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Health care should be provided efficiently, given the potential gains for patients and the population and the high cost of some kinds of care. Emphasizing the most cost-effective services can in principle attain the greatest health gains. Policies are implemented through tools available to policy makers, particularly those in government who can influence not only public expenditure and service delivery but also how private insurers and providers allocate resources among diseases and individuals. Example's of tools that nudge a health system toward greater value for money, while respecting fair

BETWEEN AUGUST 4TH AND lOTH, THE CITIES OF HIROSHIMA ANDNagasaki sponsored the First World Conference of Mayors for Peacethrough Inter-City Solidarity. CID's President, Michael Shuman, attendedthe conference as a representative of the mayor of Palo Alto. WhenShuman returned, he prepared this highly personal chronicle of what theconference was like-what the mayors experienced, what they discussed, and how CID managed to nudge the conference to "institutionalize" itself. The report is long, involved, and sometimes evenemotionally wrenching, but we think it's well worth your reading time.

The island of New Guinea nudges the equator at its western extremity. Yet between the steamy coastal plains the land is compressed and heaped up into a series of high ranges and temperate valleys. On the northern and southern fringes of the highlands in particular, the topography is heavily dissected. Here it is possible for the traveler to move within a day's march through several resource zones spanning many hundreds, even thousands, of meters from major valley floors to the mountain peaks. Such close-packed environmental differences are paralleled by cultural diversity. Despite their sometimes forbidding habitats, no New Guinea societies were ever truly isolated. Exchanges of goods and people across cultural boundaries assumed great importance in many areas.

This study offers evidence concerning the efficacy of public participation in influencing the policy outcomes of the United States Forest Service, focusing on the decisions of the Siskiyou National Forest over a nine‐year period. This study examines participants' experiences with the process and compares outcomes in this forest in relation to the level of participation which accompanied each decision. What was found was that: (1) participants tended to be quite skeptical about Forest Service motives and felt inefficacious regarding their own participation, and (2) decisions featuring increased levels of environmentalist input did seem to nudge policy decisions away from the most anti‐environmental, pro‐commodity positions, but only to a point, after which increased input seemed to accomplish little.

In this article, the focus is both on sports talk and on the particular variation of that discourse produced by ESPN's SportsCenter, arguably the most hip and watched show of its kind. SportsCenter blends all the social concerns about race—the raced nature of athletics (and the distribution of talent)—with a uniquely postmodern view of popular culture. Through its hip presenters, SportsCenter refracts hip-hop culture, contemporary politics, and "high art." This show does not distinguish between the "high" and the "low," it refuses to privilege the sacred over the profane, and it makes equal use of the ridiculous and the sublime—all the while knowing its (sport's) stuff, always with an ironic, parodic, even cynical nod, nudge, and wink. SportsCenter, a resonant repository of contemporary life, values "coolness" above all else. This is sports talk, where those on the air know how to talk that talk because they, apparently (if only vicariously), routinely walk that walk.

This paper revisits the linked questions of attitudinal crystallization and generational formation in an attempt to nudge the understanding of these matters forward. Our goal, put most generally, is to bring ideas about the formation of political generations into an analysis of the long-term dynamics of attitude crystallization. Although scholars have quite often tried to trace the long-term development of political generations, and often employ comparison groups (e.g., Alwin, Cohen, and Newcomb 1991, Cole, Zucker, and Ostrove 1998, Elder 1974, Fendrich and Lovoy 1988, Jennings 1987, Markus 1979, Stewart, Settles, and Winter 1998), less common are analyses of attitudinal crystallization that bring ideas about political generations to bear. We do this in the paper in two ways. First, our analysis distinguishes within an age-cohort between those who were politically engaged and those who were politically unengaged during their early adult, and presumably politically formative, years. The former resemble the "generational unit" Mannheim (1952) described far better than does the age-cohort as a whole. We explore the importance of this distinction to how attitudinal stability and constraint develop over time. Second, we compare age cohorts to suggest how the crystallization process produces age-related differences in the response to political events. Age, in this analysis is treated as a marker both of political experience and of political generation. This effort demonstrates how the unfolding of political history can influence the extent to which attitudes crystallize within a political generation.

Issue 61.4 of the Review for Religious, 2002. ; Identities Spirituality Community Living \ Profiling JULY AUGUST 2002 VOLUME 61 NUMBER 4 Review for Rellgious hdp people respond aria bkfa thful ~ ° ~ to God's ~niversal call to holiness ~ by making available to t~em the ~piH~l legades that flow~om the'charisms of CathoUdeOnsecrated 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 ¯ \Veh 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 iuside back cover for information on subscription rates. ©2002 Review for Religious Permission is herewith granted to COl)}, 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-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 LIVING OUR CATHOLIC LEGACIES Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Editorial Staff Adv#ory Board David L. Fleming SJ Clare Boehmer ASC Philip C. Fischer SJ Elizabeth McDonough OP Mary Ann Foppe Tracy Gramm Judy Sharp James and Joan 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 2002 VOLUME 61 NUMBER 4 contents 342 feature Reciprocal Identities: Apostolic Life and Consecrated Life Patricia Wittberg sc oudines the role apostolic institutions had in shaping the identity of religious congregations in the past and describes the role of a person who would be responsible for catalyzing a congregation's reformulation of its apostolic identity in the absence of these institutions today. 352 364 spirituality Diocesan Priesthood: Discerning the Fire in Our Midst George Aschenbrenner SJ describes four steps that are part of a discerning life and three dimensions of the human stage on which the drama of a personal love-relationship with God is played. Desert Spirituality Ernest E. Larkin OCarm examines the ancient traditions of desert spirituality and contemplative prayer and proposes ways to adapt them to our times. for l~eligious 375 community living Three Forms of Community Living: A Survey Report Barbara Zajac makes a sociological survey of sisters in one religious community to explore how they define and create "community." 395 Expert Practitioners of Union: Forming, Living, and Sustaining Community Joel Giallanza CSC reviews the complexities involved in defining or describing religious community and suggests strategies to form and live and sustain community. 407 profiling Merton and the Enneagram: The Ritual Enactment of His Myth Suzanne Zuercher OSB examines Thomas Merton from his journals, considering him as an enneagram 4, his true self more acknowledged over the years, then anguished over, and ultimately embraced. 419 Liberal or Conservative: Temperaments and Faith Edward Krasevac OP proposes that awareness of temperamental affinities for liberal/conservative positions can give us a greater and sometimes much-needed sensitivity to what others are saying and give us at least a partial understanding of why we b~lieve what we believe. departments 340 Prisms 430 Canonical Counsel: Involuntary Departure 435 Book Reviews j~uly-Aug~tst 2002 prisms ~hen we say "We had an extraordinary time," for example, at a family reunion or at a church conference, we imply that the event was better than usual. The ordinary, by contrast, seems to be of negligible value. Ordinary means normal, hav-ing the implications of the usual routine. Often when we say that our time has been ordinary we signify that it has been just "more of the same." When the church makes use of the phrase ordi-nary time to describe a part of the liturgical year, we tend to .bring our everyday meaning to the phrase. We think of the routine of following one of the synoptic Gospel readings in weekday and in Sunday Eucharists. Church ordinary time seems not to emphasize cele-bration, just "more of the same." The church, how-ever, intends only to identify this part of the liturgical year as those weeks of the year proceeding in a long, numerical order (deriving from the Latin ordo) that are distinct from the holyday or holiday weeks iden-tified as Advent, Christmas, Lent, and Easter. And so there are some thirty weeks, liturgically, of "ordinary time" in every church year. But beyond the fact that ordinary time provides us with weeks in a numbered order, I believe that the church in her liturgy plants the seed that ordinary time is meant to be a time of wisdom. Wisdom might be described as "putting it all together," living an integrated life. For us Christians, wisdom means that we put our life together in the light of our being followers of Christ. The scrip-ture readings that flow through the Sunday and weekday read-ings for Mass and for the Liturgy of the Hours are both an inspiration for and a measurement of our living and acting as children of God. Jesus, as we see him living everyday life in the Gospels of ordinary time, remains the paradigm of what it means to be a human being, one created in the image and likeness of God. Being true God and true man, Jesus shares with us, through the Spirit, how to live our lives wisely in our own every-dayness as sons and daughters of God. We are baptized in Jesus' name; we are fed with his Body and Blood. The Son of God, Jesus, incarnate God--infinitely beyond Adam and Eve's mere creation in the image and like-ness of God--is our Brother. With him, we Christians experi-ence the new creation in his life, death, and resurrection. What our Scriptures in the church's ordinary time impress upon us is that we do not turn to the Gospels just for the high points of suffering or triumph or just for some code of rules. The Gospels are written to enter us into Jesus' wisdom way of living. Like St. Paul, we spend our lives trying to make it ever more true that "I live, now not I, but Christ lives in me." The church presents us ordinary Christians with a chal-lenging paradox. Ordinary time is wisdom time. Because we are being formed daily by the word of God and nourished by daily bread, we dare to say with Jesus: "Our Father." David L. Fleming SJ July-August 2002 feature PATRICIA WITTBERG Reciprocal Identities: Apostolic Life and Consecrated Life This year my congregation is celebrating its 150th anniversary. In special symposia and lectures, in liturgies and panel presentations, we have been encouraged to reflect about who ,we are as a community, who we have been--and who we will be. Since I have been researching relationship between religious congregations and their sponsored ministries, these events have spurred me to reflect on what it has meant--and what it will mean--that we are an apostolic congregation. I have, however, found it unexpectedly difficult to do this. How does our charism differ from that of an active monastic or evangelical order? In what way do our apostolates define who we are as a community, especially since very few of us still minister in the schools and hospitals we traditionally staffed? These are important questions to ask--and to continue asking--as we rearticulate our apostolic identity for the coming century. But I ,have come to believe that we lack an importfint kind of resource person who could facilitate our reflections. To the best Patricia Wittberg SC last wrote for us in September-October 2000. Her address is 2141 Dugan Drive; Indianapolis, Indiana 46260. Review for Religious of my knowledge, no religious congregation makes provision for such a person in its reflection processes. There is not even a name for her, so I will call her--however awkwardly--an Apostolic-Identity Catalyzer, or AIC for short2 In this paper I will first attempt to oudine the role apostolic institutions had in shaping the identity of religious congregations in the past. Next I will describe the kinds of activities an AIC might undertake to catalyze a congregation's reformulation of its apostolic identity in the absence of these institutions. Who We Were: Shaping a Reciprocal Identity Throughout their history, apostolic religious congregations have developed in an intimate dialectic with the institutions they created, staffed, and administered. On the one hand, Catholic hospitals, schools, and social-work agencies derived their religious identity primarily from the presence of religious congregations. Religious nurses, teachers, and social workers, all fully habited, served as living icons of the spiritual character of these institutions. As owners they also made the key decisions and policies. Their presence on the staff and in the administration meant that the culture of the congregation infused the entire institution. Without pointing to the congregation's presence, it would have been hard for a school or hospital to articulate what made it Catholic. Until the mid 1960s, however, the two were so intertwined that the question never even arose. In a similar manner, religious congregations derived their apostolic identity from the institutions they staffed. As Margaret Susan Thompson has pointed out in a previous issue of this journal,2 most U.S. women's apostolic congregations did not have a distinctive initial charism: rather, they have a "deep story" developed through years of lived experience. The distinctive identity of my own congregation was forged as sisters worked and lived together in our hospitals in Dayton and Albuquerque, Religious congregations derived their apostolic identity from the institutions they staffed. Wittber~ ¯ Reci~n'ocal Identities as they made bulletin boards together for our elementary schools in Detroit and Chicago, and as they cared for children in inner-city settlement houses and orphanages in Denver and Cincinnati. Young women got to know us through our ministries, and those attracted by our witness in these apostolates joined us. The congregation filled with new entrants who came expecting to perform institutional service, which further tied our apostolic identity to these works. Without citing the particular places where we served, it would have been difficult for many of us to articulate exactly what being an "apostolic" community meant. A Parallel: Mission-Effectiveness Offices in Catholic Institutions Most religious communities today have loosened, and some have completely severed, their ties with their institutions. Within their hospitals, colleges, and other agencies, this has led to some serious institutional soul-searching. Bereft of the iconic presence of the religious order, these institutions were in danger of losing their distinctive religious character. "Isomorphic" pressures from government regulations, professional associations, and economic competitors threatened to make them indistinguishable from other private schools or hospitals) The leaders of these organizations realized that retaining a distinct religious identity in the face of such pressures would require a deliberate effort. An institutional religious identity could not simply depend on the private spirituality the individual workers might bring to their jobs. Such spirituality was likely to remain private to each individual, since there are strong American cultural norms against sharing one's spirituality in the workplace. A school's, a hospital's, or a social agency's institutional religious identity had to be developed and shared in a way that would be transformative: grounding the daily operations of each department, underlying the administrative decisions, and spurring an ongoing, institution-wide search for new and creative ways to be a Catholic (or Jesuit or Vincentian) organization. Many religious hospitals, colleges, and other institutions, therefore, created special mission-effectiveness positions to address these goals. The person filling this role--often the last remaining member of the sponsoring congregation still in full- Review for Religious time ministry there--has typically been responsible for activities such as the following: ¯ orienting new staff and administrators to the charism or ethos of the sponsoring religious community (Jesuit scholarship, Vincentian caring, the spirit of Mercy); ¯ organizing periodic retreats and seminars for long-standing staff and administrators, in order to keep the spirit of the founding congregation fresh and alive; ¯ conducting various spiritual "leaven" activities: leading daily prayers over the public address system, organizing liturgies, providing short reflective prayers before meetings, disseminating newsletters or daily bulletins, erecting and maintaining religious iconography, and so forth; ¯ creating psychic and physical spaces where staff and administrators feel encouraged to share their spiritual journeys; ¯ estab-lishing awards for staff and administrators who most typify the founding spirit, and publicizing the winners of these awards; ¯ writing, updating, and promulgating the mission statement; ¯ raising ~ssues of mission and ethics at meetings of the board of trustees and other instances when key decisions are made; ¯ acting .as liaison with the sponsoring congregation, to help define what the implications of congregational sponsorship are for the institunon; ¯ serving as the religious-identity spokesperson to the media, overseeing public relations activities connected to the institution's religious identity. This is the ideal, of course. Many mission-effectiveness directors are marginalized, lacking any real input into the organization's decision making. A recent study found that "even in colleges that maintain the vice-presidential rank for the mission-effectiveness officer, there is no guarantee that the position will enjoy institutional prominence . Frequently the position operates on the .periphery of the college, resulting in compartmentalization rather than integration of mission concerns into daily senior-level academic or administrative decision making.''4 Mission statements may be mere words, Many mission-effectiveness directors are marginalized, lacking any real input into the organization's decision making. July-August 2002 PVi~tberg * Reciprocal Identities uncoupled from and alongside the day-to-day running of the institution. But at least the concept of mission effectiveness exists in our institutions, and we can readily articulate the kinds of activities such a position would involve. Apostolic-Identity Catalyzer: An Unknown (but Necessary) Role The same is not true for the position which I have termed the Apostolic-Identity Catalyzer. In fact, the apostolic congregations I know of do not have such a person. But, if mission-effectiveness offices are important for maintaining the religious identity of a school or hospital in the absence of its founding religious congregation, an apostolic-identity office should be equally important in helping maintain the apostolic identity of a religious congregation that is uncoupled from its institutions. In this section I will try to explain why I believe this to be so. When apostolic religious congregations withdrew from their institutions, they lost a key component of their former identity. Monastic and evangelical congregations, which had been inappropriately conformed to the apostolic model in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, could--and often did--simply revert to their original identities. But, to the extent that apostolic congregations had drawn their identity from their specific institutional works, they have had to devise a new articulation of who they are as a group and why they exist. "Isomorphic" pressures have also influenced this process. These pressures do not come from government regulations, professional standards, or economic pressures dictating what kind of identity an apostolic congregation should assume. Rather, they come from the ideals or "templates" current in the church and in society, which presume a primarily spiritual basis for the identity of religious groups. These spiritual foci commonly fill the void left by the loss of a congregation's institutional apostolate. Some apostolic communities have thus become more like small Christian communities, faith-sharing groups, or even parishes. The members minister in various locations and professions, pray privately every day, and meet regularly as a group for shared prayer and/or socializing: Other congregations Review for Religious have formed intentional communities that more closely approximate the monastic model: the members live and pray communally, but leave for separate ministries during the day. In either case, the conKregation begins to draw its identity more and more from the common spiritual activities of its members, and less and less from any common apostolic character. New entrants are attracted by the spirituality of the congregation, not by its distinctive common apostolates --which no longer exist. The metamorphosis continues. If apostolic religious life is to retain its distinctive identity, apostolic congregations must take deliberate steps to foster it. As with the religious identity of our former institutions, this will not happen automatically. Nor can we assume that our congregation is apostolic simply because we, as individual religious, give witness to God's love in our individual apostolates. (Surely all Christians are called to do that!) A congregation's apostolic identity must be transformative of the entire congregation, grounding the daily operations within the motherhouse, provincialates, and local houses, und.erlying the decisions of the council or leadership team, and spurring the community on its search for new and creative ways to be an apostolic congregation. This is where an apostolic-identity office would be useful. Since I know of no congregation that provides for such a role, the following list of suggested tasks is deliberately modeled on the activities which mission-effectiveness offices perform in our sponsored institutions. Within a given congregation, therefore, the AIC might be responsible for some or all of the following tasks: ¯ Orienting new members to the apostolic tradition of the congregation, as part of the formation program. This might include workshops or presentations, along with arranging visits to the former institutions and interviews with retired sisters who used to work there. ¯ Organizing periodic retreats and seminars for the professed and associate members of the congregation on the way(s) the congregation currently expresses its apostolic identity. This might include facilitating volunteer opportunities (whether single days throughout the year or six-week summer experiences) at some sites. Or theologians might be invited to community gatherings to discuss the various theologies of the interaction July-Augt*st 2002 Wittberg * Reciprocal Identities between spirituality and the apostolate. Or the clients served may be invited to give input on how they see the apostolic witness of the congregation and how it can be improved. ¯ Conducting various apostolic "leaven" activities within the congregation: circulating specially written prayers for specific apostolates and/or designating specific days of prayer for them; writing feature articles on the apostolates in the congregation's newsletter and/or disseminating a special newsletter on the apostolates; organizing the collection of money and goods; erecting and maintaining displays of apostolic artifacts at the motherhouse and elsewhere; initiating letter-writing campaigns to elected officials on apostolic issues; and so forth. ¯ Creating psychic and physical spaces where members are encouraged to share the insights, joys, and sorrows they have derived from their apostolates. The Daughters of Charity, with whom I currendy live, have a special monthly apostolic reflection wherein each member of the local house shares some incident from her ministry through which God has spoken to her that day. In a local house of another congregation where I once lived, we spent an afternoon and evening visiting each sister's work-place so that we could have a mental picture of the setting in which she spent a good part of her day. ¯ Establishing awards or other forms of recognition for individual members whose apostolic works witness to the character of the congregation, and publicizing these awards in the congregation and in the surrounding neighborhood or town or city. ¯ Leading reflections and other activities on the apostolic aspects of the congregation's mission statement (or facilitating the composition of such a statement if one does not currently exist). ¯ Raising issues of the congregation's apostolic identity at council meetings (which implies that the AIC is a member of the council). ¯ Initiating a congregational reflection to define exactly what the "sponsor" relationship requires of the congregation. As at least one critic has pointed out, the duties and obligations of sponsorship are often specified for the sponsored institution, but rarely are similar duties and obligations spelled out for the sponsoring congregation,s The MC might encourage meetings of both the leadership and the membership to outline the responsibilities the congregation has toward its institutions. Once these are determined, the AIC might be the one to see that they are met. Review for Religious ¯ Serving as a liaison with the various sponsored ministries. If the congregation has a separate board of sponsored ministries, then the AIC should be a member of it (and perhaps chair it). ¯ Serving as the apostolic-identity spokespdrson for the congregation to the media, overseeing public-relations activities connected with the congregation's apostolic identity. Again, this is an idealized picture. As with the mission-effectiveness offices in our former institutions, the activities of the apostolic-identity office may be marginalized in a given religious community. Many religious are so heavily involved in their ministries that they may resist invitations to set aside time to do this kind of communal apostolic sharing. Others may wish to forget about their jobs--especially if they find them draining and exhausting--and focus on more spiritual and recreational matters during the congregation's brief time together. Still others, formed in the days of common ministry within large institutions, may not - feel the need to discuss how apostolate is related to religious life today. And, since an apostolic-identity office is such a novel concept, many may not see why one is needed at all. Surely our congregation is already top-heavy with leadership? Why do we need to release another member from active ministry to do this? Perhaps the demise of the apostolic form of religious life is inevitable. Large hospitals, colleges, and other institutions may have become so bureaucratized and professionalized that they can no longer credibly represent a corporate Catholic vision of education, healthcare, or social service (although, of course, individual teachers or nurses--lay and religious--may still bring their private spiritualities to their jobs in these institutions). Fast-paced American culture, steeped in workaholism, may make it difficult to stop and be reflective about the work we do. There Many religious are so heavily involved in their ministries that they may resist invitations to set aside time to do this kind of communal apostolic sharing. Ju~-dugu¢ 2002 Wittberg * Reciprocal Identities may be a greater need for religious life forms focused on community and spirituality than on work--especially work in large institutions. Certainly monastic and contemplative religious communities are showing stronger growth than most apostolic ones.6 Religious life may thrive in monastic, evangelical, or future undreamed-of forms, even if its apostolic version becomes extinct. Perhaps an AIC would be a useless relic of a time already past. Or perhaps not. Perhaps what the world most needs is the witness of a group whose common vision for a transformative spiritual identity permeates the offices, factories, and marketplaces where its members work. Perhaps the reciprocal dialectic of religious community and sponsored ministry, each forming and transforming the other, is a longed-for alternative to the prevailing, "Enronized" corporate culture. Perhaps apostolic religious congregations possess the seed of a new corporate ministerial presence in the world, over and above the scattered individual ministries of their members. If so, then this vision, this dialectic, this presence, must be fostered and nurtured to growth. An AIC would have her job cut out for her. Notes i This is a terribly unattractive name, of course, but I am unable to think of any other. If this article persuades any congregation to establish the office of apostolic-identity catalyzer, they might consider naming it after a founding member who exemplified the apostolic dedication the congregation wishes to foster. 2 Margaret Susan Thompson, "Charism or Deep Story? Towards Understanding Better the 19th-Century Origins of American Women's Congregations," Review for Religious 58, no. 3 (May-June, 1999): 230-250. 3 According to sociologists studying organizations, "isomorphism" refers to the many pressures, both external and internal, which lead them to adopt similar practices. External pressures would include government regulations, professional accreditation standards, and the demands of customers/clients. Internal pressures would include ways of thinking that administrators develop from all of them being trained in the same schools, clinging to established practices in times of uncertainty, and needing to project an image of competence. See Walter W. Powell and Paul J. DiMaggio, eds., The New Institutionalfim in Organizational Analysis (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991). 4 Dennis H. Holtschneider CM and Melanie M. Morey, "Relationship Review for Religious Revisited: Changing Relations between U.S. Catholic Colleges and Universities and Founding Religious Congregations," Occasional Paper No. 47, Association of Governing Boards of Universities and Colleges. s Melanie M. Morey, Leadership and Legacy: ls There a Future for the Past? A Study of Eight Colleges Founded by Catholic VVomen's Religious Congregations, dissertation, School of Education, Harvard University, 1995, p. 203. 6 "Monasteries Enjoy Boom, with Some Help from Marketing," Religion Watch 17, no. 6 (April 2002): 2-3. Promissory In early March buds begin to swell on my peach tree. It is too soon. This uncertain month delivers snow and fro~t with its warm, sweet winds. But there they are, small, swelling promises of succulent fruit, nature's resurrective fiat silently shouting down my wintery worry with summer's certainty. Bonnie Thurston July-Aug~tst 2002 GEORGE ASCHENBRENNER Diocesan Priesthood: Discerning the Fire in Our Midst spirituality These are not easy days for the diocesan priesthood. Sexually inappropriate behavior has been making rousing--and saddening--copy in newspapers and magazines. This behavior can be, must be, viewed from a number of different perspectives. I mention just a few: the horrendous injustice and injury done to the victims; the sickness, often, of the perpetrator himself; the lack of honest dealing with sexual urges; the unjust accusation of some priests; the betrayal and undermining of the trust of many members of the church; and the faithful, generous service of many unheralded diocesan priests. I do not deny the seriousness of the present situation, nor am I insensitive to the many serious repercussions of the publicity. We all have much to learn from this difficult time for the diocesan priesthood. Seminary formation programs--indeed each individual priest--must honestly and carefully look at both sexual orientation and the swirling interior cauldron of sexual impulse, fantasy, and urge. Sexuality George Aschenbrenner SJ was cofounder of the Institute for Priestly Fbrmation at Creighton University in Omaha, Nebraska, and.is director of the Jesuit Center for Spiritual Growth; P.O. Box 223; Wernersville, Pennsylvania 19565. Review for Religious is only one aspect, but always an important one, of the discerning presence 6f the diocesan priest in the midst of a local people. This article is not about the sexual aspect of discernment, but implications for that area of human experience will be easily recognized. I focus on a central constituent of diocesan priesthood, namely, the priest's discerning presence in the midst of a local people. (In a recent book I develop this and other charisms that are needed in diocesan priesthood.)! The desires and needs of his people seek, from the diocesan priest, discernment, the art of holiness, but these desires and needs may not be easily detected. Holiness, in itself, does not seem something most people are daily concerned with. But reflection may suggest otherwise. Though often thought of or spoken of in other words and with a deceptive indirectness, the longing of the human heart for more--for something beyond what we have and appreciate, beyond our present knowing--stirs in all of us from time to time, especially in quiet moments. If we sometimes find this longing in ourselves, we must assume it in others as well. And, when the glow has faded from life and still we cannot say or put into words what we are missing, we and others may recognize that this longing for more is really a desire for an ever greater goodness, for holiness, in fact a desire for God. The ordinary people of a parish feel this in many ways, but may seldom try to express it. They desire holiness, a relationship that gets them out of the narrow confines of their own self. They seek greater meaning, more happiness, and greater love in the humdrum of ordinary living. Other people in the parish are more explicit and direct. They want to pray better; they want to know God's love more; they want their faith to be more alive. Though some may have a counselor or friend with whom they speak of these concerns, the principal person to whom people bring such stirrings and longings is their diocesan priest. They look to him for help, for answers, for the solution to their dissatisfaction. But what can the priest do? What answers does he have? He is presumed to have the graced art of daily growth in holiness. This is precisely what we mean by discernment of spirits. It is a very human process, God's subtle inspiration enlightening us to interpret, make sense of, the fire of God's awesome love present in the ordinary daily experience of us all. In various ways the human psyche is always encountering our Ascbenlrrenner * Diocesan Priestbood loving God. And these experiences are indeed profoundly human, and yet so much more. In faith they are experiences of a love promising a joy that alone can satisfy our longings, to some real extent here and now, but fully only on the other side of death. This discerning art of holiness is not a catalogue of answers to be learned and then distributed on request. Rather, it is a life to be lived in the uniquely personal part of our hearts, and yet with extroverting implication for all our human brothers and sisters and for our union with them in the transformation of our whole expanding universe. This article, then, is not a minicourse on discernment, nor is it a review of the answers a priest will need for all the people's questions. Rather, I want to present something of what is involved in a priest's discerning understanding, in his radiating the fire of the Holy Spirit for the people of his parish. I will describe four steps that are part of a discerning life and then three dimensions of the human stage on which the drama of a personal love-relationship with God is played. As a spiritual leader in the midst of the parish, the priest must have a reflective understanding of the art of discernment, seen as the dynamics of any mature faith life. This charism prepares the priest to play two important roles of service among the people: as a guide into the mystery of God's fire of love and as a soul doctor for those being healed and purified in that same fire. Discernment: God's Story of Mature Faith Growth Holiness and growth in union with God always involve the full human person alive in his or her concrete circumstances. A person's spiritual maturity, then, involves good actions, but also much more. It involves feeling and emotion, but also much more. Together with concern for actions and feelings, spiritual maturity must go down into a person's inner core. It is from this core that God's love should radiate into holy action and feeling so that people can readily become aware of God's love in the world. This radiation is an invitation to notice and welcome God's love in every situation. Discernment of spirits means achieving such recognition. Sometimes discernment is mistakenly seen as one of any number of approaches to mature spiritual development. Indeed, Review for Religious some schools of faith growth have their own terminology. Under these different articulations, however, is one fundamental process of growth toward mature faith, a sorting of inner experiences. For this reason, discernment of spirits is the story of personal faith growth, God's story of it. This process has two roots: our human reality within God's creation and God's revelation in Jesus. Discernment of spirits is God's story of us, narrated both in our makeup as human creatures and in God's love for us all in Jesus. If only this love shone clearly, brilliantly, beautifully in every situation! At times it does, of course, but at other times the radiance of this love is stained by smog or hidden by a heavy cloud of evil. If all were goodness, grace, and beauty, how wonderful--and surely no need for any careful sorting in such a good world. Or, if all were evil, darkness, and wickedness, we would live on the brink of despair--but, again, no need for any sorting or sifting. But, when the world of human beings is ambiguous and mixed, and still we are c~lled to find the goodness in it and to display it in ourselves in our daily lives, then a discernment of spirits within ourselves assumes an essential importance. We must learn to distinguish our selfish impulses from the radiant inspirations of the Holy Spirit of God. Most people have not developed the skills for expert discerning of spirits, but, if they do no discerning at all, mature faith eludes them. The priest, then, the spiritual leader and soul doctor in the parochial community, must do the hard work of learning the theory and practice of soul doctoring, of discerning holiness. In the midst of such careful inner sorting, we must never forget this: God desires and is committed to each of us in Jesus more than we can fully realize--and the Holy Spirit is constandy active in our hearts and our world. Christian holiness always has its initiative in the fire of God's loving desires for us. It is never a figment of our imagination or a product of our willpower. It is the mystery of God's precious gift for us all. But each of us must The priest must have a reflective understanding of the art of discernment, seen as the dynamics of any mature faith life. 3~uly-du~lst 2002 Aschenbrenn~ * Diocesan Priesthood learn to recognize, receive, and nurture the gift. And we need a guide to lead us, in some special ways, into the fire, into the radiant glow of that mystery: God's love burning bright in Jesus. The Material of Discernment God wants each of us to imitate.Jesus uniquely. The great challenge and invitation that haunts us all is to discover our true self in Christ. For each of us God intends a unique revelation of Christ. Though the enterprise has very complex aspects, the point is as simple as it is startling: God wants each of us to imitate Jesus uniquely. The very self that God intends each of us to be is a unique, living imitation of Jesus. And that life of ours is meant to shine for all the world. This true self, this unique revelation, this treasure is camouflaged in the spontaneous interiority of our daily consciousness. This pearl of great price, this treasure beyond all value, must be searched for and recognized when stumbled upon. Into the daily spontaneous consciousness of the priest and of his people come many images, feelings, thoughts, impulses, and moods, sometimes quietly, some-times shockingly. This inner world has a variety of seasons, bright hopeful springs and dark threatening winters. We might wish we could glimpse our true self in Christ conveniently and directly, avoiding tentative efforts to interpret these various elements in ourselves like the weather. But we do not even have anything like a satellite picture of our ow~ inner world. God takes the complexity of our human condition seriously, and so Jesus usually comes to us at the place where our own consciousness tangles with today's large or small historical realities. To try to avoid this encounter would be to deprive ourselves--and other people, too--of our unique opportunity to reveal Jesus Christ as God intends, that is, in daily circumstances that without our presence may lack the glow and radiance of fire. Whenever one person avoids these opportunities, the radiance of us all is somehow dimmed. The diocesan priest, doctor of souls that he is called to be, must not fail to uncover the treasure in these moments; others, seeing it, will carry the glow far beyond him. Revie~ for Religiou~ This discerning search for the treasure of our true self can be described in four steps, steps easier to describe than to apply to real circumstances. My intention is to describe the steps so that the priest can learn to recognize them in his own experience and then make them his own. This discerning process can then help the priest, the soul doctor, to guide people in discovering and welcoming the mystery of God's love in their own hearts and lives. Turned toward God This first step is most important and profound: an identity in Jesus Christ. Until this identity has been cultivated enough, serious discernment is not possible. A serious turning to God readies the heart for discernment and so initiates any trustworthy searching for the treasure of God's personal, uniquely specific love. This turning is a real change that grades the ground of our heart to a new incline: away from ourselves and toward God. It is more than a passing fancy or a momentary quirk. The realization that we are conceived, marked, and shaped from the dawn of our existence by a God who always and only loves, this realization takes root and changes the landscape of our daily lives. This realization of a Love greater than the love we have for ourselves stops us in our tracks. It invites an about-face. It gets us out of ourselves. A whole new vista opens up. We have discovered and been turned toward Someone more beloved than we are to ourselves. Is this Love for real? Can this Beloved be trusted? What are we to make of all this, of these subtle perceptions. As we pay closer attention to them, the realization can come that receiving and responding to such Love assumes an importance beyond all else. The ground under our feet shakes and radically shifts. At this juncture, there is a clarity; something has clearly changed. A central question has been posing itself in our heart for a long time: Am I the ultimate meaning of my own life? As we heard that question, the winds of our contemporary culture kept howling their answer: "Yes, of course! Of course I am the ultimate meaning 'of my own life! If not I, who else could be?" But now that yes is radically shaken and splinters into a clear no. The tree of my life is changed. I am no longer the ultimate July-Augwst 2002 Ascbenlrrenner ¯ Diocesan Priesthood meaning of my own life. Now my life's meaning is God's Love-- as promised and present in the risen Jesus. A new sun has risen, and it will never set. Now life becomes, more and more, fascination with this mysterious Beloved and radical openness and readiness for whatever that Love draws me to. Something has deepened and developed. An early seedling of religious intuition has become the fragile sprouting of a realization that by being tested becomes stronger and more deeply rooted. An early surmise and semiconscious intuition becomes a resolute desire of will. No tall grass shivering in the wind, but a tree, deeply rooted and still growing. This resolute desire shapes and casts our lives in love: first, God's ever faithful love in the risen Jesus and then our own love, our carefully discerned response of love. From now on, life is about love, at times tough love, but love nonetheless, and always. Make no mistake about that! In some important way, we are no longer in charge of our own lives. God is! Life is not yes to self, but yes to God, as shown in Jesus ("with him it was always yes," 2 Co 1:19). Facing Our Spontaneous Life Insofar as the countercultural movement to God's love has begun to take serious rooting in our heart, a second step beckons. Only honest facing of our inner spontaneous life makes it possible for us to find, in faith, trustworthy understandings about God. This statement is true, but it prescinds from the ingenuity of human consciousness for dishonest avoidance and selfish projection. We must learn, as best we can, to stand clear of these deceits and deceptions, whether conscious or unconscious, if we are to discern God's loving desire in our hearts. This is no easy matter, and invites the priest to an asceticism leading to truth and love. Sometimes this asceticism, always motivated by a growing desire to live in God's consoling love, will involve unlearning some previous training. An overly rationalistic view of Christian spirituality downplays, even scorns, the role of spontaneity and feeling, while on the other hand a supersensitivity to feeling and sentiment can smuggle into Christian spirituality a presumption that proclaims, sometimes quite unwittingly, that whatever we feel is God's will for us. In both of these instances, a previous Review for Religious learning must be honestly acknowledged, judged as incorrect, and gradually changed. As difficult as this change may seem, especially when the previously learned viewpoint has taken deep root, such a conversion is always possible for two reasons: first and foremost, the mystery of God's steadfast desire to get through to us and, second, our own soul's desire for ever greater radiance. If the priest stays in close touch with these two desires, he will be capable of whatever transformation is necessary because it will really be the work of the radiant Holy Spirit of God beckoning him beyond his own depth and into the realm of greater mystery in faith. A Wisdom of Interpretation in Faith In the process of the discernment I am describing here, for someone clearly turned toward God and honestly sensitive to the flow of inner spontaneity, the issue becomes a matter of meaning: Where is God in all of this? The answer requires a certain wisdom and ability to interpret. But interpretation could spring from any number of different vantage points, for example, from lived common sense, from majority cultural opinion, from professional human development, or from Christian faith. All of these different "wisdoms" might overlap to a small or large extent, but each would produce a different conclusion when used as the central focus of interpretation. In discernment the focus is profoundly one of Christian faith, a faith radiating with the experience of Jesus Christ and revealed in the Holy Spirit. How God is present here, now, offering a love beyond all loves--that is the central concern for a person turned toward and identified in God. As we have seen already, God is always present in all of our present historical world and in all of our spontaneous inner experience, but never simply and completely present to us. That treasure of a love beyond all value, that revelation of our own unique imitation of Jesus, must be sought in the mixture and confusion of our inner lives. An enlightenment of the Holy Spirit springing from our experience of God's faithful love alone--that is the gift needed at this point. Such enlightenment and wisdom differ subtly, though sharply, from enthusiastic generosity and simplistic sincerity. By themselves, without graced wisdom, these two qualities lack a North Star and can be dangerously ~Tuly-Au~st 2002 Aschenbrenner * Diocesan Priesthood misleading. The wisdom referred to here has a profound paschal orientation and is found more and more decisively present and operative in Jesus as he moves into the depths of his Passion all the way to Calvary and into his resurrected glory. This wisdom and enlightenment is hot the result of taking an academic course or reading a book. And it is not some sleight of hand or guesswork either. It is a grace the priest must pray for regularly. It has a firm context, and this helps the priest to be sure about the giftedness of his insight. The insight is tested in relation to the polestar of our identity in God's love. The. presence of the Holy Spirit is revealed in anything that conforms to our resolute desire to keep God's love, not self-love, as our focus. And anything that violates this focus is not an inspiration from God, but a nudge, large or small, toward self-idolatry. A pleasure-pain instinct in all of us tries to tilt us toward self-idolatry. This instinct of liking pleasure and fearing pain is understandable and healthy. But, when we let it assume a priority and centrality, when it becomes the focal light for our interpretation, then we become narcissistic. This pleasure-pain principle, in itself, is never fully identified with the paschal enlightenment of God's love. It was not so identified in the experience of Jesus. The pleasure-pain instinct did not plot his course to his beloved Father. Escaping 'the dominance of this instinct demands an asceticism. We are not to renounce this instinct pure and simple; rather, we renounce it as the polestar of our identity. Developing in faith our interpersonal relationship of love with God in the beauty of Jesus will not completely get rid of this instinct, but will weaken it. God's love ~n Jesus has become the treasure beyond all value, and what a grace it is to know indescribable pain when deprived of that treasure. To learn how to stand with Jesus, sometimes in pleasure and at other times in pain--this is the mature wisdom of a person consciously living in God's love. It is to claim the treasure intended by God before the foundation of the world: a radiant true self uniquely imitating the mystery of Jesus. Tactics for Intimacy with God The final step in this process is decisive tactics in accord with the paschal-faith interpretation of the previous step. For Review for Religious someone whose heart is resolutely set on following the lead of God's love, anything experienced as an incarnation of that love (often called consolation) is to be embraced, claimed, and lived, and anything that deflects us from God's love and toward self-idolatry (usually called desolation) is to be rejected and courageously withstood. In this step the issue is courage and decisive generosity, something possible only when illumined and strengthened by paschal wisdom. The issue is whether we will follow, and how wholeheartedly, the revelation of the Holy Spirit. This is the time for the soul's character to be healed and for faith to be annealed in the fire of the Holy Spirit. This process helps the hidden self grow strong, so that the priest can be a discerning presence in the midst of the people. Discernment, a life of mature spirituality, always acknowledges, distinguishes, and then interrelates three different dimensions of human existence: external behavior, what I call the core of the soul, and inner spontaneity. To develop and live out of the core of our true self is never easy, if possible at all in our post-modern world, but is always crucial for responsible, mature living in faith. Today's culture has great need of doctors of the soul who can facilitate the development of this core sense of true self through the integration of these three dimensions of human existence. Though our external behavior is perceptible and often consumes enormous energy, it is nothing more than a superficial part of our being. The activity on this stage poses a question of meaning, a question that it cannot itself answer even though it may seem to contain adequate answers for others and even ourselves. In our daily activity we touch and influence many people. As the New Testament reminds us, the activity of sincere loving reveals the genuineness of our faith. In the midst of our busy lives, the question often rises in our hearts: Are we simply what we do? Some careful reflection is needed to answer correctly and accurately. The question often rises in our hearts: Are we simply what we do? 2002 .