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Issue 57.1 of the Review for Religious, January/February 1998. ; religious Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living JANUARY-FEBRUARY 1998 ¯ VOLUME 57 ¯ NUMBER 1 Review for Religious is a forum for. shared reflection on the lived experience~ of all who find, that the church's rich heritages of gpirituality support their personal and apostolic ¯ Christian lives. The articles in ~he journal are meant to be informative, practical, historical, or inspirational, written from a theological or spiritual or sometimes canonical point of view. Review for Religious (1SSN 0034-639X) is published bi-monthly 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: FOPPEMA@SLU.EDU 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 1150 Cedar Cove Road ¯ Henderson, NC 27536 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. ©1998 Review for Religious Permission is herewith granted to copy any material (articles, poems, reviews) cbntained 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 perxnission 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. for r ligiou$ Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Editorial Staff Advisory Board David L. Fleming sJ Philip C. Fischer SJ Regina Siegfried ASC Elizabeth McDonough OP Mary Ann Foppe Tracy Gramm Jean Read James and Joan Felling Kathryn Richards FSP Joel Rippinger OSB Bishop Carlos A. Sevilla SJ David Werthmann CSSR Patricia Wittberg SC Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living JANUARY-FEBRUARY 1998 ¯ VOLUME 57 ¯ NUMBER 1 contents 34 48 leadership Congregational Leadership and Spirituality in the Postmodern Era Sandra M. Schneiders IHM offers an analysis of changing worldviews as an aid to understanding present-day religious congregations and exercising effective leadership in them. Leadership for the Common Good Donna J. Markham OP focuses on three areas of leadership skill development: conflict management, guarding against "groupthink," and promoting communal efficacious action. Hearts Afire: Leadership in the New Millennium Anne Munley IHM sees congregational leadership as being the work of impassioned hearts sharing, finding, and making meaning in concert with all the members, with a view to warm cooperation in endeavors of burning urgency. 60 67 tradition Stability: A Monastic Charism Retrieved Joel Rippinger OSB explores stability as a matter of heart and place in the light of contemporary rootedness. History's Role in Defining Spiritual Direction Steve R. Wigall proposes that contemporary spiritual direction needs to embrace openly its historical and theological variety. Review for Religious 77 88 prayer Today's Contemplative Prayer Forms: Are They Contemplation? Ernest E. Larkin OCarm takes a discerning look at contemporary personal prayer practice and terminology against the background of centuries-long traditions. Union with God according to John of the Cross Paul J. Bernadicou SJ describes some aspects of the sanjuanist process towards intimacy with God. departments 4 Prisms 94 Canonical Counsel: Life Consecrated by Profession of the Evangelical Counsels 100 Book Reviews Jant~aty-Februat~ 1998 I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the Giver of life. prisms 4 T citizens of the United States in recent years have been reinforcing a reputation for being a people that has lost its sense of the sanctity of human life. After a brief lull in the use of the death penalty for what is considered heinous crimes, more and more individual states have been seeking execution for serious crimes committed by both men and women. Then, when we look to the beginning of life, we find that abortion in the United States, even in late term, is justified through the most permissive legal understanding allowed by any Western nation. Finally, when we consider the possible end of life, assisted suicide for the elderly or for the chron-ically ill is already legal in one state and is being promoted by a number of people who defend what is euphemisti-cally called "mercy killing." As we come ~o the last years of this millennium, this most powerful, prosperous, and well-educated nation is sadly being identified as a people that readily "takes life." The year 1998 focuses upon the Holy Spirit in our Christian preparations for entering into the third millen-nium guided by the pastoral plan presented to us by Pope John Paul. Whatever the strength of our faith, the Holy Spirit is the Trinitarian Person most difficult for us to talk about, t9 imagine, and to relate to. Spirit, breath, wind, love, fire are words that in themselves have no face nor even a substance that can be grasped. And yet these are some of the common, traditional words applied to the One we call the Third Person of our Trinitarian God. We might, though, begin this second year of our preparations for the millennium by calling in prayer upon the Spirit by a name appropriate to the times in which we live. Review for Religious In the Nicene Creed we express our belief in the Person called the Holy Spirit, professing first that he is Lord God and then designating this Person as "the Giver of life." What a wonderful identity--Giver of life--especially in regard to a people earning a reputation as "takers of life." It seems obvious that a basic gift we seek from God in this year 1998 is a renewed reverence, respect, and appreciation for human life. Throughout this year, perhaps we all need an examination of conscience on behavior involving us as "takers of life." "Takers of life" can involve an attitude which sullies our approach to any part of God's creation--each part a gift from God. We can become so self-centered that everything--from the ecological environ-ment to the earth's resources to human life itself--is viewed in its value now for us. Takers of life know no gratitude, for life is not seen in terms of gifting but only in terms of getting, a disease of a consumer society. Let us pray that the Holy Spirit will inspire and guide our efforts to be, like God, gi,vers of life. The age-old prayer still speaks out our desire: "Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful." Review for Religious continues to have its own experience of life being given to us. New life continues to flow into our Advisory Board as some members finish their term of service, and new members join. We welcome Sister Kathryn Richards FSP, vice-provincial of the USA province of the Daughters of St. Paul and executive director of the twenty Pauline Book and Media Centers in the USA and English-speaking Canada. She is also the direc-tor of Paulinas Distribudora, the Daughters' Hispanic media dis-tribution center, and the director of the National Association of Pauline Cooperators, the lay collaborators of the Daughters of St. Paul. In addition we welcome Bishop Carlos Sevilla SJ, bishop of the diocese of Yakima, Washington. Bishop Sevilla serves as a member of the NCCB committees on Hispanic affairs and on religious life and ministry. Before his ordination as bishop, he had filled administration and formation roles in the Society of Jesus (California province). Farewells are always harder to express than welcomes. I want to express my appreciation to Father Edmundo Rodriguez SJ and to Sister Iris Ann Ledden $SND for their many contributions to the advisory board over the years of their service. We remain grateful for their continuing interest and support. David L. Fleming SJ January-Febr~,aot 1998 o o o o o o leadership SANDRA M. SCHNEIDERS Congregational Leadership and Spirituality in the Postmodern Era In addressing the issue of leadership in congregations which are increasingly influenced by the emergence of cultural postmodernism, I write not as one who is engaged in leadership or trained in the fields of organization and management, but as a theologian reflecting on the spiri-tuality of contemporary religious. But part of my prepa-ration for these reflections involved talking with a number of religious in leadership positions, asking them what were the major challenges they faced as leaders. One woman, by means of a highly symbolic vignette, epitomized what many others expressed. She said that, if one prepared an agenda for a meeting far enough ahead of time for the participants to come prepared, the first item on the agenda would be the revision of the agenda because the actual situation in the congregation would have changed so sig-nificantly that neither the items on the agenda nor their relative importance would be what they had been when the agenda was formulated. In other words, the challenges about which leaders talked were not so much specific problems but pandemic unpredictability and uncontrol-lability. While leaders face particular challenges because of Sandra M. Schneiders IHM presented this paper, here slightly revised, to the Leadership Conference of Woxnen Religious on 23 August 1997 in Rochester, New York. She is professor of New Testament Studies and Christian Spirituality at the Jesuit School of Theology at Berkeley, where her address is JSTB; 1735 LeRoy Avenue; Berkeley, California 94709. Review for Religious their public role and more global responsibilities, the situation which makes leadership so difficult today is the same one all of us in religious life face, namely, the context of chaos within which we are trying to live religious life coherently and minister effectively. It is this peculiarly contemporary experience and its significance for spirituality that requires analysis and engagement. Whether or not we articulate it explicitly, we are always living, thinking, working within and out of some implicit worldview which defines both the problems and the potentialities of our historical situation.~ Until we come to some understanding of that world-view, we stand little chance of developing an operative spirituality. How we understand reality in general, religious life in particular, and our own congregation specifically determines what we think we are doing as religious leaders or followers. A worldview is like light or a pair of glasses. We do not notice its role in what and how we see until it flickers or gets cloudy. Furthermore, until relatively recently we were unaware of the plurality of worldviews because we thought that what we saw was simply what is, rather than what is visible through a particular set of lenses which not everyone in the world is wearing. Until the mid-sixties Catholics in general and religious in particular lived within a peculiarly schizophrenic worldview whose intrinsic con-tradictions seldom came clearly into view. Within the institution and culture of the cht~rch, we lived out of a medieval worldview in which society was organized according to an ontologically based, and therefore unchangeable, hierarchy of status and roles; in which all reality could and must be explained in the categories of an Aristotelian/Thomistic philosophy and the-ology; and in which the next world, and therefore religion, held a clear priority over the present world and its concerns. However, outside the church arena we lived out of a modern worldview in which democratic capitalism constructed an economically com-petitive society within a deceptive rhetoric of personal equality. The explanation of reality in this modern world was supplied by the confluence of the dualistic philosophy of Descartes, the mechanistic physics of Newton, the deterministic biology of Darwin, and the materia.listic hydraulics of Freudian psychology. The practical priority of this world over the afterlife was expressed in the banishing of religious concerns from public life to the pri-vate realm of family and church. Although these two worldviews, medieval and modern, were Januat3,-Februat~y 1998 Scbneiders ¯ Congregational Leadership and Spirituality largely incompatible, what they had in common may be more sig-nificant for our present considerations than how they differed. Both of these worldviews presented chaos as the ultimate enemy and order as the ultimate good. It is hardly surprising, then, that we are uncomfortable to the point of panic amid the unpre-dictability and uncontrollability of so much of our experience today. And, the more people, property, and projects we are respon-sible for, the more threatening and even paralyzing widespread chaos in our domain of responsibility is likely to be. However, as cultural critics are increasingly convinced, the modern worldview itself is rapidly giving way to what is being called postmodernirm, a worldview that is still largely inchoate and unarticulated, but which is actually conditioning our experience more deeply and extensively than we can yet appreciate.2 Characteristic of this emerging worldview is what is being called the "new science" or quantum physics,3 which is not only calling into question the adequacy of Newtonian science to explain the natural or physical world, but implying the necessity for a new, cosmologically based philosophy that sees much deeper connec-tions between matter and spirit, between humans and the rest of reality, between this world and whatever transcends it.4 Implied in the collapse of the classical dualisms is ~i revisioning of chaos and order which may open up some possibilities for reinterpreting our present experience within religious life. Although I have been reading voraciously in the new science for a while, I do not claim to understand, much less be able to explain, quantum physics. What I want to do, however, is to use a few of its basic categories, namely, autopoietic structures, fields, and strange attractors, as metaphors for thinking about contem-porary experience in religious congregations. After exploring these categories from the new science in relation to religious life, I will try to make'some suggestions that are theologically sound, spir-itually vital, and culturally plausible about our current experience of religious life and leadership. Autopoietic Structures Margaret Wheatley, in her wonderfully provocative book Leadership and the New Science, brings together new ideas from biology, chemistry, and quantum physics which are analogous in suggesting that order and chaos are not contradictories, but that Review for Religious order emerges from chaos as from its matrix,s Furthermore, con-trol is not synonymous with order nor does it produce stability. Rather, control causes a deadly immobility or stasis which ulti-mately dooms the structure to disintegration. This phenomenon of the constructive relationship between chaos and order is characteristic of living organisms. Erich Jantsch, whom Wheatley cites, describes autopoiesis as "the characteristic of liv-ing systems [by which they] continu-ously renew themselves and., regulate this process in such a way that the integrity of their structure is main-tained.'' 6 In other words, living things maintain their integrity and identity not by eliminating change, but by continu-ous, dynamic interaction with their environment. It is equilibrium, not change, that is fatal! However, the history of religious life in the United States from the 19th century until Vatican II was character-ized by steadily increasing equilibrium and control and steadily decreasing interaction with the environment.7 After the chaotic pioneering days--when our founders and foundresses braved the rigors of frontier life using everything that came to hand, secular and profane included, to survive personally and institutionally-- American religious life settled into a rigidly defined and tightly controlled pattern within an increasingly battened-down eccle-siastical institution. Interchange with the environment was ever more stringently controlled and, to the extent possible, elimi-nated. We understood our congregations as Newtonian machine-like systems composed of virtually identical parts, operating according to established laws of motion codified in Rules and. customs books and functioning best when no part acted in orig-inal, that is, "singular" ways. Leaders functioned somewhat like factory managers maintaining strict control (erroneously seen as order) for the sake of spiritual and ministerial efficiency. Newtonian physics, which supplied this machine model for all systems, also gave us the laws of thermodynamics which gov-ern such systems. The second law of thermodynamics tells us that, when a system reaches equilibrium, entropy or disintegration We are uncomfortable to the point of panic amid the unpredictability and uncontrollability of so mucl of our experience today. Janllary-Februaty 1998 Scbneiders ¯ Congregational Leadership and Spirituality sets in. We moderns learned that this law of increasing entropy or the inevitable wearing down of systems was also characteristic of living things (which we understood as basically very complicated machines) and certainly true of organizations such as religious congregations.8 What the new science is telling us is that social organizations are not entropic like machines, but more like living organisms, which are autopoietic, that is, self-renewing. The basis of autopoiesis or self-re-creation is the openness of organisms to their environment. As Wheatley says, Each structure has a unique identity, a clear boundary, yet it is merged with its environment . What we observe. ¯ in all living entities, are boundaries that both preserve us from and connect us to the infinite complexity of the out-side world. Autopoiesis, then, points to a different universe. Not the fragile, fragmented world we attempt to hold together, but a universe rich in processes that support growth and coherence, individuality and community.9 When we look at religious congregations of the 1950s, we see relatively hermetically sealed organizations operating accord-ing to the quantitative laws of mechanics. Numbers, material resources, institutional agencies of influence, and hierarchical control of all operations were the sources of efficiency. The cat-aclysm of Vatican II and its immediate predecessors in religious life such as the Sister Formation Movement suddenly opened these closed systems to their environment. New information of all kinds flooded the system. Sisters studied new disciplines in secu-lar as well as religious universities and interacted with a variety of people they formerly would never have encountered in any mean-ingful way. The mass media and the uncensored contents of libraries burst through the boundaries of the closed system. And then Vatican II called on congregations to reevaluate those old-world traditions which had so effectively kept religious out of the mainstream of American culture. Ministries changed dramatically and, with them, living situations. Contacts with other religious and with the laity, stringently rationed in previous times, broad-ened and deepened. In short, religious congregations suddenly drew deep breaths of fresh air and discovered that they were not ecclesiastical robots but sociospiritual organisms, living systems in vital interaction with their environment. Increasingly congregations, and their relatively uniform mem-bers, began to exhibit the characteristics of autopoietic structures. Review for Religious Perhaps the most unsettling characteristic is that a healthy liv-ing system is in a continuous state of disequilibrium. New infor-mation, constantly flowing into the system from the environment, challenges it to respond, to change, and to develop without loss of integrity or identity. There is no settling down, no way to call off the bombardment of the new and just be. There are no per-manently right answers, no one correct way to do things, no abso-lute authority. The organism is always off balance. Local chaos is the normal condition out of which global order is continuously being both threatened and resourced. Another characteristic of autopoietic structures, precisely because they are not in balance but precariously poised in the turbulence of a constantly changing ambiance, is that very small influences can have very significant effects on the system. In mechan-ical entities, significant change is usually proportionate to the mass of the influencing agents. Large groups, sizable funds, long-range plans are necessary to alter the status quo. But in a living system a small agent, for example, a virus, can have tremendous impact because it can galvanize the whole organism into response.'° The effect of one book like The Nun in the Modern World, or one speaker like Theresa Kane, is out of all proportion to the mass of the cause. One person generating negative energy can immobilize a whole assembly while one visionary chapter pro-posal can propel the whole congregation into self-renewal. A third feature of living systems is that they are programmed toward life. In this respect they are the very antithesis of the machine. Once entropy has set in, the machine inevitably and irreversibly winds down toward disintegration.11 But, even when very diminished, very endangered, the living system is mobilized toward self-renewal, toward regeneration. I think the merging of some small communities and the combining of facilities among others are examples of this salmonqike burst of upstream energy characteristic of open systems. Fourth, self-organizing systems'are bundles of competencies, "portfolios of skills," rather than collections of optimally func-tioning units,lz This feature has been ve.ry prominent in post-conciliar congregations. V~rhen individual religious or congregations decide that a particular institution or form of ministry no longer responds to the environment and they reconfigure competencies to meet new needs, it seems to me that they are manifesting an organic self-understanding, not, as some seem to think, a des- January-February 1998 Scbneiders ¯ Congregational Leadership and Spirituality perate need to' find something useful to do until the corporate lights go out. Fifth, as Wheatley says, self-r~newing systems are "structures that seem capable of maintaining an identity while changing form. They exhibit "global stability" over time even as their subsystems undergo enormous, seemingly chaotic, change. I was struck by this feature of living systems when I first saw the Great Barrier Reef, the largest organism on earth. This enormous living sys-tem has a form that makes it so distinct from its oceanic envi-ronment that it is even recognizable from the moon, and yet every cell of its vast expanse is undergoing incessant change. Most reli-gious can remember the stupendous resistance to even minor, external changes in religious congregations on the eve of Vatican II. We could hardly conceive of a maintenance of identity through incessant change, and any attempt to engage the environment seemed like a sellout to secularity. But autopoietic structures main-tain their identity precisely by changing in response to environ-mental influence. Obviously not all living systems survive, much less thrive. What determines whether an organism will successfully negotiate what Wheatley calls the "bifurcation point" where the choice between death and transformation occurs? ~4 Wheatley maintains that the deciding factor is what she calls the principle of "self-ref-erence." Healthy organisms do not change randomly or in any and all directions. Rather, they change in ways that are both respon-sive to the environment arid consistent with their own already established identity. A firmly established identity makes the organ-ism both responsive and resilient, both dialogical and autonomous. Whereas a static system constructs external boundaries, fences designed to keep out the influence of the environment and hold the assemblage of units together, the healthy organism develops organic boundaries which make it increasingly autonomous in relation to external pressures even as it remains deeply involved in the ongoing process of iriterchange. Unlike a fence which sim-ply walls out the "other," the organic surface of the Great Barrier Reef is both a resource for relationship with the environment and a self-defining boundary. "Self-reference is what facilitates orderly change in turbulent environments.''~5 This raises directly the question of identity. If religious life itself, religious congregations, and individual religious are open, autopoietic systems whose incessant interaction with the envi- Review for Religious ronment is governed by the principle of self-reference, that is, fidelity to core identity in the midst of continual disequilibrium, what establishes that identity? How is it recognized and main-tained? Fields To begin to get some purchase on this issue, I want to intro-duce a second metaphor from the new science, the familiar but mysterious category of "field." Religious life has always involved the creation by some Christians, "religious virtuosi" in the ter-minology of sociologist Patricia Wittberg,'6 of an alternative "world" within which to live their faith, whether that was a sociologi-cal, geographical, or institutional reality construction.~7 The expres-sion so often used for entering reli-gious life, namely, "leaving the world," was a negative articulation of the positive act of choosing an alternative arena for one's life. Today, speaking of entering reli-gious life as "leaving the world" is so probleinatic as to be counterpro-ductive. Nevertheless, there is something about religious life which distinguishes it from other forms of life. It has an identity. Like the Great Barrier Reef, it stands out from its cultural and ecclesiastical environment even while being involved in continu-ous interchange with it. Perhaps a better metaphor or model for understanding the identity of religious life than the quasi-geo-graphical one of alternative world is the category of "fields." Science has made us aware that reality is composed not pri-marily of substances but of space. Space, however, is not empty. Rather, "space everywhere is now thought to be filled with fields, invisible, non-material structures that are the basic substance of the universe."ls Fields are invisible geometries structuring space, invisible media of connection bringing matter an&or energy into form. We cannot see fields any more than we can see space, but we can observe the effects of fields on that which comes within their influence. We have all seen this mysterious phenomenon in operation when iron filings come within the field of magnetic Perhaps a better metaphor or model for understanding the identity of religious life is the category of "fields." January-Februaty 1998 Scbneiders ¯ Congregational Leadership and Spirituality influence and arrange themselves in certain patterns. Wheatley hypothesizes that personal and corporate space is also filled with fields, both positive and negative, and that, when the personal fields of the people in an organization intersect with the corpo-rate fields of the organization itself, certain predictable behav-iors are manifest. I find this metaphor very descriptive of a frequently experi-enced phenomenon, namely, that the same people behave very differently in situations which do not, exteriorly, differ notice-ably. Something "in the air" (or, perhaps more accurately, "in the space") affects them, for good or ill, and often everyone in the situation is similarly affected. We sometimes call it morale, or good or bad energy, or social climate. Sometimes we even speak of being "in good or bad space." We also know that an individual who is personally "in bad space" either can be pulled out of it by entering positive corporate space or can cause positive space to curdle. Social space, in our experience, seems to be really invisi-bly structured. Perhaps this metaphor of fields could help illuminate the issues of corporate and personal identity that religious have strug-gled with for years under the rubrics of "charism" and "vocation" and their intersection in the mysterious corporate identity prin-ciple called the "spirit of the congregation." Probably the only thing we have agreed on in regard to charism is that it is a mys-terious something that generates a certain recognizable congre-gational identity. Some have tried to equate it with the congregation's traditional ministry, or to identify it as a grace given to the foundress which was somehow passed on to later members, or to find it embodied in a characteristic spirituality. None of these explanations has proved very satisfactory, and all fail in relation to one or another congregation. Wheatley suggests that social fields are generated as people converse, share their visions and hopes, work out their problems, develop modes of interacting, participate in common projects, elaborate symbols and myths to articulate their shared identity and experience?9 In other words, groups create or generate fields. When coherent fields are generated in corporate space, people are drawn together; they begin to act in corporate ways. Eventually the group ethos can be recognized in the members. This sounds very much like what we mean by charism, an invis-ible structuring of corpor.ate space which manifests itself in the Review for Religious indefinable "something common" that is visible in the attitudes and behaviors of all the members. Furthermore, fields, once gen-erated, can outlast the individuals or groups that generated them. Perhaps what comes down through history from our foundations is not some work, set of rules, or uniform spirituality to which new members must conform, but a structured shared space that continues to give common form to ever new energy coming into the congregation in new members. When a new individual comes into this space, her own per-sonal fields intersect with the corporate fields of the congregation and the person is either drawn into and ener-gized by this cgrporate space or not. If vocation were understood as a certain constellation of overlapping fields in an individual personality's inner space, structuring that person's energy and behavior, her entering a congregation would involve the intersection of her personal vocational field with the fields of the particular congregation, especially its charism. Vocational discernment could be understood, then, as try-ing to discover if her personal fields and the congregation's corporate fields are mutually compatible and enriching or not. When the fields that structure the inner space of an individual (that is, her own voca-tion or life call) intersect creatively and har-moniously with the fields that structure the corporate space of a congregation (that is, its charism and other characteristic fea-tures), we often say that the person has "the spirit of the congre-gation." When the members of a congregation are together in "good space," they often feel "the spirit of the congregation." Perhaps what we mean by the spirit of the congregation is the global identity of the group as it manifests itself within the complex of fields that invisibly but really structures the personal into the cor-porate. 2° To use this field metaphor for understanding charism, voca-tion, and the spirit of the congregation does not reduce these realities to the purely natural any more than accounting for the universe by the theory of the "big bang" or for human emergence by evolution denies the divine role in creation. The metaphor simply offers us a more organic way of understanding the human When the members of a congregation are together in "good space," they often feel "the spirit of the congregation." Scbneiders ¯ Congregational Leadership and Spirituality experience of stable and shared congregational identity in the midst of incessant change. It also provides a possible answer to the question about self-reference as the key to coherence for an open, autopoietic sys-tem experiencing continuous life-giving disequilibrium. In a sense, nothing observable in the congregation remains the same--type of ministry, horarium and content of spiritual exercises, commu-nity lifestyle, dress codes, financial practices, patterns ~of inter-acting-- but the field, the spirit of the congregation, in which all the change takes place can account for the ever new order which arises out of the seemingly chaotic pluralism and incessant vari-ation that characterize the community's day-to-day life over time. The Strange Attractor A third possibly illuminating metaphor, drawn from the new science, is that of the "strange attractor," a simple example of which many of us have seen as the computer screen saver of inces-santly changing lines and curves which maintain a moving form that is never repeated. Wheatley says this about the "strange attractor": Chaos theory has given us images of "strange attractors"-- computer pictures of swirling motion that trace the evolu-tion of a system. A system is defined as chaotic when it becomes impossible to know where it will be next. There is no predictability; the system never is in the same place twice. But as chaos theory shows, if we look at such a sys-tem long enough and with the perspective of time, it always demonstrates its inherent orderliness. The most chaotic of systems never goes beyond certain boundaries; it stays con-tained within a shape that we can recognize as the system's strange attractor . '~ This description seems very pertinent to the history of religious life, not to mention that of individual congregations. Religious life has undergone so much movement, so much deep-level change, that it is indeed impossible to know where it will be next. It is never in the same place twice. At times it seems to be in total disarray. And yet, over its nearly two-thousand-year history, it demonstrates a moving pattern which makes it recognizable, distinguishable against the background field of ecclesial life. What, we may ask, is the strange attractor of religious life? A strange attractor is a basin for the system's activity that Review for Religious pulls all activity within the system into a form or shape but with-out immobilizing the system or reducing its inner variety to pre-dictability. The strange attractor itself is not visible. It manifests itself by its power to allow a few simple "instructions," for exam-ple, equations, to repeat and intersect as they feed back upon themselves in an infinite variety of ways so that these iterations create analogous forms at finer and finer levels. These forms are what we call fractals, repetitions at various levels of scale that manifest the whole in each part. Our most homely example is probably a head of broccoli in which each flowerette, down to the tiniest, repeats the pattern of the whole head. But we can see it also in the computer image of lines and curves, or in the clouds, or in a branch of fern. VVheatley was moved to ask the question about the strange attractor when she observed that, in terminally dysfunctional sys-tems verging on collapse, where almost everyone had psycholog-ically abandoned ship and survival had become the only agenda, there were some individuals within the dysfunctional system who continued to be personally centered, creative, and productive. Amid corporate disintegration, personal order. She also observed--in healthy organizations which allowed maximum autonomy, even seeming chaos, at the local level--that the seem-ingly chaotic variety at the local level did not lead to disintegra-tion, but to a kind of global order and stability. Out of local chaos, global order. Somehow the creative individuals in the disinte-grating systems and the healthy organizations permitting high levels of local autonomy were pulled into coherence as if a strange attractor were at work. Her highly suggestive conclusion is that the strange attractor in both cases is meaning generated by a "frame of reference," that is, a coherent vision and pattern of val-ues, which gives direction to all the seemingly disparate activity. Meaning, vision, values, however, are formal categories. What vision, what values, what meaning might be the strange attractor of religious life that accounts for its self-identity and coherence, its fractal wholeness and beauty, through nearly two millennia of chaotic movement in an often dysfunctional church?22 More importantly, is the strange attractor still at work, still generating a recognizable lifeform today in what might be one of the most chaotic periods of development in the history of religious life? Are there a few "equations" that have iterated throughout these two millennia in thousands of different fractal realizations man- January-February 1998 Schneiders * Congregational Leadership and Spirituality ifesting the strange attractor that keeps this lifeform coherent and true to itself?. From the time of the lst-century virgins until it was pro-claimed anew by Vatican II, the basic principle, the fundamental "equation," has been that religious life is essentially gospel life. The pattern of the life has been the paschal mystery of Jesus Christ, perhaps the ultimate instance of order out of chaos, that is, life out of death. Of course, religious life shares this deter-mining equation with all Christian life. But religious life has also always been distinguished from lay Christian life by the particu-lar way religious have entered into the paschal mystery of Christ, by the specifically religious "equation," namely, by the life of con-secrated celibacy lived in community and mission. The strange attractor of religious life, then, may be a partic-ular kind of gospel-based relationship with Jesus Christ, expressed in freely chosen lifelong celibacy, lived in community and mis-sion, that has generated a lifeform which is distinct and recog-nizable despite enormous variety. It has reinvented itself endlessly, but from a distance and over time we can note the repeated pat-terns, its fractal wholeness. The effect of the strange attractor is a global stability and self-identity through incessant change, a particular and recognizable order out of chaos. Christian Spirituality and Congregational Leadership If these metaphors .drawn from the new science--that is, the congregation as an open and autopoietic system invisibly structured by the corporate fields that manifest in the spirit of the congre-gation within the shaping influence of the strange attractor of celi-bate living of the Gospel in community and mission--are illuminating of our current experience of religious life in our par-ticular congregations, we can ask what light they throw on the problematic of leadership. Does such a postmodern model of reli-gious life based on metaphors drawn from the new science suggest anything helpful in understanding what leadership in such sys-tems might mean today? Obviously, the image of the leader as manager whose task is to minimize disequilibrium by control of all personnel, policy, and practice is obsolete. But probably the image of the leader as the lone visionary who boldly imagines and projects goals to gal-vanize the membership toward the future is also obsolete. This is Review for Religious not because care of the community and corporate vision are not as important today as they have always been, but because we increasingly realize that they are the shared responsibility of the entire congregation.23 What is characteristic of the context of leadership today is that the kinds of systems over which leaders preside are situations which are not only uncontrollable in fact, but chaotic in principle. Chaos is the system's "steady state." Whatever leaders do today, it cannot be imagined realistically as merely the direction of reliable resources toward clearly perceived objec-tives. It has to have something to do with the creative potential of chaos itself. Even while managing the modern social systems that our congregations, at one level, certainly are, leaders are chal-lenged to engage the deep dynamics of meaning in the increasingly postmodern systems that we are becoming. It seems to me that religious life today is at the bifurcation point between death and transformation, between entropy and self-renewal, and therefore that the responsibility of leaders in relation to the deep dynamics of meaning has to do with the prin-ciple of self-reference which Wheatley identifies as the most impor-tant single determinant of self-renewal in autopoietic structures.24 The science of autopoietic systems suggests that, if the congre-gation (or religious life as a lifeform) is true to itself, in touch with and living out of its own identity, it will continue to renew itself even in the face of the massive material and ecclesiastical challenges of this historical period. If it is the case that the iden-tity of religious life lies in the celibate living of the gospel in com-munity and mission within the spirit of the particular congregation, we are at the heart of the issue. And the issue is faith. In what follows I am relying heavily on a remarkable 1995 study by a British theologian, Denys Turner, of the apophatic ele-ment in the Christian mystical tradition.2s In this book Turner is dealing with what I suspect is the most challenging issue for all of us in religious life today, but perhaps especially for those charged with the care of the community as a whole, namely, the mean-ing, reality, and integrity of Christian faith today. Religious life is fundamentally a faith reality, and the faith in question is not simply a generalized conviction that there is more to reality than meets the eye. Christian faith is both an unthe-matized openness to the ineffable Divine Mystery that has no name and a thematized participation in a particular religious tra- t--!-9- January-Februa~3~ 1998 Scisneiders ¯ Congregational Leadership and Spirituality 20 dition which believes that this Holy Mystery is both revealed and encountered in Jesus of Nazareth risen from the dead whose life is communicated to us in and through the gift of his Holy Spirit within the community called church. A major question today for Christians, including religious, and especially women, is whether these two aspects of faith, unthematized openness to Divine Mystery (which is not necessarily Christian) and thematic adher-ence to a particular religious tradition (namely, Christianity), are or need necessarily be related and, if they are related, how that can be personally experienced and authentically lived. Many postmodern Christians are caught in an experiential disjunction between their God-experience on the one hand and, on the other, their participation in the particular faith tradition, that is, the religion, within which they were initiated into that God-experience and which still claims to mediate it. In other words, there is an experienced disjunction between spirituality as lived faith experience and religion as articulated tradition. This may be partially due to the sudden (at least historically speaking) reversal of our evaluation of the role of experience in spirituality that coincided with the upheavals in religion of the conciliar era. Let me trace this development in broad strokes. For several centuries Christians were educated to discount feeling in the practice of religion in favor of a kind of blind faith and naked exercise of will. It was not the person who believed but the intellect; not the person who loved but the will. The body with its emotions was that which had to be overcome and sub-jected in order for the soul to seek God. This approach to the spiritual life, which effectively reduced spirituality to religious practice, was seriously challenged by at least three developments in the middle of this century. First, for all kinds of reasons that were psychological and cul-tural as well as theological, the radical wholeness of the human person began to resurface, and many believers began to reclaim the importance, perhaps even priority, of feeling in religious prac-tice. Retreat directors learned to ask people how they felt, not what they thought. Retreatants learned to be attentive to subjec-tive states of consolation .and desolation. Discernment began to take into account the person's felt response to alternative possi-bilities. Rather than considering felt religious experience unreli-able or even suspect, people began to consider it the touchstone, even the essence, of genuine spirituality. Desiring such experi- Review for Religious ence, seeking it, trusting it, living from it was no longer an aber-ration but the norm. Second, the feminist movement took hold among Catholic women, and its analysis of patriarchy enabled women to name and claim their experience of oppression in the church and to trace ecclesiastical sexism to its theological roots in Scripture and tradition. Women's experience of the Catholic religious tradition became laced with negative feeling just as they were learning that feeling was not irrelevant, but a valid and important indicator of the real. Many concluded that, if Catholic religion feels deeply alienating, Catholic spirituality may be highly suspect. Third, Catholics, for the first time, came into meaningful appreciative contact with non-Christian religious traditions where they encountered spiritualities that counteracted some of the very aspects of Christianity that were becoming increasingly problematic. The nature-affirming rituals of native American spirituality countered the overcerebral otherworldliness of traditional Catholic wor-ship. The nondualistic, nondogmatic meditation practices of Eastern mystical traditions offered an attractive alternative to the rationalistic and mechanical prayer practices of ordinary Catholic piety. Thus, at the very time that experience was becoming the touchstone of truth in the sphere of religion, both negative and positive experiences in the realm of spirituality converged to undermine adherence to the Roman Catholic Christian tradition. This has led some, perhaps many, religious to seriously question whether Catholic Christianity offers an adequate, much less a preferable, access to Holy Mystery or compelling motivation for ministry. For many the God of Christianity seems too small, too violent, and too male; the focus on Jesus Christ seems narrow and exclusive; the resurrection seems mythological if not incred-ible and, in any case, irrelevant to a world in anguish; the insti-tutional church seems hopelessly medieval, sexist, and clerical; liturgy is alienating; morality is out of touch with reality; and church ministry is a continual battle with male hostility and power There is an experienced disjunction between spirituality as lived faith experience and religion as articulated tradition. Januao~-FebruaO, 1998 Scbneiders ¯ Congregational Leadership and Spirituality dynamics. Spirituality centered in personal experience was increas-ingly engrossing while religion, especially the Catholic religion, was increasingly alienating. After a certain amount of experimentation, many religious have settled into a kind of personal, often highly eclectic, spiri-tuality within the context of a nominal Christianity whose central tenets and practices are of little practical import in their lives. Their God may no longer be the God of Jesus Christ, but a non-personal, benevolent cosmic energy holding reality together in some mysterious way. Jesus may have been consigned to history as one of many prophetic figures whose memory remains moti-vating although they themselves are long dead. The Bible may no longer be, for them, revelatory or normative Scripture, but one religious classic among others. Christian sacraments may be quarries of symbolic elements which can be combined with anal-ogous elements from other traditions in the formulation of mean-ingful rituals. Prayer may be any practice from listening to music, to Zen sitting or Tai Chi, to hiking or massage which is calming and focusing and helps one keep a balance in a crazy world. In religious communities the effect of these developments in spirituality is profoundly disintegrative. It can no longer be taken for granted that the members share the same faith, a serious sit-uation for a lifeform which is based not only on faith but specif-ically on Christian faith. Members for whom Christian faith remains normative may hesitate to speak in explicitly Christian terms lest they be branded reactionary or dismissed as out of. touch with contemporary reality, while post-Christian or selec-tively Christian members may hesitate to voice their spirituality lest they shock their hearers or find themselves branded as heretics. Christian liturgical celebration at congregational events is sometimes so divisive as to be impossible. Nevertheless, wherever they are on the Christian map, reli-gious women continue to be resolutely religious, seeking God in disciplined spiritual practice, making retreats, engaging seriously in spiritual direction, reading widely and deeply in theology and spirituality, attending workshops and renewal programs. Those religious who have survived the postconciliar exodus and are still committed to both community and ministry are not indifferent to the God quest that brought them to religious life in the first place. This is the point at which the disjuncture between spirituality which is a matter of passionate concern and religion which is a Review for Religious locus of struggle and alienation is apparent; and, in my opinion, this may be the bifurcation point at which the choice between death and transformation is going to be made. We cannot afford to ignore this situation or pretend it does not really matter as long as people are sincere and committed. What is in jeopardy is not control but self-reference, the con-gregation's response to its strange attrac-tor, that is, to religious life itself as a faith reality. It seems to me that what many reli-gious are attempting is not to dispense with faith, but to find God in a kind of personal mystical quest that bypasses what are experienced as the superficiali-ties and hypocrisies, and even the vio-lence, of the official structures of institutional Catholic Christianity. In par-ticular, many are trying to find in the Christian mystical tradi-tion itself guidance for developing an apophatic or nonthematic contemplative spirituality that is experientially satisfying and moti-vating, but that bypasses the concreteness of the Christian cat-aphatic tradition with its specifically religious beliefs, liturgy, and practice. In short, it is an attempt to develop a spirituality with-out religion. Denys Turner wrote his treatise on the Christian mystical tradition, The Darkness of God, as a challenge to this contemporary development, which he calls spiritual "experientialism" and which he sees as widespread among Christians in general. Turner regards this experientialism as a kind of modernist positivism in the arena of spirituality. In other words, felt religious experience has become the "hard data" of authentic spirituality analogous to the observ-able results of laboratory experiments in modern science or the quantifiable data of sociological surveys. Personal experience has become the nonnegotiable criterion of validity in the arena of faith.26 The practice of contemplation, yielding direct experience of either the delightful presence or the painful absence of Holy Mystery, has become for many the sufficient, if mir~imal, structure, content, and dynamics of their spirituality, augmented perhaps by a symbolic and ritual eclecticism that draws from various reli-gious and nonreligious traditions. This experience of Holy Mystery is believed to be "apophatic," that is, unencumbered by What many religious are attempting is not to dispense with faith, but to develop a spirituality without religion. January-February 1998 Scbneiders ¯ Congregational Leadership and Spirituality specific religious doctrines, images, symbols, liturgical traditions, and so on. Against this misguided turn to experience Turner maintains, with impressive support from the data of the tradition, that there is no such thing as "apophatic experience." This is a contradiction in terms. The experience of the absence of God is just as much an experience, that is, just as cataphatic, as is the experience of God's presence even though it might be less enjoyable. It is the quest for mystical experience itself, and especially reliance upon it as the touchstone of faith, which is the problem, Turner maintains. Furthermore, following Bernard McGinn, Turner points out that no one who is serious about the God quest, especially not the mys-tics (at least not until very recent times), attempts to "practice mys-ticism." People practice Christianity or Buddhism or Judaism.27 The mystical is a moment in the practice of these traditions, but there is no freestanding mysticism or pure apophatic practice. The development of this kind of experience-oriented, reli-giously decontextualized spirituality has been encouraged in recent years by a tendency in popular books on spirituality to talk of an apophatic and a cataphatic "way" as if there were two types of spirituality, one of which, the cataphatic, proceeds through the use of the theological symbols, images, rituals, and practices of a religious tradition and one of which, the apophatic, makes no use of these "externals" and reaches directly to the Divine Mystery that transcends all human institutions.28 Furthermore, there has been a tendency to suggest that these "ways" are a matter of per-sonal choice and so one might decide to bypass the cataphatic and plunge into the darkness of the apophatic way, where God would be met in pure spiritual nakedness. There has been much talk of foolproof methods by which to achieve mystical empti-ness and union, often without or before any serious ascetical train-ing, theological formation, or liturgical involvement. What Turner exposes is the basic fallacy of this whole "expe-rientialist" turn in spirituality. All spirituality, insofar as it can be practiced or pursued, is cataphatic, and all religious experience is by definition cataphatic. The apophatic is not a "way" or a "prac-tice," much less a kind of "experience." It is a moment of negativity, of nonexperience, at the heart of genuine, ordinary religious faith and practice. This moment is, by definition, not something one can experience at all. The apophatic or mystical is precisely the neg-ativity, the total darkness which cannot itself be seen or felt. It is Review for Religious the absence of experience, the "hole" at the heart of religious expe-rience, the place of the Holy Mystery Which is utterly beyond our experiencing, attainment, knowing, or naming. Mysticism is not negative (or positive) religious experience, says Turner, but the negativity of all religious experience.2Vlf I can experience it at all, it is not God in Godself that I am experiencing. If Turner is right, this attempt to bypass religious practice of the Christian tradition in search of some direct experience of the Holy Mystery is wrongheaded and futile, and it can end only in self-delusion of the kind pilloried by the author of The Cloud of Unknowing.3°Insofar as the apophatic moment occurs, it is abso-lutely nonexperienceable and hidden. And it occurs only within the cataphatic context of resolutely faithful Christian practice, which may at times overflow in the exaltation of spiritual peak experiences or generate the psychologically devastating suffering of the "dark night" described by John of the Cross. But, as all the mystics have maintained, such graces of light or darkness are neither the content nor the criterion of genuine spirituality. As Turner says, the deformations of the "experientialist" derive . . . from the error of understanding that which is a "moment" of reserve, of denial and unknowing within worship, prayer and sacrament as if it were a rival practice which displaces that Christian ordinariness. "Experientialism" in its most extreme forms is therefore the displacement of a sense of the negativity of all religious experience with the pursuit of some goal of achieving negative experiences.3~ In other words, a purely mystical spirituality is not a viable alternative to full participation in the religious tradition. The mystical, insofar as it is spiritually significant and transformative (as opposed to momentary experiences of oceanic bliss which may be caused by any number of stimuli from drugs to trance) is available only within some ongoing, ordinary, everyday cataphatic practice. The alternative to being imprisoned within the rigidities of an overmaterialized tradition is not the flight into a disembodied, decontextualized, and individualistic pseudomysticism. The deeply interior life of the serious postmodern Christian requires the shaping influence of a tradition worked out over centuries by saints and scholars, mystics and martyrs, even as the tradition itself requires the critical challenge of its postmodern adherents, whose new insights into reality must refine the tradition of its historical dross. 25 Scbneiders ¯ Congregational Leadersbip and Spirituality Let us return now to the framework of meaning that has sup-plied us with the important principle of self-reference. If the focus of self-reference of religious congregations and their members is the gospel-based celibate living of the paschal mystery of Jesus Christ in community and mission within the spirit of the partic-ular congregation, and if the self-renewal and continued flour-ishing of religious life and the particular congregation depend on this self-reference, then nothing is more important than the authenticity of the spirituality of religious. Obviously, people can form and live community and altruis-tically serve others without being either Christian or Catholic. And a religious congregation can certainly transform itself into such a community of life and service, leaving behind its specifically Catholic identity and affirming whatever religious affiliation, or lack thereof, its individual members espouse. That is, it can cease to be a religious congregation and continue as an intentional com-munity with or without religious roots?2 My concern is with con-gregations which have not, or not yet, made that choice, but are struggling to maintain their Catholic Christian identity in a highly dysfunctional ecclesiastical context. For such communities the quiet sidelining of Christian identity believed and practiced in the church is not compatible with their ongoing life and self-renewal as a religious congregation. And perhaps the most impor-tant task of leadership in such congregations is helping the congregation to negotiate the moment of bifurcation between congregational death through the abandonment of that identity and congregational transformation through the critical reappro-priation of its Christian identity. There can be no question, in a postmodern context, of deal-ing with this issue by fiat. The present state of spirituality in many religious congregations is highly chaotic, and attempting to abol-ish chaos by control is, as we have seen, the kiss of death. Hope lies not in the exercise of coercive power, but in the realization that the current disequilibrium is potentially far more creative than the kind of static uniformity that prevailed in the spiritual-ity of most preconciliar communities. But how do leaders facilitate the emergence of new spiritual order from religious chaos? The analogies from the new science suggest several possible leads. First, a climate has to be created in which divergent theological views and spiritual practices can rise to visibility and articulation and be seriously and respectfully Review for Religious engaged. The unspoken agreement not to talk about anything that could cause dissension and not to use any ritual with which someone might be uncomfortable--and to substitute therapeutic methods and organizational techniques for theological engage-ment with controversies in the area of faith--is analogous to main-taining tight managerial control in a dysfunctional organization. The upheaval in spirituality at the individual and local level needs to be articulated, recognized, and owned. Within it lies the poten-tial, not for a restoration of preconciliar uniformity of doctrine and practice, but for a self-renewing reclaiming of the tradition in very new, perhaps even startlingly new, forms. Any Christian!ty that can be relevant and life-giving in a postmodern context is simply not going to look like, or be like, the Catholicism of the Middle Ages or even of the 1950s. Second, the basic framework of meaning needs to be reartic-ulated, but in ways that take seriously the problems which have led to its practical collapse. This basic framework is the gospel in all its depth and breadth, and that means the theological and litur-gical, moral and socially transformative riches of the Christian tradition in dialogue with the postmodern culture emerging in our time. The Christian tradition that has become alienating for so many is not the gospel itself, but the moribund formulations of post-Tridentine Vatican institutionalism. The extraordinary response of so many, especially women religious, to the work of theologians like Elizabeth Johnson and Catherine LaCugna, bib-lical scholars like Carolyn Osiek and Elisabeth Schiissler Fiorenza, liturgists like Mary Catherine Hilkert, ecumenists like Rosemary Radford Ruether, moral theologians like Lisa Sowle Cahill, and scholars of spirituality like Constance FitzGerald and Joann Wolski Conn--along with the rediscovery of the Christian mys-tics themselves--suggests that the tradition has the potential to be reappropriated and renewed in feminist, ecological, and pluralis-tic patterns if the meeting between the postmodern religious and contemporary theology can be facilitated. A system converts local chaos to global order by the infusion of new information which can be appropriated within a coherent frame of reference. Access to theological resources and also deep engagement with the new science, feminist thought and practice, and ecological and social theory by all the members of a congregation would seem to be an absolute requirement for the development of an authentic post-modern Catholic Christian spirituality that would be adequate Scbneiders ¯ Congregational Leadership and Spirit~tality for religious life in the 21st century. If religious develop such a spirituality, we can expect resistance from the official exercisers of institutional control. But, if religious fail to develop such a spir-ituality, we can expect religious congregations to disintegrate from within as their spirituality unravels and becomes a tangle of idiosyncratic and individualistic syncretisms. Third, the interaction between the whole and the parts has to be facilitated so that what is emerging in the spirituality of the members appears in a corporate spirituality that breaks the ver-bal and ritual silence at the global level and also transforms the global frame of reference itself so that it is not a religious strait-jacket but a flexible focus of self-reference. In preconciliar days. most communities had a repertoire of symbols, myths, celebra-tions, and ceremonies which integrated the spirituality of the individual members with the spirituality of the congregation. How can we experience this local-to-global articulation today? The order at the global level, which is not dogmatic uniformity but deep unity in shared faith and spirituality, can be authentic only if it emerges from the lived variety and ferment at the local level, among the individuals and groups that make up the community. In recent years some congregations have begun processes of getting religiously sensitive issues out on the table and seeking ways to bring theological resources into dialogue with personal religious experience in the context of open sharing of faith. This is very risky business. But in many cases it has resulted in unusual experiences of renewal of the spirit of the community. Perhaps, having negotiated so many of the more "external" issues of lifestyle and even ministry, many religious are eager, even if fearful, to engage the deeper issues of faith, religious identity, and spiritu-ality. Congregational leadership may be challenged today to take the initiative in helping the congregation address the fundamen-tal issue of Catholic faith and spirituality, that is, the issue of identity and self-reference. Conclusion Let me briefly summarize and conclude. What leadership means and how it is exercised depends essentially on how one understands the social system one is leading. I have tried to sug-gest that the quasi-mechanical modern model of the religious congregation is giving way to an organic postmodern model of Review for Religious community. I have explored a few features of this new model, namely, the conception of the community itself as an autopoietic or self-renewing organic structure; the category of fields as a way of un.derstanding the unifying forces of charism, vocation, and the spirit of the congregation; and the strange attractor as a way of understanding the quintessential role of the gospel lived in consecrated celibacy in community and mission as the principle of self-reference of religious life. I then tried to suggest that the role of leadership today may be neither primarily social maintenance nor ministerial goal set-ting, but the facilitation of the congregation's self-renewing pro-cess through attention to its core identity, its framework of meaning. This framework of meaning is not a uniform religiosity nor a particular type of ministry. It is Christian paschal spiritual-ity, rooted in the gospel of Jesus Christ, lived celibately in com-munity and mission, a spirituality which cannot bypass the Christian theological, liturgical, moral, and socially transforma-tive tradition within the believing community we call church. But in a postmodern context such spirituality cannot be leg-islated or enforced. Nor are leaders, in all probability, any less caught up in doubt, alienation, and theological-religious confusion than the other members of their congregations. What we ask of our leaders today is not that they supply us with the correct answers, or even that they pi6neer the road to the future, but that they mediate the creative interchange between local and global levels, helping us to own the real questions and search honestly, together, for appropriate responses, and thus facilitate the life-giving interaction between the religious congregation and the real world in which we live and minister. When Peter, that first leader of the Christian community, asked Jesus for a clear fix on church order and ministry by inquiring what role his apparent rival, the Beloved Disciple, was to have, Jesus replied, "That's not your problem. What you need to do is follow me," that is, become a beloved disciple and thereby become capable of the ministry to which you are called. Perhaps for all of us, leaders and followers, it is both that simple and that difficult. Notes ~ On this issue of the i~nportance of worldview and the character of the emerging worldview with which I am concerned in this paper, see the very provocative thesis of Danah Zohar in collaboration with I.N. Marshall, The Quantum Self." Human Nature and Consciousv~ess Defined by the Januao,-FebruaO, 1998 Scbneiders ¯ Congregational Leadership and Spirituality New Physics (New York: Quill/William Morrow, 1990), esp. pp. 231-237. 2 For a comprehensible introduction to the notion of postmodernity in the context of Christian faith, see James B. Miller, "The Emerging Postmodern World," in Postmodern Theology: Christian Faith in a Pluralist World, ed. Frederic B. Burnham (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1989), pp. 1-19, or Douglas C. Bowman, Beyond the Modern Mind: The Spiritual and Ethical Challenge of the Environmental Crisis (New York: Pilgrim Press, 1990). The SUNY Series in Constructive Postmodern Thought, edited by David Ray Griffin, and published in Albany, New York by the State University of New York Press, includes several volumes of essays repre-senting most of the preeminent writers attempting to relate Christianity and its concerns to the postmodern worldview. For a powerful presenta-tion of secular postmodernity, see Albert Borgmann, Crossing the Postmodern Divide (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992). 3 My primary resources in trying to understand this new approach to reality have been the following: Heinz Pagels, The Coswtic Code: Quantum Physics as the Language of Nature (New York: Bantam Books, 1983); David S. Toolan, "Praying in a Post-Einsteinian Universe," Cross Currents 46 (Winter 1996-1997): 437-470; Margaret J. Wheatley, Leadership and the New Science: Learning about Organization from an Orderly Universe (San Francisco: Berrett-Koehler Publishers, 1992); Margaret J. Wheatley and Myron Kellner-Rogers,/t Simpler Way (San Francisco: Berrett-Koehler Publishers, 1996); Danah Zohar in collaboration with I.N. Marshall, The Quantum Self: Human Nature and Consciousness Defined by the New Physics (New York: Quill/William Morrow, 1990). 4 Zohar, The Quantum Self, p. 234, speaks of the new worldview chal-lenging the modernist dualisms which split subject and object (mind and body), individual from relationships, and culture from nature. This is a slightly different focus on what I am talking about in more humanis-tic/ religious terms. 5 Specifically, Wheadey relies on the thought about living systems of Erich Jantsch, The Self-Organizing Universe (Oxford: Pergamon, 1980); the treatment of chemical reality of Ilya Prigogine and Isabelle Stengers, Order out of Chaos (New York: Bantam, 1984); the work of quantum physi-cists on strange attractors as explained by James Gleick in Chaos: Making a New Science (New York: Viking, 1987). 6 Cited in Wheatley, Leadership, p. 18. 7 Much of the following description of U.S. religious life from the 1800s until Vatican II is well illustrated in the volume, coauthored by a team of IHM sisters, Building Sisterhood: A Feminist History of the Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary, ed. Margaret Susan Thompson (Syracuse: University Press, 1997). 8 It is interesting that sociological theory of organizations has .applied these Newtonian principles to social systems, leading theorists like Helen Rose E Ebaugh, in Women in the Vanishing Cloister: Organizational Decline in Catholic Religious Orders in the United States (New Brunswick, New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 1993), to confidently predict the immi- Review for Religious nent demise of religious life, not because the spirituality of religious has died, but because the organizations seem to have lost their niche in the social, economic, and occupational machinery. If I understand Wheatley's thesis, she is convinced that the mechanistic understanding of organiza-tions that underlies much organizational and management theory is inap-propriate to the kind of entity such organizations are. I think Wheatley's thesis is applicable to religious life in general and religious congrega-tions in particular. 9Wheatley, Leadership, pp. 18-19. 10 Wheattey, Leadership, pp. 95-96, treats this feature. ~' When I hear religious wearily predicting the demise of their con-gregations as simply inevitable since decline in one or more areas seems to have set in and, in the long run, decline cannot be arrested or reversed, I am struck by the mechanistic character of their image of religious con-gregations. ,2 Wheatley, Leadership, p. 93. 13 Wheatley, Leadership, p. 90, italics mine. 14 Before reading Wheatley, who uses this very expression, "death or transformation," in relation to living organisms, I was looking at this same phenomenon in religious life in terms of the mystical tradition, the "bifurcation point" represented by the "dark night." See Sandra M. Schneiders, "Contemporary Religious Life: Death or Transformation?" Cross Currents 46 (Winter 1996-1997): 510-535. is Wheatley, Leadership, p. 94. 16 See Patricia Wittberg, Pathways to Re-Creating Religious Communities (New York/Mahwah: Paulist, 1996), pp. 19-31, for her very enlighten-ing treatment of the sociological category of the "religious virtuoso" as a descriptive of religious. Peter Brown, in The Body and Society: Men, Women and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988), p. 58, refers to the lst- and 2nd-century virgins, the original religious, as "virtuoso practitioners of continence." 17 In the earliest period of church life, the choice of lifelong virgin-ity created an alternative to the sociological givens of society in the 1st century of the Christian era. In the 3rd and 4th centuries, the desert ascetics moved geographically out of the overacculturated church of late antiquity. In the Middle Ages cenobitic monasticism was an institutional alternative to life in the cities. The "leaving the world" motif continued in the closed lifestyles of apostolic religious congregations right up to Vatican II. 18 Wheatley, Leadership, p. 48. 19 See esp. Wheatley, Leadership, pp. 52-54. 201 think this dynamic metaphor fnight have some potential for dis-cussions of the issues of belonging and membership. For example, if every individual is a distinct constellation of overlapping and intersecting fields (family, personal friends, professional associations, ministerial involve-ments, and so forth) which structure her personal identity and which 3I Janua~y-Febt'uaty 1998 . 32 Scbneiders * Congregational Leadership and Spirituality intersect with the fields of other members and the corporate constellation of fields of the congregation, we have to expect that ways of belonging and participating in community life are going to be very diverse and that this need not lead to disintegration. Likewise, there may be significant but not determining intersection between the field of some person and the congregational field,, leading to a considerable sense of"belonging" on the part of this person who, nev-ertheless, does not feel called to become a member in the full sense of the word. 2, Wheatley, Leadership, pp. 20-21. 22 The amount of chaos within religious life and the sometimes over-whelmingly dysfunctional character of the ecclesiastical settings in which the life survived and even thrived over the centuries is strikingly chron-icled by Jo Ann Kay McNamara in Sisters in Arms: Catholic Nuns through Two Millennia (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1996). 23 1 do not mean to suggest that leadership does not play a special role in maintenance and mission. In fact, I suspect leadership in these arenas is even more important today than it was in the recent past when eccle-siastical control dictated virtually all major decisions about mission and stable financial procedures and reliable resources assured maintenance. I want to suggest, however, that these functions, although facilitated by leadership, are largely handled by specialists or by congregational struc-tures that do not depend exclusively on leaders. 24 Wheatley, Leadership, p. 146: "More than any other science prin-ciple I've encountered, self-reference strikes me as the most important. ¯ . . As an operating principle, it decisively separates living organisms from machines." 2s Denys Turner, The Darkness of God: Negativity in Christian MystMsm (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995). 26 Turner, Darkness of God, p. 262. Turner says (p. 259): "Experientialism is. the 'positivism' of Christian spirituality. It abhors the experiential vacuum of the apophatic, rushing to fill it with the plenum of the psychologistic." 27 Turner, Darkness of God, pp. 260-261; he cites Bernard McGinn, The Presence of God: A History of VVestern Christian MystMsm, Vol. 1 (New York: Crossroad, 1992), p. xvi. Turner does not actually agree with McGinn about the role of experience in mysticism, but he does agree with him that, until the present century, tnysticism was not isolated from religious traditions but an element within the,n. 2s Mthough there is much of value in Diarmuid O'Murchu's latest book, Quantum Theology (New York: Crossroad, 1997), I have serious hesitations about his facile dismissal of .religion as a dispensable human invention (see esp. pp. 7-12). He is right to point out the distinction between spirituality, religion, and theology, but I doubt that the direct leap from spirituality to theology is possible because, while the categories of theology can be enriched by science, I doubt that they can be supplied Review for Religious without recourse to sacred texts and liturgical ritual. It is indeed part of the function of theology to purify religion of its excesses; but it is also part of the function of religious tradition to criticize theology. 29 Turner, Darkness of God, p. 259. 3o See the caustic description in chaps. 52-53 of The Cloud of Unknowing (The Classics of \Vestern Spirituality), ed. James Walsh (New York/Ramsey/Toronto: Paulist Press, 1981), pp. 220-223. 3t Turner, Darkness of God, p. 259. 3: In speaking of religious congregations, I am using the term theo-logically and not canonically. I am talking about the faith reality that constitutes religious life, not juridical requirements ofany particular period in history. Tropical Night Watch (Cap Haitien, Haiti) The current is cut, the light fails, generators die, sleep prevails. Wakened by silence, I stagger onto the gallery, stumble over stars, so many stars the sky overflows, the Milky Way spilt and star running all down the dome. Does someone, I wonder, watch with me, or do I alone gorge on the glory? Two a.m. an ungodly hour?-- with this luxury of light? this starry sight? I gape, I gape, at this godly night. Mary Alban Bouchard CSJ Januasy-February 1998 DONNA J. MARKHAM Leadership for the Common Good Only a few achieve the colossal task of holding together, without being torn asunder, the clarity of their vision along-side an ability to take their place in a materialistic world. They are the modern heroes . --Irene Claremont de Castillejo Knowing VVoman: A Feminine Psychology AnY person who is called upon to lead today is also called to the heroic act of unifying and healing in the midst of a world that is increasingly fragmented by nationalism and regional separatism. Nor are religious leaders unaffected: denom-inational sectarianism and ideological divisions threaten to take a mortal toll on the community of believers. At the same time, we live in an exciting era, alive in the midst of an enormous shifting in the collective experience of our planet. Insights from world religions, the new sciences, and feminist consciousness are con-tinually shaping our responses to the suffering oppressed. Religious leaders want to unify their members in order to meet the various challenges effectively, but the personal and communal risks are great. Women religious leaders find themselves engaging in heroic action as they contend with complex and differing perspectives on Christology and spirituality and on what constitutes the core Donna J. Markham OP is CEO for Southdown, a center for Christian healing that serves clergy and religious. Her article, published in Origins 27 (I 3 November 1997), is a slightly edited version of her address to the annual assembly of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious, held in Rochester, New York, in August 1997. Her address is Southdown; 1335 St. John's Sideroad East; RR #2, Aurora, Ontario; Canada L4G 3G8. Review for Relig4ous identity of religious life in this emerging global reality. Those who are entrusted for a time with the exciting task of fostering greater union and community are also expected to keep in front of our eyes the gospel-illuminated vision to which we have all committed ourselves. Irene Claremont de Castillejo rightly asserts that those who strive to accomplish such things are, indeed, mod-ern heroes. We actually have modern-day heroes--who have called us to common ground, who have invited us to envision a new way of being dwellers on earth, who have risked opening dif-ficult conversations and bringing forth serious critiques as new insights and truths are searched out. Within our midst are, I believe, unobtrusive modern heroines. The thoughts I share come from one who is clearly not a philosopher or a theologian, but rather a student of human behav-ior who has herself been stretched and challenged by a loving God. I share these thoughts as one who has experienced a call to profound conversion in the midst of the awesome responsibility of being entrusted with leading. I share these thoughts as one who, lost in deserts of confusion, has called out in fear; one who, with her sisters, has called upon a God of mystery, wisdom, and hope to show some clarity or meaning in daunting, sometimes terrifying, situations pregnant with disharmony and division. I hope to propose some specific skills for leaders to use in their efforts regarding the good we hold in common. Before doing that, however, I note two perspectives on the meaning of the com-mon good and offer a summation of our own experience of the past ten years. Perspectives on the Common Good There are two principal perspectives about how to achieve the good of society. The prevalent one, perhaps, is that the aggre-gate of individuals all pursuing their own self-interest constitutes the most good for the greatest number. This individualistic and utilitarian view--from John Locke, Adam Smith, and John Stuart Mill--emphasizes the common good as a composite of individual goods. It wants the civil authority to keep out of people's affairs except to ensure that no one tramples on another's rights. The second perspective, in the Thomistic tradition, emphasizes the common good as a social good that all must.participate in if the good of the whole is to be achieved (Hollenbach, 1989, pp. 85ff). January-February 1998 Markham ¯ Leadership for the Common Good Maritain elucidated this by speaking of a "personalistic commu-nitarianism" in which individuals achieve their own good more fully and readily when, in relationship with others, they work to enhance the common good. History has demonstrated, especially over the past two cen-turies, that two extremes of governance must be avoided: a lais-sez- faire individualistic philosophy that heralds each person in There is an increasing plurality of expression regarding personal spirituality and one's relationship with God. society as completely autonomous and indepen-dent, and a socialistic collectivism in which the individual sacrifices everything for the society, even to the loss of self-actualization. Within these polarities there exists a tension for each of us: to want each individual member in our community to be fulfilled and to flourish and to want our religious institutes to unleash their communal passion and energy in service of the mission of Jesus. After a long history of reflecting a more col-lectivist model, with the needs of individuals heavily subordinated to the needs of the larger community, religious life has, I think, swerved toward the Lockean-Smithian libertarian notion of the common good. Leadership itself has, at times, colluded in this--unconsciously, I think. We saw this reflected in some of our early documents after the call to renewal: the individual member was noted as our primary asset and first concern. While this concern was certainly not intended to subordinate the communal mission, experience has shown that this interrelationship has remained a serious issue for us, and we find ourselves seeking ways to lead well in the midst of escalating diversity of thought and belief. Experiences, Insights, and Questions What I say about the experience of leaders over this past decade is by no means exhaustive; I simply offer my own obser-vations: ¯ Women religious have a far stronger sense of internalized personal identity and individual maturity than previously. We also seek clarity concerning what constitutes corporate, com-munal identity .and what the requisites for membership are. Review for Religious ¯ We have witnessed a growing diversification of ministries, in which members are far more able to use their individual cre-ativity and talents in service of the gospel. ¯ We have deepened our sense of inner authority and self-direct-edness, yet we struggle with how this relates to any congre-gational ministerial focus and communal accountability. ¯ There is an increasing plurality of expression regarding per-sonal spirituality and one's relationship with God. ¯ There is a clear movement away from structures and systems that are oppressive and demeaning to women, and a deliber-ate movement toward systems that address the needs of the poor, the oppressed, and the abandoned. ¯ We have deepened our understanding of feminism in relation to our church and our world. ¯ We see an escalation of profound questioning, with conse-quences for our communal life as members of our institutes, not to mention our life as dwellers on this planet. ¯ As leaders we continue to experience the pervasive tension between our pastoral responsibility with its consequent care-giving obligations, and the possibilities of vision-driven, spirit-linking, heart-stirring leadership. ¯ We continue to examine models of leadership, modes of par-ticipation and decision making, and forms of governance that are faithful to our commitment as gospel-driven women. ¯ We live within the growing complexity of all the institutions and systems in which we minister. ¯ And we have witnessed the common good being held hostage, at times, by malaise and a depletion of communal passion. We have seen the common good compromised by leaders who have become overly preoccupied with the torment of a trou-bled individual and have diverted their attention from the broader work of leadership, with its potential to accomplish major transformations. We have witnessed the common good being co-opted by leaders who have become frightened and paralyzed in the face of an articulate few whose sociocultural precommitments distract them and others from gospel faith, the living water of religious life. At times we have also seen leaders--perhaps in misdirected efforts to affirm individu-als- fail to critique emergent societal, religious, and cultural movements as these impact on the common good of the con-gregation. 'L37 . 1998 Markham ¯ Leadership for the Common Good 3-8A So what is it that we have learned from what we have experi-enced? We have intensified our conviction that pluralism and diversity must work in tandem with a binding sense of identity and relationality. We know that interdependence is imperative for our survival as a planet, as nations, as a church, and as religious institutes. It is clear that all living systems are characterized by net-works of relationships. We are aware, more than ever, that all things are somehow connected and have an impact on one another for good or bad. Consequently, we know that various necessary and desirable boundaries need to be permeable enough for bond-ing with other communities and the global community to be pos-sible. We have learned, too, that neither hieratic leadership models nor totally consensual models are effective in this time of rampant change, greater complexity, and anxiety-provoking ambiguity, and we search for new ways to express leadership and exercise author-ity. We have learned that neither the subordination of individu-als to the needs of the community nor the subordination of the common good to the needs of individual members will make for a viable future. We have learned that new expressions of com-munity are being called for, whereby persons exercise true inter-dependence, participation, and responsibility about matters pertaining to the well-being of all those involved. We know that, if we are to do this, we need to develop skill in managing conflict and diversity. We have embraced even more deeply our need for ongoing contemplative reflection and conversation about mat-ters of the heart and soul. And we have learned with some trepi-dation that, insofar as profound doubt about the meaning and validity of our founding myths pervades our communities, we flirt with division and dissolution. Given all this, we are faced with serious questions. At what point does diversity within our institutes lead to entropy and orga-nizational dissolution? How will we work with our differences so that the result is synergy rather than division? How can we, with our members, become more intently engaged in the promotion of a personal communitarianism which recognizes that each per-son's dignity is most fully achieved in communion with others? What can we do as committed women of the gospel to help heal the gender and ideological rifts within our church, the racial and economic rifts in our country? What deliberate and concerted actions should we be taking as communities of faith to address Review for Religious materialistic individualism and the exploitation and mutilation of creation? How will we inspire others to that end? What signs will identify the better emergent models of leadership? In an effort to shed some light on these questions, I will focus on three areas of skill development: conflict management, guard-ing against "groupthink," and promoting communal efficacious action. By no means the only skills needed, these three call for some special attention today. Skills by themselves are, of course, not enough; but a leadership team's understanding of the princi-ples behind them can help keep the congregation moving for-ward while holding open the possibility of true synergy emerging. By synergy I mean the energy-laden, unexpected accord--or com-munion- within a group that gives it momentum toward the good which it esteems in common. Comfortable and Adept in Handling Conflict Perhaps more than any other skill, religious leaders today need the ability to manage conflict well. This prevents group-think from setting in and supports communal efficacious action. While we all know that some conflict is normal in any human relationship and an important part of the interaction in any vital group, much of what I say about managing conflict will seem counterintuitive. It flies in the face of our upbringing and our instinctive responses to confrontation. Most of us probably employ two basic responses to conflictual situations. Either we shy away from them, taking no action or procrastinating in the hope that the problem will go away, or we engage in symmetrical inter-change, being defensive or aggressive toward one another, prob-ably debating to a standoff. With the first strategy we quickly learn that the denial of the possibility of conflict is an easy way of becoming involved in one. With the second strategy we find our-selves caught in dualistic thinking that categorizes others as either with us or against us; we draw the proverbial line in the sand, and some become self-righteous winners and others demoralized losers. To use a third strategy, that is, to act counterintuitively, we anticipate and deliberately move toward that which is feared in efforts to establish connection. VCe meet conflict proactively or, in the wonderful words of William Shakespeare, we "meet the first beginnings; look to the budding mischief/before it has time to [-~9-- January-February 1998 Markham ¯ Leadership for the Common Good Where debate aims at convincing and winning, dialogue is a commitment to listen and learn from one another. ripen to ,naturity." We anticipate conflict and confrontation and approach the other with the clear, well-articulated intent to dia-logue. In so doing we open the possibility of engaging in a kind of ecological relationship building, a way of working through erroneous assumptions about and resistance to one another. We do not engage in debate, but rather in dialogue that has been pre-pared for with rigorous study, prayer, and reflection. Where debate aims at convincing and winning, dialogue is a commitment to lis-ten and learn from one another. Debate encour-ages dogmatic rigidity and judgment; dialogue encourages the search for insight and truth. If all parties have not prepared for the conversation by disciplined and intensive study, prayer, and reflec-tion, we are not ready to dialogue. Dialogue means that, while we are open to lis-tening and learning, we. also know that there are certain issues about which a group cannot com-promise. These include identity, internal consis-tency, and core values. A group ceases to exist as itself when these constitutive elements are com-promised. For example, leaders of religious congregations have a fundamental fiduciary obligation to promote the unity of the con-gregation. They canr~ot compromise those founding values and principles which have endured over ti,ne and which constitute the community's identity, charism, and mythic history. On the other hand, conversation and dialogue around the contentporary meaning of communal identity--no matter how divergent our understand-ings may bemis of critical importance and should not be shied away from in spurious hopes that differences will disappear. Still, to entertain that the fundamental identity of the group is open for negotiation is to promote disunity, disintegration, and ultimate demise. Membership in the group has become meaningless. A few examples: One can be a part of a group called "psy-chologists" and struggle with reformulations and new constructs relative to the study of personality and behavior. But to assert that the study of personality and behavior is no longer relevant to the discipline of psychology is to move oneself outside the iden-tity of being a psychologist. Similarly, Dominicans can struggle with how to enflesh the mandate of the order to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ in today's world, or how they will name and address contemporary heresies, but they cannot say that they will Review for Religious replace the gospel of Jesus Christ as a foundation for that preach-ing mission with some other construct. To do so would be to move outside the identity of being Dominican. Likewise, when an indi-vidual experiences a loss of identity, that person moves into a state of confusion and terror. In the most dramatic sense of this phe-nomenon, the psychotic person has little or no awareness of who she is, what she is to be doing, or what meaning there is to her very existence. This is why the therapist, as an agent of responsive and responsible authority, must take swift action to protect her from further disintegration and potential self-destruction. Good leaders take clear and directed action to protect the solidarity of the group, its commitment to unity in the face of challenges to its founding purpose, its identity and mission. They do so by calling the group to reflection, prayer, and respectful dialogue. They, with the group, walk toward what is feared and claim their truth in faith and in commitment to the greater good. Leaders in this era of connection (Lipman-Blumen, pp. 8-21) live in the midst of ongoing diversity. Accordingly, they also live in the midst of the conflicts which arise from this diversity of insight and thought. Successful handling of these conflicts demands certain assumptions: that all are committed to learn from one another and to search for truth together; that they agree to carry out the conversation to its conclusion; that they respect one another; and that no party will resort to oppressive or vindictive strategies during or after the conversation. Leaders who succeed possess an internal disposition of grace, flexibility, balance, empa-thy, courage, creativity, and a heavy dose of curiosity about the dif-ferent and unusual. But even these qualities are insufficient if leaders are frightened or unclear about or uncommitted to what constitutes the identity of the group which they have been called to serve. A time may come when evasion or avoidance--or a direct naming of the futility of carrying a discussion any further--may actually be a worthwhile move. The problem has often been that we have resorted to these moves before working proactively with the conflictual situation. Guarding against Groupthink One way, of course, of avoiding conflict within a close work group is for all to adopt patterns of thinking that are so "agree- Janttal.3,-FebtvtaD, 1998 Markham ¯ Leadership for the Common Good able" that disagreement becomes unthinkable: it would be "dis-loyalty." But "agreement," then, is an ambiguous thing. The greater the ambiguity, the more likely it is that a leadership group has fallen into the groupthink that some analysts describe. This dangerous dynamic arises when, in the face of adversity or perceived danger, a cohesive "ingroup" (here, the leadership team) insulates itself from conflict with the "outgroup" (here, the other members). It does this by concurrence seeking and unques-tioning agreeableness among the ingroup members. Groupthink interferes with leadership's ability to act on behalf of the com-mon good because it has closed off alternative courses of action. It falls into a tight-knit, closed system in which team members avoid deviating from consensus. The ingroup thus shares an illu-sion of unanimity concerning most of its judgments and posi-tions. In the worst scenario, certain members of the ingroup unwittingly assume the role of "mindguards" who protect the leader and other ingroup members from adverse information that might break their sense of well-being about their past decisions. Groupthink can result from a largely unconscious effort on the part of a leadership group to fortify itself, in ambiguous and con-flictual times, against perceived threats from the outgroup. It is characterized by the ingroup's feeling a certain invulnerability and having exaggerated optimism about the future. Negative feed-back has been dismissed by rationalizing, by stereotyping the behavior of members who disagree as invalid, irrelevant, erro-neous, disloyal, or uninformed. The search for truth has thus been compromised not only in the leadership group but also throughout the community, because sincere engagement between the ingroup and the outgroup has been aborted. W-hen diversity of thought has been stifled within a leadership group, stagnation, boredom, and a certain brittleness, set in. This situation comes from a misunderstanding of consensus, but it often masquerades as a nonhieratic, more feminist model of managing disagreement and arriving at decisions. Groupthink is serious and should not be underestimated. Group analysis has shown that the membership of any large group reflects the deficiencies of its leaders. V~rhen diversity of opinion, conflict, and serious dialogue find little or no room for expression in the leadership group, the membership will unconsciously mir-ror the leadership or react strongly to it, in either case jeopar-dizing the common good. Review for Religious In order to counter the unconscious pull toward groupthink, leadership teams may wish to set up safeguards. They could, for example, devise ways of getting critical evaluations of decisions and actions (including evaluations from outside the leadership team); they could, before coming to agreement, probe for alternatives; they could seek and happily come up with more than one way of addressing a given issue; they could broaden the decision-making base by consulting persons from different disciplines and areas of expertise; they could, after a period of time apart, hold a sec-ond- chance session to readdress the issue; they could simply ask whether there is "too much unanimity." Promoting Efficacious Communal Action Leadership teams that manage conflict well and avoid group-think instill in their communities the belief that it is indeed pos-sible for something important and significant to come from concerted communal action directed toward the greater good (Bandura, 1997). On the other hand, if a community has little sense that it is making a difference as a group, it will experience organizational anxiety, corporate depression, and a growing fear of the future and it will not attract new members. Leaders who work well with conflict and promote the unity of the group through a clear commitment to pursuing the truth together make a difference in this world of ours. Their fearless-ness and passion in repeatedly calling the group to fidelity to its mission have an impact. If all else is equal, a group that is more unified and clear about its identity and mission will endure beyond one that is fragmented. In other words, integration and unifica-tion contribute to life; disintegration and fragmentation, to demise. We know well that our desire to flourish is not an end in itself. Rather, we choose life as members of religious institutes because we are committed to radical discipleship. We commit ourselves to a vowed life in community in order to make a differ-ence-- for the poor, the oppressed, the vulnerable, and the aban-doned in our world. We believe we can do this better because we are united as sisters, and so we invite others to walk with us. We do this not simply to bolster our sense of well-being, but because we believe desperately in the mission of Jesus to promote justice and right relationships among people, between people and their Januaty-Februa~y 1998 Markham ¯ Leadersh~ for the Common Good God, and among all the various peoples that dwell upon this planet. We know that this work is not finished. We invite others to join us in this connective mission of pursuing what is true, what is just, what is merciful, and what ultimately is the One who unites us all. Most of our congregations have identified issues which they see as critical to the common good of our society today. In meet-ing with communities across North America, I have noted a remarkable consensus on the critical issues calling for our response as women religious. Through chapter acts, vision statements, and communal goals, concerns about the environment, racism, the poor and oppressed, spirituality, and women's needs and oppor-tunities continue to surface. These concerns, besides inviting our deep compassion, recall us to our commitment to live the gospel as wholeheartedly as we can. I watched in awe as the NASA scientists shared the excite-ment of accomplishing something awesome. This team of women and men was jubilant that their Martian dreams, their hard work, their collaboration gave us earthlings a chance to see another world. They were passionate, and millions of us on the Internet shared their passion as we took in the unfolding events. Why, then--though our dreams and efforts on behalf of the oppressed and abandoned bring successes and are no less altruistic than those of NASA scientists--do we seem not to have such excitement and passion about our corporate accomplishments, either just among ourselves or in the eyes of others? I found myself pon-dering this question with a tinge of sadness as I watched the ongo-ing televised press briefings. We want to make a difference in our mission. We want to see something come of all our hard work. We want to know that we are participating in something that makes a tangible difference in our world. We long for excitement and passion regarding our work. When a group has a sense of nothing much coming from a colossal effort, it gets discouraged. Negative corporate conse-quences follow: heightened individualism, attrition of member-ship, loss of momentum, corporate sluggishness. While many of us individually experience satisfaction in know-ing that we are addressing those compelling needs identified through our chapter processes, I wonder if we are depriving our-selves of the possibility of magnanimous corporate accomplish-ment. I wonder if the aggregate of our individual good works has Review for Religious buried in oblivion our ability to do something passionately, and concretely, together. What might it mean for us if we were to spec-ify concretely what we will do together as a congregation--or per-haps all of our congregations in concert--by way of making a passionate and grand contribution to this Mother Earth of ours, especially the neediest causes on it? I realize that, as soon as we entertain thoughts of concerted and clearly defined com-munal endeavors, we may conjure up our worst memories of the past. The urgency of the needs of these times, however, demands that we let go of that history and allow the fire of a revived corporate passion to brighten our eyes and our vision as we look toward the future of the life and labor for which God called us together, and keeps calling us. We have dedication and commitment and a vision and a mission that are at least as broad and deep as the NASA team has. We are attuned to needs that make the Martian endeavor look small and childlike. Oppression and exploita-tion are no strangers to us. The exploitation of our planet, of the abandoned, of women and children, is daily being resisted by wonderful women religious all over this continent and beyond. But now is a time for us to come together, in ways we have never imagined, to make an even greater difference for the good of our world's people. We join with John Paul II in seeing ecological concern as a driving force in the communal mission to which we are called: The earth is ultimately a common heritage, the fruits of which are for the benefit of all . It is manifestly unjust that a privileged few should continue to accumulate excess goods, squandering available resources, while masses of people are living in conditions of misery at the very lowest level of sub-sistence. Today the dramatic threat of ecological breakdown is teaching us the extent to which greed and selfishness-- both individual and collective--are contrary to the order of creation, an order which is characterized by mutual interde-pendence . Simplicity., moderation, and discipline, as well as a spirit of sacrifice, must become part of everyday life, lest all suf-fer the negative consequences of the careless habits of a We commit OldYselves to a vowed life in community in order to make a difference-- for the poor, the oppressed, the vulnerable, and the abandoned in our world. Januao~Feb~wa~y 1998 Markham * Leadershi~for the Common Good few . An education in ecological responsibility is urgent; responsibility for oneself, for others, and for the earth . (John Paul II, 1990) Engaging in this efficacious action on behalf of the common good calls each of us to a deeper expression of our personal value and meaning and makes it available for the well-being of one another. To lead on behalf of the common good is as exciting as it is heroic. To stay centered on the ultimate vision of unity; to manage conflict in service of what is true, faithful, and just; to stand committed to the unfolding meaning of our identity in mis-sion-- these things are the substance of leaders who invite con-version and the linking of spirits and hearts at a time when not to do so is, all too probably, to toy with death. Steering Clear of Resistance Temptations to let oneself be drawn away from the demands of such a ministry of spirit-linking leadership abound. To allow oneself to be caught up in efforts directed toward problem persons and a minimal status quo is to entrench oneself and one's con-gregation in a futile defensiveness. Recognizing the difference between getting caught up in crisis management and working with the crisis in order to promote the common good is an art form that requires continual attention and development. In the process we must guard against a certain emotional and behavioral passivity that lulls us into a tolerance of diversity without restraint. Individual efforts and accomplishments should not crowd out the larger vision of a community's contemporary identity in mis-sion. When community leaders sideline or postpone or limit a unified group response to the crying needs of God's people and God's world, when leaders give too much attention to individual members (to their preferences, their convenience, even their per-sonal gratification) or fail to set limits on behaviors that stand in the way of the greater good, then something is wrong. Any group, of course, has maintenance tasks that need atten-tion. But how much time and energy should those entrusted with leadership today spend on those tasks? Honest self-evaluation of the use of team time is an important reality test for a leadership group. Such a group needs continual creative redesign so as to become or remain free to lead and not just manage. Beyond merely managing or even merely leading, I ask con- Rev&w for Religious gregational leaders to call one another and to call our communi-ties to heroism. Call us to risk entering into conflictual conver-sations that hold promise of connecting us in trust and in hope to one another. Lead us into the midst of difficult dialogues that will bring us into deeper and more respectful relationship with all who long for a church, a society, and a world in which communion in spirit and in truth prevails. Risk calling us to concrete corpo-rate ministerial responses. Invite us to be passionate. Help us to face together the different, the other, the frightening, and the unexpected so that we may discover ever more deeply that the good which we hold in common is nothing less than participa-tion in the compassionate goodness and mystery of God. Bibliography Bandura, A. "Human Agency: The Emperor Does Have Clothes." Canadian Psychological Association Convention, Keynote Address, June 1997. Bellah, R., et al. The Good Society. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1991. Claremont de Castillejo, I. Knowing Woman:/t Feminine Psychology. Harper Colophon Books, 1974. Hollenbach, D. "The Common Good Revisited." Theological Studies 50, no. I (1989), pp. 70-94. Hollenbach, D. "The Catholic University and the Common Good." Current Issues in Higher Education 16, no. 1 (1995). John Paul II. "Peace with God the Creator, Peace with All of Creation." Papal statement, 1 January 1990. Lipman-Blumen, J. The Connective Edge: Leading in an Interdependent World. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1996. Rivers, E The Way of the Owk Succeeding with lntegv-i~y in a Conflicted World. HarperSanFrancisco, 1996. Roszak, T., M.E. Gomes, and A.D Kanner, eds. Ecopsychology: Restoring the Earth, Healing the Mind. San Francisco: Sierra Club Books, 1995. Tracy, D. Plurality and Ambiguity: Hermeneutics, Religion, Hope. San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1987. Whyte, D. The Heart/1roused: Poetry and the Preset'ration of the Soul in Corporate America. New York: Doubleday Currency, 1994. Wren, J.T., ed. The Leader's Companion: Insights on Leadership through the Ages. New York: Free Press, 1995. Janttary-Feb~'uary 1998 thNv N E MUNLEY Hearts Afire: Leadership in the New Millennium I love you, God, with a penny ~natch of love that I strike when the big and bullying dark of need chases my startled sunset over the hills and in the walls of my house small terrors move.~ ~edeeSSica Powers's image, "a penny match of love," is a won-rful imag~e o.f human desire for God that yearns" to be stronger, that yearns to ignite hearts, capture imaginations, shape dreams, and awaken possibilities. There is nothing paltry about God's gifts. God longs to kindle our penny matches of love into a growing fire as we gather here, more than a thousand strong, representing ninety-four percent of the women religious of the United States. It is a precious gift to be alive and to be called to leadership as one millennium ends and another begins. The last decades of the 20th century have been a time of cataclysmic change. The coming of the third millennium is certain to prompt diverse mus-ings about the challenges of this moment in history. Some, lament-ing present evils, will forecast doom. Others will gloss over substantive issues of dignity and justice to focus on the bizarre. Still others, including ourselves, will view the millennium as a kairos time for renewing hearts and transforlning society. Anne Munley IHM presented this paper, here edited and somewhat short-ened, as the presidential address to the August 1997 national assembly, in Rochester, New York, of the Leadership Conference of V¢o~nen Religious. She may be addressed at the I.H.M. Center; 2300 Adams Avenue; Scranton, Pennsylvania 18509. Review for Religious The year 2000 presents the world with an extraordinary occa-sion to commemorate-the birth of Christ as an historical fact and as a saving event for humanity for all times. The new millennium is an invitation to renewed wonder at the lavishness of a God who so loved the world that Jesus, the Christ, took on human flesh that all might become alive in God. We are called to leadership in a time when humanity yearns for connection with God, with one another, and with all creation. Yet we are acutely aware that we live in a world of violence, envi-ronmental desecration, economic polarization, racism, poverty, systemic oppression, and cultural breakdown. Our senses are bur-dened with images of human suffering in the homes, streets, vil-lages, neighborhoods, suburbs, and cities of this nation and throughout the world. In this age of globalization, when the peo-ples of the world are linked together as never before by commu-nication, economic interdependence, and the diffusion of cultural values, gaps continue to grow between rich and poor. Most peo-ple would agree that beneath obvious contemporary problems lie a crisis of the spirit and an erosion of concern for the common good. There is little sense that all the peoples of the earth are brothers and sisters having a common destiny in one global fam-ily created by the God of infinite love and compassion, but such a sense is what is needed." Inside the walls of our house, "the bul-lying dark of need" aches to see flames of love and moral com-mitment, aches for a revolution of the human heart and a resurgence of spiritual leadership. There are many signs of hope for this moment: conscious-ness that there is a crisis, desire for practical life-giving solutions, hunger for meaning, purpose, and direction and a longing for connectedness. The biblical concept of jubilee offers a revolu-tionary vision of reform for these times. The call to jubilee rec-ognizes the sanctity of time, the sacredness of creation, the importance of rest and contemplation, the equality of all in the eyes of God, the need to attend to the common good and the jus-tice of right relationships. The biblical jubilee calls for forgiveness, reconciliation, and joy, not ju.st an inner joy but a jubilation that is expressed in communal celebration) In proclaiming a new covenant of unity among peoples, Jesus brought the jubilee promise to life. We lead in a time of soul-stretching possibility. It is a holy time for "bringing good news to the afflicted, liberty to captives, January-Februaly 1998 Munley . Hearts Afire sight to the blind, and freedom to the oppressed." One of the greatest gifts that leaders can bring to this age is a sense of hope that transformation is possible. This gift is a penny match of love that can ignite great fires. Scientists tell us that tiny movements can have a huge cumulative impact on vast systems.4 Spiritual seekers discovered this truth long ago. In the words of Kukei, an 8th-century Zen master: "A hand moves, and the fire's whirling takes different shapes . All things change when we do."SMore than anything else these times need leaders who can bring to the outer world the transforming spirit of the inner world. Spiritual Leadership Recent literature about leadership reflects growing awareness that spirituality sustains community, meaning, and hope. The titles of many of these works suggest a shift toward conscious-ness of the inner life: Leading with Soul, The Corporate Mystic, The Heart .4roused, The Soul of Politics, and "Leading from Within.''6 The message of Leading ~vitb Soul is that leadership is a jour-ney of the heart. Heart, hope, faith, compassion, and courage are essential to leadership, to the creation of communities of mean-ing, and to a rediscovery of the ethical and spiritual center of society. Corporate mystics are spiritual leaders who are comfort-able with their own spirituality and who nurture the spiritual development of others. Corporate mystics call forth the best in themselves and others; they operate with integrity and intuition and pursue their visions with passion and compassion. In The Heart/1roused, the poet David Whyte links the inner world of spirit and creativity to the preservation of the soul in corporate America. Whyte knows well that leadership from within involves far more than techniques, plans, goals, or strategies. In his latest book of poetry, The House of Bdonging, he urges us to remember:7 What you can plan is too small for you to live. To be human is to become visible while carrying what is hidden as a gift to others. Re'view for Religious Jim Wallace in The Soul of Politics and Parker Palmer in his essay "Leading from Within" emphasize responsibility for co-creating the world we live in by bringing to it the best of our spiritual traditions and convictions. Our spiritual traditions tell us that we are not victims of the world as it is, but are its co-cre-ators. Borrowing from Annie Dillard,s Palmer says that, unless leaders are willing to take the spiritual journey inward and down-ward, we are likely to project what we hate in ourselves onto other people because we fear to face the enemy in our own souls. Great leaders have the courage to face their shadow side and consciously choose to project a spirit of light. Our own experiences on the inner journey and as women religious committed to co-creation of a just and loving world are a valuable part of our call to lead-ership within our communities. Gift of a Heart Afire At this national assembly of ours in outstate New York, I recall the determination and incredible belief in possibility of the hand-ful of women who organized in 1848 the Seneca Falls Convention that lit a fire to change the legal and political position of women in the United States. Using various means to secure suffrage for women, leaders like Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Lucretia Mott, Susan B. Anthony, Lucy Stone, and Carrie Chapman Cart drew on their inner fire to breathe spirit and passion into their quest for reform. Women like Mice Paul, Lucy Burns, and Rose Winslow must have drawn deeply on their inner strength as they endured impris-onment, hunger strikes, and forced feedings. I recall also the countless women from all ethnic, class, and racial backgrounds who addressed severe social problems at the end of the last century and the early decades of this one. I recall the inner fire, faith, and vision that sustained the founding and pioneer members of our congregations, enabling them to over-come great obstacles. In the depths of their hearts they realized that, for those who love, the impossible becomes possible. I am conscious of the millions of people who daily confront abuses of human rights and work for change. I am conscious of all of the women religious throughout the world who, with listening hearts and eyes focused on today's fierce urgencies and spiritual hungers, continue to imagine alternate possibilities as they struggle toward the reality of God's reign in the immediate circumstances of daily January-February 1998 Munley . Hearts Afire life. I am conscious of the collective spiritual energy in this room and of the force that it is for the life of the world. Understood in its broadest sense, spirituality includes more than the inner life. It is, in the words of the theologian Anne Carr, "the whole of one's spiritual or religious experience, one's beliefs, convictions, and patterns of thought, one's emotions and behavior in respect to what is ultimate, or to God.''9 As women of faith and conviction, the greatest resource we can bring to the new millennium is the spiritual leadership of a heart afire. Spiritual leadership rooted in the gospel involves working for a transformed understanding of the good life as life that is profoundly good for all. When the heart is on fire, light comes from within. With the "eyes of the enlightened heart," we can see the hope to which we are called (Ep 1:18). By baptism and the mystery of vocation we have proclaimed publicly that the quest for God and the new creation is the fire of our lives. Our world longs for visible expressions of God's saving presence and for new ways of seeing that are graces of the inner experi-ence of God's love. In the Christian tradition seeing with the eyes of the heart occurs on the journey of discipleship. Discipleship is not an easy journey. It is an ongoing effort to live the gospel with integrity--trying, sometimes succeeding, often failing, recognizing the need of being forgiven and then trying again. It is a way of being in the world that affects every relationship. Disciples shape one another according to the action of the Spirit in their lives. The energy of the disciple flows from faith in what_is unseen yet believed. At its root, discipleship is a call to a love that never gives up on God, one's neighbor, or oneself. Disciples are called to love well., as Jesus did, with hope, truth, fidelity, and compassion. This leads inevitably to taking a stand with the Christ of the paschal mystery, who willingly laid down his life in love so that all may have life in abundance. In these times, spiritual leadership rooted in the gospel involves working for a transformed understanding of the good life as life that is profoundly good. for all. Such transformation will happen in our communities and in the world around us when Review for Religious precepts of compassion and justice inspire the collective soul and have an impact on behavior. All around us and among us there are compelling stories of discipleship. As leaders we need to see them with the eyes of the heart. In the sharing of the stories, heart touches heart and souls are filled with the spirit that makes ongoing commitment possible. Meaning-Making Spiritual leaders empower their communities for ongoing commitment by keeping questions of meaning before them: Why are we together in community? How are we called to the unique circumstances of these times? What is our commitment to one another and to those with whom we journey? In times of sub-stantive change there is an extraordinary need to explore ques-tions of meaning and purpose. In the midst of chaos, a coherent worldview and a dynamic understanding of the relevance of reli-gious life are helps toward interpreting the signs of the times and living discipleship with integrity. Leaders can make an enor-mous contribution to this process by helping the other members to make sense of shifting fealties both outside religious !ife and within it. At the deepest level, our congregations are held together by myths, values, beliefs, and foundational stories. These are the roots of the congregation's identity and purpose. They constitute the why of our being together as communities. They have their effect on the passion with which we live our mission. They influ-ence the way we use resources, the way we work together to press the mission forward. The shared meaning and work and mem-ory of our lives together provide symbols, relationships, and prin-ciples for making sense of the changes going on within us and around us. Shared meaning is essential for shared commitment. At a time of rapid social change and shifting demographics and resources, spiritual leadership is not about getting people to do something. It is about helping the group to keep before itself the kind of meaning that will guide choices and call forth com-mitment.~° Spiritual leadership is a group process rather than an individual's personal qualities or skills. It is interactive and rela-tional. When members of a community are closely involved in piecing shared meanings together as a basis for corporate action or direction, they experience significance together, discovery together, leadership together. Today, as many congregations grap- pie with issues of governance and restructuring, it is a key func-tion of leadership to foster meaning-making together. The more things change around us and within us, the more important it will be to create connections for exploring the pos-sibilities that change and newness offer. As Margaret Wheatley notes, "Life invites us to create not only the forms but even the process of discovery.''l~ The kind of effort that we put into mean-ing- making will affect the credibility of our way of life as well as our own sense of authenticity and integrity. Integrity and Justice In

Issue 60.1 of the Review for Religious, 2001. ; Renewal Vocation Spiritual Legacy Empowerment JANUARY FEBRUARY 2001 VOLUME 60 NUMBER 1 Review for Religious'helps people respond and be faithful to God's universal call to holiness' ' ° by making available to them the spiritual legacies tbat flow-from the cbarisms of Catbolic consecrated life. 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 ° V~reb 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. MI 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. 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 Elizfibeth McDonough OP Mary Ann Foppe Tracy Gramm James and Joan Felling Adriafi Gaudin SC Sr. Raymond Marie Gerard FSP Joel Rippinger OSB Bish6p Carlos A. Sevilla SJ Patricia Wittberg SC JANUARY FEBRUARY 2001 VOLUME 60 NUMBER 1 contents 6 renewal Beyond Jubilee and Jubilees A. Paul Dominic SJ relates the biblical notion of jubilee to the teaching of Jesus and the practice of the early church in order to point to ways that we might live the spirit of jubilee in our Christian life today. 20 A Continuing Pentecost: Appreciating "Ecclesia in Asia'~ James H. Kroeger MM shares the optimism and gratitude that pervade the apostolic exhortation Ecclesia in Asia as he summarizes and evaluates its various chapters. 30 40 vocation Who Is a Brother? Philip Armstrong CSC traces the church reality of brothers through history to the present-day challenges. Vocational Being Donald Macdonald SMM stresses that, if we Christians need to adore the gift of God in Christ from the core of our being, then Scripture provides the practical means to make our own this perspective of faith. 2j Review for Religious 48 spiritual legacy Spirituality for Mission: Marguerite Bourgeoys and the Ignatian Tradition Mary Ann Foley CND traces the originality of the missionary spirituality of Marguerite Bourgeoys, drawing upon a varity of sources including the Ignatian tradition. 62 The 350th Anniversary of the Sisters of St. Joseph Joan L. Roccasalvo CSJ gives evidence that Ignatius Loyola's Spiritual Exercises are the inspiration and source of Jean-Pierre Mddaille's Maxims of Perfection, which contain the entire spirit of the foundational documents of the Sisters of St. Joseph. 76 empowerment Till the End of My Days Agnes Cunningham SSCM identifies five factors that have proved helpful in her actively pursuing retirement. 80 Power Made Perfect in Weakness: Ministering to the Dying and Bereaved Laurel M. O'Neal offers a correction to our common misconceptions of death, its relation to sin, and especially the relation of God to death. departments 4 Prisms 99 Canonical Counsel: Conclusion of the Novitiate 105 Book Reviews January-February 2001 prisms Review for Religious cele-brates its sixtieth year of publication. Sixty years is not the milestone of the younger fifty or the more dra-matic one hundred. Of course, it is not in the same league as a millennium. But a sixty-year anniversary does present the occasion for a pause--a time for assess-ment, for evaluation, for celebration, for gratitude. We have so many of these "pauses" built into our ordinary life that we can forget how important their place is for the healthy living of life, including the spir-itual. The changing seasons of the year, with their cycles of growth and dormancy, present one rhythmic pattern observed in religious practices of people through the centuries. As we quantify the rhythm of a day into our minutes and hours and then measure fur-ther into days of a week and weeks of a month and months of a year, we are struck at how we humanly have built in so many pauses into ordinary living. As a matter of fact, we humans are not meant to be "energ-erizer bunnies" (as in a famous TV ad about a brand of battery) that just keep going and going, always doing more of the same. No, we are people who have waking and sleeping patterns, who enjoy times of work and of recreation, who seek out periods of solitude and of social interaction, who are marked by successes and failures and those many "gray-area" projects whose value remains unclear. We are meant to pause, to be a Review for Religious reflective people, because we are formed by the Bible--that very reflectively written account of God's dealings with his people. We have just been celebrating the biblical jubilee year as a divinely inspired pause. We Christians are a people who appre-ciate the flow of a liturgical year, with its celebratory pauses that bring home in ever new ways the key moments of our faith-life with God. Though there are these many natural and ecclesial pauses in our life, we seem to be unwilling to choose such a rhythm in our personal daily living. Both in our personal life and in our parish or community projects, we often do not take time to set and identify some intermediate goals. We rush on, instead of reflecting on what we have done up to this point, on what changes might be desirable, on how much gratitude we should have and express for all the cooperation we have received, and perhaps on what mistakes we have made and whose feelings we may have bruised. We Christians need to make time to reflect, to assess and celebrate and apologize, as our way of working with God. We need to choose to build this kind of pause into our day (like the Ignatian daily awareness examen) and into the works and projects we are busy on in concert with others. In commu-nity we need to choose to build in these pauses so that commu-nity life and community projects can make wise choices and avoid sad crises. If we choose to make "anniversary-like pauses" ordinary and so build them into our daily life, we will discover a power source that makes for a physically, psychologically, and spiritually healthy life. We have had our new year's celebration, pausing to ring out the millennium year of 2000 and to welcome the year of 2001. As we enter into this new year, perhaps we all need to look for timely occasions when we .can pause--to celebrate, to assess, to correct, to revitalize for the continuing effort. By such choices, we grow into being the reflective Christians God's word calls us to be. We meet God, in his gift of time to us, by pausing to appreciate it and use it well. David L. Fleming SJ Janualsv-February 2001 renewa A. PAUL DOMINIC Beyond Jubilee and Jubilees The celebration of any jubilee is necessarily public. It cannot be thought of except in social terms. Even in per-sonal jubilees, which are different from institutional jubilees, individual jubilarians do not make their jubilee a private affair; they invite their relations and friends to a celebration. In so doing almost all follow the unwrit-ten bourgeois rule of making their celebration an exclu-sive affair of their particular class and so upholding the social scale. When such segregated festivities are arranged by the rich (and not the poor, who anyway have nothing to celebrate because they have nothing to cele-brate with), they hurt even the rich, not just some other people, because they bring the burden of keeping up with the Joneses. The same thing happens, mutatis mutandis, in institutions and nations, with subtle but real harm to humanity. This is not a modern phenomenon but an old, unfortunate human one. Jesus saw it rampant among his people and ~ought to save them from bringing harm in this way to themselves and others. And so he did not think it unbecoming to tell his host during the meal to imagine another pattern of invitations, one that would break the tradition of inviting select persons or rich ones A. Paul Dominic SJ writes again from Satyodayam; 12-5-33 S. Lallaguda; Secunderabad 500 017; India. Review for Religious or relatives and instead invite particularly the poor and the hand-icapped (Lk 14:12-14). When he was thus breaking new ground in the matter of celebration, was he not inspired by the good news of jubilee that he had learned as a Jew from the Hebrew Scriptures in the bosom of his Hebrew family? Going Back to the Source of Jubilee The very word jubilee is biblical, with a specific religious con-notation of joy. Though it has come into secular parlance, all those who celebrate "jubilees," personal or institutional, would do well to be aware of the term's centuries-old wealth of meaning. The joy that is now associated with jubilees in the secular or religious worlds looks back on achievements of excellence, but the jubilee joy in biblical times looked forward to achievements still to come; also, it involved the whole of Hebrew society, without excluding any class. While all celebrated the jubilee, both the haves and the have-nots, they participated in it differently. The former were behind the whole celebration, promoting it, while the latter benefited from it. The promoters were concerned with building a promising future, not so much for themselves as for others, who unlike them had had a harrowing past of financial reverses. Who on earth could have had this joyful interest in others rather than themselves except God and God's faithful people? Hearing the cry of people who, perhaps even through their own fault, had lost their ancestral holdings and consequently their own rights of freedom and dignity, God would have the losers gain back their lost land and their very persons. As all land and all peo-ple belonged primarily to God, God would ordain a time of grace once every fifty years, when good, law-abiding persons would come forward and voluntarily restore to the unfortunates whatever the latter had lost to them even by way of fair deals. The very idea of people responding to God's call to selfless joy on behalf of the deprived will be effective only to the extent that it is appreciated for its inspire~t and sensible holiness. People will be most joyful in their jubilee only when they thoroughly accept that it is a holy thing for them and declare so (Lv 25:10 and 12). The biblical jubilee is all joy only when it is all holy. It is first and foremost holy and, as such, it cannot but be joyful. It is the holi-ness of the God of joy that makes for the joy of all his people, who are to be holy like him. January-February 2001 Dominic ¯ Beyond yubilee and Jublilees This causal link of holiness to joy in the celebration of jubilees cannot be emphasized too much. The joyous celebra-tion of jubilee enjoined in Leviticus 25:8-17 and 23-55 forms part of the Law of Holiness in Leviticus 17-27. The dynamics of jubilee should be understood in the light of the most important piece in the Law of Holiness: "You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy" (Lv 19:2b). How is this orthodoxy of holiness to become, the orthopraxis of joy? This is a highly practical question even though there remains the theoretical question of how it is possible that our human nature can share in the nature of God, namely, holiness. Leviticus and the rest of the Bible have no use for such questions, but hand down in God's name ways of living that are pleasing to the very God of holiness and joy. With the stunning command to human beings to be holy, there came from God clear directions about how they were to deal with one another. He wanted his people to associate with each other in ways that included practi-cal concern for the poor and the weak and the handicapped so that they would not feel left out: When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap to the very edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest. You shall not strip your vineyard bare, or gather the fallen grapes of your vineyard; you shall leave them for the poor and the alien: I am the Lord your God. (Lv 19:9-10, emphasis added) This was a practical minimum test of the maximum law he enjoined on them of cultivating a loving disposition towards one another, abjuring grudges and hate (Lv 19:18-19). If people had lived in this original spirit of divinely ordained love, shown in personal dealings and shaped in concrete societal action, there would have been no urgency for such an institution as the jubilee. From the beginning, people did not abide by, but slid from, this ideal. To stem this slide and to set a minimum for the people to reach, God brought about the program of the sabbatical year (Lv 25:2-7). Its enactment, going back to the wake of the Exodus reads thus: For six years you shall sow your land and gather in its yield; but the seventh year you shall let it rest and lie fallow, so that the poor of your people may eat . (Ex 23:10-11, emphasis added) . Though no definite information is found in the Bible's his- Review for Religious torical books about how and how long the sabbatical law was observed,~ there is no denying that it was (see Ne 10:32 and 1 M 6:49-53), though not always (see 2 Ch 36:21). And that is why one may dare say--in this field there are as many opinions as scholars-- that the law was further developed to include remission of debts in favor of the poor and, what is more, to be generous to them. Aiming at abolishing poverty, the new law unambiguously said: If there is among you anyone in need . . do not be hard-hearted or tight-fisted toward your needy neighbor. You should rather open your hand, willingly lending enough to meet the need, whatever it may be. Be careful that you do not entertain a mean thought, thinking, "The seventh year, the year of remission, is near," and therefore view your needy neighbor with hostility and give nothing . Give liberally and be ungrudging when you do so. (Dt 15:7-10, emphasis added) Who could better this law? For all its beauty (if law can be said to be beautiful), who would want this kind of beauty for them-selves? Who would observe this beautiful law? Indeed, there may be people now who would question its very place in a legal corpus. Though this was presumably not the case then, still, given human nature, it would not be surprising if it was practiced in its violation rather than observance. For this reason, and with a view to getting people to observe the high ideal of the law, it was drastically changed with regard to the time of its enforcement. The new law, unlike the old, would come into force not every seven years as before, but every fifty years, heralding what came to be known as the jubilee year, called so after the instrument used for the announcement, namely, yobe! (Hebrew for trumpet). Though the sabbatical law was thus made less burdensome (one would not have had to observe it more than once in one's lifetime, given the biblical lifespan of eighty even for the. strong), still the jubilee law retained the essential burden of the previous laws, namely, reversing the trend of the rich becoming richer and the poor poorer. Its complete formulation specified four things. (1) People must allow all land to lie fallow, must live on what it pro-duces by itself and has been stored, and must share with others. (2) In selling and buying, the rich should not cheat and oppress the poor, taking advantage of their plight. (3) Those who have grown richer by buying other~' properties should freely restore them to their former owners. (4) Those who own Israelites as slaves January-February 2001 Dominic ¯ Beyond g~ubilee and j~ublilees (because in their poverty they sold themselves) have to honorably release them and their families. Was the mitigated law observed? While some scholars say that it does not seem it was ever observed,z others opine cautiously that the possibility of its having been observed in the beginning of the settlement in the Holy Land cannot be ruled OUt.3 Relying on the two applications of the jubilee law to specific situations (Lv 27:16-25 and Nm 36:1-12), we may presume that there indeed was a time when the law was in force and not a dead letter. Also, ¯ from the fact that the Greek Alexander and the Roman Julius Caesar exempted their Jewish domain of Judaea from the annual tribute during the sabbatical year,4 may we not infer that the jubilee directives were at that time not out of vogue in the life of the peo-ple? It would be interesting, then, to know how they could have been carried out generation after generation. But unfortunately no historical observance of the jubilee was recorded in either the Old Testament or the New. Anyway, from the kind of juridical Judaism found in the New Testament, we have no compelling rea-son to believe that the jubilee still prevailed in practice, leaving us to wonder what ever happened to Judaism that God founded as a contrast communitys with its liberative laws, such as jubilee. Retrieving the Jubilee after Jesus Where does this le~d us? An answer may spring up from sens-ing how Jesus responded to the moribund custom of jubilee in his time. Though the word jubilee does not occur in the Gospels, the way he looked at some issues may point to his thinking on jubilee. He was surely positive in his attitude to the Law, and so we hear the puzzling logion: "Do not think that I have come to abol-ish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to ful-fill" (Mt 5:17). In so taking his stand, he was calling for right obedience to the Law: hearing the voice of God in the word of the Law, understanding God's genuine purpose, and acting on it. If he often invited attacks by those who were on the side of reli-gion, it was to challenge them to read the L~w aright according to the mind of the Lawgiver. He pointed out, too, that in the course of history the Law was sometimes mitigated or even distorted, as in the case of divorce, because of human hardness of heart. In order to accomplish the Law, he would advocate first and fore-most a return to its origin in the heart of God and a discernment Revie~v for Religious of its true relevance for the day, guided by the signs of the times, the ongoing surprise revelations of God's ways. Inspired by such a vision of the Law, Jesus would have insisted that jubilees were not occasions to be observed merely twice in a century, whether by omission or halfheartedly or even whole-heartedly. In this spirit he would have spoken searchingly: "If it was said of old that in the jubilee year you should return to the owner the land he had sold to you in his penury, I ask you, 'Why buy at all in the first place from a needy person?' Again, if it was said of old that you should not, during the jubilee, claim your money lent to the poor, I ask you, 'Why lend at all to the poor with a view to getting it back? Rather, give to anyone who asks you and, if anyone wants to borrow, do not turn away.' Again, if it was said of old that in the jubilee year you should free your slaves, I ask you, 'How dare you .ever buy out your brothers or sisters and enslave them even if they sold themselves to you in their dire need? For you are all slaves of God, and among yourselves you are brothers and sisters.'" Further, he would have told any challengers to search the Scriptures and realize how God had freed their forebears from slavery and settled them in a new land, a land that was not theirs but his, so that they might know the holy joy of living together in rich fellowship and surrounded by the blessings of Providence. Finally, in Ezekiel's fashion (Ezk 20:4-24), he would even have made them face their Roman subjugation and answer whether it was not due to their forsaking the jubilee of God and ceasing to be truly subject to the God of jubilee. It would have been with such silent thoughts that he went beyond the old jubilee and initiated a new era, calling it the year of the Lord's favor (Lk 4:19) and heralding the longed-for liberty, fulfilling Ezekiel's prophecy6 and climaxing John's preaching.7 God's own aspiration was ever to create a people witnessing to his blessing. Going Forth in the Spirit of Jubilee In picking up such possible thoughts of Jesus, what is our own jubilee aspiration and how are we to realize it? We do so by becom-ing the community of God's people and striving to do away with poverty. God's own aspi.ration was ever to create a people wit- January-February 2001 Dominic ¯ Beyond Jubilee and Jublilees nessing to his blessing. When Jesus came on the scene, he pro-claimed that constant purpose of God. When he announced God's kingdom emerging in the world, he heralded equivalendy the com-munity of God's people. Further, in imitation of his Father, he was re-creating it visibly out of the remnant that was left of the old community.8 The new community, though very much in the world, was not of it. It was fashioned to be an alternative society in the spirit of jubilee. It had its own charter, promising and promoting the fulfillment of individuals and groups in society and thus the whole society (Mt 5:3-10). Its foremost beneficiaries were the poor of all sorts, that is, those who had been all along without name, voice, or standing, like children and women, the ritually and socially outcast, and, of course, the economically awkward. Though made up of different classes, the new community would not have the distinction and segregation of the high and the low; rather, the so-called high would serve the so-called low. If such terms as highest and lowest were to be used at all, then the highest in the community would be those who, bending over for the sake of others, made themsel+es little and served them-- even washing their feet. Their insignia would not be the tradi-tional one of selfish power, privilege, and possession, but the downward mobility of service and healthy promotion of others, avoiding all competition. Their royal rule would be: "In every-thing do to others as you would have thdm do to you" (Mt 7:12). Perhaps the one incident in which almost all the above distinctive qualities of the new community came into play was Jesus' feeding the multitude and satisfying them all with the little supply of bread and fish made available by a little boy. Living in this spirit of permanent jubilee, apart from which there is no jubilee worth talking about, we dare dream of becom-ing a contrast .community of Christians, renovating the structures of the age-old world in many details and so creating places where individual and social well-being can exist. Jubilee Praxis at the Start of the First Millennium How on earth can this become part of the realm of reality? Though we may find ourselves overwhelmed by forces against true community, did Jesus not envisage such a community of the future right at the start of his ministry when he declared that the era of universal liberation was beginning there and then with him- Review for Religious self (Lk 4:21)? Did he not confirm it as he went about forming one flock On 10:16)? And, at the very end, was he not intent on drawing all to himself and forming one community (Jn 12:32)? Did he fail in all that? The pristine community of the church witnessed that he certainly did not. Indeed, it acquired early an identity of its own, distinguishing it from the surrounding com-munity and marking its way of living together. Their identity was not so much their theoretical acceptance of the gospel, but prac-tical allegiance to it with consequences in social behavior. Luke named it koinonia, meaning fellowship or communion, which "con-notes the bond of responsibility to one another enjoined on believ-ers by their assent to the gospel."9 His firsthand report of this unique phenomenon reads thus: All who believed were together and had all things in com-mon; they would sell their possessions and goods and dis-tribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of the people. (Ac 2:44-47) Perhaps to emphasize the veracity of his report, he drew another such picture: Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common . There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apos-tles' feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need. (Ac 4:32-35, emphasis added) The kernel of koinonia was thus communism in its best sense, namely, the community of goods which expressed, proved, and strengthened the community of spirit.1° The trial of koinonia even brought about the institution of diaconia or service (Ac 6:1-6) to oversee the practicalities of koinonia. Nothing like it had happened before in the Mosaic period, but it did not come out of the blue. It had its clear precedents as the law~ of the sabbatical and jubilee year show. The sharing of the rich with the poor envisaged by such laws did not merely look to the temporary or intermittent allevia-tion of the hardship of the.poor. Rather, it aimed at the divine ideal of annihilating poverty altogether according to the hopeful com-mand: "There shall be no poor among you" (Dt 15:4).~ January-February 2001 Dominic ¯ Beyond j-~ubilee and 3~ublilees Inspired by Jesus, the early church learned well, translating the above command into action and initiating jubilee living. The later church, as far as the 3rd century or so, followed suit in such a striking manner that the historian Pliny thought of Christians as tertia gens, a third group of people besides Romans and barbarians. Still the ideal had to be nurtured from the beginning against natural human hesitations, weaknesses, and failures. So Paul bade the Corinthians regarding help for the famine-stricken commu-nity in Jerusalem: Strive for equality; at present give from your abundance what they are short of, and some day they will repay in abundance what you lack. Then you will be equal and what Scripture says shall come true: "To him who had much, nothing was in excess; to him who had little, nothing was lacking." (2 Co 8:13-15, Christian Community Bible) The equality of everyone in the community, whether rich or poor, will remain no more than an illusion as long as .economic inequality remains. That is a warning implicitly given by James, when he confronted Christian assemblies with their old unequal dealings with the rich and poor: For, if a person with gold rings and in fine clothes comes into your assembly and if a poor person in dirty clothes also comes in, and if you take notice of the one wearing the fine clothes and say "Have a seat here, please" while to the one who is poor you say "Stand there" or "Sit at my feet," have you not made distinctions among yourselves? (Jm 2:2-4) On the contrary, where the rich willingly forgo some of their riches in order to raise the condition of the poor, there is equal joy for both; and so James could say, "Let the believer who is lowly boast in being raised up, and the rich in being brought low" (Jm 1:9-10). Jubilee Praxis as the Third Millennium Starts With such precedents, are we going to achieve community of equals? Yes, if we enter upon unambiguous, if taxing, praxis. The first practice would seem to be self-awareness of our "chronic" failure in shaping human communities. If even now we let the societal laws considered above provoke not offense (pace Paul, Rm 3:20) but repentance, convicting us of our share of humanity's sin in this matter, we would be on the right track. Review for Religious Part of this initial practice is to realize how we, like the rest of humanity, have cultivated the pleasing or even cozy practice of good intention rather than a.ction, of fine words rather than deeds. James had reason to ask bluntly: If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food and one of you says to them "Go in peace, keep warm and eat your fill," and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? (]m 2:15-16) Is this challenge any less relevant now for the church community, and in particular the talking (even if not pontificating) theological fraternity, despite two millennia of Christianity? This is, however, no time for despair, but a time for immediate, earnest, and con-sistent praxis based on the twin nature of human beings as spiri-tual and economic. The second practice could well be conscientization for both the rich and the poor. The former may not even realize what being poor actually means. I, for one, was surprised to hear a city dweller say not very long ago that he missed Sunday Mass because he had no clean clothes to wear. Situations like this must be brought to the notice 6f the well-dressed community at Sunday Mass, among whom might be found some, like a Chicago priest I heard about, for whom a shirt worn once is too soiled to be worn again on the same day. In a school run by a group of sisters, a poor child went to class in slippers instead of shoes; for punishment her teacher, a former nun, made her wear them round her neck with her belt. Such unbe-lievable things occur and need to be made known, through chan-nels such as pastoral councils, to the rest of the community. For their part, the poor must be transformed by becoming conscious of what they deserve but are denied by society, includ-ing the church. St. Vincent de Paul Societies may serve this crit-ical cause, first learning themselves and then teaching poor people their rights enshrined in Canon Law. What a revelation to hear: There are canons that can be said to promote the ~velfare of the poor and speak fibout the defense of their rights. There are canons that promote the participation of the poor in church life, facilitate their access to the sacraments, uphold the right to receive help from the temporal goods of the church, require norms on legal aid for the poor, and so forth?~ If such conscientization is to become reality, much depends on a third practice, ecclesial leadership, which at least in India rests Dominic ¯ Beyond Jubilee and Jublilees largely with the bishops and then the clergy. Who is to tell them what their praxis should or could be? That, though, is what the Servant Leadership school in Washington, D.C., has dared, train-ing leaders in community living that is intimately associated with the life of the poor.13 It is heartening to hear of a bold Indian bishop who would not oblige his priests' clamor for his support of projects for the poor unless they committed themselves to conscientiously spend-ing for the target group all the money received. Not many, how-ever, are like him, intent on being levelers, mindful of benefiting the poor wholly and so bringing all people to a level of equality. So we hear stories of bishop~ who are not loath to receive a purse on the occasion of their jubilees celebrations, in clear violation of the spirit of the biblical jubilee. Vv'hat are we to think when a bishop, to please his family, tries to dissuade a young man from becoming a brother to serve the poor and even offers to make him a priest in his diocese? Does he have a ghost of an idea, let alone a chance, to build a true community where the poor will find their due, equal place of honor and feel blessed? Would that the unworthy bishops acted on the proposal, made by themselves or their confreres at the Synod of Bishops on Justice, to "under-take an examination of the modes of acting and of the posses-sions and lifestyle found within the church itself'U4--even though they seem not to take seriously the anticlerical strictures of Christ himself. Whatever the praxis of the leadership may be, the rest of the community may aid it indirectly by their own related praxis. And this may express itself in at least three ways. The first one is com-ing to know the likes of the locally famous Indian Jesuit Bishop Saupin (who, reportedly, would, in the style of the populace, travel in a rickshaw, clad in kurta and pajamas and smoking his beedi) or the globally famous Archbishop Romero. The second is pray-ing conscientiously and hopefully, while mentioning the ordinary's name at Mass, for the metanoia and metamorphosis of bishops so that they may know the importance of serving their community ¯ (which itself exists for serving one another in charity) by witness-ing to the incompatibility of chronic poverty with the visible king-dom of God. And the third (which is difficult but must be done) is humbly calling ecclesiastical high-ups to account, even against their resistance, in forums such as the parish and diocesan coun-cils enjoined by Vatican Council II. Review for Religious The fourth practice concerns the religious who have their own sphere of leadership for good and bad. While those in the limelight engage righdy or wrongly in discussion on the religious life of the future, there are a small number, like the Little Sisters and Brothers of Jesus, whose life itself is mostly.their practice of naturally and not optionally'5 accompanying the poor by their.presence among them in their living place, by their solidarity with them in the workplace, by their adoption of the lifestyle of their poor peers, and by their hospitality to the poor and rich which makes both groups feel equal and at ease. In the economy of communion practiced b~" Focolare members, they economize for the purpose of sharing and, of course, socializing with those expe-riencing poverty, misery, and humiliation. Their way has attracted the attention even of gov-ernments. A year ago, for example, a Brazilian parlia-mentary commission made an official visit to their cen-ter in order to learn prac-tices that could help solve poverty problems in their country. Hearing the expe-riences of the Focolare entrepreneurs, they marveled at the con-crete achievements of the economy of communion, achievements that seemed impossible in the current economic context. One of them said: "The economy of communion is an already proven and revolu-tionary alternative. It is a new concept of economy, a new con-cept of wealth."16 The two groups mentioned above do not have any "apostolate" whatever as other congrggations understand the term. While other groups may benefit from the innovative experience of the these two groups, still, to develop their own praxis of involving them-selves in the lives of the poor, there would be no better way than going back to their original sources.~7 For, as a~le, religious con-gregation have always been founded with real bonds with the poor. Another thing that may help various religious congregations is the zealous search for ways to adapt present missions "for the ben- In the economy of communion practiced by Focolare members, they economize for the purpose of sha~ing and, of course, socializing with those experiencing poverty,, misery, and humiliation. January-February 2001 Dominic * " Beyond J'ubilee and Jublilees efit of the poor and for a more just and fraternal world."~s A sure test of this will be making sure that, whatever work they begin, it benefits the poor most, as was surprisingly advocated by Gandhi to the members of his congress party striving for India's freedom. Another thing that may promote right praxis among them is to go back, in the spirit of what Paul and James advocate (1 Co 2:26 and Jm 2:5), to their own personal origins and find how poor indeed they were. For one may wager that most of us hail from families that are middle class, but commonly are lower than mid-dle class or indeed poor, even very poor, not unlike the apostles. There is no better way of concluding all this than what Jesus said to his disciples so poignandy at the Last Supper: "If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them!" (Jn 13:17). Notes t See Rui de Menezes, "The Biblical Jubilee Year," Vidyajyoti Journal 61 (1997): 653. [See also Robert G. North, Biblical Jubilee, after Fifty Years (Rome: Editrice Pontificio Biblico, 2000), a revised edition of his Sociology of the Biblical Jubilee, 1954.--ED.] 2 See The New Jerusalem Bible (NyB) (New York: Doubleday, 1985), note Lv 25a, p. 167. 3 See The New Jerome Biblical Commentary (N'JBC), ed. R.E. Brown et al. (Bangalore: Theological Publications in India, 1991), n. 4:53, p. 78. 4 See Rui de Menezes, "Biblical Jubilee," p. 667, for the reference in Interpreter's Dictionary of the Bible. s See T. Malipurathu, "Contrast Community: Its Meaning and Relevance for our Times," Vidyajyoti Journal 62 (1.998): 606-623, esp. 610-613. 6 It is striking that Ezk 46:7 uses the expression the Year of Liberty to refer to the Year of Jubilee. 7 See the relevant notes on Lk 3:3-14 in Christian Community Bible (Quezon City: Claretian Publications, 1990), p. 123. s See the note Mt 16g in NJB, p.1637, and the note on Ac 2:46 in NyBC, n. 44:28, pp. 734-735. 9 NyBC, n. 44:28, p. 734. ,0 See note Ac 2ffin NyB, p. 1803. n For the translation in the style of the Decalogue, see Rui de Menezes, "Biblical Jubilee," p. 654. 12 Jeyaseelan, "The Poor and the Priest in the Code of Canon Law, I," Vidyajyoti Journal 63 (1999): 924. ~3 See Henri J.M. Nouwen, In the Name of Jesus (London: Darton, Longman, and Todd, 1989), p. xii. Review for Religious 14 AS in Jeyaseelan, "The Poor and the Priest," p. 930. t5 Fausto Gomez suggests that the preferential option for the poor is not simply optional but obligatory. See Jeyaseelan, "The Poor and the Priest," p. 927. 16 Mariapolis (Focolare newsletter), December 1999, p. 14. ~7 See, for example, Decrees of the Thirty-Fourth General Congregation of the Society of Jesus (Anand: Gujarat Sahitya Prakash, 1995, and St. Louis: Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1995), §288. ,s Decrees, §289. The Sun The sun rose At 7:02 a.m.', standard time, the paper told me. The changing silhouettes of peaked boxes transformed into houses sided in pale pink and grays and browns proved it. But no explosion of color ¯ announced the moment, no silent fireworks to wake the sky. Only the quiet finger of God'~ tracing day-gold across the horizon. Suzanne Mayer IHM January-Februaly 2001 JAMES H. KROEGER A Continuing Pentecost: Appreciating "Ecclesia in Asia" "T he church in Asia sings the praises of the 'God of salvation' (Ps 68:20).-" These opening words set the tone of Ecclesia in Asia (hereafter EA), the postsynodal apostolic exhortation promulgated in November 1999: Clearly, themes of gratitude, celebration, and optimism characterize this document. The church sings God's praises for "choosing to initiate his saving plan on Asian soil," for sending "his only-begotten Son, Jesus Christ the Savior, who took flesh as an Asian!" The church sees the "marvel of God's plan in Asia" and exults "in the goodness of the continent's peoples, cultures, and religious vitality" (§1). Pope John Paul II signed the document during his Asian pastoral visit to India (5-8.November 1999). The issuance of EA was the concluding moment of the special assembly for Asia of the Synod of Bishops, popularly known as the Asian Synod. This four-year project of church reflection and renewal began with the publicafon of the Lineamenta (1996), continued with discussion on the Instrumentum Laboris (1998), reached its apex with the month-long synod sessions in Rome (19 April-14 May 1998), and culminated with the proclamation of the postsynodal Ecclesia in Asia James H. Kroeger MM, a Maryknoll Missioner who has served in Asia since 1970 (Philippines and Bangladesh), is currently professor of systematic theology, missiology, and Islamics at Loyola School of Theology in Manila. His article was first published in Landas 13, no. 3 (journal of Loyola School of Theology). His address is Marvknoll; P.O. Box 285, Greenhills Post Office; Metro Manila, Philippine~ 1502. Review for Religqous (6 November 1999). Yes, "Asia-Church" rejoices and unceasingly proclaims God's enduring love! The Asian Synod was a multifaceted event on many levels. As EA notes, "it was indeed a moment of special grace" (§3). It was also "a celebratory remembering of the Asian roots of Christianity" (§4). The synod event became "an ardent affirmation of faith in Jesus Christ the Savior" (§4), and, as the local churches of Asia gathered in Rome, "the synod fathers sought to discern the principal areas of mission for the church in Asia as she crosses the threshold of the new millennium" (§ 18). The synod's theme was much debated and carefully chosen: "Jesus Christ the Savior and his mission of love and service in A~ia: 'That they may have Life and have it abundantly' On 10:10)." AS the pope writes, this particular formulation of the theme was to "illustrate and explain more fully that Christ is the one mediator between God and man and the sole redeemer of the world, to be clearly distinguished from the founders of other great religions" (§2). The theme manifests the chu[ch's faith in Jesus and his mission; he is Savior who serves and bestows abundant life; he is to be.joyfi4.11y proclaimed in Asia. Ecclesia in Asia, a rich, lengthy document, now becomes an important signpost of evangelization for the local churches in Asia in the new millennium. An analysis of EA reveals three major sections or underlying thematics: (I) Asian realities relevant to the church and her mission of evangelization (§§5-9); (2) theological-doctrinal aspects of Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit (§§10-23); (3) The church's mission of love and service in Asia (§§24-49). The main body of EA is framed by an introduction which captures the highlights of the synod process (§§1-4) and a conclusion that expyesse~, the pope's gratitude and encouragement along with a final prayer to Mary, "Mother of Asia" (§§50-51).The entire document is focused on "seeking to discern the Spirit's word to the churches in Asia" (§51). Asian Context Ecclesia in Asia devotes its chapter 1 to the concrete situation of .contemporary ~sia--her r.eligious, cultural, economic, social, political, and historical realities (§§5-9). This inductive approach, characteristic ~)f current Asian theological reflection, mirrors the method and experience of the Federation of Asian Bishops' January-February 2001 Kroeger . A Continuing Pentecost Conferences (FABC). The Asian church accepts that "a critical awareness of the diverse and complex realities of Asia is essential if the people of God on the continent are to respond to God's will for them in the new evangelization" (§5). As EA notes, "Asia is the earth's largest continent and is home to nearly two-thirds of the world's population"; its various peoples are "heirs to ancient cultures, religions, and traditions." One is amazed "at the sheer size of Asia's population and at the intricate mosaic of its many cultures, languages, beliefs, and traditions." Asia is "the cradle of the world's major religions" and "the birthplace of many other spiritual traditions" (§6). Economically, socially, and politically, "situations on the Asian continent are very diverse, defying any simple classification" (§7). EA highlights various concrete pastoral concerns: rapid change, migration, nuclear power, tourism, population growth, poverty, women, and a host of additional challenges. In this complex situation the church's one ambition is to continue Christ's mission of service and love (see §50). Her approach is that of mutual exchange and enrichment; thus, EA confirms "the importance of dialogue as a characteristic mode of the church's life in Asia" (§3). Mother Teresa of Calcutta is proposed as "an icon of the service to life which the church is offering in Asia" because of "her loving and selfless care of the poorest of the poor" (§7). This "chosen" continent of Asia, with all its immensity, diversity, and complexity, holds special meaning for the church. God's only-begotten Son "took flesh as an Asian" (§I); "Behold, the Savior of the world is born to us, born in Asia" (§2). Yes, Asia is unique as "the birthplace of Jesus and of the church" (§5). This church thanks God "for choosing Asia as the earthly dwelling place of his incarnate Son" (§50; see §§2, 9, 20). This unique gift implies a task; the church commits her energies to making Jesus, his gospel of life, and his community the church truly "at home" (inculturated) in Asia and her peoples (§§9, 20). Theological Foundations Three chapters of.EA, focusing on Jesus and the Spirit, describe a type of doctrinal orientation to the church's Asian mission. Yet the manner of presentation is decidedly pastoral; it blends theologies "from below" and "from above." It reads easily, the flow is smooth, and inclusive language is partially employed. Some insights even Review for Religious " enjoy poetic expression: "Contemplating Jesus in his human nature, the peoples of Asia find their deepest questions answered, their hopes fulfilled, their dignity uplifted, and their despair conquered" (§14). The thematic of girl is frequently found in these "theological" chapters. Jesus the Savior is a gift to Asia; this faith-gift is to be both appropriated and proclaimed. "The church's faith in Jesus is a gift received and a gift to be shared; it is the greatest gift which the church can offer to Asia" (§10). "Only if the people of God recognize the gift that is theirs ~n Christ will they be able to communicate that gift to others through proclamation and dialogue" (§31; see §20). The church in Asia must ask itself a probing question: How do we "share with our Asian brothers and sisters what we treasure as the gift containing all gifts, namely, the Good News of Jesus Christ" (§19)? Proclaiming the Christian faith-gift meets unique challenges, particularly in the "multiethnic, multireligious and multicultural situation of Asia" (§21). Asia has its indigenous religions, soteriologies, and savior figures (see §§14, 19, 20). This reality demands a humble, dialogical stance on the part of the church; "proclamation is prompted not by sectarian impulse nor the spirit of proselytism nor any sense of superiority" (§20; see §§4, 31, 46). And yet this genuine respect and reverence for the church's dialogue partners "does not eliminate the need for the explicit proclamation of the gospel in its fullness" (§20; see §31). By her very identity the church is "a community aflame with missionary zeal to make Jesus known, loved, and followed" (§ 19). Affirming the relevance of Jesus for Asia (§§1, 9, 10, 18, 50) demands a particular approach to proclamation. The church "needs to follow a pedagogy which will introduce people step by step to the full appreciation of the mystery." She should employ "narrative methods akin to Asian cultural forms" and follow "an evocative pedagogy, using stories, parables, and symbols so characteristic of Asian methodology in teaching." In a word, the church must "evangelize in a way that appeals to the sensibilities of Asian peoples" (§20). Engaging Asian peoples, their cultures, and their religions (FABC's triple dialogue) demands genuine commitment to inculturation (§§20-23) and interreligious dialogue (§§29-31). Asia is unique as "the birthplace of Jesus and of the church." January-February 2001 Kroeger * ,4 Continuing Pentecost EA asserts that Christology is necessarily integrated with pneumatology as well as Trinitarian faith. It is the "uniqueness of Christ which gives him an absolute and universal significance" (§14); one cannot "separate the activity of the Holy Spirit from that of Jesus the Savior" (§.16). The Holy Spirit, "the prime agent of evangelization" (§17), is "an absolutely vital part of the mystery of Jesus and the salvation which he brings" (§15). Jesus and his Spirit are only adequately comprehended within,the "Trinity's plan of salvation" (§15); there are no two parallel economies of salvation. There are real, complex missiological questions, and the Asian Synod and Ecclesia in Asia attempted to face them. A Missionary Community The longest section of F~ (§§24-49) focuses on the church and her mission in the vast Asian continent. Four discernible themes emerge: church as communion for mission (§§24-28), dialogue (§§29-31), human promotion (§§32-41), and agents of evangelization (§§42-49). EA presents a vision as well as concrete approaches for mission; these emerge from a particular faith stance: "The question is not whether the church has something essential to say to the men and women of our time, but how she can say it clearly and convincingly" (§29). EA recognizes "the pressing need of the local churches in Asia to present the mystery of Christ to their peoples according to their cultural patterns and ways of thinking" (§20). "Communion ecclesiology" finds strong expression in EA. The church is a "privileged place of encounter" between God and people; her first purpose is "to be the sacrament of the inner union of the human person with God." She is also "the sacrament of the unity of the human race." This means that "communion and mission are inseparably connected [and] they interpenetrate and mutually imply each other." Communion is "both the source and fruit of mission." In short, "communion give~ rise to mission and mission is accomplished in communion" (§24). The church in Asia promotes internal communion and participation on many levels: with the successor of Peter, among various sister local churches, dioceses, basic ecclesial communities ("a positive feature Of the church's evangelizing.activity"), renewal movements, the Catholic Eastern churches,, and other. Christian churches (see §§25~2:7). Internal communion emanates outward Review for Religious ¯ toward other groups throughout Asia: the variety of peoples, cultures, and religions with whom the church shares life (§25), churches and peoples in mainland China, North Korea, and the ex- Soviet territories of Asia (§28). Regional and continental associations of bishops that foster communion (for example, FABC) are recognized and praised (§26), but their profound insights are never directly quoted. ¯ .An inherent demand of "communion ecclesiology" is dialogue. This "desire for dialogue . . . is not simply a strategy for peaceful coexistence among peoples; it is an essential part of the church's mission, ¯ . . a veritable vocation for the church" (§29). A particularly helpful section is devoted to interreligious dialogue (§31), seen as % part of the church's evangelizing mission, an expression of the mission adgentes." The advent of the new millennium offers the church "a great opportunity for interreligious dialogue and for meetings with the leaders of the great world religions." Following the lead of Nostra aerate, "the Magna Carta of interreligious dialogue for our times," the church in Asia is called to a double fidelity: to affirm her "belief that the fullness of salvation comes from Christ alone" and to gladly acknowledge "whatever is true and holy in the religious traditions of Buddhism, Hinduism, and Islam as a reflection of that Truth which enlightens all people." Interreligious dialogu~ seeks "mutual advancement [and] the elimination of prejudice, intolerance, and misunderstandings" (§31). Dialogue demands will only increase with passing years. Persons must be formed to have "a mature and convinced Christian faith" that qualifies them "to engage in genuine interreligious dialogue." They need to be "deeply immersed in the mystery of Christ [and] happy in their faith community." The call to dialogue requires the church in Asia "to provide suitable models of interreligious dialogue." In the dialogue endeavor it is imperative "to revitalize prayer and contemplation" and to give witness to "the great Christian traditions of asceticism and mysticism" (§31). The advent of the new millennium offers the church "a great opportunity for interreligious dialogue and for meetings with the leaders of the great world religions." January-Febr~ary 2001 Kroeger ¯ A Continuing Pentecost Chapter 6 treats human promotion and church social teaching. S~iving to build a "civilization of love," the church views all human development not only as a "technical or economic question; it is fundamentally a human and moral question" (§32). An integral, holistic approach to evangelization is employed, encompassing the areas of human dignity (§33), preferential love for the poor (§34), healthcare (§36), education (§37), peacemaking (§38), globalization (§39), foreign debt (§40), and the environment (§41). In these diverse fields the church resists "the culture of death" in accord with her vision of"the gospel of life" (§35). Agents of Evangelization Chapter 7, titled "Witnesses to the Gospel," focuses on the church's missionary identity in Asia. The church strives to be a credible witness because "people today put more trust in witnesses than in teachers, in experience than in teaching, and in life and action than in theories"; in the Asian context "people are more persuaded by holiness of life than by intellectual argument" (§42). EA asserts that it is "a genuinely religious person [who] readily wins respect and a following in Asia" (§23). Gospel witness in Asia needs holy men and women who themselves are "on fire with the love of Christ and burning with zeal to make him known more widely, loved more deeply, and followed more closely." Why? "A fire can only be lit by something that is itself on fire"; Christian witnessing demands "a true missionary spirituality of prayer and contemplation" (§23). Asian peoples, especially the youth, manifest this "deep thirst for spiritual values" (§6). In a word, living Christian mission in Asia incorporates and, in fact, demands "contemplative action and active contemplation" (§23). EA addresses a v.ariety of gospel witnesses: pastors (§43), religious and missionaries (§44), theologians (§22), laypers6ns (§45), families (§46), young people (§47), and those whose apostolate is social communications, "the areopagus of the modern age" (§48). Striking insights are often presented: "People in Asia need to see the clergy not just as charity workers and institutional administrators, but as men whose minds and hearts are set on the deep things of the Spirit" (§43). "The synod fathers were most concerned that the church should be a participatory church in which no one feels excluded, and they judged the wider Review for Religious participation of women in the life and mission of the church in Asia to be an especially pressing need" (§45). The pope encourages and thanks missionaries (§§20, 42, 44, 50), urging "the church in Asia to send forth missionaries, even though she herself needs laborers in the vineyard" (§44). Mission is to be central to each local church; local "missionary societies of apostolic life, characterized by their special commitment to the mission ad genres, ad exteros, and ad vitam" are strongly encouraged (§44). EA calls upon "the great host of Asian martyrs, old and new,. ¯. to teach the church in Asia what it means to bear witness." (§49). Additional Emphases The Asian Synod surfaced crucial questions facing local churches in Asia; EA reflects several of these pastoral and missionary concerns. The question of Jesus' Asianness surfaces in various discussions¯ "Jesus is often perceived as foreign to Asia. It is paradoxical that most Asians tend to regard Jesus--born on Asian soil--as a Western rather than an Asian figure" (§20). "It is indeed a mystery why the Savior of the world, born in Asia, has until now remained largely unknown to the people of the continent" (§2). To address and overcome this reality, the church must open herself to "new and surprising ways in which the face of Jesus might be presented in Asia" (§20). How can Jesus be effectively proclaimed-- bearing an "Asian face"? The subject of religious freedom arises because in various places in Asia "Christians are not allowed to practice their faith freely" (§8); "explicit proclamation is forbidden, and religious freedom is denied or systematically restricted" (§23). Christians are forced "to live their faith in the midst of restrictions or even the total denial of freedom" (§28). Governments are enjoined to "guarantee religious freedom for all their citizens" (§28), assure "immunity from coercion" (§23) in religious matters, and recognize "the right to freedom of conscience and religion and the other basic human rights" (§34). Analysis and comparison between the content of EA and the decades of pastoral reflection by Asian bishops (FABC) reveals many similarities. 'Since 1974, in its document "Evangelization in Modern-Day Asia," the FABC has promoted the local church's triple dialogue with Asia's peoples, cultures, and religions; this vision is January-Februat.~ 2001 Kroeger * A Continuing Pentecost Inculturation received much attention during the synod. repeatedly found in F~ (see §§1, 15, 18,.20, 21, 24). Again, the FABC pastoral priorities enunciated over the years, particularly the focus on the family, women and the girl-child, youth, ecology, and the displaced (see FABC VI:lS) are also highlighted by ~ (§~34, 37, 41, 46, 47). FABC itself is mentioned (§§2, 3, 26, 31), though none of its fine work is directly quoted or even noted in the copious endnotes. The theme of inculturation received much attention during the synod, and certain particular areas were identified as requiring concentrated focus: "theological reflection, liturgy, the formation of priests and religious, eatechesis, and spirituality" (§21). Central to inculturating the faith is the biblical word, the message of salvation, the sacred text; Sacred Scripture is proposed as ."the basis for all missionary proclamation, catechesis, preaching, and styles of spirituality" (§22). One may inquire about criteria for authentic inculturation; ,EA notes: "The test of true inculturation is whether people become more committed to their Christian faith because they perceive it more clearly with the eyes of their own culture" (§22). The Christian virtue of compassion repeatedly surfaces in Ed (for example, §§11, 12, 14, 20, 45, 51). The apostolic exhortation is correct in expressing the church's mission.in terms of this appealing focus. Presenting Jesus as "the compassionate friend of the poor" (§20) will find a resonance and reception among Asians. In the ' church's mission of love and service, women evangelizers contribute greatly "to bringing the compassionate Jesus, the healer and reconciler, to Asian people, especially the poor and marginalized" (§45). Jesus, the God-man, was "close to the poor, the forgotten, and the lowly"; "he wept for a dead friend [and] welcomed children"; "divine compassion had never been so immediately accessible" (§11). As the church in Asia enters the new millennium, she faces some demanding challenges. EA highlights some importfint apostolates: women (§§7, 34, 45), you.th (§§6, 47.), nuclear power (§§7, 38), peace~naking and reconciliation (§38), globalization (§39), foreign debt (§40), and the environment (§41). The authenticity of the church's "mission of service and love" (§50) will indeed be Review for Religious tested; will it produce "a great harvest of faith . in this vast and vital continent" (§1) of Asia? Gratitude and Optimism Ecclesia in Asia concludes as it began on a clear note of optimism and gratitude. "Blessed be God for the peoples of Asia, so rich in their diversity yet one in their yearning for peace and fullness of life" (§50). With committed faith, "the church in Asia joyfully makes her pilgrim way into the third millennium" (§50). "Mary, model of all disciples and I~right star of evangelization, . . . look tenderly upon the church of your Son planted on Asian soil. ¯ O Mary, mother of the New Creation and mother of Asia, pray for us, your children, now and always!" (§51). In this m6od of gratitude and optimism, the local churches of Asia accept the Holy Father's gift: Ecclesia in ~sia. Its contents are a mixture of the old and the new (see Mt 13:52), a summation of Asian.reflection and insights in the Vatican II era, a presentation of the missionoagenda for Asia's faith communities, a program for evangelization iri the new millennium. All in all, EA is a much-appreciated gift. Its treasures need opening in the coming years and decades; its dream for the church--God's holy people--beckons implementation; its theme--abundant life in Jesus the Savior-- requires contemplative action. Yes, Jesus' Asian disciples affirm that the Holy 'Spirit, who moved upon Asia in times past, "moves now among Asian Christians, strengthening the witness of their faith among the peoples, cultures, and religions of the continent" (§ 18). Contemplating God's salvific deeds and wonders during the Easter Vigil liturgy, the universal chh~ch proclaims in the Exsultet: "Rejoice, O Mother Church!" In similar fashion, th~ local churches in Asia' acclaim 'God's marvels in theirmidst; they joyfully affirm the Asian Synod event as a "celebratory remembering of the Asian roots of Christianity" (§4). They pray that the proclarriation and subsequent internalization of Ecclesia in Asia will confirm the church in her servant mission to bring Christ's love and abundant life On 10:10) to Asia and her peoples. Rejoice, O Asia-Church! .