go for opera? AMELIA: [Unintelligible - 00:32:19] LINDA: Yeah. They do have opera. I think the music season begins in mid-October. AMELIA: October, yes. Pavarotti is coming to Boston. Oh, I'd love to hear him. He came to Phoenix one season but we just couldn't get tickets. ANNA: [Unintelligible - 00:32:41]. It's a movie. AMELIA: Oh, that's right, yeah. LINDA: Well we'll have to make a copy of this if this is okay. ANNA: She's responsible. AMELIA: Oh yeah, I'm the family historian. I think that was my graduation. ANNA: I hardly recognize her. AMELIA: No, that was Peter's wedding. There's Aunt Rosella. My mother was the oldest. Aunt Clair was the next, then Aunt Fil was third, and Uncle Joe, and Aunt Rosella was the baby. Yes. Filomena, that's Rachel's mother. My mother and Aunt Fil came with Grandpa. Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures of Grandpa. ANNA: That's Joe the violinist. AMELIA: Yeah, Uncle Joe. ANNA: I know. Clair and Rosella. LINDA: So how do you feel about Andrea Bocelli? Is he too much of a pop, more than opera? AMEILA: Well, I listened to him, and he hasn't come to Phoenix, but I still like Pavarotti, old days, more polished singing. Yes. LINDA: I went to see Andrea Bocelli when he was in Connecticut probably two years ago. AMELIA: He was in Connecticut? LINDA: It was at the Hartford Civic Center, and people were actually crying, waving Italian flags. It was quite an experience.15 AMELIA: I've seen him on television when they had that program, what was it? New York? LINDA: Radio City? AMELIA: Mm-hmm. LINDA: So mostly, I usually talk to interviewees about Fitchburg, but maybe what we should do -- actually, why don't we stay with Fitchburg a little bit since you attended school here, and you graduated in 1938? AMELIA: Yes. LINDA: So that means you began in '34? Was it a four-year program? AMELIA: It was a four-year program. I graduated from high school in '34. I got a scholarship for $150—that was money in those days—so I came to Fitchburg. LINDA: What was the tuition? Do you remember how much it was? AMELIA: Oh, I don't think tuition was -- well, being an out-of-stater was the reason why I had to pay more, and I think that the tuition was about $150 to $200. What I -- the scholarship I got in Naugatuck took care of that. But then the second year, being a resident of Fitchburg, I don't think there was much of a fee. LINDA: And was there any question of you attending college, or did you always assume that you would go on? AMELIA: Oh yeah, I always assumed that I would go on to college, and of course my sister, Christine, was very much interested going to school, but she and my brother had to work to support a family of seven and my mother, so because I had gotten a scholarship and Christine was working and Peter Paul at the time, right after high school, but she wanted to go to college so bad. So after I married, my husband said to me, "We've got to help your sister to go to school." So Christine after working for 26 years at Peter Paul went to college. She graduated from the University of Connecticut with a bachelor's, and she went on to study Spanish—she majored in Spanish—and she studied in Madrid and Mexico City. LINDA: What a nice story.16 AMELIA: And she's a retired teacher now. She doesn't teach now. Yeah. LINDA: So there were two of you from your family… AMELIA: Yeah, Christine and I, and my youngest sister Anna, she was interested in commercial, and she went into bookkeeping and that sort of thing. She went to a business school for a couple of years. And Donald too, the baby in the family -- oh dear, Rachel's going to take it out of me -- Christine, Connie, and I, we took that in Las Vegas. Yeah. ANNA: That's a nice picture. AMELIA: We're so close to Las Vegas; we go there a couple of times a year. Yeah. LINDA: So now getting back to Fitchburg, you came in 1934. AMELIA: Right. Four years. LINDA: Did you consider going to college anywhere else, or did you consider only Fitchburg? AMELIA: No, I considered -- maybe it's because we had relatives there. You know, my grandmother was still there and mama said, "It would be nice if we could come and visit you," and so on. ANNA: Was that a normal school then? AMELIA: Well no, it was the Fitchburg Teacher's College. It was known as a teacher's college. It trains teachers and industrial arts teachers. LINDA: That's