~chenbrenner ¯ Diocesan Prie~thood A Hidden Self Grown Strong The soul's core is the unique and deepest part of every human person. This core plays a crucial role in the discovery of our true self in the beauty of Christ. A deep-hearted personal world, a treasure beyond value, is gradually revealed, acknowledged, and then laid claim to, though this whole process is much more one of receiving than of making. This inner core has a depth and a simplicity that is beyond words. As we grow in our appreciation of this personal center, its presence dawns, alluringly shrouded in mist and mystery. In the shifting mists of this mysterious realm, a noisy world is hushed. God breathes eternal love and life into this core of our soul moment by moment and on into eternity. This same creative love, unique to each of us, is in all of us. Our experience of God and of ourselves becomes ever more profound, personal, and unique. Even as you now read, this profoundly personal inner experience, this quiet steady conversation of love at our deepest core, gives the lie to feelings of suffocating loneliness. It gives the lie to the hateful notion that anybody is rotten to the core. Because of Jesus' love, a buried treasure, a pearl beyond pricing, a hidden self waits to be discovered in each human being, to be embraced, and to grow strong. Spontaneity takes place in the "skin" of our soul, in the rational and affective human experience of us all. As mentioned earlier, this experience of spontaneity conceals the deep treasure of our true self in Christ. These spontaneities of thinking and feeling may skitter across the skin of our souls, but do not touch the core. Spontaneities of impulse, image, and mood can flail and crackle and roar across our lives like an electrical storm. Such skitterings, such storms, coming and going, can bother or frustrate or enrage us. But they do, finally, pass. This level, spontaneous unintended experience, has the unpredictability of shifting sands and is not capable of the rock-like dependability of the core of the soul. This skin of the soul poses its own question: Are we simply and wholly identified by what we spontaneously think or feel? Though "what I feel" is never equal to "who I am," in the midst of a temporary storm we can all too easily judge otherwise. These spontaneities, though, really are on a different level. They are part of a process of integration, of coming to spiritual Review for Religious maturity, but they have their meaning only in relation to the soul's core. The presen.ce of these three dimensions of our persons and the four-step discernment process for integrating them should be familiar to the priest. Such integration is the way to mature faith and to appropriate activity that mature faith leads to. This integration is sometimes easy and obvious, sometimes confusing and excruciating. But doing it in love, doing it in our own unique imitation of Jesus' way of loving us, makes it possible, encouraging and strengthening us. This is the realm of service for a doctor of the soul. If the seminary communicates this and if it continues long after ordination, the result of this integration, this purification, will be like gold, bright and not sadly tarnished. To his service of their souls, the priest will bring a radiance that can illumine and develop the bright potential of their own lives. This radiance will be God's love shining from the face of the risen Jesus, still serving in our midst. Notes I George Aschenbrenner SJ, Quickening the Fire in Our Midst: The Challenge of Diocesan Priestly Spirituality (Chicago: Loyola Press, 2002). 2 See George Aschenbrenner SJ, "A Hidden Self Grown Strong," in Handbook of Spirituality for Ministers, ed. Robert J. Wicks (Mahwah: Paulist Press, 1995), pp. 228-248. "Hidden Self," pp. 236-240. In the Words of Meister Eckhart The soul loves the body tenderly, even when, like a child on edge, it runs rambunctious through desire collapsing at last and won&ring why. Maryanne Hannan ~Tuly-dugv~st 2002 ERNEST E. LARKIN Desert Spirituality Booth Christian Meditation and centering prayer come out f early monasticism, which itself is a development of desert spirituality? Christian Meditation is the prayer of the heart described by John Cassian, the historian of desert spiri-tuality, who brought the wisdom of the desert fathers and moth-ers of Egypt and the Middle East to the West. Centering prayer comes out of the Cloud of Unknowing, a 14th-century English text that enshrines the contemplative traditions of the desert. It is no accident that both these contemplative prayer forms came to us by way of Benedictine and Trappist monasteries. Desert spirituality was the beginning of Christian monasti-cism and the matrix out of which Western monks developed their lifestyle. Contemplative prayer was at the heart of their life, and desert spirituality was the context. This article proposes to examine those ancient traditions and adapt them to our times. Desert spirituality is a technical term that has biblical and early Christian roots. The desert experience is a staple of both the Old and the New Testaments, for example, in the Exodus story, in the life of Elijah and the prophecy of Hosea, in John the Baptist, the forty-day fast of Jesus, and the three-year novitiate of Paul in Arabia (Ga 1:17). This desert experience was devel-oped into a coherent spirituality by the desert fathers and moth- Ernest E. Larkin OCarm wrote for us twice in 2001. His address remains Kino Institute; 1224 East Northern; Phoenix, Arizona 85020. Review for Religious ers in the 3rd and 4th centuries of the Christian era. These fer-vent Christians fled to Egypt and the Middle East to escape the decadence of an effete Roman empire. The wastelands offered a stark and untrammeled setting for a life of penance and prayer. Its rugged emptiness and its silence and solitude invited the flight from the world OCuga mundi). A special appeal to heroic souls was the belief that the demons infested the wastelands and could be met there in open combat. It did not take long for the desert dweller to discover that the demons were within and to be engaged on the battleground of the soul. Life in the desert was simple. Manual labor broke the monotony of the silence and solitude of the cell and provided .its own asceticism as well as sustenance and something for almsgiving. Desert dwellers spent their days in soul searching and the pursuit of the living God. Community life, especially when the solitary life prevailed, and outreach in ministry were clearly sec-ondary and not really part of the inte-rior struggle. Continuous prayer was the focus, and the abbas and the ammas spent their time in lectio div-ina, reading the psalms and the breviary, celebrating liturgy, and cultivating the prayer of the heart. These are the main fea-tures of desert spirituality. In this setting Christian holiness was a kind of white mar-tyrdom, a total giving over of one's life to God, the shedding of all self-indulgence in favor of a single-minded search for God. The desert was a graphic symbol of the emptiness of life and the otherness of God. The emptiness translated into purity of heart, a heart freed from sinful affections and centered on God. Thus the beatitude that best sums up desert spirituality is "Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God." Contemplation is the goal, and letting go of all lesser aims and surrender to the living God the condition. This general principle is abstract and can be lived out in an imaginary as well as a real desert. The desert as symbol universalizes desert spirituality as a possibility for everyone. There is, however, still place for the physical desert in ordinary Christian life. We examine this role The desert as symbol universalizes desert spirituality as a possibility for everyone. ]My-August 2002 Larkin ¯ Desert Spirituality in the next two sections of this paper, and we will return to the symbolic desert in the third section. Our first question is this: What can the desert do for me? In other words, why should I go out into the desert? The second question is a prophetic one: What can I do for a desert that is now under attack by the forces of neglect or consumerism? How do my efforts to protect the environment or my failure to participate affect my personal life? After these two reflections we will return to the overall princi-ple of desert spiritfiality, the call to emptiness and encounter with God. What Can the Desert Do for Me? In Scripture the desert is primarily the wasteland, and it leads to the garden of the promised land, the desert come to life, as in Isaiah 35:1-2: "The desert shall rejoice and blossom . The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it, the majesty of Carmel and Sharon." Both the bleak image and the flowering one apply to the physical desert as we use the term today. The desert means the wilderness, the great outdoors. This includes barren wastelands like sand dunes or the scrubby flatlands of Texas or Arizona, but also verdant gardens, scenic forests, majestic moun-tains, and rolling plains. The desert is all the places on this beautiful earth that are still largely untouched by city sprawl and offer themselves as a refuge for weary people. These lands can be gift for our spirits. They refresh us and challenge us. They beckon us to "come aside and rest awhile," away from the noise and congestion of the city with its polluted air and harried traffic. The desert is the place to hike a trail, fish a stream, pic-nic with friends, or just smell the sage and be with one's long thoughts. " Except for some few families that have declared their inde-pendence and homesteaded in the wild and some rare hermits who have also settled there, people today only visit this desert; they do not dwell there. They go out for physical exercise and emotional refreshment, for meditation and for fun. They enter desert places hostile to human habitation very gingerly, armed with water jugs, proper sun gear, and ideally with companions. Some visit these "fierce landscapes" (Belden Lane) for excite-ment, others to deal with a crisis, a limit experience, a sorrow Review for Religious that overwhelms them. Perhaps unconsciously they are looking for an environment that mirrors their troubled soul. A good example of this kind of match between soul and terrain is a retreat for middle-aged men described in a recent publication.2 It was conducted by Richard Rohr and designed to help men from many walks of life through their midlife crisis. The retreat took place at Ghost Ranch in northern New Mexico in the sum-mer of A.D. 2000. The men were challenged to let down their defenses and face themselves squarely. The retreat turned out to be a harrowing rite of passage. The torrid summer heat and the bleak lonely emptiness of the desert combined with soul-search-ing introspection and dramatic rituals to test the most stout-hearted. More often retreats or "a day in the desert" are spent in more friendly spaces. An attractive pastoral setting calms the soul and provides the quiet that people need for facing the real issues of their life. God seems closer in pristine settings. One popular formula for such outings is the poustinia, a concept pop-ularized by Catherine de Hueck Doherty. Poustinia means her-mitage, and folks become poustiniaks for a day, bringing along only a Bible and a bit of bread and cheese. The poustinia can actually be a back room or the attic of one's home, but there are advantages in going out to the woods or the seashore. Getting out in the country, breathing in the fresh air and fragrances of the meadows, walking around the lake or trudging along paths in hilly terrain, can be healthy physical exercise and spiritual refreshment. These are ways of slowing down, of refus-ing to be a couch potato and insuring the balance of mens sana in corpore sano (a sound mind in a sound body). Grace builds on nature, so a healthy body and soul are a good basis for the life of God in us. A good health regime works directly against anx-ious, workaholic tendencies or the equally bad habit of inertia and laziness. Recreational activities also develop the playful side of our lives. This is our contemplative side. Visitors to the desert know that God is everywhere and that they do not have. to go up to the heavens or across the sea to find the word of God. "No," Deuteronomy says, "the word is very near to you; it is in your mouth and in your heart for you to observe" (Dt 30:11-14). But the desert facilitates the search. The wide open spaces, the silence and solitude, reveal God. July-August 2002 Larkin ¯ Desert Spirituality Silence is the best conta.ct point with God, since God is always present, though beyond speech, images, and concepts. The desert fosters this silence, this emptiness, the letting go of every-thing that is not of God. The desert is built for kenosis, the self-emptying of Jesus, who was perfectly open to God and was therefore exalted with the pleroma, the fullness of the resurrec-tion (Ph 2:5-11). The desert way is the way of emptiness and fullness. These reflections belong to the first step on the spiritual journey, the appreciation of creation. Original blessing pre-ceded original sin, and immersion in creation and appreciation and love for this gift ought to precede the work of redemption. This is the thinking of Teilhard de Chardin, Matthew Fox, Francis Kelly Nemeck, and Marie Theresa Coombs. More recently Dorothee Soelle sees "being amazed" as the first of the three ways or stages of the spiritual life? Instead of the classi-cal ways of purification, illumination, and union, she proposes "being amazed, letting go, and resisting" as the three steps. Amazement and appreciation help us take an objective stance before the earth, and this makes it easier to let go, the second of the three ways for Soelle. This leads us to involvement, to compassion and commitment, regarding the world. She calls this resistance, because it involves working against the threats to the environment and society. That is to say, we resist and work for justice in all areas of life, such as the economic and the eco-logical orders. The unitive way calls to action as well as divine union. What Can I Do for the Desert? The work of saving the earth is a challenge and responsi-bility for people everywhere today. The call resonates among informed spiritual persons. They have listened to the new cos-mology presented by scientists like Brian Swimme and the "geologian" Thomas Berry, and they have heard the plaintive warnings of the environmentalists that the earth is wounded and in danger of collapsing. The universe has become part of today's spiritual journey. The whole universe and its crown, homo sapiens, are seen as one vast living organism in which they depend on each other and rise and fall together. In the past the Revieva for Religious earth was looked upon as an appendage of humanity. Humanity alone counted, and the rest of creation was expendable. Human beings pursued their own desires recklessly, without thought about the effects in the environment. They could trash the earth, abuse it or destroy it, without worry because there were always other virgin territories to exploit in the same way. This was an affront to creation; we see it now as an affront to human life as well, because, in the words of Edward Abbey, "the wilderness is not a luxury but a neces-sity of the human spirit just as vital to our lives as water and good bread.''4 The uni-verse is an integral part of our human life. We are partners, and we participate in growth or decline together. In the abuse or destruction of the universe, we are diminished and dehumanized. The commission in Genesis 1:26 to have "dominion" over the earth did not give humans the right to abuse it. We are only caretakers, not absolute owners; we cannot take the myopic view of looking for an immediate return in pleasure or profit with no thought about the long-term loss to creation and the short-changing of future human beings. One reviewer of Thomas Berry's latest book, The Great Work: Our Way into the Future, quotes Berry and then adds some strong words of his own: "'What happens to the outer world happens to the inner world,' Berry avers. 'If the outer world is diminished in its grandeur, then the emotional, imaginative, intellectual, and spiritual life of the human is diminished or extinguished.' Our inner being will die if we continue to transform natural beauty into the soul-deadening, concrete-laden, box-store landscapes of a consumer society." s The obligation to safeguard the environment has three aspects: personal, societal, and spiritual. Each person needs to treat the desert with love and respect. Some of that concern is cosmetic, like cleaning up after using the land and properly dis-posing of the debris, especially nonbiodegradable material. Respect and moderation mean that we do not harm the plant life by careless trampling, that we obey rules about camp fires and camping, that we leave the natural beauty intact without pil-fering plants or otherwise harming the vegetation, that we Each person needs to treat the desert with love and respect. July-Aug;ust 2002 Larkin ¯ Dese~t Spirituality carefully control toxic substances like pesticides or poisonous chemicals. These are cominonsense suggestions. The societal obligation may take the form of joining groups like the Sierra Club that are dedicated to the environment, or of lending one's name to, say, Robert Redford's campaign to save the National Arctic Wildlife Refuge. Systemic problems can be addressed only by group action that can effect structural changes. We need to support these causes. There is no other way to stop the pollution of our waterways and atmosphere, to keep indugtrial wastes out of our rivers and lakes, to find ade-quate ways of dealing with nuclear waste, to stop the destruction of the ozone layer, to save the rain forests and wetlands, and to halt the woefully unbalanced overconsumption by the few. Elizabeth Johnson writes: "Every year, the twenty percent of Earth's people in the rich nations use seventy-five percent of the world's resources and produce eighty percent of the world's waste." 6 There is a special spiritual component today because of the crisis in saving the earth. Time is running out, and experts say that there are only twenty-five or thirty years left to turn the destructive spiral around. The problems are over-whelming, and the laborers are few. We can organize and we can work, but the odds are against us. At such times we need overt divine help. Specifically the challenge is to pray con-templatively, to face the societal impasse which Constance FitzGerald, in a famous article several years ago, connected with the dark night of St. John of the Cross: The dark night occurs as impasse in all sectors of human life, whether prayer, human relationships, or societal renewal. One response to impasse is trusting acceptance, silence before God, and lov-ing surrender, which bring wisdom and strength and which are qualities of contemplative prayer. We take our insoluble problems to God. We wait with faith and trust, ready to spring into action in changing what we can deal with and accepting what we cannot change. Contemplative prayer is an admission that our problems may be beyond human resources. But our prayer is full of hope, because contem-plation may stretch our imagination and inspire new creative ways of dealing with the problem. Solid prayer will certainly strengthen our resolve to continue the struggle. The popu- Review for Religious larity of contemplative prayer in our time may well be con-nected with the magnitude of the problems of this age. Desert Spirituality in Its Purest Form We return now to the traditional meaning of desert in the spiritual life, namely, desert as physical place and as symbol. The desert of the first abbas and aromas was the real wasteland. Anthony and Pachormus spurned the fleshpots of the Roman cities and went to the bleak deserts of Egypt to be alone with God and to keep careful watch over the movements of their hearts. The purity of heart they sought meant that they tried to choose only the good, to do everything right, in perfect measure, for the right reasons. They prayed and fasted to put to death the old man within themselves, so that the new man could come alive. They underwent this discipline for one reason: They wanted to see God. This goal was not face-to-face vision, as heaven will be (1 Jn 3:1-3); nor was it seeing God as an object, the way I see a person in front of me. Neither was it simply a new understanding, a new image of God, or a new perception. It was a seeing that meant presence, companionship, walking with God. It was contemplative union with God. Contemplation follows purity of heart as night follows day. We have a window into the thinking of the desert fathers and mothers in the first conference of John Cassian.s The imme-diate objective of life in the desert was purity of heart; this he called the skopos (English "scope"). The skopos is oriented to a further good, which he calls the telos, the end or final purpose. An example of these two aspects of human endeavor is the life of the farmer. The farmer prepares the soil, plants the seed, hoes and manures the field. All this is his immediate task, his sko-pos. But he does it all with a view to the harvest, which is the telos, the real purpose of his work. If the skopos of life in the desert is purity of heart, the telos is the fullness of the kingdom of God, the resurrected life. This program of seeking perfect purity of heart in order to find God can be applied to every Christian life. Purity of heart-- as freedom from every actual sin and as right relationships with self, others, the world, and God--is the immediate task of the daily struggle. Purity of heart is more than chastity; it is all the Larkin ¯ Desert Spirituality Purity of heart is all the virtues in perfect integration. virtues in perfect integration. This marvelous condition is often set in negative terminology. It is called detachment, or indif-ference, or freedom from sinful habits. But it is a very positive condition identified with biblical faith. This faith is the response to the word of God wherever it is recognized. It is the faith of the Virgin Mary in St. Luke's Gospel. At the annunciation, for example, she is perturbed at the angel Gabriel's message. How can she, a committed virgin, be the mother of the Messiah? When the angel assures her that God will provide, she gives her full assent to that word. She lets go of her own project in favor of God's word. A high degree of purity of heart means a heart full of faith. It means a heart full of love. The pure of heart are loving per-sons. They will see God, that is, they will know and love God, as described in the First Letter of John: "Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love . No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us" (1 Jn 4:7-8, 12). For the desert fathers and mothers and espe-cially for theologians like Evagrius and Gregory of Nyssa, see-ing God meant contemplation. This gift was the reward for the purification, and it consisted in experiencing union with God. This contemplation was not one particular experience, nor an altered state of consciousness. It came out of transformation. By allowing one's life to be brought under the movement of the Holy Spirit, one was born a new person, a "new creation" (2 Co 5:17). This new creature lived in the world of God and expe-rienced God in the whole gamut of his or her worldly occupa-tions. Contemplation was thus a way of life, not a particular experience. The Carmelite Application The evolution of desert spirituality suggested in this paper has special reference to Carmelite history. Carmel came out of Review for Religious the desert, born on Mount Carmel, home to the Old Testament prophet Elijah and to hundreds of hermits at the time of the Crusades. The Carmelites were one group of such hermits; they sought a rule of life from the Latin patriarch of Jerusalem, Albert of Avogadro, who held the office between 1206 and 1214. The result was the Rule of St. Albert, a contemplative and eremitical document that was simple, practical, and eminently scriptural. The tides of politics and war, however, forced the Carmelites to leave their sacred mountain and go back to Europe as early as 1238. The eremitic style of life underwent change in the direction of community and ministry, eventually making the order a mendicant one like the Dominicans and Franciscans. One of the early general superiors, Nicholas the Frenchman, tried to stem the move to the city. In 1270 he wrote a strong let-ter, called "The Fiery Arrow," calling the men to return to the desert. But the mendicant form of life had struck a chord in their hearts. They continued to foster their contemplative long-ing, but now they carried the desert in their hearts. The desert was a symbol now rather than the physical reality. A second charter of the order, called the Institution of the First Monks, dated 1370 and written by a Catalonian Carmelite, Philip Ribot, presented a symbolic life of Elijah and the example of the Blessed Mother as both a description and a defense of the new lifestyle. The book incorporated the thinking of John Cassian, especially on the structure of the religious life as the search for purity of heart and contemplation. The desert spirituality of Mount Carmel was adapted now to an active apostolic life. Henceforth Carmelite spirituality was at home in communities of active religious and lay people as well as cloistered contem-platives. The reform of Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross two centuries later built on this document and renewed and perfected the eremitical-contemplative ideal of Carmel. They did so, not only by promoting desert houses of total contem-plative life, but by organizing a way in which every Carmelite house could be, in the words of a great Carmelite of the next century, John of St. Samson, another Mount Carmel. The desert spirituality of Carmel's beginnings had become democratized and available to all who espouse the ideals of the Carmelite tradition. 3 73- --- July-August 2002 Larkin ¯ Desert Spirituality Notes t Christian Meditation and centering prayer are two popular forms of contemplative prayer, designed by John Main OSB and the Trappists at Spencer, Massachusetts, respectively, the former promoted by the World Community of Christian Meditation under Laurence Freeman OSB and the latter by Contemplative Outreach, whose leader is Thomas Keating OCSO. 2 Donal O'Leary, "High Noon at Ghost Ranch," Furrow 52 (January 2001): 27-35. 3 Silent Cry: Mysticism and Resistance (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001), pp. 88-93. 4 Cited from his Desert Solitaire by Thomas J. McCarthy, "The Ultimate Sanctum," America (9 April 2001): 6. s Stephen Bede Sharper, "A New Heaven and a New Earth," Christian Spirituality Bulletin 8 (Fall-Winter 2000): 15. 6 "God's Beloved Creation," America (16 April 2001): 9. 7 "Dark Night as Impasse," in Living with Apocalypse, ed. Tilden Edwards (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1984). s Conferences, of John Cassian, trans. Colm Luibheid (New York: Paulist Press, 1985), pp. 37-43. Devotion I am twelve, have read of the child Virgin martyrs, and decide it is High time I practice such virtue. At My next confession, after the usual Childhood sins, I say I want to Vow myself to God like a saint. The Assistant pastor, thinking fast, replies That at present I don't know The vocation God has chosen For me, but I may promise him My chastity until I take that vow, Or those of marriage. Satisfied, I rejoice in God's favor, and Make my promise. Mary Hanson Review for Religious BARBARA ZAJAC Three Forms of Community Living: A Survey Report For much of the 20th century, sisters who performed charitable service works lived in convents near the institutions they served. As missions and roles changed after the Sister Formation Conference (1950s) and Vatican Council II (1960s), so did the living arrange-ments, often necessitated by travel considerations. Congregations such as these had called themselves "communities" when they held common missions and residences, and they continue to use this term today even though--wearing few or no common ~ymbols, ministering in widely diverse occupations, and residing in locales favorable to their mission assign-ments- many are barely identifiable as members of a group of sisters. Puzzled that this topic received little attention in sociological literature aside from Wittberg's analyses (see Bibliography), I found myself raising several research questions about the meaning of "community." Does it mean a location-based entity? A process? A set of relationships? A task force? A par-ticular goal or ideal toward which people strive? As part of a larger study (Zajac, 1999b), I studied Barbara Zajac first contributed to our pages in 1999. Her current address is Department of Sociology; Indiana State University; Terre Haute, Indiana 47809. July-Aug£ust 2002 Zajac ¯ Three Forms of Community Living one religious order of apostolic sisters. Though from their founding the group provided chiefly educational and medical services, individual sisters now select their own mission assign-ments, which include traditional teaching and parish pastoral work, professional careers such as psychologist and speech pathologist, and social activism and feeding the homeless and hungry. Throughout California over a two-year period (1995 and 1996), fifty members of this congregation were interviewed indi-vidually and in-depth. Although the sample was volunteer and purposive, it is considered fairly ~:epresentative of the order in general (see Zajac, 1999a). Additional information was obtained from the group's monthly magazinE, religious periodicals, and selected participant observation. The group is given the pseudonym Sisters of Reconciliation of JesusI (SRJ). Similarly, individual names and identifying factors have been disguised or altered. What Community Means It is evident that there is no widespread consensus about the word community. Putting feelings into words was difficult for the sisters, and they responded in words they were comfortable using. Some began with what I would call generalized notions of community, and others described what community involves or how it can be formed and lived. Still others spol~e of mani-festations of community and of how community is maintained. Nearly everyone cited some of the qualities I will describe under manifestations of community. Anything approaching near agreement on most of the gen-eralized notions of community was absent. Some sisters attached the term to a specific location, while others denied the impor-tance of a spatial component. Some described community as an ongoing process that is never completed, or as an ability, agree-ment, or commitment. Others mentioned the people involved and the human connections among them. A number of the sis-ters spoke of community as a bond or tie among people, a togetherness, while others used such phrases as "a living-out of the vows," "a unanimity of vision and purpose," and "the charism [of the Sisters of Reconciliation] lived out." Regarding Review for Religious the often mentioned familial nature of community, there was much disagreement. Some denied that it is a family, some described it as "like" a family, and others claimed that it is "more than" a family. Certain sisters told me they think community involves notions of struggle, being invested in the group or having a sense of ownership about it. Some explained the factors by which they create for themselves a sense of "community," ger-mane to the can-be-done category. While at least one sister cited similar ministry as the key to community, others thought the key is personal characteristics such as being open to others, try-ing to understand them, and being thoughtful, prayerful, and considerate. Many said that much communication is needed, and a great deal of give-and-take, exemplified in being open to others, trying to understand them, and allowing for the flow of communication, with its misunderstandings, disagreements, and concurrences. Others talked of the mechanisms by which community can be sustained, such as living or working together, "making it happen," or constantly articulating the meanings. The latter suggestions are rather nonspecific, but the next item is quite different. Certain sisters told me they think community involves notions of struggle. Manifestations of Community Nearly everyone listed one or two qualities in the category called manifestations ofcommunity. A good many used a small number of emotionally laden terms, heartfelt terms: empathy, interconnectedness, sharing. Others used different words, but their intent seemed similar enough that I could not justify putting their statements elsewhere. Examples of this are "living together, not singly" and "working on things together." In this "manifestations" category many talked of the people they encountered, or of the work as being a continual process; some continued an articulation of "what community means to me." Human behaviors and interactions, with their sentiments July-August 2002 Zajac ¯ Three Forms of Community Living and attitudes, make up the heart of community. Empathy is expressed especially through concern and caring, through notic-ing and having interest in others. One person termed this a "feeling for" others, and many called it "support." Such senti-ments are displayed in such particular behaviors and actions as showing respect and appreciation or at least acceptance; if not, the reality of the sentiments is questionable. If empathy is pre-sent and expressed, the members of a group develop and main-tain an interconnectedness, an interdependence, a mutual sense of belonging. They develop a social solidarity. Empathy, empathic behavior, and interdependence work together in what is called sharing, which seems to be central. Nearly all the sisters interviewed mentioned the sharing of something, whether faith or prayer, tasks, worldly goods, help-ful services, or expressions of caring support. Sharing faith and the spiritual life was mentioned most frequently, and, along with it, the emotional support this sharing provided. Things like housework, goods, and ministry are shared differently, depending on the specific living arrangements (to be described shortly). The sharing of spirituality and various works rein-forces caring sentiments and behaviors and the sense of being interdependent. It is through sharing even ordinary things that crucial personal connections are created and sustained. Representative Community Groupings Three types of community living groups will be described: a self-named "intentional" community, what I term a residen-tial community, and a community of one. These are composite portraits. They do not describe every type of living situation, but seem representative of the arrangements of active Sisters of Reconciliation. Intentional Community "House of Peace" is the sign next to the doorbell of a large house in a run-down neighborhood of the central city where poverty is endemic and violence is the norm. The home of five SRJs, this intentional:community was formed with express pur-poses in mind. The sisters deliberately chose its location amid Review for Religious widespread desolation in order to identify with and serve the poorest people of the city. The members were selected for their personal and professional qualities, namely, a desire for an intense spiritual life and an unwavering dedication to the mis-sion of the Sisters of Reconciliation in serving the city's need-iest people. There are five regular residents. Sister Elaine Sherman runs a transitional housing program for homeless families. Sister Mary Anne coordinates the sisters' social-justice efforts. Sister Ruth Patrick, retired from a full career of teaching, daily trav-els twenty miles each way to where she cooks and serves meals to transients. Sister Bertina Marie, who is bilingual, is a com-munity activist and pastoral minister in the Spanish-speaking community. Sister Jane Th~r~se, who has not yet taken her final vows in religious life, teaches religion in a local Catholic high school and hopes to study divinity in the future. The house is also the home base of a sister working in a residential house for adolescents and of sisters visiting temporarily from mission lands or elsewhere. Sister Ruth Patrick, the oldest sister and the one longest in the SRJs, was the driving force for starting this new house. She had been aware of the brewing turbulence in religious life since the 1950s and thought then that the sisters ought to be living more adult lives than was possible while rigidly observing detailed rules and daily schedules in sequestered convents. She wanted to live out her own values explicitly, holding prayer in common, sharing with the poor, living very simply, and being concerned about others and accountable to them. And so she looked for sisters that she felt had a strong sense of the SRJ mis-sion and were dedicating their lives to living it. She looked for sisters who knew themselves well and.knew what would equip them well for their ministries. She looked for sisters who were aware of what would personally empower them and what might drain them of apostolic energy. She looked for sisters who were willing to give support to others and to receive it as well. Such sisters she approached with her proposal. Perhaps most important, these women must be open to new forms of prayer such as sharing of the heart rather than recit-ing formulaic prayers at specified hours. This prayer involves common reading of a passage from the Bible' and then individ- July-August 2002 Zajac ¯ Three Forms of Community Living ual reflection and comment on what the reading means to each one, how it applies to her own life. It demands a willingness to be open and vulnerable to other people. This sharing of faith and spirituality is not for everyone. Some older sisters, in par-ticular, have been reluctant to engage in it. Now, when a new member wishes to join the house, she comes and talks with the existing group about her hopes and ex.pectations for common life. She learns that, in addition to sharing faith and emotional support, the group divides up the house chores, such as bookkeeping and paying the bills, shopping for food and preparing meals, cleaning and yard work. She learns that she is to live on the allotted personal budget and to reserve some of that money to support foreign missionaries. She learns that "one person's guest is every person's guest" here. Although a sister may dislike or resent such an interview before being admitted to a new house, she needs to remind herself that the present residents consider it crucial that new residents know and agree to support these values and their explicit expression. Sister Elaine, who came to religious life through her vol-unteer work and not directly from her Catholic schooling, explains more about this group's dynamics~ Although they min-ister in diverse fields with varied schedules, they reserve one night a week as their community night, when all will be present for prayer, eating, and sharing. Her social-work background leads her to describe the difficulty of working with people "who are blocked up" by past traumas or interpersonal issues. This form of life, this "microcosm of society," is a difficult life to live. It must enable sisters to go out and minister to the world. They must learn to be communicative and must get to know each other's histories. Since there are various workable arrangements for getting through days cooperatively and smoothly, the sisters must con-tinually strive to accommodate themselves to the others in the group. Sister Elaine thinks that an all-female group can be "really beautiful and powerful or really terrible," depending on how they handle interpersonal relations. The key thing, in her experience, is to keep talking to each other and "not whine." She admits that she had to learn some of these things herself in community living and that it is still sometimes difficult to keep her own "space." She is one of those who prefer not to talk to Review for Religious anyone for a few minutes after arising in the morning, so she now showers at this time to maintain her internal quietude. Pastoral ministry to the poor and immigrant Spanish-speak-ing community is Sister Bertina Marie's specialty. While her day is occupied with teaching English as a second language and running a community center with various offices and activities (Head Start, legal clinic, medical outreach services, and chil-dren's programs), she is an integral member of the House of Peace. Seeking more ways to live out the SRJ vision, charism, and values, its members extend love and hospitality to sur-rounding neighbors. The sisters offer their house as a site for Neighborhood Watch and other meetings. They make sure that flowers are always growing in their yard to symbolize nonvio-lence in a locale where drugs, gangs, and hostilities abound. Sister Bertina Marie stresses the integration of the house goals with individual ministries: all identify with and serve the poor, value deep prayer life in common, and support others with goods and hospitality. Sister Mary Anne, the government-affairs coordinator for the congregation, spends her.time researching, writing, lobby-ing, and educating people about political issues that affect the poor. Working for such structural change where results come slowly if at all is for many an enervating and thankless task. She talks of recognizing one's own needs as well as those of others, and of balancing community life with ministry. She speaks from experience. At one time she held a position that "totally consumed" her. She thought she was in a vocation crisis and should perhaps leave the community. She was so burned out that she" had nothing to give to anyone and did not even want to "bring Jesus" to the people she worked with. An extended retreat, however, provided her with reflection time to realize it was her ministerial position that needed to be changed, not her SRJ affiliation. Now she highly values living with oth-ers who think as she does, all of them giying and getting real emotional and spiritual support. "Community has been a gift to me," she recalls, mention-ing the friends she has made and how they "move together in growth." She says she was one of the first to propose and pio-neer small-group living and that her experience with eight oth-ers proved its value for her. Being honest with each other and .