~anua~y-February 2001 vocation PHILIP ARMSTRONG Who Is a Brother? I am not sure the title should ask who. Maybe it should ask: What is a brother? People have been trying to frame an unambiguous answer for ages, and in the meantime new applications of the word brother have compounded the issue. My interest is to define, as best I can, that rare creature in the Roman Catholic Church known as a religious brother. What does the ordinary word brother usually mean today? Looking at that may help us comprehend ,similarities and differences of the term as applied to men who, by the vows of poverty, celibacy, and obedience, commit themselves to what is commonly called religious life. What Is a Brother? Male siblings of the same parents are called brothers. People's close friends who are male are' sometimes compared to a brother: "He's like a brother to me." Sometimes males call one another brother when they do not know the other's name but feel some affinity toward him. The Great Depression is characterized by one of its slogans, "Brother, can you spare a dime?" In some seminary programs a man is addressed as Philip Armstrong CSC, of the Brothers of Holy Cross, wrote on mission and the vows for our September 2000 issue. His address remains P.O. Box 460; Notre Dame, Indiana 46556. Review for Religious Brother, or its Latin form Frater, when he has achieved a certain level of preparation for the ordained priesthood. This use of the term creates confusion over lay/clerical identity. Volunteer organizations may use the term brother in identifying a mentoring relationship between a man and a boy, as in "Big Brothers." African Americans use the term brother to identify males of their race, using the word to indicate the relationship existing by reason of their common African origin and the consequent bonds that solidify them in matters of importance: "One of the brothers sold his house and moved." Some small religious denominations, particularly the more evangelical or those built on sociocultural ties, refer to any male fellow believer as Brother. "Next Sunday Brother Anderson will pass the plate at our service." In the Bible, Jesus uses brother to signify equality among people: "If you are bringing a gift to the altar and remember that your brother has anything against you . " Peter asks, "How often must I forgive my brother?" The terms brother and sister are used generically by church-related personnel in addressing members of the congregation: "My brothers and sisters in Christ." The common thread through all these uses may help us understand, too, why some dedicated men within the Catholic Church are called brothers. There is interpersonal relationship and open trust not based on kinship. The others have the same values, have similar goals, and use the same general methods to achieve their goals. This intangible affinity among brothers (or sisters) does not rely on blood ties yet depends on that relationship to provide a name for this closeness. The substance of such a relationship is: "That man accepts me, confronts me, counsels me, helps me as if I were his own brother." The image of the Good Samaritan comes to mind. Jesus' way of relating with men and women, whether they were righteous or sinful, offers many examples of what it means to be a brother to someone. Simply put, a brother is a man who at all times acts ds a blood brother would act. The Brother in the Church How did the term brother for a vowed religious in the Roman Catholic Church originally surface? Quite likely it arose from relationships in blood families: father, mother, brother, sister. The picture.would include the fact that few were educated as we define education, with those who possessed some "book knowledge" being Janltary-Februaly 2001 Armstron~ ¯ Who Is a Brother? considered natural counselors and mediators. Those representing the people before God and using their knowledge to help them understand and practice their faith could reasonably be called Father, because providing for his family and counseling them are importan~ tasks of the father of a family. Those exercising positions of leadership in communities of vowed women could be called Mother. Those who followed the lead of these fathers or mothers, who assisted; who undertook to fulfill the tasks related to the group's ministries, were called sisters or brothers. Over the years men religious who did not feel called to priesthood, but who assisted clerics in their ministry of preaching, teaching, or sacramental service, were called brothers--like male siblings helping their father do the work of a family farm or business. Help.ers somewhat behind the scenes, they were generally less-educated men doing the more hidden or more mundane and practical tasks connected with the priests' mission of sacred mediation and of education. In time brothers became in people's minds the "hewers of wood and the drawers of water" whose silent and nearly invisible presence was invaluable, essential, though largely taken for granted by the clergy and laity alike. By rule these men remained politically sequestered within their congregations, ha~ing no voice in choosing their leaders and not eligible to become leaders themselves. They prayed much, often apart from their clerical confreres, who in cloister or corridor would pass them by like supportive, exemplary specters. After the social and cultural disruption of the French Revolution, many groups of nonordained but vowed men religious sprang up through the initiative of bishops and parish priests who were in a position to support the development: These apostolic religious were to educate the untutored youth being lost to the church. In contrast to earlier brothers, these men were at least minimally educated and were dedicated to a professional life similar to that of the ordained. For more than a century such groups were formed, and their members went wherever there was a cry for Catholic education, even beyond the borders of their native lands. These became more known to stciety" at large, if not muct~ more visible, by their focus on schools . A concurrent reality that did no favors to many groups of brothers was their unwitting and unplanned gravitation toward ~an identity more clerical than lay. Many brothers, whether as members of laycongregations or as an arm of a clerical community, dressed Review for Religious like clerics and carried out ministries supportive of clerical min-istries. These brothers, nearly indistinguishable from priests, were extended the rights and privileges that a Christian society accorded the priesthood. As a result, a mindset developed among the brothers out of which they identified themselves more with their clerical associate~ than with the laity. It was the laity, though, from a strictly ecclesial perspective, (o whom brothers in fact related more closely. True, they were indeed set apart from the laity by their vowed commitment within a particular congregation approved by Rome. But their external, visible ministries did nothing to project a specific image of brother as distinct from the clerical, patriarchal image they had lived With for so long. "The Terrible Twos" of a Century After World War II and Vatican Council II, both productive of cultural and social upheaval (in a way, the century's "terrible twos"), all vowed religious were challenged to reassess how faithfully their founding purpose and their ministries responded to the newly emerging needs of both church and society and to renew and adapt accordingly. As communities they were to open themselves to the "signs of the times" that hinted at potentially diverging directions in life and mission for vowed religious. Congregations of brothers and mixed congregations (clerics and significant numbers of brothers) found themselves affected by the momentous challenges put before them by the church. Many members departed, fewer young men joined the community, and those who remained grew older, began retiring, and soon were dying unreplaced. These realities were running parallel to the clear and urgent call issued by the Vatican Council to the laity to exert by right a more prominent and active role in the church. Education was one of the first areas affected. As the numbers of brothers declined at a pace impossible to retard, lay people began to fill their places in schools. Along with their declining numbers and increasing age, brothers were suddenly challenged on the level of their profession as teachers and administrators even while they and others were waking to the fact they are not clerics. For brothers the question of the day became: Well, then, who are we, and what is our proper role now in the church and the world? Answers have not come quickly or easily, and some would argue they have not yet come at all. [---3~3-~- January-Februa~. 2001 Armstrong * WlTo Is a Brother? Immense energy has been expended reflecting on, discussing, and determining the identity of the brother for the church today. Some of that energy may have seeped over into trying to determine the brother's role in church and society. In neither case, however, does there appear to be widespread satisfaction with the results, and many retain a confused and hazy notion of the brotherhood as a way of life in the church. It does not help that some of the least informed and articulate on the matter are found among bishops and priests. Worse yet, many brothers cannot adequately define their own identity. The foundations have crumbled on which some based their sense of self-definition. What will it take to pour new and indestructible footings? A Beginning Perhaps a judicious mix of the old and the new is the best place to begin forming a relevant and appropriate definition of a brother in today's church and world. Retaining acknowledged and presumably nonnegotiable hallmarks of the brother's state of life, but blending and refining them in the crucible of postmodern experience, intuition, and prayerful discernment, one might descriptively define a brother somethii~g like this: A brother is a lay religious ¯ committed to living a common life ¯ and consecrated, by public profession of the vows of religion, ¯ to witnessing to the presence of God in his life and in the world. ¯ He reveals his identity more by example than explanation, ¯ more by doing than defining. ¯ In short, he relates and acts like a brother, ¯ to the exclusion of no one.¯ As an equal, ¯ and as supported by like-minded associates in community, ¯ he is free to respond in a variety of practical ways, ¯ living and working fraternally with others ¯ in promoting and preserving human dignity and justice ¯ through his prophetic stance ¯ and professional expertise. The nonnegotiables of this definition consist in identification more with the laity than w~th the clergy;living in community; publicly professing the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience; standing as prophetic witnesses to gospel vaiues; and reaching out in service to others. The postmodern experiential components are: more emphasis on a bold and perceptible expression of what being a brother means from the inside; a clear sense of reaching out to others in need as "brothering" them as a blood brother would; serving others out of a conviction of universal human equality under God; openness to the Review for Religious many forms of ministry to which brothers are free to respond by reason of being unrestrained by the ecclesiastical and cultural expectations imposed on ordained ministers; and, within community parameters, rightly seeking and achieving professional expertise in fields of interest and competence. Postmodern? Experiential? Is this more verbal gimmickry, or do these concepts add something substantial to the recipe for today's brother in the church and the world? I believe that both terms are appropriate and relevant. Postmodern is a term used by historians, sociologists, and anthropologists to refer generally to the period following the lengthy modern era that began in the 1500s and ended in the 1960s with the cultural revolution we in the United States tend to associate with events such as the Vietnam war and anti-establishment protests and also with Vatican II and its aftermath. There is no question that the events and the changed moods and understandings of the final four decades of the 20th century have had an immense impact on religious life, some of it distressingly disruptive, some creatively challenging. Experiential surely applies by reason of the mandate of Vatican II's document Perfectae caritatis and the Norms addressed to religious communities asking them to adapt and update their constitutions and rules as necessary, almost literally "refounding" their congregations. Experimentation through changing or discarding certain anomalous or anachronistic disciplinary elements in religious life was to be permitted for a reasonable time, normally eight to twelve years. The religious garb fell under this category, as did the daily schedule, areas and modes of accountability, the exercise of authority, forms and styles of prayer, and so forth. This experimentation was meant to contribute to a newly framed definition of each congregation's giftedness for today's church. Brothers who persevered in the religious life during these years had to respond creatively to the challenges of the day just to remain faithful to themselves as persons, let alone as religious in community. They were challenged to become more observant of evolving needs in the church and society and to search for w. ays to place their congregation's talents and resoui'ces at the disposal of Many brothers cannot adequately define their own identity. January-February 2001 Armstrong * Who Is a Brother? the church. And they, some for the first time, had to go about this discernment out of a conscious acknowledgment that they were definitely not clerics. Still, if the brothers were not clerics, then who were they? Somewhat as the Christian adolescent needs at some point to confront the faith infused through infant baptism, the postmodern religious brother has had to deal with whatever motivated his entering religious life years ago. It has been a true moment of conversion for him, a fresh confirmation of the validity of his choice of a way of life. Without this process a new sense of identity leading to broader availability would have been impossible for him. Most religious have found this exercise challenging and regenerating, reminding them that they had in fact committed themselves first and foremost not to a structure, not to a profession, not to any particular members within the organization, but to God. Whatever permutations were introduced into the externals over the years, the substantial reality has remained immutably in place, and that is enough. But simply defining one's identity is not enough. Unless conviction and a comfortable acceptance of what it means to be a brother are internalized, there is little hope of either acquiring or cultivating the openness necessary for finding new and challenging directions in mission and ministry, for living community, or for attracting others to embrace the same way of life. What Will It Take? Let me personalize this conversion experience even further, because for each individual brother identity is a matter of deep concern. Unless I can perceive myself as a valid, needed, and effective player of a unique role among many roles in the church, I cannot muster and sustain the conviction that will provide the energy I require both to pursue my way of life and to face the exigencies it inevitably entails. As essential as this perception is, it alone cannot support my efforts. Unless the church, both in its hierarchy and in its wider membership, can be convinced that the brothers' way of life is important for the church and the world, I by myself will be able to do little except go about my daily ministry and life in community in the vague hope that the witness I give to the world is somehow being diffused like a healthy mist settling on persons, places, and Review for Religious events near or far. I could not do this alone. I need help from within the church. Yet, if appropriate authority at even the highest levels is struggling to understand the identity and role of the brother in the church today, from what source will the definition come? Who is the "credible authority" that will provide it? The answer is simple: the brother himself. Why not? We brothers may for the most part not be trained theologians or men steeped in the history and development of the church, the sacraments, and ecclesiastical discipline, but we have a lifetime of experience being brothers that should count for something. We have evolved together with our vocational call, responding to challenges along the way that have forced us to question our identity, or purpose, and our reason for remaining brothers. Our prayer life, presumably "alive and active over the years, has kept us in touch with the One to whose call we have responded daily, and the resulting relationship has, we would hope, matured to the point where we can be at ease with our interpretation not only of who we are as brothers, but of how each of us is personally a witness to the reign of God. why should we not define our own identity and offer it to the institutional church as a valid and authentic interpretation, indeed as a gift? We should--and until we do we will continue to mill about, lost, confused, an.d impotent, within vague definitions of prophetic witness and ministerial service in the church. Until we are perceived by others as relevant and competent and are accepted as equal players on the field of evangelization, we will constitute a "loose cannon" threat to the ecclesiastical bureaucracy and receive little support or affirmation, nor will young men be encouraged who may be considering the lay religious life as a desirable option for their own futures. Why should we not define our own identity and offer it to the institutional church as a valid and authentic interpretation, indeed as a gift ? A Corporate Effort Beyond the effort each brother must exert to clari~ for himself what it means today to be a brother and to fashion a revived sense of January-February 2001 Armstrong * Who Is a Brother? mission based on renewed identity, there remains, I suggest, a need for a corporate endeavor among all brothers to invite, support, and help implement a new era, a "second coming," for men in the lay religious life. Even then it is not brothers alone who must feel responsible for resurrecting both awareness of and interest in the brotherhood. In the Vatican, in the hierarchy of bishops, priests, and deacons, and in the lay membership of the church, a fresh attempt must be made to bring about a renewed understanding of the vital role brothers play in the church as an institution and as the community known as the people of God. Because the truly authentic essence of brotherhood in religious life has to be articulated by brothers, it is they who must be the primary educators, as historically they have been in their numbers since the foundation of their congregations. Ready teachers, of course, must encounter willing students or the lesson will go unlearned and unappreciated, leaving the church and the world the poorer for it. And so brothers must seek and gain the confidence of church authority through their expertise in theologizing about and articulating the experiential essence of the lay religious life. This aim can be achieved through two practical steps. First, the theological reflection, even if informally undertaken, must unfold in a deliberate and orderly manner. Second, a path must be opened, a clear and smooth thoroughfare of effective communication between brothers and the rest of the church. To accomplish .this, good public relations will be required, for brothers have such a history of invisibility and silence that any change, if it attracts attention at all, will tend to create or exacerbate confusion in people, if not suspicion. Brothers must learn how to harness modern communication technologies and get assistance from the media, because the teachers will be implementing the most important lesson plan they have ever devised. Meanwhile. Meanwhile, brothers must continue preparing for their vocational parousia through personal effort at educating themselves to the point of absolute confidence and conviction. Nothing less will succeed in reeducating the church, let alone the world, as to the gift the lay religious life for men is now and can be to the whole of humankind. Out of what definition ought brothers to operate in the Review for Religion, s meantime? I suggest, once again, that the italic passage above on page 34 constitutes a solid working definition, one that incorporates both nonnegotiable expectations of male lay religious and elements that seem essential in a postmodern world. O~r own experience as brothers has confirmed the validity of the definition. Let us at the very least seize its substance and begin the task of refining and developing it. The task is immense and will require every bit of our faith and hope--and our perseverance. Were it not for the One who is author of our faith and our hope and who inspires us to persevere, we would find ourselves in the nearly untenable position of expecting to increase understanding of and enthusiasm for a kind of religious witness and ministry that relates directly to neither the clergy nor the laity. Happily, the God who created the world itself and made life increase and multiply can create new little worlds within it that can grow in understanding and age and grace. It is that possibility in which we place our greatest hope, and it is that God to whom we look for its realization. Postseason Christmas is dismantled again, syncopated lights from shaggy tree transported to basement. It's time to mine the darkness of these shrunken days for fire-feeding coal , and to scan the night skies, each quadrant strung with twinkling lights stretching Christmas hope across the long winter coming. Patricia Schaapp ~M .~anuary-February 2001 DONALD MACDONALD Vocational Being d note about the cleaning and restoration of Sandro Botticelli's Virgin Adoring the Sleeping Christ Child gives an account of the artist, his painting, and its restoration. "[Now we can see] Botticelli's purity of form and color ideally suited to its subject. It is this perfect union of means and meaning that makes the painting so powerful."' To speak of "this perfect union of means and meaning" is superlative praise. In most human endeavor there is a gap between means and. meaning. Achievement hardly ever matches the intention. Brush strokes on canvas, notes from a cello, lines on a page, the lie of a golf ball--rarely do means and meaning synchronize to a person's satisfacfon. Environment and Faith From the perspective of art appreciation, Botticelli is said to have done justice to his subject and himself to an incomparable degree. The power of his painting confirms this, If the union of means and meaning reached such perfection from the artist's view-point, what might be said of his achievement from the perspec-tive of a viewer's faith? What if I, the viewer, adore Christ now in our Lady's company, aware that to paint Christ and the kneeling Virgin does not just capture an abstract ideal, but real people, liv-ing still, to whom I can relate? With dynamic faith I the viewer can be drawn into (not just to) the scene as an integral part of a present Donald Macdonald SMM continues writing about aspects of the reli-gious vocation. His address is Montfort House; Darnley Road; Barrhead, Glasgow; G78 1TA Scodand, U.IC Revie~ for Religious reality. By faith I am at one with the meaning in a way I could never hope to be with just the painter's means. "The purity of form and color ideally suited to its subject" invites and challenges my faith to express itself in reflective ado-ration. The painting directs me to consider what is within me from the viewpoint of faith. The gap between means and meaning is then evident, but so is the inspiration to adore from the center of my being. The beauty of the picture has aesthetic appeal and more, showing what might be if I were fully alert to the wonder of an incarnational faith. I, too, can do what Mary does now, for I am one with her in Christ through baptism. A growing symmetry between means and meaning results in an integrated life. "The beauty of wonder caught in Botticelli's Adoration of the Virgin, reflects what is really there. It may have spectacular appeal to the imagination, but it is not imaginary. Glimpsing this wonder and trying to answer its challenge may suggest consecrated reli-gious life. Do I need to give myself radically, as did Mary, before its wonder compels adoration? Before I adore I must first see and be taken out of myself. This means that I should take note of the environment and any clutter which inhibits insight. Only then can I see what means I have at hand by which I can pursue meaning expressed in adoration. It is neither negative nor defeatist to see in the environment much that is harmful to a life of disciplined faith. The concern for God and neighbor through which authentic faith finds mean-ing lags behind other priorities. Where the current media do not ridicule or dismiss faith, they may actively oppose it whenever they feel threatened by a lived and living faith. There are then no Marquis of Queensberry Rules to govern the fight, and writers, editors, and producers know it. In its many forms--radio, film, TV, internet, print--the media cross continents. Cherished, prac-tical values are often trivialized, and the absence of reticence often coarsens what should be held in great respect. Skillful contempo-rary presentations and inveterate noise may deaden an individual's capacity to respond in wonder to the worldview seen in the Gospels and in Botticelli. Many media movers and shakers "dirty the flower with muddy hands" whenever spiritual or religious values appear on their horizons. A contemporary illustration of this is in a national newspaper correspondent's account of the presentation in London of the Sony Gold Awards for radio broadcasting. "IX] won the music presen- January-February 2001 Macdonald ¯ Vocational Being tation award . By the time he had finished his acceptance speech, he had made half the Great Room of the Grosvenor House long, if not for the grave, then at least for the cool embrace of silence. It wasn't just that he swore. Many people who stepped up that night to receive their awards displayed scan( knowledge of any noun or verb longer than four letters. The effing and blinding was ferocious, the badinage it embellished was desperate . I have sel-dom sat so long and celebrated so little."2 This is not from some drinking den after hours or some adolescent playground, but from a prestigious hotel in a capital city, sponsored by an international company. These are the winners, not the losers, evidendy cocooned in their pei'sonal world, free to pursue their own agendas regard-less of others' feelings. Obviously they succeed, with prizes to prove it. Such behavior coarsens whatever it gets near. The name Jesus Christ in that company is invariably an expletive or a joke. Many feed on that diet and develop a taste for it, and so lack the nour-ishment to grow in Christ. This is a major reason for lack of reli-gious practice generally and for the small number of persons willing to commit themselves to a life of religious consecration. Also, it is something I need to consider if I am to find the means to give myself in adoration through the perspective of faith. How much of this has a claim on me? The evidence of hearing, if I am blessed with it, is that contemporary care to be "politically correct" in speech goes hand in hand with a massive rise in offensive lan-guage, not least among the educated. The coarsening of sensibil-ity by elements of the media makes it harder to find and faithfully use the means to achieve mature meaning as the gospel would have us do. Where no one seems to care, it is no surprise to find that many are careless. I am not made.of stone--how much have I succumbed to this environment? Necessary Means Living in such an environment, I need something practical that can help me maintain a Christian perspective, both encour-aging me and challenging me. IfI have that "something," I have a means for pursuing meaning, the fullness of which, for religious liv-ing, is adoration that engages my whole being. Several practical suggestions could be made, but assimilating Scripture is one that can help, both in judging society and guiding Review for Religious me through it. Scripture, after all, is the accumulated experience of people trying to relate their society to God. More particularly, it was largely the original inspiration behind monastic and reli-gious life. Monastic life began as a statement about contemporary society and the primacy of God. It has been said that God is either 6f sole concern or of no concern. After hearing Scripture speak and then seeing that many contemporary values either opposed or limited the freedom of faith, many persons became aware that they had to cut the cable between themselves and society. Writing of the origin of monastic life in the 4th century, a commentator notes that "what is utterly clear., is the pulsing life the sacred texts give to the daily existence of the early monks. ¯ They serve as a basic frame of reference . In. memorization, rumination, and medita-tion of Scripture, words penetrated the deepest recesses of the soul and created ne~v possibilities and challenges.''3 The Spirit who so energized the word that it came ablaze with meaning and inspiration for those pioneers can do as much for me now if I do some "humble loving listening to him who speaks. It is in fact by the light and with the strength of the word of God that my own vocation can be discovered and understood, loved, and followed and my own mis-sion carried out. So true is this that the person's entire existence finds its unifying and radical meaning in being the terminus of God's word.''4 This is a colossal claim for Scripture, namely, that all strands of life can be brought together, and meaning can be recognized at the depth of my being, if only I am attuned to Scripture. The claim is for ontological meaning in my being's depths. This guar-antees a fusion of means and meaning. Scripture is a superb coun-terweight to much in current society which could keep me from God. As the light of the word slowly dawns, adoration may well be my being's basic response. Perhaps never before in the history of the church has Scripture been available to so many. The means of communication undoubt-edly facilitate this, but this does not mean that, with the media present everywhere, the Christian message is too. In my wide experience of monastic and religious life, home and abroad, for thirty years, I have yet to be convinced that this is so. To what Where no one seems to care, it is no surprise to find that many are careless. .~anuary-February 2001 MacdonhM ¯ Vocational Being 442 degree can we speak of "the pulsing life of the sacred texts" influ-encing consecrated.life generally? How many understand what it is to be "a terminus of the word of God"? I have never forgotten Protestant scholar Frederick C. Grant's comment in 1966 on Dei Verbum, the Vatican Council's Constitution on Divine Revelation: "Why not tell people what joyful discoveries lie before them in the Scriptures, what feasts of learning, what inspiration and encouragement, what sound teach-ing, what help in facing the problems and frustrations of life? As the prophet shouted, 'Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and he who has no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price'" (Is 55:1).s How many individually or collectively "shout" or reflect such enthusi-asm from personal conviction? Here is a superb means to assimi-late meaning, but how many habitually make it their own? Grant's approach may yet be rather new to us. It may take generations before Scripture is sufficiently bedded down among us to produce such results. Scholarship, excellent at the highest level, has perhaps not found a way of enlightening us. Source criticism, form criticism, redaction criticism, reader-response, structural lin-guistics, and so forth make an ever lengthening list; and so people nibble among the commentators and do not get round to assimi-lating the text. In a sad comment on his university studies, a priest spoke of "the acid rain of biblical criticism" and its effect on him vis-a-vis our Lord. If I am hooked already on Scripture and well know what Grant experienced, then current biblical commentaries and journals can help me. Regrettably, though, many of these scholarly materials seem to lack the warmth that could come from a community's fervently.shared faith; they seem not to reflect the wondrous joy that our risen Lord brought to the early church. Has any English writer, for example, during the past twenty years or so, been so fascinated withSt. Paul (man and writer) as to claim failure to do him justice if Paul does not leap from his pages and invade the reader's imagination? This is Richard Holmes's purpose in a superb biography of the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge. He wants Coleridge's voice to be heard and to domi-nate the book. (His own edition of Coleridge's poetry functioned as ~a controlling influence on the biography.) Holmes serves the poet far better than any Christian writer has served--unless I missed it--St. Paul. In the seminary, not uncommonly, Paul is approached as an Review for Religqous intellectual problem, and the student is made to jump hurdles, to no very clear purpose. Scholars give the impression of seeing Paul as a maverick, like an unconventional student the disapproving examiner never knows how to place: "He is here to be examined, and clearly is not quite one of us!" This is a pity. (Bonhoeffer believed, incidentally, that the Sermon on the Mount could never be lived in a university context.) Paul is, of course, larger than any one pen can capture, but, rooted in Christ and in people and in his own evident humanity, his experi-ence is a genuine way of fusing both means and meaning in an authentically consecrated life. No one seeking inspiration in Scripture need read a line of St. Paul. The Law, the Prophets, and the rest of the Old Testament spread a lavish table. In the Synoptics, the sharp observation to be found in a saying of Christ or in a parable can open up much to me, as can pondering the weight of wonder of a phrase of Christ in John's Gospel. One needs only to experience them to feel their power, to bring means and meaning together. Whatever the form of prayer, wonder in the presence of Who is there is the underlying dynamic. Adoration There can be no one way or best way 'of being a religious. There are presumably as many ways to God as there are human beings called to him. But, as I have suggested, if we need to adore the gift of God in Christ from the core of our being, then we have found meaning. Taken out of myself by what I glimpse in faith, I respond in adoration as well as I can with all that is in me. Much in contemporary society obscures this glimpse, but Scripture can be a countervailing practical means to realize meaning. The church and monastic and religious life have for centuries found their deep-est reality through the Gospels. To adore, I need only to see in faith; then, following the rhythm of my breathing, I give myself to God giving himself to me. This is true, whatever the situation or however I feel. I always return to, though actually I never leave, that center. My being is engaged. The insight is increasingly more simple. Whatever the form of prayer (sacramental, liturgical, community, or individual), ~anuary-Februa~. 2001 Macdonald * Vocational Being wonder in the presence of Who is there is the underlying dynamic. Whatever is said, sung, or signed expresses this. Far from making me a maverick on the edge of a group, adoration invites me to be at one with the church in the worship of Christ. If habitual adoration underlies all I do, I can give myself faith-fully to whatever the present moment asks of me, yet not be taken over by it, since my identity does not depend on what I do or where I am. There is always, in faith, another dimension to real-ity not limited to the frame of circumstance. I function at a sim-ple level, trying t6 be at one with God's will, which, of course, is the purpose of monastic or religious life. In attempting this, I approximate the purity of line and color by which the painter real-izes his meaning. Whatever I am engaged in and whoever is with me, insofar as I adore I can recognize the gift of God and who it is speaking to me. Then, as John's Gospel promises, I can tap into a rich stream. On the other hand, pastoral plans, catechetical pro-grams, and personal apostolates are channels that may be awash by turns with limpid idealism or murky disillusion. If I invest in them, my "salvation" depends on,their success or failure; but, if I give myself to them in the light of adoration, I will receive both pru-dence and courage to persevere faithfully far from the criterion of "what's in it for me." Risen Lord I can summarize these reflections, perhaps, with a comment from M.R. Vincent's preface to his Commentary on St. Paul's Letter to the Philippians. More than one hundred years ago he indicated what might be found in a letter written from prison nineteen hun-dred years earlier. His words are relevant today: "While the char-acter of the epistle is ethical . . . it gives no countenance to resolving the gospel into a mere code of morals. The moral inspi-ration which it represents has its impelling center in a person and a life, not in a code. The personal Christ is its very heart. It exhibits Christ in Paul rather than before him. Christ is not a subject of controversy; he is not simply a pattern of conduct. He is the sum of Paul's life. Th~ view of the resurrection which this letter pre-sents is a standing rebuke to the superficial conception and loose grasp which the church too often brings to that truth. The resur-rection of the.Lord is to Paul a present informing energy and not only a recovery anda hope. He would know the power of the res- Review for Religious urrection now and here as well as hereafter. He not only lives according to Christ's life; he lives it I.n. Christ he is in the sphere of infinite possibilities.''6 Here surely is the fusion of means and meaning. As Paul keeps growing, by Christ's life, into Christ, he breaks out of prison in a letter of encouragement, alive with the light of his risen Lord. Not death itself, the ultimate in defeat and separation, can come between him and his risen Lord, who is for him "a present inform-ing energy and not only a recovery and a hope." The stance of adoration is not that of the self-made individual over against the universe, with a supporting cast of witless nobodies lost on the plains below. Life has "its impelling center in a person and a life" and therefore takes meaning from our once crucified and now risen Lord. In Christ I am lost in the wonder of it all, a new creation in view of whom I see and what I am given moment by moment from before time began. Literally, it beggars description. The silence of adoration, as it deepens, is eloquent though inadequate response. Held by the prese~nce of my risen Lord in every situation not excluding death, I too believe that in Christ I am in the sphere of infinite possibilities. He it is who gives meaning to life. Insofar as I allow him to make me his, I live to some purpose and try to express this in what I do. Assimilating Scripture is a superb means toward such maturity. Speechless adoration from the core of my being may become habitual, in view of the wondrousness of the One I am graced to see. I have not the means to ~:eplicate Botticelli's Adoring Virgin and Child on canvas, but from the per-spective of faith I am awash in that same wonder. Notes ~ National Gallery of Scotland, Edinburgh, 2000. 2 Gillian Reynolds, The Daily Telegraph, London, 9 May 2000. 3 Douglas Burton-Christie, The Word in the Desert: Scripture and the Quest for Holiness in Early Christian Monasticism (Oxford University Press, 1993), pp. 298-299. 4 John Paul II, Pastores dabo ~obis (On the Formation of Priests in the Circumstances of the Present Day), 25 March 1992, §47. s Walter M. Abbott SJ, ed., The Documents of Vatican H (Chapman, 1966), pp. 130-131. 6 M.R. Vincent, Critical and Exegetical CommentaTy on the Ep#tles to the Pbilippians and to Philemon (Edinburgh: T. and T. Clark, 1897). January-February 2001 MARY ANNE FOLEY Spirituality for Mission: Marguerite Bourgeoys and ¯the Ignatian Tradition spiritual legacy In the 16th century the Society of Jesus represented an innovation in consecrated life for men, differing in struc-ture and aim from both monastic and mendicant forms and supported by Ignatius's approach to contemplation and action. Ignatian spirituality appealed also to women seeking a life of service outside the cloister, and Jesuit influence is apparent in the formation of women's com-munities as varied as the Institute of the Blessed Virgin Mary and the Sisters of St. Joseph in the 17th century and the Religious of the Sacred Heart in the 19th. By contrast, when Marguerite Bourgeoys (1620- 1700) was founding the Congregation de Notre-Dame de Montreal in the latter part of the 17th century, her closest collaborators were not Jesuits; they were Sulpicians, other diocesan priests, and women like Madame de Miramion who were forming similar com'- munities. As a result the congregation is usually seen as a product of the so-called French school of spirituality? Mary Anne Foley CND, who discussed women's commu-nities in our July-August 2000 issue, wrote this article.for the 300th anniversary of the death of Marguerite Bourgeoys. After translation by E Richer, it first appeared as "Spiritualitfi pour la mission: Marguerite Bourgeoys et la tradition ignatienne" in Cahiers de spiritualit~ ignatienne (April-June 2000, pp. 79-91). Her address is University of Scranton; Scranton, Pennsylvania 18510. Review for Religious The congregation's spirituality, however, as seen in the writings of its foundress, reveals considerable affinity with Ignatian spiri-tuality. We shall ~xplore those parallels, but first a word about the congregation's origins is in order. From Marguerite Bourgeoys's perspective, the congregation began in her own experience of transformation at the age of twenty, occasioned by her gazing at a statue of Mary. As a result of this "conversion," as she calls it, she joined a group of laywomen asso-ciated with the cloistered Congregation de Notre-Dame in her native Troyes and chose Antoine Jendret, the local pastor, as her spiritual advisor. From Jendret she learned to see the "vie voyagkre" (missionary life) of the Blessed Virgin as a model for uncloistered religious life for women. At the same time, the congregation sis-ters trained her to teach children who could not attend their monastery school and shared with her their enthusiasm for estab-lishing a monastery in New France. Paul Chomedey de Maisonneuve, brother of the congregation's superior and governor of the new settlement ofVille-Marie (Montreal), recognized the impossibility of establishing a monastery there at that time. Instead, he requested a single lays. oman to serve as teacher, and Marguerite agreed to go in that capacity. When she arrived in 1653, Ville-Marie was a small settlement, precarious both geographically and financially. It had been estab-lished eleven years earlier by an association of pious men and women in France who hoped to incorporate French and native people into a Christian society, thus creating a spirited church in the New World. Among the associates was Jean-Jacques Olier, founder and first superior of the Sulpicians. Unable to go him-self, he sent four members of his society to Ville-Marie in 1657 to establish its first parish. As "filles de paroisse" (women of the parish) Marguerite and the women who would soon join her were thus greatly influenced by the Sulpicians of Ville-Marie. Moreover, from Paris the third superior of the Society, Louis Tronson, was actively involved in decisions concerning the congregation and proved one of their staunchest advocates) In 1659 four recruits came from France to share Marguerite's simple, mobile way of life and her educational commitment in imi-tation of Mary's vie voyag~re. Over the course of the century, more than fifty women--native, French, and native-born French--joined this new Congregation de Notre-Dame, extending its reach from Ville-Marie to Quebec and beyond. Marguerite served as supe- January-Febr~ary 2001 rior until 1693, providing spiritual as well as practical leadership. Among her relatively few extant writings are several prayers and numerous reflections on the nature of the congregation, most of which appear to be conference notes of varying lengths. Brief and fragmentary though these texts are, they provide interesting glimpses of the spirituality that informed the congregation she founded.3 Gathering Up the Drops of Christ's Blood A brief, isolated passage in Marguerite Bourgeoys's writings presents a forceful description of the source, characteristics, and aim of the sisters' missionary activity: Consider, dear, that when you go on mission you go to gather up the drops of the blood of Jesus Christ that are being lost. How happy a sister who is sent on mission will be if she considers that she goes there at God's command and in his company, if she considers that in this work she can and ought to show her gratitude to him from whom she has received all things. Oh, she will find nothing difficult or burdensome at all! She will, on the contrary, wish to be in want of every-thing, to be despised by everyone, to endure all sorts of suffering, and even to die in disgrace. (W'W!B, 78) This passage may well represent the words with which Marguerite Bourgeoys invited the sisters to go forth from the central house in Ville-Marie to missions all over New France. Her description of the congregation's aim as "gathering up the drops of the blood of Jesus Christ that are being lost" is strongly reminiscent of a phrase employed by Paul Le Jeune sJ, superior of the Jesuit mission in Canada. In a letter written to his superior in France in 1633 and later published and widely disseminated, he attempted to persuade wealthy women in France to support the creation of a school for native women in New France: If they applied part [of their income] to gather the drops of blood of the Son of God shed for so many souls that are lost every day for la~k of help, they would not blush with shame on the day they appear before God to render an account of the goods for which he has made them responsible.4 Two years later he renewed the request, exclaiming, "What glory in the sight of the angels, to have gathered the blood of the Son of God to apply it to these poor unbelievers! "s Review for Religious What is particularly striking is that for Le Jeune the "gather-ing" was to be accomplished by women who worked for the edu-cation of other women. Initially he suggested that the school be run by "some good courageous widow assisted by two brave young women."6 By 1635, however, numerous women in French monas-teries, "overcoming the fear natural to their sex," had offered to come to educate native women and girls. This led Le Jeune to alter his original plan and to ask that a French benefactor endow a monastery whose members would carry out the work of educa-tion: "Will not some brave lady be found to give these Amazons of the great God a passport, endow-ing them with a house in which to praise and serve His Divine Majesty in this other world?"7 Madame de la Peltrie responded to that request, and the Ursuline monastery was soon founded in Quebec as a result. Marguerite Bourgeoys's writ-ings never indicate that she read Paul Le Jeune's letters, but, given the sisters' interest in the Canadian missions, she very likely did so during her association with the Congregation de Notre-Dame in Troyes. Thus, his use of the image of gathering Christ's blood probably influenced her directly. Furthermore, although there were no Jesuits in Ville-Marie from 1657 until the end of the century, she may also have been influenced indirecdy by their approach to missionary activity through her continued con-tact with Jesuits in Quebec. Although Marguerite Bourgeoys may consciously or uncon-sciously have adopted Le Jeun~'s metaphor for mission, she mod-ified it in several ways. In the first place, she used the word ramasser, instead of recueillir, with respect to what was to be done with the drops of blood. There is a difference of nuance here. The former term suggests picking up scattered bits and pieces, and the latter suggests taking in a unified quantity (such as a harvest),s This difference in vocabulary may not be particularly significant in itself,9 but another passage from the Writings makes it clear that for her the mission of education did indeed involve gathering up the individual drops of Christ's blood: "When you go on mission you go to gather up the drops of the blood of Jesus Christ that are being lost." January-Febr~ary 2001 Fole~ ¯ Spirituali.ty_for Mission It is work suited to draw down the graces of God if it is done with purity of intention, without distinction between the poor and the rich, between relatives and friends and strangers, between the pretty and the plain, the easy-going and the grumblers, looking upon them all as drops of our Lord's blood. (W'MB, 201) Where Le Jeune had used the imagery of gathering the blood to describe specifically the education of the native women and chil-dren, here it seems to refer to all the individuals taught by the sis-ters. (By the time these lines were written, in the 1590s, they were probably teaching few native children.) If all these individuals are the drops of Christ's blood, they must be treated as sacred objects. Teaching, then, becomes a holy activity, since it brings the sisters in close contact with those sacred objects. Second, Marguerite underlined the urgency of the sisters' mis-sion by the way she extended the metaphor of the drops of blood. Le Jeune remarks that the souls of "these poor unbelievers" for whom Christ's blood has been shed are being lost; Marguerite Bourgeoys suggests that the drops of Christ's blood themselves are being lost. So important is this to her understanding that we may interpret her as going beyond mere metaphor in her reference to the drops of blood. Since the writing of the first Letter to the Corinthians, Christian theologians have often spoken of the bap-tized as constituting the body of Christ in a real, though mystical sense. For Marguerite Bourgeoys, those who needed to learn of Christ's teachings were his blood in that same mystical sense,l° Rather than allow even one drop of that blood to be wasted, a sis-ter would travel anyw.here she was sent and endure whatever was necessary for the mission. Indeed, the act of teaching was both sacred and urgent. A prayer for the congregation written on 4July 1693, at the end of her extended service as the community superior, reveals the con-nection she saw between the sisters' mission and the passion of Christ. Declaring that her trust was not in her own powers, she tells God: "I base my trust on the merits of the precious blood given for my ransom, and with your grace I would rather give up life itself than fail to uphold the truth of your words" (W-M!~, 163). Her willingness to lose her life in order to make Christ's teachings known recalls the desire "to endure all sorts of suffering and even to die in disgrace," which she claimed was characteristic of the sis-ter who traveled on mission in God's company. Her belief that the Review for Religious missionary congregation sisters would desire to suffer in the course of their mission echoes a passage from the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius Loyola describing "the most perfect kind of humility" pos-sible for one who has decided to follow Christ: Whenever the praise and glory of the Divine Majesty would be equally served, in order to imitate and be in real-ity more like Christ our Lord, I desire and choose poverty with Christ poor, rather than riches; insults with Christ loaded with them, rather than honors; I desire to be accounted as worthless and a fool for Christ, rather than to be esteemed as wise and prudent in this world. So Christ was treated before me.~ As was true for Ignatius, Marguerite Bourgeoys believed the source of missionary activity for the congregation sister to be a call from the God "from whom she has received all things." Her missionary work is thus a grateful response to God's initiative: "She goes there at God's command." If the sister's mission comes from a divine invitation, then her going will be "in his company." The implication is that going on mission is a way for her to be present to God, a way of participating in God's activity, and hence a way of becoming holy. This is why she should be able to view any deprivation that she suffers in the course of her mission as a pos-itive advantage. "To be in want of everything, to be despised by everyone, to endure all sorts of suffering, and even to die in dis-grace" is to enter more profoundly into the way of Christ, whose mission was characterized by the shedding of his blood. Imitating Mary's Vie Voyag~re While the desire to gather up the drops of Christ's blood pro-vided motivation for the sisters' mission of education, Marguerite turned elsewhere for a way to depict their way of exercising that mission: the life Mary led on earth. The 17th century was remarkable for widespread and intense devotion to Mary, notably among the members of what has been called the French school of spirituality. In order to emphasize the greatness of God's working in her, they tended to focus on Mary's humility, dwelling on both the poverty of her origins and her hum-ble willingness to serve as the future mother of God. Furthermore, their insistence on the paradoxical juxtaposition of the "grandeurs" of Jesus in the midst of his humiliations led Cardinal de B~rulle and January-February 2001 Foley ¯ SpiritnalityforMission For Marguerite Bourgeoys the primary form of devotion to Mary was to honor her vie voyag re, her missionary life. his followers to reflect at length on the life of Jesus in Mary's womb. This is apparent in Olier's prayer "O Jesu vivens in Maria" and in their reflections on the Word's action in Mary's visitafon to Elizabeth. The visitation became central to Marguerite Bourgeoys's spirituality, as shall be seen; she shared as well the French school's emphasis on Mary's "littleness" which enabled her to become the instrument of God's power. While her version of the life of Mary reflects many of the the-ological concerns of her day, some of her contemporaries might have been puzzled by its omissions and even more by its focus. She refers very briefly to what most consider the two central moments in Mary's life, Jesus' nativity and his cru-cifixion. She merely notes that the circumstances of Christ's birth reveal Mary's love of poverty and the poor and that her presence at Calvary reveals her faithfulness, her accep-tance of God's plan of redempfon. In writings no longer available to us, she may have said more, but, given the detail she provides about other events in Mary's life, Marguerite's lack of attention to the nativity and crucifixion is at least suggestive. In contrast to B4rulle, for example, the brevity of her comments and the absence of sentimentality are quite striking. Even more striking is her focus on Mary's activity, rather than her passivity. Certainly she portrays Mary as the recipient of divine favor: God chose her, preserved her from sin, and made her Mother Of God and then Queen of heaven. But Marguerite pays far more attention to what Mary did. She shows her teaching and serving the other girls in the temple and making a vow of virginity. At the time of the annunciation, we see Mary imploring, preparing her-self, consenting, and offering herself to God. After that event she visits Elizabeth, gives birth to Jesus, receives shepherds and kings, and loses and. finds her child. Having witnessed Christ's teachings and keeping them in her heart, she teaches and encourages people during his public life, and afterwards she forms and reforms the members of the Christian community, even after her death, up to the present time. Review for Religious This focus on Mary's activity is in keeping with the advice Marguerite Bourgeoys gave her sisters: "To imitate our dear Foundress, we ought to go through her life and stop at what our Lord inspires us to do" (WMB, 52). In this emphasis she differed somewhat from the French school, for whom devotion took the form of reflecting on the eternal--and internal--"states" of Christ's and Mary's lives in order to enter those states oneself. Thus, even though he considered Mary a model of priestly and apostolic activ-ity, Jean-Jacques Olier still advocated above all a devotion to the "interior life" of Mary. The French school has in this respect been contrasted with Ignatius Loyola, whose Spiritual Exercises involve meditating on the words and particularly the actions of God, Christ, and the saints in order to imitate them.~2 While Marguerite Bourgeoys's random reflections are far different from the highly structured meditations of the Exercises, her focus on Mary's activity is more Ignatian than Berullian. Her approach to the life of Mary, however, was not that of many early-17th-century Jesuit writers, who cul-tivated a highly imaginative form of popular devotion that focused on the details of Mary's life. They were accused, not always unfairly, of promoting an exaggerated devotion to Mary that at times superseded the need for fidelity to the commandments.'3 For Marguerite Bourgeoys and for the congregation sisters, the primary form of devotion to Mary was honoring her vie voyag~re, her missionary life: M. Jendret told me one day that our Lord had left three call-ings for women to follow him and serve the church: that of St. [Mary] Magdalen was taken up by the Carmelites and other recluses and that of Saint Martha, by cloistered reli-gious who serve their neighbor; but the calling to the jour-neying life of the Virgin Mary, which needed to be honored, had not yet been taken up." (WMB, 142) Elsewhere she explains that because Mary was a teacher she incorporated the lives of both Martha and Mary Magdalen into her own: "The blessed Virgin, who was a teacher, included every-thing in her own person to an eminent degree" (WMB, 77). This depiction of Mary's "mixed" active and contemplative life was not original to Jendret,14 but he may have been the first to apply that analogy to women's communities. Nor was it common to speak of her vie voyag?re. Ordinarily the phrase refers to Christians who are still living on earth, as opposed to those who ffanuary-Februa~y 2001 Fole~ ¯ Spirituali~forMission have passed on to glory or purification--and sometimes to the public life of Jesus.~s For many 17th-century spiritual writers, this earthly, transitory, active aspect of Christ's or Mary's life was less inspiring and worthy of attention than their enduring states. By their attention to Mary's vie voyag~re, then, Antoine Jendret and Marguerite Bourgeoys presented an alternative approach to one of the central symbols of holiness in the Christian tradition. That approach had very concrete implications for the little congregation in Ville-Marie. In order to fulfill their educative mis-sion throughout New France, the sisters had to remain free to move wherever there was need. However, because holiness was most often identified with separation from "the world," and because of women's supposed fragility, ecclesiastical legislation during much of Christian history sought to protect consecrated women by insisting that they remain behind cloister walls. Indeed, the two first bishops of New France attempted to impose cloister on the congregation by urging their union with the Ursulines of Quebec. Marguerite Bourgeoys's response was to point to Mary: "The Blessed Virgin was never cloistered. She did indeed retire into an interior solitude, but she never excused herself from any journey on which there was some good to be done or some work of charity to be performed. We wish to follow her in some way" (WMB, 50). Without calling into question the value of life within a clois-ter, this .passage suggests that for Mary, and for those who wish to live her missionary way of life, love of neighbor can constitute a higher value. Clearly Marguerite shared the traditional view that this sort of uncloistered vie voyagkre could be dangerous, but she believed that those who imitated Mary's way of life would be pro-tected by an "interior solitude" and by their union with God in prayer. Dangerous or not, if Mary's work of building up the church by educating its women was to continue, then it was not only pos-sible but necessary for some women to follow her way of life. The Visitation Traditionally the sisters of the congregation renew their vows on the Feast of the Visitation. This suggests that for them Mary's visit to her cousin Elizabeth (Lk 1:39-52) is paradigmatic of their desire to become holy by going forth as missionaries. During the 17th century, however, the visitation was not nec-essarily associated with women who remained free to move out in Review for Religious order to serve their neighbor. In a reflection first published in 1679, the Capuchin Louis-Francois d'Argentan interpreted Mary's going up into the hill country as a reference to her ascent to God through contemplation and her willingness to share in God's redemptive plan. In this presentation, Mary is essentially passive in the encounter with Elizabeth, simply allowing the Word within her to speak in her.voice. D'Argentan suggests that during the visit Mary manifests humility by helping with household tasks, ardent charity (which he does not discuss further), and the way to engage in holy conversation with the neighbor. For him the ulti-mate fruit of reflection on the visitation is making "powerful resolutions to love seclusion, silence, and solitude, scorning all the rest so as to be attentive only to what is necessary, that is to say, to God alone and to the great matter of our eternity.''6 Such an interpretation of the visitation was not foreign to Marguerite Bourgeoys's thought. She too was convinced that Mary loved and was a model of soli-tude- but also was a model of conversation with others--and that the most important aspect of her encounter with Elizabeth was God's action in sanctifying the unborn John the Baptist. Nonetheless, here as always, Marguerite Bourgeoys's attention remained focused on Mary's activity and its effects. Moreover, her interpretation of that activ-ity contrasts with that of d'Argentan and even Francis de Sales, cofou

Issue 59.1 of the Review for Religious, 2000. ; Vowed Life Featur~ Religious Mission ~ Finding God Living Celibat,ely Balkans Report JANUARY FEBRUARY 2_000 VOLUME 59 NUMBER I Review for Religious helps people respond and be faithful to God's universal call to bollness 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 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: foppema@slu.edu Manuscripts, books for review, aud correspondence with the editor: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Boulevard ° St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Correspondence about the Canonical Counsel department: Elizabeth McDonough OP P.O. Box 29260; V~rashington, D.C. 20017 POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ¯ P.O. 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Such pertnission will only be considered on written application to the Editor, Review for Religious. restrictions, in a world of hate and division, of civilian bombings and life-snuffing concentration camps, this iournal spoke about dialogue and intercommunication, about ministries of love and service, about vocations to align oneself with God's peaceable king-dom and to pray for that kingdom to come. I am thankful for the gift this journal has been to the church, to religious life, and to the spiritual-life developments of our times. I thank God for raising up and inspiring the founding editors to begin the dialogue--something not common in the 1940s--across the different spiritual heritages which are represented by Catholic religious congregations and which continue to feed the spiritual life of church members everywhere. I am grateful for all the writers who have shared their insights, raised questions, instructed in prayer and in ecclesial history, and inspired our ministerial efforts. For all that has been---Thanks! With this first issue of the year 2000 a new-look cover greets our readers, along with a revision of our secondary title. For the previous eight years, because of the creative contribution of the advisory board and the staff, the journal had this shorthand way of stating its content: Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living. After more discussion with current board members and staff, we now state our content even more simply: Living Our Catholic Legacies. Our mission statement, too, has found new expression for things our journal continues to have in view (see inside front cover). This is our way of saying Yes as we look to the future. While we say "To all that shall be--Yes," I have some con-cern about a shrinking subscriber list. We know that the primary readership--women and men religious--continues to grow less in number in the United States and in European countries. I would not like to say Yes to a declining subscription number without encouraging all of you tostir up your own efforts to increase our readers, hopefully even our subscribers, among your own congre-gation members and associate members if you are a religious, and among friends and colleagues who share spiritual companionship and ministry with you. Review for Religious remains a unique journal in the English-speaking world for our continuing educa-tion, formation, and inspiration in living the rich Catholic legacies that form our church spirituality. I hope that you, our readers, share in our appreciation and enthusiasm. "To all that shall be-- Yes!" allows plenty of room for our best efforts. David L. Fleming SJ Januaty-Februa~y 2000 MICHAEL HIMES Returning to Our Ancestral Lands feature I am a little more daunted than I usually am because you are vicars for religious and you bring me in, a dioce-san priest, to talk to you. I can plead two things. One, I lived, during my happy years at the University of Notre Dame, at Moreau Seminary in the company and with the hospitality of the Congregation of Holy Cross and came to have the greatest affection and respect for them. I am now living and working with the Society of Jesus at Boston College and have the greatest respect for the Society of Jesus. My brother, and sometime col-league, is a Franciscan. And so, though I am not a reli-gious, I shared a bedroom for years with a religious, my brother Ken. Besides these attachments to and connections with religious communities, I plead that your having a pas-sionate outside observer may be useful. That is what I come to you as--a concerned, passionate, outside Michael J. Himes, a priest of the Diocese of Brooklyn and formerly on the faculties of the University of Notre Dame and of the Seminary of the hnmaculate Conception (Huntington, New York), is currently a professor of theol-ogy at Boston College. He presented this paper (here some-what revised) in March 1999 at the 32nd assembly of the National Conference of Vicars for Religious, in whose 1999 Proceedings it was originally published. His address is Boston College; Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts 02467. Review for Religio us observer of religious life in the church. I am going to talk with you from the perspective of history. My field is the history of Christianity, with a particular interest in ecclesiology. I am going to be looking at both the history of religious life in the church and at its connection with the mission of the church at large. I took my title from Leviticus. The passage in Leviticus on the jubilee year says to mark the jubilee year by returning to our ancestral lands. In Leviticus the reason for doing this is appar-ently that, because every clan, every group, in Israel's history is of importance in God's plan and in the working out of the covenant, no family, no clan, should be allowed to disappear from the land of Israel. And so, if a clan or family gave up its land, within fifty years it would get it back again. I suggest that some of those same themes are true of religious life in the church today. There are too many important, vital, necessary experiences, images, sources of wisdom which have grown up in religious life in the Western church over the course of fifteen centuries to allow them to be lost to the life of the church. We need to go back periodically and reclaim those ances-tral lands, To do that, I want to discuss three issues--and so there will be three parts. Part One: I want to say something about the nature and pur-pose of religious life in the Catholic tradition, but I want to say it from a somewhat unusual perspective. I will explain what that is in just a moment. Part Two: I am going to offer you a thumbnail history--and it is very thumbnail history--of the development of religious life in the Western church. There is quite a distinct history to the development of religious life in the Eastern church, but up to the present moment in the Western church, I suggest, there have been three central moments in the development of religious life. We may be at the end of number three and the start of number four. In Part Three I am going to make some observations about what can be done to reclaim ancestral lands. How do you reclaim values without trying to resuscitate forms? How do you reclaim the value without saying we have got to replicate the history? Nature and Purpose of Vowed Life Let me say something about the nature and purpose of reli-gious life--of vowed life within the Christian community and espe- January-February 2000 Himes ¯ Returning to Our Ancestral Lands cially within the Catholic tradition--from a somewhat unusual perspective. That perspective I take from an immensely productive, distinguished, and influential figure in Protestant theology and philosophy of religion at the beginning of the century that is now ending--a man named Ernst Troeltsch, who died back in 1923. Before the First World War, Troeltsch produced his masterpiece, a thick volume titled The Social Teaching of the Christian Churches. The tide may be misleading to us. You may say to yourself, "All this is well and good, but I do not see what bearing it has on the topic." Let me explain. Just when you least expect it, over the hill will come the topic. Just at the point that you have given up hope of ever hearing anything relevant to your interest, lo and behold, it will make its appearance. Today, when we hear a title like The Social Teaching of the Christian Churches, we might expect that it is going to be about what we have come to call social teaching, namely, the teaching of the Christian community about the nature of political and eco-nomic justice within society. That is not what Troeltsch meant by his title. By the Christian churches' social teaching, Troeltsch meant what they taught about tl~eir own natures as societies. I mean, here you have different communities, different societies of Christians that have come together and organized themselves in very different ways. How did these various Christian societies explain themselves? What is their teaching about their own nature as a society? To trace the development of how different church communities and traditions in the history of the Christian tradition have structured themselves as churches, as communities, Troeltsch approached it in a very interesting and important way. He bor-rowed an idea from a colleague of his at Heidelberg, where he was teaching at the time: one of the great fathers that you may very well know if you have an interest in sociology, Max Weber. Troeltsch borrowed from him the notion of an ideal type. Weber's ideal type means this: You explicate different ways, different models of how a community could be organized with-out reference to any concrete existing community. Then you look at the existing communities--at the actual communities as you find them--and ask: Which of these communities is like type one? Which is like type two? Which is like three? He found this to be a particularly fruitful way of getting people" to look at com-munities and raise questions about them which they might not ordinarily raise. Review for Religious Well, Troeltsch took that notion of an ideal type and sug-gested two ideal types as ways of digging in, as tools for analyzing how different Christian communities have understood their own role, how they structured themselves. Those two ideal types he refers to as church and sect. Sect, let me emphasize, is for Troeltsch by no means a bad word. For us today in America it has come to have all sorts of bad connotations. He means none of those connotations. By sect, Troeltsch means a community of people who come together in fidelity to their under-standing of the gospel, who are united first of all by a powerful, dramatic, and deeply personal experience of conver-sion. So, for Troeltsch, one of the hall-marks of a sect type of community is (1) that all of its members are people who have personally experienced some deep and often strikingly dramatic con-version experience. You have to experi-ence being born again into Christ. You must personally "accept Jesus as your Savior," to use language that is familiar to us from some sect types of community in this country. Another hallmark is (2) that these communities see themselves as peculiarly and specially commissioned communities. There is a vibrant sense of mission. There is a kind of urgency about the fact that you have been called, you have been chosen, you have been commissioned to perform an extremely important work in the name of the gospel. So there is a striking and urgent sense of mis-sion in a sect community. Often a sect community (3) sees itself in terms of being over against the larger community. You are the people who have been called upon; you have been set up as a city on a hilltop, as a light for all the world. You are commissioned in a way that is not true of the community-at-large. You may be called to serve them, but you are different in some way from that larger community, and there should be a clear difference between you and that larger community. The sect community (4) is frequently radical in its vision of what needs to be done in the larger community. That is, it takes positions which the larger community may find to be too diffi-cult, too dangerous, too uncomfortable, too impractical. The Different societies of Christians that have come together and organized themselves in very different ways. Janual~-FebruatTy 2000 --10A Himes ¯ Returning to Our Ancestral Lands smaller sect community can advocate radical reform and radical movement. The problem with the sect community, however, as Troeltsch points out, is that it seldom survives beyond the second or at most third generation because the first generation (who have had this striking, personal experience) cannot guarantee that their chil-dren's or their grandchildren's generation is going to have that same striking experience. Very often, then, the sect begins to evap-orate or split up in various ways. My favorite image for that may be seen in one of Flannery O'Connor's letters. She has a wonderful description of why she liked to travel in the south on local trains, trains that made every stop. She said you could always, back in the 1940s and 1950s, see such interesting things. She says: "Why, you stop at one little town and you look out the window and there's a white clapboard church. And out in front of the church is a sign that says 'First Church of Jesus Christ, Lord and Savior of All Humanity, Coming Again in Glory to Save All People Who are Faithful to Him and Moved by the Holy Spirit.' The train goes five miles down and stops at the next little town, and there is a white clapboard church with a sign in front of it that says, 'Church of Jesus Christ, Lord and Savior of the World and of All Humanity, Coming Again in Glory to Save the Living and the Dead and MI Those Who are Faithful to the Gospel and Motivated by the Holy Spirit, Reformed.'" And she said, "You knew there was a history here somewhere even though you could not tell quite what it was." There's a tendency for sect communities to splinter or to evaporate. By contrast to the sect community, the church-style community is a community that (1) sees itself as incorporating all sorts of peo-ple into the Christian community. It does not claim that all of its members are equally, highly, or deeply motivated--depending on your point of view. It does not claim that all of its members have striking personal experiences. It allows for the fact that there are different levels of membership, not official membership perhaps, but in terms of involvement in the community. Not everyone is at every moment of her or his life equally fervent or actively engaged in the life of the church. A church (2) does not see itself as necessarily over against the world. There are all sorts of things in the world-at-large that the church wants to embrace and celebrate. You cannot imagine, for example, says Troeltsch, that a sect is necessarily going to embrace Review for Religious the world of the arts and sciences, whereas the church commu-nity will. It embraces the artistic values and the scientific hopes and dreams and goals and methods of a community at any given time. In comparison with a sect, there is a much greater sense of collaboration between people in the church and people outside it. It tries to build bridges. It is a community, therefore, that is much more stable than a sect community. You can be born into a church community; you have to be reborn into a sect community. The idea, for example, of an infant baptism or an infant initiation into a sect would be simply impossible, whereas it is perfectly possible for a church community. The church community sees itself as a process of lifelong nur-ture, whereas the sect community emphasizes radical, dramatic conversion experiences. The danger for church-style community, says Troeltsch, is of course that it can become too secular, it can end up being, as it were, a tool for social stability used by the soci-ety- at-large. Notice that he is not claiming one is better than another; he is setting up--and I am just giving a thumbnail sketch--he is setting up two types of community that he can use as tools with which to examine the history of various church communities. He wants to ask: What is this like? Is it more like a sect? Is it more like a church? In what ways is it like a sect? In what ways is it like a church? Now, why do I propose to you that this is an interesting way to think about religious life? Because Troeltsch makes, almost in passing, one of the most suggestive comments that I have ever seen about religious life in the Catholic tradition. The Catholic Church--certainly back in the first decade of this century when he was looking at it from his own vantage point--is one of the purest church types of organization. He says, however, that the Catholic community has had for many centuries a peculiar and brilliant way of incorporating into itself the most vital, most insightful, most valuable elements of sects that grow up within the ambit of the Catholic community. It makes them religious orders. I suggest to you that--if you think of a community gathering around Anthony in the desert, gathering around Benedict or Scholastica, gathering around Francis and Clare, gathering around Dominic or Ignatius Loyola--you certainly can see those groups as matching up very closely with what Troeltsch has to say about sect communities. You cannot be born into these groups, you have Janua~. -Feb~wa(y 2000 Himes * Returning to Our Ancestral Lands got to choose to join. It is a matter of discerning a vocational call. There is a radical break with a previous kind of life in order to enter one of these groups. They are marked by clear and certain images of what mission is and what goal is, and how you shape people to accomplish that goal. The goal includes seeing this com-munity as being very much over against the community-at-large. The group is not simply part of this world, and it is marked as not being part of this world by a kind of rejection of this world's dom-inant values. The danger here is that, if the group is not in some way stabilized by the structure of a church, it can melt away in two or three generations. Troeltsch, of course, pointed out the other danger too. The problem for the Catholic tradition is that, although the church model stabilizes the sect model by "turning sects into religious orders," in Troeltsch's phrase, it can suddenly turn the religious order into simply another branch of the church model--and thus lose the vibrancy of the sect model. I suggest that, if we are going to reclaim ancestral lands, one of the things we have to do is look to vital religious communities to be sects in the Troeltschian sense of sects. We have to look for communities of people who see themselves as personally called, called to a clear and decided mission, and who see themselves as in some way in contrast to the community around them, even in contrast to the church-at-large around them. Now, for how that happens, let me move to Part Two. Some History of the Development of Church Life I would like to make a hundred thousand qualifications, but, so that you can go to bed tonight, let me just give a very general description. I suggest to you that, up to the present moment, there are three stages to the history of religious life in the Western church. The first stage in the Western church--quite apart from the origins in Egypt and Syria and Asia Minor in the East--runs for about seven hundred years, from the middle of the 5th century to the middle of the 12 th century, roughly from A.D. 450 to 1150. If we are looking for an example of that first period, it is the Benedictine movement. What is religious life? Religious life for those first seven hundred years of the Western church is first and foremost a community of persons who have come together and Review for Religious pledged themselves to a life of poverty, a life of celibacy, a life of prayer and contemplation done in community. Why is it so important that it be done in community? Well, there are two versions of St. Athanasius's Life of Anthony of Egypt. We do not know which is the real one--whether the shorter one is due to somebody's cutting it down after Athanasius died or whether the longer one includes stuff that somebody added after his death. But the longer one, whoever wrote it, has a striking comment. It says: "Anthony went out to the desert to lead a life of radical devo-tion, deep prayer, and obvious poverty, and in doing so he became a source of wonder. But, when a community of others gathered around him, then he became a sign." That is a very perceptive comment. Living out your life in a radical gospel way makes you a source of astonishment, but what validates you as a sign to the church is that you can do this in a community. Let me put this another way (much less eloquently than the author of the longer life of Anthony does): It is possible to be poor, chaste, obedient, and nuts. We all know that. What guarantees that you are poor, chaste, obedient, and sane? Your ability to live with other people without either killing them or being killed by them. The community is what validates the vows. So this idea of living in community is very important and was very important in the Benedictine tradition from its outset. Clearly there are multiple variants of the monastic ideal throughout those seven hundred years, but that is the image of religious life that dominates the first stage. What is religious life? It is a community of people who come together to live lives of poverty, of celibacy, of devotion and prayer and contempla-tion- and often study too--and who do it in community. That is religious life. That reality has something brand-new added to it in the middle of the 12th century, and for a very practical reason. A whole new class of people emerges in Western Europe in the 12th century: the urban poor. One of the things that marked the end of the ancient world was the collapse of cities in Western Europe. In the early Middle Ages, society is essentially rural, A whole new class of people emerges in Western Europe in the 12th century: the urban poor. Janualy-February 2000 2 Himes ¯ Returnin~ to Our Ancestral Lands largely agricultural. There are no great cities for very obvious reasons: the barbarians. Let me remind you here, when we talk about the barbarians, not to picture Jack Palance with a mustache and a horned helmet swooping down to burn and pillage cities! That may have hap-pened along the way too, but, when we talk about the barbar-ians, all of us who are English, Irish, Welsh, or Scottish, Scandinavian, German, Polish, French, Spanish, Portuguese, Dutch, Belgian, Hungarian, Czech, Slovak, Sicilian, or northern Italian (from anywhere in Europe but a little piece of land stretch-ing from Naples to just north of Rome)--when we talk about the barbarians we are ta!king about grandma and grandpa. The bar-barians are our ancestors. As they moved into Western Europe, as the empire collapsed, these ancestors of many of us were not stupid. They knew stuff. They knew it takes a lot out of you to burn and pillage. A really good pillage takes a lot of energy. You are not going to waste your time burning and pillaging little one-horse towns. You are going to burn and pillage big cites--that is where the loot is to be got-ten. Since the inhabitants of the Roman empire in its last days were not stupid either, they quickly realized it is much safer living in the little towns than in the big cities: you are less likely to get sacked and pillaged. So, at the end of the ancient world, all over Europe, there is a sort of massive flight to the suburbs. Cities decline, lots of small towns spring up. In that world, how did the church care for people? Well, it was not a money economy. If you were going to found a parish, you were not going to do it with cash. Cash did not mean any-thing in the Middle Ages. Value was in land: it was the land's produce that could support a parish. So some wealthy donor says, "In this town I am giving this field to support the church. It can support two priests so that they can minister to the needs of the people of the town." The problem is, of course, that land is not easily transferable. At the start of the High Middle Ages, from around 1050 on, small towns began to decline in population as people moved back into big cities. In towns where once there were a hundred house-holds, now there were twenty, but there still were two priests for those twenty. Other towns were growing as centers. Where there used to be a hundred households, there were now five thousand households, but there was still only one priest, who was supported Review for Religious by the land donation from centuries before for that town. It is not easy to adjust parish boundaries and clergy resources. So there were growing numbers of people in the major cities of Western Europe who were largely unchurched. Nobody was preaching to them, nobody was teaching them, nobody was lead-ing them into the Gospels, nobody was celebrating sacraments for them. Who was going to tend to these people's needs? New reli-gious communities appeared, communities dedicated above every-thing else to the service of the urban poor. What do they need? Do they need evangelization? We preach. Do they need teaching? We teach. Do they need nursing? We nurse. Whatever they need, that is what we provide. If Benedict and Scholastica are the obvious figures of the first stage, Francis, Clare, and Dominic are the great figures at the start of the second stage, approximately I 150 to 1550. In the course of the Catholic reformation, both prior to and as a response to the Protestant reformers, the church realized that it was going to have to do much better regarding the challenges of a new world. One of the reasons that Luther had such an immense impact--besides the fact that he was immensely insightful--is that he wrote well. He wrote in German and, with the printing press available, turned out lots and lots of copies of relatively short books in the vernacular. Why was it that people like Cajetan and Eck did not have much luck responding to Luther? Because they were turning out thick books, in double columns, in Latin. Nobody was going to read them, even other professors, and so Luther had an impact, whereas initially much of the Catholic response did not. For this third stage we needed a new way to respond to people's needs. Although nobody calls it this, one of the ways was, in effect, the division of l~bor. What we needed was to streamline our styles of pastoral ministry. Instead of communities of people doing what-ever was needed, we were now going to have communities of peo-ple, both women and men, who specialized. We taught young women, we taught young men. We went to the foreign missions. We did nursing. We took care of the elderly. It became clear that different communities had unique apostolates. That model--and I think one can take the Jesuit~ as in many ways the example of this third stage, the embodiment of it--has lasted with great power and great success right down into our own lifetimes. Let me point out something that pertains ~o both the second and the third stages. Something enormously important shifted in Janua~:y-February 2000 Himes ¯ Returning to Our Ancestral Lands the course of the 12th century and, after more than eight hun-dred years, is still decisive for today's religious communities. It still affects what members do: we do this ministry to the urban poor. We do this particular kind of ministry for those who "need" it. What does this presuppose? It presupposes the situation during the second and third stages of Western religious life; it presup-poses people in need. It presupposes a world, and a church, in which the laity were essentially passive. Who was going to do the teach-ing, the preaching, the nursing, the caring, the evangelizing? It was going to be people in religious vows. The simply baptized members of the church--they were the recipients of ministry, they were not people who ministered themselves. An enormous shift happened when Vatican Council II called for a truly alive, energized, and ministerially responsible laity. Because of that shift, inevitably there was going to be some sort of identity crisis for religious life. If what makes me a religious is that I am one of group of people who perform such and such a ministry, and if nowadays other people who are not in vowed life, who are not celibate, and who are not living in community are doing the same ministry that I am doing, then what makes me a religious? Previously the identity of the religious--and I could make a similar case regarding the clergy--has been: "We are the people who do x, Y, and Z, and the laity are the people who have x, ¥, and Z done for them." The laity have been essentially passive recipients of ministry. The moment one begins to talk about the church as a community of people all of whom are called to some kind of ministry by baptism .(and not primarily by religious pro-fession or ordination), then everything shifts. That is why I suggest that we are at the end of the third stage and the beginning of a fourth stage. What does the fourth stage look like? Well, I have not a clu& Actually I may have a clue, but it is nothing more than a clue. Let me hasten to say that one of the occupational hazards of people who pretend to know something about the past is to think that they know everything about the future. With that caution in mind, I speak now with a good deal of self-suspicion, and you should hear it with even more suspicion. It is at least possible that a mark of the next great stage of development of religious life in the Western church--it may look more like the first stage than like stage two or three--is that there is a recentering on the nature of living vowed life in community rather than on any apostolate or mission of ours. That, perhaps, is Review for Religious the characteristic of the next stage of religious life. If that proves true, then a category that may be helpful for religious to consider more deeply and theologically is sacramentality. I am not referring to the great seven public and communal sacraments. I mean the much wider and in many ways much richer notion of sacrament, with a small s. And what is that sacrament called? What does sacramentality consist in? I give you Himes's handy-dandy definition of the sacra-mental principle. I have given it often, and it seems true. (After I hear myself say something long enough, it seems to me that it is true!) The definition of the sacramental principle is, I think, this: Whatever is always and every-where true must be noticed, accepted, and celebrated somewhere, sometime. Those things which are always true, those things which are constantly present to us, are almost always ignored. You do not pay attention to the oxygen in a room until it starts t6 go stale. While you have been reading this, you have surely been blinking periodically. Unless you have found my words altogether boring, you have not been counting your blinks. A couple of years ago ] got hit with a bout of Bell's palsy. I could not move anything on the left side of my face, and I could not blink. Throughout the day I had to periodically pull and hold my eyelid down, and tape it down at night. You become very aware of blinking when you cannot do it. When you can do it, when it takes care of itself, you do not pay any attention to it. In order to accept something that is there all the time and make it effectively present, to us, we have to learn to attend to it, to say yes to it, and to celebrate it. What is omnipresent to us? Well, God is: the self-giving of God. That self-giving of God we call, with the benefit of theological shorthand, grace: the self-gift of God's Trinitarian life outside the Trinity itself. It is everywhere. The whole world is just dripping with it; the whole thing is satu- A mark of the next great stage of development of religious life in the Western church is a recentering on the nature of living vowed life in community rather than on any apostolate or mission of ours. Himes ¯ Returning to Our Ancestral Lands rated with grace. But, precisely because that is true, it can be ignored. What is always present is seldom noticed. Whatever calls you, whatever person, place, thing, whatever sight, sound, taste, touch, smell, whatever experience leads you to he aware of, to attend to the reality of God's self-offering to you at that moment, to be able to say yes to it and to rejoice in it-- that is a sacra-ment. All told, how many sacraments are there in the world? How many things are there in the universe! That is what I mean by sacramentality. In that sense of the word--and this is where I am going to pick up the theme from Troeltsch in Part One--in that sense, religious life is a sacramental state within the church. We do not recognize that this is a sacramental state the way we recognize marriage as a sacramental state within the church. But it is in fact sacramental because, after all, religious are called to a deep sense of poverty, to a deep sense of responsibility toward and obedi-ence to the needs of those around us, to a responsible use of celibacy that recognizes our dependency on one another and on God. Is there anything there that everyone in the church is not called to by baptism? Why, then, do we need religious life so much? Because religious life "clearly, strikingly, astonishingly" (in the words of St. Athanasius's Life of Anthony) leads the church to see what the whole church is called to by baptism, to see it clearly and strikingly in a public and communal embodiment that helps people toward realization. Sacramentality is something that may be crucial for everyone's lively understanding of whht religious life is about and what its relationship to the church-at-large is and can be. How to Be More Sacramentally Aware How do you enliven this sense of sacramentality without repli-cating past forms? How do you rescue age-old values? How do you reclaim ancestral lands without simply going back to old build-ings or forms or structures? What can be done? I begin with a perceptive definition I learned from Jaroslav Pelikan, the distinguished historical theologian recently retired from Yale University. In his Jefferson Lectures at the University of Virginia a few years ago, he said: "We must be very careful to dis-tinguish between tradition ahd traditionalism. Tradition is the liv-ing faith of the dead. Traditionalism is the dead faith of the living." Review for Religious One is the continuing, living, vital faith that energized those who have gone before us; that is tradition. Traditionalism is faith main-tained by some among us that in fact is already ossified, entombed, embalmed; there is nothing left in it that is energizing. It is the dead faith of the living. How do we begin to reclaim the living faith of our ancestors? I know that this is going on in religious communities at this moment; it has gone on for a good deal of time. But I urge that it continue, and continue precisely in terms of sacramentality. How do we reflect on the meaning of the vows again? Is it possible that the fourth stage of religious life in the Western church into which I believe we are entering is more like religious life in the first stage than the second or third? As a word of preface, let me say that I have thought about this a good deal. Though I am not a religious, I do share with you a vow of obedience and I do share with you a vow of celibacy. I do not share with you living in community, although in fact I have lived in community. My brother Ken lives in a community of Franciscans with only six other people, and I lived in a house at the seminary in Huntington with fourteen other priests and sixty-five seminarians. I used to tell him: "You became a Franciscan and live in a rectory. I become a diocesan priest and live in a monastery." It is wonderful how God moves things around! The thing that has led me to think about this most is the vow I do not have, the vow of poverty. I find that the things I have vowed are not something I have to think about. I know what obe-dience means. The bishop calls me up and says, "I want to see you about doing x, Y, and Z." And I. say, "Okay, bishop, let me come and talk with you." There is'a structure to that. I do not have to get up in the morning and think: What does it mean to be obedi-ent today? That is taken care of. I do not have to think about what it is to be celibate. I know what means: that is taken care of. There is a structure to that too. What is not structured for me is poverty, and so it is a real problem. What does it mean for me as a university professor to talk Much as been written about poverty in recent years that is very powerful, but it is useful rhetorically more than actually real. Januat3~-Febrtta~y 2000 Himes ¯ Returning to Our Ancestral Lands about poverty when I do not have a vow of poverty? How, then, as a baptized member of the Body of Christ, do I incorporate poverty? That is a big issue, and I have thought about it. This is my pref-ace to what I am now going to say about the three vows. Much as been written about poverty in recent years that is very powerful, but it is useful rhetorically more than actually real. It assumes that poverty is about identification with the poor--I am convinced that it is not. I expect some people to say "Oh, but it is.t" I wish it were, but I do not think so. My reason is this: There is an enormous difference between my deciding "I will not eat today" and actually having nothing to eat. If I decide not to eat (even though there are tons of food in tt(e refrigerator) because I want to identify with the poor by going to bed tonight with an empty stomach, I am forgetting something. For me there will be break-fast tomorrow morning, but overnight the poor are thinking: "I would love to have eaten today and I couldn't, and God knows whether I will get anything to eat tomorrow morning." These are simply totally different experiences, and I think it is nothing but self-serving romanticism to say, "Isn't it wonderful that we have identified with the poor!" I think that is just false, and I think it is dangerously false because it is overly romantic. 20 What Is Poverty? I turn to my brother's tradition. Who is the wisest one to have talked about poverty in the Western church? Francis of Assisi. Nobody is wiser on it than Francis. And I suggest that what Francis saw is very much in a line that starts with Augustine. But Francis saw its implications in brand-new ways. What is the most famous line from Augustine? What line does everybody know from St. Augustine? "You made us for yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You." (A pastor in a diocese not far from here famously used to get up on any saint's feast and say, "Ah, today we remember St. Cuthbert of Auxerre, who is famous for that wonderful statement of his, 'You made us for yourself, and our hearts are restless . '" According to this pastor, every saint had said it--or must have said it.) Well, what is Augustine saying? He is saying that all crea-tures- not just all human beings, please notice, but all creatures-- have one deep characteristic. That was what Francis saw so clearly. That deep characteristic is this: At our core, at our heart, we are Review for Religious empty. There is hunger, there is restlessness. The characteristic human experience is "Yeah, yeah, yeah, but more!" You have never known a human being who did not want more. The totally satis-fied, totally fulfilled human being is dead. If you want to see a totally filled human being, drop into your local cemetery. The fact is that what marks us as human beings is endless restlessness, end-less hunger--more, more, more, more, more. I say sometimes to students: "If somebody you know ever says, 'I have everything, I am everything, I know everything, I have experienced everything that I could possibly want, I am perfectly and totally satisfied,' ask the person this: 'Would you like it to last?'" If you had everything, what you would want is more time. There is never a moment when we do not want. That is the characteristic of being a creature. This is what Francis saw and recognized as uniting us with all of creation. That is what Francis saw in the mystical marriage with Lady Poverty, and it is what motivates the Canticle of the Sun. V~y is it Brother Sun and Sister Moon? VVhat is it that makes the moon and the sun, earth and water and air and fire, what makes everything my brother and sister? The fact that we all are marked by one great family resemblance: we are all poor. We did not make ourselves. We are all ultimately dependent. Nobody is fulfilled. If that is true, then poverty is what unites us with all other creatures. If that is so, then I suggest that poverty is the key value in the vows. My own reading of the relationship of the vows is that there are not three. There is one, and two further explications. The cen-tral vow is poverty. Celibacy and obedience are ways of being poor. But poverty is the central one. And the point about poverty is: It is not a social condition first of all, it is not an economic condition first of all. First of all, it is metaphysical; it is what makes you you. To embrace poverty publicly is to embrace, publicly, being a human being. Being poor is being human publicly. It is to embrace the human condition. It is to recognize that there are radical limits on me, limits of time, ultimately. A time is going to come when I will breathe out and think "Gee, I'd like to breathe in"--and it will not happen. There is going to come a time when I will say, "I would like just to get to tomorrow morning," and there will not be time for me to get there. There are limitations on time, there are limitations on energy, there are limitations on strength, there are limitations on courage, there are limitations on wisdom, there are limitations on knowledge. Ultimately I have to look at that and say, "And it is a good thing! I embrace it." Poverty is central. Januao,-Februa~y 2000 '-3! Himes ¯ Returning to Our Ancestral Lands Celibacy is a way of saying that very publicly. I told you that I think there is an overly romantic element in much that has been said about poverty in recent years. I think a huge amount of fatu-ous slop has been written about celibacy. I think that much of what has been done on celibacy in recent years is the most patent non-sense. We have all sorts of stuff saying it is perfectly possible to be celibate and a completely fulfilled and happy man or woman. Junk! The fact is that 99.999 percent of the human race has found, does find, and presumably always will find that the most significant relationship in their lives is being someone's spouse and someone's parent. If I come along and say: "Well, I am no one's spouse and I am no one's parent, and it does not matter a hill of beans. I am just as happy as can be. I am just as fulfilled as you can get. What 99.999 percent of the human race thinks is so important really is not important at all"--well, that is arrogance, stupid arrogance. The whole point of celibacy is, of course, that you are unfulfilled. But, if you can be publicly unfulfilled and still be an intelligent, free, responsible, loving, brave, wise, concerned human being, then your life suggests that maybe "fulfillment" is not what human-ity is about. Your life is a public witness to the fact that unfulfill-ment is what is characteristic of being a human being. To go around saying "Oh, we're all fulfilled" is to make hash of the whole of the Franciscan tradition. It is to make nonsense of Augustine's restless heart. Manifestly the human race is unfulfilled, and so, when some-body says "Here I am, a publicly vowed celibate," he or she loudly proclaims: "I am unfulfilled, and that is okay. We are all unful-filled. I am just publicly noting the fact. I am a reminder, a clear picture, of the fact that you are as unfulfilled as I am. I am just publicly acknowledging that fact in a particularly striking way." The same thing is true with obedience. Obedience has nothing to do--or almost nothing--with the submission of one person's will to another person's will. That is anti-Christian thinking. The whole point of our relationship to the will of God is that I do not subject my will to God's will. I discover that God's will really is my will, that God's will is what undergirds my will. It is not a question of "Gee, I want this and God wants that and, by hook or by crook, I've got to pull myself around to want what God wants." That is a misunderstanding of God; that is a destructive picture of God. What does obedience mean? Above everything else, it means poverty in the face of facts. Obedience is, above everything else, a responsibility to what is: not what you would like, not what you had Review for Religious hoped, not what you wanted, not what you wished, not what you feared, but what is. I used to tell my students that, when you are talking about obedience to a superior, when you are talking about obedience to a bishop, the point is this: You are newly ordained and you get assigned to a parish. You are just the best thing that ever happened to kids. John Bosco looks like a piker. This is just the best thing that ever happened to teenagers. You are gung-ho to work with kids. It happens, however, that at the moment you are needed in this parish. There are not a lot of kids; younger fam-ilies have moved out; it is, in fact, a very elderly neighborhood. If you say, "Well, I just don't work with the elderly, I work with kids," you are being disobedient. You are not being disobedient to the bishop, you are not being disobedient to the pas-tor, you are being disobedient to facts. The fact is that these are the people who are here. You are the person on the spot--serve them! If you find yourself saying inside, "Well, you know, I am not really good at serving them," let yourself hear them saying "Yeah, I know. We've noticed." And then notice that you are the only one there. If the Titanic is going down and you are the nearest ship, do not say, "Well, you know, it would crowd breakfast so terribly to take on these other passengers." The ship is going down. Get over and save them! That is obedience to facts, and it is poverty. It is the recogni-tion that, hey, there are some things I am good at and some things I am not good at. Sometimes I am in positions where what I am not good at is what is most necessary. Then I have to give it my best even though it is clear that I am not going to do very well at it. I may also have the responsibility to say, "Somebody else in here might be a lot better at this than I am." But until that happens I am here, and I will get to work. That is real obedience. It is, once again, poverty. It is a recognition of the limitations of our histor-ical placement. I have been given this time and this place. I would have been just a knockout in the 18th century. In the 18th cen-tury I would have been just wonderful. But there was a problem: I was not begotten until the middle of the 20th century. So, no matter how great you would have been in the 18th century, you What does obedience mean ? Above everything else, it means poverty in the face of facts. January-February 2000 Himes * Returning to Our Ancestral Lands were not there. Likewise, you might be the best thing that could ever happen to the church of the 24th century. But, unless you have really good genes in your family, you are not going to be there. This is the only century you have; this is the one you bet-ter relate to even though it might not always be the one you wanted. That is the experience of poverty. Celibacy, obedience--both variants of poverty! Why is it so important that religious life seize that value of poverty and be a sign of it for the whole church? Because it is the experience of being a human being. It is the deepest truth about us as human beings. It is what the rest of us, in all sorts of ways, come to grips with or else try to hide from ourselves. Amid all these human beings, there should be communities of women and men who say in the strongest, clearest, and most striking way: "I, too, am poor, and it is good. This is what it is to be a human being." Now, how do you convey that truth to people? Well, it will he different from person to person, from community to com-munity, and from place to place. You cannot replicate the past. If you had known Dominic or Francis, Scholastica or Teresa of Avila, if you had known Ignatius or Vincent de Paul or Jane Frances Fr~myot de Chantal, perhaps they would have said, "I never had a disciple as good as this." But, you see, they never said that. You are not a contemporary of theirs; you are a con-temporary of mine. Francis of Assisi does not need you, but I do. So do not try to relate to Francis of Assisi or Jane Frances, but make a good attempt of getting to me. When, by retaining or recovering important values we "return to our ancestral lands," we are not thereby called to sow the ances-tral crops. Ancient lands can bear new crops, and new crops are needed for a new generation of people. I predict that, in the next fifty years, religious life is going to experience an explosion of growth. It may look different than we expect. Some older com-munities may die or merge--or meld into newer communities. Not every community will experience an explosion, but there will be an explosion of people living publicly vowed lives in community as sacramental signs to the rest of us of how the Christian tradition understands genuine humanity. I predict that sects, in Troeltsch's meaning, will be powerfully witnessing to the church so that the church is not allowed to become a hidebound and ossified insti-tution. This explosion will happen because the church could not survive without it--and we have the Lord's word that the church Review for Religious will survive. But I do not know how it will happen. The how ques-tion has never been the forte of the church, which, in its own poverty, only just manages to keep going. These observations are those of a passionate religious watcher. In some new ways, religious life will still be there in the future, for the church needs you. I have no doubt that, if only I could live thousand years longer, I could write a whopping good book about that future. Questions for Reflection and Discussion 1. What elements of religious life have been eclipsed in recent years and need to be reclaimed? 2. How do we reclaim values without retreating to past forms? 3. Where do our particular religious communities fit in the development of vowed life in the church's history? 4. How can we establish community in religious life when the community is not its own center? Blink I like to think of thegn sledding, graceful, flying down some swift hill, the white in their hair only snow, bright gloves flashing in the wind above the aluminum board not as this aged couple she scarved in purple, taking careful steps in ankle boots, clutching a brown grocery bag, he shuffling two steps ahead, the long cool silver ironing board tucked beneath his arm. Doretta Cornell RDC January-Februmy 2000 religious mission JOHN KLEIN Transforming Mission: A Spirit of Adventure On 22 March 1999 a headline appeared in the New York Times reading: "Voyage End Brings Crew Back Down to Earth." The article recounted the voyage of the first two balloonists to circle the globe, aboard Breitling Orbiter III. The trip lasted nineteen days, twenty-one hours, and fifty-five minutes and covered a total of 29,054.6 miles. During their news conference one of the adventurers, Dr. Bertrand Piccard, a Swiss psychiatrist, reflected upon their experience: "It was not a matter of setting records; it was a fabulous metaphor of life. To try is the only way to survive." His compatriot, Brian Jones, a former member of the British Air Force, added: "We are not heroes. We just proved that dreams could come true.m Later in the interview Dr. Piccard admitted that the journey posed significant risks, struggles, and sacrifices. Confined in their 16.5 foot-by-10 foot capsule, freezing cold, and often lack-ing water, the adventurers nearly abandoned their effort several times. Piccard said, "When one of us was about to give up, the other would support him." This Magellanesque journey offers us a fabulous metaphor for our lives as religious leaders. Like Piccard and Jones, we find ourselves on a journey demanding John Klein FMS gave this presidential address at the August 1999 assembly of the Conference of Major Superiors of Men (CMSM). His address is Marist High School; 1241 Kennedy Boulevard; Bayonne, New Jersey 07002. Review for Religious that we move beyond preconceived boundaries, one that forces us to tap into unsuspected personal and corporate resources, one that calls us to risk and trust and sometimes upset the status quo, one that invites us to dream of new possibilities and challenges, one that beckons us to move from the center to the margins. Religious leadership today is truly an adventure extending Jesus' mission to proclaim the kingdom and to make God known and loved. Mission is a description of Jesus, the Son of God, who invites us to be adventurers and dreamers with him. The daily realities of our work, however, do not permit us to escape being administrators, managers, fund-raisers, therapists, legal experts, and arbiters. Who has the time and the energy to dream and to participate in an adventure? How can we become "unstuck" and move forward the renewal of religious life? The church historian John W. O'Malley SJ has said, "It is more diffi-cult to reform a religious order than to found one.''2 Our expe-rience during the past thirty years certainly confirms this. Nonetheless, our role as leaders offers us a wonderful opportu-nity to influence and design the future, remembering that this project of religious life is God's work and not ours. With hope, like Jacob waking from his dream at Bethel, we can say of our time and our struggles, "Surely the Lord is in this place and I did not know it" (Gn 28:16). With confidence, like St. Paul in his Second Letter to Timothy (1:6-7), we can remind each other that "God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but rather a spirit of power and of love." It is in this spirit that we can face the future and set out on an adventure not of our design, but God's. John Gardner in his book Self-Renewal offers a sobering pre-diction if we opt to respond otherwise. He says: "If people are apathetic, defeated in spirit, or unable to imagine a future worth striving for, the game is lost.''3 We cannot lose this game. On the contrary, we need to see our present situation as opportunity. We need to articulate a high level of expectations for ourselves, the members of our congregations, and the institutions we own and sponsor. We are called to do this in a culture that does not share our values, but rather extols individualism, tends to privatize reli-gion, and fails to engender a true sense of community. Archbishop Rembert Weakland recently highlighted this challenge, asserting that "one of the most difficult pastoral tasks of our day., that has challenged the renewal at every turn is precisely how to overcome the cultural bias of our age toward the individualistic. ''4 Janumy-February 2000 Klein ¯ Tran~fomning Mission Our religious communities have not remained immune from these societal influences. On the contrary, society has tended to co-opt us and has led many religious to make private accommo-dations to religious life. This cripples our mission, diminishes a sense of esprit de corps and solidarity, and saps our energy and possibilities for the future. "The Nygren and Ukeritis study already warned that, despite their language of prophecy and sol-idarity with the poor, many religious in the United States may be far more accommodated and assimilated into the dominant cul-ture than they like to believe. The penchant for individualism and self-fulfillment so characteristic of this culture has found a ready berth in many religious communities. Self-determination has eroded communal and institutional commitments.''s Given this situation, how are we as religious leaders called to respond? I believe that we can discover the answer by reflecting on the example that Jesus provides us. The Letter to the Hebrews (12:2) refers to Jesus as the pioneer. He is the one who goes before us to offer the example and then returns to us to point the direction and to reassiire us that he is always present with us. Jesus is the adventurer calling us to join with him in mission and to fan the embers our commitment into a flame spreading new life and hope. Like us, Jesus found himself engaged in mission, searching for ways to engender new life, struggling and sometimes discour-aged with a disparate band of disciples, and confronting a society at best indifferent to his values and vision. How did he respond? What was and is Jesus' mission? How did he endeavor to foster new life? How did he pursue his mission and commitment? How did he accomplish the transformation of the lives of his disciples and the many others whom he touched as well? By probing these questions we will begin to perceive ourselves as part of a unique adventure that will transform our mission and foster new life. However, we do not probe the questions alone. This effort must be a collaborative and communal one. While we do not need everyone in our province or congregation to participate in this effort, we do need a "critical mass" of people to share the adventure. Only this will move our mission and our group for-ward. "What we dream alone remains just a dream, but what we dream with others can become a reality.''6 If we willingly dream together in faith, then our mission will be transformed and we will have the confidence that our best years are ahead of us. In all of Review for Religious our efforts together, Jesus, the pioneer, presents the lens through which we can discern our course of action and catch a glimpse of the religious life of the future. This is particularly true in three aspects of his mission that challenge us today: Jesus' deep spiri-tuality and relationship to his Father, his commitment to mis-sion at the margins of society, and, finally, his formation of an intentional community of disciples to carry his mission forward. Our following his response in these areas will, I believe, offer the compelling ways through which we will discover our unique role in society and the church. Jesus appreciated better than anyone that to be in close, intimate relationship with God inevitably makes people countercultural and dis-tinctive. It places them in a dangerous situation, making them as disciples part of a cultural minority. This minority cannot help seeing the world and society through different eyes, the eyes of Jesus. This vision encourages those who follow Jesus to choose new life by loving the Lord, our God, heeding his voice, and holding fast to him (Dt 30:15-20). Seeing reality this way meant new life for Jesus also, for his profound spirituality caused him to turn society's values on their head and, in the process, made him a dangerous person. We see this clearly in Jesus' table fellowship. He ate with scribes and Pharisees, with the poor and destitute, with tax col-lectors and sinners. By breaking boundaries, risking disapproval, and "imaging" the reality of God for the people of his time, Jesus made his mission, the proclamation of the kingdom, tangible. It was in food-and-drink situations that he revealed the divine gifts of joy (Mt 9:15), pardon (Lk 7:47), salvation (Lk 19:9), and super-abundance (Mr 14:15-2 I). It is at table that we witness the trans-forming conversion of Zacchaeus, Jesus' example of servant leadership, and the opening of the weary disciples' eyes at Emmaus. It is therefore primarily at his table, at his Eucharist, where we religious will find new life for our mission. It is at his table that we will encounter him through the lives of sinners and outcasts, our brothers and sisters, realizing that the margin is our home too. In his message for the World Day of Peace, Pope John Paul II exhorted us to "recognize Christ in the poorest and the most marginalized, those whom the Eucharist--which is communion What was and is Jesus' mission ? Janualy-Februaly 2000 Klein ¯ Transforming Mission in the body and blood of Christ given up for us--commits us to serve. As the parable of the rich man, who will remain forever without a name, and the poor man called Lazarus clearly shows, 'in the stark contrast between the insensitive rich man and the poor in need of everything, God is on the latter's side.' We too must be on this same side.''7 The side of the poor and disenfran-chised is the side where the religious man and woman must be found. Whether or not we work directly with the poor, we can-not escape the imperative of seeing the world with the eyes of the poor. This attitude, then, will inform our prayer, our work, and our lifestyles. The Gospel of Luke reminds us that the sign that Jesus is "the one who is to come" is that the poor are having the Good News proclaimed to them. In this Jesus gave flesh to his kingdom and illustrated that the reign of God is now. Our mission as reli-gious leaders represents the continuing participation in his incar-nation. Our mission calls us to illustrate that economic and social boundaries are artificial, made by human hands. Our mission proclaims that, if "we truly want to see the glory of God, we must move downward with Jesus. This is the deepest reason for living in solidarity with poor, oppressed, and handicapped people. They are the ones through whom God's glory can manifest itself to us. They show us the way to God, the way to salvation.''8 To ignore the sorrows and needs of others is to ignore the flesh of Jesus and to deny the incarnation. For us to make the "option for the poor" a reality will mean a conversion of mind and heart. It is a conversion that will find its source in prayer, reflection, and Eucharist. It is a conversion that demonstrates itself through simplicity of lifestyle and sensi-tivity to those less fortunate than we. Too often we have claimed the adjectives prophetic and countercultural for ourselves. It would be far better that others attribute them to us after seeing the way we live and work and pray. They will do so if we make certain that our rhetoric and our reality coincide and that our lifestyles reflect charism rather than just personal choices. Johann Baptist Metz once wrote that "religious orders are a kind of shock therapy. ¯ for the church as a whole. Against the dangerous accommoda-tions and questionable compromises that the church . . . can always incline to, they press for the uncompromising nature of the gospel and the imitation of Christ. In this sense they ire the insti-tutionalized form of a dangerous memory within the church.''9 Review for Religious Our mission today is to be dangerous as Jesus was and to make Metz's description of us real. This mission is by its very nature a communal one, and I believe that new life for the mission of Christ will be found, not necessarily in endeavoring to enliven already existing local com-munities, but rather in forming new intentional communities within our groups. In addressing the obstacles to refounding a religious community, Gerald Arbuclde acknowledged that efforts to "move" or "change" a group inevitably encounter significant resistance. Hence, he says, "The new belongs elsewhere." These communities, similar to the one Jesus formed with his disciples, have mission at their center and heart. Mission conse-quently operates as their chief source of connectedness and energy. Members of an intentional community realize that they cannot minister to others outside unless they live in a community founded on inter-dependence and a mutuality informed by faith. This faith life sensitively balances the needs of the community and those of each individual and finds sharing of faith to be indispensable to its life. This inevitably leads to a high level of trust that allows mem-bers to challenge one another's behavior in light of a commonly accepted vision and goal. While these intentional communities meet some of the emotional, social, and intellectual needs of its members, they are in no way therapeutic support centers. An intentional community is "a group of religious living together who feel the need to be supported in their ministries and willingly commit themselves to develop a gospel-centered intimacy to be expressed in shared faith, ongoing conversation, and shared action."1° In short, an intentional community is one that has a clear and visible and easily identifiable way of life. Such a group offers the world what it does not find elsewhere: a community of faith, friendship, and mutual support engaged in an adventure larger than itself. In writing about his hopes for Dominican communities, Timothy Radcliffe OP, the master general, highlighted the impor-tance of such communities for the future of religious life. These groups, he maintained, carry within themselves seeds of new life. Communities similar to the one Jesus formed with his disciples have mission at their center and heart. January-Februaty 2000 Klein ¯ Transforming Mission "Unless a province plans the building of such communities, then it dies. A province with three communities where the brethren flourish in their Dominican life has a future, with the grace of God. A province with twenty communities where we just survive may well have none." it To say the least, we religious at the threshold of the new mil-lennium face significant challenges as we participate in Jesus' adventure. Allowing God to transform our mission and ourselves will not be a process devoid of risk and some pain. Nonetheless, to do otherwise would rob our religious families of the new life necessary to bring them into the future and, as a result, would put at risk our contribution to the mission of Christ. In the conclu-sion of Vita consecrata, the Holy Father asserts that religious "have not only a glorious history to remember and to recount, but also a great history still to be accomplished! Look to the future, where the Spirit is sending you in order to do even greater things" (VC §110). A real test of our faith and gospel hope is our belief in the truth of John Paul's words. Martin Heidegger once compared the journey of life to a person walking in a huge forest where it is pitch dark, where it is raining and thundering, and one has completely lost the way. There is a bolt of lightning and for an instant the way is clear. Then it is dark again. All one can and must do is keep going in the direction one saw illuminated by the lightning flash. This is our challenge and our opportunity: to keep going, to trust that God is faithful, to remember the way in the light of those key moments through which God intervenes in our lives. Most of our life we must move ahead in darkness, sustained in our faithfulness by what we once glimpsed when, if only for an instant, everything was clear.12 Notes ~ New York Times, 22 March 1999, p. 8. -' John W. O'Malley SJ, Tradition and Transition: H#torical Perspectives on Vatican II (Wilmington: Michael Glazier, 1989), p. 97. 3 Albert DiIanni SM, Religious Life as Adventure (New York: Alba House, 1994), p. 108. 4 Rembert Weakland OSB, "Liturgy and Common Ground," America 180, no. 5 (20 February 1999): 9. s Robert J. Schreiter, "Challenges and Directions of Religious Life at the Turn of the Millennium," Address given at the inauguration of the Center for the Study of Religious Life, 21 June 1998, p. 11. Review for Religious 6 Ronald Rolheiser OMI, "Religious Life in America Faces a Change of Epoch," paper prepared for the Inter-American Meeting in Toronto, May 1999, p. 13. 7 Pope John Paul II, "Message for the Celebration of the World Day of Peace," 1 January 1999, p. 21. s Robert A. Jonas, Henri Nouwen (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1998), p. 35. 9 Gerald A. Arbuckle SM, From Chaos to Mission: Refounding Religious Life Formation (Strathfield, N.S.W.: St. Paul's Publications, 1996), p. 11. ~0 Arbuclde, From Chaos to Mission, p. 15 I. " Timothy Radcliffe OP, Pastoral letter "The Promise of Life," 2 February 1999, p. 3. ~2 John Fullenbach, Prodaiming His Kingdom (Manila: Divine Word Publications, 1992), p. 190. The Joys of January Beautiful month of the cold, clean slate: nothing mars its pristine glare. Starlings stare, perched on empty limbs shaking in their purity. The air bears thoughts of ice. Wind cuts through whispers. Walls show us where twigs scrape messages: deliver words, deliver us: bend, blow beautifully, winter stems. Wake us. The dark recedes, we see our breath, a flickering. Light. Mary Kennan Herbert Janua~. -Febmtmy 2000 A. PAUL DOMINIC Evangelization as Religious Mission of Joy Spurely, in the Indian experience, joy has not been a strong oint in religious life, in fact or in principle. This came to me as a rude shock twenty-odd years ago during a chat with a couple of sisters. As I was leaving their place, one of them made a particularly religious sort of request: "Father, will you please pray for vocations to our congregation?" I replied at once, though with some inner hesitation, "Why pray? If you are all happy, the girls will simply flock to you!" When I said this, I did not know I was echoing the mind of Pope Paul vI revealed in his 1971 apostolic exhortation Evangelica testificatio (§55). I must not have impressed them, for one of them said to me later, "But you must know we are religious!" Though that was not a recent event, attitudes of this type do not change in a single generation--though I would like to be proved wrong. Incidentally, the rumor of joyless religious life is not an exclusively Indian phenomenon: most of the religious con-gregations here have been transported from the West. Why, the very fact that a paper on consecrated life as anointed with joy was read in 1998 in San Antonio, Texas, at the annual confer-ence of vicars of religious implies that even modern American religious are not above the need of awakening to joy in their life of consecration.' A. Paul Dominic SJ last wrote for us in November-December 1995. His address is Satyodayam; 12-5-33, S. Lallaguda; Secunderabad 500 017; India. Review for Religiota This sad state of affairs in religious life is a reflection of Christianity in general, which has been accused of joylessness by both Westerners and Easterners. Nietzsche, for instance, has ridiculed the claim of Christians to have been saved by Christ. If it were really so, he argues, why could they not look joyful instead of appearing so remarkably gloomy? The Indian Shree Rajneesh, quite celebrated in his way, has been no less categorical in his attack on Christian attitudes. "Christians say that Jesus never laughed!" he alleges, and counters: "Now this seems to be the ulti-mate in stupidity. Jesus . never laughed? Then who else can laugh? . . They have made his picture very sad-looking, long-faced, burdened. This is not possible. This is utterly wrong.''2 All this non-Christian aspersion may well serve as a goad, particularly for us religious, to discover or rediscover the characteristic joy of Christ and enter into it (see Mt 25:21 and 23) and thus be evange-lized, that is, "gladdened by the good news" of our redemption. The Oil of Gladness It is heartening to observe that, in the biblical experience, there is a joyous anointing, besides several others. This joyous anointing is bestowed on the righteous king, that is, the king who loves justice, producing the pleasure of the people without seeking his own fortune (Ps 45:3-8). Who can this joyously anointed king be but him whose very name is Christ, meaning, of course, "the anointed one"? He is the one who, as no other, can witness to his joy in this fashion: "I was beside the master crafts-man, delighting him day after day, ever at play in his presence, at play everywhere on his earth, delighting to be with the children of men" (Pv 8:30-3 I). If, by virtue of baptismal consecration, every Christian shares in the life of the joyously anointed Christ, what may we conclude about those consecrated further by religious profession? Being anointed with the oil of gladness is no doubt a charism person-ally received; it is, however, not to be enjoyed as a private pos-session, but to be ever passed on for the surprise enjoyment of others. If religious are genuine enough, they will necessarily make their anointing evident, for the joyous enhancement of others. Leading lives of contagious joy" because their God is the joy of their never ending youth, they will liberate the masses from their oppressed lives and lead them into the same joy. January-Febrnary 2000 Dominic ¯ Evangelization as Religious Mission of Joy All truly enlightened persons, whatever their religion, would share in this lofty, uplifting, and truly religious sentiment of theirs. People's innermost recesses would be affected, and there-fore the social fabric too. For instance, among the Hindu Tamil saints was Tayumanavar, who prayed out of the abundance of his holy joy: "That all should be happy is my one wish, Almighty One! This is the only thing I know!" The Christian ashrams here in India have, in proper inter-religious spirit, followed suit in earnest and have introduced, somewhere at the beginning of Lauds, the singing of the Sanskrit sloka "Lokah samasta sukhino bhavantu," which means "May all the world be happy!" This vision of joy, flowing to us from God and necessarily flowing to others from us, is certainly wonderful. How do we make this vision vivid to ourselves and transparent to others in a practicable, communicable way? The Religious Way of Joy The way to experience joy in God is, first and foremost, to enjoy our life, basically and paradoxically, in its human and of course ecological dimension. There God will be available, not absent. For one thing, where joy is there will be no room for complaining. Complaining is a root of the atheist's mindset (see Ph 2:14-15). Habitually complaining persons construe everything as wrong, in sharp contrast to the divine intention exhibited in creation and providence (see Gn 1 and Mt 5:45), and so they can-not subscribe to any belief in God. Even if they claimed to believe, their belief would be the result of some psychological or religious conditioning and so only superficial, if not spurious. Rajneesh warns against such joyless nominal faith, advocat-ing an increasing enjoyment of life as the way to find God-given joy in ourselves. He says: Any small thing is full of God! So love this life . Eat, enjoy the food, and let God come to you as a taste. Listen to music, get lost in it, and let God come to you as sound ¯ . . as harmony. Let God descend on you slowly, without any hankering to catch hold of him . Just open yourself as much as possible--to the trees, to the birds, to the rains, to the sun, to the sands¯ Open yourself wherever you are; absorb, and gratitude will arise . And you will not know towards whom this gratitude is arising. When you don't know towards whom., it is towards God) Review for Religious Does this not read like a poetic rendition of the Contemplation to Attain love offered by St. Ignatius at the very climax of his Spiritual Exercises (§§230-237) to train people to find the joy of God no less outside their retreat than in it? Again, does this not evoke the following bold and originally controversial remark of St. Paul? "If I partake with thankfulness, why should I be denounced because of that for which I give thanks? So whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God" (1 Co 10:30-31; see also Col 3:16-17). Again, does this not read like an expository commentary on the praxis and pronouncements of Jesus? He, whose mission was to make known the heart of God to humanity, did not speak explicitly about God as much as he spoke about the happiness people longed for. He assured them that they were des-tined for joy, and, to prove it, he went about doing good for them in ever sur-prising ways. He fed them in their hunger without being asked, and he sat-isfied them. In that way he led them to discover for themselves that it was God who fed them to their heart's content. He healed them of their many illnesses and gladdened them and in that way enlightened them about how God meant them to be healthy and happy. His teaching was new precisely in proclaiming that they were at the threshold of an altogether new blessedness, thanks to the unique intervention God was initiating in humanity. He declared a new law, the law of beatitude (see Mt 5:1-10), for all, but particularly for the poor, that is, for those who longed for blessedness (see Lk 10:23-24). All this would have been offensive to people who abided by their fixed religious ways without, however, conspicu-ous happy living. To those who made much of fasting, for instance, he declared himself against it unless times and seasons made sense of it and demanded it. Indeed, he approved of feast-ing before fasting, gladly characterizing himself as one who came in the spirit of God's new time, eating, drinking, and partying in marked contrast to his predecessor, and not fighting shy of the The way to experience joy in God is, first and foremost, to enjoy our life in its human and of course ecological dimension. .~anualy-Februa~y 2000 Dominic * Evangelization as Religious Mission of Joy nicknames "glutton" and "drunkard" that some hurled at him. Because he found the joy of God in feasting in God's name, he could also, paradoxically, find the God of joy while abstaining from any feast. Is it not quite revelatory, when we come to think of it, that the word feast denotes both a lavish meal (as at a wed-ding) and a periodic religious observance? Christ was persuaded . that God himself was feasting, and so he would urge people undertaking a fast to present an appearance of joy (Mt 6:16-18). Whatever delightful stories of God he told had invariably the magic spell of joy in life. The stories suggest that only those who have known the joy of a wedding feast, or a bumper harvest, or an unexpected catch of fish, or giving birth to a child, or finding a lost coin or son, or stumbling on a treasure, or seeing and being a child, and so forth, could understand and delight in God. They as much as say that anyone who has known none of life's ordinary joys would be unable to know, let alone enjoy, God in their life-- even though God, as the source of all other joys, is a joy well above life's mundane joys. So Christ's call to joy was constant and compelling, encouraging us to be open to unnoticed joys around us and then to greater joy: Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? . . . Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you--you of little faith? Therefore do no worry, saying, "What shall we eat?" or "What shall we drink?" or "What shall we wear?". Your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. (Mt 6:26-32) All who have known and enjoyed God thus in life will hope-fully carry this, their basic thrill of happiness, all through their life and will further develop their happy character through life's tasks, trials, and temptations. Anointing Others with Joy Like the birds of the air and the lilies of the field, the more we become what we are (namely, anointed with joy) by growing in the joy that abides in us from our looking at Jesus, the pioneer Review for Religious of our joy, the more we shall be able to anoint others with joy. Sensing this dynamic of joy, how does one move in this mission of joy (evangelization, translated literally)? Basic to any move in relation to others is openness to all so that all may have life. The joy within us, if genuine, will be free from all conditioning by others and will contrive to make every-one welcome indiscriminately. This is what Christ did. He who said "Let the little children come to me" in an age when they counted for little had much the same attitude of welcome towards all, Jew or gentile or Samaritan, Pharisee or Sadducee or rogue, man or woman, young or old, high or low, rich or poor, clean or dirty, learned or illiterate, virtu-ous or sinful, and so forth, irrespec-tive of all segregations prevailing in his day. When he did make choices, however, it was doubtless towards the poor of all sorts, showing compas-sion for the multitude that was like sheep without a shepherd, saying that he had come for sinners, not the virtuous, and that the Spirit had anointed him to bring good news to the poor, to prisoners, the blind, and the oppressed. And so they, the poor masses, who Jesus sadly foretold are with us always (more glaringly now than ever before), have the greatest claim on our mission of joy. How do we set about this privileged mission? Thefirst move must be to initiate or maintain solidarity with people in their joyless situation, following the incarnation's prin-ciple of bringing joy to the world. We need to be one with them as far as possible. Ideally, of course, we should be so much one with them that nothing differentiates us from them in sur-rounding society. Meanwhile every attempt we make in this direc-tion will be an opening of joy to the unfortunates with whom we seek to share our own joy. During my turn as chaplain at a home for the aged, the day I began eating with them at their own table (something they had never seen before) was a matter of undreamt-of joy for them, far more beneficial than my liturgical or homiletic performance. The ontological principle actio in distans repugnat is no less sociological and evangelical. When Jesus sent his disciples The joy within us will be free from all conditioning by others and will contrive to make everyone welcome indiscriminately. January-February 2000 Dominic * Evangelization as Religious Mission of Joy on mission, what was he doing but bridging the gap between the teaching tribe and the taught? In his clear instruction to them to stay and eat happily with their hosts, what was he aiming at but their insertion into their very midst? When he himself was at home in the company of the sick and suffering and sinful, what was he exhibiting but his identification with their milieu? The second move must be to respond to the felt desires of those whom we have chosen to serve foremost in the promotion of joy. The Bible has as much to do with this as with the worship of God (see Is 58:6-10, Am 5:21-24, Mi 6:6-8). However much we may have identified with various persons, we may be mistaken about their drives and urges. That is why we have not had in great numbers the likes of St. Peter Claver and Blessed Katherine Drexel in the history of slavery, or of Bishop Romero and Corazon Aquino (once president of the Philippines) in the much delayed popular struggle, or of Little Sister Madeleine of Jesus and professor-turned-preacher Peter Reddy pitching their tents on the fringe of society.4 To work today toward a better future, it would on our part be best if we had people spell out their desires and then responded to them. Though at times Jesus' benefac-tions were a surprise to the beneficiaries of them, often he led people to be aware of their needs and then proceeded to respond to those needs, and bring joy (see Mk 10:46-52, Jn 4:4-42, Jn 5:1-9, even Mt 20:20-23). Besides this, he was quick to sense and fill the deeper spiritual needs they felt in spite of, or along with, their physical or social ones (as in the cases of Mary of Magdala and Joanna, Bartimaeus, Zacchaeus, the Samaritan outcast, and the Gerasene demoniac). Unlike him was the North American priest working in a South American parish who, to his dismay, discovered from his old cat-echist that his people, whom he had raised economically to a sat-isfactory level, were leaving him for a newfound evangelical pastor because they wanted to hear the glad news of the gospel. The third move in our mission will be, therefore, to lay bare the hidden needs of the spirit, at whatever level people may be, and to bring them to a higher level that engages their own inner resources. There is a time and reason for attending to and filling their mate-rial needs, and also for sensitizing themto higher needs and, with the conviction learned from Jesus, inviting them to higher joy: "But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well" (Mt 6:33). Review for Religious Reality may seem to fly in the face of this assurance, but can-not negate it altogether. People like Paul, who by God's grace knew a deep joy in penury as well as in plenty (Ph 4:11-13), show the truth of Jesus' words. In declaring that God has a higher claim on people and fills a deeper need than ordinary earthly liv-ing makes them concerned about, Jesus was not being naive. Well aware of the problematic reverses of human life, he was aware too of the privileged reserves of the human spirit. And so he would train people in tested, mature happiness by his winning counsel: "Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows" (Mt 10:29-31). This stance leads us to the fourth move, namely, to encour-age and fortify people caught in suffering to rise above it and emerge in joy. Would this work in life? It can and does, because it did in Christ's life. Even though all through his public life he encountered opposition from many quarters and faced threats to his life from authorities like Herod, he carried on his work with joyous determination and courage that were the mark of his unflinching faith in God. When his disciples were sorely troubled by his uncertain future, he reassured them emphati-cally: "Very truly, I tell you, you will weep and mourn, but the world will rejoice; you will have pain, but your pain will turn into joy" (Jn 16:20). He urged them to ask the Father for any-thing in his name and to count on receiving it so that their joy might be complete On 16:24). The fifth move will be to witness to the revelation of how exceptionally suffering people may anticipate their joy in their very suffering (as Jesus himself did), and not in spite of it. At the end of his life, when the worst of his fears were to overtake him, he made a celebration of his last meal, carried himself with joyous strength of an unusual kind, and imparted to his dis-heartened disciples his sure vision of their future mission of suc-cess with words of comfort: "I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete" (Jn 15:1 I). He concluded by asking the Father that his distraught disciples might have his own joy made complete in their very selves (Jn 17:13). From his personal experience he could witness to the joy of the persecuted poor, not only in principle by declaring them Janumy-Februal~ 2000 Dominic ¯ Evangelization as Religious Mission of ,yoy blessed (Mt 5:10-12), but also in practice by bringing public recognition to people who were quietly but surely joyful, such as the poor widow who made an offering to God of all her sav-ings with sure, spontaneous, though unglamorous, joy (Mk 12:41- 44). The most moving story of this kind that I know is this: A woman took a priest to her home to" show him a secret of hers. Hidden in a corner was her bedridden eight-year-old son, with the body of a child and the head of an adult, with a darting tongue like a snake's. Seeing the sight he groaned; but she did not hear it, for she was saying, "Father, I have looked after this child for eight years now. He knows only me. I love him very much. Almost no one knows about it." In speaking thus warmly of her son, she did not hesitate to speak happily about her God as well: "God is good. God is our Father.,,s The more such secrets are known, the more joy will abound on the earth! The sixth move in evangelization is to declare, after due dis-cernment, how the good and glad program of God for humanity is being carried out even at the social level. Christ began his min-istry of joy at Nazareth, making precisely such a discerned dec-laration to his townsfolk. More than Jesus' proclamation of the good plan of God for their welfare, what pleasantly surprised them was the accompanying announcement of its effectiveness then and there in the very workings of their society (Lk 4:21). All through his later ministry, too, he was intent on making peo-ple recognize the growing social implementation of the divine plan carried on through the mediation of works of gladness done by himself (Lk 7:18-22 and 11:20) and like-minded others, whether among his explicit followers or unattached admirers (Mk 7:1-9, 9:11-12 and 38-40, and 12:34; Lk 10:i0-11 and 18-19). In our evangelization, therefore, we need to be on the watch to dis-cern and broadcast the divine reformation and revolution willy-nilly taking place in the world, thanks to our cooperative works, small or big, and those of many, many others, done--in the spirit of the Servant of Yahweh--quietly, steadfastly, and effectively (Mt 12:19-21). Even as we rejoice and lead others to rejoice in the magnalia Dei present in contemporary society, we also know and cannot deny the ungodly contradictions that afflict our web of life covertly and overtly. The best move in this situation--and this is the seventh and last move in our task of joy--is to channel into our world the spirit of the Book of Revelation, namely, a mood of Review for Religious faith and hope: faith in God revealed in the great works of joy already experienced, and hope in God preparing greater works, of which our mind has not conceived but of which there has been an earnest within our experience. One of the most fervent expres-sions of such an experience is the ancient song that nevertheless sounds new: "Though the fig tree does not blossom and no fruit is on the vines, though the produce of the olive fails and the fields yield no food,.yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will exult in the God of my salvation" (Hab 3:17-18). Mary, Mission of Joy What is the Magnificat but the above ancient hymn sung in a new melody? Surprised by joy, Mary celebrates God in her new song for all his works of gladness wrought in her and her society of the lowly, down through the ages. She rejoices in her own deeds of happiness, too, which God inspired her to perform for the benefit of the lowly and indeed of all humankind. She inspires and urges all those interested in similar works to become part of the hopeful, joyful movement to which God gives increasing momentum for his glory and our bliss. Following her Son in all matters of life, she precedes us religious like a wise guide in all matters, even in our evangelical mission. Notes ~ See Review for Religious 57, no. 6 (November-December 1998): 605-620. 2 Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh, I Say unto You, Vol. 2 (Pune, India: Rajneesh Foundation, 1980), p. 172. 3 Rajneesh, I Say unto You, pp. 217-218. 4 Reddy (1895-1958), a convert, renounced his professorship in a Jesuit college in Tamil Nadu and became a pilgrim beggar and vagrant preacher. See J. Cherupallikat, Witness Potential of Evangelical Poverty in India (Immensee, Switzerland: Nouvelle Revue de Science Missionnaire, 1975), pp. 117-121. s See Leonardo Boff, The Lord's Prayer (Indore, India: Satprakashan Sanchar Kendra, no date), p. 88. January-Feblvtary 2000 finding God ROBERT % COSTELLO Discovering God in Gaps Joseph Cardinal Bernardin influenced millions of peo-ple. As I read accounts of his life and watched the tele-vision coverage of his death and funeral, I was intrigued by a paradox. Cardinal Bernardin wrote, shortly before his death in November 1996, that his last years were the best and worst of times. He said he loved being Joseph to his people and seeking to build bridges between diverse church elements. He told of struggling to free himself from a "need" for success, a "need" to avoid criticism; he told of struggling to trust. He said he was whipsawed by groups asking him to carry their diverse banners. Then came the shocking conspiracy to brand him for sexual misconduct. After displaying immense courage amid the harsh publicity, he gained a growing respect and influence during the slow onset of the cancer that brought his death. Joseph Bernardin's influence peaked in his vulner-ability to the plot to defame him, his care for his false accuser. His example suggests a paradoxical experience in leadership, one which raises engaging questions. Are there implications for church leaders in the cardinal's Robert T. Costello SJ, onetime professor of psychology at Rockhurst College and former provincial superior of his order's Missouri province, currently does retreat work at the Guelph Centre of Spirituality; Box 245, Station Main; Guelph, Ontario; N1H 6J9 Canada. Review for Religious behavior? Is there even a hint for a spirituality for others beneath the dramatic circumstances he found himself in? Several experi-ences of mine have suggested an answer. The Southdown Institute is a residential treatment facility for priests and religious and offers monthly workshops for provincials, diocesan chancellors, and council members return-ing for aftercare with former residents. Asked to be a party to those sessions while on staff, I found myself filtering their expe-riences through memories of previous ~:esponsibilities of mine. This led me to sense that Bernardin's curious enhanced power had meaning for other leaders in the church. The leadership participants spoke of their stress at having to make choices about subordinates while pulled between conflicting values and options. They had to decide between what was empathic and tolerant on the one hand and firm and objective on the other. So it seemed to them. I describe this situation as "being in a gap" between an objective managerial function and an empathic pas-toral inclination. It is as though there is no one to turn to when a decision must be made. The cardinal was in a contradictory sit-uation or gap between defending his personal reputation and addressing what he learned were the spiritual needs of his accuser. I believe that this experiential dilemma, this gap, is worth exploring. What is involved in a church leader's experience of the gaps in administration? What Is a Gap? I define the gap as the tension a leader experiences in choos-ing between opposing goods such as compassion and impartial-ity. Should one postpone a difficult decision until there is more information, follow an intuition, or get on with a community's organizational needs? I consulted journals to better understand a paradox I felt was present in gaps. I also shared my quandary with three peo-ple presumably well versed in gap pressures. A general's assis-tant said that the gap issue deals with a leader's spiritual sensitivity to find God in the stressful situations. An assistant to the late Pedro Arrupe likewise suggested that gaps involve the spiritual meaning one disc6vers in the ministry of leadership. The provincial of a large community recalled being pulled by uncertainty and yet needing to act with determination. These January-Februa~7 2000 Costello ¯ Discovering God in Gaps responses added to my interest in the paradox that unintended influence emerges when a leader experiences a "centrifugal" effect from weakness and strength. Church leadership is a hybrid role of prophet and executive, of inspirational guide and money manager, a role which is bound to involve the kind of gaps we are discussing. It is different from the role of a business or professional leader (Nygren and Ukeritis, 1993). Empathy is an obvious part of the job description, but so is resolute confrontation. Workshop participants at Southdown spoke of pride in their organization's history, joy in their work, but also pain in conflicted relations with members. They said the stress was to be patient and challenging with fragile personalities while remaining focused on pressing tasks like building commu-nity consensus. One participant recalled that a lawyer's advice about a personnel issue seemed heartless but persuasive. Such circumstances required taking valuable time to address inappro-priate behaviors, being supportive of the person but still pursu-ing larger organizational issues. The research data of Nygren, Ukeritis, et al. (1993) broad-ened my notion of the gaps church leaders encounter. The authors uncovered nearly a dozen pressures which both pull and restrain religious leaders. For example, there is a strain between cultural individualism on one hand and the gospel values calling to relationships on the other. They wrote that leaders should be partners in the process of renewal, not initiators. Leaders also needed to establish mutual relationships. Their research found that generosity in some members was being eclipsed by self-pre-occupation. They noted that fewer religious espoused a prefer-ential option for the poor because of responding to personal calls for self-determination, making assignment difficult. This litera-ture, however, did not address an aspect of the leader's experi-ence I sensed in the life of Cardinal Bernardin and recalled, in a way, from my own years as a provincial. I found myself curious about his power. Eventually I had a clearer sense that there were unique tensions or gaps in the power differentials of leaders and community members. I originally had an unexamined, even patriarchal, conception of power: it produces effects. Thus the religious leader buys or sells property, approves vows. She can influence events in for-eign countries. Power makes things happen for individuals and a community and can be a unilateral influence. I also mistakenly Review for Religious suspected that leadership's authority was in the office or person. I believed that ideally Bernardin's considerable power would leave him unaffected if he exercised it adroitly. In .other words, good leadership could, should, and would produce a win-win result. I recalled, though, having nagging doubts after making some deci-sions. Those are what I was coming to recognize and identify as my gap experiences. A second conception of power grew out of curiosity about how the cardinal remained so influential aJ~er the conspiracy to besmirch his reputation collapsed. There was power and influence in how he allowed himself to be unaf-fected. I could understand people admiring his humility, but the pro-found impact his dying had on people puzzled me because I thought media frenzy would stain his integrity and reputation. I finally saw that there was power in how he allowed himself be affected. Power was being both active and passive, doing and receiving. When a Southdown workshop participant recalled a member's death from AIDS and the scandal which developed, I found his empathic reaction powerful. Gradually I saw that this second conception of power was a pas-sive reality that makes church leadership both personally demand-ing and spiritually challenging because church structure expects spiritual meaning to be acknowledged. Authority, then, seemed somehow to be a mutual influence. As the publicity swirled about him, Bernardin's stature seemed to increase with each gentle assertion, of his innocence and his belief that somehow the truth would appear. He pressed on with his plan to develop greater harmony in the Catholic Church of the United States while continuing to empathize with his accuser. He was in a wrenching gap. After he was exonerated of sexual impropriety, he threw himself into work only to be diagnosed With terminal cancer, but that is another story and a different stressful situation. Nygren, Ukeritis, et al. say that leaders viewed their source of power as residing either in themselves or in others. A leader who assumes personal authority is able to be assertive, while a Church leadership is a hybrid role of prophet and executive, of inspirational guide and money manager. January-February 2000 Costello * Discovering God in Gaps leader who considers the source of power to be in others becomes more interdependent or tentative. Note here that these sources of power are not mutually exclusive and inevitably result in the internal struggles (gaps) that are at issue here. For example, a leader who stands on his or her own authority and is objectively assertive in dealing with members may generate resistance and be labeled autocratic. A leader who sees his or her power as derived from others can become paralyzed by members who disagree and resist consensus. A conception of passive power I found most enlightening was that of Bernard Loomer (1976). He described it as relational power. His concept helped me understand the paradox of Cardinal Bernardin: giving and receiving influence. This kind of. power is not an either/or capacity, like deciding to act or not act in a certain way. With Loomer's guidance I will digress on two faces of power: Power results from being influenced and Power preserves rela-tionships. Power as being influenced is not a contradiction. One workshop participant spoke of selling a building that had great symbolic value for her community and openly sharing the pain of it, thus leading the community to "get through it." A second par-ticipant spoke of compassionately confronting the stony silence of a member who violated a fiduciary relationship. Such gap expe-riences are clearly intense--but how are they powerful? The Challenge of Gaps Gaps challenge leaders to expand in "size," that is, to make room in their minds and hearts for opposing realities, such as the limits of human adaptability juxtaposed with situational demands. Gaps stretch leaders, and the power is displayed in the manner in which they embrace what is needed but only possibly achievable. Gaps pull for courage and commitment to the uncer-tain benefit of another, and this edifies and empowers. Cardinal Bernardin exercised power by being mortified on CNN over the accusation thrown at him of sexual abuse. He gent-ly absorbed the humiliation of being asked on television if he was sexually active. He also showed the size of his heart by refusing to countersue his accuser, while at the same time working (in what must have seemed another world) to build consensus among divergent elements in the church. Size is prodigal power because Review for Religious it demonstrates that stress is absorbed for the uncertain benefit of others. The cardinal's power was shown also by his refusing to unleash a legal assault on the conspirators with his available resources and by his believing that this conspiracy could not crush him. Size deals with the interior authority of the person; I find it godlike. A second face of power is manifest in someone who actively preserves relationships. In Loomer's view here, power is the capacity to sustain the mutuality of giv-ing and receiving. Individuals with per-sonal problems often refuse .such mutuality by erecting rigid boundaries as a way of securing whatever power they have. Bernardin's relational power consisted in the months of effort he spent trying to establish a vulnerable connection with his accuser, not in any brandishing of his status, with its vast legal resources that would only have cre-ated a wider gulf. In the end, both men contributed to and were nourished in the relationship because of thee inequalities of power. This was for me a surprising real-ization: one of the greatest influences anyone can have on another is being influenced by that person. Therein lies the power available in gaps. As I spent time musing about this issue, I came finally to a new understanding of some of my leadership experience. I grasped that my deep pain over the shrinkage of religious life was sad-ness over others' "poor discernment" or "lack of courage": "If only those departing had consulted more astute advisors, they could have fallen out of love and remain and resolve their issues" ¯ . . "If only they had more grit, things could be as they were-- and we have such need of their gifts!" I was helpless in the face of diminishment, but also hopeful there could be unimagined surprises in it. And yet I conceived these gap experiences as noth-ing more than stress due to my personal limitations. Cardinal Bernardin believed that meeting his accuser just might set the man free. He actually went to the man, faced his understandable resentment, brought about reconciliation while pressing on with the archdiocese's business. That demonstrated Gaps pull for courage and commitment to the uncertain benefit of another, and this edifies and empowers. Jannary-Februa~y 2000 Costello ¯ Discovering God in Gaps his size. The cardinal seemed detached from the scandal, and it appears his anchor was in spiritual meaning he attached to this ordeal. He "knew" the truth would appear, that he was innocent and it was possible somehow to be vindicated. He recalled that Jesus pledged his life in the interest of others in the face of their mis-understandings and abandonment. This was the quintessential experience of absorbing the stress in a gap for the benefit of a dream or a commitment. It was relational power. The paradox I sensed in Cardinal Bernardin's life connected with two other men whose conversions influenced me: C.S. Lewis and Ignatius Loyola. Lewis wrote that as a child he was "stabbed" by intense feelings of joy. He seemed obsessed with recapturing this experience and spent years trying to re-create it by exploring the riches of the arts and nature. He suspected he was trying to cook up emotional thrills. After years of frustration in this quest, he concluded he was seeking the wrong quarry. He had confused the affective experience of joy with its object. The sought-after emo-tion was only a cheap reminder or a footprint of a presence. An extraordinary realization. There was no other answer because all his introspection dissatisfied him until he accepted that the value of joy was in its object, in something else, in a presence--in God. While admitting I am on uncertain ground, for me Ignatian detachment means that in leadership as well as life we must hold ourselves in a kind of balance before all things, insofar as we have a choice. In the present context, whether a gap ended with pos-itive feelings would not be the issue; rather, it would depend on which alternative led the cardinal to greater self-donation and compassion. This detachment, no matter how experienced inter-nally, calls forth a more loving response to life's circumstances, which is a presence even if experienced as stress. In my view, this interpretation describes the experience of gaps religious leaders often have when detachment produces negative feelings which demand that they increase in size. My mistake was to attribute stressful feelings to the "cost" of leadership, nothing more. I had focused on my experience of stress, not its object. I think, as well, that Ignatius considered the actual feeling in spiritual consolation to be unrelated to a venture's success or failure. This was enlightening in the face of how hard it is to associate the stress or occasional bitterness in gaps with anything like God's confirming presence. I had supposed that God is sup-posed to be present in consolation (involving joy), not in uncer- Review for Religious tainty or regret (due to my painful limitations). I recall a con-soling sense of satisfaction after a community meeting that went well--who would not feel deep joy in a win-win situation? But sit-uations of angry conflict that emphasized one's own poverty in coping with it seemed altogether different, as they did for par-ticipants at the Southdown meetings. As I was learning, though, Ignatian consolation can coexist with stress and uncertainty when there is a conviction of possible benefit for others. The conflicted stress that people in leadership positions experience seems to be located between what is possible for them and what is unimaginable. Leadership routinely deals with possibil-ities and constraints in people or situa-tions, and so gaps are inescapable. My own experience and comments of others at workshops convince me that Ignatian detachment and consolation give these gaps further meaning: gaps are a time of the Spirit's presence in the stress. Ignatian consolation is an affective experience directed toward God and the world and away from self, an experience that can be stressful--as when one hopes that one's own experience of a difficult interpersonal exchange may just possibly be for the good of the person and the situation. No person in history staked as much as Jesus on the merest possibility that fidelity to his convictions could be redemptive for people, notwithstanding experience to the contrary. The stakes were so high because one side of the gap meant Jesus could be deluded while the other side presented only a flimsy possibility that the kingdom he desired would ever eventuate. The stake seemed to involve the exhilaration of wagering it all, staying in the gap, believing and hoping in the possible. From this perspective, the continuing power of Jesus is the unbounded size he mani-fests because there is room in his heart for all. More humbling than finding oneself in such a gap is a sus-picion that some leaders get about themselves. They wonder whether they seek to walk this way of possibility or rather are sought by God to walk it. In my reflection I admitted, without comprehending why, the possibility of their being sought. And Ignatian consolation can coexist with stress and uncertainty when there is a conviction of possible benefit for others. January-February 2000 Costello ¯ Discovering God in Gaps that makes all the difference when they make their stake to walk the way of possibility to the end, because they believe this service will be redemptive., for someone. Just like Christ's stake. References Bernardin, Joseph Cardinal. The Gift of Peace. Chicago: Loyola Press, 1997. Lewis, C.S. Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life. New York: Harcourt Brace, 1956. Loomer, Bernard. "Two Conceptions of Power." Process Studies 6, no. 1 (Spring 1976). Nygren, David J., CM, and Miriam D. Ukeritis CSJ. "The Religions Life Futures Project: Executive Summary." Review for Religious 52, no. 1 (January-February 1993): 6-51. Nygren, David J., CM, Miriam D. Ukeritis CSJ, et al. "Religious- Leadership Competencies." Review for Religious 52, no. 3 (May- June 1993): 390-417. Ordinary Time Hoarfrost ages the discarded Christmas trees. Fog mutes the soul, and dampness chills the heart. In ordinary time we wait, like puffed-out birds, upon a frozen limb of time and seek for solace in the hearing of the Word. Ed Block Review for Religious DENNIS J. BILLY Devotion to God the Father in Religious Spirituality Ln some parts of the Catholic world, this article may draw w readers and perhaps outright protest. Among some reli-gious today, "Father" as referring to God might well be under-stood as an ideological catchword linking a speaker or writer, regardless of his or her intentions, with a slew of suspected atti-tudes (clustered around "patriarchy") about which questioning and disapproval would likely arise. Confronting Our Experience In such situations the anger evoked by an uncritical refer-ence to God as Father can be intense and highly vocal. A reaction to such anger could itself be a mirror image of the original--but in the opposite direction. "Every action has an equal and oppo-site reaction," as the saying goes. If care is not taken, this coun-tervailing process of action/reaction can spiral out of control and leave members of the believing community "poles apart." In such instances, division and animosity replace the dialogue and mutual respect that should characterize the believing com-munity. We should be saddened by such results, but not surprised. Human beings are weak and fragile. Even with the best of inten- Dennis J. Billy CSSR delivered this paper (here somewhat revised) in spring 1999 at the Institute of Spirituality of the Angelicmn in Rome. His postal address is Accademia Alfonsiana; C.P. 2458; 00100 Roma; Italy. Janua~y-Febrt~my 2000 Billy * Devotion to God the Father in Religious Spirituality tions, they can easily allow rancor and strife to get the upper hand in their lives. The same holds true for the communities people form, even religious ones. As the world gets smaller and smaller, I would not be surprised if the local Christian commu-nity and the local religious community reflect more and more of these complex and highly charged emotional tensions. Such is the nature of a world where technological advances have made mass communication practically instantaneous and where the communication media purvey religious sentiment for a society increasingly definable as a consumer market. Anything goes, if it will sell--better still if it will sell quickly. Package it well enough and you will get a large enough following to support your ideas. Besides, everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion. Right? If so, then we can call God whatever we please. Why not? I would be astonished if, among the readers of this journal, there is not a wide spectrum of strong emotional responses to my topic. Indeed, some of us may experience the full range of these intense emotional reactions in our own hearts. Some of us may have no problem whatsoever about referring to God as Father. Some of us may feel a certain ambivalence about the term and not quite understand why we feel the way we do. Some of us may feel guilty for feeling that way. Some of us may be confused and uncertain and may wonder h6w a simple phrase like "Our Father" can evoke such strong and conflicting emotional reac-tions. And some of us may be dead set against using such a term, regardless of what we say at Mass and regardless of what Scripture and Tradition, the pope, the magisterium, and even Jesus have to say about it. A reason for the vast array of reactions may be the ambiva-lence (and, in some cases, outright hatred) some people harbor toward their own fathers. Social historians speak of the weak-ened role of fatherhood in Western society due to tremendous upheavals brought about by the Industrial Revolution. As Western society became industrialized during the 19th and 20th centuries, the population gradually shifted from rural, agricultural areas to the cities and their outlying areas. Fathers went off to work in fac-tories, sometimes traveled long distances to get there, and returned home tired and hungry at the end of a long day with little energy for anything else. Over the years.this resulted in a culture with largely absent and disengaged fathers, who spent most of their time away from home and who had little direct Review for Religious contact with the inner workings of family life. Their job was to provide shelter and to put bread and butter on the table. Nothing more; nothing less. The image of the distant and detached father reading his evening paper, smoking his pipe, sipping his evening pint, oblivious to the needs of those around him, especially his children, is deeply embedded in many people's minds. In this century, advances in technology alleviated the situation some-what, but have created new demands on people's time and energy. These same advances, moreover, have brought much of the world under the sway of both the positive and the negative influ-ences of Western culture? If that is not enough, some people had fatherless childhoods because of war and disease. Imagine growing up without a father. People may not show it externally, but some of them have grown up feeling devastated, feel-ing abandoned by their fathers and perhaps even by God. Today households exist where the father or at least a strong fatherly influence simply does not exist. One wonders what calling God "Father" might mean in such a home. Of course, when fathers fail to take their roles seriously, when they neglect their children or abuse them with physical and psychological violence, even sexual misconduct, there is another problem about calling God "Father." Tensions grow and family situations worsen. No wonder that some people find it difficult to address God as their Father. Why should they think God would be anything but detached or remote or even violent toward them? How would you feel if you were in their shoes? Perhaps you already are. This is just a sampling of the wide range of feelings our topic can evoke. If we wish to understand what devotion to God the Father means for religious spirituality today, we need at the out-set to recognize and confront the wide range of sad experiences of fatherhood that people have had and do have. If we do not handle these problems regarding human fatherhood, theologians may look into possible new names for God and talk about them engagingly, but the names will very likely fail to make that all- We need to recognize and confront the wide range of sad experiences of fatherhood that people have had and do have. January-February 2000 Billy * Devotion to God the Father in Religious Spiritlutlity important journey from the mind to the heart. Proposed names that seem "theologically accurate" and "politically correct" are not likely ever to fit the mystery which sustains us and the world we live in from one moment to the next. If the words we use for God in prayer are somehow false, then the images they call up and our prayers themselves are likely to go awry. Defining Our Terms What does devotion to the Father mean in religious-life spir-ituality today? We have looked at various tensions to which use of this name for God gives rise in different people. Now we will clarify some of the terms of the discussion. To begin with, I follow Thomas Aquinas's understanding of "devotion" as "a ready willingness to give oneself to the service of God"; it is an act of religion, one of the allied virtues of jus-tice, and manifests itself in people's deep desire to serve God in whatever way asked of them (see ST2a-2ae.82.1 and 2). I use the word Father not in the Roman sense of paterfamilias (that is, "the patriarchal head of a household"), but in the Aramaic sense of "Abba" (that is, "Pap'a") that Jesus used to express the loving, compassionate face of God. This term has deep roots in the Christian psyche and expresses what experts in male spirituality refer to as "the deep masculinity" of God.2 Jesus himself explains this v.ery well in the Gospel of Luke when he says, "Be compas-sionate as your Father is compassionate" (Lk 6:36). By religious I refer to the way of life recognized by the Catholic Church that seeks to follow Christ through life in community and by the pub-lic profession of the vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience.3 This way of life has deep roots in Christian history, belongs to the charismatic dimension of the church, and forms an integral part of its life and holiness. By spirituality, in many ways the most elu-sive of the terms I am dealing with, I mean "how individuals or groups understand and carry out the ultimate meaning of their life." It can be discussed on three levels--the experiential, the doctrinal, and the analytical--and embraces both theoretical and concrete, practical issues.4 To quote a circular letter of Joseph W. Tobin, the Redemptorist superior general, "spirituality is con-nected with basic and often unsettling questions: Who are we? Why are we? How are we to live?''s Having clarified 'my terms, I can now express the question Review for Religious posed by my topic in the following way: What are the practical consequences of lifestyle and identity for those of us in the church who seek to give ourselves in service to God, our merciful and compassionate Father, through life in community and the public profession of the evangelical counsels? This question yields no simple solution. It is very difficult and complex, one that holds no instant solution, but must be pondered and contemplated by each community of religious and by each individual religious over and over and over again. I offer some guidelines to help in this process. Naming the Mystery Before we begin to do that, however, we must note the lim-itations of human language and its inability to exhaust the mys-tery of the divine. Language conceals as much as it reveals, perhaps even more. As Pseudo-Dionysius reminds us in The Divine Names: "God is . . . known in all things and as distinct from all things. He is known through knowledge and through unknowing. Of him there is conception, reason, understanding, touch, perception, opinion, imagination, name, and many other things. On the other hand he cannot be understood, words can-not contain him, and no name can lay hold of him.''6 The Catechism of the Catholic Church (§370) affirms this when it reminds us that we are created in God's image and not vice versa: "God is pure spirit in which there is no place for the difference between the sexes. But the respective 'perfections' of man and woman reflect something of the infinite perfection of God: those of a mother and those of a father and husband." In other words, the names we give God express something of who God is, but also fall infinitely short. Kataphatic (or "posi-tive") theology and apophatic (or "negative") theology go hand in hand. God is "Abba, Father," as Jesus teaches us, but also "our loving Mother," as the 14th-century anchoress Julian of Norwich reminds us in her Showings, and "inmost ground," as Meister Eckhart proposes in his German works.7 God can be referred to by these and a host of other religious appellations, some of which we can readily identify with, others not so readily. Perhaps it is only the "coincidence of opposites" which best expresses the mystery of God, who is known in the midst of our unknowing and who cannot be confined by our meager attempts to express the inexpressible. Janua~. -February 2000 Billy ¯ Devotion to God the Father in Religious Spirituality Theological language is fundamentally analogical in nature. That is to say, any word we use when speaking about or naming God expresses, at one and the same time, both a proportional likeness and difference. This holds true even for the word which the Word made flesh himself used to address God. Jesus calls God "Abba, Father," not to tie God down, define him, create an image of him in our heads, or (worse yet) exhaust his mystery, but to assure us that compassion and love rather than confusion and chaos lie at the heart of existence. This is precisely what the Spirit tells us when it cries out "Abba, Father" deep within our hearts and intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words (see Rm 8:15-27). Something rings true in our hearts when we call God "Abba, Father." We know that God is very much more than this two-syllable word can convey, but somehow it seems all right. We sense that God hears us, understands us, and assures us that all shall be well. A Revealed Religion Why is this so? We already have a received a glimpse of the reason above when, referring to the Catechism of the Catholic Church (§370), we noted that we are created in God's image, and not vice versa. Notice the passive voice. We are created. It is not we who do the creating. God is not a function of our language and systems of thought. We do not somehow "create" God by the names we give him or the theologies we concoct to express his divine mystery. If this were true, then theology itself would just be a sophisticated form of anthropomorphizing. In fact, God takes the initiative and reveals to us the nature of the divine. The ini-tiative is not for us to take; we are receivers. God uses human instruments, of course, which themselves are weak and fallible, but he takes the initiative. We must not forget that Christianity is a revealed religion. When it comes to naming God, it recognizes that human reason and human imagination can only go so far. On our own, all we can come up with is the recognition of the weakness of human lan-guage to express the inexpressible and the necessity of using many names so as to