right. AMELIA: But now they teach everything, don't they? Amazing. LINDA: And who did you live with? AMELIA: I lived with my Uncle Joe and grandmother at 82 Blossom Street. LINDA: Did you and Anna and Rachel go to visit? AMELIA: Oh yeah. Always together. LINDA: What kinds of things did you do together for fun activities? AMELIA: Oh, we used to go to Whalen. We used to go to Whalen Park, we went swimming. We used to go on picnics and family gatherings. Anna's mother was a great cook. LINDA: All of you were unmarried at this time?17 AMELIA: Yes. We were all single. I married late in life. I think it was 37 when I got married. ANNA: I still remember that time. AMELIA: Yeah, you were still in high school, Anna. And we attended concerts. Uncle played with the -- what was it? ANNA: The symphony. AMELIA: No, that was in Boston. He played with a band here in Fitchburg. What was it called? ANNA: It was a marching band, Fitchburg Community Band. They had Sunday afternoons at Caldwell Park. AMELIA: Yeah, Caldwell Park. Right. So we used to go to that. LINDA: Tell me more about that, about the concerts at the park. Was there a bandstand? ANNA: Gazebo, right? On Mirror Lake. LINDA: It's still there? I played there too. AMELIA: Do they still have concerts there now? ANNA: Mm-hmm. Sunday afternoon. AMELIA: Tell me what it was like going. For example, did you dress in your Sunday's finest to go? AMELIA: Oh yeah, we always did dress on Sunday. ANNA: We didn't wear jeans and sneakers unless you were in your own backyard. And if you had to go downtown, you had to change your clothes. AMELIA: Right. And girls always had to wear stockings. ANNA: And skirts or dresses. On Sunday you'd have your hat and gloves and bag. AMELIA: Oh yeah, and attend church first, right? LINDA: And when you would go downtown and it wasn't Sunday, would you wear a hat and gloves, or was that primarily… AMELIA: I think that was mostly for church on Sundays. ANNA: But you always dressed to go downtown. AMELIA: Oh yeah.18 ANNA: I think they had more pride in their appearance than they do today. I used to pick up my mother as well, and she always had the hat and the gloves, and they had to match. Every Easter you had to go out and buy a new hat. LINDA: Would you go downtown by yourselves, or would you travel with girls? ANNA: We would walk most of the time. A mile and a half was nothing, right? There were no cars. You'd walk downtown, and I think the main activity was going to a movie once a week. I liked going to the movies. And then you'd stop and have an ice cream on the way home. AMELIA: Uh-huh, and wasn't there a movie at Blossom Street theater where Uncle used to play? The Cummings Theater. That's right. And they always had music there, and it was live music. ANNA: Right. Because Uncle Joe played the violin there. AMELIA: Oh, but Blossom Street has changed so. ANNA: Oh, it's terrible. LINDA: What was it like then? Your memories? AMELIA: They were nice-looking buildings, there were some -- what was that building where your mother worked with Mr. [Burren]? That brick building. ANNA: [Chimmers]. AMELIA: And then there was an apartment there next to that, and Dr. Ames, who lived right next to Uncle Joe, that was a nice building. And across the street from Uncle Joe's building was the -- what was that funeral home? ANNA: No, that was the Knight of Columbus home. AMELIA: Oh, the Knights of Columbus home was next to that. So they were good-looking buildings, and they have taken me up there last year and this year, and I just don't… ANNA: Oh I know. It's sad. LINDA: What happened? AMELIA: I think a lot of Puerto Ricans have come in, haven't they? And a lot of blacks have moved in. And for some reason or another, the buildings are not kept up. You should see what they did to Uncle Joe's building. Now,19 Uncle Joe's—the house that he lived in—was a beautiful classical building. The man who built it was a contractor. I can't think of his name. He was a contractor and had beautiful columns on the porch, and whoever lives there now boarded it all up. It's not the same Blossom Street. ANNA: They were mansions, I think, on the street at that time. Beautiful mansions. Big homes and huge homes. And there are other things now. AMELIA: Right. Although, the upper part of Blossom Street is not as bad. It's still very -- it's still a nice neighborhood. And that's where