~tuly-August 2002 Zajac * Three Forms of Community Living "I'm not accepted just because I'm capable. I can be a failure and I'm still loved." sharing their deepest values were what she had been seeking. When all members had the "same thirst for God and the desire to live out a faith life in mission," they found they did not fight over little things, but rather worked them out, a quality that is sometimes missing in residential communities. The youngest member of the House of Peace commun!ty is Sister Jane Th4r~se, thirty-something, planning to take her final vows within a year. She was attracted to this house for sev-eral reasons besides its location near where she teaches religion to inner-city children. She was pleased that there were a vari-ety of ages together there and liked their outreach to the neigh-borhood. As a newer SRJ, she appreciated this group's willingness to work with younger members and pass on wisdom and insight from their experience. Sister Jane Th4r~se cites a sentence to describe the com-munity's value to her, a line from the SRJ constitution: "With the strength that comes from our life together, we turn to serve the world in need." "This was not only memorized," she says, "it was lived." She remarks that the constitution holds that SRJs share "all that we have and are," including personal uncertainties, frailties, and inabilities, all of which she knows firsthand. Before her current ministry she was locked into a miserable sit-uation where she had no power or auth.ority. She says that, although her sisters in this local community were in no position to give her help or even offer constructive criticism, speaking about her difficulties and receiving support in return were cru-cial to her fulfilling that assignment. Such unconditional accep-tance comes from being a member of the community. She says, "I'm not accepted just because I'm capable. I carl be a failure and I'm still loved." The ability to be vulnerable and to share one another's gifts helps her "to find God active in the world." In addition to these regular residents, House of Peace is also the local community for Sister Mary Kimball, a member of the SRJs of the East Coast. In Califoi'nia to gain experience in a new ministry, she runs a home for truant and delinquent high Review for Religious school girls who show academic or other creative potential. Because this ministerial unit requires her live-in presence, she affiliates with the House of Peace local community. Ordinarily she will be there every Monday evening to share dinner, prayer, and occasional social activities. Being a member of this group keeps her from feeling isolated and abandoned and allows her to give and get support within the context of her commitment to the mission of the SRJs. Residential Community The convent of St. Junipero Serra sits amid a pleasant res-idential neighborhood in the west side of the city. Next to the Catholic church and school, it once housed sisters of the con-gregation responsible for running the school. Now no sisters teach there. Not needed for parish activities, the building is rented to the SRJs for a reasonable fee. The residential com-munity is home to seven SRJs engaged in various ministries; the youngest is in her forties, and two are semiretired. This convent is run by group government, explains Sister William Joseph, who teaches math at Sacred Heart College for Women, established by the SRJs. Group government, originally an experimental form of living, applies now to almost all resi-dential groups and means participatory decision making in mat-ters that involve all members. The group collectively determines the extent of common prayer life, shared meals, other domes-tic activities, and group celebrations. "Respect" and "acceptance" are two words frequently heard in this group because, as one explains, "not all things can be shared well." This group has decided to share morning prayers Mondays through Fridays, and to gather one evening a week to share experiences and discuss the business of the larger con-gregation. They support the large community of sisters at events and serve as a "presence" in the parish. The group evening may be for holiday celebrations or indi-vidual birthdays or religious feast days. At the time of Sister William Joseph's interview in early January, there was a tall dec-orated Christmas tree in the common living room where we talked. She told me that this community would be celebrating its Christmas that evening, exchanging gifts. During the previ- July-August 2002 Zajac ¯ Three Forms of Community Living ous week, all were out visiting their families, so a common celebration was postponed. Sister William Joseph was one of those who did not want to break up the convent into smaller residential groups in the 1970s. She has always appreciated the exposure to many other sisters and did not wish to lose contact with those she might not encounter in her ministry or in small-group living. She says she has always had to "stretch herself" for others, but adds that this is part of the commitment they make to each other. Similar is her opinion of all the congregational events this house supports; she really does not care for so many meetings and events, but attends as part of the duty she upholds. Sister Adia Marie Buckley, too, is involved in academics. An administrator at the same college, she speaks about reli-gious- life community a little differently. "Although there must be people with whom one lives and with whom one must main-tain friendly relations," she says, "community extends to much more than this." She explains the kinship sense she feels with the broad congregation of other SRJs in the United States and else-where in the world, and with affiliate members, former mem-bers, and sisters in other orders. Sister Catherine Tivnan, who runs an office at the congre-gational headquarters, explains why she chose this house: "They're kind of middle-of-the-roaders, and I thought I'd fit in with them. I thought this was what I was looking for in peo-ple, for not heavy-duty intensive living, but just a nice, com-fortable place where I would fit in and would be accepted." By "not intensive" she explains that in some places there are peo-ple who "dissect everything and practically have a magnifying glass on everything you say and do." She says she does not mind such psychological probing on occasion, but cannot take a steady diet of it. She gives an example. A sister with whom she used to live would read every article in the Sunday newspaper and then want to discuss it with anyone in the room at the time. Eventually Sister Catherine would explicitly refuse to talk with her. She preferred to look at the paper rather quickly and then move on to other activities like walking by the beach or going to a movie. Sister Elizabeth Conan is a registered nurse and medical instructor who teaches away from home two or three evenings Review for Religious a week. Dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a plaid shirt, she tells me that she does less of the cooking for the house than some oth-ers because of her split work schedule. Her family also occupies her attention for about one day a month because of some difficult illness. She loves spending time with her sisters in com-munity, however, including their times of play. She likes to barbecue in good weather, and she says that at times she will just put out a sign-up sheet shortly beforehand, rather than planning everything well in advance. "Dressed to the teeth" was the impression Sister Margaret de Lorca made when I met her in her office at the parish hall. She explains that, coming from an artistic family, she had always enjoyed the use of color in her surroundings, although she did not wear it during many years of teaching in the traditional habit. Working part-time now, Sister Margaret works in religious edu-cation, organizing prayer groups, directing occasional retreats, and providing individual spiritual direction. She tells me that the sisters have common prayer in the house at 6:10 a.m. Monday through Friday. They initially prayed together in the evenings, but found it too difficult because of their divergent schedules. She contrasts living here in a small group with living in the congregational center, which is home to about a hundred sisters and was her home for two years. Even though residents here have to work to find time to be together, it takes a lot less energy to relate to this group than it would to everyone in the large community. Life was stressful for her there because, in walk-ing down a hallway, she would commonly encounter ten or twelve different people. By the time the tenth person said "How are you, Sister Margaret?" she would be exhausted. She is "not an extrovert," but also "not a strong introvert," so daily relations with six other people are plenty for her. Another member of this group is Sister Margot Monroe, an educational psychologist who does counseling for individ-ual schools and has a private practice for handicapped children. The sisters have common prayer in the house at 6:10 a.m. Monday through Friday. July-dugv~st 2002 Zajac ¯ Three Forms of Community Living Though she loved the children she encountered in her teaching career, she became frustrated by the time required for extracur-ricular events like sports and cheerleading. She wonders if the congregation made a mistake leaving teaching en masse, and thinks the sisters should have taken more risks in starting new schools and programs.' She also expressed her frustration about the church, where "the hierarchy has not accepted our SRJ growth" and women religious are "only tolerated in the church and not really accepted." This leaves her in the painful posi-tion of being more removed from general church affairs than she would like to be. She feels similarly frustrated in her residential community, where not all have grown theologically and personally to the extent she has. Some of the sisters are not accustomed or very open to sharing, which she finds particularly "life-giving." "People can fulfill all their responsibilities," she explains, "and still not share who they really are." Although she tries to encourage certain ones to be more open, she does it in a gen-tle manner. Still, she finds this group to be a little shallow: "I feel I have community with the people I live with, but it's rather superficial. We're nice to each other. Our horarium for the day is not problematic at all, but I wish we had a depth of sharing that would bring us all to a different place." She believes, however, that living in this house is a trade-off. These people are not her best friends, of which she hag a num-ber outside this convent. While she gains depth and stimula-tion from her outside friendships, here she has the freedom and flexibility to come and go as she pleases without making com-mitments for large blocks of personal time and energy. The final resident of this group is also semiretired. Sister Patricia Louise, in her nineties, likes to cook and works in the parish food pantry. She says that "the diversity of ministry now militates against close community life," which they had when all worked together. This way is "harder but healthier"; it keeps people in contact with diverse fields and offers stimulating con-versation. She says: "It used to be that, if you all taught in the same elementary school, your conversation was always about families in the school, problem kids, what was going on in the parish. But this way we also know what is going on at the col-lege, at the high school, and at the hospitals." Review for Religious Despite their interdependence in the common life, how-ever, they are independent about their use of free time. She says that everyone is very "embedded" in what she is doing on her own and that not living with one's best friends is really an advantage. She adds that she never wanted a residence that was "like a hotel" and prefers the interdependence she finds here. Even though these women do not have "a lot of involvement with each other, what they do has value." A Community of One Sister Zo~ Warnercalls herself "a community of one" because no other sisters live or work with her and she does not have weekly contact with members of her congregation. Fifteen years ago she went out on her own with the blessing of the com-munity (but no funding) to create St. Martin's Children's Center, a temporary residential and resource center for children in fam-ilies undergoing major upheavals in their lives. Like an available set of grandparents, this center can care for up to fifteen chil-dren for a maximum of thirty days each, although the staff tries to restrict it to fewer children and shorter periods of time. Sister Zo~ lived in this large residence with a dog as her sole com-panion while the structure underwent remodeling and opera-tions eventually got underway, and she still lives there. Her purpose in inhabiting the building before its operation was to become a "presence" in the town and to begin to get a "community focus" on the center. She is referring not to the SRJ community now, but to the neighborhoods, businesses, and voluntary groups which support the center's activities. Her strat-egy evidently worked, because, as people came to know her and her plans, they wanted to participate and give support in vari-ous ways. One measure of that support is financial. Sister Zo~ "lives on faith" to provide the center's operating expenses of almost a half million dollars a year, because it has no regular income. Contributions tend to be sporadic yet somehow ade-quate for their needs. She says: "The Lord provides when we need it. from the little things to the big things . We just watch the mailbox and say our prayers. We have never run out of money or closed our doors due to lack of funds." Although she hopes to obtain the services of a part-time grant writer later July-Auffust 2002 Zajac ¯ Three Forms of Community Living "Community is the same as its core. I am a sister from the core of my being." this year, she has done this and all other duties herself, includ-ing caring for the children and teaching life skills to the parents. Although a few Sisters of Reconciliation have come to work with her for brief periods over the years, Sister Zo~ now sees none of them frequently. Yet her connection to the SRJs is strong, and "our sisters., very much know I'm a community member." She explains that her SRJ area superior holds general gatherings three or four times a year and maybe a day of prayer once in a while. By participating in these activities and attend-ing the funerals of older sisters, Sister Zo~ carries the SRJ charism with her and uses it to create a sense of community with whomever she is working: "There's something I have learned., that, no matter where you go, you bring the sisters with you or you bring your experience of community." In addition to SRJ gatherings and ministry associates, Sister Zo~ has a couple of good friends she sees regularly. One of these is a nun from another congregation; the other is a priest friend. This little group frequently celebrates Sunday Mass in the residence of the non-SRJ, and they sometimes follow it with a potluck dinner, occasionally bringing in other friends or neigh-bors. She had to create this new sense of community herself, however, and she attributes this ability to her long-standing experiences with the SRJs: "By coming out here, community wasn't provided for me. I had to create it, and I used the skills, the tools, the experiences that I had had for all those years. to create a life that was community-oriented. But I had to take the reins and take the initiative and have it happen." Would she like more contact with other SRJs? She says that, although she does not require it, she would welcome another sis-ter if one were to want to live and work with her, and perhaps this new person would help care for her when she gets "old." She emphasizes, "Community is not based on the number of times you see people, but on the feelings and interests to see, hear, and share with others." She also takes he~" identity as an SRJ seriously, having followed the advice of her novice mistress never to abbre-viate the word sister, but always to write it out as part of her name Review for Religious and identity. Sister ZoE puts this together with her feelings about community: "Community is the same as its core. I am a sister from the core of my being, and I am a Sister of Reconciliation." "Good" and "Bad" Community Some sisters gave examples of either "good" or "bad" com-munity experiences, which sometimes held more feeling than the brief descriptive words suggest. One sister said that real community spirit was truly shown when her very good friend died suddenly. She received about a hundred sympathy cards, which told her that the loss of this friend was about more than "my private grief." Another sister described spending some time at a residential therapeutic community for religious congrega-tions. The therapy included the sharing of their life stories, a "first" for this particular sister, where the sharing of those "sad and joyful feelings" created a strong bond within the group. Still another told of the difficult period when she lost her job because of organizational restructuring, but still had had the full support of the community: "I was very glad I was a com-munity woman because otherwise I would have had to get a lawyer. In community I just shared what happened, and they journeyed with me through it." Sister MaryJoyce described her experiences in one of the first experimental communities of group government in 1969. In this new group for which everyone had volunteered, there were between ten and fifteen sisters at various times over several years, and they were trying out new approaches to teaching as well as living. This situation was "life-giving": the participants were all "high energy" types and risk takers as well. They all cared for each other and the outside world, and were concerned about where people were with God, faith, and prayer. Sister Kathryn Ann described something similar. When her ministry took her away from others in her own order, she lived in an apartment house that people came to call The Nunnery because in addition to herself there were six sisters from another con-gregation, a priest, and a brother, all in individual apartments. Although they "lived singly" and ministered in different places, they got together frequently for prayer, meals, and Mass, often signaled by a knock on the wall. July-Angvtst 2002 Zajac ¯ Three Forms of Community Living 3.90 Sister Mary Magdalene has had her share of feeling less than appreciated by other SRJs, yet had a wonderful experience when she lived in a rural area with three other sisters, all teachers, who endured together the crisis of the school's closing. Although one of them was the principal of the school and also the supe-rior of the convent, they interacted as equals and "were just peo-ple together," frequently cooking and sharing meals on the weekends in an era when most convents still had cooks. Although they were together in the school, they also spent outside time together, but "it wasn't mandated. It was a choice we were mak-ing." This relaxed atmosphere where everyone's talents were recognized was contributed to by a pastor who was supportive and friendly and occasionally took them all out to dinner. Another sister, Sister Peg, described an aspect of her first job as a hospital chaplain. Living in an apartment across the street from the hospital, she provided hospitality for visiting sisters and especially those recuperating from surgery or illness. The informality and spontaneous "ease with which the sisters moved in and out of my life" was an exciting and fulfilling period. These positive experiences of community do not necessar-ily require other sisters or vowed people. Sister Benita Rogers shared one such experience when she was leaving an ethnically mixed parish that she had brought together over a number of years. Addressing a large parish group, Sister Benita, who does not speak Spanish, expressed her desire that perhaps now the diocese would assign a bilingual person as her replacement. A Hispanic man stood and spoke for the group: "It doesn't mat-ter whether or not you can speak Spanish. You have the corazon, the heart. That's how you've communicated. You've read us with your heart." It is the major congregational gatherings, however, that sev-eral sisters cited as the "best expression" of community spirit. One of these celebrations is the Congregational Days, when all sisters from the West come together with former sisters as well as affiliate members to celebrate the SRJs as a whole. The other is the jubilee celebration, held anr~ually on the feast day of their patron. Families and friends are invited to participate in the joyful celebration of the anniversaries of their vows as Sisters of Reconciliation. Among these hundreds of people there is a won- Review for Religious derful "spirit that you can almost touch." Everyone feels a part of this group energy and spirituality. It leads people to say that "the most profound experience of community is to experience us praying together." Although Sister Rafaela says she "has never had a bad com-munity experience," this is not the case for many sisters. Sisters described instances where they felt alienated, isolated, or at least not fully appreci-ated in the community, both in their local group and in the larger group. Often the difficulty stemmed from some-one's personality or behavior. When people are too busy to notice others or care about what they are undergoing, those others can feel "deadened" and not supported, making them withdraw from the group. On the other hand, those who "demand too much" from others in terms of time or resources make community living difficult. These people are usually those who have "not done their home-work" regarding their own interpersonal issues. Sometimes, carrying unresolved emotional traumas from their early life, they attempt to hide with the aid of alcohol, a too busy sched-ule, or emotional distancing of others. When people are "afraid of their own spirituality" or are "not willing to be honest" with each other, communal sharing and support are undermined from the start. Sometimes there is a plain lack of openness to others. Sister Joan Claire Mendoza described such a case. She lives in a large convent with eight or nine other sisters, four of whom work in the attached school, while the rest work in various other min-istries. They are together for morning Mass and one evening dinner per week. Although these sisters are "polite" to Sister Joan Claire, it is clear to her that they really do not want her there. Three of them maintain very close relations and actually "make up their own community." Fortunately, Sister Joan Claire has developed a personal and professional network of friends and colleagues from whom she receives most of her emotional Those who "demand too much" from others in terms of time or resources make community living difficult. -201 --- . J~dy-dugust 2002 Zajac " Three Forms of Community Living sustenance. Another sister described a similar case. She felt so rejected that she was "not even sure she was still an SRJ." Others expressed their isolation when they felt that their talents, gifts, or ministry were not appreciated. If community members remain or act unaware or. uninformed about them and their work, those living in common as well as those minister-ing on their own can be affected. Sometimes the personalities of the people living together are too divergent or their schedules too diverse to allow for harmonious living. Highly divergent worldviews in people can also make daily life uncom-fortable. In other instances a quiet person is misconstrued to be someone quite alien to her real self. One sister said she had been surprised to learn that her housemates had thought she was very self-confident and did not need any help or support. In another convent she had been perceived as a threat to others because she had more education than most of the others. The biggest obstacle to community, however, one sister said, occurs when people do not maintain confidences. This causes a shat-tering of trust and pushes people back to isolation. A few sisters expressed frustration or anger with the com-munity at large. One told of an instance when her mother was dying. Although everyone knew about this, there was little inter-est, caring, or support shown. Another sister said that several years ago she was angry with the general community for giving financial support to a foreign political group that she thought was wrong. Another sister said that sometimes lack of equality really bothered her. Because of her age she had been denied permission to study for an advanced degree, yet in that very year three sisters older than herself were approved and funded for graduate education. When this woman protested this as unjust, she received an apology from the president of the con-gregation, but still no approval for further study. In this article we have examined how sisters in one reli-gious community define and create "community." There is lit-tle general consensus about the term, although some common values are evident. In general, all agree that something must be shared and that there is a feeling of interdependence or inter-connectedness. How and what things are shared, however, varies according to the type of living group that is chosen. Individual Review for Religious sisters' stories were interwoven here into three composite pic-tures of community living: intentional community, residential community, and a community of one. Also, some examples of what creates "good" and "bad" community were given. The various types of community exist in various circum-stances and are experienced in various ways by individual sisters. There seems to be no one right way. There is a considerable diversity of views, activities, roles, and living arrangements. This diversity contrasts strongly with the pre-Vatican II con-vents, with their physical proximity to the apostolic work the sis-ters did, their thorough discipline, and their homogeneity of life conditions. Note ~ I later discovered that this was the original European name of a congregation now in the United States with a different name. Bibliography Beane, Marjorie Noterman. 1993. From framework to freedom: A history of the Sister Formation Conference. New York: University Press of America. Eby, Judy, RSM. 2000. "A little squabble among nuns"? The Sister Formation crisis and the patterns of authority and obedience among American women religious, 1954-1971. Unpublished doc-toral dissertation, Saint Louis University. Emerson, Robert M., ed. 1983. Contemporary field research: A collec-tion of readings. Prospect Heights, Illinois: Waveland Press. Merton, Robert K., Marjorie Fiske, and Patricia L. Kendall. 1990. The focused interview: A manual of problems and procedures. New York: Free Press. Powdermaker, Hortense. 1960. Stranger and friend: The way of an anthropologist. New York: W.W. Norton. Quifionez, Lora Ann, CDP, and Mary Daniel Turner SNDdeN. 1992. The transformation of American Catholic sisters. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Vatican Council H: The conciliar and postconciliar documents and More postconciliar documents. 1975, 1982. Edited by Austin Flannery OP. Northport, New York: Costello Publishing Co. Wittberg, Patricia, SC. 1990. Dyads and triads: The sociological impli-cations of small-group living arrangements. Review for Religious 43, no. 1 (January-February): 43-51. July-August 2002 Zajac ¯ Three Forms of Community Li~ing ¯ 1993. Residence stability and decline in Roman Catholic reli-gious orders of women: A preliminary investigation. Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 32: 76-82. Zajac, Barbara. 1999a. Becoming a nun: A general model of entering religious life. Review for Religious 58 (July-August): 403-423. --. 1999b. Community suicide: Secularization in Catholic nuns with the manipulation of ritual and symbol. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of California, Riverside. Wounded The unseen spider ripped my flesh, and drew blood, nourishment, afresh, and left a black-red crater there: pink, puffy, filled with pus - not fair. A round wound one inch wide oozing fluid down the side. I've been a meal for a foreign beast, stamped with a bump, a spider's feast. This tiny spider sucked sustenance from me, drew life, left a mark, for all to see - how dare he! Am I any different? Don't I do the same? Feed on the Christ, wound him, without shame? Michael J. Lydon Reviev; for Religious JOEL GIALLANZA Expert Practitioners of Union in Community Once upon a time community was uncomplicated, ever a delight in which to witness and work, a constant joy to be and build. Beg your pardon! Are we talking about reality here? Yes, but only by flashback to the language and imagery of a different era. Let me explain. In researching various writings on religious community--most of them published from the 1930s to the early 1960s--I wondered if the lived experience of community during those decades matched the somewhat romantic and idealistic rhetoric about it. I decided that it prob-ably did not; rather, the rhetoric offered encouragement and hope as supports for the lived experience. Religious knew then and continue to experience now the complexity of community life. The word community itself has a complex meaning. It means more than religious living in the same residence. We know that community members may be scattered across cities and even across continents. Another facet includes the personalities and perspectives of the members. Similarity and unanimity are no guarantee that a community is healthy and thriving or even that the members know one another more than superficially. Community encompasses the members' cultures and customs and their ages and attitudes. And so we can ask: How do we recognize one another as members of the Joel Giallanza CSC last wrote for us in May-June 2000. His address is Province Center; 1101 St. Edward's Drive; Austin, Texas 78704. July-August 2002 Giallanza ¯ Expert Practitioners of Union community? Community also encompasses the unique heritage and history of each religious institute and the cast of charac-ters who have lived that heritage and been a part of that history. And there are our own experiences in life and ministry. The complexity of religious community does not diminish its potential for living up to the rhetoric of earlier eras. In truth, it has all the potential with which humanity was invested by God at creation. And yet, when we discuss the many factors currently influencing religious life, the task of formulating an all-encompassing definition or description of community is quite daunting and sometimes discouraging. This perception, this temptation to invest less time and energy in such discus-sions, can have a detrimental effect on the quality of community we hope to build for the future. These present reflections are intended to resist that temptation and to encourage continu-ing efforts to form and live and sustain community. Forming Community In the apostolic exhortation Vita consecrata (hereafter VC), Pope John Paul II writes: "Consecrated persons are asked to be true experts of communion and to practice 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'" (§46). This is a significant challenge; to be "true experts" at almost anything in our world is a considerable achievement. Being expert practitioners in the spirituality of communion calls for more. John Paul's understanding of communion is incarna-tional: communion does not exist apart from those who strive to live it daily. The etymology of the word "expert" provides an important insight. Often the term is used in a static way, indicating an acquired ability needing little if any further development. The root meaning, however, is quite dynamic: an expert is one who tries and who learns by trying. As a person's ability matures, there are always new approaches to try and new things to learn. The words experiment and experience have the same root. One way, then, of becoming experts in communion is through our experiments and experiences in community. We must keep try-ing and keep learning. Community is never finished. Review f

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 52.6 of the Review for Religious, November/December 1993. ; 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:314-535-3048 ° FAX: 314-535-0601 Manuscripts, books for review, and correspondence with the editor: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Boulevard ° St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393. Correspondence about the Canonical Counsel department: Elizabeth McDonough OP ° 5001 Eastern Avenue ¯ P.O. Box 29260 Washington, D.C. 20017. POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ° P.O. Box 6070 ° Duluth, MN 55806. Second-class postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional mailing offices. SUBSCRIPTION RATES Single copy $5 includes surface mailing costs. One-year subscription $15 plus mailing costs. Two-year subscription $28 plus ~nailing costs. See inside back cover for more subscription information and mailing costs. ©1993 Review for Religious review for religious Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Ass#tant Editors Advisory Board David L. Fleming SJ Philip C. Fischer SJ Michael G. Harter SJ Elizabeth McDonough OP Jean Read Mary Ann Foppe Joann Wolski Conn PhD Mary Margaret Johanning SSND Iris Ann Ledden SSND Edmundo Rodriguez SJ Sefin Sammon FMS Suzanne Zuercher OSB Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living NOVEMBER-DECEMBER 1993 ¯ VOLUME 52 ¯ NUMBER 6 contents 806 feature Religious Life and Conversion Language Dennis J. Billy CSSR provides a language of conversion so that religious might more readily integrate their individual lives with their corporate existences. 817 828 835 842 spirituality Are We Relating to God in a New Way? Gerald M. Fagin SJ proposes five polarities which are always present in our spiritual lives. Desire, Asking, and Answers A. Paul Dominic SJ emphasizes the importance of praying from our desires by exampleg from the Bible. Companionship Spirituality in Ruth Judette A. Gallares RC explores covenantal faith through the symbol of companionship portrayed between Ruth and Naomi. The Spirituality of Surrender John P. Mossi SJ proposes three models of a spiritual surrender-ing as a means of coming home to God. 849 865 ecumenism The Ecumenical Vocation of Religious Jeffrey Gros FSC highlights the importance of ecumenical for-mation and collaboration for women and men religious. The Religious Call of Ecumenism Jude D. Weisenbeck SDS suggests ways in which the needs of the ecumenical movement can well be met by the resources of religious communities. 802 Reviezv for Religious 870 875 ministry Frustrations--Jesus' Ministry and Ours James Martin SJ seeks a fresh perspective on dealing with frustra-tions arising from ministry to the poor. Jesuit Spirituality and Catholic Higher Education Claude N. Pavur SJ stresses the importance of an Ignatian spiritu-ality, invigorating the efforts of educators in the Jesuit tradition. poverty 886 Option for the Poor: God's Pedagogy Marcello Azevedo SJ analyzes the meaning and life-applications of the phrase "option for the poor" in terms of our faith. 893 Who Evangelizes Whom? The Poor Evangelizers John F. Talbot SJ explores the evangelizing potential of the poor. 898 a life of promise Two Cheers for Celibacy William McDonough clarifies the meaning of prie, stly celibacy by combining Robert Bellah's use of institution and Thomas Aquinas's moral vision. 911 Charismatic Renewal and Consecrated Life 920 Susan Rakoczy IHM reflects from a r~ligious-life experience of twenty-five years on the blessings of the charismatic renewal in regard to consecrated life. Death as a Community Event Annette Frey SC shares the stqry of a friend's illness and death as an integrating factor in community life. departments 804 Prisms 927 Canonical Counsel: Lumen Gentium's Chapter 6: Religious 933 Book Reviews 951 Indexes to Volume 52 November-December 1993 803 prisms ~oho are the people by whom you have been most influenced? Many of us must at one time or another have tried to answer this question for ourselves or at the inquiry of others: Precisely which people have strongly influenced my life? Some may quickly name their fathers and mothers; others go on to name favorite teachers or special friends. Still others may name people in world affairs or in the worlds of sports, the arts, or medicine. Probably not very many of us spontaneously turn to the men and women whom the church has declared holy and named as outstanding members of the communion of saints. Yet the reason why the church calls our attention to these people is to allow us to see in other followers of Christ what we hope to become. Just as the church of the Eastern rites emphasizes icons that give us a glimpse of the world of the holy, so the Latin-rite church proposes the study of the lives of ~aints so that we may be inspired by them and formed and then moved along a path of holiness as Jesus' apostles. Perhaps at one time many of us did not appreciate how the more medieval theology of mediators needed updating like so many timebound ways of expressing our faith and its practices--the process mandated by Vatican II. Now it seems that we stand more ready for and in need of the kind of influence which our fellow Christians, can-onized and otherwise esteemed, can exercise in ore: lives. No longer do we, almost superstitiously, look to Mary or other chosen saints for special favors. Instead we take our direction from the Vatican II understanding and descrip-tion of Mary's place in the communion of saints under the 804 Review for Religious specially privileged titles of mother and first disciple. And so we look to our favorite men and women saints particularly in their relationship to us as brothers and sisters and as our fellow disci-ples. If Christians in general are exhibiting a greater need for this kind of influence in their devotional lives, even more might men and women religious look to the holy ones special to their con-gregations for living the kind of discipleship charismatically appro-priate to their following of Christ. ~;Vhether it be the contemporary retelling of saints' lives or recapturing their spirit in new artistic portrayals or recovering prayers of theirs that are appropriate to our times--there still are ways for holy men and women to touch us in our daily living. We may more readily find light coming to us in dark moments of our experience from the uncovered lamp of these human lives than from any theoretical studies or documents. We may also find ourselves more energized for entering into the evangelizing mission of Jesus through the radiance of their inspiration and example. Probably even more surprising than our slowness in naming saints as major influences in our lives is the not infrequent omis-sion of even the name Jesus. As we enter into the Advent and Christmas seasons, maybe more fully than Jesus being "the reason for the season," we might say that the reason for the season is for us to remind ourselves that Jesus is the unique influence upon our lives all year long. Jesus is the one who has influenced how we live, how we pray, how we interact, how we die. Jesus is the one who calls us to a way of following; Jesus is the Teacher, and we all remain the lifelong learners, the ones in continuing formation. Perhaps we need to ask ourselves another question. Is it true that for us not to name Jesus as the great influence of our lives is more than just a memory slip? Does our answer uncover for us that our everyday, busy lives are being spent on behalf of lesser gods than the God Incarnate? The question is worth more than a Christmastime reflection. That the peace and grace of God, Emmanuel, be richly yours is the wish of all the staff of Review for Religious. David L. Fleming SJ November-December 1993 805 DENNIS J. BILLY Religious Life and Conversion Language The crisis faced by many of today's religious goes beyond the breakdown of their founding myths and the resulting lack of purpose in their corporate existences. While many (I daresay most) are at least peripherally aware of having lost in recent years something of great importance for their lives as professed religious, they usually have no idea whatsoever of how to retrieve it or what to put in its place. Nor are they very articulate about just what it is they have lost and why precisely they want it back. Confronted by their own aging, a steady flow of ygunger members from their ranks, and fewer and fewer vocational prospects, many have become disillusioned and desire some sort of immediate respite from their mount-ing misfortunes. They pursue it in any number of ways. Some display a nostalgic desire for the not too distant past--"the good old days," as.they are called, which were probably never quite so good as they now seem. Others resign themselves passively to their "inevitable corporate extinction," an increasingly attractive choice for many. Still others sink deeper and deeper into the quagmire of confusion and doubt about the relevance of religious life in the postmodern world--which does nothing but com-pound an already complex and. difficult situation. Regardless of the motivations behind them or their point Dennis J. Billy CSSR is author of the recently published Evangelical Kernels: A Theological Spirituality of Religious Life (Mba House, 1993). His address is Accademia Alfonsiana; Via Merulana, 31; C.P. 2458; 00100 Rome; Italy. 806 Review for Religious of origin, none of these responses are adequate to the crisis at hand. In order to move forward, today's religious must choose a path other than that of denial and escape. At this critical point of their history, what they need is a language of conversion that will enable them to give an honest account of themselves, will help them to integrate their private lives with their corporate existences, and will show them how they, as a group, can con-front the cynical doubts that writhe beneath the surface of their professional respectability. Conversion Language A language of conversion must speak to both the mind and the heart. It must make sense to.people in a way that will satisfy their intellectual longings. It must also motivate them to exanaine their situation in life with renewed strength and vigor--as if with dif-ferent eyes. More importantly, it must reshape their interpretation of experience so that, through the action of divine grace, they see their denial for what it is and then find it possible to realign their personal powers of commitment with those of the religious insti-tute to which they belong. Only from such a realignment will dusty and creaky institu-tional structures and the people who stubbornly inhabit and main-tain them have any hope of being refurbished for a brighter future. Failure to achieve this renewal of human heart and human social structure will result only in more of the same problem: individ-ualism amid corrosive social ills; continuing loss of confidence in and commitment to one's religious community; the persistence of the "double life" syndrome that has plagued so many first-world congregations since the Second Vatican Council. By most assessments, the very future of religiou~ life is at stake. The thesis is clear: the circular relationship between individ-ual and corporate change must come to the fore in any further dis-cussions about authentic conversion, particularly with respect to those who have dedicated their lives to following the evangelical counsels. "The whole cannot be understood without its parts; nor the parts without the whole." This fundamental problem of inter-pretation-- the so-called hermeneutical problem--lies at the root of the present crisis in religious life. To deal with it effectively, a language of conversion must address both the individual and the November-December 1993 807 Billy ¯ Religious Life and Conversion Language group, as well as their ongoing mutual relationship. It can do so, however, only if it encompasses (1) a sound Christian anthropol-ogy that stresses the dignity of human persons on every level of their existence, (2) a persuasive philosophical link between the personal and the corporate wholes, and (3) a recognition of its own inherent limitations with a corresponding openness to the re-creative presence of God. Without these important ingredi-ents of change, no language of conversion, regardless of how elo-quent or comprehensive it may appear, will be adequate to the enormous task at hand. A Sound Christian Anthropology The connotations of the phrase "a sound Christian anthro-pology" need some explaining. An "anthropology" may be described as a specific and coordinated assessment of human exis-tence. It is "Christian" insofar as it receives its inspiration from the insights of Christian traditions. To the extent that there are numerous interpretations of the meaning of Christianity, there are also varying Christian anthropologies. In this essay, a "sound" Christian anthropology is understood as one which integrates four fundamental dimensions of human existence: the physical, the rational (or mental), the spiritual, and the social. All of these are found ih the teaching of St. Paul and are made explicit in the juxtaposition of his doctrine of the Body of Christ (1 Cor 12:12- 31) and the tripartite understanding of the person found in such verses as this: "May the God of peace make you perfect in holi-ness. May he preserve you whole and entire, spirit (pneuma), soul (psyche), and body (soma), irreproachable at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ" (1 Th 5:23). Together these verses express the Pauline understanding of the complexity of human existence and qualify as a solid basis for further theological reflection. Of what do these basic dimensions consist? People's spirit (pneuma) is the deepest part of their being. It yearns for God with unutterabl.e groanings (Rm 8:23) and has the potential to be lifted up into intimate communion with the very Spirit of God. Ever elusive and difficult to describe, it is that aspect of human exis-tence which affirms each human person as capax Dei, that is, capa-ble of God. People's soul (psyche), by contrast, is their animating principle of life. It encompasses, not only the rational, but also the emotive, nutritive, and reproductive sides of human existence. 808 Review for Religious Rational activity, the soul's highest and noblest function, enables people to wonder about the meaning of life and to think criti-cally about its problems. People's bodies (somata) are the material extension of their existence. Unlike the Pauline term for "flesh" (sarx), which has close associations with a life of sin leading to death, soma can be used for good or for ill and is hence a morally neutral concept. Finally, people's social dimension is a constituent part of their anthropological makeup. A human per-son. arises out of and exists in a social context and cannot be understood apart from it. For Christians, the primary social arena in which they live out their lives is that of the Body of Christ as it exists in its various expressions such as the family, the parish, the diocese, and the church universal. The interrelated nature of these various dimensions of human existence cannot be stressed highly enough. Spirit does not exist apart from a person's body, soul, and social relationships-- nor vice versa. Not one of them can be separated and treated in isolation from the others, as if a person were an arti-ficial composite of four disparate parts. A continuous and unbroken anthropo- For Christians, the primary social arena in which they live out their lives is that of the Body of Christ as it exists in its various expressions such as the family, the parish, the diocese, and the church universal. logical relationship exists among all of them. So strong are these bonds that not even death can sever them completely and pre-vent their ongoing functioning. To do so would mean the ulti-mate dissolution of the human person and the corresponding passage from being to nonbeing which the Christian faith so strongly rejects as a possibility of human destiny. That is not to say that a certain priority of relationships does not exist among these various anthropological factors: spirit relates to soul as soul to body. Balanced and healthy relationships among these affect the way in which a person interacts with others. A sound social environment, in turn, produces profound healing effects on a per-son's bodily, spiritual, and mental well-being. This circular rela-tionship is important for understanding the present crisis of religious life, which now can be understood as involving not only November-Deconber 1993 809 Billy ¯ Reli~ous Life and Conversion Language the vast array of dysfunctional social structures, but also a deeper relational imbalance operative on the most basic levels of human existence. Linking the Personal and the Corporate Social structures are both products of the mind and a means through which human intelligence and human spirit are shaped. ' When functioning according to justice, they give all people their due and educate them in virtue. At other times they work to the benefit of a privileged elite at the expense of an oppressed under-class. The interests of justice are not adequately served when existing social structures help to perpetuate a mentality of control that legitimizes the unjust treatment of other human beings. Such structures are sinful and need to be changed. When they are not (as can be the case in religious life), it may very well be simply because those involved feel overwhelmed by the immensity of the task before them. Such feelings can easily lead people to a sense of helplessness or even indifference about their ability to influence their surrounding social structures. An implicit dualism then arises in the private and social spheres of religious life: individuals grad-ually lose ownership of their ruling structures; the latter go on unchallenged more out of a paralyzing lack of interest than any-one's stubborn resistance to change. One way to overcome this implicit dualism is to introduce the related concepts of microcosm and macrocosm into the cur-rent vocabulary of religious life. Rooted in the primitive Greek idea of the human person as a small-scale model of the cosmos, this distinction was eventually adapted by Plato as a way of describing the relationship of individuals to the society (see Republic, 441c). According to this adjusted version, the underlying structure of human society is nearly the same as that of the human soul. The rational element corresponds to the republic's govern-ing class; the irascible (or spirited), to its martial orders; the con-cupiscible, to its productive masses. As "the human soul writ large," society offers individuals not only a particular place in the " social hierarchy, but also the opportunity of seeing themselves projected onto the collective whole. Individuals find their reflec-tion in the whole; the whole, in the individual. Plato's application of the microcosm/macrocosm distinction is not relevant in all its details to religious life in its contemporary 810 Review for Religious ¯ Western setting. His assertion, however, of an underlying struc-tural continuity between individuals and the society to which they belong has much to its credit: (1) it preserves the circular rela-tionship between individual and social functions; (2) it allows for certain structural similarities between human beings and their primary social environment; and (3) it maintains the distinctive-ness of individuals in the face of the larger community. When combined with the Christian anthropology outlined in the pre-vious section (as opposed to the Platonic one with which it is nor-mally associated), this seminal idea can help individuals in today's religious communities to regain their sense of identity with the larger whole. The analogy would go something like this: both the human person and the religious community possess spiritual, mental, physical, and social dimensions. The relationships among the various dimensions within the human person are proportion-ate to those in the religious community (for example, human spirit / human soul = community spirit / community soul, and so forth). Cross references also remain proportionate, but only with regard to corresponding terms (that is, human spirit /communal spirit = human soul / community soul, and so forth). In all cases the rule of proper proportionality applies (a/b = a'/b'). The strength of this approach is that it maintains a fundamental continuity between the underlying anthropological structure of individuals and that of their religious community. And it is able to do so even when taking into account the limitations of the language it uses to describe the quiet, abiding presence of God in the life of the . community. The Silent Presence of Grace One of the underlying dangers in the current discussion about the future of religious life is the tendency to substitute lengthy theories for the simplicity of God's intervening grace. Uneasiness about their present situation in life has led many religious into a quest for the perfect plan that will explain in fine detail (1) why they find themselves in their present situation, (2) how they can get themselves out of it, and (3) where they should be going. Search as they may, they will inevitably end up frustrated. No magic elixir of man-made theories can satisfy expectations of such exalted heights. To achieve its ends, a theory of refounding or revitalization must place God, not itself, atthe center of attention. November-Deconber 1993 811 Billy ¯ Religious Life and Conversion Language To do so, it must first recognize that conversion on any level--the personal, the communal, the societal--comes directly from God's own initiative. And since God is not limited to the narrow confines of human theorizing, the theory in question can propose nothing but one of many possibilities of how God's transforming action may occur. By placing itself on the periphery (not at the center) of divine action, such a theory acknowledges its inherent limita-tions and places itself more readily at the disposal of God's re-creative activity. "The wind blows where it wills" (Jn 3:8). The movement of God's grace is capable of transforming both individuals and the social structures they inhabit. What God does or how is not always discernible to the human eye. What is important in any of life's sit-uations-- and, in this case, in the present crisis facing many reli-gious communities--is that people (both as individuals and as a group) expand their awareness of God working quietly in the cir-cumstances of their daily lives. Where is God in the present cri-sis facing religious life? What is God saying in the graying of once thriving religious communities, in their steady loss of younger members, in their failure to attract vocations, and in their overall decline in numbers? Why does God permit the cur-rent lack of identity and firmness of purpose which characterizes so many of today's religious communities? Where is God lead-ing them--if at all? And to serve what purpose? When sincerely reflected upon, such questions lead people either to affirm or deny God's active involvement in their own life and in the life of " their religious community. The answer, however, may not end up in the shape of a simple yes or no. In a matter of faith, a believer's response must involve more than a facile determination of whether God is with this particular community or has abandoned it. Such a reply may evade the issue altogether. An authentic outpouring of God's grace will foster a deep sense of listening in the life of a religious community. Most peo-ple, religious included, are more ready to give their own opinion than to hear that of another. They are usually so heavily interested in what they themselves have to say that they talk past those around them or, at best, tolerate what is said until the next oppor-tunity arises for them to speak. What passes for conversation is often nothing more than a continuous chain of vaguely connected monologues. Such is not the case with God, the preeminent lis-tener, nor should it be the case of those stirr.ed by the free gift of 812 Review for Religious grace. Those who listen carefully--to their own hearts, to those around them, to the needs of the community, and to those outside the community--are able to discern more clearly the voice of God in their own lives. When they nurture this quiet witness of faith, religious create a space in their community where others know that their presence will be gratefully recognized and their stories listened to with interest. To empty oneself so that others may be heard is an important quality in authentic Christian living. The language of conversion cannot be spoken, let alone heard, apart from the re-creative silence of God's transforming grace. R.eligious and the Language of Conversion The rudiments of an authentic language of conversion are now in place: a sound Christian anthropology, a way of bringing together individuals and corporate wholes, and a recognition of God's creative initiative in the process of conversion. The inte-gration of these elements and their use as an active, functioning language will enable religious to find greater insight into their present difficulties and will lead them to a deeper awareness of the proper course of action to be taken. To further advance this claim, a number of observations are in order: 1. A language of conversion such as the one suggested above will challenge religious to remove the "problem solving" glasses that regularly color their current outlook. Rather than poring over "what must we change in order to secure our institutional viability," they will focus on questions about the authenticity of their reli-gious lives. A religious community, in other words, turns its life more completely over to God, not out of any ulterior motives (for example, to get more vocations, to stem the exodus of disenchanted members), but simply because that is what God asks of them. 2. Religious need to examine, in their common spiritual out-look, the relationship they maintain between "being" and "action." Informed by an anthropology that draws strong bonds between the bodily, mental, spiritual, and social dimensions of human exis-tence, they will be more apt to be sensitive to how their actions-- both private and corporate--are expressions of who they are and sensitive as well to how their actions affect their being as human persons. 