Issue 58.5 of the Review for Religious, September/October 1999. ; f'o r reli i , C~stian Heritages and Contempora~ Living SEPTEMBER-OCTOBER1999 ¯ VOLUME58 ~°~NUMBER5 Review for Religious is a forum for shared r(flection on the lived experience of all who find that the church's rich heritages of spirituality support their personal and apostolic Christian lives. Tbe articles in tbe journal are meant to be informative, practical, historical, or inspirational, written from a theological or spiritual or ~ometimes canonical point of view. Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published hi-monthly 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: foppema@slu.edu 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 P.O. Box 29260; Washington, D.C. 20017 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 c~)ver for information on subscription rates. ©1999 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 permission will only be considered on written application to the Editor, Review for Religious. for religious 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 James and Joan Felling Kathryn Richards FSP Joel Rippinger OSB Bishop Carlos A. Sevilla SJ David Werthmann CSSR Patricia Wittberg SC Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living SEPTEMBER-OCTOBER'1999 ¯ VOLUME58 ¯ NUMBER5 contents 454 perspectives The Self in Postmodern Thought: A Carmelite Response Vilma Seelaus OCD places the biblical God-related understanding of the. self, on which the Carmelite tradition rests, in conversation with the postmodern self. 470 The "World" from Anthony of Egypt to Vatican II Frederick E. Crowe SJ examines some major transitions in the Christian attitude toward the world, especially as a new context for the meaning of consecrated life. 490 brothers "Come Closer. I Am Your Brother": Being and Doing Brotherhood Joel Giallanza CSC reflects on the very identity of the religious vocation of "brother" as providing both brothers themselves and the church with a rich and prophetic spirituality. Religious Brothers: One Vocation Director's Perspective Paul Bednarczyk CSC shares his reflections on why fewer people are choosing to be brothers and on some possible countermeasures. Review for Religious 5OO journeying On Promise Making, Leave-Taking, and Becoming Avis Clendenen brings together personal experience and psychological and theological insight in addressing the reality of making and breaking commitments. 515 Charism and Membership: Surpassing the Institutional Limits of Religious Life Deborah M. Cerullo SSND proposes that emphasis on becoming grounded in the charism through a common novitiate experience would create a better synthesis of diverse ways of being members. 524 associates Identity, Purpose, Organization: Ongoing Associate Programs Rose McDermott SSJ presents a brief historical overview of associates and associations joined to religious institutes, reviews church legislation, and then raises issues about sound future development. 537 Similarity and Uniqueness in the Association Experience: Theological Reflection Roberta Archibald SSJ, Joanne Bauer SBS, Mary Mester RSM, and Jean Ustasiewski OSF share their experience of using theological reflection in a regional gathering of associates and sisters. departments 452 Prisms 546 Canonical Counsel: Impediments to Admission 552 Book Reviews September-October 1999 prisms Thy kingdom come The words kingdom and reign sound off-putting to most Americans. We have little tra-dition of kings and queens. What we have of it stems from a relatively brief past of early colonizers looking back to European roots. But when we Christians pray the Lord's prayer, we find ourselves begging God--the one we address by Jesus' word Father--that "your king-dom will come." By Jesus' teaching us a way to pray as he prays, we seem to be using language that pictures God as ruler or king and God's area of influence as a kingdom. What do we mean when we pray "Thy kingdom come"? Perhaps we can gain some cl,arity by identifying first what we do not mean. Kingdom is not to be identi-fied with any political entity. Even the age-old notion of Christendom was not tl~e same as this kingdom, and so the breakup of Christendom was not a dissolution of the kingdom. Kingdom is not a certain physical locale. The Roman Catholic Church as an institutional structure is not identified with the kingdom. The church has an important role to play in the kingdom, but it is not the kingdom itself. The church continues the mission of Jesus in proclaiming the kingdom. The church is at the service of the kingdom; it is meant to be a sign, a sacrament of its presence. The kingdom is not something that we human beings fashion or build. We may sing some songs about Review for Religious our "building the kingdom of God," but there is no reality to be done corresponding to our words. According to the gospel imper-ative, we seek first the kingdom of God. We want what God wants. We desire to be totally available to God, ready to serve, eager to do God's will. Doing the will of God involves discipleship--hear-ing the call of Jesus and responding with the total gift of self. Doing the will of God makes the kingdom present, because we are busy about what God is busy about, and so we are where God is. Above all, as our petition teaches us, we pray for the coming of the kingdom since it is God's doing, it is God's work. Jesus himself never gives a definition of kingdom, and we may be surprised that no one seems to question him. In the synoptic Gospels, he never claims the kingdom as his; it always is identified with the one he calls Abba. Only through parables do we find Jesus giving some description of the kingdom. Our Christian Eucharist anticipates the frequent parable allusions to the eating and drink-ing at the Lord's table in the kingdom. For in every Eucharist we place ourselves with Jesus in his total availability to God as he prays "not my will, but yours be done." So what are we to say about the kingdom? How are we to make this petition our own every time we pray the Our Father? The kingdom is the inbreaking presence of God to our human world and our responsive relating to God's being with us. God continues to pour out divine life--what we name as grace--and, when human cooperation is present, then the kingdom is right at hand. Just as the disciples experienced the transfiguration of Jesus, so too the kingdom is often experienced by our touching into this transfiguration kind of moment of a deeper-down reality shining out through our ordinary world. As we enter into this jubilee year, not through the alarms of some millenarians, but rather through the gospel introduction of Jesus, we hear anew Jesus' call to conversion and repentance, his admonition of obedience and watchfulness, and his appeal to be ready and waiting. We are like members of a wedding party--joy-ful, expectant. But it is no bride or groom whom we serve and cel-ebrate. It is our triune God--shining out as the redemptive presence of the Father in Jesus through the power of their Spirit of love. What do we want for ourselves and for our world? "Thy Kingdom come." David L. Fleming sJ September-October 1999 perspectives VILMA SEELAUS The Self in Postmodern Thought: A Carmelite Response This article was conceived at the end of the Carmelite Seminar of 1997 at St. Mary's College in South Bend. I had an opportunity to browse in the Notre Dame book-store, and two titles in different sections waved for my attention. The first was The Thought of the Heart and the Soul of the World, in which Jungian author James Hillman takes archetypal psychology in a new direction. He claims that, with the soul of the world sick as evidenced by violence and corruption, individuals become sick at heart and suffer heart attacks. To restore the heart's courage and its imaginative power, therefore, the soul of the world needs the same attention that we have been giving to the soul of individual persons. Situating the individual self within the heart of the world challenges the rugged individualism of the modern self.1 The other book that caught my attention was Anthony Thiselton's Interpreting God and the Postmodern Self, in which he offers a hermeneutic of selfhood. Thiselton compares and assesses both modern and post-modern interpretations of the self in relation to Christian Vilma Seelaus OCD made this presentation in June 1998 at the Carmelite Seminar at St. Mary's College in South Bend, Indiana. It is being published also on audio- and videocas-sette by ICS Publications and the Carmelite Institute. Her address is Carmelite Monastery; Barrington, Rhode Island 02806. Review for Religious theology. Postmodern interpretations, he acknowledges, perceive the self as trapped within a network of role performances imposed on it by the power interests of others, but he argues for a deeper understanding of the self and its destiny. Postmodernism de-cen-ters the self; it denies any permanent, integrated reality to the self. It claims that identity is socially constructed and that people in different kinds of societies have quite different identity-forming experiences. Thiselton accepts the force of this, but argues for a deeper understanding of the self in relation to the biblical vision of reality and Christian theology.2 Reading Hillman and Thiselton enticed me into further study of postmodern thought in relation to the self. Before long, the complexity of the topic had my head spinning) Furthermore, post-modern debates about the very nature of reality challenged beliefs that shape my life as a Carmelite. And yet, the more perplexed I became, the more firmly did an inner conviction stand its ground: that our Carmelite mystical tradition has perennial values and insights for our postmodern world and perhaps for many worlds yet to come. In these reflections, therefore, I place the biblical God-related understanding of the self, on which the Carmelite tradition rests, in conversation with the postmodern self. I do this in two parts. Part One brings together important insights from both the mod-ern and the postmodern movements, showing a shift in under-standing the self. Part Two looks into the writings of Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross for what they offer by way of chal-lenge, expansion, or depth in regard to the self and in regard to our own spiritual journey.as we enter the new millennium. Part One Walter Truett Anderson's insightful and witty book titled: Reality Isn't What It Used to Be helped me to realize that the self in particular is not what it used to be. What did the self use to be that it no longer is? What are the shifts in self-understanding, which, for better or for worse, postmodernism names for us? How might we as Christians respond appropriately to the challenge of post-modernism? First, what do we mean by postmodern? Postmoderns claim to have superseded, to have gone beyond, previous ways of thinking, feeling, and behaving which developed in the so-called modern September-October 1999 Seelaus ¯ The Self in Postmodern Thought period. It deconstructs them, to use the "in" term. At the same time, postmodernism is far from a developed, coherent social theory. Scholars dispute whether or not it is a form of radical modernism or something distinctive after modernism, or some of each. According to Philip Endean in his foreword to an issue of The Way dedicated to postmodernism and spirituality: As the structure of the word implies, the postmodern cannot be understood for what it is in itself, but only in terms of what has preceded it: the postmodern is a gamut of reac-tions to the modern, swinging between two moods: a mood of disillusionment, as previously unquestioned assumptions and standards are found wanting, and a mood of exhilara-tion, as new and better alternatives are explored, develop&d, and advocated. Postmodern thinking draws on a wide range of sources: from cybernetics to feminism, from literary the-ory to the new physics, from cultural history to psychoanal-ysis and linguistics. Perhaps for this reason its expression can be, notoriously, opaque.4 Although the philosopher Kant back in the 18th century.paved the way, the 1960s are considered the true beginning of the post-modern era. At that time everything came into question, and all belief systems, with their traditional values, came under attack. People in the '60s began to question what they called the myth of objective consciousness: that, when you looked at things, what you saw and described was what was actually there. (At the scene of an accident, eyewitnesses often give conflicting accounts of what happened.) Today constructivists hold that the "real world" is an ever changing social creation. In the 1960s, thoughts about the self were also changing. As Anderson points out: In the '60s, people assumed that, if you developed enough contempt for your old socially adapted self, a new True Self, unsullied by any conformity, would magically appear, that a True Culture and a True Politics likewise stood in the wings--and that when they appeared they would not have to coexist with old selves, old cultures, old politics. Things didn't work that way!6 Though the '60s were the time of eruption, postmodernism con-tinues and radicalizes trends that actually began during the Enlightenment, at the dawn of what philosophers call the "mod-ern period." Descartes (1596-1650), the classical modern philoso-pher of clear and distinct ideas, attempted to provide clear and Revieva for Religious certain criteria against which our knowledge can be tested for truth. He was also intensely preoccupied with the subject who knows these ideas: the knowing person. For today's radical deconstructionists, like Derrida, such Cartesian objectivity is anathema. Derrida holds all reality to be socially constructed. Reality is simply the interpretation of the perceiving subject. Derrida insists that we cannot grasp reality because it slips by before we can catch hold of it. Everything, then, is interpreta-tion. Nevertheless, Derrida and the other decon-structionists are in a way Descartes's descendants. Descartes understands the self as an active agent, whereas for Derrida the self shifts from active agent to passive situatedness. Instead of a core something (called selJ) determining how it will respond to different situations, the situation cre-ates the self. Different situations call forth a dif-ferent self to be expressed.7 On the whole, postmoderns recognize the importance, for its time, of the modern move-ment. It brought new values to the fore. We ben-efit from the knowledge that scientific objectivity makes possible. From it come the many techno-logical wonders that are integral to our everyday life. In the moral and political spheres, modernity made room for personal autonomy and liberty and for the development of a liberal society wherein diversity is possible. Religion, too, has been enriched by modernity. Most Jewish and Christian believers, for example, no longer subscribe to a literal understanding of the Bible's story of creation in six days.8 But the improvements of modernity have a dark side: the exploitation of nature and its resources, the emergence of indi-vidualism and the consequent collapse of the sense of community, the divorce of technology from moral values, and denials of the worth of ethnic, tribal, and religious traditions. While the modern period gave us universal abstract systems and scientific "metanar-ratives," accounts of the origins and development of the universe, these often denied the existence of God or denied that God could ¯ be discovered by the conscious self. As a result, in today's world many lives are governed by efficiency, profit, success, and the will Modernity made room for personal autonomy and liberty and for the development of a liberal society wherein diversity is possible. September-October 1999 Seelaus ¯ The Self in Postmodern Thought to power without regard for ultimate human values. Talk of love, truthfulness, belief, loyalty, and so forth has little meaning. Further, advanced technology, the offspring of the modern period, has introduced a world of ceaseless change. New models quickly replace the old. Things are made not to endure, but to be consumed and replaced. Think of how quickly appliances need replacement or upgrading. Indeed, today we struggle with both the benefits and the dark side of the modern period. As science enabled the modern self more and more to carve out and control its own destiny, the self tended to be assured and opti-mistic. But today, as postmodern thinkers become increasingly aware of the self's arrogant, power-hungry dark side, the self appears to be, in fact, de-centered--no longer an active agent, but instead taking its identity from the variable roles imposed upon it by society and by its own inner drives and conflicts, conflicts which the communications media keep in constant motion. The media, especially the advertising world, tell it who it should be, how it should look, what it should own, and where it needs to travel in order to feel good about itself. Postmoderns see our opinions formed for us by the collective perceptions of the media. Under such conditions, notions of a true self give way to the self as wear-ing different masks to suit the occasion, with little sense of a solid identity underneath. We tend to become who we think others want us to be. In theory, the will of the individual is still supreme, but often it has no strong center, no belief system to serve as anchor. When everything is up for grabs, the self lacks the support of collective meaning. There is too much to choose from; this can leave indi-viduals feeling alone in a sea of options. Many people today feel estranged from others and even from themselves. When people see no value to their lives other than the imperatives of efficiency, success, or serving the power interests of others, when their "real-ity" depends on what the TV screen says is real, no wonder there are high r~ites of suicide and physician-assisted death. Veronica Brady, in an article in The Way, describes it well: "Caught in this ceaseless flow of images, the self almost ceases to exist, breaking into fragments, identifying only with the flow. Right and wrong become a matter of personal taste, depending not so much on what is done but who does it. The center does not hold because there is no center.''9 A character in Salman Rushdie's Satanic Verses says: "Information got abolished sometime in the Review for Religious twentieth century, can't say just when, stands to reason, that's part of the information that got., abolished. Since then we've been living in a fairy-story . Everything happens by magic. [We] haven't a. notion what's going on. So how do we know if it's right or wrong? We don't even know what it is.'''° Rushdie's world of illusion hangs within the "actual" world of extremes of rich and poor, with millions dying of starvation as nations invest billions of dollars in developing new and deadlier weapons that are then sold to warring ethnic and tribal groups intent on destroying each other. In this context the theories of deconstructionists like Derrida and Lyotard begin to make sense. The absurdity of human confidence in its power to rule the world is becoming more and more apparent as the products of the human mind threaten to destroy us. At the same time, on the positive side, the modern period highlighted one of the deepest urges of the human heart: to be someone. The drift of cultural change is in the direction of human rights, of wanting everyone to be free to create personal identity and experience, even though, for many in our world, resources are not available. No wonder people become dishonest--seeking to have and be and do what the TV ads say they should have and be and do. The struggle to be someone is now a global struggle. Some years ago I had occasion to live in Israel for three months. The incongruities of the struggle became vivid for me when I saw, above Bedouin tents in the desert, TV antennas con-necting them with the modern/postmodern world. As Walter Truett Anderson puts it: "Every morning billions of pairs of eyes open, and billions of societies of mind set forth on the adventures of selfhood. For many the adventure only rarely rises above the level of a struggle to keep the body alive, but even the most mis-erable among us also hear the aspirations of the self---the 'me' craving reassurance that it exists and is good and the modern me that pursues happiness and believes that, whatever happiness it finds, will be what it has taken or created and not what has been handed down by fate.''~ To add a further dimension, the global struggle to be someone is seen with fresh and deep insight by postmodern psychologists who have been influenced by Buddhism. Psychologists Robert Rosenbaum and John Dyckman hold with Buddhism that self/oth-ers are empty. This does not mean that they are void; it means they have no existence other than in relationships that are con- Septentber-October 1999 Seelaus ¯ The Self in Postmodern Thought World and self mutually influence and create one another. stantly arising in the immediate experience of the moment. To say that the self is empty means that the self is not a thing and there-fore has no unchanging core characteristics or essence. It is a way of indicating that self is always completely connected to its imme-diate experience, that in the immediacy of the moment, uncon-strained by past residue or future expectations, self is always free. As the Buddhist Diamond Sutra notes, the past is gone, the future is not here, and the present cannot be grasped. This is perfect freedom.12 As the authors point out, freedom here is not to be confused with a pseudofreedom that seeks to abandon all constraints. Instead, to understand emptiness as being connected to immedi-ate experience can lead to greater generosity and compassion toward the self and others. Past experience no longer has the last word. The empty self, actualized in immediate expe-rience, binds together apparent opposites: the dynamic interchange of oneness and separate-ness. These are not mutually exclusive. The empty self is the connected self which is actu-alized in context and in relationships. Observation reveals self-identity to be fluid and constantly changing according to context and relationships. As the Rosenbaum-Dyckman article puts it, "At work we may be decisive and authoritative; when out to dinner with our spouse, we may be hesitant and deferent about what to order for dinner. Yet we believe ourselves to be the same person.°13 Postmodern psychologists repeatedly make the point that our person is not encapsulated by our skin, but exists in relation. The self is always self in relation, in action, and as such is always con-textual. They hold that emotions are always a reliving in the pre-sent rather than a recall from the dead past. If we do not need to be attached to an unchanging self, and can see change as the only constant, it becomes somewhat easier to image change in prob-lem behaviors24 Although the self may be fluid and constantly changing, it must nevertheless have a boundary, but, according to Rosenbaum and Dyckman, a boundary with infinite length enclosing a finite, definable area, different from the rigid boundaries of lines on a map. Human boundaries are not abstract, conceptual schemas, but are always embodied in constant interaction with a world from Review for Religious which they are not separate. World and self mutually influence and create one another. Such mutual influencing has the potential to stretch present definable boundaries and give glimpses into the infinite. Here the parable of the Pharisee and the Publican comes to mind. If our attitude is one of self-righteousness that places us over against the rest of the world, we will be unable to hear the challenges that postmodern psychologists offer us for continued growth in our postmodern world. Our boundaries become sealed in finitude, and the infinite capacity that is ours becomes rigid, like the lines of a map. Psychologists in increasing numbers address the postmodern shift in regard to the self, and they offer valuable insights for living healthily in today's changing world. At the same time, postmodern philosophers and psychologists do not have the last word, and so now we turn to the mystics for their insights into the self. Part Two Since human boundaries are not abstract, but are embodied and are in constant interaction with the world from which they are not separate, precisely here does the biblically based Carmelite tradition offer timeless help. Back in 16th-century Spain, Teresa of Avila wrote a book to help her daughters of the reformed Carmel relate to one another and to the world, from which they were not separate even in their cloister. In her Way of Perfection, she gives her daughters some advice that flows with meaning into our post-modern age: "I shall enlarge on only three things., for it is very important that we understand how much the practice of these three things helps us to possess inwardly and outwardly the peace our Lord recommended so highly to us. The first of these is love for one another; the second is detachment from all created things; the third is true humility, which, even though I speak of it last, is the main practice and embraces all the others.''~s Many centuries separate us from Teresa and the particularity of her issues, but the interrelated dynamic of love, detachment, and humility are integral to spiritual growth in today's confusing world. Postmodernity challenges much of what we cling to by way of values and beliefs and, in particular, our self-understanding. To understand the self as fluid and constantly changing invites a deeper penetration into the Christian, Carmelite Understanding of Septentber-October 1999 Seelaus ¯ The Self in Postmodern Thought detachment. It would have us be attached to nothing, not even the most innocent of things, for in time of need they fail us com-pletely. John of the Cross insists: "To come to the knowledge you have not, you must go by a way in which you know not. To come to the possession you' have not, you must go by a way in which you possess not. To come to be what you are not, you must go by a way in which you are not . This places us in our center of humility.''16 Detachment and humility go hand in hand. They cre-ate an openness to new ideas, a willingness to let go of the past an, d let the context of the present create us anew. The contextual pre-sent is the place of encounter with God. The past, while it may continue to influence present behavior, is in fact nonexistent, and the future evolves out of each passing moment. Detachment opens up roads less traveled; but, if we feel attached to our current road, we may all too readily say, "This is me; this is my self." We have heard people say, "I'm a one on the enneagram or an INFP on the Myers-Briggs, so you have to take me as I am." With such a self-fixated attitude, we will less likely hear God's invitation into the infinite realms of potential self-realization. If we conceive of the self as determined by the pathways already taken, a composite of past experiences, it will be hard to let go when unknown paths beckon us onward. As Rosenbaum and Dyckman put it, "The self, as an accumulation of experience, is a prison; the self as empty, as shimmering potentiality, is a prism that, depending on its positioning, gives forth many different colors."17 In his Spiritual Canticle, John of the Cross reminds us that the woods and thicket in which we find ourselves today have been planted by the hand of the Beloved.18 God's self revelation con-tinues right within the human story. The density and darkness of postmodernity--which holds that there is a multiplicity of per-spectives in the search for truth, which denies a stable foundation of self and of knowledge--can generate extremes of uncertainty. But the de-centered self of postmodernity has its own gift to offer. It invites us, beyond the limits of what can be known and con-trolled, into a self that is mystery, into God as ultimate Mystery. The temptation is either to stay blinded in self-righteous cling-ing to the limitations of human knowledge, or to despair before the uncertainties of life. Detachment itself can be the void of despair, unless it is grounded in faith and in the experience of God. The Dutch theologian Frans Jozef van Beeck, in his contem-porary. Catholic systematic-theology series titled God Encountered, Review for Religious reminds us that "the human subject., is naturally and radically 'de-centered': the mature person's true center does not repose in the person. Authentic persons live on the strength of unfulfillable desire . Grace graciously enables human persons, along with their world, to that most natural, yet most divine of all things: freely to move toward God in total faith and abandon."'gIn the midst of alternative versions of reality, and many different ways of being in the world, with the postmodern tolerance for a plethora of possibilities, choosing to believe in something is vital. We can be respectful of others with differing beliefs and still stand firm in the faith that is ours, a faith that centers the self in God. According to the philosopher Kierkegaard, faith is the pas-sionate embrace of objective uncertainty.2° Faith bypasses the postmodern self that interprets, even cre-ates, its own reality. It bypasses human reason to plunge us into mystical depths where being and nonbeing are held in cre-ative tension by God's abiding presence to human life. At this level Rahner rightly speaks of the experience of God and the experience of self as one.2' In his insis-tence upon the possibility open to all of an immediate experience of God, Rahner writes: "I am convinced that such an immediacy between God and the human person., is of greater significance today than ever before. All the societal supports of religion are collapsing and dying out in this secularized and pluralistic society. If, nonetheless, there is to be real Christian spirituality, .it cannot be kept alive and healthy by external helps, not even those which the church offers., but only through an ulti-mate, immediate encounter ofthe individual with God.''22 The Harvard psychologist Charles Verge names this place of encounter "the divine self.''23 Here the self and God mirror each other.24 The longing of the human heart to be someone issues from God, in whose image we are made and whose love holds us in being. "Beloved of God" defines the self. The Spiritual Canticle of John of the Cross is a text that writes the self of each one of us. In the Canticle, God's passionate love for the soul, enfleshed in Christ, The longing of the human heart to be someone issues from God, in whose image we are made and whose love holds us in being. Septentber-October 1999 Seelaus ¯ The Self in Postmodern Thought stirs a passionate response and gives meaning and direction to life right within the extremes of uncertainty that surround us. To be transformed into the image of Christ, to become like Christ, con-stitutes the heart of the divine promise. Faith enables us to embrace, with passion, the ultimate objec-tive uncertainty that the mystery of God revealed in Christ is. Christ lifts the self out of its predefined situatedness with its self-interest, into love for God and love for others. God's love trans-forms the will to power, to possession, to lust, into will to love. The detachment that faith calls forth issues in genuine love even for those who differ from us. Postmodernism stretches our capacity to love. Life today beckons toward a global embrace of love; love for those who may look different from us, love for those who may think differently from us, and love for those whose values may be different, even opposed to ours. Today, in the face of our differences, love holds the special challenge of intense, respectful listening, which can only happen if the heart is humble. A humble heart is a heart detached from pre-conceived ideas and personal prejudice. According to Teresa, humil-ity is truth, and our truth is that we are all, without exception, finite, fragile creatures capable of sin and that as such we always stand on the threshold of ongoing conversion. At the same time, integral to truth is that each one of us is always infinitely loved and possessed by God. Insofar as we fall short, God invites us to continued conversion and, even more, to divine transformation. Our challenge is to live Christ's gospel of love. Such love dissolves the disharmony of suspicion and distrust, it detaches us from self-interest, and it opens us to others in humility and genuine con-cern. As Rahner sagely asks, "Why should there be any need for deception, which serves to protect the self, if the self is loved, wel-comed, accepted, and reconciled-as-one with the Other?''2s Receiving the self from God in Christ, giving the self to others in love, and serving the other's interests as one's own are mirrorings of God, the divine self-giving Trinity, in whose image we are. In trinitarian theology, love constitutes the ground of selfhood. The gospel account of Jesus at table, encircled by the outcasts of his time, symbolizes the self today cast out from itself and in need of re-centering in Christ. From the horizon of Christ, we see the incompleteness of all that is human in relation to our total commitment to Christ, but in Christ we also see ourselves con-nected with the heart of all that is. Revie~v for Religious The archetypal psychology of James Hillman invites us to this from a psychological perspective. He would have us see ourselves and others as intimately connected with what he calls the soul of the world. Today conversion extends to claiming our part in what Hillman rightly names the sickness of the soul of the world. He claims that the world, because of its breakdown, is entering a new moment of consciousness by having its attention drawn to itself by means of its symptoms. It is becoming aware of itself as a psychic reality. We now encounter pathology in the psyche of politics and medicine, of language and design, of the food we eat. Sickness, says Hillman, is now "out there" as well as "in here.''26 To situate our individual self within the heart of the world not only challenges the rugged individualism of the modern self; it also invites a deeper awareness of our connectedness with others and with planet Earth, whose beauty and balance are today oppressed by our violent consumer world. The world itself is now a patient in need of hea~ling. Postmodernism offers a broader understanding of the redeeming mission of Christ. The entire cos-mos becomes the locus of redemption. Like us, our church and civilization and even planet are all in need of Christ's redeeming, healing, transforming love. Postmodernism is globalism; as such it is the half-discovered truth of the one unity that transcends all our differences. The language of postmodernism would be alien to Teresa, and yet, as she increasingly experienced herself as centered in God, her self became increasingly fluid. She seems astonished as the boundaries of the self continue to expand. There are many exam-pies, but in her Autobiography, her Vida (chap. 15, para. 7), Teresa, experiencing herself infused with the light of God, comments: "And I, though being what I am, seem to be another person." In 23.1, recalling how God freed her from herself, she writes that "here begins another new life." In 27.1, having placed herself com-pletely in the hands of God, she says, "l saw that I was a com-pletely different person." In 27.9 she says, "One of these graces is enough to change a soul completely.''27 In the context of these remarks, Teresa specifically mentions that she is growing in either love, detachment, or humility. At the height of her mystical life, Teresa has a profound expe-rience that, on the level of the divine self, reflects the empty, de-centered, but relational, contextual self of postmodernity. In 40.5 of her Vida, she writes: Septentber-October 1999 Seelaus ¯ The Self in Postmodern Thought Once, while I was reciting with all the sisters the hours of the divine office, my soul suddenly became recollected; and it seemed to me to be like a brightly polished mirror, without any part on the back or sides or top or bottom that wasn't totally clear. In its center Christ our Lord was shown to me, in the way I usually see him. It seemed to me I saw him clearly in every part of my soul, as though in a mirror¯ And this mirror also--I don't know how to explain it--was com-pletely engraved upon the Lord Himself by means of a very loving communication I wouldn't know how to describe. ¯ I was given understanding of what it is for a soul to be in mortal sin. It amounts to clouding this mirror with mist and leaving it black; and thus this Lord cannot be revealed or seen, even though he is always present giving us being. In God, Teresa is connected with the world's sin, even as she affirms the ever present graciousness of God always giving us being within the darkness of sin. God is present in Teresa, not with power and might, but in love and with an invitation to self-transcendence that is as pertinent and penetrating for us today as it was for Teresa. In 3 7.11 of her l/ida, Teresa sounds as though she is living in our present age. After lamenting the foibles of her honor-bound society, with its elaborate system of etiquette, she says, "I don't know how it's all going to end up; even though I'm not y.et fifty, I've already seen so many changes I don't even know how to live anymore. What will they do who are now being born and will live for many years?" What will we do, we who have been born in this postmodern era, this era in which we live for many years, often into our nineties? Like Teresa, we do not know where it is all going to end up. Many would say that dark night engulfs our entire world and the times in which we live. The Carmelite tradition, however, assures us that God is in the night. John of the Cross eloquently describes the meaning of the soul's journey into the night of God. In this night of faith, we discover that love is the eye of God and we in turn are to see and interpret all things through the eyes of God. From this perspective we see that we are all one in God's love and that we bear one another's burdens. By the quality of our lives, Christ would have us be bearers of hope for all who suffer the travails of poverty, violence, injustice, and oppression. Right within the many forms of death that surround us is the seed of resurrec-tion impatient for new life. As we work with our differences in families, in our civic and Review for Religious church communities, we can dare to hope that our graced strug-gle will energize efforts toward understanding, toward finding common ground within the extremes of diversity that ctiaracterize our postmodern world. What we see in Teresa's writings is a devel-opment in her understanding of herself and of Christ, who com-panions her journey. Today,. as we find the self anew, we also find new ways of seeing Christ and the Christian mysteries right within our postmodern world, without getting caught in nostalgia for the past. Again, like Teresa, we do not know where it will all end up. What we do know is that the future is present, like a seed, in today's disconcerting moment. Our challenge is to live now, to live fully (but with humility, detachment, and love) what we say we believe. The sufferings of our time are not meaningless, as sec-ular postmodernity might see them. They are integral to the groan-ing of creation in labor until it brings forth redemption, the final triumph of God's love. At its deepest level the self is caught up in the incomprehensible mystery of Love we call God. Notes I James Hillman, The Thought of the Heart and the Soul of the World (Woodstock, Connecticut: Spring Publications, 1995). 2 Anthony C. Thiselton, Interpreting God and the Postmodern Self'. On Meaning, Manipulation, and Promise (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1998). 3 It also leaves me with a little anxiety that the many authors that I read be given due credit. As I prepare this paper for publication, I real-ize that much of what I read merged in my thinking as I internalized the material. 4 See The Way 36, no. 3 (July 1996): 175. s According to Anderson, Kant's work in the 18th century began with a problem that was as divisive in its time as the objectivist-con-structivist one is in ours--in this case a conflict between the British empiricists such as Locke and Hume, who saw thought as merely an instrument for understanding or using "real world experience," and the Continental philosophers such as Descartes and Leibniz, who saw the mind as the supreme organizer and discoverer of all reality. This was not a postmodern debate. All parties assumed that people could appre-hend unchanging and universal truth. Kant's attempt to resolve the con-flict was his own contribution to the search for "foundational" knowledge or reality--beyond historical and cultural relativism--but it pointed toward a view of the mind as a creator of reality. Kant describes the mind as an active organ that orders and forms the raw data of experience, 1-467-- September-October 1999 Seela~s ¯ The Self in Postmodern Thought imposing upon them its own structure; we do not experience things in themselves but rather representations of them. See Walter Truett Anderson, Reality Isn't What It Used to Be (San Francisco: Harper, 1990), pp. 59-60. 6 Anderson, Reality, p. 48. 7 See Robert Rosenbaum and John Dyckman, "Integrating Self and System: An Empty Intersection?" Family Process 34 (March 1995): 26- 27, and Kenneth J. Gergen, "The Social Construction of Self- Knowledge," in Daniel Kolak and Raymond Martin, Self and Identity: Contemporary Philosophical Issues (New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1991), pp. 372-403. 8 See Max Charlesworth, "Postmodernism and Theology," The Way 36, no. 3 (July 1996): 188-202, for an interesting summary of the devel-opment of modern to postmodern thought. 9 Veronica Brady, "Postmodernism and the Spiritual Life," in The Way 36, no. 3 (July 1996): 181. 10 Salman Rushdie, The Satanic Verses (London: Viking, 1988), p. 313, quoted in Brady, "Postmodernism." 11 Walter Truett Anderson, Reality, p. 132. 12 Rosenbaum and Dyckman, "Integrating," pp. 28-33. 13 Rosenbaum and Dyckman, "Integrating," p. 26. 14 According to Rosenbaum and Dyckman, "Integrating," pp. 35-37, acknowledging memory as constructive, as a present contextual experi-ence, rather than as retrieval of the past, helps to avoid difficulties such as the controversies over recovered memories of trauma and abuse, which are a sensitive contemporary issue. ~s Teresa of Avila, Way of Perfection (Washington, D.C.: ICS Publications, 1980), chap. 4, para. 4, p. 54. 16 The Collected Works of St. John of the Cross, trans. Kieran Kavanaugh OCD and Otilio Rodriguez OCD (Washington, D.C.: ICS Publications, 1991), p. 150. 17 Rosenbaum and Dyckman, "Integrating," p. 37. is See his Spiritual Canticle, stanza 4, in Collected Works, p. 494. 19 Frans Jozef van Beeck, God Encountered: A Contemporary Catholic Systematic Theology, Vol. 2/1 (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1993), p. 238. 20 Soren Kierkegaard, "Truth Is Subjectivity," in Concluding Unscientific Postscript, ed. and trans. Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992), pp. 169ff. "Truth is precisely the con° tradiction between the infinite passion of the individual's inwardness and the objective uncertainty. If I am capable of grasping God objectively, I do not believe, but precisely because I cannot do this I must believe. If I wish to preserve myself in faith, I must constantly be intent upon hold-ing fast the objective uncertainty, so as to remain out upon the deep, over seventy thousand fathoms of water, still preserving my faith . " Review for Religious 2~ See Karl Rahner, "Experience of Self and Experience of God," in Theological Investigations, vol. 13 (New York: Crossroad, 1983), pp. 122- 132. 22 See "The Immediate Experience of God in the Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius of Loyola," in Karl Rahner in Dialogue, ed. Paul Imhof and Hubert Biallowons, trans. Harvey D. Egan (New York: Crossroad, 1986), p. 176. 20 See Charles Verge, "Foundations for a Spiritually Based Psychotherapy," in Religion and Family, ed. L. Burton (Hayworth Press, 1992), pp. 41-59. 24 See also her Autobiography in Collected Works of Teresa of Avila, Vol. 1, trans. Kieran Kavanaugh OCD and Otilio Rodriguez OCD (Washington, D.C.: ICS Publications, 1976), chap. 40, paras. 5 ~nd 10. Teresa here recounts two visions in which God and the soul mirror each other. See also Spiritual Canticle, stanza 12, in Collected Works of John of the Cross, pp. 515-519. 2s Quoted in Thiselton, Interpreting God, p. 160. z6 Hillman, Thought of the Heart, pp. 96-99. 27 With only a quick glance, I found chap. 20, paras. 23, 25, and 26- 28; chap. 21, paras. 8-9; and chap. 25, paras. 18-19--all referring to Teresa experiencing herself as a different person. The Salvation Cup I raise my fragile, broken cup. Accept it empty. Nothing I own can f!ll it. This is the cup of my truth, my faith in the promise, my salvation cup. Fill it with the wine of the Spirit, the river that makes fertile my barren ground, the ocean of never ending mystery. This is my cup. With it I offer my fragileness, my sinfulness and my broken promises. Heal me, Spirit of God, with theelixir of salvation. Virginia Skrdlant SHCJ September-October 1999 FREDERICK E. CROWE The "World" from Anthony of Egypt to Vatican II An old proverb, once thought to be scriptural, warns us that where there is no understanding the people perish. Scriptural or not, the proverb itself is sound enough, and I would apply it to the institution of religious life. On all sides the question is heard: Is religious life dying? I refuse to believe that the God who gave us Anthony of Egypt, Benedict, Francis, Dominic, Ignatius, and so many others down to Mother Teresa is a God who intends religious life to perish. But I do believe in the need for under-standing, so that through our input God's operative grace may become cooperative. The Pattern of Human Thinking This essay is, then, an essay in understanding, but much more modest in scope than the preceding paragraph would suggest. It does not attempt td study religious life in its essence, its proper-ties, its various manifestations. It goes back rather to a prelimi-nary question and takes one small point for study: the Christian attitude toward what we call the "world." It is my hope that, if we gain some understanding on this background question, we will have a context for an eventual rethinking of religious life itself. Frederick E. Crowe SJ wrote "The Ignatian Exercises and Jesuit Spirituality" for our July-August 1994 issue. His address remains Lonergan Research Institute; 10 St. Mary Street, Suite 500; Toronto, Ontario; M4Y 1P9 Canada. Review for Religious My approach is historical rather than analytic. It examines the major transitions in the Christian attitude toward the world. It finds a dialectic running through history, a dialectic of to and fro that is not a mere alternation, but a progressively unfolding pat-tern in which each alternation is a step forward. It concludes with the way the church is finding new meaning for its role in the world, and proposes this as a new context in which religious too might find today the meaning of their consecrated life. The advantage of approaching history as a dialectic in the sense described is twofold. First, it may lift us out of our "crisis" mood, in which we think of our present situation as a spiritual fever, as a low point from which the patient may either die or recover and resume life as it was before the crisis. In a dialectical understanding, that is not the case. The low point is an opening on a new high. Second, a dialectic follows an intelligible pattern, with each step part of a natural, though not necessarily logical, sequence. This means that, if we can plot the sequence up to the present, we may be able to establish the direction of movement and discern the path we should take into the developing and unknown future. That "natural sequence" is the pattern of human thinking in time, the way the human mind naturally works as it progresses toward fuller and fuller understanding. In itself the pattern is sim-ple enough. Faced with a problem area of any complexity, the human mind will first find some specific factor of explanation, will tend to make that the whole explanation, but will eventually see that it is insufficient as a total view. It will then discover a generic factor and will in turn make that the full explanation, only to dis-cover that this too is insufficient as a total view. Eventually, in the dialectical oscillation of specific and generic, the mind will arrive at a higher viewpoint and hold the specific and the generic in the unity of a full understanding. The Pattern Illustrated That is terribly abstract. So, before applying it to the history of Christian thinking on the world, let me offer two concrete illus-trations that show the pattern as realized in actual history. First, the natural priority of the specific is easily illustrated in human lan-guage. "So in Homer there were words for such specific activities as glancing, peering, staring, but no generic word for seeing.''1 This is "both the strength and the weakness of'early language";~ it Septentber-October 1999 Crowe ¯ The "WorM"from Anthony of Egypt to Vatican ll The term vocation was appropriated to the religious life (as it commonly still is). has the power of the concrete, but is unable to reason in abstract or generic terms. And so in learning to write English we are told to search for the specific, for the concrete descriptive word, but in the strict reasoning of, say, a legal question we may have to resort to technical and abstract language. What is true of human language is true also of human think-ing, and so my second illustration is taken from the theology of our need for divine grace. Here there was first the discovery of a specific explana-tion, namely, the fall of our first parents. This was largely the focus of St. Augustine's thinking, which centered on the difference between their state before the fall and ours after it. This idea ran its course for about seven centuries, cul-minating in the position of Peter Lombard, namely, that there are in the grace-history of our human race "four states of human liberty: the earthly paradise, fallen man, man redeemed, and heaven.''3 Our need for divine grace is understood in relation to those states. Meanwhile, however, the insufficiency of this specific step was gradually becoming apparent. There was difficulty in defining lib-erty; the doctrine of merit tended to hang in mid air; even grace itself lacked a clear definition, for what is there that is not a free gift of God and therefore grace?4 The dialectic of ideas was prepar-ing theologians for the next step, the discovery of the generic the-orem of two orders with quite distinct status in the universe of being, the supernatural order and the natural: "not only was there the familiar series of grace, faith, charity, and merit, but also nature, reason, and the natural love of God.''5 This was largely the work of Philip the Chancellor in Paris in the early 1200s. It was an epoch-making discovery, and it put the question of our need for divine grace on an entirely new basis, releasing a whole series of developments. But so intoxicating was Philip's idea that theologians made a mistake exactly parallel to the one their predecessors made in the use of Augustine: the view that this was a complete and adequate explanation. Thomas Aquinas himself, in his early writings, shows hints of this one-sidedness, not giving sufficient attention to the moral impotence that is the result of Adam's fall. Nevertheless, it was Thomas who finally Review for Religious brought, the two factors, the specific and the generic, into unity. Peter Lombard's four states remain in the Thomist synthesis, but as applying to a specific question within the genus of the total divine plan.6 The Pattern Verified in the Specific Idea of "World" I have illustrated the way the human mind naturally works in time as it advances in understanding: first, a specific idea; then, exaggeration of this idea; next, a generic idea; exaggeration of this in its turn; eventually a synthesis. I believe the pattern is discernible also in the history of Christian thinking on the idea of the world. There too I find a specific and a generic factor, with the specific the first to be discovered and exploited beyond its potentiality, and the generic the next to be discovered and in its turn exploited beyond due measure. Again let us turn from the abstract to the concrete. Concretely the first step may be located in, or at least represented by, Anthony of Egypt. Toward the end of the 3rd century, "Anthony gave away his possessions, and devoted himself to a life of asceticism, and c. 285 retired completely into the desert . Towards the end of his life, the numbers of those who turned to the solitary life of the desert increased as the result of the secularization of the church.''7 It is possible to see this development in too simplistic a fash-ion, but at least one characteristic feature is clear: flight from the world. So it produced works with titles like De contemptu mundi (On contempt of the world). It filled Europe with hermitages, con-vents, and monasteries. For twelve centuries the idea ran its course with enormous impact on Christian v.alues, Christian living, Christian institutions.8 But it suffered the handicap of being a specific idea attempt-ing to provide a total view. For one example, the term vocation was appropriated to the religious life (as it commonly still is). In this respect the laity of the church and even the diocesan clergy were deemed to belong to a lower class: they did not have a "voca-tion." A reaction was inevitable, but it was centuries taking shape. Many diverse influences were at work promoting it. Its history is a complex interweaving of those influences. There were subver-sive along with legitimate movements. But what was positive and valid in the reaction, and quite natural and basic in the unfolding Septentber-October 1999 Crowe ¯ The "WorM"from Anthony of Egypt to Vatican II dialectic, was the emergence of the generic factor in the concept of the world. The Pattern Verified in the Generic Idea of "World" The quite basic event, then, in the. emergence of the generic concept of the world was the discovery by Philip the Chancellor of the two orders: natural and supernatural. I used this earlier to illustrate the pattern of human thinking as it is found in theology (not only was there the familiar series of grace, faith, charity, and merit, but also nature, reason, an'd the natural love of God). I use it now as a basic explanatory factor for the new stage of our dialec-tic. That is no accident. It is an idea so fundamental that it is bound to appear in the history of any theological idea. It underpins all that I have to say in this section and the following. Every discovery makes its way against opposition from an estab-lishment. The recognition of the natural order had to be followed by a recognition of its rightful autonomy, and that could not fail to be a traumatic experience for the church. The history of this strug-gle need not detain us here. In essence the point is that the human race was not only created divine; it was also created human, with a need for hunting, fishing, farming, for song and dance, for math-ematics, science, philosophy, whatever lies within its potency for development. Without grace we are able, Thomas Aquinas would say, using his favorite example, to cultivate our fields and build our houses. But the full extent of that principle means that without grace we can marry and be given in marriage, form guilds among artisans, establish universities, function as nations, join in a world union of peoples, explore the boundaries of space. Further, the natural has its own laws. Natures operate uni-formly: we do not gather grapes from thorns or figs from thistles (Mr 7:17). And those natural laws can be isolated in thought and allowed to develop and flourish according to their own potential. For to be human is to learn: to learn that there are human tech-niques for producing good crops, human means for controlling nature, human means of self-government, human means for gain-ing wisdom and educating upcoming generations, and so on through the list. If, then, we take a broad view of the forest, not stopping to study individual trees, we can discern here the generic factor in Review for Religious the concept of the world, the needed complement to the specific factor provided by Anthony. This generic factor is the recogni-tion of the world as good in its own right. God did not create an evil universe, but made all things that they might have being and life (Ws 1:13-14; 1 Tm 4:4). That means that we can no longer be satisfied with the negative connotation of "flight from the world." There is a positive side to Anthony's strategy: its focus on the transcen-dent. The negative side is not repudiated, but it has to be seen in relation to that focus and has to be complemented by a generic view of the goodness of all creation. But the pattern of the dialectic suggests that this step too will be exaggerated, and that is exactly what happened. In the intoxication of this new idea, there was a widespread repudia-tion of the age-old flight from the world. Convents and monasteries were emptied; instead of contemptus mundi, there was a glorification of the secular.9 And so secularism arose: what was legitimate in the discovery of the natural, what was legitimate in the declaration of its auton-omy was magnified to an ism. What was a genetic idea that should have been brought into union with the specific paraded as the full explanation of the universe. A movement for the liberation of the secular became a secularism. The secular and the sacred have to do with human thought and feeling and the human use of creation. Uniting the Specific and the Generic: New Categories Christian thinking on th~ world has gone through the two phases inherent in the dialectic of human learning: the discovery and undue exploitation of a specific factor, followed by a reaction, and the discovery and undue exploitation of a generic factor, fol-lowed in its turn by a reaction. The current need is for the inte-gration of the two factors, and the categories that offer hope of that are the sacred and the secular. This pair of terms has crept into our discussion as related to, but not identical with, the supernatural and the natural. They need more careful definition. The natural and the supernatural provide the framework of creation; they are what philosophers would call Septentber-October 1999 Crowe ¯ The "WorM"from Anthony of Egypt to Vatican 11 the ontological constituents of the universe. But the secular and the sacred have to do with human thought and feeling and the human use of creation; they pertain to the cultural sphere rather than the ontological. The natural cannot be made supernatural: as Isaiah reports the word of the Lord, "my thoughts are not your thoughts, and your ways are not my ways" (Is 55:8, NEB). God is the wholly other. Grace perfects nature but does not destroy it. The natural, then, maintains its identity within the unity of God's creative plan. Catholic schools do not use a different mathematics to add and subtract, to divide and multiply. But while the natural remains what it was created to be, it can be invested with the aura of the supernatural, and in this sense the natural can be sacralized, become sacred. Bernard Lonergan provides a context in which to locate this cultural transformation: "The whole world of sense is to be. a token, a mystery, of God"; and again: "the world of sense is. a mystery that signifies God as we know him and symbolizes the fur-ther depths that lie beyond our comprehension.''~° This means that the secular, not only as a world but also in its various aspects, can in human thought and feeling be given the character of the sacred. So in primitive peoples there was a religious ritual for plant-ing and harvesting, for coming to puberty and marrying, for rev-erent remembering of the dead, and so on. All these activities are given a sacred aspect, though their natural basis allows for their secular use. But they are only potentially secular; they are not at first recognized to have that aspect. For the human race is funda-mentally religious, in the sense of being created with a religious consciousness, and has remained religious despite all the protests of unbelievers. One may say: In the beginning was the sacred. That is, what later became distinguished as the two zones of the sacred and the secular was at first all one zone, and it was sacred. Now, just as in the ontological sphere the natural component of the universe had to be recognized for what it was, the natural, so too in the sphere of the cultural the legitimately secular aspect had to escape from the domination of the sacred and assume its independent role in the plan of creation. In the course of this development, there was inevitably a conflict with the representa-tives of the sacred; inevitably too the secular won its rightful inde-pendence. "For this sacralized construct of man and his universe was impugned and impugned successfully by Copernicus, Galileo, Review for Relig4ous and Newton, by Darwin and Freud, and by the swarm of philoso-phies" at least since Descartes.~l So the struggle between natural and supernatural was repeated here, with the same exaggerations. The extremists were not con-tent to liberate the secular; they were driven also to desecrate the sacred. Concretely we might think of the relation between a sec-ular day of rest and the Lord's Day. There has been a strong ten-dency in this matter for the sacral to dictate to the secular, imposing a religious observance so strict as to frustrate the secu-lar purpose of a day of rest. But on the other side there is the des-ecration of the Lord's Day represented in past history by the extremists in the French Revolution and, some would say, by the present Sunday shopping. Uniting the Specific and the Generic: New Strategy Perhaps it is possible now to sketch the lines we might follow to achieve the desired integration of our specific and generic fac-tors. Our question is: How is the church to achieve the unity of Anthony and Aristotle, of Jerusalem and Athens, of the transcen-dent and the this-worldly, and now in particular of the sacred and the secular? Our suggestion is that what had been at first unwit-tingly sacralized was then wittingly secularized. Bur what was wit-tingly secularized can be wittingly resacralized for Christian purposes as the need arises. The pagans of Rome sacralized their meat by offering it to their gods, but the Christians could, in effect, desacralize these meats with a good conscience and, if they wished, resacralize them to their own purpose: "he who eats meat has the Lord in mind when he eats" (Rm 14:6). Again, a game of golf may be just what workers need on their day of secular rest, and present discipline in the church allows them to keep holy the Sabbath and still go golfing. But the new sacralization will be different. There will be a new understanding and a new humility. The sacred will not dictate to the secular in the latter's own sphere. It will be a sacralization through the intention of believers, using the natural end of a nat-ural entity to their religious purpose. They who eat meat have the Lord in mind when they eat; they who golf give thanks alike in the weekly Eucharist and in their outdoor exercise. A final point brings us back to larger issues: sacralization will not be merely extrinsic to the natural world. On this question Septentber-October 1999 Crowe ¯ The "WorM"from Anthony of Egypt to Vatican II Marie Dominique Chenu Op has some helpful remarks. He sees a purer presence of the church in the world creating a new kind of Christians in the world: missionaries of the gospel, and not the protectors of a civilization that they themselves have organized. The real vocation of lay people will be to show that Christianity does not despise the world, but lifts it up, consecrates it, and ful-fills it. And this new presence will unite intrinsically with the world, will make it a true partner, for the believers will read the signs of the times and through them discern the elements in the world and human history that are, as it were, naturally open to the sacred, offering the possibility of a new praeparatio evangelica. They now look for a spirituality that will integrate their life in a world that has become the main field where they must seek their sanctifica-tion. 12 Religious Life in the Ongoing Dialectic The focus of my attention has been the new path for the church in the world today, along the lines of the Vatican Council II document Gaudium et spes. We must be clear on the church in the new age before venturing to discuss religious life in the new age, for religious are Christian before they are religious; that is the order of the council in its document on the church, Lumen gen-tium.~ 3 But of course that means that the dialectic we have dis-cerned in history will apply also to the features of Christian living that religious have in common with all Christians. In that context we may anticipate the direction that applying the dialectic to religious life should take. We will understand how the religious state began as a "flight" from the "world," and we will realize that, as our conception and knowledge of that world has changed enormously, so also must our notion of flight from it. We have come a long way from St. Anthony of Egypt. I trust, never-theless, that we have not left him behind. With all reverence we may conceive an analogy with a hymn of Thomas Aquinas that the church uses in Holy Week: "The word of God, proceeding forth / Yet leaving not his Father's side." Our task is not to aban-don Anthony, but "proceeding forth" to retain his insight and transpose it into a realization of Vatican II's "church in the mod-ern world" and of religious life as it is to be lived in the coming millennium. Our task is to achieve in our own way the unity of the specific and ~he generic concepts of the world. Review for Religious Religious, then, will retain their vows, and the vows will have the meaning they had for Aquinas, a revocatio ab affectu temporalium, a withdrawal from affection for this world.14 They will have the meaning also that Anthony's flight from the world had for him in his time of secularization. And that meaning will remain even in the most sacred of times. A focus on the transcendent and the escha-tological state will necessarily involve the reevaluation of the world that the saints have always shown: not a contempt for the good of creation, but a love for the better to which the good is open. Correspondingly, there will be far more attention to the positive aspects of the vows. This movement has already begun, but it should undergo an extensive development. Similarly for the pos-itive counterpart of the "flight": contemplation of the divine. The cloistered will redouble attention to their contemplative role, and the active will redouble attention to their role as contemplatives in action. As we follow the dialectic in its future course, we would do well to consider our starting point. The first word in the gospel message is "repent" (Mt 4:17; and see the same in Mk 1:15, but with a preface, "The time has come . . ."). Our examination of conscience in this respect might ask in what degree, if any, we transferred to ourselves as perfection what belongs rather to the realm of the sacred. Medieval theologians argued at length about holiness and the more perfect state. Should the operative word be, not "holy" in the sense of personal virtue, but rather "sacred" in the sense of "consecrated to God"? Notes 1 Bernard Lonergan, Method in Theology (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1994 reprint), p. 87. 2 Lonergan, Method, p. 87. 3 Grace and Freedom: Operative Grace in the Thought of St. Thomas Aquinas (London: Darton, Longman, and Todd, 1971), p. I0. 4 Grace and Freedom, pp. 14-15. s Grace and Freedom, pp. 15-16. 6 Bernard Lonergan, "Gratia Operans: A Study of Speculative Development in the Writings of St. Thomas Aquinas," doctoral disser-tation, Gregorian University, Rome, 1940, pp. 36-37. The preface and introduction, from which the dialectical pattern is taken, were published in Method: Journal of Lonergan Studies 3, no. 2 (October 1985): 9-46. The whole dissertation will he published in volume 1 of the Collected September-October 1999 Crowe ¯ The "World"from Anthony of Egypt to Vatican 11 Works of Bernard Lonergan, soon to appear from University of Toronto Press. This section of my article simply paraphrases Lonergan's position as set forth in that dissertation. 7 The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, ed. EL. Cross (London: Oxford University Press, 1958), article, "Antony, St., of Egypt." s See, for an example, G.J. Engelhardt, "The De contemptu mundi of Bernardus Morevalensis," Mediaeval Studies 22 (1960): 108-135; 26 (1964): 109-142; 29 (1967): 243-272. On the same topic Robert Bultot published widely in books and periodicals of the 1960s under the title La doctrine du m~pris du monde. 9 The turnaround had an interesting development in the Lutheran idea. Lutheranism "does not consider the call of the pastor any more sacred than the call of each Christian to witness to the lordship of Christ in his life and work. The universal priesthood of believers., makes the vocation of every man a holy calling"; see "Lutheranism" in A Handbook of Christian Theology (Cleveland and New York: World Publishing Company, 1958). Here too there is a valuable insight, namely, the vocation of every Christian, but it is not integrated into the dialectical development on the "world." 10 Bernard Lonergan, Insight: A Study of Human Understanding (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1992), pp. 689, 692. '~ Bernard Lonergan, "Sacralization and Secularization," unpublished MS of a 1974 lecture (originally given 1973), p. 23. My whole article relies heavily on this lecture. ~2 Spirituality in the Secular City (Concilium 19), pp. 114-115. I have paraphrased, with frequent verbatim quotations, two pages of "Desacralization and the Spiritual Life" by Claude J. Geffr~ op. ~3 See chap. 6, §§43-47, on religious, in Lumen gentium, the coun-cil's Dogmatic Constitution on the Church. 14 On "revocatio ab affectu temporalium," see Thomas Aquinas, De perfectione vitae spiritual#, chap. 6. Review for Religious JOEL GIALLANZA "Come Closer. I Am Your Brother": Being and Doing Brotherhood In Genesis, chapter 45, Joseph, one of Jacob's sons, has the delicate task of revealing his identity to his brothers. Having sold him into slavery several years before, they do not recognize him now in this powerful Egyptian official, second only to Pharaoh. In his self-revelation Joseph tells his brothers, "Come closer to me. I am your brother" (Gn 45:4). To be convincing, Joseph has to do more than tell his brothers who he is; he must demonstrate this through his attitudes and actions toward them. If he was truly to be their brother, then he had to do what brothers do. Only then was he gen-uinely recognizable to them. This story has a valuable reminder for religious brothers today. The name by which we identify our-selves in life and in the church reflects a rich and prophetic spirituality. "Brother" is not only a title, it is what we are. Even more, it is what we are called and committed to do among ourselves, among the people, and for the church. Also, it is ever a reality we must become: it cannot be fully and finally accompJished at the time of our religious profession. In my experience of the church and sodety today, several forces outside lay religious life often contribute Joel Giallanza csc wrote for us as recently as our May-June issue. His formation work continues at Charles Andersen Residence; 320 Brahan Boulevard; San Antonio, Texas 78215. Septe~nber-October 1999 brothers Giallanza ¯ "Come Closer. I Am Your Brotber" We need one another to be who we say we are and to do what we say we do by our very vocation. to making brothers unrecognizable, unknown, or unappreciated. One of them is that the church's administration emphasizes-- implicitly and explicitly--the clerical state as normative for min-istry and governance within the church, while brotherhood tends to become invisible or at least peripheral. Another is that in a vari-ety of cultures the term brother is used to designate seminarians and other candidates for presbyteral ordination. From this perspective brotherhood tends to be inter-preted as a transitional stage. These outside forces, how-ever, are not alone in influencing the public perception of brothers. Two internal forces come to mind. Sometimes we define our-selves or allow ourselves to be defined in negative terms, that is, by what we are not: unordained or nonclerical men religious. To go through life with "un" or "non" as the beginning of our self-iden-tity is not a good basis for explaining our vocation. It is even a less good basis for promoting vocations. And sometimes we do not reflect upon sufflciendy and articulate clearly our own identity, including the challenges we face simply because we dare to call ourselves brothers. Being Brother Immediately striking about the term brother is its relational character. It expresses both a specific relationship and a way of being in relationship. For us it assumes that we are willing to enter into relationships with others. It assumes we choose to be involved, not isolated. Though Vita consecrata does not speak extensively about the vocation of brothers in the church, it recognizes four relationships that are to characterize our way of life. These religious are called to be brothers of Christ, deeply united with him, "the firstborn among many brothers" (Rm 8:29); brothers to one another in mutual love and working together in the church in the same service of what is good; brothers to everyone in their witness to Christ's love for all, especially the lowliest, the neediest; brothers for a greater brotherhood in the church (Vita consecrata, §60). Review for Religious I would like to comment on these four relationships and on their prophetic implications. Brothers of the Lord Whatever else we may do, whatever our ministry, the rela-tionship that defines and shapes religious life is our relationship with the Lord. This must be the first and deepest of all our rela-tionships. Jesus says to the disciples, "You are my friends, if you do what I command you . I call you friends because I have made known to you everything I have learned from my Father" On 15:14-15). Our relationship with the Lord, our friendship with God, is rooted in knowing and doing what we have learned from the Lord. To be brothers of the Lord is to know the ways of God and to do what the Lord asks of us. To be brothers of the Lord, we must be people of discernment and people of fidelity. We must probe God's will ever deeper and then faithfully put into action all that we discover. We must be skilled in seeing God in all and in seeing all in God. We thereby proclaim and live the intimate closeness of God to this world, even when global events or personal experi-ences provide no evidence or apparently contrary evidence of such intimacy. Brothers with One Another Everything we say about ourselves and about our life together will not be authentic if we do not live in such a way that our com-mon life is marked by love, mutual care and concern, courtesy, hospitality, and a genuine interdependence. Jesus tells us that we will be recognized as his followers if we love one another (see Jn 13:3 5). Note that Jesus does not say what we would be recognized as, if we did not love one another. Could we become completely invisible, thereby rendering impossible any kind of recognition? To be brothers with one another in a religious community is much more than merely getting along; it must go beyond friendly tolerance. There are two important elements here. First, to be brothers with one anothdr is to recognize and accept that we do not live this way of life alone. We need one another to be who we say we are and to do what we say we do by our very vocation. There must be a mutuality and an interdependence among us by which we September-October 1999 Giallanza ¯ "Come Closer. I Am Your Brother" strengthen and support one another. Second, to be brothers with one another is apostolic. The quality of our life together commu-nicates something about God's presence and activity in our world. In some areas of the world, we may be the only witnesses people see, the only evidenc~ they have that God is alive and active in their lives and in their culture and society. Brothers to the People Our very title brothers excludes distinctions among us. Nationality, culture, ethnic heritage, education, ministry, natural and acquired skills--all these are gifts that are to unite us, not dif-ferences to be made into walls of division among us. So too our presence among the people must communicate without compro-mise that we make no distinctions, that we welcome and are hos-pitable to all people. To be brothers to the people also influences the way we approach ministry, whatever our ministry. Our apostolic activity among the people must be a model and a means of unity for them. We must be skilled in guiding people to work together, to appre-ciate one another's gifts, and to share those gifts with one another for the good of all. Regardless of the specific nature of our min-istry, this task of facilitating union among the people is a primary aspect of our mission and message as brothers in the church and society today. Brothers for the Church There are many unnecessary distinctions in our church today. Among the most dominant are those between women and men, between lay and ordained persons. Our presence and activity in the church must strive to communicate a perspective free of the kinds of distinctions that can and sometimes do deteriorate into divisions. To be brothers for the church is to live and proclaim, in St. Paul's terms, "There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male 6r female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus" (Ga 3:28). We know it was a risk for St. Paul to preach such a message two thousand years ago. In truth, it is still a risk to preach this today precisely because people can and do establish their identity in distinctions. Any message that seeks to Review for Religious remove distinctions tends to disrupt that identity, thereby stimu-lating responses that range from simple admonition to sharp antag-onism. I believe it is part of the mission of brothers in the church today to preach and to live such a message regardless of the con-sequences. Doing What Brothers Do What I have said so far pertains to being brothers, pertains to our basic identity as lay religious in the church and society. To be brothers of the Lord, with one another, to the people, and for the church will have a definite influence on our doing what brothers do. Doing what brothers do is the prophetic dimension of our life as lay religious. In terms of these four basic relationships, what do we do as brothers? Through our relationship to the Lord, we demonstrate the possibility of living the example of Jesus in today's world. Jesus' example of selflessness, of compassion, of service to others is not popular today. We observe the sustained promotion and tenacity of an individualism which condones and constructs self-contained and closed styles of life that do not readily respond to the influence or needs of others. The danger is that Jesus' example could be placed on the shelf of items that are no longer realistic or useful for our world: items that are fine for museums of ancient artifacts, but not really relevant for everyday life in contemporary culture. To do what brothers do is a clear expression of the importance, necessity, and urgency of Jesus' example for today. Through our relationship with one another, we demonstrate the possibility of love and reconciliation. In a world where self-ishness and self-containment become the ways of relating to one another, love and reconciliation become ever more rare. Personal histories, past mistakes, and present weaknesses become conve-nient excuses for not reaching beyond ourselves to love, to for-give, to be reconciled with others. And yet it is only through our humanity--with our histories and mistakes and weaknesses--that we can love one another. To do what brothers do means commit-ting ourselves to love and forgive and reconcile, and to take up whatever means are necessary to live that commitment every day. Through our relationship to the people, we demonstrate the possibility of living in peace and unity. The rich diversity repre-sented in social, political, religious, cultural, and ethnic differ- September-October 1999 Giallanza ¯ "Come Closer. I Am Your Brother" ences is too often used as a basis for creating divisions among peo-ple. And as the barriers supporting those divisions become stronger, mutual destruction appears more effective and efficient than coop-erative dialogue. Conflict, violence, war then become the usual ways of dealing with differences in life. To do what brothers do means making every effort to show that the differences among people are graces and blessings to be celebrated, not burdens and bothers to be shunned. Through our brotherly relationship with the church, we demonstrate the possibility of living and ministering in equality. This equality is not uniformity; there can and must be distinctions among the many necessary ministries within the church. The important and imperative idea here is to help maintain the link between those many ministries and the common good of the Body of Christ. To create and then vindicate situations in which peo-ple are excluded or treated slightingly is not acceptable. Ignoring such situations is also not acceptable. To do what brothers do means pointing out injustices and inconsistencies--in our society, but most especially in our church. We will not be popular for iden-tifying such realities, but to neglect doing so would contradict what we profess to be and to do. The Haunting Question Male lay religious are often confronted with the simple but haunting question "What is a brother?" Brothers themselves, as well as other church ministers, struggle with formulating a satis-factory response. I do not believe that any response, however elo-quent and theologically sound, will ever be satisfactory. Indeed, it cannot be. If being a brother and doing what brothers do is at heart a matter of relationship, then our identity as brothers will be found in our actions, in our witness and our way of relating to the Lord, to one another, to others, and to the church. Thus, the only worthy answer to "What is a brother?" is simply "Watch us! Watch what we do, how we behave. Observe our love, care, concern, com-passion. Watch us. Then you will see and know what being a brother is." Are we willing to make that response? Will the integrity, consistency, and quality of our lives withstand such close scrutiny? The precedent for this response has been established already. When asked by John the Baptist's disciples, "Are you the one who Review for Religious is to come, or are we to wait for another?" Jesus responds, "Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the leper~ are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them" (Mt 11:3- 5). Jesus' response invites a simple and direct method: observe, then report what you see. Could it be that we work to enhance the eloquence of our language and the soundness of our theology in responding to "What is a brother?" because we hesitate to say "Watch us"? Obviously, to invite close observation is to imply an integrity and a quality of life that are beyond question or com-promise. Writing to the Corinthians, St. Paul is boldly explicit in continuing Jesus' precedent: "Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ" (1 Co 11:1). In fact, no less than seven times does Paul make this recommendation in his correspon-dence with the early Christian commu-nities (see 1 Co 4:16 and 11:1; Ph 3:17 and 4:19; 1 Th 1:6; 2 Th 3:7 and 9). We might wince at the bluntness--almost arrogance--of his recommendation. Nevertheless, the only way to avoid rel-egating Jesus' example to the realm of theoretical ideals is by a practical demonstration of it. Only a living example can accomplish that demonstration effectively. Brothers must live in such a way that we can make this Pauline recommendation with confidence and integrity. If we believe that our God is incarnational, then the example of our own lives must be the first of all our responses to the simple question "What is a brother?" Again, we must ask ourselves about our willingness and ability to make that response. Any other response, whether from an individual religious or froma general chapter, will fall short of the convincing and transforming power inherent in a living example. Being brothers and doing what brothers do involve decisions regarding a belief and a behavior. The belief is that the example of our brotherhood, as a reflection of Jesus' own, is necessary for society and for the church today--and tomorrow. The behavior is our effort to follow Jesus with integri.ty, simplicity, and fidelity. Through our brotherly .relationship with the church, we demonstrate the possibility Of living and ministering in equality. September-October 1999 Giallanza * "Come Closer. I Am Your Brother" This belief and behavior must stem from deliberate decisions, for they will not and cannot come into being by themselves. If they do not find explicit expression in our daily lives and activities, then they do not exist at all. If we cannot invite the world to "Watch us" when we are asked about the identity and meaning of our life as brothers, then we have only words. Such words die in thin air without living exam-ples to certify their truth. Action verifies articulations; witness confirms words. When action and witness are separated from artic-ulations and words, credibility is compromised. To speak and to act, together, must constitute our effort to define who and what we are as religious brothers and, being brothers, what we do. All else is shifting sand. All else contributes to the continued invisibility of religious brothers within the church and society. Being and Doing To be brothers and to do what brothers do are inseparable. We must strive for consistency in our life so that what we per-ceive and profess ourselves to be and what we do become a single reality. Otherwise we compromise the quality of any prophetic presence and activity we would have in the world. To be and to do as brothers of the Lord, we must be men of integrity, firmly rooted in the Lord. To be and to do as brothers with one another, we must be men of communion, who willingly choose the interdependence necessary for a healthy and whole life. To be and to do as brothers to others, we must be men of mis-sion, who love others through compassion and service. To be and to do as brothers for the church, we must be men willing to pro-vide challenge, whose commitment to the church enables us to question its inconsistencies even as we continue to love it. In the Book of Genesis, the challenge confronting Joseph is both to reveal his identity and to witness to the truth of that rev-elation. He begins with a simple invitation, "Come closer to me." He invites closer scrutiny and careful listening, confident that he will be recognized and accepted for who and what he claims to be. We religious brothers, by the very nature of our vocation, must extend the same invitation in all our relationships. The witness of our integrity, our sense of communion and mission, and the chal-lenge we present will confirm or contradict the truth of what we claim to be and profess to do. Vita consecrata says that brothers participate in the "mission of proclaiming the gospel and bearing witness to it with charity in everyday life" (§60). Such proclamation and such witness are responsibilities we bear and services we provide. They are the heart of our invitation to "Watch us"--to "Come closer" and see ¯. "I am your brother." Questions for Personal and Communal Reflection These brief reflections need fi~rther refinement from the particular cultures and contexts in which brothers live and minister around the world today. In fact, the most sound theologies of religious brotherhood today will conte from within those cultures and contexts. Generic theologies of religious life, by attempting to speak to everyone, run the risk of speaking to no one. As we continue to reflect on and discuss various dimensions of our religious life, we must remain ever attentive to the specific culture and context in which we live and minis-ter. The following questions are offered as a starting point for individuals and for communities. For us as brothers of the Lord, what aspects of Jesus' example and teaching are particularly striking and significant, given the heritage of our religious congregation and the particular culture in which we live and minister? As brothers with one another, what do we desire people to see in us through our life together? What do we believe our wimess communicates to people? What evidence do we have to support that belief?. As brothers to the people, what means do we use to foster peace and unity among them? How do our ministries serve towards dialogue and reconciliation? As brothers for the church, what efforts do we or could we make in our local area to emphasize the equality of persons within the church? With what specific challenges does our heritage as a congregation con-front the church? In which aspects of our life are we confident in saying "Come closer"? In which aspects of our life fire we hesitant about saying "Watch us" in response to people's questions about our vocation? What are the principal gifts we bring as brothers to this cultural set-ring? What are the principal social and ecclesial challenges confronting us today as brothers in this cultural setting? What is the most attractive quality about our religious life in this cultural setting? What is least attractive? What means would be effective in the particular culture where we live and minister for educating the people and the church about the voca-tion of brothers? In addition to the witness of our life, what are effective strategies for promoting vocations to religious brotherhood today? Septentber-October 1999 PAUL BEDNARCZYK Religious Brothers: One Vocation Director's Perspective Religious congregations of brothers can no longer ignore the question of new membership. The "vocation crisis" is staring us in the face. We can debate more effective governmen-tal structures, we can plan new mission orientations, and we can write more documents about solidarity with the poor, but, unless new members join our communities, what will it all mean fifty years from now? The membership crunch seems to be hitting home more now than ever. In many dioceses and religious congregations, the vocation question has been moved to the forefront. At their annual national meeting three years ago, the United States bishops agreed on a comprehensive strategy for vocations to the priesthood and reli-gious life. In June 1998 the U.S. bishops' committee on vocations sponsored a national symposium that had an overwhelming atten-dance. In addition, both the men's and women's religious leader-ship conferences--the Conferences of Major Superiors of Men (CMSM), the Leadership Conference of Women Religious (LCWR), and the Conference of Major Superiors of Women Religious (CMSWR)--are exploring how leadership corporately can be more active in promoting the priesthood and religious life. For the past thirty-some years, we have quietly and sometimes unconsciously watched more brothers leave our corigregations than Paul Bednarczyk CSC, of his congregation's eastern province, first published this article in Horizon, a journal for vocation directors. His address is Congregation of Holy Cross; 85 Overlook Circle; New Rochelle, New York 10804. Review for Religious enter them. We prayed for vocations, and many communities even maintained their commitment to a full-time vocation director, but few prospects have joined our prenovitiate programs. Although over the years there was a general concern about the lack of new members, still--because numbers of brothers remained in the "work force"--we felt somewhat comfortable regarding our num-bers. These days are now gone. Our congregations are aging, men are retiring, and fewer members remain in full-time ministry. Our younger members continue to be few. We must confront the new-membership question. Much has been written about societal factors that create a cli-mate unfavorable to religious vocations. Family and neighborhood structures are no longer what they once were. We are witnessing changing definitions of family: single-parent homes, blended fam-ilies, children being raised by gay or lesbian couples. In addition, physical, sexual, drug, and alcohol abuse have greatly impacted the trust and stability that families need. Individualism and mate-rialism have consumed our American culture. Authority is looked upon cynically and institutions are considered suspect. Combine that with young people's inability or reluctance to make commit-ments, and religious vocations become an uphill battle. The changing face of the American Catholic and the tension between Catholic teaching and American values also have an impact on the numbers of religious vocations. The rising multi-culturalism of U.S. Catholics challenges us. Many Hispanic peo-ple continue to abandon the Catholic faith of their ancestors for fundamental and evangelical groups. Polls claim that many Catholics believe that the church's teaching on contraception, homosexuality, and premarital sex is outdated. Although young adults in general do not see the difference between clerical and religious celibacy, they will say that celibacy is the primary rea-son why they would not be a priest or a religious. Likewise, given our democratic values, American Catholics must reconcile them-selves with a church that does not function democratically. I believe it important to mention these factors at the outset because, although they are beyond our control, they have an effect on our religious-vocation promotion. In this paper I intend to share my own reflections on why fewer people are choosing to be brothers. Although I belong to the Congregation of Holy Cross, I have shared some of these ideas with brothers in other religious congregations. We are not alone in our struggle. After five years Septentber-October 1999 Bednarczyk ¯ Religious Brothers as vocation director, I offer thoughts I have gleaned from numer-ous vocation talks I have heard and given, from many meetings and discussions withadolescents and young adults, from direct-ing men and women on both personal and group discernment retreats, and from my association with other vocation directors both regionally and nationally. 492 A Question of Visibility We religious brothers are invisible. To put it more precisely, people generally have no clear idea about who or what we are. I say this neither cavalierly nor despairingly, but as simple truth. Part of this is the reality that we are fewer in number. In the United States, according to thd 1998 official Catholic Directory, the number of religious brothers dropped in 1997-98 by 178, resulting in a national total of 6115. Of course, many of these are retired or infirm and therefore no longer engaged in part- or full-time min-istry- and so are even more invisible. Brothers in teaching congregations cannot assume that the freshmen entering our high schools in September know what a religious brother is. Even though some come to us from Catholic grade schools, many have not met a religious brother or sister and know little or nothing about religious life. If they do have a min-imal understanding oic our life, most likely their perceptions have been influenced by what they see in the media, which is often dis-torted, stereotyped, and scandal ridden. Their parents, too, a generation that had greater exposure to religious in classrooms and parishes, have limited understandings of religious life. They may have romanticized notions of who we once were or, on the other hand, may endlessly repeat stories of brothers and sisters maintaining uncompromising discipline and inflicting harsh corporal punishments. In addition, people are con-fused by the polarization of the various religious lifestyles. How do lay people find a balance among various extreme "liberal" and "conservative" positions taken by religious men and women? How do they understand community when the religious they know live in private apartments or are in scattered communities of twos and threes? Although there are justifications for various places on the spectrum, the average persons in the pews just do not understand. I think it safe to say that they are confused, just as we are at times. The question of visibility is more complex than the reality of Review for Relig~o~!s fewer members. It is, I believe, also related to a greater issue in the church. Without a doubt, within the past twenty years our church has become increasingly clerical. At a time when there are fewer and fewer priests, lay religious life is not always promoted in the church as enthusiastically or emphatically as it could be. In litur-gies all of us have heard public prayers for vocations to the priest-hood and privately wondered why we were not also praying for vocations to the religious life. I do not think these omissions are intentional. When I have respectfully asked presiders to include in their future prayers of petition a mention of an increase in candi-dates for religious life as well, I was usually met with sincere apolo-gies and a response such as "To tell you the truth, I didn't even think of it." Such admitted forgetfulness is disarming, but the response remains a telling one. Another reality is that many bishops and priests are "gun shy" of religious men and women. Since many of their dealings with us have been confrontational and neg-ative, it seems they may be choosing to either ignore or avoid us in order to avoid future hostile situa-tions. Likewise, we religious have suffered from our own antago-nisms with the clergy and the hierarchy, and we too may choose to either ignore or avoid them. My point is not to say that we are right and they are wrong, but rather that stereotypes and false generalizations held by either party only lead to further break-downs in communication and in understanding one another's voca-tions in the church. If we assume an "us and them" mentality, we add to the divisiveness that already exists here and there in our church, and it is the church, the people of God, that ultimately suffers from such internal strife. To pin the blame of our invisibility solely on the church would be both unjust and inaccurate. We brothers must own the fact that some of us have chosen to be invisible. In the neighborhoods of some of our communities, I would conjecture that most of the neighbors are unaware that there is a religious community of men living on their block. Instead of participating in the life of our local parish community, some of us have chosen instead to par-ticipate anonymously in a nearby parish that may provide a better liturgy or choir. At a time when many teaching congregations have made concerted and successful efforts at connecting the mission of We religious brothers are invisible. September-October 1999 Bednarczyk ¯ Religious Brotbers their schools with the mission and charism of their community, some brothers choose not to participate in school activities, often to the dismay and wonder of lay colleagues, parents, and alumni. Although reasons for these examples may be acceptable to us, we must realize that such choices promote further invisibility and anonymity, something which we brothers can no longer afford. Without a public presence, our hope for future vocations is dim. The old clich~ has much truth: "Out of sight, out of mind." Not being part of the clerical hierarchy has given us a unique freedom that is comfortable. I heard one brother say about the hierarchy: "It's good that they forget about us--this way they leave us alone!" We come to a religious community not to dis-tance ourselves from the existing tensions or authority in the institutional church, nor to find a supportive haven for our anger against church authority, nor, for that matter, to promote our own church agenda. As consecrated religious we are men of the church and in the church. Our vocation by its very nature calls us to deepen our baptismal commitment and our relationship with the people of God. The faithful see us and look to us for who and what we are: men who through our vows have consecrated ourselves totally to God and to service within the church. They expect us to be integral to the church: when they do not see this, they are surprised and confused. If we are going to welcome men into our communities, I believe that we must all realistically deal with our feelings and beliefs about the church of today--not the church of yesterday or tomorrow, but the church of today in all of its glory and weakness. Generational Differences The majority of us have lived through the social, political, and ecclesial turbulence of the 1960s. We experienced the devastation of political assassinations, the power of the people in working for justice, and the sense of betrayal and shame that resulted from Watergate. We mourned the violence and casualties of the Vietnam War and of the racial wars that were erupting in our city streets. We underwent our own personal and spiritual transformations after the drastic changes set in motion by the Second Vatican Council. Suddenly our equilibrium was shaken. We experienced a shift in values from uniformity to diversity, from authoritarianism to collegiality, from commonality to individuality. Review for Religious We dealt with these dramatic events and changes in a variety of ways. Some simply left religious life. It seems to have been a good decision for some, once they discovered they .may have become brothers for the wrong reasons. On the other hand, oth-ers left and we still wonder why. Regarding these departures we still grieve. And, into the bargain, some of us have stayed. What are our reasons for remaining? After these radical shifts in church, society, and culture, has our dependence upon God and one another deepened, or have we learned instead to place more trust in our own self and in our material security? Have our vows increased our joy and appreciation for life, or have they regretfully only made our life burdensome? Do we face the uncertainty of the future with excitement and hope, or with cynicism and despair? If we are to witness to an attractive lifestyle option, we must answer these questions honestly and reexamine our own commitment to religious life. Unlike many of us who were brought up with the order and constancy of a triumphal church, our young people today have experienced conflicting messages from a church in transition, and they seek, simply, truth. In the face of New Age spirituality and watered-down Christianity, there are those who, in their desire to know more of what it means to be Catholic, resort to tangible, traditionally Catholic symbols. I find it fascinating that Exposition and Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament is making a comeback on college campuses. In the midst of the noise and rush of their aca-demic lives, students appreciate the hour of silence in the pres-ence of Mystery. Similarly, young adults are rediscovering the virtue of Mary, and have found the rosary to be an attractive form of prayer that is identifiably Catholic. Some ofos may be quick to categorize these young people as conservative or wacky, but these are students who volunteer weekly at local soup kitchens and par-ticipate in "alternative" spring breaks with Habitat for Humanity. They are also class officers, athletes, and students on the dean's list. As I have discovered, our younger people defy the neat and tight boxes in which we tend to categorize them. Have our VOWS increased our joy and appreciation for life, or have they regretfully only made our life burdensome? Septentber-October 1999 Bednarczyk ¯ Relig4ous Brothers To live with the ideals, hopes, and dreams of the young is inconvenient and at times even uncomfortable. In my meetings with men who are exploring a vocation, I have found that it is not because of ministry, education, or social-justice convictions that they are drawn to religious life. Our church has evolved to where, if this were their primary desire, they could eas-ily do this in a Catholic institution as laypersons. They are com-ing to us first and foremost for the religious life itself. To live in the secular world as a committed Christian espousing Catholic values is difficult for them. They admit their need for a community of like-minded individuals who could strengthen their love for God and their Catholic convic-tions. They are not looking for just a nice group of people who do good work. They are looking for men who know and can lead them to God and who can give them a sense of hope in a world that has become increasingly pessimistic and destructive. They want to pray together, share their faith, and bring the Good News to people through their ministry. They acknowledge the Eucharist as central to our faith, and they have devotion to it. Since they often come from an unchurched, nontraditional back-ground, they seek structure and definition. From our community perspective, that is quite an order to fill! Some of you who are reading this are probably wincing and saying, "I thought we got away from that years ago!" To put it simply, I believe we find ourselves in the middle of a generation gap. Thirty years ago some brothers retained their habits, sat in their pews, and looked with distaste upon those who wore jeans and colored shirts and prayed on throw pillows. They thought that, for sure, religious life was quickly going down the tubes. The younger brothers, however, challenged the older brothers to renew their zeal for religious life by adapting to a different lifestyle, one that was based more on shared expressions of faith and on more interpersonal, communal living. Likewise, the younger members were taught by the elders to appreciate the tradition of our life and consequently were enriched by their fidelity to their vows in the face of change. Since some of us have lost a younger generation in our con-gregations, we have forgotten what it is like to be challenged by the young. The lively community dynamic that occurs with the mix- Review for Religious ture of generations--the elderly, the middle-aged, the young--does not happen in many of our local communities. As a result, many of us have grown comfortable with one another and in our life together. For the majority of us, the mutual challenges and exchanges that we all remember from our earlier years and that occur naturally between the young and old do not happen anymore. At forty-one years old, I am still considered one of the "young" brothers in my community. I realize that much of my religious life has been lived with men older than myself. Although I am thank-ful for the benefit of their example and wisdom, as I enter my own midlife I realize that I have been deprived of living with the con-tagious energy and enthusiasm of much younger religious. I know that I need at times to be challenged to think in new ways and to experience life differently. Most of us are middle-aged or older. If we are to have a newer generation following us, we must--even if it becomes increasingly more difficult as we age--be open to the renewal of our basic val-ues: prayer, community, and lifestyle. Ironically, those who are considering religious life look for deeper community experiences while some veterans of thirty or forty years say they are tired of the routine and demands in community. How do we bridge this gap? To live with the ideals, hopes, and dreams of the young is incon-venient and at times even uncomfortable, but I know of no other way. Although youthful idealism may need some tempering, we must admit that at least it is refreshing. We have now become the "older" brothers of yesterday, and, like the older ones of thirty years ago, we too are invited to new ways of thinking and being as we look to the next generation in religious life. I do not believe that age has to be a deterring factor. When I hosted discernment retreats for prospective candidates at our retire-ment facility, I would invite three of our elderly brothers to tell their vocation stories. The combined witness of almost two hundred years of faithful religious life is better than any vocation brochure I could ever design! Their authentic fulfillment in Holy Cross and their continuing joy and vitality were always evidence to these interested men that this life can be lived and can be lived well. Our young people look to their elders for inspiration. They hunger for the wisdom that comes from living a prayerful and reflective life with God. If, however, they see stagnation, apathy, and cynicism, they are left disillusioned and wanting. For many of us, our lives as religious have been deeply enriching and grace filled, and yet some September-October 1999 Bednarczyk * ReligiousBrotbers of us are reluctant to share these experiences with each other. We underestimate at times the power of our stories. In many religious congregations it has been the tradition to respond to "the signs of the times" and to the contemporary needs of the church. I maintain that we need to continue this spirit of openness not only to our mission and ministries, but also to our religious lives as well. The Answer Is in the Present I do not claim to have the answers for the future. To be truth-ful, my worry is not for the future, nor is it for the past. It is the present that is my concern. We can only theorize about the future, as we can only reminisce about the past. Such intellectual exer-cises tend to distance us from the responsibility of making neces-sary choices about our lives and our community in the present. In general, given the societal changes and challenges discussed above, some recerit shifts in our culture seem to coalesce with our lives as religious brothers. For example, our society displays a renewed interest in spirituality. Celebrities from Oprah to Madonna have made daily meditation chic again! With the pro-liferation of self-help and support groups for every issue imagin-able, people long for connection and belonging. They desire "to share their story" and to be validated by a group. Corporations are supportive of community service, and some school systems have included service components in their curricula. As a result, volunteerism is at an all-time high. Ironically, many authors are making lots of money with their best-selling books on how to sim-plify one's lifestyle. It would seem that religious brotherhood would somehow fit into this picture. Our life is a wonderful secret that needs to be shared more now than ever before. As religious brothers we bring, I believe, a special gift to the church. Our faith teaches us about a God whose love is uncondi-tional and whose mercy is unlimited. If faithfully and genuinely lived, our vows attest that fulfillment is to be found more in the transcendent than in the transitory. Where division and broken relationships characterize many families and marriages, our com-mitment to community life, despite its inherent struggles, myste-riously witnesses to welcome, order, acceptance, and equality. I have read many books and articles detailing futures for reli-gious life in temporary vowed commitments, lay associate mem- Review for Religious bership, satellite communities, blended communities, and so forth. All of that makes for interesting reading and good discussion, but I return to the question: What about now? How do we live now the vows we professed, however many years ago? Do we do so with the passion, zeal, and love of our early years? I do not believe that the answer to the challenges of our pre-sent situation is as simple as the reconstruction of past external structures. Our lives are much more complex today than they were thirty years ago. No one can deny that our traditional structures served us well, considering the church and spirituality of the time, but it would be naive to expect the former ways to meet our con-temporary needs. We can romanticize about the past, but we know that it is impossible to turn the clock back. I am, however, not convinced--at least in my own congrega-tion- that we are at present compelled to create new models and forms of vowed religious life. We do not need to reinvent the wheel. We need to insure that the wheel we already have is on the right track. Besides, since Vatican II, a number of experimental lay and religious communities have already been formed, imple-menting exciting new models of lifestyle and commitment. How they will fare in the future, only time will tell. I am convinced that as brothers we need to reclaim who and what we are. We are men of the church vowed to a life of poverty, celibacy, and obedience. We commit ourselves to a life of prayer and mission with each other in community. Given today's society and culture, these core values are what make us countercultural. Our vows are meant to be lived joyfully, with hope. This life was meant to be lived in relationship with God and with one another. Our challenging times invite us to probe and to enter more deeply into the essence of our vows and the mysterious grace that comes with this life. I believe in the gift of religious life, and particularly in the gift of religious brotherhood. I want a future for us because I believe the church would b6 lacking without us. Knowing how much I have been enriched by my own vocation to Holy Cross, I desire to share this gift with a new generation of religious. I am sure that the majority of members in our communities desires the same, but to do this requires conversion and a courageous open-ness to the Spirit that speaks to us today--and not yesterday and not tomorrow. [--z~00 September-October 1999 AVIS CLENDENEN II On Promise Making, Leave-Taking, and Becoming journeying It has been sixteen years since I requested and received a dispensation from my religious vows. The following reflection explores--from ethical, psychological, and theological perspectives-- the experience of malting and breaking promises and leaving the vowed religious life. Principally I will be drawing upon the ethical con-siderafions of Sister Margaret Farley RSM, the psycho-logical insights of Dr. Carl Rogers, and the theological depth of Father Karl Rahner SJ. These pages reveal a slice of an experience shared by many--that is, the mak-ing of a religious commitment, living in a vowed reli-gious community for years, developing bonds of trust and friendship, experiencing a crisis of fidelity, discov-ering the personal inability/choice to sustain the orig-inal commitment, and ultimately breaking the commitment and leaving religious life. A suspicion I had as I thought about examining the psychology and theology behind the making and break-ing of promises was that Rogers and Rahner had more than their first names in common. I sensed they shared a fundamental understanding of the human person, the Avis Clendenen PhD, associate professor of religious stud-ies and director of the Pastoral Ministry Institute, teaches pastoral theology and ministry at Saint Xavier University in Chicago, where she can be reached: 3700 West |03rd Street; Chicago, Illinois 60655. Revie~v for Religimts human dilemma, and the graced and flawed human quest of becom-ing whole and free. The following reflection reveals some signif-icant connections between Rogerian psychology and Rahnerian theology and offers a way of viewing the painful process of leave-taking and becoming. The painful and hopeful contours of this all-too-familiar experience can be traversed again in openness to the possibility of deeper revelations about the choices we make that sustain our word of love. Sixteen years from my departure after a thirteen-year commitment gives me perspective and a desire to return and examine the process of making promises, breaking promises, and becoming. In the fall of 1969 at nineteen years of age I entered the Sisters of Mercy. My letter of request to enter was all of two paragraphs composed by a nineteen-year-old touched and transformed, as late teens can be, by the turbulent events of the 1960s: My reason for choosing religious life as my way of life is because this in the only life that makes sense to me, as an individual. I want to express my life as a commitment of love to God and His Church. I am not quite sure why there is an attraction to the Mercy order in particular, but I believe my potential for giving and receiving, of freedom and ful-fillment, lie within this community. By the time I would profess my final vows in 1978, all refer-ences to God in the masculine pronoun were to be stricken from my vocabulary. By 1978 1 would be a graduate of the Jesuit School of Theology, having been the first woman admitted to its master-of- divinity program. Throughout the 1970s I struggled with the weight of a patriarchal church, including the graces and conflicts surrounding the inclusion of women in all ministries of the church. I would, over the expanse of years, come to greater clarity as to my "attraction" to the Sisters of Mercy as women of valor and vision, with a deepening sense of gratitude for the reciprocity of our rela-tionship. The issues of freedom and fulfillment became bemus-ing, and the turbulent times never did seem to abate. At thirty-three years of age, thirteen years after my entrance and less than four years after my final profession, I received a dis-pensation from my vows of poverty, celibacy, and obedience. The following are excerpts from the letter I wrote to the provincial administrator, initiating the formal leave-taking process: To try and summarize all the spiritual and psychological investigations I have done would be an injustice to all that has September-October 1999 Clendenen ¯ On Promise Making, Leave-Taking, and Becoming gone into this decision. To say too little would be an injus-tice to the quality of relationship I have shared as a Sister of Mercy throughout these years. I feel great pain as I accept responsibility for breaking my promises. But it was the pain of remaining in religious community that finally made the decision. I have asked myself again and again about the truth and integrity of the final commitment professed in 1978. That moment expressed the insight and honesty that was available to me; and while only four years ago, it's been a lifetime. In the months I have lived alone, I have read all the journals from my thirteen years as a Sister of Mercy. I saw the patterns of my struggles repeated year upon year. I read and remembered delightful times in community. My loneli-ness lines many pages. Notes from numerous retreats reminded me of my love for God. And, oh, the growing rage at the institutional church as it demeaned me and our efforts for women's voice and body to be celebrated all places, including the altar. I do not believe that in asking for a dispensation from my religious vows I am walking away from the vision of Catherine McAuley, the works of mercy, the body of Christ, or the commitment with feminists to liberate ourselves from the patriarchy. I am stepping away from a vowed relationship among you. I promised to persevere for life. I believe I per-severed until there .was no more life for me. I am so very sorry. I do not look for understanding, I~ut I will always expect compassion for that is why we bear our name. For the compassion that has been shown me and I have shared with you, for the years of service given expres-sion to as a Sister of Mercy, for the treasured moments and persons, I will always be grateful. I remain a believer and a daughter of Catherine McAuley. I hold now with courage and trepidation her legacy, my Bible, and I turn a corner. And trust. To Give One's Word Yale University Professor of Christian Ethics and Sister of Mercy Margaret Farley's tough thinking on the meaning of fidelity and its claim of obligation form an important frame of reference in analyzing whether one has the moral sanction to end a com-mitment. Sister Margaret Farley wrote her book on commitment in the late 1980s, when the permanency of commitments in American marriages teetered at a fifty-percent divorce rate and when "defection" from the priesthood and religious life in the Review for Religious American Catholic Church continued to deplete the ranks of ordained and vowed Catholic ecclesial leaders. For many years I successfully avoided Margaret Farley's 1986 book Personal Commitments: Beginning. Keeping. Changing. Research for this article inevitably led me back to her work and the challenges to think hard about why we give our word in mak-ing commitments, why we are obliged to keep them, and under what circumstances we may be morally released from them. Farley suggests that the rise of the human-potential movement served to shift the goals of many from the challenges of permanent commit-ment, fidelity, and responsibility, toward the increasing warrant of the call for per-sonal growth and self-actualization. It was as if these two venues for being and becoming were mutually exclusive. Those who had previously interpreted their life in terms of a religious vocation began to claim the. need to transfer voca-tion from one locus to another. "It was not always easy to tell whether these were expressions of faithfulness or of irresponsibility and betrayal."' What does it mean to say you make a promise with a sense of its truth and integrity and then years later suggest that your insights and sense of integrity have changed so signifi-cantly as to justify a breaking of the bonds and a release from obli-gation? Is emotional pain and lack of personal fulfillment sufficient cause to be dispensed fr6m the vows professed in an act of freedom, a free action always given into the hands of an uncertain future? As Farley eloquently explains, commitment has to do with the free action of free persons who give their word as part of them-selves. Commitment m~ans to give my word because that word belongs to me and I freely choose to entrust it to another's keep-ing. In a sense, commitment means to share with one or more per-sons claims on my being there in a promised way with and for them. While my word is "given away," paradoxically I still pos-sess it because it is myself. In commitment we freely take on an obligation to do as we have promised. The motivation for the kind of commitment we are discussing here is always love. "By assuming certain frameworks for love, we Is emotional pain and lack of personal fulfillment sufficient cause to be dispensed from the vows professed in an act of freedom, September-October 1999 Clendenen ¯ On Promise Making, Leave-Taking, and Becoming commit ourselves to whatever we understand essentially to con-stitute this framework."2 The profession of religious vows to be lived in the mic

Issue 60.3 of the Review for Religious, 2001. ; Explorations Religious Life Heritages Faithful ~Witness MAY JUNE 2001 VOLUME 60 NUMBER 3 Review for Re, ligious,helps people respond and he faithful to God's universal call to holiness by ~naking available t_o 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 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: g~r,v.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 ~ssue 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 t.he Editor, Review for Religious. 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 F~ppe Tracy Gramm Judy Sharp James and Joan Felling AdrianGaudin SC Sr. Raymond Marie Gerard FSP Joel Rippinger OSB Bishop Carlos A. Sevilla sJ Patricia Wittherg SC MAY JUNE 2001 VOLUME 60 NUMBER 3 contents explorations 230 "Women Religious, Women Deacons? Phyllis Zagano explores why a woman, secular or religious, would seek ordination as a deacon and what questions this poses f6r the corporate life of a religious institute. 245 Confidentiality: Are Religious Superiors Always Bound? Vimal Tirimanna CSSR explores whether there are limits to the professional confidentiality to be kept by ministers and religious superiors and the need for appropriate norms and sanctions. 254 The Computer's Edge: Some Social and Ethical Concerns Linda Herndon OSB introduces some of the s~cial and ethical issues in the computer world, raising some questions, and proposing some practical responses, to stimulate further discussion. 262 269 religious life Authenticity and Contact with Youth Robert P. Maloney CM calls for an asceticism of authenticity that engages and challenges young people in their passion for Christ. Obedience: Vow and Virtue in Our Contemporary World Kathy Dunne RC looks at the vow of obedience as it is born of love, forms us as lovers, and bears the fruit of love. Review for Religious 277 286 heritages ¯ Mechthild of Magdeburg's Spiritual Pilgrimage William C. Zehringer traces the complex pilgrimage story of the medieval mystic Mechthild of Magdeburg. The Poverello's Legacy Bonaventure Stefun OFMCap gives many Franciscan exemplars of poverty as lived through the centuries, all united by Francis's key notion of attachment to Jesus. 295 308 faithful witness Here I Am You Called Me? Marie Beha OSC delves into the meaning of presence, considering especially how we might respond more fully to God and to others. Leap Over the Wall: Why Did I Not? Mary Anne Huddleston IHM offers her personal witness to the commitment value of consecrated life. departments 228 Prisms 314 Canonical Counsel: Requirements for Temporary Profession 320 Book Reviews May-June 2001 prisms To opposing tendencies vie within us from the very beginning of life. Human beings are described as always struggling to stay within the comfort life of the womb and yet pushing to find a con-tinuing newness of life outside the womb. We rejoice in the known, the familiar, what has always been, the traditional. We can be enlivened also by the unknown, what is new and untried, the innovative. A healthy passage between these two human tendencies is caught up in the activity called exploration. Our growth as chil-dren came through exploration; we grow as adults only if we continue regularly to experience the exploratory passage, a passage that joins the past to the future. When John Paul II made his appeal for a new evan-gelization, it was an exploratory call. It was not imme-diately evident to all of us Catholics how far this call extended. We are beginning to realize that a new evan-gelization takes in not just ways of proclaiming the gospel that are effective for our time but also ways of celebrating that proclamation. The latest revisioning of the sacramentary and lectionary is a part of this continuing renewal of our efforts in celebrating the Eucharist as the central mystery of our faith. We con-tinue to explore the passage between the liturgical rites as we have known them and a new formulation of these rites that may more effectively help today's people understand their meaning in relation to contemporary patterns of thought and expectation. A liturgical spirituality rightly has pride of place. But so-called "popular" devotions are important too. In the Roman Catholic Latin rite, expression found in liturgical prayer usually remains formal, with feelings restricted and subjective emotions set aside--whatever the vernacular translation. The more personal and emo- Review for Reli#ous tive piety that was characteristic of Catholic devotional life in the 19th and 20th centuries--expressed in popular language and images--necessarily had to recede in importance after Vatican Council II. The explorations central to our faith expression in baptism, Eucharist, and reconciliation focused all of our worship-ing energy. Marian devotions, Sacred Heart devotions, Eucharistic holy hours, and Stations of the Cross suffered a time of eclipse. Granted that the central place of the Eucharistic celebration and the other sacraments has been properly positioned for us Catholics, we are now enabled to express our persistent hunger and need to nourish our Catholic life also in nonliturgical or, perhaps more positively, more personal and popular ways. As an integral part of our actively entering into our new evangelization, we need to explore devotions that do not seem to be relics of the past, but rather are "new" prayerful ways of celebrating our faith that express the yearnings of our hearts today. What form will these explorations take? We cannot say since devotional life is so much shaped by the social and cultural milieu in which we live. Devotions need contemporary imaging, vocal expressions, and musical or quasi-musical rhythms that appeal to today's people. For example, does the May procession and crown-ing of Mary as queen--a memory many Catholics treasure-- emphasize rather the distancing of Mary from our daily experience rather than her closeness? What may have been "devotional" at a particular time may not be a fitting expression and imaging today. Does a 40-hour Eucharistic devotion fit the rhythm of our social milieu or would a 7 p.m.zto-12 midnight or a 24-hour, all-night vigil speak better? We need to explore how these "old" devotions can be truly a part of our new evangelization; our exploration is an effort to stretch personal and group memories into personal and group hopes and expressions. We may look to the renewal of some of our older devotions such as the devotion to the Sacred Heart (identified of old with the month of June) or we may seek to honor and find our own life-inspiration by devotions expressed for one of our newly canon-ized saints who combines charity with a j3rophetic thirst for justice. Regardless, we are responding to the call for a new evangelization. Exploration is necessary for a faith that is alive and well. No, bet-ter said, exploration is necessary for us believers who want to grow in our maturity in Christ. David L. Fleming SJ May-~une 2001 explorations PHYLLIS ZAGANO Women Religious, Women Deacons? In recent years, discussion about Catholic women's ordi-nation has centered on the priesthood, and the diaconate " has been seen primarily as a step toward priesthood. The official opposition to the ordination of women as priests is well and widely known. But the official position on the ordination of women to the diaconate is that it is "under study." Conflict about the impossibility of women becoming pries(s has obscured the possibility of their becoming deacons even though, after the revival of the per.manent diaconate in the West, the concept of permanent women deacons found significant support.~ Today wtrldwide requests by individuals and groups to have'women ordained to serve the people of God strengthen the notion that the church could restore the female diaconate.2 Such possi-bility, if not probability, provides the opportunity for apostolic institutes and individual religious t6 question whether ordination would be appropriate for them cor-porately, or individually, or both. Phyllis Zagano is founding cochair of the Roman Catholic Studies Group of.the American Academy of Religion and author most recently of.Holy Saturday: An ,qrgument for the Restoration of the Female Diaconafe in tbe Catholic Church (Crossroad). She can be reached c/o Crossroad Publishing Company; 481 Eighth Avenue, #1550; New York, N.Y. 10011; and at pzagano@rcn.com. Review for Religious Why would a woman, secular or religious, wish to be ordained? There is significant resistance among women to becoming involved in a system widely viewed as patriarchal, especially in what is arguably a subservient role. Some say there is no need for ordi-nation, since everything a deacon does can be done with special permission by a lay person. Some focus on other issues. Others say the diaconate is not enough. The answers that affirm a woman's request for diaconal ordi-nation are as individual as each person's vocation to live a life of prayer and service. The unfolding of a single lifelong quest for God has many different layers, and vocations often grow in unex-pected directions. The deacon's vocation is to a life as "minister of the word, of the liturgy, and of charity.''3 Numbers of women's institutes find one or another of these calls, perhaps all, in their founding documents. In fact, women religious are always involved in works of charity, as they can be most broadly described, and their service is similar if not identical to that of deacons. Hence, why should women religious not be formally present and repre-sented in the liturgy? It is women religious who most clearly and most publicly enflesh the gospel. Why should they not proclaim it at Mass and explain, it in a homily? Realistically speaking, women religious are increasingly involved in diaconal work and works, and the charism of orders could only strengthen their commitments and their service. The church itself, both informally and formally, has called forth women to expressly diaconal work and works, that is, work and works that could be more fully served by women deacons. As Doris Gottemoeller RSM pointed out a few years ago, women religious are increasingly parochialized~ to the point that hundreds are parish administrators and are also increasingly involved in professional institutional chaplaincy. Further, official Vatican documents repeat-edly call for inclusion of women in official roles in the church.4 As more women are more involved (even t~ull-time) in diaconal ministries, the need to ordain them becomes clearer, in order to better serve the people of God. For example, there are obvious drawbacks when a woman religious working as a pastoral associate or chaplain does not have the ordinary authority to celebrate bap-tisms solemnly, or witness marriages, or preach, or fully lead litur-gical prayer, all of which ordained deacons do when they have standard faculties.5 If women religious are already serving in clerical roles, why not May-June 2001 Zagano ¯ Women Religious, Women Deacons? add diaconal ordination to their religious charisms? Perhaps obvi-ously the answer is that the nature of lay religious life is different from the nature of clerical religigus life. For an apostolic insti-tute to ordain members, or to incorporate new members already ordained, would imply a change in its nature. Since the church in the West might at any time return to its tradition of a permanent female diaconate, these considerations are real. Even if only hypo-thetically for now, women religious might individually and cor-porately consider the possibilities and consequences of ordination. Six questions asked by the ordaining prelate in the liturgy of ordination combine to form the perfect discernment tool with regard to religious life and the diaconate. The considerations given below do not and could not cover the combinations and permu-tations in every individual case. But they can open the door to additional individual or group discernment on this important pos-sibility. Can a woman religious answer yes to these six questions? More importantly, should she? 1. Are you willing to be ordained for the church's ministry by the laying on of hands and the gift of the Holy Spirit? The woman who might be ordained would be ordained to ministry--of the word, the liturgy, and of charity. A woman reli-gious, therefore, would have the nature of her public Commitment permanently changed. The ordination to ministry would not nec-essarily replace her celibate commitment to a life of prayer and service within her apostolic religious institute, but it would change it. Here she is asked to be available not only for the works of char-ity for which deacons are known, but for "the church's mi.nistry"-- the church's pastoral ministry--of baptizing, marrying, preaching, and burying the dead. This question asks if the deacon candidate will accept the pro-fessional obligations of ministry. The church's pastoral ministry already includes many apostolic women religious; they are pas-toral associates, performing almost every work an associate pastor might. In ~iddition, women religious run the parish soup kitchen and family center, oversee catechetics and the RCIA program. The gradual shift during the last century by institutes of apostolic reli-gious from teaching or nursing in their own institutions to other historically usual works of the deacon, often within the diocesan structure, underscores the whole church's calling women to wider ministries. Women, and especially women religious, are indeed doing the work of ordained deacons. But they are not ordained. As Review for Religious I have argued elsewhere, it is not desirable for the church to con-fuse vows with ordination,6 and so I would argue here that those who are already involved in "the church's ministry" might consider the strengthening of their pastoral charisms through ordination. For the sake of discussion, we can assume that the majority of women religious who would seek diaconal ordination would also choose to remain members of their own religious institutes. Their vocational discernment would need to separate the charism of celibacy in consecrated life from the charism of ordained diaconal life, which does not require celibacy, and from the charism of celibate ordained life. While the vocation to celibate life in community is not identical to the vocation to ordained life, the two vocations are not mutually exclusive. That is, consecrated celibacy and ecclesial ministry are not mutually exclusiye, but each requires separate consideration and support. As Sandra Schneiders has recently pointed out, a "coherent theological framework within which prayer, sacramental life, and ministry make sense in themselves and in relation to each other is cru-cial to the relationship with Jesus Christ that alone justifies com-mitment in consecrated, celibacy that is at the heart of religious life.''7 By contrast, professional ministerial commitment is open to all, celibate or married, "~ho find themselves called to identify with the ministry of Christ: The charism of celibacy can be seen as analogous but not identical to the deacon's call to be minister of the word, the liturgy, and of charity. Again, the call to diaconal ministry does not nec-essarily include celibacy. While the charism of consecrated celibacy might be more broadly experienced by the church if the majority of ordained women religious remained in their institutes, as such this charism should not be confused with the separate and distinct call to diaconal orders. The call to the diaconate is specifically and primarily "f6r the church's ministry," not for an apostolic min-istry arising from celibate commitment within a religious .insti- I would argue that those who are already involved in "the church's ministry" might consider the s~rengthening of their pastoral charisms through ordination. May-June 2001 Zagano ¯ Women Religious, Women Deacons? tute, even though the two calls may coexist in one person and in one institute. The operative points in this question are whether and how the woman religious would participate in the church's ministry while remaining a member of her institute. Those are matters of discernment to be taken up by her,.her superior, and--if she is the first of her institute to ask to be ordained--by the chapter of her institute. 2. Are you resolved to discharge the office of deacon with humility and love in order to assist the bishop and the priests and to serve the people of Christ? There is an ancient document in which a bishop sets forth the qualities necessary for women to be ordained deacons. His major concern is that they be able to get along with the priests.9 Church history, then and now, is replete with examples of ten-sions between priests and deacons. Humility is not humiliation, but many contemporary deacons suffer the latter in their relations with priests, who in many cases just do not know what to do with them and are often threatened by their presence. These insecuri-ties will not be cured by adding ordained women to the mix, but they might be overcome through hard work and loving consider-ation on both sides. There is no question that priests need assis-tance in the pastoral care of souls, and many have learned how to effectively and professionally accept the assistance both of women, secular and religious, and of deacons; the new challenge would be to accept the assistance of women deacons. But the diaconate is not the priesthood, and an objection to the church's potential returning of women to the ranks of ordained deacons (without creating women priests) is that the women dea-cons would still be serving in subordinate positions to men. In many cases, of course, this is true. Yet significant numbers of men serve in the same subordinate positions to other men. Also, many deacons serve in leadership positions in rural dioceses and mis-sion territories. The many women serving in similar situations would be able.to expand their ministries if they were ordained. One source of tension between priests and deacons might dis-appear if the majority of women ordained were to remain as mem-bers of their religious institutes. Currendy most permanent deacons are married. Very few of the unmarried deacons are religious, pointing to a clear distinction between the vocations even though they are combined in the lives of some individuals. There are Review for Religious 25,345 deacons in 129 countries around the world, of whom 514, or two percent, are religious,l° In contrast, there are 404,208 priests in the world, of whom 140,687, or thirty-five percent, are reli-gious, l' These statistics seem to indicate that the distinction between celibate secular and religious life among the ordained is clear, but the vocations are not mutually exclusive. Whether thirty-three percent (the percentage of religious among today's deacons and priests) of the women ordained to the diaconate would become or remain members of religious insti-tutes is, of course, unknown. It is not likely that women candidates for the dia-conate would come mostly from women religious. Rather, many older married women and widows might seek to ratify and intensify through diaconal ordina-tion their commitments to their current volunteer or professional service of the people of God as catechists, lectors, Eucharistic ministers,.and chaplains or pastoral associates. Similarly, young Catholic women now in master-of-divin-ity programs in Protestant and Catholic .seminaries might seek diaconal ordination. Current statistics on lay catechists and other church workers suggest that seventy per-cent of women deacons would be married or single seculars and thi'rty percentof women deacons would be members of religious institutes. The challenge to all the women who envision possible ordi-nation to the diaconate is to recognize with h.umility and love that, practically speaking, they would be assisting the priests, but that their reason for being ordained is to serve the people of God. 3. Are you resolved to hold the mystery of the faith with a clear conscience, as the Apostle urges, and to proclaim this faith in word and action as it is taught by the gospel and the church's tradition? A significant number of the women presently engaged in min-isterial studies are in programs at denominational or interde-nominational Protestant seminaries. There are many reasons for this. Such seminaries are generally in cities, often near or even attached to major" universities, and therefore accessible. These seminaries are often well endowed, and they have substantial schol- It is not likely that women candidates for the diaconate would come mostly from women religious. May-June 2001 Zagano ¯ Women Religious, Women Deacons? arship programs available to women. And master-of-divinity pro-grams at American Catholic seminaries, and specifically at dioce-san seminaries, are not generally available to women. VChile many Catholic seminaries have a second-track "institute" that allows those who are not candidates for priesthood to study with the same faculty, the training offered is not identical and formation possibilities are often minimal. The extraordinary success of the programmatic exceptions to these general statements proves the thirst of many for professional training and ministry formation by and for Catholics. But, in fact, many Catholic women have studied and continue to study at Protestant seminaries; they are or soon will be ministering in dia-conal roles throughout the country. Not all are fully convinced of all church teachings, and their Protestant training has not pro-vided support for such acceptance. It remains to be seen whether they could be resolved to hold with a clear conscience "the mys-tery of the faith., and the church's tradition." The controversial issues that secular women students and min-isters presently consider, sometimes outside the boundaries of ordinary church teaching, might not be so prevalent among reli-gious, or at least among women religious who might be ordained to the diaconate. Even so, there are current ways of discussing certain topics, principally homosexuality, abortion, contraception, and priestly ordination for women, that could render women can-didate~ ineligible for diaconal ordination. Further, there are mis-conceptions and misperceptions about certain church dogmas, from Eucharist to original sin, that would similarly end an indi-vidual candidacy on its merits rather than on the question of gen-der. If these variant positions are indelibly held, for whatever reason, then the woman in question might still be able to minis-ter as a lay catechist--as many currently do--without diaconal ordination. In fact, some might considerdiaconal ordination a hindrance to ministry rather than an enhancement. There is a trend toward this way of thinking among some women in the church. The issue is not necess~arily bound up with any of the neuralgic questions listed above; it is, rather, managing to live a ministerial life without entering the hierarchy or, bluntly, the "male" system. The individual woman not in diaconal orders is in no way bound to the bishop and need not fear his pro-nouncements except insofar as she is employed by him or by one of his parishes or agencies. Even so, many parishes and agencies Review for Religious retain employees whose full consent with all church teaching is neither required nor requested, except perhaps officially. Any effort by an individual bishop to formally require such consent is viewed as draconian at best, and so short-staffed bishops in good economic times can tend to let well enough alone, and not enter too deeply into parish and agency employee matters. The woman, secular or religious, who would seek diaconal orders would have to answer some difficult questions in her own heart and mind about Magisterial teaching, not the least of which would be the theological anthropology, history, sacramental the-ology, and ecclesiology that would allow her to be ordained a deacon while refusing her priestly orders. Hence there is every possibility that individual women can-didates for ordination might have problems when asked if they "hold the mystery of the faith with a clear conscience, as the Apostle urges, and [will] proclaim this faith in word and action as it is taught by the gospel and the church's tradition." 4. Are you resolved to maintain and deepen a spirit of prayer appropriate to your way of life and, in keeping with what is required of you, to celebrate faithfully the liturgy of the hours for the church and for the whole world? This is an interesting consideration for apostolic women reli-gious. The celebration of the liturgy of the hours generally required of all clerics includes the office of readings, morning prayer, one daytime prayer, evening prayer, and night prayer. Though this fourth question includes some interesting phrases, "appropriate to your way of life" and "in keeping with what is required of you," one can .assume that up to an hour of each day is expected to be devoted to the liturgy of the hours, in addition to the time given to the liturgy of the Eucharist and any private meditation, scripture study, and spiritual reading. This is a significant commitment of time. Contemplative and monastic orders celebrate the full liturgy either publicly (spending considerably more than an hour) or both privately and publicly, but many apostolic women religious are no longer accustomed to praying even a portion of the liturgy of the hours, even privately. Along with their living more in nontradi-tional settings, formal prayer in choir has diminished. These changes in institutional religious life at first created a growth medium for different types of communal prayer, often developed by individuals 6r by individual communities. Continued changes May-ffune 2001 Zagano ¯ Wonten Religious, Wotnen Deacons? in communal life, however, have often led to the dropping even of these individualized prayer services from daily to perhaps monthly gatherings, usually with members of 'an intentional prayer group rather than with the "same roof' community. Each permutat!on moves apostolic religious farther from the tradition of praying the liturgy of the hours "for the church and for the whole world," both publicly and privately. A woman religious who would accept the obligations of the liturgy of the hours might find herself limited by time and space from participating in the life-giving communal prayer that nour-ished her desire to seek ordination in the first place. It wouid be as difficult to choose one or the other as it would be to choose both. Where the development of differing types of communal prayer for and among women religious has in many cases created opportunities for growth, it has also intensified the male-female divide, where most of the men (as clerics) and most of th~ women (as apostolic religious) have habits of prayer that are distinct from each other. (In North America, as is true worldwide, there are about twice as many apostolic women religious as priests, secular or religious.12) One would think, therefore, that the obligation to pray the liturgy of the hours might present a challenge to women. But, while all clerics are obliged to celebrate the liturgy of the hours, diocesan directors of diaconate programs state that few deacons do. This is the import of the phrases "appropriate to your way of life" and "in keeping with what is required of you." Typical married working deacons are sincerely encouraged to pray at least thd "hinges" of the day: morning and evening prayer, and night prayer too. Many, if not most, cannot pray the office of readings. Some cannot attend daily Mass. Some do not engage daily in extended personal prayer or scripture reading. While this information is anecdotal at best, it seems little would be actually added to the schedule of a woman religious, whose personal and communal practices probably already exceed those of the typical deacon. So this question could clearly be answered in the affirmative by the. woman religious who sought ordination to the diaconate. 5. Are you resolved to shape your way of life always according to the example of Christ, whose bo.dy and blood you will give to the people? The question is deceptively simple for women religious, whose lives are a constant endeavor to conform their whole' beings to Review for Religious Christ. That they have been engaged in such a struggle for their entire adult lives creates in some cases a distance between them and most secular candidates for the permanent diaconate or the priest-hood. While the emphasis in religious formation is on formation, and in seminary training on training, deacon candidates do receive a certain amount of formation. But religious formation-- focusing as it does, or at least has done, on prayer, life in community, and participation in institutional ministries--creates a qualitative dif-ference that is sometimes strikingly obvious. Many personal qualities stressed in the formation of women religious can translate positively to ordained diaconal service, just as in the case of the ordained service of men religious. A specific attitude of prayer, and selfless ded-ication to mission, are sometimes difficult to obtain later in life, especially by married candidates for orders who have the complica-tions of their secular lives to deal with: spouses, children, grandchil-dren, mortgages, careers, and political life. Of course, the differences can be seen both positively and nega-tively. Since the secular laity con-stitute ninety-nine percent of the church, one might argue that, rather than from among women religious, deacons ought be taken from among mature lay people. One might theorize that some of today's criticisms of celibate sec-ular (male) priests would be leveled at celibate secular (female) deacons. Criticisms of religious priests, which could be equally leveled at religious deacons, often revolve around the apparent and sometimes real financial and personal security of priests and religious. Secular lay persons often complain of a sort of "macu-lar degeneration" in the worldview of religious, ~ blindness to cer-tain exigencies of secular life, a chasm of nonunderstanding. While religious, as countercultural witnesses to the gospel, must be inde-pendent of political exigencies, they must recognize and constandy guard against such blindness. The very fact that women religious are personally and financially free to give prophetic witness to unpopular causes runs the risk of overpowering the poor, whom they most wish to serve. Criticism comes easily, and, since no one Many personal qualities stressed in the formation of women religious can translate positively to ordained diaconal service. ~lay-June 2001 Zagano ¯ Women Religious, Women Deacons? knows precisely what it means to be a woman deacon, these shoals and narrows must be viewed as opportunities. The delicate nature of ministry is enclosed in this question: Can the candidate for the diaconate shape a "way of life always according to the example of Christ"? It would be a radical chal-lenge for a woman religious to continue to live her religious pro-fession completely and freely while adding the responsibility of living out the charism of orders. Would she better continue to serve as a lay religious in commitment to the gospel, or would she better combine that commitment with the charism of ordained service? Beyond, would she better incorporate in her religious life and ministry the charism of ordained diaconal service, for which there is little precedent? In fact, the spiritual!ty of the diaconate is not well developed. For the deacon, what does it Mean to shape a way of life according to the example of Christ? What does it mean to shape a way of life according to the example of Christ for the woman who would be a deacon, and who would be considered in rank with other mostly married male deacons? These are questions that will.really only be answered by the first few women deacons. Practically speaking, it may only be women religious who are available to make the rad-ically prophetic choice to be ordained and serve as deacons in what are mostly uncharted waters. 6. Do you promise respect and obedience to me and my successors? Ordained women religious would remain bound to their supe-riors; ordained secular women would become bound to their dioce-san bishop. When asked of secular candidates, this question would bind a woman to her bishop for all matters: assignments, faculties, man-ner of dress, and so forth, and through him to the universal law of the church. The ordination of secular women to the diaconate would create a class of women whose ministry would be specifically at the disposal of the diocesan bishop. However, when a religious is ordained to the diaconate, this last question refers only to the religious superior and is generally rephrased to reflect the obedience of vowed religious. Only the religious superior gives permission to a member to be ordained; only the religious superior decides what work the religious cleric will take up. No bishop may unilaterally assign a religious to a work, and the local ordinary has authority and jurisdiction only Review for Religqous over what is done in his name, for example, the celebration of liturgies and sacraments (baptisms, marriages, and so forth) and actual work within the diocesan structure. Practically speaking, there may be no advantage to orders for the woman religious outside the diocesan ~tructure, because any-thing she might do that requires clerical status (with the possible exception of preaching homilies at Eucharistic liturgies) would be done in the name of the bishop and with his permission. So the determination here would be whether her religious superior would find ordination necessary for the individual religious's assigned work. That said, there are women reli-gious in the diocesan structure, and the needs of the people of God whom they serve as pastoral associates, tri-bunal judges, chancellors, and chap-lains would be better addressed by a more permanent.authorization, rather than by temporary or ad hoc lay juriso diction.13 The deeper question regarding the ordination of wtmen religious centers on authority and jurisdiction within the religious institute. Institutes of consecrated life are either diocesan or pontifical. Neither is exempt from obedience to ordinaries in matters pertaining to their episcopal authority, but superiors and chapters of institutes retain their power over their members, even if some or all of their members are clerics (canon 596). Canon Law provides for only two types of religious institutes: clerical and lay (canon 588). While, stricdy speaking, clerical insti-tutes must be headed by clerics, men's institutes that include lay brothers have obtained rescripts, or special permissions, to include brothers in their governments. These rescripts indicated that a clerical member of the institute be designated to carry out acts of jurisdiction requiring orders, and it is not clear the need would arise if the only clerical members were deacons. Since the Second Vatican Council, lay institutes have been able to allow members to be ordained without changing the nature of the institutes from lay to clerical.'4 After the 1994 Synod on Consecrated Life, Pope John Paul II established a special com-mission to study jurisdiction questions within mixed (clerical-and- The deeper question regarding the ordination of women religious centers on authority and jurisdiction within the religious institute. Zagano ¯ Women Religious, Women Deacons? lay) institutes, but the provision for lay institutes to remain lay while allowing some of their members to be ordained already exists. So there is no need to assume that the woman religious deacon would automatically cause her institute to give up its essen-tially lay status by allowing her ordination.'s The considerations implied by this final question about respect for and obedience to the ordaining prelate include whether insti-tutes might admit women who were previously ordained. Canon law provides for these exigencies in the case of men previously ordained who wish to enter religious orders, and there is no reason to think, theoretically at least, that ordained secular women could not become members of apostolic institutes of women religious. In discerning her vocation to orders, however, a woman religious would have to discern whether she would choose ordi-nation over membership, should her institute in chapter decline to include ordained members or should her superior decline to give her permission to be ordained. This presents a radical challenge of both vocation and obedience, and underscores the authority of superiors and chapters. These painful possibilities of growth are facts of life. Some women religious might be required to choose between ordination and their religious institutes, but not necessarily between ordi-nation and religious life. Women religious who chose orders over membership might well form new religious institutes, either wholly clerical or clerical-and-lay, creating a new expression of religious life. The larger consideration for women religious corporately is their insertion in the lay state. While canon law says that by its very nature religious life is neither clerical nor lay, women religious can rightly claim "outsider" status to the hierarchical system, even though their public pronouncements and political involvements are identically restricted. It is both significant and interesting that most women's institutes are more clearly led by the Leadership Conference of Women Religious than by the National Conference of Catholic Bishops. This is not new: monastics have always sought to be independent of local ordinaries. Whether ordained women religious would shift the balance of an institute remains t6 be seen, but their ordination would clearly depend, among other things, upon the needs of their institute and of the church at large. In this matter the specific charism incorporated in lay religious insti-tutes would need to be guarded, and an institute's decision against Review for Religious their members' becoming ordained would probably depend chiefly upon such a safeguard. Women religious, especially in the United States, are poised in a particular moment of freedom to raise their voices in defense of the poor and the marginalized. Though they comprise an aging population--the median age is approximately sixty-nine--women religious might, in prophetic witness to the gospel, decide that as lay religious they have nothing left to lose and clerical status might change that.~6 But, then again, it might not. The church needs the service of women and of all who would seriously take up the challenge of the gospel. One might say, "Would that all God's people were prophets!" Let us acknowledge that some women religious might better serve as clerics, and others not. Either choice is prophetic. Notes ~ The 1971 report of a committee of the Catholic Theological Society of America, "The Office of Deacon as a Lifetime State," recommended ordaining women deacons and was printed in American Ecclesiastical Review (March 1971), Crux (19 March 1971), Worship (April 1971), and Catholic Mind (May 1971). See also Clergy Review 56 (1971): 891-893. Additional contemporary discussion on the topic can be found in Agnes Cunningham SSCM, "Women and the Diaconate," American Ecclesiastical Review 165 (1971): 158-166; Peter HiJnermann, "Note: Conclusions Regarding the Female Diaconate," Theological Studies 36 (1975): 325- 333; A.M. Tortras, "Women Priests or Women Deacons?" Theology Digest 29, no. 3 (Fall 1981), translation of "~Mujeres Presbftero o Mujeres Di~cono? Apuntes para una Ordenaci6n de la Mujer," Estudios Eclesifisticos 55, no. 214 (1980): 355-368. ' I have presented an argument from theological anthropology, sacra-mental theology, history, ecclesiology, and law in Phyllis Zagano, Holy Saturday: An Argument for the Restoration of the Female Diaconate in the Catholic Church (Crossroad/Herder, 2000). 3 Roman Ritual, Ordination of Deacons. 4 Doris Gottemoeller RSM, "The Priesthood: Implications in Consecrated Life for Women," in A Concert of Charisms: Ordained Ministry in Religious Life, ed. Paul K. Hennessy CFC (New York: Paulist Press, 1997), pp. 127-138. s The Archdiocese of Anchorage, Alaska, first received a renewable rescript to allow lay persons to solemnly baptize and to witness mar-riages in 1990. A few women religious who are administrators of rural parishes and two other lay person.s have been so authorized on a case-by-case basis. 6 Zagano, Holy Saturday, pp. 142-145. 7 Sandra M. Schneiders IHM, Finding the Treasure: Locating Catholic May-June 2001 Zagano ¯ Women-Religious, Women Deacons? Religious Life in a New Ecdesial and Cultural Context (New York: Paulist Press, 2000), p. 149. 8 Schneiders rightly points out that the specific charism of celibacy for religious is distinct from the unmarried state of the secular cleric. 9 Apostolic Canons of the Church, canon 21. See Josephine Mayer, Monumenta de viduis diaconissis virginibusque tractantia (Bonn: P. Hanstein, 1938), which includes a significant collection of early documents about women deacons. 10 "The Permanent Diaconate Today," A Research Report by the Bis}~ops' Committee on the Diaconate of the National Conference of Catholic Bishops and by the Center for Applied Research on the Apostolate (June 2000), p. 2. " 2000 Catholic Almanac (Huntington: Our Sunday Visitor, 2000), p. 345, citing Statistical Yearbook of the Church, 1997. 12 There are 819,279 sisters and 404,208 priests. Statistics do not dif-ferentiate between women religious who are "sisters" in apostolic insti-tutes and those who were formerly called "nuns" in cloistered orders. 2000 Catholic Almanac, p. 345. 13 A committee of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious, drawing on the LCWR "Benchmarks" study, is analyzing lay jurisdiction. See Jeanean D. Merkel, ed., Creating a Home: Benchmarks for Church Leadership Roles for Women (Silver Spring, Md.: Leadership Conference of Women Religious, 1996). 14 Canon Law Society of America, The Canonical Implications of Ordaining Women to the Permanent Diaconate (Washington, D.C.: Canon Law Society of America, 1995), pp. 47-48, citing Vatican Council II, Decree on the Appropriate Renewal of Religious Life (Perfectae caritatis), §10. See also Paul Vl, Sacrum diaconatus ordinem, §32, which provides for religious institutes to have some permanent deacons among their members. ~s Territorial monasteries of women present a special case because their prioresses and abbesses have historically had quasi-episcopal author-ity. For the sake of the argument here, we consider only apostolic insti-tutes of women. t6 As of 30 December 1999, the median age of women religious in the United States was 68.49, up from 67.87 in the previous year, according to a study commissioned by the National Religious Retirement Office, Washington, D.C. Review for Religious VIMAL TIRIMANNA Confidentiality: Are Religious Superiors Always Bound? In the Catholic tradition the superiors or animators of reli- .~. gious congregations and communities are expected to respect confidentiality, especially with regard to delicate personal, infor-mation regarding members, to which they have relatively easy access. In church discipline, howdver, there is no official sanction or limit attached to this conventional norm. On the one hand, if a superior violates such confidentiality and thus damages the good name of the confiding member, there are no clear prescriptions in the church's universal law about how the superior is to be dealt with. On the other hand, it is not officially established how a supe-rior ought to act when a member violates the confidentiality and unjustly damages the good name of the superior. Is it only the superior who.is bound by confidentiality? Or, when a member vio-lates confidentiality and damages:the superior's good name (or anyone else's), is the superior still bound by confidentiality? In this essay I attempt to answer these questions, using tradi-tional Catholic moral principles. First I illustrate the point at stake with a real incident well known among religious in Sri Lanka. Then I briefly analyze this kind of confidentiality in terms of its close associate, the professional secret. I examine why conflden- Vimal Tirimanna CSSR is provincial of his congregations's Sri Lankan province and president of the Conference of Major Superiors of Sri Lanka. His address is: 80, Amfritiya Road; Kandy; Sri Lanka. May-.]une 2001 Tirimanna ¯ Confidentiality tiality is essential in certain professions and ministries. Finally I examine whether such professional secrecy always binds the pro-fessional, the minister, the religious superior. A Real Case In 1998 two temporarily professed seminarians (one for four years, one for three) belonging to a clerical religious congrega-tion wrote to their major superior for his approval of their going out to do secular work for a couple of years and thereby testing their vocations. Since the formators and the superiors were already having some serious doubts about these two seminarians' suit-ability for consecrated life, the major superior, with his council's consent, readily approved the request. In the same year another seminarian (temporarily professed for two years) applied for dis-pensation within a week of renewing his vows, saying he Wanted to help his family financially by getting a.secular job. After much hesitation and dialogue, the major superior together with his coun-cil granted the dispensation. At the beginning of the year 2000, all three of these seminar-ians-- with the help of a former, major superior of the same con-gregation (who had been living outside his community illegitimately ever since he left office) and a disgruntled priest member of the same congregation (who had been illegitimately ~bsent for almost two years)--applied to join a diocese in Australia. All three were accepted for the diocese without any consultation of their major superior. The major superior wrote to the Congregation for Catholic Education in Rome, inquiring whether such circumventing of him by the bishop was licit. The Roman congregation asked the bishop for an explanation, and the bishop brought this to the notice of the three seminarians. In the mean-time the disgruntled priest member, living in the same diocese, got hold of the three seminarians and together they wrote a letter to Rome maligning the good name of the present major superior, their intention being to belittle his credibility in the eyes of the Roman dicastery and thus influence the latter's decision. The major superior's predecessor also wrote a letter, to the bishop in Australia, holding the present major superior responsible for the "ruin" of the congregation in Sri Lanka, especially for the dwindling number of members, and charging that it was the same superior's ruth-lessness that drove the three seminarians away from the congre- Review for Religious gation. He sent copies of the letter to several bishops and major superiors in Sri Lanka, obviously with the intention of eroding fur-ther the credibility of the major superior. Note here that the major superior, together with his council, had already initiated a canon-ical process against the disgruntled priest who was illegitimately absent in Australia and against the ex-major superior, also illegiti-mately absent from his religious community. Could this be their, way of settling scores with the major superior? On his part, the Australian bishop sent a copy of this let-ter of the ex-major superior to the above-mentioned Roman dicastery to justify his action of not consulting the major supe-rior before he accepted the three semi-narians to his diocese. After weighing all the matters at stake, the Congregation for Catholic Education instructed the Australian bishop, to consult the Sri Lankan major superior, saying that, acc.ording to the accepted official prac-tice, he ought to have consulted him before taking those three seminarians into his diocese. Apparently the Roman congrega-tion's stipulation to consult the major superior at least at that late stage was the only way of settling the issue in a spirit of Christian charity. But what about the damage this entire episode caused to the major superior? His good name was unjustly tarnished, and he had no way of defending himself, which was surely a legitimate right of his. As the major superior, he could not simply divulge certain vital information regarding the three seminarians and two priests-- which would have given the other side of the story and defended him. He was bound by confidentiality. Ironically, confidentiality, which normally serves to protect the good name of the persons involved, has in this case served to silence the major superior and prevent him from defending his own good name. In the light of this real-life situation, one may ask: In religious life, should con-fidentiality serve all the members of a congregation except supe-riors? Should superiors be the victims of confidentiality? Are there circumstances when the superiors would not be bound to confi-dentiality? In religious life, should confidentiality serve all the members of a congregation except superiors ? May-ffune 2001 Tirimanna ¯ Confidentiality What Is Confidentiality? The term confi'dentiality normally has to do with keeping secrets. Something becomes confidential when a private matter is imparted in secret with the trust that it will not be revealed to anyone else.l According to the moral philosopher Sissela Bok, confidentiality refers to the I~oundaries surrounding shared secrets and to the process, of guarding these boundaries. While confi-dentiality protects much that is not in fact secret, personal secrets lie at its core.2 In confidentiality, then, what is at stake is the fidelity, keeping faith with those who have confided their secrets on condition that they not be revealed) Understood in this sense, confidentiality covers a wide range of ordinary day-to-day human dealings, in which two parties or more are bound, at least by tacit agreement, not to reveal what has been confided. Some promi-nent examples have to do with what is called professional secrecy. In his classic work written more than fifty years ago, Robert Regan defined it as follows: The term professional secrecy denotes a specific moral duty inherent in certain offices or functions of a confidential nature exercised in society. It connotes in its simplest form a relationship between one person constituted in some sort of need and another person expert and skilled in caring for such needs and with official or quasi-official authorization to do so. Professional secrecy may be defined as a special moral obligation, binding in both commutative and legal justice, incumbent upon the members of certain confidential pro-fessions, of maintaining a discreet silence with reference to the confidential communications received by them in the course of duty.4 The professional secret, then, springs from the contractual nature of the relationship between the professional and the client. Doctors, lawyers, and priests are traditionally expected to main-tain confidentiality; they are expected not to reveal to third parties the confidential information they receive in their professional capacity from their clients. The well-known Hippocratic oath of doctors and the confessional seal of Catholic priests indicate that such confidentiality has had a long history with regard to some professions. It would be a mistake, however, to believe that pro~ fessional secrecy is expected only from those professions. Many others members of society--such as counselors, government min-isters, bankers, and accountants--are expected to honor this obli-gation of secrecy, though they may not be bound by any official Review for Religious oath or law. Religious superiors would fall into this latter category, and so, in the rest of this essay, one may see religious superiors as "professionals" and members of religious congregations as "clients." On the one hand, the duty of confidentiality enables the pro-fessionals to gain more information in order to offer help to their clients, and, on the other hand, it enables the clients to open them-selves more freely to the professionals in order to receive the help they need. Patients often share with their physicians information so private that they would not consider sharing it even with their closest friends and relatives. Such information is obviously essen-tial for correct diagnosis and appropriate therapy. Confidentiality, professional secrecy, enables patients to reveal such information to physicians. Thus, professional secrecy, while strengthening the professionals' claim to their professional status, is first and fore-most for their clients' benefit.5 Take, for example, a battered wife who has shot her husband in self-defense.6 She might deny that she has shot him at all because, not knowing that killing in self-defense is lawful, she falsely believes herself guilty of murder. In order to give her a fair trial, it is extremely important for her lawyer to get all the relevant information that led to the .shooting so that he can build a case of self-defense in her favor. But, to reveal such information, the client normally needs at least tacit assurance of confidentiality from the lawyer. It is exactly this tacit assurance of confidentiality that professional secrecy normally gives to clients seeking professional assistance. Note here that under normal circumstances, if what has been confided is revealed, the one who confided will again be victimized. The whole purpose of confidentiality is to protect such victims. What we are dealing with in this essay, however, is the peculiar case of confidentiality making a victim of the professional when the one who confided the private information takes undue advantage of the silence that confidentiality demands of the professional. In the relationship we are considering in this essay, namely, that between superiors and members, the "victims" (or clients, mem-bers, receivers of authorized "professional" leadership) become the assailants, using loose talk, letter writing, and other weapons of calumny or slander to attack the professionals. Although reli-gious superiors may have sufficient information at their disposal to defend themselves, they are bound by the obligation of confiden-tiality and thus become victims--as in the real-life illustration we sketched above. May-ffune 2001 L-249-:--- --- 2-5.0A Tirimanna ." Confidentiality May the Confidentiality Assured by the Professional Secrecy Ever Be Violated? From the discussion we have had so far, it should be clear that the obligation to keep professional secrets is mainly justifiable on the grouhds that it assures clients a clear guarantee that the infor-mation confided in professional secrecy would never be revealed and that such a guarantee evokes a sense of trust and credibility in the clients so that they feel free to share information that would help them in seeking professional assistance. Leroy Wakers holds that the main moral justifications for professional confidentiality fall into just two main categories: The major moral justifications for confidentiality fall into two broad categories: consequentialist and nonconsequen-tialist . Consequendalists generally justify the social prac-tice of preserving confidentiality in certain contexts by. arguing that the efficient functioning of the physician-patient or lawyer-client relationship would be impeded without it. Nonconsequentialists (or deontologists) usually justify con-fid~ ndality by relating it either to the duty of promise-keep-ing, if an implied or explicit promise has been made, or to the duty to respect the autonomy of persons, who in this case would otherwise lose control over important information about themselves.7 Having thus very briefly examined the moral justifications of the obligation to keep the professional secrets, we now move on to whether there can ever be circumstances in which such an obli-gation ceases. In other words, are there circumstances that permit or even necessitate the revelation of a professional secret? Should a physician tell an HW-positive patient's spouse or lover about the illness so that he or she can avoid risky sexual behavior? Regan draws attention to a principle, which he attributes to ¯ theologians, that may be useful in questions of this kind: "The professional person is obliged to keep the client's secre~ as long as the client retains the right to his secret.''8 In using this guiding principle, the crucial question one has to raise whenever a doubt arises is: Has the client 'the right to keep this matter secret? If the client retains that right, then the professional person must keep the secret. However, if the client for one reason or another has for-feited his or her right to secrecy, then the professional person is not bound to secrecy "and normally must take advantage of the free-dom and reveal the secr,et.''9 According to Regan, the causes that will permit or necessitate the revelation of another's secret, includ- Review for Religious ing professional secrets, are generally reducible to three categories: the consent of the client, publication of the fact or knowledge of it from another source, and the necessity of preventing harm from befalling either the community or individuals2° In this essay, what interests us is the last category: What kinds of harm to the com-munity or individuals is it necessary to try to prevent? Regan lists four main ones: .the necessity of preventing harm from befalling the community; the necessity of preventing harm from befalling clients themselves; the necessity of preventing harm from befalling an innocent third party; and the neces-sity of preventing harm from befalling oneself (the professional person). Of these four cases, what is rel-evant directly to us in this essay is the fourth case, namely, preventing harm from befalling oneself---in our case, the religious superior himself or herself. Sissela Bok seems to agree with Regan's first thre~ cases listed above. For her, harm to clients themselves, harm to other specific individuals, and harm to unknown persons or groups of persons in society are the three main limits to the obligation of keeping professional secrecy.11 She says: The premises supporting confidentiality are strong, but they cannot support practices of secrecy--whether by individual clients, institutions, or professionals themselves--that under-mine and contradict the very respec.t for persons and for human bonds that confidentiality was meant to protect.12 It is clear that keeping a professional secret is obligatory almost always. This obligation, however, has limits. In other words, while there is a strict obligation to guard the confidentiality of clients, there are circumstances in which professional secrets may be revealed. Surely one such circumstance is the case .where the pro-fessionals (religious superiors) are unjustly victimized by their clients (members of their religious congregations). Within church life there are many areas in which confiden-tiality is called for. However, except in the case of the confessional seal, church discipline does not seem to have indicated the impor- Are there circumstances that permit or even necessitate the revelation of a professional secret ? May-ffune 2001 Tirimanna ¯ Confidentiality tance of confidentiality by enunciating specific norms with clear-cut sanctions. In the case of the pontifical secret, for example, when people are consulted in connection with choosing a bishop, in the case of counselingi and in this essay's case about religious superiors, it is not sufficient merely to declare the Feed for con-fidentiality. Today it has become important to enunciate what such confidentiality means and why it is necessary, what its norms are, and what its sanctions and limits are. Or else, as we saw in this essay, some parties (in our case, the religious superiors) can unjustly become victims of this very much needed confidentiality. That the religious superiors are morally bound to respect confidential-ity with regard the members of their congregations is beyond dis-pute. The question I have highlighted is this: Do religious superiors have to maintain professional confidentiality absolutely, or are there circumstances when they have the moral "duty not to adhere to such confidentiality, particularly when it damages their good name? To me it seems there are occasions when they are not bound and that such occasions need to be recognized officially by the church in the form of clearly stipulated norms with appropri-ate. sanctions and limits attached to them. Such norms would surely enhance the common good of a given religious congregation whereas their continued absence is likely not only to cripple or paralyze religious superiors or animators, but also to negatively affect the work and welfare of the congregation as a whole. Notes ~ See Shaun McCarty ST, "Confidentiality Issues in Spiritual Direction," Review for Religious 56, no. 4 (July-August 1997): 370. 