Mike lived didn't he? Mike, your son? ANNA: Yeah. I think it's still nice. AMELIA: And I used to walk from Blossom Street along Pearl Street all the way to teacher's college every morning. ANNA: We did a lot more walking in those days than we do today. AMELIA: Ann, didn't you walk down from where you lived to go for your violin lesson with your violin in your hand? ANNA: Yeah. AMELIA: And your mother always walked to church, every morning. LINDA: I imagine that you're talking pretty much great distances? Like a mile and a half. AMELIA: Oh, I would say a good mile and a half, two miles, yes. ANNA: And I walked that to high school. A couple of miles. LINDA: You must have felt very safe. AMELIA: Yes. There are a lot more cars now than we had, too. ANNA: Especially in Coggshall Park. Nowadays they warn you not to walk alone. Walk as a pair. AMELIA: Right. And it was even safe at night walking. You can't do that today. LINDA: We can't have any movement on the table. I'm just afraid that we're not going to -- I feel bad telling you, but I don't want the tape to be… [Crosstalk - 00:44:50]20 ANNA: They would freeze it in the wintertime, and we used to walk up there for skating, ice skating. We'd come home at 9:00. There were no lights on, you know. But we had no fear. LINDA: When would you say things start to change? ANNA: After the '40s, I think. LINDA: After the '40s? ANNA: After the '50s? AMELIA: I know sometimes in Connecticut, when I used to go to meetings in Waterbury and I wasn't driving, I would take the bus home at night, even as late as 11:00, and walk up the hill to Culver Street where we lived then, and it was still safe. I would say, yeah, maybe I would say starting with the fifties, it wasn't safe, you know, to walk, to be alone. LINDA: So what happened though? Did people lose a sense of pride? ANNA: I think so. In the city we have the hippies and the campus unrest in the '60s. LINDA: But did anything like that happen specifically in Fitchburg? ANNA: Well, you read of accidents and crimes, and they would happen in the areas like Coggshall Park, for instance, and there were crimes up there. And then, you would, be wise not to go, and you wouldn't walk alone. And now, I don't think you'd even go up there in the daytime by yourself, never mind at night. LINDA: Well, I'm wondering is it a gradual feeling to see your city decay a little bit? I'm not from Worcester, but I've lived in Worcester since 1978, and that was certainly after the heyday and the booming industry, and things started, I suppose, or had already gone downhill. Now there's a real rebirth, but I was wondering, how do you feel living in a city you're so proud of and that your parents came to make a better life, and they worked so hard to make your life better, and they worked very hard to own their own home and they probably took very good care of it and had a garden in the back, whatever. And how do you feel, just being part of that generation that saw both ways of life: the working hard, striving hard, 21 having to work for every penny, to perhaps new ethnic groups coming in and being given money and not working? ANN: That's right. That's happening. AMELIA: I know when our parents came, a lot of them went to South America because they weren't allowed -- the immigration laws today are a lot more lax, I think. They allow everyone to come in, but at the time that our parents came to the United States, the laws were a lot stricter. A lot of them went to South America. Now, Grandpa's brother emigrated to South America, Argentina. He couldn't come here to the States, couldn't come to America. A lot of them went to Argentina and Australia, too. LINDA: Did your dad have to come -- so he must have tried to come later. AMELIA: Yeah, a little later. That's when the immigration laws, I think they were a little strict. But today they're allowing all types of people to come in. I don't know why, and… ANNA: There's a lot more crime. Either that or we're hearing about it. AMELIA: Well, I think when we were brought up we didn't have television. If we had radio, we were lucky to have a radio, and we were taught to knit, and to crochet, and to sew. Children are not taught that today. Our parents were at home. When we came home from school our parents were home, and they taught us all these crafts. Today, parents are working, they're not at home, they