3. Religious must articulate in their daily lives a deeper appre-ciation of the basic human elements of community living. November-December 1993 813 Billy ¯ Religious Life and Conversion Language Membership in a religious congregation involves more than mere physical presence. It also entails a shared commitment to common goals and values, a general sense of how these ends are to be achieved, the fostering of community spirit, and a network of sound spiritual and social ties. Since these elements are them-selves all intimately related, care must be taken that members manage to relate well on all of them. Structures must be set in place to facilitate this process. 4. Particular emphasis should be given to the community's spiritual well-being. Just as the spirit is the deepest part of the human person--that part which yearns for God and which affirms oneself as capax Dei--so too is it the truest, most authentic part of the religious community. When the spirit of a religious commu-nity suffers, the other dimensions cannot help being affected. Efforts must be made to heal the wounded spirit of religious com-munity life. Among other things, this will mean working through such difficult issues as human intimacy, vocational crises, mourn-ing the loss of members, and dealing constructively with members who display dysfunctional and addictive behaviors. Only through healing of the spirit of religious community life is there any hope of recovery. 5. One way of healing a community's wounded spirit is for its members to reserve time and community space for genuine listening. By being attentive to the words of others--the stories they tell, the experiences they wish to share--people enter into the thick of life and allow for the possibility of God's presence to break into ordinary daily events. When a religious community fosters this attitude of respect for the need of people to share themselves openly without feeling threatened, it begins to go beneath the superficial ways of relating by which its members all too often relate hardly at all. One of the great sins of religious life is that people can live together for years and barely know each other. 6. It is also sad that a person can live the religious life for yea~rs without ever developing a close relationship with God. Addressing this problem, the language of conversion places God at the center of attention. The whole purpose of life, and of reli-gious life especially, is for a person to enter into a deep and last-ing friendship with God. This purpose must not be lost sight of in discussions about the future of religious life. Religious vow to live the evangelical counsels in order to walk more closely along 814 Revie~ for Religious the way of the Lord Jesus. They do so, if for no other reason, in order to enter more closely into union with him and the One who sent him. 7. People cannot know God, however, if their spirit (or the spirit of the community, for that matter) does not commune with the Spirit of God in the quiet groves of contemplation. Many religious, unfortunately, have forgotten all about what it means to seek the Lord in prayer. Having lost the incentive to pray, they merely go through the motions of living out their evangelical commitments; their lives, as a result, can easily become devoid of all meaning. Religious need to see through the self-deceptions that have gradually led them to compromise their vows. To retrieve the meaning of their religious life, they must return to a balanced regimen of prayer whereby they can gather in God's name and continually invoke the divine presence. 8. Finally, no one undergoes conversion outside a specific community environment. Religious must develop a keen sense of boundary definition that will enable them to distribute their time appropriately between their own religious community and the people they serve in the apostolate. While benefiting from the authentic sharing that goes on within their communities (an essential priority of a well functioning community), they must take care not to become inordinately introspective and so lose all desire to reach beyond their immediate circle. The apostolic orientation of all religious communities (even those with a strictly contem-plative lifestyle) must always remain a primary concern. With this orientation religious supported and energized by their communi-ties will be able--both individually and together--to do great work for both the church and for society at large. Just as the spirit is the deepest part of the human person-- that part which yearns for God and which affirms oneself as capax Dei--so too is it the truest, most authentic part of the religious community. Conclusion The present crisis in religious life is largely a lack of balance between the individual and the community. In many respects the November-December 1993 815 Billy ¯ ReIigious Life and Conversion Language crisis is a scaled-down version of the age-old philosophical prob-lem of the one and the many, an issue which has always lurked behind the scenes of Western philosophical thought and which remains, even today, largely unresolved. In recent years the pen-dulum has swung from one extreme to the other, with the indi-vidual being either submerged in the collective (as was often the case before Vatican II) or much removed from it (as has often occurred since the council). While nearly everyone agrees that a healthy balance needs to be struck, there is little consensus con-cerning just what must be done to achieve it. These pages have used certain categories from the Western religious and philosophical traditions in an effort to nudge reli-gious communities gently toward a prudent--even though pre-carious- balance. The categories include (1) a Pauline anthropology that emphasizes the four basic dimensions of human existence (spiritual, mental, bodily, and social), (2) a philosophi-cal link between individual and corporate wholes (the micro-cosm/ macrocosm distinction of the ancient Greek philosophers), and (3) a deepened awareness of the inherent limitations of lan-guage (and by extension all theories) with a corresponding focus on the creative initiative of divine grace. While none of these cat-egories are entirely disregarded in current discourse about reli-gious life, rarely have they been used in conjunction with one another and certainly not in what has been termed "a language of conversion." By assimilating these categories of conversion, religious can begin to change some of their dysfunctional ways of relating and nurse some of the open wounds that their communities now endure. First of all, they must get beyond claiming that the call to conversion extends only to individuals and not to the social struc-tures they inhabit. An awareness of the circular relationship between the human heart and the human social structure is ~un-damental to any serious discussion of religious life's future. Without it the dissatisfaction of many of today's religious with their institutional structures will continue to grow. 816 Review for Religious GERALD M. FAGIN Are We Relating to God in a New Way? When I entered a Jesuit novitiate thirty-five years ago, I was introduced to a way of relating to God deeply rooted in the tradition of the church and in the Society of Jesus. It was a way of experiencing God and of responding to God that was shaped by a clearly defined theological understanding of God, the church, and the human per-son. What characterized that spirituality was what char-acterized the spirituality of most Catholics, both lay and religious, in the years before Vatican Council II. What has emerged in the last twenty-five years is a new way of relating to God, a spirituality rooted in a plurality of the-ological understandings of God, the church, and the human person. We might describe it as a shift in model or simply as a shift from one pole of the necessary tension in our spiritual lives to the other. What is important is that we describe and understand what has happened, for too often a lack of understanding has led to confusion, guilt, and quarreling among Christians. I offer five tensions or polarities that are always pres-ent in our spiritual lives. What has happened in lived Christian spirituality can be described in terms of these tensions. spirituality From Objective to Subject-Centered The spirituality of thirty-five years ago was an objec- Gerald M. Fagin sJ, professor of theology, can be addressed at Loyola University; 6363 St. Charles Avenue; New Orleans, Louisiana 70118. Noven~ber-Decen~ber 1993 817 Fagin ¯ Are We Relating to God in a New Way? tive spirituality measured in terms of laws kept, mortifications and virtues and devotions practiced, prayers said, and Masses attended. A typical day in a novitiate was structured around an early morning Latin Mass, an hour of meditation, the rosary, the stations of the cross, examination of conscience, spiritual read-ing, and an instruction on religious life. The spiritual life of the Catholic laity was measured and identified by similar norms and practices. This way of life was supported by a clearly defined Catholic culture that gave Catholics a sense of identity rooted in unambiguous doctrinal and moral teaching and distinct rituals and practices. It was the world of the Baltimore catechism, Friday abstinence, fasting in Lent, First Friday and First Saturday devo-tions, benediction, indulgences, and St. Jude devotions. It demanded discipline and obedience and self-sacrifice, but it offered clear expectations and a structured and measurable way of living out a committed Christian life that led to sanctity. Such objectivity is an essential element in any relationship .to God. Rituals, practices, and devotions are at the heart of a gen-uine experience of God and a faithful response to God. We need clear guidelines and traditional structures if we are to be account-able and if we are to guard against the kind of subjectivity that is open to deception and divisiveness. What has emerged, then, is not a total rejection of this way of relating to God, but a new emphasis on the human person as a free and developing subject in the spiritual life. This subject-centered spirituality is a spirituality measured in terms of people's inner growth and actualization, the quality of their prayer and personal affective development. The spiritual life is described in terms'of a growth in trust and love and openness and freedom and sensi-tivity to the Spirit. Religious experience rather than religious practice is central to this approach. The focus is growth in peo-ple's personal relationship with God and on God's call addressed ¯ uniquely to individuals in their specific life circumstances. In con-sidering fidelity to God, the language of conformity and obedience to rules gives way to discernment and dialogue. Prayer becomes less a meditation on the truths of Christianity and more a lan-guage of the heart, an affective prayer that centers on God's ini-tiative more than our initiative. The role of the spiritual director puts less emphasis on teaching and guidance and more emphasis on facilitating the directee's relationship with God. The didactic gifts of the director become less important than a listening and 818 Review for Religious discerning heart that can clarify the movement of God in the directee's heart. Thirty-five years ago my spiritual director asked me about my fidelity to my spiritual exercises, the subject matter of my meditation, and the resolutions from my latest retreat. Today my spiritual director asks me about the movement of God in my heart and the consolation and desolation that are the signposts of my discernment. The presupposition is that God is at work in the individual soul and that this movement of God can be observed and discerned. The shift to a subject-centered spirituality is clearly seen in the rediscovery of the directed retreat. Conference-style or preached retreats focus on a common teaching or subject matter for reflec-tion. Everyone responds to and prays over the same material, often more doctrinal than scriptural, and not selected as a specific response to the needs and grace directions of the individuals. The subject matter of the directed retreat is each individual's experience of God, the movement of the Spirit within that person. Scripture is chosen to focus and highlight the graces of the retreatant. There is not one set program for everyone. It is pre-sumed that each person will experience and respond to God's grace in an individual way. Underlying this shift to the subject is a different under-standing of revelation. Revelation is imaged not primarily as propositions to be affirmed but as God's self-communication. Revelation is not first a series of statements about God and the human condition, but a series of experiences of God that reveal who God is and how God deals with us. Jesus is the fullness of God's revelation so that our faith life is a response to someone rather than an assent to propositions. God's self-revelation in Christ calls us to a new relationship with.God. Experience, both individual and communal, precedes articulation; and our rela- This subject-centered spirituality is a spirituality measured in terms of people's inner growth and actualization, the quality of their prayer and personal affective development. November-December 1993 819 Fagqn ¯ Are We Relating to God in a New Way? tionship with God begins in an experience of God that then finds words in doctrines and expression in rituals. From Perfection to Process The novice of thirty-five years ago set out on the road to per-fection. Every imperfection was to be weeded out, every virtue practiced. The ideals were clear, even if unattainable. The goal was set: "Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect." The perfec-tion model envisioned our spiritual lives as a striving for an ideal, a state of perfection that was never attained. Too often our spir-itual lives were evaluated in terms of our failures to reach the ideal or the degree to which we had failed to attain perfection. As in the objective model, the focus was on an observance of laws and duties. Novices were told, "Keep the rule and the rule will keep you." This approach tended to be legalistic and Pelagian and to generate undue fear in our relationship with God. We were always aware that we were not measuring up to the ideal. No matter how fervent our spiritual lives and how detailed our obser-vance, we remained unworthy servants who had yet to reach per-fection. We placed much more emphasis on what we had failed to do or achieve than on the level of our desire and hope and love and our moments of fidelity. This perfection model focused on the goal, not the process to the goal. God's love and affirmation were often thought of as the reward for our completing the process, for our faithful observance. A corollary of the shift from objective to subject-centered is the shift from this perfection model to a process model in our relationship with God. The process model envisions our spiri-tual lives as a journey that can be measured not only in terms of how far we have to go, but especially in terms of how far we have come. Besides sorrow for our failure to attain perfection, there is gratitude for all that God has accomplished in us, the work of God's grace in our lives. Our spiritual lives are viewed as a rela-tionship with God that grows, not as a project that needs to be accomplished. Such a model is sensitive to the adult stages of growth in the human process. Conversion is emphasized as an ongoing process of discovering and purification and commitment. Creative fidelity in the midst of new challenges and opportunities replaces perseverance in a static commitment. The love of God is experienced in the midst of the process as an abiding source of 820 Review for Religious support and inspiration. God loves us where we are and invites us to a fuller life. We find God, then, where we are and not where we would like to be. We pray out of our present experience, not out of as-yet-unrealized goals. At the root of this shift from perfection to process is a renewed understanding of grace. Grace is defined not primarily in ontological terms and categories, certainly not as a quantity to be gained and lost by observance or lack of observance. Rather it is understood as a growth in a relationship of love with some-one, a growth into a richer and fuller life. Our relationship with God is an invitation to friendship and intimacy with God, a gift of new life. God's grace is the giving of Godself that transforms us and empowers us to live God's life. From Private to Communal The novitiate of thirty-five years ago was highly structured and programmed. With rare exceptions, everyone followed the same order of the day, listened to the same conferences and instructions, and even read many of the same books. The reality of large numbers of novices made personal attention less available, even though the novice master was concerned for the well-being of each novice. At the same time, the spirituality proposed was very individualistic. People's relation with God was private and expressed in personal devotions and practices. They found God in the solitude of their'own heart and gave little emphasis to a com-munity of shared faith and communal discernment. There was a strong sense of corporate identity, but one's own spiritual life was private and to be shared only with a spiritual director or supe-rior. The support came from the awareness that everyone was praying at the same time in private, not from any ~hared sense of what was happening in the prayer of individuals. This personal piety that privatized one's relationship with God followed upon an understanding of the church as an insti-tution from which grace flows from the top through a hierarchi-cal structure to the individual. God spoke through superiors and religious leaders, not through the members of the community. Sacraments too were privatized. They were channels of individ-ual grace and a personal relationship with God. Confession was an experience of forgiveness of my sins with little sense of reconcil-iation with the community. Eucharist focused on the offering of November-December 1993 821 Fagin ¯ Are We Relating to God in a New Way? Christ's sacrifice and my reception of Communion, followed by my private thanksgiving with .Jesus. Often Eucharist was a pri-vate Mass with a single server symbolizing a broader community that was not evidently there. All of this, of course, reflected a the-ology of church and sacrament that shaped and reinforced a sense of a private relationship with God. A communal model, on the other hand, emphasizes that we encounter God in community. It respects the personal and unique aspect of one's relationship with God and the areas of religious experience that are shared only with a spiritual guide or a close friend, but it images our relationship with God in the context of a community of faith. The Spirit speaks through all, and we grow in our faith life with, in, and through others. We are one body. We are branches on the same vine. Shared prayer and communal dis-cernment are important means of developing our relationship with God. This derives from an understanding of church as pri-marily a community of believers called together in faith. The church is an institution with visible structures and offices, but it is first the gathering of disciples that find and celebrate God's presence in their midst. Liturgy is experienced as ecclesial, as the coming together of God's people to hear the word in common and share the meal of the Reign of God. Jesus is present, not only in the consecrated bread and wine, but also in the assembly. We find Jesus in the community. Sacraments, then, are experienced as communal moments Of celebration that bind us together and deepen our corporate identity as the people of God. Christians share a common story of salvation and live out that story as mem-bers of the one body of Christ. That sense of a common story deepens our awareness of God's self-revelation to us in commu-nity and our need to listen and respond as God's people bound together by a covenant relationship. From Dualism to Wholeness From its earliest days Christianity has struggled with a dual-ism that put a wedge between the spiritual and the physical, the body and the soul. Gnosticism, Manicheanism, and Jansenism are only historical surfacings of a constant and strong undercurrent of thought that considers the physical to be evil and the source of temptation. Not surprisingly, the novitiate of thirty-five years ago put little emphasis on emotional growth and psychosexual devel- 822 Review for Religious opment. The prominent role of physical penances and the pro-hibition about novices touching one another dramatized not only a needed asceticism, but also a distrust of anything relating to the human body. Holiness was often identified with a flight from the body and from the emotions. The body was seen as a hin-drance to the spirit, and the emotions were dismissed or sup-pressed as irrelevant and debilitating. Reason and volition were the only reliable means of directing our spiritual lives. Discernment was reduced to a rational process or replaced by. logical analysis. Faith was seen primarily as an act of the intellect and holiness as an act of the will. In the end, the spiritual life was often per-ceived as set apart in a higher realm divorced from the growth of the whole person. Contemporary spirituality is more clearly holistic. It respects and encourages the growth of the whole person. The process of human-ization is an integral part of spiritual develop-ment. Spiritual maturity presupposes a certain psychological health as a foundation. The role of affectivity and an appreciation of our phys-icality become important elements of our growth to spiritual wholeness. Discernment is appreciated as noticing and evaluating the affective as well as the rational movements of God within the soul, sifting through experiences of consolation and desolation. Faith is the response of the whole person to God's self-revela-tion. A renewed value is given to human desire as a place where God touches and inspires the soul and calls a person to fuller life. Contemporary spiritua~ty knows well that something of this holis-tic approach can be found in a fresh reading of many of the mys-tics and spiritual classics, but modern awareness and appreciation of the complexities of the human person have insisted even more that holiness is a developmental process of integrating all aspects of the human person. The shift from dualism to wholeness is rooted in an under-standing of the human person as a unity rather than a duality of spirit and body. Psychology and religion can work together to transform and sanctify every dimension of the person. The Enneagram, Jungian personality types, dream analysis, Intensive Journaling--all these and more can enrich our appreciation and Christians share a common story of salvation and live out that story as members of the one body of Christ. November-December 1993 823 Fagin ¯ Are We Relating to God in a New Way? understanding of the human psyche and be positive helps to our spiritual growth. There is, of course, an element of truth in the dualistic approach. Physical and even psychological wholeness are not indispensable to Christian holiness. God can and does work through our brokenness. The ideal of self-actualization and human growth must always be relativized by the gospel call to self-emp-tying surrender. On the other hand, the dualistic approach, when taken to an extreme, can produce an impoverished human per-son insensitive to the riches of imagination and affect in relating to God and other people. In such a case, little or no value is given to the affective movements of the heart in the search for God. The ordering of affectivity is reduced to the suppression of affec-tivity, and an ascetic ideal is proposed that allows little room for human emotion. From Other-Worldly to This-Worldly "Just a little while and then eternity." These words attributed to St. John Berchmans set the tone for my novitiate experience thirty-five years ago. At the heart of the relationship with God was a call to renunciation of the material world. The world was a place of temptation and trial. We were pilgrims on a journey to salvation in the next life. Sanctity demanded detachment from the world. Matter was evil, the source of sin. Penance was a way to punish the flesh and control its appetites. The novitiate was in an isolated place far from the allurements of the world. There were no newspapers or magazines or movies or TV. The harshest judgment passed on any novice was that he was "worldly." At the root of this approach was a negative vision of the world as cor-rupted by sin. Flight from the world was the road to sanctity. Even apostolic religious orders tended to propose monastic ide-als that emphasized separation from the world. A special impor-tance was given to the words of Seneca (Letters, no. 7) quoted in the Imitation of Christ (I, 20): "As often as I have been among men, I have returned less a man." No one can deny the truth in this approach to the world. Growth in a relationship with God demands a radical detachment and renunciation. We live in a world of obscured values and dis-torted perceptions, a world infected with sin that stands in oppo-sition to the values of the reign of God. The world is groaning for 824 Review for Religious redemption, and Christianity must stand as a countercultural force in a broken and wounded world. Contemporary spirituality, however, takes a more positive view of the world, seeing it as the product of God's love and the locus of God's redemptive presence. The Vatican II document Gaudium et Spes (The Church in the Modern World) proposed a world-affirming vision that recognized the value and autonomy of human society and culture and that took responsibility for the world. A renewed theology of creation takes seriously Genesis's declaration of the goodness of creation and the dignity of humans as images of God. Such a creation-centered spirituality rejoices in the world as a gift.from the hands of a loving God. Our relationship with God is expressed in a concern for the earth and a sense of stew-ardship for the resources entrusted to us. The reign of God is already a reality "bud-ding forth," and our human efforts are an essential element in building the final reign of God. God, then, is found in human experience and human achievement, and this world becomes a sacred place for encountering God. A genuine apostolic spirituality recognizes that we work out our salvation by involvement in the human struggle for justice. The desert invades the marketplace and the monk speaks a prophetic word in the city. The reason for the shift to a this-worldly spiritua'lity is, then, a more positive view of the world and a renewed understanding of salvation. An important corollary of this new understanding and appre-ciation of the world is a reevaluation of the relation between reli-gious life and the lay vocation. In the other-worldly view of the Christian life, monastic spirituality was considered normative, and so the life of a single or a married person in the world was necessarily a less radical commitment to a relationship with God. Lay spirituality was at best a watered-down adaptation of the higher calling of religious life. Vatican II, by contrast, speaks of a universal call to holiness. All Christians are called to the per-fection of charity and commitment to Christ. Religious life and the A genuine apostolic spirituality recognizes that we work out our salvation by involvement in the human struggle for justice. November-December 1993 825 Fagin ¯ Are V~e Relating to God in a New tVay? lay vocation are two different ways of responding to the radical gospel call to discipleship. At best one can speak of religious life as a more explicit and unambiguous lifestyle that witnesses to the common vocation of all Christians. Conclusion The tensions just described are an enduring part of our rela-tionship with God. Our spirituality will always be a balance between objective and subjective, perfection and process, private and communal, dualism and wholeness, other-worldly and this-worldly. As Richard McBrien has pointed out frequently, Catholicism is not a matter of either/or but of both/and. There is no question of rejecting one way and replacing it completely with another, but rather of claiming a new richness that respects the older way and opens new ways of living our Christian lives. My novitiate experience of thirty-five ye~ars ago focused almost exclu-sively on the objective, perfection, private, dualistic, and other-worldly dimensions of our relationship with God. Contemporary spirituality has swung the pendulum dramatically to the other pole. The challenge is to move beyond a reactionary position and to integrate the truth of the previous way of relating to God with a new and rich experience of God and the human person. The swing of the pendulum, as we have seen, comes from a new under-standing of revelation, grace, and the church and of the human person, the world, and salvation. Developments in theology and new dimensions of religious experience continue to enrich one another and open new possibilities in our relationship with God. Each age in the life of the church struggles to define Christians' relationship with God. Christian spirituality is a lived experience shaped by life, culture, and theology, but above all by the graced invitation of God. I conclude by suggesting four char-acteristics of a Christian spirituality that is responsive to the invi-tation and challenge of the contemporary world. We need an incarnational spirituality that finds mystery and the sacred in the midst of a radical affirmation of the giftedness of the world, that finds God not only above us but also with us. We need a holistic spirituality that integrates more fully into our spiritual growth the nonrational dimensions of our person, fostering a healthy sense of sin and forgiveness and respecting the human psyche's limitations and possibilities for growth in God's life. We need a 826 Review for Religious prophet# spirituality that integrates the mystical and the political and sees a passion for justice and solidarity with the poor as inte-gral to contemplative union with God. We need an ecdesial spir-ituality that lives out our relationship with God in the community of disciples, harmonizes discernment and religious authority, and responds to the call to ministry that baptismal grace enables us to hear. In the end, Christian spirituality will always remain a response to the gospel call to conversion and discipleship. In every age it promises a growth in a personal relationship with God and demands a commitment in the context of a community of faith, but in the midst 6f these constant elements Christians will con-tinue to be attentive to the movements of the Spirit in their lives and to explore new ways of relating to God. Holofrosts The offerings to God this winter's morning Are holofrosts, not burnt but frozen;fruit Of the vine hangs shriveled as nuggets of ice, The works of human hands .are noughted out By whiteness of snow. Offering God of his own From the elements given us, we lift up As gifts at his altar: his earth, air, Water, hard-touched by December, challenging Us to be devout in our changing seasons Of spring-weather faith, frost-withered doubt. Nancy G. Westerfield November-December 1993 827 A. PAUL DOMINIC Desire, Asking, and Answers porayer, as St. Thomas Aquinas said, is the articulation of ur desire before God.~ That is the way we teach our chil-dren their first practical lesson in religion: we teach them to ask God for what they want. As people grow in spiritual life, they can never outgrow the spirit of their beginnings, if for no other reason than that the highest reaches cannot exist without the low-est attainments. There is reason, then, not to abandon altogether the early, petitionary stage of spiritual life, but to continue to experience its varying moods and movements. Here biblical personages at once spiritual and earthy can be illustrative and illuminative. The recorded experiences of Hannah, David, and Job are relevant. They are all apparently of marked spirituality, notably above the ordinary. Yet in their dealings with God they do not remain always ethereal. Possessed of human desires, too, as down-to-earth people, they approach God openly with the desires of their heart. That is to say, they are simple enough not to be shatmning but to move with the tide of their life. Spiritually oriented people will neglect this basic lesson only to their cost. Not much is known of Hannah, surely; but the little that is known of her reveals her womanly spiritual fiber. Her husband, Elkanah, less known than herself, is religious too, but in the usual way, performing the regular practices like yearly pilgrimage. Perhaps part of his routine spirituality is his seeming resignation A. Paul Dominic SJ, author of God of Justice (Bombay: St. Paul Publications), is well known to our readers. His address is Satyodayam; S. Lallaguda; Secunderabad 500 017; India. 828 Review for Religious to God's disposition regarding Hannah's barrenness. But Hannah herself would not be resigned to her situation. She burns with desire for a son as much as, or even more than, she is resentful and in distress because of the taunts of the other wife, who is not bar-ren. All this compounded desire of her heart she pours out to her God, completely oblivious of her surroundings, and she keeps on beseeching him for a son till--that is the important point here-- she is assured that she will get what she has painfully longed for. She has not supplicated in vain. No wonder she knows peace in her heart. David is great in every way, in particular in his spiritual gifts. He attains spiritual heights on certain occasions when God sur-prises him with choice favors. But he also knows low spirits and even falls. Then he prays, staying where he is. One such occa-sion is when he realizes that he has to pay for his adultery by the death of the child of adultery. Though he owns his sin, still he wants the son his sin produced. How he prays for the life of the child, struck by God with a grave illness! He pleads with God for his child, fasting and lying on the ground for days together. He prays with all his energies, hoping against hope till he realizes that the child has died. He has supplicated in vain and still, sur-prisingly enough, seems to find unusual peace in his heart. Job is an exceptional figure who manages a happy blend of his wealth in the world with his godly life. If he has enjoyed all the prosperity in the world, still he seeks and humbly keeps his integrity before his God. Such a man, however, meets with one disaster after another. Even then he allows no curse to cross his mind or lips; on the contrary, he walks humbly with God, bless-ing him still. However, in the prolonged anguish of his final dis-aster, made worse by his three friends preachifying to the effect that every sufferer must be necessarily a sinner, he is stung to the quick and so driven to defend his honor. He argues with them point by point, personally convinced that there is no sin that would explain his suffering. In between he puts the matter before God, too, quite unafraid, now lamenting his plight, now com-plaining to him, now appealing to him, now reasoning with him, now challenging him, then yearning to reach him, all the while wanting to vindicate his stand that he is innocent, whatever the traditional doctrine of retribution may be. He has supplicated alone and in company, aloud and in silence, passing through the struggle of it all, only to be surprised at the end by the mysteri- Nove~nber-Decen;ber 1993 829 Dontinic ¯ Desire, Asking, and Answers ous and yet overwhelmingly peaceful vision of God clearing up all the aggnizing questions and difficulties. The three biblical episodes ~nay be compared to one another as regards three elements common to them. First, the three pro-tagonists experience an urgent desire. Second, they take it up in their prayer, making it indeed their whole prayer, however long drawn out it may be. Third, they attain something positive. First, then, they are alike in experiencing desires, however various the desires may be. Hannah desires a son. Her desire is natural, normal, proper, appropriate, and worthy inasmuch as she wants only the full enjoyment of her marriage as willed by God right from the beginning. David desires that the son of his passion, born of another man's wife, should live and not die. His desire, too, is natural and normal and yet perhaps not especially worthy, if only because the circumstantial will of God is for the child of adultery to die. Job desires an answer to the puzzle of his unde-served suffering. His desire, too, is nor~nal and natural and yet only dubiously proper against the background of the common traditional belief that every suffering implies some sin in the suf-ferer. While Hannah's desire is in every way agreeable, David's and Job's are not particularly so. David resists the apparent mind of God regarding the fruit of his sin, and Job's honest and frank desire is naively bold because it seems to put God in the wrong. Second, however one evaluates the three desires, they are nevertheless real and candid; the persons know and feel their desire as only they can. They find it so urgent that they do not fight shy of voicing it before other "people and even before God. They do not simply pray about it, but make it their sole and con-stant prayer. Without any distracting self-consciousness, they sim-ply present themselves before God as they experience their desire consuming them, not minding or caring whether they might come across to casual observers as strange or surprising or suspect. Possessed by their sole burning desire, they beseech God persis-tently without any thought of circumspection or shame or seem-ing propriety till something good happens to them--which leads to my third point. In Hannah's case, what happens is just what she has desired and prayed for. She gets a son and calls him Samuel since, as she says, "I asked Yahweh iCor him" (i S 1:20). In David's case, what happens is just the opposite:of his lingering desire and prayer. His ill-gotten child whom he wants to see saved dies of illness. But 830 Re'view for Religious David--note well--comes alive after the whole ordeal of pray-ing, pining, and fasting. He bathes, anoints himself, dresses up, goes to the sanctuary, then sits down to a meal, and finally even consoles his forlorn Bathsheba. In Job's case, what happens is not just what he agonizingly wanted to find, for he finds far more than he has dared ask. He has asked only for a vindicating proof of his undeserved suffering, but he is given to see God himself, the answer of all possible problems and puzzles. It may appear at first sight that the prayer arising from and suffused with unquenchable desire turns out to be a success for Hannah, a fail-ure for David, and a mere struggle for Job. But further reflection would show that the reality or radicality of their experience is not that simple. The feverish desires of David and Job may not have ended in natural, ordinary, and expected satisfaction as in the case of Hannah. But they too have their definite, unmistakable denouement, with their desires set at rest. Indeed, they attain what may be called the res-olution of their desires, a positive ending to their experience of desire in and through and by means of prayer. Here is a lesson for life. Despite the obvious differences in their desires, Hannah, David, and Job all end up with positive experiences through prayer. Their prayer experience has some-thing in common: making their desire transparent to God or, bet-ter, living their desire before God in all its urgency. The experience of any urgent desire is itself a sort of struggle till its ful-fillment. This is only accentuated when the fulfillment of desire depends, not on oneself, but on the good pleasure of another--in the present context, God. So Hannah prays in an unusual manner, speaking under her breath, giving room for suspicion that she is drunk. So too does David, to the surprise of his officials, covering himself with sack-ing, lying on the bare ground and keeping a strict fast. So too does Job, confounding and shocking his onlookers by his unortho-dox stand that, though he has been afflicted with the worst of Despite the obvious differences in their desires, Hannah, David, and Job all end up with positive experiences through prayer. November-December 1993 831 Dominic ¯ Desire, Asking, and Answers sufferings, he cannot be accused of having really sinned. Even if he occasionally concedes, for the sake of argument, that he has sinned, he challenges God outright: "Suppose I have sinned, what have I done to you?" (Jb 7:20). But the burden of his prayer runs now and again in such words as these: "I shall say to God, 'Do not condemn me, but tell me the reason for your assault. Is it right for you to injure me, cheapening the work of your own hands and abetting the schemes of the wicked?'" (Jb 10:2-3). He ends his apologia daringly with no apology whatever: "I have had my say, from A to Z; now let Shaddai answer me" (Jb 31:35). How acute must be the struggle of the man who, in his dire straits, makes bold to speak to God without mincing words about what he wants. If Hannah and David, too, definitely pass through quite a struggle in their prayer seeking what they want, theirs would seem to be nothing compared with the struggle of Job for God's own vindication of his innocence. Generally speaking, the struggle experienced in prayer as peo-ple keep on imploring God for what they want is proportionate to the intensity of their desire. The surpassing struggle Job goes through in his prayer reveals how hard he desires. There is, if one may put it this way, truth in his desire. That is to say, his desire is so true and so truly possessing and consuming him that he needs must seek its fulfillment by every means possible, even if it should entail a gigantic struggle. Here may be raised a very important question concerning prayer. If people pray and complain that they do not get an answer to their prayer, it may be asked whether their prayer arises out of truth, the truth of their desire in the sense suggested above. People may be accustomed to and satisfied with bland preferences, with mere velleities, and thus ,nay not have true desire even if they know, or seem to know, what they desire. Certainly velleities are palt~ desires. It is worth noting in this context that Job with his ruling desire and passionate prayer is a fictitious figure, unlike Hannah and David. From this may one not infer that people like Job are seldom found in real life, that rarely are real people moved by strong, ardent, fervent, and in a word true desire? But without desire there can be no prayer, for desire is part and parcel of prayer. St. Thomas said so (as I have indicated above), and St. Augustine had said something similar much ear-lier. Writing to Proba on prayer, he pointed out that, if the Lord wants us to pray even though he certainly knows independently 832 Review for Religious our wants and needs, it is because "he wants our desire to be exer-cised in prayer, thus enabling us to grasp what he is preparing to give.''2 He added: "We pray always in faith, hope, and love, with uninterrupted desire. Btit at certain hours and seasons we also pray with words. We use these signs of realities to rouse our-selves, to become aware of the growth of our desire, and to strongly move ourselves to increase it . What do the Apostle's words, 'Pray constantly,' mean, if not that we must constantly desire. ?-3 Of course, one may remark quite correctly that in the context Augustine had in his mind a constant desire for the blessedness of eternal life. One may observe just as correctly, however, that what we do in prayer--namely, exercise our desire--may reach out not only to eternal life, but to present life as well, with aH that we want here and now. Anyhow, the very prayer that Jesus taught explicitly is not confined to holy desires connected with God and his kingdom, but, in the phrase "daily bread," makes mention of ordinary human desires and material needs. The Lord's Prayer certainly includes the gamut of human desires, from the lofty to the lowly. Other teachings of Jesus on prayer also focus on desire expe-rienced and expressed before God. The parables of the importu-nate friend and the widow (Lk 11:5-8; 18:1-8), for instance, emphasize the keenness of desire without which prayer would flag and falter. Apart from desire there can be no meaning in prayer of peti.tion; and it is this sort of simple, straightforward prayer that Jesus mostly speaks of. His injunction regarding effec-tive, infallible prayer is to "ask. search., knock" (Mr 7:7); and this really means that one should go on asking and searching and knocking with the growing impulse of intense desire. This real-ity of glowing desire may throw light even on the basic require-ment-- namely, belief or faith--in all such prayer. For instance, in the saying of Jesus that "everything you ask and pray for, believe that );ou have it already, and it will be yours" (Mk 11:24), the action of belief is as much an activity of desire as it is anything else.4 When belief comes into play in prayer, it invariably brings desire into the foreground, the desire which was already there in the prayer right from the start. All this is not a matter of theory but of practice, as may be seen in dealings of Jesus wifla people to whom he grants favors. In the case of the Syrophoenician woman, Jesus senses right from November-Decentber 1993 833 Dominic ¯ Desire, Asking, and Answers the beginning how badly she desires the healing of her daughter. His apparent reluctance to accede to her request only brings out all the more her desire, at once insistent and persistent, regard-ing her daughter's welfare. He takes note of it and refers to it with pleasant surprise when he finally' gives his word of favor to her request (see Mk 7:24-30).s Just the opposite is the story of the sick man at the Pool of Bethzatha (Jn 5:1-6). When Jesus sees him and knows how long he has been ill, he asks him, "Do you want to be well again?" It is a surprising question at first, but on reflection very revealing. Jesus cannot heal the sick man unless he first desires it. As the man had been ill for so long, perhaps he no longer has any desire for healing. It is precisely to awaken this desire that Jesus puts the question to him. Today, too, neither Jesus nor his Father can hear any prayer unless it arises in real desire and is poured out in ardent desire and sustained in unabated desire. It matters how much and how far we desire whatever we desire. As I conclude, I find myself won-derii~ g if social activists have an idea how much they can effect by prayer that is sharpened by the "violence" of desire. When I say violence here, I am thinking of that intriguing logion: "The king-dom of God has been subjected to violence and the violent are tak-ing it by storm" (Mt 11:12). Notes ~ See Simon Tugwell, Prayer in Practice (Springfield, Illinois, 1974), p. 75. 2 See The Divine Office, vol. 3 (London, Glasgow, Sydney, Dublin, 1974), p. 662. 3 Letters of Saint Augustine, ed. and trans. John Leinenweber (Liguori, Missouri: Triumph Books, 1992), p. 172. 4 The Markan version lends itself to such an interpretation, unlike the Matthean parallel 21:22 with its connotation of faith as a matter of not doubting about what is prayed for. s Here again Mark is different from Matthew. Mark tells the plain story of the woman with her heart's desire whereas Matthew stylizes it in terms of faith (Mt 15:21-28). 