2 Sissela Bok, Secrets: On the Ethics of Concealment and Revelation (New York: Vintage Books, 1989), p. 119. 3 Bok, Secrets, p. 156. 4 Robert E. Regan OSA, Professional Secrecy in the Light of Moral Principles: With an Application to Several Important Professions (Washington, D.C.: Augustinian Press, 1943), p. 47. s See Bok, Secrets, pp. 116, 122. 6 This example is taken from Alan Donagan, "Confidentiality in the Adversary System," in Ethical Issues in Professional Life, ed. Joan C. Callahan (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), p. 253. 7 Leroy Waiters, '.'Confidentiality," in A New Dictionary of Christian Ethics, ed. James E Childress and John Macquarrie (London: SMC Press), 1986), p. 112. 8 Regan, Professional Secrecy, p. 9~. Review for Religious 9' Regan, Professional Secrecy, pp. 97-98. 10 Regan, Professional Secrecy, p. 101. 1~ See Bok, Secrecy, pp. 124-131. ~2 Bok, Secrecy, p. 135. See also Karl H. Peshke, Christian Ethics: Moral Theology in the Light of Vatican H, rev. ed., Vol. 2 (Bangalore: Theological Publications in India, 1992), pp. 379-380. Acceptance I know you well, my sins. Like an outworn glove creased and molded to my hand I know you. Fiber-woven we have grown together through the years, and I have come to know your intertwining even in the warp and woof of each shuttled day until you and I are indefinable. I know you wall, my friends, ¯ though not always was it so; and even now I do not wish too much accommodation. But life together holds some gratitude (albeit given grudgingly). Without you being who you are I would not be who I am. Marie LeClerc Laux SSND May-.~une 2001 LINDA HERNDON The Computer's Edge: Some Social and Ethical Concerns ComunmitpiUest etorsd ahya.v Ce obmecpoumteer sa amrea iunssetady t oin w mriotes tl erettleigrsio, utos kceoemp-track of community finances, to hold databases of information about community members and benefactors, to order library mate-rials, and to do some community business. The World Wide Web and email correspondence provide many helpful connections. Many religious have been involved in discussions about which type of computers to buy, what word-processing software to use, whether community members should all have the same type of computer and software, and other similar issues. Beyond these computer applications and issues, there are other computer matters that matter too, and our religious communities may be less alert to them. I suggest that, to begin with, we should be' talking seriously about some social and ethical issues in the computer world, such as equity of access, gender issues, privacy concerns, and the ways computer use can affect our relationships with others. On these issues I will make some remarks, raise some questions, and propose some possible practical responses, in the hope that religious communities will start similar discussions on these and other questions and find answers pertinent to their own situation. Although computers become less expensive with each passing year, they are not cheap. At present, in the first world, computers Linda Herndon OSB, of Mount St. Scholastica in Atchison, Kansas, writes from 409 N. Eau Claire Avenue, #I 10; Madison, Wisconsin 53705. Review for Religious are not necessities in the same way that telephones and cars are, but those of us who use computers regularly would find our work and our communication more difficult without them. Having com- ' puters available in our communities sets us apart from the poor. A recent study by the Fleet Boston Financial Foundation reports that in five northeastern cities fewer than half of the respondents with incomes under $40,000 a year have computers in their homes, and only 32 percent are connected to the Internet.t In 1999 a front-page article in USA Today said, "The Internet revolution is largely bypassing the poor, minorities, and those who live in rural communities and inner cities.''2 The article went on to say that Internet access was becoming both an economic and a civil-rights issue. More and more studies and articles report this. As regards the elderly, the article .said that only "15 percent of peo-ple 55 and over are on line." Although this number has surely increased by now, there is still reason for concern about older people's lack of computer knowledge and access, for with time more and more information is available only on line and not in traditional print formats. Lack of equal access to computers and the Internet, often referred to as the "Digital Divide," poses difficult questions with no simple answers, Are we in religious communities even aware that this situation exists and is a problem? How can we justify set-ting ourselves apart from significant portions of society by our possession and use of computer technology? Do we allow our employees Use of community computers? If we do, do we provide the training they need to use this often intimidating technology? Do we provide adequate computing facilities, including Internet access, for the schools and institutions that we sponsor? There are things we can do to alleviate this access problem. We can donate our older, but usable, comp~lters to community-action organizations that concern themselves with people who do not ordinarily have access to this technology. We can encourage businesses to do likewise. The Washington Post explored such possibilities in a 21 December 2000 article, "Who wants your old computer?" 3 Another way our rel!gious communities can assist organiza-tions that are working to overcome this problem of computer inac-cessibility is by sharing with them our skills in grant writing. We can become more informed about the inequity of access to both computers and the Internet, and we can stir others to address this May-June 2001 Herndon ¯ The Computer'sEdge major social and educational concern. Each .community needs to look at its charism, community resources, and ministries to decide how to address the "Digital Divide." Along with such physical access to computers and the Internet, is our community's Website accessible to all?4 Although court cases have determined that Websites do not need to meet the guide-lines set forth in the Americans with Disabilities Act,s it seems that, in ~he interest of hospitality, we will want our community Websit~ to be accessible to all who try to visit.6 Is our.Website accessible to the blind or to those who are limited to a text-only browser? Websites with the latest "bells and whistles," such as Javascript, multiple frames, sound, and even animation, may make a site inaccessible to those who are running older browsers, are visually impaired, or are accessing the site over a slow modem. As communities of women and men religious, we need to explore the type of image we wish to portray to those who visit us in cyberspace. These decisions will need to be conveyed to those who design and maintain our community Websites. Such deci-sions, if they include not having the latest innovations, may not be understood by our Website creator and may provide occasion for ongoing dialogue with and education of the Web-page designer, community decision makers, and the community as a whole. A study conducted by the American Association of University Women released in October 1998 showed that "technology is now the new 'boys' club' in our nation's public schools.''7 Their 2000 report, "Tech-Savvy: Educating Girls in the New Computer Age," found similar results.8 The current computer climate does not tend to attract girls. Girls dislike the violence present in many computer games and are looking for "high-skill, not high-kill." The entry position of girls into computi.ng is often the 2001 equiv-alent of typing and word processing. These observations, coupled with the steady decline 6f the number of women going into com-puter science and related areas for the past fifteen years, are cause for great concern. The potential contribution that women have to offer in the area of technology will be lost as long as these trends continue. The "gender gap" in technology use raises several questions for us to consider, especially those of us who are members of com-munities of women religious. Do we encourage members to con-sider technology as an important and significant area of study? Do we encourage the girls and women with whom we have con- Review for Religious tact to study computer science and other areas of technology? Do we offer women any training programs in computer skills? Do we sponsor for girls special classes or workshops in technology? These are a few ways that we can help society benefit from the gifts and skills of women in the area of technology. Is it possible for those of us with extra buildings and superfluous space to use some space for computer learning labs specially designed for girls and women? Do we help and support those who are look-ing for foundation, funds for projects that empower girls and women in the use and study of technology? In an attempt to reverse these trends, Anita Borg recently created the Institute for Women and Technology9 as a way to "increase the impact of women on technologyand to increase the positive impact of technology on the world's women.''1° Another group, Women in Technology International, seeks to empower women through technology.~1 If even a small fraction of our religious commu-nities would help support these or similar ini-tiatives where we are--elementary schools, secondary schools, universities, wherever--what a difference we could make for young girls and women. We can encourage and lobby manufacturers of computer games .to explore other, less-violent options. What a great gift this would be to today's youth and to future generations! Lack of privacy is becoming a major concern in our society. Databases containing social-security numbers, driver's license data, health information, banking and credit information, residence and real-estate information, political-party affiliation, and more are available to all kinds of individuals, agencies, and businesses what-ever their purpose. As making purchases on' the Internet by credit card becomes common practice, the need for secure channels grows. Not all transmission of sensitive and personal information is secure; and this poses significant danger to privacy. And there is the question of the privacy of email. Email is not protected by the laws that protect the privacy of mail delivered by the United States Postal Service. Some companies and busi-nesses regularly, and legally, screen the email of their employees. Email is not secure and can be viewed at any of the computers through which it passes' on the way to its destination. At every We can encourage and lobby manufacturers of computer games to explore other, less-violent options. Herndon ¯ The Computer's Edge. "stop" along its path, a copy of the email is.downloaded before it is sent on its way. Since backuPs of these intermediate computers are made regularly, copies of our email are stored for some days, weeks, or even months. Most people are not even aware that copies of their email exist at various unknovcn computer locations. Unauthorized access by others to an individual's email is not likely to occur, but the possibilities do exist. There are many complex questions in the area of privacy. Are we aware of the problem of the lack of privacy that massive databases and the Internet present? Are we aware of what we can do to increase our own and others' personal privacy? Are we advo-cates for email privacy, .especially in the workplace? Do we educate ourselves and our community members about privacy and security concerns in the use of the Internet? Often new users of the Internet, especially older people, are not aware of the need for precaution. We can encourage our com-munity members not to give out unnecessary information about themselves, whether on the Internet, on questionnaires, or over the telephone. The more we can keep the various pieces of informa-tion about ourselves (such as name, address, phone number, social-security number) private, the harder it is for those using multiple databases to put together ~11 the pieces for a "picture" of us. Social-security numbers are probably the single best source of information about people.2 For convenience, many agencies and institutions use s0cial-security numbers for identification num-bers. Unless required by law (as in some financial matters), no one can require that your social-security number be used for your identification number. In Kansas, where I reside, people getting a driver's license may be asked for their social-security number for use on the driver's license, but they can request another number and it will be given. I suggest that, as women and men religious, we speak out against using social-security numbers for identifica-tion. Often people's phone number, date of birth, and so forth are routinely requested on warranty applications and the like. This information is usually not necessary and need not be given out to "strangers" for a database somewhere. After educating ourselves and our community members about these privacy matters, we will be better able to educate others as well. Does our use of the computer and the Internet affect the way we relate to others within and outside our religious community? A recent study found that "the nation's obsession with the Internet Review for Religious is causing many Americans to spend less time with friends and family" and that, the more time people spend on the Internet, the less time they will spend with real human beings.13 If members of religious communities are typical of the people studied, what ai-e the implications of flaese findings for us? There is no doubt that the Internet and email can be used to keep the membership informed and in touch with leadership and its decisions and also with others in the community. But do Internet browsing~ chat rooms, and email take members away from community time and from relating with others with whom they live? Is it safer to relate to another community member at a distance, even someone we have never met face to face, than to relate to our sisters or brothers close by? A related concern is addiction to computers. Compulsive behavior can be exhibited in game-playing, chat rooms, and surfing the Web. Do these things take religious away from their min-istry and their relating with others in normal ways? If so, there is a problem that needs to be dealt with. Seeking pornographic sites would, of course, be a problem in itself. There may be no way to legislate computer use, but religious communities can take some steps to prevent or alleviate various problems. If communal living is a priority, perhaps members should not ha~e "their own" computers. Of course, computers are pro-vided in offices, and also for ministries as needed or desirable, but these probably should not be in private rooms. Communities can have a "general access" computer or computers. Simply having them out in the open could help towards moderate use and a gen-eral sense of community. No doubt computers are here to stay. I have suggested look-ing at a number of social and ethical issues concerning computer use that'go beyond what computers to buy and which software programs are best. I believe that we women and men religious have something significant to offer in the area of computing tech-nology. It seems natural for us to become a voice regarding the social and ethical issues that computers and the Internet raise24 It will take time, much discussion, and a serious search to find answers for ourselves and our religious communities. If we com-mit ourselves to go beyond the obvious, we can bring about a Compulsive behavior can be exhibited in game-playing, chat rooms, and surfing the Web. May-June 2001 Herndon * Tbe Computer's Edge more humane and heal.thy world of computing for ourselves, our religious communities, and the wider world that our lives touch. Since these issues are multifaceted and I have just begun to scratch the surface of them, I have created a Website with links to online resources at: http://www.mountosb.org/social-issues.html. This Website contains links to issues that I have not addressed in this article. Among them are those related to health concerns (including repetitive-stress syndrome) and to environmental con-cerns (called "green computing"). These resources provide fur-ther educational information and can help you and your community develop your own way of handling various issues. This Web page will be updated with new information and links as they become known. I invite you to contribute to making this page a useful resource for all communities of women and men religious as they continue to face or raise issues of social and ethical concern in and around the world of computers. Notes ~ The report is summarized in "News, Resources, and Trends: An Online Newsletter from Syllabus Press," a listserv email of 17 January 2001. 2 D. Lieberman, "Internet gap widening. Study: Revolution bypass-ing poor, minorities," USA Today (9-I 1 July 1999), p. 1. 3 Available at: http://washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A37762 -2000Dec21 .html 4 "Towards Equal Web Access for All," by Jim Isaak (14 January 2001): http://www.computer.org/itpro/Nov_Dec.htm s "Does the ADA Apply to the Web?" by Michael Mason (25 September 2000): http://www.wtonline.com/vol 15_nol 3/federal/1815 - 1 .html 6 For complete guidelines see the Website for the Web Accessibility Initiative: http://www.w3.org/WAI 7j. Kornblum (14 October 1998), "Study: Tech gender gap widening," CNET News.Corn, available at: http://www.news.com/News/Item/0,4,27550,O0 .html?st.ne.ni.lh 8 "Why Girls Don't Compute," by Kendra Mayfield, Wired News (29 December 2000): http://www.wirEd.com/news/culture/0,1284, 35654,00.html 9 For more information see the Women in Technology home page at: http://www.iwt.org ~0 A. Borg (March 1999). "Expanding the Pipeline: Models for Innovation Bring Women to the Table." Computing Research News, p. 2. ~ The home page for Women in Technology International is: http://www.witi.com/index-c.shtml Review for Religious ¯ ,2 This site; "Some Freqtiently Asked Questions on SSNs," maintained by Computer Scientists for Social Responsibility, is an excellent source of more information: http://www.cpsr.org/cpsr/privacy/ssn/ssn.faq.html ,3 "Study indicates Internet use changes social patterns," by John Markoff (16 February 2000): http://wwwlkcstar.com/item/pages/home.pat,local /37743 d 15.216,.html 14 One order's attempt to deal with these questions is the report of the Benedictine Internet Commission, a group of Benedictine women and men from around the United States. Their final report, issued on 15 January 1998, is available at: http://www.osb.org/bic/report.html Only to This Don't try to look as though you had no problems. Who doesn't ? Don't try to act as though you had it all together. Who does ? Don't think that you cannot be defeated. You can be crushed. Only to this must you witness. That in your problems God is there. That in falling apart you are held together. That in being crushed you are already being raised up again. As the crushed grape yields fine wine, and the crushed olive yields rich oil, so does your body yield, and does its yield give life. Paul N. Duckro May-June 2001 ROBERT P. MALONEY Authenticity and Contact with Youth religious life I love this little verse from Isaiah:"Each morning he wakes me to hear, to listen like a disciple. The Lord Yahweh has opened my ear" (50:4-5). God is always try-ing to communicate with us. The Scriptures' powerful words and life's dramatic events seek contnually to rouse us from our distractedness, but often, as Isaiah laments, "hearing we do not hear." The whole New Testament, very mindful of Isaiah's words, is a trumpet call to conversion. The good news begins with a herald's cry in the desert: "Change your way of life. Prepare the way of the Lord." And when John the Baptist presents Jesus as the central figure on the New Testament stage, Jesus' message is simple and clear: "This is the time of fulfillment. The reign of God is at hand! Reform your lives and believe in the good news!" (Mk 1:15). Religioiis, first in their baptism and later in their vocational option, commit themselves to the conversion process of which the gospels speak. But this call to be a new creation is continual. It comes at every stage in our development. It says: Change your way of life now. As Karl Rahner once wrote, "none of us can enter the king- Robert P. Maloney CM, superior gene~,al of the Congre-gation of the Mission, writes again from Via dei Capasso, 30; 00164 Roma, Italy. Review for Religious dom of God as we are." To narrow down this broad topic drasti-cally, I describe in this article one way of constant conversion, that proposed by Vincent de Paul. I analyze it briefly in terms derived from Be/nard Lonergan and then draw a few practical conclusions. Hunger for Truth as Constant Conversion Vincent de Paul wrote to his friend Franqois du Coudray on 6 November 1634: "Simplicity is the virtue I love most" (SV I, 284).1 Almost twenty years later he said to the Daughters of Charity, "I call it my gospel" (SV Ix, 606). Just a year before he died, he told the members of the Congregation of the Mission that everyone loves those who are authentic, whose words match what is in their hearts and whose actions match their words (SV XII, 171). Vincent proposed this "way" to the many groups he founded. It is clearly the virtue he loved most. Today we give simplicity many names: genuineness, sincerity, transparency, integrity, authenticity, hunger or thirst or passion for the truth. I suggest that simplicity is a path of continual con-version. This conversion manifests itself in: ¯ listening for the truth, searching for it humbly as a wayfarer rather than thinking to possess it as an owner; ° speaking the truth (a difficult disci-pline, especially when one's own convenience is at stake or when the truth is embarrassing); ¯ witnessing to the truth, or the personal authenticity whereby one's life matches one's words; ¯ practicing the truth through works of justice and charity; ¯ striving for sin-gle- minded truth, or purity of ihtention; ° living truthfully as a servant of the poor, having modest possessions and sharing what one has; ° expressing the truth clearly, using attractive, transpar-ent language, especially in teaching or preaching. The Asceticism of Authenticity Simplicity or authenticity is impossible without asceticism. The path of simplicity requires a long-sustained exercis~ of atten-tiveness, understanding, reasonableness, and responsibility. Authenticity, in other words, rests on a positive response to what Bernard Lonergan calls "four transcendental precepts": (I) be attentive, (2) seek to understand, (3) be reasonable, (4) be respon-sible. Attentive people observe precisely what is going on. Understanding people search out the meaning of what they see May-June 2001 Malone2/ ¯ Authenticity and Contact with Youth Drifting is the contemporary form of lukewarmness, of being "neither cold nor hot." and hear. Reasonable people formulate possible changes for the better. And responsible people weigh in the balance their short-and long-term advantages and disadvantages, and then choose. On the path that lies between inauthenticity and authentic-ity, there are two great dangers. The first danger to authenticity is bias. All of us have individual biases. They are self-deceptions that we create to protect ourselves or make us feel ¯ more secure. Others often see them in us much more quickly than we do: prejudices, labeling of others as liberals or conservatives, comfortable but unexamined choices, unchangeable patterns of behavior. One of the commonest individual biases I know in com-munity life is intolerance of differing pastoral approaches. Group bias is more subtle. We do not eas-ily identify it, because we share it with those around us. But it is very dangerous. It gives rise to unjust laws, persecutions, wars, abuse of others because of their race, sex, ethnic ori-gin, or religion. In clerical circles there still are strong group prejudices against women. These are especially striking in many European countries, in Africa, and in Asia, but they are found almost everywhere. Common bias is the most difficult of all to discern. It exists not just in individuals and particular groups; just about everyone suf-fers from it. It comes from looking at life in ways that no one reflects about and almost no one perceives as quite unacceptable. For centuries most people, Chris6ans included, regarded slavery as licit. Most of us live and die with common biases, without ever recognizing them. Prophetic voices attempt from time to time to shock us out of them. I am sorry that I cannot point out today's common biases, because, being afflicted with thgm, I am blind to them myself. But I am sure that someday people will shake their heads about us and our blithe assumptions, and ask, "How could they have thought that?" Whht are my biases? The second great danger is drifting. People who have entered the vowed life seldom deliberately choose to be inauthentic. In the contemporary world the great danger is that they might not deliberately choose anything at all. Drifting is the contemporary Review for Religious form of lukewarmness, of being "neither cold nor hot" (Rv 3:15). Drifters find themselves .incapable of moving resolutely toward authenticity. They skip across surfaces, never listening attentively, not searching out life's meaning, unalert for the right path or unwilling to choose it firmly. Do I drift? Levels of Conversion The quest for authenticity and the overcoming of our biases involves conversion on three levels. 1. Intellectual conversion. Staying aliveintellectually is crucial. I am not referring here to abstract, theoretical, high-flying intel-lectual voyages. No, I mean that we nourish our minds; that we read and reflect critically; that, when we ponder the word of God, we apply the four transcendental principles. Be attentive: hear what it is saying. Search out its meaning: understand it in the light of good commentators. Be reasonable: formulate what it may be asking of us. Be responsible: decide and act on the word. The focus of intellectual conversion is the true. 2. Moral conversion. The key to moral conversion is a change in the criterion for our choices, from personal satisfaction to val-ues. It is crucial in life that we decide what our key values are-- something drifters never do--and that we make them the basis of our judgments. The focus of moral conversion is the good. 3. Religious conversion. In religious conversion we are grasped by an ultimate concern. We surrender ourselves to God. Genuine religious conversion is pure grace. It is,not that we grasp God; God grasps us. The focus of i-eligious conversion is the holy. In each of these stages, we make choices and tfltimately our choices make us. We become what we choose. When we choose the true, we become true. When we choose the good, we become good. When we choose to allow the holy to possess us, we become holy. Am I in the process of being intellectually, morally, and reli-giously converted? Toward Being a New Creation Sixty-four percent of the world's population is under twenty-five years of age. These young people are the hope of the future. They are the future. Authenticity is immensely attractive to them. 2Ylay-June 2001 ¯ " Maloney ¯ Authenticity and Contact with Youth They yearn for the truth, hungering for it and rejecting what they consider its bogus forms. Let me suggest some specific ways in Which religious as indi-viduals and as communities can become more authentic. I am convinced that these will be of immense help in our efforts to reach out to the young. These are my dreams for all of us: ¯ My dream: that we become families that pray mightily and beautifully. I start with an aspe.ct of religious conversion. Do people say of our communities, "They really know how to pray"? People surely know many religious communities for their works. When posing this question to the Vincentian family, I put it this way: "The name Vincent de Paul is synonymous with works of practical charity. But do people also see us as a group that is deeply committed to prayer? Do the young people who come among us feel attracted by experiencing how we pray? Vincent himself was an extraordinary pray-er. His contemporaries readily recognized him as a contem-plative in action. He placed great emphasis on mentai prayer, on attuning ourselves to the rhythm of the church's liturgical life, and on celebrating it beautifully." My hope is that religious can support one another in medi-tating daily and fruitfully and that their common liturgical prayer will be "something beautiful for God" and attractive to the young. Do young people feel at home praying with us? Does our prayer ring true to them? ¯ My dream: that we create formation programs for the young. I hope that we can be masters and guides in the spiritual jour-ney. It is most important that we ourselves be rooted authenti-cally and experientially in the mystery of God's love if we wish to help young people share deeply in that same mystery. The mis-sion of the church is, after all, to announce this mystery joyfully. Formation is crucial for helping young people know and feel the good news that God is alive, that he lives within us, that he wbrks among us, and that he has a special love for the poor. Good formation demands hard work, creativity, the preparation of attrac-tive materials, and the dissemination of these materials far and wide to thousands and millions of young people who hunger for the truth. In the schools, parishes, and social centers where many reli-gious serve, have we created effective formation programs for Re~iew for Religqous young people? Have we developed a pedagogy of the experience of God? Can we communicate to the young our passion for truth and accompany them in their longing to be true? ¯ My dream: that we form youth groups and offer young people the opportunity to join in the service of the poor. ¯ Is there any sector of society that Pope John Paul II has focused on more clearly than youth? Today everyone talks about the new millennium. Young people are the third millennium. It belongs to them. If the Church is to be fully alive in this millennium, it will be because it is energized by young people who believe deeply. The young are the future evangelizers of the world and servants of the poor. Most religious active today will scarcely cross the threshold of the third millennium. If statistics hold true, I will not survive its sec-ond decade. But today's young people will be alive and full of energy long after that. And so I suggest that there is no apostolic goal more important for the church today than to reach. out to young people and offer them a strong Christian formation. We have a wonderful gift to offer them. We must bring it to them joyfully and generously. The presence of two million young peo-ple at World Youth Day in Rome last August was striking. Are we actively engaged in form-ing youth groups? Is the truth of our religious charism so important to us that we are eager to share it with them? ¯ My dream: that we offer the young the opportunity to serve in other countries. We live in the global community. Today events everywhere in the world affect us quickly. If the yen is weak, the New York stock market dives. If there is violent trouble in Central America, the number of undocumented people in Los Angeles increases. I urge religious to help young people to see the .plight of the poor throughout the world. Almost four centuries ago, when it was alto-gether common for young and old to die within five miles of their birthplace, Vincent de Paul established lay groups and two inter-national communities of priests, brothers, and sisters that spread quickly from France to Poland, Italy, Alge.ria, Madagascar, Ireland, Scotland, the Hebrides, and the Orkneys. There is no apostolic goal more important for the church today than to reach out to young people and offer them a strong Christian formation. May-June 2001 Maloney * Authenticity and Contact with Youth Do we offer young people the opportunity for commitments of two, three, four, five years in foreign missions? Do we encour-age them to be true to their inner desires in palpable ways, to be free to extend themselves, to take risks, to make temporary com-mitments and even permanent ones? Does the truth of our mis-sionary vocation so burn in our hearts that it carries over to others, brightening, w.arming, building a fire in them as well? In the mid 19th century, Henry David Thoreau went off into the woods and lived fo~: two yea~s more or less as a hermit a~ Walden Pond. It was a time of conversion for him, an intense period in which he sought meaning in his life. One day last sum-mer I visited Walden Pond, walked around its perimeter, and took a swim. In the evening I picked up Thoreau's famous book and read the words that he wrote when he returned to society after two years of searching: I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a suc-cess unexpected in common hours. He will put some things behind, will pass aia invisible boundary; . . . and he will live with the liberty of a higher order of beings. In proportion as he simplifies his life, the laws of the universe will appear less complex, and solitude will not be solitude, nor poverty poverty, nor weakness weakness. If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them. How can we help young people dream dreams of the king-dom of God and build the foundations that will make those dreams come true? How can we communicate to greater numbers Of them a passion for the truth, a passion for the person of Jesus, a pas-sion for justice, a passion for the poor? Passion in its root sense includes suffering--can we help young people to be willing even to suffer for the truth they believe in? Note 1 SV refers to the fourteen-volume French edition of St. Vincent de Paul's works, edited by Pierre Coste (Paris: Gabalda, 1920-1925). Review for Religious KATHY DUNNE Obedience: Vow and Virtue in Our Contemporary World Ibt was a breezy, hot summer day in 1958. I was sitting on the ack steps of our suburban Long Island home with my friend Linda. We were both about six or seven years old. My morn had just made cupcakes, but told us we could not have any until after ¯ dinner that evening. Linda and I were discussing the merits of "snitching" a cupcake when my mom was not looking. I held that it would be stealing because they did not belong to us. Since this would be a mortal sin in our° theological framework, I did not think this was such a good idea. I did not want to die that night and go to hell! Linda, more practical-minded, said she thought it would only be a sin of disobedience since my mom said we could not have one until later. That would only be a venial sin! Since my mom stayed in the kitchen, we did not have a chance to take the cupcake. As I reflect on that event, I see that our notion of obedience was rudimentary. We lacked maturity, of. course, and our moral framework was that of young children. After many years of growth in discipleship and in my religious vocation, I found myself with a deeper understanding of the vow of obedience. Obedience means more than acquiescing to external authority; it is a more mature, discerning stance that includes inner authority within the context of community, the church, and the world. Kathy Dunne RC is a spiritual director and works with her commu-nity's affiliates. She wrote "The Still Point" for our issue of January- February 1999. Her address is Cenacle Retreat House; P.O. Box 8115; Metairie, Louisiafia 70011. May-June 2001 Dunne ¯ Obedience: Vow and Virtue This article looks at obedience as an evangelical counsel, lived as vow andvirtue. It approaches obedience from three perspec-tives: the scriptural, especially as seen in Jesus' relationship with the One he called Abba; that of religious life today; and that of con-temporary spirituality, that is, living the Spirit of the Gospels in one's life. Obedience, which comes from the Latin audire, means to lis-ten or to hear. In The New Catholic Dictionary of Spirituality, obe-dience is defined as "receiv!ng and responding appropriately to a message--or Word--from God.''l Jesus Christ, in his fidelity to his Abba (his Father), is the model par excellence of this obedience. Jesus lived in a deep relationship with his Father, modeling for us what intimacy means. Jesus' life of deep prayer, listening, and response to his Abba lies at the heart of obedience. The Scriptures tell us that by his obedience Christ was able to "reconcile all things to himself." In a world fractured by sin and division, Jesus shows us how to be at one with God, with each other, and with the whole cosmos. We are called to obedience in the deepest recesses of our being. We are invited back to primal unity and original innocence. By reconciling all things and all people in Christ Jesus, God invites us back to what life was like before original sin. This original unity models love, inclusivity, respect, reverence, mutuality, and care of the ea~'th and all living things. It is nonabusive and "does not rejoice in the wrong but rejoices in the truth" (1 Co 13:6); there "is ntither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free person, male nor female, for all are one in Christ Jesus" (Ga 3:28). Original Sin Original sin, the sin of fundamental disobedience, echoes Lucifer's "I will not serve." It prevents us from accepting and liv-ing the truth of who we are given to be. It blinds us from seeing with the eyes of Christ. Unable to see clearly, we live in a fog or mist of confusion, contradiction, and rationalization. We are often unaware of the needs of those around us. We justify our thoughts, attitudes, and behavior in the name of expediency. We participate, often without realizing it, in the escalating violence and destruc-tion that affect all persons and all creation. We do this by our presence and by our silence. This happens in personal and in struc-tural acts of sin. By our acts of commission and omission, we are Review for Religious involved both in petty acts of selfishness and in the much larger realms of evil, including prejudice, racism, and sexism. We are called, as Christians and particularly as religious, to stand against this fundamental disobedience. We are called to be in harmony and in relationship with all of creation, with one another, and with Christ in God. Obedience is not easy, nor is it an escape from discerning what God asks of us each day. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, "There is no cheap grace." Neither is there cheap obedience. Obedience does not give license to opt out of personal or communal responsibility. Rather, obedience is being in fundamental relationship with Jesus Christ as he was with his Father. For many of us that relationship is also mediated through the church and the profession of religious vows. But, primarily and before any type of mediated relationship, we are called to be disciples. Discipleship is the call to be learners, to stand before God with, in, and through Jesus Christ as persons who desire to do God's will and beg for the grace of actually doing it in all the circumstances of life. Obedience is being in fundamental relationship with Jesus Christ as he was with his Father. Seeking the Will of God There are various ways of seeing the will of God. Some see it to be preset or preplanned, a blueprint thatlone just has to dis-cover in order to be obedient. Others consider it as unfolding in the events of daily life. Some experience God's will as some com-bination of the two. Perhaps another way to see its essential nature is to look at Jesus and his relationship with the One he called Abba. John's Gospel in particular stresses this relationship: "I always do what pleases him"; "I have come not to do my own will but the will of him who sent me"; "I am in the Father and the Father is in me" (John 6 and 14:10). Jesus' obedience hinges on this relationship with his Abba. It is not a driven or mechanical relationship. It is a matter of love and deep passion that God's dream for our world will come to fruition. This type of union flourished with Adam and Eve, as God walked in the garden with them in the cool of the evening. When Adam May-ffune 2001 Dunne ¯ Obedience: Vow and Virtue and Eve ate of the fruit of the tree of good and evil, their eyes were opened. They lost their primal innocence. The Evil One said they would become like gods. Instead, they lost their innocence and were removed from the gard.en (Gn 3:1-19). Jesus, in the words of the Easter Proclamation, "restores lost innocence." The innocence and candor of little children are often spoken of as a kind of na'ivet~. As we experience more of life, we lose that innocence and na~'vetd. Disillusion and disappointment contribute to this loss. As we grow in the spiritual life, studying and reflecting on experience, we may come to what Paul Ricoeur calls 'the second na~'vetd, a kind of innocence that is far from na~'ve. Jesus grew in "wisdom and age and grace"; he taught us by his living, his dying, and his rising what obedient living and loving are about. He models for us the innocence that can be restored in us by obe-dience, by being in relationship with God, from whom all things come and to whom all things return.2 Christ's obedience was part of his relationship of love with his Abba. Deep love of God includes deep interior freedom. Such freedom is not a license to follow our inclinations and impulses into unregulated attitudes and behaviors. Rather, such interior freedom seeks to discover what God is asking in each situation or event of our life. There is no plan that anticipates exactly what to do in any eventuality, but there are general guidelines. The teach-ing of the church, refined by centuries of gospel living and of seek-ing and finding what works best as circumstances change, provides a major guideline. The Scriptures provide another. Individual con-science, our culture, and the mores of our country and society also provide guidance. But none of these is enough by itself. The way God leads us within and sometimes beyond these guidelines must be discerned. Some people are ~alled to be prophets and to challenge the status quo. Some, called to be prophets of justice, challenge church " and society teachings on the roles of women, of minorities, of the poor and dispossessed of our world. Others are contemplatives and mystics, women and men who remind us that, without deep and sustained prayer born of a desire to respond to a loving.God, all our work is for nothing. All must listen to the "still small voice" (1 K 19:12) within in order to be obedient to the call which God gives each of us for building up the reign of God. Paul tells us that there is one Spirit but many gifts for the building up of the kingdom. Some are called to be teachers, some Review for Religious prophets, some administrators; some to speak in tongues and some to interpret the tongues (1 Co 12:4-10). Paul tells us that now we know in part and see in part, but then we shall see face to face. He tells us that all other gifts will disappear, that prophecies will be no more, but that faith, hope, and love remain and that the greatest of these is love (1 Co 13:8-13). Call to Love This call to love, to a growing union and familiarity with God and the things of God, is central to the vow and virtue of obedi-ence. Obedience does not mean going "against the grain" in a mechanical way. Rather, it is a delicate dance in which our choices--our ways of being, thinking, and doing--are gradually transformed. We are gentled, so to speak, discovering the strength that comes from God and not from self. Disciples move from exte-rior conformity to inner listening, listening for what Jesus, the Beloved, would have us do. The hours of prayer that we spend overflow into our life, and the events of our life also lead us to God. We become familiar with God's heart and desire God's mercy and justice for all people everywhere and always. Our heart expands to embrace all and thus grows in compassion. The vow can become virtue. Our growing interior freedom lets go of all that is not God, desiring only God and that which God desires. As disciples we let go of compulsions and addictions, sometimes with the help of support groups, ther-apy, spiritual direction, and study, but always with prayer. Over many years we let go of habits, even preferences for doing things a certain way. Fundamental desires are transformed. We now desire the truth and integrity of heart that come from the interior action of the Holy Spirit. We become obedient out of a growing desire to mirror God's trinitarian love in our life. How do we get to where God's nature becomes ours, where it is second nature for us to make decisions--and actually to live-- as God dreams for us? First, baptism gives us the basic operating system of the Christian life. Through years of praying and study-ing the Scriptures, we come to know Jesus Christ ever more deeply. The church's teaching in all areas, particularly justice and mercy, guides our learning and our praying. We grow in our willingness to be open to all of that teaching--and not just what is convenient or feels good. May-June 2001 Dunne ¯ Obedience: Vow and Virtue In addition, we learn as religious the Rule and constitutions of our particular institute. We move from the externals of the vow of obedience to an inner disposition. We begin to find our own way within the congregation and the church. Our particular talents and learned skills come to light and eventually to fruition. We ¯ learn to use these gifts generously and, when we can, to encourage others to grow in discipleship. Over time the vow gradually becomes virtue. No one can map this out for another in exact detail. What a guide can do is listen with us for the signs of how God is at work and suggest ways to cooperate more fully with God. As we let go of less-than-produc-tive ways of being and doing, we gradually find that, much as Jesus did, we grow in age, grace, and wisdom. Ingrained habits give way to the desires and habits of God. We come to desire love, the unity of all persons and all things in God. As disciples we find ourselves fulfilling our living and loving desires in the concrete actions of daily life~ We find that we must live the gospel radically if we are to be faithful. All that life asks must be integrated in an incarna-tional way with the demands and challenges of the gospel, or we live in vain. Living Obediently How do disciples live this challenge? We pray and we act. We act and we pray. There is really no other way. We do not live iso-lated on our own island. A survival-of-the-fittest mentality does not rule our life. Rather, we cooperate with each day's graces and meet each day's challenges. A living obedience to the demands made each day and a willingness to embrace all that life asks call us to greater fidelity. Just as Jesus' love and mission were not only for the Jewish people of 1 st-century Palestine,' the call to obedience is not limited to "my family, . my community," and "my country." As Jesus' mission was for all people and for all time, so obedience embraces all and thus becomes universal. We are called to be compa?sionate with all people who suf-fer, who are poor, excluded, and marginalized. This demands a range of vision impossible without profound grace. We are so con-ditioned to "get ours" or do things our own way that it takes the wide-angle lens of the gospel and of the church's social teaching, accompanied by much prayer and meditation on these documents, to move beyond our myopic viewpoint. We are called by obedience Review for Religious to embrace all and to include all, not just in an intellectual way but in our loving, our praying, and our acting. We have to think globally even as we act locally. The way we do this is unique to each of us and must be dis-cerned. But act we must, or our religion is in vain. But our activ-ity must not be a mere "clanging cymbal" (1 Co 13:1). We must be, like John the Baptist, "a voice crying in the wilderness" (Mt 3:3) or, like Paul, one who proclaims the gospel "in season and out of sea-son" (2 Tm 4:2). We will not be popular, and we may indeed be martyred--if not by stoning or crucifixion, at least by rejection and hurtful words. Nonetheless, we are called to be like Jesus Christ, who "was crucified for our sakes" (1 Co 15:3). If Jesus Christ suffered and died for what he believed and proclaimed, so shall we. We are like the one we Wofess to follow. Obedient love demands such life and response from us. We know that death is not the end of the story. Jesus was raised to new life. We too will rise, not only on the last day, but each time we die to ourselves and surrender ourselves to our good God. The Scriptures tell us that God will not be outdone in gen-erosity. A generous and obedient heart leads us deeper into God's own heart and calls us forth to minister and to love as Jesus did. As we continue .to die to ourselves each day, we are raised up. As we grow in the vow and virtue of obedience, we see our wdrld with God's eyes and with God's heart. But, because we are human beings and not God, we act accordingly. We make mis-takes. We learn, however, to forgive others and ourselves because God has first forgiven us. We forgive and are gentle because that is the very nature of love and the heart of obedience. Able to laugh at ourselves, we do not take ourselves too seriously. This is, after all, God's world and God's creation. The Potter asks only for our cooperation, that we let go of control. Like Jesus, we are in rela-tionship with our Abba/Amma, our Father/Mother God. We are in an interdependent relationship with God, sharing mutually the fruit of otir love and our labor:3 God is as dependent on us as we are on God in this relationship. As we grow in the ways of God, we become ever more fully ourselves. We rejoice because we are one with the God we love and with all whom God loves. Through the vow and the virtue, we are obedient in heart and spirit. We rejoice in the truth. We live simply and we live radically because we live with Christ, through him and for him who is before all else that is. We are his, and he May-June 2001 Dunne ¯ Obedience: Vow and Virtu~ is ours. We are in relationship and in love. We are obedient. Notes L Richard M. Fragomeni, "Obedience," The New Catholic Dktionary of Spirituality, ed. Michael Downey (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1993), p. 709. 2 See St: Boflaventure, "Contemplating the Divine Unity through Its Primary Name Which Is Being," in Bonaventure: The Soul's Journey into God, The Tree of Life, The Life of St. Francis, trans. Ewert Cousins, Classics of Western Spirituality (New York: Paulist Press, 1978), pp. 94-101. 3 See David Fleming SJ, Draw Me into Your Friendship: A Literal Translation and a Contemporary Reading of the Spiritual Exercises (St. Louis: Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1996), "Contemplation to Attain the Love of God," §§230-234. Suggested Readings Foley, John B., SJ. "Stepping into the River: Reflections on the Vows." Studies in the Spirituality of Jesuits 26, no. 4 (September 1994). Langan, John P., sJ, "The Good of Obedience in a Culture of Autonomy," Studies in the Spirituality of Jesuits 32, no. 1 (January 2000). Rolheiser, Ronald, OMI. Holy Longing: The Search for a Christian Spirituality. New York: Doubleday, 1999. Schneiders, Sandra, IHM. New Wineskins: Re-imagining Religious Life Today. Mahwah: Paulist Press, 1986. --. Finding the Treasure: Locating Catholic Religious Life in a New Ecclesial and Cultural Context. Mahwah: Paulist Press, 2000. Wittberg, Patricia, SC. "Community and Obedience: Musings on Two Ambiguities." Review for Religious 59, no. 5 (September-October 2000): 526-536. NEW ON OUR WEBSITE Complete text of A Spirituality for ContemPorary Life: The Jesuit Heritage Today edited by David Fleming SJ and containing articles by J.J. Muetler s J, Walter Burghardt S J, David Fleming s J, Monika K. Hellwig, Jon Sobrino S J, Elizabeth Johnson CSJ, and John W. Padberg sJ ° ¯ An ARCHIVES section containing indices, abstracts, and summaries of our iournal articles from January-Februau 1995 to the current issue VISIT US AT: http://www.reviewforreligious.org Review for Religious WILLIAM C." ZEHRINGER Mechthild of Magdeburg's Spiritual Pilgrimage '~md where is this inaccessible light, or how can I approach the inaccessible light? Or who shall lead me and take me into it that I may see you in it?" So wrote St. Anselm in his Proslogion at the end of the 11th cen-tury. A lifelong searcher for that divine light was Mechthild of Magdeburg (ca. 1212-ca. 1282), one of the greatest women mystics of the Middle Ages. The ardu-ous and triumphantly successful spiritual pilgrimage of that remarkable woman is recorded in her enduring book, Das Fliessende Licht der Gottheit (The Flowing Light of the Godhead), the first mystical work to have been composed in the author's native language, and a book which "defies genre conventions.''~ So, it might be added, does her life in religion. Mechthild is unique among the female mystics of her time and place, both for the changes that took place in the form of her vocation throughout a long life and for the distances that she traveled before finding, at the last, her soul's rest. "My body," wrote Mechthild early in her Flowing Light, "is in great torment, my soul is in sublime bliss; for William C. Zehringer, a medievalist and free-lance author, received his doctorate from Temple University. His publi-cations include a college writing textbook; this article is adapted from a chapter of a book in progress. His address is 364 E. Second Street; Bloomsburg, Pennsylvania 17815. May-June 2001 heritages Zehringer * Mecbtbild's Spiritual Pilgrimage she has both gazed upon and embraced her Lover in her arms."2 These words summarize her turbulent life, for she long endured both ill health and afflictions from her adversaries, while also expe-rienci. ng deep consolations within her soul. As Emilie zum Brunn and Georgette Epiney-Burgard say, "The return of the soul to its original being in G6d--that is what motivates her desire."3 The revelations and sublime insights of The Flowing Light, which she worked on until the end of her life, won her, in her later years, a devoted following among the wisest of her contempo-raries. These included Meister Eckhart and the h01y nuns ofthe convent of Helfta.4.What.was the source of her appeal to these far-seeing men and women? Perhaps one may attribute it, and the hardy endurance of her single mystical.work through centuries of studied neglect, to the potent force of her convictions and the power of her expression in her'native language. Mechthild's book is remarkable in the way the clarity of her vision emerges from the diverse forms of expression she employs, from prayer to exhortation. Carol Lee Flinders has said, "The over-all coherence of the work derives not so much from formal qualities as from a consistency in preoccupation of the kind that knits together a collection of lyric poetry.''5 This all-consuming preoc-cupation is best told in her own impassioned words: "Then she soars further to a blissful place," and, "when infinite God brings the unfathomable soul to the heights, she loses sight of the earth in her astonishment and is not aware of ever having been on earth" (41).6 These and other startling paradoxes which the saint finds in her soul as she approaches the Sacred Presence are a proof of her lifelong (and ultimately successful) attempt to spiritualize her deep and abiding suffering. But they are also her wayof explaining the experiences which she took pains to have recorded, for the edifi-cation of her fellow Christians. The movifig story of her spiritual pilgrimage is above all a lesson in the way all searchers for.the Source of light and love must chart their courses. As Pierre Teilhard de Chardin so memorably wrote, "Union ir~creases only through an increase in consciousness, that is to say, in vision. And that, doubtless, is why the history of the living world can be sum-marized as the elaboration of ever more perfect eyes within a cos-mos in which there is always something more to be seen.''7 These words apply well to Mechthild's life. And a stirring picture of the price of such vision may be found in "The Lament of the Loving Soul" (Flowing Light, Book 2, ~hap. 25): "Oh, you infinite glory Review for Religious in the power of your nobility! How painfully I long for you when you want to spare me" (92). If one searched The Flowing Light for momentous earthly events, one would bE disappointed, but, read as a narrative of Mechthild's interior journey, the book describes vividly her cease-less hunger for heaven's heights,s It was often the depths of the human spirit that this sen-sitive soul traversed. Mechthild knew darkness and periods of dryness. Albert Camus, that pellu-cid and unresting agnostic searcher, has declared: ~"There is no sun without shadow, and it is essential to know the night.''9 But passages such as the one quoted above also bear witness to another cause of Mechthild's suf-fering: the unjust criticism that was hurled at her by clerical authori.ty when she denounced the vices that flourished in the church of her time. As Michael Novak wisely observed, "the experiences whence language about God springs--freedom, honesty, community, and courage--abut on pol-itics. They will not be contained.''1° In Mechthild's life they were not contained, any more than they were in the lives of Hildegard of Bingen, Birgitta of Sweden, or Catherine of Siena. Here is her heartfelt summary of her interior and exterior afflictions (Book 3, chap. 5, "How the Soul Laments that It Cannot Hear Mass or the Daily Offices"): "Ah,' dear One, how intimately you speak to me. And yet I never dare think upon these words in joy. For I constantly notice with anguish the stench of that dead mongrel, my body; and I, Lord, when I consider the matter, have no idea how things shall turn out for me in the end. What is more, just beholding you I lose all awareness of suffering" (112). The words that I have italicized are as characteristic of Mechthild's spiritual life as are the laments that precede them. How could they not be? For all true mystics believe that an essen-tial task of souls who ha(,e answered the call to holiness is to show a sorely burdened humankind how to avoid the paths that lead to One would gravely misrepresent Mechthild of Magdeburg by dwelling only on the slanting shadows of her thought and ignoring the record of the supernatural joys she experienced. May-June 2001 Zebringer ¯ Mecbtbild's Spiritual Pilgrimage despair.~1 And they most surely accomplish this by relating their own ascent past slippery edge,s,tz One would gravely misrepresent Mechthild of Magdeburg by dwelling only on the slanting shadows of her thought and ignoring the record of the supernatural joys she experienced. There is more light than darkness to be found in The Flowing Light of the Godhead. Mechthild's active compassion and love for the suffering poor as a beguine in Magdeburg is al~other aspect of her spiritual voca-tion. She carried the interior joys of her heart to a world that needed them as surely as ours does. Father Odo Egres called her an angel of mercy who "gave love and consolation to those who in their misery looked for a ray of hope."'3 Her life, then, was not given ?ver completely to serene med-itation on the divine mysteries. The practice of prophetic speech that led to charges of heresy and hard missiles of condemnation was one to which she felt compelled by God's command. In Book 4, chapter 24, she calls her fellow pilgrims to carry out the duties of their state of life so that they find at the end that "God crowns three kinds of people with his fatherly hands: virgins, widows, and married people" (168). Not surwisingly, than, does Caroline Walker Bynum find that "Mechthild of Magdeburg sees herself as a teacher, counselor,'and mediator." 14 But there is another dimension to that part of her life when she lived as a mystic in the world. Mechthild is also a fine poet of the spiritual life and of mystical marriage with her Lord. Bea.uty and pictorial splendor are characteristics of her later work. Lucy Menzies, a 1953 editor of Mechthild's book, says, "Thehuman passion of the younger years gradually gives place to the mature spiritual poise of the late period, when like an eagle 'she soars up to gaze into the face of God.'''is That is a valid judgment, for the knowledge that she was advancing toward her lifelong goal, union with Divine Love and Truth, came steadily to the saint as she con-tinued to labor and pray. Perhaps that is why there is a joining, in her earlier visions, of what seem at first to be opposed ideas (as in the words quoted above: "Dear One, how intimately you speak to me. And yet I never dare think upoh these'words in joy"). These most likely represent, at one and the same time, Mechthild's unsettled response to the overpowering presence of her Savior, her consciousness of sin,.and her aching desire for bliss. Peter Dronke speaks perceptively of"Mechthild's anguished evo-cations of the 'fatal' quality of her love. For all its torments, she Review for Religious cannot help her longing--it is her destiny to sing of love through pain, like the nightingale." 16 And yet, in some of the later por-tions of The Flowing Light, there are harmonious images that sup-port an assured and serene conclusion. In Book 5, chapter 22, "The Seven Things of Judgment," Mechthild proclaims that "the greatest delight in doing comes from keeping one's integrity in all that one does" (196). A beautiful and unique feature of her book is the intense response of the Lord to her plaintive pleas for a surcease from suffering. Divine speech (as in Book 2, chapter 25) is expressed in ¯ cumulative phrases that pierce the heart: Your secret sighs shall reach me. Your heart's anguish can compel me. Your sweet pursuit shall so exhaust me That I shall yearn to cool myself In your limpid soul, To which I have b

Issue 57.6 of the Review for Religious, November/December 1998. ; Review for Religious is a forum for shared reflection on the lived experience of all wbo find ~bat the church's rich heritages of spirituality support their personal and apostolic Christian lives~ Tge articles in the journal are meant to be inforntative, practical, bistorical, or inspirational, written front a tbeological or spiritual or sometimes canonical point of view. Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published bi-mouthly 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: FOI~PI~MA@SLU.I~I)U Manuscripts, hooks 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 1150 Cedar Cove Road ¯ Henderson, NC 27536 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 informatiou on subscription rates. ~1998 Review for Religions Permission is herewith gra,ated to cop}, any ,naterial (articles, poe,ns, 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 li,nits outlined in Sectious 107 and/or 108 of the United States Copyright Law. All copies made under this per,nission 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. for relig i ous Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Editorial S~aff Advisory Board David L. Fleming SJ Philip C. FischEr SJ Regina Siegfried ASC Elizabeth.McDonough OP Mary Ann Foppe Tracy Gramm J~an Read James and Joan Felling Kathryn Richards FSP Joel Rippinger OSB Bis.hop Carlos A. Sevilla SJ David Werthmann CSSR ' Patricia Wittberg SC Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living NOVEMBER-DECEMBER 1998 ¯ VOLUME 57 ¯ NUMBER 6 contents 566 578 religious vocations Common Threads: Are We Weaving or Unraveling? Catherine Bertrand SSN~D surveys the terrain of apostolic religious life regarding attitudes and concerns about future membership. The Decline in Religious Vocations: ¯ A Weberian Perspective Shanti P~beyasingha cssR looks at effects of the "routinizing" of a foundational charism and then peers beyond them with a hope that embraces new risks in changed circumstances. 588 595 ,life in the spirit Spirithil Maturity John Blake More reflects on some of the qUalities of a spiritually mature person. A "Spiritual Turn" for Catholic Moral Theology Dennis J. Billy CSSR explores some of the ways in which a deeper understanding of the relationship between spirit and reason has =oncrete implications for the_future of moral theology. consecr.ated life 605 ~ Consecrated Life: Anointed with Joy Regis J. Armstrong OFMCap presents.ways of understanding joy and its intrinsic relationship to consecrated life. Review for Religious 622 The Future of Authority in the Religious Community John Carroll Futrell SJ describes what authority needs today as it exercises its ministry of making an apostolic community of love. spiritual limitations 628 Ground of Grace Marie Beha OSC uses the parable of ~he seed in looking at the limits we bring to the transforming action of grace. 640 Guigo I 'on Avoiding Suffering Kenneth C. Russell offers us some of the homely wisdom of an early Carthusian regarding the ensemble of this world and the ,next. departments 564 Prisms 650 Canonical Counsel: The Evangelical Counsel of Obedience: ConcreteExpression and Practical Consequences 656 Book Reviews 666 Indexes to Volume 57 November-Deconber 1998 prisms T imagery of the Holy Spirit as an iconographer"holds an age-old place in the tradition of the Eastern churches. The Hol~ Spirit is painting us in the image and likeness of Goff~ But, of course, we acknowledge Jesus Christ as THE image of the invisible God (Col 1:15). Consequently, in working with us as a painter does with an icon, the Holy Spirit continues throughout our life to bring out in us another face of Jesus, As we enter the Advent preparation for Christmas, this way of understanding our relationship to the S'pirit seems especially appropriate. The Holy Spirit is always laboring to bring to birth within us a fuller identity with Jesus. Our life can be understood as an Advent season in which we are being prepared over the span of our earthly life for the reality of our life-with-God 'forever in Christ. At the same time, from our meditation upon the Gospels and from our following in Christ's footsLeps, our daily life can be seen as one spent living in imitation of the hidden and public life of Jesus. With every stroke of his painter's brush, the Spirit inspires, encourages, and strengthens us to live "like Jesus," to live as Christ-ians. For the Spirit, according to Jesus' promise, is the one who "remains" with us, the one who will "be within" us (Jn 14:17). From the Gospel of St: John, we learn that the Holy Spirit is a gift to us--Jesus' "gift to us of "another Paraclete" (that is, one who functions just like Jesus him-self, who is our first Paraclete) or, perhaps stated with more theological precision, a gift from the "us" of Father and Son. Fumblingly struggling to say something about Review for Religious the identity and life of our triune God, our theological tradition at times expresses it in this way: The Father gives himself over fully to the Son, and the Son gives himself over fully to the Father, and the fullness of the Love shared between them is a Gift-Person, a Love-Person. As a result, our Trinitarian God is caught up in a life of relationship, of total giving, of total sharing--a God who is Love, a God who is all Gift. The Spirit, whose very relational identity within the Trinity is Gift and Love, plays this same role in God's outreach to cre-ation- for example, the imagery of the brooding of Spirit over the waters of creation and the Spirit's overshadowing of Mary in the' an~aunciation scene. From revelation and from our experi-ence, we know that God relates to us through all of creation as "gifts"--gifts that are meant to help us to know, to love, and to serve God by our proper appreciation and use of these gifts. God relates to us through Jesus as gift of identity with us as human. jesus is called the new Adam because we human beings in the Jesus-Gift have .become truly new and original. God relates to us in baptism, confirmation, and all the sacraments and sacramentals of our Christian life in the gift of the one we~call the Holy Spirit. The process of our growing in grace or~ as the Eastern churches say it more daringly, the process of our divinization continues as God's Spirit-Gift stays with us. We CFiristians, made newly human in Christ, have come to understand God in a new and original way: a triune God, a Gift-God, a God of Love. At Christmas, then, we see again, with eyes of faith, God's gift of identity with us through Jesus. Year after year, all the won-der of this gift seen and remembered as a baby fills the heights and depths of our soul. But, in this year dedicated to the Spirit, we recall anew, especially in this Christmas season, how much the Holy Spirit--God-Gi~---keeps giving us the way to be Christ for our times. We pray to the Spirit to bring forth more fully in us the icon of Jesus each of us is created to be--~.made in the image and likeness of God. David L. Fleming SJ That the Spirit paint his icon more fully across the fabric of your life is the Chris~as wish fro,. all of us on the staff of Review for Religious. .November-Dece~ltber 1998 religious vocations CATHERINE BERTRAND Common Threads: -,Are We Weaving or Unraveling? In the last year, as I have traveled nationally and interna-tionally, tit has become clear that certain "threads" are shared, by a considerable number of congregations of women and men religious, especially those that describe themselves as active or apostolic. This article, examining some of these "threads," asking some questions, and offer-ing some answers, is not the last word. There are no sweeping statements to capture the experience of every religious. Rather, I hope to generate further discussion among congregational members as they together examine their own reality and explore what their own future might look like. Many active or apostolic congregations were founded one or two hundred years ago in .,response to particular ministerial needs in various parts of the world. The found, ing purpose often had'more to do with ministry than with a particular spirituality or rule. These congregations, with some help from Vatican Council II, are struggling with the articulation of their charisms and the interpretation of their founding purpose in light of today's church and world. This has often caused the various congregations to remark more' similarities than differences among them- Catherine Bertrand SSND is executive director of the National Religious Vocation Conference (5420 South Cornell Avenue, Suite 105; Chicago, Illinois 60615). Her article was first pub-lished in its quarterly journal, Horizon. Review for Religious" selves, Given this observation, what are some of the common threads evident in these congregations as they look toward, the future? Deepest Longings , Sociologists have noted that the two unmet desires of our age, the deepest longings expressed to~tay by peopl~ of all ages, are for.spirituality and for a sense of belonging. Vocation ministers in both. women's 'and men's congregations can validate these find-ings in their work with potential candidates. Consistently those considering religious life express their reasons as having to do ,with a longing for God and a desire for community life. Meanwhile, longtime members of these congregations seem to be asking themselves whether this in fact 4s .what religious are about, or what their life has to offer today. A thread common to English-spea.king countries worldwide is discussion of the need to take another look at quality community life. Some religious will contend that it is yet to be discovered what that means for active/apostolic congregations whose very foundation and history were overshadowed and strongly influ-enced by monastic rules and traditions. Be that as it may, not only are new members and potential candidates asking for quality com-mon life, but longtime members as well are saying they need to take another look at this. My guess would be that there are as many ideas of what community life could look like as there are people discussing it. There is no going back to what was, although some members ~ would desire that: Others, who have experienced community life in the past as uniformity and sameness, fear that this could become the case again. Some feel that"the struggle to be in a ministry that Is satisfying and in a living situation that does not take every ounce of energy has been long in coming: "Leave it alone!" Others, especially those who entered after Vatican 11,,came because of the common life and shared ministry, and continue to seek ways to have that happen. Some believe community can happen only under one roof. Others believe that such a configuration of community has nothing to do with the direction for the future. Some question~the value of vowed membership, while the expe-rience of others tells them that only when there is clarity about vowed membership does any other way of associating make sense. November-Decentber 1998 Bertrand ¯ Common Threads Although some oflthese concerns differ.in various communities, and may take on different nuances in men's and women's con-gregations, the common threads, the similar questions, are there. Fundamental Changes and Different Realities Over recent years, some definite realities in religious life have given community.life a whole new look. The following paragraphs attempt to describe some of those changes. Space, or how space is regarded, has changed how ~relikious live in community. Many local communities ofwomen'~ congre-gations suffer from limited living space. For a variety of reasons, including some very healthy ones, there.has been a move to smaller living spaces, with fewer people. Unfortunately, religious often end: 'up--mostly for economic reasons--in crowded places with little common space beyond their own bedrooms. There is no room for guest, s, potential new members, or even one's own community members. There is no space, for common prayer, and no room to welc0m~e groups of guests. Religious congregations are not family; they al:e communities of adults; for whom the family model is not helpful. To live simply does not necessarily mean that there can be .no space. Although men's communities may have more space, rJaey seem to be challenged to look at how eas-ily the members can become independent, developing a board-ing- house mentality. Governance, too, has changed how religious live together. Many local commtinities have been trying a more circular model of leadership wherein various responsibilities of leadership are shared. Men's communities seem to 'be less dialogic, to function more expeditiously. No form of governance, however, seems to go without challenge, and no one model is ideal. , Age has also made a difference in how religious live together and ~relate to each other. There are more older members, and fewer new ones. The tendency to settle in bectmes stronger unless deliberate efforts fire made to retain vitality, ' which has little to do with.,age. New members help a community to keep growing and changing. Difference in community size calls for different skills. The abil-ity to b~ self-discl6sing is critical. Where it may once have been considered the. greatest of virtues to be silent, now it is crucial in community to be able to articulate one's thoughts and feelings in Review for Religious an appropriate manner. The smaller the group, the more essen-tial to have healthy members who are able to enter into this kind of sharing. Professionalism and ministry demands certainly affect community life today. Because urgent needs demand responses and because mission is the ov~rriding concern for many religious congrega-tions, this is where most time and energy are spent. The nature of ministry, especially with many women religious now in parish settings, places new demands on quality time in community. Self-Definition Countless efforts among religious focus on the identity and image of religious today: who religious are and what they are about. It appears that often religious define themselves by the work(s) they do. They seem to fall sho~rt when it comes to know-ing how to share some of the other elements of their lives that grow out of the communal dimension: Is' there clarity about those essential elements? Are the spiritual and communal elements of their lives seen as having the power to attract others, not just to new vowed membership, :but also to the varibus ways people can be in part-nership with religious 4ongregations? To religious who are concerned that potential candidates seem to focus only on God and com-munity and have little Or no sense of mission, I offer this thread. From interviewing and assessing candidates for priesthood and religious life, I have found, that among them service is a given. They deeply desire to be of service~ They may not always understand how to direct that generosity within a particular congregation, but what draws them to religious life is a unique context in which to offer service. Most candidates come assuming that Jesus, the Eucharist, and a link to the universal church are foundational to religious lif~. The community they seek is not a warm nest or surrogate family, but a group that will help them serve in a way that they could'not do alone. New members ,help a community to keep growing and changing, What Attracts Young Adults When two hundred young' adults from all over the United November-December 1998 Bertrand ¯ Common Threads States joined more than five hundred vocation directors at the 1996 National Convocation of religious vocation ministers, they spoke to the questions of what was attractive and unattractive . about religious life today. On their application forms they were asked to describe any of their .current involvements in volunteer work, paid ministry, civic activities, and so~forth.Their responses were both amazing and impressive. The candidates that religious congregations would hope to attract are already engaged in ser-vice. They told us that ministry alone will not draw people to religious life. They come because of the community context in which the ministry is situated. They also see community life as happening under one roof. Many times they have no clear idea of w~hat they are asking for When they speaLof their desire for com, munity, but they clearly do not envision it as a "let's get together now and then" experience. Another thread I see in numerous congregations is the sincere desire of many religious to respond to that desire expressed by young people. Most congregations want to have a future and therefore are serious about attracting new members. A thread that is becoming more common in many congregations is being spun in conversations about being local communities of hospi-tality. Much as congregations would like it, this phrase does not describe every local community. Newer members are~well aware of struggles to find suitable, community situations to live in, Longtime members, too, know all too well thee feeling of panic when it comes to finding a local community upon Changing min-istry locations. Some congregations are creatively encouraging some of~their most "life-giving" members to consider housing situations that would allow for an extra room so that communities of hospitality become realities. These delibera~te efforts by some are invitations to all congregational members to take seriously the responsibil- -ity for hospitality. Community as Ministry Religious take seriously their commitment to ministry. Who can argue with that? But is mission understood as being synony-mous with the work they do? I 15elieve that one of the strongest sections of Vita consecrata deals with this very question. It states that community life plays a fundamental role in the spiritual jour- Review for Religious ney of religious, both for their constant renewal and for the full accomplishment of their mission In the world: [The church] wishes to hold up before the world the exam-ple of communities in which solitude is overcome through concern for one another, in which communication inspires in everyone a sense of shared responsibility, and in which wounds are healed throu~gh forgiveness and each person's commitment'to communion is strengthened. The life of communion in fact "becomes a sign for all the world and a compelling force that leads people to faith in Christ . in this way communion leads to mission and itself becomes mission"; indeed, "communion begets communion: In' essen~.~e it is a communion that is missionary." (§§45-46) Do religious believe that community life itself is key to the mission and their ministries? For active/apostolic congregations it seems to be an ongoing struggle. How do congregations arid individuals integrate or balance that healthy or not-so-healthy tension between ministry and community life? Have religious come to define active/apostolic religious life only by works, and often very individualized ministries at that? In many ministry situations there may b~ only one person of a particular congregation on the scene. A developing scenario seems to be that it is in ministry that one receives the greatest affirmation and.the deepest satisfaction, that one's affective needs are met, and that the most creative energy arises. This poses a sharp contrast to the less than life,giving local community situa-tion that religious often describe. Another dimension in this sce-nario is that today religious~ have less knowledge about or understanding of each other's ministries and therefore have fewer opportunities, to be supportive and affirming, ~ ~" : Another thread deserving further consideration is the amount of time and energy given to ministry. I have heard younger, newly professed religious comment that they came from homes where they were aware that everything, including family, always came second to their parents' dareers. They are often surprised to find that in religious life they have that same sense. They seem to respond in one of two ways. Either they quickly fal.1 into the work mode, or they choose to leave. On one occasion a speaker address-ing an audience of religious suggested that, if a congregation is serious about new membership, it may need to reevaluate its min-isterial commitments. Even to think about it brought an audible gasp from the audience. November-December 1998 Bertrand ~ Common Threads Often religious try to accomplish with fewer people what was once done by many more people. No doubt women and men reli-gious are responding to urgent needs in our church and world in creative and heroic ways. Many times, it seems, the very people who top the list as wonderful community members are also the most overextended in ministry. Where is the balance in all of this? What choices are congregations making in addressing these challenges, not just f~or the sake of new members, but for the sake of present membership? . . Some congregations are responding by honestly saying to each other and to others that they prefer to go onliving and working just as they are. Other congregations see a need for some changes. I have attempted to name some of the common reali-ties in religious life that have had an impact on community life. These include models of governance, ways of praying,' living space, aging members, and ministry demands. I would contend that, to the extent that realities in religious life have changed, religious are. invited to develop new skills for living contemporary religious life, giving new shape to religious community life. Skills Needed What are some of the skills to be considered?~ The following list is neither definitive nor exhaustive, but I offer it as a help toward further consideration and dialogue: ' ¯ The need for self-disclosure heads the list, in part because this element of religious life has changed radically in recent years. The change affects not only how one,share~ in dialogue, but also how one participates in prayer with one or more persons. There is an increased need both for sharing and for keeping a healthy sense of boundaries. . ¯ Skills for other-centeredness are key. It is no small challenge to be able to enter into the reality of another, to be generous, to listen. It means taking time for people and situations in commu-nity that may not always be one's first choice of how to use time and energy. It may mean not allowing ministry demands to always come first. ¯ Hospitality As an "in" word these days, but in some situa~- tions it may be as basic as developing social and conversational skills that make life better as occasions arise for religious to invite others into their homes and into their lives. This is particularly key Review for Religious in attracting new members. People cannot choose or ~upport what they do not know, unders(and, or experience. ¯ Skills for healthy sexuality and intimacy are critical elements in the life of any person, and these impact,community life. They affect the way individual religious express who they are, how "at home" they might be as loving, intimate, sexual human beings. They assist religious in having .a sense of self that can support o~hers in their celibate choice and can help still others under-stand celibacy as a viable option. A healthy sexuality includes developing friendsl~ips within and outside community life. It also involves doing whatever is necessary to be a physically and psy-chologically healthy person, someone with whom others would like to share community. ¯ A healthy spirituality is another key element in quality com-munity life, having both a communal and individual dimension. It means looking for ways to be supportive of the spiritual life of others in community, participating in the liturgical life of the church, and expressing the shared spirituality of a particular con-gregation. It also means finding ways to participate in the ongo-ing revelation of God through individuals and in community. ¯ Skills for shared living involve negotiating living space, being attentive to the little .things that can make or break community liv-ing, These skills make it possible for religious to choose to live with one or more fellow religious when it would be easier to live alone, or they may suggest ways of creatively sharing life with others if particular circumstances' demand living alone for a time. They help one to be open to sharing life with a variety of people, in a variety of ways, ways that are life-giving, not death-dealing. ¯ To be attentive to ongoing learning and enrichment demands that one strive to be updated about religious life, spirituality, the, ology, and so forth, in: addition to fulfilling~"professional" demands for ongoing education. It also means being attentive to one's development as an "interesting" person who can contribute.to community discussions and learning. It means taking time for enrichment, alone and with others. ¯ Friendship in community also involves skills, though no one can make friendship happen. One must look for ways to come to know the people .with whom one shares life, and must do whatever one can to create a community to.which people want to come home. Friendship skills include being able ~nd willing to cele-brate people .and events 4n the company of others. November-December 1998 Bertrand ¯ Common Threads ¯ Leadership ski'lls need to be nurtured in every community member even though such skills will be expressed in many dif-ferent ways on a variety of levels. These skills include taking indi-vidual responsibility within a community of adults, having a voice and being honest and up-front in using that voice for the good of the whole, getting involved in the workings of the congregation ~3n the local level and beyond, and keeping actively in touch with congregational leaders. ¯ Conflict-management skills invite the convictitn that each person is worth the time it~takes to live together well. They involve being honest as well as kind with feedback, being account-able for any effort or lack of effort at being a positive presence in a community. Conflict management calls for a healthy sense of self that allows one to deal with issues, not destroy persons. These are some skills that seem key to living contemporary community life. Some Other Threads .There continue to be questions. Are religious setting them-selves up for failure,and disappointment in taking another look at quality community life, another look at that particular thread? Is this a challenge beyond them? No one can make 'a significant responge alone, not the. congregational leader or any individual member, not a new member or potential candidate, not the voca-tion director. A significant response requires the efforts of as man, y as possible--many interwoven threads. There are people among us who lack either the desire, the aptitude, or both for living community life in this day and age. There are ministerial situations that demand different ways of being community. But in many congregations a substantial group of peo-ple have both the desire and the aptitude to make co.mmunity life work, even under one roof. Community life takes time and energy. There 'is no way around that, even in the best-case scenarios. If congregations want the future to be different, some radical decisions must be made in the present-'if not always big deci-sions, then some smaller ones that are no less radical: These are the ones that touch the day-to-day living of the entire community. How willing am I to be "inconvenienced" for the sake of our future, ~for the sake of not just new members, but also present members? This question is screaming for anoanswer.from indi=' Review for Religious vidual religious and from congregations. The answer may mean reclaiming community as ministry, community as mission. The final thread I will touch upon is perhaps stating the obvi-ous. Vocation ministers, who are some of the most hopeful peo-ple around, indidate time and again that in their work the greatest challenge 4s their own congregational members' lack of aware-ness and response. They do not assume ill will, for they see that people are very busy, involved in many things. How, then, are communitymembers to be made more alert to ways of promot-ing vocations? Congregational leaders are critical players 'in these efforts, b~t congregational members are no less important. Do we pas-sionately desire another generation of religious for the sake of God's people? Are we willing to invite new generations to consider religious life as a viable option, or by our silence have we made the decision for them? The responses to these questions cannot be postponed, to be considered at some other time, Our only time is ,' Questions for Individuals and Communities Something to do now is raise some of the ,following questions in the privacy of your o~n mind and heart--but also to raise them in discussion with other religious in your own congregation, in your own local community, or in any number of other settings.,~ Skills for Self-disclosure What in your life indicates that you have a sense of legitimate boundaries, your own and those of others? What enables .you to express your thoughts and feelings in dialogue and in faith shar-ing? How do you nurture mental and emotional health that allows you to be self-disclosing? How do yob develop healthy self-esteem, self-confidence that allows you to share yourself with others? What gives you the sense that others enjoy being with you? Skills for Other-cehteredness How do you balance self-maintenance with generous pres-ence and service? What gets most attention and energy in your local community? How do you foster local' community life that reaches beyond itself?. What enables you to enter into the re~ility of another? How do you present religious life as a viable option Noventber-Decentber 1998 Bertrand ¯ Common Threads for someone else? How do you share ministry with each other, even if you are in different settings? What sharpens your ability to be a good listener? Skills four Hospitality What do you do to develop social and conversational skills? How are you willing to be inconvenienced for the sake of wel-coming others? What do you do to encourage, potential new mem-bers and to invite them, and others as well, into yo~ur life and into your home? How do you cope with diversit'v? What prevents you at times from being hospitable and welcoming? Skills/:or Healthy Sexuality and lntimaey How would someone, describe your outlook on life? What helps you .to be happy and hopeful? How do you express that sense? How do. you express your celibate choice? How do you describe it? How are you generative in your celibate choice?. What steps do you take to develop and sustain healthy friendships? How does the way you live speak to health and wholeness? Skills for a Healthy Spirituality How :are you faithful to personal and communal'prayer? What other elements of your life indicate a seritusness about your rela-tionship with God? How do you participate in the liturgical life of the church? How does your prayer life reflect the .spirituality of your congregation? How does your spiritual life reflect and support a concern for others? ~ Skills for Shared Living How does the shared living space where you live facilitate quality community life? When are you~generous or territorial in your useof common space and, goods? How are you attentive to the "litde things" that can cause friction or tranquillity in a shared living space? How willing, are you to negotiate, and sometimes settle for conditions that are not to your liking? The persons you live with--what keeps your expectations of them realistic? Skills fo, r Ongoing Learning and Enrichment ~ What steps do you take to keep updated regarding religious-life trends, spirituality, theology? How do you make time for cur-rent reading, awareness of world issues, which can be shared in Review for Religious community? What do you do for enrichment and leisure, indi-vidually and as a local community? What are some of the best ways to "waste time" together? Skills for Friendship in Community What helps you to come to know and appreciate the people with whom you share community life? How do you reflect an openness to potential friendship in community without demand-ing it? What about you would give other people a desire to live in community with you? What about local community makes it a situation to which you want to come home? How do you make choices for quality community time in the face of ministerial demands? How do you celebrate people and events in your local community? How do you share your family and friends with your congregation? How do you give yourself and others a sense of freedom in community relationships? Skills for Leadership What is the role and understanding of leadership in your local community? How do you participate in those responsibilities? What is your expectation of those in congregational leadership in relating to local communities? In what ways do you take ini-tiative in your local community? Sk(lls for Conflict Management , What helps you to be honest and up-front in dealing with conflict in community? How do you give helpful feedback to peers, and how, do you receive it from them? To whom do you hold yourself accountable for trying to live quality community life? For you, what elements of local community can become sources of conflict? What are the most effective ways for you to resolve conflict in your local community? Are you, are we, weaving or unraveling? November-December 1998 SHANTI ABEYASINGHA The Decline in Religious Vocations: : ,A Weberian Perspective y-783 _ religious life, that many who join religious congregations give up halfway, and that some leave even after final profession are things that merit inquiry. For many a religious congregation, vocation questions and vocation promotion are top priorities. A superior of a women's religious congregation told me that she and the sis-ters were trying desperately to get young girls to join because comphter statistics had shown that the congregation would die out if a hundred or more new persons did not come in every year. Deaths each year were outnumbering the entrants, and, accord= ingly, aging.itself had become a more serious~problem too. There are instances where some congregations in the West have come to Asia, Africa, and Latin America (places with more .vocations) in search of candidates. The phenomenon of men;'and women religious coming from the West to work as missionaries also seems to be a thing of the past. In fact, the reverse process seems to be taking place. Religious congregations with branches in Asia, Africa, and Latin America are asking them to come up with volunteers for missionary work in other lands. These instances and others would seem to indicate that religious life is in disarray. Shanti Abeyasingha CSSR has held administrative positions in his order, has done socioeconomic development work in Sri Lanka, and has con-ducted retreats and missions in Sri Lanka, India, and Malaysia. His address is: Redemptorists, Santa Maria; George E. de Silva Mawatha; Kandy, 20000; Sri Lanka. Review for Religious The interesting thing, however, is that the problem of a lack of vocations, which many modern-day religious congregations are facing, was seldom an issue for the founders and foundresses ofireligious congregations~ They do not stem to have had diffi-culty getting people to join their ranks. As their histories often tell us, .people were attracted to the particular work they started and to their commitment and deilication. Many a °person was ready to give up everything and join them. God's Fidelity and Religious Congregations' Continued Existence The Bible speaks again and again about the faithfulness of God. Evenothough we humans are unfaithful, God is shown as the one who is ever faithful to his pr~mises. Along with his faith-fulness, his caring love is always there, ever ready to come to our aid. This' love is brought out clearly in the Exodus experience. The words "I have seen the affliction of my people who are in Egypt, and have heard their cry 'because of their taskmasters; I know their suffering, and I have comedown to deliver them" (Ex 3:7- 8) expresses it all. vWhen God makes his covenant with the Israelites at Mount Sinai, the people experience and~ understand their God precisely as one who always intervenes on their behalf to alleviate suffering and oppressiom All through human history we encounter human suffering and misery. These are vestiges df sin and .are manifest in the self-ishness of persons who do not care 'for their brothers and sisters. God continues to care for these unfortunate persons all through history. He continues to prove his faithfulness .and concern by raising up women and men who dedicate their lives in the ser-vice of people whom others oppress or ignore and even history forgets. These charismatic personalities emerge especially in moments of, crisis and,decadeffce in society. They, like Moses, are inspired to do God's bidding on behalf of his people. They are in line'with ~the prophets, who denounced oppression while at the same time announcing to the people the good news of liberation and deliverance. In the line of the prophets, these founders of congregations interpreted the signs of the times and responded vigorously. They highlighted something ~hat answered a need in society. They manifested through their actions the faith~lness andthe ¯ November-DecembD" 1998 L -79 Abeyasingba * The Decline in Religious Vocations caring presence of God as he continues to come down and deliver his people from their bondage. Here we have the actual reason for the beginning and the continued exi~stence of religious congre-gations, namely, t~o be extensions of God's presence in the world. The "Routinization" of a charism Max Weber has something to say about such charismatic lead-ers. He says that charismatic leaders are creative and do things that are not in line with the normal run of things in society. He is quick to add, however, that such charismatic leaders do not last. They are a passing phenomenon in society. They appear at cer-tain times in history to answer particular needs of the time. In the course of time, especially after the death of the charismatic leader, his or her original insight becomes traditi~nalized or ratio-nalized or both.~ Weber adds: "It is only in the initial stages, and so long as the charismatic leader acts in a way which is completely outside every day social organization, that it is possible for his followers to live communistically in a community of faith and enthusiasm.''2 Thus, according to Weber, it is only a question of time before the initial charism of the leader becomes "routinized.''3 Usually this takes place after his or her death. In this transformation into a permanent routine structure, one of the first things altered is the anti-economic character of the original charisma.4The followers pursue security and economic stability (as part of security) to. make up for the absence of the founder. Everyday needs and the ordi-nary details of administration necessitate such an adaptation. This process took place even in the church after the death of the Lord Jesus Christ. With routinization comes an attempt to preserve the leader's thought and way of life. Normally this takes the form of pre-serving his or her letters, instructions,- documents, and sayings, along with eyewitness reports, accounts from the~first companions, and so on. Guidelines are set for the training of future followers. These are usually spelled out in documents such as rules, consti-tutions, and statutes, which are updated from time to time by general chapters and by special commissions appointed by them. The result is a system of organization different from that which existed during the time of the charismatic leader. During the leader's lifetime, the way of making decisions, the way of act- Review for Religious ing, and in short the whole way the group functioned could be said to have been somewhat arbitrary and unpredictable. There was no formal or well-defined way of doing a particular thing. The leader's personality was the key factor, and it overshadowed what-ever structures and procedures were already in place, regarding the community and its mission. Max Weber says that "the routinization of charisma also takes the form of the appropriation of powers of control and of eco-nomic advantages by the followers,or disciples and of regulation of the recruitment of these groups.''5 In other words, the rou-tinization process in a congregation includes the manner and the basis of choosing leaders, the training or tests of eligibility of the new recruits, the way of governing the members, their rights and duties, and so on.6 Also, it is very much akin to the adaptation that constantly takes place in economic life--for the economy is on~ of the principal and continually operating forces in everyday life. In the whole question of routinization, the economic condi-tions play a leading role'and do not constitute merely a dependent variable.7 Bureaucratic Org.anization and Religious Life From the foregoing it will be clear that accompanying the whole process of the routinization of a charism is the attempt to coordinate activities. Weber calls this the process of rationaliza-tion or the process of bureaucratic organizatipn. He goes on to say that this is a distinctive mark of the modern era. Bureaucracy has shaped modern politics, the modern economy, modern technol'- ogy, and modern church life and religious life too. Max Weber considered the bureaucratic organization to be technically supe-rior to all other forms of administration. He says' also that only through this device, namely bureaucracy, has large-scale planning of the modern state and the modern economy become possible,s The main characteristics of a bureaucratic organization are: ¯ It is organized according to rational principles: rules, con-stitutions, and statutes. (This is something that developed in religious congregations.) ¯ The offices are ranked in a hierarchical order. (Religious congregations, too, have a hierarchical order, that is, gen-eral, his or her consulto~rs, the different secretariats, provin-cials, vice-provincials, and so on.) Novetttber-December 1998 Abeyasingba * The Decline in Religious Vocations Efficiency has hhd the effect of making religious congregations inefficient in answering the changed needs of the times. ¯ The operations (of offices) are characterized by imper-sonal rules. (The various offices in religi~ous congregations, too, have clearly defiiaed procedures.) ¯ The members are governed by methodical allocation of areas of jurisdiction.(Today the members of religious con-gregations fire allocdted 'into provinces, vice-provinces, regions, and so on.) ¯ Appointments to offices are generally made according to specialized qualifications. Those who can fit into the bureaucratic administrative set-up are the ones who are normally considered for s~h offices. Just as bureaucracy has its advantages, it also has its draw-backs. Its very strengths are also its weaknesses. Because of its rationalized organization, bureaucracy sometimes becomes unwieldy and even stultifying in dealing with individual cases. Modern rationalized and bureaucratized systems find themselves incapable of dealing with particularities. In other words, the individual's initiative and creativity are submerged under a deluge of reasons that are derived mechanically from the 0 code of behavior.~° Depersonalization is another result of bureaucratization. The organization seems to take precedence over the personhood of the individual." In the last analysis, although bureaucratization and rationalization may have increased the efficiency of the o.r, ga: nization, this very efficiency threatefis to dehumanize its ere-ators. 12 In such a setup, 0there is little room for charismatic personalities to emerge. , From what has been said, one sees the implications of bureau-cratization for the functioning~of religious life. While on the one hand it has organized and systematized administration, on the other hand it has stifled some new initiatives and new thinking. Persons who propose changes in hitherto :accepted ways of doing things could very well find themselves isolated or labeled rebel-lious or considered excrescences that need to be removed because they are a hindrance to the smooth running of the ihstitute. Worse still would be the sad refility of some finding themselves outside the institute because their ideas do not find acceptance with the Review for Religious administration. To put it in another way,. this very efficiency has had the effect of making religious congregations inefficient in answering the changed conditions and changed needs of the times. Understanding Vatican II's Renewal Guidelines Something that should not be forgotten is that the intention of these charismatic leaders was to answer particular needs in society. They were answering a local need. What took priority was the need of the people, not the organization of a group with rules and. regulations. Only much later, as numbers increased and in some cases lived far from the original local area, did the group give ,special attention to its own formation. This fact should be kept in mind when we speak of the inspiration of the founder or foundress. As has been explained, with the death of the charismatic ,leader, the routinization process took. over,' bringing .to the now more organized institute a corresponding sense of securityoand stability ,among the members. This in turn created a certain insen-sitivity to the actual needs of the people, espec!ally the poor. It is in this context that one has to understand the appeal made by the Second Vatican Council: The appropriate renewal of religious life involves two simul-taneous pr%cesses: (I) a continuous return to the sources ~ 9f all Christian life and to the original inspiration b~hind a given community and (2) an adjustment of the community to the changed conditions of the times. Clearly, the council envisaged two simultaneous processes for the renewal of religious life. It went on to enumerat.e certain princi-ples in accord with which such renewal was to proceed: to follow Christ, to participate in the life of the church, to seek to identify the institute's,particular character and purpose, and to be aware of contemporary human conditions and of the needs of the church. Renewal in the Context of Max Weber's Routinization With such an impetus given by the council, one could have noticed certain initiatives taken by various communities. Many congregations set up commissions to study their roots, going into the history of their founding inspirations. General chapters made it their chief objective to redraft their respective rules and con- Novonber-Dece~nber 1998 Abeyasingba * The Decline in Religious Vocations stitutions according to the mind and spirit of the documents of the Second Vatican Council. That the various congregations made a sincere effort to adjust themselves to the changed conditions of the times cannot be denied. In the renewed constitutions one could notice that provision was made for individual initiatives. Furthermore, units of the congregation in various countries were given the freedom to adapt and change according to their par-ticular situation. These were praiseworthy changes indeed, which by and large were done after a general consultation of all the members. One could not help noticing, however, that the final outcome was worked out within a bureaucratic setup.which was hierarchical in its composition. Any new efforts were to be tried out within a certain organizational framework of the congregation. Furthermore, the starting point of such ventures was a position of economic security. This meant that the inSecurity, the uncertainty. the risk--very much a part of the life and experience of the fouflders when they first set out to answer the need of the hour!- was not there. Also~ the Vatican Council's guidelines for adjusting the com-munity to the changed conditions of the times were not followed fully. There was a general move towards a more simple lifestyle. Institutes made changes in their religious garb, in food customs, in their cloister regulations, and so forth. There was, however, no sign of a change of structures in keeping with what the founders had had during their lifetime. Changes took place only within confines that ensured that the boat would not be rocked too much. It had to be so, inasmuch as the process of roudnization was firmly entrenched. Adjusting to the changed co.n.ditions of the times (at the coun-cil's direction) was, then, not an easy task. In practical terms, con-gregations, in spite of all their goodwill and efforts to be relevant in the present day, found themselves up against a bureaucratic system incapable of providing room for the charismatic figures who might have renewed them by making the necessary paradigm shifts. By and large this could be attributed to the routinization of the charism that religious congregations underwent after the death of their founders. As a result, the religious-life renewal that the council proposed could not be realistically achieved. If the needs of people in the various areas had been met, there would have been no dearth of vocations in the religious congregation. In Review.for Religious other words, there is no need for advertising a product that is selling and is in demand in the market. Efficiency or Effectiveness ~Max Weber's sociological observations, when applied to a reli-gious institute, do indeed seem to throw some light on the reasons for the'almost universal decline in religious vocations. As long as a bureaucratic way of life governs religious congregations, they will almost always manifest a certain efficiency in whatever work they do. The work, however, ma3i not be effective, for such a system of administration does not always respond in a vigorously prophetic manner to the urgent and crying needs of the people. ' The history of the church shows that ~hange has often come from areas off the beaten track, where some indi-viduals had found a way for themselves. In modern religious cong.regations, organized in the way they are, it is almost impossible to accommodate such trailblazing elements. It can be noted historically that only the dark eras of history witness the emergence of new religious congregations. Critical times almost always bring about a breakdown of existing systems, but it is .in these chaotic and confusing situations that charismatic per-sonalities seem to apEear out of nowhere. The late Mother Teresa's Missionaries of:Charity were such a response to a chaotic situation in one of the most populated and crowded' cities in the-world, Calcutta. Her prophetic voice of compassion and kindness to the poorest of the poor cut through such barriers as caste, religion, and class. Her living witness and work proclaimed to all people the dignity of each and every per-son, which a world had lost sight of in its quest for power and wealth. Her response had a universal and global character. Her message is clear, something that religious congregations could ponder as they rethink their charisms while they and the world step into the 21 st century. The decline in religious vocations is not an entirely negative thing. A search through the crisis will make us see the reasons It is in chaotic and confusing situations that charismatic personalities seem to appear out of nowhere. L5"_S.5"__ Noventber-December 1998 Abeyasingba ¯ The Decline in Religious Vocations why such a situation has come to pass. Instead of looking at pres-ent- day confusion with tunnel vision, one should see it in.a global perspective and as a precursor of growth. Mother Teresa's e~tam-pie could help towards such a rethinking. So also could the obser-vations made by Max Weber. They can facilitate taking stock and analyzing the present situation of religious congregations. From thls starting point religious congregations could proceed to make the drawbacks and weaknesses that are found in current struc-tures irrelevant. They could make themselves ready to face the challenges of tomorrow. Weber's.Ansights, by helping us learn the truth about ourselves, can ready us to proceed to generatiye and creative actions. They can challenge us to do some honest and humble soul searching about our present situation, In St. Paul's words (2 Co 12:10), "When I am weak, then Iam strong." Notes l Max Weber, The Theory of Social and Economic Organizqtion, trans. A.R. Henderson and Talcott Parsons (U.K.: William Hodge~ and Company, 1947), p. 334. :2 Weber, Theory, p. 337. 3 "Routinization" is Max Weber's term for the phenomenon of an original idea (here, that of the charismatic leader) becoming organized a~d conceptualized in the course of time. This is the result~of the interpret-ing, analyzing,, rationalizing, and so forth that take place when congre-gations study the writings of their founders, the accounts, of' their immediate companions and a.ssociates, the recollections of others Eho knew them, and so forth. 4 In their initial insight, almost all charismatic leaders are anti-eco~ nomic; they set t~p almost no economic system for collecting or raising funds. It is the personali.ty of the leaders that attracts others~' td them and also brings in donations and gifts. The aim of charism~itic le'aders is to achieve a special goal (filling a need of the society at that time, usually serving the poor), not to meet their own day-to-day needs. SWeber, Theory, p. 337. 6 The original basis of recruitment was the founders' personal charism. A .charism is something that can only be ;'awakened" and ".tested," not something that can be taught and learned. Novitiates arid houses of for° marion, however, tend to assume a teaching stance. See W~eber, Theory, pp. 337-338. 7 Weber, Theory, p. 342. s When religious congregations spread beyond their original geo-~ graphical area and the routinization process had been set in motion, there was no preventing a bureaucratic organization. Review for Religious o Lewis A. Coser, Masters of Sociological Thought: Ideas in Historical and Social Context (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1971), pp. 230- 231. 10 Reinhard Bendix, Max Weber, An Intellectual Portrait (Garden City, N Y.: Doubleday, 1960), p. 421. ~ Bendix, pp. 421-422. 12 Coser, Masters, pp. 231-232. ,3 Decree on the Appropriate Renewal of the Religious Life (Perfectae caritatis), §2. the departed say we are not dead see ohr faces hear ohr voices when you leadt expect like neighbors visitihg unhnnounced we are'some~lace ~ withih view within earshot like others in your house but we are, at liberty to come and go without weight.or circumscription like winds in harp strings like real answers to your real questions Avis Kunca Kubick Novetttber-Decetttber 1998 JOHN BLAKE MORE Spiritual Maturity ife.in the spirit Reading my first Thomas Merton book back in my early twenties, I came across the phrase "spiritual maturity," an expression that delighted and fascinated me even though I had no clue of what it was designed to express. I won-dered about it for several months and even reflected on its possible meaning, but then it receded into the less acces-sible regions of my consciousness and enjoyed untroubled slumber for some time. But not forever. Over the years, as I have become more life-mature and more di'scernibly chronologically mature, the phrase "spiritual matur!ty" has--through reading, conversation, and simple observa-tion- returned to my sight and consciousness many times, to haunt me but also to stimulate me to explore further its possible meanings and its probable connections to every-day life. What would.a spiritually mature person look like or act like? Am I a spiritually mature person? Is it possi-ble for me to become one? Do I know any spiritually mature persons? All this questioning and thinking over the years has led me to formulate tentatively some answers, some ideas that I think have helped me and that I want to share with others. Some of these ideas are derivative: I got them from other folks. Others are either original or synthetic, fash-ioned from items found in reading and conversation and from observing the behavior and attitudes of people I meet. John Blake More, new to our pages, writes from Tejtn 34 - Sm. 20; Cancfin Quintana Roo; 77500 Mexico. Review for Religious A spiritually mature person is probably creative. At least one religious tradition holds that we are made in the image and like-ness of God, and, if we ask ourselves in what this image and like-ness really consist, we naturally come up with the notion that we are like God because we are creative as he is creative. We are ere- ~tive because God made us that way. He made us free and there-fore creative. As humans we show our creativity in at least three 'important spheres (and here I follow Paul Ricoeur): having, power, and valuing. Having. In the exercise of creativity all people, even the spir-itually mature, need to have some material.goods for their own use. Maybe a little, maybe a lot. But the major religious tradi-tions and the spiritual values they represent do not seem to place much importance on the acquisition of wealth, do they? In fact, they see great riches as a disvalue. So spiritually mature persons are not much concerned with acquiring wealth and possessions beyond what they need to get along decently in life. On the other hand, people who have lots of possessions have greater opportu-nities to be creative. They can create new jobs for others, build libraries ~nd museums, or Simply give some of their excess money to .people who need it to survive. In itself; possessing wealth really seems to be spiritually neutral. If one sees possession as steward-ship, it can be something positive. If, however, people believe they are the outright owners without considering that God has entrusted them with these possessions and that they must appor-tion them responsibly, then they are probably not much con-cerned with growth in the Spirit. ~ 0 Power. Spiritually mature persons are probably aware of their own need for power, but are also conscious that everyone else has the same need. We need, in the first place, power over ourselves: self-determination to decide where to live or work, who our friends and associates will be, what kind of lifestyle we will adopt or develop for ourselves. We also need to be able to exercise power over others, but this must be legitimate power, the kind of power society assigns to us and expects us to exercise intelli-gently for the cbmmon good. We have to make choices for, our children. We have to determine the ~activities of our employees if we have any. But, in these activities and others like them, if we allow strength and power to become force and coercion, we can be pretty sure we are not much interested in becoming spiritually mature. We are dismayed when we read of dictatorial aggression, November-December 1998 More ¯ Spiritual Maturity ruthless kidnappings, tribal wars, but force and coercion can occur in little things of daily life and they can have the appearance of being extremely civilized and in the best of taste. :Valuing. In the sphere of valuing, we show our creativity by making determinations about the relative worth of things and activities. Nowadays it is out of fashion to be what people call "judgmental" "because, if you tell p6ople they are doing some-thing wrong, like putting a round peg into a square hole, the~ may feel threatened or embarrassed, feelings which may be owing to a kind of paranoia rather than to comments one may offer con-structively. Spiritually mature persons seldom if ever "condemn," but th.ey must in certain situations be judgmental.Th'at is why ¯ we':haSte crii:ical faculties: to make decisions about what is worthy and what is not, to be ab!e.to distinguish between the junk and the good stuff. And that is what prophecy is all about: shouting from the housetops when you see injustice and abuse.The spiritually mature person, then, distinguishes between healthy and modest criticism done in a spirit of love, and foolish or malicious remarks made in some other spirit. We must evaluate or criticize our cul-ture, our government, our friendships, and of course ourselves. While smiling permissiveness is no virtue, it is also true that unwavering tolerance and spiritual maturity have .always been on the closest terms. One good sign of spiritual growth is a weakening of our most cherished prejudices. When we hate, fear, or feel threatened by another person simply because he is different from us, then we are failing to appreciate the image and likeness of God in that person. These are three general areas that merit consideration as we ponder the nature of spiritual maturity, but other things, too, should be looked at. Frie.ndship is of great importance in the spir-itual life. All the grea( figures of the .important religious tradi-tions, those who had the ,primal mystical experience that gave .rise to those traditions, had friendships with other people. They loved their friends dearly and openly. We, too, are right to treat, our friends lovingly, with tenderness. We look forward to seeing them and spending time with them. We talk with them about'our desires and aspirations, and we confide to them our fears and failures. We inspire them and corisole them.Sometimes we revive ~them when their spirits droop. ,Some people who are mature in the spirit experience some' difficulty in maintaining, friendships for reasons of transport, distance, or schedule, but such difficulties are ! Review for Relig4ous not insurmountable. People can ha-be a firm and meaningful frien'dghip by correspondence. Sure, by mail. Why not? If you know someone whose values and outlook are compatible with yours, you can have an ongoing correspondence with him or her that will be significant for both your live~, and also enriching. You do not have to write anything world-shaking or mind-bog-gling. Writing takes a little more time and effort than a face-to-face chat, and it does not offer the same consolations and pleasures as real face-to-face togetherness, but it is still something of great worth. Growth in the spirit is closely connected to skill in the ~ine art of listening. When I told a friend that some-one had said I was a good conversationalist, he answered that what she really meant was that I am a good listener. I wonder how right he was.'The plain fact, though, i~ that people do like to be listened to, and the spiritually mature person is a master at listening lovingly, corn-" passionately, but also selectively. By this I do not mean the kind of selective listening that'~ filters all I hear through my own ego supports in order to register only those things that satisfy or interest me. Although an interchange between friends may involve a recounting of events or a descrip-tion of facts, when I listen to a friend I am not trying to acquire factual information. I am trying to get a sense of his or her state of mind and soul. This is not always easy, in view of personality differences and of people's varying ability to articulate their inner dispositions. But~ When we listen, we need to care mostly about the person we are listening to. Spiritually mature persons have a delightful sense of child-like wonder that makes everything new. Sophisticated people who have seen it all and done it all, or just do not want to get involved, area lov less fun to be with than men and women who have a deep spiritual sense of wonder. Wonder leads to openness and surprise, contentment and faithfulness, curiosity and enthusiasm. It also brings an appreciation of the uniqueness of each person along with a sense of brotherhood and equality. " Surprising as it may seem, spiritually mature people are hardly ever highly disciplined people. This is because they are loving persons. They do everything that has to be done, they do it at the appointed time, and they 'do it right--not because they have discipline, but because they have love. They are.motivated to read Friendship is of great importance in the spiritual life. November-December 1998 More ¯ SpiritualMaturity Surprising as it may seem, spiritually mature people are hardly ever highly disciplined people. books and wash floors and get to work on time because they live out Augustine's dictum "Love and do as you please." A sullen-faced p4rson probably has too much discipline and too little love. When the persons I am talking about look out at the world, they-see a lot of ambiguity and they embrace it heartily as a major component of human life. If the Creator is good, why does he allow us to suffer so much? Why should I help the poor if poverty is not eradicable? This kind of ambiguity is embraced and accepted by mature .persons of all spiritual tradi-tions, and in the case of Christian spir-ituality there is the model of the ambiguity of the cross. Why should I forgive these people if they are killing me? Why should I ask my Father for help if he has abandoned me? And, putting the two questions together, why should I ask my Father to forgive these people who are killing me if my Father has already abandoned me? For the spiritually mature these are actually non.questions, even as they represent realities that have to be faced. Not because maturity pro-duces historical or social blindness, but because serious consider-ation of such issues leads to acceptance of reality. Such questions, when formulated as questions, are not answerable. And even here ~here is a further ambiguity: how can I accept the reality of drug abuse, teenage pregnancy, rampant poverty and ignorance, and on and on, and still work to change all these social ills, to provide some alleviation to all the suffering they cause? Does "That's the way the world is" mean "why try to change it!"? Language use, too, has to be considered in connection,with spiritual maturity. As little children we learn to use language as an instrument to further our own designs and to get others to behave in ways that promote our own interests. If we learn this skill well as children and then refine it as adults, we become wonderful manipulators or even politicians, and this is why. spiritually mature people hardly ever go into politics. They lack skill in using lan-guage instrumentally. They say what they mean and they mean what they say. They use language to inform or to persuade, but never to.manipulate. Modern societies view independence as a positive andhighly desirable virtue. Mos't parents say they want their children to Review for Religious become independent. We admire the "independent spirit." Actually, such independence is a fiction and a most undesirable one. In reality, each of us is highly dependent on at least a few other humans, and we should be. Living in human society means being interdependent: I depend on you and you depend on me. This is an important ingredient in the cement that holds human society together and promotes the development of culture. Instead of~insisting on their independence, spiritually mature persons consider themselves autonomous--which suggests the ability to live and act in freedom from outside control, coercion, or manip-ulation. That is different from independence because in my free-dom I acknowledge that I depend--sometimes radically--on others, and they on me. In our day most of us are aware (sometimes painfully aware) that the subject matter of life (the real business of human exis-tence) is change and that, in the best case, change takes the form of transformation of the person into an ever more human creature. Being human is a good thing and does not mean, as the cynic 'believes, unremitting egotism and venality. Before he started feel-ing hi.s oats, Adam was so perfect that he had conversations with God as they walked "in the cool. of the day." Being human should mean changing arid becoming perfect, as our Father is perfect. Since most of us consider such perfection an unrealizable ideal, persons who think about becoming spiritually mature prob-ably have a set of unattainable goals that they take quite seriously and adhere to assiduously. They have probably formulated a set of precepts which relate to these goals and which articulate their creatureliness and humanness during their inner conversations with themselves and with' the Spirit of God. In my own thinking about becoming mature in the Spirit, I have come up tentatively with three precepts that reflect my own human creatureliness, but are also ordered toward my capacity to become a "partaker of the divine naturE." I use them to talk to myself. Let me offer them here. Deepen your understanding of reality. Try to get a good grasp of reality by asking the ~right questions. The right questions always have three distinguishing characteristics: they.are unanswerable, they always lead to other and better questions, and they almost always begin with why. Acquiring knowledge requires study and learning from good teachers and good books, along with the will-ingness to undergo the suffering involved in replacing stale beliefs November-December 1998 More ¯ Spiritual Maturity with new data. It also dem'ands increasing connectedness to the culture in which I live and awareness of how life is lived in other cultures. What I should be looking for are meaning and connec-tion: the ultimate unity of all being and its essential oneness with the Absolute. ' Refine your tastes. Begin by distinguishing the merely attractive or pretty from the truly beautiful. If you were brought up on rock music, Mozart probably leaves you cold. Praxiteles probably has little to say to you if you think Schwarzenegger and Stallone are beautiful, Biat we should perhaps not consider ourselves less wor~ thy humans if we are drawn.to the merely attractive or pretty. ' This happens in the best of families, doesn't it? As young peo-ple, when we are most curious about the world and our place in it, we are bombarded with sounds and images and esthetic val-ues from the popular culture. Butwe eventually grow out of that; we ~"put away the things of a child," as St. Paul says. Evil is, of course, the ultimate ugliness, and our involvement in it dimin-ishes our humanity and tarnishes the image of God in us. ~ Formalize your ethics. Here we make a distinction between for-mal and material moral norms. Material norms deal with specific actions and decisions such as killing, steal!ng, and lying (not rec-ommended); and with praying, respecting authority, and being faithful (highly approved and even urged). There is only one norm for those who follow the way of formal ethics: Always seek the good and avoid what is evil. This norm is assimilated and interi-orized by spiritually mature persons to the ext~nt that it becomes part of their nature. In all their decisions and actions, attitudes and dispositions, they keep both eyes on the truly good: good for themselves, their family, their society, their nation, their 151anet: The more this single norm gets imprinted on their souls, the less they have to run through a mental checklist of material norms (do's and don'ts) to see what is prohibited and what is approved. "Seek what is good and avoid what is evil." 'Finally, spiritually mature persons are surely happy persons who radiate to o~hers their joy at living in this world with other people and at spending periods of time in prayerful silence com-muning with the Absolute. Their joy is increased by the knowl-edge that whatever spiritual maturity they may have attained is in fact a free gift from a loving and gracious God. Review for Religious DENNIS J. BILLY A "Spiritdal Turn" for Catholic Moral Theology MGY first encounter with Bernard H~iring,'ithe renowned erman Redemptorist who wrote such significant w. orks as The Law of Christ (1954)~and Free and Faithful in Christ (1978- 1981) and whom many have hailed as the father of contemporary Catholic moral theology, came during a' congress of Redemptorist moral theblogians held at Aylmer; Quebec~ 26-30June 1989. Or/ the second day of the congress,, after he had given an insightful presentation to the general assembly on the state of moral theol-ogy since Vatican Council II, I found myself sitting next to him at lunch as hemused out loud in his weak, barely audible voice (from his long and difficult battle with throat cancer) on the future of moral,theological reflection within the Catholic tradition. Then, as now, a single thought stood out from all the rest: "We have lost sight of the Holy Spirit. In the future, moral theology must give more emphasis to the role of the Spirit. Otherwise, all is lost." Hiiring was so insistent on ~his point that he stated it out-right .at a later session in a rare personal intervention from the floor, For more than eight years, I hav~ been p~ndering the mean-ing of these quiet, unassuming words perhaps in ways which he himself might not have accepted. Retrieving the Spirit Given the vast varieties of pseudo-mysticism in the history of Christianity and the great facility with which the name of the Dennis J. Billy CSSR, a frequent contributor, writes again from Rome, where his address is Accademia Alfonsiana; C.P. 2458; 00100 Roma, Italy. November-December 1998 Billy * A "Spiritual Turn" for Catholic Moral Theology Spirit can be and has been invoked as a way of avoiding critical moral reflection, it is easy to understand how, quite early on, within orthodox circles a latent (and sometimes overt) suspicion grew of anything that even vaguely resembled a charismatic ren-dering of truth by a small "Spirit-filled" elite. To a large extent the church's magisterial structure (that is, its emphasis on apostolic succession and the role of tradition) took shape as a result of its struggle against the esoteric (and sometimes laxist) tendencies of Gnostic mysticism, on theone hand, and the rigorist tenets of Montanist spiritualism, on the other (to name two of the more prominent examples). Historians point to the church's institu-tionalization of the Spirit in the office of the episcopacy and its subsequent control of the sacramental life of the Christian faith-ful as the predominant means by which, down through the cen-turies, it has safeguarded itself from similar threats. One of the unfortunate by-products of this process of insti-tutionalization was the gradual marginalization of the Spirit from the inner workings of Catholic theological reflection. As the mag-isterium became more and more centralized, it consolidated its hold over what it considered the "authentic" utterings of the Spirit and helped to create an atmosphere in which theologians were constrained to pursue their goals within increasingly limited notions of rationality. The gradual shift in Western hermeneuti-cal thought from allegory to syllogism to induction gives evi-dence to this effect, as does the roughly parallel movement in rational theory from analogy to univocity to equivocation. By most counts, this momentous restructuring of the rational pro-cesses of Western thought was as much a function of rising mag-isterial control of the sacred as of an ever changing philosophical terrain (as witnessed in the successive preeminence of Neoplatonic, Aristotelian, and Nominalist thought patterns). Localizing spiritual authority in ecclesiastical institutions, in other words, had the unforeseen .effect of gradually .disassociating ratio-nal discourse from its roots in the intuitive dimension of human existence, that side of human nature most likely to sustain a close experiential rapport with the Spirit. To speak in broad historical terms, the "despiritualization" of human reason had barely begun in the patristic and monastic traditions of late antiquity and the early Middle Ages (when the centralization of ecclesiastical power was hardly underway in Rome), had made recognizable progress during the early Scholastic period (near the time of the Gregorian Review for Religious Reform and the Investiture crisis), was in full swing with the rise of Nominalism in the early 14th century (not long after Boniface VIII's proclamation of Unam sanctam in 1302), and had reached its highest stage of development during the Age of the Enlightenment (just before Vatican Council I's proclamation of papal infallibility). Putting aside the more difficult task of discerning which histor-ical progression was influenced by which, and recognizing the probability of a circular relationship between the two (as well as the likely involvement of other discernible historical factors), one cannot help wondering if the present-day postmodern disillu-sionment with human reason--itself a reaction against the failed hopes of Reason's .coming of age--will herald an attempt to retrieve reason's lost association with the spiritual. If so, one would also have to wonder if the present tendency in the governing structures of Roman Catholicism toward increased centralization is nothing more than a momentary stay in a larger process of decentralization, the forces of which were at work long before the opening of Vatican II and will probably continue. An Anthropological Turn t Such a retrieval or "reinvestment" of reason's ties with "things spiritual" must proceed from the ins'~ghts of a sound Christian anthropology. In the present circumstances, the Pauline body/soul/spirit arrangement as formulated in 1 Thessalonians 5:23 proves especially helpful: "May the God of peace himself sanctify you wholly; and may your ~spirit and soul and' body be kept sound and blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ." Here Paul provides an anthropology that construes the human person as a union of three distinct (albeit intimately related) ele-ments: body (soma), soul (psyche), and spirit (pneuma). These ele-ments exist together in the human person and cannot be isolated one from another (as if a human body can be separated from the soul and spirit and still be examined intact). So closely are they related, in fact, that one cannot speak of spirit outside the context of soul and body, and vice versa. Since Paul proposes these anthro-pological terms while addressing the community of believers in the church at Thessalonica, care must be taken not to isolate his understanding of human existence from either its inherent social context or the life of faith. Account must also be taken of the fact that, although he insists on their intimate union in the human m Noventber-Decentber 1998 Billy * A "Spiritual Turn" for Catholic Moral Theology person, he actually says precious little about how body, soul, and spirit relate to one another in the concrete circumstances of daily living. Given these significant contextual details (or lack thereof), the following claims appear generally continuous with the main lines of Paul's anthropological vision and offer correctives to pres-ent- day exaggerated emphasis on the rational. (1) In addition to body and soul, a person can also experience his or her spirit. ,(2) A retrieval or "'reinvestment " of reason's ties with "things spiritual" must proceed from the insights of a sound Christian anthropo!ogy. The mutual relationship between body. and soul suggests a similar rapport between soul and spirit. (3) The spirit touches ~he body through the medidtion of the soul.~(4) Generally speak-. ing, the Holy Spirit touches an individual by communicating its grace first to a person's spirit and then through the .spirit to the person.'s soul and body. (5) God and the human person can enjoy a close interpersonal rapport by.virtue of their communing spirits. (6)People relate to one another on the level of body. soul, and spirit. (7) The Spirit unites the Body of Christ, the church, not only theologically (that is, to God), but also anthropologically (that is, among its members). (8) It does so primarily on the .level of human spirit and only secondarily on the other dimensions of human existence. Elicited from the Paulin4 anthropology of 1 Thessaloni~ns 5:23, these anthropological claims provide the parameters by which a discussion abo,ut reason's "spiritual renewal" may pro-deed. Key to this discussion is the need for all theologians (and moral theologians in particular) to recognize the competence (and the limits) of reason's rule. Just as reason extends to the body through its ordering of the passions (and is thereby "enfleshed"), so the spirit extends to the soul (the seat of the rational faculty) by means of its quiet in.tuiting presence. Clearly, both movements have moral significance that must be taken into account for the future of moral theology. The Criteria of Reason's Spiritual Rebirth What,might such limits be? Without exhausting the possi-bilities, the following list provides some guidelines for discerning Review for Religious the genuine ways in which reason and spirit mutually influence one another. 1. An anthropological relationship of circularity exists between spirit and reason; that is, the insights of one complement the scope and competence of the other in such a way that, when taken together, their interaction generates a field of understanding unique to themselves and which neither would be fully capable of penetrating on its own. Spirit .brings intuition and moments of keen insight to the movement of discursive thought; reason artic-ulates through language something of the inexpressible utterings of the human spirit. Authentic theological reflection taps into this relationship of circularity and allows it to open up for each succeeding generation the meaning of the symbols of the Christian faith, ~. 2. The spirit influences the mind through prayer, and vice versa. When a person.'s spirit communes with God's Spirit, there is a natural reverberation (however slight) in the other, anthro-pological dimensions of human existence. This subtle influence, which will become a veritable overflowing (redundantia) in the beatific vision, strengthens the transcendent orientation of an individual's rational operation. A "spiritua!" person tends to Con-centrate on holy things and seeks to view all things with th'e mind of God. The person?s prayer (contemplative prayer in particular) plays a transforming rather than merely ancillary role in reason's spiritual homecoming, 3. The human spirit is not "irrational," but "supranational." It does not ask reason to go against its own internal principles, but seeks continually to broaden reason's, scope by providing intu-itions that challenge previously unquestioned (and possibly falla-cious) arguments. When reason is in tune with wholesome human spirit (and even more so whefiit is in touch with God's Spirit), it is. constantly prompted to reach beyond itself and to stretch the boundaries within which it normally functions. This extended x~ange is a welcome corrective to that narrowing univocity which nowadays often masquerades as the sole legitimate face of ratio-nal inquiry. ~ 4. Theologians who reintegrate spirit and reason demonstrate a guarded yet profound respect for church authority. The gradual marginalization of spirit from the center of theological reflec-tion, which came at least in part as a result of magisterial cen-tralization and control of the sacred, does not mean that a November-December 1998 Billy ¯ A~'Spiritual Turn"for Catholic Moral TheoloKF .--7- 600 "respiritualized" reason will ignore or, worse, openly disdain the valuable hermeneutical role the magisterium has played in the history of the Catholic tradition. On the contrary, a reintegra-tion of spirit and reason should bring about an even closer work-ing relationship between theologians (in. their concern for reasoned clarity and the e.xploration of' the faith) and the magis-terium (in its concern for the preservation and purity of the faith). While neither will always agree with the other, a close working relationship between them will provide helpful correctives against the extremes of overrationalization and pseudo-mysticism that can all too often get in the way of and even obscure sound theo-logical reflection. 5. A closer working rapport between spirit anal reason will require a reintegrated understanding of the various theological disciplines, especially dogmatic, moral, and spiritual theology. The unfortunate breakup of theology in recent centuries into sep-arate and highly specialized disciplines can itself be understood as a symptom of reason's ongoing despir, itualization. A renewed or "respiritualized" understanding of reason will operate success-fully only in a context ~at seeks to preserve the unity of theology in the midst of its highly specialized and sometimes .seemingly disconnected parts. 6. Renewing reason's link with the spirit will also move a per-son's sense of vocation to the center of theological reflection. No longer will theology, be construed as something existing "in the abstract," as if proceeding outside the theologian's own personal and communal faith experience. Any presentation and consequent systematization of the symbols~of the faith will be valid only to the extent that it remains faithful to and. authentically expresses the deepest sense of a,person's call in life before God through the church and in the world. One's reflection on God, in other words. must tak~ place in the context of one's sense of self in the presence of God and the community of believers. 7. The reason/spirit relationship sheds greater ligh~ on the importance of there being a continuity between theologians' pro-fessional work and their moral behavior. Sound theological reflec-tion stems from a stable interplay between spirit and reason. It reflects the contours of individuals' calls from God in this life and reaches its fullest expression when it is enfleshed in the con-crete circumstance~ of their daily existence. This cannot happen, however, if reason is deprived of all access to the nourishing roots Review for Religious of the spirit, where the human person communes with the Spirit of God through a grace that is freely given and freely received. Sound theological reflection challenges the theologian to int~- grate reason and spirit, theological discourse and personal sanc-tity. The church needs theologians who want to be saints, who admit this desire without false humility, and who bring this desire to the forefront of their theological inquiry. 8. Finally, a reintegration of spirit and reason would sustain within theological reflection a healthy tension between "theol-ogy as science" and "theology as art." Reason's desire to ver-ify corfipl~ments the spirit's yearning for m3?stery, and vice versa. Together they provide useful correctives to the ten-dencies of overrationalization and exaggerated rhetoric, which lessen theology's scope by seekings to turn it into something it is not and should not be, Theology is more than science and mole than art, It Future moral,theological discussion will have to develop a greater sensitivity to the ethical content of humanity's symbolic xpressions. is science and.art, a rare "field-encompassing" discipline which touches all areas of human knowl-edge in its attempt to convey the meaning of the Christian faith to each successive generation.1 By preserving this tension, theo-logical reflection retains a ~.ay of expressing the faith ever anew yet always ina~cord with th~ church's theological tradition. New and creative insights emerge from the tradition precisely in this way, .thereby allowing it to expand its theologic.al horizons and to move 'forward. Implications for Moral Theology The above criteria represent just some of the ways in which a deeper understanding of the relationship between spirit and reason would change ~he way in which theology itself is conceived and carried out. As one might expect, they have very concrete implications for the future of moral theology. 1. Moral theology would be challenged to break out of its hylomorphic rendering of the human (that is, moral) act that has "get the parameters for serious discussion within the Catholic tra- Noventber-December 1998 Billy ¯ A "Spiritual Turn" for Catholic Moral TbeoloKF ~dition since the time of Aquinas. A human action is more than just an expre~ssion of body (as the object of the external action) and mind (as the internal movement of deliberated will). Greater sen-sitivity mu~t be given in futur, e moral-theological reflection to the influence which a person's spirit brings to moral action. A good place to begin would be to apply the insights of Aquir~as's teaching on grace (which, intere~stingly, he considers under the New Law at the end of his treatment of the fundamental princi-ples of morality, that is, Summa tbeologiae, I-lI, qq. 109-114, to the Pauline rendering of 'human anthropology as body (soma), soul (psyche), and spirit (pneuma). 2. Eor ~this to occur, a shift must take place in the under-standing of the nature and role of rationality in current moral-the-ologiEal reflection. In its attempt in recent years to model itself after the empirical and social sciences, theology in general (and moral theology in particular) has adopted a univocal understand-ing of rational inquiry that prevents a balanced interplay of rea-son and spirit from entering into the legitimate bounds of serious theological refledtion. The result has been an unfortunate nar-rowing (some would say "impoverishment") of theology's rightful scope. The current deadlock in the deontologist/proportionalist discussion is but one symptom of this reductive theological under-taking. 3. Since the spirit expresses itself more .through images than in the "clear and distinct" ideas of rational discoul:se, future moral~ theological discussion will have to .develop a greater, sensitivity to the ethical content of humanity's symbolic expressions. To modify Aristotle's definition: Man is not just a rational but also:a symbolic animal. In developing this sensitivity, moral theology will draw closer to the arts than ever before (at least within recent memory) and begin to effect a transformation of the genres and literary style in which it expresses itself. It will also spark a renewed interest in the ethical Content of the images and sym-bols found in the Scriptures and the church's liturgy. 4. Future moral-theological discussion will develop close ties with the three levels of Christian spirituality: (1) the experien-tial, (2) the sapiential, and (3) the analytical.2 Ethical kngwledge will be understood as something to be-garnered from the whole of human experience (that is, throughout the body/soul/spirit continuum) with special emphasis given to the social .aspects of human moral-spiritu.a! discourse and to the role of prayer and~ Review for Relig4ous discernment in moral decision making. This heightened awareness Of the spiritual aspects of its theological heritage will give moral theology a deeper awareness of its own most distinctive traits and enable it to make serious contributions in discussions with other ethical traditions. 5. Given its decision to approach moral knowledge through a reintegrated understanding of the rapport between spirit and rea-son, Catholic moral theology would do best to enter into future dialogue with other ethical traditions--be they philosophical or theological--not by seeking a least common methodological denominator (usually fully acceptable to neither side), but by maintaining without compromise its position on the close anthro-pological (and hence ethical) connection between human reason and human spirit. It is precisely on this level that an answer to the question of the existence of an autonomous Christian ethics will be found. An I~tegral U, nity, a Spiritual Turn" No longer can the Christian life be artificially divided into the way of the law and the way of ~erfection. Precept and coun-sel, .commandment and beatitude, virtue and gift are,all bound together in an integral, inseparable unity. If moral theology is to give more emphasis to the role of the Holy Spirit (as H~iring sug-gests), it must first retrieve' its lost ti~ with the inner movements of the human spirit--the place within the person where the divine and human meet. Only by including th~s neglected anthropolog-ical dimension in moral-theo!ogical reflection will the human perspective of those concerned be broad enough to allow foFa proper discerfiment of the divine. The future orientation of Catholic moral theology will depend to a large degree on how its spokesmen, both magisterial and pro-fessorial, construe (or perhaps "reconstrue") the relationship between rationality and spirituality. Reintegrating these key aspects of the tradition would have two important theological and institutional effects. On the one hand, moral decision making would evidence a notable swing toward prayer and spiritual dis-cernment in helping to solve the dilemmas of conscience that arise among the faithful. This marked "spiritual turn" would move Catholic moral theology away from its present fascination with the problem-solving machinations of quandary ethics to a relational November~December 1998 Billy ¯ A "Spiritual'Turn"for Catholic Moral Theology paradigm rooted in the divine-human encounter. Bishops and theologians, on the other hand. would move away from their all too often adversarial positions to a more collaborative, mutually supportive stance. The changed dynamics would show the impor-tance of rooting moral-theological reflection in the fullness of human experience (that is, body, soul, and spirit) while at the same time highlighting the complementary ways in which the magis-terium and church theologians elucidate the tradition. What is the future of moral theology? The answer to this question is as elusive as time itself. For the moment, let it simply be said that, while the moral theology of the~future will invariably include many things, it cannot afford to exclude or marginalize "the life of the Spirit." In the present context the latter phrase refers to rational theological reflection rooted in a profound awareness of the human spirit as it opens itself up to God's Spirit and allows the word of God to take shape and utter itself, however softly, within the cor~fines of the limited words and deeds by which ¯ we construct our human exp, erience. Such a word, however spo-ken, would resonate with authority and not return in vain. Notes t The notion of a "field-encompassing" discipline comes from Van A. Harvey, The Historian and the Believer: The Morality° of Historical Knowledge and Christian Belief(Philadelphia: Westminister Press, 1966), pp. 81-82. A similar application to spirituality appears in Sandra M. Schneiders, "Spirituality in the Academy," Theological Studies 50 (1989): 692. 2 These levels of spirituality are developed under a slightly different nomenclature in Walter H. Principe, "Toward Defining Spirituality," Studies in Religion/Sciences religieuses 12 (1983): 135-136. See also The New Dictionary of Catholic Spirituality, ed. Michael Downey (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 1993), s.v. "Spirituality, Christian,", by Walter H. Principe. Review for Religious REGIS J. ARMSTRONG Consecrated Life: Anointed with Joy A passage once "noted with pleasure" by the New York Times Book Review was one by Albert Camus, whose writings express a strong current ofthe, pessimism in EuroPe in the wake of.World War II. It contains these words: "One of the temptations of the artist is to believe himself solitary. But this is not true. He stands in the midst of all, in the same rank,' neither highe~ nor lower, with all those who are working and struggling. His very vocation is. to give a voice to the sorrows and the joys of all."~ . Artists whose vocation is "to give a voice to the sor-rows and joys of all"--this could well be a description of consecrated persons standing with "all those who are working and struggling." It is a description of people called to identify deeply with the mission of Jesus, who came among us and stood in. the midst of all,,.giving voice to their sorrows and joys. How does one assume the stance of "artist" of some-thing so elusive, inexpressible, paradoxical, and fragile? To become such an artist demands entering into the pathos of life and experiencing compassion deeply, that is, as com-passio, suffering or feeling deeply with another. How does one give voice to joy at all? "Silence is the perfectest her-ald of joy," Shakespeare's Claudio says wisely in Much Ado Regis J. Armstrong OFMCap presented this paper (here some-what revised) at the annual conference of vicars of religious held in San Antonio in March 1998. His address is St. Fidelis Friary; 7790 Country Road 153; Interlake6, New York 14847. consecrated life November-Decentber 1998 Armstrong * Consecrated Life About Nothing.2 Joy, thenl is perhaps best ex~pressed transparently, whether one's focus on so paradoxically universal and personal a subject be psychological, sociological, cultural, philosophical, the- 916gical, spiritual, or liturgical. Perspectives From a biblical perspective'~ joy is an incredibly rich theme. In the Old Testament, profound joy is the chosen people's response to Yahweh's redemptive presence or, in the lager tradition, to Yahweh's ever present hesed or lovi'ng mercy. Various forms of the word joy appear in the Old Testament well over a hundred times, giving an inkling or anticipation of the New Testament, of Mary's proclamation of joy in "God my Savior'; and Paul's dramatic exhortation to the Philippians "Rejoice in the Lord always." Over and over agaifi Luke colors his Gospel and Acts with joy:'"To the poor he proclaimed the good news of salvation . and to those in sorrow, joy." If Yahweh is the supreme joy and the greatest delight for the pegple of the Old Testament, the self-giving of God in Christ provides those of the New Testament an essential quality of life, joy. The Holy One of Israel is now incarnate in the person of Jesus: the unfathomable, ineffable joy at the heart of God is now tangible. The Dictionnaire de Spiritualit~ Asc~tique et Mystique offers a variety of perspectives from which to reflect on joy. In its entry on joie, the reader can find, in addition to biblical considerations, summaries of the different theologies.3 There are considerations ' of people such as the early theological giants Origen .and Augustine, the. medieval mystics Bernard of Clairvaux and Francis of Assisi, and the much later doctors of the church Francis' de Sales and Thdr~se Of the Child' Jesus. Each of these writers, the author maintains, offers a different interpretation of the same reality. For Origen, knowledge of the gospel was a source of joy, a joy epitomized in the reaction of the aged Simeon when hd had the Infant in his arms.4 Augustine found joy in the Lord's ever-for-giving mercy, but saw its fullness in the eternal bliss of heaven;5 while Bernard repeatedly disEovered it in God's love.6 Francis of Assisi sang its praises in' hiE descrip.tioia of True Joy,7 and Francis de Sales urged his audienc~ to find joy by putting aside the plea-sures of this world and focusing on those of heaven,s Thdr~se wallowed in the joy of faith when her Beloved seemed most Review for Religious absent,9 From that vantage point alone, Franqois Bussini, author of the Dictionnaire's study, offers a variety of rich ways of study-ing joy, that is, through, the different traditions of,spirituality that provide insights into the meaning and gift of joy. ~' Gaudete in Domino Bussini might easily have added one significant name to his list of "theologians of joy": Paul VI, the author of the first papal doc-ument on the mystery of Christian joy, Gaudete in Domino, 9 May 1975., From his days as cardinal archbishop of Milan to the address of hi~ very last audience on 2 August 1967; four days before his death, joy was a leitmotif of his, a theme to which he continually returried. He offered an insight into the reason for this when he rhetorically asked the people of Milan:: "Have you ever met a saint? And, if you have, tell me: What is the characteristic you found in that soul?" His response to those questions suggests how closely he associated joy with~ the pursuit of happiness: "It will be joy [that you have found], a happiness so tranquil, so pro-found, so simple, but so true. And it is this transparency of joy that makes us declare: That is truly a good soul, because he has joy in his heart.''1° It is not surprising that as pope he took the opportunity to write a major statement on the Christian pursuit of joy. In addition to being an exhortation to pr~y for tile gift of joy, Gaudete in Domino expre~ssed in the mid- 1970s the pope's firm belief that peoples throughout the world desperately desired this "fragile and threatened" gift. ¯ Paul VI introduced his apostolic exhortatiori with a simple description of the need for joy in the contemporary ~orld (GD §1) and con'cluded with three others describing the cry of humanity, especially of the young, for the gift of joy. "We should be atten-tive to the appeal tliat rises from the hearts of humanity," Paul exhorts, "from the age of wondering childhood to serene old age, as a presentiment of the divine mystery" (GD §1). From this atten-tiveness or focusing on the joys of our hearts, Paul discovers an While never losing sight of the fact that joy is a ~timension of human life, Paul Vl found that the mystery of the Incarnate Word transformed its meaning. November-December 1998 Armstrong ¯ Consecrated Life energy and enthusiasm to share the reason for our joy with oth-ers. "In no way," he says, "can [joy] encourage the person ~vho enjoys it to have an attitudd of p.reoccupoation with self. [It] is the result of a human-divine communion, one that aspires to a com-munion ever more universal." In retrospect, Gaudete in Domino provided an insight into the call of Evangelii nuntiandi issued seven months later, which many. consider the Magna Carta of Paul VI'S papacy. There he dramatically exhorted all Christians, and espe-cially religious: "The privileged means of effective, evangeliza-tion" is to proclaim with joy "the joyful news of the fulfillment of the promises of the covenant offered by God" (EN §§69 and 6)~ At the core of the seven brief chapters of Gaudete in Domino, written in his elegant poetic style, Paul sketched the biblical foun. dations of both the Old and New Testaments and the enduring heritage bf Christian joy found in the lives of the saints. The pope may well have had Bussini's article before him,.-especially as he reflected on those saints who expressed joy in their lives and writ-ings. But it is striking how, in addition to Francis of Assisi and Th&~se of L!sieux, Paul draws special attention to the joy of the Conventual Franciscan Maximilian K01be, whom he had canon-ized a few years earlier: "His interior peace, serenity, and joy somehow transformed the place of suffering [Auschwitz]--which was usually like an image of hell--into the antechamber of eter-nal life, both for his unfortunate companions and for himself" (GD §4). While never losing sight of the fact that joy is a dimension of human life, Paul vI found that the,mystery of the,Incarnate Word transformed its meaning: Jesus himself knew, appreciated, and celebrated a whole range of human joys. More wonderfully, how-ever, Jesus revealed the s'ecret.of the unfathomable joy of.the "secret life of the Trinity," that is, the joy of living in God's l~ve (GD §3). "The ~ather is seen here," Paul teaches, "as the one who gives himself to the. Son, without reserve and without ceas-ing, in a burst of joyful generosity, and the Son is seen as he who gives himself in the same way to the Father, in a burst of joyful gratitude, in the Holy Spirit" (GD §3). The joy revealed by Jesus of Nazareth, then, "is the reverberation in human consciousness of the love that he has always known as God in the bosom of the Father" (GD §3). As the Incarnate Son of God, Jesus revealed a new, infinite dimension of joy, one that makes the human soul restless and ever eager to partake of its fullness. "In essence," Review for Religious t Paul e~iplains, "Christian joy is the spiritual sharing in the unfath-omable joy, both divine and human, which is in the heart of Jesus Christ glorified" (GD §2). But, more ~than reflecting on the rev-elatory dimension of Jesus' joy, the pope accentuates its paschal dimension as he underscores that by his death and resurrection Jesus poured the Spirit into the hearts of believers. "The Spirit, who proceeds from the Father and the Son and is their mutual love, is henceforth communicated to the people of the New Covenant and to each soul ready for his secret action. Together with him the human heart is inhabited by the Father and the Son" (GD §3). This, then, is experience of a joy that is truly spiritual, the fruit of the Spirit's presence and a characteristic of fill Christian virtue (see GD §3). Shortly before his death Paul VI shared with John Magee, his secretary, "the secret of my spirituality": .I have to recognize God the Father's action in his Son in my regard. Once I acknowledge that God can work in me through his Son, he gives me grace, the grace of baptism. After the grace of being reborn to God's life, my life becomes a tension of love with God drawing me to him-self. Always, in all of us, there is this tension betwe.en my mise-ria and God's misericordia. The whole spiritual life of every one of us lies between these two poles. If I open myself to the action of God and the Holy Spirit and4et them do with me what they will, then my tension becomes ioyous and feel within myself a great desire to come to him and receive his mercy; more than ever I recognize the need to be for-given, to receive the gift of rnercy,l~ This passage offers a m~arvelous insight~in,to'Paul's preoccupa-tion with the gift of Christian joy. That "tension of love" that stretched or expanded his entire life and made him continually aware of his sinfulness and the overwhelming love of God became joyous and made him ever more desirous to possess the joy of God's presence. Evangelica testificatio, Paul VI's apostolic exhortation on the renewal of the religious life, was significant in this regard. It expresses his conviction that the joy radiating from religious com-munities would be proof of the validity Of religious life. Joy, he maintained, would be "proof to everyone that the state of life which [religious] have chosen is h~lping [them] to realize the greatest possible expansion of [their] life in Christ." Moreover, November-Decentber 1998 Armstrong ¯ Consecrated Life it would be a magnet attracting the young to understand the appeal of Jesus, and be "the most effective invitation to embrace ttie religious life" (ET §55). Vita Consecrata Twen~ty-one years later John Paul II published his postsyn-odal apostolic exhortation Vita consecrata. Curiously, Vita conse-crata contains only scattered references to joy, fourteen in all. There are certainly echoes of Paul VI's Evangelica testificatio in phrases such as "the joyful witness [of consecrated life] to [God's] loving concern for every human being" (VC §16). Unlike Paul vI, however, John Paul II seems more concerned with the dwelling on the foundations of consecrated life. He only touches on the joy that the consecrated life brings through monasticism (VC §§6, 2.7), virginity (VC §7), and common life (VC §51), rather than off the dynamics of a spirituality of joy. Does .this mean that Vita con-secrata does not assist us in understanding consecrated life as being anointed with joy? No, but Michael Novak's observatior~ into the thought of John Paul II is apropos. The pope, Novak claims, is an artist at home in the world of the intellectual as well as in.that of the poet. To understand these dimensions of his thought, it is important to remember that he is a phenomenologist. "Simply put," Novak maintains, phenomenology is a sustained effort to bring back into phi-losophy everyday things, concrete wholes, the basic expe-riences of life as they come to us. It wishes to recapture ~those quotidian realities from the empiricists, on the one hand, who analyze them into sense data, impressions, chem-ical compositions, neural reactions, etc., and from the ide-alists, on the other hand, who break them 6p into ideal types, categories,and forms.12 -.To understand his thought, then, demands being attentive to both his language and the underpinnings of his thought. In addressing religious communities and consecrated persons "in the introduction to Vita consecrata, the pope writes of the "dif-ficult and trying period" .and of the "time of tension and struggle" in which they live. By referring to,Acts 15:31, he expresses his hope that consecrated women and men will receive the document as 'the Christians of Antioch did; by being joyful at the hope and encouragemen't which it gives. Immediate!y, however, he turns Review for Religious his attention to the entire people of'God and expresses his hope that the document will increase their joy as they become more aware of the consecrated life and, as a result, "thank almighty God for this great gift [of consecrated life]" (VC §13). Does this mention of consecrated life as a "great gift" provide a hint at the underpinnings of John Paul's understanding of what it means to be "anointed with joy"? Even a superficial reading of ¼"ta consecrata reveals John Paul's view of the consecrated life and the evangelical counsels as gifts. This perspective undoubtedly flows from his per-ception of Vatican II's emphasis on the profound reality of ecclesial communion, "in which all gifts ¯ converge for the building up of the Body of Christ and for the church's mission in the world" (VC §4). Seventy-three times he writes in Vita conse-crata of the gifts of consecrated life, of the evan-gelical counsels, of the radical gift of self for love, of the gifts of consecrated communities that com-plement one another, and so on. From John Paul's perspective, then, an awareness of the great gift of consecrated life, an awareness of being gifted; is a source of joy as well as a reason for thanksgiving". Thus Vita consecrata clearly offers an under-standing of conse, crated life that clearly supports seeing it as "anointed with j6y," for consecrated women and men have been gifted, have been sin-gled out as recipients of a special love tha~ brings joy. Fourteen times these gifts are specifically attributed to the Holy Spirit, a reminder that adds an extra note of joy~ Joy'flows from a conscious-ness of being loved--and thereby gifted. The joy of consecrated life flows from a consciousness of being '.'plunged into the fir~ of love which burns in them and which is none other than the Holy Spirit" (VC §26). It implies being gifted with an energy that pushes them beyond any joy this world offers. Like all joy, it leads to two things: a fuller.dove or union and a more profound eagerness or restlessness tha't this love be expressed and known. The joy of consecrated life demands, in the pope's words, that consecrated life "become one of the tangible seals which the Trinity impresses upon history, so that people can sense with longing the attrac-tion of divine beauty" (VC §20). From J~ohn Paul's perspective, then, an awareness of the great gift of consecrated life,. an awareness of being gifted, is a source of joy as well as a .reason for thanksgiving. Novetnber-Decen*ber 1998 Armstron~ ¯ Consecrated Life Were we to attempt a summary of John Paul's understanding of the consecrated life, we might choose this one sentence of Vita consecrata: "This special way of 'following Christ' expresses in a particularly vivid way the Trinitarian nature,of the Christian life and anticipates in a certain way that eschatological fulfillment toward which the whole church is tending" (VC § 14). Expressing those two dimensions of consecrated life--the Trinitarian and the eschatological--seems to form for John Paul lI the challenges of consecrated life and the foundations for joy. To live that conse-crated life as anointed with joy implies doing the same: reflecting in a joyful way the inner life of God in which we are caught up and, at the same time, expressing our restless pursuit 'of the full-ness of joy that will be achieved only in heaven. Our contempo- "rary struggles in rethinking the role of consecrated life in the mystery of-the church suggest two fundamental questions. First, have we plumbed the depth of the gift of the Holy Spirit that ¯ consecrated life is? And, second, have we developed a passion for the ~onsecrated life that makes it "a daring adventure of love" driving us to "that eschatological fulfillment toward which the whole church is .tending.''13 Answering those two difficult ques-tions has not been an easy enterprise. The answers seem to be as elusive as the full meaning of "anointed with joy." The Trinitarian Nature of Consecrated Life The contemporary sensitivity to inclusive language has under-scored a fundamental problem of contemporary Christian spiri-. ,tuality, namely, the failure to pay adequate attention to its Trinitarian underpinnings.14 If this is the case, focusing on the joy inherent in consecrated life through the prism of the gift of the Holy Spirit, which demands reflecting on the Trinity, might bor-dernot on being risky, but on being reckless. Language becomes a mjnefield not only because of images, for example, masculine and feminine, but also because of the elusive, transparent, incon-spicuous nature of the Spirit itself. Wind, power, light--these are some of the poetic images used to express its presence. Never pointing to itself, the Spirit cries,out "Abba!" and "Jesus is Lord!" While it is our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ, the Spirit pos-sesses us and catches up our unique spirits as its own. Following the teaching of Augustine, medieval theologians remark that within the mystery of.the triune God there is an Review for Religqous energy or quality expressed in two words: esse ad, "to be to" or "to be for" the other.~5 The phrase is undoubtedly another way of expressing that God is love, but it implies that that love means being present to or for another. Richard 6f St. Victor and the relation-oriented theology of the 12th century paved the way for Bonaventure, who identifies the Holy Spirit as the nexus or the bond joining the Father and the Son, the power of mutually being to or for the other. The Spirit is the love with which the Father loves the Son and the Son loves the Father. Therefore, the Spirit brings to both Father and Son the fruit of its presence, joy. It makes them esse adl present, to and for one another. Bonaventure goes a step further. The Spirit, he maintains, is the love with which the Father and Son love us: It is that power of love or, as Paul vI describes it, that "tension of love" which draws us into the infinite love of the triune God. It is that which enables us to respond to that divine love with the same love. Being overwhelmed by and responding to love--that is the meaning of a graced or gifted life; It makes us restless for the perfectioh of love. It is that which lifts us above ourselves, challenges us to let go of everything and be filled with love. Of necessity it calls all J Christians to a mystical embrace'of God', one that flows from the knowledge that the gift of the Spirit sweeps those who are gifted into the very heart of God. As Thomas Merton writes in Life and Holiness, "To be a Christian is to be committed to a largely mys-tical life,., to live within the dimensions of a completely mys-tical revelation and communication of the divine being." 16 What this means, of course, is dependent on the mystery of the ~ncarnate Word, for he is the revelation of the triune God. What it means to be loved by God is dependent on our knowledge of h~ow Christ reveals he is loved. As John Paul II tells us, "In the countenance of Jesus, the 'image of the invisible God' (Col 1:15) and the reflection of the Father's glory (see Heb 1:3), we glimpse the depth of an eternal and infinite love which is at the root of OUl~ being" (VC ~ 18). What it means to respondto that"love depends on our awareness of the kenosis, the self-emptying of Jesus. It makes our struggle as Christians--and, more to the point, as con-seerated women and men--to be essentially this: being Christ-centered. Understandably, then, Vita consecrata speaks of those called to consecrated life as persons called to "let themselves be seized by this love [to the point of] abandoning everything" (VC §18). He speaks of them devoting themselves "with undivided 1-6-1"November-December 1998 Armstrong ¯ Consecrated Life heart" (VC §1), making a "choice of total ~elf-giving to God in Christ" (VC §2), and expressing themselves "in a radical gift of self for love of~the Lord Jesus Christ" (VC §§.3,.12). This becomes a never ending recognition of philokalia, or the love of the divine beauty revealed in Jesus, and a progressive following of the Spirit's lead,to conformity with Christ (see VC §19). E~chat~logical Dimensidn of the Consecr~ated Life This ~focus onthe revelation of God's love in.the person of Jesus, however, leads John Paul to the secon~d dimension of con7 secrated life: its eschatological charhcter. "It is the duty of,the consecrated life," he maintains, "to show that the incarnate Son of God is the eschatological goal toward which all things tend, the splendor before which every other light pales, :and the infinite beauty which ~alone can fully satisfy the human heart" (VC §16). Here. too the gift of the Spirit is of quintessential importance. It enables "new men and women;to recognize the appeal of such a demanding choice, . . . awakens .the desire to respond, fully, . . . and guides the growth of this desire" (VC §19). "By allowing them-selves to be guided by the Spirit on an endless journey of purifi-cation," the pope maint~ains, "they become, day by day, conformed to Christ, the prolongation in history of a special presence of the risen Lord" (VC §19). In Vita consecrata John Paul II speaks of the Holy Spirit ninety-five times. The Spirit of Vita consecrata is power unlimited (VC §25), ,works without ceasing (VC 921), continually animates (VC §25) and gives strength (VC §30), and shapes and molds the hearts of those who are called (VC §19). The work of the Spirit as it guides us on its purifying journey is clearly one of calling, us beyond ourselv~es and beyond our limited experience of God's love~ Although ¼"ta consecrata clearly expresses this traditional, oth-erworldly spirituality, the pope also sees that the ardent expecta-tions of those consecrated persons demand an expression in the world in which~they live. Since "here we have no lasting city" (Heb 13:14), their longing "expresses itself in work and mission through a spirit capable of giving rise in human society to effec-tive aspirations for justice, peace, sglidarity, and forgiveness" (VC~ §27). These are the ones who "bring.hope to their brothers and sisters who are often discouraged and pessimistic about the future, . . . ~ hope founde~ on God's promise con~tained in the revealed Review for Religious word: the history of humanity is moving toward 'a new heaven and a new earth'" (VC §27). The hope they have discovered in the mystery of God's love, in other words, makes them eager to encourage others. And so their eschatological spirituality calls for active and renewed involvement in programs of systemic social change that are sensitive to the signs of the times, to the prefer-ential option for the poor, and to the promotion of,justice (see VC, §§81, 82). "Eschatological expectation becomes mission," John Paul teaches, "so that the kingdom may become ever more fully established here and now" (VC §27). Above all, however, this eschatolog- ~ ical thrust is oriented toward the future, a theme the pope introduces fourteen times in his exhortation. "By their charisms," he states, "consecrated per- ,~ sons become signs of the Spirit point-ing to a new future enlightened by.faith and.by Christian hope" (.VC §27), Thus the gift of the Spirit:is always prompting (VC §§1, 19, 22, 25), guiding (VC §§19, 63), awakening desire (VC §19), and teaching the hearts of those who are ca!l.ed, ~for it is the "educator par excel-lence of those who are consecrated" (VC §60). The Spirit's role in shaping the~future of consecrated life is perhaps best captured in the phrase "the creative guidance," in a section that speaks of the future (V.C §63). The phrase is similar to another, "creative fidelity," found earlier in the. document where the pope invites consecrated women and men to propose anew and with courage the enterprising initiative, creativity, and holi-ness of their founders and foundresses in response to the signs of the times,emerging in today's world" (VC §37). The Spirit's creative energy, then, flows throughout ¼"taxonsecrata, as the pope sees it, fashioning new expressions of consecrated life (VC §§ 10, 12), pointing to a new future (VC §27), and rejuvenating the Bride of Christ by the consecrated life (VC §64). "You haveonot only a glorious history to remember and recount," he declares, "but also a great history still to be accomplished" (VC §110). There is a built-in dynamic here. Rahner called it "The Dynamic Element in the Church" and suggested that it could very easily be a point of tension between the hierarchy and consecrated religious. Recent The Spirit's role in shaping the future of consecrated life is perhaps best captured in the phrase "the creative guidance.'" November-Decentber 1998 Armstrong * Consecrated Life history has shown us that it can easily be a point of tension among consecrated religious themselves, especially between the more traditional and the more creative brothers and sisters or between those without grounding .in the tradition, frequently older mem-bers, and those willing to "try anything" new without the tradi-tion's guidance. "Proposing anew the initiatives, creativity, and holiness of founders or foundresses" or developing "a dynamic fidelity to their mission" is easie'r said than done. Nevertheless, it is this very energy of the Spirit that John Paul II understands as revitalizing consecrated life and enabling new men and women to recognize its appeal. In this context, too, itis striking that John Paul writes of "the perennial youth of the church" and sees it integrally tied to "the new spiritual and apostolic impulses" of "new or renewed forms of the consecrated life" (VC §12). VChere is joy in all this? Perhaps it is found best in John Paul's image of "the perennial you. th of the church." No one could ques-tion the pope's concern for the young; his repeated meetings with and addresses to young people throughout the world are proof of that concern. The prerogative of the young, he frequently reit-erates, is to be concerned about the future, to dream about its unfolding, and to be excited about its shape. Is it not precisely in their dreaming and excitement that they find joy, a joy that is contagious and that enlivens even the more depressed? An echo of"ad Deum qui laetificat iuventutem meam" may be heard here, "to God who gives joy to my youth." As G.K. Chesterton observed, "The ~arpe diem religion is not the religign of happy people, but of very unhappy people. Great joy does not gather the rosebuds while it may; its eyes are fixed on the immortal rose which Dante saw. Great joy has in it the sense of immortality; the very splendor of youth is the sense that it has all space to stretch its legs in." 17 The pope's eschatological vision wisely notes the perennial youth that flows from the energy of the Spirit and keeps it ever young. With that alone comes joy! Tucked away among the more mystica! passages of T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets is one that is appropriate here: "The hint half guessed, the gift half understood, is Incarnation." 18 Eliot reminds his readers that the incarnation, is the only prism through which "to apprehend the point of intersection of the timeless with time ¯. something given and taken." A marvelous description of Con-secrated life! The Johannine tradition undoubtedly offers' the strongest Review for Religious :hints about the mystery of joy. The term chara, joy, occurs nine times in the Gospel of John and once each in the three Letters. Of all the references to joy in the Gospel, all but one are in the Last ~Supper discourse (15:17; 16:20-24; 17:13), where it is a future possibility opened up for Jesus' followers by his victorious death and th