have television. I think we have a lot more outside influences that affect our way of living. And with the drug trade, too -- we didn't have that when we were growing up. I think that's why we had such change. LINDA: When you were growing up and you came home from school, your mother was there cleaning, cooking, washing. AMELIA: That's right. Washing clothes or getting ready for -- uh-huh. LINDA: And you were probably expected to help? AMELIA: Well, Mama would say to me, "You do your homework, and afterwards you can help me." And she taught me how to sew. I used to make all my clothes through high school. Of course I don't have time now, but yeah, 22 young people were taught crafts. They were taught to knit and sew and crochet. Kids don't know how to do that today. LINDA: What about values? ANNA: We were taught to say "Thank you," [unintelligible - 00:50:23]. AMELIA: Yeah, that, too, has changed, and I think it's all because of the fact that mothers are not at home to teach their children, and there are a lot more outside influences that affect children, and they don't have mannerisms. I don't know why but… ANNA: Well it all comes from the family background. AMELIA: Yeah, well that's true. ANNA: It's a changing world. LINDA: As I sit here and record, I'm interested in my own family history too, and that's really how I got involved in this project: because my great-grandmother and my great-grandfather came from Italy. AMELIA: Really? What part? LINDA: Calabria. AMELIA: Calabria, yes. LINDA: Sometimes I wish—and I know a lot of people from my generation—almost wish we could go back to a more simple time. And a lot o f times what I hear is that we have too many choices today, and that confuses people. Do you feel that you had choices growing up? AMELIA: Yes. I think they were restricted. There were certain things that we had to do, and after we completed those, then there were choices. ANNA: A handful. AMELIA: Well, I didn't have to be told to do my homework but if I hadn't done my homework and if I hadn't helped my mother with some of the cooking, then I was rewarded on Sunday. We were given five cents, and we could do whatever we want. And she would take us shopping and buy us a new pair of shoes or something that we don't usually have at home. But today I think the children have too much. At the age of 16 they're taught -- they're given a car. At the age of 16.23 LINDA: Now, if someone from your generation ever had a car at 16, would they have to work for it? ANNA: I don't think that would happen. If you had your license you may borrow. If you had to do an errand, borrow your parents'. For your own benefit? I don't think that would happen. AMELIA: I think that children are given too much today by their parents. Look at the parking lot, the high school parking lot. The cars that are there, I think that creates a lot of trouble. I think the parents are partly to blame for the shenanigans of the young people. They're not fit for them; they haven't taught them the value of… ANNA: Even bus transportation, you know, they were all bussed to school, then they join the gym for exercise. AMELIA: Right. LINDA: I never thought of that. ANNA: They could walk, save a lot of money. AMELIA: Of course, they use the excuse that there's a lot more traffic, which is true, and there is a lot more traffic and more dangers, that's true. ANNA: We have a lot of traffic here. Worse, isn't it? LINDA: But as I talk to second-generation Italian Americans and, again, just going back one generation, everyone had to work hard, and all of you seem very happy and stable and have good values. Are those being promoted in your own families? ANNA: In my family, I think I passed it on to my children. They're all good. And I think they are passing it on to their children. But they're still young, and you wonder, as they grow up are they going to get into other things. You don't know. There's a lot of outside influences now. AMELIA: That's right. Going to school and intermingling with other children, other children that haven't had the upbringing and are taught the values that you have taught yours, and they're influenced by them, you know. LINDA: How much of that is an Italian-American experience? ANNA: I think it is a Italian-American experience.24 AMELIA: Oh, definitely. I think there is that among the Italian-American families. ANNA: There's that spiritual and moral life. AMELIA: And helping within the family. ANNA: They're helping their family by helping other families too. AMELIA: As well, yeah. ANNA: You see that need and you try to alleviate the problem if you can, lessen the problem. AMELIA: And the fact that they're Catholic religion helps, you know, from the start, and you can bring it on to your children. ANNA: Loads of people don't go to church like they used to. AMELIA: That's true. ANNA: I think that should help a lot. Truthfully. LINDA: Speaking of church, did all of you -- perhaps not you, but you probably attended St. Anthony's? AMELIA: Oh yeah, my mother was married there. Rachel's mother, your mother. St. Anthony's of Padua, is that the St. Anthony's… ANNA: St. Anthony of Padua. I was there until I married, and then I moved to Leominster. LINDA: So you think that that was a great influence on people? ANNA: Definitely. AMELIA: Oh yeah. I think it's up to the parents to instill that in their children, and I think among the Italian Americans it's far greater than maybe in any other group. Don't you think, Anna? ANNA: I do, yes. It probably came from the old country too. And if you go to Catholic school, that all helps. LINDA: Now, did both of you go to Catholic school? AMELIA: No. There wasn't any. No. ANNA: The only reason I was able to go to St. Bernard's for eight years was because Uncle gave them lessons. AMELIA: Oh, at St. Bernard's school? ANNA: You don't remember that?25 AMELIA: No. ANNA: I think that helped them to get that in. AMELIA: Grammar school? ANNA: Grammar school. Eight years. LINDA: They didn't allow Italians, or there wasn't enough room for Italians? Which was it? ANNA: I think it was mostly their own parishioners, right? The children of their own parishioners that would attend the St. Bernard's school. And it wasn't until the mid '60s that the other parishes built their own schools. AMELIA: But did you have to pay anything to attend? Oh you did. There was a minimum. Uh-huh. I know that the Catholic school that we have in Naugatuck, they have a lot of the children from not necessarily the Irish or the Italian, but a lot of the Protestants are going there too. They feel that they're doing a better job teaching than they are in the public schools. ANNA: I think it is that way now. I think there are Protestants of other nationalities who go to, for instance, St. Anna's school, which is a mostly Italian parish. But I'd say half of the students at the school are of other nationalities. AMELIA: Yeah, and the tuition is very high too. ANNA: Yes. It's not affordable for many, many people. AMELIA: I know my sister Christine, she made a donation to the appropriate school in Naugatuck, and she gets thank-you notes from parents saying "Thank you, we appreciate the scholarship that you gave to our child so he could attend a Catholic school." LINDA: So tell me: what it was like going to St. Anthony's? ANNA: Church. AMELIA: I don't recall, because I was a little girl when we left Fitchburg, but we went to Naugatuck. And as Anna said before, we would dress up in our finest, you know, and attend mass. And then after that go home and have a nice big Italian dinner with the family. ANNA: The whole family would go to church together.26 AMELIA: Father and mother and children, yeah. LINDA: And when would you go to confession? AMELIA: The day before, Saturday. ANNA: About two in the afternoon, you'd be called in. "Clean up, get ready for confession. Dress. Go to church." Confession, I haven't gone in years. AMELIA: And we always dressed up. Isn't it a shame to see children in shorts going to church? ANNA: The parents sometimes are worse than the kids. LINDA: If you weren't going to a parochial school and you were Catholic, where did your Catholic education come from? AMELIA: They had classes. ANNA: They did? AMELIA: Yeah. ANNA: The parish had nuns, and Saturday would be catechism. Saturday morning. And in fact, a lot of -- we spoke of knitting and crocheting and embroidery. They would have classes taught by the nuns. AMELIA: The nuns would teach, yeah. ANNA: And your summer was not spent out on the street. You'd go to a school where you would learn to embroider and crochet and knit. Cutwork, beautiful cutwork. Nuns would teach. And this is how summers would go. LINDA: Every day? Every day of the summer? ANNA: Every