834 Review for Religious JUDETTE A. GALLARES Companionship Spirituality in Ruth Te Book of Ruth is one of the immortal love stories in the ble. It takes as its characters and events ordinary people and mundane life situations to which we can easily find parallels in our world today. The book's primary purpose, however, is not to entertain and delight its audience with plot complications, sus-pense, and a satisfying denouement, but to hold up to its readers and listeners authentic models of covenantal faith? What is this covenantal faith, and how does companionship enter into its perspective? What does the spirituality of compan-ionship teach us in our experiences of change, life transitions, and emptiness? To glean some answers to these questions, it is beneficial to allow to sink into our consciousness Ruth's words to Naomi, her mother-in-law, which have become an immortal prayer of companionship. Let us look at her words within their context as summarized here. During the time of the judges, Elimelech of Bethlehem, together with his wife Naomi and his two sons Mahlon and Chilion, migrated to Moab to escape a famine in Judah. Elimelech died in Moab. His sons married two Moabite women, Orpah and Ruth. The two sons also died, however, leaving two childless wid-ows with their widowed mother-in-law. Naomi decided to return to Bethlehem, and her daughters-in-law, set off with her. While they were on the road, she urged her daughters-in-law each to return to her mother's house, for she was unsure of what future Judette A. Gallares RC is involved in spiritual direction and retreat work in the Philippines and conducts courses on biblical spirituality and spiritual direction for lay and religious formators. Her address is Cenacle Sisters; 217-G.D. Jakosalem Street; Cebu City 6000; Philippines. Novetnber-Deconber 1993 835 Gallares ¯ Companionship Spirituality in Ruth they would have with her. Orpah sorrowfully returned to her fam-ily, but Ruth clung to her mother-in-law in spite of Naomi's prod-ding that she follow Orpah's decision. Instead, she responded in these words: Do not press me to leave you and to stop going with you, for wherever you go, I shall go, wherever you live, I shall live. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. Where you die, I shall die and there I shall be buried. Let Yahweh bring unnameable ills on me and worse ills, too, if anything but death should part me from you! (Rt 1:16-17). Realizing that Ruth was determined to go with her, Naomi stopped urging her. Both went on their journey until they reached Bethlehem. Migration was rather typical of ancient Palestine. Families often migrated because of the frequent occurrence of famine in the area. The country of Moab, with a narrow strip of well-watered and fertile land running north and south in its center, was an attractive refuge, and so Elimelech, Naomi, and their two sons migrated there. This scenario is familiar even today. To escape economic dif-ficulties caused by drought or increased militarization in third-world rural areas, people flock to the cities and towns seeking either the pot of gold or refuge from military oppression. Professionals continually migrate from third-world to first-world countries in search of better opportunities even though, regret-tably, this slows down socioeconomic development in their own countries. Migration for the sake of survival and a better life is an undei'- standable occurrence in any generation and culture. Biblical lit-erature records a number of such departures. We recall Joseph and his famil)) moving to Goshen (Gn 47:27) and a widow fol-lowing Elisha's advice and moving to the land of the Philistines (2 K 8). So Elimelech's decision to leave Bethlehem of Judah together with his family is understandable. To alert us immediately to the development and historical probability of the story, the author also gives the characters names which in Hebrew have symbolic meanings. Elimelech means "my God is king"; Naomi means "pleasant"; the two sons' names, Mahlon and Chilion, .mean "sickness" and "wasting," respectively.2 After they have settled in Moab, death strikes the male members 836 Review for Religious of Naomi's family. Elimelech dies first. Naomi is left with her two sons, who later marry native women. But after ten years the sons also die without leaving any sons. Naomi, a widow of advanced age with no sons but only non-Jewish and childless daughters-in-law, is therefore destined for a life of destitution and social oppression. In her emptiness and poverty, Naomi decides to return to the land of her birth because the famine there is over. Perhaps she thinks her own townspeople will be kinder to her in her poverty than if she were to remain in Moab as a widowed foreigner. Her two widowed daughters-in-law initially go with her, but she urges them to return to their own families. She just cannot impose her desire and longing for her own land and people on her already suffering daughters-in-law, nor can she deprive them of the small consolation that their own homeland would provide them. Besides, she knows that it would be much more dif-ficult for them, being foreigners, to remarry in her homeland than in theirs because Hebrew laws discourage marriage with foreigners.3 Here Naomi is projected as a practical person. She uses the time, not for grieving, but for doing something in a situation that needs a practical solution. Naomi's use of the unusual phrase "mother's house" is to be noted, for a house is usually designated as one's father's.4 Some com-mentators believe it is used to symbolize or to emphasize the absence of men in the women's lives.5 From another perspective it can also be seen as words of consolation to the suffering women, for the word "mother" evokes images of the love, care, and nur-turance one would long for in a time of brokenness. Orpah heeds Naomi's advice and returns to her people: Ruth refuses. Mthough the motif of ~mptiness is strongly accentuated here, by Naomi's saying that her womb will have no more sons, we see that she is not totally bereft, for Ruth would cling to her and not allow her to return to her homeland alone. Responding to her mother-in-law's pleading send-off with words of loyalty and devotion, Ruth vows to accompany Naomi through a per-ilous journey into an uncertain future. Migration for the sake of survival and a better life is an understandable occurrence in any generation and culture. Novevnber-Dece~nber 1993 837 Gallares ¯ Companionship Spirituality in Ruth Ruth pledges covenant fidelity and claims as her own Naomi's place, people, and God.6 In her beautiful and moving response, Ruth clings not to a past but to a present--not to a male through whom she may achieve power and access, but to a female, one who needs her, one for whom she will provide protection, care, and access.7 Ruth thus gives to her mother-in-law the only thing she possesses, her very self. Even if society destines both of them to a life of extreme poverty as widows, they still have each other. We can still see this kind of attitude among simple poor families. They are extremely loyal to their own members and sacrifice for and protect one another in good times and in bad. Together the two widows now turn their faces resolutely toward Palestine and the city of Bethlehem. The distance between Moab and Bethlehem is only about 120 miles, but this stretch represents a long, fatiguing, and dangerous trek in this period, especially for two women who have neither money beyond their barest needs nor protector.8 It is this journey through barren places that will perhaps bring them closer to each other and cause them to cling more closely together for protection, comfort, and support. Covenantal Faith amid Emptiness in Life Transitions The contrast between emptiness and fullness runs through the entire book. This is seen, not only in the setting itself, but also in the lives of the women characters. The famine or the emptiness of the land that sets the story in motion drives Naomi's family to seek greener fields. Leaving one's country and culture as Naomi did is an experience of emptying, an experience of loss: food, rela-tionships, property, land. It is a recurring motif in the life of Israel and throughout salvation history, beginning with God inviting Abraham to leave his clan and his ancestral home for a promised land. In Abraham we see that God's promise and blessing are indissolubly bound up with a departure, an emptying of anything that prevents one from setting out on an adventure with God. For Naomi, however, Moab turned out to be a place of empti-ness, not a land of promise. There she lost not only her husband but her two sons as well. Her emptiness seemed irreparable, her life hollow deep within. These words of the psalmist could have echoed in her heai't: "How could we sing a song of the Lord in a foreign land?" (Ps 137:4 NAB).)It would be difficult indeed for 838 Review for Religious anyone in Naomi's predicament to sing a song to God amid feel-ings of alienation from God, life, others, and even self. Grief has a way of devouring our spiritual life, leaving us in the desert to feel parched, empty, depleted, lonely, and alienated. Naomi could attribute the cause of her incurable emptiness only to God: "Yahweh's hand has been raised against me." Thus, only God also could fill it. Beyond her empty feeling and sense of God's absence is perhaps a fragile hope that God will also cause her misery to cease. Perhaps this was in her mind and heart when, "having heard that Yahweh had come to help his people by giving them food, Naomi prepared to return home." Her poverty and her emptiness are so basic that they can be intimated by an unadorned reference to food. Beyond a need to fill her physical hunger, she perhaps has a keen desire to reconcile herself with the past, to catch a glimpse of home and of who she is meant to be. John Dunne once wrote9: At every turn in the road a new illuminating is needed to find the way and a new kindling is needed to follow the way. Dunne seems to speak here of moments of transition in one's life when one needs to search within to find illumination or guid-ance to continue going forward on the road to life. This search involves returning to the past, to one's home and roots and being reconciled with them. Naomi, in her poverty and emptiness, thinks of home not only as a place where she could experience God's blessing again' (having heard that Yahweh had come to help his people), but also as a place where she can find peace and acceptance of her painful situation ("Do not call me Naomi. Call me Mara, for God has made life bitter for me"). Her words reflect a deep longing that is present in every human heart. A part in us is always yearning and quietly crying out for the true homeland where life is no longer painful and unfair,l° Undoubtedly Naomi's two Moabite daughters-in-law are also experiencing emptiness and grief at losing their husbands. In their loss their initial response is to cling to what is familiar (to continue living with Naomi and to remain in her clan) even if it does not seem to give them any kind of future. Orpah is practical minded in dealing with her emptiness. In spite of the pain of saying good-bye to Naomi and Ruth and to matters that have become famil-iar to her, she heeds Naomi's advice and returns to her mother's November-December 199~ 839 Gallares ¯ Companionship Spirituality in Ruth house. Perhaps she feels hopeful that life can still offer her a future in her own homeland, and perhaps she, like Naomi, has a renewed glimpse of home and the possibility of who she can still become. Companionship in Time of Transition On the other hand, Ruth clings to her mother-in-law and takes the risk of embracing, her, her land, and her God even if the future is uncertain and seemingly bleak. Although she too is going through ~ransition, she offers Naomi her presence and com-panionship. She feels for her mother-in-law because she too knows the pain of loss and the difficulty of adjusting to a new reality. But, unlike Naomi, she is not allowing this life transition to dis-courage her or to embitter her. For her a return to her mother's house has seemed to be a movement away from what and who she is meant to be. Instead, she follows the movement of Israel's first patriarch by leaving her homeland and venturing into the unknown. Like Abraham she departs from her homeland and empties herself of anything that prevents her from setting out on an adventure with Abraham's and Naomi's God. But, unlike Abraham, she does not perceive the God of Israel as giving her a promise and a blessing. She has none of these assurances. She leaves relying only on Naomi's God and the strength of her love for her mother-in-law. She deals with her emptiness by further emptying herself s~ she can embrace totally the God of Abraham, of Naomi, and of Israel. She lets go of the past in order to embrace the future with great faithfulness. And in these b~autiful words which have become an immortal prayer of fidelity, ~he accompa-nies Naomi through her life transition: Wherever you go, I shill go, wherever you live, I shall live. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. Wherever you die, I shall die and there I shall be buried. Let Yahweh bring unnameable ills on me and worse ills, too, if anything but death should part me from you! (1:16-17 NJB). As we have seen, biblical fidelity recalls the faith of Israel that began with the departure of Abraham and led to the Mosaic covenant with God. It remembers the unique friendship estab-lished between God and Israel that is echoed in the entire Book of.Ruth and is exemplified by Ruth and other people in the story. 840 Review for Religiot~s At the heart of this covenant fidelity is the people's faith that Yahweh is the God of life who calls them to greater life. In the language and setting of today, faith calls us to face the light and to choose life. It enables us to look upon each letting go with optimism and prepares us to face other more painful relin-quishments that commit us more fully to God's service. It enables us to catch a glimpse of who we are meant to be. As with Ruth and Naomi, faith urges us to move forward and embrace the God of life. Notes L Alice L. Laffey, "Ruth," in the New Jerome Biblical Commentary (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, 1990), p. 553. 2 Ibid. 3 Intermarriage was prohibited, not on ethnic grounds, but to avoid religious syncretism and to foster the worship of Yahweh (see Ex 34:15ff). See Madeleine S. Miller and J. Lane Miller, Harper's Bible Dictiona,7 (New York: Harper and Row Publishers, 1973), p. 422. 4 Ibid. s Ibid. 6 See Laffey, p. 555. 7 Ibid. 8 Edith Deen, All of the Women of the Bible (San Francisco: Harper and Row Publishers, 1983), p. 84. 9 Quoted byJoyce Rupp OSM in Praying Our Goodbyes (Notre Dame, Ind.: Ave Maria Press, 1988), p. 77. ~0 Ibid, p. 24. Novonber-Decentber 1993 841 JOHN P. MOSSI The Spirituality of Surrender Losing, whether it is losing a friendly bet, an important argument, or a business contract, is a difficult pill to swal-low. We detest losing. The same is true for tiny diehard sports fan who endures a hometown rout. We walk away replaying the game, blaming the unfair referees, or creating strategies that "would have" favorably altered the score. When the defeat entails greater stakes, there is higher resis-tance to a surrender. To address a serious problem like addiction is personally painful. Implicit in such reality is a pervasive sense of failure. One has lost control over life's direction. The only way to regain control is to surrender what has not worked and seek a new way. This process is replete with difficulty. This article will examine the spirituality of surrender as a means of comin.g home to God? Surrendering to God will be looked at in three ways. The first involves an understanding of how surrender is operative in twelve-step recovery programs like Alcoholics Anonymous. The second involves a look at the life of Ignatius of Loyola and the surrender components of the final prayer of the Spiritual Exercises, the "Suscipe," or "Take and Receive." The third considers Jesus' act of surrender on the cross in Luke 23:46. Each of these three different "ways" of surren-dering involves putting our ultimate identity and confidence in God. John P. Mossi SJ, a member of the Religious Studies Department at Gonzaga University, facilitates courses in pastoral counseling, spiritual mentoring, addiction and pastoral approaches to recovery, and Catholicism. His address is Gonzaga University; Jesuit Residence; Spokane, Washington 99258. 842 Review for Religious Let Go, Let God At Alcoholics Anonymous meetings or twelve-step recovery retreats, the expression "Let go, let God" is often used. These four important words constitute the core spirituality of A.A. and similar recovery programs that have adapted the twelve steps to their particular addiction. "Let go, let God" is an invitation to surrender one's umnanageable life to God. "Let go, let God" is a gentle conversion reminder, a kind of mantra, which assists us both to admit the addiction and to hand it over along with its various forms of com-pulsions to God. The long form of the prayer would be something like "Let go of alcohol (or whatever the specific substance or non-substance addiction might be) and let the hand and grace of God guide my life." The prayer is not magic. Saying "Let go, let God" does not instantaneously bring about recovery. Its first purpose is to assist the recov-ering addict to keep to the daily partnership task of surrendering the addiction to God. The second purpose of "Let go, let God" is. to be a prayer of liberation, to call on the greater power of God to help one escape from destructive lifestyle patterns. In this way the creative resources of the individual and the action of God are focused on together. The prayer also serves to silence those addic-tion- related inner-committee tapes and voices of doubt, loneli-ness, fear, and caustic shame that can interfere with a person's slow recovery. These, too, need to be handed over to God. I have the greatest admiration for all who enter the surrender process of a twelve-step program. For many, it is the difference between death and life, the difference between barely existing as a human and participating in community, between dysfunction-alism and experiencing the serenity that only God gives with amazing grace. The first three steps of Anonymous programs set up this "Let go, let God" dynamic. The language of the twelve steps is straight-forward and simple. This is part of their wisdom and wide appeal. The steps make sense to a lot of people. Since A.A. began in 1935 at Akron, Ohio, Anonymous recovery programs have multiplied to treat various forms of addiction.2 These include Narcotics "Let go, let God" is an invitation to surrender one's unmanageable life to God. November-December 1993 843 Mossi ¯ The Spirituality of Surrender Anonymous, Overeaters Anonymous, Gamblers Anonymous, Emotions Anonymous, Workaholics Anonymous, Sexaholics Anonymous, M-Anon, and Adult Children of Mcoholics. Let us examine these first three steps. 1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol [or the other specific addiction], that our lives had become unmanageable) The first step is crucial. You admit you have a serious prob-lem. There is no denial of the fact. The blunt reality is your life is out of control, in fact, unmanageable. Furthermore, you are powerless to do anything about it. At Anonymous meetings, this first step is handled in an up-front manner. When members speak, they state their first name and their addictiveness: "I'm John. I'm an alcoholic." "I'm Susan. I'm a recovering overeater." In formal religion we might refer to this acknowledgment as group confession. In recovery programs it is simply admitting what can no longer be denied. Step one is an honest, vulnerable beginning place. Owning and naming the unmanageable addiction is essential to the surrendering process. When one is aware o£ a specific uncontrollable disease, one can effectively pray "Let go." But to whom does one surrender? Steps two and three look at the second part of the mantra: "Let God." God is the significant associate in restoring harmony. To appreciate the spirituality of the twelve steps, it is important to reflect that the existence and action of God are mentioned seven times in the twelve steps. The par-ticular addiction is only mentioned once, and that is in the first step. The activity of surrendering one's addiction and life to God becomes the spirituality cornerstone of the remaining steps. 2. We came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.4 Step two admits the need of an outside corrective authority, a Higher Power, to bring about a stability in one's life. This is the first glimpse of light that invites God in as the restorer of sanity. There are two other important spirituality elements opera-tire in the second step: (i) the belief that a Higher Wisdom exists and (2) a disposition of humility on the part of the believer. These two qualities counterculturally work against the arrogance of the ego that craves to cling to the addiction. Step two indicates that the recovery process entails an attentive listening to a new Teacher, which means that the addict has to take on the attitude 844 Review for Religious of learner. There is a major shift in trust: from addiction to God. 3. We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood him.s Step three is where the capitulation actually occurs. First, a concrete decision to surrender has to be made. Second, this deci-sion is total. It includes the will making conscious choices, and it affects one's entire being and journey. Third, the whole person is placed in the care of God according to the individual's faith back-ground. The spirituality of "Let go, let God" is a conversion process. Conversion of its nature has two basic movements: the surren-dering of the compulsion, shame, and destructive addictive pat-terns which reduce freedom; the turning to the care of God and the Holy Spirit to be one's permanent resource of wisdom and identity. Matthew 11:28-30 speaks of a "letting go, letting God" pro-cess: "Come to me, all you who labor and are overburdened, and I will give you rest. Shoulder my yoke and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. Yes, my yoke is easy and my burden light.''6 These three verses contain the confirmation signs that accompany a true surrender. A learning will occur, the process will be gentle and humble. Rest will be experienced. A new relationship arises, a companionship with the Master, which will be nonaddictive, easy, and light. The Surrender of Ignatius of Loyola Another way of surrendering one's life to God comes from the spirituality of Ignatius's surrender as expressed in his prayer the "Suscipe," or "Take and Receive." On his pilgrim journey Ignatius was called to surrender on several notable occasions. The first was during the defense of the city of Pamplona, Spain. In 1521 Ignatius, wounded by cannon shrapnel, reviewed the illusions of his life as sober death approached. But he did not die. His long convalescence became a conversion process. He gradually yielded up his stubborn self-preoccupation, bravado, and ambition and began to discover a new self in God.7 The spirituality record of Ignatius's surrender to God is found in his classic work, the Spiritual Exercises. Today, 450 years after its first published edition, it is still considered a significant theo-logical work noted for its integration of Scripture, guidelines for Nove~nber-Dece'mber 1993 845 Mossi ¯ The Spirituality of Surrender discernment, sense of mission, and themes of justice. The Exercises' developmental stages of growth in discipleship and intimacy enable a person to come home to God. The last prayer of the Exercises is called the "Suscipe" or "Take and Receive." I invite you to spend some time contemplating the components of this prayer. What is Ignatius, the once vain soldier-at- arms, now a mystic, asking us to do? Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding, and my entire will-- all that I have and call my own. You have given it all to me. To you, Lord, I return it. Everything is yours; do with it what you will. Give me only your love and your grace. That is enough for me.8 The "Suscipe" is a deceptively profound prayer. It invites us to acknowledge the primacy of God in our totality; it answers the humbling question "What aspect of our being is not a gift of God?" In the light of this answer, Ignatius invites us to surrender all to God. The last part of the prayer is a seeking of the purer gifts: "Give me only your love and grace. That is enough for me." Ignatius does not compromise in the process of "letting go of self and letting God in." I recall a forceful experience in praying the "Suscipe." It hap-pened fifteen years ago during a retreat. I attempted to pray and could not. I realized I had not surrendered anything, certainly not my liberty, memory, understanding, and will to anyone, much less to God. I told my director that I could not pray this prayer at all. As a consequence, I seriously questioned remaining a Jesuit. The director gave sage advice. He invited me to return to the chapel and pray the "Suscipe" with my own words in my own way. I prayed, "Lord, I give you my sins which I know so well, those many areas of my life where I am not obedient, poor, and chaste. I give you my pride, my negativity, my hatred and vin-dictiveness, my compulsive rebellion and addictiveness to self. I am overly familiar with these dark recesses. And I truly need to sur-render these to you. Send forth your Holy Spirit to guide, anoint, ¯ and heal with a love that I am most in need of, your grace." 846 Review for Religious Like an ambush, the opportunity to surrender can appear at unlikely moments. Do not let the occasion pass by. The benefit of letting God in always outweighs whatever is surrendered. Jesus on the Cross We turn to the spirituality of Jesus and the particular way he has taught us to surrender. He, too, had to face a special moment of surrender. His prayer in Luke 23:46 is a powerful expression of letting go: "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.''9 Here on the cross Jesus is still the master teacher. He models for us how to pray and hand over our daily experiences and our life to God. Notice the key elements: (1) The prayer is addressed to the Father; (2)Jesus urges us to surrender, to commend, to let go; (3) Jesus specifies what is to be handed over. He gives what little is left, his spirit and last breath. In the daily minor or major surrenders of our own pilgrimage, we can pray in the spirituality of either the twelve steps, Ignatius, or Jesus. Specify in the "Let go, let God" mantra and the "Suscipe" whatever needs to be named and yielded: "Let go of addiction and manipulation. Let God in." "Take, Lord, my dis-honesty, my hurts, my doubts and sinfulness." God can handle and work with these blighted areas quite well. Adapt the prayer of Jesus to your immediate concerns: "Father, into your hands I commit my grief, my sense of failure, my disappointment, my pettiness and vulnerability." Commend these regions of brokenness to the higher compassion and under-standing of God. It is clear that not only our joys but also our sorrows must be offered to God. Our ability to be powerless allows God to meet us and tenderly heal us on our journey, embracing us as we truly are. Moreover, the art 6f surrendering involves a lifelong process. Some days we succeed better than others. If we post-pone learning the spirituality of surrender, we will face it unpre-pared at death, when .the surrender is sudden. Perhaps we can learn to surrender to the care, to the heart, of God in advance. Notes ~ For more information on this topic, see Gerald G. May, Addiction and Grace (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1991), pp. 162-181. Nove'mber-December 1993 847 Mossi * The Spirituality of Surrender 2 Ernest Kurtz, Not-God: A Histo~7 of Alcoholics Anonymous (Center City, Minn.: Hazeldon, 1991), pp. 37-57. 3 Anonymous, Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions (New York: Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, 1952), p. 21. 4 Ibid, p. 25. ~ Ibid, p. 34. 6 The New Jerusalem Bible (New York: Doubleday, 1985). 7 St. Ignatius' Own Story, trans. William J. Young sJ (Chicago: Henry Regnery Co., 1956), pp. 7-27. 8 David L. Fleming SJ, The Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius: A Literal Translation and a Contemporary Reading (St. Louis: Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1980), p. 141. 9 The New Jerusalem Bible. Retreat: A Flight The gulls are going wild over the waters; dipping, zooming, swirling over the wild waters. Far away, at horizon's edge, two ships imperceptibly inch against a purpling sky. I look up and see clouds playing charades before my eyes; straight out, the waves, wind-tossed, chase the dunes relentlessly. It is December at Mantoloking, and my Advent prayer has taken off with the clouds and the winds and the waves. I surrender, like a Maid of long ago to a time of begetting: in Mary, a Word made Flesh. in me, a sign become Faith. each a way of holding Beauty as a born-for-us Savior in a free-for-all world where the gulls (and my heart) go dipping, zooming, swirling with the wild of wonder. Anna Marie Mack SSJ 848 Review for Religious JEFFREY GROS The Ecumenical Vocation of Religious When Pope John emphasized the unity of the church and its openness to the world in inaugurating Vatican Council II, few realized the cost that such conversion would exact. Some felt euphoria, expecting the whole Roman Catholic Church to be zealous for reunion among Christians and hoping for a quick resolution of the theological, sacra-mental, and historical problems dividing the churches. Others, even some receptive to conciliar reform, had the superficial expectation that ecumenical openness would settle for a warm but noncommittal outreach, diminishing hostilities but not calling for the radical conversion and institutional reform outlined in the conciliar decree on ecumenism. The last twenty-five years have been a reward-ing and challenging pilgrimage for the Roman Catholic Church and for its Christian partners on the road toward full visible unity. Those who would consider the ecu-menical movement dead have not been following the lit-erature nor have they felt spiritual bonds of communion becoming stronger as many ofhers have. The Holy Spirit has been very much at work, but not all have yet been vis-ited with the gift of conversion. It is small wonder that, as the Roman Catholic Church assesses its ecumenical involvement and charts its course for the future, its Directory for the Application of Principles Jeffrey Gros FSC works in the Secretariat for Ecumenical and Interreligious Affairs. His address is 3211 4th Street N.E.; Washington, D.C. 20017-1194. ecurnenJsrn November-December 1993 849 Coos * The Ecumenical Vocation of Reli#ous and Norms on Ecumenism (June 1993) gives special emphasis to ecumenical formation.~ Indeed, the ecumenical movement has been so successful that a whole genre of literature has emerged, resulting from the ecumenical dialogue, that calls for both spe-cialized study and incorporation into the spiritual life of all Catholics, including religious. Twenty-five years ago it was pos-sible to be ecumenical merely by being open to and supportive of the general conciliar position and by praying for the unity of the church. Today ecumenical commitments have become a richer and more complex spectrum. Most religious-formation programs gave emphasis to ecumenism a decade or two ago. They need evaluation today to see if they continue faithful to the develop-ments of this part of Catholic identity. In the new Directory there is for the first time a specific section devoted to institutes of con-secrated life and societies of apostolic life, not only laying out principles, but also proposing delegates and commissions for ecu-menism at the highest levels in religious institutes.2 This Directory is a help towards renewal. It covers such top-ics as the basis in Catholic theology for ecumenical commitment; the structures in the Catholic Church--including religious com-munities- to support the ecumenical commitment; ecumenical formation of the laity and the clergy, and within specialized min-istries and institutions; spirituality as it pertains to common bap-tism, marriage, and sacramental sharing; and cooperation and common witness. After a short introduction this essay will be lim-ited to some rather general comments on two issues: ecumenical formation and collaboration. Religious have been instrumental in Roman Catholic ecu-menism- such pioneers as Congar, Tavard, Rahner, and Dulles. Some religious communities have prayer and work for the unity of the church as their charism, like the Graymoor friars and sis-ters and the Paulist fathers? Others have set up special supports for the ecumenical movement, like the Jesuit Society of Ecumenists and the Benedictine centers at Collegeville, Chevetogne, Turvey, and Niederaltaich. Outreach programs to incorporate lay people in, for example, Jesuit, Mercy, or Lasallian spirituality and apostolates have been thoroughly ecumenical in their membership and formation. Schools, hospitals, and other institutions animated by religious in leadership positions have pioneered the ecumenical program of the Catholic Church. Among diocesan ecumenical officers are many religious. Where 850 Review for Religious shared mission is a priority, the baptismal basis and commitment to full ecclesial communion are central to the common forma-tion of the fellow Christians who are brought into collaboration with Roman Catholic religious according to their particular charisms. These developments, like the other elements of renewal, have been adapted according to cultural context and the quality of vision provided by ecclesiastical and religious leadership. The Context Certainly many bishops and religious superiors will use the occasion of the publication of the Directory as an opportunity to train specialists in ecumenical leadership, much as retraining in canon law developed after the publication of the 1983 Code.4 As in biblical, social, and liturgical renewal, expertise is necessary in ecumenism. It is essential, however, that all religious, lay, and clerical members of the church be formed ecumenically as part of their spiritual and apostolic life. The Second Vatican Council clearly asked Catholics to reach out in love to all other Christians with a charity that desires and works actively to overcome in truth whatever divides them from one another. For the council, Catholics are to act in hope and in prayer to promote Christian unity. They will be prompted and instructed by their faith in the mystery of the church, and their ecumenical activity will be inspired and guided by a true understanding of the church as "sacrament or iristrumental sign of intimate union with God, and of unity of the whole human race.''s In this sho~'t essay attention will be called to the ecumenical dimension of Roman Catholic spirituality and identity in its pres-ent challenges. Among the institutional supports to religious involved in the ecumenical movement is the National Ecumenical Consultation of Men and Women Religious. This .group's publication of Religious for Christian Unity as an ecumenical resource and direc-tory and its sponsorship of a national ecumenical conference under the theme "Toward a Communion in Faith Life and Witness" are indications of a certain maturity.6 Although there has been an international ecumenical consultation for twenty years, the United States consultation is only nine years old. It is sponsored in part by the Conference of Major Superiors of Men and the Leadership Conference of Women Religious. With the publication and the November-December 1993 851 Gros ¯ The Ecumenical Vocation of Reh~ous May 1993 conference, the specific ecumenical contribution of religious begins to have a higher profile. For the first time, the Directory proposes a structure within religious congregations to assist in the ecumenical activity of com-munities at all levels: It is very opportune that the various institutes of conse-crated life and societies of apostolic life establish, on the level of their central authorities, a delegate or a commis-sion charged with promoting and assisting their ecumenical engagement. The function of these delegates or commis-sions will be to encourage the ecumenical formation of all the members, aid the specific ecumenical formation of those who have particular offices, and act as advisors for ecu-menical affairs to the various general and local authorities of the institutes and societies, especially for initiating or carrying forward the activities described [in the Directory].7 This initiative will elicit considerable work on the part of major superiors, general councils, and chapters. The implications of this proposal will need to be developed in writing for the var-ious institutes. For this project the Directory will be useful. Elements of the Ecumenical Spirituality At the root of loyalty to Christ's will for the church and for church unity is the process of conversion, personal and institu-tional, s There are cultural dispositions that make the formation for such a conversion more or less easy. Of course, a prayerful open-ness to the Holy Spirit's action in the church, in other churches, and in fellow Christians is foundational. Because ecumenism with all its human and moral require-ments is rooted so profoundly in the mysterious working out of the providence of the Father, through the Son and the Spirit, it reaches into the depths of Christian spirituality. It calls for [a] "change of heart and holiness of life, along with public and private prayer for the unity of Christians. ¯ ." Those who identify deeply with Christ must identify with his prayer, and especially with his prayer for unity; . . ¯ those whose lives are marked by repentance will be espe-cially sensitive to the sinfulness of divisions and will pray for forgiveness and con, version. Those who seek holiness will be able to recognize its fruits also outside the visible boundaries of their own church.9 However, studies of seminary formation that were made by 852 Review for Religious diocesan ecumenical officers demonstrate that the most effective ecumenical formative experience is growing up in an interchurch family. Other elements that contributed most to the ecumenical dimension of priestly formation in the United States are (I) internship with an ecumenically effective priest, (2) ecumenically effective spiritual directors, (3) internships with an ecumenically informed non-Catholic minister, and (4) experiences in ecu-menically mixed clinical pastoral education programs. All of the seminaries report that the ecumenical dimension is fully inte-grated into the curriculum. The Directory will be helpful for eval-uating these claims. As sketched out by the council, the elements of Roman Catholic participation in the ecumenical movement include (1) the ecumenical dimension of spirituality, (2) theological dialogues leading to deeper understanding and toward full church unity, (3) collaboration in common witness and service, and (4) internal renewal of the members and structures of the church in response to ecumenical commitments. Attention needs to be given to each of these dimensions in initial and continuing formation and in the ongoing life of a religious community or parish. Ecumenical Spirituality for the Church An ecumenical spirituality is at the center of every aspect of the renewal of religious and lay life in the church. Without con-version to Christ's will for the church--in this case its visible unity and Roman Catholic contributions thereto--any theologi-cal, institutional, or educational progress towards full commu-nion will be superficial. If, on the other hand, Catholics are fully committed to all to whom they are bound by real, if imperfect, communion in baptism and to Christ's will for the visible unity of the church, then no setbacks on the road toward that unity will discourage them or make them complacent about divisions: The ecumenical movement is a grace of God, given by the Father in answer to the prayer of Jesus and the supplica-tion of the church inspired by the Holy Spirit. While it is carried out within the general mission of the church to unite humanity in Christ, its own specific field is the restoration of unity among Christians. Those who are baptized in the name of Christ are, by that very fact, called to commit themselves to the search for unity?° Noventber-Decevnber 1993 853 Coos ¯ The Ecumenical Vocation of Religious While individual religious and some communities have given considerable leadership to church reform in general and ecu-menism in particular, identity problems also affect the relationship of religious and the church. The Nygren/Ukeritis studies show that United States religious have "a stronger ecclesiology than Christology." ii This is not surprising, given the Roman Catholic The vast amount of ecumenical literature that has emerged in the last thi'rty years can help people renew their understandings of sacramental faith together. understanding of spirituality. I would understand this conclusion to mean that Christ is experienced more sacramentally, communally, and in mission than in indi-vidualistic or contemplative encounters. Such a focus on community can mean two things, as a resource for Catholic ecu-menical commitment. In one instance it can mean a more closed and sectarian approach, where primary religious identity and meaning come from the proximate religious community, its institution~ and ministry, rather than from Christ's wider will for the church and the world. Needless to say, this provides a weaker basis for ecu-menical conversion and formation. On the other hand,this ecclesiocen-tric spirituality could indicate that the experience of Christ is primarily in the call to community in the church, in the wider Christian society, and in the whole human family. At this stage in the reporting of the data, "ecclesiology" is yet to be defined. Be that as it may, the fully Catholic religious sees his or her sacramental life as yet defi-cient, short of the full communion of all Christians around the eucharistic table. The data from the same study shows religious to be "clear in their lowered respect for the magisterial authority of the church and the U.S. hierarchy in. general.''12 These words, negative as they sound, may however be interpreted as a critical fidelity to the Holy Spirit's call to the church for its renewal. A higher ideal for the church, its renewal, its leadership, and its eventual unity may not be so much "lowered respect" as elevated expectation and longer-range vision. The movement toward Christ's will for a united church is a critical fidelity for all of the churches involved in the ecumenical movement. 854 Review for Religious The vast amount of ecumenical literature that has emerged in 'the last thirty years can help people renew their understandings of sacramental faith together. The agreements on "justification by grace through faith" with the Lutherans, for example, provide an important contribution to faith development, self-under-standing, and spiritual direction?3 These documents will not reach their full fruitfulness unless they transform the prayer life, litur-gical celebration, and community understanding of the churches that produced them: Catholics should also give value to certain elements and goods, sources of spiritual life, which are found in other churches and ecclesial communities, and which belong to the one church of Christ: Holy Scripture, the sacraments and other sacred actibns, faith, hope, charity and other gifts of the Spirit. These goods have borne fruit for example in the mystical tradition of the Christian East and the spiritual treasures of the monastic life, in the worship and piety of Anglicans, in the Evangelical prayer and the diverse forms of Protestant spirituality. This appreciation should not remain merely theoreti-cal; in suitable particular conditions, it should be completed by the practical knowledge of other traditions of spiritual-ity. Therefore, sharing prayer and participating in some form of public worship or in devotional acts of other Christians can have a formative value when in accord with existing directives.14 Religious have a unique role in translating these intellectual con-tributions into popular piety. Indeed, several ecumenical books on the Blessed Virgin have already provided an invaluable resource, as can be noted by the many languages into which they have been translated,is The lives of ecumenical figures from Luther to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., from John WeslEy to C.S. Lewis, have enr.iched the spiritual reading of a generation and made the divisions both more clear and more subject to the healing power of the Holy Spirit. The modern availability of the spiritual classics from the full range of ecumenical sources, Catholic, Protestant, Orthodox, and Anglican has enabled all to be enriched. The living presence of fellow Christians with whom we share Christ--in a variety of traditions, but with a common will to be obedient to Christ's call to visible unity--is a rich complement to the liturgical, bio-graphical, and literary gifts we receive from one another. Like the charisms of the various religious communities and their November-December 1993 855 Gros ¯ The Ecumenical Vocation of Religlous founders, each church brings to a united church gifts we dare not lose as we reconcile our divisions. More particularly, giveR the legitimate variety of charisms and of the work of monasteries, institutes of consecrated life, and societies of apostolic life, it is very important that "all communities should participate in the life of the church. According to its individual character, each should make its own and foster in every possible way the enterprises and objectives of the church," including the "ecumenical field.''~6 In addition to personal and communal ecumenical spirituality, an "ecumenical hermeneutics of piety" will need to be developed as we move forward towards full communion?7 Indeed, as the "lineamenta" document for the 1994 synod notes, the baptismal consecration, beyond the narrow borders of the Roman Catholic Church, is the criterion for our communi-tarian outreach: As a reflection of church communion, the community is not a unit closed in.upon itself. Rather, it is open to the multiplicity of relationships with others which are provided by prayer, apostolic service, and collaboration with other members of the church, all of whom share in the same bap-tismal consecration and are called to holiness and mission in the variety and complementarity of each vocation. In its communitarian aspect, the role of the consecrated life is to offer to all members of the people of God the supreme value of the charity of Christ's disciples, lived in perseverance in fraternal communion.~8 Likewise, the agenda of the synod is very explicit about the spe.cificity of the spiritual calling: Those in the consecrated life have a special role in this ecu-menical task, in dialogue with the spiritual experiences akin to those of other churches and Christian confessions, in a spiritual ecumenism of conversion, prayer, dialogue and mutual edification, always in kedping with their proper iden-tity in the faith and their charism?9 Formation for an Ecumenical Spirituality While prayer and ecumenical openness are central to the ecu-menical vocation of Catholics, including the religious communi-ties, this spirituality also has specific intellectual content. It is a truism that one cannot be an effective ecumenist from any tradi- 856 Review for Religious tion without being firmly grounded in one's own faith and iden-tity. 2° However, 'the intellectual content of the ecumenical move-ment, including Roman Catholic principles and history within that movement, is an essential component for the formation of any ministry in the church, lay, clerical, or religious. In addition to the foundational principles enunciated in the conciliar and postconciliar docu-ments, 21 there has been a rich harvest of dialogue agreements.~ All of these texts are resources for spiritual and intellectual " renewal, requiring the same level of delib-erate systematic effort as did the early days of the biblical and liturgical renewal. Until leaders in our institutions, dioceses, and religious communities become well formed in these matters, their spirit will not be able to come alive in our Catholic life. Indeed, these dialogues and the researches and methodologies that stand behind them transform not only our appreciation of our own Catholic faith, but also of the changes necessary if our insti-tutions and practices are to be converted to reach the ideal we outline with our ecumenical partners. As was noted above, the curricula of seminaries have been transformed by the ecumenical movement. Those who receive their training in ecumenical con-sortia are probably the most sensitive to the ecumenical dimen-sion, but no one taking a Catholic scripture course can be ignorant of the full integration of Catholic and Protestant biblical schol-arship since the council. Similarly, any competent liturgy or sacramental-theology course will be informed by the vast literature that has come from the World Council's "Baptism, Eucharist, and Ministry" processz3 over the last decade and from the bilateral agreements of a wide variety of churches. Soteriology, spiritual development, and eccle-siology are all informed by the Lutheran/Catholic work on grace cited above. Ecclesiology will include not only the principles of Catholic ecumenism, but also the work done in the World Council and in various dialogues on such topics as the local and the uni-versal church, religious liberty and proselytism, and papal pri- One cannot be an effective ecumenist from any tradition without being firmly grounded in one's own faith and identity. November-December 1993 857 Coos * The Ecumenical Vocation of Relig4ous macy and infallibility. The Directory gives helpful detail for plan-ning both clerical and nonclerical religious formation.24 For the first time a section in this Directory sets the stage for the work of ecumenical formation among religious: While the concern for restoring Christian unity involves the whole church, clergy and laity alike, relig