Issue 59.2 of the Review for Religious, 2000. ; Celibate .Chastity: A Symposium Religious Life Questions Witnessing Hispanic Catholic Report MARCH APRIL 2000 VOLUME 59 NUMBER 2 Review for Religious helps people respond and be faithful to God's universal call to holiness by making available to them the spiritual legacies tbat flow from the charlsms of Catbollc consecrated life. Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published bimonthly at Saint Louis Univers!ty 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: foppema@slu.edu 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 P.O. Box 29260; "Washington, D.C. 20017. 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. ©2000 Review for Religious Permission is herewith gianted 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, arid 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 ]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 Barbara J. Soete SSND James and Joan Felling Kathryn Richards FSP joel Rippinger OSB Bishop Carlos A. Sevilla SJ David Werthmann CSSR Patricia Wittberg SC MARCH APRIL 2000 VOLUME 59 NUMBER 2 con en s 118 131 139 c Oib te chastity: symposium Bowling Alone, Living Alone: Current Social Contexts for Living the Vows Mary Johnson SNDdeN couples the social context of community living with new possibilities for the meaning of the vows, particularly celibate chastity, so as to provide a radical gospel-based witness to countercultural values. Celibate Life Offers Insights Keith Clark OFMCap gives evidence that a celibate life well lived communicates to our culture a powerful message about the nature and meaning of sexuality, the unique nature of Christian marriage, and the motivation for the church's ministry. Discerning Our Celibate Way in Our Culture David L. Fleming SJ spells out some of the implications of discernment--making decisions with a lover's instinct--for living celibate chastity, which is defined as a way of loving. 148 156 What Is Religious Life's Purpose? Justin Taylor SM and Albert Dilanni SM question whether the basic purpose of religious life had been obscured long before Vatican II and still calls for clarity now. Must Hermits Work? Kenneth C. Russell provides insight into the place and value of work in the traditions of eremitical life in the Western church and draws some conclusions for today. Review for Religious 175 Mission: Not Do We Have One But Do I Live One? Rol~ert J. Murray OS~, emphasizes the need to live the valu'es reflected in mission statements for the health of the congregation. 180 188 The Easter Faith of Catherine of Siena Roland Calvert OSFS explains the paradox of Easter faith found not in Catherine's writings but in the activities of her life. Foucauld's Evolving Response tO God's Call Cathy Wright LSJ pictures the unfolding of the vocation of Charles de Foucauld and points to what it says to us about understanding our own vocations. 193 repor U.S. Hispanic Catholics: Trends and Works 1999 Kenneth G. Davis OFMConv, Eduardo C. Fernfindez SJ, and Ver6nica M~ndez RCD present a panoramic of the year's events within the U.S. Hispanic Catholic community. 116 Prisms 209 Canonical Counsel: Location of the Novitiate 214 Book Reviews March-April 2000 116 ~e sometimes put more into preparing for a special event than we put into the actual celebration. We have been preparing during these past years to celebrate the new millennium--our efforts inspired by Pope John Paul II's Tertio Millennio Adveniente. Now that we have entered into the year 2000 we may find ourselves forgetful of the reason for our preparations. The bishops' conferences in many countries have identified various ways that priests, lay people, and religious may enter together into special celebrations that grace our liturgical year. Personally we are faced with the more day-to- day question: What are we doing to celebrate this jubilee year? First we need to recall for ourselves the obvious. What is this jubilee about? The heart of the jubilee year is our cherishing and rejoicing in the fact that the Word was made flesh, God became man, Jesus, Son of God and Son of Mary, was born two thousand years ago. And our world has never been the same. Each of us is called anew to our following of Jesus. How well do we know him? Despite the frequency with which we are exposed to the acronym WWJD, do we feel confident in acting out our response to the question "What would Jesus do?" The very title we proudly bear--Christian--suggests that others can expect to see in us a face of Christ, his action, his love, and his forgiveness. Perhaps, first of all, we need a renewed effort in this jubilee year to foster our friendship with Christ. As we search out the ways helpful to us for growing in our knowledge and love of Jesus (for example, spiritual reading, Bible study, prayer, Eucharist, volunteer service projects), we may find that Jesus' reference to the jubilee text in Isaiah 61 as he proclaims his own mission in Luke 4:18-19 can become our entrance into a way of celebration: Review for Religious The spirit of the Lord is upon me; therefore he has anointed me. He has sent me to bring glad tidings to the poor, to proclaim liberty to captives, recovery of sight to the blind, and release to prisoners, to announce a year of favor from the Lord. The context for such a mission for Jesus and so for us is "to be anointed," "to be sent." The biblical concept of jubilee involves, above all, a call from God. As we make attempts to find ways that we can celebrate, more than rushing to take on pious devotions or vol-unteer ministries, we need to listen to the call of God in our life. A litde more reflection time--listening time--is a pervading essential of a jubilee year. Jubilee and sabbath are intimately connected since jubilee is God's expansion of the sabbath rest. But rest in relation to God is not defined as inactivity; rather, sabbath centers us on taking time for our relationship with God, for enhancing that relationship. In a jubilee time we respond to God's initiative in our way of cele-brating rather than assume the initiative ourselves. Our behavior, then, would be like Jesus'--who describes himself as sent. For Jesus, the initiative is always God's. Our celebrating jubilee begins with our taking the time to be a listener, our being available to God's initiative, our making the effort to enhance our relationship with God. Just as jubilee is related to sabbath, so jubilee is also related to Sunday, the day of Jesus' resurrection. Jubilee celebrates a new begin-ning: drawing on new reserves of resources (for those who feel empty and poor), seeking new visions (for those who are blind or in the dark), enjoying new freedom (for those who suffer from feeling lim-ited and bound). The jubilee ideal for the Israelite people was spelled out in such concrete actions as returning land to original settlers, setting free the slave or servant, and letting the land lie fallow. Every action looked to a newness of life, a renewed beginning. Jesus assumed this dimension of the jubilee ideal as his mission and gave it divine meaning in his resurrection. We, the followers of Jesus and the recipients of his Spirit, continue to follow his example as we cel-ebrate jubilee: we listen to God, we follow God's lead, we imitate Jesus, we act like Christians. Maybe a jubilee year !s a time for us to confound G.K. Chesterton's witty and yet poignant judgment: "Christianity has not been tried and found wanting; it has not been tried." Our celebration means that we determine to act like Christians, day in day out, all year long. Th~ world around us cer-tainly would be different. We would know a jubilee. David L. Fleming SJ 117 . March-April 2000 MARY JOHNSON Bowling Alone, Living Alone: Current Social Contexts for Living the Vows celibate chastity a symposium The meaning of the vows, sociologically speaking, is drawn from the human context in which they are lived. Sociologically speaking, their significance lies, not in interior inspiration and dedication, but in how they appear different from other ways of life and ways of liv-ing. Religious vows are liv~d in many social contexts. This discussion focuses on two of them, the societal and the communal. For the first, I shall turn to Robert D. Putnam's influential article "Bowling Alone: America's Declining Social Capital" (1995). For the second, I shall refer to the provocative talk given by Sister Doris Gottemoeller RSM at the Wernersville symposium in 1998 and later published in Review for Religious (March-April 1999) and to relevant data from my recent study of women's institutes in the United States. Mary Johnson SNDdeN, an associate professor of sociology at Emmanuel College in Boston, participated in the symposium titled "Celibate Chastity: God's Invitation to Love in a Sexually Confused Culture" held 22-24 October 1999 at the Jesuit Center for Spiritual Growth in Wernersville, Pennsylvania. This and the next two articles come from that symposium. In this written version Mary Johnson has refocused her original presentation, developing and broadening the topic in the light of the subse-quent papers and discussions. Her address is Sociology Department; Emmanuel College; 400 The Fenway; Boston, Massachusetts 02115. Review for Religious Bowling Alone Harvard Professo~ Robert Putnam, in "Bowling Alone," draws a riveting picture of the result of the loosening of communal bonds across U.S. society in the last thirty years. A commentary on his research in the Chronicle of Higher Education (Heller, 1996) notes that "scores of iournalists have picked up on the implica-tions." Policy makers and government officials, too, have listened to him. Putnam has twice been invited to the White House for brainstorming sessions on the breakdown of American communi-ties. Currently he is writing a book on the subject, doing cross-national research, and participating in workshops that seek solutions to widespread civic disengagement. Putnam notes that "American social scientists of a neo- Tocquevillean bent have unearthed a wide range of empirical evi-dence that the quality of public life and the performance of social institutions (and not only in America) are indeed powerfully influ-enced by norms and networks of civic engagement." He says that these norms and networks are elements of the "social connected-ness" that constitutes the social scientific concept of "social cap-ital." He defines the concept thus: "Social capital refers to features of social organization such as networks, norms, and social trust that facilitate coordination and cooperation for mutual benefit." He continues: "For some reason, life is easier in a commu-nity blessed with a substantial stock of social capital. In the first place, networks of civic engagement foster sturdy norms of gen-eralized reciprocity and encourage the emergence of social trust. Such networks facilitate coordination and communication, amplify reputations, and thus allow dilemmas of collective action to be resolved. When economic and political negotiation is embedded in dense networks of social interaction, incentives for opportunism are reduced. At the same time, networks of civic engagement embody past success at collaboration, which can serve as a cul-tural template for future collaboration. Finally, dense networks of interaction probably broaden the participants' sense of self, devel-oping the T into the 'we.'" Putnam then provides a sweeping overview of the "declined" in social capital in the United States since the 1960s. He begins with politics. Putnam points out that, from the early 1960s to 1990, voter turnout has declined by a quarter in national elec-tions. Since 1973, attendance at town meetings has declined by a third. He states that decline is evident in studies of the numbers March-April 2000 Johnson ¯ Bowling Alone, Living Alone "attending a political rally or speech, serving on a committee of some local organization, and working for a political party." He comments on the loosening of bonds in nuclear and extended families and in neighborhoods. He continues by citing evidence of decline in religious involvement, labor union mem-bership, parent-teacher association involvement, and volunteer-ing in civic, fraternal, and women's organizations like the Red Cross, the Boy Scouts, the Shriners, the Jaycees, and the League of Women Voters. He states that, "after expanding steadily throughout most of [the 20th] century, many major civic organi-zations have experienced a sudden, substantial, and nearly simul-taneous decline in membership over the last decade or two." Putnam concludes this section of his article by referring to the metaphor in his title, which has become a symbol of the dis-integration of communal bonds in the society. He says: "The most whimsical yet discomfiting bit of evidence of social disengage-ment in contemporary America that I have discovered is this: More Americans are bowling today than ever before, but bowling in organized leagues has plummeted in the last decade or so. Between 1980 and 1993 the total number of bowlers in America increased by ten percent, while league bowling decreased by forty percent. The broader social, significance, however, lies in the social inter-action and even occasionally civic conversations over beer and pizza that solo bowlers forg6. Bowling teams illustrate yet another vanishing form of social capital." Putnam gives evidence of some countertrends: the rapid and dramatic rise in membership in certain groups like the Sierra Club, the National Organization for Women, and the American Association of Retired Persons. However, while the political clout of these organizations is considerable, the nature of involvement is vastly different from the organizations discussed previously. Putnam says: "For the vast majority of their members (Sierra, NOW, AARP, and so forth), the only act of membership consists of writing a check for dues or perhaps occasionally reading a newslet-ter. Their ties, in short, are to common symbols, common leaders, and perhaps common ideals, but not to one another. From the point of view of social connectedness, the Environmental Defense Fund and a bowling league are just not in the same category." Putnam identifies two other countertrends: the growth in non-profit organizations, and in support groups. But he argues that these do not fill the role that civic organizations do. He cites soci- Review for Religious ologist Robert Wuthnow's national, study of support groups: "Small groups may not be fostering community as effectively as many of their proponents would like. Some small groups merely provide occasions for individuals to focus on themselves in the presence,of others. The social contract binding members together asserts only the weakest of obligations. Come if you have time. Talk if you feel like it. Respect everyone's opinion. Never criticize. Leave qui-etly if you become dissatisfied. We can imagine that [these small groups] really substitute for families, neigh-borhoods, and broader community attach-ments that may demand lifelong commitments, when, in fact, they do not." Putnam has reflected on causes of and solutions to the breakdown of American communal life. He calls for reinventing community life, but, as an interview arti-cle in the Chronicle of Higher Education says, "the Internet will not do the trick. Nor will nostalgia for a vanishing America. 'Some people have interpreted what I have said as a nostalgic call to return to the 50s. That is not what I say.'" He continues: "It is not just social capital, period. It is social capital that cuts across the existing cleavages in American society. That is, it is not enough that we all start bowling again. There have to be bowling leagues in which people of different races are connecting with one another." He concludes his interview by asserting: "This is the single most important problem facing America. If we can solve this one, if we can get more people engaged in community life in contexts that respect American pluralism, many of our other problems--to begin with, our politics--will be different." Bowling teams illustrate yet another vanishing form of social capital. Beginning the Conversation Putnam's portrait of a society bowling alone has struck a deep chord in the national psyche of Americans. It has caused many to reflect on the fact that our democracy is dependent on a vibrant civic life held together by strong communal bonds. I would argue that Sister Doris Gottemoeller's article "Community Living: Beginning the Conversation" has had a similar effect. Her article has struck a deep chord in the religious psyche of Catholic sis-ters, causing many to ponder what community means to the way March-April 2000 12I Johnson ¯ Bowling Alone, Living Alone of life and mission of apostolic religious in this country. The com-munal bonds that Putnam studies appear weak in a variety of local institutions--family, neighborhood, civic organization, and the like. Both articles point us to a consideration of the quality of communal bonds in local communities of religious. The intent of Sister Doris's article is to "break the silence" about living in community. She believes that "community living may be the 'Achilles' heel' of contemporary apostolic religious life." She says, "Often the mere mention of the topic brings about an awkward silence, embarrassed dismissals, or defensive equivo-cations." She cites a number of reasons for the present silence about the discussion of community life and then raises six questions to begin the conversation: What are we talking about when we talk about community living? What is its theological basis? What can we say about a spirituality for community? What is the role of leadership in creating and sustaining community? What are some special challenges to living community life today? What can we do to renew our community life? I want to focus on the first question here since I believe that it is foundational to .further discussion. Without clear terminology, discussion can lose its way. Sister Doris offers this definition: "Community living is what happens when two or more people relate to one another in a significant, mutually beneficial, and ongoing way." She elaborates on what she means by each of these elements and then concludes that "we are tal~ng about good-faith efforts to live a principal value of religious life. With few excep-tions, it will include a common residence." Building the Structures I begin with Sister Doris's first question bechuse, while much of our rhetbric about ourselves refers to our life in community, I am not convinced that we have a commonly accepted definition. And our inability to arrive at such a definition has implications for ourselves and those who want to join us as sisters. A case in point: A front-page article in the Sunday New York Times (16 January 2000) discusses the efforts of the Sisters of Mercy of New York, New Jersey, and Brooklyn in using modern media tools (a Web site and an advertising campaign) to recruit a new generation of sisters. The article is illustrated with a graphic (recently sent to college campuses in poster form) that includes a catchy picture Revlew for Religious and caption. At the bottom are the words "Sisters of Mercy-- women religious who respond to God's call each day through ser-vice, prayer, and community life." This descriptive is similar to dozens of others used by con-gregations throughout the United States in recruitment efforts. My question now is: What do we mean when we promise new sis-ters community life, and what do they expect to receive when they come? Numbers of women interested in entering, and numbers of newer and not-so-new sisters as well, express a desire to live and pray and share household tasks and support for ministry with sis-ters under the same roof. That is their definition of "community." These women are neither statistically nor substantively insignifi-cant to the present and future of religious life. But it is clear that nowadays the definition of community is often being adapted to mean province life, congregational life, parish life, a circle of inti-mate friends, family members, prayer partners, support and prayer groups within congregations, coworkers, and national and inter-national groups. These broader (or narrower) definitions of com-munity are shared by other numbers of religious. This is a serious issue that has to be addressed. It is one more example of Putnam's finding that communal bonds that have united people to one another on the local level are disintegrating, even while new kinds of linkages are being established. This is not to say that people do not still espouse ideals. But, as Putnam found, they often do so in the abstract or at a distance, through periodic meet-ings, newsletters, or the Internet. But, we have to ask, is this level of engagement adequate to sustain a way of life and mission and to socialize the newer sisters, the majority of whom desire com-munal bonds within communities? This is also not to imply that the relationships with other groups are not important to and essen-tial for life and mission. But, as Putnam said about social con-nectedness, "the Environmental Defense Fund and a bowling league are just not in the same category." Similarly, a group of friends that meets quarterly, a prayer group that meets monthly, and a support group that meets weekly are just not in the same category as a community that lives under the same roof and inter-acts daily. Another question, whether the daily interaction of the community is life-giving, or death-dealing, is an important one, but a different one. Often the two questions are conflated, thus bringing conversation about community to a dead halt. ~larch-April 2000 Johnson * Bowling Alone, Living Alone The work of sharply defining and rebuilding community is essential to the mission and future of apostolic religious life in the United States and other nations where religious life struggles to free itself from the hegemonic hold of middle-class values. This effort is as radical as previous clear and unequivocal claims that the preferential option for the poor means the materially poor. Because many people were willing to work to prevent the word poor from being stretched to meaninglessness and the resultant loss of its prophetic power, we now have a new generation of young Catholics in the United States who claim, in a survey our research team recently conducted, that concern for the poor and the belief that God is present in a special way in the poor are essential dimensions of the Catholic faith (Dinges et al., p. 13). That work, of almost three decades ago, toward a clear and unequivocal def-inition of "the poor" has galvanized energy and commitment to the poor today, especially on the part of the young. In sociology there are dozens of uses for the term community. M1 members of the church, whether single or married, clergy or religious, find themselves embedded in all kinds of groups-fami-lies and parishes and prayer, work, neighborhood, ethnic, national, and international or global groups--which they sometimes describe as their "community." Those social networks will only increase and multiply in the years ahead as technology becomes even more sophisticated. The time seems to be right, especially in the midst of conversations about new forms of religious life, for a case to be made by those who believe that local community life with strong communal bonds is fundamental, not incidental, to apostolic religious life and its mission. This need becomes more acute in light of data given below, data I collected recently in my national study (funded by Lilly Endowment) of women's institutes in the United States. (The .publication of the data from the entire study is forthcoming.) Gathering data from apostolic, monastic, and evangelical orders, the survey was responded to by 70 percent of the women's institutes, institutes that represent 84 percent of the sisters in the United State~. The survey indicates that there are 18,052 com-munities (local houses). The vast majority are apostolic commu-nities. The unit of analysis here is the community, the local house. The table reads as follows: 49 percent of the religious houses in the United States have one sister residing in them, 20 percent of the houses have two sisters, and 9 percent have three sisters; 2 percent Review for Religious of the houses have more than 20 sisters residing in them. Community Size Percentage of houses Number of sisters 49 One 20 Two 9 Three 7 Four 4 Five 6 6-10 2 11-15 1 16-20 2 Over 20 Do these data surprise you? What explains them? How does your congregation compare? What has been lost and gained in this new configuration of houses? Surveying the sisters who entered religious life from 1966 to 1998--the post-Vatican II entrants, not a statistically or substan-tively insignificant generation--I asked the following questions. If you had your preference right now, with whom would you prefer to live? No one 8.8 percent An ecumenical group 0.7 percent An interfaith group 0.4 percent Married couple(s) 0.1 percent Single lay person(s) 0.9 percent Men and women religious 3.8 percent Sisters of my own institute 64.1 percent Children 0.2 percent Teens/young adults 0.1 percent Family members 0.3 percent Intercongregationally - 5.3 percent Combination of my sisters and one of the above 15.2 percent If you bad your preference right now, with how many sisters would you prefer to live? With none 11 percent With one other sister 14 percent With two other sisters 12 percent In a group of 4-7 sisters 45 percent In a group of 8-10 sisters 6 percent In a group of 11-15 sisters 2 percent In a group of 16-20 sisters 4 percent In a group of more than 20 sisters : 6 percent March-April 2000 ~obnson ¯ Bowling Alone, Living Alone Which of these data surprise you? What might explain these data? What further discussions do we need to have in light of these data? How do these issues of community relate to mission? What place does community hold in the life of apostolic congregations? Living in Community In light of Putnam's data, it seems that the creation of com-munal bonds is truly countercultural; that is, it goes against the prevailing value of social disconnectedness and weak, superficial, or nonexistent bonds among people and groups on the local level in the wider society. Countercultural living is one of the hallmarks of religious life. Can these issues be addressed in this light? One challenge to the conversation has to do with the social and communal contexts in which we live. The vows are not only lived within a wider society, marked by looser communal bonds and a religious life characterized by primarily monadic, dyadic, and triadic configurations. The vows are also lived against a hege-monic middle-class culture in which individualism, privatism, and materialism are cornerstones. Another challenge is the personal. Some sisters have had to move into various communal arrangements over the years because of ministry. But sometimes ministry concerns can serve to eclipse .any conversation about community. Some sisters have not been community builders or sustainers in the past. Can these issues be revisited again at this new moment? The challenge is compounded by the fact that many sisters holding key positions in the min-istries of leadership, formation work, vocation work, academia, pastoral work and counseling, national conference work, parish and diocesan work, congregational service, and so forth live alone. Can we be certain to include them in this conversation, even if we have sometimes avoided this issue altogether because they are our friends? Sometimes, when people do live with others, there seems to be a sense that, because of their work, the fewer persons living in the house, the better. Greater numbers of people are seen as deen-ergizing people for mission rather than energizing them. One hears gasps, even groans, when someone says that she lives with several sisters. Memories of the past rise up and seem to choke any attempt to talk about living with more than two other people, an arr.angement that might better accommodate needs of miriistry Review for Religious and hospitality, congregational responsibilities, household tasks, and the maintaining of "breathing room." Can we get to this level in the conversation? The inability to discuss some of these issues is all the more .troubling given the fact that the Catholic Church in the United States continues to grow. It now stands at 62 million people, the largest religious body in the nation, with 20 million of its members in their 20s and 30s. It is paradoxical that, as the church grows, the size of religious houses shrinks. At the same time, vocation and formation personnel continue to plead for more space for possible aspirants and newer sisters. Celibacy in Culture It is against the backdrop of these social and communal con-siderations that I present a brief overview of recent studies in human sexuality. The intended and unintended consequences of uncoupling the vows from community living (a phenomenon now several decades old) need, I' am convinced, to be analyzed regard-ing the mutual relationship each of the three vows has with com-munity. That is, how does celibacy shape community and community shape celibacy? How does poverty shape community and community shape poverty? And so forth. For the purposes of this symposium, we shall focus on celibacy. The studies in human sexuality point to new possibilities for the meaning of this vow: that, together with community, it can provide a radical gospel-based witness to countercultural values. Groups who live this vow well, sharing together the depth of a nongenitally expressed intimacy, give witness to one of the deep-est yearnings of this culture. The celibacy of a group gives proof to the whole society that its yearnings for intimacy can be ful-filled, that it is possible to love deeply and celibately and to do so together, without harsh lonliness. Celibate groups witness to the fact that the journey does not have to be made in isolation, that even this seemingly lonely vow is to be shared. Communities with strong communal bonds and deep celibate love witness also to a love that can cross the seemingly uncrossable social lines of gen-eration, race, and social class, to name just three. It is especially to the young that we must go with this news since they are the objects of so much manipulation about whom to love and how to love. Some of them say that because of this they are afraid to love. We, March-April 2000 127 - Johnson ¯ Bowling Alone, Living Alone whose public identities are so clearly tied to a unique way of liv-ing love, have a corporate responsibility to speak about what we have learned about love to a society paradoxically satiated by sex-ual excess and starved for intimacy. While no studies of human sexuality are perfect because of people's tendencies to overreport or underreport sexual practice, we can glean, from data collected in the following studies, some insights as to how to share the gift that has been given us. The first attempt at a systematic look at issues of human sex-uality was conducted by Alfred Kinsey. Considered a pioneer, Kinsey began his research in the 1930s, and his assertions stood for almost four decades. His work, however, was not without problems. He did not use a sample; he relied upon volunteers to serve as respondents, and so their responses were not representative of the population as a whole. In later years Masters and Johnson, too, used volunteers, involving their work in the same difficulty of being nongeneralizable. Nongeneralizable work can, however, provide important insights on other levels. Sociologist Lillian Rubin, in the United States in the late 1980s, interviewed a thou-sand people between the ages of thirteen and forty-eight about their sexual practices. One significant finding was that sexual activ-ity begins early among today's teens and that teen sexual practices are similar to those of adults. The National Health and Social Life Survey (NHSLS) of the 1990s was the first national scientific study of sexual practices. Rather than enlisting volunteers, it used probability sampling to find its respondents. A thumbnail sketch of some of the findings follows. First, there has been and increase in the level of pre-marital sex, especially among women. Over 95 percent of U.S. men and women getting married ~oday have been sexually active before marriage. One in five women have reported being forced to perform sexual acts against their will. The perpetrator was often known by the women; sometimes it was someone they loved, including their own husbands. On the other hand, only 3 percent of men reported that they had forced women to perform sexual acts. The researchers, struck by the gender gap, hypothesized' that the gap was due not only to underreporting by the men but also to their failure to recognize their behavior as coercive. The survey also found that 2.8 percent of men and 1.4 percent of women identified themselves as gay, lesbian, or bisexual. This Review for Religious stands in contradiction to the Kinsey report of 1948, wherein 10 percent of the population was estimated to be homosexual. Groups challenged the NHSLS findings, arguing that the percentages are too small. The research team responded by saying that, although larger percentages of gays, lesbians, and bisexuals are found in urban areas and in other enclaves in the United States, the survey findings reflect national, not local or regional, reality. The researchers analyzed their data according to religion and level of education. The Catholic data here indicate that the median number of sex partners since age eighteen was three. Thirteen percent of the Catholics had no sex part-ners in the previous year, 72 percent had one sex partner, 13 percent had 2 to 4 sex partners, and 3 percent had 5 or more sex partners. Which of the above findings surprise you? Which do not? How can discus-sions about sexuality improve our rela-tionship with and commitment to all of the people of God? Beyond these questions, it seems to me that further discussion on living the vows in community might be helped by the following questions: ¯ In light of the studies on human sexu-ality, how do we talk about celibacy and how do we support celibacy? ¯ What kind of norms and structures are in place in those communities which exhibit strong communal bonds? ¯ In those communities, how are the following values manifest: personal and communal prayer? celebration and mealtimes? ecological sensi-tivity? hospitality? concern for social justice and the poor? a sim-ple lifestyle? loving support? trust and joy? concern for the ministry and apostolic call of each sister~ fidelity to the call of the wider congregation and to the people of God? ¯ What are the forces, besides ministry or mission, that have pushed some people to live alone or live with their best friend? ¯ How can we resolve issues about community of the past so that we can move toward envision.ing community for the present and future? ¯ How can we unite our efforts to build strong commu-nities and to learn how to live together with the efforts of other groups, especially couples and families, who are also trying to How can discussions about sexuality improve our relationship with and commitment to all of the people of God? 129 March-April 2000 Johnson ¯ Bowling Alone, Living Alone r learn how to live together, to resolve conflicts peacefully, and to enjoy life together? ¯ How can we unite our efforts to balance ministry and community with the efforts of so many in the soci-ety who yearn for a healthier balance of work and family life? These conversations may not be easy becatise they will require crossing a major, though subtle, divide between those who see liv-ing in community as essential and those who see it as incidental. By not engaging in these conversations, however, we uninten-tionally contribute to negative effects on recruitment, retention, and mission. In the midst of wide-ranging and sometimes obfus-cating discussions on new forms of religious life, the voices of those who are committed to the radical gospel-values contained in the vowed apostolic life as it is lived in community have been eerily silent. Perhaps the time has come for many more sisters to break the taboo. References Dinges, William, Dean R. Hoge, Mary Johnson, and Juan L. Gonzalez Jr. "A Faith Loosely Held: The Institutional Allegiance of Young Catholics." Commonweal, 17 July 1998, 13-18. Gotternoeller, Doris, RSM. "Community Living: Beginning the Conversation." Review for Religious 58, no. 2 (March-April 1999): 137-149. Heller, Scott. "Harvard Professor Examines America's Fading Sense of Community." Chronicle of Higher Education, 1 March 1996, A10. Putnam, Robert D. "Bowling Alone: America's Declining Social Capital." Journal of Democracy 6, no. 1 (January 1995): 65-78. Many foreign missionaries depend upon people like you who donate subscriptions for them to Review for Religious. To start a subscription for a deserving missionary, please send $24 to: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Blvd. ¯ St. Louis, MO 63108 To pay by credit card, phone: 314-977-7363. Review for Religious KEITH CLARK Celibate Life Offers Insights poerhaps the most countercultural statement that will come ut of this conference is its title. This may be the only gath-ering that states boldly that we live in a "sexually confused cul-ture." My experience of the past twenty years suggests that an ever increasing number of people with backgrounds in an ever widen-ing array of disciplines have attempted to pronounce the last word in just about all areas of human sexuality. We sit here and suggest that our culture is sexually confused. Audacious! I have no "last word" to offer on the topic. The most recent word I have spoken to myself is this: I want to write to the Holy Father and ask him to change the discipline of mandatory celibacy as a prerequisite for presbyteral ordination in the Roman Church. My reason is this: The witness of a celibate life well lived is thor-oughly obscured in our society, in our church, by the assumption on the part of most that those who are committed to a celibate life have made the commitment reluctantly in order to achieve the status of ordination. Since ordination does not have that much status in the eyes of most people, there is little impetus to con-sider seriously either a celibate lifestyle or ordination. The thou-sands of women and men religious who are committed to a celibate life are somehow lumped with those who are assumed to be reluc-tant celibates for the sake of some other pursuit. Keith Clark OFMCap presented this paper at a symposium titled "Celibate Chastity: God's Invitation to Love in a Sexually Confused Culture," held in October 1999 at the Jesuit Center for Spiritual Growth in Wernersville, Pennsylvania. His address is St. Lawrence Friary; 301 Church Street; Mount Calvary, Wisconsin 53057. March-April 2000 Clark ¯ Celibate Life Offers Insights I would make my request of the Holy Father not because I think celibacy has no relevance to our culture, but rather so that the celibate life well lived will better communicate to our culture what our culture so desperately needs to understand. A celibate life well lived can communicate to our culture a powerful message about the nature and meaning of human sexu-ality, the unique nature of Christian marriage, and the motivation for the church's ministry. In order to live a celibate life well, a priest or religious must engage in prayer and ministry in a way that fosters that life. These are the points I intend to develop. The Nature and Meaning of Human Sexuality To understand the nature of human sexuality, we have to go beyond exclusive concentration on the study of genetic markers, synapses in the brain, and the other fascinations of scientific explo-ration in order to understand how human beings are moved to come together in a sexual encounter and commitment. My experience suggests that I am sexual on three levels. First, I know myself to be sexual on the biological level. I have a biolog-ical sexual apparatus which works. It is entirely instinctual. And ir works no matter how I understand or misunderstand it. My bio-logical sexual apparatus is clearly designed to bring me together with a female member of my species for the purpose of making other human beings. (See the Nova series program The Miracle of Life.) The impetus I receive from my biological level to come together with another human being is pleasure. Genital sexual activity is pleasurable. I identify this impetus as my biological sex-ual urge. It can be, and is, the subject of scientific inquiry. I know myself to be sexual on the biopsychological level. In most instances, this is experienced as being sexual in an emotional way. It is that amazing level of the human being which allows one's body to affect one's psyche, and one's psyche to affect one's body. The blush in the cheeks in response to embarrassment in one's psyche is possible because of our biopsychological makeup: In terms of my sexuality, the biopsychological level is that in me which allows some things to have sexual significance for me and which, therefore, stir my biological sexual apparatus. This is the seat of romantic interest. This level of sexuality is both instinc-tual and learned. I am born with the capacity to recognize some things as having sexual significance, and I learn some things that Review for Religious have sexual significance for me. I learn these things, not because somebody sits me down and talks to me, but because of the "minute displays of emotion" (Erik Erikson) which I pick up from my sur-roundings. What has sexual significance varies from one culture to another. (See the movie Walkabout.) The impetus I receive from my biopsychological level to come together with other human beings is emotional fascination. Romantic sexual activity is exciting. I iden-tify this impetus as my biopsychological sexual drive. It can be, and is, the subject of scientific inquiry, especially today, since this level includes one's sexual orientation. Most discussions of human sexuality stop after genital sexual urges and romantic sexual drives have been spoken about. These are the levels we humans share with the higher forms of animal life. Whatever else is said about human sexuality is frequently thought to be the in the realm of religionists and ethicists, taking the form of advice and instruction on how to ride the beast which has been described in considering the biological and biopsychological levels. But, even in the higher forms of animal life, there is another level: the level of sexual need. In the animal world, the sexual need is that the species continue. This sexual need instinctually regulates or moderates the activity of the urges and drives. The biological urges and the biopsychological drives of male dogs are activated only when the need of the species can be met, when there is in the vicinity a female dog in heat. It is filling this sexual need that gives meaning to all the sexual activity. At the level of sexual need, we human beings differ from the higher forms of animal life in two ways. First, we are spiritual beings, and our personal needs are not entirely subjugated to the needs of the species. We have also a personal sexual need, that is, our need for intimacy with other human beings. Second, in human beings the sexual need for the species and the personal sexual need for intimacy do not instinctually moderate our sexual urges and drives. Because we are persons (spiritual), we have an intellect and will. We must moderate our sexual urges and drives by insight and freedom, or they will not be moderated. Because the activity of our biological urges and our biopsy-chological drives is not instinctually moderated, human beings can engage in genital and romantic pursuits without any reference to the personal need for intimacy or the need of the species to con-tinue. Thus, people have invented contraception and abortion, which divorce sexual activity from the need of the species, and March-April 2000 Clark ¯ Celibate Life Offers Insights have invented free love and sexual promiscuity as well, which divorce sexual activity from the personal need for intimacy. The gratification of people's sexual urges and drives is accepted as ade-quate meaning for sexuality. "If it feels good, do it." Urges and drives impel people to behave in ways that will fill their sense of need. If the gratification of their sexual urges and drives alone brought sexual fulfillment, ours would be the most sexually fulfilled culture in the world. In fact, human sexual activ-ity can find its meaning only in the filling of the human sexual need for intimacy. Intimacy is the "simultaneous fusing and coun-terpointing of personalities" (Erikson). It is spirit touching spirit. It is allowed to arise in human life through the dynamics of self-awareness, self-disclosure, and listening in prayer. Among the ways those dynamics can be expressed are genital and romantic pur-suits. But, among married, single, and celibate people, intimacy can arise without genital and romantic pursuits. A celibate life well lived reveals this meaning of human sexu-ality. Celibacy is not merely abstinence from genital and romantic pursuits; that by itself will not lead to personal sexual fulfillment in intimacy. A celibate life well lived is the pursuit of intimacy, sex-ual fulfillment, in ways which do not include romantic and geni-tal pursuits. It is a way of loving people, not because I am urged or driven to do so because they have sexual significance to me, but because they are deserving of love whether they appeal to me or not. The celibate man or woman stands as a support to spouses in their pursuit of intimacy, whether at the moment the spouses are romantically driven or genitally urged or not. The celibate woman or man stands as a support to all people in their pursuit of con-nectedness with other human beings for reasons quite distinct from their attractiveness to us. The Unique Nature of Christian Marriage Although a celibate commitment is most often spoken of as a distinct contrast to married life, the two states of life are intimately related within the believing Christian community. The marriage of Christians is different from the way other people marry. Christian marriage is a sacrament because it is a vis-ible sign of what cannot be seen. Christian marriage is not merely a response to the genital and romantic feelings the spouses have for each other. The commitment of spouses to each other is a com- Review for Religious mitment to be there for each other for life, no matter what. It is a sign of how fully Christ has taken us all to himself. A celibate commitment is not a sacrament: it points to some-thing that can be seen, but might not be recognized for what it is. The celibate commitment points to what is unique in the com-mitment of Christian married couples. The committed celibate within the believing community asks all people to recognize the unique basis for Christian marriage. The Motivation of the Church's Ministry in the World A committed celibate life is a lifestyle, not a ministry. That lifestyle, however, points to that which is the basis of all church ministry. The church's ministry is caring for one another within the community and taking care of our world. It is based on the min-istry of Jesus, who said, "I have come, not to be served, but to serve." Church ministry to its members and to the rest of the world is not based on the driven components of human love, nor is it merely philanthropy called for by the needs people have. It is based on Jesus' commandment to love one another as he loved us. Again, the committed celibate life points to something that can be seen (the ministry), but might not be recognized for what it is. There is, accordingly, an argument from "fittingness" to be made for a celibate commitment in the ordained ministers who preside at our Eucharists and who order the church's ministry. A church might well want to select those who will lead and order our ministry from the ranks of those who say by their lifestyle, and not just their words and actions, that ministry is about loving people for reasons other than their attractiveness to us. Prayer and Ministry, the Sources of Strength for Celibate Living The great fear ] hear from young people is that a committed celibate life would be a lonely life, while marriage is a life filled with intimacy. I think that, in general, human lives are neither lonely nor intimate. Life has lonely moments and intimate moments. Married people stand ready to enter fully and vulnera-bly life's intimate moments, and to find God there concretely. Celibate people stand ready to enter fully and vulnerably life's lonely moments, and to find God there concretely. March-April 2000 . !36- ! Clark * Celibate Life Offers Insights Let me share with you my entering a lonely moment and find-ing God concretely. I was sitting in my office in Milwaukee, prepar-ing a continuing-education report for the provincial council. I began to daydream: I was before that council, not to give a report, but to receive a new assignment. I was being congratulated on my performance in the job I was leaving, and then the provincial asked me what job I would like to do next. I said, "I really don't care. But please, gentlemen, give me a job I can do well that will have some significance in your eyes." The daydream faded, and I sat at my desk pondering what I had heard myself say to the provinci.al council. I was not pleased with what I recognized. What I had said seemed rather mean and cheap. I wondered if the approval of others might be what moti-vated much of my behavior, or all of it! I could feel myself blush at this bit of self-awareness. I was surprised at myself, and I was having a difficult time accepting myself as I now knew myself to be. I felt very fragile. But I stayed with this line of thought and emo-tion, and seemed to reach an even greater depth, where I inwardly smiled sheepishly while disclosing to God who and how I was. At that depth I realized that God was not surprised at my motiva-tion. God had known it all along. It was news only to me! And I realized that God was not having a difficult time accepting me. God had for years accepted me as I was. There was a knock at my office door. I said, "Come in." It was Jeannie, supposedly my secretary, but really the one who runs the office. She was incredibly efficient and competent. I looked at her and, for the first time, wondered whether she sometimes felt as fragile as I did. If she did, I was much more open to accept-ing her that way. I was able to connect with her more intimately than I could have before. It was as if, with the mask of my own self-sufficiency stripped away, I could see beyond the efficiency (and self-sufficiency?) of another and get a glimpse of the perhaps fragile human being who lived there. It is not only this kind of self-awareness, self-disclosure, and listening in prayer that can bring a person to a moment of intimacy with God; so can ministry. Committed celibate persons can have as many moments of intimacy in their life as any married or single people can. There remains, however, a crack in the sidewalk that celibate people might trip on. I learned about this while visiting a couple to give them a chance to talk about a Capuchin they knew and loved who Review for Religious had suddenlY left the community with the intention to marry a young woman from town. As we were preparing to have a drink at their kitchen table, Don said, "I think you and my wife ought to go sit on the porch swing and talk for a while." So we did. Mary and I had talked for a short while about Ralph's departure when she said suddenly, "You don't belong to anybody, Keith Clark, and you never should! Ralph used to belong to all of us, but now he belongs to Jennifer." I thought often about Mary's observation, and I realized that the human desire to belong uniquely to another human being is a desire which will not be fulfilled in my life. About me no one will ever say "my husband" or "my father." And even if they say "my priest" or "my Capuchin," it does not ring true. I will never belong uniquely to any human being. And this is a void where I might fall. I need to fill ~hat void by developing my sense of belong-ing uniquely to God. I find I do this most readily in ministry. I learned a lesson from the full-sized red Hawthorne bicycle that my father gave me right after World War II ended. The bicycle was too large for me. My legs were too short for my feet to reach the pedals. My father put wooden blocks on both sides of the pedals, which allowed me to reach them. Even at the young age of six or seven, I knew that to have a new bicycle was very exceptional. The "war effort" had taken most of the steel available in the nation, and production of peacetime products like bicycles was just getting underway. I knew, too, that I was uniquely the object of my father's love. He did not buy other people a bicycle; other fathers in the neigh-borhood were not buying bicycles for their children. This gift from my father was unique. It took a few lessons from my father to get me up and pedal-ing. He would run alongside me, holding on to the back of the bicycle seat until I had gotten up enough speed to keep the bicy-cle from falling over. Eventually I mastered it. The bicycle stood up well to my use and occasional abuse of it. It lasted well into my newspaper-carrier days, when we added a large basket over the front wheel. I have thought of that red bike often. It taught me a lesson about gifts and how they are to be used and enjoyed. If I had let A committed celibate life is a lifestyle, not a ministry. 137 March-April 2000 Clark ¯ Celibate Life Offers Imigbts I used to think that God gave me gifts so I could do things for other people. that bicycle stand on the front porch to be admired but not used, I do not think I would have made my father very happy. If I had waited until I had a paper route before I used it, I think my father would have been disappointed. Even telling him over and over how much I loved the bicycle and how grateful I was would, I am sure, not have been enough to please him. He gave me the bicy-cle to use and to enjoy. It was a long time before I understood that the gifts I receive from God are much like the bicycle I received from my father. I used to think that God gave me gifts so I could do things for other people. I missed the fact that my gifts are unique and that they are a sign of God's unique love for me. For a long time I was afraid to enjoy using them. Now I allow myself to enjoy using my gifts. I can listen to people and can understand a lot of what they tell me. Sometimes I can even say the needed word, the right word, in response to them. It is a gift from God. Sometimes a seminary student coming to me for spiritual direction feels much better after we have talked. When he leaves my office, I realize that I was able to hear and understand him because of the skills and talents God has given me through my life's experiences. I know that no one else could have done for that student exactly what I did. Some people could have done more than I did; oth-ers could have done something different but equally helpful. But no one could have done just what I did. I sit back and enjoy what I have just done. Then I tell God, "Thank you," knowing I am loved uniquely. Culture and Counterculture These things could be more easily understood and more inte-grally and effectively practiced if we lived in a world of real mean-ing. Until such time as our culture moves into that real world, we continue to live our lives of celibate commitment as a "value radi-ation center" (Van Kaam) so that the values of the real world do not become completely obscured by the understandings and practices of the less-than-real world in which we and others unavoidably continue to live. Review for Religious DAVID L. FLEMING Discerning Our Celibate Way in Our Culture In this third presentation of the 1999 Wernersville symposium, want to gather together the themes of the two previous pre-sentations and then point out the work ahead of us. The topic I have been given has three clear parts, from the words contempo-rary culture, celibates, and discern. Our two previous presentations have clarified our understanding of the first two terms, culture and celibates. Let me highlight several points. Mary Johnson SNDdeN has given us a snapshot picture of our culture and its attitude toward chastity. She began by pointing out difficulties in making an assessment. We, along with other peo-ple, may be overly impressed by flurries of sound-bite judgments proffered by the media or by generalizations stated by pulpit ora-tors. "All college-age students do . " "In our country everyone. ¯." Trying to go beyond impressions towards what we call factual information, we find some security in statistics and in popular polls. But, even with a carefully constructed statistical study, there remains the difficulty of overreporting or underreporting, espe-cially if the issue is a delicate one, such as sexuality and sexual behavior. For example, when reporting sexual mores, it seems that men tend to exaggerate their sexual knowledge or activity because of a macho stance, and that women tend to be reticent about sex-ual activity because of fear, shame, or a sense of propriety. Johnson stressed that there have been three significant statis-tical studies Of sexuality and sexual behavior in the United States: David L. Fleming SJ is editor of this journal. March-dlrri12000 . Fleming ¯ Discerning Our Celibate Way the Kinsey studies in the 1950s, a much smaller but somewhat more sophisticated study at the beginning of the 1990s, and the apparently best-balanced report from the mid 1990s. From these reports we learn something about behavior patterns in our times. When certain reported behaviors surprise or shock our own sense of morality and that of our church, we must be careful that our first response is not to deny the evidence. Once we take note of that caution, what might we observe about the value and living of celibate chastity as reported in our contemporary culture? In the current U.S. culture, we have widespread evidence that sexual activity is no longer considered to be restricted to marriage. Because of the easy avail~ibility of contraceptive pills and condoms, sexual activity is no longer tied to the possibility of pregnancy; rather, it is considered just one more among desirable and plea-surable human activities. A more frightening result of this atti-tude equating sexual activity with recreational pleasure is the easy and frequent acceptance of abortion. We are not surprised that in the reporting of behaviors we note a true gender gap. Men readily report that the woman is a consensual partner, whereas women indicate that they feel pres-sured or coerced by the male. Statistics, then, provide evidence of a gender gap, especially in reading the other sex's behavior signals. In our culture there is a great deal of confusion around the terms intimacy and sexuality. Often the two are identified. But sex-uality can be acted out with little sense of intimacy. Intimacy, on the other hand, does not need to be expressed sexually. Young peo-ple, especially, are looking for intimacy and use sexuality as its mistaken route. Studies give evidence of this behavior pattern. What does celibacy or celibate chastity mean to people in our U.S. culture? It is evident that the celibate vocation is not esteemed or looked upon as a kind of ideal. Rather, in our times, it more readily signifies, especially for large numbers of young adults, sexual dysfunction or pedophiliac tendencies or stunted personality growth. We must be aware, then, that our contem-porary culture has little regard for chastity or celibacy. Its sign value has to be significantly rethought and expressed anew in order to be seen and understood for what it is and what we who live it want it to be. In his turn, Keith Clark OFMCap presented a contemporary picture of the meaning and living of chastity and celibacy. Chastity is the pursuit of consistent behaviors--for marriage, one set of Review for Religious behaviors, and for those professing celibate chastity, another set of behaviors. We need to look at the sexual makeup of the animal species, acknowledge the commonalities we have as human beings, and then carefully pay attention to how we humans go beyond the reproductive drive and mating seasons common to the animal species. We realize our human need for insight into sexual behav-ior and for our exercise of freedom in regard to it. Once again we note that there is the human need for intimacy and that this is not identical with genital activity. Clark stated clearly his notion of celibacy. "A celibate life well lived is the pursuit of intimacy, sexual fulfillment, in ways which do not include romantic and genital pur-suits." Celibacy as a Christian vocation means that we pursue a way of loving people, not because we are so urged or driven, but because people are deserv-ing of love. They are children of God. Both presentations stressed the importance of "norms" for appropriate behaviors in living celibate chastity in a community or group lifestyle. Cultures as large as an ethnic group and as small as a particular religious congregation have developed their own parameters for acceptable behaviors in connection with the affectio~is. These cultures get expressed in norms that guide the consistent behavior of group members. Members of a group have a responsibility to observe the norms expected of participants. We who live celibate lives as members of a priestly order or as members of a religious congregation need to have norms that are agreed as guides for the behavior expected of the whole group. After looking at our contemporary culture with the help of Johnson and getting, with Clark's guidance, a sense of a con-temporary expression of lived celibate chastity, we focus now on the word discern, which is meant to be the connective between the two terms. How do we discern the living of celibate chastity in our culture? What is it to discern? I believe that celibacy, properly under-stood, has a necessary connection with the ability to discern. Celibacy or celibate chastity understood in a Christian manner is a way of loving, a way of relating to others. It is not enough to Members of a group have a responsibility to observe the norms expected of participants. March~April 2000 Fleming ¯ Discerning Our Celibate Way say that celibacy means not being married or that to be chaste means just not engaging in or enjoying sexual activity. It is not enough to equate celibacy with a certain ritual purity. To limit our chastity ideal to these kinds of description fixes us in a pagan or pre-Christian understanding. Sad to say, many older explanations about the vow of chastity, and some contemporary ones too, could well have been written by a good pagan. Celibacy cannot be ade-quately defined in terms of what it is not or what it lacks. Celibacy is understood and lived in terms of what it is and does. Celibate chastity describes a way of loving, loving the way that Jesus loved. Because celibacy is a way of loving, there is a true sense that we are always growing in our life of loving celibately. We cannot lose our chastity; we never "had" it so that we could lose it. We are always growing into being a chaste lover, a lover like Christ. We grow in our loving chastely, or we find ourself becoming less of a chaste lover. We make choices of behaviors that enhance our life-direction (which is meant to be a growing more and more to love as Jesus loves), or we find ourself slipping (all too humanly, through selfishness or focus on self) into more and more limited ways of loving. We do not need to be a loving person to make a decision. Individualism rampant in U.S. culture is the seedbed of a lot of decision making. Even in religious life we sometimes hear glowing reports about the new growth in our understanding of the vow of obedience based on human decision making. We say that we have moved from a kind of infantile dependence to a relationship where authority's only role is to support the individual's decision. Yet, if we understood how obedience and chastity are intertwined, and that discernment is not possible where love is not involved, then we might not be so self-satisfied with our own share in the indi-vidualistic decision making often observable in religious life. Evaluated from a religious point of view, personal decision making is not deserving of praise if love of God has had no play in it. Discernment and obedience can be understood and practiced only by one who loves. Perhaps questions about authority/obedience are more about the love quality of religious life than about respon-sible decision making. When people make decisions about sexual activity, they can decide to use this person for their pleasure. They can decide that treating someone in this sex-object way is what pleases them. What they want to do and what feels good decides their choices in this Review for Religious typical American individualistic stance. People live as though they are the center of their world, and this stance acts as the foundation of their choices. In order to discern, however, we need to be a loving person, one who lives in an expansive (always open to other people's inter-ests) world. People who are caught up in an individualistic way of thinking and acting are incapable of making a discernment. Why? Because discernment is a sensitive listening to God speaking to us through interior movements, that is, feelings and inspirations. Discernment is a lover's instinct. Probably most of us have had the expe-rience of this kind of interior commu-nication between ourself and a close friend. No words are spoken, but a lot gets communicated. When persons are dear to us, we know what pleases them and what annoys them. We listen, not to any externally spoken words, but to the person, and we can respond instinctively--if we are people who love. ls this kind of sensitivity, so familiar to us in our human loves, possible between God and ourself?. In the Judeo-Christian tradition, it has always been recog-nized that discernment is a gifting of God. St. Paul identifies dis-cernment as a special gift to members of the Christian community through Christ's sending of the Spirit. A number of holy men and women have shared their insights into the gift of discernment, how to pray for it, how to grow as a discerning person, and how to make a decision-making process a true discernment. St. Ignatius Loyola especially is renowned for the practical application of dis-cernment procedures for an understanding of What spirit is mov-ing us and for a method of coming to a decision through such a discernment of spirits. Discernment is about making practical life-dealing decisions not just with prayerful prudence, but with our will attuned to the will of God our Father. We are trying to love the way Jesus loved. Jesus prayed a lot; he prayed in order to deepen his relationship with God and so to express his love. The dialogue of prayer is a dialogue of love. Prayer is not discernment, but without prayer there is no discernment. Why? Because discernment is a grace given to a lover. VCe see it clearly in Jesus. Discernment marks Jesus' choices. In the crisis moment in Gethsemane, Jesus in agony Discernment remains always a gift, a growing in a lover's sensitivity. 143- Marcia-April 2000 Fleming ¯ Discerning Our Celibate Way pours out his prayer and in love can say, "Not my will, but yours be done." One who loves has a sense of, a feel for, what pleases the one who is loved. To be a discerning person means that we must be a free person: free of self-will, free of prejudice, free of being locked into doing what is expected (to be accepted, to save face, and so on). We see this freedom in Jesus. Discernment remains always a gift, a growing in a lover's sensitivity, just as Jesus grew in his sen-sitivity to his Father's will up to the end: "Into your hands, I com-mend my spirit." In other words, we never just "have" discernment, as it were, as our possession. We need always to acknowledge dis-cernment as a dynamic grace or gift. As Jesus' special gifting of the Spirit to us, his followers, discernment is always to be rever-enced, esteemed, and lived in our choices. Discernment affects our living of celibate chastity on three levels: (1) the body or the physical, being at home with our sexual makeup; (2) the soul or the psychological, being at home with our affections; and (3) the spirit or the spiritual, being at home with God. Let me develop each of these levels. 1. As people who are trying to love as Jesus loves, we need to love our own incarnation, that is, we must love our own bodili-ness. Acceptance of our sexuality helps us to be like Jesus. For Jesus was sexual and celibate and a man who loved. Jesus is so much at home with his body that he keeps it with him forever. And that is his promise of resurrection for us. To be at home with our body, then, is a Christian attitude to grow in and to deepen. We make the choice to love the body that God gave us. In our culture we know how much we try to run from or deny the failings connected with bodiliness, for example, the whole process of aging. With a cul-ture that wallows in sexuality, especially its genital aspects, we may think that our countercultural stance should be to run from or deny our own sexuality in order to bd the good celibate. But our Christian viewpoint sees sexuality and the way it shapes our relat-ing and our loving, all our life long, as a gift of God to us. Living in gratitude for God's gift, we find that being at home with our own body is the only way for us to love as Jesus loves. 2. We celibates must also be at home with our affectivity. There is no such thing as loving in the abstract; we love the flesh-and- blood people that come into our lives. To love in general is not to love at all. Yet, when we try to love the people that God brings into our life, we find difficulties with the way they dress, the way they talk, even the way they sexually attract us or not. I have always Review for Religious admired the healthy quality of the bawdiness found in Chaucer or in Shakespeare as representative of the peoples of their times. We--especially people vowed to chastity--need to laugh at our affective responses sometimes so embarrassing to us and so little under our control. We may even be surprised at a sexual response we feel in prayer or even at communion time. This is the moment to recall that we are God's creation, enfleshed, with all its humor, distress, and bedazzlement. We thank him for being the ones in whom he delights. We need to give over anew the whole of our life to God and so not let our discerning focus get distracted on self. Always we as celibates--a unit of body, soul, and spirit--need to own and not to deny our affections. We must be in touch with how affective or not we are naturally, from family upbringing, community customs, and ethnic culture. Whatever the limits of what we have inherited, we--growing by the grace of our celibate calling as sensitive lovers--gradually learn how to make various appropriate adaptations. Does Jesus ever seem frozen in the face of others' affective love, whether expressed by Mary Magdalen or by the beloved disciple? Think of John lean-ing on Jesus' chest at the Last Supper or of Mary Magdalen's fierce bearhug in the resurrection garden scene. Growing always in a lover's sensitivity is especially to be valued by a vowed celibate who desires to relate affectively to all. Married couples teach each other how to make love all their lives long. We as celibates must keep our eyes on Jesus in order to keep growing in our way of loving. Our prayer should lead us deeply into the Gospels so that Jesus keeps teaching us how to love. Our being affective people, or not, affects our ministry. In fact, there is little exaggeration in saying that ministry without. affectivity is useless in terms of evangelization. We may be able to do "good things," but for what.purpose if we do not touch peo-ple with love from a God who is Love? 3. We Catholics are fortunate because we understand that God loves us in affective ways. Our Scriptures, our sacraments, our prayers speak out God's way of loving us in the most tender of human expressions. Even more, God loves us in intimate ways. This good news we bear in our very persons as loving celibates: We as celibates must keep our eyes on Jesus in order to keep growing in our way of loving. March-April 2000 Fleming * Discerning Our Celibate Way God wants to be intimate with us. Our spiritual life is a life of love, intimate love with God. Two examples from Scripture bring this fact home to us. I am indebted to the late Father Carroll Stuhmueller CP for his long-time insistence on the meaning of the Hebrew word rahamin. In the Old Testament, especially in the prophetic writings, God is often described in English translation as merciful, tender-hearted, or compassionate. These words attempt to signify the meaning of rabamin. The Hebrew word seems best understood in this way: the feeling that a mother has for the child in, and of, her womb. God wants us to know that the relationship he has to each of us is like the feeling a mother has for the child of her womb. What is this feeling? Is it pity or mercy? No, it is one of pride and 10ve for the child of the womb. That is how God feels towards us. God loves us and takes pride in us. We cannot deny the intimacy of this Hebrew word. That kind of intimacy God claims towards us. We celibates are meant to find a home in this love. In a more theological way I would like to reflect upon the word covenant. Perhaps we are familiar with the covenants of Middle Eastern people of whom the Israelites were a part. A covenant is an agreement between two parties (usually unequal), and the expectation involves certain ways of acting toward each. Covenant is a central theme of the relationship between God and his chosen people. The biblical covenant that God established was marked according to the Semitic cultural tradition by the ritual of killing an animal and sprinkling its blood upon the altar (rep-resenting God) and upon the Israelite p.eople. The blood was a symbol of life, not death; the sprinkling of blood on the altar and on the people signified the familial union. The action said: We share the same blood. When Jesus on the night before he died wanted to establish a new covenant, he retained the same symbol: blood. But it is his own blood that Jesus gives, his flesh for our food and his blood for our drink. This blood is life-giving and makes us who feed on his Body and his Blood belong to the same bloodline as God. Jesus could not make it any clearer that we truly are brothers and sisters to one another; we share the same blood, Jesus' blood, the blood of the Son of God. We call upon Jesus truly as our brother, and together with him we call God Abba-Father. The reality of this new covenant is an intimacy of unity, Jesus God bringing us into the very life of the Trinity. As celibates, day after day in our Review for Religious Eucharist we come forward with hands stretched our to receive and to be taken in by the most intimate love of God, a God embracing us into the divine life of love. What distinguishes us who are called to a life of celibate chastity? We are called to a special way of loving. When we celi-bates are truly at home with our bodies (with our sexuality), with our affections (with our soul), and with our spirit (God's Spirit, now ours), we are free to be the discerning people who, in a sex-ually confused culture, live God's invitation to celibate chastity peacefully, happily, and apostolically. The Silence That Is Not Silence at All Unobtrusive as dawn, the lake balances perfectly between East and West. An early hiker rounds the corner, headset clamped on. Juncoes tsk tsk and give way. Starlings catcall. Merganser, all white hood, skims a straight arrow line, alights with a velvet swoosh pursues prey through clear water soundless. Lichen stained alders circle the shore, haloed with smudges of alizarin catkins. Aments upon aments. A Lent retreatant, I come for the annual fast from stimulation, rededicate to silence or at least to the diminishment of stimulants. Make way for tumult. Here are the Big Ego geese. Indignant honking, they want to be noticed. Chest beating, a squall of identity. Hannah J. Main-van der Karnp March-April 2000 147 --- JUSTIN TAYLOR AND ALBERT DIIANNI What Is Religious Life's Purpose? For thirty-five years since Vatican Council II, we have constantly ?asked questions about identity: What does it mean to be a religious, a monk, a Dominican, a Jesuit, a Marist? It might then seem superfluous to ask about the purpose of religious life. But it is our conviction that pre-cisely this question must receive a more adequate answer before we can come to proper conclusions about how to structure our religious life and truly renew its spirit. The main goal of religious life is to place God at the center of our lives. That is the meaning of religious consecration, and it is best symbolized in the vow of chastity, in which we make a gift of our very hearts to God. Religious consecration is all about the service and worship of God, about affective and effective love of God for God's sake. Religious life is a way of being with ¯ God that takes the form of a gift and an act of worship. It evokes the image of St. Francis lying prostrate on the ground throughout the night calling out repeatedly, "My God and my all,." In other words, religious life needs to Justin Taylor SM, a Marist priest from New Zealand who resides at the Ecole Biblique in Jerusalem, does teaching and writing on biblical topics and on spirituality. Albert DiIanni SM wrote for us in 1993 and 1996; his address is Marist Vocation Office; 27 Isabella Street; Boston, Massachusetts 02116. Review for Religious be religious, and this means that it must be theocentric. Religion can be about many things, but first and foremost, as Hegel said, "religion is about God." This may seem to go without saying. But we are saying it and stressing it because we all tend to substitute something else for the love of God. Nothing else will do, not even love of neighbor. The question we ask is: Have we not, long before Vatican II and after it as well, tended to substitute--for a focus on the glory and love of God--either a personal ascetical spirituality or a social morality? We grant, of course, that both morality and asceticism find their place in religion, but we maintain, too, that religion cannot be totally or even primarily reduced to them. Could it be that this tendency to substitute something for religion--whether it be self-improvement or the improvement of other individuals, society, and the world--is what underlies the malaise we currently perceive in religious life? We stress that this problem does not arise out of Vatican II. It already existed before Vatican II and may have caused what the council had to say about religious life to be misunderstood. It is a problem that lies deeper than the distinction between traditional-ists and so-called "change-oriented" religious. Both of these groups, as we shall see, may have given way to the very same error. In her recent book The Fire in These Ashes, Joan Chittister insists that the sole purpose of religious life is "only to seek God" (p. 45). She writes: "We have too often been seduced., by other explanations for religious life, all of them valuable and all of them true to a certain degree. We have sought to be 'relevant.' We have set out to be 'incarnational.' . We have given ourselves untiringly to the 'option for the poor.' We have devoted our-selves to 'the transformation of social structures.' We have evan-gelized and renewed and revised and reformed until we dropped from exhaustion. And all of those commitments are good and necessary and worthy of attention. But, through it all, one thing and one thing only can sustain religious life, can nourish reli-gious life, can justify religious life: The religious must be the person who first and foremost, always and forever, in whatever circumstance, seeks God and God alone, seeks God and God alone in all of this confusion, in all of this uncertainty and, what-ever the situation, seeks God--and God alone." She concludes: "Otherwise, religious life is just one more social institution to be succeeded by social institutions after it, rather than centers March-April 2000 149 Taylor and Dilanni ¯ Reli~ous Life's Purpose of contemplation where, we can hope, the mind of God can touch the mind of humanity" (p. 47). "A center of contemplation where the mind of God can touch the mind of humanity"--is this not a beautiful definition of reli-gious life? For Joan Chittister, contemplation of God is the pri-mary center and focus of religious life. But she is not thinking of a selfish, isolated sort of contemplation cut off from society or the world. Rather, for her, contemplation of God has an effect upon the mind of humanity, changes it and urges it to become engaged in the task of approximating the kingdom of God on earth in works of peace and justice, especially in favor of the poor and the marginalized. This call to contemplation, which is now being stressed by many authors, indicates that the crisis of religious life is deeper than people think. It is rooted in a crisis of faith. By this we mean that there has been a change not only in the depth and intensity of our faith, but also in its actual content. And this is hardly new. It has been present in the church for a long time, as attested by Henri Bremond in his Histoire litteraire du sentiment religieux en France, a magisterial eleven-volume study of mysticism in France in the 17th century. Bremond did not write with a view to commenting on religious life in the 20th century, but his volumes are full of relevant insights. Bremond (an ex-Jesuit turned diocesan) keeps coming back to one particular issue: Why, throughout the period of which he writes, was the Jesuit mainstream in France especially, antimystical? Why, with the notable exception of Louis Lallemant and his school, did the Jesuits begin to focus their spirituality more and more away from God and more and more toward the human? In the course of his writing, Bremond suggests some more or less peripheral reasons, but in the end he expresses a suspicion that the Jesuits, even in the 17th century, were intuitively sensing a crisis of faith. They were sniffing the presence of an incipient atheism in their contemporaries and perhaps in their own hearts. They were beginning to fear, at least subconsciously, that the pure love of God as the chief reason for a devout life was not going to motivate people of their time and place much longer. This, suggests Bremond, is the reason why they felt the need to recommend prayer not so much as adoration and thanksgiving before God, but especially as a means of growth in virtue, a means to inoral and ascetical self-improvement, a way to ensure one's personal eternal salvation. Review for Religious It is clear that this crisis of faith is not restricted to the Society of Jesus in the time of which Bremond writes. The same crisis has continued in a perhaps even stronger fashion in the 20th century. Both before and after Vatican II, religious have tended to recom-mend religious life to the world--and perhaps to themselves--in terms of what it could "do for" themselves or for others. Religious life was considered legitimate and desirable because it was useful, however that usefulness might be conceived, whether in terms of a surer way for the individual to attain tleaven or in terms of a service to society. Both of these stances, however, place religion and religious life on a less-than- full theocentric plane. Viewed in this way, the crisis of faith did not begin in the post-Vatican II era. It was in full swing well before the 1960s, but at that time social and ecclesial structures and a gen-eral feeling of success (at something) kept people going. Once those supports were taken away or seri-ously weakened, its real proportions were revealed. It has been said that, before Vatican II, religious used to "skip the world" and focus too heavily on our individual other-worldly salvation. This is a legitimate criticism if properly understood. To the extent that there was overemphasis on our individ-ual otherworldly salvation, religious life was already ¯ anthropocentric or egocentric, and not theocentric. For a program of self-improvement, even in view of obtaining eternal life, is not specifically Christian, but broadly Stoic. The concentration on obtaining eternal life even became obsessive for a number of people, and priests in confessionals encountered peo-ple so absorbed in themselves and their salvation that they became paralyzed by scrupulosity. For this and for other reasons, an under-standable dissatisfaction set in with regard to a form of devout life whose focal point was one's own perfection. Unfortunately, however, the remedy that was often prescribed compounded the ailment. In line with the self-improvement ten-dencies, the constitutions of many religious congregations before Vatican II propounded a twofold goal for religious life: saving one's own soul and saving the souls of others. After Vatican II, the notion of salvation was expanded beyond an eschatological salvation to include also, and at times almost exclusively, the liberation of peo-ples or the social betterment of humankind. Neither of these This call to contemplation indicates that the crisis of religious life is deeper than people think. I51-- March-April 2000 Taylor and Dilanni ¯ Religious Life's Purpose focuses, however, whether on personal improvement and salva-tion or on social liberation, is properly religious in the sense of having to with the worship and love of God. Neither of them makes God the pivotal center of our lives. If this is true, where should we seek the remedy? If there has been a shift in our faith in this century and before, what then should be the content of our faith? We believe that the religious hunger is ultimately the hunger for transcendence or, more con-cretely, the hunger for God. It is a hunger which, in fact, is often felt most keenly by the poor. The world points to something beyond the world: its Author. Our first response to the world must be gratitude toward the author of that world--paying homage to God. Religious are called to be involved totally with God, to be bridges to others to enable them, not to negate this world, but to transcend it and reach God. The world is extremely important-- the Word became incarnate for the sake of the world--but in itself it is still not enough for us, us of the restless heart. In whatever manner we decide to refashion religious life, we must not lose this central insight, which is at the heart of the religious quest. The "kingdom of God" promoted by the Jesus of the synoptic Gospels certainly demands an effort on our part to improve the world, but it also involves a transcending of the world, and this transcen-dence will consist, as always, in union with God. In fact, without such a reference to the Transcendent, it is questionable whether an urgency to improve the world has sufficient meaning. Again, with Joan Chittister, "The religious must be the person who., seeks God, and God alone" and--we could add, with Vita consecrata (§3, §20)--helps other members of the church in their search for God. It is in this latter task of spurring others on to transcendence that some form of identifying religious garb has its importance. St. Thomas Aquinas asks why religious congregations are called "religious." Our reflections thus far have perhaps prepared us to understand and receive his answer: "Religion is the virtue by which we perform the service and worship of God. Hence, reli-gious are so called because they dedicate themselves totally to the service of God, as if offering God a whole-burnt sacrifice" (Summa theologiae, 2a-2ae, q. 186, a. 1). Here Thomas speaks of a "virtue of religion," a kind of habit. This habit of mind, heart, and action has to be part and parcel of every genuine approach to God, for it is basically about awe in the presence of the "tremendous and fas-cinating mystery." "This tremendous lover" is what Francis Review for Religious Thompson called Christ, and the adjective is striking. It refers to a lover who fills us not with fear but with awe. Our response to God is one of wonder, adoration, and gratitude in the face of a Love that bends down to us, a love that is gratuitous and that we did not merit. What makes religious life distinct from other forms of Christian life (granted that there is no complete cut-off, but many a gradation) is that it is a way of life which is organized and centered on the.service and worship and love of God and which would make no sense on any other terms. From a worldly point of view, it might even be called a useless life; it is worthless except to the eyes of faith. We believe, with Vita consecrata, that chastity is at the heart of the matter. Chastity is the baseline of religious consecration, not primarily a way of being freed for ministry, although it is also that. Through it we consecrate to God our hearts and our sexual-ity, our capacity to love and be loved, and our capacity for repro-ducing ourselves and so assuring a sort of afterlife. It is therefore the point at which the service and the love of God meet in the center of the consecrated person. Religion, as a virtue, is not the same as charity, so that serving and worshiping God are not specifically the same as loving God. But the two are very close, and both are needed. Without love, religion quickly becomes fanaticism; without awe before God, love can be too facile and presumptuous. In the golden age of French spirituality in the first half of the 17th century, the great masters differ a little on where they place the emphasis, St. Francis de Sales placing it on love and Pierre de B~rulle on religion. In any case, they agree that religious life is essentially theocentric. St. Thomas's "whole-burnt sacrifice" strikes the note of throwing all of oneself into a life given to God in a fire of generosity. Abandoning calculation and self-service, a person stakes all on the single-hearted quest of God, and God alone. That is a goal in the pursuit of which a life is well lived and the world well lost. The above remarks raise at least two questions about love of God which require some discussion. We are speaking of a "pure love of God." But is it possible to love God selflessly, for God alone, and not for ourselves? Not in the sense that I could leave myself totally out of any act of the will: whatever I will, I will also as my own good. But it is possible in the sense that there can be a degree of selfless love in an act of the will, and that this selfless love can grow in future acts. In praying I make all sorts of different March~April 2000 Taylor and Dilanni ¯ Religtous'ous L~Life's Purpose "acts," including petition for myself and others. But what makes prayer (any prayer) true prayer, and love of God true love, is that overriding everything else is the love of God for God's sake, the willing of God's good, and the ultimate submission of my will to God's. And that is "pure love." Note that this is not something rare and extraordinary. Selfless love is part of every authentic human love. It is part of the Lord's Prayer, where we say: "Hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done." In any genuine human love, I will love the beloved without thinking of my own good and even, at times, to my apparent detriment. M1 lovers would deny the name of "love" to a mere desire to get their own satisfaction. In every true love there is selfless devotion toward the beloved, that is, "pure love," some-where. And selfless devotion, it seems, has always been the touch-stone of a religious life properly lived. The second question concerns the relation between the two commandments of love of God and love of neighbor. Above we wrote that not even love of the neighbor can be substituted for love of God. Love of the neighbor does not replace love of God; it does not even, strictly speaking, express love of God. God is to be loved for God's sake. On the other hand, love of the neighbor is the acid test of the genuineness of our love of God. St. John's for-mulation could not be bettered: "Those who say, 'I love God,' and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen cannot love God whom they have not seen" (1 Jn 4:20 NRSV). To remove all excuse for illusion on this topic, the Letter of James (2:15-16 NRSV) affirms th~it a mere sentiment of goodwill is not enough: "If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, 'Go in peace, keep warm, and eat your fill,' and yet you do not supply them their bodily needs, what is the good of that?" If love of the neighbor is not a substitute for love of God, the reverse is also true. Loving God does not give us an excuse for not loving our brothers and sisters, really and concretely. Christians are called to live for the glory of God and not pri-marily for their own good, not even for their own salvation here or in eternity. The emphasis has to be on the primacy of the love of God. The truth is, however, that the more genuinely we love God, the deeper and more effective will be our love of neighbor, especially the poor and the unloved. The great lovers of God--that is to say, the saints--have been those who have done. most in the Review for Religious way of love and service of their brothers and sisters. There is no risk that following the call to love God with all our heart, soul, and mind will distract us from serving others or from working for justice in the world. Rather, when we go to God, we find One who loves justice and who is on the side of the poor and the weak. This God demands that we too pursue justice and come to the aid of the needy. In loving God we go outside of ourselves in a radical way. We encounter the transcendent Being who loves the created world and invites us to become active within it. There is no competition between the two commandments of love, but rather reciprocity. If love of the neigh-bor is the acid test of love of God, love of God overflows into love of neigh-bor and makes it truly love. For jus-tice without love may quickly become tyranny, while mere "humanitarian-ism" may become bureaucratic, offi-cious, and quite unloving. On the other hand, love of God makes love of neighbor tenderhearted, generous, and selfless. For, in our living communion with God, we discover that God loves us all and that for this reason we must love others and strive to bring peace and justice into the world. What is.the upshot of all this? What does it mean in practical terms? If all this is true, it may mean that the ongoing renewal of religious life needs to be reviewed. It may mean that we must go back to the drawing board and ask ourselves whether we have made changes on the basis of an inadequate notion of the purpose of religious life. It may mean that, while many good things have occurred in terms of a structural renewal of our lives, the spiri-tual renewal is yet to begin--one that may cause us to take a sec-ond look at those structures. Our structures of prayer, our living of the vows, and our community life must be fashioned so that, primarily, they foster our love for God. To achieve this we must grapple with this question: .Are we perhaps in need of a shift in our faith, one that moves away from the many forms of anthro-pocentrism of the last few centuries, and centers religious life more directly on the pure love of God? Chastity is the point at which the service and the love of God meet in the center of the consecrated person. March-April 2000 KENNETH C. RUSSELL Must Hermits Work? Maust hermits work to earn their living? Must they leave side their regime of silence and prayer to earn money, even though this is a Catch-22 situation, with solitude calling them away from society and work drawing them back into it? By taking a job, manufacturing a product, or providing a service, they trou-ble themselves with any number of people so as to have enough income to get away from people and indulge their own hermit's desire to be alone and untroubled. Are they not then better off depending on some form of fixed income, on the largess of the religious congregations to which they may belong, or on the charity of the faithful? It would seem so. But is this kind of dependence legitimate? What does the his-tory of the eremitical life in the Western church say about this? How do the principal texts on the solitary life deal with the eco-nomic, psychological, and spiritual aspects of work? What features remain constant in the tradition? What shifts take place? In this brief overview, which makes no claim to be complete, we begin with the teachings of the pioneers in the Egyptian desert as these are recorded in the alphabetical collection of Sayings of the Desert Fathers and in John Cassian's Institutions and Conferences. We then turn our attention to a few representative medieval texts, primarily from the 12th century, a period marked by a widespread revival of the eremitical life. Kenneth C. Russell last wrote for us in November-December 1998. His address remains 40 Landry Street, Apt. 1505; Vanier, Ontario; t~6~ K1L 8K4 Canada. Review for Religious The Sayings of the Desert Fathers Although the classical picture of the hermits in the Egyptian desert as hardscrabble peasants used to a tough life has been chal-lenged of late, it seems clear that, whatever the truth about their social status and educational background, they earned their keep by the work of their hands. The Sayings tell us that the solitaries plaited ropes (Sayings 184, 39), made baskets (105, 1) and hired themselves out as laborers to bring in the harvest (82, 47; 191, 2).' At least one monk strung necklaces of small dried peas to pay for his food. We are told that Abba Serinus spent his time harvest-ing, sewing, and weaving (191, 2). The monks worked because they had to. They did not share the conviction of the excessively spiritual groups of the time that considered work to be below the dignity of those called to per-petual prayer. Several stories seem to satirize the "angelic" atti-tude of these Messalians, as they were called. One concerns Abba John the Dwarf, a prominent desert figure, who in his youth announced to his brother his intention of living a carefree life of ceaseless prayer like the angels who do no work. After a week he was back knocking on his brother's door, hungry and begging to be let in. When this brother, in no hurry to admit him, got around to answering the door, he told young John: "You are a man and you must once again work in order to eat" (73, 2). The same point is driven home in the story of a monk who, while visiting a small eremitical community, sees the brothers working hard and cautions their leader, Abba Silvanus, not to seek "the food which perishes" (John 6:27). Silvanus allows him to spend the day reading, but does not summon him to dinner. When the hungry monk asks why he was not called, the elder answers: "Because you are a spiritual man and do not need that kind of food. We, being carnal, want to eat, and that is why we work" (187, 5). In these words of practical economy, it is obvious that work not only feeds the monk but keeps him grounded in the real-ity of the world and human nature. The Egyptian hermits lived apart from society, but they were not disconnected from the larger world. A brother was advised by Abba Poemen to do some manual labor "so as to be able to give alms" (148, 69). This readiness "to work for charity's sake" (87, 4) also set the Egyptian monks apart from the Messalians or Euchites, who regarded themselves as the most fitting recipients of any handouts. March-April 2000, Russell * Must Hermits In one story some Euchite monks answer Abba Lucius's query about what kind of work they do by announcing, rather smugly it seems, that they do not touch manuhl labor, but obey Paul's instruc-tion to pray without ceasing. Lucius asks how perpetual their prayer can really be if they must interrupt it to eat or sleep. For his part he demonstrates that work and prayer are not incompatible and shows how his charity toward the poor fills the gaps in his own prayer schedule. "When I have spent the whole day working and praying, making thirteen pieces of money more or less, I put two pieces of money outside the door and I pay for my food with the rest of the money. He who takes the two pieces of money prays for me when I am eating and when I am sleeping" (102, 1).2 But work that enables a monk to support himself and make a contribution to the well-being of others can also prove a distraction. What is supposed to support the spiritual life can become an end in itself (64, 10). It can assume an importance it does not deserve (44, 1 I). This is surely why Abba Silvanus threatens to leave his little community when his disciples and some other brothers move the fence to enlarge the garden (188, 8). This story also implies that at some point work becomes a guarantee of security, which challenges the hermit's dependence on divine providence. Abba Serinus, who worked at a number of tasks, avoided this trap by insisting that "in all these employments, if the hand of God had not sustained me, I should not have been fed" (191, 2). In the same vein, Silvanus is confident that as long as he does his part God will provide (188, 9). Given the tendency of work to become a goal in itself, it is not surprising that when a monk asks Abba Biare what he must do to be saved, the elder advises him to reduce his appetite, dwell in his cell, and reduce his quota of manual work (37, 1). Any kind of work can upset a hermit's life if it assumes too great a place in it. But certain kinds of work were regarded as essentially distracting. Agriculture per se was considered an exte-riorizing activity that draws a monk's attention away from God. Even the gardening that is mentioned in the Sayings was suspect. It was, at best, on the borderline of the acceptable. When Abba Silvanus had to water the garden his disciple usually cared for, he hid his face lest the sight of the trees should distract him (187, 4). Underlying what we have seen so far concerning the eremit-ical understanding of work is the conviction that a monk should pay his own way and contribute to some extent to the welfare of oth-ers. But neither of these obligations demands that all monks must Review for Relig4ous work. Some monks, surely, had the means to sustain their life with-out daily labor. A number of these could probably count on the support of their relatives and friends. Would this modest support not give them more time to pray and meditate? Is there not a mod-icum of good sense even in the extremist position of the Messalians? Why is work itself so important? We must note, first of all, that living on any form of income other than daily labor is explicitly rejected in the Sayings. A monk who is disturbed by the haggling involved in selling his wares asks one of the senior monks whether he may give up work if he finds another means to survive. The elder replies: "Even if you do have what you need by other means, do not give up your manual work" (168, 1). The monk is instructed, in fact, to work as hard as he can. The "word" given here is exemplified in the story of Abba Achilles, who edifies his visitors when they discover that he has been working and meditating all night. "From yesterday evening till now, I have woven twenty mea-sures, although I do not need it; but it is for fear God should be angry and accuse me, saying, 'Why did you not work when you could have done so?' That is why I give myself to this labor and do as much as I can" (25, 5). The Sayings generally do not emphasize the noneconomic value of manual labor. They do, however, present work as a basic element of a hermit's life. When Abba Poemen holds up one of the elders as an example, he observes that "in Abba Pambo we see three bodily activities: abstinence from food until the evening every day, silence, and much manual work" (158, 150). When Poemen lays out the basics of the eremitical life for an inquirer, he begins by saying that "living in your cell clearly means manual work" (160, 168). We know then that, according to the Sayings, work is an asceti-cal activity linked with meditation which should not be set aside even if other means of support are available. It seems clear, how-ever, that manual labor was so tightly tied to economic survival in the experience of most Egyptian solitaries that they felt no need to reflect in depth on the role it played in their lives. It was simply a fundamental but unobtrusive activity of their uncomplicated regime. To get a deeper insight into the role that work plays in Any kind of work can upset a hermit's life if it assumes too great a place in it. 159 March-April 2000 R~ssell * Must Her~nits Work? the eremitical life, we must turn to the elaborations on life in the desert which John Cassian offers us in his Institutions and Conferences. --- 160 Cassian's Institutions and Conferences The presence of Messalians (Syriac for "those who pray" but do not work) is more strongly felt in John Cassian's writings than in the Sayings. The need for daily work seems, therefore, to be less the plain, indisputable fact of life it is in the Sayings and more a deliberate option. Cassian takes Paul the Apostle as the exemplar of work. If Paul, who had the right to live off his mission, worked, how can monks refrain from doing so? Paul worked, Cassian notes, not for the sake of introducing some healthy variety into his life, but to earn his bread by the sweat of his brow even though he might have lived off his savings or from offerings received from others (Institutions 10.8; p. 270).3 Since Cassian uses Paul's injunction to the Thessalonians to work with their hands and to be at peace (1 Th 4:11), it is clear that he sees manual labor as an antidote to distraction (10.7; p. 269). Work concentrates the mind and shuts out external noise. It lifts the individual above the turmoil of the emotions. This is so important to John Cassian that he connects a story illustrating this point to St. Anthony himself. Anthony, we are told, was challenge'd by a brother who argued that his own life was superior to the discipline of the desert. He lived near his rel-atives, benefited from their support, and so was able to give all his time to prayer and reading. Anthony countered his claim to be free of care by showing that he was, in fact, emotionally tied to the economic ups and downs of his supporters. Anthony goes on to say that "this most lukewarm condition [is] depriving you of the fruit of your own hands and the just reward of your labor" (Conferences 24.11.3; p. 833).4 Once again Paul's example is put forward as the ideal. It is his example, Anthony maintains, which compels monks to work. Indeed, were it not for Paul's example, Anthony argues, he and his fellow monks would take the easy route and live off the alms of their relatives. Anthony goes on to chide the healthy monk for living off alms that should by right go to the weak. He then makes an astounding statement which radically opposes the notion that, while others must work, monks are exempt from labor because Review for Religious they pray. He insists, on the contrary, that everyone else in the world relies on the compassion of others, "with the sole exception of the race of monks which, in accordance with the Apostle' s precept, lives by the daily toil of its hands" (Conf24.12.3; p. 834). Anthony reminds us that, according to tradition, the monk gives alms, he does not receive them. In Anthony's opinion, authentic solitaries do not live off their relatives or near them. On the contrary, they flee society and live outside civilization's jurisdiction in the wastelands beyond the fer-tile Nile valley. This withdrawal not only shelters them from the hubbub of village life, but makes farming--the kind of work with which most Egyptian monks were probably familiar--impractical. Cassian regards farming as an unsuitable activity for a monk for several reasons. First, it draws the mind away from the focus on God which should be the monk's principal concern. Second, the fatigue brought on by hard work in the fields drains away the energy a monk needs for his spiritual pursuits (Conf 24.12.4; p. 835).s The third reason, however, is the most important. Not only is farm labor hard, it is also periodic; as a con-sequence, a monk who does this work is at loose ends for long periods of time. Cassian makes this last point evident in the story of some farming monks who grew restless whenever they visited the hermit colony of Skete. They literally could not sit still. Cassian says that they had not learned how to quiet their inner being because they worked outdoors and their thoughts were scattered everywhere by their bodily activity (Conf24.4; p. 828). For John Cassian, therefore; work is primarily associated with the spiritual goal of the monk. The hermit works because work provides the best conditions for prayer. The monk does certain kinds of work because certain tasks can be done day and night, day in and day out, without undue fatigue and without requiring a great deal of attention. The uncomplicated procedures associated with rope making and the like help him to pray. They keep the monk alert and centered so that he is able to resist both sleep and the listlessness and distractedness typical of acedia (Inst 2.12; p. 210). The example of Abba Paul, who had no economic reason to do handwork, shows just how essential Cassian thought manual labor actually was. Abba Paul's basic needs were met by the garden he Authentic solitaries do not live off their relatives or near them. March-April 2000 R~ssell ¯ M~t Hermits Work? tended and the palm trees near by. It seems, in fact, that his idyl-lic little oasis was so far out in the desert that the hermit had no way of getting his wares to market. Nevertheless, he collected palm branches and set himself a daily quota of weaving. At the end of the year he gathered the baskets he had made into a great pile and burned them. Then he started all over again. Abba Paul did not work to feed himself or to provide for the poor. So what was the point of his manual labor? Cassian says that his example proves that a monk can neither stay put nor achieve perfection without manual labor. Abba Paul worked solely to purify his heart, to keep his thoughts on course, to persevere in his cell, and thus to overcome acedia (Inst 10.24; pp. 274-275). In other words, he worked because it steadied and grounded him. The handwork with which he occupied himself night and day while praying centered him in a way that the gardening he did to support his life could not. Work serves prayer as long as it remains a subordinate ele-ment in the monastic regime. But, once a monk begins to think of himself as a "hard worker," he is in danger of feeding his human ambition by measuring his own worth in terms of the profit he makes or the tasks he performs. The monk, in effect, imports the world's notion of success into the desert. Once work itself becomes the goal, it usurps the priority that belongs properly to prayer. This is vividly illustrated in Cassian's tale of an elder who comes upon one of these superachievers wearing himself out try-ing to break up a stubborn boulder. The exhausted hermit thinks he is doing "good work," but the senior monk sees that a demon is urging him on (Confg.6.1-3; pp. 333-334). The point is clear: work that does not serve prayer can turn even the sorry resources of the desert into vehicles of human ambition. Jerome's Letter to Rusticus Before we leave the earliest teaching on the place of work in the eremitical life, we should take note of the list of possible tasks St. Jerome lays out in his letter to Rusticus,a young man on the brink of a monastic vocation.6 Although he counsels Rusticus not to live with his mother, and does mention at one point that by working he will be able to pay for his food, practical necessity is not the principal reason Jerome gives for working. It is primarily a matter of keeping busy and thereby holding the devil at bay. Review for Religious Some of the jobs which Jerome recommends are the familiar crafts of the Egyptian desert: weaving baskets and tending a small garden plot. To these Jerome adds the cultivation and grafting of fruit trees, beekeeping, the weaving of fishing nets, and, signifi-cantly, bookcopying. The copying of manuscripts was, to a great extent, a physical task like the other jobs mentioned. The parchment had to be pre-pared, inks mixed, pens cut, the pages lined, the text written out, and, finally, the manuscript bound. But there was an intellectual dimension to this activity. Jerome mentions that copying texts feeds the mind. He then goes on to remember his own brief stay in the desert when he fought off temptation by working hard to learn Hebrew. We have here, I think, the seeds of a conception of "work" quite different from that of the tradition of the Egyptian desert. We have moved out of the world of small peasant farmers into the cul- ¯ tivated world of the Roman gentleman. Although, while in the desert, Jerome may have earned his keep by some simple hand-work, it is clear that his real work was studying and writing. The same may be said, to some extent, of Cassian. From this time on we see a certain tension between the idea of work as a physical, money-earning activity and work as an intellectual activity for the betterment of the individual. Should someone who can do the higher work lay it aside to do a less spiritual and less humane task for the sake of earning money? Must a hermit work? Are the eremitical life and work in the sweat and blood, money-earning sense of the word compatible? The old question subtly reemerges between the lines, as it were, when Jerome, a man of scholarly inclination, lists the kinds of work suitable for a solitary. Grimlaic's Rule for Solitaries The 9th-10th-century Regula Solitariorum, by Grimlaic, rep-resents a literary dividing line between the Egyptian tradition's insistence that hermits must work to earn their living and the belief that solitaries have the right to turn to others for support.7 After noting the spiritual value of work as a means to. avoid idleness, Grimlaic summons up the example of St. Paul and the Fathers to insist that solitaries must work to support themselves and to help those in need. Indeed, he says that the greater part of the day should March-April 2000 Russell * Must Hermits Work? A hermit's food, drink, and clothing are paid for either by his personal labor or by the offerings of the faithful. be given to "holy work." He has in mind some task which can be performed mechanically while reading or praying.(Regula 39; 629). Grimlaic retells Cassian's story ofAbba Paul, who lived too far out in the desert to make the manufacture of baskets and ropes practical, but who nevertheless set himself a quota of manual work every day. He also borrows from the same source the story of the superspiritual nonworldng monk who was brought down to earth by Abba Silvanus's failure to call him to dinner (39; 630). He further emphasizes the importance of manual labor by laying out the Benedictine schedule of work and accept-ing the principle that, if poverty demands it, more time should be given to labor (40; 631).8 Obviously, there had always been elderly or infirm hermits who were unable to imitate the example of St. Paul "and the holy fathers" which Grimlaic so strongly emphasizes. Nonetheless, it seems to me significant that Grimlaic should undermine his argument by noting that Augustine maintains that the occasions on which Paul himself depended on alms demon-strate that those who are unable to do manual labor may receive their sustenance from others (39; 630). Grimlaic states this principle and then backs away from its implications. He insists that solitaries should work with their own hands even if they have some other means of support (39; 630). The idea that it might be legitimate for solitaries to rely on oth-ers for their keep recurs, however, immediately after Grimlaic defends the importance of work in passages borrowed ~rom Cassian and Benedict. It is no longer an exception to an almost inviolate rule. He simply states that a hermit's food, drink, and clothing are paid for either by his personal labor or by the offerings of the faith-ful (41; 631). He notes that he has demonstrated that it is legiti-mate for solitaries to live off alms. The argument isbased on more than Christian charity toward the needy. Hermits are compared to the priests and levites of the Old Testament, who received tithes so that they might be free to minister to the Lord without the distraction of earthly preoccu-pations (41; 631-632). The Christian clergy, like the ministers of Review for Religious the Old Testament, have nothing of their own, but merely admin-istrate and distribute what they receive from the people. The assimilation of solitaries to the clergy, which was becom-ing more a reality as monasteries were clericalized, is complete in Grimlaic's quotation from a rule for canons in which monks and hermits are said to rightly receive material support from the church because they have followed the evangelical counsel to renounce wealth (41; 632). Without this support they would have to shift their focus from God to the business of securing the necessities of life. But what of the traditional obligation of hermits to help the poor? The Regula Solitariorum deals with this issue by comparing hermits to the apostles in the Jerusalem church. The apostles them-selves owned nothing, but acted as channels through which each of the faithful received what he or she needed. Solitaries are to have the same detachment toward material things and to see to it that the poor share in the offerings which come their way (41; 632). What has happened to the concept of work in this transition from a reference to the fact that the fathers earned their living by the work of their hands to the declaration that hermits have the right to live off alms? The Regula Solitariorum is not saying that hermits need not work, but rather that they need not earn their living by the work they do. The profitability of work is not the sine qua non of the eremitical life. When the Egyptian abbas talked about work, they were refer-ring to an activity by which they avoided idleness and earned money. In the works which follow the Regula Solitariorum, the financial benefits of work will fade into the background. There will be a strong tendency to value work solely as a means to escape the boredom idleness brings on. A Camaldolese Rule for Hermits The shift in what is meant by "work" is evident in a 12th- 13th-century rule for hermits which plays a part in the history of the Camaldolese.9 It is interesting that, when the customary warn-ing against idleness is given and the hermit is told to combat this by "doing some work," the works suggested are actually spiritual and penitential practices (34; 297). When the rule does refer to manualia exercitia, the emphasis is on when manual labor may not be done (35; 298). March-April 2000 155 Russell ¯ Must Hermits Work? The kinds of work mentioned--gathering wood, gardening, collecting straw--are to be done in groups of three or more (36; 298). What the rule seems to have in mind when it talks of work (the noise of which must not disturb the quiet of the hermitage) is the maintenance necessary to keep the hermit colony functioning. There seems to be no notion of profitability whatsoever. Indeed, the emphasis on the recitation of the Psalter indicates the influence of Cluny (37; 298). Liturgical prayer has become the monk's real work. A hermit is simply too busy and too often weak-ened by fasting to work. During Lent, for example, some work (aliquid; manualia quaedam) is scheduled for only two afternoons a week (35; 298). Guigo I's Carthusian Customary The "customary" (or custom book) of what Would later be called the Grande Chartreuse, written by Guigo I, shows that bookcopying was to the Carthusians what weaving and braiding had been to the Egyptian solitaries, that is, the perfect activity for the hermit's cell. Guigo I notes, therefore, that anyone who is capable is taught to do this work (222)'.~° The production of manuscripts seemed particularly apt to these priest-hermits because it was a way for them to preach the word silently (224). The profit motive is not mentioned, but surely the produc-tion of a commodity that was in demand supplemented the support the inner circle of monks received from the outer ring of conversi, who did the manual labor that today we call blue-collar work. Guigo's complaints about the cost of running the place suggest that the community was on a tight budget (210). However, if there was anything left over after expenses had been met, it was Jaot given to the poor directly but sent to the neighboring village for distribution. In this way the Carthusians made it unprofitable for the poor to trek to their door (210). .I.t/k/ Peter the Venerable's Letter to Gislebertus Not all hermits and recluses shared the Carthusians' deter-mination to keep people at a distance. Some of them surrendered to the inclination to escape the monotony of their life by turning outward. Their effort to lighten the burden of their solitary rou-tine by a bit of pastoral counseling may seem prudent to us, but in Review for Religious fact it made the return to solitude all the harder. It had another damaging consequence: it brought them more money than they needed. The extra, of course, was said to be for the poor, but watching the coins pile up could easily lead to avarice or turn the hermit into a local benefactor. It is not surprising, there.fore, that Peter the Venerable, the great abbot of Cluny, advises Gislebertus, a monk of his who has recently become a recluse, to make sure that there is no extra cash in his cell. He insists that Gislebertus not become a distribution center of offerings to the poor. If someone in authority tells him that he must perform this function, the abbot uses his authority to veto the plan. It makes no sense to Peter that someone who has been freed from the worry of meeting his own needs should be entangled in concerns about the needs of others (35).~ Since we are told that his monastery provided Gislebertus with food, clothing, and his hermitage, it is clear that he did not have to earn his living (35). When Peter, therefore, proposes some sort of manual labor, he is suggesting a means of refreshing the'mind and exercising the body. He is recommending manual labor as a relief from the hard work of reading, prayer, and meditation (38). ¯ For Peter, as for Guigo I, the best work for a hei'mit is book-copying. He too is enthusiastic about its pastoral benefits (39). But, if a hermit cannot do this work because his eyes are bad or because it gives him a headache, or if he simply wants to have something more than just bookcopying to do, Peter recommends that he make coinbs, needle cases, small wine flasks, and the like. He even mentions that, if a swamp is nearby, the recluse may imi-tate the ancient monks and make baskets (39). At this point, it seems to me, the text veers toward the romantic. Work has become a hobby, purely a means of avoiding idleness. The task which Cassian said the Egyptian

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

Issue 61.5 of the Review for Religious, 2002. ; Challenge and Response Life and Death Theory and Reality Time and Eternity SEPTEMBER OCTOBER 2002 VOLUME 61 NUMBER 5 Revie~ forReligious belps p~ople respo~ anit b~ fi~itbful to God's universal call to bbliness . ~, Oy omaki~tff available to,~tbem tbe sp!ritual legacies that flow from tbi cbarismsof Catholic consecrated life. 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 ¯ \Veb 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 Mouut St. Mary's Seminary; Emmitsburg, MaD, land 21727 POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ¯ P.O. Box 6070 ¯ Duluth, ~\tN 55806. Periodical postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional mailing offices. See inside back cover for information on subscription rates. ©2002 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 distrihu-tiott, 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. 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 Fopp~ Tracy Gramm Judy Sharp James and Joan Felling Adrian Gaudin SC Sr. Raymond Marie Gerard FSP Eugene Hensell OSB Ernest Eo Larkin OCarm Bishop Carlos A. Sevilla SJ Miriam D. Ukeritis CSJ SEPTEMBER OCTOBER 2002 VOLUME 61 NUMBER 5 contents 454 challenge and response Fire and Flame, Purification and Vocation Donna Markham OP spells out the healthy interpersonal life necessary for the women and men accepted into ministry. 462 Lessons from a Time of Distress Joel Rippinger OSB reflects as a male, a monastic, and an ordained religious on the sexual-abuse scandal in the church in order to discern the voice of the Spirit and the signs of the times in the events we have experienced. life and death 472 Choose Life: Reflections Ten Years after Five Deaths Regina Siegfried ASC celebrates the tenth anniversary of the murder of five Adorers of the Blood of Christ by noting 1) that Liberia is still in the grip of a life-and-death struggle, 2) that the paschal-mystery chari.sm of the ASCs is in clearer focus, and 3) that ASC mission in Liberia continues on. 481 Made Perfect through Suffering Marie Beha OSC reflects on the meaning of suffering seen in the light of the September triad of feasts--the Exaltation of the Cross, the feast of the Sorrowful Mother, and the Stigmata of St. Francis of Assisi. Review for Religious 494 hsory Right Relationships in Consecrated Life Dennis J. Billy CSSR applies the clear and extensive teaching on the spirituality of communion, what it means to live in right relationships with others, to the community life of reli-gious congregations. 511 Contemporary Theologies of the Vows Ellen M. Leonard CSJ compares and contrasts central ideas about religious life from contemporary writers Barbara Fiand, Diarmuid O'Murchu and Sandra Schneiders. 522 Discouragement Viewed through Mark's Gospel Eugene Hensell OSB enters us into an imaginative reading of Mark's Gospel in order to help contemporary religious communities to move away from our preoccupation with quantity and focus on the quality of our discipleship. 535 Time as Gift Carolyn Humphreys OCDS reviews how we might make time, God's gift to us, our gift back to God. 541 Heaven: The Day the Drilling Stopped Sister Mary Stephen Brueggeman PHJC reviews her changing ideas of heaven which bring her closer to the truth of our life forever with God. flep r n en s 452 Prisms 546 Canonical Counsel: Automatic Dismissal 552 Book Reviews September-October 2002 prisms L the United States the first anniversary of the September 11 terrorist attack upon the New York World Trade Center towers and the Washington DC Pentagon headquarters rouses many reflections about the changes in daily life that this vivid sad event brought about. With the subsequent anthrax scare, mail service was delayed and has never fully recovered because of precautionary restrictions on packages and letters. Any major public event-- sporting, political, musical, and even religious--now includes the aspect of a heightened security. Even more evidently, the rigorous security screening that has been imposed upon all air travelers has caused a reduction in the number of passengers, no matter how hard the major airlines have tried to entice them back. Review for Religious, too, has been affected by the September 11 events. Let me share with you how I have experienced this effect. In my fourteen years as editor, I have generally had a large number of manuscripts--unsolicited--flowing across my desk. I estimate that among them I have chosen one third for publication. But last October to January, it was as if the river had run dry. The flow of manuscripts became a trickle, and there was little improvement until the recent summer months. Why such a dramatic and universal change, including even our writers from other parts of the world? Let me offer an interpretation of this phe- Revie'~ for Religious nomenon. There is a classic book about mystical prayer, by an anonymous author, titled The Cloud of Unknowing. I do not want to talk about mystical prayer, but I would like to describe our human status after September 11 as entering a cloud of unknowing. The events of that day raised up life-and-death questions, yes, but more than that. An urge to examine human relationships, religious motivations, social inequalities, and the secularizing of world cultures came to the fore. In addition to these huge issues came the church scandal of sex-abuse by priests and the mishandling of these cases by bishops. Questions abounded, but not many ways of making an ade-quate response. In this tumultuous milieu, talking of pieties and priestly service and religious-life problems seemed unimportant or even petty. Important issues had arisen, and dealing with them seemed far more necessary than writing about them. I was reminded of St. Paul's words "we are perplexed, but not in despair." I believe that we all were caught in a kind of cloud of not knowing what to think or say. We were perplexed, but our mood was not one of despair. True, article submissions show something of a rebound in recent months. But I am under no illusions. Just as we live with the continuing effects of this day, so I believe that we will continue to find that our thoughts are being stirred in new ways, our affect is being shaped, and our choices are being challenged. We still remain perplexed. September 11 is more than a tragic event in one nation's history. The year just past has seen dyings in many aspects of civil and church life. We have entered a new era of examina-tion of our humanity in relation to one another and to God. The September I 1 event challenges the secular domination of any one culture and demands that social inequities within coun-tries and between countrie~ be dealt with in new ways. With St. Paul, we too can say that we are always carrying about in our body the dying of Jesus, the confusion that sin is and brings. But we live--and our authors are continuing to write--so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our body. Our hope finds expression in this prayer: "On each of our dyings, shed your light and your love." David L. Fleming SJ September-October 2002 DONNA MARKHAM challenge and response Fire and Flame, Purification and Vocation What can be said about vocations in the midst of the " fire storm in which we find ourselves these days? How do we encourage idealistic, good-hearted, and generous young women and men to throw their lot in with us in the midst of such sinfulness and pain? Over the course of my Dominican life, when I have been particularly grief-stricken or have found myself afraid or angry or unable to think clearly about a given crisis, I have called upon my Dominican "ancestor" Catherine of Siena to intercede for me, to beg the Spirit to help me. In that spirit I summon up this prayer, written by a contemporary Dominican woman, Patricia F. Walter, to set the scene for these reflections: Fire of Exodus, Flame of Pentecost, time and again you have beckoned us into the desert and propelled us from the upper room. Melt our resistance, dispel the frost of fear. Enkindle our longing, warm our compassion, and transform us in your fiery Spirit. Donna Markham OP, executive director of Southdown, presented these reflections (here somewhat edited and abridged) as a talk at the Serra International Convention in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, on 30June 2002. Her address is Southdown; 1335 St. John's Sideroad East; RR #2, Aurora, Ontario; Canada L4G 3G8. Review for Religious Living Flame of Love, burn deep within us. Give us the strength to endure the heat and set our hearts afire. Catherine herself lived in and preached to a church in crisis. She was somewhat of a scandal in her day. She was a woman who others felt did not know her place, a woman who went into prisons, a woman who traveled with men, a woman seeming "not too tightly wrapped" as she spoke with God in strange ways, a bold woman who dared confront the pope. Nonetheless, we see in her the fusion of wisdom and love that led her to the marginalized and suffering poor, and also to the suffering within herself. God does not call perfect people to discipleship. As Catherine faced the suffering deep within the church and the suffering deep within herself, the dark side of life and of her own personality became apparent to her, and she faced it. She was not afraid to respond to God's call. "Vghen we are whom we are called to be, we will set the world ablaze," she wrote. It was in that conviction that she extended her love unreservedly to those she met along the way. Her compassion and mercy touched the imprisoned, the terminally ill, the intellectually misled, those condemned to die, and social pariahs of all sorts. Her loving determination to be true to whom God called her to be emboldened her. She found the courage to take on some of the most painful situations of her day. Catherine shows us that, even when everything is stripped away (our status, our security, our comfort), if we are whom God has called us to be, unreservedly extending ourselves to suffering people of every kind, we will fill our world with the fire of Pentecost. This is the Christian vocation. It is to this that we dare to call our young people, to be dedicated women and men of Jesus' gospel-- persons who, true to their personal call, bring healing and mercy into this broken world. God does not call perfect people to discipleship. Our Contemporary Context These days we Catholics are experiencing how suffering calls us to purification and forgiveness, how it beckons us to September-October 2002 Markham * Fire and Flame, Purification and Vocation transformation. God's Spirit nudges us in our shock and sadness to open our innermost selves ever more humbly to the Pentecostal fire of conversion. We do so in the assurance that a loving and faithful God promised to be with us in the cloud by day and, in the darkness of the night, to be with us as a pillar of fire. So it was for every stage of the Israelites' journey (Ex 40:38), and so it is for this suffering church, brought low and humbled in desert days. We count on God to be with us now, to lead us forward and to call us to purification and transformation. The community of faith needs leaders who are as generous and dedicated as they are unafraid. We count on strong lay leadership, and we count too on those who are willing to give themselves to the service of the gospel as chaste, celibate religious and clergy. Our humbled and sinful church--led by God throughout salvation history and infused with God's spirit-- calls forward those who will lead. We dare to do so knowing full well that this is an extraordinarily complex time, a time of shattered trust, the disillusion of broken shards. At the dawn of this postmodern era, when we face crises in our world and in our church, we more than e~er need leaders who will counter narcissistic individualism and alienated self-reliance. We need leaders who will witness to and proclaim the healing power of a compassionate and merciful God. We cannot settle for mediocrity. Among us are spirit-filled women and men. Members of our families, they are old, young, and in between. We need to believe in the church's power to be an influence toward good; we need to pray for God to call them, and we ourselves need to call them. Rampant skepticism, pervasive questioning, and the deconstruction of authority typify this emerging postmodern era. We can neither turn back history nor simply reapply modern solutions (that worked well several decades ago) to postmodern crises. Walking along humbly and perhaps quite anonymously in these fragmented times are those who will inspire us and help us make sense of what appears chaotic and meaningless. My sense is that the only way we can survive on this planet is by countering postmodern deconstruction with gospel-focused reconstruction. The leaders of the postmodern faith community must be courageous souls willing to pose serious and soul-searching questions. Will we proclaim with our actions and our Review for Religious words the centrality of relationship with God, with the communion of saints? How will we commit to sharing faith across the community of believers, with Christians and with other persons of faith as well? Will we act as agents of healing and reconciliation in our broken world? Will we develop new ways of standing amid the tension of our differences, becoming parmers rather than adversaries in the midst of some inevitable conflict? Clearly, perhaps more than ever, we need clergy, religious, and lay leaders who will help us notice the good that we hold in common and will move us to deepened generosity, justice, compassion, and forgiveness. VCho are these people who will minister among us, this humbled people of God whom we call church? Those who can be instruments of healing and hope; those who will venture into areas of the world, or of the intellect and the soul, where others cannot or will not go; those who will walk into areas of human experience that desperately need the gospel to be proclaimed-- women and men courageous enough to let themselves feel the Spirit's fire, become deeply converted, and thereby lead others to conversion. Aptitude for Priesthood and Religious Life This is no time to settle for less-than-healthy p~ople in our seminaries and formation houses. We do not ask for perfect people, but we ask for fundamentally healthy people. A balanced and healthy spiritual life--people at home before God, with a personal relationship to God--is the basis of a vocation. Without sometimes finding Jesus in the contemplative silence of prayer, and also in activity with and among the worshiping community, ministerial life becomes hollow rhetoric and wooden routine. Similarly, as people's relationship with God must be strong, so must their relationships with others be mature, rich, and fulfilling. We all have memories of relational disasters that have punctuated the history of ministry in the church. Frightened, socially uncomfortable, hostile, and aloof religious and clergy have been professed or ordained, sometimes unwittingly and sometimes as a conscious way of filling slots. At this time we must not repeat such arrangements. Rather, we must count on psychologically stable men and women who can handle the Septentber-October 2002 Markham ¯ Fire and Flame, Purification and Vocation demands of working in a church and world that are in a period of upheaval. The capacity to endure the stresses of this time, remain faithful to the gospel, and proclaim the countercultural message of Jesus' compassion and care is predicated upon mature psychological development. Relationship with God, relationship with others, and relationship with oneself constitute the basic health of ministers of the gospel. The mature human being is able to connect with others, can sometimes separate from others without becoming despondent, and can be interdependent, reliant on others. Without his intimate relationship with God, Moses could not have risked the harshness of the desert, the Israelites' long exile, without a clear home, without even the comfort of a clear destination. All the while, however, the pillar of fire was there. And it is still with us. When we are grounded in relationship with God--even when we are'not certain of the terrain we walk upon, even when we seem lost, even when we are tempted by mirages or seduced by the securities of the past--we dare to continue on. A strong reliance on God enables healthy ministers to rely also on companions in the difficult search for a true and loving response to the signs of these times of ours. Those who cannot relate, who do not have close or sustained friendships, or who are exploitive or manipulative in their interactions with others do not belong in the priesthood or religious life. Nor do stiff, distant, rigid, detached persons who are dismissive or controlling of others. Living with a damaged ability to connect with others in healthy ways, such persons are highly vulnerable to exploitive sexual behavior. As the ability to connect with others and with God is important, so is the ability to take leave, to separate from others. In the spiritual life there are times when God seems silent or distant. Spiritually healthy persons are attuned to the God of silence, the God shrouded in the cloud. Emotionally healthy individuals can tolerate separation. They do not function out of an insatiable neediness for continued nurturance and affirmation. Clingy, demanding, possessive people do not exercise ministry well. Their pastoral style is indecisive, hesitant, and largely ineffective. Good pastoral ministry includes the capacity to be interdependent. Priests and religious must be able to find God in Review for Religious the community of believers, even as they are stretched and challenged within that community. Stand-alone "talking heads" who believe their mission is to infuse knowledge and faith into subordinates manifest the worst of postmodern narcissism. Puffed-up arrogance issues from deep insecurity and gnawing inadequacy. Because they are preoccupied with themselves, their pastoral style is likely to be experienced as secretive and mystifying. The women and men accepted into ministry today must be secure in their personal identity and confident in God's incredibly persistent accompaniment, even in the nighttimes of their experience. They must be deeply aware that the mission of Jesus transcends their own self-focus. We might well ask ourselves what must occur in our admission and formation processes to ensure that those who will be ordained or professed are persons of this kind. As is evident from these comments, a healthy interpersonal life is the place to begin. In her classic book, The Birth of the Living God, psychoanalyst Anna Maria Rizzuto comments exquisitely on the important connection between people's relationship with God and their ability to form relationships with others. People's relational life--including their ability to depend on, separate from, and collaborate with others--is mirrored in their God quest and thus is the touchstone for their spiritual life as well as their ministerial life. This is evident in Moses' life in the desert, in the lives of the disciples' gathered and inspirited in Pentecost's upper room, and in the life of Catherine of Siena bringing the gospel's truth to so many. Implications for Formation When, from their personal experience of candidates, admissions board members have made positive evaluations, those judgments should be confirmed by psychological evaluations. Far from being enemies of the faith journey, the social and behavioral sciences can give candidates valuable insight and assist their continued growth, along with confirming that they have the psychic strength to handle ministry in a restive church. The Thomistic adage that "grace builds on nature" seems apt. That is, we cannot take severely damaged persons into our seminaries September-October 2002 Markham ¯ Fire and Flame, Purification and Vocation and religious communities with the expectation that somehow, if they pray enough, they will be able to take the stress of ministry today with a modicum of effectiveness. That would be unfair to both the individual and the people of God. Psychological evaluation is helpful in screening out those who have personality disorders or cognitive deficits that would interfere with trustworthy and effective ministry. After admission to a seminary or a religious congregation, discernment continues. That two-way process of determining if there is a fit between the individual's gifts and the charism of priesthood or a particular religious institute should be diligently undertaken by the candidate and the formation directors. If either party has any doubt, the process should be terminated. Serious errors are made when either the individual or the formators decide to continue the process in spite of serious concerns. The candidate who says he or she must simply pray harder in order to be happy and at peace in the life, or the formator who says "Let's give him one more chance" or "Let's send her to psychotherapy," is setting the stage for unhappiness or, worse, for future ministerial dysfunction. The discernment process must take place in prayer and serious dialogue. Wonderfully dedicated persons may not be called to a life of chaste celibate ministry. Doubts on either side necessitate making the difficult decision to terminate the process. In light of the demands of these times, other things too seem imperative in fostering healthy vocations in seminaries and houses of formation. Along with necessary courses of study, serious spiritual direction by trained directors is probably more important today than it ever has been. The general quest for meaning in our culture, people's longing for connection to the Sacred, and pervasive skepticism affect all of us and inevitably affect the spiritual life of candidates for priesthood and religious life. Assisting candidates to have a contemplative personal relationship with God and to be comfortable seeking harmony with God's spirit active in our world is surely a crucial undertaking of the formation process. Candidates today must experience a radical call to ministry. They must have a strong altruistic desire to extend themselves to others, especially those in critical need. Central to formation, and I would say crucial today, is some form of immersion among Review for Religious the marginalized, the disenfranchised, the suffering, the angry. The world cries out for compassion and healing. People yearn for the love that can cast out the terror that lurks in corners of rage and despair. Without burning desires to put lives wholeheartedly at the service of Jesus' mission, without willingness to feel uncomfortable or inadequate, ministry in the postmodern marketplace is likely to be sadly ineffective. Critical and Creative Fire It is my growing sense that we are not engaging in formation in ways that meet the needs of persons preparing to minister in this time. I wonder if we are not still imposing modern solutions on postmodern realities. In a world disconnected, divided, and fragmented, heightened attention to community-building seems crucially needed. With our seminaries and houses of formation still separated from the culture, I wonder if we are missing something terribly significant as we prepare people to be healing agents in that culture. Regarding formation, critical and creative thought is needed. Varied apostolic opportun-ities, cooperation across gender lines, and intelligent immersion in the crises of these times must be balanced by solid theological knowledge and spiritual experience and commitment. We search for ways to promote vocations, and we strive to have minds and hearts ever more ready for the fire of God's Spirit. We believe that our faith life is precious, that healing can and will happen, that there is more life than death, no matter how cold or dark things may seem. Like Catherine, we too pray that our resistance may be melted, that the frost of our fear may be dispelled, and that, warming us by burning away impurities in us, God will give us a fierce fervor that can set hearts of the next generation on fir!! In a world disconnected, divided, and fragmented, heightened attention to community-building seems crucially needed. Septentber-October 2002 JOEL RIPPINGER Lessons from a Time of Distress Inf the citizens of the United States developed an entirely ew way of looking at things in the months after 11 September 2001, members of the Roman Catholic Church in North America underwent a similar transformation in the first six months of 2002. The numbing succession of stories on cler-ical sexual abuse, episcopal cover-ups, and lay outrage over the betrayal of trust by church authorities have constituted a seismic shock, whose tremors continue within the Catholic Church in the United States. The reaction of laity and religious alike has been accelerated and imensified by the extensive media cover-age of these matters. In describing American Catholic reaction to the sexual-abuse scandal, one can say that it is equal parts outrage, sad-ness, and alienation. One of the notable and positive consequences of these events is that church authorities have given greater heed to the voices of Catholic lay people. Opinions of the laity are now received with a seriousness and sympathy that until recently were hard to detect. This development is all to the good. At the same time, the ordained in the church and those in positions of authority have been chastened and humbled more than many would have thought possible, an eventuality that few think would ever have been self-initiated. All that being said, a perspective on recent events that has not received much attention is that of religious in the church. Joel Rippinger OSB writes from Marmion Abbey; Butterfield Road; Aurora, Illinois 60504. Review for Religious More particularly, I can speak from the position of a male, a monastic, and an ordained religious. Perhaps more uniquely, I can speak as an historian whose perspective sees all that has occurred as an unprecedented watershed in the church's his-tory. From this perspective my hope is that my reflection may enable fellow religious to discern the voice of the Spirit and the signs of the times in the events we have experienced. Before attempting an objective historical judgment of this crisis in Catholicism, an inventory of personal emotions seems appropriate. The images that come to mind are of being caught in a storm at sea without a rudder or being thrown into one plot twist after another like a character in an action film. For any man who spent all of his adult years as a religious (and then also as ordained), never before these events was there a need to cope with a feeling of collective shame. If at one time vowed celibates sometimes felt that they were being distortedly per-ceived as asexual persons or just marginalized singles, now they felt that people were perceiving them as among the sexually perverse. The sense of accomplishment that for many years had accompanied their apostolic labors was now undercut by reve-lations that the very people being served had been betrayed by ministers themselves. People have long been aware, of course, that religious have in their communities a support system that diocesan priests and numerous lay ministers often do not have. I agonize over the plight of the growing number of new DPs, not displaced persons but displaced priests, men who have been removed from their assignments as a result of allegations but who lack access to the same network of healing that religious communities have and who, hounded by the press, seem to have become nonpersons like people struck from party lists in totalitarian states. For the increasing number of religious engaged in the ministry of spir-itual direction, the size of the crisis is soon evident. Lawyers and public-relations personnel for dioceses find themselves in a war zone as they face a hostile press and wounded families of vic-tims of sexual abuse. Catholic social services confront the dispir-iting discovery that their funds have been siphoned away for payments to victims of sexual abuse. Ranks of good priests find their public profile diminished and their spiritual strength sapped as they go about their ministry with the self-conscious- Septeml~er-October 2002 Rippinger ¯ Lessons from a Time of Distress ness that comes from ,facing misplaced suspicion at every turn. It is arresting to consider that among the few safe places of hos-pitality and confraternity for these persons to seek restoration in are religious houses. The Lens of History When one looks at the present crisis historically, a number of seminal issues come to the surface. The first is that nativist and anti-Catholic sentiment, so powerful in various periods of American history, has reappeared. That sentiment was clearly seen in the way that the secular press seized on the issue of sex-ual abuse. The New Yorker and National Review, the Boston Globe and the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel, odd bedfellows on other topics, joined in their insistence on full disclosure and even in their misunderstandings of Catholic teaching. The confusion of the vow of consecrated celibacy of religious and the promise of celibacy taken by diocesan priests was only one of many errors regarding the Catholic Church that appeared in the press. Fact checkers could be unconcerned that some simple down-to-earth accuracy escaped their investigative radar scanning. The print media, however, paled in comparison with the television indus-try. The traditional networks and the cable news leaders were both drawn to the story. Whether it was the American cardi-nals meeting in Rome or the American bishops meeting in Dallas, the confluence of church symbolism, sexuality, and inept or corrupt authority drew coverage that smacked of tabloid jour-nalism. (One had to strain to find any voice given to superiors of religious houses or congregations. With a few notable excep-tions, both local and national networks ignored that realm of Catholic vowed life.) In all this, one wonders what direction the film industry, already given to frequent caricatures of Catholic priests and religious, might take in future screenplays involving the church. Compared with earlier periods of anti-Catholicism in American history, however, contemporary treatment is less offensive. When one thinks of the fictionalized treatment of women's religious life in The Awful Disclosures of Maria Monk in the period prior to the Civil War, even the present-day embel-lished broadsides are slight in comparison. As much as the polit- Review for Religious ical cartoons that burst into the attention of the American pub-lic in 2002 seemed to lack all respect for the institutional church, they do not approach the Thomas Nast cartoons of the 19th century or the caricatures of Al Smith when he ran for president in 1928. An element of the current crisis that is a significant change in popular perception of the Catholic Church in the United States is an anticlerical slant. The American hierarchy, which until recent years had been heralded for its leadership regarding respect for life and in forming public policy on social-justice issues, was now the target of not only mavens of the media but also many ordinary Catholics. On the intertwined matters of sex and money and power, people scrutinized the conduct of the church's ordained authority figures. For those called to witness to the evangeli-cal counsels of consecrated celibacy, poverty, and obedience, there was little chance to miss the irony. While the United States for years resisted the per-vasive anticlericalism of European nations such as France, Italy, and Spain, it is increasingly evident that the status of the ordained in North America has been reduced markedly. Although this reduced status has not been felt with the same forcefulness among religious men and women, the high percentage of ordained members among the former and people's proclivity to think of both groups together sug-gest that the status of religious in Catholic eyes will be not be as high as it was up to the council. Beyond any doubt, there is a growing resentment toward the clerical culture of recent years. Whether directed towards closeted decision making by bishops or towards an air of unassailable authority among local priests, resentment is real and not restricted to feminists or to lay men and women with liberal agendas. Establishing the extent of this resentment by opinion polls would not seem as pressing a need as dealing with discernible causes of such resentment. It is hard to gauge just how powerful the media were in generating adverse public opinion against the Catholic Church Nativist and anti- Catholic sentiment, so powerful in various periods of American history, has reappeared. September-October 2002 Rippinger ¯ Lessons from a Time of Distress Scandalous behavior on the part of the clergy and religious, and also closeted policy making on the part of bishops, have been recurrent themes of American Catholic history. in the face of so much questionable behavior. Today's media have no real historical antecedent. The media treatments of Watergate and Humanae vitae provide matter for suggestive comparison but not for accurate assessment. In the public eye, the hierarchy and its representativesappear to have suffered an erosion of credibility that is without parallel. Insofar as this will have an effect on the church's image as a whole, it is bound to undermine the perception that ordinary Catholics and others have of members of religious congregations. Another historical perspective worth noting is that scandalous behav-ior on the part of the clergy and reli-gious, and also closeted policy making on the part of bishops, have been recur-rent themes of American Catholic his-tory, not merely developments of recent years. One strains to see such histori-cal awareness present in assessments of today's situation. Before the screening mechanisms of today, communities of men and women religious often took in individuals whose pasts were at best questionable. When sexual promiscuity or the misuse of alcohol occurred, typically it would take place outside the cloister and.involve the clergy in their pastoral assignments. When such misconduct became known publicly, the tolerance of the faithful was amazing, especially when the perpetrators would be reassigned to other parishes or missions. Therapeutic interventions and the reporting of specifically criminal actions to civil authorities were absent as procedural options until recent decades. Even many years after these events, historians found themselves frustrated by the selective purging of pertinent correspondence or data in community and diocesan archives. The upshot was that the press did not have access to records in the manner that exists today. In addition, there was an understanding that journalists would not cross a line in regard to investigating Catholic Church institutions. The culture that produced Hollywood's idealized images of priests and religious Review for Religious portrayed by Spencer Tracy, Bing Crosby, Loretta Young, Gregory Peck, and Ingrid Bergrnan did not deem it appropriate to uncover the darker side of that image. New Aspects of the Present Crisis One striking irony in the unfolding of recent events in the sexual-abuse scandal is the supporting cast that came into the public eye. The pray, pay, and obey lay people of the preconciliar era had now acquired positions of power and influence within the church. So, although the persons accused of criminal or immoral behavior were almost exclusively male and ordained, the church voices being heard were largely lay and even female. Women religious serving as chancellors (coordinating the func-tioning of diocesan offices) were asked to speak for the church. Lawyers, whether representing victims or perpetrators, pro-fessed their Catholicism and often a background of Catholic education. Catholic education, in fact, has had a role in the overall picture of the current sexual-abuse crisis. The primary apostolic work of many religious communi-ties, religious education has proved to be the very venue in which much sexual abuse took place. The large-scale lawsuits instituted against orders in Canada and the United States (to say nothing of Ireland and Australia) for systematic victimization of students signaled how vulnerable these institutions had become. The moral scandal in all of this seems to have been more the sin of omission by persons in authority who failed to intervene than the sexual crimes themselves. Some critics took note of the lack not only of moral integrity among administra-tors of Catholic schools, but also of a professional stance and adequate structures to deal with such criminal behavior. In both cases, administrators of religious schools were forced to admit to a complicity in allowing perpetrators of abuses to continue in their work. This situation pointed to a real deficiency in religious for-mation as well. Just as the sexual-abuse scandals in the United States in the last half of the 20th century indicated the flawed formation provided for many priests in seminaries, so too the formation programs of religious communities do not appear to have prepared people well for celibate commitment. Celibacy September-October 2002 Rippinger * Lessons from a Time of Distress and sexuality in formation programs were usually treated only in a general and allusive way that was felt to be circumspect, seldom with a candid and detailed explanation of realistic areas of struggle. An even sadder irony is that considerable numbers of vocations to the religious life were themselves sexually abused. Fear of divulging any information about such abuse only made the climate of conflicted feelings and shame more pronounced. Maintaining that secret and carrying the hurt of their past exacted a price that religious orders are only beginning to real-ize. As important as the vow of consecrated celibacy was for the identity and witness of all religious, it did not "keep up" with the culture. The sexually saturated American culture since the 1960s sent people to religious houses with sexual experience and atri-tudes that were considerably removed from, if not at cross pur-poses with, the ascetical tools they were expected to acquire in their spiritual life. For many generations, candidates came to religious com-munities at an early age and led lives sheltered from the wider world. In recent decades, more mature (that is, older) candi-dates with more education and more independent and sophis-ticated career experience made for an entirely different set of expectations. As much as Generation Xers and the millennium generation were recognized as requiring a new manner of for-marion, especially for developing the skills required by a celibate commitment and for developing a deeper understanding of their sexual identity, formation programs that provided this were the exception rather than the rule. Sadly, too, the emerging need in the last decades of the 20th century to assist older religious who had awakened to their sexuality as a more complex reality than they had previously realized was typically overlooked or ignored by religious communities. In recent years there has been tension and conflict between the discipline of psychology and the more traditional skills of the spiritual life such as fasting, mortification, and a deepening prayer life. Too frequently the matter appeared as an either/or proposition. Either one bought into the therapeutic model and relied upon the work and recommendations of trained clini-cians to deal with misbehavior, or one thought that only an ascetically proficient religious could be trusted to give effective witness. In truth, both the discipline of psychology and the tra- R~vie~ for Religious ditional methods of acquiring gospel holiness were needed as partners, not opponents. Religious superiors, many of whom had trained therapists in their communities, began to see the need to model such a partnership. Another facet of religious life that has been accentuated by the distressing events affecting the larger church has been, for want of a better term, a sense of entitlement. Part of the judg-ment rendered on the American ~riesthood by contemporary observers is that ordained men have generally been encouraged to see themselves as special, people having a status that put them on a pedestal. The connection of this attitude with nar-cissistic behavior and a feeling of deserved entitlement is not hard to make. The same holds true for the attitudes of exclu-sivity and domination that were attached to the role of the ordained. Insofar as religious communities, consciously or unconsciously, adopt such attitudes, they play into the hands of those who want to write them off as irrelevant to the modern world. One of the commonly employed descriptions of religious life in the last forty years of renewal has been its prophetic role. The term implies a forceful, unsparing, and honest stance in the face of evil or oppression. The fact that the veil on much of the evil behavior in the Catholic Church had to be lifted by persons and institutions outside it says much about consecrated life's complicity. For many years, communities and congrega-tions expended much energy and resources on the small minor-ity of the "troubled." It became standard operating procedure to deal with such matters in the closed circle of community. The reasons for this seemed evident. First of all, only the superiors would have all the facts to make the decision. And there was the need to respect both promised confidentiality and the good name of the institution. Somehow this learned behavior was able to compromise any impassioned effort to deal with the issues underlying these cases of moral failing and misbehavior. How much of the moti-vation behind this was because of religious obedience and humil-ity and how much of it was indifference and a desperate desire to preserve an image is hard to say. But the fact remains that few voices of prominence from the ranks of religious (one thinks of the Dominican Father Thomas Doyle, whose recommendations September-October 2002 Rippinger ¯ Lessons from a Time of Distress on sexual abuse to the American bishops in 1985 were largely filed away) were willing to play David against the Goliath of the church hierarchy. In some respects, many church authorities, when confronted with the revelation in early 2001 of sexual abuse of religious women in Africa by church figures, were other instances of not wanting to hear the prophetic voice. The history of religious life tends to teach that the minis-terial needs of each generation change, and so religious com-munities have to adapt to those needs. The church today would do well to prepare a good number of compassionate and com-petent men and women religious to minister to the victims of sexual abuse. The great capacity of religious in previous eras to form new ministries and institutions to deal with changing pas-toral needs will be tested again in this case. The professional training needed to provide such personnel should be a part of ordinary programs of formation. If seminaries throughout the United States are now committed to detailed screening and comprehensive instruction in the area of sexuality and celibate skills, religious communities should do no less. Historians can also be of assistance in future years. When one reads the available popular or scholarly histories of reli-gious congregations and communities in the United States (and they are many), one searches largely in vain for any serious or systematic discussion of sexual misbehavior, or of substance abuse and severe emotional problems. Part of the reason for this, as alluded to earlier, is that much of the record of such activity has been expunged from archives and other records. But there is no evading the truth that such scandals have had an influence on the character and development of many commu-nities and congregations. A beginning needs to be made towards having discreet, honest, and sensitive histories written on such matters so that the problem of silence and averted eyes no longer prevails. In the history of the modern church and modern conse-crated life, real transformation and spiritual progress have almost always been initiated by outside events. The Protestant Reformation and the French Revolution's destruction of reli-gious houses had positive effects within the Catholic Church. Reformed congregations and new houses of religious emerged to confront the new challenges of the time. Review for Religious The situation today, in the church and in North American relig!ous life, has similarities with those earlier historical moments. As much as the current crisis contains elements that are entirely new (for example, the mass media that shape much of public opinion and the "age of litigation" that surrounds the church in the United States), there nonetheless is much to learn from both the distant and the immediate past. New voices must be heeded, and a new genera-tion of leaders will be needed to change church and com-munity structures that have failed. To accomplish that daunting challenge, they must preserve the best of tradition and listen more carefully than their predecessors to the lessons of the past and the voice of the faithful around them. New approaches to ministry will be proposed, and they will enlist the ranks of religious women and men to The church today would do well to prepare a good number of compassionate and competent men and women religious to minister to the victims of sexual abuse. redirect their commitment and their resources. A new paradigm of formation in religious life must more realistically and pro-foundly prepare people to live a celibate commitment. Such a paradigm will blend the distinctive charism of tradition with the revised understanding of how religious life at the dawn of the new millennium has been changed unalterably by yet another tectonic shift in the geography of consecrated life. The proto-cols of the past (whether they be called secrecy, damage control, or protecting the institutional image at the expense of individ-uals) have been found wanting. It is incumbent upon the present and future generations of religious to effect a conversion wor-thy of their vowed commitment. September-October 2002 life and death REGINA SIEGFRIED Choose Life: Reflections Ten Years after Five Deaths Ten years ago five Adorers of ~he Blood of Christ were murdered in Liberia, where the congregation had had missionaries for twenty-two years. It seemed then that the deaths ended what the sisters had worked hard to build. God, though, told us long ago: "I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live" (Dr 30:19). Now, ten years later, some of the picture does not look nearly as bleak as it did in 1992. Three things are more obvious now than they were when the five Adorers were killed on 20 and 23 October 1992. One is that Liberia is still in the grip of a life-and-death struggle; another is that the paschal-mystery charism of the ASCs is in clearer focus for many members. The third is that the ASC mission in Liberia has not ended with the deaths of the five missionaries. Commemorating the tenth anniversary and celebrating the lives of the five murdered ASCs, this article focuses not on their deaths Regina Siegfried ASC last wrote for us in our May-June 2002 issue. Her address is Department of Theological Studies; Saint Louis University; P.O. Box 56907; St. Louis, Missouri 63156. Revi~'w for Religious but on the situation in Liberia and on the valiant spirits of people there who continue their legacy. The community's mission in Liberia began in 1970 in the coastal village of Grand Cess, in the Cape Palmas diocese. By 1984 the Adorers had eleven sisters ministering in Gardnersville (a suburb of the capital city, Monrovia), in Kle, and in Grand Cess. In 1989 civil war broke out, with Charles Taylor leading the rebel forces. Allegedly, rebel soldiers shot Joel Kolmer ASC and Barbara Ann Muttra ASC on a Tuesday, while they were on a short automobile journey away from their Gardnersville convent, and three days later other rebels came to their convent and shot Kathleen McGuire, Agnes Mueller, and Shirley Kolmer. My community has had ten years to assimilate those stark facts, to grieve intensely, to remember lovingly, and now to celebrate gratefully those lives generously poured out. Liberia Ten Years Later To keep these five deaths in perspective, it is necessary to realize that, since 1989, 200,000 Liberians have died; 800,000 more are refugees in neighboring countries and elsewhere. More than 1 million Liberians are internally dis-placed within the country. All of the country's infras-tructure lies in ruins and the economy has collapsed. However, leaders of the seven warring factions in Liberia are engaged in a lucrative underground econ-omy. In June 1996, deputy assistant secretary of state for African affairs. Ambassador William Twaddle testified before Congress that the National Patriotic Front of Liberia alone may have made $75 million a year from the sales of Liberia's timber, iron ore, rub-ber, gold, and diamonds.' The murder of Liberian President Samuel Doe in 1990 brought intense civil war. The seven Adorers then in Liberia fled the country. By March 1991 Sisters Shirley Kolmer and Joel Kolmer returned and were followed in August by Sisters Barbara Ann and Agnes and by newcomer Sister Kathleen. The sisters worked with youth to help them refocus their lives after fighting at too young an age. September-October 2002 After the sisters' deaths in 1992, fighting .continued to devastate the country. In September 1996 Ruth Sando Perry headed the Liberian New Transitional Government. During that same year armed conflict once again erupted in Monrovia, but by August the warring factions signed the Abuja II Peace Accord. Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf opposed Charles Taylor, leader of one of the factions; he defeated her for the presidency in May 1997. On 14 March 2001, testifying before the House International Relations Subcommittee on Africa, Senator Russ Feingold unequivocally labeled him a war criminal: "We have all read the appalling accounts of atrocities committed in the region. I believe that some of the responsibility for these terrible abuses rests upon Charles Taylor's shoulders. In fact, I believe that Liberian President Charles Taylor is a war criminal." Jeffrey Bartholet's in-depth article and analysis of Taylor in the 14 May 2001 issue of Newsweek argues that Taylor is "a dictator adrift . He maintains the faCade of democracy, while ensuring that no one threatens his power" (p. 31). In May 2002 the International Herald Tribune reported that fighting had once again broken out in Monrovia. Taylor's government troops attempted to quell a rebel offensive. Adding to Taylor's self-serving indifference to the plight of the people of Liberia are other grim conditions that compound the misery: child soldiers, illegal diamond trade, crumbling and destroyed country-wide infrastructures, and deforestation of a once breathtakingly beautiful and fertile land. Boys orphaned by the war joined factions that offered promises of booty, power, and the glamour of guns. Girls became the mistresses and servants of older soldiers, with rape and resulting pregnancies fo~ girls too young to be mothers. Some children were forced to kill as part of an initiation rite and to ensure their complicity and loyalty to a faction? With the theoretical peace of August 1996, many of the child soldiers were disarmed. But taking guns from children does not mean they are educated, prepared with skills, or rehabilitated for society. Often with no parents, no home, and no school to return to, these child soldiers were well on the way to becoming today's lost young adults. In assessing the plight of the child soldiers, Stephen G. Price, of the office of justice and peace for the Society of African Missions, has written: Revie~a for geligio~,s Rehabilitation requires some kind of reconciliation in the larger Liberian society, where the atrocities of war experience can be faced in some way, and a means of living with the memory of them is achieved. It also involves responsible persons hearing young fighters tell their own stories of personal involvement. The grief, terror, and guilt will be a huge emotional burden, and a bomb waiting to explode again, if it is not expressed.3 Although the war may be technically over in Liberia, the fighting and refugees have spilled into neighboring Sierra Leone. That country's Revolutionary United Front smuggles diamonds through Liberia, where Charles Taylor reportedly takes a cut of the pro~fit.4 The African Faith and JustiCe Network newsletter of March 2001 reports that nongovernment organizations and the United Nations have succeeded in getting the diamond industry to commit itself "to rapidly developing a Certification of Origin system that would allow global markets to exclude diamonds originating in civil-war situations. However, the industry has moved slowly to implement this commitment, prompting more active calls for UN or government action" (p. 5). The same newsletter says that fighting over diamonds has closed so many clinics and pharmacies that people are unable to get appropriate drugs or treatment for common, easily treatable illnesses. Child soldiers, illegal diamond smuggling, and ordinary Liberians without ordinary social services and a working infrastructure--all are signs of death, destruction, and general mayhem. But only on one level. Liberians continue to choose life; the forces for life outnumber the seemingly grim, death-dealing, and nearly hopeless situations they face every day. Their natural tendency toward optimism and a God-centered hope sustain them. Nongovernment organizations such as Catholic Relief Services, the Society of African Missions (SMA fathers), other missionaries, But taking guns from children does not mean they are educated, prepared with skills, or rehabilitated for society. September-October 2002 Siegf!'ied ¯ Choose Life the Africa Faith and Justice Network, Senator Feingold's testimony, the clean diamond act, and programs such as Development, Education, and Leadership Teams in Action (DELTA) and Development Education Network-Liberia (DEN-L) are slowly, surely, and quiedy restoring life to this country. Located in Gbarnga, Bong County, and committed to training lay leaders to "promote grassroots participation in sustainable development and good governance,''5 DEN-L trains workers, community leaders, and unionists to analyze local and national situations and to network, advocate, and work for a Liberia where life is sustainable. DEN-L is but one example of an organization staffed by fearless committed people who envision a country where peace and reconciliation bring new life. The ASC spirit lives on in lay associates who still gather to pray, to remember, to celebrate. Lay people now staff the Catechetical Village Leadership Training Center in Kle, Bomi County, begun by Antoinette Cusimano AS in 1986. The sisters' house in Gardnersville is a clinic. Five Liberian brothers staff Sister Shirley Kolmer School in Barnersville. Sister Kathleen McGuire School is a newly built structure in Cooperfarm, a village near Monrovia. The work of Sister Barbara Ann in healthcare is continued in Tubmanburg and Kle and many surrounding villages by a nurse trained by Barbara Ann and her staff. Another aide trained by Barbara Ann works in the clinic in Kle; the clinic had been the sisters' home. Since it is the custom of the Liberians to name their children after some persons important to them, some Liberian girls now answer to the names of sisters who served in Liberia, including the slain sisters. Despite it all, perhaps because of it all, the spirit nurtured by the five ASCs and other ASC missionaries lives in the people who carry on their legacy without their presence. The missionaries have risen in the people. ASCs Ten Years Later The sisters have risen in the people of Liberia. How do their spirits live in the congregation of Adorers of the Blood of Christ? The answer to that question impels us to focus on the charism, our legacy from Maria de Mattias, founder of the Adorers. The Review for Religious Constitution of the Adorers of the Blood of Christ is quite clear about the charism: Our charism as Adorers of the Blood of Christ is deeply rooted in the death-resurrection mystery of Jesus. Ours is a paschal identity, signed in the blood of the Lamb. As a congregation we are to bear witness in hope and joy to the living presence in our world today of Christ's redeeming love, which gives meaning to human suffering and can render it powerfully liberating and life-giving. (§22) Shaped by and immersed in this basic mystery of Christianity, the Adorers expect this "paschal identity" to permeate their corporate and personal lives. Baptized into the life and death of Jesus, vowed to God as sisters in a congregation whose constitution encourages its members to be "ever more credible witnesses of God's tender love, of which the blood of Jesus is vibrant sign and unending covenant pledge" (§3), the paschal-mystery charism of the Adorers found stark reality in the lives and deaths of the sisters in Liberia. These five credible witnesses lived and died the charism. Charisms of communities are wild, fiery, free, hard to control by law and institutionalization. If this is true of eharisms in general, it is certainly true for the Precious Blood charism, which pulses with the life of the paschal mystery, urging contemplation, speech, and action, impelling us to mission.6 The Precious Blood charism is rooted in historical times that were rife with political and social unrest. Injustice for the poor of society was so common that it was not given much consideration except for the countercultural founder who was on fire with the gospel message of God's reign. Fire and passion for the mission, the urgency to be with the marginalized of society, pushed our founder and our pioneer members to take risks that appeared foolish to the complacent. These are the same qualities that urged five Adorers to return to Liberia in the face of evidence that pointed to staying home, staying safe. Such vision demanded conversion on the part of Maria de Mattias and of the five killed in Liberia. It calls for the same in us. Joe Nassal CPpS writes in a similar vein when he says: To be a disciple of the Precious Blood today is. to stand with those of Matthew 25: the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the ill and im- September-October 2002 Siegfried ¯ Cboose Life Our sisters died because of what they believed in-- God's love for all people, especially the poor and suffering. prisoned. This implies that, when we stand with those who are at the margin of our society, we are no longer in the center ourselves. We allow those with whom Jesus identifies to pull us out of our cozy and comfortable cocoons into the real world where pain and suffering is ever present.7 Ten years ago grief was too raw, tears and disbelief too close, for comfort. But ten years have given the Adorers time and space to contemplate the mystery of those terrible days in late 1992. Life has indeed gone on. We know the slain sisters would expect us to get on with the mission. But, for many Adorers, "getting on with the mission" meant and means soul-searching, questioning, pondering the paschal mystery in a new light. Contemplation of Jesus' life with a focus on the paschal mystery means reflection on the reality of blood poured out for the sake of others. The fact and the symbol of Jesus' shedding of blood calls Christians, especially congregations dedicated to the Precious Blood, to consider the totality of a life gift, the meaning of giving all even to the point of death. From a pragmatic view, both Jesus and the sisters killed in Liberia were in the wrong place at the wrong time, yet they stood up to the wielders of power and the forces of destruction. The disciples of Jesus, like the Adorers, needed to theologize about the meaning of seemingly meaningless deaths. Marcia Kruse, a U.S. Adorer,s reflects that: "Actions and events become signs or symbols of a deeper meaning. Our sisters died because of what they believed in--God's love for all people, especially the poor and suffering. Their lives and deaths are symbols, examples of total giving, and that total giving is what we are called to." Wherese Wetta, another Adorer from the United States, writes: "Five of our Adorers had given their very lives because of their solidarity with the Liberian people. The sisters knew that Review for Religious the Liberian people were brothers and sisters to us, redeemed by the Blood of Christ and sacred in God's eyes." Mini Vadakumchery, an Adorer from India, communicates in the same vein: "They offered themselves as a living sacrifice and answered the cry of the poor. Today I . . . am ready to risk and challenge my life in any situation." Violence, political and social unrest, and neglect of the weakest in society are streams that run through the time of Jesus, through the 19th-century founding of our congregation, and through today's world--the living and dying in the present-day neglected country of Liberia being a prime example. But another stream of compassion, standing with, and advocacy mingles with those deeply stained waters. Whenever people throw in their lot with the disenfranchised of society, with those who need our presence as much as we need theirs, then the saving power of Jesus finds a home, and everyone finds a home. The stream of life weakens the stream of death. This is the cycle of paschal-mystery theology--life ultimately means resurrection. The wood of the cross had its effect on bitter desert water, as Moses experienced typologically at Marah: "He cried to the Lord, and the Lord showed him a tree, and he threw it into the water, and the water became sweet" (Ex 15:25). This is part of paschal-mystery theology. Jesus came that people may have life and have it to the full; this means going beyond the bitter and the sad, beyond death, to resurrection, that joy beyond joys. Matija Pavic, one of the Adorers in Croatia who lived amid ¯ the war and destruction in that country, writes in a similar vein: Since their martyrdom I can say we feel greater closeness among us, at the level of the province and of the congregation as well, as if their martyrdom itself strengthened and drew us together, waking us up to the seriousness of our life commitment at the same time. We experienced the truth of the word that we are called to witness to Christ even to shedding of our own blood. We were overwhelmed by feelings of worry, compassion, and prayer; it was as if th¢:ir suffering spilled over into us. At the same time we were sure that their blood was not shed in vain. We know that it will be a new seed for the kingdom of God here on earth.9 September-October 2002 Sieg?Cried * Cboose Life The congregation continues to choose life. Many of us are ministering in the same areas that we were ten years ago, but the awareness, the consciousness, is deeper than before the events in Liberia. As a United States province we offer more assistance to victims of violence, are more attentive to women and children and to work with refugees. Today the charism has taken on a new dimension of reconciliation. We want to be reconcilers in our torn world, living the life, death, and peace of Jesus where we are and seeking out areas where reconciliation is needed. Life is precious; we cherish each other and try not to take one another for granted. If we are to become our charism in our society, we must respond to the call that the charism voices in our hearts. The paschal mystery invites us to life through death. It is our legacy to insure that the spirit of the sisters killed in Liberia lives in us as vibrantly as it does in the people of Liberia, whose lives they touched graciously, joyously, and effectively. Notes ~ Ezekiel Pajibo, "Liberia: A Brief Overview," Africa Faith and Justice Network, March 1977. 2 Stephen G. Price, "Child Soldiers in the Liberian War," SMA Office of Justice and Peace, March 1997. 3 Price, "Child Soldiers." 4 Washington Post, 17 April 2000. s Taken from "Information about the Development Education Network Liberia." 6 Some of the ideas on paschal-mystery charism are taken from my article "The Missionary Heart," Review for Religious 54, no. 6 (November-December, 1995): 913-917. 7 Joe Nassal CPPS, Passionate Pilgrims: A Sojourn of Precious Blood Spirituality (Carthagena, Ohio: Messenger Press, 1993), p. 17. 8 Adorers worldwide were invited to submit reflections on the effect the sisters' deaths had on them. Some of their comments are included in this article. 9 Translated by Viktorijika Tomic ASC. Review for Religious MARIE BEHA Made Perfect through Suffering ISn the days immediately after the terrorist attack of 11 eptember 2001, the liturgy celebrated--yes, "celebrated"-- a familiar cycle of feasts: on 14 September the Exaltation of the Cross, the next day the feast of the Sorrowful Mother, and two days later the commemoration of the Stigmata of St. Francis of Assisi. This triad has always touched my heart, but I never really understood the reason. Last year the cycle's themes grew in clarity as, in the light of the September tragedy, the why of suf-fering demanded deeper answers. So many innocent people had died, so many others suffered multiple losses, and so many of us, perhaps all of us, had our lives, our attitudes, changed. As has been said over and over, "nothing will ever be the same." Amid all this, what was the liturgy asking us to celebrate? How did these past events touch the present of our suffering? What did it all mean? Exaltation of the Cross The very titling of the feast holds paradox. If familiarity were not dimming the challenge, we would all be aghast every time a cross is exalted to a place of honor in a church or home, every time it is raised up in blessing. Unfortunately, we take Maria Beha OSC, frequent contributor to our pages, lives at the Monastery of St. Clare; 1916 North Pleasantburg Drive; Greenville, South Carolina 29609. Septe'mber- October 2002 Beha * Made Perfect through Suffering this linking of cross and glory for granted. After all, it is the cross of Jesus that we are lifting up. Familiar religious senti-ment blunts the starkness of the reality. But what about our own suffering? Could that be lifted up? This was my question. As I explored the readings for this feast, they only height-ened the cross's mystery, inviting us in the entrance antiphon to "Glory in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ" and stressing in the preface that God has "decreed" that we should be "saved by the wood of the cross." As I pondered the paradox of these too familiar phrases, still others came to mind. "It was fitting that God . . . in bringing many children to glory should make the pioneer of their salvation perfect through sufferings" (Heb 2:10). And, equally mysterious, "he learned obedience through what he suffered" (Heb 5:8). Suffering redeems. That is what the phrases proclaimed, what I had always heard and said. But was it what I believed, what I had experienced? To raise the question in the first person singular was to realize just how much ambiguity remained in my act of faith. Certainly I believed that the suffering of Jesus was redemptive; that was unquestioned bedrock. But what about human suffering, other people's as well as my own? Specifically how did the tragedy of 11 September hold potential for redemp-tion? And how about the bone-wrenching pain of my friend so seriously injured in a near-fatal auto wreck? And the grief of a single mother whose three small children died when flames swept through their trailer home? The examples easily became an almost endless litany.of human misery and grief. I began to feel myself slipping down into a vortex of tragedy that could only paralyze. I hurried back to Jesus and the exaltation of his cross. From the beginning of his ministry, Jesus revealed God's compassion for human suffering. Just the sight of the grieving widow at Naim was enough to call forth a life-giving response. Jesus took the dead man by the hand and "gave him back to his mother" (Lk 7:11-17). No one had asked Jesus to do anything. It was as though the mother's suffering compelled him to act. And how many times throughout the Gospels Jesus responds to pain in the same way, healing lepers, the blind, the deaf, the lame. As Mark says, "wherever he put in an appearance, in vil-lages, in towns, or at crossroads, they laid the sick in the mar-ketplaces and begged him to let them touch just the tassel of Review for Religious his cloak. All who touched him got well" (Mk 6:56). Others ~possessed by demons, many of whom we would today consider emotionally ill, also called forth Jesus' compassion. He drove out the demons, freeing those who had been in their grip. In word and deed Jesus tells us that God is on the side, not of suffering, but of new life, freedom, health, healing. In other words, suffering is not to be gloried in but rather to be worked against. In the end time of a "new heaven and a new earth [God] will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more" (Rv 21:1, 3-4). This is where we are going, but the life and death of Jesus amply testify that suffer-ing is integral to our ever arriv-ing at that kingdom of glory. While working against suffering in the life of others, Jesus also accepted it in his own. He real-ized early on that responding to God's call would bring suffer-ing, not only to himself but also to those whom he loved. From the beginning of his ministry, he warned his disciples of his coming passion and rebuked Peter sharply for refusing to accept this reality: "Get behind me, Satan" (Mt 16:23). Even the everyday of Jesus' life was punctuated with the hardships of an exhausting ministry, complicated by a lack of understanding on the part of those closest to him and subject to harassment by the religious leaders. Mark's Gospel (6:6) says he was "amazed" at their "hardness of heart." How it all must have hurt him! His own family thought him "out of his mind" (Mk 3:21) and came to take him away. His closest friends, the likes of James and John, were more concerned about their sta-res in the kingdom (Mk 10:35-40) than in what Jesus was trying to teach them. On the last night of his life, his disciples' lack of understanding would degenerate into a cowardice that left him alone at the end. If suffering was present throughout Jesus' life, his death and dying were terrible: an innocent man condemned to the most shameful of deaths, done in by the jealousy of religious leaders Jesus tells us that God is on the side, not of suffering, but of new life, freedom, health, healing. September-October 2002 Beba ¯ Made Perfect through Suffering For suffering to be redemptive we must not seek it out, exaggerate it, or add to it. whose legalistic observance covered over the corruption of dead men's bones. Betrayed by one of his own, deserted by all but a handful of his alleged followers and supporters, tortured and mocked by his executioners, yet "he did not open his mouth" (Is 53:7). Even in the agony of death by crucifixion, his words were full of love for his mother, for the one disciple who remained faithful, and for the dying thief. To his Father his final plea was one of concern for others, "Forgive them, they know not what they are doing," accompanied by his own complete sub-mission, "Into your hands I commend my spirit" (Lk 23:34, 46). Jesus' death summed up his lifelong attitude of accepting the suffering that came to him in accord with his prior choice. "Not my will but yours be done" (Lk 22:42) summarized who he was and what he was about. As a conse-quence of this first love, Jesus responded to the suffering in his life in such a way that it became redemptive. That is what we cele-brate on the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross and what we must experience in our own salvation history if we are ever to embrace the mystery of suffering. Have we ever, perhaps only in retrospect, seen something painfully difficult become redeem-ing grace? I know that for me a debilitating illness that con-fined me to total bed rest for six months when I was a cocky twenty-two-year-old was grace beyond compare. During those endless days of being unable to do anything, I had time to think long thoughts, to sift through my life values and lay aside some of the driving ambition that might very well have detoured my whole religious life. I began to learn how fragile my control of events and how life's meaning had to go deeper. I am sure you can add your own experiences of the redemp-tive value of suffering: the family that finds unity and union in caring for a sick child, the marriage that is strengthened by cop-ing with serious financial difficulties, the struggle to get an edu-cation that makes learning a lifelong priority. The list goes on and maybe needs to--showing us over and over how our faith can grow stronger through the redemptive power of suffering. Revie~v for Religious But at some point the very examples we recall also reveal that suffering is a two-edged sword. Its redemptive potential is not automatic. We all know people whom suffering has shrunk into self-absorption, and we know whiners and complainers who specialize in self-pity. Many of us do not have to look any fur-ther than our own hearts to recognize how destructive suffering can be. It can occasion a crisis, with people choosing a path of lifelong bitterness, defeat, despair. Redemptive suffering moves in the opposite direction, open-ing us to others and to God. It shrinks our pain, putting it in perspective, not the stoic perspective that "well, things could be much worse," but faith's perspective that suffering is not the end, that God brings healing, health, joy, resurrection. For suffering to be redemptive we must not seek it out, exaggerate it, or add to it. Ours is not to be the self-centered pain that protests with injured innocence, "Why me?" Nor should we try to find some husk of self-satisfaction by compar-ing our burden of pain with someone else's. Each person's suf-fering is unique, if for no other reason than that this present difficulty is piled on a unique miscellany of memories and past experiences. Trustful acceptance of suffering keeps us moving in the direction of redemption and healing. Our suffering takes on true meaning when it is caught up in the passion of Jesus. In our suffering we are being invited to "complete what is lacking in Christ's afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church" (Col 1:24). Already in baptism we are immersed in the dying and rising of Jesus. What began in his redemptive act continues as we accept the cross into our own life. Each time a choice of ours says no to sin and yes to new life in Christ, we live out the possibilities of our baptism. Each time we offer God the daily bread of our ordinary lives, we present to him a living sacrifice of praise. The Eucharistic transubstan-tiation changes not only ourselves but our world. We must focus, not on our own immediate experience of pain, but on Jesus, "fixing our eyes on the head of our faith . . . who suffered the cross" (Heb 12:1). I can recall vividly a woman who suffered ten long years from multiple sclerosis, experiencing all of its terrible dimin-ishments till at the end she was completely immobilized, unable to so much as move herself in bed. When asked, foolishly September-October 2002 Beha ¯ Made Perfea through Suffering enough, "How are you today?" her invariable response was, "Just the way God wants me to be. And how are you?" I think hers was a highly personal, well-lived translation of Jesus' own faithful response "Not my will but yours be done." She did not choose suffering, but when it came she accepted it and so dis-covered grace and peace despite the pain. Compassion's Power Suffering comes not only in our own flesh but also in the pain that others must bear and we with them. In some ways this suffering-with-another is more difficult than simply bearing our own pain, since pain deepens when all we can do is stand by helplessly. We can neither prevent another's journey toward death nor live the journey for them. We cannot force anyone to choose health and healing. Demanding that someone get coun-seling is not therapeutic; hiding the cigarettes only adds decep-tion to the mix; neither leads to conversion. Yet just "being with" another seems too little. How often I have heard parents express their wish that they could wrestle with cancer themselves rather than stand by helplessly while their child endures the awful rounds of surgery, chemo, and radiation. And how much pain is added to the suffering of a dying husband or wife, leaving behind a. spouse whose loneliness they know will never be healed. People suffer the added burden of helplessness when their friends lose their job, their health, or their home. "I don't know what to say, what to do!" we exclaim, with truth. But, hopefully, we do not use such inability to solve another's problem as a pretext for noninvolvement. Perhaps this is one of the uncon-scious reasons we seal our hearts against caring too much; instinc-tively we know it will cost us. True love is willing to risk the personal suffering that accompanies compassion. If love exposes us to greater suffering, it is also true that suffering with another can open our hearts for greater love. Children who have lost their parents in a tragic accident pull at our heartstrings. Accompanying someone facing a terminal ill-ness can give us an impetus to sort through and rearrange our own values. The terrible tragedy of 11 September 2001 stirred an unprecedented outpouring of generosity, people giving because they just had to. Strangers worked together as part- Review for Religious ners. People who lived next door became neighbors. People dis-covered strength they did not know they had when others' needs called it forth. Helping someone even in ordinary circumstances can cre-ate a close bond. Just taking a few moments to greet a new-comer can open the door to a lasting relationship. Taking the first step toward reconciliation may result in a friendship cemented now in the experi-ence of mutual forgiveness. It almost seems that some expe-rience of shared suffering, of difficulty overcome, is neces-sary if relationships are to mature into true intimacy. Exposing our vulnerability, allowing another to be with us in our pain, not only presup-poses trust but enlivens it as well. We come to know each Pain and suffering offer not only opportunity for growth, but also possibility of destruction or division. other in deeper, more personal ways. Our love has been tried and is more secure because it has passed the test. Love "suffers with," and "suffering with" can deepen love-- but not always. Once again, pain and suffering offer not only opportunity for growth, but also possibility of destruction or division. The sickness of a child may lead to parental quarrels and divorce. Friendships falter and fail in the face of difficult times and circumstances. How many siblings find themselves locked into bitter quarrels after the death of a parent? And, on a larger scale, a national tragedy can initiate a cycle of blame and mutual suspicion, of escalating violence and threats of revenge. Suffering is always a two-edged sword. It reveals hearts. That is what we celebrate on the feast of our Sorrowful Mother. Mary's love for her Son exposed her to tremendous suffering, and that suffering deepened and revealed her love. "A sword will pierce your own soul" (Lk 2:35) was a promise consequent on her accepting her unique vocation. A call from God, any call from God, implies going beyond one's present comfort level. So Mary's "Be it with me according to your word" (Lk 1:38) meant that her life would never be the same. She was being asked to transcend her power to understand, control, even September-October 2002 Beba * Made Perfect through Suffering explain. Inevitably others would be uncomprehending, some-times judgmental, even condemning. There was nothing she could say or do to make it easier for those who loved her, or for those who did not. Her only option in the face of this suf-fering was to trust that the God who called was faithful. That faith would be tried when her own Son remained behind in the temple without a word of explanation to her or Joseph. "Why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have been searching for you with great anxiety." Their mother-son relationship was secure enough to survive his counterques-tion, "Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be about my Father's business?" (Lk 2:48-49)~ Out of this suffering must have come some deeper level of trust and understanding. Still later their tested relationship would grow into Cana's fuller confidence, "Do whatever he tells you" (Jn 2:5), and all through Calvary's final hours. There their love faced its ultimate test of mutual surrender. Mary gave her Son back to the Father; Jesus gave his mother to another "son." Mary's "Be it done according to your word" .was consummated in Jesus' "Into your hands I commend my spirit." But that cry of ultimate shared suffering was not the end. Out of it came new and eternal life, pain transformed into last-ing joy. We have no recorded appearance of the risen Jesus to his mother. Maybe it occurred but was too private, too personal, to be recorded. Maybe Jesus and Mary knew each other so well that there was no need for such confirmation. What we do know with faith's assurance is that now they are united beyond suf-fering in love's joy. Compassion breaks hearts open, leaving them vulnerable to more pain but also to more love. It did so for Mary; it can do the same for us if we are willing to risk a love that suffers because of caring for another. Such love is very different from the passivity of self-centered suffering that we bring on our-selves and which has almost no value. Worrying over all the "maybes" of our fears for self or others is common enough, but it accomplishes nothing. While acknowledging that we .are wor-riers, we also need to move proactively toward more produc-tive thinking. Similarly the murmuring and muttering that runs its compulsive tape through our minds needs closure, not the self-defeating stance that allows the pain to go on because "that Review for Religious is just the way things are." Ill health, our own or other peo-ple's, is not allowed to serve as a semilegitimate excuse for imposing unnecessarily on the goodwill of others or withdraw-ing from the concerns of the wider community. Similarly, true compassion does not permit people to become victims of the tragedies that have befallen them. Contrast self-indulgent forms of suffering with true compas-sion, where an individual goes beyond ego's narrow, rigid bound-aries to reach out to others in their pain. Such self-sacrifice is life-size, opening us to love's demands, risking involvement beyond our capacity to control the cost; it is redemptive. Such was the passion of Jesus; such was Mary's compassionate love. Christocentric Suffering Fruitful suffering is incarnational. It both accepts and works against the here-and-now pain that comes into our own lives and the lives of others with whom we risk love's involvement. This kind of suffering makes a real difference in us, in our very selves. It did so in particularly dramatic ways in the life of Francis of Assisi, and this is what we celebrate on 17 September when we remember his reception of the stigmata, having his body marked with the wounds of Jesus. What happened to Francis is what must happen in some way in our own lives. Sharing in the pas-sion of Jesus is meant to mark us, to make us different. The process begins when we look long and lovingly at Jesus and see how unlike him we are. This is the sinful self that needs conversion, and such radical repentance is bound to be costly. Changing old patterns of behavior which we recognize as self-defeating, but which still offer the comfort of familiarity, exposes us to the awkwardness of the new and untried. Letting go of habits, even habits that have been helpful in the past but no longer contribute to our growth, seems as risky as a child's first steps without support. All of these changes, not only from bad to good but also from good to better, initiate a cycle of falling, failing, struggling, starting, over. It is the cross of repentance that encourages true growth. The pain of conversion, both initial and ongoing, is made more bearable as long as we feel we are in control. Determining what we are going to change, the timing, when and how much, September-October 2002 Beha ¯ Made Perfect through Suffering There comes a time when all our activity is fixed on only one point, that of obedience and surrender. means that the very self is never much threatened. And yet it is this self, which has a mind of its own, a will of its own, that must die. Growth into Christ implies obedience. Suffering that is redemptive, then, is both active and passive. These two elements are related not as contradictories, as though some pain were active and some passive, but rather as the con-cave and convex of the same reality. Living as a Christian requires asceticism. We must make a choice, take a stand, do something. Even when pain comes into our life unbidden, we are actively responsible for the attitude we take toward it. And yet suffering is not to be chosen for its own sake; it must, as we have seen, be worked against. Still there comes a time when all our activity is fixed on only one point, that of obedience and surrender. In the end we are asked to give back to God all that God has first given us: our activities, our gifts, our relationships, our very lives. But this is not where we begin. First we give thanks to the "one who has given us everything needed for life" (i P 1:3) by using whatever we have received in the service of others. And we continue to do that as long as we can, accepting the suffering that is implicit in generous service: fatigue, the disci-pline of constancy, the boredom of daily routine. We continue to give despite the discouragement of failure, of plans that go wrong, and perhaps of the ingratitude of those whom we are trying to serve. In simply doing what is ours to do, we come to know the purification of active suffering. We learn that saying yes to others includes a no to ourselves. Francis knew this only too well. His decision to follow Christ more closely cost him dearly. He lost his relationship with his family (especially his father) and with friends, gave up his dream of glory through knighthood. Kissing the leper at the beginning of his conversion meant going beyond the comfort-able generosity of tossing someone a coin. His call to preach the gospel included all the hardship of an itinerant lifestyle. Embracing Lady Poverty meant going without the security of Review for Religious possessions. Even the great number of followers who were attracted by his example brought its own suffering, complicat-ing with the onerous responsibility of administration the simple life he desired. In addition to these sufferings, Francis also deliberately practiced a demanding asceticism. In fact, he afflicted his body so severely that he ruined his health, a mistake he came to rec-ognize and regret. At the end of his life he owed Brother Body an apology and said so. But Francis's initial mistake does not mean that freely chosen asceticism is of no value. On the con-trary, the small suffering implied in such self-imposed disci-pline incarnates our desire for God and makes room in our hearts for deeper union. This was Francis's experience and that of so many of the saints. It can also be ours, if we embrace the active asceticism of emptying ourselves of some perfectly good and legitimate things in order to make room for God. Fasting is the classic example of such discipline. Food is necessary for our survival and is one of our everyday pleasures as well. Our enjoyment of food is healthy. Unfortunately, many and even most of us overeat or undereat, and that is unhealthy. We indulge ourselves, passing up the vegetables and taking a second desert. We abuse food and ourselves in the process. I sometimes suspect that a piece of fruit as the symbol of the first temptation is especially apt, since eating remains a problematic area for many people. And so fasting retains its importance as a spiritual discipline. Setting some limits on what, when, and how much we eat can give some realism to our need to die to that demanding self of ours which expects ready gratification. A reasonable fast not only does not endanger our health, it p~obably promotes itq while also letting us share in some small way in the hunger of the multitudes in our world who lack enough food to live on. What we save by cutting back on snack food, or on expensive kinds of meat, can be given away? as an immediate fruit of our fasting. On a more profound level, some experience of hunger can stir in our hearts a greater hunger for God. This is what Francis knew when he incorporated fasting into his way of life. Because his fasting was both a consequence and an expression of love, it finally came to be strict without being rigid. His severe fasts during six forty-day Lents left him //0'1 Septentber-October 2002 Beba ¯ Made Perfect tbrougb Suffering with an empty stomach but a heart full of love for creation, for his brothers and sisters, and above all for God. At the end Francis became free enough to enjoy good food, the sweetmeats his friend LadyJacoba brought him, and to exhort his brothers to rub the very walls with meat on Christmas. His fasting along with occasional feasting came to incorporate the worship of enjoyment, gratitude, and praise. Yet as time went on Francis's suffering was less and less a matter of his own decision and choosing. It became more pas-sive, something done to him where his only activity was the choice of response. Illness, aggravated by the imprudent asceti-cism of his early days and by the crude medical practices of the time, wearied both his body and his spirit. His stomach gave him almost constant pain. His eyes failed, and this man who had so rejoiced in the beauty of creation became almost blind. Even more of a heartbreak, some friars who had at first embraced his gospel way of life came to find it too much for them. They rejected Francis, demanding that he turn over the governance of the order to another. He lived out his final years in submission and obedience. Suffering abounded in his last years, and to this was added the pain of the stigmata. The wounds in his body were real; they bled profusely enough to require bandaging. The nail marks in his feet made every step difficult, and in the end he had to consent to ride on a donkey. His hands became more and more useless, and he hid them in the ample sleeves of his tunic. How did Francis respond to all of this suffering? When his eyes were cauterized, he prayed Brother Fire to be gentle with him. When his body was too worn to go any further, he returned to San Damiano, the place of his beginnings. There Clare and her sisters tried to care for him, and there in the midst of des-olation of body and spirit he composed his glorious Canticle of the Creatures: "Praise, my Lord, for Sister Moon and Brother Sun. for Sister Water and Brother Fire. for fair and every kind of weather." Yes, praise for every kind of weather and every gift of nature and grace, for the good times and the days of pain. Praise. And gratitude, because it is all gift. This is what the stigmata celebrates: not just the fact that Francis's body was marked by the cross, but that his whole life was. He embraced suffering, accepted what came to him, while Review for Religious working against it in his ministry of healing and serving oth-ers. His heart was filled with compassion for all God's creation, his own friars, the lepers, all in need. And at the end his lifelong desire to be like Christ left him marked with the wounds of the passion. What happened in his life must happen in ours, if not in such dramatic ways, at least with equal reality. Suffering will mark us as Christ's own. We will be signed with the sign of the cross. This is what I think we celebrate in the triad of feasts that mark mid September: the Exaltation of the Cross, the Sorrows of Mary, and the Stigmata of St. Francis. Each feast hints at suffering's true meaning. First of all, it is redemptive, intended to lead us into greater freedom and love. If this is to happen, we need to accept the suffering that inevitably comes into our lives, but also to move with all our strength in the direction of health and healing. And we need to do this regarding not only our own pain but the pain of others too. Compassion, standing with others in their pain, will open us to more suffering. But there is where we will want to be if we love enough. Still, it will be costly. Life will bring us suffering that we somehow choose, but also some that we do not choose but must learn to accept. This suffering will mark us with the wounds of the passion. What our little cycle of September feasts celebrates, then, is this: that in our lives suffering is redemptive both as gift and as given. This is what it was for Francis, for Mary, for Jesus. It is what the suffering that comes into all our lives is meant to be for us. Starshine Starshine is sometimes all the light we need to get our bearings. a heavenly.reminder of light beyond measure, that will not yield to the nightclouds haunting the horizon of our heart. Diana SeagoOSB September-October 2002 DENNIS j. BILLY Right Relationships in Consecrated Life theory and reality Right relationships reminds me of Anne Quirk's children's novel, Dancing with Great-Aunt Cornelia, a story about a dysfunctional New York family and a thirteen-year-old girl's discovery that her eccentric, incredibly tall, and extremely rich great-aunt is really her grandmother. Near the end of the story, the family finally comes to terms with its denial, insensitivity, anger, and odd way of relating. The reconciliation takes place at a dance party hosted by Great-Aunt Cornelia in her enormous Manhattan town house just off Fifth Avenue. Although tensions run high at first, eventually the entire family let down their guard and end up dancing with one another--and quite enjoying it. As Connie, the young narrator, puts it: "I'm sure I danced with my father, with Bendey, with my mother, and with Eleanor, too. For a while I guess we were all dancing together, in a sort of tango with seven people and a large dog. Maybe it was actually more of a tangle than a tango.''~ Dennis J. Billy CSSR, a frequent contributor to our pages, may till 25 January 2003 be reached at Mount St. Alphonsus Retreat Center; P.O. Box 219; Esopus, New York 12429. 1~eview for l~etigio~ Festivity and Dance To my mind, living in right relationship with others is much akin to taking part in a festive dance. What matters is not whether we know how to dance, but whether we are willing to participate and, if need be, even play the part of the fool. Many of us, unfortunately, have failed to recognize this important fact of life. Quirk's funny and eccentric story with its festive (and quite unexpected) ending reminds us of our human penchant for being continuously "out of step" with each other and refusing to take part in the celebration of.life. It pokes fun at our pet peeves and silly vanities that get in the way of our capacity to love. It puts a mirror before us and encourages us to take a good look at ourselves and at those around us. We may see that our attempts at getting along with one another are often "more of a tangle than a tango." But we may notice, as well, our deep desire to get it right, to be "in sync" with the people in our lives, despite the differences, the awkward diffidences, that keep us apart. Our desire to participate in this great dance of life comes from deep in the human heart, evincing the divine love within us. The Christian God is the God of the living. The life of the Trinity affirms the sacred character of festivity and dance. Celebration, for this God, flows from love and is closely allied to it. In his book The Third Peacock, Robert Farrar Capon breaks through our traditional stereotypes of God and involves the Father, Son, and Spirit in a heavenly bash of ongoing creation: And God the Father looked at the whole wild party and he said, "Wonderful! Just what I had in mind! 7by! 7by! 7by!" And all God the Son and God the Holy Ghost could think of was to say the same thing. "Tbv! %v! Toy.t" So they shouted together "Tbv meod!" and they laughed and laughed for ages and ages, saying things like how great it was for beings to be, and bow clever of the Father to think of the idea, and how kind of the Son to go to all that trouble putting it together, and how considerate of the Spirit to spend so much time directing and choreographing. And forever and ever they told old jokes, and the Father and the Son drank their wine in unitate Spiritus Sancti, and they all threw ripe olives and pickled mushrooms at each other per omnia saecula saeculorum. Amen.2 September-October 2002 Billy ¯ Right Relationships in Consecrated Life Our yearning for reveling, celebration, and dance, the desire to be at one with ourselves and to live in communion with those around us derives from something within us that is, at the same time, far beyond us. According to our Catholic belief, it is rooted in the ground of all reality, in the intimate life of love of a God who simultaneously is both one and many. The Christian God exists in and for communio: for unity in diversity and vice versa. Our desire for communion and right relationship stems from our being created in the image and likeness of this mysterious, personal, yet transcendent ground of love. Even though we are fallen, dysfunctional, bent out of shape (however one wishes to term it), the imprint of divinity grows within and manifests itself in our deepest longings. We yearn for communion with one another ultimately because of God's yearning for communion with us. We are miserably out of step with one another, yet haunted by the deeply rooted hope that things can and will get better, not through our own doing, but because of the God who made us, loves us, and holds us in being. A Spirituality of Communion Recent church documents highlight how important it is for believers to nurture a "spirituality of communion" in their lives. In Novo millennio ineunte (2001), his apostolic letter on the new millennium, John Paul II puts it this way: A spirituality of communion indicates above all the heart's contemplation of the mystery of the Trinity dwelling in us, and whose light we must also be able to see shining on the face of the brothers and sisters around us. A spirituality of communion also means an ability to think of our brothers and sisters in faith within the profound unity of the Mystical Body, and therefore as "those who are a part of me." This makes us able to share their joys and sufferings, to sense their desires and attend to their needs, to offer them deep and genuine friendship. A spirituality of communion implies also the ability to see what is positive in others, to welcome it and prize it as a gift from God: not only as a gift for the brother or sister who has received it directly, but also as a "gift for Review for Religious me." A spirituality of communion means, finally, to know how to "make room" for our brothers and sisters, bearing "each other's burdens" (Ga 6:2) and resisting the selfish temptations which constantly beset us and provoke competition, careerism, distrust, and jealousy. (§43) It would be difficult to come up with a more comprehensive vision of living in right relationship with others. The pope invites us to contemplate the mystery of the Trinity within our hearts and to discern its presence in those around us. He asks us to be aware of the presence of others, to minister to their needs, and to reach out to them in a spirit of friendship. Doing so means making room for others in our lives and allowing them to make room for us. It means living in communion with them on every level of our human makeup: the physical, emotional, intellectual, social, and spiritual. The pope's words describe a vision of "right relationship" that few would fault or disavow. Most of us have no problem accepting his vision of communion or right relationship. Our trouble is putting it into practice. I am reminded of Walter Principe's distinction about the different levels of spirituality: the experiential, the doctrinal, and the analytical? We accept the teaching on the "spirituality of communion" and can easily accept it as a vision that we should look to and strive to implement in our lives. We can even study, analyze, and criticize it for the purpose of making it a more coherent body of teaching. On the experiential level, however, many of us have difficulty taking the steps to make this teaching on communion and right relationships an integral part of our lives. We experience a gap between what we envision and who we really are. That gap may be small or large. The size of it determines how much dysfunction we experience in our personal, family, and community lives. The pope invites us to contemplate the mystery of the Trinity within our hearts and to discern its presence in those around us. 497 . September-O,'tober 2002 Billy ¯ Right Relationships in Consecrated Life To my mind, the key question is not whether the gap between vision and experience exists, but whether we recognize it and are taking steps to make it smaller and smaller. We need to recognize the gap, accept it as something that will never fully go away (at least in this life), and take appropriate steps to narrow it. This task is not a one-time challenge, but must be taken up again with each new day. The Vision of Vita Consecrata My suspicion is that religious have a particularly difficult time coming to terms with the discrepancy between the vision of the life to which they have been called and their actual experience of it. I say this because the church places so much hope in consecrated persons' being "true experts" at achieving communion that the gap between vision and lived reality is bound to be quite large. This vision is presented quite clearly in Vita consecrata (1996), John Paul II's postsynodal apostolic exhortation on the consecrated life. As the following excerpt demonstrates, consecrated persons must live up to enormous expectations: A great task also belongs to the consecrated life in the light of the teaching about the church as communion, so strongly proposed by the Second Vatican Council. Consecrated persons are asked to be true experts of communion and to pradtice the spirituality of communion as "witnesses and architects of the plan for unity which is the crowning point of human history in God's design.". The sense of ecclesial communion, developing into a spirituality of communion, promotes a way of thinking, speaking, and acting which enables the church to grow in depth and extension. The life of communion, in fact, "becomes a sign for all the world and a compelling force that leads people to faith in Christ . In this way communion leads to mission, and itself becomes mission"; indeed, "communion begets communion: in essence it is a communion that is missionary." (~46) A little later the document makes it clear that an important aspect of this "spiri~ality of communion" is "an allegiance of Review for Relig4ous mind and heart to the magisterium of the bishops, an allegiance which must be lived honestly and clearly testified to before the people of God by all consecrated persons, especially those involved in theological research, teaching, publishing, catechesis, and the use of the means of social communication." To be sure, "because consecrated persons have a special place in the church, their attitude in this regard is of immense importance for the whole people of God." The document points to the testimonies of founders and foundresses, who demonstrated "a constant and lively sense of the church." To further its claim, it cites the loyal devotion, to the church of such great saints as Francis of Assisi, Catherine of Siena, Ignatius Loyola, Teresa of Avila, and the Little Flower. Such examples of full ecclesial communion need to be constantly recalled if consecrated persons "are to resist the particularly strong centrifugal and disruptive forces at work today" (§46). Speaking, thinking, and acting with the magisterium are thus considered in the light of a vital role given to consecrated persons in the church universal in accord with the venerable tradition of great saints and founders and foundresses and with a view to the church's missionary nature. These ever expanding contexts give an added richness to the concept of the spirituality of communion and should not be overlooked. Only by taking them into account can consecrated persons understand their important role in the post-Vatican II era and "be nourished from the wellspring of a sound and deep spirituality" (§93). Another key text on the spirituality of communion comes later in the same document when institutes of the consecrated life are given the specific task of spreading this spirituality of communion: The church entrusts to communities of consecrated life the particular task of spreading the spirituality of communion, first of all in their internal life and then in the ecclesial community, and even beyond its boundaries, by opening or continuing a dialogue in charity, especially where today's world is torn apart by ethnic hatred or senseless violence. Placed as they are within the wbrld's different societies (societies frequently marked by conflicting passions and interests, seeking unity but uncertain about the ways Septentber-October 2002 Billy * Right Relationships in Consecrated Life to attain it), communities of consecrated life--where persons of different ages, languages, and cultures meet as brothers and sisters--are signs that dialogue is always possible and that communion can bring differences into harmony. (§51) This paragraph affirms the pope's hope "that all will grow in the understanding and spirituality of communion" (§50). It also supports his earlier statement about the obligation of fraternity as a form of witness to the Trinity: "By constantly promoting fraternal love also in the form of the common life, the consecrated life has shown that sharing in the Trinitarian communion can change human relationships and create a new type of solidarity" (§41), one which does everything "in communion and d!alogne" (§74) and which favors "that 'dialogue of life' which embodies a basic model of mission and of the proclamation of Christ's gospel" (§102). Notice the threefold range of this special task entrusted to consecrated persons. They are to spread the spirituality of communion first within themselves, second within the ecclesial communion, and third beyond its boundaries. Motivated by their deep personal love for Christ (see §84), they reach out in dialogue that "is the new name of charity, especially charity within the church" (§74). --YO0 Implications for Consecrated Life I would like to take a. deeper look at just what this "particular task of spreading the spirituality of communion" (§51) might mean for members of institutes of consecrated life. The threefold framework of internal life, ecclesial communion, and beyond will be particularly helpful in this regard. Internal Life. In the first place, institutes of consecrated life are called to put their own houses in order and live in harmony: "In an age characterized by the globalization of problems and the return .of the idols of nationalism, international institutes especially are called to uphold and to bear witness to the sense of communion between peoples, races, and cultures" (§51). They do so first and foremost by living out their common charism in communion with each other, even though they represent various age groups, nationalities, cultural backgrounds, and theological perspectives. The attempt of such communities to dialogue Review for Religious among themselves and to bring unity out of the diversity of their experience is an effective sign of that community of heart and mind to which all are called. This communion in the institute's internal life should exist on all levels of its communal makeup-- local, provincial, and general--and should foster cooperation between these levels, in keeping with the principle of subsidiarity. A natural outgrowth of this internal application of the spirituality of communion is cooperation among the different institutes themselves (see §52). Bound by the common call to the evangelical counsels, these institutes, both old and new, should regard one another with profound respect and strive to work together in their efforts to proclaim the Good News of Jesus Christ to the world. Relationships among such institutes should not be marred by jealousy, indifference, or suspicion. The document recalls St. Bernard's words about the various religious orders: I admire them all. I belong to one of them by observance, but to all of them by charity. We all need one another: the spiritual good which I do not own and possess, I receive from others . In this exile the church is still on pilgrimage and is, in a certain sense, plural: she is a single plurality and a plural unity. All our diversities, which make manifest the richness of God's gifts, will continue to exist in the one house of the Father, which has many rooms. Now there is a division of graces; then there will be distinctions of glory. Unity, both here and there, consists in one and the same charity. (§52) In this spirit the document encourages coordinating bodies such as the conferences of major superiors and the conferences of secular institutes to work in harmony with each other as well as with the episcopal conference of each country. They are also encouraged "to maintain frequent and regular contacts with the Congregation for Institutes of Consecrated Life and Societies of Apostolic Life, as a sign of their communion with the Holy See" (§53). The point of all this is that the spirituality of communion, once it is lived within the life of an institute of consecrated life itself, should naturally overflow into similar relations beyond its boundaries. Ecclesial Communion. For this reason, the pope also encourages mutual relationships of respect and collaboration Septentber-October 2002 Billy ¯ Rigbt Relationships in Consecrated Life between institutes of consecrated life and every level of ecclesial communion: with other states of life within the church (the laity, the clergy) and also with brothers and sisters of the various Christian confessions. All of this should be done out of respect for the common dignity shared by all the faithful (§31), but in such a way that "the identity of the institute in its internal life is not harmed" (§56). In this context, cooperation with the laity receives special mention. The document notes that "many institutes have come to the conclusion that their charism can be shared with the laity" (§54). This sharing takes many forms, from sharing their spirituality to various kinds of pastoral collaboration. As a result, "the participation of the laity often brings unexpected and rich insights into certain aspects of the charism, leading to a more spiritual interpretation of it and helping to draw from it directions for new activities in the apostolate" (§55). Emphasizing the equal dignity of both men and women before God (§57), the document specifically deals with the role of consecrated women. It describes them as "signs of God's tender love towards the human race" (§57) and points out that "women's new self-awareness also helps men to reconsider their way of looking at things, the way they understand themselves, where they place themselves in history and how they interpret it, and the way they organize social, political, economic, religious, and ecclesial life" (§57). Ecumenical dialogue is yet another level of ecclesial communion to which institutes of consecrated life must give due attention. Lectio divina, common prayer, dialogue in friendship, cordial hospitality, and common undertakings of service and witness are among thq many forms of ecumenical dialogue. The work of Christianity is not just the work of these institutes that were specifically founded for this purpose or because of a later calling (§57). The pope makes it quite clear that "no institute of consecrated life should feel itself dispensed from working for this cause" (§101). Special emphasis is given to the monastic tradition in the Eastern Catholic Churches for the help they can give in promoting unity with the Orthodox churches and given also to monasteries of contemplative life, to whom the pope entrusts "the spiritual ecumenism of prayer, conversion of heart, and charity" (§101). Review for Religious Beyond. The spirituality of communion moves consecrated persons beyond the bounds of the Christian communion of faith into dialogue with other faiths and cultures: "Because 'interreligious dialogue is a part of the church's evangelizing mission,' institutes of consecrated life cannot exempt themselves from involvement also in this field, each in accordance with its own charism and following the directives of ecclesiastical authority" (§102). They do this primarily through "the testimony of a life of poverty, humility, and chastity, imbued with fraternal love for all" i§I02). Dedicated to that "dialogue of life" which finds its mission in the proclamation of the Good News, they "promote appropriate forms of dialogue, marked by cordial friendship and mutual sincerity, with monastic communities of other religions" (§102). Other areas for cooperation include concern for human life and efforts to promote the dignity of women (§102). All such efforts, moreover, require proper formation, study, and research, together with deep faith and personal and spiritual maturity (§102). Finally, the "spirituality of communion" asks institutes of consecrated life to place themselves at the service of all humanity. Their service to the world involves "a life of self-giving love" (§75). Indeed, "the fact that consecrated persons fix their gaze on the Lord's countenance does not diminish their commitment on behalf Of humanity; on. the contrary, it strengthens this commitment, enabling it to have an impact on history, in order to free history from all that disfigures it" (§75). This means, first and foremost, offering "the witness of a life given totally to God and to their brothers and sisters, in imitation of the Savior, who out of love for humanity made himself a servant" (§76). It also means living .a life of genuine inculturation, one that "requires attitudes similar to those of the Lord when he became man and walked among us in love and meekness" (§79). In their attempt to serve as "a gospel leaven The "spirituality of communion" asks institutes of consecrated life to place themselves at the service of all humanity. September-October 2002 Billy ¯ Right Relationships in Consecrated Life within a culture, purifying and perfecting it" (§80), they follow the church in its preferential option for those "in situations of greater weakness" (§82). This includes "the poor, in varied states of affliction., those on the margins of society, the elderly, the sick, the young, any and all who are considered and treated as 'the least'" (§82). Some of the concrete ways in which they meet the needs of the poor include the care of the sick, their presence in the world of education, their presence in the field of social communications, and the evangelization of culture (see §§83 and 96-99). Their life of evangelical poverty, moreover, "is a value in itself," which, "accompanied by a preferential love for the poor," is expressed "especially by sharing the conditions of life of the most neglected" (§90). To be sure, "there are many communities which live and work among the poor and the marginalized; they embrace their conditions of life and share in their sufferings, problems, and perils" (§90). To summarize: The spirituality of communion is kindled by God in the institute of consecrated life and is meant to have a ripple effect on the entire life of the church. Arising within the institute, where members of various ages, cultures, and educational backgrounds live together in a spirit of fraternal love, it reaches out to other institutes, to other states of life within the church, to other Christian denominations, to other religions, and to all of humanity. It does so in a spirit of dialogue and service to give witness to the personal presence of Christ in the world and to the power of the Trinity to transform human relationships. Its mission is to build relationships of solidarity wherever human beings congregate and to be a sign of the intimate life with God to which all are called. The Gap between Vision and Experience The above presen.tation shows that the Catholic Church has a clear and extensive teaching on the spirituality of communion, what it means to live in right relationship with others. While this teaching has concrete implications for communities of consecrated life, the problem we are facing, as I suggested earlier, has to do with narrowing the gap between the teaching we profess and our actual lived experience. We need to take a good, hard look at these urgent practical concerns. Review for Religious One way of doing so is to adapt the psychological language of action, voluntary disposition (or habims), and attitude to the experience and needs of consecrated life today. According to this understanding of human behavior, an action involves a single deliberate object and intention, while a voluntary disposition (as opposed to an unwanted involuntary habit) refers to an active pattern of behavior acquired through the continuous repetition of actions. An attitude, in turn, is an active disposition voluntarily acquired through the repetition of options, those value choices that define a person's life project. An action, in other words, is singular and concrete; a voluntary disposition, a deep-rooted deliberate pattern of behavior; an attitude, a deeply ingrained option for a particular set of values.4 Ideally, there exists a strong continuity be-tween a person's actions, voluntary dispositions, and attitudes. In real life, however, this continuity can manifest varying degrees of strength and is often even disrupted. The same could be said of the actions, voluntary dispositions, and attitudes of a family, group, or religious community. When applied to communities of consecrated life in the light of the church's teaching on the spirituality of communion and the gap between vision and lived experience, it is of paramount importance that we find a way of helping to shape people's attitudes. To do so, we must recognize that there is a circular relationship between actions, voluntary dispositions, and the formation of attitudes. That is to say, attitudes give rise to various actions and voluntary dispositions and are at the same time shaped by them. To overlook these important relationships is to risk forming consecrated persons whose actions run contrary to, or at best are inconsistent with, the values they truly hold and which define their life's project. This circular relationship between actions, voluntary dispositions, and attitudes means that religious communities Ideally, there exists a strong continuity between a person's actions, voluntary dispositions, and attitudes. September- October 2002 Billy ¯ Right Relationships in Consecrated Life must develop complex strategies for narrowing the gap between vision and lived experience. Such a strategy must involve an ongoing interplay between teachings, structures, practices, and critical reflection that enables individuals and the community to test and verify the vision that defines them so that it can be authentically nuanced (and perhaps redefined) to express what they truly are called to. From there, the community needs to develop structures and practices that will reinforce in daily life the values expressed by this defining vision. For the desired attitudes to truly take hold, these structures and practices need.to be firm yet flexible, taking into account the three principles of church teaching about right relationships: the dignity of the human person, the common good, and the virtue of solidarity. In today's world, communities of consecrated life cannot be effective instruments of the spirituality of communion if they do not make great efforts to inculcate these principles in the lives of their members. To do otherwise would increase the gap between vision and lived experience rather than narrowing it. Narrowing the Gap In his popular bestseller Maybe (Maybe Not), Robert Fulghum offers some important insights into what he calls the public, private, and secret lives of everyday life: Public lives are lived out on the job and in the marketplace, where certain rules, conventions, laws, and social customs keep most of us in line. Private lives are lived out in the presence of family, friends, and neighbors who must be considered and respected, even though the rules and proscriptions are looser than what's allowed in public. But in our secret lives, inside our own heads, almost anything goes.s Although Fulghum is writing about American society in general, his insight has, to my mind, special significance for our topic. If, in their attempts to narrow the gap between vision and lived reality, communities of consecrated life do not give due consideration to the attitudes behind the various dispositions and actions that they ask of their members, a dangerous rupture can take place between the public face they present to the outside Review for Religious world, the private life lived within the community, and a secret life known only to a few, hidden from other members, and institutionally suppressed and even denied. When this occurs, the dysfunction within a community can reach great intensity and cause great misery for both the members and those they claim to serve. A religious institution, I am suggesting, has not only a public and a private life, but also a secret life. For members to live in fight relationship with others, all three of these lives need to be acknowledged, understood, and dealt with in mature and responsible ways. Otherwise the gap between vision and lived experience will increase rather than diminish, and the community will be based on an illusion, living in a house of mirrors, where appearances deceive. A community of consecrated life, in other words, needs to get in touch with its shadow side, the darker part of the community's life, which influences decisions even though the community may be only peripherally aware of them. Only by acknowledging this dark side, taming it, and then befriending it will a community ever come to understand itself and be able to channel its vast resources in creative and constructive ways. I do not intend to go into specifics about what all of this means for the evangelical counsels or life in community. The church's teaching on these constituent elements of the consecrated life is clear and has been adequately developed elsewhere. What I will say, however, is that, when examining the spirituality of their particular institutes, communities need to look at the various gaps that exist

Issue 57.2 of the Review for Religious, March/April 1998. ; rev lew for religio.us MARCH-APRIL 1998 ¯ VOLUME 57 ¯ NUMBER 2 Review for Religious is a forum for shared reflection on the lived experience of all who find that the church's rich heritages of spi~tuality support their personal and apostolic Christian lives. The articles in the journal are meant to be informative, practical; historical, or inspirational, written from a theological or spiritual or sometimes canonical point of view. Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published bi-monthly 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: t~OPPEMA@SLU.EDU 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 1150 Cedar Cove Road ¯ Henderson, NC 27536 POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ¯ P.O. Box 6070 ¯ Duluth, .\'IN 55806. Periodical postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional mailing offices. See inside back cover for information on subscription rates. ©1998 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 permission will only be considered on written application to the Editor, Review for Religious. religious Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Editorial S.taff Advisory Board David L. Fleming SJ Philip C. Fischer sJ Regina Siegfried ASC Elizabeth McDonough OP Mary Ann Foppe Tracy Gramm Jean R~ad James and Joan Felling Kathryn Richards FSP Joel Rippinger OSB Bishop Carlos A. Sevilla SJ David Werthmann CSSR Patricia Wittberg SC Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living MARCH-APRIL 1998 " VOLUME 57 * NUMBER 2 contents 118 138 146 unique witness: a symposium Religious Life and the Eclipse of Love for God Edward Vacek SJ shows how there has been a certain eclipse of the love of God which also affects religious life. A Witness of Unique Witnessing Sidney Callahan sketches for us her perceptive laywoman's glimpse of religious life's present and future. Religious Life: Where Does It Fit in Today's Church? Doris Gottemoeller RSM presents an understanding of religious life as a dynamic and tested way within the church to follow Jesus Christ more closely and to serve him more generously. 161 169 spiritual renewal Creative Fidelity: Renewal in the Spirit of St. John of God Stephen de la Rosa OH reflects on the spirituality of the Brothers of St. John of God in the light of God's call to a creative fidelity. Journeying to Common Ground: Ira Progoff and Catholic Spiritual Renewal Francis Dorff OPraem reviews the integrating work of Ira Progoff in terms of its continuing importance for Catholic spiritual renewal. Review for Religious 174 180 meditative reflections The Lamb: A Johannine Meditation Patrick J. Ryan SJ enters us into a prayerful reflection of the beloved disciple advanced in years. What Were They Talking About? A Bethany Reflection Joseph G. Bachand MS offers a fresh interpretative reading of the Lucan passage about Martha and Mary which focuses the challenges of discipleship for all Christians. 186 report U.S. Hispanic Catholics: Trends and Works 1997 Kenneth G. Davis OFMConv, Eduardo C. Fern~indez SJ, and Ver6nica M~ndez RCD present a panoramic of the year's events within the U.S. Hispanic Catholic community. departments 116 Prisms 202 Canonical Counsel: The Evangelical Counsel of Chastity 208 Book Reviews prisms VV~hen Pope John Paul identified 1998 as a year especially focused on the Holy Spirit and his sanc-tifying presence within the community of Christ's disci-ples, he did not make use of thdword paraclete as a special identity-word for the Spirit. Yet this strange-sounding word paraclete holds meanings particularly appropriate for our Christian understanding of God, for our Lenten renewal, and for our premillennium preparation. The word paraclete becomes a kind of prism when it is used as a title for the Holy Spirit. Often in the English-language translations of the Gospel of St. John paraclete is retained as a direct transliteration of the Greek word, lit-erally meaning "one called alongside of." The first mean-ing favored in a reading of the Johannine Gospel is that of a defender, signifying someone like a defense attorney in a lawsuit. At other times the meaning is broadened by the translation of counselor, as in one who carefully listens and gives clarity and advice and support. Still another mean-ing which is frequendy found is captured in the word com-forter. A comforter is one who strengthens and upholds. Paraclete, then, can be viewed differendy, depending upon the plane of reflection, but all the meanings are rich in connotation for us as recipients of this personal paschal gifting of Christ. The church season of Lent provides us with the occa-sion to acknowledge ourselves as sinners in the presence of a just and compassionate God. But the Spirit as para-clete presents us with an image of God as the one who is the "defending lawyer"--the one who is spending his ener-gies defending us, in the face of any accusers we might have. God the Spirit is the one who gives this sense of Review for Relig%us divine presence as defender. As St. Paul would reflect, "If God is for us, who can be against us?" (Rm 8:31). Lent is also a time for us to seek counsel and assess the drives and ambitions, the values and the dreams that fill and motivate our life. Discernment of spirits in the decision making that structures our lives is a gift of the Spirit to all the members of the Christian community. A Vatican II church, trying to live out its agenda described in the Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World, has great need to call upon the discernment gift of the Counselor. We know that, in the sometime darkness of our attempt to live a Christian life in a world of differing values, our refuge is in seeking the counsel of a God so involved with us that his person is experienced as one who enlightens and guides. All too often we act fearfully or rashly, with little reliance on Christ's promise: "In that hour, say what you are inspired to say. It will not be yourselves speaking but the Holy Spirit" (Mk 13:11). Lent uncovers our weakness and fragility in our following of Christ. We, like the first apostles, are too ready to take flight in the face of temptation or opposition. Our actions do speak louder than our words, and to the eyes of secular society we might appear even to deny our faith. God enters into our lives at these times with the support and strength necessary for our Christian witness. We come to recognize our God especially as the one who confirms and con-soles. "By patient endurance you will save your lives" (Lk 21:19). In John's Gospel, Jesus describes the giving of the Spirit in terms of an abiding presence of "another" paraclete with us. In his Last Supper discourse, Jesus first applies the tide to himself by his using the word another, and then through the rest of the discourse he gives Paraclete over to the Holy Spirit as a proper name. The Spirit makes real to our human experience that God's presence is truly that ofparaclete--one who defends, one who counsels, and one who strengthens. Jesus, the pioneer for our faith life, inspires our confidence in such a God. Lent is the traditional time in the church for a renewed effort in our following Christ in the pattern of his paschal mystery. We, like Jesus, can only walk the road to Jerusalem if we are led by the Spirit. As we make our Christian preparations to enter into the 2 lst-century era with a renewed emphasis upon our evangelization efforts, we need to call upon God who is truly Paraclete for us. David L. Fleming SJ March-April 1998 unique witness a symposium EDWARD VACEK Religious Life and the Eclipse of Love for God What I propose to do is describe the relation of consecrated life to my favorite topic, love for God. The connection is not as easy as it might seem. Is it important to love God direcdy? I suppose most of us would answer, "Of course! This is the most important thing we can do." In view of this I think I should point out, before saying anything else, that lots of people, including Christians with impeccable credentials, do not think we need directly love God. Indeed, some positively discour-age it. After that I will describe at some length several ways we can love God. I will conclude with a few obser-vations how religious life should be a paradigm of Jesus' first great commandment. I hope to encourage those of us in religious life to exercise a much needed public wit-ness to a personal friendship with God. The Problem Since my topic sounds like an all-too-familiar and therefore boring sermon topic, let me put my theme in more provocative language: Religious communities have been and, to some degree, still are in danger of losing Edward Vacek SJ, professor of Christian ethics at Weston Jesuit School of Theology, presented this paper, here somewhat revised, at a symposium on Religious Life's Unique Witness held in October 1997 at the Jesuit Center for Spiritual Growth, Wernersville, Pennsylvania. His address is 3 Phillips Place; Cambridge, Massachusetts 02138. Review for Religious their souls. For the past forty years, we have been preoccupied with questions of lifestyle and governance, with examining past traditions and choosing new ministries. We had to do this. But these topics have tended to distract us from what is most central to our vocation. My concern is that we have shifted from being overly God-centered to being overly world-centered. At least we often talk as if that is the case. Our current silence about the possibil-ity of a direct love for God is worrisome because, when no one witnesses to this relationship, it will come to seem unimportant. If a "Jesus and me" spirituality too often forgot the neighbor, a "love your neighbor" spirituality can make us forget that God deserves all our love. The Origin of This Topic Before I go any further, let me relate how I came to this topic. I recently published a book on Christian love titled Love, Human and Divine.' I set out to show the connection between Jesus' first and second great commandments. Strange as it may seem, I found little in theology books on love for God. Sensitized by that dis-covery, I began to listen to how we post-Vatican II Catholics talk. When we use the phrase "love of God," we usually are referring to God's love for us and not our love for God. Classroom experience pushed my concerns further. I began to ask my students, many of whom are in religious life, this question: What do you mean by love for God? These students usually give one of four answers. First, those who are still dealing with legal-ism commonly say that loving God means not breaking any of the ten commandments. Second, other students say that love for God means taking care of the poor or the needy. Third, and most commonly, students say that loving God means being helpful to one's neighbor. Fourth, there are usually a few who have drunk deeply of our era's psychology, and they say that loving God means loving one's best or deepest self. Unfortunately, none of these replies answers my question. The first reply omits love, and all four omit God. Indeed, an atheist could give any of these replies. One of my most personally disturbing examples of this trend is very explicit. A student of mine, a young man about twenty-five years old, was finishing his master's thesis on the writings of a medieval mystic. He was fascinated by her sexual language of pen- March-April 1998 Vacek * Religious Life and the Eclipse of Love for God etration and indwelling. What h~ found distressing, however, was that this mystic wrote as if there was an inequality between her-self and the God she loved. Needless to say, I was surprised, so I asked him, "Do you really think we are equal to God? . Everyone knows," he replied with utter simplicity, "the word God is simply a symbol for the best in human life." His reduction of God to a symbol of the best in the world is, I suggest, an apt paradigm for the trend I am resisting. He is not alone. In a recent survey by the magazine U.S. Catholic, whose reader~ are mostly int~erested and involved Catholics, approximately fifty percent of people aged 36-55 said that we can be spiritual without any belief in God.2 Similarly, Sandra Schneiders has recently observed that many religious women and men have adopted a personal spirituality in which the central tenets and practices of Christianity have little place.3 For them spirituality means sitting in one's room listefii~ng to music or doing Zen. It means hiking in the fields or skiing in the mountains. It means getting a massage or enjoying a fine glass of wine. Anything that helps one to get calm and keep bal-anced in this crazy world is spirituality. As should be obvious, these "spiritual activities" can be accomplished relatively well without God. Causes for Decline How have we come to bracket off, even if only partially, a spirituality that is centered on love for God? I am sure there are hundreds of contributing factors, and I intend to discuss only some of the more obvious. Rather than focusing on any corrupt-ing influences from "the big bad world," I want to talk about rea-sons internal to the church's life. I will speak about the emphasis; in contemporary spirituality on the poor, the neighbor, and the' self. I will also point to difficulties people have with the church. Care for the Poor One of the great triumphs of our post-Vatican II world has been the renewed emphasis on care for the poor as essential to the practice of our faith. This concern for justice, however, may have been purchased at too great a price. Most people thought Mother Teresa was a saint and had this esteem for her precisely because of her work for the poor. Only in her death did I hear anyone Review for Religious say she had a deep prayer life. Mother Teresa also had a reputa-tion, whether deserved or not, of not even being concerned about the religious lives of those she served. Mother Teresa surely did an essential work of Christianity and did it far better than ninety-nine percent of us. Still, what is there in our contemporary religious mind that allows us to regularly praise care for the poor while practicing in print and in conversation a near total blackout concerning a person's love for God and her desire to help others love God? One reason lies in the theology of the "anonymous Christian" that captivated many of us after Vatican II. The attraction of this theology was that it motivated us to social justice and made it possible for us to be open-minded towards non-Catholics. The darling text of this theology is the familiar story of Matthew 25. W]aen people come before Jesus for their final judgment, he blesses them if they have given a cup of water to needy strangers. In amazement they reply that they did not know they were serving Jesus. Those judged for fail-ing to give the water imply that, if the thirsty person had been Jesus, they would have given the water gladly. Jesus rejects their plea. The conclusion drawn from this story by many theologians is that we should focus our care on needy human beings. They hold that we miss the point when we want to direct our attention explicitly to Christ. Of late, however, the theology of the anonymous Christian looks somewhat shopworn. It obscures why anyone should want to be explicitly a Christian. All the more, it makes baffling why anyone would want to enter religious life. This theology forgets that the meaning of our lives is greatly affected by the explicit personal relationships we have. And chief among these should be our love for God. If we care only for God's world, then our hearts will ultimately be restless. We need regularly to look God in the eye. That is called prayer. People sometimes say, "Love is not looking warmly into the eyes of another; rather, love is looking together out toward the world." But, if a woman I loved asked me why I never looked warmly into her eyes, I would feel justly accused. Similarly with God. How have we come to bracket off, even if only partially, a spirituality that is centered on love for God ? Marcia-April 1998 Vacek ¯ Religious Life and the Eclipse of Love fbr God Something is wrong with a theology in which Jesus' own prac-tice of prayer turns out to be un-Christian. Helping One's Neighbor For years after Vatican II, whenever I would preach or teach on the importance of loving our neighbor, heads would nod in agreement. Rarely if ever did someone object that I forgot to mention love for God. In recent years I have given several talks urging a direct love for God. Afterwards, almost always, some-one in the audience will ask why I did not talk more about love for our neighbor. In an attempt to be helpful, someone else will usually offer the clarification that the true "meaning" or "sign" or "test" of love for God is our love for our neighbor. And with that the audience will feel at ease again. Such experiences sug-gest to me that with Vatican II we recovered the second of Jesus' two great commandments, but we seem to have lost the primacy of the first. Let me relate an incident that happened several years ago. Late one evening a young Jesuit who had just moved into the community joined me for some apple pie. He was still feeling his way, and so he asked me whether the community was very spiri-tual. Not knowing what he meant by spiritual, I paused. He tried to clarify his question: "You know, is this a group of guys who are just interested in their studies, or are people really spiritual?" Thinking I now knew what he was asking, I replied that we have Mass in the house four days of the week, we join other commu-nities on two other days, and most of us have a ministry on Sunday. I began to name some other prayer and penance things we do, but at this point he interjected: "No, I didn't mean that stuff. I mean do the men care for one another." His practice bore out his concern. He was always one of the first to ask how my day had gone, and he was one of the last to find his way to chapel. This little encounter is an indicator of what I believe is a much wider phenomenon. If we talk only about love for our neighbor, we may be educating a generation of Christians who pay limited attention to an explicit love for God. Quite recently a friend of mine became quite perplexed during a theology course she was taking from a famous Rahner scholar. The teacher was explaining to the class that we love God in loving other people. She asked him whether we might also directly love God apart from loving people. The scholar said that he had never thought Review for P, eligious much about that. How, I asked myself, could this be? This man regularly says Mass, in which he directly addresses God; he also has, I presume, a good prayer life. But something in our present religious culture kept him from quickly recognizing that he directly relates to God all the time. This example is not isolated. I have gotten into several heated arguments with Christian scholars who deny that we can develop an interpersonal rela-tionship with God. Often they describe our Christian life as a sort of triangle: God's love comes down to us. Our love should not be directed back to God, but rather to our neighbor. Then God accepts that love as if for God's self. Daniel Maguire summarizes this position when he writes, "There can be no vertical love between us and God; we can only get to God horizontally through love of people.''4 As a consequence, some suggest that it is posi-tively un-Christian for us to try to love God directly. When formerly the first great commandment was in the ascendancy, we recognized that not a few saints were hard to live with, but we did not deny that they were saints. Not for nothing did the old quip say that a martyr is someone who has to live with a saint. Through much of the church's history, spiritual writers and theologians taught that the goal of Christian life was a deep love for God. Love for our neighbor was a clear second. Indeed, for St. Augustine, loving our neighbor was valuable only if it flowed from and promoted love for God. For him, we should not love our husband or our children if that love does not lead to love for God. Since Trent, however, a gradual turn has made love for this world--especially for our neighbor and now for our own self-- become the primary focus of love in Christianity. Prayer, then, is valuable if it gives us strength to love our neighbor. Or prayer is important if it helps us to find ourselves and develop our virtue. As a consequence, it has become nearly impossible to think that people could' be praying well if they are lacking in love for their neighbor or in some other virtue. Hence, one often hears the maxim that the true test even of mysticism is whether it leads to love for our neighbor. In other areas of life, we would not allow this slippage. In the case of a man marrying a widow, we would not deny his love for her if he could not muster love for her children. We would, of course, hope that he might come to love his stepchildren. But the true test of his love for her is his love for her, not his love for someone else. March-April 1998 Vacek ¯ Religious Life and the Eclipse of Love for God Emphasis on the Self The newfound emphasis in religious life on the self has been a third source of decline in talk of love for God. In my experience the tidal wave came in about 1963. Almost everywhere concern arose that the uniqueness and the needs of our individual selves were not being adequately taken care of. I remember well how one of my superiors tried to put a stop to this nonsense. He told the preacher of our annual eight-day retreat to focus on why it was not Christian to be concerned for the self. Needless to say, that retreatmaster did not succeed. The tide walls were crumbling, and the emphasis on the self that had been swelling over the cen-turies finally washed onto the mainland of religious life. A few years later almost all resistance had been washed away. Commonly, now, people come into religious life seeking per-sonal fulfillment. Either they find it, or they leave for greener pastures. Their personal happiness is the final criterion of all else. Such people often are very generous; but, according to their own account, they are generous because this brings them happiness. Our culture has deprived us of a way of saying openly that we help others because they need our help. Rather, we must say that we help others because we get so much out of doing it. Love for self has thus become central in our descriptions of everything we do. We even describe our love for God as important because it brings us the ultimate in happiness. Once upon a time Christian spirituality commonly proposed that self-love was sinful or nearly sinful. The Bible rarely, if ever, explicidy commends love for self. In fact, the Bible contains many passages that suggest we ought to forget or deny ourselves. By contrast, in recent years, love for self has perhaps become the first and last great commandment. We hear endlessly repeated the half-truth that we cannot love others, including God, unless we first love ourselves. We are encouraged to love others, includ-ing God, as a way of.achieving our own happiness. Thus, we talk as if love of self is the origin and the goal of all other loves. When this becomes the prevailing cultural context, love for God likely is treated as a "personal preference." That is, if love for God is interesting and worthwhile for a particular person, then that person may pursue it. But love for God is not thought to be essential or necessary for living a full human life. Few people would deny that someone who killed a neighbor has failed to live humanly, and most would say that a husband who does not love Review for Religious his wife and children is failing them. But not many would say that someone who does not love God fails to live in a fully human way. Love for God has become morally optional, to be pursued only to the degree that it fulfills us. Contemporary Catholicism One last reason for setting aside a direct love for God is the experience that many persons in religious life have of the church and of the God proposed by the church. For many, as Schneiders has recently said, the God of Christianity seems too small, too violent, and too male.s One does not readily want to enter into friendship with this God. Again, when the magisterium claims that its views are God's, those who feel abused by the church find it hard to get close to God. Recently these two alienating vectors came together when the Vatican said that the pope teaches infallibly that women cannot be ordained. With the shortcuts in logic that anger allows, a friend of mine concluded: "The Vatican infallibly teaches that God is unjust. So now you know why it is hard to pray to God." As a consequence of these dual alienations, some members of religious communities have given up on the Christian God. Even when people in religious life are more or less adequately centered in love for God, they seldom speak openly about that love. Oddly enough, religious people can be afraid of seeming, well, too religious. Outside of the classroom or the pulpit, many of us are quite slow to talk about God, and even when we do we seldom speak of our experience of God. Again, in the faith shar-ing that we do in our communities, our relationship to God is often unnamed. In religious life we have become more or less comfortable with talking about ourselves and our intracommu-nity dynamics; but we do not often talk about our own religious experiences of God. And spiritual directors sometimes seem less interested in our relationship with God than in our psychological or interpersonal concerns. In my pre-Vatican II novitiate days, we had silence almost the entire day. We were expected to take all that quiet and develop a habit of talking with God. Even then it seemed strange that, while Not for nothing did the old quip say that a martyr is someone who has to live with a saint. March-April 1998 Vacek ¯ Religious Life and the Eclipse of Love for God drinking afternoon coffee, we were not allowed to talk with the people standing next to us. Still, that awkward silence drilled in the point that we should try to talk with God throughout our day. That was then. I had a contrast experience at a retreat I directed for several young men before their ordination. Some of them---not all, by any means---spent their evenings and some of their days in conversation and even partying with one another. Somewhat puzzled, I inquired. I learned that they considered brotherhood far more important than time for prayer alone with God. The conclusion to the first half of these observations of mine is a worry. Ever since the Council of Trent and especially since Vatican II, a trend has been growing. That trend is the collapsing of the first great commandment into the second. Our silence about love for God has begun to be deafening. Love for God and Religious Life In this second half of my remarks, I want to look at a direct love for God. When doing spiritual direction, I am frequently awed by the close re, lationship that many people have with God. On the other hand, I am often both perplexed and distressed by the lack of that kind of relationship in the lives of so many other people, including women and men who have been in religious life for decades. These otherwise good persons may make occa-sional long-distance calls to God, but to them prayer seems like leaving messages on an answering machine in the sky. Intimacy with God is far away, something they no longer hope for and per-haps never did. If asked, they would say, "Oh, yeah, I believe in God." But they assert God's existence with the sort of conviction that one might have in asserting the existence of the planet Mars. It is something they have heard about, something they have no reason not to believe in, but not something that makes much dif-ference in their lives. Central Religious Concepts Every age has its central religious concept. For St. Paul it was faith in God. That concept has lost its teeth today. For Luther the key concept could be thought of as trust. While that still motivates many, it has for Catholics a forensic ring. I suggest that the ques-tion that can genuinely challenge all of us is this: Do you really Review for Religious love God? That question evokes an awareness of the endlessness and inadequacy of our heart's quest as well as the incomprehen-sibility and overwhelming goodness of God. Miguel de Unamuno insisted that our relationship with God must have emotional power. He writes: "Those who say that they believe in God and yet neither love nor fear him do not in fact believe in him but in those who have taught them that God exists. ¯. Those who believe that they believe in God but without any passion in their heart . . . believe only in the God-idea, not in God.''6 Unamuno's point is that many of us have a ten-dency to believe, not in God, but rather in a God-idea. Take, for example, what Unamuno says about fearing God. Since Vatican II we have so succeeded in putting across the idea that God loves us that the long biblical tradition of fear of God has all but disappeared. If, how-ever, we are really encountering God in our prayer, we will at times experience considerable fear and trembling. This fear is not so much a fear that God will punish us. Rather, it is a trembling before an utterly incomprehensible majesty. The concept of a loving God is something we can get cozy with. God is not. We human beings, of course, need good concepts. But we can substitute knowing the right concepts for knowing that to which they point. During my first stay in New York City, I lived in Queens with a priest who regaled me with all the fun things I could do in Manhattan. This went on for two months. One day, however, through an offhand remark he made, I discovered that he had not been to Manhattan for twenty years. He read several newspapers to find out about all the good things going in Manhattan, but he never went there. I fear that, like him, many Christians have many good ideas about God, but they never pay a visit. There has been something too easy about the way many of us changed our idea of God from a pre-Vatican punishing God to a post-Vatican God who unfailingly loves and forgives. It may be that all we have done is change our ideas, without really meeting the God who is Mystery. In the past those saints who seem gen-uinely to have known God indicated that God is experienced sometimes as warmly near but also at other times as wholly dis-tant, sometimes as compassionately forgiving but also at other Our first response is not to return love to God, but rather to let God's love affect or change us. March-April 1998 Vacek * Religious Life and the Eclipse of Love for God times as judging severely, sometimes as attractively good but also at other times terrifyingly awe-ful, and usually as a mixture of each. If we love God, we must love, not the idea of God, but this challenging, supportive, and finally incomprehensible Being. Direct Personal Love for God How does a love relationship with God develop? The first step is one that it seems women understand much more quickly than men. That step is to accept God's love for us. In other words, our first response is not to return love to God, but rather to let God's love affect or change us. The experience of being loved has its own transforming power, and we deny God's influence if we rush to return that love or to spread it among our neighbors. The popu-lar maxim can be repeated here: Don't just do something, stand there! Or better, sit there with your eyes closed and your hands open. So doing, we experience the beginning of our salvation. This acceptance of love is not easy. Not only are most of us a bunch of doers; we are also people who find it hard to receive love and let ourselves be touched by it. Many of us as counselors have spent hours encouraging people to overcome their self-hatred and to learn self-love. They have to learn to accept themselves, but they also have to learn how to "take in" acceptance from others since they expect only rejection or indifference. At times they refuse the sacrament of reconciliation because, at bot-tom, they cannot accept that someone would love them enough to forgive them. Preaching about the grace of acceptance, Paul Tillich said, "It strikes us when our disgust for our own being, our indifference, our weakness, our hostility, and our own lack of direction and composure have become intolerable to us . Sometimes at that moment a wave of light breaks into our darkness, and it is as though a voice were saying: 'You are accepted. You are accepted, accepted by that which is greater than you, and the name of which you do not know.'''7 In such moments we learn that there is some-thing lovable in us. We may not see it, but we accept the love of another whom we want to trust, and in that moment we begin to see the lovableness that God sees in us. After we have allowed God's love to touch us and thereby affirm our own worth and dignity, we want to respond by loving the One who loves us. This love unites us with God. It has both Review for Religious resting and dynamic qualities. That is, our love for God makes us want to be close to God and be at peace when we are close. It will not, though, let us rest for long, but moves us to want to delve ever more into God's goodness. Moreover, that love makes us want to co6perate with God in doing what God wants to do. And that leads us to be involved in redeeming creation. Hence, love for God in one phase moves us into God's infinite incom-prehensibility and in another phase moves us to both cherish the world and want to overcome its ills and injustices. Experience of Love for God One reason for replacing love for God with love for neighbor is that it seems somewhat impossible to love an invisible God. Even when we want to love God, we wonder how we might be sure that we are in fact loving God. These are real questions, but they should not deter us. Similar objections are sometimes raised about our love for fellow human beings. We are tempted to replace love for them with doing good deeds because good deeds are so much more visible than any heart-to-heart connection between spiritual persons. Nevertheless, we know that we do con-nect our invisible core with the core of those 'we love. We may never fully know the inner personhood of our friends, but we know enough to be able to love them. Indeed, our love for them always goes beyond what is visible. Similarly, we are rightly con-fident that we do love people, even if we cannot prove that love. In love, whether of God or of other human beings, or even love of ourselves, there are no sure tests. But within the experience of love we attain confidence that we are loving. What then is it to love God? We might begin by listening to two famous writers who described this love. William James depicted four stages of love for God.8 Our love for God begins with a felt sense, not an intellectual belief, of an Ultimate Power. We feel that we belong to a Sphere of Life that transcends our ordinary day-to-day interests and expands our life. Second, we feel that this Ultimate Power is not distant from us but rather is near to us. We sense that, as Blaise Pascal once observed, the reason we seek God is that God has already found us. Third, we willingly surrender ourselves to this Ultimate. We say yes to God's pres-ence, and we willingly hand ourselves over to God. That is, instead of thinking about God, we fall in love with God. Lastly, our emo- ~Ylarch-April 1998 Vacek ¯ Religious Life and the Eclipse of Love for God 130J tional center shifts towards loving and harmonious affections towards the rest of creation. We tend to say yes rather than no to the world about us. With hearts overflowing, we are freed from our usual tendency to judge or criticize others. Rather, we want to affirm the world as God's world. Moses Maimonides, the great medieval Jewish philosopher, gives a more personal account. He writes that anyone who loves God "is like a lovesick man whose mind is never free from his love for a certain woman and grows in it whether sitting or rising, both when eating and drinking---greater even than this must be the love of God in the heart of his lovers who continually grow more fervent . The whole of the Song of Songs is an allegory on this theme."gMaimonides compares love for.God with the passion that men have for the women they love, only greater. What kind of passion is that? Lovers constantly think of one another, constandy try to please one another. Similarly, those who love God find their minds returning to God whenever there is a lull in their day; they regularly converse with God when they want to talk with some-one; and they periodically dream up ways of doing things that are pleasing to God. Gradually, their attention to God becomes a per-vasive feature of their whole emotional life. Let me put the same point in a slightly different way. If we imagine vividly that some living person we really love has actually died, can we imagine not feeling the loss? Of course not. We might find ourselves, in imagination, being depressed for months and then only gradually .putting our lives back together. Now, imagine that God were to die tonight. If this impossibility could happen, would we desperately miss God? Would we be profoundly sad that God is no longer part of our life? If so, then love for God is central in our lives. When we love God like this, it involves much more than occa-sional prayers tossed towards the heavens. Rather, it becomes deeply rooted in us. It pervades and motivates moments of quiet peace but also moments of furious activity. This love for God becomes the dominant, organizing, emotional center of our whole lives. We meet God in sunsets, in the Bible, in the Eucharist, in friends who call to ask how we are doing, in the homeless man who lies under cardboard begging for a quarter. These encounters with God in the world depend upon other times when our rela-tionship to God is not so mediated. Then we are more like Moses who used to talk with God "face-to-face, as one speaks to a Review for Religio~ts friend" (Ex 33:11). Without this face-to-face talk, we are in dan-ger of becoming like those parents who devote themselves com-pletely to their children, only to realize one day that they no longer love one another as husband and wife. Since Vatican II we in religious life have worked hard to develop a spirituality of finding God in our service of people in the world. (And more needs to be done.) But in the process the explic-itly "God and me" and "God and us" aspects of our spirituality have often been neglected. The phrase "Jesus and I" has become a term of derision. Rather, we need not only Jesus' second great commandment--loving our neighbor as ourselves--but also Jesus' first great commandment: loving God with our whole mind and heart and soul and strength. We need as well the connection between these two. That connection appears chiefly when we sense ourselves to be acting with God, to be God's partners. Friendship con-sciously grows when friends do things chiefly because they are friends. The same is true in our relationship with God. We want to do things with God as a way of being friends of God. Love for God, of course, is not a once-and-for-all sort of affection. There may be periods of rapid and intense growth. Then come periods when we just maintain our relationship. The quiet periods prepare the way for a deeper relationship that we cannot force, but which we can hope for. Gradually this love more and more informs who we are. We begin, so to speak, to check in with God about everything we do. Most of us would criticize a husband who accepted a job in another city without first dis-cussing the move with his wife. But not all of us, when asked to do a new job, would quickly ask ourselves how this new task would affect our relationship with God. Deep lovers of God sponta-neously ask that question. Doubtless, we have to "work" at this relationship with God. We know that loves can be false,/and we know that we can deceive ourselves. Still, the idea of testing love is foreign to the experience of loving. We have no need of "tests" when we find ourselves wanting to spend time with God or still moved .by God's word spoken to us. Then, with the reality of our relationship assured, Those who love God find their minds returning to God whenever there is a lull in their day. L13-I -- March-April 1998 Vacek * Religious Life and the Eclipse of Love for God all we need examine regularly is its quality. We use our examen of consciousness to become more attentive to God's graciousness to us and to learn how to co.operate better in God's work. Love for God, like any great love, has a certain relativizing quality. We evaluate other things in the light of this great love. On the one hand, worldly goods become more valuable as God's crea-tures and as gifts we recognize as coming from God. On the other hand, these creatures no longer dominate our consciousness. Not only wealth, success, power, but also more personal things like the development of our talents, devotion to our friends, and even our own happiness take a subordinate place. In Ignatian language, we personally value them when they support our relationship with God; and we set them aside when they do not. Finally, anyone who has been in love with another human being knows that there is a quiet satisfaction whenever we make sacrifices for the one we love and a deep pleasure when we make extravagant gestures on behalf of our love. We spend all night in the hospital at the bedside of our beloved, and we want to do so. We sell our precious gold watch to buy a set of combs for our beloved's wonderful hair. Similarly, love for God leads all of us to make sacrifices such as fasting and to engage in extravagant ges-tures such as liturgy, and do all with joy. Kinds of Love Let me now describe three different forms of this love for God, and then I will try to relate them to religious life. I call them agape, eros, and pbilia. Normally we have these three all mixed together, but I want to name them because each at times has a separate claim on us. Agape, as I use the term, means to love something for its own sake. So, with an agapic love for God, we love God for God's own sake and are not concerned for our own benefit. There is an extremely provocative and stark question that illustrates this kind of love: If it would please God just a bit, would you be willing to suffer in hell forever? This question was put to those who wanted to become Calvinist divines. St. Francis de Sales put this question to himself. The question clarifies very quickly whether we love God for our sake or for God's sake. Agape is represented by the cross of Christ. That cross indi-cates that we may have to give up our lives in order to be faith- Review for Religious ful to God. An agapic love for God is essential to religious life. Our vows express a willingness to give up family, wealth, and free-dom as an expression of our agapic devotion to God. Needless to say, none of us ever achieves that complete devotion, but the vows indicate our willingness to do so. Second, eros. Those of us who resist the Calvinist question I just asked will be relieved to know that the Catholic Church con-demns the teaching that we must have only an agapic love for God. Rather, we may also have an eros relationship with God. Some of us will remember the act of contrition we once said when we went to confession. We prayed that we were heartily sorry for our sins because we dreaded the loss of heaven and the pains of hell, but most of all because they offended God. Our sorrow about offending God was an expression of agape. Our dread about los-ing God and going to hell was an expression of eros. Eros means loving someone rather much for our own sake. An eros love for God is a genuine love. It is a biblical love, and it is quite Catholic. We love God for the good we gain in being close to God. Since we can never be completely fulfilled by creatures, we will always be inclined to have this sort of love for God. Our religious vows say that we will not seek for completion in family, in wealth, or in independent control of our lives. Doubtless, we may in fact find more completion in our friendships than many married people do in their spouses; doubtless, almost all of us have access to more wealth than most of the world's population; and doubtless, each of us has considerable independence and sta-tus. But, if we are true to our religious commitment, we seek completion in none of these, but chiefly and finally in God. Thus an eros love for God is essential to religious life: we are people who point to an eschatological fulfillment in God. Third, we have a philia love when we love God for the sake of the covenant we share with God. Our Jewish ancestors formed covenants with God, and through baptism we Christians form a new covenant with God. We are God's people, and God is not just the God of creation but also our God. This covenant, when founded on love, can be imaged as a sort of friendship. Through this friendship with God, we share life with God. We are con-cerned about the things of God and God is concerned about our things, and both are concerned for the friendship itself. Because of this friendship we Christians do religious things like sing in church. The difference between ourselves and unbelievers is not ~/larch-April 1998 Vacek ¯ Reli~ous Life and the Ech'pse of Love for God only that we do such specifically religious activities, but also that we want to make all our activities be part of our relationship to God. Thus, we want God to rest with us at the seashore and to ladle soup through us at the local homeless shelter. A philia love for God is central in religious life. We want this friendship to be the first thing that comes to mind in the morn-ing and the last thing at night. Just as married persons want to call home when they are away at a convention, so we want to check in with God throughout the day: Religious life makes little sense without this friendship with God. Indeed, as I shall next suggest, religious life symbolizes this relatively unmediated friendship. Religious Life Could the church survive without religious life? Of course it could. Judaism covenanted with God without religious-life com-munities. So did the very early church, and so do many contem-porary Protestant churches. If all communities of religious were suppressed tomorrow, the church would go on. But in a church such as ours---a sacramental church with such diversity of gifts in its members---religious life in one form or another is almost inevitable. Indeed, a case could be made that religious life should someday be recognized, like marriage, as a sacrament because of what it adds to the church and world. What thin does it add? One answer might be that religious communities provide a place for a lot of kooky people, and that answer would not be too far wrong. The normal pattern for human beings is to marry, gain some security through property, and make significant decisions for themselves. When people are forbidden to marry, are deprived of property, or have their own important decisions made for them by others, we protest the violation of their basic human rights. We assert that these are basic goods needed for human fulfill-ment. Some people, however, although they are as psychologi-cally healthy as other people, have a peculiar passion to devote their lives to developing a relationship with God, a passion that relativizes their need to fulfill themselves through these basic human goods and makes it somewhat easy to set them aside. Such people may not be specially gifted at developing this relationship with God. Still, they are strongly attracted to try to do so through a life set apart to foster this devotion. They are like artists who just have to step out of the mainstream to pursue Review for Religious their passion. Further, they are attracted to other people who share this same passion. They are like the eggheads who gather at universities with others of similar intellectual bent because they feel at home with such heady people. Religious life, then, is a life shared by people who have a sometimes consuming passion for developing a relationship with God and who are willing to struc-ture their lives to ensure that this passion be fostered above all others. The church officially structures this form of life in order to publicly symbolize both to its members and to the world at large this desire for friendship with God. Obviously, few of us religious are dedicated exclusively to God. Indeed, it would be wrong to do so, since we should also be dedicated to the betterment of the world. Perhaps obviously, too, many married and single persons have developed a relationship to God that puts us to shame. But people do not ordinarily get mar-ried or stay single in order to pursue a passion for God. These two life patterns are not publicly structured to foster a passion for God, and such passion is not essential to their meaning. People do, however, enter religious life because of the pull of this very pas-sion. They join other people who, because of a similar passion, have left all to follow Christ. Without this love, their life pattern lacks its basic meaning. Accordingly, just as a married man fails if he does not love his wife, so too communities of religious women and men fail if they do not live explicitly and publicly--not just implicitly and consequentia!ly--from and for this primary relationship to God. Each pattern of life symbolizes different and essential Christian tasks. Marriage symbolizes Jesus' second great commandment, and religious life symbolizes the first. Both are necessary; and so, in the living of those respective vocations, the lines reverse. Married people must come to love God in and through their spouse, and persons in religious life must come to love their neigh-bor in and through God. Jesus was a man with a passion for God. Put a little more ele-gantly, Jesus was filled with God's Spirit. At the beginning of his public life, that Spirit led him out into a desert, away from peo-ple. That Spirit sometimes led him to leave his preaching and healing in order to be alone with God. That Spirit enabled him to go up to Jerusalem, thereby forgoing years.of ministry, in order to remain faithful to his Abba, even unto death on the cross. Ministry was not the center of his life, but only the consequence March-April 1998 Vacek ¯ Religious Life and the Eclipse of Love for God of living out of that center. The center of his life was his rela-tionship with his Abba. I said at the outset that religious life may be in danger of los-ing its soul. Perhaps now, at the end of my remarks, my inflam-matory language can be better understood and properly contextualized. Religious life, as I understand it, is directed essen-tially to an immediate love relationship with God. It is directed to the God who, to be sure, may be found and cherished in all things. But, more primordially, it is directed to the God who has a life and personhood that utterly transcend this world. Religious life points to this transcendent God by being a life that, without this rela-tionship to God, does not make sense. Indeed, as Karl Rahner argued, it would be immoral to choose this way of life without this relationship to God.1° The various works we do, for example, helping the poor or teaching children, in fact make a lot of sense quite apart from a relationship to God. These works may not be particularly attractive, but the sheer fact of human dignity makes them meaningful, even to atheists. Thus, even when we are engaged heart and soul in these works, our life must also offer something more. We must offer the crucially needed public wit-ness that this world is not all there is. Rather, belonging to the God who is beyond all creatures is the final meaning of life. We at times forget this important witness. Sometimes I put a question to men and women religious: Where is the kingdom of God to be found? In recent years they usually answer with the biblical text that the kingdom of God is within or in our midst (Lk 17:20-21). However, when the New Testament answers this ques-tion about the kingdom of God, it usually says that the kingdom of God is in some time and place other than this one.1~ In other words, it is chiefly .eschatological. Sometimes, too, I inquire about the meaning of the religious vows in our day. Contemporary men and women religious tend to praise the vows for giving us greater availability for this-worldly service. It is true that, for most of us most of the time, the vows do just this. But this view is incomplete for at least two reasons. First, there will be times when one or another vow will in fact prevent us from helping those who need love or material goods or our independent commitment. Second, other people without our vows often do greater works than we. Indeed, they sometimes do so because they have a spouse to help them or possessions to give away or the independence to change their commitments. Thus, Review for Religious our vows usually will help our ministry, but they do not always do so and, more importantly, that is not their primary meaning. Our vows have meaning on a different plane. Again, religious life has an eschatological quality. It is this quality that finally makes sense of the ascetic, other-worldly character of our religious vows. These vows point to the God who lives in unapproachable light, and these vows give witness to the Christian possibility of friend-ship with this incomprehensible God. I have suggested that since Vatican II there has occurred what I call an eclipse of love for God, an eclipse that has cast its shadow not only over the secular world, but over religious life as well. I have also urged that we step out of this shadow and live once again in the strong and direct sunlight of a friendship with God. Indeed, if we bask in the light and warmth of this Sun, not only may religious life attract new members, but it will have a soul that is fully alive and thus is the glory of God. Notes t Washington: Georgetown University Press, 1994. 2 U.S. Catholic 62, no. 10 (October 1997): 19. 3 Sandra Schneiders IHM, "Congregational Leadership and Spirituality in the Postmodern Era" (an address to the Leadership Conference of Women Religious, 23 August 1997), in Review For Religious 57, no. 1 (January-February 1998): 22. 4 Daniel Maguire, The Moral Core of Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), p. 221. s Schneiders, "Congregational Leadership," p. 21. 6 Miguel de Unamuno, The Tragic Sense of Life, trans. J.E. Crawford Flitch (New York: Dover, 1954), p. 193. 7 Paul Tillich, Shaking of the Foundations (New York: Scribner's, 1948), p. 162. 8 William James, Varieties of Religious Experience (New Hyde Park, N.Y.: University Books, 1963), pp. 272-300. 9 Moses Maimonides, "Yad, Teshubah" (X, I-3), in The Teachings of Maimonides, ed. Abraham Cohen (New York: KTAV Publishing House, 1968), pp. 113-114. t0 Karl Rahner SJ "Reflections on a Theology of Renunciation," Theological Investigations, vol. 3 (New York: Crossroad, 1982), pp. 47-57. it E.P. Sanders, The Historical Figure of Jesus (London: Penguin, 1993), p. 176. ~larcb-April 1998 SIDNEY CALLAHAN A Witness of Unique Witnessing Recently I was invited to speak to a conference of male and female religious. My charge was to reflect upon the unique identity of the religious vocation and comment upon the prospects of religious life in a complex, pluralistic society--in particular, will the current intellectual trends toward fragmented postmodo ernist thinking be a devastating challenge for religious vocations? This assignment was a new challenge for me since heretofore I as a laywoman had never focused much attention on the men and women presently pursuing a vocation of voluntary poverty, celibacy, and obedience to a rule. Most of my concerns in the church have heretofore been focused on larger issues of faith and authority as related to women, sexuality, family, and ethics. To fulfill my assignment I had to read furiously in the huge lit-erature devoted to postmodernist thought, and then I had to find out how other observers analyze what is going on within reli-gious orders in the waning of our millennium. After reflecting upon the troubling challenges, I also wanted to give the group my outsider's perspectives on the positive achievements of reli-gious life. First, it must be admitted that postmodernism, however dif-ficult it is to define, is a confusing and widespread intellectual movement of our time. And the least acquaintance with this trend, in whatever field it is encountered, can assure a person that, yes, Sidney Callahan .participated in the October 1997 symposium at Wernersville, Pennsylvania, on Religious Life's Unique Witness. Here she offers an expanded revision of her Commonweal article of 5 December 1997: "Nunsuch? Reviving Religious Communities." She may be addressed at Hudson House, Box 260; Ardsley-on-Hudson, New York 10503. Review for Religqous this wave of skepticism about knowledge or universal truths will make traditional faith and the religious vocation even more dif-ficult to pursue. In its strongest forms postmodernist thought asserts that no universal reality exists or can be known. Older modernist asser-tions in Western thought that rational and scientific methods can produce knowledge are thrown out as inadmissible. Worse still, there is nothing much to be explored besides the various "lan-guage games" that people learn to use in their own specific cultures. In postmod-ernist thought, it is language and culture that construct reality, and so biology and science are discounted. Human beings are trapped in their own time and culture, and so no meaningful universal truth claims can be trusted. Postmodernism pushes its adher-ents, who mostly populate elite academic literature departments, into a moral rela-tivism and suspicion of affirmations of truth, including, of course, religious truth. Unfortunately, the existence of a self, or human nature, is also believed to be con-structed by language and culture, so any and all self-identities must be tentative and temporary. True moral agency, or the pos-sibility of permanent commitments and promise making or promise keeping, disappears. While this modern reincarnation of radical skepticism may puncture claims of antireligious secular orthodoxies, it does believers little good. In the general darkness of uncertainty and ambiguity, there may be some room for silence and mystery, and there may be opportunities for hearing new voices from below, but the overall effect of the new worldview is still a negative one for all believers in a self-disclosing God of truth and love. Happily, the postmodernist movement is, I think, not going to last much longer, much less triumph among our academic intel-lectual elites. Skepticism eventually self-destructs, since it asserts that there can be little point in intellectual inquiry or argument. Recently many scientific and intellectual countermovements can be seen surging back toward a critical realism which affirms that a common human nature exists and that, yes, certain moral truths can be known with at least virtual certainty. Interestingly enough, The overall effect of the new worldview is still a negative one for all believers in a self-disclosing God of truth and love. ~/larcb-April 1998 Callahan ¯ A Witness of Unique Witnessing --!:40J some feminist philosophers have been quick to see that, if noth-ing is morally true beyond a culture's boundaries, then feminists can have no foundation for their efforts toward the liberation of women from oppression. But in the meantime a creeping cultural fog of doubt, skep-ticism, and moral relativism moves down into the popular cul-ture and makes dealing with modern young people difficult. Many teachers report that their students find themselves unable to affirm that even the Nazi genocide was really, truly, morally wrong. Tentativism, skeptical detachment, and seeing life as consisting of senseless fragments take over the popular mind. In such an intellectual climate, any faith, especially the faith needed for a religious vocation, faces a problem of commitment. As it is for the church at large, the end of the millennium is a rather unset-tled ¯ time for vowed religious. Why so? And what can be done about it? Here too there is no shortage of articles on why the numbers of new vocations to religious orders are declining and why so many vowed religious left their orders after the Second Vatican Council. Certainly some perspective on the present can be gained by looking at the changes in religious life over the cen-turies. I received an eye-opening view of the history of religious orders by reading Jo Ann Kay McNamara's Sisters in Arms: Catholic Nuns Through Two Millennia. Throughout the last two thousand years, the forms of reli-gious life in the church have constantly evolved--along with their being by turns accepted and persecuted by people outside and inside the church. As historical conditions altered and Christianity spread, religious life adapted to various circumstances and cul-tures. New orders were founded and still are being founded, and new ministries were, and are, constantly undertaken. It does not take much acumen to conclude that present developments, how-ever turbulent, may be one more transitional phase. Today the major challenge for vowed religious involves the assimilation of Vatican II's teachings and reforms. If now, for instance, religious life is no longer theologically exalted above other states of life in the church and, in particular, is no longer judged a more perfect way to holiness, a way superior to mar-riage, then why make the sacrifices involved? If, in addition, laypersons can fulfill all the ministries within the church and in the world that vowed religious used to perform, why join a religious community to serve God and neighbor? Review for Religious Some writers analyzing religious life today see what is hap-pening as a necessary purification: the vowed religious life is being purged of temptations to pride and comfort that its revered sta-res as "a vocation" once occasioned. Now there is no more mys-tique, and no more lifelong security complete with an assured slot in some fully staffed religious institution. The professional-ization of many jobs in hospitals, colleges, and social agencies has meant the need for secular credentials. Religious cannot auto-matically count on ministries that give them a sense of fulfillment or on having access to the economic resources needed to support their communities. Parishes love to have a generic "sister" toiling in their vineyard, but appear less willing to pay her a living wage. For theologian Sandra Schneiders, contemporary religious life is being stripped to its essential meaning. Without any of the old privileges, reli-gious must recognize once again the "naked God-quest in the center of their hearts," which makes an "exclusive and total demand upon them in consecrated celibacy, voluntary poverty, community, and corporate mission" (Schneiders, p. 518). Present declines in numbers or disturbances in morale may be a painful transforming process, similar to the suffering of a dark night of the soul; such a dying may be neces-sary for new life to emerge, perhaps in new forms. Yet fidelity to the God-quest must be maintained and can have its own benefi-cial effects for the church. Agreed. As a married layperson I can affirm the witness of the religious vocation for strengthening the rest of the faithful community in a confusing time. Yes, the life of holiness seems to be much the same whatever the path taken toward the goal; either laypersons or religious end up with a family resemblance to Christ. Yet lay and religious vocations are different. I view vowed religious vocations as a condensed, crystallized, intensely focused, institu-tionalized, corporate embodiment of every Christian's call to love God and one's neighbor wholeheartedly. The totality of the life commitment of a religious vocation and the personal sacrifices entailed give testimony to the fact that God's kingdom exists beyond time and space, beyond what we Parishes love to have a generic "sister" toiling in their vineyard, but appear less willing to pay her a living wage. March-April 1998 Callahan * A Witness of Unique VVitnessing can see and touch or recognize as commonsense strivings. Vowed religious directly imitate Christ's life of public ministry, an ascetic life undertaken for the sake of the whole church as a corporate communion. The Roman Catholic Church, in the words of Sebastian Moore, can be acknowledged as the only "world-wide and world-old institution dedicated to changing the world." Religious give their all to a ministry of worship and loving service to the world. Today, in our disordered complicated society, we need good corporate institutions to work toward justice and human flour-ishing. American individualists are rather blind to the importance of struggling for good institutions and social realities. Only orga-nized communities can use their collective synergy to fight against the structural oppressions and powers of "social sin." The the-ologian Walter Wink has interpreted St. Paul's references to fight-ing against "powers and principalities" as the struggle against those larger social structures and forces that unjustly oppress peo-ple. Christians must fight against these powers, against such social structures as unfair economic markets, or racial and sexual prej-udices, or exploitations of the poor, or entrenched ignorance, or rampant consumerism peddled by the all-encompassing media. Social systems harm innocent people and the earth's environment. Such structural entities have enormous power, and they usually operate beyond the control of even good individuals caught up within the system. Religious orders can use their corporate strength arising from their collective commitment to work for the conversion and transformation of the world. Vowed celibacy is crucial to the religious vocation. Erotic energy dedicated to loving God within the community and focused upon the corporate mission can be incredibly potent and fruit-ful. Celibacy does not repudiate sexuality, but rather affirms the values of friendship and the worth of embodied lives beyond sex-ual reproduction orreplication of one's genes. Religious orders do replicate themselves in their spiritual children, who join because they agree with the goals of the religious family. In genetic par-enting and family life, children do not always agree with their parents' commitments. Religious life attests to the good news that in the kingdom gender roles become subservient to personal identity since in Christ there is neither male nor female. This affirmation of per-sonhood, friendship, and work beyond gendered conventions has Review for Religious been particularly important for women's self-esteem and flour-ishing. The history of women's religious orders is replete with instances of women who went against their culture and were able to assume leadership roles that use their talents in original ways. Moreover, if sexual reproduction, sexual fulfillment, and mat-ing no longer are the only human ways to validate bodily exis-tence, then human beings who do not mate and reproduce--babies, the young, the old, the ill, the handicapped--are symbolically affirmed as valuable members of the human family. I see vowed celibacy as an incest tabu adopted in order to count everyone as one's family and kin. A no to one mate and sexual pair-bonding flees persons to love more inclusively. The risks undertaken and the permanent vows that religious make also help to strengthen the permanent vows of married persons. Marriage and family life are definitely schools of love, but to be true to family claims most persons are limited in what they can give to the larger church and civic community. There is only so much time, money, and energy available in one life. There are also limits to the suf-fering and sacrifices that a person can justifiably ask of a spouse or the dependent members of the family. To love is to suffer with others, and this happens in every state of life, but religious can be freer to suffer more. They can spend themselves more daringly for the coming of the kingdom in the larger community. The cor-porate support of their religious brothers and sisters can sustain them in enterprises beyond the capabilities of individuals or of most families. It is no accident that the majority of modern Christian martyrs have been vowed religious serving as mission-aries in dangerous territories. Voluntary poverty in the religious vocation also serves as a wit-ness against the greed and love of money ingrained in our materi-alistic consumer culture. Corporate religious groups can be more free to operate by the rule of just care: from each according to his or her gifts and to each according to individual need. Religious orders can struggle for justice more freely when all of their mem-bers are committed to the same ideals of love and charity--and are willing to pay the price to deploy their forces. Often Christians I see vowed celibacy as an incest tabu adopted in order to count everyone as one's family and kin. March-April 1998 Callaban ¯ A Witness of Unique Witnessing must voluntarily take on morally necessary suffering in order to heal, to do the works of mercy, or to end oppression. Religious who obey community authority for the sake of their vocation witness to the existence of the authority of God's truth as well as to the importance of persevering in an intentional com-munity. Ideals of authority are in ill repute, but are no less nec-essary to common endeavors for all that. Unfortunately, our culture worships individual liberty, autonomy, control, and lives of hyperprivacy. A permanent commitment to communal life beyond mate and family is a startling countercultural witness. Such staunch commitment to social cohesion also helps give civic society backbone, providing corporate groups that can medi-ate or stand between individuals and the state. The new label for the existence of enduring social ties of interdependency is "social capital." Who in a community can count on what ties and what sources of help when needed? A civil society and a civilization depend upon these invisible but powerful connections. Religious orders generate all kinds of social capital for the kingdom along with their dedication to God. The corporate wit-ness of an order with its customs, traditions, and rituals builds up energy and esprit to act effectively against obstacles. So, in the course of religious i'enewal today, we find religious orders reemphasizing their corporate identities, refocusing on their dis-tinct ministries, reinstating collective commitment rituals, and recognizing their need for common worship, common symbols, and a common life. The love and support of one's brothers and sis-ters make the religious vocation possible--and powerful. A group commitment strengthens individuals. Religious faith may be more risky today for everyone. I do not think that the risk arises from conflicts between belief and natural science as was true in the 19th century. But social and psychological disci-plines, and postmodern intellectual currents, can be challenging by making persons doubt their own religious experiences. Collective experiences of worship ~and community experiences of work and love can ground religious experiences as well as give witness to the world. To use a phrase stolen from Paul Ricoeur, I would say that what religious life can produce today is "the intelligibility of hope" for the church. New creative forms may be evolving, but they will come about not by legislated commands from higher church hierarchies, but from faithful listening to the Holy Spirit. God Review for Religious is a God of surprises, so we cannot know how the next millennium will play itself out. But I am quite sure that the church will con-tinue to be blessed with the survival and revival of religious voca-tions, thanks be to God. Selected Sources Albert Borgmann. Crossing the Postmodern Divide. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992. Joseph J. Feeney sJ. "Can a Worldview Be Healed? Students and Postmodernism." America 177, no. 15 (15 November 1997): 12-16. Jo Ann Kay McNamara. Sisters in Arms: Catholic Nuns through Two Millennia. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1996. Thomas Guarino. "Postmodernity and Five Fundamental Theological Issues." Theological Studies 57, no. 4 (December 1996): 654-689. Sandra M. Schneiders IHM. "Contemporary Religious Life: Death or Transformation?" Crosscurrents (Winter 1996-1997): 510-535. Personal Interpretation In sleep-warped nights of dreams and hauntings, L to satisfy my pride, my lust, my greed, had made a god in image of my need. Light dawned, but false, beneath a man-made sky. Then I felt more: some Thing, some One - Benign; not There, but Here - Beside. I came to part unpracticed lips and dry unyielding heart: I brought myself to pray, to ask a sign. Enough to shake my disbelief, there then occurred events beyond all chance that still offend my rationality, my will. Reluctant, though, I start to doubt again. That sign, so clear, at mercy of my wit: how will I choose to now interpret it? Stephen Eric Smyth FMS March-April 1998 DORIS GOTTEMOELLER Religious Life: Where Does It Fit in Today's Church? l/lA " t I say in this article is as much about the church as it ¥ ¥ is about religious life. Stated more fully, my question is: What is the place, the distinctive identity and function, of religious life in the church today? What is unique about this vocation in our post-Vatican II church? What witness and service do religious offer that other members of the church do not offer? Or, more colloquially, what is the point of being a religious sister or brother today?~ To throw some light here is also to illuminate the nature of the church itself in our post-Vatican II understanding. We can approach our question in three parts, dealing with (1) the origin of the question, (2) the significance of the question, and (3) some suggestions for a response. Origin of the Question First of all, where does this question come from? A few dozen years ago, before the Second Vatican Council, the status and role of religious were well known. Their status was characterized as a way of perfection, and their role was to devote themselves to min-istries such as prayer (in contemplative orders, more or less full-time) and teaching, nursing, and caring for orphans and the elderly. Their state of life contrasted with two other available options, the lay and clerical states. Doris Gottemoeller RSM, president of the Sisters of Mercy of the Americas, last appeared in our journal in January-February 1996. Her address is 8300 Colesville Road #300; Silver Spring, Maryland 20910. Review for Religious An implicit hierarchy seen in these states had the laity at the bottom and the clergy at the top. It was better to be a religious than to be a layperson, and even better to be a priest. (So if a lit-tle boy confided to his teacher that he was interested in becom-ing a brother, she was apt to say, "Why don't you go all the way and become a priest?") What has changed, so that the question of meaning and purpose has become so urgent? First, the council, in its Dogmatic Constitution on the Church, Lumen gentium, "flattened out" this hierarchy of states by affirming the fundamental equality of all Christians, rooted in baptism. "All the faithful of Christ of whatever rank or status are called to the fullness of the Christian life and to the perfection of charity," and "all of Christ's followers [are] invited and bound to pursue holiness and the perfect fulfillment of their proper state.''2 Only later did many begin to ask a bothersome question: If it is not better, that is, more perfect, to be a religious than a layper-son, why make the sacrifice inherent in a lifetime commitment to the vows? The council also triggered a proliferation of ministries, as the faithful were called in a new way to be responsible for the mission of the church. The closing exhortation of the Decree on the Apostolate of the Laity, Apostolicam actuositatem, calls on all the laity to be coworkers with Christ in the various forms and meth-ods of the church's one apostolate. Formerly, the apostolate of the laity was described as a participation in the apostolate of the hierarchy; now the laity were called to the apostolate in their own name, in union with the whole church. The gradual adoption of the word ministry, often used in the plural, spoke to a new sense of a myriad of liturgical, catechetical, and pastoral works in which church members were called to engage, whether on an occasional, part-time, or full-time basis. Amidst this plurality of ministries, the restoration of the lay diaconate introduced a group of persons whose role is still not clearly differentiated from other roles. A recent national study of the permanent diaconate reports: "In their written-in comments more than a few deacons complained that they are too often thought to be either 'incomplete priests' or 'more advanced laity.'''3 Many deacons wonder whether ordination is necessary for what they do, and the majority of lay leaders surveyed indi-cated they do not think that ordination is necessary for the min-istries performed by deacons in their parishes. We could also ~larch-ApH11998 Gottemoeller * Religious Life: Where Does It Fit? point out that the typical deacon's education and spiritual and pi'ofessional preparation for ministry are less than that of the reli-gious with whom he serves on the same parish staff--and yet he is empowered to preach, to serve at the altar during liturgy, and to a~dminister some sacraments. Of all these ministries, it is difficult to identify religious with any specific one. Teachers in parochial schools and in Christian-doctrine (CCD) programs, nurses in hospitals, workers in child-care, eldercare, and special care institutions of all kinds are overwhelmingly lay people. Some religious continue to minister in these settirigs, but others are in a wide variety of other venues: prisons, homeless shelters, social-welfare agencies, housing pro-jects, parishes, dioceses, retreat centers, justice offices, congre-gational headquarters, and so forth. Not all of these settings are affiliated with the individual's congregation or, indeed, with the Catholic Church. The causes of this ministerial diffusion are complex and not all within the control of religious congregations. Among other factors in play is the law of supply and demand. Religious are not needed in some ministries for which others are very well qualified. Religious cannot afford to offer their services gratis, and their seniority makes them too expensive to hire. Institutions that were once the employer of last resort for religious have closed or cannot employ persons without specific creden-tials. The government has assumed greater responsibility for some works for which religious were once responsible. Professional credentialing has put some ministries beyond the reach of some religious. And so forth. There is no end of opportunities for vol-unteers in the typical parish or institution, but volunteer (that is, nonremunerated) serviICe is not really a viable option for many of a congregation's members. One of the common venues for ministry is the parish (not the parish school, but the parish itself), a fact that contributes to the phenomenon known as the parochialization of religious life. As qualified lay teachers became available in years past, they began to replace sisters in the classroom. At the same time, parishes looked to sisters to fill roles for which they were deemed uniquely qualified, especially the religious education of children and adults and a variety of other pastoral services such as outreach to the elderly and homebound, music ministry, and liturgy preparation. Then, as the number of the clergy declined and the number of Review for Religious parishes with a single priest grew, pastors looked to sisters to move into the new roles of pastoral associate and even pastoral administrator (in priestless parishes). An unforeseen effect of this parochial assimilation is that the typical parish has little or no sense of the distinctive charism of each religious congregation, no sense of the congregational mission or spirituality that sup-ports "their" sister. If this development moves to its logical conclusion, women religious might come to be regarded as generic church workers, inter-changeable parish functionaries. Such parochial assimilation also blurs the dis-tinction between clerical and religious identity. Of course, everyone knows that pi'iests can celebrate Mass and religious cannot. But the popular confu-sion about the two vocations is indicated by ques-tions such as the following which I get from tlffie to time: If the pope allows priests to marry, do you think sisters will get married too? Such a questioner has no idea of the distinction between the vocation of a diocesan priest and that of a religious, and no idea that religious life is a way of life in which celibacy is an integral component. Many people assume that we religious observe celibacy as a sort of price for working in the church rather than as the heart of our religious commitment. By way of an aside, we could note that th~ question of priesdy identity and mission in today's church would be a parallel area of investigation. Since the theologies of both the priesthood and religious life are rooted in ecclesiology, there is a relationship between the concepts of both of them. One recent study identi-fied four historically significant theologies of the. priesthood and their corresponding theologies of religious life.4 These theolo-gies differ from one another in their vision of spiritual ideals, of appropriate relationship to a local church, 6f mission focus, and so forth. Clerical religious institutes represent a further permu-tation of the issues. To summarize this first part, we can say that the question of the contemporary meaning and significance of religious life arises on the theoretical side because of the emphasis of Vatican II on the role of the laity in light of the universal call to'holiness, and on the practical side because of the changing ministerial roles of reli- Professional credentialing has put some ministries beyond the reach of some religious. March-April 1998 Gottemoeller ¯ Religious Life: Where Does It Fit? | gious (including their insertion into parochial roles). Finally, the diminishing number of religious reduces their visibility and makes it even more difficult to discover who they are and what they are about. From a congregational perspective, this diminishment makes it more imperative than ever for religious to assert their dis-tinctive identity and to focus their energy and resources in a clear direction--which leads to the issue of significance. Significance of the Question What difference does it make if there is no clear or commonly held answer to what the meaning and purpose of religious life today is. The most obvious answer is that it makes it very difficult, even impossible, to invite, young men and women to consider reli-gious life as a personal option. The Religious Life Futures Project highlighted the problem in its Executive Summary: "The most compelling result of the study indicates that a significant per-centage of religious no longer understand their role and function in the church. This lack of clarity can result in lowered self-con-fidence, a sense of futility, greater propensity to leave religious life, and significant anxiety. The younger religious experience the least clarity, and, among these, women religious experience less clarity than their male counterparts . For both women and men religious, Vatican II substantially reinforced the role of laity in the church, but did not clarify for religious the unique contri-bution of their vocation.''s Other contemporary writers have highlighted the same prob-lem. Sociologist Patricia Wittberg SC speaks of the collapse of the old ideological framework for religious life after the council. By means of a review and analysis of the articles which appeared in Review for Religious over a thirty-year period, she demon-strates how the old definition of religious life as a state of per-fection or privileged way to holiness was discarded and the traditional understanding of the vows and community life eroded or replaced. At the same time a new, internally consistent alter-native definition was proposed by theologians and writers, namely, religious life as prophetic witness. She suggests, however, that structural changes in the daily lifestyle of religious prevented the new definition from being established on a corporate basis. "Nor was the new ideology upheld with the same unanimity as the old had been, for religious communities had deprived themselves of Review for Religious some of the very communal commitment mechanisms that might have reinforced their new beliefs.''6 In other words, we had so reshaped our understandings of obedience, of community, of min-istry, and so forth as to make it impossible to hold one another to any accountability for common practices. Wittberg adds, "Individual religious were defined as those who live their bap-tismal call in the vowed life--but these vows were either inade-quately defined or else defined in such a way as to apply indiscriminately to all Christians. 'The dominant language of reli-gious life . . . shifted from theological constructs to social and psychological paradigms' that were inadequate to explain what was distinct or desirable about the lifestyle.''7 This is quite a sig-nificant observation from a sociologist! As evidence of our lack of a clear sense of our corporate mean-ing and purpose, Wittberg cites some examples of self-defeating patterns of operation: 1. Statements of mission or charism that are vague and gen-eral enough to include all the various interests in a con-gregation. 2. Difficulty in making choices, particularly in the area of long-term planning, because there is no deeply shared vision on which to base these choices. 3. An emphasis on the personal growth and development of the members, as well as a tendency to interpret commu-nity in terms of the needs of the members, work as an indi-vidual project, and spirituality as a private concern. 4. The near impossibility of sustaining corporate commit-ments, s I doubt that there are many religious today who do not recog-nize at least some of this analysis as touching on their own expe-rience. In terms of ministry, the lack of a simple and single answer to the question of what religious do is a cause of confusion and crit-icism among some of the laity. To give one example: the March 1997 issue of Religious Life, a newsletter or journal published by the Institute on Religious Life in Chicago, carried an article tided "Nuns and the Common Good," by Anne Stewart Connell. In it she excoriates "sisters who maintain they are still 'sisters' yet have leaped over convent walls and taken 'administrative' jobs in the church in preference to teaching children" as perpetuating a "gross injustice" in the church. In her words, these sisters are "corrupt-ing" the "bona fide religious who have nowhere to turn but to March-Apt41 1998 Gottemoeller * Religious Life: Where Does It Fit? collude in the corruption simply to survive.''9 It is easy to be dis-mayed by the invective here, but a deeper concern is that the writer has the misconception that some or most religious con-gregations were founded to do a single work, namely, teaching, and that their members have willfully and selfishly betrayed their commitment in order to pursue other occupations. Below the issues of vocational recruitment, congregational morale, and public perception lies the deeper issue of theological coherence. VChere does religious life fit in the theology of our post-Vatican II church? The postsynodal apostolic exhortation Vita consecrata describes consecrated life as a gift to the whole church: Its universal presence and the evangelical nature of its wit-ness are clear evidence--if any were needed--that the con-secrated life is not something isolated and marginal, but a reality which affects the whole church. The bishops at the synod frequently reaffirmed [that] "this is something which concerns us all." In effect, the consecrated life is at the very heart of the church as a decisive element for her mission, since it "manifests the inner nature of the Christian call-ing" and the striving of the whole church as bride towards union with her one Soouse.tAt the Synod it was stated on several occasions tha't the e'~nsecrat'ed life has not only proved a help and support for the church in the past, but is also a precious and necessary gift for the present and future of the people of God, since it is an intimate part of her life, her holiness, and her mission)° Consecrated life, then, is an intimate part of the church's life and a decisive element of her mission. This precious gift is said to be a reality which affects the whole church. How are these affir-mations consonant with our post-Vatican II understanding of the church as a communio, an organic unity of all the faithful, consti-tuted in baptism, nourished by'the sacramental life and authentic teachings, and focused on the one mission? This question of eccle-siology can be the bridge to our third section, in which we focus on the identity and mission of religious life today. Some Suggestions for a Response I would like to attempt to answer our question of meaning and purpose by offering three assertions: (1) Religious life is a permanent state of life ,in the church; (2) religious life has an objective excellence, even a certain superiority, with regard to Review for Religious other states of life; and (3) there is no one ministry for which religious are uniquely qualified, but each congregation should offer a specific witness by its corporate lifestyle and mission. Religious life is a permanent state of life in the church. The impli-cations of this statement are that it is clearly distinguishable from other states of life in the church and that it is rec-ognized as such by the church in an official way. "State of life" is probably a term of art rather than a categorical definition, but I think we would all agree that it suggests a deliberate orientation of one's life, encompassing fundamental and stable choices around the use of one's sexuality, material possessions, personal freedom, relationships, talents, and future options. The choices made by persons in the religious state of life with respect to these dimensions of life are customarily designated celibacy, poverty, obedience, community, ministry, and permanence. The choides have an inner con-gruence, so that each influences how the others are expressed and experienced. Taken together, these choices are more than enough to distinguish a person in the religious state from one in the lay state. This assertion that religious life is a permanent state of life in the church might seem too obvious to need saying, but I feel it needs emphasis in light of the charge sometimes made that reli-gious have become indistinguishable from the laity. The real issue here is the visibility of the way of life, with its interdependent and distinguishing characteristics. If all an onlooker sees is a single woman living alone and going out to a job each day, the evan-gelical witness is compromised and its meaning eroded. Poverty, obedience, community, ministry--these make real-life demands and effectively shape a life that is distinctively different from the general Christian vocation. The church's recognition of this state of life draws on a dis-tinction between the church's structure and its life. According to the first, there are only two states of life, clerical and lay. According to the latter, there are three states: clerical, religious, and lay. The operative quotations from Vatican II's Lumen gentium are: "From the point of view of the divine and hierarchical struc-ture of the church, the religious state of life is not an intermedi-ate one between the clerical and lay states. Rather, the faithful of Where does religious life fit in the theology of our post-Vatican II church? March-April 1998 Gottemoeller ¯ Reli~ous Life: Where Does It Fit? Christ are called by God from both these latter states of life so that they may enjoy this particular gift in the life of the church. ¯ ." (§43) and "although the religious state., does not belong to the hierarchical structure of the church, nevertheless it belongs inseparably to her life and holiness" (§44). At the same time, the document (§31) says that "the term laity is here understood to mean all the faithful except those in holy orders and those in a religious state sanctioned by the church." In other words, the division of church members into three states, the religious, the clerical, and the lay, is a division based on the life and holiness of the church, not on its structure. Vita consecrata describes these three vocations as paradigmatic choices, "inasmuch as all particular vocations., are in one way or another derived from them or lead back to them, in accordance with the richness of God's gift.''~1 The diversity represented by these three fundamental options corresponds perfectly with the idea of the church as communio in which the Spirit provides for a variety of vocations, charisms, and ministries. A communion eccle-siology accents ordered relationships and differentiation of roles within the fundamental equality that stems from a common bap-tism. Diversity is also present within the religious state, not just among the three fundamental states of life. For example, conse-crated life is realized in religious and in secular institutes and in societies of apostolic life. Religious institutes may be clerical, non-clerical, or mixed; monastic, mendicant, evangelical, or apostolic; contemplative or active; ancient or modern. New institutes arise and old ones pass away. Whatever the canonical form or historical sit-uation, commitment to the evangelical counsels according to a rule approved by the church is the essential characteristic of this state of life. Given the countercultural nature of the commitment required by the counsel~, religious life will always be the choice of the few rather than of the many. However, it is an enduring way of life which seems to flourish in one epoch or cultural milieu and diminish in another, only to revive again with new vigor. Religious life has an objective excellence, even a certain superiority, with regard to other states of life. This second assertion about the identity and mission of religious life is prompted in part by a phrase which occurs in three places in Vita consecrata, namely, that consecrated life has an "objective superiority" in the church.12 When the apostolic exhortation was first published, commentators (including myself) reacted immediately to the phrase, noting that Review for Religious it seems to contradict the affirmation of Vatican II that all the faithful of Christ are called to the perfection of charity and to the perfect fulfillment of their proper state. Commentators pointed out that the word "superiority" was a translation of the Latin praestantia, which the French and Italian texts translated as "excellence" (and it, is likely that the document was first written in Italian).'3 In other words, we concluded that what the pope was really saying is that consecrated life has an objective excel-lence. We felt comfortable with this because to affirm one voca-tion or state of life as excellent does not imply that another choice is not equally excellent. On further reflection, however, I am willing to suggest that, whatever the pope did or did not intend, the word "superiority" also has a certain legitimacy. Appealing again to a communion ecclesiology, I find a differentiation of roles and a hierarchy of functions to be consonant with an organic model of the church. In the words of 1 Corinthians 12, "As a body is one though it has many parts, and all the parts of the body, though many, are one body, so also Christ," and, further, "If the whole body were an eye, where would the hearing be? If the whole body were an ear, where would the sense of smell be?" Applying all this to the church, St. Paul asserts: "Some people God has designated in the church to be, first, apostles; second, prophets; third, teachers; then, [doers of] mighty deeds; then, gifts of healing, assistance, administration, and varieties of tongues." Finally, as if to under-score the implicit hierarchy in this list, he says, "Strive eagerly for the greatest spiritual gifts." The most obvious application of this principle of differenti-ation is with respect to ordained persons and their specific pub-lic responsibilities within the church. But I would suggest that the principle might also apply to the domain of the life of the church,x4 In the home at Bethany, Jesus says to Martha, "Mary has chosen the better part" (Lk 10:42). Can there be a good and a better part, objectively speaking, within the life of the Christian community? If the answer is yes, and if consecrated life can claim to be the better part, than what, specifically, makes it better? Vita con-secrata attempts to answer this question in paragraphs 29-34 deal-ing with consecrated life in and for the church. The crux of the answer is that persons in consecrated life commit themselves to a "fuller, more explicit and authentic confoi'mity to him [Jesus] t~larch-~lpri1199g Gottemoeller ¯ Religious Life: Where Does It Fit? through the profession of the evangelical counsels" (§30). This commitment is "a special and fruitful deepening of the consecra-tion received in baptism" (§30). This further consecration differs from baptismal consecration, of which it is not a necessary con-sequence. 15 All the baptized are called to holiness and the virtues which contribute to holiness, such as chastity, obedience to God and to the church, and a reasonable detachment from material possessions. But baptism does not include the call to celibacy or virginity, obedience to a superior, or the renunciation of posses-sions, in the form proper to the evangelical counsels. In addition to conforming their lives in an explicit way to the pattern of Jesus' life, those who profess the evangelical counsels also proclaim and in a certain way anticipate the future age when the fullness of the kingdom of heaven, already present in its first fruits and in mystery, will be achieved and when the children of the resurrection will take neither wife nor husband, but will be like the angels of God (VC §32). Thus, consecrated chastity or celibacy is the preeminent expression of, and "door to," the whole conse-crated life. In summary, then, the superiority of the consecrated life is twofold: in its conformity to the life of Jesus and in its being a sign of the life to come, both of which are specifically and uniquely realized in this way of life. Within the church and on behalf of the whole church, consecrated life is a kind of sacrament of presence. Again, in the words of Vita consecrata, "The consecrated life, by its very existence in the church, seeks to serve the consecration of the lives of all the faithful, clergy and laity alike" (§33). The ministry of witness is mutual: "consecrated persons themselves are helped by the witness of the other vocations to live fully and completely their union with the mystery of Christ and the church in its many different dimensions." Of course, we need to emphasize that the excellence or supe-riority of consecrated life adheres in the state of life itself and can-not be automatically attributed to any person choosing this life option. Individual men and women in consecrated life may be gen-erous or selfish, great-spirited or petty, devout or apathetic, bold or indifferent in their service of God and God's people. At times they may waver in their commitment or fail in their obligations. When they do, they acknowledge their failures, seek God's pardon, and persevere. The ideal is still in place, even though human weakness prevents them from realizing it as generously as they would want. Review for Religious As a state of life, consecrated life offers--to men and women who have been captured by so intense a love for God that every dimen-sion of their lives is affected--a more excellent way to express that love~within the context of church. Up until now we have dealt with the identity of religious life. Let me now turn to the question of mission. Other than wit-nessing by our presence, can we concretize what it is that reli-gious do (or should do)? In my view the answer is that there is no one ministry for which religious are uniquely qualified, but each congregation should offer a specific witness by its corporate lifestyle and The excellence mission. The apostolic exhortation Vita con-secrata deals beautifully with the inte-gration of consecration and mission: "By the action of the Holy Spirit who is at the origin of every vocation and charism, consecrated life itself is a mis-sion, as was the whole of Jesus' life" (§72). It follows that, if the life itself is a mission, it must be visible. The evan-gelical counsels and the ideals of love for God, passionate concern for the poor and needy, and commitment to community life need to be translated into specific behaviors that people can see and understand. These behaviors .also help introduce a new member into the meaning of the life and reinforce a sense of belonging among all members. Without such corporate behaviors, there is no visibility; with-out visibility, there is no witness. We could discuss at length what such corporate behaviors (or commitment mechanisms, as th~ sociologists call them) might be, but the principle is clear. In the process of renewal, we discarded a whole set of behaviors that were anachronistic or even harmful to psychological health, but we have not yet adopted new behav-iors appropriate for today's culture and ministerial needs. One of the factors that keep us from identifying or adopting such cor-porate behaviors is our respect for diversity. This value is affirmed in Hta consecrata and is a necessary outcome of the renewal pro-cess enjoined by the Second Vatican Council. If religious institutes successfully "return to the inspiration of their founders" and or superiority of consecrated life adheres in the state of life itself and cannot be automatically attributed to any person choosing this life option. March-April 1998 "adapt to the needs of their contemporary circumstances/min-istries," they are inevitably going to look different. What the council did not anticipate, however, is that diversity grew within each congregation. To some extent this development was a healthy outcome of greater appreciation of individual personalities, psy-chological needs, spiritual gifts, and so forth. However, unques-tioned diversity (that is, diversity of lifestyle, of theology, of spirituality) within a congregation can erode corporate identity and the possibility of corporate witness. It seems clear that viable religious life of the future will manifest less diversity within each congregation and greater diversity among congregations. Another factor that keeps us from adopting common prac-tices and behaviors is a fear of restorationism, a concern that someone will try to reverse the passage of history and return us to the practices we discarded years ago. We can see, if we reflect on the learnings of these intervening years, that such a reversal is not even remotely possible. Our failure, however, is that for the most part we have not identified and reflected on the learnings of these years of renewal. We have not asked ourselves how our cur-rent practices express our love for Jesus Christ and our commit-ment to the church in a credible way,.how they support and enhance our mission, how they promote greater passion for the gospel and for the service of the poor and needy. Our lack of crit-ical reflection on our present reality leaves the task of evaluation to those outside our midst who are often ill-informed and intem-perate in their judgments. Commitment to a corporate mission is an element that needs to be explicitated for each congregation, institute, or society. The articulation needs to be clear and focused if it is to effectively guide the choices of members about their ministries and con-tribute to the public perception of a congregation. On the other hand, the statement of mission usually cannot be reduced to a single ministry unless the congregation is very small or is con-centrated in a small locale. A congregational mission does not exist in isolation; it is an explicitation of some dimension of the church's mission. Therefore it presupposes an understanding of, and commitment to, ecclesial mission. This is an area of challenge for everyone in the church today, including religious. We need to recall that, at its deepest level, the church's mission is about restoring the relationship between God and human persons. It is expressed through good Review for Religious works such as education, social service, healthcare, and public advocacy, but, fundamentally, these are "missionary" only if they have an explicitly religious purpose and meaning. As more and more religious minister in secular or ecumenical and thus non-congregationally sponsored works, it becomes more important than ever to validate the religious dimension of their work. In our first-world milieu, there is probably no social prob-lem or societal need of such aching intensity that only religious with their full-time, lifelong, religious commitment can attend to it. Rather, there is a host of problems or needs---homelessness, ignorance, ill health, violence, social unrest, and so forth--which make legitimate claims on people of the gospel, whatever their state of life. Moreover, these problems exist within a culture tainted by materialism, consumerism, transitoriness, promiscu-ity, loneliness, xenophobia, alienation, and on and on. What reli-gious can do, must do, is offer another way to live within this culture in a personally transformed and transforming way. To that end, our choice of a specific ministry is secondary. What counts is that our ministry flow from and enrich the whole of our con-secrated life. To return to the question with which we began: Where does religious life fit in today's church? I would answer that it is an enduring way of life in which men and women intensify their commitment to Jesus Christ through the evangelical counsels, lived according to a rule. Their rules specify the particulars of their commitment in such a way that its integrity is safeguarded and public witness is enhanced. The mission of each congregation is a participation in the mission of the church, specified in a way that meets contemporary needs and focuses the corporate energies and witness of the congregation. Is this the answer one can give an inquirer, a potential new member, perhaps one's niece or nephew? The answer might seem theoretical or academic. A better answer might be that religious life is an affair of the heart. It offers, within the church, a dynamic yet tested way to follow Jesus Christ more closely and to serve him more generously, and to do this with the support of others who share this same passion. Notes *The Apostolic Exhortation on Consecrated Life, Vita consecrata (§I04), asks this very question: "What is the point of the consecrated life?" March-April 1998 Gottemoeller * Religious Life: Where Doe~ It Fit? 2 Lumen gentium, §§40 and 42. See, too, all of chap. 5, "The Call of the Whole Church to Holiness." 3"NCCB National Study of the Diaconate," Origins 25, no. 30 (1996): 501. Survey respondents included deacons, their wives, their priest super-visors, and parish lay leaders. 4 David N. Power OMI, "Theologies of Religious Life and Priesthood," in A Concert of Charisms: Ordained Ministry in Religious Life, ed. Paul K. Hennessy CFC (New York: Paulist Press, 1997), pp. 80-81. s David J. Nygren CM and Miriam D. Ukeritis CSJ, The Future of Religious Orders in the United States (Westport, Conn.: Praeger, 1993), "Affiliative Decline and Role Clarity," pp. 248-249. Or see "The Religious Life Futures Project: Executive Summary," Review for Religious 52, no. 1 (January-February 1993): 6-55, at Conclusion 5, pp. 47-48; or see "The Future of Religious Orders in the United States," Origins 22, no. 15 (24 September 1992): 258-272, at Part IV, no. 5. 6 Patricia Wittberg SC, The Rise and Fall of Catholic Religious Orders: A Social Movement Perspective (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1994), p. 251. 7 Wittberg, Rise, p. 256. In the latter quotation Wittberg is citing Nygren and Ukeritis, "Future," Origins 22, no. 15, p. 268; or see "Religious Life Futures Project," Review for Religious 52, no. 1, p. 37. 8Wittberg, Rise, p. 256, credits these points to Mary Jo Leddy, Reweaving Religious Life, p. 73. 9 Religious Life 21, no. 3, pp. 4-5. ~o Vita consecrata, §3 (emphasis in the original). II ~/~ta consecrata, §31. 12 Vita consecrata, §§18, 32, and 105. ~3 See editor's note in Religious Life Review (July 1996), p. 25 I. 14The Final Report from the 1985 extraordinary session of the Synod of Bishops, dealing with the implementation and interpretation of Vatican II, says: "The ecclesiology of communion cannot be reduced to purely organizational questions or to problems which si.mply relate to powers." Se~ Origins 15, no. 27 (19 December 1985), p. 448. 15 The following paragraph of Vita consecrata (§31) speaks of"a new and special consecration which, without being sacramental, commits [reli-gious] to making their own--in chastity, poverty, and obedience--the way of life practiced personally by Jesus and proposed by him to his dis-ciples." 1:60 Review for Religious STEPHEN DE LA ROSA Creative Fidelity: Renewal in the Spirit of St. John of God Spirituality is a way of living: life as relationship with God, neighbor, and self. The beliefs, practices, and moral norms of many various spiritualities guide people's inte-rior life. The demands of daily living and the challenges of our time call upon people's various spiritualities for a response. As Brothers of St. John of God, we respond to the needs of the sick, abandoned, poor, and dying,. This response demands an interior disposition of patience, kindness, understanding, fortitude, and physical energy. Often our responses are made in the midst of adversity from limited material and financial resources. A recent book says, "Spirituality is understood to include not merely the techniques of prayer but, more broadly, a conscious relationship with God, in Jesus Christ, through the indwelling of the Spirit." St. John of God never lost faith, hope, and love. In the midst of great suffering, he always responded to those in need. Since such responses are not easy, every generation of Hospitaller Brothers of St. John of God is confronted with a spiritual attitude called hardness of heart. It begins with feelings of staleness or stagnation. The soul feels lifeless. The spirit becomes deadened. To move away from apathy and feel our actions rean-imated, what we need is an interior disposition of wonder Stephen de la Rosa OH was provincial for nine years and is now formation director of his province. His address is Hospitaller Brothers of St. John of God; 2035 West Adams Boulevard; Los Angeles, California 90018. spiritua renewal March-April 1998 De La Rosa * Creative Fidelity and awe, a renewal process that leads to a rebirth. This move-ment can be called "creative fidelity," a continuing response under the impulse of the Holy Spirit to the challenges of present moments as they come along. Fidelity of this kind is based on a certain relationship that is felt to be inalterable, an assurance of something that cannot be fleeting. When we say "creative fidelity" in the context of the spirituality of the Brothers of St. John of God, there arises a specific image: because of his interior life, St. John of God, who lived more than four hundred years ago, was able to be endlessly resourceful. St. John of God had many sides to his personality. Leaving home at an early age, he soon joined the army and soon ran into many difficulties. Going to Africa in search of more meaningful experience, he labored for people who were in dire need. He struggled with his own sinfulness and encountered mental ill-ness. Yet he went forward for the sake of the sick and forsaken and experienced his conversion in serving thousands of the sick in Granada. In short, John's life was not an easy one. But it is in this simple yet profound life that we discover the elements of the "creative fidelity" to which his disciples, sharers of his spiritual-ity, are called. St. John of God showed by example how to live in creative fidelity to the Spirit of God. The root of his creative fidelity is summed up in his constant proclamation "I trust solely in Jesus Christ."2 This trust in God was basic to his interior disposition. It is what enabled him to take on the inevitable difficulties of liv-ing in a world of p~in and suffering. Hospitality as a spirituality is a way of being and acting in the midst of suffering. It is a love that leads to caring for, and a caring that leads to love of, those who suffer. St. John of God could see the image of God in the suffering of those he called his brothers and sisters. Such an ability is a form of authentic human development. In his lifetime John of God motivated peo-ple to act hospitably in the midst of difficulties, and today he does so too. He remarks in a letters to a friend, "Remember our Lord Jesus Christ and how he returned good for the evil they did to him.''3 Connected with the notion of creative fidelity are the signs of the times and the challenges arising from them. Creative fidelity, in the spirituality of St. John of God, is the working out of the implications of our beliefs, adapting to the reality we live in, so Review for Religious that our human spirit can "act justly, love tenderly, and walk humbly with our God" (Mi 6:8-9). ,. John of God is not simply a poetic figure who stands outside the mainstream of his time. He felt the pain and abandonment of the sick and suffering and was enormously sensitive to what the public agencies of the time were not doing for others. His mes-sage, "Do good to yourself by doing good for others,''4 was an amazing message calling for contemplation, conversion, and com-passion and for commitment to alleviating people's suffering. It is this process, a cycle of renewal, which I call cre-ative fidelity to the spirit of St. John of God. Responding to the needs of our times requires a soulful response, requires that we Brothers be contemplative. Contemplative prayer involves seeing and being aware of the truth in a universal manner. It .means being aware of our surroundings. It is about movement and action or the lack thereof. For St. John of God, this awareness meant "Always have charity, for where there is no charity God is not there-- even though God is everywhere.''s The Brother of St. John of God who takes a contemplative stance tbward life, especially the life of suffering, will experience a great depth of happiness, peace, and love. He will also be able to sense their absence. There is an interior joy in seeing and understanding the meaning and reason of human suffering. Seeing the truth of suffering calls us to con-version. To act on what we see requires conversion. Contemplation allows us to see injustice, to confront our own needs, and to be open to a newness of heart. Hospitality to a stranger means wel-coming someone unfamiliar. It means recognizing another's vul-nerability compassionately. The interior elements of this response open us up to our helplessness. John says in a letter: "I am very unhappy when I see so many poor people (who are my brothers and neighbors) suffering and in great need in both body and soul and I cannot help them. Nevertheless, I trust solely in Jesus Christ, who will bring me out of debt, for he knows my heart." 6 The interior awareness of our helplessness is the beginning of creative fidelity. An authentic spiritual response includes a fidelity to Christ and the gospel, a fidelity to our fellow human beings and to our Hospitality as a spirituality is a way of being and acting in the midst of suffering. March-April 1998 De La Rosa * Creative Fidelity times, a fidelity to the charism of St. John of God, and a fidelity to the church and its mission in the world. The spiritual life of a Brother of St. John of God challenges us to present new answers to the new problems of today's world, not so very different from the times of St. John of God, when racism, greed, hatred, fanaticism, and economic inequities--and much indifference to such things, too--caused many human ills. People marginalized people, keeping them out of and alienated from the dominant social order or making them so. We too are faced with the isolation of the sick, the derelict, the aged, and the dying. Today we too place people in categories that dehumanize, that make human relations less than ideal. Through his spirituality St. John of God recognized the vulner-ability of others and recognized his own. Hospitality, for St. John of God, is a spiritual movement toward unity with God and neigh-bor. He goes beyond empathy to actually taking on the suffer-ings of the other. In his own experience of alienation, of being locked up in a mental hospital, St. John of God had an experience of"I am at home" and was liberated to be a brother to the poor and abandoned. Conversion leads to compassion. For the Brother of St. John of God, hospitality is the apostolic expression of love. Hospitality exposes the giver to the forma-tive experience of vulnerability. St. John of God was challenged by the needs of his time. He looked into himself and recognized the need to change. He looked outside of himself and saw the needs of suffering humanity. He surrendered to God and dis-covered a deeper relational integrity among the different dimen-sions of his life. He discovered that within the self there is little or no way of restoring people to their fullness. He turned in his need to total reliance on God. As we trace his spiritual journey, we see that this experience of trust in God allowed him, and allows future generations of his followers, to be formed in the image of the compassionate and merciful Christ, who emptied himself of his divinity and went about doing good, healing every kind .of infirmity. Hastened by the words of the sermon of St. John of Avila which brought about his conversion, St. John of God discovered the merciful love of God the Father and experienced God's com-passion as a remedy for his own sense of alienation. He experi-enced the compassion and merciful love of the Father as God's fidelity to him. New circumstances demand new responses, which Review for Religious in turn demand ongoing renewal and openness to conversion, which allows our response to be one of compassion. Hospitality, thus, means becoming one with the stranger, as the Son of God became a human being, emptying himself of his divinity to free us in mercy and compassion to respond to the Father's love. Fidelity to the charism of hospitality is lived as a spirituality when, in the presence of suffering people, we are emp-tied of our own pride, memories, or hostilities to be present to others not as the remedy or the source of healing, but quite sim-ply as a compassionate companion committed to the liberating power of the Spirit, an encounter of solidarity and communion. The spiritualized Brother of St. John of God is one who knows that God is communicating with him. But this deifying force does not remain closed in on itself; it radiates out of him to others--which means a true and real "horizontal diffusion" of the Spirit.7 In this manner a Brother of St. John of God partici-pates in the self-emptying act of the Son of God. "They don't just participate in him but they also communicate him to others. ¯. They don't just live, but they give life to others, and all of this is not something that pertains to a simple creative force." s At first glance it appears that John of God never asked any questions about what he should do; he just responded to the need at hand. Questions about whom to help and how to help them seem neither to have been noticeable in John's way of acting nor relevant to his cast of mind. He saw a needy person and acted. His fundamental healing project was to revitalize people's sense of integrity by restoring their human dignity. Yet, in his unwavering commitment to those in need, he did listen to his spiritual direc-tor, who warned him: "Do not deceive yourself by saying, 'I want to help them.' Because dangers lurk beneath good intentions when there is a lack of prudence, and God does not want me to bring about good for others at the expense of damage to my own soul.''9 Similarly, our own commitment needs to be tested against our fidelity to St. John of God's charism and to the church. The exterior structures of the church of today are in a state of permanent change. However, the Brother of St. John of God who, having experienced faith as a gift from a loving Father, does not rely just on exterior norms. Instead he looks to create an ever growing experience of a community of hope. The spirituality of St. John of God--and that of his Brothers as well--is an "in the church " spirituality. "In the church " refers to the church as it March-April 1998 De La Rosa * Creative Fidelity defines itself here and now and as it grows from the present into the future. For a Brother of St. John of God, fidelity to this growth is one of searching in the context of suffering for ways that we and others can grow in our human spirit. As Pope John Paul II says in Evangelium vitae, "We are called to express won-der and gratitude for the gift of life and to welcome, savor, and share the gospel of life." (§84). Our commitment is to human life. It is in living this life that we discover the interior life of the soul. Creative fidelity allows us to make a commitment to the spirituality of St. John of God in such a way that we see this truth that Evangelium vitae expresses: "Human life is sacred because from its beginning it involves 'the creative action of God,' and it remains forever in a special rela-tionship with the Creator, who is its sole end. God alone is the Lord of life from its beginning until its end; no one can claim for himself the right to destroy directly an innocent human being" (§53). The service of the Brother of St. John of God to the sick, the suffering, and the abandoned is a spiritual act of dedicated devotion to the person of Christ. Those who wish to be true fol-lowers of St. John of God will grasp his spirit and. nurture it. Like him they will find great consolation in the contemplation of the Passion. Such contemplation is much more than the sentimentally pious 16th-century practice that some might consider it to be. "When you are troubled or distressed, turn to the Passion of Jesus Christ our Lord and to his precious wounds, and you will feel great consolation," he wrote,l° This practice sustained him in his vision of love and assistance for those in need. We have seen how spiritual growth can occur within a spiri-tuality of hospitality. God calls us personally, and our response-- we are calling it "creative fidelity"--is our effort to understand more broadly and deeply the purpose and meaning of St. John of God's spirituality as embodied by our Brothers today. We are looking at a theological pattern that emerges in his spirituality and can help us in our ongoing renewal: contemplation, conver-sion, compassion, and commitment. In our experience of living out the spirituality of St. John of God, we are able to note how bringing the word of God to bear upon a situation raises questions, suggests new insights, and opens new interior responses. In this manner we continue to learn how to be faithful to suffering humanity in its needs in these o