day. You'd have either the morning session or the afternoon. Or both. If your parents -- especially if the mother was working, the nuns would take over. LINDA: When you were kids or even when you came to college here in Fitchburg, did you ever go to any of the social clubs with Anna or Rachel, or…? ANNA: Marconi Club. AMELIA: Oh, that's right. Was that in Fitchburg? ANNA: Yes. AMELIA: I don't remember.27 ANNA: They still have it, but you weren't [unintelligible - 01:02:36]. AMELIA: Your father was really [unintelligible - 01:01:44]. Oh yes. ANNA: He built that club. AMELIA: Oh really? ANNA: He built the building, and all the Italians that came from that region would meet with him. AMELIA: Do they still have…? ANNA: The still have it. AMELIA: They still have it. Isn't that nice? LINDA: Did you belong to any social clubs in Connecticut? ANNA: There weren't that many there. AMELIA: Yeah, they did have a social club. I remember going to high school with my sister Christine and some of the other Italian girls living down with [Litley], that's where we lived, we would get together every Saturday night, and we would knit or sew or crochet or do something. ANNA: Parishes had social clubs. We had the Children of Mary that all the young girls that were not married would belong to that, and they would meet maybe once a week, and they would have breakfasts, trips; they would organize trips. Then they had the Lady of Mount Carmel for the married women, and they would have the Sacred Heart of Jesus for the men, the young boys. And they would organize trips, and there would be a bus going up to Caldwell Park -- not a bus, they would walk there -- but there would be a bus maybe going to some other distant park where they would take a picnic lunch. I remember going up to Simon Park… AMELIA: Oh, the family. ANNA: Yes. We would cook the dinner at home and bring it up there and eat with all the friends at Simon Park, right? That was… AMELIA: Still around? ANNA: Yes. So I think that was the social life. It was all within the parish or the Italian-American community. LINDA: Amelia, when did you get your interest in art?28 AMELIA: Interest in art? Well, that started in high school. I was very much interested in art. Our high school, Naugatuck High School, had a lot of Roman statues throughout the corridors, and they took -- it was through the library that we took courses, my sister Christine and I. We would go there and they would have different people in the community talk about art during the time of the Romans, during the time of the Middle Ages and so on. LINDA: So when you came to Fitchburg was the art museum established? AMELIA: No. I wasn't down; I don't know if it was established at the time. I had become interested in the art museum just recently after Fitchburg State College, last year when I told Mr. Peter Chin, who is the Director of the Fitchburg Art Museum, that I was very much interested in Western civilization, and that's when we became involved In Fitchburg State College working with the museum. LINDA: Do you ever wonder how your life would have been different if you perhaps fell in love and married someone from Fitchburg? AMELIA: Not necessarily, no. I think that the man that I married was a businessman and very much interested in Italian culture. Even though my father and mother instilled in me the love of Italy and the love of Italian culture, I still feel that he got me more interested. We've traveled to Italy and saw a lot of art, architecture, and learned more about our background. LINDA: How did you meet him? AMELIA: Oh -- did you ask me that question the other day? Someone asked me, "How did you meet your husband?" LINDA: Maybe I did. AMELIA: Well, I was studying here at -- it was during the time I got my master's at BU, and Uncle Joe played with the Boston Symphony in Boston. And they were having a concert, and -- oh no, I was teaching in Naugatuck -- and they were having a concert in Boston, so I took a train from New Haven to Boston. I was supposed to meet my uncle. And on the train, I went into the dining car, and there was a gentleman sitting across, and he 29 looked over and he said to me, "May I join you?" I said yes, so we had dinner together, and it was my husband whom I had met. ANNA: She was getting the idea. AMELIA: Yeah, so we started correspondence, and that went 'til he came to see to visit my mother and the family and so on. And the summer of '52 we got married. 