Issue 53.6 of the Review for Religious, November/December 1994. ; 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: 314-535-3048 ° Fax: 314-535-0601 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 ¯ V~ashington, DC 20017. POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ¯ P.O. Box 6070 ° Duluth, MN 55806. Second-class postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional mailing offices. See inside back cover for information on subscription rates. ©1994 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 Associat~ 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 Joann Wolski Conn PhD Mary Margaret Johanning SSND Iris Ann Ledden SSND Edmundo Rodriguez SJ David Werthmann CSSR Suzanne Zuercher OSB Christian Heritages and Contemporary Living NO\rEMBER-DECEMBER 1994 ¯ VOLUME 53 ¯ NqOMBER 6 contents religious life 806 Befriending the Wind Doris Gottemoeller RSM raises the question of ecclesial identity for religious and the question of mission in the postmodern world. 820 Recapturing the Sense of Mystery William F. Hogan CSC suggests that fostering a sense of mystery is essential for the growth and vitality of religious. 825 A Reflection on Living between the Times Margaret Ann Jackson FSM sees her ministry in working with homeless families as a connection with the sacred at the very core of life. 832 840 847 charism Motherhood--Elizabeth Seton's Prism of Faith Betty Ann McNeil DC draws a portrait of Elizabeth Seton, a wife and mother, revealing her insights about motherhood and its impact on her faith and the development of her Marian devotion. Reclaiming Our Name Joseph F. Nassal CPPS underscores the importance of knowing a religious congregation's charism as the energy source of its identity and ministry. Revitalizing Charisms Inspiring Religious Life Maryanne Stevens RSM presents the power and blessing of charisms as that which transforms religious orders and the wider church. 86O 866 prayer Learning to Curse Gina Hens-Piazza describes the catharsis, conversion, and communion moments found in the psalms of lament. Prayer: All My Comfort Sheila Galligan IHM considers how a familiarity with the prayer life of Elizabeth Seton can enrich our own spiritual life. 802 Review for Religious 875 Autumn Leaves: Poem and Commentary Joseph Matheis enters us into his own poem through a series of reflections on its spiritual implications. 884 892 898 903 ministry Keeping Our Focus ¯ Stephen Doughty explores insights and practices from Christian spirituality which help us maintain a focused ministry amid today's many fracturing pressures. Homesteading: A Metaphor for Life Douglas C. Vest suggests homesteading as an image for life which combines movement and stability, journey and homemaking. Serving the Lost Sheep Gerard B. Cleator OP proposes some models of ministry as he reflects on his ministry to gays in Bolivia. In Malindi James Martin SJ relates his experience of a Kenyan town to reflections made by the famous Jesuit missionary Francis Xavier. 906 915 8O4 932 937 950 renewal Life in Abundance Patricia Barbernitz and Theodore K. Cassidy SM describe a spiritual renewal program for religious which is based on the process that guides Christian initiation. Towards Jerusalem: The Process of an Assembly David Coghlan SJ shares an experience of how a provincial assembly functions and then grounds the event in an organizational theory. departments Prisms Canonical Counsel: An Apostolic Exhortation to Religious: Redemptionis Donum Book Reviews Indexes to Volume 53 November-December 1994 803 prisms Recently in the city of St. Louis, Missouri, at the end of a rainy day the clouds on the west-ern horizon broke just enough to let the rays of a setting sun produce a brilliant and full rainbow. The rainbow lasted so long, the colors were so distinct, that local TV and newspaper journalists could not resist expressing their marvel. I was struck once again at how we humans are captivated by the phenomenon of light. If we want to celebrate a civic or social event, we light up the darkness of night with a dazzling array of fireworks. The beauty of a modern city is often measured by the lighting, sometimes hard and defining, at other times soft and mellow, which enhances its major buildings and mon-uments. The wonder of Christmas displays, whether sec-ular ones in store windows or religious ones in church and home, is generated by the twinkling of myriads of starlike light bulbs. We find a fascination with light, even if we are fortunate enough to live in a take-it-for-granted electric light world. Perhaps our fascination with light remains because we feel so easily oppressed by earth's darkness. In a win-ter season we endure with some dismay the shortness of daylight hours bracketed by both late-morning and early-afternoon darkness. In season and out, we suffer the dark burden of sickness and death among family and friends. Exposed to media coverage, we feel weighed down by the dark oppression of people's hatred, prejudice, torturing and killing of one another, whether it be in Bosnia or Rwanda or our own city. During the months of November and December, church tradition emphasizes two aspects of light shining 804 Review for Religious into the darkness of human experience. The sure coming of the reign of God shines out in the month of November, as we approach the end of Ordinary Time, through three distinctive feasts--~l Saints, All Souls, and Christ the King. All Souls, the commemoration of all the faithful departed, might seem at first sight to be a "dark" feast that sets the tone for this month of our remembering the dead. But the companion feastdays of All Saints and All Souls become twin lights beckoning all of us in the church on earth to struggle on in our graced efforts to let God's reign shine forth here and now. The feast of Christ the King suggests searchlight beams striding across nighttime clouds and presenting a preview glimpse of the incarnate Son's eschatological, joy as the Father brings "all things in the heavens and on earth into one under Christ's headship" (Ep 1:10). Our faith is stirred to shine through any present darkness: "We believe in the life of the world to, come." In the rainbow light of these feasts we are led again to /15rofess in word and in action the sureness of our faith's goal. Then we turn from the darkness that seems to obscure human life's purpose and direction to a darkness in which not despair and death but the beginnings of hope and life are hidden. December holds the dark tradition of centuries-long human searching and hoping portrayed in the season of Advent, which breaks forth into the pure shining beam over Jesus' birth, the cel-ebration of the nativity of our Lord. We proclaim that "a light has shone in our darkness." Celebratng Christmas we do not just remember a past event, but we enter anew into our own Christian responsibility to "shine like the stars in the sky while holding fast to the word of life" (Ph 2:15-16). As we celebrate the mystery of God's light and darkness in our liturgical year, the staff of Review for Religious prays that joy and peace--God's own gift in Christ lighten your life and witness to your faith now and into the new year. David L. Fleming SJ Nobember-December 1994 805 DORIS GOTTEMOELLER Befriending the Wind religious life Who has seen the wind? Neither I nor you: But when the leaves hang trembling The wind is passing through. Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I: But when the trees bow down their heads The wind is passing by.' This whimsical lyric by Christina Rossetti reminds us how susceptible we are to the influence of unseen forces. The wind's traces may be gentle, as in the poet's vision, or fierce. At one moment wind soothes, shapes, and guides; at another it rips and tears. It rustles leaves, lifts kites, powers sails, and supports wings. It can also destroy homes, uproot trees, and down power lines. Invisible but not silent, wind whispers and sings and sobs and roars. Wind can be fickle or frightening; it can also be life-giv-ing and renewing. Anyone who has lived apostolic women's religious life in the United States in the last thirty years knows what it is to be buffeted and shaped by powerful but sometimes Doris Gottemoeller RSM, president of the Sisters of Mercy of the Americas, gave this presentation as president of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious (LCWR) at their national assembly in August 1994. The presentation was pub-lished in Origins 24, no. 14 (15 September 1994). Her address is 8300 Colesville Road #300; Silver Spring, Maryland 20910-3243. 806 Revie~ for Religious unseen forces from every side. Continuing the analogy, we could liken the pressures on us to winds from the four compass points. From the east came the expectations of the institutional church, whether Roman or American: conciliar documents, "Essential Elements," canonical requirements, diocesan policies and proce-dures. These influences helped to launch and validate our renewal. They also created tensions between our own insights and official mandates and interpretations. From the south came the winds of liberation theology. The bishops at Medellin and Puebla and our sisters missioned in Latin America sent messages of a new way of being with the poor, of doing theology, of being church. Our west winds were the forces of our own society and cul-ture. Enjoined by the Second Vatican Council to make our own "the joys and the hopes, the griefs and the anxieties of the people of this age," we adapted our lifestyles and ministries to new needs. At the same time we experienced and adapted to the revolutions in science, technology, communication, transportation, the polit-ical and social orders, popular culture and the media which char-acterized all of Western society. To the northern point on the compass we can assign the steadying influence of our own founding charisms and sound tra-ditions, newl)i researched and interpreted for contemporary life. From north, south, east, and west, then, the winds of change have carried us to this place and shaped our present reality. How can we describe that reality? Today's Reality In the decades after the Second Vatican Council the winds of change propelled us through some incredibly difficult terrain: misunderstandings without, polarizations within, loss of mem-bership, lack of resources, pastoral disappointments. Along the way we have acquired an unprecedented level of academic and professional preparation for ministry. But we sometimes confuse professional achievement with ministerial effectiveness. We have a spirituality cultivated through individual faith journeys. But we are less sure how to integrate it into a communal experience. We have highly developed skills in group participation, but less skill in calling forth and affirming in~lividual leadership. Overall, com-pared to twenty years ago, American women religious today are November-December 1994 807 Gottemoeller ¯ Befriending tbe Wind more grounded in charism, more self-aware as women, more appreciative of diversity, more aware of the interdependent causes of social ills, and as committed as ever to alleviating the suffering of the poor, the needy, and the vulnerable. Moreover, the processes of renewal have freed and empowered us. We have eliminated irrelevant and outmoded symbols and practices. We have grown into new theological, spiritual, educa-tional, psychological insights. So the moment has come to ask: What kind of future can we look forward to? The answer--our future--depends, as it always has, on the mysterious work of God's providence in our regard. But the future also depends, as it always has, on how we answer the depth questions. These are perennial questions which have to be answered in every time and place. The prospect that the upcoming synod may ask and answer these questions strikes fear in some. But there is no reason to fear. These are not questions that can be answered by a synod, or by assemblies or chapters or planning teams, no matter how moti-vated or sophisticated. The answers to these questions can only be born out of and lived within the hearts and lives of our members. Depth Questions There are only a small number of such depth questions, but in light of the theme of the 1994 LCWR meeting, charism and mission, I focus on two of them: the question of our ecclesial identity and of our mission in the postmodern world.-' The two questions are interrelated as being and action; identity is expressed in mission. Moreover, the four winds of change--messages from the institutional church, from liberation theologies, from our United States culture, and from our traditions--have given each question its distinctive form today. (I want to note that I am using the phrase apostolic religious life in an inclusive and nontechnical sense to distinguish our topic from contemplative religious life rather than from its monastic or evangelical forms.) Ecclesial Identity The question of ecclesial identity can be asked from two per-spectives: First, does women's apostolic religious life occupy an essential or unique place in the church? and second, is visible 808 Review for Religious membership and participation in the church critical to the iden-tity of women's apostolic religious life? How important are we to the church, and how important is membership in the church to us? The question of ecclesial identity seen from either perspective would have sounded absurd a few decades ago when the signs of our identification with the church were distinctive. Our dress, dwellings, lifestyles, and ministries signaled that we were a special and esteemed group in the church. The question of iden-tity had been answered along the same lines since the founding of most of our con-gregations. But one of the effects of renewal has been to lay open the question in our new context.3 First, let us examine it from the perspec-tive of our place in the church. History shows us that religious life began in the third century when disciples began to gather around the early desert solitaries. But most of our modern apostolic congregations arose after the Reformation, with the greatest number founded in the 18th and 19th centuries. Clearly, what has not always existed in the church need not always exist. Neither religious life in general nor apos-tolic religious life in the form in which we know it today is essen-tial to the constitution of the church. However, the Second Vatican Council affirmed that religious life is inseparable from the life and holiness of the ch. urch, an encomium which suggests a distinct identity.4 W-hat is that iden-tity? Generally, the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church defines us as laypersons in a specific canonical state. I say generally because in one passage it says that laity are "all the faithful except those in holy orders and those in the religious state," (31) thus sig-nalling a fundamental ambigu!ty: Are we laity or not? As we know, a key achievement of the Council was to transform our under-standing of church from that of a hierarchical institution, a per- We have grown into new theological, spiritual, educational, psychological insights. So the moment has come to ask: What kind of future can we look forward to ? November-December 1994 809 Gottemoeller ¯ Befriending the Wind fect society in which religious occupy a special "state of perfec-tion," into a People of God in which all members are equally called to a life of holiness. That ecclesial vision highlights bap-tismal consecration and the significance of the lay vocation; it is less clear in affirming any distinct contribution of religious life to the church. As the years have passed, this theoretical ambiguity has grown in the practical order. How many people really believe that reli-gious life is a gift to the whole Christian community, not just to the men and women who embrace it? What are the consequences of that gift in the lives of the hierarchy, the clergy, other laity, the poor and the marginated and those in need? What difference does the presence of apostolic women religious, as a specific group rather than as single individuals, make to the life of a parish, a diocese, or an institution? It is not enough for us to assert a dif-ference. How do we live and act in a way that is unique and dis-tinctive? It seems to me that the answer to the question of ecclesial identity is that, fundamentally, apostolic women religious are lay-women who have embraced and pub!icly committed themselves to a distinctive way of following Jesus Christ. Apostolic religious life is a way of life, a phrase which connotes a depth and breadth and intensity of commitment far beyond a lifestyle. Lifestyles can be taken up and abandoned by simply changing one's economic status, leisure activities, or diet.s By contrast, a way of life consists of a constellation of funda-mental life choices having an internal coherence and consistency. One has a way of life, defined by the choices one has made about relationship to God, to the Christian community, to sexuality, to possessions, to companions, to those in need. The way of life known as religious life is a radical response to the call of Jesus who says, "I am the way." By anal.ogy, the early church described itself as The Way, a commitment to following Christ to which every other choice is subordinated (Ac 9:2). Author Judith Merlde describes religious life as a categorical choice, that is, a choice that eliminates other choices. She notes, "Religious life involves more than social action, professional excellence, or holistic living. Rather, it is a life project built on a relationship" (pp. 8, 109). Religious life is a continual call to conversion. It is dynamic, as the fundamental choices deepen and mature and the consequences of those choices are played out in different circumstances. The total- 810 Review for Religious ity of these choices, lived with visible and passionate commit-ment, clearly distinguishes us from other laity in the church and offers a unique witness. I suggest that, in the processes of renewal, our identity has been weakened because we have not tended enough to the inter-nal consistency, the congruence, among the depth choides which define our way of life. Celibacy, prayer, community, mission should all interact and contribute to the fundamental unity at its core. For example, the witness of celibate community is a power-ful expression of ministry. Ministry engenders passion in prayer; prayer purifies the heart of attachment to material things; renunciation of material things brings us closer to the poor and the needy, and so forth. Is it accurate or helpful to describe our way of life as charis-matic? Yes and no. On the posi-tive side, this designation highlights the spontaneity, the diversity, the creativity, the gra-tuity of religious life. The Pauline passages on charism are eloquent and well-known. We must acknowledge, however, that they apply to all Christians. All--bishops, clerics, laity, religious-- are called and gifted in a variety of ways. Since the Council, how-ever, the term has been appropriated by religious to refer to the grace of founding a congregation, to its characteristic spirituality, to its mission, to the gifts and graces of individual members, and to religious life as a way of life. I suggest that the imprecision of the term has greatly diminished its usefulness. The distinctive-ness of each congregation might better be identified with its tra-dition or its deep story.6 Furthermore, the description of religious life as charismatic sometimes heightens the tension between insti-tutional/ hierarchical elements of the church and the charismatic in a way which is not helpful. The reality of the church is much more profound and complex than this simple dichotomy.7 In the processes of renewal, our identity has b~en weakened because we have not tended enough to the internal consistency, the congruence, among the depth choices which define our way of life. Noventber-December 1994 811 Gottemoeller ¯ Befriending the Wind Let me move on to the second aspect of the ecclesial identity issue: How significant is public membership and participation in the church to our identity as apostolic women religious? Those who have processed a dispensation for a sister who says that she is comfortable being a community member, but no longer feels at home in the Roman Catholic Chtirch, know what this issue is. Any who experience the tension among congregational members over including--or not including--a Eucharistic liturgy within a congregational celebration recognize another aspect of the issue. We struggle with the unthinkable: Is it possible to be a member of one's congregation and not a member of the church? If we go back into our congregational histories we recognize that our foremothers sought and prized public identification with the church. Some congregations experienced painful struggles when church officials threatened to withhold recognition that founders regarded as rightfully theirs. More recently, our per-severance through the process of approval of constitutions, despite requirements that were sometimes arbitrary, insensitive, or oppressive, testified that basically we know ourselves to be and want recognition as congregations within the Roman Catholic Church. This desire persists despite the growing pain caused by the transformation of our consciousness as women and our realization that the church itself institutionalizes sexism within and fails to denounce it without. How can we justify this continued commit-ment to public identification with the church, and what does it call us to? Our commitment rests on our knowledge that at baptism we were each born again into life in Christ and into that extension of Christ's presence and work throughout space and time known as the church. Within the church we are taught, nourished, for-given, reconciled. The church is not just a spiritual concept or an individual personal experience. It is a collection of human beings from every race and nation and condition, united by the one Spirit in a visible and public community of disciples. At religious profession we renewed our baptismal commit-ment and thus signaled that membership in 'the church is intrin-sic to the way of life we were choosing. The choice for a life in union with Christ is a choice for a life within Christ's church. The choice of membership in the church is part of that constel-lation of fundamental choices which define a way of life. 812 Review for Religious Sometimes this is not an easy place to be. We share member-ship with those who are flawed, confused, limited in many ways. In our more honest moments we recognize flaws and limitations in ourselves. Furthermore, within the church there is a differen-tiation of roles, responsibilities, and gifts. To paraphrase St. Paul, "Not all are apostles, prophets, teachers, workers of mighty deeds" (1 Co 12-13). But the greatest gift, the one that is the hallmark of a Christian and the criterion by which all else is judged is love. It is our love for Christ and for the community united in Christ which impels and sustains our commitment to membership. To allow ourselves to be alienated from the church is to surrender our birthright; it is to deprive ourselves of life-giving nourish-ment; it is to be exiled from our true home. Furthermore, public estrangement from the church deprives its other members of the witness of our love, our truth, and our fidelity. To summarize the first part of these reflections: Apostolic religious life is a distinct way of life within the Christian com-munity characterized by a complex of fundamental choices. Among these choices is the choice for explicit membership in the Catholic Church. Religious congregations, because they exist to facilitate and promote the way of life of their members, also have a public identity within the church. The Mission of Apostolic Religious Life Our second depth question is: ~What should be the mission of apostolic women's religious life today and in the future? Our world today is very different from that in which "our missions were first articulated. The immigrant poor of the 19th century have moved up the economic ladder. Many of our traditional works have become public responsibilities; the rest of the laity have expanded their role in ministry. Still the way of life we have espoused is radically for others. We have made a life-long commitment to mission within the context of our individual congregations. Therefore we need to reexamine and, if necessary, restate our mission for this new time and place. This is a work for each con-gregation, but I suggest that the mission apostolic women religious are called to today should be integral to our way of life, prophetic, global, and corporate. Mission as integral to a way of life. Each of our religious con-gregations was founded to express some facet of the church's mis- Noventber-December 1994 813 Gottemoeller * Befriending the Wind sion. Mission is at the heart of our self-understanding, an expres-sion of our identity. The choice to be "in mission" is part of that constellation of fundamental life choices which constitute our way of life. As self-evident as this seems, the identification of mis-sion with our way of life has been eroded from several sides. For example, David Nygren and Miriam Ukeritis in the Future of Religious Life Study describe the "parochial assimilations" of reli-gious life: Religious are regarded as interchangeable parish work-ers, without any significance attached to their identity as religious (p. 3 7). The sense of mission as integral to a way of life has also been weakened as a result of financial pressures. Sometimes a "job"--anything thatpays an adequate salary--seems like the only possible choice of work. The sense of mission is weakened from still another side when, in the absence of a strong commitment to prayer or community, an individual allows her world to be wholly defined by work. Professional ambition and workaholism can replace zeal for mission. As apostolic women' religious, our mission expresses our iden-tity as laity, as women, and as religious. I use laity here in contrast to the clerical vocation. It is true that many of our members are performing ministries which used to be the responsibility of priests. However, the fact that we are doing them demonstrates that they are expressiong of the baptismal vocation, not the priesdy vocation. Our congregations do not. have two classes of members, lay and clerical; we do not have hierarchy built into our way of life. Our radical equality as baptized Catholics is part o~f who we are within community and it makes us one with the overwhelming majority of the church's membership. Our identification with women and as women animates and shapes our' mission. With women because we have made ourselves present to other women in their hopes, fears, achievements, and struggles. We understand the needs of people for healthcare, hous-ing, education, economic justice, political representation, moral guidance, spiritual inspiration from a woman's perspective. As women because we bring to ministry our personal gifts of courage, compassion, sensitivity, honed through our own life experience. Finally, our identity as religious shapes our mission. Individual ministries are expressions of a congregational mission; they are shaped and focused by ~he congregation's tradition. But beyond that, our public identification with a distinctive way of life is itself a witness, a prophetic statement. 814 Review for Religious Mission as prophetic. To describe religious life as prophetic does not necessarily connote dramatic speeches and gestures, although some occasions do call for them. Rather, it signifies a transparency to the divine which is the fruit of a life focused on Jesus and which is the real meaning of prophecy--speaking of God. It is not a matter of individually prophetic persons, but of a way of life which, because it involves the deliberate, daily, and publicly identifiable following of Jesus, is prophetic by its nature.8 The notion of being publicly identifiable is a challenging one, given the absence of the former markers of public identity such as habit and proximity to a church and employment in a particular setting. It does not mean adopting these outward symbols again° Nor does it necessarily imply being recognized as a religious by every casual observer. It does not mean fading into anonymity. It means being recognizable to all who would see, who are inter-ested or who inquire. It requires a facility in drawing the gaze of the inquirer from ourselves to the Gospel which we proclaim and which animates us. Prophecy demands inculturation lest the word spoken fall on deaf ears. It leads to diverse expressions of religious life as the word is adapted to differing circumstances. Prophecy requires engagement in the public issues of the day if the Gospel is to speak to contemporary human needs. Prophecy requires that we hold our sponsored institutions accountable for the clarity of their Gospel witness. Mission as global. A prophetic mission today will also be global in its perspective and outreach. We know from personal experi-ence and observation how the poverty and suffering in one part of the world have their causes in decisions made in another part, and how the elites of the world conspire to enhance their own positions at the expense of the poor and marginalized. We kn6w that greed, lust for power, racial and ethnic animosity, and rape of the earth and its resources know no boundaries. Women and men religious constitute a worldwide network of communication and potential response to human suffering and exploitation. Many of our congregations transcend national borders. Others have mem-bers missioned in some of the remotest corners of the globe. Furthermore, we have organizational ties with religious through-out the world through the LCWR conference and through the International Union of Superiors General. November-December 1994 815 Gottemoeller ¯ Befriending the Wind The twofold test of whether a congregational mission is more than rhetoric is how effectively it shapes each member's choices and how much it contributes to the public perception of the congregation. What is sometimes lacking is an appreciation of the valuable resource we have in our information about realities around the world and creativity in making effective use of the information. As individual congregations and as a Conference we have responded to new needs and specific crises in Eastern Europe, Liberia, Somalia, Central America, Haiti, Rwanda and many other places. Can we enlarge our commitment to information sharing, analysis, and coordinated action on behalf of a truly world church? Even if the mission of one's congregation is focused on a par-ticular local church or geographic region, this potential and impera-tive for global outreach exists through the Leadership Conference as well as through relationships with other congregations. Mission as corporate. Perhaps the most challenging dimension of future mission will be its corporate character. In the FORUS study Nygren and Ukeritis claim that many individual religious and groups have relinquished the power of corporate witness for a variety of individual commitments in effective but unconnected ministerial positions. "The emphasis on indi-vidual ministry, or, at times, simply procuring a position, has eclipsed the symbolism of, and statement previously made by, corporate commitments" (p. 35). The situation of individual min-istries is not easily reversed, even if it should be. There are only two ways to do so: Either everyone is employed within the same institutional ministry or everyone is committed to the same type of service such as ministry to persons with AIDS or to street chil-dren. The first solution is possible only where the congregation controls the institution. The latter solution assumes that the type of social problem being addressed will always exist to the same degree of need. Neither solution takes into account the differing talents, energies, professional expertise of the members. 816 Review for Religious A new way to think about corporate mission is needed, one which recognizes the changing social realities, engages and focuses the energies of the members, and expresses the public identity of the congregation. It is a corporate mission that is needed, not necessarily corporate ministries. The twofold test of whether a congregational mission is more than rhetoric is how effectively it shapes each member's choices and how much it contributes to the public perception of the congregation. Concluding Reflections The characteristics of mission outlined here--integral to the way of life of apostolic women religious, prophetic, global, and corporate--will be nuanced by the tradition and fresh inspiration of each congregation. Who are we? What is our hearts' desire? How will we spend our talents and energies? Our ability to answer these depth questions about identity and mission with clarity and conviction has implications for new members, for associates, for affiliates. They deserve to know what we are asking them to invest in and to help shape for the future. The questions are our questions. They belong to us before they belong to church officials or synod participants. It is time to speak and live our truth without compromise. There is a growing temptation among religious today to believe that our choices are limited. We feel constrained by age, by diminishing numbers, by finances, by professional education, by ecclesial expectations to carry on as we are, without really encountering the depth issues. Let us take a lesson from the suc-cessful sailor who makes a friend of the wind. Buffeted by contrary breezes, he chooses a tack and sets the sails. With one eye on the compass, the sailor strains forward toward the distant shore. Despite the winds buffeting us, we too can set our direction. Our compass is Christ; our sails are woven of faith and hope, courage and love. We can face only forward. Renewal has often invited us to look backward toward the great persons and events of our past. Now it is time to look forward, to the new leaders and cre-ative deeds in our future. There was no golden age of religious life. There were only women and men, human as we are, who loved God, cared for persons in need, and dared to dream. We are as human, as flawed and gifted as they were, and still in touch with the dream. November-December 1994 817 Gottemoeller ¯ Befriending tbe Wind We began by reflecting on the four winds of change which have brought us to this place. Let us end by invoking the wind that comes from another direction, the breath of the Spirit which blows where it wills. S6metimes a zepher, sometimes a mighty gale--God's Spirit can nudge our timid choices, strengthen our frail resolve, reverse any misdirected course. Before he left us, Jesus promised the apostles that they would receive power when the Holy Spirit would come upon them, and they would be his witnesses to the ends of the earth (Ac 1:8). Later, when their time was fulfilled, they were all in one place together. "And suddenly there came from the sky a noise like a strong driving wind, and it filled the entire house in which they were., and they were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak . . . the Spirit enabled them to proclaim" (Ac 2:2-4). Now it is our time. Spirit of God, fill us and send us forth with the power and passion of your Word! Notes ~ R.W. Crump, ed. The Complete Poems of Cbr#tina Rossetti (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University, 1986), p. 42. z Joan Chittister OSB names ten critical questions which deal with "the very existence of religious life, its relationship to the church, its present character, its purpose, its spirituality and its energy" in the National Catholic Reportel; 18 February 1994. 3 The significance of this question was highlighted by David Nygren CM and Miriam D. Ukeritis CSJ in the Religious Life Fntnres Project: Executive Summary (Chicago: University Center for Applied Social Research, 1992), p. 36: "The most compelling result of the FORUS study indicates that a significant percentage of religious no longer understand their role and function in the church. This lack of role clarity can result in lowered self-confidence, a sense of futility, greater propensity to leave religious life, and significant anxiety. The younger religious experience the least clarity, and among them, 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 contribution of their vocation." 4 Dogmatic Constitution on the Church, no. 44. s Judith A. Merkle contrasts "life-style enclaves" with communities in Committed by Choice (Collegeville, Minnesota: Liturgical Press, 1992), p. 21. In the former, persons share some aspects of their essentially private lives; in the latter, they share their deeper meaning system or commit-ment. On the contrast between way of life and lifestyle see also David L. Fleming SJ, in Religious Life: Rebirth Through Conversion, ed. Gerald A. Arbuckle SM, and David L. Fleming SJ (New York: Mba House, 1990), pp. 23 and 33. 818 Review for Religious 6 Tradition is appropriate because it connotes both preservation and development, content and process. Bernard J. Lee SM suggests "deep story," a category of interpretation that comes out of structuralism, as a method for interpreting group identity in "A Socio-Historical Theology of Charism, "Review for Religious 48, no. 1 (January-February 1989): 124-135. 7 For helpful distinctions between biblical, theological, and socio-logical uses of charism see Christian Duquoc, Casino Floristan, et al., Cbarisms in the Church (New York: Seabury Press, 1978). 8 Elizabeth A. Johnson observes ". a new combination of ancient elements is beginning to define the essential character of religious life. The emerging understanding of this life is primarily that of persons and communities called to prophetic ministry embedded in a contemplative relationship to God." Review for Religious 53, no. 1 (January-February 1994): 12. Thirty Days Bruised beauty, sleep-starved struggle to be the Handmaid of the Lord. Shot silvered silken strands-- gentle kiss of your hair within my hands. And all this only a vague shadow of inner glory: outward reflection of your hidden mysterious love story. Chris Mannion FMS In September 1994 the Rwandan government confirmed the death of British Marist Brother Chris Mannion, a member of the Marist general council in Rome. He was reportedly killed by members of the Rwandan Patriotic Front while on official visitation. He had written the poem during a recent thirty-day retreat and had hoped our readers "might identify with its images and sentiments," as Brother Sefin Sammon, vicar general, wrote in his cover letter. R.I.P. November-December 1994 819 WILLIAM E HOGAN Recapturing the Sense of Mystery with a particular dominant theme that integrates different aspects of religious life. Whether or not it is stated by the authors, these works are an attempt to present a theology of religious life from a practical point of view. Such presentations offer serious reflec-tion, even though it is not feasible to champion one theological approach that will effectively embrace all religious institutes, given the uniqueness of each group from its founding charism and its particular evolution in history. Authors use a variety of starting points in their works, for example, mission, discipleship, service, justice and peace, the prophetic, the charismatic, and something could be said in favor of any of the theses or integrating themes. One can readily nod in agreement with almost every approach as it unfolds, unless the author seems to push the fundamental premise too much or dis-counts some aspect involving a conviction important to the reader. Much richness has been gained from the various presentations; insigh(s that had disappeared with the passage of time have been brought to our attention once more. To some extent one could speak of an intellectual explosion of ideas and a clearer under-standing of consecrated life since Vatican II, such that ~a person should be able to approach commitment to it more intelligently. But most gains include some loss. In this instance, the loss fac- William E Hogan CSC continues to serve in the general administration of the Congregation of the Holy Cross. His address is Casa Generalizia; Via Framura, 85; 00168 Ro~ne, Italy. 820 Review for Religious tor concerns the aspect of mystery--that which cannot be known but only experienced. The more we analyze religious life, the more we expose ourselves to the danger of taking the mystery out of the mystery of religious life or at least of losing a sense of the dimension of the mysterious. To have as many insights as possible into consecrated life is of great worth, if one is to respond to its demands and be faithful to a call. Yet over and above all the human knowledge we receive, the way God is present in rela-tionships and in the corporate journey of a group under the leadership of God when the members are serious about liv-ifig out their faith deeply is inexplicable. The particular experience of the sacred in the historical development of a community defies human understanding and categoriza-tion and is often realized only in retrospect. Every person's life experi-ence is a mystery. The people with whom we share our lives, those with whom our lives intersect, the events we expe-rience- these and other factors have a special effect that we can-not always grasp or name. Frequently through sufficient analysis we can understand some of the reasons why a life has taken a par-ticular development; but we are also confronted by many facets that cannot be fully comprehended and can, in a faith context, be attributed only to Divine Providence (or where there is no faith vision, to chance). Experience always involves an aspect of mystery. Where that experience includes God and a call of God, there will be a sense of the mystery, a living with a consciousness and conviction of mystery (the grace of the event). As Jesus is mystery, the church is mystery. Life in Christ is mystery; so too is consecrated life mystery because of the presences of God beck-oning us into ever deepening relationships. To lose or diminish a sense of the mystery opens one to the possibility of becoming deprived of some facets of a faith approach Life in Christ is mystery; so too is consecrated life mystery because of the presences of God beckoning us into ever deepening relationships. November-December 1994 821 Hogan ¯ Recapturing the Sense of Mystery to religious life, especially placing one's security in the Lord who leads us through some unknown paths on the pilgrimage of faith. Important as it is to analyze religious life and to act in accor-dance with the resulting knowledge, there is danger in too much intellectual analysis because of the tendency to fit what we discover into already established categories, thereby losing some of the uniqueness. The transcendent element eludes classification, and the dimension of transcendence is at the heart of consecrated life. Where a sense of mystery is weak, faith will be weak, and one would have reason to question the vitality of the faith journey. Our times seem to be overly characterized by a belief only in the evident, in what is verifiable. Faith ends up by being reduced to a purely human act--a cold, technical type of faith that certainly does not energize. Such an approach to faith would be death-dealing instead of life-giving for religious life. A person would not be moved toward ongoing conversion, entering more pro-foundly into the mystery of Christ wherever he would lead by the power of the Spirit. St. Paul speaks often of maturing in Christ and growing into the fullness of Christ. This message would fall on deaf ears if the faith were primarily human and the mindset one of wanting to know all that is entailed. Transcending self and transformation in Christ is not an intel-lectual process, even though knowledge is involved. Conversion occurs only with willingness to embrace the mystery. We can find ourselves living out and acting on insights concerning religious life without experiencing the life in depth, a sort of textbook approach to living without entering as a committed disciple into the unfold-ing of the adventure of following Christ. Life becomes mere for-mality and is not centered on Christ. Though the knowledge about Christ and mission may be great, Christ will not be expe-rienced; nor will there be transformation of the self into the mind and heart of Christ, nor a real passion for mission as it touches all of life's moments. There may be much activity in the name of the Lord, but it may be more professional work than ministry. Theory will have supplanted life in Christ. Unfortunately this has been the experience of some of us, something of which we remain unaware until the Lord jolts us in one way or another and we grasp the emptiness of what we have been living: an intellectualizing and a shallowness in living, at least in part because of not being pos-sessed of the awesomeness of the mystery of Christ. But our God never gives up on us and continues to call us to let God move us 822 Review for Religious to real faith in the person and mystery of Christ and to center all on Christ. In consecrated life the commitment is to the Lord and his people, not to the life in itself as an end, and not to our under-standing of the life as such. The constitutions, customs, tradi-tions, study of the elements of religious life--all have their place in helping us grasp the meaning of the life, its limits and basic norms. The commitment is made in accordance with them. Yet our pledge of self is to the Divine Persons and all the mystery therein embraced. We vow to God, not to ideas or ideals and do so in a spirit of relating to the Trinity of Persons. What is entailed in the relating cannot be spelled out or even understood, if there is a willingness to try to surrender the self to God with an openness to uncon-ditional following the divine leadership on pilgrimage. Without a sense of mys-tery we can unconsciously stop short at the juridical aspects of the vows and com-munity without meeting the God of the vows and com-munity. This happens when means are confused with the end and give rise to distortions of what the means were meant to bring about in fostering the relation with God. Recent history bears witness to this. We can define and program religious life too tightly in its many facets; mystery requires some flexibility and openness to where the Lord wants to take us and to be for his people. Our security must be in the Lord and not in knowledge, insights, research, history--and not even in the elements of the consecrated life of the institute as such. The challenge of living in Christ is to put one's trust in the Lord and to experience the mys-tery with its incomprehensibility. A leap of faith is required beyond the theory of religious life and witness. The leap of faith must be We can define and program religious life too tightly in its many facets; mystery requires some flexibility and openness to where the Lord wants to take us and to be for his people. November-December 1994 823 Hoga.n . ¯ . Recapturing the Sense of My_ste. ry made over and over again as the surprises of journeying together into the mystery of Christ keep coming along. All too frequently we do not continue to make the leaps of faith and move forward into the mystery of life in Christ. Despite the many changes that have been made, too many of us still live in a programmed way that lacks a dynamic faith response. There are still individual and community barriers between ourselves and the Christ we declare to follow in discipleship. Past formation emphasized particular patterns of response (and even non-response at times), and today we still experience the effects of that approach. Are religious being formed today to fos~ ter the sense of the mystery present in religious life and a spirit of adventure with and in Christ? History reveals that when new forms of religious life were developing, the times were charac-terized by an enthusiasm about the spirit of mystery present when what was known and accepted up hntil that time gave place to a new approach. It is only those brave leaps of faith by the power of the Spirit that broadened the charisms of consecrated life to enrich the people of God with those special gifts of the Spirit. Something of the same is occurring today in the blossoming of many new forms of Christian community. Yet we might well ask whether it is just to new groups that the Spirit of God is speak-ing today, ls there not an invitation being extended to all to recap-ture the sense of mystery with its many paradoxes? The rational/practical side of us may not like the ambiguity and cloudiness of mystery; there is a preference for clear defini-tions and limits. But the faith/believer side should, in openness to God, go beyond the known to plunge more deeply into the obscurity of the mystery aspect of experiencing and sharing life in Christ to the fullest. "1" In Memoriam "1" Mary Margaret Johanning SSND died of cancer in Jefferson City, Missouri, on 1 October 1994. Sister Mary Margaret, general superior of the School Sisters of Notre Dame from 1977 to 1987 and from 1989 chancellor of the Jefferson City diocese, was a founding member of our advisory board. Please remember her in your prayers. 