Issue 61.2 of the Review for Religious, 2002. ; Examen .Living with God Growing Older Religious Eife Perspectives MARCH APRIL 2002 VOLUME 61 NUMBER 2 Review for Relig4ous 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 consecratea life. 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 ¯ 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 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. ©2002 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 permission will only be considered on written applicatign to the Editor, Review for Religious. L VING 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 Afin Foppe Tracy Gramm Judy Sharp ~Adarmiaens G~.nadu dJoinan S. CFelling Sr. Raymond Marie Gerard FSP Eugene Hensell OSB Ernest E. Larkin OCarm Bishop Carlos'A. Sevilla SJ Miriam D. Ukeritis CsJ MARCH APRIL 2002 VOLUME 61 NUMBER 2 contents 118 feature Examen: Persons in Relationships Joseph A. Tetlow sJ provides new insights by focusing examen on our many personal relationships in daily life. 129 137 living with God No Rapine in the Holocaust: Eremitical Life Today Karen Karper Fredette surveys some of the different forms eremitical life has taken in a fresh flowering in church life today. Metaphysical Self in Other Mystical Traditions James J. Magee defines metaphysical self as one's self residing in God and God residing in it and then examines this term as it appears in Christian, Buddhist, Hindu, Jewish, and Muslim (Sufl) mysticism. 146 growing older Aging: Spiritually Present to the Burning Bush Geraldine M. Wodarczyk CSFN reflectively enters us into her six-year experience of living among her own congregation's aging and prayerful sisters. Review for Religious 166 Coping with Repetition: A Spirituality for Ministering to the Elderly Helen Jean Novy HM proposes some spiritual considerations to guide our responses to the repetitiousness of sick/elderly people. 169 religious ~i~e perspectives Medaille's "Means" and Religious Life's Renewal Joan Wagner ssJ focuses on six "means" derived from Father Medaille's writings that nourish religious community life. 183 The Decline of Religious Life: A Success Story Michael Dominic W. Ledoux OFM asks whether the next task for religious congregations is to let go of our hold on institutions and ministries and allow them to find a charism based upon their own stories and histories rather than being too strongly attached to religious communal stories. " 191 Membership and Leadership: An Organic Whole Beatrice M. Eichten OSF sketches out the patterns of interworking between leaders and members that enhance effective leadership in community life. flepar men s 116 Prisms 202 Canonical Counsel: Exclaustration: Further Considerations 211 Book Reviews March-April 2002 115 prisms Jesus' transfiguration was a favorite passage of the Jesuit paleontologist Pierre Teilhard de Chardin. With his own description of evo-lution progressing by crossing thresholds, he found the transfigured Jesus giving promise of crossing the threshold from being Jesus a marginal Jew to being the risen Christ Pantocrator. Whatever our response to evolutionary theory, the crossing of thresholds gives insight into words and images used to describe the mysteries of our Catholic faith. We seem to be unaware that in faith we have crossed a .threshold between commonsense language and language bursting with faith realities. For exam-ple, our scripture and prayer language in the Lenten and Easter seasons describes redemption as our being purchased at a price. Sometimes this has led to the preaching and imaging of God paying off the devil by Jesus' passion and death. So we--the human race-- were bought at the cost of Jesus' death in order to release us from the grip of the evil one. At other times, it seems that our language has seen God as being appeased or satisfied by the pain and suffering and blood shed by his Son. And we have wondered: What kind of God is this? The New Testament writers built upon the imagery of the Hebrew Scriptures and presumed a poetic under-standing of the religious world. Following Scripture and inspired by their own culture and times, theolo-gians, artists, and spiritual writers over the centuries have all contributed, with mixed results, to various ways of understanding and celebrating the central mystery of our salvation/redemption. In the United States, with R~view for Reli~o~s our sometimes sanitized religious worship removing us from devotional or emotional involvement, we still tend to slip back to a rather morbid focusing on physical pain and the shedding of blood in Lenten prayer and especially in the Holy Week triduum. Perhaps we find ourselves praying with an unhealthy fixation on pain and suffering as the way to God. We need to acknowledge that Holy Thursday has more than just a chronological precedence to Good Friday. The Eucharist is key to a solidly Christian approach to the Passion and Cross, one that is psychologically and spiritually sound and healthy. As St. Ignatius Loyola points out, Jesus' institution of the Eucharist is "the greatest mark of his love." We may be surprised that it is not Jesus' passion and death that help us to understand the Eucharist, but it is the other way around. The Eucharist shows us that Jesus holds nothing back from us in his love. He gives all that he is, sacramentally, to be the food and drink of our life, a life in the same bloodline as God. The word redeemer from its Hebrew derivation points to one taking on the obligations of blood or familial relationship. In itself redeemer does not imply pain or suffering. In the Hebrew Scriptures redeemer describes God in this familial relation to his chosen people. In Jesus we see God fulfilling the redemption of all peoples. By instituting the Eucharist, Jesus intends that the sacramental "nowness" of a blood relationship--the reality of our being adopted as God's sons and daughters--is to be celebrated in our daily living. We have the saying that "love costs." On Holy Thursday Jesus is showing sacramentally that he pays whatever it costs. That is how much he loves us and loves his Father. All our scrip-tural words about payment--ransoming us with his blood, pur-chasing us for a price, and so on--are images, sometimes confusingly used, looking towards the heartfelt truth that "love costs." But God is not paying off anyone. Jesus is not buying us back from the devil. It is the reality that "love costs." Jesus shows us the face of the God who does not count the cost to show his love. The Eucharist is our key to all the events of the Passion and Death. The key presents itself to us every time we look at the crucifix, every time we come forward for Communion. We are invited to cross a faith threshold, thereby experiencing anew God as Love and our identity as beloved. David L. Fleming SJ II7 March-April 2002 JOSEPH A. TETLOW feature Examen: Persons in Relationships You are likely to take account of your relationships with others whe'never you make the examen that St. Ignatius Loyola recommends. But why? Deep down in our own hearts, is there not plenty for God and me to do, without distractions from all sides? Actually, no, and for good reasons. The first reason comes from revelation. The human person is created in the likeness of a God who is One only and also Three Persons. This impenetra-ble mystery reveals to us that each of the Persons has identity only in and through the relations among the Three. It is in that likeness that your own "person" is modeled: you are a person only in your relationships. You will always be your mother's child and your father's offspring, always your siblings' brother or sis-ter. Moreover, it is in and through those relationships and others--teachers, neighbors, friends, even ene-mies- that you have become the person you are. To tell who Jesus of Nazareth is, Matthew begins with a genealogy. After telling about incarnation and birth, he goes right to Jesus' relationship with John the Baptist. Joseph A. Tedow SJ last wrote for us in September-October 1998. His address is Secretariate for Ignatian Spirituality; C.P. 6139; 00195 Roma Prati; Italy. Review for Religious Here is the second reason, closer to the everyday, for doing this exercise. You are always relating to your family, where per-sonhood (self) takes early shape and within which you continue to develop throughout life. You work with others, creating another set of day-to-day relationships. You may belong to a religious community, requiring you to develop a subtle lifelong set of relationships with persons whom God has chosen for you. You may belong to an apostolic team--parish, school, center, hospital, program--which requires cooper-ation and planning. All of these relation-ships require attention and prayer, since "we are all parts of one another" and together we make up the Body of Christ (Rm 12:5). As a very practical matter, this exercise might be a regular part of the prayer of those who work in apostolic partnerships. These are not simple in the church today, and a lot of "personality conflicts" disguise rather dis-orderly emotions and affects. Moreover, a lot of apostolic planning and community planning gets scuttled because of unre-flected- upon personal relationships. Teams and communities commonly blame "the process" for failed planning, when the actual problem is the relationships among the members. This examen, besides helping you know whom to thank God for, helps reveal and even heal such dysfunctional relationships. There are reasons why everyone would benefit from this special exercise. Every life today is plagued in some measure by individualism and alienation. One consequence affects the examen. Even when examining how you are getting along with others, you tend to focus on your own part in the relationship-- "How am I doing?"mand less on the other or on the relation-ship itself. This exercise challenges that focus on the self. It draws you to appreciate, for the right reasons, the people whom God has put into your life. "Each of us should think of our neighbors and help them to become stronger Christians" (see Rm 15:2). You enact individualism by thinking about yourself in isolation rather than in relationships with others. This examen asks you to look directly at the others in your life and the relationships that hold you together in Christ. Every life today is plagued in some measure by individualism and alienation. 119 March-April 2002 Tetlow * Examen Your relationships are where, and the deepest reason why, you exercise the virtues of prudence, justice, fortitude, and tem-perance and a host of others that are needed in order to love the way Jesus loves. Relationships, especially your family and community relationships but also your apostolic and job rela-tionships, are where you give in to sins of pride, covetousness, lust, envy, anger, gluttony, and sloth. If you find this hard to believe, perhaps you really need to do this exercise for a while. Here is the last and ultimate reason to use an examen specif-ically about your relationships: to make sure you are loving the way Jesus loves. Ignatius's Contemplation on Love--the more descriptive title would be "Contemplation to learn to love the way God loves"--begins with two prenotes. The first is that love "ought to manifest itself in deeds rather than in words," and the second is that love consists in constantly sharing, the lover and the beloved giving and receiving in open generosity (SpEx §231). This is how Jesus loves, always in relationship with the Other and the others. This exercise takes you directly to the issue whether you are loving as Jesus loved or are, in actu-ality, doing something else. Practicing the Exercise What is recommended here can be used as a single exercise, in which case it will require a long period of quiet time. It has been used profitably as the material for an eight-day retreat. Once you have gone through it for a while, however, you will know which parts of it to apply on a given day or occasion. You will know that sometimes you need to run through and examine all of your relationships: family, friends, work, community mem-bers, parish council, and so forth. At other times you will want to examine something that has happened, like a disagreement that left you far more unsettled than the matter deserved, or a deci-sion not to phone someone. This exercise will help you to uncover your true purposes, responses, and responsibilities. You can think about one partner or colleague; you can look at one group or committee or team. And so on. (The exercise as it is given here is divided into five sections, following its Ignatian inspiration.) First, taking time to thank God for those whom the Spirit has put into your life. A good way to do this is by making three columns Review for Religious on a sheet of paper. In the first, write some names (parent, sibling, friend, coworker), choosing those who belong to the period you are covering. If you are moving historically through your life, you would begin with parents or grandparents; if you are covering your life situation today, you would name the people with .whom you relate regularly. In the second column, across from each name, write the relationship you have with this person. You might want to add some details beyond a mere title. For instance, to "childhood friend" you might add "first date"; to parent, "died too young"; to colleague, "real partner." This assigning of titles may not be entirely simple. Choosing the appropriate title for a sibling.who is also a lifelong inti-mate friend and a business partner would take some thought--thought precisely about the relationship that you are given and choosing. Then, in the third column, for which you will need plenty of space, describe the relationship you have with this person. How has this person helped shape your self and your life, in the past or more recently? For instance, "rooted me in Christ" about a deeply religious and well-informed parent who established you in your faith. A trust-worthy friend may have told you the truth about yourself and your opinions and decisions, bringing you to know yourself before God. This step will give you grounds for a good deal of thanksgiving. Someone taught you to read and write. Someone showed you how to play your favorite sport. Someone intro-duced you to the Scripture.s. Someone challenged you to for-giveness because he or she not only hurt your feelings but did you harm. Someone may have betrayed you as Judas betrayed your Master. In this examen you probe how you relate to these people, not only how you feel about them, but especially what you have done and are doing in this relationship. In every instance your Creator and Lord is giving you an array of gen-erous gifts, sometimes surprising ones, freely and constantly, gifts for you to be thankful for. There is no gift as great as the gift of a faithful friend or lover who means only good for you. 12I March-April 2002 Tetlow ¯ Examen People know that there is, no gift as great as the gift of a faithful friend or lover who means only "good for you. So here is occasion to name the influences that such persons have had on your values and choices. You may well have adopted a friend's special perspective on the church or on parenting. You may become a member of a solid program because a friend invited you into it. You may have made a life-shaping choice under his or her influence. This point is well worth dwelling on, because through these relationships God is moment by moment creat-ing us as persons. Whom has God put into your life to give it shape? How have they shaped it? How do you relate to them? Here is the core of this exercise. Thanking God for these friends and relations will be incom-plete- and perhaps impossible--unless we consciously approve of how God is even now creating us and those we relate with. If you have an elderly parent who is still clear and keenly interested in your life, that is a great gift. An equally great gift is an elderly parent who depends entirely on you. If you have colleagues who depend on you, that is a gift. So is it when there are colleagues on whom you can depend. And sons or daughters will be their parents' sons or daughters forever, however they may be doing just now. The members of a religious community--real persons--are the living environment of each religious's living, growing, and dying. This exercise asks that you grow conscious of a reality we take so much for granted that we do not think about it at all. How often do you note that the sun rose this morning? How much do you value the water that comes from your tap? We treat our relationships rather like that. They are just there. They do not take thinking about except in special circumstances like an argument or a celebration. But every day each relation is a gift greater than today's sun, and each person given you to love and to be loved by is as indispensable to your thriving as the pure water that you drink without giving it a thought. Prayer Lord Jesus Christ, when you walked this earth you lived a family life with neighbors and friends. When you began to spread the Good News, You gathered around you seventy-two, and twelve, and three, who were precious to you, each in a special way, because Review for Religious the Spirit of Love gave them to you. Never has there been a companion better than you, a colleague more trusting and compassionate, a partner more giving and generous. Help me to know those many, those most special ones whom the Spirit of Love has given me in my life, and, with you, to thank the Father for the gift of them. Amen. Second, asking for attention, insight, and courage. Call on the Holy Spirit to let you pay attention to the others in your life. Ask to feel real interest in others, to get outside yourself and your interior concerns to see the people around you as they are. Ask to pay this attention in the way that God does, who hates nothing he has created and lets rain fall on just and unjust alike. Ask for insight into each person and into your relationship. Some are growing more important in your life, and perhaps some are growing away from you. Ask to know how. Ask the Spirit to let you see what you are looking at, and also to let you hear what you are listening to--from and about those whom the Spirit has given you. Finally, beg for the courage to see clearly and to affirm your connections to others, to feel how they have grown into your life and yourself. How have you reached out to them and perhaps risked something to know and love them? Ask boldness to assert your attachments to others, or your detachment and distanc-ing. Ask to be able to see how another or others are calling you to grow or, alternatively, how another or others are inviting you to be less authentic. Prayer Spirit of the risen Lord, who moved the Holy One to care for friends with his still-wounded hands and pierced heart, make me attentive to my friends even with my fearing toudh and wearing spirit. Open my eyes to see what gifts they really are; open my ears to hear what good they really mean to say. Brace my spirit to feel what they need me to feel. And, as you steeled the heart of Jesus while he lived misunder-stood and then betrayed, brace me now--while I find how I have fared in risking my self--to remain true to who I am ~and to be open in giving and receiving love. Amen. March-April 2002 Tetlow ¯ Examen Third, examining how relationships are doing. To begin with, stay with relationships that are going well. Simply look down the three columns you have written and note the name, relation-ship, and influence, and let yourself be contented in Christ with this love that falls into his pattern of loving. Using the columns is an effective way of examining relationships, but there are other ways. You could begin with the persons most closely related to you by blood and move out through extended family to friends. Or begin with the people you spend most of your daytime with, colleagues, coworkers, and so on. You could begin with superiors and move to those who answer to you. All of these steps could be limited to a smaller set of people if that would be useful at this time. Then come to those relationship that are not going well. Possible failures are sometimes glaring, like anger or blatantly selfish action, and sometimes quite subtle and complex. For every relationship is triune: one person, the relationship, and another person, and all three matter. Honestly and exactingly lay five templates (to be described below) over each conflicted or faltering relationship. As you con-template your relationship with each person under each tem-plate, demand an account of yourself, for failures in relationships show up in many ways and manifest many personality limitations or flaws, or simple sins. For instance, perhaps you find yourself saying negative things about an old friend's character. What has happened in this r~lationship and what is your responsibility for it? What are you doing or failing to do that damages the rela-tionship, or the mission you share with this person (or persons)? These failures or dysfunctions can be variously accounted for. One way is by looking at them under five categories (which I borrow from Roberta Gilbert's Extraordinary Relationships). The categories will help you look clearly and honestly at any fal-tering relationship. They will demand that you take your respon-sibility for what you have done, what you are doing, what you must do, to make this relationship a strong and holy one. The Templates 1. Conflict. You cannot come to agreement with another in some serious matter. You have never got- Review for Religious ten over a rancorous argument. You answer each other with "yes, but." You are losing respect for the person. You question whether you can ever work together again. Any of these suggests a relationship of conflict, which is often a hot relationship. 2. Distancing. You hold each other at arm's length. You have become very polite to each other and a lit-tle standoffish. You rarely talk about anything serious; instead, you chat. You would deal as openly and warmly with a stranger. You would simply rather not have to pay attention to this person anymore. You are uncomfortable around him or her. This is distancing, and, though it seems to suggest that you have no relationship with this person, you have--a special one. 3. Cutting Off. You stay out of each other's way. You do not communicate even when you have to convey some information. You simply do not like this per-son. Your judgment is that this person is harming the family, community, apostolate. You would like to be rid of this person. This is a cutoff, and it is an intense relationship. 4. Excessive Mutual Dependency. You depend on each other, too much or far too much. One of you makes the decisions. One of you needs the emotional support of the other, and the other needs to give it. Others see you as a pair. You are cutting others out of this relationship, emotionally or practically. This is excessive dependency--in a way, too much of a relationship. 5. Triangling. You have an issue with another and, instead of going to the other, take it to a third person. You find yourself saying things about this person, not to him or h~r, but to others. You gossip about this person. You complain about his or her shortcomings to others, never to the person. Alternatively, you passively allow others to tell you things about this person which they ought to be saying to him or her. 6. Could there be another template? You may find a March-April 2002 Tetlow ¯ Examen better term for a ~elationship in your life that is faltering, a term that clarifies for you what you are doing and might do. The Applications When you are on a team with another, you are not free to remain unrelated. The only issue is how you will choose to relate: whether well or badly, creatively or destructively, and, indeed, holily or unholily--all the more, of course, within your own family or among those who have somehow become your friends. Each of the five templates names a relationship--dysfunc-tional, but a relationship. It is crucial to accept that you are related to a person even when you cut him or her off, or are constantly arguing and debating with him or her, or when you are triangling. Humility demands--since it is truth--that you affirm your own contribution to making a relationship bad, or your cooperation in any dysfunctional relationship. Each of your relationships will have its own intensities, its own occasions, its own mixture of the apostolic, social, intel-lectual, affective, and so on. Each lays on you the light yoke of responsibility to accept the relationship as a gift from God, who is giving you freedom and the chance to love as God loves. When you find that one of the templates describes a current relationship, you will have to look into your heart more deeply to find out what is going on. At the same time, you will have to keep aware that the relationship has its own life and tempo, and that there is always "the other" or "the others." Prayer Jesus of Nazareth, my good brother, you worked with many and loved many. You loved aging laborers and the idle rich. You loved holy sisters and disrep-utable women. You worked with tax collectors and scribes. You chose partners who doubted and one who betrayed. You chose them, accounted for your choices to the Father, and stood by your friends to the end. Let me find my way in sureness and in risk, and give me courage to name those I relate to and clarity to know our shared responsibility. Help me to Review for Religious give my account to the Father and to stand by my friends to the end. Amen. Fourth, asking forgiveness for your sins and healing for those you have wounded and for yourself. "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." This is the only condi-tion in the prayer Jesus taught. You cannot overestimate the weight of forgiving others. Yours, after all, is "the ministry of reconciliation," for you are in mission with Jesus Christ. You cannot expect forgiveness and the experience of reconciliation, except to the extent that you have forgiven and become recon-ciled with others. This is no trivial matter, and as good a reason as any to make an examen something like this one. Pray for those whom you have failed, or offended, or hurt. You need to beg the Spirit of Love to make up for your short-comings. Prayer Holy Triune God, in you, giving and taking barely differ since both are done as love. I have taken and not given. I have given what I did not mean to give and not given what I wish I had, so far, so very far, am I from loving as you love. Grant'me to be close to you in this, at least: that I forgive wholeheartedly those who wound me, as Jesus forgave those who wounded him. And then I ask that you forgive me and make up for all that I have left undone. Amen. F~h, choosing to do one thing tomorrow. You are wise to choose a single act to do, a concrete act like making a phone call (some-times the hardest thing you will do that day) or writing a note. Your discernment brings you to see how you can enact your gratitude to God for the people in your life. You take responsi-bility for your part in the relationship, not trying to redeem, but only to help the other and to bring him or her closer to Christ. You may need to focus on one person: to reconcile, to praise or thank, to enjoy being with. You may need to focus on one group of people like your family or community or colleagues. You may need to focus on yourself: to accept that God is making you a unique lover, to accept others' acceptance of you as you are; or, alternatively, y6u may need to address some habit that you see aggravates others or turns them off. Or you may I27 March-~tprll 2002 Tetlow ¯ Examen need to see that you really have entered into in a new relation-ship. Or you may need to get ready for a meeting by spending precious time really preparing for it or praying that you.do well. Finally, you may need to focus on some concrete event that is coming up: an interview, a meeting, a confrontation. Or you may need to focus on some long-term development in a relarionship--unsettling conflict, growing distance, emotional-ities-- so that you can take some concrete action. In all of these focuses, you are trying to keep Jesus' own commandment, "Love one another the way I have loved you." Prayer 0 Lord, reconciler of us to ourselves, the whole world and all rime would barely hold all the acts that love demands of us. I beg you to accept the little act that for this time is what I can and would do to learn to love like you. Amen. Annunciation Holy one, favored one, the Lord is with you. Be it bright angel's word or voices in the dark or cannonball or caress, any manner of invitation is prelude to Yes Holy ones, favored ones, the Lord is with us. Eugene Cartier Review for Religious KAREN KARPER FREDETTE No Rapine in the Holocaust: Eremitical Life Today '~e what you are called to be--a passionate seeker of God through continual prayer that allows 'no rapine in the holocaust,'" declares a woman in her seventies dwelling in a rural hermitage in Massachusetts. She emphasizes the total dedication she deems necessary for her chosen vocation--that of a hermit. This apo-dictic statement is culled from 140 responses to a ques-tionnaire sent to 600 hermits and solitaries. The survey was circulated by an international newsletter for her-mits, "Raven's Bread: Food for Those in Solitude." Replies flowed in from such diverse places as New Zealand, French Canada, the Philippines, Bavaria, Ireland, Mexico, and forty of the fifty United States. This twenty-three percent response rate is con-sidered a phenomenal return on a survey and, of itself, says something significant about eremites. Interviewing a single hermit is a rare event; taking the pulse of large enough numbers to determine trends would be an impossible task if eremites themselves were the aloof, people-hating individuals portrayed in popular literature. This survey reveals, however, that Karen Karper Fredette writes from 18065 Highway 209; Hot Springs, North Carolina 28743. 129 March-April 2002 Fredette * No Rapine in the Holocaust a lifestyle seasoned by hours of solitary prayer produces human beings distinguished by hospitality of spirit and a rare compassion. The essential hiddenness of eremiticat life is achieved by blending into one's surroundings. Recent History of Eremitism Even before Vatican Council II, a movement toward solitude and eremitical living had been noted. An historical but almost forgotten intervention at the council by Bishop Remy de Roo initiated a process that resulted in a new canon (c. 603) being written into the revised'Code of Canon Law that appeared in 1983. Bishop de Roo expressed his con-viction that the renewed vitality of the eremitical calling "indicates a special influence of the Holy Spirit, who inspires initiatives beneficial to the church and the modern world." Additionally, de Roo made the prophetic point that recognition of hermits would correct the impression that the practice of poverty, chastity, and obedience is limited to those living communal religious life. The myriad forms of hermit life reported in the recent survey prove the validity of this forecast. When an ancient vocation is recovered, old modalities often prove inadequate and new styles are fashioned. But can one devise a single expression for a call that transcends definitions of religious groups and flourishes among a devout and' occa-sionally unchurched fringe of society? What demographics, if any, can be assigned to an amorphous and largely hidden sub-culture that owns no common affiliation--nor desires any? In an effort to assess the state of eremitical life in the 21st century, the recent questionnaire invited hermits to draw their own demo-graphics. The results have been illuminating and inspiring. ¯ For some of us, a hermit may be living in the next apartment or down the street. Contrary to the caricature of hermits in their far caves, only three out of 140 reporting solitaries live in the "wilderness." A large number (31 percent) dwell in rural areas, but even more (43 percent) are to be' found in urban or Review for Religious suburban settings. Eight of those responding to the survey have chosen a site in the inner city. The essential hiddenness of eremitical life is achieved by blending into one's surroundings in such a way as,~to pass unnoticed even by one's neighbors. Many hermits abhor being singled out and so avoid any identifying sign of their inner dedication to solitude. Others, however, accepting the value of witnessing to a transcendent Reality in our midst, choose a simple habit and seek a recognized status within the church. Their countercultural stance is not militant, but rather a silent encouragement to others that a dif-ferent life is possible from that preached by an all-pervasive consumer society. When and to Whom Does the Call Come? A woman living in the southeastern United States writes: "I first heard the 'call' when I was four years old. I did not know What it meant--I only knew that it shook me to my founda-tion. I married, bore two children, and became a single mother. In my studies for clinical psychology, I discovered the works of Carl Jung. My inner life began shouting for attention. I listened. I shut down my practice, moved, got the children on their feet, and became a solitary. That was twenty years ago." A woman in the Philippines says, "Friends thought I was a fool to give up a secure full-time teaching position in a univer-sity, which sadly didn't leave me space and energy to pursue contemplative living--the one thing that gave meaning to all the rest." A married hermit living in California says, "I was a Hindu monk for five years, but the community did not support my attraction to hermit life." Ninety-eight women and forty-two men responded to the Raven's Bread survey. One-third of these are in their fifties. One-fourth are in their sixties. Only six persons responding are in their thirties. Further data confirms that most received the eremitic call later in life rather than earlier. Twenty-seven percent of those responding said they entered an eremitic lifestyle in their fifties, and twenty percent in their forties. Only eighteen percent followed the call to solitude while in their twenties or thirties. Maturity and life experience are necessary before a person 131 March-April 2002 Fredette * No Rapine in the Holocaust can launch into the rigors of solitary living, though the desire may have been planted much earlier in life. This fact of mid-life transition is an echo of the ideal life-pattern espoused by many Eastern cultures. A person joins a monastery or becomes a monk, not at the beginning of life (except for a brief training period), but only after one has fulfilled family obligations and achieved a certain financial success that one then freely leaves behind. The initial results from the survey indicate that in the Western world the call to solitude replicates this wise rhythm. Good physical health and fitness are the norm among solitary dwellers. Forty-seven percent describe their health as "good," and thirty-eight percent claim "excellent" health. Mental and emotional stability radiate from the responses to the reflec-tion questions that accompanied the survey. For example, a Catholic priest in his fifties writes from an urban hermitage in California: "The grace and essence of solitary living is the abil-ity to live in and be continually conscious of the Presence of God, to become more aware of who one is, to become enlight-ened to see more and more with the vision of God, to struggle to live the compassion of God, to grow in serenity and peace-- in a word, to live the freedom of the children of God." Religious Affiliation and Status The largest number of respondents (92 of 140) are Roman Catholic, but the Anglican, Episcopal, Lutheran, and Baptist churches are also represented. Among the respondents we also find persons from the Society of Friends and Orthodox churches and from various Eastern mystical traditions as well. Of the Christian denominations, Catholicism has the most hermit-friendly atmosphere, but even here eremites frequently mention lack of support and outright discouragement of their aspirations. Of the ninety-two Catholic respondents, only seventeen had been recognized as hermits under canon 603; an additional six had professed a state of consecrated virginity under canon 604. The obstacle to canonical recognition most frequently cited by respondents was the indifference of bishops. Many local ordi-naries were suspicious and expressed unwillingness to allow per-sons to pursue church-sanctioned hermit life in their dioceses. Review for Religious In the United States, only three dioceses are reported in this sur-vey to have more than one hermit living according to canon 603. A woman living in an inner-city neighborhood in England says: "The one and only meeting I had with my present bishop (a Benedictine monk) lasted only a few minutes. I had pressured him into giving me an appointment and had waited eight months to see him. I asked if he would help me become publicly pro-fessed, and he said no. That was it, a monosyllable, no expla-nation, no hesitation, no interest, no concern. I had been living as a hermit for twelve years at that time." Sheila Richardson, who is working on her master's degree in canon law at the University of St. Paul in Ottawa, inquires pointedly: "Are bishops aware of canon 605? This canon requires diocesan bishops to strive to discern new gifts of consecrated life, assist promoters of such lifestyles, and protect these new forms by appropriate statutes." Eremitical life is flourishing without much active support from the establishment. This may well be a blessing, allowing persons seeking to live as hermits or solitaries freedom to devise the form of life that best expresses their aspirations without concern about standards only a select few can meet. Exploring the various categories of individuals who choose a predominantly solitary life, we find 67 single lay persons, 24 married people, 38 members of religious congregations, and 15 ordained ministers, male and female, from six different denominations. Catholic priests who are living as hermits often exercise a limited ministry among people living nearby. They have the permission of their local ordinaries to live in retirement from most of the demands of pastoral ministry and devote the larger portion of their time to the "works" of eremitical life in solitude. Others have established a rhythm of part-time ministry with a certain number of days each week spent in solitude. Another priest is searching: "I am now at the point of decision. I am looking for a hermit-loving bishop where I might support myself by celebrating weekend Masses and confessions, perhaps in some priestless parish. Beyond that, I would be free to live in my own cabin following my own hermit schedule." Being a member of a religious community, whether active or contemplative, does not guarantee understanding of or support March-April 2002 Fredette * No Rapine in the Holocaust for an eremitic calling--something which, incidentally, may arise after a person has faithfully pursued religious life for many years. Thirty-seven of the hermits responding to the survey are still members of religious congregations. But, of the laypersons now living as hermits, sixty percent were members of a religious con-gregation at an earlier stage in their journey. Half of the former religious women claim they left their community so they could follow their attraction to solitude. Many said they were deeply grieved by this "necessity" of departure. Only two of the male religious say that their reason for severing connections with their religious order was in order to pursue solitary life. In other words, twenty-five percent of the men who left religious life did so because they were unable to live solitary life within their com-munities; fifty percent of the women left for the same reason. The most surprising category to surface from an analysis of survey responses is that of married hermit. Strictly speaking, this is a contradiction in terms and one that is hard to justify. But, for those who so identify themselves, the vocation is real and valid. Of the twenty-three respondents who are married, not all claimed to be hermits, but more than half did so. In an effort to understand this phenomenon, the following question was posed: "If you are married and are attracted to solitude, how do you work this out with your spouse?" In reply a woman in Arizona said: "The working out of mar-riage and solitude contains., every contradiction that one can experience in making oneself vulnerable in love to God and the unfolding of God's call in another. Two people can be authen-tically called to solitude and to solitude with each other, but the expressions of it can be so very different. The sharing of phys'ical space has been of great pragmatic concern for us recently--how to arrange our home so it can facilitate simplic-ity of life, prayer, and solitude." A man in Connecticut said: "I decided to separate my own liturgy commitments from my marriage by rising each morning at three for my prayer schedule. Also, I go to bed a little before my spouse to be alone once more in prayer." A woman married to a permanent deacon said: "He shares my attraction to silence and solitude although his ministry is pastoral and mine is mainly prayer. Our small country parish requires very little contact with the people for me. I work qui- Review for Relig4ous etly and prayerfully in the background while he ministers to the people. Everyone seems to understand and accept this arrangement." A woman frankly confesses: "It [attraction to solitude] cre-ated great problems. The marriage ended because we could not work it out. We remained friends." Daily Lifestyles, Daily Problems One hundred and one of the 140 respondents to the sur-vey describe themselves as living alone with significant periods of solitude and prayer. Forty-four of these have a written sched-ule incorporating prayer, work, reading, and relaxation. Eighty-seven of the 140 respondents live an informal mix of these elements. Some of these noted that they had begun with a written schedule that gradually became a more flexible routine. Seventy-eight of the 140 re-spondents pray with others one or more times a week. The most frequent prayer-form cited was meditation. Almost ninety percent find daily periods of meditative prayer a necessity. Nearly as many include Eucharistic Liturgy as part of their daily or weekly prayer routine. Most respondents find special periods of retreat important. Almost half arrange for an "annual r~treat; some manage monthly or even weekly periods of retreat. Penitential practices preferred are fasting and vigils. Almsgiving is important, with forty-three percent giving either in cash or in kind. Thirty-six eremites have made public profession of the evan-gelical counsels. Thirty-eight have committed themselves pri-vately, their vows or promises witnessed by a church-related person. Almost all respondents (103) value spiritual direction, though many said that finding a spiritual guide has been diffi-cult. Forty-seven hermits function as spiritual guides for others. One hundred and one of the 140 respondents to the survey describe themselves as living alone with significant periods of solitude and prayer. 135 March-April 2002 Fredette ¯ No Rapine in the Holocaust The survey listed six areas that could prove problematic for eremites: housing, income, spiritual guidance, relationships with church representatives, physical health, and personal fears and insecurities. The most frequently cited problem is difficulties with church representatives; the next, finding adequate spiri-tual guidance. The expected difficulties of locating a suitable site and generating enough income had proved less trouble-some. In this third millennium of Christianity, eremitical life is experiencing a fresh flowering, with new blooms appearing on the ancient vine. Butthe essence remains the same: "For me, the grace of solitary living is Emptiness," a married hermit member of an oblate Benedictine community states categorically. "No rapine in the holocaust" continues to be the stark demand of solitary life. Lake's Edge At night I hear the motion of the lake. It sighs to its own heart. Foam frosts the weight of wetness flung toward the house where my light burns. I am waiting for the wind to bring the message that I long for, the meaning of breath and motion, and who it is that sends waves pulsing toward this empty shore. Kate Martin OSC Review for Religious JAMES J. MAGEE Metaphysical Self in Other Mystical Traditions Ion an article in this journal (1994), I examined the devel-pment of metaphysical self in the writings of eight Christian mystics, concluding with Thomas Merton's definition (1966, p. 180) referring to "the depths of people's hearts where neither sin nor desire nor self-knowledge can reach, the core of their reality, the person that each one is in God's eyes." In short, metaphysical self is the term for one's self residing in God and God residing in it. Respondents to the article took the occa- ¯ sion to point out that metaphysical se/fappears also in the writ-ings of mystics from other religious traditions and recommended that I enlarge the presentation by incorporating some of them. Since these correspondents were women religious more famil-iar than I with these various mystical traditions, I asked them to participate in a monthly online chat room to examine meta-physical self as it appears in Buddhist, Christian, Hindu, Jewish, and Muslim (Sufi) mysticism. Our group of nine has met for the past five years, and this article presents some of the riches these mystical traditions brought to our understanding of meta-physical self. Each month we decided upon two primary sources we would examine in common, one Christian and one from another James J. Magee has written nine articles for our journal, the last in 1994. He is professor of counseling and gerontology at College of New Rochelle; New Rochelle, New York 10805. March-April 2002 tradition. In addition, each of us read the historical and con-textuai introductions preceding the texts or a monograph explaining their specific themes and imagery. At the conclusion of this article is a bibliography of the sources that we found particularly fruitful. Each tradition has its own style, some directly didactic and others more metaphorical. Each elabo-rates upon metaphysical self with novel, arresting paradoxes and engaging imagery that invigorated our familiarity with our own Christian mystics. Each, too, emphasizes the following components of metfiphysical self: the relational, nondualistic rootedness of self in God; transcendent individuality; engaged detachment as an expression of metaphysical self. Throughout this endeavor we dealt with paradoxes and found the most exhil-arating paradox in the power of other traditions to confirm our Christocentric perspective. Residing in God's Unconditional Acceptance This brief sampling of Christian mystics illustrates the con-tinuing emphasis they placed on the-self-residing-in-God: From Meister Eckhart: The soul is so completely one with God that the one cannot be understood without the other. One can think heat easily enough without fire and the shining with-out the sun, but God cannot be understood without the soul nor the soul without God, so utterly are they one. (p. 309) It is God's pleasure and rapture to discover iden-tity, because he can always put his whole nature into it--for he is this identity itself. (p. 167) From Julian of Norwich: Our soul sits in God in true rest, and our soul stands in God in sure strength, and our soul is naturally rooted in God in endless love. (p. 188) Between God and our soul there is neither wrath nor forgiveness. For our soul is so wholly united to God that nothing can interpose . Though we find in ourselves anger, contention, and strife, still we are all mercifully enclosed in God's mildness and meekness. (p. 189) Review for Religious From Catherine of Genoa: My being is God;. my me is God. (W'ilber, p. 72) From Thomas Merton: We know God insofar as we become aware of ourselves as known through and through by him. We "possess" him in proportion as we realize ourselves to be pos-sessed by him in the utmost depths of our being . Our knowledge of God is paradoxically a knowledge not of him as the object of our scrutiny, but of our-selves as utterly dependent on his saving and merciful knowledge of us. (1969, pp. 103-104) Note how this same emphasis appears in the following excerpts from Jewish and Muslim mystics: From the Maggid of Mezhirech: Man's essence is only the soul that is within him, which is a portion of God above. Thus, there is nothing in the entire world except the Holy One. (Uffenheimer) From the Kabbalah: There is nothing that is not pervaded by the power of divinity. God is everything that exists, though every-thing that exists is not God .Nothing is devoid of its divinity. (Matt, 1995) From Rumi: Remember God so much that you are forg9tten, until you are lost in the Call, without distinction of caller and called. (Breton and Largent, p. 23). You are my face. No wonder I can't see you. (Breton and Largent, p. 168) From 'Abd Allah Ansari (Kwaja 'Abdullah Ansari): One went to the door of the Beloved and knocked. A voice asked, "Who is there?" He answered, "It is I." The voice said, "There is no room for Me and Thee." The door was shut. Mter a year of sOlitude and depri-vation, he returned and knocked. A voice from within asked, "Who is there?" The man said, "It is Thee." The door was opened for him. (p. 94) O God, I possess that mirror in which you are reflected. Rather, I am that mirror. You are not sepa-rate from me. (p. 196) From Fakhruddin 'Iraqi: 139 MarchoApril 2002 The EternalOcean spews forth new waves. "Waves" we call them, but there is only. the Sea. (p. 77) From Ibn Al'Arabi: As in the case of a mirror and the beholder, he sees the form in it, but does not see the mirror itself. In your seeing your true self, He is your mirror and you are His mirror in which He sees nothing other than Himself. (p. 65) Through the intimate imagery and ecstatic directness that pervade these writings, the mystics of three monotheistic traditions seem to strain the point that, while human beings par-ticipate in the divine nature, they never become the essence of God. Their mystical reach, on the other hand, does touch upon that mystery which "no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived, what God has prepared for those who love Him" (1 Co 2:9). The mystics intuit that persons are not dualistically separated from God, but "closely united with God in a love that is always moving toward oneness" (Johnston, p. 124). Transcending Individuality The Christian Scriptures address a second characteristic, the quality of relationships that proceed from metaphysical self. This characteristic also reappears in the mystical literature of other traditions, and our group members were able to find these paraphrases about metaphysical self-transcending indi-viduality: "Love is not self-seeking; it is not prone to anger; neither does it brood over injuries" (1 Co 13:5) becomes, in Rumi, the Sufi mystic, "Love has no calculating in itT' (Breton and Largent, p. 9) "Thanks be to God, who unfailingly leads us on in Christ's triumphal train, and employs us to diffuse the fragrance of his knowledge everywhere" (2 Co 2:14) occurs in Rtimi as "Vv~hether they know You or not, all creatures bend but toward You. M1 love for some-one else is but a whiff of Your perfume." (Breton and Largent, p. 141) "For I was hungry and you gave me food; I was thirsty and you gave me drink" (Mt 25, 35) appears; Review for Religious in the Bhagavad Gita, as "Any offering--a leaf, a flower, or a fruit, a cup of water--I will accept it if given with a loving heart." (Mitchell, 2000, p. 118) "Let us profess the truth in love" (Eph 4:15) is, in the Bhagavad Gita, "Speak the truth with kindness, honesty that causes no pain." (Mitchell, 2000, p. 178) These mystical sources echo the scriptural message that in human beings metaphysical self is inherently relational. Each of us is a seat of consciousness and an experiencing agent with-out being independent of others. Aitken and Steindl-Rast go so far as to say: "Underlying 'Love thy neighbor as thyself' has to be the experience that the other is no other than myself" (p. 113). Engaged Detachment During our years of meetings, members recognized a third characteristic, engaged detachment, as the way metaphysical self conducts itself in the world. This oxymoron refers to the readiness to invest ourselves in causes, tasks, and relationships while remaining ready to foi'go achieving our goals. It focuses upon process, both the deservingness of the activity at hand and the affirmation that we shall die unfinished, our potential only partly realized, and that completion is ultimately God's work and not our own. The different traditions of mystical writings repeatedly express this theme: From Julian of Norwich: God does not want his servants to despair because they fall often and grievously; for our falling does not hin-der him in loving us. (p. 188) From Paul Tillich: You are accepted, accepted by that which is greater than you . Do not seek for anything; do not intend anything. (Church, p. 180) From Anthony de Mello: There is no clinging to a classical symphony and no hastening it. One does not wait till the end to enjoy . it, but takes in every note, every chord as it comes and lets it go to welcome the next uninterrupted flow. Any attempt to stop the performance, any "attachment" to 14! March-April 2002 Nlagee ¯ Metaphysical Self a single note, will ruin the symphony. (p. 164) From the Tao Te Ching: A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent upon arriving. (Mitchell, 1988, p. 27) The Tao gives birth to all beings, creating without possessing, acting without expecting, guiding without interfering. (Welch, p. 41) From the Bhagavad Gita: With no desire for success, no anxiety about failure, indifferent to results, surrendering all thoughts of out-come, unperturbed, he does nothing at all, even when fully engaged in actions. There is nothing that he expects. (Mitchell, 2000, p. 75) From Fakhruddin 'Iraqi: Give up desire. Think that whatever you get is what you want, and in this acceptance find ease and joy. Renounce desire a hundred times. (p. 114) Engaged detachment, like the other characteristics of meta-physical self, is paradoxical. It invites a response of passive atten-tiveness wisely expressed in this admonition from the poet Rainer Maria Rilke: Be patient toward all that is unresolved in your heart. . Try to love the contradictions themselves. Do not now seek resolutions, which cannot be given because you would not be able to live them, and the point is to live everything. Live the contradictions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the resolutions. (p. 97) Imagery, Paradox, Complementarity, Love The imagery, metaphors, and paradoxes which other mys-tical traditions use to illuminate the nature of mystical se/famplify and complement the attention Christian mystics center upon on this theme. The artfulness of these other sources can help sustain us both in the apophatic ~loud through which Christian mystics typically view mystical self and in the relaxed tena-ciousness of our commitment to love others as ourselves. Review for Religious References 'Abd Allah Ansari, 1978. Intimate conversations. New York: Paulist Press. Aitken, R., and D. Steindl-Rast. 1996. The ground we share. Boston: Shambala. Breton, D., and C. Largent. 1998. Love, soul, and freedom: Dancing with Rumi on the mystical path. Center City, Minn.: Hazelden. Church, E 1987. The essential Tillich. New York: Macmillan. de Mello, A. 1992. One minute nonsense. Chicago: Loyola University Press. Fakhruddin 'Iraqi. 1982. Divine flashes. New York: Paulist Press. Ibn Al'Arabi. 1980. The bezels of wisdom. New York: Paulist Press. Johnston, W. 2000. "Arise, my love . . .": Mysticism for a new era. Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books. Julian of Norwich. 1978. Showings. New York: Paulist Press. Magee, J. 1994. "Shame, mystical writers, and a spirituality of self." Review for Religious 53, no. 5 (September-October): 746-752. Matt, D. 1995. The essential Kabbalah. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, p. 25. Meister Eckhart. 1986. Meister Eckhart: Teacher and preacher, ed. B. McGinn. New York: Paulist Press. Merton, T. 1966. Conjectures of a guilty bystander. New York: Doubleday. Merton, T. 1969. Contemplative prayer. New York: Herder and Herder. Mitchell, S. 1988. Tao te ching. New York: Harper and Row. Mitchell, S. 2000. Bhagavadgita. New York: Harmony Books. Rilke, R. 1978. When silence reigns: Selected prose. New York: New Directions. Uffenheimer, R. 1993. Hasidism as mysticism. Princeton: Princeton University Press, p. 74. Welch, H. 1966. Taoism: The parting of the way. Boston: Beacon. Wilber, K. 1983. Up from Eden. Boulder, Colo.: Shambala. Bibliography of Easily Accessible Sources Sources in Christian mysticism appear in the series Classics of Western Spirituality (Paulist Press). Sources for Buddhist and Taoist mysticism Da Liu. 1986. Tai chi ch'uan and meditation. New York: Schocken Books. Deng Ming-Dao. 1990. Scholar warrior: An introduction to the tao in everyday life. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco. 143 March-April 2002 Magee ¯ Metaphysical Self Kohn, L. 1993. The taoist experience: An anthology. Albany: State University of New York Press. Merton, T. 1968. Zen and the birds of appetite. New York: New Directions. Mitchell, S. 1988. Tao te ching. New York: Harper and Row. Reps, P. 1957. Zen flesh, Zen bones: A collection of Zen and pre-Zen writ-ings. Rutland, Vermont: C.E. Turtle. Thich Nhat Hanh. 1987. The miracle of mindfulness: A manual on med-itation. Boston: Beacon. Watson, B. 1968. The complete works of Chuang Tzu. New York: Columbia University Press. Wei, H. 1987. The authentic I Ching. North Hollywood, Calif.: Newcastle. Sources for Hindu mysticism Dehejia, V. 1994. The legend of Rama: Artistic visions. Bombay: Marg Publications. Heehs, P. 1998. The essential writings of Sri Aurobindo. New York: Oxford University Press. Jack, H. 1989. The Gandhi Reader. New York: Grove Press. Krishnamurti, J. 1994. On conflict. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco. Mitchell, S. 2000. Bhagavadgita. New York. Harmony Books. Ramakrishna Vedanta Centre. 1972. Women saints of East and West. London: Ramakrishna Vedanta Centre. Shukla, S. 1999. The Upanishads. Fremont, Calif.: Asian Humanities Press. Sivaraman, K. 1989. Hindu spirituality. New York: Crossroad. Vetter, H. 1997. The heart of God: Prayers of Rabindranath Tagore. Boston: C.E. Tuttle. Sources for Islamic mysticism 'Abd Allah Ansari. 1978. Intimate conversations. New York: Paulist Press. Breton, D., and C. Largent, C. 1998. Love, soul, and freedom: Dancing with Rumi on the mystic path. Center City, Minn.: Hazelden. Chittick, W.C. 1983. The Sufi path of love: The spiritual teachings of Rumi. Albany: State University of New York Press. Ernst, C. 1984. Words of ecstasy in Sufism. Albany: State University of New York Press. Fakhruddin 'Iraqi. 1982. Divine flashes. New York: Paulist Press. Ibn Al'Arabi. 1980. The bezels of wisdom. New York: Paulist Press. Review for Religious Ibn A1-Sabbagh. 1996. Mystical teachings of Al-Shadhili. Chicago: Kazi Publications. Ibn 'Ata' Illah. 1978, The book of wisdom. New York: Paulist Press. Massignon, L. 1982. The passion of A1-Hallaj, mystic and martyr of Islam. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Schimmel, A. 1987. As through a veik Mystical poetry in Islam. New York: Columbia University Press. Sharafuddin Maneni. 1980. The hundred letters. New York: Paulist Press. Sources for Jewish mysticism Ben Joseph, A. 1987. Book of formation (Sepheryetzirah). San Francisco: Holmes. Ben Zion, R. 1984. Anthology of Jewish mysticism. Brooklyn, N.Y.: Judaica Press. Cohn-Sherbok, D. 1995. Jewish mysticism: An anthology. Rockport, Mass.: Oneworld. Jacobs, L. 1997. Schocken book of Jewish mystical testimonies. New York: Schocken Books. Kamenetz, R. 1998. Stalking Elijah: Adventures with today's Jewish mys-tical masters. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco. Kook, A. 1978. The lights of penitence, New York: Paulist Press. Matt, D. 1983. Zohar: The book of enlightenment. New York: Paulist Press. Matt, D. 1995. The essential Kabbalah: The heart of Jewish mysticism. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco. Nahman of Bratslav. 1980. The tales. New York: Paulist Press. Scholem, G. 1995. Major trends in Jewish mysticism. New York: Schocken Books. NEW ON OUR WEBSITE Searchable indexes of Review for Religious articles from January 1970 to the current issue Abstracts of the lead articles of the January 1997 isshe to the current issue and summaries of the others Complete text of A Spirituality for Contemporary Life: The Jesuit Heritage Today edited by David Fleming SJ and containing articles by J.J. Mueller SJ, Walter Burghardt SJ, David Fleming SJ, Monika K. Hellwig, Jon Sobrino SJ, Elizabeth Johnson csJ, and John W. Padberg SJ www.reviewforreligious.org -4 45 larch-, Jpril 2002 GERALDINE M. WODARCZYK Aging: Spiritually Present to the Burning Bush growing older For months now I have written multiple reflections on aging. They are connected with a book by Jane Marie Thibault2 She says that in later life people are invited to contemplation and that there should be contem-plative communities for the elderly. My congregation is 127 year old, and I have lived among aging and prayerful sisters for decades. I sought to formulate a theology of aging based on the spirituality of our foundress, Frances Siedliska. But, in spite of a wealth of material, no formulation presented itself. And so, with encouragement from Sister Judith Nero OSB, my local mentor for the gerontological program, I decided on a different focus, simply writing about my ministry experiences at Holy Family Manor. What are those experiences, and what are they calling me to in my own life? Perhaps, like Moses, I have discovered a "burning bush" and here, on holy ground, I learn of God. Geraldine M, Wodarczyk CSFN wrote this paper originally in a gerontological pastoral care program at Luther Seminary in St. Paul, Minnesota. Her address is Sisters of the Holy Family of Nazareth; 285 Bellevue Road; Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 15229. Review for Religious Years ago Sister Mary Paul Krasowski gave me a copy of a poem by an unknown author: The Moses in my heart trembles not quite willing to accept the prophet hidden in my being wondering how much it will cost to allow the prophet to emerge. O child of unnecessary shoes cast them off and stand in readiness on this awfully holy ground! For the Egypt in people's hearts demands that you see the burning bushes all around you aflame and burning wildly calling you forth away from the comfort of well-protected feet. The ground you stand on is holy! Take off your shoes believe in your Moses and go. Sister Mary Paul gave.me a copy a second time, when I was the superior at the Manor, my "holy ground" for the past six years. I realized that during this time I had been called to accept the prophet in me, and in others, as we search for God in our every-day realities. I have seen the Egypt in the hearts of sisters and heard their cry for freedom sung in many ways. Within the evening solitude that these days provided me, I discovered the Egypt within my own heart and heard a call to let go of false securities of my own and to find new freedoms within me. I have been present to "burning bushes" of experience with seasoned older sisters. In ways I never expected, God touched my life and called me from the comfort zone where I was six years before. 147 March-April 2002 Wodarczyk ¯ Aging With Fear and Trepidation In 1990, when first asked to consider being superior of the Manor, I flatly refused. I was already superior of a small convent of four sisters. I was engaged in full-time ministry as the province councilor for formation, and together with my brother, who was just beginning a family in Wisconsin, I was sharing long-distance care of our widowed father in Erie, Pennsylvania, who was steadily moving to a new stage of frailty in his life. These were the reasons I gave my provincial, but another rea-son was that I had never been present at anyone's death. Terrified, I could not imagine living where I would need to be present to sisters as they died. Time passed. In 1993 our father's condition became worse. When notified, I knew the seriousness of Dad's condition, but did not realize that, with the physician, my brother and I would be making decisions that Dad was not able to make about his failing life. As Divine Providence would have it, I was in Erie when decisions about the breathing and cardiac machines needed to be made, and I was present during Dad's last hours and death. I learned that a broken heart is a real experience. I was changed, and so in 1994, when a new provincial asked me about being superior of Holy Family Manor, I said I would be willing. The provincial was taking seriously the choice of the superior. First, after asking the sisters living in the Manor for suggestions and reviewing the list, she and her council had three sisters come to a mandatory day of reflection in a small cottage on our motherhouse grounds. Our retirement home had sixty-nine beds and sixty-six sisters at various stages of aging. The retreat director, Sister Ann Winschel CDP, invited us to consider our gifts and what might be our stumbling blocks in accepting the ministry. I went to my room in the cottage and prayed with open hands, letting God put there what I needed and giving God the freedom to take away any drawbacks to my willingness to accept this ministry. For most people, praying with open hands is a simple gesture, but for me--with hands affected by rheumatoid arthritis--the gesture spoke of my own human brokenness. Could God really want me, already a broken vessel, to shep-herd these senior religious in their last days? At the end of the retreat, after sharing our personal reflec- tions, we were asked to express our final decision in a letter to the provincial. I wrote of openness to the ministry, my aware-ness of my gifts in working with the elderly, and my recognition that I could use them only in the context of my own brokenness. I qualified my openness by saying that, if I had an incapacitating flare-up of the arthritis, I would take it as an indication that this service was not appropriate for me. Three months later my provincial telephoned me, saying that the council had unani-mously chosen me the next Manor superior. She wanted me to take some preparation time with the current superior, attend the upcoming American Society of Aging conference, and offi-cially begin on the first of May. On Sunday, 30 April 1995, in the early afternoon, I arrived at the Manor. I was scheduled to be in the chapel for a wel-coming prayer and commitment service at four o'clock. The previous superior had already left. Three sisters were waiting for me at the door, welcoming me with one breath and asking with another, "You will take us to the festival at Mr.Assisi, won't you?" Barely gathering my belongings from the auto-mobile and putting them in my room, I welcomed the excur-sion (a five-minute trip) to the Franciscan sisters' festival. Though a busy place, it was a respite where I could amble with-out any focus on the fears and anticipation that were part of me at this transition moment. We returned home and soon four o'clock came. In the presence of the retired sisters, the provincial asked me several questions: Will you accept this responsibility [to be local leader] which the sisters have confided in you? Do you promise to serve the sisters in kindness, compassion, and charity, in the spirit of our blessed foundress, Frances Siedliska? Will you strive to be faithful to the Covenant of Love [our constitutions] and the directives of your general and provincial superiors? Responding affirmatively, I was given a bouquet of roses by the provincial and was told: "Your ministry as servant leader will be a mixed blessing. Both joy and sorrow, possibility and I could not imagine living where I would need to be present to sisters as they died. !49 ~¥larch-April 2002 Wodarczyk ¯ Aging impossibility, success and failure will accompany you. These roses, themselves offering both beauty and pain, are given to you with our gratitude for accepting this mission." After the sisters voiced their support, I recited the following: As I approach this ministry of servant leadership, I pray: Hollow out in me, O God, a space in which I will find myself, find peace and a whole heart, a for-giving spirit and holiness, springs of laughter, and the will to reach boldly for abundant life for myself, this local community, and the whole human family. Grant me your peace, instill in me such awe of you as will make me wise, and such quiet courage as will enable me to make hope visible, forgiving delight-ful, loving contagious, faith liberating, and peace-mak-ing joyful. Shape my weakness into compassion and help me to make myself open and present to my sisters, to oth-ers, and to your kingdom. Amen.2 And so I began my sojourn as the convent superior of our retire-ment community. Except for my Franciscan festival invitation, my first encounter with one of the sisters came that evening, when Sister Maura3 told me, "On behalf of the entire community here at Holy Family Manor, .I want to tell you it is too cold in this build-ing." "Temperatures!" I thought; "after that profoundly religious service, I am supposed to adjust thermostats!" And so it was-- God was inviting me to listen to the concerns of everyday life, the little things that are so important in these sisters' lives. The Power of the Word The next morning I had an announcement to make in the first-floor dining room, where forty sisters sat. Besides some trembling, my voice did not carry well, especially for the good number with impaired hearing. Finally I got the message across. Shortly thereafter, a sister from the second-floor dining area came complaining that I did not give the sisters there any message. What was I to do? The next day I typed out some items of common interest and posted them in the elevator, Review for Religious thereby causing traffic jams. Sisters would ride up and down until they finished reading the note. I realized that we needed copies of the newsletter posted in various places, including the elevator. This simple arrangement, providing this large num-ber of sisters direction for the coming day, also informed them about what was happening in our home. Was this communication episode a "burning bush" in which I found God? At least I learned how impoytant the communi-cated word is to people, and that it could promote love and caring in this household. It calmed the fears of the sisters who wondered about who was in the house: other sisters, guests, contractors, maintenance work-ers. The daily newsletter included a prayer request list and kept the sisters informed about the health progress of the sisters in the hos-pital. The newsletter invited the sisters to share a joke as well as to request prayer for themselves I learned how important the communicated word is to people, and that it could promote love and caring. or others. It became their newsletter. It provided a source of unity and dismantled some rumors that institutions readily give rise to. It hung for twenty-four hours at eight places in the building. Each of us had plenty of time to return to it to get the news of the day. There is a power in the written word. It is a way love can be communicated. Isn't the Word the way God communicates the greatness of Divine Love? And did the Word not become incarnate in the most simple and humble way? Perhaps in some small way the newsletter really was a "burning bush." The Joy of the Resurrection After living a short while in the Manor, I noticed a heavi-ness- sadness in the sisters' demeanor, depressive postures; even the daily Masses were in remembrance of the deceased. Although all the bedrooms are quite alike, some were considered "dying rooms," and sisters shuddered at the thought of being placed there. March-April 2002 V~odarczyk * Aging When I arrived at the Manor in the midst of spring, I was still flesh with the message of the Easter season's life-giving liturgical readings. One reading kept coming back to me, the one about the women returning to the tomb who were asked, "Why do 3iou search for the Living One among the dead?" (Lk 24:5). One day these words, stirring in my h.eart, became reversed. I heard, "Why do you search for the dead among the living?" Something changed within me, and I realized how alive, even with some physical limitations, these sisters were. I knew that I needed to foster that life of theirs. I knew that I should help them help each other to build a happy life within this retirement community. By Pentecost I looked for the evi-dence of the Spirit as we tried new things and reviewed old practices. What brought the gifts of "love, joy, peace, patient endurance, kindness, generosity, faith, mildness" (Ga 5:22-23) that Paul spoke about? The things that brought such results to the majority of the community would be fostering and increas-ing in the sisters the new life of Easter. How else does God speak to us and affirm our actions except by the gifts of the Holy Spirit? In late May 91-year-old Sister Ellen was rushed to the hos-. pital in excruciating abdominal pain. "A perforated bowel," the doctor told me and asked, "What do you want me to do? I don't think that Sister could survive the surgery." Asking Sister, who was fully conscious, was to me the obvious thing to do. The doctor explained the options: surgery or palliative care. Sister Ellen looked at me with the most trusting eyes. "You are my superior," she said. "Whatever you decide will be God's will for me." I could not believe my ears, nor was I prepared for this responsibility she placed on me. She remained adamant. "I trust that your decision is God's will for me." I had not been reared in religious life with that degree of surrender put into a supe-rior's hands. Mine was a formation toward dialogue, toward coming to a mutual decision. She, however, simply continued to insist. From her primary-care physician, I learned that Sister Ellen had specifically said a few weeks earlier that she never wanted another surgery. When I managed to contact our provin-cial superior, who was traveling in Europe, she concurred with the decision for palliative care. Review for Religious I remain humbled by the trust Sister Ellen placed in me. I learned that being an instrument of God in these sisters' lives is something very serious indeed. I learned of my own need for prayer and intimacy with a God who, though transcendent, is immanently present to us and our decisions. Second Floor: 0 God, Are You There? A visitor to our Manor told me happily that her little boy would be three years old in a couple of weeks. On hearing that, he began to cry, "I don't want to be three, Mommy." Holding her tearful child, she said to me: "When he turns three he has to go to the next room in the day care. He doesn't want to take that step." It can be like that with the elderly, too. In conversations with oth-ers who deal with the elderly, I have found that there is always some place where res-idents do not want to go. It may be called the A wing or Mary's Corridor or something sim-ilar. In our convent it is simply called "the second floor." It is where those needing the most care live. Agreeing to live on the second floor is, for some of us, accepting death--even though, in reality, it may be years away. When I came to the Manor, the frailest sisters on the sec-ond floor would sit or recline in geri-chairs in a semicircle in what was called the solarium. These sisters were clean and well kept, but some would randomly yell out a prayer, a request, a humorous remark, or something incoherent. When people passed by Sister Lynnette--her parochial school teaching over and end-stage Alzheimer's drawing near--she would insist, "Line up for the fire drill, without talking!" If you did not do so, your misbehavior called for discipline. Although humorous, these moments were also sad, for Sister Lynnette had been such an excellent teacher. Many sisters shied away from the second floor, and espe-cially the solarium, where these frail sisters spent long days, I have found that there is always some place where residents do not want to go. March-April 2002 Wodarczyk ¯ Agigg still as icons. This comparison struck me as I read some words of Henri Nouwen: Icons are not easy to "see." They do not immediately speak [appeal] to our senses . They do not reveal themselves to us at first sight. It is only gradually, after a patient, prayerful presence, that they start speaking to us. And, as they speak, they speak more to our inner than to our outer sense. They speak to the heart that searches for God.4 The frailest sisters on the second floor "do not reveal them-selves," or the Holy, immediately. It is only after I become prayerfully present to them that their presence, in their dimin-ished physical or mental condition, speaks to my heart. They tell me about life's brevity, about our dependence on God, and show that we are only pilgrims here. One day I took a visiting priest acquaintance to see our treasured sisters on the second floor. He began preaching to them about their duty to contemplate. With blank faces they just looked at him. A confused embarrassment seized him, and he became speechless. There was nothing more to say. Later I wondered if these sisters are in the contemplative state of being in God's wordless embrace. One cannot know such secrets. These sisters, and we ourselves, spend lives desiring such close-ness. But, because they and we have also spent years seeking responsible and prudent control of our lives, such vulnerability, such complete dependence on God and on others, is likely to be fraught with fear as well. On a recent visit to Pittsburgh, Trappist monk Thomas Keating, founder of Contemplative Outreach, spoke to an ecu-menical group gathered at another Franciscan motherhouse. He spoke of the prayerful consent that is part of Centering Prayer, for fostering contemplative experience. He spoke of the call to follow Christ and to let go of possessions--not external possessions so much as interior ones, the baggage of attitudes that we carry with us (in his phrase, the false self). At one point he looked up at the' choir loft, where the frailest of the com-munity's sisters were. He spoke directly to them, taking note of their willing acceptance of their present frailty, their loss of health, their losses of young self-reliance and of status in the community. He saw their disabilities as precious gifts from God, Review for Religious things to be grateful for. His words reminded me of my own sisters on the second floor. But to accept diminishment with gratitude is not easy. Solidarity with Suffering A few footsteps away from my office, my belief in the cru-cified and resurrected Christ was tested. Suffering is a mystery. We do not want to see others suffer, nor do we want suffering in our own lives. When faced with the suffering of people we love, what is our response? Henri Nouwen says: A friend who was very ill had a great devotion to Mary, the mother of Jesus, and derided to make a pilgrimage to Lourdes to ask for healing. When she left, I was afraid that she would be disillusioned if no miracle happened. But on her return she said, "Never did I see so many sick people. When I came face-to-face with that human suffering, I no longer wanted a miracle. I no longer wanted to be the exception. I experienced a deep desire to be one of them, to belong to these wounded people. Instead of praying for a cure, I prayed that I would have the grace to bear my illness in solidarity with them. And I trust that the mother of Jesus will bring my prayer to her Son."s As for myself, I have never come to the point of wanting "to be one of them." I desire to be well. But so did this dear woman on her way to Lourdes for healing. Is true healing the ability to love so deeply that we long to share others' intense pain and sorrow? That is what Jesus did. When we are young, we find many ways to escape that question and that reality. As we age and see diminishment in ourselves, our families, and our friends, the question returns. That call to solidarity in suffering is a difficult call to hear, especially when the time actually comes for us to visit--or move to--the "second floor." Sacrament of the Present Moment - Even in Dementia "Where am I going?" she asks, her body slumped. The eyes, once sparkling with joie de vivre, now are dim, like smoldering wicks. "I can understand," she says, "why, without faith, one155 March-April 2002 Wodarczyk ¯ Aging could commit suicide. Not that I want to," she says, "but I understand. I know why others would do this." Coming out of my own uncomfortable search for something to say, I ask, "Do you have faith? . Why, yes, I do." But soon she is asking, "What should I do? What is happening to me?" These words rose in her during the initial stages of Alzheimer's. It is easy to agree with the maxim that "a mind is a terrible thing to waste." In a group where many have been educators, the relentless decline of mental acumen is truly frightening. In this place, you can imagine the ardor one brings to reading the "Nuns' Study" !6 In the light (or darkness) of this feared disease, a faith per-spective does not come easy, even in a congregation whose motto is "Thy will be done." I needed to be reverently present to any-one who was concerned about Alzheimer's, just as I did to those showing symptoms of it. I needed to be cautious about explain-ing away dementia-with pious sayings or even a quick quota-tion from Scripture. For many months Sister Mary would stalk me, particularly at sundown. Even when I did not initially see her, I could sense her presence and her foreboding look. I had learned earlier that I should keep touch with my own inner experience when relat-ing to others. With Mary, the more I avoided her physically and psychologically, the more she pursued and pressured me. Her cognitive impairment was becoming worse. I would think, "Oh, here she is, pestering me again!" or "She's got dementia. She doesn't know what she's talking about." One time she was particularly adamant: "How awful to be on the second floo!! How cruel you were to put me there!" And on and on, in a sort of frenzy. I wondered, "What ever happened to that loving and supportive friend I had for so many years?" I thought of relat-ing to her as a simple matter of"how to handle a difficult situ-ation." I thought of Christ being in her, but was far from experiencing it. Worn down by her raving, I was wondering if she had received her medication. I called the nurse to ask. Sister Mary heard me and said, "You think medication is going to take care of this? You are not around and you think medicine is going to cure this? That's not the way! That's not the way!" My "quick and appropriate solution"--so that I could be about more Review for Religious "important" things--stirred up more mistrust in Sister and greater frustration in me. Then my faith invited me to adopt a new perspective. I paused, put aside other matters, sat face-to-face with her, and listened. Soon both of us were at peace. After a while she returned to her room for the evening. This scenario occurred more than once. Afterwards, pondering the healing that took place when I was more present to her, I realized that there is a sacramentality in such moments. Jean-Pierre de Caussade says: There is never a moment when God does not come forward in the guise of some suffering or some duty, and all that takes place within us, around us, and through us both includes and hides his activity. Yet, because it is invisible, we are taken by surprise and do not recognize his operation until it has passed by us. If we could lift the veil and if we watched with vigilant attention, God would endlessly reveal himself to us, and we should see and rejoice in his active presence in all that befalls us. At every event we should exclaim: "It is the Lord!''7 Can I be alert to this potential revelation of God the next time I am stalked by one of my own sisters? When people complain to me about the odd behavior or mental confusion of a dear friend of theirs, can I help them see Christ's presence in the situation? How do I do that? Caussade reminds us of the power of faith: It is faith which interprets God for us. Without its light we should not even know that God is speaking, but would hear only the confused, meaningless bab-ble of creatures. As Moses saw the flame of fire in the bush and heard the voice of God coming from it, so faith will enable us to understand his hidden signs, so that amidst all the apparent clutter and disorder we shall see all the loveliness and perfection of divine wisdom.8 Seeking Life's Deeper Meaning A few years ago Sister Mary Stella came to my office quite excited about the prospect of winning a car or money for the 157 Vlarch-April 2002 Wodarczyk ¯ Aging community. A piece of mail had informed her that she had been "selected to win." I tried to explain to her about the money-maEing ploy of these contests. She insisted: "Fill it out for me. I can't see!" Hoping that somewhere in this experience there would be a teachable moment, I filled out the form and mailed it. A few weeks later she received a "free" watch. "See," she told me, "I am already winning! I will really help the congre-gation when the check arrives." Not long after the watch came, Sister was billed $75 for a magazine subscription. She called me to her room. Obviously upset, she said she did not have the money for this subscription and believed that, if she canceled it, she would be responsible for the salesperson's losing her job. "I should have listened to you," she lamented. My teachable moment had arrived! Though I was angry about companies that exploit senior citizens, I gently explained to her that this is an advertising gimmick, that all she needed to do was write "cancel" on the bill and mail it back; the matter would be over. She listened. I left the room thinking all was well. But within a few days Sister stopped eating. She did not come to morning Mass. She stayed in her room, depressed and despondent. Noticing this, I spent some extended time with her, but she was silent. She wanted to see a priest. I called the Franciscan priest who often served us, and he paid her a pastoral visit. Her depression lingered. I visited her again. She still lamented, "I can't pay the bill, and the poor man will lose his job." Her suffering was evident. Her sheltered and "precomputer" life did not prepare her to understand today's big-business advertising. So I listened, and then I suggested that we write the man a letter with an apology, explain her cur-rent financial situation, and return the watch. Her eyes lit up at the prospect. Together we composed a letter, which she signed and I mailed. In a few days she was back to normal. A few months later her health declined, simply by reason of her advancing age. When I visited, she looked up at me from her bed and with a most peacef~l look said, "I will never forget your gentleness to me when I thought I would win that money. You were so kind." The entire episode showed us God's grace working in both our lives. I continued to see how greatly these older sisters desire to contribute to the congregation. Review for Religqous Supporting the congregation financially gave meaning to the sisters all their lives, even as they themselves led a frugal existence. They had experienced the Depression firsthand and had stories to tell about begging alongside factories, begging h0use-to-house for summer stipends, or asking for funds by writing letters to family and friends. Today, for some, lotteries and various contests appear to be another source of financial support for the congregation. One sister, clear-minded at ninety-nine, had a lucky streak. Although she lived frugally, I heard rumors of her "having money." Family and friends would buy her lottery tickets and then cash them in for her when she mailed back the winning ticket. Although I was "out of the loop" of direct information about these transactions, I somehow always found out about them. Though some might find gambling question-able in light of the vow of poverty, I waited to see what would happen eventually, since Sister's participation connected her to others and caused no harm. Sometimes months would pass between rumors of her winnings and her eventual cash donation of $200 or $300. The happiness she radiated sent the message that even at ninety-nine she could contribute to the community. She rarely wanted anything for herself. Suspicions about a breach of her vow disappeared. I have often noticed with what pride the sisters contribute their Christmas, birthday, Easter, and anniversary donations to the communal kitty, expecting my gratitude as they do so. I appreciate what they do, but I have encouraged them to find meaning in other parts of their lives too. Their very presence in love, patience, and faith is a meaningful gift to the community, to their families, and to all who witness their kindness. I have invited them to look for ways of spreading the Good News in and beyond the community. I have tried to be attentive to the I have often noticed with what pride the sisters contribute their Christmas, birthday, Easter, and anniversary donations to the communal kitty. March-April 2002 Wodarczyk * Aging ordinary things they accomplish or experience, and I have lis-tened affirmingly as they speak about what they did and are doing with their lives. I have learned, too, about meaning that is not initially obvious. Sister Gina was a "collector." Her room was filled with any-thing and everything. Some might call it clutter. One day she said to me, "You know, when I die, people will complain about all the stuff I left behind. Some have already asked me to clean things up. But I want you to know something. Now that I can go nowhere, I have brought into my room all kinds of things that bring to mind the wonderful friends I have had in my life. These things always make me happy, and I pray for these peo-ple as well." When Sister Gina died, I took care of her things quietly, without others knowing, needing to respect the gen-uineness of her words to me. Most of this "junk" humbly con-veyed love and friendship and gave meaning to Sister Gina's last days. An Incarnational Spirituality When our sisters come to the Manor, transportation diffi-culties and their declining health limit their activity. Two things seem to arise in the absence of formal ministry. There is some-times an unhealthy focus on self and on the "world" of the Manor. Small matters become major concerns. Negativity can result. Teresa of Avila saw such problems in her cloistered monastery.9 There is perhaps no one remedy, but I have seen changes for the better when sisters choose other avenues of ser-vice or ministry or other activities compatible with their new status and their personal limitations. The healthiest and happiest in the Manor were those who were able to rechannel their formation-for-ministry in creative ways. Writing letters to friends, family members, and politi-cians and intercessory prayer for the needs of others are integral to the sisters' lives and are a genuine service they render. Decorating the chapel for feasts, participating as readers or Eucharistic ministers during the litu#gies, companioning another to the physician, sending get-well cards to the hospitalized, and visiting the "second floor" are but a few of the ways the sisters incarnate their love for God in service to their neighbor. Their Review for Religious humble acceptance of their limitations and their patient strug-gles day by day become invaluable tools in building up the body of Christ, as those who are touched by their witness can testi@. For the sisters, their personal sufferings take on deeper mean-ing as they offer them for the intentions of people who have requested their prayer and support. Perhaps some ecumenical healing takes place as well, as staff members of different faiths take care of these sisters, who have lived their lives with hearts so attuned to Roman Catholicism. The sisters remain educators, teaching young care-givers about faith, patience, forgiveness, hope, acceptance and nonacceptance of suffering and dying. The sisters, too, are stretched to go beyond the images of a vowed religious life that is past and gone. After fifty years or more of religious life, that is not a small stretch. Sports on television and radio, and movies, books, excur-sions, concerts, and so forth offer relaxation and outreach--for nothing can "separate us from the love of Christ" (Rm 8:35). Some sisters have become mentors or teachers in various spe-cialties. One Sister translated from Polish to English a valu-able book on the foundress of our community, Frances Siedliska. With phones now in every room, telephone ministry to family and friends became possible. Advocacy for human rights and other special interests is also a possible ministry for the sisters. If we live by the truth and in love, we can "grow in all ways into Christ" (Ep 4:15). All these ways of service build the king-dom of love among the family of God; they express the mis-sion of the Congregation of the Sisters of the Holy Family of Nazareth. "Tell Him to Wait!" Several months ago Sister Helen, our 95-year-old, was quite ill. She ceased to breathe during an MRI, and the hospital staff, acting on impulse rather than consulting her advance directive, resuscitated her. The doctor called me and told me Sister had been placed on a breathing machine. Twenty-four hours later the doctor removed the breathing machine, and, staunchly, Sister Helen survived the ordeal. I visited her in the hospital and reminded her gently, "Sister Helen, you are very ill. Perhaps 1K1 March-April 2002 Jesus will call you soon." "Let him wait," she bellowed; "I'm not dead yet!" I was taken aback, slow to see the humor. Later I reflected: "She has been a baptized Catholic for ninety-five years and a member of our religious community for eighty years. She has prayed each day of those years. She has a profound rela-tionship with God. After eighty years of relating, a certain free-dom of relationship must exist between lovers. How free Love can make us!" Sister Caritas died several years ago, and I especially remem-ber her dying. Racked with fever, in great distress, she held my finger tightly--so firmly that it reminded me of what my friend Maureen told me about a birth. Her sister's husband was on a business trip, and Maureen was in the delivery room with her sister. Her sister grasped her hand so tightly during the birth that Maureen needed several weeks of hand therapy afterward. While grasping my finger, Sister Caritas, too, was being born, born into eternal life. I have been with others who have died, not all struggling as did Sister Caritas. Some have gone to the Lord gently. Others have chosen to stop treatment and accepted the palliative care that became part of that choice. Some died after years, months, or a few days of being bedridden; others, while taking a nap. Each "birthing" has been different, each one very final, each one inviting me to deepen my belief in the life hereafter. Here at the Manor--or anywhere, of course--other kinds of dying occur earlier, before that actual moment. Every stage of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross's death-and-dying theory is lived out here: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.1° Are some stages more appropriate, more holy, than others? ls the sis-ter in denial less effective in dealing with dying than the one who is angry and displacing it at every available opportunity? And the one who bargains--"If I keep on living on the third floor, I'll never get like those on the second floor"--is she less holy than the one whose depression shows all over her face and in her every bodily move? And is she still less holy than the one who grieves her loss, accepts additional personal help, gently accepts the everyday deaths and dyings that are part of human experience? I think there can be no comparisons here. When one strug-gles in the face of d~ath, regardless of what type, the struggle is Review for Religious real. "It remains true," as Pope John Paul has observed, "that the years pass quickly, and the gift of life, for all the effort and pain it involves, is too beautiful and precious for us ever to grow tired of it." 1, And so we struggle and deny, are angered, bargain, and are depressed. In the end we do accept the reality that has been presented to us by Life. The challenge for me in the Manor community was to have faith in this precious journey and trust that the increasing pains are redemptive. I chose to permit people to be themselves: I challenge, but do not force. Rather, I wait in patience for God's grace to touch hearts and hurts and lead all of us into his sacred presence. My Beloved As we religious grow toward accepting death, the inevitable reality shared by all creation, I believe that a life of prayer sustains us. Deep within us all there is an amazing inner sanctuary of the soul, a holy place, a Divine Center, a speaking Voice, to which we may continuously return . It is a Light within which illuminates the face of God. for the spiritual person is forever bringing all affairs down into the light, holding them there in the Presence, reseeing [sic] them and the whole of the world., in a new and overturning way.12 A life of prayer is different for each of us: some tending to more prescribed prayers, others to a more wordless prayer. What is common about prayer life is the deep relationship with God that is so special and so sacred to each one. Inscribed on each sis-ter's profession ring are the words "My Beloved is mine and I am His," from the Song of Songs (2:16). She not only wears that ring, she lives that reality. Recently I was asked to be the community witness when Sister Ann's casket was closed. Before burial we normally remove from the deceased our congregational cross and ring. On this occasion the undertaker could not remove the ring. I advised him to leave it and close the coffin. Reflecting on this moment afterwards, I considered it to be as symbolic as the ring itself. Sister Ann, orphaned as a child, surrendered herself to God March-April 2002 Wodarczyk * Aging through her vows and eventually, as Alzheimer's disease kept taking its toll, was stripped of family, friends, and even cogni-tion. The one thing that remained was the reality: she was her Beloved's and her Beloved was hers. The sisters at the Manor foster that relationship with their Beloved in many ways, including personal and communal prayer. Communally we have had to vary our prayer style here. Because of impaired hearing and sight and various other physical limi-tations, we no longer say Office in common. But the sisters pray faithfully --in their rooms, in the chapel, at Mass, on the porch, while walking outdoors or in the corridors, and during our spe-cial Friday mornings in the chapel. When they are very ill, they may say they cannot pray, and some are troubled by this. Others say that they are simply united with Jesus in their suffering, which is "nothing compared with His." Still others are quiet, their faith wrapping them palpably like a shawl. At times faith grows in darkness. It is no small discomfort when one who has dedicated her ehtire life to God questions the existence of God. When suffering is too much, "God, O God, why did you abandon me?" becomes the prayer of the day, or week, or even longer. In community, even as we pray in various ways, we journey in prayer together. Just as the psalms pray through the gamut of human emotion, so our lives together become a living psalter. Anlen I cannot think of any richer ministry experience within my thirty-nine years as a member of the Congregation of the Sisters of the Holy Family of Nazareth than the time I spent in service to my sisters at Holy Family Manor. But my two three-year terms as convent superior here have come to an end. "Relieved?" my current provincial superior asked me before announcing my replacement. "Mixed feelings," I mumbled. But I know that this is right and good. My body and my spirit home in on a few words in my Moses poem: "Take offyour shoes, believe in your Moses, and go." Now they have a fuller meaning: ". go, relax awhile, and then, changed by this burning-bush experience of yours, go on and minister to whatever people I, your God, choose for you!" I respond: Amen. Review for Religious Notes l Jane Marie Thibault, A Deepening Love Affair: The Gift of God in Later in Life (Nashville: Upper Room Books, 1993). 2 The welcoming service was composed by Sister Therese Frankowski. 3 The names of most of the sisters in this article have been changed. 4 Henri J.M. Nouwen, Behold the Beauty of the Lord: Praying with Icons (Notre Dame: Ave Maria Press, 1987). s Henri J.M. Nouwen, Our Greatest Gift: A Meditation on Dying and Caring (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 1994). 6 David Snowden PhD, Aging with Grace: What the Nuns' Study Teaches Us about Leading Longer, Healthier, and More Meaningful Lives (New York: Bantam Press, 2001). 7 Jean-Pierre de Caussade, Abandonment to Divine Providence, trans. John Beevers (New York: Image Books, 1975), p. 34. ~ Caussade, p. 37. 9 The Way of Perfection, chap. 4. ,0 Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, On Death and Dying (New York: Macmillan Publishing Company, 1969). '~ John Paul II, Letter to the Elderly (1 October 1999), §1. ,z C.S. Lewis, as cited in A Step Beyond: Advanced Training in Pastoral Bereavement Counseling (Archdiocese of New York: The Ministry to the Bereaved, November 1994), p. 32. School Day, 1947 I am seven, on my way to school, crisp snow sparkles in the sun. As I walk along, I reflect that some day a man will offer me a diamond ring, but today God himself has hurled thousands at my feet. Mary Hanson ~larch-April 2002 HELEN JEAN NOVY Coping with Repetition: A Spirituality for Ministering to the Elderly ~ehncoeuthneter rds uwriinthg tfhaem eilldye rvlyis iotfst eonr ifnovromlvael mdeianliisntgry w, iothur their habits of repetition. I have overheard "Dad, you say the exact same thing every time I come," and I have heard myself saying "Mom, you ask me that again and again." The proverb "Variety is the spice of life" inclines us to assume variety as a condition of anyone's continuing interest or at least as a lively attention getter. Repetition, however, is a necessary complement to variety. A systematic interplay of repetition and variation is a sine qua non for the arts. Consider the structure of sonatas or the form of songs. Aaron Copland's "Simple Gifts" in Appalachian Spring is an example of theme and variations, as is Max Reger's Variations on "America." In prayer, too, there is repetiton and variation. Christians regularly praying the Liturgy of the Hours, for example, are so accustomed to Morning Prayer's psalms for Week One that most know them by heart. Their predictability provides a rhythm that matches the regularity of breathing. But along with this comes the season's or feast's antiphon, giving a turn to the verses of the psalm and in a sense reinventing them. Helen Jean Novy HM is director of mission effectiveness at Magnificat High School; 20770 Hilliard Road; Rocky River, Ohio 44116. Review for Religious For Sunday of the First Week in Ordinary Time, this antiphon begins and ends Psalm 63: "As morning breaks I look to you, O God, to be my strength this day." The antiphon suffuses the psalmist's words that follow: "O God, you are my God, for you I long; for you my soul is thirsting. My body pines for you like a dry, weary land without water." For the feast of Saints Peter and Paul, a different anti-phon frames the same psalm w"I know the one whom I have trusted"--and gives it a different tinge: "O God, you are my God, for you I long; for you my soul is thirsting. My body pines for you like a dry, weary land without water." The synoptic Gospels, echoing each other in recounting the same events and sayings, do it with small yet significant differences. Compare the healing of Peter's mother-in-law in Mark 1 .'31 ("he came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her"), in Luke 4:39 ("he stood over her and rebuked the fever, and it left her"), and in Matthew 8:15 ("he touched her hand, and the fever left her, and she got up"). Might these considerations guide our responses to the repetitiousness of elderly people who have debilities of memory or concentration? Each encounter with another person, even though seemingly routine, is a new arid original encounter. Both parties are changed by the passing of time--by the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual experiences of the intervening time--even if only minutely. Health has improved or declined; the weather has turned warmer or cooler; clothes are brighter or more uniform; the staff has been updated or has had a turnover; the family has been reunited or suffered a loss; a sacrament has been received or a prayer prayed. "No need to recall the past. I am doing a new thing" (Is 43:18-19). Could Yahweh God be doing this new thing daily? God indeed adds yeast to the dough of the soul, lets it work, and gives it the kneading it requires: prayer and contemplation, opportunities for good works and self-sacrifice, active or passive Perhaps the most mutually soothing response to unceasing repetitions is a silent laying on of hands, a gentle and loving touch. I67 March-April 2002 Novy ¯ Coping witb Repetition suffering, or simply love's perpetually re-creating thoughts and deeds and words. Does it take yeoman patience to hear the same questions, the same comments, the same concerns day in and day out, hour by hour, and even minute by minute? Of course, those who minister have to work on themselves, cultivating a reliable equanimity and ideally a blend of knowing tolerance and psychological and spiritual understanding: Thank heaven she can still respond., what a grace that we can still interact., how humbling that he takes his own debility in stride., bow merciful that she is unaware., what a gift.t that I can encounter the very Christ in the simplicity and vulnerability of this person. Perhaps the most mutually soothing response to unceasing repetitions is a silent laying on of hands, a gentle and loving touch. Only by taking the tensions and strains of working with the sick-elderly to prayer again and again will ministers discover each person as an "imago Christi, a living analogue of the crucified Christ. As they do this, the ministers themselves will be molded into other Christs. They may find themselves praying the antiphons and psalms of the Liturgy of the Hours in the persona of Christ in the sick-elderly: "For you my soul is thirsting. My body pines for you like a dry, weary land without water." In the purview of faith, while the soul of the minister is being tuned to a new pitch, the souls of those they minister to become new songs. The Spirit sings through the adaptive constancy of the one and the dulling repetitions of the others, harmonizing both in the mystery of Divine Providence's unfathomable workings. G.K. Chesterton suggested that we should not take for granted the rising of the sun. Such a glorious phenomenon may well depend on the childlike delight of God calling for an encore: "Do it again, Sun!" Ultimately, deepening spirituality will not only expect the unexpected; it will expect the familiar, the recurring, the repetitious. It will perceive even the annoyance of repetition as a melodic refrain within the grand orchestration ¯ of God. Review for Religious JOAN WAGNER Medaille's "Means" and Religious Life's Renewal At our last meeting, in June 1998, I attempted to show that the primitive documents of the Sisters of St. Joseph indicate that apostolic endeavors have deep mystical foundations. In the present paper I examine other aspects of these primitive documents, aspects that pertain especially to the communal life of small communities that undertake apostolic ministry. Because this article focuses on the spiritual and apostolic insights of Father Jean-Pierre Medaille SJ, it is intended especially for those who walk in his tradition, but also for all professed religious who seek the deepening of their community life and their apostolic action. I will focus on six "means" derived from Father Medaille's writings, but first I draw your attention to two Scripture passages that were of major importance for Medaille: Have this mind among yourselves, which was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself taking the form of a p rspecliv s Joan Wagner ssJ presented this paper in Milwaukee in June 2001 at the fifth triennial meeting of the Conference on the History of Women Religious. Her address is Little Design Community; 171 Schiller Street; Buffalo, New York 14206. March-April 2002 Wagner * Medaille's "Means" servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form he humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. (Ph 2:5-11) That they may all be one; even as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that thou hast sent me. The glory which thou hast given me I have given to them that they may be one even as we are. one, I in them and thou in me, that they may become per-fectly one, so that the world may know that thou hast sent me and hast loved them even as thou hast loved me. (Jn 17:21-23) I think that adopting Father Medaille's "means" could help contemporary religious to practice the emptying spoken of in Philippians and thereby achieve the unions spoken of in John's Gospel. After discussing these "means," I will offer some concrete proposals for living them. The new community to which I belong, the community of the Little Design, is attempting to establish its communal life on "the means of Medaille." Clarifying the Scope of Medaille's "Means" The six "means" that I will be discussing cannot be found at any one location within the Primitive Documents of the Sisters of St. Joseph. In fact, nowhere in Medaille's writings did he use the term "means" as I use it in this article. It is a concept that was first formed in the latter decades of the 20th century, that is, three hundred years after Medaille, by a commentator on the Primitive Documents, Sister Julie Harkins of the Boston Sisters of St. Joseph. I first encountered Sister Julie's work when I attended a charism retreat that she gave in Wichita, Kansas. In her presentation she referred to "six central means found in the lived experience of our first sisters to maintain unity among themselves and to be apostolic communities of love." Even as I Review for Religious taped her presentation at that conference, I felt that her ideas and concepts about Medaille's approach were truly a treasure. It seemed to me that Medaille had applied St. Ignatius Loyola's Rules for Discernment in a new way, using at the communal level the retreat pedagogy of reflection on experience. He adapted those rules to unlettered and diverse groups of women, to assist them in becoming apostolic communities of love. Other interpreters of the Primitive Documents of the Sisters of St. Joseph such as Sister Vacher and Sister de Vaublanc have analyzed the practices that Medaille proposed for the early sisters. Not all of these commentators would agree that the six "means" identified by Sister Julie Harkins capture the heart of Medaille's approach. Other phrasings and other lists of "means" have been proposed. It has also been suggested that Medaille's approach can be represented by one expansive "means," the sisters' sharing their hearts unreservedly. To shed additional light on whether I-Iarldns's six "means" adequately represent Medaille's approach, I suggest that we consider how difficult it would be to distill the central practices recommended by St. Paul. We know that Paul wrote extensively about the living of the Christian life. (His writings are far more extensive than Medaille's even if we consider all the Maxims and other Primitive Documents to be authentically his.) How then to express the central "means" of St. Paul? One commentator might comb through his writings and identify six "means" as central. Another might determine that there are actually four or eight or one. Obviously there is much room for disagreement. Keep in mind, then, that there are various ways of presenting the essence of Medaille's approach even as I now list Harkins's six "means." I advocate them as the basis of the community life of religious women, today--but always understanding their meaning within the Gospels' call to discipleship. Please note, too, that in Harldns's list there are two dimensions in Means 2 (and perhaps in Means 3 as well). And there is some overlapping among the various "means" since the boundaries among them are not tightly drawn. Finally, note that Means 6 is phrased in such a broad, all-encompassing way that it seems to subsume the preceding five "means." Here, then, is Sister Julie Harkins's list of Medaille's "means": 171 March-April 2002 _Wag~, er ¯ Medaille's "Means" 1. Sharing experiences and feelings in prayer and doing so with candor and simplicity (Reglements, p. 9 par. 6). 2. Sharing the state of the house (outer as well as inner) and sharing the next step to which ofie is called (Reglements, p. 8 par. 4; Primitive Constitutions, p. 16 par. 1; p. 21 par. 4, 5, 6; p. 39 par. 6; p. 51 par. 8). 3. Sharing the dangers (evils) that threaten community life; protesting (promising) to safeguard what will safeguard the common union (Primitive Constitutions, pp. 58-66; Protestations, pp. 67-68). 4. Sharing what is our city and dividing the city among ourselves to discover the evils and to work for their healing (Primitive Constiitutions, p. i1 par. 6; p. 29 par. 9; p. 30 par. 1-3; p. 31 par. 1-2). 5. Sharing with each other how through works of service they are building the kingdom of love among the dear neighbors and the members of the community (Reglements, p. 8 par. 4; Primitive Constitutions, p. 17 par. 2). 6. Fidelity to the core spirituality: being grouped in honor of the Father, Son, and Spirit; Jesus, Mary, and Joseph (Maxims of Perfection, pp. 21-22; Reglements, pp. 4-5; Primitive Constitutions, pp. 12 and 57). Putting Medaille's "Means" into Practice You can see that the first three "means" listed pertain to spiritual bonding within the community; they deal primarily with discernment of spirits as a way of life. The next two "means" pertain to discerning the apostolic and prophetic stance to which the community may be called; these "means" address discernment as a decision-making process. Finally, the sixth "means" stands above the others and informs all of them inasmuch as it focuses upon the mystical relationships that are at the heart of the calling that Medaille identified for the Sisters of St. Joseph. I am keenly excited about having our Little Design community underway. This small community employs Medaille's own term, and it represents the fulfillment of a dream for refoundation that I have had for forty years. (Be it known, however, that at least one other person has called this dream my Review for Religious obsession.) As I write, this house is only three months old and at present has only two members. We have good hopes of attracting other young women who are interested in a life that is based on these six "means" of becoming an apostolic community of love. Let us now consider Medaille's first "means": sharing experiences and feelings in prayer and doing so with candor and simplicity. I will first try to explain why I feel that this is important, and then I will offer some recommendations about how to practice such sharing. The mystery of faith revealed to us in Scripture, particularly in Paul and John, is that all of history is now sacred history. This is the impact of the incarnation on our daily life (note--in Philippians 2:6-11, one of the passages cited above--the relevance of Paul's theology). All of our ordinary daily life is filled with God drawing our human consciousness to God's Self. God desires for us an ever-growing love and participation in the life of Jesus. This goes on in each moment of our human experience, and it registers as a thought, a tendency, a mood, a feeling. (Father George Aschenbrenner SJ has emphasized this approach in his conferences.) It is one thing to believe this. It is another to be deeply aware of it. It is a third step to be keenly sensitive to it. Our response is toward a greater share in living out Jesus' mission (note here the relevance of the John 17 passage on unity). To share within a community (I envision one of three to five sisters) one's experience in prayer presupposes incarnational theology and could move the community from believing to the final stage of responding. Submission to the group mandate for the purpose of growth enables believing, awareness, and sensitivity to develop. And movements of grace obviously become more explicit when inner awareness moves to vocal articulation. Sharing one's prayer experience with candor and simplicity is a demanding endeavor. An emptying is required, but I believe it leads to a new depth of communal unity if it is done in faith, All of our ordinary daily life is f!lled with God drawing our human consciousness to God's Self. --!73 Mt~.rcb-dpril 2002 Wagner ¯ Medaille's "Means" trust, and love. This depth is the mystery of God made more manifest in and among ourselves. We become more conscious of the call to respond and to be accountable. How would this be implemented? A possible scenario would be a biweekly gathering at which community members would relate movements of consolation and desolation during their prayer of the previous few days. Journaling after prayer periods would help members to be more responsibly prepared for the group gathering. Those who have had an Ignatian directed retreat will easily identify with this process. At present our small community enters into Morning Praise with a psalm, quiet time to reflect, and then the citing of a word, phrase, or line that was "given." The Gospel for the day is then read aloud. This is followed by a brief period of quiet and a brief time of communal sharing. All of this is done within half an hour and prepares us for deeper listening at liturgy. The content of our prayer in the future may vary, but the communal sharing is integral. Medaille's second "means" has three aspects: sharing the state of the house (outer as well as inner) and sharing the next step to which one is called. "The state of the house" has two meanings: first, the practical details of the community's living quarters. For harmonious living, responsibility and accountability are expected from every member. Such matters as cleaning, shopping for food, preparing meals, paying bills, scheduling prayer, hospitality, and times for silence are basic elements in a well-ordered "house." Honesty prevailing, the community will be aware of members' overextension or ill health, of things needing repair, and so forth. With solutions to be found, the quality presence of each member is important. The ebb and flow of external harmony is guaranteed by this practical sharing. The other "house" is the inner one, the heart. Teresa of Avila in her Way of Perfection notes that in praying it is essential to recognize and own how one is as one stands before the Beloved: weak, grateful, sinful, needy. This ownership of my incarnate self relates me to the incarnate Jesus. In truth, to articulate that inner state demands honesty, probes causes, and elicits understanding. What a sacred gift to offer my sisters: an emptying for the purpose of union,t My creaturely limitation stands naked before the Christ I trust, and before the Body of Review for Religious Christ in my sisters. Transformation in Christ occurs when I share in Jesus' life--in his being child of God and sharer in created human nature. The next aspect of the second "means," sharing the next step to which one is called, flows out of the group's increasing sensitivity. Articulation of deeper desires was a requirement for Jesuit novices, and this may have influenced Medaille to recommend this sharing to the first sisters. Great desires for God need to be fostered into action or they die. One's next step may be small and subtle or grand and significant. It could be to create a dream, to change a pattern of behavior, to attend to one's health, or to begin a new relationship. Such matters require careful handling with regard to the members' personal and communal mission. They begin in the human heart. It was the sharing that Teresa of Avila had with John of the Cross that enabled them to take the next steps for the refoundation of the Carmelite order. It was the vision that Ignatius shared with Francis Xavier that led to his bringing the faith to south and east Asia. Incarnational theology points out that our deepest desires are God-given. The word God gives us is to be spoken and enfleshed. The emptying required in taking next steps in our lives is attested to in the lives of men and women who accomplished much for God. A Saturday morning once a month could be set aside to ensure Medaille's second "means." Although the focus would vary, all aspects of this "means" would be attended to within this leisurely time together. Community members could take turns facilitating a simple process that might begin with listening to a member describe a project that she feels called to initiate. The listening could be followed b~ quiet reflection, questions, and dialogue. In this way one member's hopeful desire would be gracefully fostered and nurtured or deemed unsuitable or temporarily tabled for deeper discerning. At present our Little Design community gathers in the community room on Saturday mornings for about an hour and a Incarnational theology points out that our deepest desires are God-given. March-April 2002 H~ner * Medaille'~ "Means" half, a time we consider sacred. Because we are a new community, we do this every Saturday unless some special event interferes. We realize, too, that it is easy to spend too much time on the "outer" house, and so we strive to ensure the more interior and bonding elements of this second "means." Medaille's third "means" is sharing the dangers (evils) that threaten community life, protesting (promising) to safeguard what will safeguard the common union. One might ask wh

Part two of an interview with Julia Casey. Topics include: Food that was purchased and prepared when Julia was growing up. Formalities between the Italians in her neighborhood. How the children would play. The Roxbury neighborhood house that started a girls club and the types of activities they participated in. The nurses and doctors who would visit the neighborhood. Home remedies for sickness. How Julia and her husband met. How their marriage was received by their families. What it means to be Italian. Julia did not grow up in a religious community. What it was like to move to Fitchburg from Boston. The different expectations of boys and girls in Julia's family. Julia's children and their jobs. How speaking proper Italian has benefited Julia. ; 1 JULIA: In, in these little -- I mean, they still have the same candleholders. I've got them on my dining room table, but, but they didn't have -- I don't remember the candles. I remember these little wicks. I'm gonna ask my friend about that. And they would float on top, and you would think it would be kind of dangerous, wouldn't you? But I still remember these little candles they would keep bringing. Now, that was one of the customs, but they have special foods on the 19th of March. It was I think the Feast of St. Joseph, if I'm not mistaken. INTERVIEWER: Yeah, it is. Mm-hmm. JULIA: And the lady across the street would make that little Italian pasta they called orzo, and I think it was a type of barley. They would make the actual grain itself and the orzo pasta, O-R-Z-O—you can buy it in any market today—it was shaped like that. But they would make a dish from, I think, I think it might've been barley, and they made that on the Feast of St. Joseph. That was the custom where they came from. INTERVIEWER: Did they also make -- I don't remember what it's called -- but fried dough, little pizzas? JULIA: No, that was not, not common. I didn't know any -- no, and we didn't eat pizza, not like they do today. I know that my father, there was a barroom about a mile away from us, an Italian barroom in another Italian section, and that then made pizzas. And very, very seldom did I ever know of anyone who made pizza. You know, one of the ways that they did was they used to dip bread in tomato sauce, which is all pizza is, but I never actually knew families who made pizza. That didn't come into fashion until long after the war. INTERVIEWER: So living with all of these different people, no one really made pizzas? JULIA: No, no one made pizza that I knew of, you know.2 INTERVIEWER: Mm-hmm. JULIA: And nobody made lasagna. And raviolis, very seldom did anybody make raviolis. Why, I remember that in the [Piedmontese] family they would make these very fine Italian sausages with white wine, you know. Some of them made bread, but it was a problem because the bread man from the Italian, the big Italian bakeries in Boston, would come through the street. We -- they went out shopping but they went out mostly to buy different kinds of meat and specialties. But we had food then, clocks with fresh food, fish. The chicken man came, vegetable man came through the streets, and the women would just buy what they needed right on the street. On Saturdays they'd go shop; everybody went out with bags. They'd go into downtown Boston and buy special things that they, you know, couldn't get, but for the most part they went shopping once a week. They would go to their special stores to buy, you know, different kinds of spaghetti and pasta. They used to buy them in big boxes, some of the families, 10, 20-pound boxes of fine -- long, long spaghetti. And they didn't have the varieties that they have now, you know, but I mean, if they wanted salamis they'd have to go to the Italian delicatessens where they sold the different kinds of salami and everybody ate different kinds, you know. My father would go in and bring home these packages. The markets -- we went to the -- in the north, and with Petrini and Baldini, and they would slice the salami paper-thin and they'd weigh it out on gorgeous pieces of wax paper in beautiful, even rolls, every kind all rolled up. You know, he'd bring them home and we'd go crazy. Italian bread and salami, those are our idea of living, prosciutto, you know, salame crudo, salame cotto, [unintelligible - 00:05:11]. And they used to make -- my mother made lintels with a special, big liver sausage and other kinds of, 3 you know, pork sausage, and that was a dish that they had once in a while. So the food was very -- it was, whatever house you went into there was a different tradition. Every region had different… INTERVIEWER: Was there a lot of sharing? JULIA: No. I wouldn't say that, no. There was -- they maintained, really, a great deal of respect and formality. You know my mother lived with these families, 13, 18, 20 years, she would never think of going downstairs without, you know, knocking on the door and saying permesso when someone answered. You always said permesso before you entered. INTERVIEWER: Mm-hmm. JULIA: She -- and they referred to each other as signora. They didn't call each other by their first names for many, many, many years, you know. INTERVIEWER: Even with the… JULIA: Unless they were said, unless you were told, you know, "Call me Angelina," "Call me Celestina." They knew the first names, but they really observed quite a formality. INTERVIEWER: Is that among people even in the same region, from…? JULIA: No, if they were from the same region, you know, then they would call each other that, that way. But from another area, until they got to really know each other, quite a while, you know. They -- some of the southern Italians worked in stitching shops. We had a family who had a pants -- he was in manufactured pants, and various of his women relatives and men relatives were in downtown Boston, you know. Most of them did well; they were frugal people. Their children bought automobiles, very few of the originals, you know, immigrants, bought any. So we had a kind of a clear street for playing. That's why we were able to play jump rope and hoist the 4 green sail and red rover and hide and seek. We played all these games on the street. The girls who were a little bit older than we were, they'd come out of the laundries, and if we'd be playing double-dutch jump rope, they'd come and swing -- we're talking long clotheslines -- swinging long clotheslines in the street, double-dutch, you know. Now, I think only the black girls do it, very complicated. INTERVIEWER: Yeah, the cities. I think it's popular in the cities still. JULIA: Yeah. Well, now you have too many cars. You don't have any clear spaces to play things like that. The boys made -- what do they call them, I don't know, scooters out of roller skates of two by fours on orange crates [laughter] and go whizzing along the street with these homemade things, you know. INTERVIEWER: Did the girls ever do that? Do they ever borrow these scooters? JULIA: No, we were, we were not tomboys. As I said, our mothers kept an eye on us, and they would play stickball, the boys. We would play catch, among the girls. But -- and we belonged to a settlement house, a bunch of us did, and they took us to camp… INTERVIEWER: Was there any…? JULIA: In fact, I still have a picture of a group of us. INTERVIEWER: The settlement house, was there any…? JULIA: The Roxbury neighborhood house on Albany Street, which was there for, maybe, 50, 75 years. Its special work was to help the immigrants integrate into American ways of society, and they provided clubs. Somebody came to our street and started up a library, a girls' club, and as a result of that group -- and it was one of the Boston's Brahm-, a woman from the Boston Brahmin family who, you know, belonged to -- this was their way of doing social work, women that were brought up very well-educated in the Back Bay or Beacon Hill area of Boston, belonged to these old families 5 whose, many of whose ancestors had made their money on merchant ships, you know. And that was one of the works that they did. And they take to our street, and the street next to ours, and they started a girls' club. They would bring books, and we learned to do a little crafts, knitting, and then eventually, we joined the neighborhood house and they had a camp in Bennington, New Hampshire, to which we went, and they would take us to wealthy homes for once a year, say, for picnics out in the country. And then at the neighborhood house, we put on plays. I remember one time we went to Simmons College, and a group of us put on a play, Little Lord Fauntleroy. One of us had a green velvet costume, put it on for the students, and then we danced, and we talked about different things. And as I said, we did some crafts and they encouraged whatever they saw, for instance, they -- I liked classical music. I don't know why because, you know, I mean, in that generation very few people had pianos—but they did have phonographs, you know. We didn't. But somehow I was attracted to classical music and I was able to get tickets to the youth concerts at Symphony Hall through the neighborhood house. And it was wonderful, you know. In fact, the girls that grew up after us did the same thing. They belonged to the neighborhood house and had their own little group. INTERVIEWER: Now, is this a place that really catered to the Italians? JULIA: No, it catered to -- Roxbury was sort of in the area, there were a lot of Italians there, but it didn't cater to them especially. There were people, you know, from other groups and this -- the odd part was that our neighborhood was not connected to any other neighborhood. It was isolated; that's what made it so close. Many of the young people that grew up there married each other. That's one of the reasons that the families maintained contacts, you know. 6 A number of people that I knew married other people from the neighborhood, and so from one, you would hear the news of what's going on with others even though they lived in faraway suburbs through those family connections. INTERVIEWER: Mm-hmm. JULIA: But we didn't interact with other Italian neighborhoods at all. We had this industrial area that we had a big playground that the kids on my street didn't use very well, and it was right next to our elementary school. But our families would never let us go to these industrial areas in the afternoon or night; that's why we were confined to our streets. INTERVIEWER: And that's where you'd play. JULIA: Right. INTERVIEWER: So when you were part of the Roxbury neighborhood house, was that your first exposure, really, to other ethnic groups? JULIA: But we stayed together; the girls from my street stayed together in their own group, and we did not interact unless we were -- and we put on our own little plays. Oh, we put on a supper one night for the staff of the neighborhood house, the head of it. Dear God, what was her name? Her brother was a very, a world-famous Shakespearean actor. I can still see him now—tall and thin, with great refinement. These women were all college graduates. Some of them had gone to the Simmons School of Social Work. At that time that was a very important area of study. You know, at the house in Chicago, these women became -- well, it was called social workers but not the same way as they do in the Welfare Department. This was real social work. And the house was an offshoot of the settlement house movement that started with our house in Chicago. They had them all over the east, eastern part of the country, you know, so they'd seen all 7 different kinds of ethnic groups. But they were very refined women. They taught piano, they taught music, and they had a library. They got college girls to come in and help tutor students who wanted to be tutored. They provided many services. They went out into the neighborhoods. And they, along with our elementary school nurse, provided wonderful medical services for those neighborhoods. My sister, who was born two years after I was—I said she was my brother's twin—was very seriously brain-damaged, and the result of that was that, you know, my mother's life was pretty terrible for the -- until she died, she was a serious epileptic, at ten. INTERVIEWER: She was epileptic until she was ten? Is that it? JULIA: She died when she was eleven. INTERVIEWER: Old enough. JULIA: At the age of ten, when she was about ten or eleven, my mother found herself pregnant with my youngest sister. And the visiting nurses used to come to the street, whom I think, it might've been through the Metropolitan Insurance Company. They would come in their blue uniforms, and they would visit all these Italian women who had any need for any kind of medical service. If one of them was pregnant, she came and spoke to you and advised you how to take care of yourself. She did the prenatal work. You didn't go to the hospital or a doctor if she advised you, but she did notify the hospital of when the birth was expected. INTERVIEWER: Mm-hmm. JULIA: But she gave you, you know, information on good health and hygiene and what you needed to eat. Because the Italian women, they were naturals at this, except my mother, who had grown up in a family that was extremely reserved and she knew absolutely nothing when she came. You know, they didn't -- you grew up in Italian families in rural areas, then you, knew because they taught. 8 And, in fact, my mother even had a midwife, one of them had midwives who were… they were trained in folk medicine, you know. They weren't like the [unintelligible - 00:18:09]. That was why some of the births were pretty bad. INTERVIEWER: Oh. JULIA: But anyway, they would help each other by, you know, in that way, but they -- the visiting nurses and the school nurse. The school nurse, if she detected a problem with any student in the school, either from information by the teachers or -- we also had physical examinations, and doctors would come in once a year, and physically examine every child. She detected vision problems. If they detected anything, like they would catch phases of diabetes, they would catch all kinds of problems. The visiting nurse would immediately visit that child's family, and she would make the arrangements to have the child sent for examinations at Boston City Mass General, wherever there was specialists for whatever they saw, you went. Once a year you brought five cents, a bus would pull up to the school in relays, and everybody went to the dentist in Forsyth Clinic. For five cents, they did pulling and filling, and this is where the dentists were trained, so the student dentists would take care of you. INTERVIEWER: Do you feel that the settlement house then had changed your life in any way? JULIA: Oh, definitely. You know what? It performed wonderful services. In the first place it taught us, it taught -- besides the playing that we did on the street, it brought us into a little bit more of the American way, you know. It brought a little more cohesion, and we learned to do things that we couldn't have learned on our own. Although, on our street they used to put on, like, shows, so we'd dance in -- strictly amateur, and one of the mothers made crepe 9 paper costumes. She could run them up so rapidly, I could still remember this purple crepe dress that was [laughter] with ruffles and a [unintelligible - 00:20:43] here, a ruffles on the skirt, and I still keep in touch with her daughter. INTERVIEWER: Wow. JULIA: They were clever. This lady would go into the stores and see something in the window, a dress. And she'd fix it in her mind and come home and cut out a pattern out of newspapers from what she remembered, and she would produce dresses for her daughters. INTERVIEWER: So it exposed you more to an American way of life? JULIA: Yeah, it did. And you know, besides our old school teachers, they spoke beautiful English. INTERVIEWER: Were you going to school with mostly Italians? JULIA: Yeah. INTERVIEWER: Only Italians, or…? JULIA: Well, I would say a lot. The Irish had more or less moved away from that section of Roxbury, even though our parish church was St. Patrick, and the Irish had moved well up beyond Dudley Street because they were by that time much more affluent. INTERVIEWER: Mm-hmm. But it sounds like the neighborhood that you grew up in was so harmonious. JULIA: Yeah. INTERVIEWER: Did you ever feel any sense of conflict when you went to school or outside the confines of the neighborhood? JULIA: We did. We felt that, so there must've been a lot of what we used to refer to as American kids, who are probably mostly Irish descent. But we didn't have very -- we had hardly anything to do with them at all. There was one Irish family, the Kellys, and they went to parochial school, but actually they married into the Italian community. And that was the only Irish family I knew. INTERVIEWER: Mm-hmm.10 JULIA: My father had a few Irish tenants who we didn't think too much of. Going to the Depression they would never pay their rents, you know, but then… INTERVIEWER: In that six-family house that your father owned, were there other relatives living in the house? JULIA: No. INTERVIEWER: No? JULIA: No. There were, you know, strange people who came. And during the Depression men sold wine, you know. In fact, even during Prohibition some of them did. We would find taxis coming into the street, and I don't know how people got, you know, the names of people who would sell the wine but if you had no money, or very little money, you made money any way you could, you know. INTERVIEWER: Mm-hmm. JULIA: So. INTERVIEWER: So what about the other families from different regions? Would you call them by regions? JULIA: They were very -- they were, yeah. INTERVIEWER: I heard… JULIA: Calabrese, Baresi, Sicilian, yeah. INTERVIEWER: But when you referred to them I heard you just mentioned a little while ago that… JULIA: Yeah, Piedmontese. We had about four or five Piedmontese family. And of course, their dialect was even different. And that's next to Lombardi, but see, their dialect takes from the [unintelligible - 00:23:56]. INTERVIEWER: Oh, I see. JULIA: Right. INTERVIEWER: And where does yours? JULIA: More, you know, we -- down to the east of Lombardi is the Venetian province, and then you go up into the Tyrol, which today 11 is bordered by Austria. So the northern Italians, they don't put final vowels on their words. They chop it off, you know. INTERVIEWER: Yeah. So I was -- I've been noticing your pretty green eyes. Where did you get those? JULIA: All Italians have their, you know, you'll -- there's a brown-eyed type, but you can find green-eyed Italians in Sicily. INTERVIEWER: Really? JULIA: Oh, yes. Hazel, you know. INTERVIEWER: Mm-hmm. JULIA: Grey from my mother and father. They didn't have brown eyes. Nobody in my family had brown eyes. INTERVIEWER: Hmm. Wandering in your neighborhood, was there a woman that people would go to for advice, or…? JULIA: On the next street there was a lady who apparently had been, you know -- there were many ways to educate people, have always have been. And some people were very wise. She was in America a lot longer than the other women. She had a big family with grown, with grown-up sons, so she was -- and she came from a family where she was told a great many things and learned many things. So yes, there were some women who knew about things, but since they all came from different regions they all knew their own customs, and they had different ways of treating, you know, headaches, or -- I remember my grandmother used to slice potatoes and put them inside wrapped, fold them into a cloth, and when somebody had a headache, my aunt did that, too. They would put these sacks of potatoes in this cloth; they would just tie the cloth and bath with them. I don't know why. They used to string garlic if they thought a child had worms, and a child would wear this string of garlic around his neck. And if you had a boil, my mother would cook linseed flower. They'd buy them in the drugstore, only in the Italian drugstore, and you would 12 make poultice—that was very common. Some people used bread and water, and you would have this thing on whatever bump you had that you wanted to [unintelligible - 00:26:47]. They were really strep infections, but they didn't know strep infections, you know. There were boils, and if you have a little infection in your finger or thumb, you'd wrap it up in bread and water with a bandage or poultice of some kind. Even the American doctors would recommend them. They'd tell you, you got -- check moisture and heat would cause these things to mature. INTERVIEWER: Did you notice that different regions…? JULIA: They would bring chamomile -- yes, Mrs. Mucci downstairs kept herbs, dried herbs, chamomile and what they referred to in America as mallow [unintelligible - 00:27:41] and I -- if that [unintelligible - 00:27:44] grew here, I had a plant one time. And they would buy these dried herbs at the Italian drugstores, and they would make teas out of them. You would drink them. If you had indigestion, the northern Italians would buy it in liquor stores. It was called Fernet, F-e-r-n-e-t. It's actually an [unintelligible - 00:28:10] in medicine containing a great deal of -- bitter, bitter! But many times you'd go visiting in, after you wake, sometimes before, you would get a tiny glass of Fernet. Branca – that was the trademark. It came in a green bottle. And it was co-, it was a digestive. It was -- because it was so bitter, it was considered to be good for your stomach. INTERVIEWER: So no matter what your age, you would get that? JULIA: Then we -- everybody had Belowski. INTERVIEWER: What's that? JULIA: May I give you either some hot tea or coffee? You must be exhausted. INTERVIEWER: No, I'm fine. I'm fine. It's not much longer. Thank you. JULIA: And get you as hot as broth, or as a broth.13 INTERVIEWER: No, I'm fine. Do you need something? JULIA: I get like this once in a while. But yes, I don't wanna move this thing. INTERVIEWER: I can take it off if you'd like. JULIA: I find the only thing is -- part of the [unintelligible - 00:29:15]. Five months ago he's a co-host by the senior -- high-styled program on FA-TV, so we call him the Mike Wallace… INTERVIEWER: And you've been married [unintelligible - 00:29:32] years? JULIA: [Unintelligible - 00:29:32], Linda. Linda! [Unintelligible - 00:29:35] HUSBAND: Oh, pardon my cold hand. JULIA: That's my husband, Phil. INTERVIEWER: Nice to meet you. HUSBAND: My pleasure. JULIA: In his museum of … in New… museum about neckties that I paid a fortune for. HUSBAND: Well, I sure got TV exposure today. JULIA: Yeah. He get to… who did you interview today? HUSBAND: I interviewed a very interesting 91-year old woodcarver. JULIA: Oh, my heavens. HUSBAND: Louis [Charpentier]. And then that was followed up by a group of Irish step dancers. And I didn't do anything on that, so they just dragged me from dancing, so all I could do was say, hello and goodbye. INTERVIEWER: Oh. HUSBAND: It was frustrating. JULIA: You know, Edcel Johnson wants you to let him know when that program is on now. HUSBAND: Oh, I'd bet they… JULIA: Teddy, too.14 HUSBAND: I bet -- all right. I bet they did that thing so I -- in my notebook there. INTERVIEWER: Was it a cable TV show? JULIA: Yes. It's at ATV. You know, the informational video… HUSBAND: It started innocently enough. I'm on the board for an organization called The Resources for the Elderly, and their primary function is to sponsor the Meals, Meals on Wheels and the Elderly Nutrition Program. Like they some -- it goes back about three, four years ago. It's been quite a while. They started this program—these are all volunteers and all seniors—it's called Senior Lifestyles. And as a TV show material that is supposedly of interest to the seniors, and it, it's partly information and partly entertainment. And so, as I say, I'm on the board for the Resources, and we were having a board meeting, and it just so happened that the woman who was then serving as host for the program for some time decided that that was enough for her, so they're looking for somebody to fill in as a host for the TV show. And one of the board members [woke] up and said, "Mr. Casey would be a good replacement." And somebody else said, "Yes, indeed. He would be great." JULIA: Oh, he loves women. HUSBAND: And I couldn't think of any reason why I couldn't or wouldn't do it, so before I knew it I had been drafted and I was serving as host to it. Then that's what I do. It's on once a month, and they have two half-hour segments. Usually last -- monthly only has one half-hour, but today we have two half-hour segments, and the first one was this Louis Charpentier. And my god, he was -- you know that guy we saw in the coffee shop? JULIA: I thought he was gonna be easy… HUSBAND: No, no, no. This is… JULIA: … interviewing famous carpenter. Oh, Louis Charpentier.15 HUSBAND: … this Louis, he is -- he claims to be 91 years old. JULIA: Oh, my heavens. INTERVIEWER: He looks wonderful. He does. JULIA: Did you see any of his work? INTERVIEWER: No. HUSBAND: I used to… JULIA: I think they have it at the library? HUSBAND: He used to be head of the plastics industry. And the plastics industry was an organization, apparently, that did work for all of the plastic shops in and around… JULIA: When you came with your ham sandwich a little mustardy. INTERVIEWER: I thought… JULIA: I thought you'd have sandwich. You've got to listen to me talk for four hours and have nothing. HUSBAND: Yeah. I'll have a ham sandwich. INTERVIEWER: Well, you have to get those though, because you said you had to wait… HUSBAND: Oh, that's all right. JULIA: I'm gonna call the lady and tell them you're gonna be a little late. HUSBAND: But anywho, this Louis is something else, and he was -- he started his woodcarving when he was only about two years old, apparently, while he had a carving that sold his home up to the farm up in -- well, back and around or back there, and there was the oxen that was plowing, there was his father, there was the house he lived in and his school, the whole bit. INTERVIEWER: So do you interview these people? HUSBAND: I interview them. I try to make intelligent conversation with them. JULIA: I have made intelligent conversations with them. HUSBAND: The thing that makes this fascinating is that I usually don't know until I arrived at the studio who is going to be the guest for the day. INTERVIEWER: Oh, that's difficult.16 HUSBAND: I have to -- I know it was… INTERVIEWER: Oh, Julia was just telling me about the tapes that you found in the [unintelligible - 00:34:30]. HUSBAND: Yes. INTERVIEWER: That's remarkable, especially because here I am two days later. JULIA: I know. INTERVIEWER: All about Italian dinner. JULIA: And on the other tape, what I said -- think it's a, seems to be a little illogical, I was wanting to say the least. In the other tape, you would have to guess who the family Christmas but then I'd read, since I wrote it all out, it's more logical, you know. It's more -- or less of a timely sequence. But I do give you the information I've given you about the broth. INTERVIEWER: Okay. JULIA: And… INTERVIEWER: It'll be interesting to make a… JULIA: Oh, yeah. I'm gonna make myself a sandwich if I can figure out how to open this slice of cheese. INTERVIEWER: Do you want some help? JULIA: Oh, I -- oh, here it is. Heavens! I thought. What's the matter with this? INTERVIEWER: How does your husband feel marrying an Italian? JULIA: It was an adjustment; let us put it that way. INTERVIEWER: Was it? JULIA: I met him… thank you for this. INTERVIEWER: Yes. HUSBAND: Tried one this morning. INTERVIEWER: Oh. So who made these? HUSBAND: The man I interviewed, Louis Charpentier. INTERVIEWER: Oh.17 JULIA: Oh, he gives you -- oh, I've seen him do that at the Historical Society where he teaches you how he got started. HUSBAND: Right. JULIA: And he tries to teach everybody that they can do the same thing. INTERVIEWER: Oh, so he was -- his work is just so good. Oh, he's so… HUSBAND: No, he used to work in plastic. And as I say, he works for -- he works in an organization that designed methods for making just about anything you wanted, buttons or, how do you say, [unintelligible - 00:36:18] or whatever it was called for… JULIA: I know he's just working now. He's in the library and… HUSBAND: No, no. He's retired. JULIA: Yeah. But where is his work? I know he started, he started on display somewhere. HUSBAND: Yes. It's in a home. He has it at home, because I asked him if it was all insured and he said that it was. JULIA: I don't know how… INTERVIEWER: So Phil, let me ask you, how did you feel marrying an Italian? HUSBAND: Oh, wow, it… JULIA: You should ask his mother. HUSBAND: No, we -- and now seriously, we had a problem. It's not because I married an Italian, no. It's just that my mother didn't particularly like Julia, unfortunately. I'm not sure what the root of her prejudice was. It might have been because of her heritage, or it might have been just because my mother didn't want me to get married at that point, although I was not exactly a teenager. I had come home from the war, and I was a book. But whatever reason or reasons my mother had she didn't actually… didn't actually -- she didn't oppose the marriage, but she didn't support it, and she didn't even show up for it. My father and my sister came. JULIA: Though she was my [unintelligible - 00:37:48], she cooked. She was great to the children.18 HUSBAND: Oh, yeah. That's right. She loved the, she loved her grandchildren. She was very -- and they had a great time. JULIA: She was very generous to me in many ways. HUSBAND: My son approved of Grandma's cooking, and they had a good time visiting her. And we all, every holiday, we make sure that there was a delegation that went to Grandma, though we tried and made a compromise. INTERVIEWER: Mm-hmm. Now, did you -- where did you grow up? HUSBAND: I grew up in Roxbury prior to the days when Roxbury had the… with the ethnic… JULIA: Now it is. HUSBAND: It is now. When I was -- I was there prior to that. INTERVIEWER: Thank you. JULIA: Lemon juice? INTERVIEWER: Thank you. HUSBAND: And by one of those strange coincidences, Julia lived the one part of Roxbury, I was in another. We had never laid eyes on each other before the war. Did she tell you about how…? INTERVIEWER: No. I don't know how you met. No. HUSBAND: Well, we met -- it was like something out of one of those [unintelligible - 00:39:12] that tells -- she had that series of how people tell how they -- I was in the Navy during World War II in an organization called the [CVs], and I was stationed overseas in New Guinea. I met her brother, who was in the combat engineers, and there was this [unintelligible - 00:39:37]. So I got to know him, and his platoon was involved in the invasion of the Philippines. They were moving out agents. So he said to me, he said, "Phil," he said, "we're going to be cut off from correspondence for a while. Would you do me a big favor and write to my mother and tell her that if you don't hear from me, not to worry, I'm all right?" So I said, "Sure, all right." And I did 19 that, I wrote to his mother, and his mother who was living in Roxbury, I sent a letter to Washington where my girlfriend was thankfully employed as a government girl. And I -- with instructions for her to answer this letter. So she answered the letter, and Julia and I started corresponding, and that's how we get to know each… JULIA: Fifteen months. HUSBAND: And then after the war, when I came home, I… JULIA: It was all over. HUSBAND: And then there… INTERVIEWER: What? What was all over? JULIA: It was all over. He was hooked. INTERVIEWER: Oh, he was flirting as soon as he saw you. HUSBAND: Then there was some kind of a breakdown in the romance, and we had separated. [Unintelligible - 00:41:00] and we get back together again and we could get married in 19… INTERVIEWER: How did her parents feel about her marrying an Irishman? HUSBAND: Oh, as far as I know… JULIA: Horrible. HUSBAND: Yeah. INTERVIEWER: Oh, with him? JULIA: My father… HUSBAND: There was a point in time when her father didn't care who she marries and who would take her off his hands. INTERVIEWER: Oh. JULIA: I was going to [unintelligible - 00:41:24]. HUSBAND: Yeah. I was even supposed to get a bicycle, a motorcycle for marrying her. JULIA: "Philly, I give you motorcycle [unintelligible - 00:41:34]." HUSBAND: No, but she… JULIA: You better [unintelligible - 00:41:38]20 HUSBAND: Neither one of those gifts materialized so, anyhow. No, I liked her father and mother. And of course, I had -- I was very friendly with her brother and sister. And so, we had the wedding, and that was a [unintelligible - 00:41:57] together. INTERVIEWER: How was she different from the, let's say, Irish girls that you went to school with? HUSBAND: Oh, she was a different. -- I didn't actually – I didn't know that many girls when I was going to school because you have to remember that when I was going to school, this was in the days when the boys went to one school and the girls went to another. Boy's school was an English high school. JULIA: But in elementary school… HUSBAND: Elementary was all boys because of… JULIA: Oh, you did? HUSBAND: Yeah. That's -- I went to the all… JULIA: Oh, I didn't know that. HUSBAND: With the nuns [unintelligible - 00:42:34]. JULIA: Well, I was actually the first female person you ever met. HUSBAND: No, not exactly. I met… JULIA: You may have seen New Guinea. HUSBAND: You have to define, there, the word "met." Kind of -- you were the first female that I was—let's put it this way—that I little became involved with. JULIA: Well. No. That's enough. INTERVIEWER: Well, we're in all kinds of things today. JULIA: Are you gonna have a ham sandwich? HUSBAND: Yes. I'll have a ham sandwich. So what is this project here? INTERVIEWER: This is a project that's recording the experiences of -- by Italian-American family in the Fitchburg and Leominster area. HUSBAND: Oh, yes.21 INTERVIEWER: But we had seen Julia at a -- one of the Italian night, the films that Fitchburg State College had put on, and Julia started talking extensively after the movie, Big Night, I think it was called Big Night. HUSBAND: Yes. INTERVIEWER: And we realized it was someone that maybe we'd like to talk to because she seems to know so much about the culture. HUSBAND: Yeah. And she is the one member of her family that has -- that is interested in the [unintelligible - 00:43:57] of the family extensively. JULIA: I was also the first one born in this country of my family. INTERVIEWER: Your family. HUSBAND: She was born in this country, which makes her an Italian-American, but she maintained contact, through her mother, maintained contact with Italy. She knows how to speak Italian, including the dialects of northern Italy. And now she is in the process of learning how to speak… INTERVIEWER: Right. HUSBAND: She's starting again. Yeah. INTERVIEWER: Now, were there any surprises though when you married…? JULIA: Yeah. Seven. INTERVIEWER: That's -- wow. Seven children, right. But the Italian culture, I'm wondering… HUSBAND: No, I didn't have any problem with that. I was very fond of her family. Wherever her family gathered then there was a party. And her family had always been most cordial to me. INTERVIEWER: What do your children consider themselves? HUSBAND: They consider -- when they think about it, they… you probably have to ask them how much they consider themselves to be Italian. JULIA: More than half. HUSBAND: Well, I don't know whether they really think about it.22 JULIA: They went to the parochial school in Dorchester, and their last name was Casey. So they fit right in. Even though there were a lot of Italians. And by this time, Dad is gone. You know, we're not immigrants anymore. Your father was a professional man who's a graduate of Boston College, and so that they didn't have to go through that. They… HUSBAND: I came up here; this is the first place I've ever been to where they couldn't spell Casey. They would actually went, "Case-, how do you spell that?' And I thought at first they were kidding me, because down in the Boston area there was a very large population of Irish-Americans. There's still a lot of Irish down there, some of them from Ireland itself, and some of them are there illegally. INTERVIEWER: And what traditions do you try to carry on in your family? JULIA: Well, the traditions are that they know that I'm intensely interested in the Italian part of the family. I have furniture, for instance. I have, you know, [unintelligible - 00:46:38] for years and other pieces that my mother gave me when she was… HUSBAND: They have -- girls have a lot of respect for Italian culture, and one of them had been over to Italy. Take your time. JULIA: This was an -- how did you get involved with this? INTERVIEWER: I'll call you all out when it's all right because… JULIA: Are we going to meet again? INTERVIEWER: I don't think so, unless you… when I leave, feel the need to talk about something else. JULIA: Are you -- do you need -- I would like to, if possible, because I had -- now, I have four appointments this afternoon, and I would like -- I was trying to figure out how I could get copies of these tapes. INTERVIEWER: I could have that done for you at Fitchburg State College. So I'll call you… JULIA: And you have more than one? INTERVIEWER: Probably. I'll call you next week…23 JULIA: All right. INTERVIEWER: Okay? Okay. So what does it mean to be Italian to you? JULIA: It doesn't, it doesn't mean that I have been all my life aware of the great contributions that the Italians have made. But I became more aware of them as I grew older, and it made a strong attachment to family. And as I said, I still have -- my close friends are still the kids that grew up, that I grew up with, they're still the people that I grew up with, even though we all live in different places. It means certain types of food. It means, especially to me, it means this age of almost 80, I am determined foreigner, and I have -- it means that whenever I meet anybody that is Italian, that speaks Italian -- to me there's quite a big difference between the northern and southern Italian. I've always been made of… INTERVIEWER: Tell me what you just said, always been aware of… JULIA: I've always been aware of the vast differences among the people from this one peninsula that juts out into the Mediterranean, that there is such a difference in everything about them—the food and the way they speak—and it's made me very, very aware of the differences that a language can develop into, almost different languages within a cohesive place, you know. We have this boot that goes down into the ocean split down the middle by this range of mountains, and yet every section you go to, because it was at one time a collection of city states—and somebody brought that up the other day in class, it was a collection of city states—and yet my mother's experiences and the way she spoke and lived was so different from everyone else's on my street. So being an Italian, to me, meant that I had to adjust to -- when I went to school I felt very out of it, because I started school in Lexington. My father bought a house in Lexington for a few years, and I had -- I just felt a complete foreigner because I spoke hardly any English myself since we were isolated in Lexington.24 But I -- after I came back to Boston, then I had to adjust and get used to all of the different -- the girls who came from different Italian families, all of them, were. They spoke differently, their parents spoke differently; they had all these different ways of doing things. And that adjustment was a wonderful experience for me. And it means -- now, I don't think so much of modern Italy. I feel that in some ways they've grown excessively. I've heard other people made this comment, too. I've read a couple of books that said the same thing, that they've become excessively materialistic. Certainly, you know, religion -- we were not, I will say another thing, we were not a religious community. The women -- the praying that was done, the observation of religion was private. Everybody didn't lead the street and go to church on Sunday. The young kids that were making their first communion, they had to go to church. We went to church in a group, but mothers and fathers for the most part didn't go near the church. The church was run by Irish priests; nobody understood the Italians, and we hardly ever saw a priest. And so it's very different from this situation here in Fitchburg where the Italians set up their own church on top of an Irish community that moved out, you know, the Irish community and church was St. Bernard's. The Italians, back 75 years ago, decided that long ago, that they wanted their own church, and they set it up, they found an Italian priest. And we were not -- women prayed on Sunday morning, sometimes you could look up at certain windows and a woman would be sitting there with an open book which was, obviously, a [unintelligible - 00:52:54] in Italian, and she would be reading her prayers. This is [unintelligible - 00:52:59]. They observed some of the saints' days, but it was not a community that went to church. Ever. INTERVIEWER: Now, what about making first communion and confirmation? Would you go into the north end?25 JULIA: No. Some of them did. INTERVIEWER: Mm-hmm. JULIA: A couple of the families sent their daughters into the north end to make -- but most of us that were the same age, there were, you know, about two or three or four at that time, then they would go to the parish church, you know, in a group, and that was also beyond the industrial area. So it was maybe a 15-minute, 20-minute walk, and we went because the nuns, where they have were training the kids in the catechism, we went to Sunday school. Then, because they didn't want us walking to that neighborhood, as we grew older, we started going to the Jesuit church, the Immaculate Concepcion in the south end, which was an enormous church but not a parish church. But then I belonged to the choir there; some of us joined the choir. And that was an all-American experience; there was no Italians. INTERVIEWER: So Fitchburg in 1968? JULIA: I cried all the time. I didn't -- I never wanted to leave Boston. You know, I did spend a very good experience, first, the college community… INTERVIEWER: Say that again? The college community? JULIA: The college community is a wonderful place. I've always been a reader. In that respect, the kind of reading that I did was quite different from what other girls on my street did, and I am unable to explain that. I am unable to explain the direction in which my own, which you might call intellectual growth. Well, I went to an all-girls high school, and I don't know why I was attracted to classical music and literature. And I mean, I practically lived at the public library. As a matter of fact it was his branch, too. His branch of the public library, he lived on the other side of it, but you know, until my brother met him in New Guinea and he wrote to my mother, I had never a clue that he was around.26 INTERVIEWER: So when you came to Fitchburg did you make any connections with Italian people? JULIA: Not at first. Not at first, because I was still taking care of the family. Later, then, as my children grew up and they met -- because we went to St. Camillus, and that is not an ethnic church, you know. So later -- actually, in the last 10 years, I would say, I… I've met 10, 20 youths through my children. My daughter married into a Fitchburg Italian. For a little while we joined the Sons of Italy. I joined the Virginia Eleanor Lodge, and I didn't keep it up, but you know, I've met a lot… INTERVIEWER: [Unintelligible - 00:56:16] speaking, what did your parents and the parents down street, what did they want for their children? JULIA: All they wanted was for them to grow up and to go to work. The girls were not encouraged to go to school. My sister, who, as I said, who came along 13 years after I did, was first college graduate on the street. She went to, she got… INTERVIEWER: Pick it up. You said… JULIA: My sister, Mary Louise, was the first girl to go to college in our entire neighborhood. INTERVIEWER: Now, how did that happen? JULIA: She was fairly smart in school, and she was in the class of 1952 at the same high school I had gone to in a girls' high school in Boston, and she got a teacher's scholarship. And she decided she wanted to be a nurse, and how she was scared, oh, instead of going into a hospital program… INTERVIEWER: This was in… JULIA: Back… out! Instead of going in to a three-year hospital program, somebody put it into her mind to go to Boston College, a four-year degree course. Actually she went. INTERVIEWER: Wow.27 JULIA: She went out of her work at Boston City, quite a bit of it, so she could live at home and the hospital was five minutes away. She took part of her affiliation there. INTERVIEWER: Now, what did your parents think of that since they really wanted you to go to work? JULIA: Well, they felt that we should go to work. They didn't, you know -- but when Louise came along they had been sufficiently Americanized, but nobody, nobody encouraged. They expected the girls would grow up, get jobs in factories, or if they went to high school, find a job in an office and then get married. INTERVIEWER: What about the boys? JULIA: The boys, none of them went to college either, although some of them were quite smart. And one family, the boys went to college on their own. They were a little bit older than the rest. And then they -- some of them got jobs in technical areas, like different labs and in MIT, and they would stop taking courses along the job training. But almost -- one young man, which is a surprise to everyone, we knew one boy from that street that went to college; he became an officer in the Navy. No one else in his family did. There were five or six children in the family, neither girls nor boys went to college, and he was a little older than I was, and he actually went on to law school. Why? I have no idea, because his parents never spoke a word of English. And he was Sicilian, you know, and yet he went. So when I said "yet he went," it sounds like a put-down, it really isn't. It's just that none of us were encouraged to go to college, nobody. My mother couldn't understand why I was constantly reading, but it was because, you know, I worked. I mean, I helped my father in the house, peeling just because they would whitewash them. I haven't done anything like that since I got married. I refuse to do it, because that six-family house took it out of all our hides. People would move out, 28 you'd have a terrible mess, you know, you not only have the problem of trying to collect miserable rents, but every time a new family moved in, me and my father be washing and cleaning and my mother and I went after, cleaned up after all of them, and it was a -- it was really the -- it wasn't until many years afterwards, and it wasn't too long before they died, that some of the older families that had owned houses themselves sold them, and some of them came to live in my father's house. And that was a good experience. They paid their rent and very respectful, which was a surprise, because in the beginning they have a… INTERVIEWER: Is it important for the Italians to have a clean house? JULIA: Some of them. Some of them wasn't, you know. INTERVIEWER: Anything else that you'd like to add? I've been here a long time now. [Laughter] JULIA: No, I think that I -- they all -- I wanna add this: that the older that I have gotten, the more I appreciate where I grew up, dirt street and all, the more I realized the goodness and the cleverness, the ability of people from other regions of Italy, the more I appreciate the beauty of that language and what, what is world's known about the Italian culture in general. And I think that my mother and father provided me with, if nothing else, an openness about accepting people from everywhere, you know. That I got from them. Well, we're very gregarious. I appreciated all the different types of humor they had, different cooking. So then since I've left my neighborhood, I feel like I fit in everywhere. The college community? No problem. The Italian community? No problem. Where am I? I feel that I fit in, and it definitely came from this upbringing. INTERVIEWER: Okay. Could your children say the same thing? They've been brought up some way different?29 JULIA: There is one, a teacher, Maria is a schoolteacher. Kath has always done office work, she's the only one that [unintelligible - 01:02:38] go to college, but there wasn't because she couldn't -- you know, he's in the fire department, he's an electrical engineer in Boston working on the big date. [Unintelligible - 01:02:51] American, an Irish girl from Fitchburg. My son, Steven, was working for the Waste Water Treatment Plant in Burke and was attending Fitchburg State. He had gone three years to Texas -- I remember my Louis, feeling that we cooked very differently from anybody he knew, and he thought it was strange, you know, that -- I thought it was strange that other people didn't cook all this stuff then [laughter]. But my Julian, who's the youngest, is a technical writer for Lotus for Boston College. Julian went to UMass, Cathy went -- enjoyed our lives here, we've gotten used to the Georgia life here, the ones I have done. INTERVIEWER: Okay. JULIA: I learned Spanish on the job. That was the other thing that the Italian did for me. I was assigned to the Department of Public Welfare after I took that six-month refresher course. And gradually, by taking in-service examinations, I went from clerk stenographer to sort of an administrative job, and I was in the Child Support Enforcement Unit. We had a great many women coming in from Puerto Rico, all of whom spoke Spanish, and many of them brought in interpreters. Well, after I listened for a while, I suddenly realized I understood what they were saying and, if I had enough courage, I could begin to speak the Spanish language. And as a result I did. And I used to be able to conduct the interviews in Spanish. I didn't need the interpreter, you know. So that was another thing that I got out of learning Italian. Now, the proper Italian is a great surprise to me. I don't know how I started that. I'm sure I'm the only one that grew up where I grew 30 up that speaks it, and it's -- I compare it to people learning to play the piano by ear. I was so accustomed to all these different dialects that gradually the proper Italian, especially when I went to Italy, even for short periods of time, and I began to listen—and my aunt used to listen to the radio, Italian programs on the radio—and somehow the language has come. I'm fluent, but I'm not grammatical perfectly. I have to feel my way through the grammar. But I'm fluent, I can say most things that I want to say in ordinary -- and I don't know why. I feel now that I know things about myself like everyone as you grow older, that I have a gift for languages, although the grammar was difficult for me. We were only allowed to take French. In junior high school, French was the only language that was offered, and I had a bad time with the grammar. But as I've grown older, I find I can -- I've been able to master the language. I can speak, and everybody understands me. Why? I don't know. INTERVIEWER: It's a gift? JULIA: You know, even my -- when I meet the occasional person that came into the office, all the workers that came in, the Spanish-speaking workers, they all used to laugh because [laughter] there I was, I could say what I wanted to say in Spanish, and they'd all make, you know, little conversation, and I'd always talk to them. Well it isn't everyone that gets to have an audience like that. [Laughter] INTERVIEWER: [Laughter] I enjoyed it. Thank you. JULIA: I'm gonna call my friends and tell them that I will be there. I'm working…/AT/jf/jc/es