1952. That's a long time ago, isn't it? LINDA: Did he live in Boston? AMELIA: No, he had a -- his place of business was in Brooklyn. He was originally from New York, and he had a vending repair shop and did very well. And he was going to Italy in '92, and he said to me, "Why don't we go together?" LINDA: In '52? AMELIA: Yeah, in 1952. So that's when I got married. And we married and then we went to Italy on honeymoon on the Conta Bianca Ma, on the ship that my father sailed on, never returned. And we stopped in North Africa, in Casablanca and all those beautiful places, Algiers, and -- with the ship, you know, Conta Bianca Ma, it took about 12 days and many of the passengers aboard that ship were World War II veterans. So we had a lot to talk about because my kid brother, Tommy was… ANNA: In the service. AMELIA: In the service, right. And then we got into Sicily and then went to Naples and disembarked and traveled all over Italy. We lived in the Busi area for two years, and in '54 we returned to America, and then that's when I went to see, visit my mother's home place. My husband said, "You can't leave Italy without seeing your mother and father's birthplace!" and that's… LINDA: So had he sold his business in Brooklyn and went to… AMELIA: Yeah, he sold his place in Brooklyn and wanted to get married, and he always wanted an Italian-American girl, so that was it. LINDA: Was he older than you? AMELIA: Yes. He was about nine years older than I. He died in 19 -- very bright man. He had a lot of money. He went to Phoenix and invested in 30 property, but we came back every summer because it was hot in Phoenix, temperature of 107, 108, 110, and we used to come back to Connecticut and then we went to Italy. I've been on all the liners: the Sistulia, the Independent, the Lucania, the Julius Caesar. LINDA: So did you enjoy taking a liner instead of -- do you still do that? AMELIA: No, we fly. The only liner, really, is the Queen Elizabeth, and then you go to London. I took that in '92. My sister, Connie, on the Queen Elizabeth about five days, and then we flew back on the Concorde. Nice experience. LINDA: What was that like? AMELIA: Oh, in 3 hours, 19 minutes, we were at Kennedy from London. LINDA: Do you feel differently when you're on that plane? AMELIA: It was wonderful. There was absolutely no turbulence, and my sister Connie is definitely afraid of flying. And even on the Concorde she said, "Are we all right? Are we all right?" Lovely, smooth flight. LINDA: What was it like taking off? AMELIA: You hardly know you take off, and we did not aboard the Concorde from the outside. They have a beautiful reception room where you go in from the airport. Let's see, what was it? What was the airport? ANNA: Kennedy? AMELIA: No, in London. Heathrow. Right. And you approach it from the inside, a beautiful dining room where they had all kinds of food, breakfast and all kinds of drinks, champagne in "orange," as it's called, boxes, which is mimosa, it's a mimosa. And all kinds of things. So actually, we boarded the Concorde from the inside. I wanted to get on from the outside so you could see her, you know. A wonderful experience. LINDA: But do you feel yourself really reaching great heights? AMELIA: No, you don't. You don't feel a thing. In about five minutes, we had climbed 26,000 miles. LINDA: Incredible.31 AMELIA: I have all those pictures in an album with all the notations. Yep, it's such a voluminous thing that I didn't want to take with me. But that was lovely. I'd like to do it again. LINDA: Well on July 17th, I was leaving London and there were cameras everywhere and I thought "Oh no," and we pulled into the airport and I thought there was a plane crash but it was the first Concorde taking off after that crash, I think from Paris. AMELIA: Yeah, Paris. Right. LINDA: They're rebuilding. AMELIA: Oh, they're rebuilding it? Have you been on a Concorde? LINDA: No. AMELIA: Oh, I see. Quite an experience. I think we reached the height of 58,000 feet. LINDA: Incredible. AMELIA: Wonderful. You don't feel yourself descending at all. And the food they serve, everyone has an individual table, there's all kind of linens and sterling silver. There are only 96 passengers. We tried -- Christine was supposed to come with us. She said, "No, I