824 Review for Religious MARGARET ANN JACKSON A Reflection on Living Between the Times g~'~g'~ etween the Times: Religious Life and the Postmodern ,tg-~ Experience of God," (Review for Religious, January- February 1994) by Elizabeth Johnson rang true within me. What is more, it gave me a new way to interpret and understand my own three-year experience of working with homeless families in the Missouri Hotel, a large shelter in Springfield, Missouri. Johnson rightly says: "Contemplation is a way of seeing that leads to union. It arises from an experience of connection with the sacred at the very core of life . As a result, a certain intuition arises by which one begins to know and love the world as God does" (p. 6). The Experience of Homeless Families Homeless families find themselves stripped down to the very core of life, struggling to pro, vide the basics for themselves. With few exceptions, artifice and hypocrisy are not present. When fam-ilies are forced to resort to living in a shelter, they rarely play the game of trying to convince others that this is a desirable option. Having used all the ordinary supports of their life, they are reduced to living with strangers. They have arrived at our shelter because of problems, whether one or many, but typically there are many. Margaret Ann Jackson FSM serves as the family and children coordinator in the Missouri Hotel, a homeless shelter in Springfield, Missouri, Her address is 3177 East Linwood Drive; Springfield, Missouri 65804. Nove~nber-December 1994 825 Jackson ¯ A Reflection on Living Between the Times Often it takes time for a family's deeper problems to come to the surface. The hopelessness may have its origin in chemical dependency, mental illness, or a childhood full of physical and/or sexual abuse. Some of the parents have simply never known real stability, and their children find the shelter to be one of the bet-ter places they have lived. Our shelter networks with a variety of resources aimed at dealing with these problems, often with suc-cessful outcomes. But it is all too common to find that federal or state money for this or that purpose has run out, or some do not quite fit the eligibility criteria for the resources they desperately need. As Johnson's article put it, "naming what is unjust" then becomes easy and obvious. It likewise leads one to become an advocate who evaluates proposed legislation critically from the viewpoint of the poor. Actually, those working with the poor can become more angry than the poor themselves at the upside-down values and priorities of our so-called progressive nation. When resources are available, it is equally frustrating to dis-cover that someone is not yet ready to seek or accept help for the underlying cause of their difficulties. This is perhaps the core poverty of being human. The wall of denial may have slipped far enough for the person to admit that the problem exists, but it is still too threatening to tackle or even let others begin the pro-cess. The homeless are not alone in this experience; in fact, they are just like the rest of us in this regard. This experience of entering into the problems and frustra-tions of homeless people is further intensified when it is the chil-dren who urgently need the help that is not welcome. At times this can be an excruciating experience of powerlessness. The cross is certainly present, both in me and in them, when I am powerless to give what they do not want to receive, and it seems certain that their lives will continue on an unmanageable and chaotic path. Those who suffer the most are not the parents making these decisions, but the children who have no choice of their own to make. As a professional, I know that I must not identify too closely with my clients in feeling their pain, but neither do I want to become immune and uncaring. Prayer and Contemplation as Response As a woman, as a religious, as a child of God, I must bring all this to prayer. I complain to God. More often I just sit there with 826 Review for Religious it and with God. There have been times when it has entered into and become an integral part of a deeper prayer experience. Sharing the concerns of homeless families does induce and influence con-templation, but that is an oversimplification. This kind of ministry can too easily consume all time and energy, with little of either left for contemplation. Carving out prayer time, even reflective time, is a constant struggle. In the same vein, burnout can be just around the cor-ner, along with the temptation to become a codependent, overly help-ful savior who has all the answers. A variety of human ways to counter burnout and codependency are avail-able, useful, and necessary, but even when they have gratefully become a part of one's life, they simply cannot reach as deeply as prayer and con-templation. When one is continually faced with different forms of pow-erlessness, eventually it dawns that only God can deal with it, and the more a person becomes one with God, the more one can become the presence of God to others plunged in these human situations. Some would assume that min-istry in such surroundings would be unendingly sad and depressing. I do not find it so. It is hectic and stress-ful, yes, but also rewarding. All is not hopeless, and many families make progress, move out, and sometimes return to tell us how grateful they are for the help they found with us. These success stories keep us going, but for me, it is more often when homeless fami-lies are at their lowest point that I find myself most awed and inspired. I interview the families soon after they move into the shelter, and I frequently find myself touched by their obvious sin-cerity and goodwill. When I hear what they have been through, the obstacles they have met with, and the few resources available, I doubt that I would have done as well when faced with the same When one is continually faced with different forms of powerlessness, eventually it dawns that only God can deal with it, and the more a person becomes one with God, the more one can become the presence of God to others plunged in these human situations. November-December 1994 827 Jackson ¯ A Reflection on Living Between the Times challenges. Every now and then I have a clear sense of the Holy coming through to me as they explain their predicament and their hopes and fears. It is an unmistakable flash of Goodness. Occasionally I tell them that it is a privilege to be part of their lives because this is truly a special time, even though it may not seem so to them. I do not have the boldness to say to them that it is a sacred time, but I believe that it is. Learning from the Homeless My experiences with homeless families have taught me a great deal. While what I have learned is on a personal level, I believe that it can also teach us about religious life "between the times." Thus far, I have learned two truths. First: The quality of one's presence means more than specific activ-ities. The poor are hungry for understanding and encouragement. It does not take them long to figure out whether someone is with them or against them. If they know a person truly cares about them, they will forgive all kinds of mistakes, including impatience and forgetfulness and grouchiness. They free me to be human just like them. And they somehow receive what they need, even when I do not know what it is I am giving. A mildly retarded young man taught me about this one day. He was grieving over his recently deceased mother, even though she was an alcoholic who often abused him. He was very upset, and it seemed to me that it would be helpful for him to verbalize his feelings about his mother. So I took him to a quiet prayer room, and in the context of a rather vague prayer invited him to. close his eyes, remember his mother and talk to her. Then I sat there holding his hand, watching his face wrinkle. Evidently some-thing was going on, but I did not know what. I wondered whether I should say something. Fortunately, I kept quiet. Then he opened his eyes and said: "She came. She came and told me everything will be OK." He hugged me and then left the room transformed into his usual cheerful self. There was also the family who stayed in our shelter while trying to learn how to better cope with two sons with attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder and a teenage daughter who had a~ttempted suicide. Eventually they got on their feet financially, moved out and seemed to be doing fairly well. Then one day the mother showed up to tell me that her husband had gone to inpa- 828 Review for Religious tient treatment for alcoholism, a problem which he had success-fully hidden from our staff. She asked for my help in explaining her predicament to the food pantry which had helped her in the past, for she feared that they would not understand that their needs had changed now that his paycheck would be missing for a month. She said: "I came to you because you never judged me." Moving past the apostolic era of religious life does not mean there is nothing left to do. Instead the emphasis is on how we do whatever we do, how we are brother and sister to one another. Brother and sister are not titles of honor that situate us at a level in society. Instead they become true relational realities. Second: Having nothing is not that bad. There is quite a differ-ence between a newly poor and homeless family and one that has been that way for some. time. The new ones are tense and fearful about being in a shelter for the first time. At some point they nervously tell me that they have only ten or twenty dollars left, and they just do not know what they will do when it is all gone. The ones who have been poor and/or homeless for much of their lives are calm and relaxed compared to the new ones. These are the survivors. They know how to work the system to get the basics they need from complex bureaucratic agencies that are not par-ticularly "user friendly." They often do not have two dimes to rub together, but it is no big deal, because they know how to get by on nothing. They ask for what they need, readily share with others reduced to nothing, and more or less roll with the punches that life gives them. I suspect that most religious congregations are very much like the first group, the newly homeless. Because we have become so used to being solidly middle class, we can find ourselves in a I suspect that most religious congregations are very much like the first group, the newly homeless. Perhaps we need to reflect upon what it was that formerly gave us a sense of security and why we now feel threatened. November-Deconber 1994 829 Jackson ¯ A Reflection on Living Between the Times demoralized, even frantic state of mind. We nervously count up our members, especially the dwindling active ones and the few new vocations. And we wonder what will happen to us, what threatening snowballing effect may yet lie in store for us. We do not know how to handle being reduced to nothing. Perhaps we need to reflect upon what it was that formerly gave us a sense of security and why we now feel threatened. Can we learn from the second group, the homeless who are survivors? Can we let go of our anxious defenses and accept the poverty that is becoming part of our lives? I have not yet made that transition, but I do have hope that ~eventually we as religious will find that it is no big deal, because we will have learned how to get by on nothing, just like our foundresses and founders did. They asked for what they needed; they readily shared with oth-ers reduced to nothing, and they more or less rolled with the punches that life gave them. They were happy and holy people who trusted in God to provide while they were busy answering the Lord's call as they heard it in the lives of the poor around them. And God did indeed provide. I think of my own foundress, Mother Odilia Berger who arrived in St. Louis with four companions and five dollars. They immediately began caring for smallpox and cholera victims. A few years later she sent thirteen of her small band of thirty-one sisters to other cities to care for victims of yellow fever. Five contracted the illness and never returned; undaunted, she continued. The Changing Idea of God Elizabeth Johnson does get to the heart of the matter when she asks how our idea of God is changing. While I cannot speak for religious life as a whole, my own idea of God has changed considerably throughout my life and continues to be influenced by my experiences. For some time now the image of God or Jesus as King has not appealed to me. I am not even sure what glorious means when applied to God. I can relate a glorious sunset to the glory of God, whatever that glory may be. But much that is con-sidered glorious and impressive in our American culture is little more than a glitzy sham quite unconnected to God. The idea of an omnipotent war-making God is the opposite of my experience. Our God is a God of conversion and transformation, but not by force and violence. The Berlin Wall was kept in place by force 830 Review for Religious and violence, but now it is gone. Why? Because only when peo-ple change does real change happen. The ethnic struggles in the former Soviet Union and the former Yugoslavia show us clearly that military force was a fleeting kind of power that made no sig-nificant change at all, for it did not reach people's hearts. I have seen the negative power of a lack of love. I have seen individuals who will probably be able to function at only a min-imum level the rest of their lives because of the physical and sex-ual abuse that surrounded them in their formative years. "Love one another" is powerful indeed. If I could wave a magic wand and make one change worldwide, I would choose to eradicate abuse and its terrible aftermath, for it would surely transform the entire world. For me, God is the Compassionate One who is always with us in all our difficulties. This God lets us learn from the conse-quences of our actions, which is both the hardest and the surest way of learning. This God is the Patient One who waits and waits until we are ready. Were we to "play God," we would operate quite the opposite, for we would push and force things along, ready or not. God is the Mysterious One who understands all that happens and seldom shares the final answer we want to know. God works with whatever is happening in order to draw good from it, good that often seems to lie beyond our horizon. God is definitely not like the television dramas that are resolved with a thrilling climax in the last ten minutes of a sixty-minute show. I yearn to become one with this God, for then "a certain intuition arises by which one begins to know and love the world as God does." Noventber-December 1994 831 charism BETTY ANN MCNEIL Motherhood-- Elizabeth Seton's Prism of Faith Bishop Simon Brut4 SS cited devotion to the Blessed Virgin as one of the halhnarks of Elizabeth Seton's spiri-tuality. 1 As one biographer observers, "It was the bond of motherhood that helped Elizabeth comprehend the coln-passion of Mary [and] her role as co-redemptrix, even before it had been taught to her" (Dirvin 8). Inherently open to newness, "motherhood involves a special com-munion with the mystery of life."-' Who was this woman who professed that she "would gladly make every sacri-fice., consistent with my first and inseparable obligations as a mother?''3 Wife and Mother--Steps to Sanctity Born an Episcopalian in New York, Elizabeth Ann Bayley (1774-182 i) married William Magee Seton (1768- 1803) in 1794. Their marriage was blessed with three daughters (Annina, Rebecca, and Catherine Josephine) and two sons (William and Richard). Healthy, happy, and enjoying the comforts of social status and prosperity, the young family soon encountered bankruptcy because of Betty Ann McNeil DC holds a Master of Social VVork degree from Virginia Co~mnonwealth University and has served in var-ious social worl~ roles in Virginia, Maryland, and the District of Columbia. Currently involved in fund development for the Emxnitsburg province of the Daughters of Charity, she may be reached at Saint Joseph's Provincial House; Emmitsburg, Maryland 21727-9297. 832 Review for Religious financial reversals in their business. When Wil!jam became ill with tuberculosis, he and Elizabeth and their eldest daughter Annina embarked on a sea voyage in a desperate attempt to regain his health. Upon arrival at the Italian Rivera, the family was quar-antined in a damp, dark lazaretto which was but a dramatic pref-ace to Elizabeth's widowhood at the age of twenty-nine. The Filicchi family, William's business associates, befriended Elizabeth and extended gracious hospitality to the young American widow and her daughter. During their stay in Leghorn the Setons learned about Roman Catholicism from the Filicchis. After return-ing to the United States, Elizabeth converted to Catholicism (1805), struggled unsuccessfully to support her family in New York, and then moved to Maryland (1808) at the invitation of Reverend William Dubourg SS, to begin a school in Baltimore. Through the generosity of a benefactor, the school relocated (1809) to rural Emmitsburg where the Sisters of Charity, the first religious institute founded in the United States, was established. For her sisters Mother Seton adapted the Common Rules of the Daughters of Charity developed by Saint Vincent de Paul (1581- 1660) and Saint Louise de Marillac (1591-1660). Elizabeth championed the cause of justice and charity in health care, social works, and education, especially for women. Like Our Lady, Elizabeth became a model of faith and commit-ment as wife and mother, and her maternal journey through the joys and sorrows of life led her into deeper discipleship with Jesus Christ.4 Canonized in 1975, Elizabeth Ann Seton became the first native-born American declared a saint by the Roman Catholic Church. From Daughtei" to Mother Elizabeth craved mothering herself as a child but truly became the "mother of many daughters''5 as the religious foundress called Mother Seton. She herself acknbwledged that "the bonds of nature and grace all twined together. The parent offers the child, the child the parent, and both are united in the source of their being, and rest together in redeeming love" (Dirvin, 75). If Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton were to describe her relationship with Mary, the Mother of God, she would do so in the first per-son using her own words. Her account might be based on the events and reflections that she herself recorded in her numerous letters November-December 1994 833 McNeil * Motherhood and journal entries. Elizabeth would convey her own powerful feelings as she retold her inspiring story about the challenges and opportunities she encountered in Italy, New York and Maryland. The narrative style of this article now changes to first per-son, using quotations from Seton's letters and other writings woven with words of my own creation. By this process I hope to describe her prism of faith from her own experience of mother-hood and how that drew her to Mary. The resulting bonds united these maternal hearts and generated a wellspring of Marian devo-tion for Elizabeth.6 Heartache in Italy . One of my dearest remembrances is feeling called to "full confidence in God" when the "Ave Maria bells [rang] as we entered the port of Leghorn while the sun was setting." As an Episcopalian I came to know Miriam of Nazareth through read-ing my Bible. Later in life she played an important role in my own journey of faith, and I referred to her as "the first Sister of Charity on earth." I endured piercing pain and heartache in Italy. Having five children myself, I felt a special closeness to the joys and sorrows of Mary's maternal heart. After my husband's tragic illness and death in Italy, my cross seemed so heavy. While I was staying in the Filicchi's home,7 "I looked up to the blessed Virgin appealing to her that as the Mother of God, she must pity me, and obtain from him that blessed faith of these happy souls [the Filicchi fam-ily] around me. I then noticed a small prayer book open on the table and . . . my eye . . . fell on Saint Bernard's prayer to the Blessed Virgin Mary--How earnestly I said., that Memorare." Acknowledging my pent-up grief, I soon confided rather poignantly to my "soul-sister" Rebecca Seton8 that: God would stirely refuse nothing to his mother. [and] that I felt really I had a mother [now] which you know my fool-ish heart laments to have lost in early days--from the first remembrance of infancy I have looked in all the plays of childhood and wildness of youth to the clouds for my mother, and at that moment it seemed as if I had found more than her, ~ven in tenderness and pity of a Mother-- so I cried myself to sleep on her heart. The Filicchi family introduced Annina9 and me to their 834 Review for Religious beloved Catholic faith. In Florence we visited the lovely Church of the Annunziata where I experienced a deep sense of peace, despite my grieving heart. "I sank to my knees in the first place I found vacant, and shed a torrent of tears . " In the church of San Lorenzo by the Medici chapels, my heart simply burst. "A sensation of delight struck me so forcibly that as I approached the great altar. I prayed 'My soul doth magnify the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my savior.' These words., came in my mind with a fervor which absorbed every other feeling." Later at the church of Santa Maria Novella the large painting of the Descent from the Cross "engaged my whole soul. Mary at the foot of it expressed well that the iron had entered into her--and the shades of death over her agonized countenance so strongly contrasted the heavenly peace of the dear Redeemer's that it seem[ed] as if his pains had fallen on her--How hard it was to leave that picture." For hours after I left it, ". I shut my eyes and recall[ed] it in imagination." At the Shrine of Our Lady of Grace in Montenero, I reflected that "I am a mother, so the mother's thought came also. How was my God a little babe in the first stage of his mortal existence in Mary?" Since she was the mother of Jesus, I intuitively felt her maternal solicitude for nay bereaved situation. That thought drew me into deeper relationship with her who was "always, every-where, in every moment, day and night, conscious [that] she was his mother." Discernment in New York When I returned to New York on 4June 18041 was discern-ing my future--how could I provide for my darling children? I yearned for Jesus in the Eucharist and felt drawn to Mary, his mother. My Episcopal communion did not condone Marian devo-tion, and I wondered how I could believe that the "prayers and litanies addressed to the Blessed Lady were acceptable to God." I was earnestly searching for the true faith. I was an "uncertain soul" and hesitated to teach my children the Hail Mary in our Protestant milieu. I still fondly recall that August evening in 1804 when Annina coaxed me to lead "our first Hail Mary in our little closet." I was saying night prayers with the children "when Nina said, 'Oh, Ma, let us say Hail Mary.' 'Do, Ma,' said Willy. And the Hail Mary we all said with little November-December 1994 835 McNeil ¯ Motherhood Bec looking into my face to catch the words she could not pro-nounce, but in a manner which would have made all laugh if Mother's tears had not fixed their attention." "I asked my Saviour why should we not say it [the Hail Mary], if anyone is in heaven his mother must be there . . . so I begged Mary our mother with the confidence and tenderness of her child to pity us and guide us to the true faith, if we were not in it, and if we were, to obtain peace for my poor soul, that I [might] be a good mother to my poor darlings . So I kissed [Mary's] picture that [Amabilia] gave me, and begged her to be a mother to us. I saw faith [as] a gift of God to be diligently sought and earnestly desired. So I prayed to Mary to help me. I begged. God to look in my soul and see how gladly I would., joyfully show [his mother] every expression of reverence., if I could do it with that freedom of soul which flowed from the knowledge of his will." After my decision to become a Catholic,1° my doubts were replaced by an abiding love of the true church and devotion to the Blessed Mother. I was easily moved, and so I expressed my reli-gious sentiments warmly and impulsively. I took Mary as my con-firmation name to "sort of fill out the trio of mothers" already honored by the name Elizabeth Ann. I recognized that my life, like Mary's was really grounded in the paschal mystery with all its struggles, grief, and hope. This realization helped me to discern God's will. I often found peace through praying the Memorare. I found strength in contemplating the suscipe of Jesus in his crucifixion, primarily in the painting by the Mexican artist Jos~ Vallejo that hung in Saint Peter's in my native city. Vision in Maryland Finally I came to Maryland on a mission. In Emmitsburg, where I founded the Sisters of Charity, I came to a deeper under-standing of the Glories ofMa~7. I saw her as my model and teacher in the spiritual life, particularly in herfiat and feminine resilience as a courageous woman of faith. I often reveled about the ". virtues of Mary--the constant delight of the blessed Trinity--she alone giving them more glory than all heaven together. Mother of God! Mary! Oh, the purity of Mai'y! The humility, patience, love of Mary!" I tried to imitate her as much as possible and believed that "our best honor to Mary is the imitation of her virtues--her 836 Review for Religious life a model for all conditions of life--her poverty, humility, purity, love--and suffering." Mary's example led me to discover "Jesus in Mary, Mary in Jesus in our prayers--her name so often in the divine sacrifice. Like Mary, our blessed mother, we will possess Jesus. born for me, lived fir me, died fir me, and now stays on earth to be with me as my father, my brother, my com-panion and friend--to be . . . near me in the holy Eucharist. and as certainly to come to my heart as he came to. the arms of his Virgin Mother." Prayer taught me "how sweet to entreat Mary who bore him in the bosom of peace to take our own case in hand. If she is not heard, who shall be?" I realized that "Jesus delighted to receive our love embellished and purified through the heart of Mary, as from the heart of a friend." I never slept without "my crucifix under my pillow and the Blessed Virgin's picture pressed on the heart . " Mary's divine motherhood touched and moved my own maternal heart. So often grieved by separation and loss, I forged a strong spiritual bond with her and reflected that "We honor her continually with our Jesus. his nine months within her., what passed between them., she alone knowing him-- he her only tabernacle Mary, fidl of Grace, Mother of Jesus." I pondered in my journal about "the infancy of Jesus--in her lap-- on her knees . . . caressing, playing in her arms. Jesus on the breast of Mary feeding. How long she must have delayed the weaning of such a child!" I identified even more with Mary as a sorrowful mother when I cared for my dying daughter Annina. During the stark days of darkness after her death, I found myself "begging, crying to Mary to behold her son and plead for us, and to Jesus to behold his mother--to pity a mother, this poor, poor mother." When "with a quiet satisfied heart" I reflected on Mary's com-passionate presence in the "thousand encounters with the cross" that had been my lot. "It seemed as if our Lordstood continuously by me in a corporeal form to comfort, cheer, and encourage me I identified even more with Mary as a sorrowful mother when I cared for my dying daughter Annina. November-December 1994 837 McNeil ¯ Motherhood in the different weary and tedious hours of pain. Sometimes sweet Mary, also, gently coaxing me . I sat with my pain in order to accept it as my share in the paschal mystery and discovered "how generous is our Lord who strengthened my poor soul." In our small chapel I prayed to know God's will. My painting of Our Lady of Guadalupe11 hung there and I often commended my sons in the navy to the care of Mary, Star of the Ocean, when they were at sea. Likewise, I asked Mary, Queen of Apostles, to intercede for the needs of the clergy, especially for my dear friend and confidante Father Brut& Conclusion My passion for seeking God's will often moved me to encour-age my religious daughters to greater spiritual vitality, challeng-ing them to be women of prayer. "Sisters of Charity, your admirable name must excite in you every preparation to do justice to your vocation." Together we reflected: "Jesus is as a fire in the very center of our souls ever burning. Yet, we are cold because we do not stay by it. How can we honor the mysteries of our Jesus without honor-ing Mary in them all?" Truly "How happy the earth to possess [Mary] so long--a secret blessing to the rising church. I thank God for having made me a child of his church . My deepest desire for you is that you always 'Be children of the church! Be children of the church!'" Notes l Brut~ listed the following characteristics of Elizabeth Seton's spir-ituality: "the Church, the Blessed Sacrament, prayer for herself and her children, the Blessed Virgin and the priestly character." See Joseph I. Dirvin CM, The Soul of Elizabeth Seton--A Spiritual Portrait (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1990), p. 37. 2 John Paul II, "Motherhood---~rginity," On the Dignity and Vocation of~Vomen (1988), Article 18. 3 Ellin M. Kelly, Ph.D., and Annabelle Melville, ed., Selected IVritings of Elizabeth Seton, (New York: Paulist Press, 1987), p. 274. 4 John Paul II, "Behold Your Mother," Mother of the Redeemer (The Vatican, 1987), Article 20. s Elizabeth Ann Seton to Cecilia Seton, 6 October 1808. Quoted in Annabelle Melville, Elizabeth Barley Seton, (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1951; rev. ed. St. Paul, Minnesota: Carillon Books, 1976), p. 189. 838 Review for Religious 6 Quotations from Seton's letters and other writings used in the fol-lowing sections of this article are taken from Kelly, Selected l~Vritings, Dirvin, Soul, and Celeste, VVoman of Prayer. To maintain the flow of the narrative, no specific references are cited. 7 Having arrived in Leghorn 19 November 1803 the Setons were quarantined in the lazaretto, until 19 December. After their release they went to a rented home in Pisa where William Magee Seton died 27 December 1803. Elizabeth and her daughter Annina became the guests of Antonio and Amabilia Filicchi, business friends of the Seton family. They remained at Leghorn with the Filicchis until April 1804 when they left for the United States. They were accompanied by Antonio Filicchi on the return voyage. 8 Elizabeth Seton often referred to her sister-in-law as her own "soul's sister." Rebecca Seton (1780-1804) was a younger half-sister of William Magee Seton. 9 Anna Maria Seton (1795-1812), the oldest child of Elizabeth Ann and William Magee Seton, travelled to Italy with her parents in 1803. She was called Annina and also Nina. ,0 On 14 March 1805 Elizabeth Seton made her profession of faith in the Roman Catholic Church at Saint Peter's Church (Barclay Street, New York) in the presence of Antonio Filicchi and Reverend Matthew O'Brien. 1, Matthias O'Conway, a Spanish translator in Philadelphia, gave this painting to Mother Seton. It hung in the sisters' chapel and later in the novitiate. His daughter, Cecilia O'Conway, was among the first women to join Elizabeth Seton's new sisterhood in Baltimore (7 December 1808). 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 distri-bution, advertising, or institutional promotion or for the creation of new collective works or anthologies. Such permission will be consid-ered only on written application to the Editor, Review for Religious. November-December 1994 839 JOSEPH NASSAL Reclaiming Our Name ~naeltx kto d aolwl tnh eth ne aamisele b orfa na dgsr oocfe aryn ys tpoarert aicnudl anro ptircoed tuhcatt, there are also some generic items. Generic brands are more eco-nomical and promise to give the same quality as the more expen-sive name brands. But walk into a store of religious life and you will notice this: There are no generic brands, only name brands. When an interested "shopper" takes one of those name-brand r~ligious congregations off the shelf, he or she is advised to read the label carefully. Religious life shoppers are given time to sam-ple the contents to see if this brand name is what they are look-ing for to be a healthy, happy, and holy human being. The candidate is given time to explore carefully whether this particu-lar congregation lives up to its name. And the community will do the same. In religious terms, we call this formation. There is, of course, the basic Christian spirituality that under-scores all we do. But founders of religious communities were inspired by the Spirit to give flesh to particular aspects of Christian spirituality by responding to specific needs in the church and world of their day. From the galaxy of gifts spun like stars from the hand of the Holy Spirit, various individuals were charged with the challenge to meet these needs. This does not mean that the charism of the Vincentians is more important than the charism of the Jesuits or that the Dominican charism is a higher calling than the charism of the Precious Blood. What it does is under-score that at the particular time these congregations were founded, Joseph Nassal CPPS is involved in retreat and renewal ministry for the Congregation of Missionaries of the Precious Blood. His address is Schaefer Mission House; 2110 Hughes Road; Liberty, Missouri 64068. 840 Review for Religious the church and the world were pleading for the Christian truth carried in these charisms. Many religious communities died, once a particular need was addressed, changed, and fulfilled. This is the dramatic and dan-gerous reality confronting many in religious life today. Some con-gregations are barely hanging on, and the crisis they are engaged. in has less to do with the lack of members and more to do with the lack of meaning or lack of clarity about charism. Some commu-nities linger on well after their original purpose has been exhausted. As in the case of invited guests who stay too long and wear out their welcome, one important dimension of religious life is to have the courtesy, good sense, and timing to know when to leave. To know when to die. Otherwise, we might linger to the point when our host, who is the Holy Spirit, whispers: "I'm going to bed. The last one out, turn off the lights." I know men and women in religious communities whose greatest fear is that they will be the last one left in their congregation. Clarity about charism is essential to any refounding efforts taking place in religious life today. If a community is not trans-parent in its identity and purpose, it should not wonder why it is not attracting candidates to its community. Instead, it should worry about why it is existing at all and begin to make the nec-essary arrangements for a ritual of dying. That is why it is impor-tant for candidates and community members alike to read the label carefully and check the expiration date. Charism as Energy Part of the process of reading the labels and forming com-munity is to tell the stories of our spirituality. When we tell the stories of our common life, we tap the energy source of our com-munity: our charism. I have always liked the description of charism as energy. Like a shooting star against the dark night of injustice and ignorance, founders of religious communities lit up the landscape with a burst of hope. Their energy source was the charism given them by the Holy Spirit; their passion was the spirituality they lived, a spirituality sparked by the charism. In the charism that captures the founder's commitment, there is potential for life. Our respon-sibility is to discover what that energy is for us today. It is the charism that calls us into being. November-December 1994 841 Nassal ¯ Reclaiming Our Name We are to be involved in the kinds of apostolates our founders would be involved in if they were alive today. In my own case, I am a priest of the Congregation of the Most Precious Blood founded by St. Gaspar, del Bufalo in Rome on 15 August 1815. "For this I am a priest," Gaspar wrote, "to proclaim the merits of the Precious Blood of Jesus Christ." A couple of years ago I.was giving a day of recollection for our can-didates in formation, and I spoke about Precious Blood spirituality for three conferences. One of the semi-narians asked me, "All you talk about is Precious Blood spirituality. There are other spiritualities, you know. Why do not you ever mention them?" "Because," I said, "I am a Precious Blood priest! And you are studying for a congregation imbued with the spirituality of the Blood of Christ. It is important in our discernment that we know who we are, what we believe, and what motivates us in our apostolic and communal life." The charism granted to the founder of a religious congregation was not given for his or her personal devotion or pri-vate use. The gift was meant for others. Though our times may be vastly differ-ent from our founder's, the same energy source is present: It is the Spirit of God enabling us to respond to the situation of these times by using our charism for the service o]~ others. Pope Paul VI said that the charism of the founder must remain in the community and be the source of life for the com-munity. If not, then we may be doing good work; we may be pur-suing lives of holiness, hope, and hospitality; we may be living in community and caring for each other with compassion. But unless we are animated and energized by the spirit of our founder, we are not living the name, the vision, or the spirituality for which we were founded. Our identity is found in our charism. The charism does not change. The energy source that sparked St. Gaspar is the same today as it was in 1815 when he founded the Society of the Precious Blood. What changes is our response that is shaped by the currents of history. In the pursuit of our original passion--the return to the 842 Review for Religious sources called for by the Second Vatican Council--some in my community would have us go back all the way. For example, preaching missions and giving retreats were the primary means by which Gaspar lived his charism. In a letter to Msgr. Nicola Mattei on 2 July 1820, Gaspar wrote: "Missions and retreats., are the two means of reform for the world." But at the present time, there are very few members of the congregation in North America who are involved in retreat and renewal ministry. Most of our members are involved in parish ministry. Some are in hospital work or campus ministry or other specialized ministries. History changed the expression of our charism. Though we were founded in Italy, it was a group of German-born priests and brothers who brought the community to the United States. They came to minister to German-speaking immigrants in Ohio. They became parish priests which explains why, in the United States at least, many of our current members still minister in parishes. Returning to our original charism does not mean we have to abandon parish ministry and have all our members involved in retreat and renewal ministry. But it does mean that in whatever apostolate we find ourselves, we are to be faithful to our charism and must be about the work of reconciliation and renewal that captured Gaspar's life. Adapting the Charism The criterion is .this: We are to be about the work of the founders. We are to be involved in the kinds of apostolates our founders would be involved in if they were alive today. It is my personal bias that Gaspar would still be preaching missions and giving retreats. I believe this not only because I am presently involved in this ministry but because in reading about Gaspar's life and times, I have come to the eerie conclusion that our present age is not much different from his time. Of course we are more tech-nologically advanced, but the roots of the problems Gaspar preached about in his time are still with us today. Gaspar lived at the time of the French Revolution. He went into exile rather than accede to Napoleon's request to take an oath of allegiance to the emperor. When he returned to Rome after Napoleon's defeat, the city was in chaos. Gaspar was called to preach missions to revive the citizens of Rome. He went to the streets, carrying the crucifix (still our official religious habit), November-December 1994 843 Nassal ¯ Reclaiming Our Name We need to answer the question, "What is the energy that inspires me and gives me life?" and preached the reconciliation won for us in the blood of the cross. He invited others to find safety in the shadow of the cross. He encouraged the people to whom he spoke to find healing in the wounds of Christ. Gaspar, like the apostle Paul before him, sought to "bring others near through the blood of Christ." Our world today screams for reconciliation. In the United States, we live in the aftermath of the Reagan Revolution. Depending on where we stand, we can char-acterize the fallout of the last two decades in various ways. But that is the point: We stand apart, often divided by barricades of mistrust and militarism, greed and economic exploitation, racism and sexism. In our multi-cultural society today, we are afraid to stand near each other. Our church reflects this same reality. In our diocesan newspaper a few years ago, two articles on the same page exemplified how separate we are. One of the articles was Leonardo Boff's moving letter about why he had to resign from the priesthood and his religious community. The other was a state-ment from Pope John Paul II reaffirming the hierarchical model of tkie church. We live in an age of clashing ecclesiologies. Sometimes the noise is so loud we hardly hear the music playing in each other's hearts. Now I must ask myself what impact these divisions, the sense of separateness, have on my own understanding of the spiritual- ' ity and charism of my congregation? I respond by believing that to be faithful to Gaspar's vision, I will do my best to listen to those voices of women who feel alienated and left out by a male-dominated, hierarchical church. (The example of Boff, whose writings and witness I greatly admire, begs the ancient question: What is the best way to change the system--from within or from outside the structure?) If I am faithful to my founder's vision, I will do my best to be inclusive and collaborative in my words and in my witness. If I am faithful to Gaspar's dream, I will seek to live a spirit of reconcil-iation that brings peoples together. I will listen to those who chal-lenge structures and rules and regulations that imprison rather than free the human spirit. I will speak out against injustice in 844 Review for Relig4ous society as well as the church while always seeking to live in the spirit of the Blood of Christ. This is how my father Gaspar lived. He had the words of Paul's letter to the Ephesians imprinted on his soul: Now in Christ Jesus you who were once far off have been brought near through the blood of Christ. It is he who is our peace, and who made the two of us one by breaking down the barrier of hostility that kept us apart (Ep 2:13-14). The Gospel of Jesus Christ is the only authentic vision Christians claim. My founder, St. Gaspar, reflected this vision but highlighted the particular aspect of reconciliation. No one can claim the whole vision, but each religious community claims a part of it even as we seek to live all of it. In doing so, we artic-ulate in the language of our lives not only the vision of Jesus but the charism of OUR founder. The ingredients--the Gospel of Christ and the charism of the founder--become the norms for our ongoing personal and communal renewal. When we live the vision and capture the charism of our founder in the everyday stories of our lives, then the founder's dream becomes our own. And when the founder's passion becomes known in the natural expression of our commitment, we know who we are. We know our name. We know where and with whom we belong. Most importantly, as the losses keep mounting around us, we know why we stay. Rediscovering Our Identity To discover again what this charism is for us today, we need to answer the question, "What is the energy that inspires me and gives me life?" In reflecting on the charism of our congregation and the particular gifts I bring to the community's enterprise, I must tap my own potential. This means I ask myself what is it that motivates me, excites me, moves me? A few years as director of formation for my province, I was asked by my provincial to accompany one of our former priest members in the process of returning to the community. As part of this process, the provincial, vice-provincial, and myself met with the former member and a facilitator. At one point the facilitator asked each of us to answer these questions: "Why did you join this community? Why do you stay?" The questions forced me to look honestly at my commitment November-December 1994 845 Nassal ¯ Reclaiming Our Name to this congregation. I knew that I began studying for the com-munity because I wanted to be a priest and at that time (Sth grade), any community would do. But as the years of formation went by, I knew I wanted to belong to this community because of the people--the ones who taught me and mentored me; the ones who inspired me and befriended me; the ones who challenged and consoled me. But I also knew at the moment he asked the question, that these people were not the reason I stay as a member of the Congregation of the Most Precious Blood. When my best friend in the community left a few years ago, his leaving shook my com-mitment as well. His leaving forced me to ask myself why I stayed. I stay because of the spirituality. I stay because of the passion I feel in my bones for the charism of Gaspar. I know I could live this spirituality as a lay person. I know I could reflect this charism in others ways as a priest. But right now in my life, I know in my soul why I am a priest: to proclaim the Blood of Christ. That is the energy source that gives meaning to my life as a missionary of the Congregation of the Most Precious Blood. Gaspar's life, his ministry, his call were colored by the Precious Blood. The redeeming power of the Blood was why he did what he did. It is also the reason I do what I do. It gives shape to who I am and meaning to my life. It gives me my name. Petition God-man, enduring helplessness on Adam's tree, help those whose daily cross it is enduring me! Judith Powell 846 Review for Religious MARYANNE STEVENS Revitalizing Charisms Inspiring Religious Life ere is little doubt that religious orders of priests, sisters 1l and brothers in the United States have been in transition over the last thirty years. Called by the Second Vatican Council to "a constant return to the sources of the whole of the Christian life and to the primitive inspiration of the institutes, and their adaptation to the changed conditions of our time,"' they have examined every aspect of their lives: their prayer, work, dress, daily horarium, relationships with one another, the church, and society. One result is a major paradigm shift accompanied by the emotional and spiritual difficulties associated with massive change. Many members who had developed a fairly rigid lifestyle in their order of prayer, work, and recreation found it difficult to rethink even the smallest of details. Others, encouraged by a call freeing their gifts and talents from serving only in schools and hospitals, brimmed~w~ith possibilities for, new services to the impoverished. Some, either disillusioned by the changes or in recognition of a different calling, left their communities. No superficial innovations were involved here. Every aspect of life in religious orders became the subject of intense discussion both within the communities and within the church at large. A period of experimentation with new forms of ministry, community, and prayer ensued, and finally constitutions were rewritten and sub- Maryanne Stevens RSM has edited Reconstructing the Christ Symbol (Mahwah, New Jersey: Paulist Press, 1994). She is associate professor of theology at Creighton University. Her address is 2500 California Plaza; Omaha, Nebraska 68178. November-December 1994 847 Stevens ¯ Revitalizing Cbarisms Inspiring Religious Life mitted to the magisterium. The form of religious life is clearly different today than it was thirty years ago. Contemporaneous with the call to religious orders to rethink their presentation of themselves in the world was the church's reassertion of the Biblical understanding that the "Spirit of God distributes special graces among the faithful of every rank" thus making them "fit and ready to undertake the various tasks or offices advantageous for the renewal and the upbuilding of the church.''2 The church called all the faithful to rethink their response to baptism. What had become a tripartite hierarchy of ministers--cleric, vowed religious, and layperson--was abolished with the church's recognition of all baptized believers as sharers in the mission and in the function of the Christ. The revised Code of Canon Law, published twenty years after Vatican II, described Christ's faithful as "those who, since they are incorporated in Christ through baptism, are constituted the people of God . They are called, each according to his or her particular condi-tion, to exercise the mission which God entrusted to the church to fulfill in the world.''3 That is, we all have a vocation. Family life, religious life, the diocesan priesthood, the desire to remain single, the response of the lawyer, the doctor, the firefighter, the home-maker-- each is its own gift to building up the communion, the body of Christ. Today, the number of women and men entering religious orders has declined considerably, and the number of women and men not in religious orders serving as ministers within the church has mushroomed. Many believe religious life is dying. But such assertions are not easily proven, despite the rise in median age and the lack of new membership. In fact, a recent plethora of studies on various facets of religious life indicate a phenomenon baffling to the social sciences. Declining personnel and financial resources coupled with a lack of role clarity should indicate a death toll. Yet other factors which usually signal a dying organi-zation such as centralization of authority, fear of risk, loss of morale, cynicism, and an unwillingness to adapt to changing con-ditions are not present in large measure in religious orders.4 Some say the numbers would go up if the form of religious life prevalent before the Council was readopted. Even the official magisterium appears concerned about what the Council set in motion. The retrieved and rearticulated correlations between baptism and ministry coupled with the renewal of religious orders 848 Reviezv for Religious did precipitate a crisis for religious orders, a crisis I prefer to call a "new opportunity," but the crisis is not about what form religious life should specify nor about the type of dress a sister or brother should wear, or what kind of daily schedule one should follow. It is not even about whether feminism should be allowed to influence women religious or whether they should pledge obedience to the ecclesiastical authorities. Form is never the first question; function is. The real crisis for the church is about the function of religious orders. The role of religious orders seemed clear enough in the United States prior to the post World War II prosperity of American Catholics. The exten-sive emigration of eighteenth-century Europeans to the United States, coupled with the enslav-ing throes of the industrial rev-olution, found U.S. bishops calling on men and women reli-gious to provide the Catholic immigrants with health care, education and social services. By the 1950s, largely