Part one of an interview with Julia Casey. Topics include: Julia's service as a clerk stenographer in the Civil Service Commission. Family history. Her parents came from Italy; her father was from Crenna and her mother was from Milan. The arranged marriage between her parents and their immigration to the United States. Her grandfather's work at a gas company in Italy. Her relatives worked in an embroidery business in Massachusetts. What it was like for Julia to grow up in Boston. Speaking proper Italian. What their neighborhood in Boston was like. The social club nearby. The foods people cooked and ate. The Christmas traditions of her family. How to prepare and serve polenta. Celebrations for patron saints. ; 1 LINDA: Okay. JULIA: All right. LINDA: So why don't I just start by saying this is Linda Rosenlund with the Center for Italian Culture at Fitchburg State College. It's Wednesday, November 16th, 2002. We're at the home of Julia Casey at 700 Pearl Street in Fitchburg. And Julia is just filling out the biographical information sheet, but I decided to turn the recorder on because she has some interesting anecdotes while she is writing. So she was just about to fill out the work history portion, and she began telling me that she worked for the War Department Chemical Warfare Services in Washington, DC, and you started 10 days after Pearl Harbor. JULIA: Yes. I had -- after high school, I had gone—and it's not noted here—to the stenotype school in Boston. And in the course of learning, they sent us to take a Civil Service Examination since [stenotypee] is a type, is machine shorthand. And in October, I took the [unintelligible - 00:01:13] Civil Service Examination in Boston, and then when the war broke out, I received a telegram to report to Washington by the 17th of December. And so 10 days after Pearl Harbor, I found myself at the War Department for assignment in the Civil Service Commission and the War Department. They sent me there, and then they assigned me to the Chemical Warfare Service as a clerk stenographer. LINDA: Does that mean it wasn't a choice? JULIA: No. No. There was no choice. They assigned you -- thousands of girls were pouring in from all over the country to, to man the increased offices for the War Department. The war was on, and every department in the government needed extra help, and so they took Civil Service Exams all over the country and the girls that were registered were sent telegrams to come in, and then they sent you wherever they needed you. So I worked there until I think October of 1944, and then I was transferred back to the Boston Procurement Office for the Chemical Warfare Service. LINDA: -kinds of things did you learn? 2 JULIA: It was straight stenographic work—filing, clerical, and stenographic work. I worked for a number of different people who dictated letters, and we typed them up and did general office work. LINDA: Were you ever learning anything interesting? JULIA: No. No, except the names of the various gases that they were using at the time, which was still pretty much what they had from World War I—mustard gas and things like that I haven't thought about it in years—but they had arsenals of gases all over the country. And so the correspondence mainly had to do with shipments and [unintelligible - 00:03:30] get into any of the research part at all. Men from major chemical corporations around the country came in to handle the government's program. Beyond that, we have no way of knowing. Things were either stamped secret or confidential. But the correspondence was so voluminous that things that came in, the regulations from the government had to all be filed and none of us did that and read anything like that. It was secret confidential, general -- you just filed it or you did whatever clerical work was assigned. LINDA: Obviously, war is such an uneasy time anyway. It must have been… JULIA: It was very exciting because we were young, and I eventually lived with four roommates in an apartment, and we worked almost six days a week. And because of the wartime, you didn't have as many things open to you. You couldn't visit the White House. For a long time, I never even got to see the Houses of Congress. We lived a very good life. We took care of our apartment. Each of the girls that I lived with, with whom I'm still closed friends, came from the different parts of the country except one who came from my own neighborhood. She lived with us. I lived with the girl from [unintelligible - 00:05:10], Missouri and a girl from Sunnyvale, California, and a girl that had come from Minneapolis, Minnesota, and we kept house, we shopped, we did laundry and we wanted to work in a 3 different agency and went to work with public transportation. We lived in Washington, and then we lived in Arlington, Virginia in an apartment. And we all came back to Boston together. We all arranged for transfers to various agencies in Boston. LINDA: Were you ever questioned about your Italian background? JULIA: No. I never was questioned. The questioning had to do with various organizations that you might have belonged to where they found your name. I mean, I was 18 years old when I left, so… And then I continued my Federal Civil Service until about seven months after I was married. LINDA: And that was in 1951? JULIA: 1950, yes. In April, I think I left my job, and I didn't work just for Chemical Warfare Service because after the war, they had what they call Reduction in Force, RIF. In other words, all the people that had been hired for the war were then let go, but you could go to other agencies that were getting rid of all of the stuff that the government had bought during the war, and one of the agencies I went to was the War Assets Administration in Boston. I forgot the name of the original name of the agency. They are in charge of reselling all of the machine tools that had been bought for the war plants, and New England was a very heavy industrial area for machine tools and machine and all kinds of things. So I went to work for the War Assets Administration, and then I think I put in sometime with one of the Air Force for terminal agencies here at the army base in Boston. And I was pregnant almost immediately after I was married, so I left in April of 1952. My first child was born in June of '52. LINDA: Are you okay? JULIA: Excuse me. I have a dry cough. LINDA: Okay. JULIA: [Unintelligible - 00:08:17] administration. LINDA: Okay. JULIA: I'll put CWS. That's the Chemical Warfare Service. LINDA: Okay.4 JULIA: And then War Assets Administration… and the Air Force. I still have all my papers, so I can check if we have to. And then I left in April. Our church, Catholic. That's all you want, isn't it? Or do you want… LINDA: Well, why don't you tell me where you go now? JULIA: All right. LINDA: -instead of Boston. JULIA: Okay, St. Camillus. LINDA: Okay. You have lived in Fitchburg since '68? JULIA: Yes. I've lived in Fitchburg since -- we moved here because my husband obtained the position of Director of the Library at Fitchburg State College in 1967, and he commuted about a year, and it was too much for him to commute to Boston. So, we had to sell -- we decided to sell our home, and we've lived here since March of 1968. LINDA: Okay. JULIA: Okay. Social clubs, wow. All right, I was a member, and still am, actually, of the League of Women Voters. LINDA: Okay. JULIA: Boston and Fitchburg. [Unintelligible - 00:10:07] Garden Club, where I was president for about four years. It's 1963, 1993, the June of [unintelligible - 00:10:30] Club. LINDA: I'm not familiar with that. JULIA: It's a Catholic layman's organization. I was actually the first woman admitted in the Fitchburg area. Would you mind opening the door? Letting the dog… LINDA: Oh okay. The dog is going to be [unintelligible - 00:10:48] with me now? JULIA: It's cold. She might just -- come on, sweetheart. Come, darling. Come on, Sasha. What a good [unintelligible - 00:10:59]. What a lovely dog! That would be on the tape. LINDA: That's okay. JULIA: All right. Let me…5 LINDA: What's that? JULIA: It's very cold in here because I turned down the heat, and the stove is not on. Let me just turn the heat up. Okay. Hold on. LINDA: Okay. What's the… JULIA: [Unintelligible - 00:11:24]. Ooh, my kids are [unintelligible - 00:11:29]. LINDA: Say what? JULIA: My [unintelligible - 00:11:33]. LINDA: Oh, who cares about things like that? Thanks for showing me all of the photographs. Julia just showed me the photographs that had been in her family since your mother passed away, I guess. What year was that? JULIA: My mother died in 1989 in Windsor, Vermont, because my sister owns a nursing home there and my mother went to live with her. But my mother lived alone on 11 and 13th Pompeii Street in Roxbury until she was 89 years old. My father had bought a six-family house on Pompeii Street, which originally was Lansdowne Street, and she lived in that house until she was 89 years old. Then she came to live with me for a year, and my sister took her up with her right after my son Steven's funeral in August of 1985. I treasure the artifacts, the furniture, and the pictures that I have. I have a whole collection of photographs from Italy which I'm hoping to organize before I die and so that the descendants will have some idea of who they came from. LINDA: Well, tell me a little bit about your parents. Were they born…? JULIA: My father was born in Crenna, Gallarate, C-R-E-N-N-A. It's a small town or village, and it's right above the city of Gallarate, G-A-L-L-A-R-A-T-E, which is a part of the Malpensa Airport in Milan. LINDA: Okay. JULIA: They are Lombards. My mother was born -- Lombardi is the province. My mother was born in Milan on December 5th, 1893. My father was born in Crenna, Gallarate on January 30th, 1891. And the family had lived there for a number of generations, and there are records in the church in Crenna. 6 LINDA: And their last names? Your father's last name is… JULIA: [Tomasine]. LINDA: Tomasine. JULIA: Yeah. LINDA: Mother's? JULIA: Seminario, and it was an arranged marriage. LINDA: So tell me a little bit about that. Did your mother tell you that was an arranged marriage, or…? JULIA: Most Italian women had to have the approval of their families before they married. It's a little complicated. When my father was an infant, a young girl baby was… I do not know the circumstances. She was assigned, she was asked -- no, that's wrong. She was given to my grandmother in Crenna, who was at the time nursing my papa. In other words, she was a nursing mother. And oftentimes when babies were either abandoned or the mother died or was too ill to take care of them, they were given to a nursing mother, who brought that child up along with the child she was nursing. In other words, she became a wet nurse. And if she had sufficient milk—since there were no formulas or bottles at the time—then she nursed both children. And this little girl, whose name was Carolina, she was brought up with my father until she was 18 years old. And then she was given her freedom, her choice to do whatever she wished, and at that time of course, girls, they went to work or they married. And she went to Milan to work, and she met one of my mother's uncles and married him, and as a result of this marriage, the two families were connected, not by blood, but because this girl had been raised with my father. And they have a child of their own, a little girl. And when the little girl was 9 years old, when [unintelligible - 00:17:15] was 9 years old, Carolina, her mother, died. And at the funeral, 7 which was during World War I, my mother went and my father went, because they were from the two families. My father went because she was called his sister of the milk, [foreign language - 00:17:45] de latte. That means that his mother nursed the two of them together, [unintelligible - 00:17:52] de latte. It was quite common, if there was no other way for these little babies to survive. Many women didn't have enough milk to feed their children, and my mother told me that in Milan, there were professionals wet nurses, and they used to come into the city on trams from the surrounding villages, and they wore special headdresses so they were recognized as women who were going to nurse babies in private homes. And this was their profession as long as they could. They would go to the home of somebody who could afford it and nurse a child whose mother is not able to feed a child, and they were honored. They were very respected women, recognized. They used to come in on the trolley cars into the city. And so I thought that was a very interesting thing. I have never heard of it myself. But I know I had another aunt on my father's side who went to South America and who could not nurse her first child and took her to a wet nurse in the country to nurse, to be fed. So it was not an uncommon situation at all. LINDA: So now your parents got connected at the… JULIA: They're only connected -- it's not a blood relationship. LINDA: Right. JULIA: It was marriage. And… LINDA: So you were telling me that it was arranged. JULIA: Yes. When my father came, my father came to America in 1912 with two brothers, two brothers were here, but America was a very tough place to be if you didn't speak English, and he didn't have any high skills. My father was trained as an embroiderer, because that was his father's cottage 8 industry in my [unintelligible - 00:20:23] in Crenna. But he couldn't get that kind of work in America, and so he did heavy laboring, washed dishes and did anything he could. And being the oldest son, when the family in Italy needed him, he went back, but he went back unfortunately in 1914. I think he told me that he went back in April, and in August the war broke out. And his youngest brothers were taught in the Italian army, and his two brothers in America joined the American army. So there were two brothers in the Italian army in the infantry and two boys who had a wonderful time in the American army and never was sent overseas. So when his sister of the milk died, then he met my mother at that funeral, but right after the war's conditions in Italy were very bad, he came back to America in 1919. And he felt that he was then about 26, 27 years old, and he felt that it was time to settle down, and he wrote to his mother. And his mother arranged with my mother's father and asked my mother if she would like to go to America to marry her son. And my mother agreed even though she didn't know him and had only met him at that one time, and so she came to America. LINDA: Did she come by herself? JULIA: No. Italian women did not come by themselves, unlike the Irish, who did. She came with -- by this time, the two boys, Vincent and Peter Tomasine, who were in the United States, decided that they wanted their mother to come. My grandparents were separated at that time, and so they made arrangements. One son Vincent had a girlfriend in Italy that he had more or less grown up with, and he sent for her. And then my uncle Peter and -- let's see, my grandmother came. They sent for their mother and Maria [unintelligible - 00:23:12], who married Vincent, and then my grandmother brought her youngest daughter, Mary, who was not married, and she brought her son-in-law, Angelo [unintelligible - 00:23:25], who 9 was married to my father's sister and had gone back to Italy from South America during the war. And after the war, he wanted to come to America. But the men always came first. So he came with his mother-in-law, who was my grandmother. LINDA: So your father returned in 1919. How long did he take him to save enough money to send for these? JULIA: Well, he worked very hard and the passage was very cheap, and so he sent money for them and sponsored my mother. And when she came here, they were married. There wasn't any big ceremony or anything like that. They lived with his mother and Maria [unintelligible - 00:24:24], who then married my uncle Vincent, and my father's youngest sister, Mary, Maria, and his brother-in-law until they all got settled. They lived in Roxbury in a flat. And then… LINDA: And what year was this that your mother came over JULIA: It was 1920 and '21, 1921. She arrived on October 12th in New York the same day, because she always said she came the same time as Christopher Columbus, on October 12th, 1921. By the way, I have a tape here that I -- of a family history that I wrote up in 1981, and we played it at Christmastime. And the whole story is on this tape. LINDA: Oh, interesting. JULIA: As far as I can remember—and I don't vouch for extreme accuracy in anything, because by that time, my mother was pretty well along in years in the late '70s. And she was 80. My mother and I, I went to Italy for the first time when I was 50 years old in August -- September of 1973. I went back with my mother, and I was in time to meet her brother, Raymundo Clemente, her brother, Umberto. His name was Umberto Seminario, the father of the boy who was lost in the Second World War, and his wife Osana, and my mother's half sister, Anna. And I say half sister because my mother's mother died at the age of 25 from consumption, when my mother was only four years old and her brother was two. And my grandfather, Raymundo Seminario had to remarry. He married within six 10 months so that he could keep his two children. Then there were two girls born of that marriage. LINDA: Did you mention the name Clemente? JULIA: Clemente was my grandfather, Raymundo Clemente Juliano Seminario. LINDA: Okay. JULIA: Yeah, three names. And sometimes they call him Clemente. Sometimes they call him Raymundo. But I was named for him, and my brother was named for him. LINDA: Well, that brings up an interesting point. I see that your name is spelled J-U-L-I-A, and Italian… JULIA: They Americanized it. LINDA: … didn't have J. JULIA: Yes. They don't have a J. LINDA: So when did that happen? JULIA: Probably when the birth certificate was sent into city hall. I was born at home, and the doctors who came in attendance didn't speak any Italian, and so they just put down what they heard phonetically. My brother and sister, all of us were born at home. So the records at city hall were just deplorable. They're awful. Then, of course, when we were baptized, then the names were different even on those baptismal records, which I have, because then we were baptized in the Italian churches in Boston. LINDA: So let me get back to the birth certificate. It's been my experience where the birth certificate actually has the Italian name, but it's later in school. Not yours? JULIA: No. I'd have to look it up, and you know, I'd have to look it up. But I think that the birth certificate -- it might be. LINDA: Well, it's just interesting that you [unintelligible - 00:28:52] change. JULIA: I also have my mother's, her brother's, and their half sister's report cards from their Italian elementary school in Milan, Italy, all signed by their father, my grandfather. I have it right around the corner. They're in the back.11 LINDA: Very interesting. JULIA: I went to visit the schools that they attended when I went to Milan. LINDA: So now your experience seems very different from many of the Italian Americans that I have, and their family is situated [unintelligible - 00:29:33] north. JULIA: Yes. Yes. Most of the Italian immigrants were from the central and southern part of Italy. From the north, the population there was more educated, and there was more industry, so jobs were plentiful unless, like in my grandfather's case, you had an industry where he was an embroiderer at many areas that have cottage industries. He worked out of his own home, and he was not a particularly good business man. So when the wars came along and he lost a lot of money, building an apartment house, so the boys decided that they would all come to America. LINDA: But they actually left the first time before the war. JULIA: Yes. Three of them came before the war, and my father was the only one that went back because he was the oldest son, and he must received word that things were not going well at home. And so he went back to help out for a time, but then after the -- he had to go into combat. Then when he came back after the war, things were not much better, and he joined his brothers in America again. LINDA: What did your mother's people do for…? JULIA: My grandfather started at the age of eight carrying bricks. He came from a large family in [unintelligible - 00:31:20], which is in Lombardi. It's the same town where Mother Cabrini was born. She was a modern Italian saint. And because child labor was very common, he went to school to learn to read and write, but then he got a job carrying bricks to build the gas company, and I just recently found out that the gas company in Milan was built by a French firm. 12 And so after the building was built, he got a job in the company. I don't know what he was doing, but he probably started out by shoveling coal or whatever. They made gas out of burning coal. And eventually, he worked his way up in the company until at the age of 54, he was in charge of sending out the gas to the entire city of Milan. They had huge gasometers in which they stored the prepared gas, and it's very strange because when my mother and father bought their house in Roxbury right across Massachusetts Avenue, which was the main street outside—their street connected to Massachusetts Avenue—there was a huge gasometer meter that was owned by the Boston Gas Company. And so all of my early life, I saw the same huge gasometer that my grandfather was a part of in Milan. LINDA: Interesting. JULIA: Right. It's gone now, as they put in the southeast expressway. They took it away, and they have different -- now they bring the gas in by pipeline, so they don't store it. LINDA: Did you ever have any discussions with your parents about the fact that it was an arranged marriage, or was it just so common then? JULIA: It was very common. You married people that you were introduced to, or there wasn't any of this thing of going out on dates. The expression in Northern Italy for a couple who were interested in each other was [foreign language - 00:34:04], meaning they speak to each other. That was the expression. They stayed in groups. They're amongst the families, and a gentleman, once a young man was interested in a girl, his only access was through her family. LINDA: Now, what brought your father to Boston? JULIA: Because his brothers were here and he figured he could -- he was very, very nervous. After the war, he came back in a very light post -- what do they call it? LINDA: Post-traumatic syndrome? JULIA: Post-traumatic… LINDA: Syndrome, I think.13 JULIA: They didn't call it that at the time, but he couldn't stay at home. And so, he came here and he did mostly have [unintelligible - 00:35:04] for the rest of his life. LINDA: But initially, when he came in 1912 with his brothers, what brought them to Boston? JULIA: Because they -- the Italians had started coming to America around 1890, 1888-1890, and the word got back that you could earn a living, and his brothers happened to be there. They had an aunt, their father's sister, Luisa Milani, came around 1880 or 1890, and she was married to a man who was a stonecutter, and of course, marble and granite. They have quarries in Massachusetts and Vermont, and her husband was a stonecutter. In fact, he died of silicosis. And these men were skilled laborers, and they worked in -- where they made cemetery monuments and they carved, they quarried stone for buildings. So their aunt was here, and they have to have someone to sponsor them. So my first two uncles came under her sponsorship, and so did my father under her sponsorship. Then a younger brother came around 1928. He had remained in Italy after the war. He was the youngest, and he came later than they did. And he became an automobile mechanic, a very skilled one. So that's right. And then my father, he bought these two houses for $1,700 apiece, and his brother Vincent gave him a down payment to put down so he could get settled. They bought homes almost immediately after they arrived. LINDA: Is this on Lansdowne, which later became Pompeii Street? JULIA: Yes. Well, my father did, and then his two brothers bought homes in other places. And his brother Vincent started up the same family embroidery business that he was -- that was his trade the rest of his life. He had a factory in [unintelligible - 00:37:36] where he did a great deal of 14 [wobbler], the embroidered patches that they used to distinguish outfits and military units and all types of things like that. LINDA: What's the name of that company? Do you know? JULIA: It was Vincent Tomasine Embroideries. And in fact later, after the war, long after the war, he sold it to someone else. LINDA: I'm wondering why your father didn't… JULIA: He couldn't stand it. After the way, he couldn't stand indoor work. He just couldn't. He was too nervous, and the business of course was run very differently from what his father had run in Italy, a one-man shop, whereas my uncle, all of my aunts went to work for my uncle, and they would get contracts. Say, women will embroidered slips and embroidered underwear, and the manufacturers in Boston that were making rayon, nylons, shorts would send -- they would stitch up the fronts of the slips, then they would send them by the box-loads to my uncle, who would put them on frames and do the embroideries on the front, then they went back to the factories to be re-stitched, to be stitched and completed. So he did all the embroidery, work whether it was blouses, whether it was slips, whether it was anything else that had to be done. As I said, during the war, it was military patches. LINDA: Now, about your mantle, you have a beautiful piece of embroidery. Who did that? JULIA: My mother. Because her mother had died so young from consumption, my grandfather refused to allow his daughters to work in large factories, in a factory. He didn't want them to do factory work. And so at that time, clothing was made almost custom. They didn't have huge factories that churned them all by the thousands, and fine clothing for girl who was going to be married, her [foreign language - 00:40:00] was made out of fine cloth and linen. And there were many, many -- again, it's a type of cottage industry, but small shops that were girls that were hired for this skill in stitching and 15 attaching tucking, attaching waist, and my mother worked in a place where they made shirts, and all kinds of skilled work was done by hand on single machines. And then every year for the month, they were allowed to vacation. My grandfather took them to the mountains, and that's still customary today. Every summer, most of the Italians go off to the mountains of the seashore for vacation. They believe in that. Most of them can afford to do that. If they can't, then they go away for a week or two. LINDA: So let's talk more about Boston. What was it like living on Lansdowne Street? JULIA: We loved it. It was a good street, and the same people that lived there when I was a child, the girls that grew up with me, other than one or two who have died, are still my friends. I still maintain contact even though they might have been a year or two younger or older, that contact with those families have never really been broken. There were about 60 families on two streets in a very -- they were part of [war day], but they were off of Massachusetts Avenue near the south end of Boston, although it was officially Roxbury. And all of the landlords on those two streets were Italian, and they came from all parts of Italy from the Piedmont to Lombardi down to Abruzzo down to the southern part all the way to Sicily. LINDA: Yeah. JULIA: So I grew up learning many dialects, hearing many dialects, and my mother kept in touch. She wrote letters to her family and friends in Italy and relatives until she couldn't see anymore 65 years later. So I would see my mother sitting there late at night, midnight, writing to Italy, and then the letters would come back and… LINDA: Did she save those?16 JULIA: No. I did it. She didn't. I saved quite a few. I have quite a lot, and as a matter of fact, one of my mother's girlfriends, [unintelligible - 00:43:10], I think, married a man named [unintelligible - 00:43:18], and her descendants lived in a part of Milan, and our children, which would represent the fourth generation, this lady's grandfather worked with my grandfather at the Milan Gasworks. And my mother kept in touch all those years with his daughter, with her friend, because they were neighbors. LINDA: Let me just slide you hand through here. Okay. JULIA: And my daughters and my sister's daughters had gone to Italy after college and met them and stayed with them. So there were four generations whose friendship has stood the test of time. LINDA: That's remarkable. JULIA: They came to visit two years ago, and I've been there to visit twice with my mother. LINDA: So what was it like when you went back? JULIA: It was like déjà vu. I knew everyone that my mother introduced me to. I'm very fluent in the dialect, which is very seldom spoken now anymore, because after Mussolini came in, one of the ways that he tried to unify the country of Italy was to insist that they all speak proper Italian, whereas everyone who came to America during the '20s and before spoke the dialect of their own region, or their own village. In fact, many people on Pompeii Street could not understand my parents. No one could if they spoke in the Lombard dialect, because it was so different. LINDA: How did they communicate? JULIA: Because they did have a common -- they could speak in proper Italian. Many of them had gone to school. And I mean, they could -- if they went to school in Italy, then they could read Italian, but there was a common thread. It was very difficult though, because they usually never spoke in proper Italian. But the southern Italian spoke closer to the proper language.17 LINDA: The southern? JULIA: Yeah. The southern and central ones, they spoke in a manner that was a little bit closer, closer to proper Italian. And my mother wrote in proper Italian, and most of them have had elementary school educations so that they could communicate with their families in Italy. LINDA: Did your parents learn English? JULIA: Yes, they did. My father could read the American paper. They listened to the news on the radio, and of course, we grew up and went to school in America. And my mother was forced. It was very, very difficult adjustment because she frequently misunderstood what I said in English, and it made for a great deal of friction until enough years went by that my youngest sister came along 13 years after I did. By that time, my sister came to understand the Italian because in the family, my mother and father still spoke in dialect and all of my aunts and uncles, the same dialect. So we got it through hearing it. It wasn't until I went back to Italy the first time in 1973 that we went back for three or four weeks, and it was the first time that I had what you call an immersion, where everybody spoke proper Italian and I suddenly understood. Like a person who plays the piano by ear, I understood the Italian. And then, when I went back in '76 with my mother and sister, again I was exposed to about three weeks or so, or a month, of everyone speaking proper Italian, except in mountain villages, where I visited with my mother—they still spoke dialect. And of course, I was fluent, and I still am. LINDA: So let me see though. Do I understand this correctly? Your mother spoke the dialect, but she came to… JULIA: But she could read and write proper Italian. LINDA: Right. So when she returned, and people were speaking more proper…18 JULIA: Right. But we only did family visiting. LINDA: Okay. JULIA: And so everyone she could understand because she could write and she had learned proper Italian. And my mother remembered the lyrics, the words to the songs she had learned from nursery school. She was sent to nursery school. Remember, my grandfather remarried, and his second wife had two babies. And nursery school, [foreign language - 00:49:00], it was called. [Foreign language - 00:49:04] is the proper Italian word. And they had very fine nursery school for children, and so my mother and her brother and sister were sent to nursery school, and -- my mother told me a very interesting thing. Up until she was 15 years old and went to this private Catholic school that was run by the Sisters of the Sacred Heart in Milan, even then, they had a woman who was referred to as [foreign language - 00:49:43]. And I haven't exactly known how to spell it, but a woman accompanied all these children to all their homes. The school was not far from their homes, but the children were accompanied to their homes by a lady. Even when she was 15 years old, someone accompanied all these students to their homes. LINDA: So when they walked home… JULIA: Right. Unless the parents came to get them; and if they couldn't, then somebody took them home. LINDA: Wow. So getting back to Boston, do you have all of these different regions where they are different Italians… from different regions is what I mean… JULIA: And all we young girls, all of us, we would play together, and then we would compare how our mother said things, how we would, you know, be there laughing, and then we [unintelligible - 00:50:48]. My mother said it like this. My mother said it like that. And all of us learned the different dialects, or they understood them even if they didn't try to speak them. 19 We had an awful lot of fun. We played on the street. We played street games. We learned to dance on the street. Our mothers taught us to crochet and embroider. That was another way that we passed the time. And the mothers, because this was small street, when the housework was done or the middle of the day, they came out, and when they weren't arms akimbo leaning out of their windows, they were down in the doorways, and we were watched all our lives, all of those young years. Somebody was always watching and looking out on the street, so nobody got away with anything. LINDA: Now, do the mothers socialize together? JULIA: Yes, they visited each other's little lots. As I said, I think I counted one time; there might have been 60 flats. It's still in existence, that neighborhood. But it's been bought by a developer. In fact, my brother still owns my father's house. He doesn't live there, but he still owns it. LINDA: So you had all different kinds of generations… JULIA: And all different kinds of cooking and all different generations; and when they died, they were waked in the apartments. They were not waked in funeral homes. Many children were born on the street, so we saw it all. We experienced it all. And young people died. I had two friends who were wonderful, lost a sister. Both of them lost sisters at 21 years old, and the whole street was born. It was complete support from everyone, because these girls had been -- one died in childbirth at 21 years old, and the other one died from apparently a blood clot just after some surgery. And everyone went to Boston City Hospital because we were only five minutes away from it. LINDA: Were the mourning traditions different between different regions? JULIA: They wore black. Some of them never took off that black. Even in the north end, most women who lost their husbands would wear black for the rest of their lives unless they remarried. Some of them did the same thing 20 on my street; if they lost their husbands they wore black housedresses. It was just the custom. But several children died, two of them from spinal meningitis, which at that time was fatal. And I think one was nine and one was 14. And of course, women, they mourned. They wept. They cried. That was a terrible thing. It was a part of life, and they didn't try to gloss over it. They lost a child in childbirth. You could hear them sometimes screaming from the pain even though doctor might come, an intern might come from Boston City Hospital. I remember that one of my friends' mother gave birth, and she lived on the third floor across the street. It must have been an extremely painful experience. My mother was marking the floor gray-faced, remembering her own. LINDA: So there was very little privacy. JULIA: The flat was small, and there was very little privacy. We knew who got along, who didn't get along. And some of them, even though they came from the old country, if things got too bad, they will separate. But for the most -- and the women as they got older, our parents, not my mother -- my mother went to work during the Depression when my father had an accident and broke his leg. He couldn't go to work. My mother went to work at the army base stitching uniforms. But it was only for a short time. As soon as my father was well enough to go back to work, then she had to stay home. LINDA: … in that area generally help each other? JULIA: To some extent. I will say this. When the Depression came, even though we lived in an industrial neighborhood, there were many pieces of vacant land. We have no idea who belonged to them, whether they were city owned land or belong to the neighboring factories. We had two very huge laundries which are still in existence. They were linen services. They 21 serviced hotels, restaurants. They did that kind of thing, places that used a lot of uniforms. So the girls who were brought up just ahead of me, many of them went to work in the laundry. I did too for a short time, while I went to night school after high school, and then as I said, when I passed the civil service exam, then I went to Washington. And after that, I did office work. But as the women grew older and their children were out of high school, many of them went to work either in the laundry or in a box factory. But during the Depression, every family sectioned off some small piece of these vacant lots and grew gardens. That was natural for them; even my father had an enormous garden from a piece of land that was vacant near our home. And according to my sister—this was while I was in Washington—and my mother, he just grew marvelous vegetables. Everybody grew, even in their backyards. No piece of land went to waste. So I never knew anyone who went hungry during the Depression. They would find jobs for each other. You just have to let -- they worked for private contractors, and Italian contractors were making their way up succeeding the Irish. So if my father was out of a job, he would notify the Italian men in the neighborhood and somebody would find him a job. LINDA: Now, did you notice that these people from different regions, did they kind of stick together? JULIA: Yes, they did. They [unintelligible - 00:58:30] somebody bought houses close together and lived in -- and people from the Piedmont occupied apartments kind of close together. But it was a tiny street. It was very small. So you were all -- you just grew up together. And as the women, as the families lived there longer 22 and longer, they got closer to each other, so they learned to respect each other. LINDA: What do you think the unifying factor would be, would have been? JULIA: The fact that they were all immigrants, and that they were locked into these -- they were a part of this small neighborhood. So you have to get -- men played bocce at the end of the street. Then they set up a social club. A few of the men from Abruzzo belonged to the Sons of Italy. And in the summertime, they would have a bus come to the street, and all the Italians who wanted to would bring watermelons and macaroni and meatballs and Italian bread and cheese and salami. If you want to tour, you can get on the bus and they would go to public parks where the Sons of Italy would have a big day. There would be a dance pavilion. They would dance to all this Italian music and have picnics, and the young kids would let them go [unintelligible - 01:00:15]. LINDA: Now, did people growing up here, did they begin their own social clubs depending on regions? JULIA: No. There was just one, and most of them were… I think the ones that belong to it mostly were from the Abruzzo. My father belonged to it a little while, but he wasn't really active. But there were quite a few families from the Abruzzo region of Italy and they belong. And they drank wine; they made wine in the house. The grapes would come into Charlestown, Massachusetts on the trains, and every October they would go to Charlestown and they would order a truckload of grapes. Then they would borrow grinders—my father did too—and grind the grapes. They might make a [unintelligible - 01:01:08] with boxes of grapes and make wine. So whenever you went to visit then [unintelligible - 01:01:16] you were an adult, they always offer you a glass of wine. Everybody's cooking was different because they came from different regions. My mother never learned to make what we refer to at the time as pasta [foreign language -23 01:01:33]. But today it's knows as spaghetti and meatballs. My mother had to learn after she came to America. That was not part of our Italian food culture at all. My mother came -- Milan is near a rice-growing area. So in Northern Italy, you eat cornmeal, polenta, and rice were the staples, soups. But in Southern Italy, they were used to for special occasions, they would -- it was always with tomato sauce that was the standard pasta with tomato sauce. Very seldom, they eat rice. None of us ate much meat. Meat was eaten very sparingly. In the Lombard region, the main dish which is now becoming, and again, has become very, very popular is called risotto. That was one of the staples that I grew up with. And the holidays, we had -- at that time, some of the delicacies that are important today were not important. Things like [foreign language - 01:03:10] was not important, but my mother told us about the Christmas customs in her home. She always mentioned this [foreign language - 01:03:19]. Now you can buy it anywhere. They import it, because the fly it in, and we had special things that we ate on holidays. And my mother told us about the Christmas customs of her family. LINDA: So was that a strong tradition on Christmas Eve celebration? JULIA: Christmas Eve was considered even by the Church as a day of fasting and abstinence. Christmas Eve, when I was growing up, was a non-meat day, and amongst the Italians, who were not accustomed to dairy anyway, they use cheese. But on Christmas Eve, you ate neither milk products nor meat. You ate fish. Now, the southern and central Italians would celebrate. They might cook six or seven, in some families, 12 different kinds of fish dishes. In my family, we observe Christmas Eve very quietly with no kind of celebration at all. The next day on Christmas, then we would have -- we might have polenta, which I made this Christmas, by the way. 24 LINDA: Oh, you did. JULIA: Yes. LINDA: Now, how did you serve it? JULIA: I plugged in? LINDA: You are. Just having system -- hang on. Okay. JULIA: Polenta is made—and I can assure you because I still have a package of flour there. You can buy it today under the Goya brand; it's the only place I find it. But in my father's day, you went to the various Italian markets and they would have barrels of it, and you bought course ground corn flour, cornmeal, and then you just put it into -- I still have my parents' cup of polenta pot. Everybody brought their polenta pot from Italy. It was called, in the dialect, the parieu. LINDA: How do you spell it? Do you know? JULIA: Parieu, P-A-R-I-E-U. It's how you pronounced it. That's in Lombard dialect. LINDA: And that's the polenta pot. JULIA: Right. Let's see, how did they say it in Italy? Paiolo is the proper Italian word, I think, if I can find it in here. Paiolo, P-A-I-O-L-O or P-A-I-U-O-L-O; it's a boiler, a copper, a cauldron, a kettle, that they used for polenta. LINDA: So how did your family used to serve the polenta? JULIA: The polenta was made in this copper pot that had a rounded bottom designed to hang from a crane on a fireplace. Because in Italy, they didn't have stoves, not even my mother's family, who lived in an apartment in the city, had a stove; they had small gas light burners. But if you have -- we have kitchen rangers, black iron ranges, and they would remove the round top on one section of it in the front where the fire was farthest, and boil a certain amount of water when you have much water to boil. And then you very, very slowly added the cornmeal. You added salt, maybe a little piece of garlic, and you slowly add in the cornmeal. 25 Now, one person has to hold the pot so it wouldn't tip over. And my father, that was my father's job, to stir that cornmeal until it was very thick and firm, and used an old piece of broomstick to do this, a [canalla], a piece of stick, like a piece of broomstick. Then when it was very firm, they would put down a cutting board, a piece of board on the table, cover it with a flour sack that had been -- a clean dishcloth. They used to make dishcloths out of flour sacks, the women, unbleached muslin. And my father would take that big kettle of polenta and dump it over on top of this cloth and then cover it. Then they use the string to cut it. You cut it because it would slice down with the string. And I've met many people in Fitchburg who remembered that same system of cooking polenta and cutting it with the string and dumping it over onto something. And we served it with various kinds of stew. Now, the southern and central Italians would most likely serve it with a meat ragout or Italian tomato sauce that they might use for any pasta dish. We served it with a stew that was called cassoeula, very difficult to spell, C-A-S-S-O-E-U-L-A. It was made from savoy cabbage, Italian sausages, spare ribs, and cooked with carrots and onions and garlic into light -- but no tomatoes, celery, into this wonderful stew, and I made it this Christmas. So from now on, as long as I'm alive, that's what we'll have for Christmas, and that's what we ate. Or they would make a rabbit… make a stew out of rabbit or chicken. But that's how we ate it. Then my father would eat it with gorgonzola cheese. And the next day, you sliced it and cut it and fried it with eggs for lunch or supper. I had an uncle, an old uncle, who lived with me after he was widowed, and he used to slice it the next day and layer it with milk and onions and bake it. And you can use polenta like you can use potatoes or rice with anything. It's delicious. My Irish husband loves it. Right, the kids love it. And you can make it out of a Quaker oats cornmeal too, but I don't like it as well as I 26 do the coarse meal. It has become quite popular again in upscale restaurants. LINDA: Now, when your mother would serve it on the board at the table, did… JULIA: Yeah. Put your dish there, and my father would take the string and the slice would fall on to the dish, then she'd serve the stew from the bowl or the pan. LINDA: I've also heard of people in Fitchburg, their mother would lay it out on the board, and then everyone would kind of eat it… JULIA: I have all that. Now, the first one I met since I've been here that tells me that, but I have a very close friend whose parents have 13 children, and the father made a big, long table to accommodate them. They lived in my father's, one of my father's flats, and when they made the polenta and the tomato sauce, he would lay it out on this table, and every child would have, every person would have a section and would eat with his fork or spoon, then they would put the tomato sauce over it. Right. LINDA: That's interesting. JULIA: Right. LINDA: So now, living with all these different regions or people from regions, were there different patron saints or celebrations? JULIA: A lot of them had relatives in the north end, and the north end was really the center of the Italian religious community, and so some of them would visit their relatives on feast days. Some of the Sicilian women who had relatives in the north end, they would go to the north on feast days. But we didn't do that. They would celebrate the feast days now that I think of it by cooking special foods, and a lot of them have like little [plaster] saints, and they would always keep votive candles, which was strange. They were little wicks that floated, little wicks, and you lit the wick, and they'd have like some kind of maybe a little asbestos washer, some little washer. I haven't seen those for 50-60 years. I haven't seen them. But I remembered the women used to keep -- a lot of the Southern Italian 27 women would keep votive lights. They would pray for their families and pray for good health, and they were attached to devotions to these different saints, or St. Joseph or the Virgin Mary, and they would keep little votive lights. I'm trying to think what -- they didn't have racks in them, but I don't know what the liquid was in these -- I mean, they still have the same candleholders. I got them on my dining room table right there, but they didn't have -- I don't remember the candles. I remember these little wicks./AT/jf/lk/es

Issue 59.6 of the Review for Religious, 2000. ; NOVEMBER: DECEMBER 2000 ,VOLUME 59 NUMBER 6 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 ¯ Web site: www.reviewforreligious.org Manuscripts, books for review, and correspondence with the editor: Review for.Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, iVlO 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 subsEription rates. ©2000 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 permission will only be considered on written application to the Editor, Review for Religious. Jew rel,g,ous 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 James and Joan Felling Adrian Gaudin SC Kathryn Richards FSP Joel Rippinger OSB. Bishop Carlos A. Sevilla SJ Patricia Wittberg SC NOVEMBER DECEMBER 2000 VOLUME 59 NUMBER 6 contents 566 spiritual practice Retrieving the Practice of Silence Donald J. Goergen oP enters us into an appreciation of silence that we might commit ourselves more to its observance. 575 The Dangers of Solitude Kenneth C. Russell, guiding readers through some 12th-century advice to hermits, shows its 2 l st-cenrury relevance to hermits and others as well. 584 A Spiritual Direction Mary Beth Moore SC gazes at, listens to, a few moments of reality and possibility within contemporary sisterly living. 594 a witness response Contemplative Religious Witness: A Redemptoristine Monastery Dennis J. Billy CSSR finds the life of a group of contemplative sisters very much present to his apostolic mission, and happily reflects that the reverse is true as well. 601 AVowed Response to the Postmodern World Andr~ Maureen Soete SSND seeks ways for the vowed life to contribute more vigorously, more effectively, to the alleviation of troubles in our troubled world. Review for Religious 608 examples from the past Mary Ward: Centuries Her Scroll Lawrence F. Barmann sketches the life story of Mary Ward, the saintly English founder of the Institute of the Blessed Virgin Mary, as an inspiration for us living in the current ecclesial milieu. 614 627 St. Catherine's Letters: Human Love, Gracious Authority Stan Parmisano OP finds that in style and content the letters of Catherine of Siena (1347-1380) have surprising and challenging and charming relevance for persons living today. Katharine Drexel's Cultural Relevance Now Normandie J. Gaitley SSJ sketches the life of the recently canonized Mother Katharine Drexel SBS (1858-1955), a Philadelphia debutante who used her inheritance to serve Native Americans and African Americans. 633 643 vocation When Vocations Happen by Accident Elizabeth Julian RSM describes with quiet enthusiasm her sense of a flexible small community in New Zealand that fosters acquaintance and has shown itself to foster vocations. Vocational Support Donald Macdonald SMM speaks of the human need of support in one's vocation and of the providential availability of that support if we are alert to its manifold presence. departments 564 Prisms 650 Canonical Counsel: Responsibilities of the Novice Director 656 Book Reviews 666 Indexes to Volume 59 November-December 2000 prisms Whave come to appreciate the rich complexi.ty of the biblical term jubilee, espe-cially as we have looked toward the new millennium. But as we approach the Advent and Christmas seasons of the year 2000, one focus of jubilee stands out. Jubilee implies celebration. Advent and Christmas seasons pro-vide an opportune moment for us to consider what it is that we celebrate. Celebrati6n often means bringing people together, sometimes those dearest to us, and at other times the "crowd" that comes together only for special occasions. Celebration can include elegant banquets or simple fin-ger food. It may suggest a refined cocktail party or a noisy beer-keg-and-pretzels get-together. Celebration can imply long-term planning or it may be a spur-of-the- moment, spontaneous occasion. We celebrate beginnings, like newborn babies and the wedding day; we celebrate completions, like school graduations and retirements. We observe national patriotic days, and we take time for religious festivals. But for all the aspects of a jubilee year of forgiveness, justice, and reconciliation, what is it that we most cele-brate? The biblical notion of jubilee celebrates, above all, our being God's people and our living like God's sons and daughters. This planet called Earth is "home" for us because it is God's home. Our space-age view of our planet Earth has brought home to us how much we all are "stewards," not owners, of God's gift to us. Review for Religious What is striking is how our jubilee celebrations enter us into the Gospel Prodigal Son parable. Whether we more identify with one who hopes to see life as only an arena of personal delights and squanderings or whether we more identify with the other who defines life as a kind of slavery with weighty obligations and grim duties, we realize how much we need a jubilee understanding of life. Both sons, in Jesus' famous parable, understand neither the father who helped bring them into life nor the life which this father wants to share with them. The first son in his self-cen-tered celebrating misses the point of celebration. The second son in his self-defined servitude also misses the idea of celebra-tion. Just as the father in the parable goes out of the way to meet each son, so God continues to break into our life to call us to a reality of biblical jubilee. Advent is our jubilee celebration of our longing and desire to dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of our life. Christmas is our jubilee celebration of God's desire and longing to come and play forever among the children of Earth. Advent and Christmas are at the center of our understanding jubilee because both seas~ons emphasize the heart of all our reasons to celebrate: God calls us sons and daughters, and we know the redemptive salvation that Jesus brought, of living in God's home all the days of our life. David L. Fleming SJ thank you for your ~uppor~throughout thi~ pa~t yoar and pray that (~od~rieh o a nd~ abundant iubiloo Advont and ~hri~tma~ Th~ Mitor~ and ,of Revi~ ~orRoligiou~ . " November-December 2000 spiritua practice DONALD J. GOERGEN Retrieving the Practice of Silence Jesus experienced the need for quiet. "In the morn-ing, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed"(Mk 1:35, NRSV). What did he seek there? What did he find? The Book of Psalms is quoted in the New Testament more often than any other book of the Hebrew Bible. What role did the psalms play in the prayer of Jesus? "Be still, and know that I am God" (Ps 46:10). How often in the course of his life did Jesus pray over verses like that, or this: "For God alone my soul waits in silence; from him comes my salvation"? (Ps 62:1). There are few things in human life more important, both personally and communally, than discovering the value of silence. Spirituality and religion are important dimensions of human and social life, and so are silence and stillness. Other civilizations, perhaps more pastoral, more agrarian ones, had greater opportunities for the practice of silence. Our times seem less fortunate in that regard. Yet silence is essential to wholesome living. My purpose in these reflections is to help us appreciate silence more and commit ourselves to practicing it. Donald J. Goergen OP wrote on celibacy for our May- June 1998 issue. His address is Friends of God Dominican Ashram; 720 35th Street; Kenosha, Wisconsin 53140. Review for Religious Worship, Charity, and Silence Which is more important, love of God or love of neighbor? (Mk 12:28-31). It does not take much to realize that this question is falsely posed. Which is more important, inhaling or exhaling, yang or yin? St. Anselm spoke of God as "the Being a greater than which cannot be conceived." Certainly, for one who believes, God alone deserves to be worshiped. Adoration and praise are the only appro-priate responses to God. Although there is nothing in human life more important than love of God, the God of Jesus instructs us that there is something that must precede or accompany it. "So, when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remem-ber that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift" (Mt 5:23- 24). "Those who say 'I love God,' and hate their brothers or sis-ters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen cannot love God whom they have not seen. The commandment we have from him is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also" (1 Jn 4:20-21). As important as worship is, equally important is the practice of charity, love of neighbor, the "works of mercy" (Mr 25:31-46). The revolution in Jesus' teaching was not that he understood love of God, the Shema (Dr 6:4-5), as the core of the Hebrew Scriptures. Almost every practicing and devout Jew understood that to be the great com-mandment. But Jesus' placing love of neighbor (Lv 19:18; Mk 12:31) on a par with love of God, that was revolutionary, and for him that was what true religion is about. For Jesus, the second commandment is not secondary, not second in the sense of less significant. According to Matthew, it is "like" the "great and first" commandment (Mr 22:38-39). Luke (10:27) reports them as really one commandment. True worship or love of God is inseparable from true com-passion or love of neighbor. But what do love of God and love of neighbor, or worship and the works of mercy, have to do with the practice of silence? Abhishiktananda, or Henri Le Saux, the French monk who came to India in 1948 and immersed himself in its reli-gious environment, wrote: Now if something has passed in this long discourse by the way of words, yet beyond words, if you have heard in the words of the Upanishads some echo of what the Spirit has November-Decenlber 2000 Goergen ¯ Retrieving the Practice of Silence certainly whispered in your heart when you sat in contem-plation of the mystery of the Father and the Son, then you will discover by yourselves the secret of what is called the Advaitic or Upanishadic prayer. It can be summed up in one Hebrew phrase of Psalm 65, which Jerome translates: silen-tium tibi laus. Silence is praise for you. Silence in prayer, silence in thanksgiving, prayer, and adoration, silence in meditation, silence inside and outside as the most essential preparation for this stillness of the soul in which alone the Spirit can work at his pleasure.~ The contemplative and interior journey, the love and worship of God, are dependent on silence. But charity or love of neigh-bor depends on silence too. A loving kindness toward our human companions on this earth requires the silent journey inward just as true worship of God requires it. Can there be true love of neigh-bor without confronting the truth about ourselves? Can we expect reconciliation and forgiveness in our world if we ourselves are not yet ready to forgive? If we are to transform our world, we must also be working on becoming transformed ourselves. Social engage-ment requires time apart. Silence is essential if we are to deepen our love for God and our love for our neighbor. Silence, Solitude, and Simplicity What does silence sound like? What does it look like? Are there different kinds of silence? Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earth-quake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. (1 Kg 19:11-13) True silence, the inner stillness, the still point, is an achieve-ment to be sought, yet always remains a grace. But it is a grace upon which we must focus our attention. It requires discipline, which does not guarantee interior silence, but rather prepares the way. We must devote time to "the practice of silence," the practice of interior and contemplative prayer, the practice of an awareness that is the fruit of quieting the mind.2 Such "quiet" is not easily obtained in our world today. Not Review for Religious that a busy, technological, urban society is the enemy of silence, but neither is it a friend. Modern social and commercial life cannot prevent the pursuit of silence, but neither do they encourage or value it. Entertainment is a noisy industry. The more channels we have on television, the better. But then they must be filled--with "stuff," whatever it be. They compete for attention; thus, the more out-rageous, the more likely the success. The Internet now multiplies ways to distract us from an inner stillness. Not to find television entertaining seems quaint. To see it or the overuse of the Internet as distraction from true entertain-ment, a life with God quietly pursued, is sec-ular heresy. For silence is not the stuff of which modern societies, commerce, or edu-cation are ordinarily made. Not that the media, the schools, the churches, market-places, and businesses are avowed enemies of silence; they are just uneasy with it. We are talking about a disciplined silence that requires resolve. Its close friends are solitude and simplicity. These compan-ions reveal how countercultural true silence really is. Solitude is one of silence's most cherished friends. Yet how difficult it is in our world today to find solitude, to pursue solitude, to practice solitude. We are "driven" away from it. We can hardly face the silence within ourselves. We flee. As Francis Thompson wrote: I fled Him, down the nights and down the days; I fled Him, down the arches of the years; I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears I hid from Him, and under running laughter.3 The running is aided by all the activities of our world, justified by the needs of our world, and rationalized by "This is just our world and that's the way it is." To desire silence we must value solitude. We identify aloneness with loneliness. But, until we are at home with ourselves, we will always be lonely, no matter how busy, how "with it," how much with others we might be. As we know, marriage is no cure for loneliness. Neither is single life. Dietrich Modern social and commercial life cannot prevent the pursuit of silence, but neither do they encourage or value it. November-December 2000 Goergen ¯ Retrieving tbe Practice of Silence Bonhoeffer once cautioned us to be wary of the person who lives with another or in community who cannot be alone, or who lives alone but cannot live in community.4 Sociality and solitude are two sides of the same coin: we can-not find one without the other. Silence lives on solitude. We must find ways to structure it into our lives on a regular basis, like the food we eat. Where can we find that place apart, that space for being alone, and for how long can we keep ourselves there with-out being taken up by distractions~ Where can we go to practice silence? Or how in the midst of activity can we find that cell within? s One of solitude's companions is simplicity of life. Simplicity inside requires simplicity outside. A cluttered, thing-filled, con-sumer- intensive environment is hardly the place in which to prac-tice an awareness that few things in life are important. The world immediately outside myself needs to reflect what I am trying to attain within myself. Simplicity in life is an outward expression of simplicity within. One's "within" and "without" go together. And now we can see more clearly why our current economic world can easily become an enemy of silence. The pursuit of silence eventu-ally becomes a pursuit of simplicity of life--which is a recognizable enemy to a consumer economy, a global and ever expanding mar-ket economy. Not that the market is evil; it is just easy prey to the pretension that it alone is important, the be-all and end-all of human life. The practices of silence, solitude, and simplicity enable us to see the truth about economic pursuits: How inhumane they can be when given priority in life, how grounded in greed they become! Kinds of Silence There are a variety of silences.6 Silence can be either destruc-tive or constructive.7 Destructive silence is refusing to speak when a word is called for, a word of consolation, of affection, of chal-lenge. Destructive silence can be passive aggression, a refusal to participate, a lack of care, a form of punishment, unconscionable noncommunication. But silence as context for an interior journey is positive. Silence as a socia! context is the absence of noise in our imme-diate environment. There are different degrees of environmental silence. A noiseless environment is difficult to find in modern Review for Religious urban settings. One can distinguish rural silences and urban silences. For someone unaccustomed to rural silences, the sound of the cricket or the howl of a coyote can be disturbing. There are sounds to which we have become accustomed and those to which we are not. Familiar sounds need not destroy environmen-tal silence, but can blend with it. There is a silent stillness to the vastness of nature: the sounds and silence of the ocean, the moun-tains, the desert, the plains. Each is a different environment and a different silence. On a windless day, sitting atop one of the mountain peaks of the Sangre de Cristo range near Christ in the Desert Monastery in northern New Mexico, one can hear an almost Human silence absolute environmental silence. Human silence is the presence of nonspeech, call be a silence It is not necessarily noncommunication or non-of solitude, communitarian. Silence itself can communicate abundantly, and it is amazing what can be corn- but it can also be municated without words. Human silence can be a silence of solitude, but it can also be commu- communitarian. nitarian. A solemn silence can prevail in Christian or Buddhist monasteries or a Hindu ashram, in a synagogue, church, or mosque. These settings or "environments" can be sacred space. There are times and places when human speech is out of place or out of season. Human silence can be community silence, but there is also personal silence. An individual person can cultivate silence--by seeking environmental silence, or sacred space, or solitude, but also by the practice of silence: avoiding unnecessary speech, c~eating personal space, the silence of one's own room, withdrawing to "the cell within," lis-tening to music, allowing absorption in art and beauty, acquiring an inner stillness and the practice of meditation. Personal silence itself is not only oriented toward calm, tran-quillity, and an absence of stress, but ultimately toward interior silence, the silencing of the mind, even if this is rare or only momentary. I remember a conversation with a cloistered Dominican nun, who had a doctorate and had been teaching before joining this cloistered contemplative community. When I asked why she had joined the monastery, she replied, "I needed to stop thinking if I was going to start praying." The human being is a reflective being, but also a contemplative being that sometimes needs to move beyond thoughts (mental silence) as well as wordsv-~z-~'~---)-'[-i November-December 2000 Goergen ¯ Retrieving the Practice of Silence (verbal silence). The interior journey is in fact directed toward this deep silence within, this cave of the heart, this still point, this soul of the soul, this human spirit. Spiritual silence is the human spirit at peace, the silence of the spirit in its communion with the Spirit of God, the divine Spirit, the Holy Spirit. This is mystical silence, with its dark nights, its ecstatic joy, its calm recollection, its deep rest. Silence of any sort is most often not constant, but periodic, coming at intervals, having a rhythm of its own. Deep silence, mystical silence, is not an achievement but a grace. Thus one can speak of the grace of silence, a grace that is present in varied ways and at varied levels, exteriorly and interiorly: the prayer of silence, the silent Presence, the Holy Mystery. It is this mystery that we cel-ebrate in liturgy and seek in contemplation. We experience litur-gical silence, a pastoral silence, intimate silences, times and places not to speak, for which words are inappropriate, occasions on which only silence can communicate. Silence can communicate from within a depth beyond words. In community, in friendship, in ministry, and in prayer there must be silence as well as speech. Divine silence is God's very own silence, God's very own self-communication, God's' awesome and incomprehensible transcen-dence, God's overwhelming intimate immanence, God's elusive presence and mysterious absence, God's truth and God's beauty, the Nameless One whose name is Father, Son, and Spirit, the One- Who-Is, the One-Who-Is-With-Us, the silence of being, the sound of ore, the soundlessness of communion, the union of God and humanity, the union of Word and flesh, the triune union, the incor-poration of humanity into the silent triunity of its Creator. There is ultimately no distinction between divine Silence and divine Speech. They are one 'and the same. God's speech is silent, and God's silence speaks. Silence and Theology .The practice of silence is necessary not only for the spiritual journey and to sustain our humanity. It is also essential for doing theology. Theologians are accountable for their theology to their professional peers, to their varied communities of faith, and to society at large for the quality, fidelity, and social implications of their work. They cannot absolve themselves of this threefold responsibility. But the theologian is also accountable to God. One Review for Religious does not stand before the Holy Mystery, the mysterium fascinans et tremendum, without asking the Holy Spirit for courage, guid-ance, and wisdom. In other words, all theology must begin with prayer. It has both a reflective moment and a contemplative moment. It is not an ego project, but a work of the Spirit. Theology cannot be done apart from silence. The practice of silence, of placing oneself in the presence of God, of meditation, of listening, of longing are all part of doing theology. Theology can too easily become words, verbal batdes, polemic, agenda ridden, jargon, rather than revelatory, illuminating, con-nected to life, committed to Truth. This happens when theolo-gians neglect the practice of contemplative silence--which would make them aware of both the inadequacy and the necessity of words for communicating the divine mystery. A theologian needs to be practiced in the art of silence. So does the magisterium in the church need to practice it. "Roma locuta est," the saying goes. But think of the symbolic power in "Roma tacuit." What a wonderful example that could be. Magisterial authority must reflect that we are a learning church as well as a teaching church. Is not part of the crisis over author-ity the ways in which the church exercises its authority? We do not grant authority easily to those who do not listen. Silence gives value to words. Apart from words, silence can be sterile, but apart from silence words lose their power. As Ecclesiastes (3:7) says, "There is a time for keeping silence, a time for speaking." Silence is a work of the Spirit. True silence is ulti-mately prayer. It speaks with authority. It communicates truth. It creates community. It is the voice of the soul, of the human spirit, and of the Holy Spirit. Can we afford to allow its practice to become peripheral in our lives? In The Sleeping Beauty, Ralph Harper points to the value of silence for our world: Each order of experience has its own a.tmosphere. The atmo-sphere of presence, of giving, of wholeness, is silence. We know that serious things have to be done in silence, because we do not have words to measure the immeasurable. In silence people love, pray, listen, compose, paint, write, think, suffer. These experiences are all occasions of giving and receiving, of some encounter with forces that are inex-haustible and independent of us. These are easily distin-guishable from our routines and possessiveness as silence is distinct from noise.8 November-December 2000 Goergen ¯ Retrieving the Practice of Silence Not only nuns and monks, but all of us need to retrieve the art and practice of silence. We need to dip deeply into the silent abyss of self, of God, of God in the self and the self in God, We need to explore the emptiness and the fullness that lie within us. We need silence. Notes 1 Abhishiktananda, "The Upanishads and Advaitic Experience," in The Further Shore (New Delhi: I.S.P.C.K., 1984), p. 117. 2 Buddhist traditions also see a triple relationship: compassion, rooted ¯ in egolessness, which in turn is rooted in mindfulness. These three are intimately connected. See Sogyal Rinpoche, The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying (San Francisco: Harper, 1992), esp. pp. 59-72, 116-122, 188-201. 3 The first lines of "The Hound of Heaven." 4 Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together (New York: Harper and Row, Publishers, 1954), esp. pp. 76~89. "Let him who cannot be alone beware of community. Let him who is not in community beware of being alone. ¯. The mark of solitude is silence, as speech is the mark of community. Silence and speech have the same inner correspondence and difference as do solitude and community. One does not exist without the other. Right speech comes out of silence, and right silence out of speech. Silence does not mean dumbness, as speech does not mean chatter. Dumbness does not create solitude and chatter does not create fellowship" (p. 78). s See Catherine of Siena: The Dialogue, trans. Suzanne Noffke OP (New York: Paulist Press, 1980), on the "cell of self-knowledge," pp. 25, 118, 122, 125, 135, and 158. 6 Theodore Pereira in "Eloquence in Silence, Healing in Stillness," Indian Theological Studies 33 (June 1996): 99-126, has written about different types of silences. 7 "Silence itself is expressed in several ways. We know silences of contempt and of joy, of pain and of pleasure, of consent and of solitude." Jean-Luc Marion, God without Being (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991), pp. 53-54. ~ Ralph Harper, The Sleeping Beauty (London: Harvill Press, 1955), pp. 110-111. The word "men" in the original was changed to "people" to accommodate current usage. Review for Religious KENNETH C. RUSSELL The Dangers of Solitude ~o~e~oe ldi!a nTgheerrse oisf as ololintugd tera. dAitniodn t hoef wwaarrnniinngg sw hoauvlde- bneo th ceormmiets solely from cenobites suspicious of solitaries off doing "their own thing." Religious who have the highest regard for the blessings and joys of the life of aloneness with God have tempered their enthusiasm with cautionary words about the special difficulties the solitary is likely to encounter. Thomas Merton, for example, warns that "sordid difficulties and uncertainties" attend .the life of even interior solitude,l Authors from the first centuries of the church conjure up frightening pictures of the demons who lie in wait for the unsuspecting hermit, while modern writers warn newcomers to the desert that solitude will force them to confront the disturbing image of their true self. The message is clear: more awaits the novice hermit than the beauties of nature and the spiritual delights which ancient and contemporary enthusiasts of the eremitical life tend to emphasize. I suppose that most contemporary solitaries would agree that demons in one guise or another must be wrestled with and that it can, indeed, be a distressing experience to come face to face with the self we usually avoid in a flurry of activity. However, I also suspect that most hermits are somewhat amused by both the modern and the ancient depiction of their lot. They would be only too happy to confess that there are no monsters writhing in the Kenneth C. Russell last wrote for our March-April 2000 issue. His address remains 40 Landry Street, Apt. 1505; Vanier, Ontario; K1L 8K4 Canada. November-December 2000 E5-7-5 Russell ¯ The Dangers of Solitude corners of their huts and that the identity crisis so precious to their contemporaries does not keep them awake nights. What they actually confront, it seems, is a routine cycle of sun and cloud on a prairie stretching clear to the horizon. There are no mountains or valleys to speak of. Their bad days are as unremarkable as their good ones. They struggle against subtle temptations, not spectacular ones. It has always been so. The 12th-century Cistercian Aelred of Rievaulx recognized this in his hard-hitting Letter to a Recluse, addressed to his elderly sister but written with less seasoned solitaries in mind? So did his contemporaries Peter the Venerable and Bernard of Portes, who wrote shorter and less theologically dense letters to male recluses who had asked their advice.3 Twelfth-century recluses lived in circumstances that are quite different from those in which most modern hermits seek solitude. But this does not mean that the letters of Peter and Bernard are merely quaint witnesses to a bygone era. The basics of the eremitical life are constant across the centuries. They are also unaffected by the way in which different solitaries choose to live the eremitical life. Whether the solitary is a recluse, a hermit, or a homeless wanderer like Benedict Joseph Labre does not radically modify the eremitical life. Consequently the letters Peter and Bernard wrote to 12th-century male monastic recluses remain relevant to male and female solitaries of all kinds, even today. Indeed, it seems to me that their practical orientation makes them especially useful. Therefore, I want to focus on the difficulties these authors see arising when the honeymoon period of the eremitical life--which may last a good long time--is finally over. In highlighting some of the minor difficulties which can grow into major problems if not attended to, it is not my intention to present a negative view of the solitary life. It does have dark days; it would not be a human enterprise if it did not. However, in focusing on the gray periods, I am not denying its spells of fine weather. I am merely reiterating the warning uttered down the centuries that people who wander off into the desert on their own had better know what they are about. Peter the Venerable's Letter to Ghislebert Peter the Venerable, the great abbot of Cluny, was, by his own admission, a very busy man. In fact, he shocks us a bit by admitting that he read the letters from a Cluniac recluse named Ghislebert in Review for Religious his choir stall on Holy Saturday. He claims that he had simply not been able to find a moment to read them earlier. Peter may have been rushed, but he nevertheless knew something about the eremitical life. Not only did he himself periodically spend time in solitude, but he had pastoral experience in directing monks who sought a solitary retreat for a limited period or for life. There were actually a large number of hermits living in the woods near Cluny. Peter the Venerable, then, knew what he was talking about when he replied to Ghislebert's request for guidance. The key to Peter's advice is the emphasis he puts on the idea that, as a recluse, Ghislebert has been buried with Christ. We do not know the nature of the liturgical ceremony with which Ghislebert was committed to his cell, but other sources indicate that the idea of being buried with Christ and dead to the world was sometimes dramatically represented by using funeral rites to initiate such enclosure. In any case, Peter emphasizes that, if his effort to live as a recluse is going to succeed, Ghislebert had better be sure that he is indeed dead to the world and the world dead to him. To drive home the point, Peter quotes the desert father Arsenius: "Flee people, be silent, and you will be saved." In short, be what you have set out to be and all will be well. Although we may feel a little ill-at-ease with the medieval idea of the recluse being rather literally buried with Christ, it is obvious that any new solitary needs to make a definitive break with the world and his or her past to get off to a good start. He or she has to be serious about being marginal. But, for all the images of being cut off and buried, the reality is that a living human being goes into the desert. He or she wants to be there, of course, but the spiritual and especially the psychological conditioning to solitude is not achieved by a mere act of will. The hermit, in fact, begins with some interior dividedness. Part of the self has no interest in disappearing. Inevitably the life force will rise up against the isolation and denial of achievement that the solitary life demands. Hermits also soon discover, as the Carthusian Guigo II puts it, that they are a crowd unto themselves. They are, indeed, the doorway through which the world presses into the cell. They may succeed in finding a quiet spot on the sidelines of society, but the Hermits soon discover that they are a crowd unto themselves. November-December 2000 Russell ¯ The Dangers of Solitude internal vacuum created by their withdrawal makes them vulnerable to the imagination's readiness to reassert their right to a place in the world. Since hermits have what we might term a "weak" present, the mind tends to take refuge in either the past or the future. Bernard of Portes will highlight the way in which the past crowds into the hermit's mind. Peter the Venerable puts more emphasis on the daydreams about the future which exploit the hermit's status to draw him away from his solitude. He pictures the monk turned hermit imagining that he feels the tabs of a bishop's miter on the back of his necl~ or fantasizing that he is the wise, holy, and much admired abbot of a large monastic community. This is all nonsense, of course, and surely most beginners are as amused by the tricks the imagination plays as Peter the Venerable is. What is not funny is that these silly thoughts can trouble prayer. It is also true, unfortunately, that small threads can weave themselves into strong ropes. If hermits are not careful, they can convince themselves that they are made for something better than the sorry life of a solitary. A more serious pressure to "return from the dead" and reenter the hustle and bustle of.life, bit by bit, springs from the essential nature of the solitary existence. Hermits have to live without the external momentum that social interaction usually provides. They are not carried along by the excitement of what is going on at their workplace, nor can they look forward to parties or sports events to distract them. Unfortunately, unless solitaries maintain their focus on whatever is the task of the moment, their day-to-day existence will begin to feel dull and wearisome. The obvious way to relieve this lethargy is for the solitary to engage in a small amount of pastoral or counseling activity. This sounds like a psychologically sound idea, especially to modern Christians, who are more than a little suspicious of the way hermits pull away from the good causes "activists" think so important. Peter the Venerable, however, is not so sure. He is afraid that this public ministry will become addictive. Instead of relieving the hermits' boredom so that they can return to the solitary life refreshed, each turn outward makes solitude all the more unbearable and the turn away from it all the easier. What looks like a solution to the pressures of the eremitical regime can destroy a hermit's ability to live the solitary life. "Doing good" can do a hermit in. A second consequence of the turn outward is that the solitaries' Review for Religious availability attracts people who offer two enticing things: prestige and cash. Since the strict eremitical life deprives hermits of the ordinary opportunities to see themselves mirrored in the reaction of others, Peter the Venerable rightly fears that Ghislebert will take the high esteem in which he is held by those he helps as the true measure of his worth. The abbot sees a further danger in the money that the hermit will be offered for his services. With all the good intentions in the world, Ghislebert can easily find himself managing a little charitable fund which will grow, as such things do, until, as Peter puts it, he is putting up buildings and demolishing himself. Peter's point would seem to be that hermits who are not perfectly honest about their motivations can make a place for themselves in the world. They can keep an address in the woods, as it were, and still be part of society. The price they pay, unfortunately, is the abandonment of their original commitment. History offers many examples which confirm that the hardest thing in the world for solitaries is actually to be what they profess to be. Aelred of Rievaulx was very hard on the way in which solitaries drift into outside activities. He sharply admonished them to wake up to the facts of their vocation. "When you are pressured to get involved: Tu sede, tu tace, tu sustine. Sit still, keep quiet, and stick it out! Period! Leave the doing of good deeds to those who .have the responsibility for such tasks." The solitary's fundamental temptation, it seems, is to focus on something other than God. According to Peter, this can be anything from good works to an obsession with health or appearance. "Doing good" can do a hermit in. Bernard of Portes's Letter to Rainald The Carthusian Bernard of Portes agrees with Peter the Venerable that solitaries need to be on guard against the distractions that are likely to entice them away from their fundamental commitment. He is particularly sensitive, however, to the spiritual and psychological repercussions of the hermit's withdrawal from society. He understands very well that the social self will not go lightly into solitude. Though hermits are united to all believers and, indeed, all humanity in their union with Christ in his church, the social self wants to strut its stuff in the midst of the diversions November-December 2000 Russell * The Dangers of Solitude Hermits do not have the social status they enjoyed in the 12th century. of the marketplace. It does not want to be shut away with not much more than God to focus on. Therefore, Bernard warns Rainald that he must expect a spell of bad weather sooner or later. One day he might be hit by a wave of sadness and the next be in a bad mood and irritable. He will find tapes from his past running in his head while he reedits the script of what he said and did. A troupe of lewd thoughts will stage its floor show one day, and lukewarnmess flood in the next. It seems that there is no escape from these inner storms and flat stretches. Indeed, Bernard maintains that hermits go into the desert specifically t6 wrestle with these elements that distract us from God. They are, we might say, the psychological echoes of a hermit's attachment to the world he or she claims to have renounced. Bernard of Portes warns hermits that, because they are no longer carried along by the current of daily life in society, they will be the targets of acedia and sadness. Acedia, a listless psychospiritual condition, weighs so heavily on its victims that some escape from the boredom o'f the here and now into dreams of what has been and might yet be while others slip into the torpor of chronic fatigue. This affliction, which involves a hanging back from the initial vocational commitment and a failure to actualize it in the present moment, "detemporalizes" hermits. It weakens their focus on the here and now and sets them adrift. Therefore they look outward for things to occupy their mind and fill their time. Bernard says it is very important for hermits to give their life a certain self-generated dynamism by moving from one activity to another th~'oughout the day. Oddly enough, this is in accord with the traditional wisdom that the secret of the eremitical life is "Keep it moving." Bernard also emphasizes meditation and advises Rainald to be totally present to the words he is saying when he recites the Office. Bernard, it is quite clear, believes that acedia can be held at bay if a hermit puts his or her mind to it and lives in the present moment. Sadness, however, is another matter. Bernard seems convinced that an occasional period of feeling down is an inescapable feature of the eremitical life. Sadness is, I suppose, a pit into which an Review for Religious individual ill-suited for solitude might tumble, but this does not seem to be what Bernard has in mind. He is describing, not a chronic or pathological condition, but the normal downturns of life--which the hermit feels more intensely because of his or her isolation. On the spiritual level, the alternation of these strong and weak periods is inevitable in view of the ebb and flow of God's grace. If acedia pulls one away from the present, sadness can be said to sink one into it. Sadness is the clouding over of the eternal horizon of hope which draws us forward. Without the attraction of the ultimate goal--which is, remember, the sole dynamic element in a hermit's life--the individual is oppressed by the miseries of the present. For no good reason, anger can well up in the solitary and rail away at the self or other people: "Nothing they do is ever any good, and nothing I try ever works out!" Such slack times call for patience, because, once again, the temptation is to shift attention away from God and the love that is his due. The self, whether proud or inadequate, whether much sought after or neglected, must not become the primary object of the hermit's attention. Application to Modern Hermits Is any of this applicable to modern hermits living in country cabins and cheap city apartments? I think so. Times have certainly changed, but the leisure of the hermit can still go flat, and money remains a worrisome issue. Unlike their 12th-century counterparts, modern hermits do not have to figure out how to channel their excess funds to the poor without attracting a crowd of beggars, but they do have to worry about how to live apart from the world and still earn their keep. Unless they are supported by a religious congregation or order, paying their bills and providing some measure of stability in an unsettled time can be a real preoccupation. Indeed, it can shipwreck their project altogether. Pride, which Peter the Venerable and Bernard of Portes see as a major threat to hermits, would seem to be less of a worry these days. Solitaries are looked up to once again, but the applause is not unanimous. In fact, many people who give their lives to the service of Christ and his poor question the sense of such a calling. Certainly hermits do not have the social status they enjoyed in the 12th century. In any case, while many religious who become November-December 2000 Russell ¯ The Dangers of Solitude With no one else to worry about, they can become obsessed with every ache. solitaries identify themselves as hermits, most lay hermits have no official status of any kind. They live a hidden life which is just that, hidden. The lack of social status does not mean, of course, that hermits are immune to the temptation to take a little secret pride in the uniqueness of their calling. Pride, however, does not seem to be the great danger it was to hermits in the Middle Ages. Certainly relevant today, however, is the emphasis Peter the Venerable and Bernard of Portes put on the need for the hermit to exist in the now. This almost Buddhist focus on being present to the moment is for both of them basic to the eremitical life. Without this absorption in the here and now, distractions press in. The hermit, to borrow a phrase from the world of sports, "loses his or her concentration" on the worship of God in unending prayer. This is a major problem, but, given the restrictions of the solitary life, it manifests itself in small and sometimes silly ways. For example, hermits may get too wrapped up in their work or turn repairs to their dwelling into a full-scale redecorating project. They can become finicky fussbudgets who insist that every item in their cell be lined up just so. Worse yet, with no one else to worry about, they can become obsessed with every ache and sniffle. What are we to make of Peter the Venerable's condemnation of the tendency of hermits to make themselves useful to their fel-low Christians by offering them the fruit, as it were, of their con-templative silence? Must we conclude that he, and Bernard as well, would censure the spiritual direction and parish activities in which some contemporary hermits get involved? Not necessarily. In their letters both authors emphasize--and we must keep in mind that they were writing to recluses, that is, to solitaries who in theory were totally cut off from the world--that the singularity of the eremitical life means that hermits will have to work out what is best for them. Therefore, while Bernard borrows from the cus-toms of the Carthusians to make all kinds of suggestions to Rainald about the details of his life, he realizes that it is up to the hermit to exercise discretion in choosing what suits him. Consequently, we can conclude that, although Peter and Bernard show that it is easy for hermits to delude themselves about why they are rendering this or that occasional service, it is up to them to determine, after Review for Religious taking counsel, what fosters their aloneness with God and what hinders it. I suspect that there are times when novice solitaries, going through a dark period, might welcome the sight of a few demons raising cain in their living room. They might even be glad to summon up the self-absorption required for the drama of a first-class identity crisis. Anything exciting and novel would be a relief. What they have to contend with, however, day in and day out, as Peter and Bernard remind them, is the subtle task of remaining faithful to their original commitment in all kinds of psychological weather. They have much to gain and much to lose. Peter the Venerable and Bernard of Portes, who shared a high regard for the solitary life, warn them, therefore, to take care. Notes ' Thomas Merton, "Notes for a Philosophy of Solitude," in his Disputed Questions (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1960; Noonday Book, 1976), p. 165. 2 A Rule of Life for a Recluse, trans. Mary Paul MacPherson, in The Works of Aelred of Rievaulx, Vol. 1: Treatises, The Pastoral Prayer, Cistercian Fathers Series, no. 2 (Spencer, Massachusetts: Cistercian Publications, 1971). 3 Neither the letter of Peter the Venerable to Ghislebert nor Bernard of Portes's letter to Rainald has, as far as I know, been translated into English. The Latin text and a French translation of Bernard's letter can be found in Lettres des premiers chartreux, Vol. 2, introduction, critical text, French translation, and notes by "un chartreux" (Sources chr~tiennes, no. 274; Paris: Cerf, 1980), pp. 50-79. For the Latin text of Peter's letter, see Giles Constable, The Letters of Peter the Venerable, Vol. 1 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1967), pp. 27-41. November-December 2000 MARY BETH MOORE A Spiritual Direction Connie drew the heavy drape across the window, noting the ast gray light filtering from the west. She turned on a small lamp on one side of the room and lit the vanilla candle at the other. Immediately its aroma permeated the small space. She selected a Mozart disc from the handful of CDs near the love seat, placed it carefully on the turntable, pressed play, and adjusted the volume so that the maestro's graceful, precise notes were barely audible, as subtle as the candle. She paused, looking slowly to each corner until satisfied by the atmosphere she had created. Free of clutter, the parlor was just large enough for the love seat, chair, and coffee table. She sat down on the chair. Connie never sat until she was satisfied. She was a short, heavy woman and, since it was not easy for her to get out of a chair, she considered the act of getting into it. She had a few moments before her guest arrived, and this time was also planned. The guest or, more precisely, the directee required the kind of attention one must work up to. So she made an effort to appreciate the room for its own sake. She awaited the security these preparations usually brought. She summoned the attitude of inner peace which any directee had a right to expect of her, breathing deeply, ignoring the slight pulse in her legs, ankles, even noting the contradiction between attending to a pleas-ant carnal sensation--the candle--and determinedly shutting out the unpleasant. She made herself breathe. Connie had been a spiritual director for almost twenty years, Mary Beth Moore SC writes from 3496 Jerusalem Avenue; Wantagh, New York 11793. Review for Religious and people liked her. She had talent in this abstruse area, and she knew this because her directees said so. Most of her clients were nuns, participants in a lifestyle whose subtle conflicts she knew as her own, having been a nun now for forty years. Relationships: community, friends, principals, superiors. Even, occasionally, a romantic entanglement. And, of course, the relationship with God. Connie never told them what to do. She listened. She asked ques-tions. She recalled for the searcher his or her own best qualities. (Yes, even the occasional priest or layman found his way to her.) Generosity. Loyalty. Courage. Connie never mi~de these things up. Yes, that was the talent. Seemingly from thin air, she would recall a point the directee had made two months before, or ask precisely the right question. "What must you do to grow in this sit-uation?" The question was perhaps trite, but the answers never were. Stammering or articulate, passionate or cool, the directee usually responded with a perfectly credible plan of action, one whose truthfulness went to the heart of the matter. She had learned to expect the creativity that her directees brought with them. Still, Connie did not consider herself creative. She thought of herself as a modest person, and attributed the results to God's grace. When she looked in the mirror, she saw a face that had always been plain, and was now old. Of course, Connie had not once seen her own brown eyes transformed with the glow of the full attention she gave to the directees. They simply thanked her. She expected nothing more. At the sound of the doorbell, Connie took hold of the chair arms and, giving herself a boost, stood and steadied herself before crossing the short distance to the front door. She was pleasantly nervous for this encounter with her client, and she hurried as much as she could, knowing how uncomfortable it was to wait at her door. The Bronx brownstone faced southeast toward the Sound and Long Island, and through the winter a stiffwind blew almost steadily. She opened the door to see a petite woman framed against the dark corridor of the street, hopping around on the stoop to cope with the cold. The sky behind her was clear, but dark. The city lights obliterated all but the highest-hung stars. "Marilyn, my dear, come in quickly before the wind knocks you down." "It almost did. I parked a block away, and--" "Did you meet much traffic?" Connie took Marilyn's coat and shivered at the cold that rolled off of it. November-December 2000 Moore ¯ A Spiritual Direction "Som'e, as usual. The Cross Bronx is always crowded." "Oh, that's a terrible road. I always feel glad when I turn off. A cup of tea before we start?" "I would love it, if it's no trouble. It sounds so good." "No trouble at all. Go in and make yourse.lf comfortable. I'll be right back." She indicated the room she had just prepared, and waited to be sure her guest was seated before disappearing into the inner quarters to make tea. She returned with a tray and two steaming cups. They were silent as they fixed the tea to their lik-ing. Part of Connie's skill was to suppress small talk as the pre-lude to spiritual direction. Chatter cluttered the spirit, she believed. She had once lived as a hermit for three months, and the disci-pline served her well. After a suitable interval she moved to her cus-tomary opener. "So, tell me, what brings you to spiritual direction?" "Ah, yes. Well, I have the intuition, this notion. It haunts me and I feel almost, I don't know, maybe, embarrassed to share it. Or even ashamed--though maybe that is too strong a word. I've tried to discuss it, get a hold, but I." Connie listened as the other woman stuttered, and felt a tug of compassion. She leaned ever so slightly toward her, her eyes widening to lend support to the recitation. A sexual problem per-haps. Everything supposedly out in the open these days, but the unique turns of the human heart, and the struggle to articulate them! She waited. ". this notion, and others don't want to hear, or maybe can't hear. Almost a conviction actually." "A conviction that ." Connie was poised, waiting for the other to look up. "I don't want to offend you, as well. But I suppose it's foolish to come and beat around the bush. You see--" "'I assure you, my dear, I won't be offended. I'm eager to hear what you have to say." "A conviction that it's over. Over, over, over." Connie frowned, noted the slightest wave of impatience with the conversation's turn. "You'll have to tell me what 'it' is, I think." "This." She spread her hands as if her meaning should be obvi-ous, indicating the candle, the lamp, and Connie herself with thrusts of her chin. "Convents. Middle-aged women living in polite little groups, good-hearted, but accommodated. Comfortable. Convents, parlors, single beds, obsessive neatness, vanilla candles. Over." Review for Religious "Leave my candle out of it, at least," Connie said, more emphatically than she had intended. She was offended, but she did not realize it quite yet. "O.K. Your candle may be spared." Marilyn grinned. "But as for the other elements, well, the writing is on the wall." "Nebuchadnezzar? A kingdom about to fall?" Connie tried to get her bearings. The other's hesitancy had disappeared, her voice got stronger by the sentence, and Connie began to think that her earlier, tentative approach might have been a ploy. "Yes. That's exactly right, Connie. The humble kingdom we built for ourselves that did so much good. Children we taught, sick we nursed. It was a world in itself, a kingdom if you will. We had a place in a religiosity that was shared by Catholics every-where. In that Catholic world, we had a mystique of holiness, otherness. We were a cheap labor pool. Now others can do what we did, without living a special way of life." She took deep breath while Connie waited with alarm. "I believe our lifestyle is ending." Buy time. That was Connie's second idea, after the first one, something like, who do you think you are? Who are you, sup-posedly asking me for help, boldly upending a tradition? One that needs no defense. "I must keep eye contact," she thought. "Marilyn, too, is a committed religious, sincere, middle-aged, a seeker like myself." She was unused to such a strong emotion that was not compassion. She focused with effort. "Fall back on tech-nique," she urged herself. When she finally spoke, her voice was light. "Well, that's radical, for sure. Possibly a bit reductive. I'll need some time to take in the idea. But, in any case, you know that spir-itual direction does not provide answers. Why don't you tell me about your prayer. What's happening there?" "Connie, don't you see? That is what's happening. I pray, but I feel afraid. This sense of winding down . . . it, it assaults me. This is the result of my reading the signs of the times. And, very selfishly, I wonder what will happen to us. I'd actually like some-body to refute me." "'Prayer is the balance of mind and heart. Perhaps you think too much." November-December 2000 Moore ¯ A Spiritual Direction "Prayer is the balance of mind and heart. Perhaps you think too much." "Oh, maybe. It's just when I have an insight I always think it's correct. I'm not pious, either." Marilyn's voice had softened. Connie saw that she had heard her words as a correction, as in fact they had been. She had men-tioned fear, a key word in Connie's work, the rope binding the spirit, an adversary of growth. Usually Connie would have asked about it, but this evening it suddenly seemed like too much trou-ble. She was impatient, her back began to ache. She sought for a middle ground. "Or perhaps I think too little. You're a challenge to me, and I'm not sure if I can be as objective as I like. Can you"--she searched for the way back to Marilyn's point--"can you stay with the questions?" She got a little stronger. "Ride the questions." Marilyn thrust out her chin, as if shg regarded the question as an object in the room. There was a pulse of silence. "Yeah. That's a good idea." She smiled and looked at Connie with a glint of humor. "Good luck. I'll pray with you." There was a notable pause, and Connie sighed before turn-ing to topics of lesser import. Her back pain was easing, and she felt relieved that the conversation had returned to a manageable place. She was no coward. She had borne others' tears and rage at God. But a messy squabble with herself as partner was not at all congenial. She had put the balance back. She would pray with and for Marilyn. Both were careful to refrain from gossip in the spiritual-direc-tion setting; the set of those who chose such support was small, and many knew each other. Still, there were allowable facts--some-one's new job, an elderly sister's passing. And, after the intense discussion of the inner life, it was consoling to take in the mellow light and the full attention, each from the other. When they had finished the tea, and the candle wax threatened to spill on the table top, Marilyn moved to go. Connie helped her with her coat, saw her out into the cold air. The street was quieter now and a single star, maybe a planet, winked above the streetlights. She closed the door and went back to her direction room to turn off the light and blow out the candle. The wax had leaked onto the table into a viscous pool. "Ride the question," she repeated softly aloud to herself. She had been pleased to hit upon a phrase Revie~v for Religious that seemed to help her directee, but, as she turned it over in her mind now, looking at the empty room, it sounded trite, facile. The dialogue with Marilyn echoed in her mind, and a sensation rip-pled quickly, like the hint of an unpleasant duty she could not quite remember. She stepped away from the room with unusual haste and headed for the community recreation room and her favorite TV program. When Connie got to the community room, Sarah was watch-ing a public TV program--something about endangered species-- with the intensity of a graduate student. While she made eye contact with Connie, she held up a forefinger to postpone conversation until the program seg-ment ended. Connie sank into the chair and waited. She did not mind. It was more inter-esting to observe Sarah than to watch the parade of facts on the screen. She could easily see in the woman the ardent girl she had taught thirty years before, and, in her unsettled state of mind, that girl seemed to inhabit the room again. Sarah's field was biology, and she brought her expertise along with boundless energy to a nonprofit agency that monitored the environ-ment. Connie studied her with detached affec-tion. What was it that made Sarah so interesting? The combination of ambition and idealism, thought Connie. She was the perfect nun for our time. Connie mused about the effect of her own ministry. She had joined Sarah and the others in the brownstone house the year she finished her term as novice director. It had been her initiative to work free-lance in spiritual direction, and the community con-firmed' her choice. Her clients found her by word of mouth. She spent her day much as she had with the novices, in a disciplined but unhurried rhythm of prayer, study, and client appointments. It was Sarah who persuaded Connie to get a paying job two years ago. Some of the sisters in her own house had argued against it, but Sarah persisted. She pointed out to Connie that she com-plained about being the one to answer telephone solicitations and wait for plumbers. Sarah, the realist, reminded the community that their income base was shrinking, since the elderly sisters far outnumbered the younger wage-earners. Connie began to mind She could see in the woman the ardent girl she had taught thirty years before. November-December 2000 Moore ¯ A Spiritual Direction not having even a modest paycheck to present for the running of the house, and the quota for the retired sisters' care. The only thing she did not tell Sarah and the others was that she was tired of not having tales to "tell at supper about the outside world they inhabited each day. What could she say about spiritual direction? In that field there were no general issues, no little anecdotes, to report, only secrets of the heart whose value was discovered as the directee conferred it. So Connie took a job as the secretary in a little Catholic school in the Bronx. She bolstered the idealistic young man who was prin-cipal and lent an ear to the parents who rushed through with for-gotten lunches and umbrellas. She now had tales for the dinner table with the community, and savored even more the evenings of direction. She did not allow herself to miss the easy pace she had once enjoyed. She was often tired. She worried intermittently about losing weight, especially when Sarah inaugurated a new restric-tion in the community diet. She gave up insisting that they buy whole milk: it was not worth the commentary on cholesterol. But these were small .annoyances, predictable, familiar. If the occa-sional ache or pain pressed itself too deeply into her conscious-ness, her mind might leap to the future for a moment. But the pain subsided, or was integrated into what she chose to put up with. It was against her principles to measure herself by a worldly standard. She gazed at the TV for a bit, savoring the comfort of her (avorite chair until the program finished and Sarah pressed the mute button. "How was your day?" Connie asked. "Really productive," Sarah answered brightly. "I spent the morning editing that junior high 'natural city' curriculum. Jake did a great job with the project and I told him so. Then I had a meeting with the Friends of the Harbor committee. Giuliani's guy stopped in. Nice person actually, said he would continue to press our concerns with the mayor. He sounded sincere, but we'll keep the pressure on anyway. Peter was pleased." "Peter?" "Grossman, the earth sciences professor from Bronx Community College, that one who chairs--" "Oh yes, I remember him." Connie made it a point to keep up with the cast of cha[acters that peopled Sarah's offbeat job. "Did Jake's wife have the baby yet?" Review for Religious "Three days ago! I thought I'd told you. Mother and daugh-ter are doing fine." Sarah described the particulars of the birth in detail, then trained eager eyes on Connie. "How was your day?" Connie's mind returned to her session, where a seasoned nun had suggested that religious life would become a thing of the past. It was an abstract idea, after all. The common room she shared now with Sarah was perfectly real and stable. The house had been paid for. "Connie, your day?" Sarah's voice called her from her reverie. "Anything wrong?" "Wrong? Oh no." She hesitated. "Do you think about the future, Sarah? I mean our community. Do you think there will be nuns living in this house in twenty years? Youngish nuns, enthu-siastic like yourself, women who believe in prayer, the vows? Some of my directees"--she tried to be deliberately vague--"a few think our way of living is a thing of the past." Sarah frowned. "It could be, you know. Let's face it. No one has joined the community at all in the past five years, and those of us in it aren't getting any younger. It could be. But, hey, God our Mother will bring to birth something new. Birth, growth, decay, matter recycle into new growth. It's a universal process. Why should we escape it?" She reached for the TV wand."Do you want to watch anything else?" "You've thought about this?" "Oh, it crosses my mind now and again. Shall I turn this off?." Sarah waved the remote again. "Sure." Connie could see that Sarah was preparing to leave the community room, and a wave of desolation passed over her. She longed to call out, "Please don't go, yet," but she knew perfectly well such a request would startle Sarah. "She'd probably think I'm having some kind of attack," Connie thought. "What reason could I give for the need of her presence?" Nothing came to her. Sarah was at the door now, turning back, her gaze objective and ldnd. "You O.K., Connie?" "I'm just fine," Connie answered quickly. "Sufficient for the day is the trouble thereof." Sarah was satisfied. "Sleep well, then." "You too." Connie was alone now in the familiar room, and hothing could threaten her. Soon her strange moment of panic would pass, and she would move to her usual routine, fold back the newspaper, November-December 2000 Moore ¯ A Spiritual Direction enjoy the silence. She had an honorable job. She loved Sarah, and the others with whom she lived and shared an uncomplicated love of friendship. She scanned the headlines, then tossed them aside to read the Arts page, a book review, but she struggled to concen-trate. "Loneliness has no hold over me," she thought. Loneliness and solitude were the same companion in different dress, the bite of one and the consolation of the other alternating throughout her days. But the mood of release she sought at the end of the day still eluded her. She focused on the gratitude she must render for the events of the day, and recalled a grandmother who had come to the school to deliver a forgotten lunch. In her mind's eye she could see the weary black face transformed with smiles when the child hove into view. But, when the memory dimmed, a keen discomfort reasserted itself. She pushed through her rote evening prayer, "Now Lord you may dismiss your servant in peace, for my eyes have seen your sal-vation. A light of revelation to the Gentiles and a glory for your people Israel." Simeon, welcoming his life's end, having seen the object of his heart's desire. "He was lucky," she thought. The prayer did not seem to help at all. She turned off the light in the common room and made her way out by the light of the street lamp filtering through the blinds. She turned toward the kitchen. "A nice cup of tea," she thought. "It will clear my mind." She made the tea. She measured out her usual two spoonfuls of sugar, tasted it, then furtively added a third. She sipped it slowly and regarded the clock, whose subtle whine could be heard in the silence. "I tell my directees to face their fears. And so must I," Connie concluded. "What was it, then, old age?" But she dismissed this quickly. Maybe prettier, fitter women, yes, even nuns might struggle with this, but she had never known herself that way. She had long ago accommodated herself to aches and wrinkles. Nor was it fear of death. Not yet. Her mother, her aunts, stout women all, had lived into their nineties. "I probably have a few decades in me," she mused. What had Marilyn said? "It's over." That was the phrase that had ripped her, as if a web of equilibrium she hardly knew existed was torn, and its sundering had discovered a category of feeling she could not recognize. "Now, Lord, you may dismiss your servant in peace, because my eyes have seen your salvation." Simeon's words came back Review for Religious again, with the picture of the bearded sage, smiling and content, holding an infant whom he knew certainly to be the savior. Who did he think he was? "I'm jealous of him," she thought. And, since the habit of honesty was well established, Connie began to name the struggle. The child Simeon held had just been named Jesus, newly circumcised, accompanied by proud parents. She was jealous of Simeon's proximity, his luck to be in the right place at the right time. She was envious of the consolation of touch, the embrace that illuminated him, at once revealing the true iden-tity of the child. But most of all she was jealous of his certainty. As a young idealistic woman, and through all the vicissitudes of the years, she had fallen back on the certainty that she was doing God's will. And, just as the meeting with a newborn child had transformed Simeon from a bumbling old man into a prophet, so she had thought her lifestyle would transform her. She looked around the kitchen slowly, scrutinizing the cabi-nets, the fridge. Stalling. The fear she felt was not provoked by the encounter with Marilyn, but rather unmasked by it. Fear, raw fear, as when a young child is lost in a crowded arena. Connie placed both hands on the teacup and concentrated on the warmth that spread to her palms. She recalled, with effort, that she was an adult. But, slowly, understanding came to her. What was threatened was certainty and specialness. The fear in her belly suggested that she had bartered for those goods with the austerity of her lifestyle and her vows. Yet she herself had taught the basic truth of spiri-tual direction so many times: All that is not love must be rooted out. She could not blame anyone or anything external for her new situation. She sat thus at the kitchentable for a long while, and the tea, untouched, grew cold. By and by she simply admitted that an inner battle was just beginning; she might as well go to bed. Fear would come and go, and grief, too, must attend the process. She lay in bed, listening to the faint sounds of traffic, making an effort to yield to sleep in order to be ready for the next day. But, as she was poised on the mysterious shelf before consciousness falls away, a phrase floated up from the well of memory, a saying she would work with for months to come, "Though a bird be tied to earth by only a thread, still he cannot fly." November-December 2000 a witness response DENNIS j. BILLY Contemplative Religious Witness: A Redemptoristine Monastery At the end of each academic year, I leave my work at the Alphonsian Academy in Rome and spend the summer months as an author in residence at Mount St. Alphonsus, the Redemptorist retreat center in Esopus, New York. During my time there, one of the responsibilities I share with the other members of my community is to celebrate Eucharist at the nearby Redemptoristine monastery of Our Mother of Perpetual Help. This small community of contemplative nuns devotes itself to being what their 18th-century Neapolitan foundress, Maria Celeste Crostarosa (1696- 1755), called a "living memory" of the Holy Savior. My close contact with the sisters there has helped me appreciate more deeply the contemplative dimension of my own vocation. It has also helped me see the intimate relationship between the Redemptorist and Redemptoristine callings, two very different lifestyles-- one apostolic, the other contemplative--deeply devoted to a common charism of proclaiming "plentiful redemption" in Christ. Dennis J. Billy CSSR, a frequent contributor to this review, may be addressed at Accademia Alfonsiana; C.P. 2458; 00100 Roma; Italy. R~view for Religious Spousal Love As a community of women entirely dedicated to contemplation, the sisters at Perpetual Help Monastery maintain a spirit of separation but openness to the world around them. They follow the norms of papal enclosure as laid out in church law and interpreted by their Constitutions and Statutes, but do so with a keen sensitivity that their contemplative vocation places them at the very heart of the local church. In the spirit of Vatican Council II, they have also renewed their way of life to be more in keeping with the spirit and charism of their foundress. In doing so, they have attempted to adapt the contemplative life to the exigencies of North American culture while at the same time taking care to maintain the significant countercultural and eschatological witness that religious life in general and the contemplative life in particular seeks to convey. The result is a small but dedicated group of women religious whose lives are deeply immersed in the mystery of Christ and his body, the church. Verbi sponsa, the recent Vatican instruction on contemplative life and the norms of papal enclosure, describes cloistered nuns as becoming, with the Virgin Mary, "the 'living memory' of the church's spousal love" (§1). I could not read these words without thinking of the special meaning they would have for the Redemptoristines at Esopus and throughout the world. Mary's close.relationship to her Son places her in a position of humble service toward all who turn to her. "To Jesus through Mary" was the way St. Alphonsus de Liguori (1696- 1787) liked to express Mary's role in the economy of salvation. Everything she does is meant to lead us to a closer, more intimate relationship with her Son. Her loving and heartfelt fiat in Luke's Gospel reminds us that it could not be otherwise. Her response to the angel reveals a deep trust in God's trust in her. She became the Mother of God because of her spousal relationship with God, which was itself a gift from God to her and, through her, to all the world. When seen in this light, to be with Mary a "living memory of the church's spousal love" leads quite naturally (perhaps it would be better to say "supernaturally") to being a "living memory of the redeeming Christ." Each remembrance is a single dimension of a To be with Mary a "living memory of the church's spousal love". Ly-95---2 November-December 2000 Billy ¯ Contemplative Religious Witness much larger reality: you cannot have one without the other. Keenly aware of this connection, the Redemptoristines at Esopus proclaim their spousal love for their risen Lord at their daily Eucharist, where he eats with them, drinks with them, and caresses them with the gentle, calming breeze of his Spirit. A Eucharistic Community It is often said that something is not fully experienced until it is remembered. If this saying is true, then the Redemptoristines' desire to become a "living memory" of their Lord must foster a deeper experience of Jesus' presence in their hearts and in their midst. One need only consider the deep spirit of prayerfulness that fills their daily celebration of the Eucharist to see that this is so. These simple celebrations tap into the hidden life of contemplation going on in the deepest recesses of their hearts and reveal the height and depth and breadth of the paschal mystery. The daily Eucharist is the center of the sisters' lives. It immerses them in the mystery of God's love which their lives espouse and puts them in intimate contact with their risen Lord. The Eucharist reminds them of the "eucharistic quality" of the cloistered life itself (see Verbi sponsa, §3). Separation from the world enables the sisters to be present t6 the world on a much deeper level. It enables them to share not only in Jesus' life of kenotic self-offering, but also to join him in his eternal act of thanksgiving to the Father. This close connection between the Eucharist and the sisters' contemplative vocation touches the very heart of the redemptive mystery. It affirms Jesus' ongoing presence in their community and gives meaning to every dimension of their largely hidden life of prayer. The sisters' daily remembrance of Jesus is possible only because of Jesus' continual remembrance of them. They seek to be a living memorial to the living memorial he has left them in the Eucharist. They, more than anyone else I have met, take to heart Jesus' words "Do this in memory of me." In this light, life in the Redemptoristine cloister at Esopus takes on the threefold dimensions of banquet, sacrifice, and presence that characterize the mystery of every Eucharistic celebration. Being a "living memo~ry" of Jesus, in other words, means seeking to give nourishment to others (banquet) through a humble offering of self (sacrifice) in the name and in the company of Jesus, who is "Emmanuel, God wi~h us" (presence). The Review for Religious Eucharist, in other words, not only is the summit of their lives, but permeates everything they do. Without it, there is no way they could continue or even survive. From Death to Life I once had the occasion to experience this eucharistic quality of the sisters' lives in a profound and beautiful way. Sister Mary Regina, one of the sisters in the community, was nearing death after a long-drawn-out battle with cancer. This was happening at the very time I had been scheduled to lead the sisters in their annual ten-day retreat. After learning that Regina's death was drawing near, I fully expected the retreat to be canceled (or at least postponed), since the sisters' hearts were heavy with sorrow and their schedule was already overloaded by the "round the clock" attention Regina's condition demanded. I was ~urprised, therefore, to learn that the community wanted the retreat to go on, despite the added strain it would put on them. I was even more surprised (but also delighted) when, on the first day of the retreat, the prioress asked if it would be all right to celebrate Mass in the infirmary so that Regina could attend from her sickbed. That Eucharistturned out to be the last Regina would ever share in--at least on this side of death. The breaking of the bread took on special significance as we celebrated in the presence of one whose life was ebbing away. The nearness of death brought a special solemnity to our celebration. Regina's silence added depth to our words; her gaze, a quiet calm to our troubled, questioning hearts. The knowledge that she would not be with us much longer affected the way we prayed. Everyone in the room seemed to have one eye fixed on the Lord and the other one on her. And that was the way it should have been, the way the Lord himself wanted it. This was Regina's moment. With her community around her, she was free to be herself before her Lord. Firmly fixed on the host, her eyes told us in a quiet, nonverbal way that Jesus was with her in a way he had never been before. So it is, I believe, with all of us at or near the time of death. Each one of us must one day drink from the same cup. Now it was Regina's turn. Separation from the world enables the sisters to be present on a much deeper level. November-December 2000 Billy ¯ Contemplative Religious Witness Near the end of Mass, I looked around the room and experienced that sense of communion that can only come from hearts united by their common yearning for God. As my eyes moved from face to face, I could sense the pain that the community as a whole and each of its members was experiencing as a result of Regina's illness and imminent death. I could also sense the deep love that bound them to each other and, at this special moment, to Regina. In the midst of the sadness, my gratitude deepened and gave way to a deep sense of peace. The Lord was with us, and that was all that mattered. I closed my eyes and imagined myself in the upper room. The Heart of the Church Contemplatives, we are told, live at the very heart of the church. On this day I was grateful for this brief glimpse God had given me into the heart of a contemplative community. There the simple mysteries of life and death are recognized, pondered, and celebrated. There human existence is plumbed to its depths and experienced in all its wonder and heightened fragility. There the restlessness of the human heart forages in the darkness of divine mystery. There God is allowed to be God and is welcomed, however he chooses to come. Very few of us ai'e called to live as contemplatives in the heart of the church. Those who hear the call and respond to it often find that they have been driven to it by the relentless pursuit of a passionate divine Lover. Happiness would elude them anywhere else. Only there, in the cloister, can they give themselves exclusively to God with all their heart, mind, soul, and strength. Their hidden life behind their monastery walls is the visible reminder of what they have left behind--and journeyed into. So essential is it to the good of the whole that it recedes, almost by necessity, to the background of life's numerous surface activities. Like the heart itself, it is never seen, rarely heard, seemingly still, but always pumping. The heart, one might say, is an appropriate metaphor for monastic enclosure itself. Some of the most vital activity in the entire body takes place within the narrow, confining chambers of the heart. These otherwise empty cavities are formed by the inner contours of the heart's muscle fibers. The constant expansion and contraction of these tissues forces the blood through the chambers Review for Religious and creates enough pressure to make it flow throughout the rest of the body. In a similar way the empty spaces within the cloister are visibly shaped by the rules of monastic enclosure which, firm yet flexible, allow the life of the contemplative community to distinguish itself from the rest of Christ's body in order to perform for it a special function. Here the all-important apostolic dimension of the contemplative life comes to light. The contemplative community plumbs the depths of the Spirit so that the life of the Spirit may flow more freely to all the members of the body. Here the law of inverted magnitudes operates in full force. The contemplative community confines itself in time and space in order to open itself up to and move more deeply into the sacred. This simultaneous movement ("juxtaposition," if you will) of contraction and expansion is at the center of the contemplative experience. Although not everyone is called to live a life of monastic enclosure, all of us are called to foster a contemplative attihade toward life. For us to do so, this dynamic .movement of physical withdrawal and spiritual expansion must somehow come into play for each of us. Active and Contehaplative I began these reflections by stating that my contact with the Redemptoristine community at Esopus has given me a deeper appreciation of the contemplative dimension of my vocation as a Redemptorist, missionary. I also like to think that, in some way, the appreciation has been mutual, giving rise in them to a deeper sense of the apostolic dimension of their lives as contemplative religious. We share a single charism which, although expressed in drastically different lifestyles, brings to light the plentiful redemption wrought for us in the passion, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Contemplative religious, we have seen, live in the very heart of the church. The Redemptoristines, to my mind, do much the same for the apostolic mission of the Redemptorist congregation. Both orders, after all, share common origins and embrace the same motto: Copiosa apud eum redemptio ("With him there is plentiful redemption"). To follow the Lord in his work for the poor and most abandoned (as Redemptorists try to do) is closely tied to being a "living memory" of the risen Lord (as the sisters try to be). Each order focuses on a different dimension of the one redemptive mystery and, for this very reason, is intimately related to the other. Noventber-December 2000 My experience at Esopus has taught me that contemplative religious can best contribute to the apostolic mission of the church by simply being themselves and living whatever Rule they follow with patience, humility, and deep compassion. In doing so, they reveal the depth of their humanity and remind us of the intimacy we are all called to share with the divine. The eucharistic quality of their lives enables them to celebrate the present moment-- whatever it may bring--by sharing the gifts of self-offering and sensitive personal presence. Their life of solitude places them at the very heart of the church's life and ongoing mission. Their enclosed life offers the world a countercultural and eschatological sign of what is still to come, yet somehow already mysteriously present in the deepest recesses of the human heart. Like the Redemptoristines at Esopus, contemplative religious are called to lose themselves in the mystery of the divine in order to find themselves in the face of the very next person they meet. They plumb the depths of human experience in order to move more deeply into the sacred and live in intimate spousal union with their divine Lover. All of them are living reminders of the passion, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. All are visible expressions of the church's living memory of what took place in the person of Jesus Christ and takes place today in his body, the church. Theirs is a message for all times, all places, and all circumstances. Those who hear it will recognize the need to foster in themselves a contemplative attitude toward life. Those who do not will miss a unique opportunity to peer beneath the surface of life and behold, as never before, the innermost treasures of the human heart. Review for Religious ANDRI~ MAUREEN SOETE A Vowed Response to the Postmodern World Tphosetm choadrearcnte wriostrilcds asryem bpetionmgs s, taunddie rde aalnitdie ps roofb oeudr bsyo -sccailelend-tists, sociologists, anthropologists, philosophers, and theologians. All seek to understand the reality, foresee the consequences, and arrive at some satisfactory description and response. Since I am not a theologian, scientist, philosopher, or any of the above, I do not claim to understand this reality, much less propose responses. What I offer is simply my own response as a woman religious, specifically a School Sister of Notre Dame. The Situation of Our Age Postmodern issues have been touching us and coming into our consciousness for some time now. Our world is rapidly chang-ing, and what we once thought were objective, unchangeable real-ities are in fact changing. The "way to be" and the "way to do" for the present generation seems so different from our way. What can all this mean to SSND sisters and associates at this time? This time of change may feel like a breakdown. The world has become so different that we may not like it and may question Andr,~ Maureen Soete SSND has ministered in Japan for thirteen years. This article is the address she gave to an assembly of Japanese and North American School Sisters of Notre Dame in Kyoto on 9 January 2000. Her address is 11 ol Kawarada-cho; Matsugasaki; Sakyo-ku; Kyoto 606, Japan. November-December 2000 Soete * A Vowed Response the direction in which it is heading. Envisioning ourselves living in this new age, we may have the feeling that we do not fit, for what we understood as reality is being challenged. This is not just the usual generation-gap experience that we have all probably experienced from one side or the other. This phenomenon has been observed by many since the first hints of it in the 1970s and is obviously a real cultural shift. The choices for different lifestyles, the questioning of what we considered permanent values, and the challenges to our thinking are in some ways unnerving. We may catch ourselves longing for the good old days--the secure structures, the way students "used to be," and the way convent life was. It almost tempts us to choose to respond by retreating--by going back. These times are being described by the word chaos. Some of the chaotic things that people observe and study are political, eco-nomic, and social oppression; poverty, starvation, and unemploy-ment; the oppression of women; the ecological crisis; nuclear threat; secularism, materialism, and the failure of churches to renew themselves and inspire belief. Chaos causes a great deal of anxiety, but it also provides us with the moment and the call to rediscover our real story and our deepest roots. How Our Foundress Would Respond As followers of Mother Theresa Gerhardinger, we can ask ourselves how she would manage in this age, how .she would respond if she were alive today. We know that our answer would have something to do with our charism. What is it that she passed on to us that is ageless? What is the changeless essence that will survive these times and even give us the hope we need to go on? When we think of Mother Theresa responding to her time and day we think of a strong woman of prayer, a woman of God, a woman in touch with the reality and needs of her day, a woman animated and energized by the conviction that women can change the world, a woman who knew that, if people can change, the world can cMnge too. But at the root of all these images of her was her sense of God's desire and call "that all be one." She longed for the oneness of all in God. She was a woman willing to strug-gle for unity on every level. She could see unity in diversity, for she believed in the rights of individuals and the respect due to each person. She learned the Review for Religious lessons essential for real unity--lessons of love, respect, appreci-ation, tolerance, and trust--first from her own parents and later from her mentors Bishop Wittmann and Father Job. These were her models, inspiring her to foster the same values among her sis-ters and her society. It was her commitment to unity and her drive "to make one" that gave her tireless energy for mission, and could give us the same tireless energy. The Postmodern Age The academic world has come to use the term "postmodern" in an attempt to name this period of the world's history because this is the period in which people are reacting to all that is false and untrue, all that has not worked in our familiar modern age. In some way the choice of the name "postmodern" is like calling the butterfly a "postcaterpillar." "Postcaterpillar" might be a suitable name during the period when we observe that the caterpillar is no more, that what was once the caterpillar now seems dead or half dead, changing unaccountably. But once we see the beautiful creature with bright wings emerge, flutter freely, and take flight, we find ourselves calling it a "butterfly." Similarly, because of the lack of clarity about the future, schol-ars describe the present reality by noting changes from the earlier condition.When all of the characteristics of this age become clear and show some coherence, it will be time to give the new period a name. The world may not reach that point in our lifetimes, but I hope that all of us want to be a part of the creation of the new name. We can do that by appropriately influencing, shaping, and creating some of the characteristics that will emerge. I suggest that a principal characteristic must be unity. That same oneness that was Christ's mission and Theresa Gerhardinger's mission must be our mission too. Failure of the Modern Age The modern age promised us that by science and technology, by dividing the whole, dissecting and labeling every part, and con-trasting one thing with another, it could understand and solve the problems of our world and probe the depths of reality. It promised that the world would be controlled and developed and perfected, and that human beings would reach great heights. But science November-December 2000 [--~2 ¯ Soete ¯ A Vowed Response Our prosperity and plenty come to us on the backs of the poor and oppressed. itself has had to admit that the mysteries of the world are far beyond such probing; that our scientific advances have actually destroyed much of our world and have led us to live in fear of some scientific developments; that actually, in spite of all of our sci-entific progress, we have missed opportunities to expand and develop our spiritual and human potential and have inst(ad created horrendous human misery. MI of the human misery in the world today is a sign that these former beliefs are not working. When I think of the oppression, poverty, ecological recklessness, uncontrolled materialism, and other problems of our day, I can understand why a new generation rejects our old answers. When I hear dogmatic pronouncements from our churches or from our governments about how things should be and see that those very pronouncements bring about more division than unity and hope alnong peoples, I can understand why some of my own young nieces and nephews reject them as incomplete, irrelevant, without meaning in their lives. It is probably true that there have always been famines, always children abused, always conflicts among religious groups, always people oppressed and exploited and murdered--but we have not always known about them with such immediate clarity. Now, thanks to advances in technology, we do. We are informed immediately about what is happening around the world. And we know now what the prophets and economists have been telling us for a long time, that our prosperity and plenty come to us on the backs of the poor and oppressed. And now the poor and oppressed know that too. We can see all of the "signs of the times" on our nightly news programs. It is up to us to read them carefully, interpret them honestly, and respond accordingly. If society is not organizing itself so as to be inclusive of all citizens, but chooses rather to be exclusive, then the developments in the world around us must sig-nal that we are going in the wrong direction. If our lack of respect for our environment cries out to heaven and to us in its misery, if our land is no longer fertile, our water is befouled, and our air is poisoned--if we really see and recognize this, we must know that we are going in the wrong direction. Review for Religious If our neglect of the poor and downtrodden causes our edu-cation and healthcare systems to fail, and if our competitive cul-tures make the lives of many people miserable, then all of that neglect and competition must be the wrong direction. If the signs tell me that life the way we have thus far organized it is not work-ing, that nothing succeeds, that my actions effect disaster for oth-ers, I am obviously moving in the wrong direction. After recognizing all of this, what do we do? We must make choices in response to these signs. We can choose to be "the tired ones" who give up to let someone else lead the renewal. We can choose to be "the selfish ones" who create only our own security and pleasure. Or we can choose to be "the hopeful ones" who will look for new possibilities for ourselves and for the world. I want us to be the ones who choose to be hopeful. I think we must con-tinue to believe that human beings hold the potential to create a world that works for all peoples. Our Vows as a Response I think that as vowed religious we might bring new dimen-sions to the thinking about solutions to world problems and could radically affect outcomes--not by seeing ourselves as an elite group distanced from our neighbors by some holy and private choices, by mysterious vows of poverty, celibacy, and obedience, but rather by remembering--and letting ourselves be reignited by--the zeal with which I think we all made our first vows. I mean the per-sonal hope that we would change the world for the better, that we ourselves would bring with us the presence of Christ, that by sharing our love, faith, and hope we would make Christ visible and bring all the world to oneness in God. What happened to that most wonderful zeal and enthusiasm? I think that we religious need to ponder deeply the meaning of our vows and the witness our lives can give, must give, in con-trast to various trends and news events. I think of instances of environmental pollution, of trials for war crimes, of the terroriz-ing of ethnic and religious groups, and of the mother of a young child who could kill another woman's little girl. We seek to be effective in demonstrating hope and bringing it into our world. In a world where millions (including helpless children) suf-fer from the lack of such essentials as food, clothing, shelter, medicine, and education; in a world where people use their wealth November-December 2000 Soete ¯ A Vowed Response to produce more wealth so that they can live in a style that uses up the goods of the earth; in a world where people want more and more and give less and less to the laborers who produce the goods; in a world full of people who throw away and waste without even a thought--in such a world I have promised, we have promised, to use only what we need and to share everything we have. Are we keeping that promise? Would anyone who looks at us, our lifestyles, or our closets notice our choiceto do with less and our willingness to share? Would they be edified, stand in awe of the way that we are keeping our promise? In a world where groups of human beings look upon other groups as lower and with great intolerance seek to get rid of them; in a world where "ethnic cleansing," ways of death, become a way of life for some; in a world where nationalism means that free-dom to be intolerant of the differences of other races or peoples-- in such a world I have promised, we have promised, to love inclusively and to take on Jesus' own reverence and concern for all people, excluding no one. Are we keeping that promise? Would anyone who looks at us, at our way of being with the people with whom we live, at our way of being with the people at our place of ministry, notice our love, tolerance, and respect? Would they be edified and stand in awe of the way we are keeping our promise? In a world where the strong and influential make decisions for the weak; in a world where whole groups of people are not consulted about matters that affect vital areas of their lives; in a world where people are murdered because they disagree--in such a world I have promised, we have promised, to search for God's will and the right direction through dialogue and conversation, con-sultation and collaboration with all concerned. Are we keeping that promise? Would anyone who watches how we lead or partic-ipate in groups of students or teachers or coworkers notice our collaborative style or the way we listen to every person? Wotild they be edified and stand in awe of the way we are keeping our promise? What Then? I have spoken about our vows, emphasizing them as three promises because the term "vows" can sometimes be spiritualized and focused only on our commitment to God. In thinking about them as promises, I had a sense of a great possibility. I began to see Review for Religious that what we promise is more like a radical way that all human beings need to choose if we are to create a world where all people can live with dignity. I Wonder what might happen if we shared these choices of ours more openly among ourselves and witnessed to them more radically with our associates and with our partners in ministry. I am not so sure of our next step. I am not so sure how this small core of friends and others like us might have a good impact on our society and our world. But I think that somehow we can--and I challenge ourselves and others to come alive with that potential. "Striving for Unity" is our charism. We are supposed to be masters of it by now. Why, in our Japan Region alone, if we add up all of our years of religious life, we have more than three thousand years of our SSND lifestyle! I hope that we and others may gather together everyone's good insights and with them create for ourselves an exciting and real-istic dream as we step forward with God into this third millennium. Many of us will probably not be around when the next era gets its name, but--just as we prefer the word "butterfly" to "postcaterpillar" when thinking of the little creature's potential--would we not want the concepts of oneness, tolerance, collaboration, acceptance, and respect to be part of the name given to the next era? Are there initiatives for us to take, or can we at least support and encourage the wonderful people around us who are already dedicating their lives to this conversion and transformation of the earth? Is this not what we want to use our energy and ingenuity for? Is this not a way that we could use our positions as educa-tors and as ministers? Is this not worth the offering of the rest of our lives? We have promised to use only what we need. Are we keeping that promise? November-Decen~ber 2000 LAWRENCE F. BARMANN Mary Ward: Centuries Her Scroll examples from the past Today, amid questions about effective evangelization in the 21st century, about leadership and ~uthority in the Catholic Church, and about women's fuller participa-tion in these efforts and echelons, there is much that can and should be learned from Mary Ward at long last. During her lifetime four hundred years ago, she experi-enced much suffering and failure, but her full contribu-tion to the church and the world seems now to be only beginning. For religious in the United States and else-where who may know little or nothing of this extraor-dinary woman, I hope this article may provide a brief but warm introduction. The recent book I will be draw-ing from and citing is an excellent place to make fur-ther acquaintance with her goodness and truth. I refer to Mary Ward: Pilgrim and Mystic by Margaret Mary Littlehales IBVM) Mary Ward was an English gentlewoman, well-con-nected by birth, and related to many of those who were executed for their part in the ill-conceived Gun Powder Plot of 1605. She was born in Yorkshire in 1585, three years before the defeat of the Spanish Armada and four- Lawrence E Barmann is a professor of American studies and theological studies at Saint Louis Univ, ersity. His address is Humanities Building; 3800 Lindell Boulevard; St. Louis, Missouri 63108. Review for Religious teen years after Pope Pius V's bull Regnans in excelsis made techni-cal traitors out of all English Catholics who claimed allegiance to the pope by inviting them to dethrone Queen Elizabeth. So mar-tyrdom for the faith, or at least willingly accepted hardship for the ability to practice it, became the very atmosphere in which Mary Ward grew to adulthood. Such an atmosphere is often inducive to quick spiritual maturity, and in Mary Ward's case it certainly was. By the time she was sixteen, Mary Ward had developed a strong prayer life and the conviction that God intended her for the religious state in some form. Her parents thought otherwise, and Edmund Neville, heir to the earldom of Westmoreland, became her suitor. After Mary had gently rejected him, Neville became a Jesuit; and at twenty-one she persuaded her father to allow her to go to the continent to try her vocation to religious life. In 1606 Mary arrived at SaintoOmer in the Spanish Netherlands (now northern France), where English Catholics escaping persecution in their homeland had been migrating for decades. Through the advice of misguided confessors, she entered a Poor Clare convent, only to realize within a year that this was not where God intended her to be. In 1609 she returned briefly to England, where she seems to have gained some light about God's choice for her. Upon returning to Saint-Omer with a small group of English women about her own age, she set about doing for women's education what the Jesuits were doing for boys among the emigr~s. She called her community the Institute of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and her specific intention was "to train English girls from Catholic families to be wives and mothers or religious, but all to be apostles for the faith in England." She was convinced that women were quite as capable of edu-cation as men, though she thought they did not need precisely the same courses. For Greek and Hebrew she substituted modern lan-guages, and for physical training, dancing. Moreover, she set about having her own followers trained to teach such things. In the patri-archal world and church of the 17th century, this was considered wildly innovative and thus suspect; and so the church authorities, who alone could approve her work as a religious institute, were to make Mary pay dearly for such innovation. Once, in 1617, after hearing a Jesuit priest comment on the work of her schools that, "when all is done, they are but women," Mary remarked calmly but with conviction: "There is no such dif- November-Decen~ber 2000 Barmann ¯ Mary Ward ference between men and women that women may not do great things . And I hope in time to come it will be seen that women will do much . What think you of this word 'but women'? but as if we were in all things inferior to some other creature which I suppose to be man." Mary Ward's convictions about this and much else were drawn not primarily from books and debates, but from her intense relationship with God and from his grace working through her wonderfully balanced and prophetic personality. As the schools grew and young women increasingly wished to join Mary Ward's community, she needed to settle on some rule of life. By 1611 already about forty women had cast their lots with hers. Both the local bishop and her confessor tried to force her to adopt either the Augustinian, Benedictine, Franciscan, or Carmelite rules. To these urgings she could only respond that "they seemed not that which God would have." These "English Ladies," as they were now commonly called by their supporters (or "Jesuitesses," by their detractors), could not have adopted any of those earlier rules for women and continue to do the work to which they were called; all four rules as they were applied to women in those days required canonical enclosure. Finally Mary Ward had her answer, and it was to lead to incredible suffering for the remainder of her life. To the papal nuncio in Cologne, Monsignor Albergati, she explained: About this time, in the year 1611, being alone in some extraordinary repose of mind, I heard distinctly not by sound of voice, but intellectually understood, these words: "Take the same of the Society"; so understood as that we were to take the same both in matter and manner, that only excepted which God by diversity of sex hath prohibited. These few words gave so great a light in that particular institute, comfort and strength, and changed so the whole soul as that it was impos-sible for me to doubt, but that they came from Him whose words are works. Mary Ward's conviction that God intended her to adopt the Jesuit Rule to her institute of religious women and to do her spe-cial work in the world rather than in a cloister was what 17th-cen-tury western Europe obviously needed if it were to remain at all Catholic. But it was a conviction far in advance of the convictions of most of the male authorities in post-Reformation Rome. Furthermore, the Jesuits had managed to incur the jealous wrath of the secular clergy in England, and these latter pursued Mary with calumnious accusations simply because she intended to estab-lish a female religious congregation based on Jesuit principles. Review for Religious These calumnies found a ready hearing in Rome. The Jesuits them-selves were ambivalent about her institute, sometimes being extremely helpful and sometimes joining the enemy. In 1622 Mary Ward finally met the Jesuit general, Mutius Vitelleschi, who was deeply and permanently impressed by her. Henceforth the Jesuit general would instruct his men to be supportive of Mary's work and gracious to her, short of such involvement as might lead to a sort of second order--something St. Ignatius Loyola had strictly for-bidden. Meanwhile Mary's institute had established schools not only in Saint-Omer, but in Liege and Rome, and would soon have houses in Naples, Perugia, Munich, Vienna, Pressburg, and elsewhere. Mary herself, always of delicate physical constitution, went back and forth across the Alps, mostly on foot, frequently in winter and in the midst of the Thirty Years War, in order to strengthen and encourage her followers; while at the same time she worked tirelessly to gain the necessary support of bishops, the Roman curia, and the pope, for the approval of her institute. The number of high-placed clerics who opposed her for reasons that had nothing to do with reli-gion, or even good sense, always outnumbered those who sup-ported her. The bishop of Vienna, for instance, wrote to Rome in 1628 to complain that the English Ladies had opened a school there without his peymission (though they had the emperor's per-mission and he had even given them a house and funds) and that the girls in Mary Ward's school had actually performed publicly in a comic school play! With the Catholic religion collapsing in central Europe, a bishop's jealousy of his rights against the only Catholic ruler of any weight in the region would ultimately prevent the Catholic education of young women in the empire. Of popes with whom Mary had to deal, Urban VIII, who would condemn Galileo at Mary Ward's conviction that God intended her to adopt the Jesuit Rule to her institute of religious women was what 17th-century western Europe obviously needed if it were to remain Catholic. November-December 2000 Barmann ¯ Mar~ Ward about the same time that he condemned Mary Ward, was the most duplicitous. She first had an audience with Urban in 1624, in which she pleaded for approval of her institute and in which Urban smiled and smiled and totally misled her about his intentions. Eventually he ordered the suppression of all of her houses and the dissolution of her institute, and this merely on the basis of English clerical calumnies and calumnies spawned by the hurt pride of ambitious continental clerics. Mary herself was eventually imprisoned as a heretic in a Poor Clare convent in Munich, by order of the Roman Inquisition. There she nearly died, though she so impressed the resident Poor Clares that they knew she was anything but a heretic. Meanwhile, her followers were being systematically driven from their houses and were mostly on the verge of starvation. Having at length been released from prison, Mary set out at the end of 1631 for Rome in order to clear her good name for the sake of what she hoped might be the future of her institute. Kneeling at Urban's feet she burst out, "Holy Father, I am not nor ever have been a heretic." At which the pope interrupted, "We believe it, we believe it; we need no other proof." He also allowed the institute to continue (under private vows) in Rome and under his protection. In 1637 Mary Ward set out again for England, though it would be May of 1639 before she actually got there. She sought a letter from Pope Urban to give to Queen Henrietta Maria to gain the queen's support for her institute. The letter Mary received speaks of her as "one much esteemed in Rome both for her well-known qualities and piety, which will without doubt cause Your Majesty to see and hear her." This was the same Rome which, only half a dozen years earlier, had imprisoned her as a heretic and decreed the destruction of her life's work. The queen did receive Mary gra-ciously, but within a year the country would be in the throes of political ttirmoil that would end in civil war and the execution of the king. Without completely abandoning her hope of establishing a school in London, Mary went north to Yorkshire in 1642, and there she died at Osbaldwick, a short distance from the city of York, on 20 January (old style) 1645. After her death Mary Ward's institute did in fact flourish, and finally, in 1977, after a wait of 366 years, the Institute of the Blessed Virgin Mary was able to realize Mary Ward's original insight and founder's charism by adopting the Jesuit Constitutions, and with the blessing of the Jesuit general, Pedro Arrupe. Margaret Mary Review for Religious Littlehales's study of Mary's Ward's life reveals many things. It reveals the costliness, but also the great happiness, of completely abandoning oneself to God. It also demonstrates that, within the external church structure, official authority can be quite wrong, but probably less so in proportion to the genuine humility of its wielders. Mary Ward's life demonstrates incontrovertibly that God's intended purposes are often achieved through the near annihilation of the human instruments of that achievement. Christians should not be surprised by this, for such was the case with God's own Son. Contemporary religious, both men and women, can find great encouragement and inspiration in the life of this saintly English woman. Dorothy Day did, and she even titled her own autobiog-raphy with a remark Mary Ward once made as she pondered what lay ahead of her as a young woman bent on seeking only God's will--"the long loneliness." Note 1 Margaret Mary Littlehales, Mary Ward, Pilgrim and Mystic, 1~8Y- 164~ (Tunbridge Wells, England: Burns and Oates, 1998). Pp. 272. £18.95. Patrimony my patrimony is a deity unknown whose name I cannot pronounce communicated to me in stuttering speech, in fits of temper and in weeping, in so many questions unleavened by answers in silence and in absence by those struck dumb and those afraid to speak Sefin Kinsella November-December 2000 STAN PARMISANO St. Catherine's Letters: Human Love, Gracious Authority One level of St. Catherine of Siena, perhaps her deepest, is revealed in her Dialogue.' But this great work, whether in the original or in proper translation, is strange fare for many mod-ern readers. Its subject matter--mystical union with the Trinity in and through Christ--is high and heavy and, I should think, attractive only to the relatively few seriously intent upon such union. Its language often includes words and phrases borrowed from the scholastic theology of the day, though Catherine's orig-inal genius keeps breaking through, giving new form to old mat-ter. The book is also rife with personification and allegory (Christ the Bridge, the Tree of Life, Vineyard of the Soul, and so forth)-- fun for the medieval reader, but dry and tedious for today's read-ership. Also, in the Dialogue Catherine is quite formal and impersonal. The lively, dynamic personality recorded in history is certainly there, but it has to be searched out, for it is hidden in the shadow of the great Truth she labors to expound. She herself is merely un'anirna in the mighty presence of her God. Her letters are a different matter.2 They are personal--writ-ten not by an anonymous "soul," but by the flesh-and-blood Catherine. Io Caterina rings throughout, addressed not to people in general, but to here-and-now individuals. The letters evoke wide and popular interest. They deal with Catherine's own life Stan Parmisano OP wrote about theology and faith in our September- October issue. His address remains Saint Albert's Priory; 5890 Birch Court; Oakland, California 94618. Revie'a, for Religiou, and visible experiences and with details about life around her, social and political as well as spiritual. Their language is not borrowed from or freighted with outmoded rhetorical devices, but is pleas-ingly spontaneous and informal, as alive today as in Catherine's own time. On the whole the letters are original. They are Catherine, in every vibrant word and phrase--simple, nuanced, various, alive with passion for the truth, and the truth in particu-lar situations. They are "unliterary," to be sure, for they were talked, not written, by our unlettered saint, but they are clear and coherent, direct and firm, though also tactful. Catherine sometimes digresses, loses the train of her thought, but she never really rambles on or gossips. She has little time for light conversation ("Let us run, let us run, for the time is short!"), and her central point is almost always clear and precise. Though each of her letters is unique, many of them fall into a common pattern. They begin with Jesus, and with Catherine as the slave of the servants of God--never, for Catherine, a mere pious formula, but always freshly genuine. Then she often seems to lose herself in the contemplation and exposition of one of the mysteries of faith, which, however, turns out to be pertinent to the subject of the letter. Soon she comes to the question at issue, and, if in the initial paragraphs she was high and spiritual, peacefully contemplative, now she is very much the active apostle dealing practically and in detail with earthy mat-ters. She ends with statements of love and concern for her corre-spondent, placing all in the hands of God: "Bathe you in the blood of Christ crucified. Sweet Jesus, Jesus Love." The letters reveal the breadth as well as depth of Catherine's concerns, and her marvelous ability to adapt, with no compromise of ideal, to various situations and personalities. To a little niece she writes in gentle, childlike simplicity about the wise and foolish virgins in the Gospel and the lamps they bear: "Do you know what this means, my daughter? By the lamp is meant our heart, because a heart ought to be like a lamp. You see that a lamp is wide above and narrow below, and so the heart is made to signify that we ought always to keep it wide above through holy thoughts and holy imaginations and continual prayer; always holding in mem-ory the blessing of the Blood by which we are bought . I said . simple, nuanced, various, alive with passion for the truth, and the truth in particular situations. November-December 2000 Parmisano ¯ St. Catherine's Letters that a lamp is narrow below, and so is our heart: to signify that the heart ought to be narrow toward these earthly things--that is, it must not desire or love them extravagantly, nor hunger for more than God wills to give us" (letter no. 23). To Alessa, as to other of her women disciples, she sends prac-tical advice about the religious life, which is to be lived "both with and without moderation . For love toward God should be with-out measure, and that for creatures should be measured by that for God, and not by measure of one's own consolations, whether spiritual or temporal." And how manage this? "Make two homes for yourself, my daughter: one actual home in your cell, that you go not running about into many places, unless for necessity, or for obe-dience to the prioress, or for charity's sake; and another spiritual home, which you are to carry with you always." This last, she con-tinues, is "the cell of true self-knowledge," embracing both the knowledge of God and the knowledge of self, "two cells in one. ¯ and when abiding in the one you must abide in the other, for oth-erwise the soul would fall into either confusion or presumption. For, if you rested in the knowledge of yourself, confusion of mind would fall upon you; and, if you dwelt in the knowledge of God alone, you would fall into presumption" (no. 49). Still within the uncompromising truth and love of Jesus, but with some relevant adaptation, she writes in a much different vein to Sir John Hawkwood, the English soldier of fortune who was the scourge of the Italian city-states. She begs him to leave "the service and pay of the devil., and take the pay and the cross of Christ crucified." He is a soldier; let him remain such, but let him now become Christ's knight: "I beg you, then, gently in Christ Jesus, that, since God and also our Holy Father have ordered a crusade against the infidels and [since] you take such pleasure in war and fighting, you should not make war against Christians any-more-- for that is wrong to God; but go against the infidels. For it is a great cruelty that we who are Christians, and members bound in the body of Holy Church, should persecute one another." And she concludes abruptly but quite aptly with a subtle undertone of warning against his soldiering altogether: "I beg you, dearest brother, to keep in memory the shortness of your time." Her final words are as usual: "Remain in the holy and sweet grace of God. Sweet Jesus, Jesus Love" (140). To that formidable woman of the world Queen Joanna of Naples, who first sided with Clement, then Urban, then with Review for Religious Clement again in their rival claims on the papacy, Catherine writes in a similar manner, but with deeper sorrow and fiercer passion: "Dearest Mother--mother, I say, insofar as I see you to be a faith-ful daughter of Holy Church--it seems to me that you have no mercy on yourself. Ah me! because I love you I grieve over the evil state of your soul and body. I would willingly lay down my life to prevent this cruelty. Many times I have written to you in compassion, showing you that what is shown you for the truth is a lie; and the rod of divine justice., is ready for you if you do not flee so great a wrong. It is a human thing to sin, but perseverance in sin is a thing of the devil . Be merciful, ah, be merciful to yourself]. I say no more to you. Remain in the holy sweet grace of God. Sweet Jesus, Jesus Love" (348). She writes differently to Gregory xI than at a later date she would write to Urban vI. Gregory was weak and vacillating, and so in her letters to hi~n she exhorts him to be "manly" and firm in his high office of supreme pontiff: "Be manly in my sight, and not timorous . I, Catherine. write you in his precious Blood, desiring to see you a manly man (uomo virile) without any servile fear." And, when Gregory hesitates in his resolve to return to Rome for fear of being poisoned there, Catherine reminds him that there are other, more terrible kinds of poison; and at any rate there's as much poison "on the tables of Avignon . as on those of Rome!" (229, 239). Urban, on the other hand, from the start of his pontificate was already betraying that spirit of anger and vindictiveness that would end in personal revenge, violence, and mt~rder. One had written to Catherine after the election of Urban: "It seems that our new Christ is a terrible man." In her first letter to him, Catherine appears to be aware of this and shapes her words accordingly: "Next I beg you, and constrain you by the love of Christ crucified, as to those sheep who have left the fold--I believe for my sins-- that, by love of that Blood of which you are made minister, you delay not to receive them in mercy, and with your benignity and holiness force their hardness; give them the good of bringing them back to the fold, and, if they do not ask it in true and perfect humility, let Your Holiness supply for their imperfection. Receive from a sick man what he can give you" (291). Religious life is to be lived "both with and without moderation." November-December 2000 Parmisano * "St. Catherine's Letters She writes to William Flete and other hermits at Laceto a gem of a letter begging them to leave for a time the peace and quiet of their forest retreat and come to Rome on pilgrimage in support of Urban. She desires them so to lose themselves as to seek "nor peace nor quiet elsewhere than in Christ crucified." If out of piety they are loath to leave their solitary life, they must know that there are woods and forests aplenty in and around Rome! (326). To Raymond of Capua, her Dominican soul brother and dearest friend, she writes in every which way: tenderly, pas-sionately, in joy, in anger; now as a scolding mother, now as his obedient daughter, now reproving him for cowardice and want of faith, now exposing her own weakness and want of love. And, often uncomfortably for Raymond, always she wants him together with herself to die a martyr: "I tell you, sweetest Father, that, whether we will or no, the time we are living in enjoins us to die, so do not live any longer." (333). Catherine's Human Love This last suggests one of two facets of Catherine's personality that may prove especially problematic for the modern reader of her letters, namely, the quality of her human love. The spontane-ity, passion, naturalness, and totality of her love for the Person of Christ is beyond question: she is quite literally consumed, body and soul, with love for Him, who is mad (pazzo), drunk (ebro) with love for her. But, when it comes to lesser*folk, her native inclina-tions seem to be oversupernaturalized, and her love may appear forced and lacking in the milk of human tenderness and warmth and understanding. This would explain the extreme discomfort she experiences when ordered by the Lord to leave her solitary life and give to others the same love that she gave to

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