don't want to come." But she said she'd like to go on the Concorde. ANNA: Sounds like Connie. AMELIA: Yeah, I think British Airways -- what is it? About nine hours to cross? I think it's a long flight. LINDA: Well, it's longer coming back because of the wind. Actually, I think it's a little bit less now, maybe seven. So did you ever feel different being Italian? AMELIA: No, I don't. I'm very proud to be an Italian. LINDA: Yeah, I know. But ever growing up, did you ever feel discriminated? AMELIA: No, because at home my father always talked about Italians and what they've contributed, you know. And he was an educated man. In fact, did you know that my father was supposed to be a priest? LINDA: No, I didn't know that.32 AMELIA: Yeah. He attended -- what do they call it? Gymnasio was their high school. Was that right? LINDA: Gym -- AMELIA: Gymnasio. Is that the word for gymnasio? Papa attended the… yes, Papa attended the gymnasio, which was the high school, and then he attended Luceo, which is the junior college. ANNA: This is where? AMELIA: In Italy, in [Salunca]. Most families that had visited, they were bakers and they had a nice -- most families sent one child to study to be a priest, and my father was chosen. He was there two years and he didn't like it. What he saw, he didn't like. So he got on his horse and ran away, and the horse was riding along, went galloping up along a body of water. And he was so afraid that the horse was going to go into the water, so my father threw himself off and he had a great big gash here. Yeah. I remember him telling me that. Now there was always -- my father always told us about things of Italy, you know. Things Italy had done and the records that we played so that there was always culture at home. I was always proud to be an Italian. LINDA: So you're hoping that Alba Program, is that what you… AMELIA: Yes. LINDA: What does Alba mean? AMELIA: Alba means dawn, and since these young people are young, they're just beginning, the beginning of the day, Alba. And I gave it that name, and we've been doing that for five years in Waterbury. And I have an appointment at the University of Connecticut, where my sister graduated, and I have three nieces, all graduated from the University of Connecticut, majored in Italian. They have their doctorate in Italian. So I want to set up a center for the study of Italian culture there. I'm meeting with them on Monday of next week. LINDA: At the University of Connecticut? AMELIA: Yes. UConn, we call it. 33 LINDA: They have the Oral History Project. Like, at the Dodd Center I think they call it. AMELIA: I don't know. I'm meeting one of my nieces who teaches at UConn. She teaches Renaissance art, and she's going to take me there. Do you know any of the professors there? John Davis, I have an appointment with him. LINDA: So what was the turning point for you to start donating? AMELIA: To what? LINDA: Start donating money and trying to establish… AMELIA: My husband was always interested in doing something for -- in the school system, and it was he that said I should contact the Italian-American community in Waterbury when they advertised they wanted money for the Italian classes. Remember I told you? So shortly after he died, I decided to do that, and he was a very smart man at buying property, and I have sold property that has run into the millions, and I want to donate it to the school. So that's why I'm donating to the Center for Italian Culture, to Fitchburg State, to Post College in Waterbury, and to UConn. And also, the Society for the Promotion of Roman Studies in London, I am a lifetime member there, and my husband was always interested in that. LINDA: How did that come about? AMELIA: I just love Western civilization. Done a lot of reading, and then there are -- the Romans occupied London for almost -- let's see, about 500 years, and they are very proud of what the Romans had given to London. In fact, Queen Elizabeth, when she visited Italy and she attended one of the sessions of Parliament, she got up and said, "I want to thank you people for bringing civilization to London." So we are members for the Society of Promotion of Roman Studies, and they will be a contributor upon my death. I mention them in my will. It was he, really, my husband that started all this interest in Western civilization. LINDA: Truly admirable. /AT/pa/rjh/es