because of the educational opportunities of the post World War II GI bill and the great work of Catholic religious orders in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, Catholic Americans were no longer an anomaly within a society dominated by white Anglo-Saxon Protestants. There was less and less need for a massive labor force to help ghetto outsiders meet their needs within a strange culture. U.S. Catholics had, by and large, "arrived"; they were understood as contributors to the American way of life. They were ready for the call of the Second Vatican Council. In fact, the 1929-1959 heyday of the lay apos-tolate movement in the United States is the harbinger of the church's reaffirmation of all baptized believers as called to min-istry, s The church affirms the assertion of the Second Vatican Council: All baptized believers are called to ministry; all baptized believers are called to prayer; all baptized believers are called to What is the function or the purpose of religious life in our church and in our society today? Is religious life necessary? November-December 1994 849 Stevens ¯ Revitalizing Cbarisms Inspiring Religious Life holiness. Why, then, might our church, a family, or a parish encourage women or men in their midst to enter a religious com-munity? The Serra Club and inany vocations committees in parishes are organized ~o promote vocations to the diocesan priest-hood and religious life. Clearly the diocesan priesthood is central to the availability of Eucharist, but why religious life? What is the function or the purpose of religious life in our church and in our society today? Is religious life necessary? Are Charisms of Religious Communities Still Prophetic? Implicit in the confirmation of a particular charism or gift of a founder or foundress of a religious order by our church is an affirmation on the part of the church of the purposefulness of the gift. Religious orders are groups of men or women who have come together because of the inspiration of a charismatic person, that is, a person who had a gift for understanding and responding to a particular need within the church or society. (Charismatic here does not mean that special quality of leadership that cap-tures the popular imagination, as in naming a populist politician charismatic.) Charism, when used theologically, indicates a free gift of grace emanating from the Spirit of God. Church tradition affirms the necessity of charisms or divinely granted gifts to bear witness to the nature of the church. The church is holy because of the actual faith and love of God in its members, and faith and love are the result of the Spirit's action within us. As holy, the church compels faith and is a reason for faith in its outward appearance, but it could not do and be such without the freely given gifts or charisms of the Spirit. All the baptized share in many of these gifts--the gifts of patience, peace, ioy, and kindness. Yet there are some specially given--the gift of teaching, the gift of tongues, the gift of tongues in.terpreted, the gift of prophecy. In addition to these special charisms familiar to us from the epistles, the church teaches that an essential feature of the church's holiness is the appearance of charisms in con-stantly new forms to meet new situations. Our church has rec-ognized the evangelical counsels of poverty, celibacy, and obedience as charisms ordered to the upbuilding of the church and the good of the world. It has further confirmed as God-given the gifts of particular founders or foundresses of religious corn- 850 Review for Religdous munities through which the evangelical counsels of poverty, celibacy, and obedience traditionally have been focused. Thus we speak of the charism of Francis of Assisi, of Ignatius, of Catherine McAuley, of Benedict, Clare, and Elizabeth Seton. The confir-mation of these charisms is an acknowledgment on the part of the church that the insights fueling the passion of these great men and women are needed gifts if the church is to be church. Indeed church tradition presents the indestructibility of the church as due in part to the charisms continually given to it.6 For exam-pie, in confirming the gift of Francis of Assisi by pontifically char-tering the Franciscan community, the church said we, the church, need the witness of outrageous self-chosen poverty if the church is to be church. Or by confirming the charism of a Benedict and a Clare, the church said we, the church, need the gift of contin-ual prayer if the church is to be church. The memories of the social and cultural situations of these great men and women testify to the prophetic character of their gifts. Walter Brueggemann argues that prophecy in the Old Testament included the twin roles of criticizing and energizing. "The task of prophetic ministry is to nurture, nourish, and evoke a consciousness and perception alternative to the consciousness and perception of the dominant culture around us.''7 Isaiah, Jeremiah, and, paradigmatically, Jesus, did not just address specific public crises. They addressed the enduring and resilient crisis of the domestication and co-option of the vocation to contribute to a world of no more war, no more tears, a new heaven and a new earth. In nurturing a Christian vocation, one must assert that false claims to authority and power cannot keep their promises (criticize) and at the same time bring expression to new realities (energize). The role of a Dominic in denouncing the fourteenth-century church's heresy and at the same time forming an order of preach-ers, the role of a Catherine McAuley calling attention to the plight of poor women in the eighteenth-century Irish church were suc-cessful attempts to criticize the then present practice of the church and to awaken it to a new aspect of what the call of Jesus entailed in a particular historical circumstance. By confirming (albeit reluctantly) the gifts and charisms of these religious orders, our church confesses their necessity. Furthermore, canon law charges the religious order with the pro-tection of the legacy of their founding inspiration, what Paul VI termed their "constancy of orientation.''s Canon 578 states, "The November-December 1994 851 Stevens ¯ Revitalizing Cbarisms Inspiring Religious Life The function of religious life is precisely the protection of the orientation, the founding insight which the church needs so it might remain true to its mission. intention of the founders and their determination concerning the nature, purpose, spirit, and character of the institute which have been ratified by competent ecclesiastical authority as well as its wholesome traditions, all of which constitute the patrimony of the institute itself, are to be observed faithfully by all.9 The function of religious life is precisely the protection of the orientation, the founding insight which the church needs so it might remain true to its mission; the function of religious life is not to preserve a specific form of life for the future. It is this function that Vatican II recognized when it asked religious orders to adapt their "primitive inspiration" to the changed condition of our time. Theologian Johannes Metz refers to this function when he describes religious orders as the "shock-treatment" of the Holy Spirit within the church, an institution-alized form of a "dangerous mem-ory." Dangerous memory is a term used by Metz to denote those memories which challenge and make demands on us, as opposed to those memories in which the past becomes a paradise or refuge.1° Religious orders, if true to their charismatic and prophetic role, should challenge us to new understandings of our role as baptized believers and energize us with hope in God's promises. To take our church or Metz seriously is to realize that nostalgia for a past form of religious life which attracted great numbers to serve the educational and other social needs of an immigrant church is to dull the proper role of reli-gious orders. This is not to imply that there are not others within the church who might shock us into remembering our role as disci-ples of the Christ. In fact, there is a cloud of witnesses, among them Dorothy Day, Martin Luther King, John Howard Griffin, and Penny Lernoux. But just because others function in a similar 852 Review for Religious fashion does not mean that the church does not need to designate particular groups (historically, religious orders) to fulfill the role of awakening us to the potential domestication of our call to fol-low Jesus. Such a reflection on religious life and its proper role in the church gives rise to at least one question which must be openly faced by religious orders and by the church. Is the traditional vowed life well suited to incarnate these prophetic charisms within the church today? I would like to outline the beginnings of the conversation about this question and then conclude by calling attention to several challenges religious orders face if they are to aid the impulse of the Spirit in protecting these special charisms in our church. Is the Vowed Life Suited to Prophetic Ministry Today? My initial answer to this question is, "yes, but . " The vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience are well suited to prophetic ministry today, but focusing one's discipleship of Jesus through the life of a figure whose charism has been confirmed by the church does not necessitate the vowed life. In other words, the charismatic insight of the founders and foundresses of religious orders does not belong to those within religious orders, even though a par-ticular religious order's legacy and responsibility involves atten-tion to the continuance of the charism. The originator of the charisms is the Holy Spirit and thus, a particular prophetic impulse belongs to the whole church (the Roman Catholic church included), to all who are claimed by the passion of a particular figure. There may be others who are called to focus their disci-pleship through the prism of a particular special charism who are not at the same time professed in the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. This is what I understand to be the basis for the rise of programs for non-vowed associates of religious orders today and for the energy behind mission integration programs in institutions sponsored by religious communities.11 But what of those thrice-vowed? Are they, as groups, suited to continue the needed prophetic ministry today? Certainly poverty, chastity, and obedience, if lived with integrity, do nor hinder one from calling attention to the claims of discipleship within the contemporary world. An adequate theology of the vows is yet to be articulated. However, the history of religious orders attests to November-December 1994 853 Stevens ¯ Revitalizing Cbarisms Inspiring Religious Life self-chosen poverty, chastity, and obedience as sources for the development of strategies for being in and for this world to encourage the liberation of all persons from the tyranny of that which hinders Jesus' vision. Because the original impulse for religious orders has been overshadowed in recent history by the prevailing norms of clois-ter and the industrial-age demand for labor, it is possible that the proper role of a religious order within the church has not yet been fully understood either by religious orders themselves or by the church at large. Indeed, the indication that a significant per-centage of religious no longer understand their role and function in the church was one of the most compelling results of the recent Nygren-Ukeritis study on the future of religious orders in the United States.12 This finding, however, should not surprise those aware of what historian David J. O'Brien terms "the most impor-tant single fact about our contemporary historical situation:" We must choose who we are going to be?3 The world of our fathers and mothers has died. The social institutions and cultural symbols that once provided security, legitimacy, taken for grantedness--in short, role clarity, not just for religious, but for mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, politicians, bankers, teachers, and clerics--have been eroded. Self-conscious choice is the norm for the smallest of our decisions, and it is necessary because of the awesome power we have made our own. Thus, we must think through our choice of diets, schools, and liturgies and agonize over assisted suicide, abortion, and nuclear power. Analogously, those in religious orders must decide how to use their power to affect the church. If these special charisms are necessary to the church's con-tinued holiness (and I think they are), then canon law rightly places a special responsibility on the religious orders who have been claimed by the particular charisms. Two particular chal-lenges must be borne in mind as religious orders seek the revi-talization of these special charisms. The first is the retrieval of the concept of vocation; the second is education about the charisms of religious orders. How Do We Retrieve the Concept of Vocation? First, the word vocation must be retrieved as a valid way of speaking about the focusing of one's discipleship of Jesus. One who possesses a charism that can be traced back to a great person in 854 Review for Religious the church does not become a member of a prophetic club; one is claimed by the Spirit for a purpose not fully defined by oneself. Words matter or, as Michael Bucldey notes, "words have an effect like architecture.''~4 Language either expands our percep-tions or limits them, as the buildings we inhabit allow us to see certain spaces in certain ways. Language is our means of com-munication with each other and the vehicle through which we think about ourselves, about others, and about God.Is New words are not coined just because new ways of seeing the world occur to us; new words or sets of words themselves have the power to transform reality. As Rebecca Chopp argue.s in The Power to Speak, "language can birth new meanings, new discourses, new signify-ing practices.''~6 On the one hand this can be most helpful; we need new meanings, new discourses, and new signifying practices that attend to those heretofore overlooked on the margins of our society and church. For example, the use of inclusive language in liturgical discourse makes it possible for women to know them-selves as addressed by God and as fully invited to worship of God in public. Or, we may need to suppress certain language patterns, such as the association of dark cake with "devil's food" and white cake with "angel's food" for the sake of people of color. However, changing words and expressions can be a double-edged sword. The risk of choosing new words to help dismantle an old order often means the lose of the valuable as well as the invaluable in the old. While the church did well do abandon use of such phrases as "you have a vocation," which often reduced the great mystery of responding to God to a possession of the elite, the substitution of member and membership to indicate par-ticipation in a community whose common self-understandings flow from a prophetic passion is a poor substitute. The word member indicates a juridical relationship defined by rights and responsibilities of a person in relation to an institution. We talk about being members of automobile clubs or other such groups to which we pay dues in return for services. Membership implies an exchange mentality where rights are honored only if one lives up to one's responsibilities. Vocation is a more adequate word to indicate the mystery of being claimed by a charism of the Holy Spirit and committing oneself to respond accordingly. The word vocation, to be called, is used in both religious and nonreligious circles to properly describe the mystery of finding oneself continually compelled to perform November-December 1994 855 Stevens ¯ Revitalizing Charisms Inspiring Religious Life a certain function or enter a certain occupation. In specifically .religious circles vocation indicates the mystery of knowing one-self as called to throw one's talents and gifts behind a certain way or ways of manifesting the Gospel message. Although one may find the reception of such a call problematic or even confusing, demanding a certain receptivity, reflection, and discernment, the word itself points clearly to the reality indicated, whereas mem-bership does not. By arguing for a retrieval of the word vocation to indicate the mystery of call and response to a particular charism confirmed by the church, I am not suggesting a return to a two-story Christianity, where nuns and pri.ests were given privileged status or assumed to be somehow closer to God. The Baltimore cate-chism, familiar to many Catholics over the age of 35 and popular in United States Catholic catechesis from the late 1800s through the 1960s, implicitly taught an understanding of vocation with its first two questions. The questions "Who made you?" and "Why did God make you?" proclaimed a belief in all of us as called to work out our lives in tandem with the mystery of God's life within us. M1 of us must give shape to the strength and talents we have received as gift; all of us must allow our contribution to the fullness of God's dwelling in our midst to unfold. Implicit in the Baltimore catechism questions was a belief in vocation--one's personal purpose is not completely determined by oneself. We are here for a reason, for a meaning not completely of our own making. Self-conscious choice is only part of the story. Our lives are purposeful even when or if we cannot ascertain their purpose. Our purpose, our reason for being here at this time and in this place, in this body with this identity, is bound to a call beyond us, a call from the ultimate mystery of mysteries, our God. My desire is not to restrict the use of the word vocation; it is rather to suggest to those in religious orders to continue to use the word to express the reason for their affiliation with a partic-ular community and to suggest that those not in religious orders adopt the language to speak about their self-understanding of the call to all baptized believers to contribute to Jesus' mission. How Do We Educate about the Necessity of Charisms? Traditionally we educate about that which we deem important or valuable. For example, if we think table manners important to 856 Review for Religious one's acceptance by others, we teach them to children. Or, if we think Shakespeare valuable to one's understanding of Western civilization, then we encourage the reading and dramatization of his works. Thus, it would follow that if we considered the power of the charisms inspiring religious orders important to the church, we would educate those within the church about them. Those in religious orders need to anticipate, encourage, and be willing to respond to questions such as "Who is a Sister of Mercy?--a Jesuit?--a Benedictine?" Responses to these questions ought to be common knowledge within the church, and religious orders bear special responsibility not only for answering the ques-tions, but for encouraging such queries. Correlative questions are "Who is Catherine McAuley?--St. Ignatius?--Elizabeth Seton?" and "What does it mean to say this is a Jesuit institution?--a Charity hos-pital?" If religious orders recognize the need for these charisms to inspire our future church, then edu-cation about them must become as routine and ordinary as education in computer skills has become in our parishes, hospitals, schools, and social service agencies. Historically, education of chil-dren was the premiere work of religious orders in the United States. Today, the work of education in faith is much more com-plex and more urgent than it was when the Baltimore catechism flourished and the parish was a primary agent of socialization. If historian Patricia Bryne is correct in naming the dual challenge confronting church education in the United States today as the assimilation of Vatican II (which implies a criticism of the cul-ture) and the construction of a religious identity not linked to cultural separatisms,~7 religious orders might reflect upon how they have assimilated Vatican II and constructed a religious iden-tity not linked to the cloister, a form of cultural separatism. Religious orders met this challenge in general by focusing on If we considered the power of the charisms inspiring religious orders important to the church, we would educate those within the church about them. November-December 1994 857 Stevens ¯ Revitalizing Cbarisms Inspiring Religious Life their founding charisms and considering how to adapt them to the signs of the times. It is the power and blessing of the charisms that transformed religious orders; perhaps their power and bless-ing can continue to transform our church. Our society needs the good works of religious orders, their efforts in health care, education, and social services. The church needs the charisms of these communities. Unfortunately, the legacy of the necessary adaptation of the charisms to the signs of the times is their present invisibility within the church.18 These charisms if known, celebrated, and claimed by those thrice-vowed and allowed to be engaged by those other than the thrice-vowed, are the key to the continued renewal of the church. Their power should not be underestimated, nor should the responsibility of the religious orders for their continuance be neglected. Notes * "Decree on the Up-To-Date Renewal of Religious Life," #2. All Vatican II quotations are from Abbott, Walter M. (ed.), The Documents of Vatican H (New York: America Press, 1966). 2 "The Constitution on the Church," #12b. 3 Canon 204, 1. see James A. Coriden et al (eds.), The Code of Canon Law: A Text and Commentary (New Jersey: Paulist Press, 1985). 4 See in particular Helen Rose Fuchs Ebaugh! Women in the Vanishing Clo

Issue 49.3 of the Review for Religious, May/June 1990. ; REVIEW I:OR RELIGIOUS (ISSN 0034-639X) is published bi-monthly at St. Louis University by the Mis-souri Province Educational [nslilule of lhe Sociely of Jesus; Editorial Office; 360~ Lindell Blvd., Rm. 428; St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Second-class postage paid at St. Louis MO. Single copies $3.50. Subscriptions: United States $15.00 for onc year; $28.00 for two years. Other countrics: US $20.00 for one year: if airmail, US $35.00 per year. For subscription orders or change of address, write: Ri~vn-:w FOR R~uc, ous: P.O. Box 60"/0; Duluth, MN 55806. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to RF:VlEW vok REI.I~;IOt~S; P.O. Box 6070; Duluth, MN 55806. Ol990 REVIEW voR REt.l~;Iot~s. David L. Fleming, S.J. iris Ann Ledden, S.S.N.D. Richard A. Hill, S.J. Jean Read Mary Ann Foppe Editor Associate Editor "~ Contributing Editor ~.~o' Assistant Editors Advisor\, Board David J. Hassel, S.J. Sean Sammon, F.M.S. Mary Margaret Johanning, S.S.N.D. Wendy Wright, Ph.D. Suzanne Zuercher, O.S.B. Ma\'/June 1990 Volume 49 Number 3 Manuscripts, books fl~r review and correspondence with the editor should be sent to REVIEW ro~ REt.l~aOt~s; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Correspondence about the departmenl "Canonical Counsel" should be addressed to Rich-ard A. Hill, S.J.; J.S.T.B.; 1735 LeRoy Ave.; Berkeley, CA 94709-1193. Back issues and reprinls should be ordered from REVIEW VO~ REI.tC;IOt~S; 3601 IAndell Blvd.; St. I~mis, MO 63108-3393. "Out of print" issues are available from University Microfilms Internalional; 300 N. Zeeb Rd.; Ann Arbor, M1 48106. A major portion of each issue is also available on cassette recordings as a service for the visually impaired. Write tn the Xavier Society for the Blind; 154 East 23rd Street; New York, NY 10010. PRISMS . Questions play an important part in our biblical tradition. The first question presented in the Bible is the one which God directs to us hu-man beings, "Where are you?" In the gospels, Jesus" question, "Who do you say that I am?," demands a response from every Christian, per-haps more than once in a lifetime. "Woman, why are you weeping? Who is it you are looking for?" challenges us in our sorrow and our dis-appointments. "Simon, son of John, do you love me?" pricks the con-science of sinner and saint alike. Not all questions are neatly answered. For example, "how does one pray" and "how does one love" have pieces of answers which together make up a simple but intricate mosaic that stretches as far as human ex-perience can reach. Jesus, in trying to share with us his experience of God, seemed to be most at home in everyday images of the living world around us and the parables which capture some basic human experience writ large. Who does not remember a woman sweeping a house for a lost coin? That is the way God searches out each of us in our lost moments. Who has not been touched by a story of a person, robbed and left half-dead by the roadside, and the various passers-by among whom there is one who cares? From such a parable, we all know a little better what it means to be neighbor. Stories, symbols, and images become so often the prisms whereby we gain new or fresh insight into some of our deepest human and divine realities. Some of our authors in this issue are directly led into their reflec-tions by a question. "What is a priest?" led Richard Hauser, S.J., to his considerations on the "Spirituality of the Ministerial Priesthood.'" Basil Pennington, O.C.S.O., is making a report on the Religious Life Futures Project as he looks at the question "Where is Religious Life Go-ing? . Whence Come the Candidates?" stirs Gabrielle Jean, S.C.O., to focus once again on the instrumentation for the screening of candi-dates for the priestly and.religious life vocations. William Mann, F.S.C., raises the question "Brothers, Do We Have a Future?" and enters into his own religious life experience to provide a response. If I could make five wishes for a new novice director, Melannie Svoboda, S.N.D., asks, what would they be? Her answer to that ques-tion is her article "Wishes for a 'Novice' Novice Director." Mary Polu-tanovich, D.C., faces the questions, "do the poor need the artist'? does 321 322 / Review for Religious. May-June 1990 the artist need the poor? how is Christ served and the gospel preached by this charism?" Her reflections are captured in her article "More than Bread: Art, Spirituality, and the Poor." Religious imagination unveils how God may be working in "The As-sociate Movement in Religious Life" according to Rose Marie Jasinski, C.B.S., and Peter C. Foley. Thomas F. McKenna, C.M., seeks out meta-phors as he tries to stimulate our thinking about "Images for the Future of Religious Life." Correcting some metaphors may be important in our understanding of "Obedience and Adult Faith" as presented by James D. Whitehead and Evelyn Eaton Whitehead. Other authors in this issue suggest creative ways to pair a deeper un-derstanding of violence and ministry as a response, the connection be-tween the stages of conversion and the gift of tears as imaged in the spiri-tuality of Catherine of Siena, naming experiences that represent the sur-rendering of ourselves to the Divine Other, discovering the gifts and the pitfalls of praying through a tradition which is non-Christian, and re-flections on the historical sweep of foreign mission involvement and its effect on the renewal movement in women religious congregations dur-ing the past quarter-century. It is true that questions sometimes only lead to more questions. But questions also lead to ways of responding that affect the direction of our lives and our ministry. Some questions can truly affect our relationship with God, with our fellowmen and women, and with our world. Perhaps our authors will raise some of those questions and also provide us with some of those images which will call forth such a personal conversion. The God who asks questions is also a God of surprises. Our Pentecost prayer: recreate in us your own Spirit, Lord. David L. Fleming, S.J. Spirituality of the Ministerial Priesthood Richard J. Hauser, S.J. Father Richard Hauser, S.J. is Chairman of the Theology Department at Creighton University in Omaha. Nebraska. His last article in Rv.\,lv.w FOR R~.L~(;IOUS was pub-lished in July-August, 1986. His address is Creighton University: California at 24th Street: Omaha, Nebraska 68178. [~uring a recent board meeting of the Emmaus Priest Renewal Program I had a disconcerting experience. The discussion moved to the question: what is a priest? For the next hour we worked in vain to come to a con-sensus. In exasperation someone said, '~No wonder priestly morale in the United States is so low. We don't even know what it means to be a priest?" At that point the Emmaus board commissioned me as their theo-logical consultant to put together a five-day retreat on priestly idefitity and spirituality. Immediately I found myself resisting the task, claiming ignorance of the topic. This resistance was even further disconcerting. Since I have been a priest more than twenty years and writing on spiritual topics for almost as long, why wouldn't I have something to say on the spirituality of the priest, supposedly my own spirituality? Gradually I realized that my hesi-tancy had many roots. First I was self-conscious about my identity as priest because rightly or wrongly as a priest I have felt under attack by two very important movements in the Church, the lay movement and the women's movement. As a result I have inadvertently downplayed this aspect of my identity so as not to occasion criticism from these groups. Further as I reflected on the documents of Vatican II, I became more aware that they gave thorough treatment both to the roles of the lay per-son and the bishop in the Church but have said very little about the role 323 :324 / Review for Religious, May-June 1990 of the priest. Though Vatican II did set some new directions for a recon-sideration of the identity of the priest, it did not develop this theology to any great extent. Finally I saw that many currents in the Church have subtly made me hesitant to reflect on the area: the debates on priestly celi-bacy and married clergy, the prevalent--and inadequate--theology of the priest as the "holy man" set apart in a separate caste to "mediate" grace to the laity, the tendency to "clericalize" most ministries in the Church, the ecumenical movement. I should also note that as a priest from a religious congregationl had defined my spirituality almost solely by the charism of n~y order and therefore neglected aspects of spiritual-ity related to my role as priest of the universal Catholic Church. In this I suspect I am typical of many religious order priests. The following reflections are an effort toward a theology of priestly identity and spirituality. I believe the lack of such a theology has had dele-terious effects both on morale of many current priests as well as on re-cruitment of future priests. The American bishops in their statement is-sued 1988 "Reflections on the Morale of Priests" agree that there is a morale problem: " . . it is aiso clear to us that there exists today a se-rious and substantial morale problem among priests in general. It is a prob-lem that cannot be simply attributed to one or another cause or recent event, but its profile and characteristics can be clearly described, and its presence needs to be addressed directly." It is my conviction that one of its causes is an ambiguity about what it means to be a priest. These reflections attempt to address that problem using guidelines from Vati-can II as well as recent documents from the Priestly Life and Ministry Committee of the American bishops. All Christian spirituality flows from incorporation into the Body of Christ through faith and baptism. The priest's spirituality is no excep-tion. Basically, then, priestly spirituality is Christian spirituality. How-ever, since the priest has a special role in the Body of Christ it is appro-priate to discuss how this role specifies the practice of Christian spiri-tuality. But an integral examination of priestly spirituality must first situ-ate the priest within the Body and only then discuss the aspects of spiri-tuality proper to the priest as priest. This article is concerned with priest-hood in the Roman Catholic Church; hence the terms Body of Christ and Church have primary reference to this community. Body of Christ: Priest as Member Priests are members of the Body of Christ. Their dignity as mem-bers of the Body has frequently been obscured by treatment of their spe-cial role within the Body. The Decree on the Ministt3, and Life of Priests Ministerial Priesthood / 325 from Vatican II clearly situates the priest's leadership role through ordi-nation within the priest's membership in the Body through the sacra-ments of initiation: "Therefore, while it indeed presupposes the sacra-ments of Christian initiation, the sacerdotal office of priests is conferred by that special sacrament through which priests, by the anointing of the Holy Spirit, are marked by a special character and are so configured to Christ the priest that they can act in the person of Christ the head" (par. 2). Membership and leadership must be seen together for comprehensive understanding of priestly identity and spirituality. It is significant that Vatican II chose the image of the Body of Christ to discuss priestly identity and ministry. This image highlights both the equality of all in the Body as well as the difference of roles in the Body. The equality of all members within the Body is clear: "There is but one body and one Spirit, just as there is but one hope given all of you by your call. There is one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all, and works through all, and is in all" (Ep 4:4-6). Equally clear is the difference of roles within the Body: "There are dif-ferent gifts but the same Spirit; there are different ministries but the same Lord; there are different works but the same God who accomplishes all of them in everyone. To each person the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good" ( I Co 12:4-7). Furthermore Paul's image of the Body of Christ highlights the Spirit as the source of all life within the Body. Membership in the Body flows from the Spirit received through faith and baptism. Specific roles (charisms) within the Body flow from the special gifts given by the Spirit to different members of the Body for the sake of the entire Body, Finally, the Church as the Body of Christ shares Christ's mission. This mission so clearly presented in all the Gospels is serving the king-dom of God. Each member is called by baptism to assume a share of re-sponsibility by accepting ministry according to his or her specific charisms. This ministry is oriented to serving the kingdom of God both within the Body of Christ itself as well as beyond the Body in the world. The example is, of course, Jesus himself. Jesus ministered to his disci-ples; the washing of the feet in John's gospel is the most dramatic exam-ple of his role of service to his disciples. Still this concern for his own in no way lessened his ministry toward those outside his community of followers; his preaching, healing, and love extended to everyone he en-countered. These reflections presume that the priest's basic identity is that of a member of the Body of Christ and consequently the priest's ba-sic spirituality will be living that identity. 326 /Review for Religious, May-June 1990 Body of Christ: Priest as Leader As members of the Body of Christ priests have received the Spirit incorporating them into the Body and giving them charisms for the ser-vice of the Church and of the kingdom. What, then, differentiates the priest's identity and spirituality from that of other members of the Body? Most agree that ministerial priesthood in the Church implies a permanent office flowing from charism and formally recognized by the Church. The very important statement of 1977 from the Bishop's Committee on Priestly Life and Ministry "As One Who Serves" expresses the consen-sus well: "In summary, the holder of an office in the Church would be (1) a person endowed by the Spirit, (2) with personal gifts (charisms), (3) called to a public and permanent ministry, and this call is formally recognized by the Church" (par. 20). The fact that this office implies a role of leadership in the community is also agreed upon by the magis-terium and by most theologians. Yet there remain theological disagree-ments on the relationship of the priest's role as head of the Body (always with the bishop) to the Body itself. The discussion is focused on a pas-sage from The Dogmatic Constitution on the Church from Vatican II: "Though they differ from one another in essence and not only in de-gree, the common priesthood of the faithful and the ministerial or hier-archical priesthood are nonetheless interrelated. Each of them in its own special way is a participation in the one priesthood of Christ" (par. 10). Since this article is concerned primarily with the spirituality of priests as leaders of the Body--an identity that is acknowledged by most--it does not seem necessary to treat the doctrinal disputes. Christian spirituality flows from response to the Holy Spirit, the sanc-tifier. Priestly spirituality is simply the priest's effort to respond faith-fully to the Spirit in living the priestly identity as defined by the Church. The Church teaches that ordination establishes the priest in three new, distinctive, and permanent relationships: with Christ, with the Church, and with the world beyond the Church, This identity today includes-- for both diocesan as well as religious order priests--a call to observe the evangelical counsels. Since observing these counsels affects the living out of the three basic relationships, they must be discussed with them. It should be recalled again that this discussion focuses on those aspects of priestly spirituality that distinguish the priest as priest; it does not fo-cus on aspects of spirituality common to all Christians through baptism. Priest and Christ: Person-Symbol of Christ the Head of Body Through ordination the priest is established in a new, distinctive, and permanent relationship to Christ: the priest becomes the person-symbol Ministerial Priesthood / 327 of Christ, the head of the Church. Priests receive an anointing of the Spirit which enables them to act in the name of Christ the head. Thus priests are empowered to act in persona Christi. "As One Who Serves" makes the crucial observation that priests can be the person-symbol of Christ the head of the Body only because of their membership in the Body: "It is only because of the Church that the priest can be said to act in persona Christi. He is called to be an effective sign and witness of the Church's faith in the reconciling Christ, who works through the Church and through the one whom the Church has sent to be the steward of its gifts and services" (par. 22). It is the Body of Christ that is holy through the presence of the Spirit. The priest, as the preeminent head of this Body, becomes the symbol of the holiness of the Body. And as head of this Body, priests can now act in persona ecclesiae and so also in per-sona Christi. Through ordination the priest is established in a special relationship to Christ. As head of the Body, the priest becomes an "effective sign" or sacrament of Christ's authoritative presence in the Church. All aspects of priestly spirituality flow from this relationship. Since it is the role of a symbol to make present what it represents, the priest is called by the Church through ordination to awaken Christ's presence within the com-munity in all service for the community. Consequently all priestly min-istry to the Church must be done in a way that awakens faith within the community. This awakening of faith in others is possible only if the priest has a deep relationship personally with Christ. The biggest chal-lenge of priestly spirituality is becoming internally the Christ symbolized externally. To a great extent the effectiveness of priestly ministry flows from a heart transformed by the Spirit and then ministering to others. All Christians desiring to follow Christ fully are called to observe the evangelical counsels of poverty, chastity, and obedience within their own state of life. The priest is no exception. However, the priest's ob-servance of the evangelical counsels is orientated toward conforming the priest more closely to Christ and so increasing effectiveness as the person-symbol of Christ the head of the Body. The priest today is called by the Church to celibacy and so to meet personal affective needs in ways con-sonant with the celibate state. Christ is the model of priestly celibacy in his relationships with the Father, his community, and his apostolate. Above all the celibacy of Christ was founded on his relationship to his most dear Father, Abba. From within this intimate and often solitary pres-ence before his Father Christ's entire life flowed. Christ's relationship to the Father is the model for the priest's relationship to Christ. As 328 / Review jbr Religious, May-June 1990 Christ's heart flowed instinctively to the Father, so does the priest's heart flow to Christ and the Father. Love unites without obliterating personal distinctiveness. As Christ was able to say "The Father and I are one," and as Paul could say, "I live, now not I, but Christ lives in me," so the priest prays to become equally one with the Father and Jesus. By em-bracing celibacy the priest imitates Jesus in allowing sufferings of fail-ure, loneliness, and isolation to foster even deeper intimacy with God and with Jesus himself. Christ is the model of priestly celibacy in his relationship to his com-munity. He looked to certain of his apostles and disciples for the per-sonal support he needed to sustain the failures and loneliness of his min-istry. So Christ is the model for priests in developing deep human rela-tionship, especially with fellow priests. Finally Christ's affectivity was also directed toward those he served. We recall how Jesus wept over Jerusalem because he was not able to draw the chosen people of God to himself as a mother hen draws her chicks to herself. In embracing the vow of celibacy the priest strives to imitate Christ in each of these three dimensions of affectivity and so become a more effective person-symbol of Christ as head of the Body. To be faithful to the call of today's Church to live this identity of person-symbol of Christ we priests must ask some basic questions. First, do I see my vocation primarily as a call to become Someone, Christ, and not merely as a duty to perform certain ministerial functions closed to others? The Church today is saying to priests that who we are is more primary than what we do; presence has replaced power. We are being called to be so configured to Christ that our actions radiate his presence and so awaken awareness of God's own love. Have I built into my daily life the rhythms necessary both to grow continually in knowledge and love of Christ and to allow this knowledge and love to permeate my ac-tions? And second, have I actively embraced my celibacy'? Do I cherish my celibacy as a gift intended to foster intimacy with Christ and the Fa-ther and thereby increase my effectiveness as a person-symbol of Christ in my leadership? DO I imitate Christ in meeting my affective needs pri-marily in my relationships with Christ and the Father and with my pres-byterate? Do I allow myself to be supported by and do I support my fel-low priests'? Do I allow the crosses of celibacy to deepen intimacy with Christ? Priest and Church: Servant-Leader of Body Through the anointing of the Spirit at ordination the priest is also es-tablished in a new, distinctive, and permanent relationship to the Church: Ministerial Priesthood / 399 the priest becomes the servant-leader of the Church, the "effective sign" of Christ the head of the Body. As the preeminent leader of the community the priest thereby acts in persona ecclesiae. This leadership of the Body is marked by four functions essential for the community. The priest is called to serve the Church by proclaiming the Word of God, by presiding at worship, by pastoral care of the People of God, and by fa-cilitating the different charisms within the Church. But the priest's lead-ership will take many differing forms depending on the talents of the priest and the needs of the community. The American bishops high-lighted the importance of sensitivity to varying forms of priestly leader-ship with which the Spirit endows priests: "All priests are endowed by the Spirit in various ways to serve the People of God. There are forms of leadership . The gifts differ and each must discern in the Spirit how he has been gifted. No one has all the gifts. Some seem to disap-pear in the history of the Church; some are transient even in the lives of priests" ("As One Who Serves," par. 32). Christ is the model for the priest's leadership of the Church. Just as Jesus' love of the Father impelled him to live for the Father's kingdom, so does the priest's love of Christ impel the priest to live for the Body of Christ. The priest wil.I, furthermore, exercise leadership in the same way Jesus exercised leadership--through service: "The Son of Man has not come to be served but to serve--to give his life in ransom for the many " (Mk 10:45). And through the special anointing of the Spirit in ordination Christ now stands with the priest empowering the priest to be an "effective sign" of Christ in all ministry to the Church. Thus the priest can fulfill the vocation to be the sacramental symbol-person of Christ actually awakening Christ's presence in the community through his .daily service. In a new way since Vatican I! priests are being called to facilitate service and leadership of others within the Church. The role has been com-pared to that of a conductor of an orchestra: "The conductor succeeds when he stimulates the best performance from each player and combines their individual efforts into a pattern of sound, achieving the vision of the composer. The best leader is one who can develop the talents of each staff person and coordinates'all their efforts, so that they best comple-ment each other and produce a superior collective effort" ("As One Who Serves," par. 46). In facilitating ministry of others the priest is not unlike Christ who prepared the disciples and then sent them off on their own. The priest recognizes that the Spirit in baptism incorporates mem-bers into the Body and simultaneously gives them differing gifts of min- 330 / Review for Religious, May-June 1990 istry for the Body. Yet according to the above document the priest re-mains the one "in whom the mission of the Church, and therefore its ministry, finds focus and visibility" (34); thus the priest acts within the community preeminently in persona ecclesiae. To enhance the priest's effectiveness as a person-symbol of Christ, the Church calls the priest to evangelical obedience through the promise or vow of obedience to their bishops or ecclesiastical superiors. This prom-ise or vow of obedience places the priest in special union with the uni-versal Church and so enhances the ability to act in persona ecclesiae. The priest symbolizes the unity of the entire Church in Christ: the local parish or community, the diocese, the national Church, the universal Catholic Church. In addition, the priest symbolizes the continuity of the Church through the ages from the apostles and Peter to the present-day bishops and pope. It follows from this that the priest must fully own this position in the Church by loving, protecting, and defending it at every level and, even when called to prophetic criticism, by doing so with love. While acknowledging the Church's faults and foibles past and present, the priest still believes that it is the privileged place of the Spirit's activ-ity in this world for the kingdom of God: "I for my part declare to you, you are "Rock," and on this rock I will build my church, and the jaws of death shall not prevail against it" (Mt 16:18). The model for the priest's obedience is again Christ. Nothing stood between Christ and doing his Father's will. The priest's obedience is to God. The priest is convinced that the will of God is now revealed through the authoritative structures of the Church. In obeying these structures the priest is obeying the Father. The priest's obedience to the bishop or ec-clesiastical superiors gives eloquent testimony to the belief that Christ continues to work through the ages within the authoritative structures of the Church. By embracing the promise or vow of obedience the priest refuses to allow any personal desire not in accord with God's will as ex-pressed through Church superiors to determine actions. The sufferings of obedience to God's will are accepted and offered to the Father in the same manner as Christ's. To be faithful to living this identity of servant-leader of the Body we priests must reflect on our underlying attitudes toward ministry. First, do I truly see myself as servant to my community, that is, do I radiate the attitude of Christ who came to serve and not to be served'? Do I strive to be an effective servant-leader in each of the four major ministerial roles, that is, teaching, presiding at worship, pastoral care, facilitating gifts of community? Or do I find myself holding back in some particular Ministerial Priesthood / 331 aspects of my ministry'? Have I identified charisms of leadership that are unique to me and used these in a special way for the Church? Do I fully grasp that as a person-symbol of Christ in my leadership role I can trust that Christ stands behind each aspect of my ministry enabling me to be an effective sign of his presence'? Second, do I embrace my promise or vow of obedience? Do ! see it as a gift enhancing my effectiveness as a person-symbol of the universal Church, the Body of Christ'? Do I love the Church and protect and defend it at every leve~? If necessary to criti-cize, do I speak in love? Is my obedience ultimately to the Father? Do I allow the crosses of obedience to conform me more totally to Christ'? Priest and Society: Promoter of Justice in the World Through ordination the priest is established in a new, distinctive, and permanent relationship to Christ and to his Church. Contained in this iden-tity is a new relationship to the world beyond the Church. Because the priest now acts in persona ecclesiae and in persona Christi, the priest becomes the preeminent witness of the Church's and Christ's concern for the world. Vatican II and subsequent documents of the Church both on an international and national level have put increasing emphasis on this aspect of the Church's mission. The statement of the World Synod of Bish-ops in 1971 entitled Justice in the World is apt: ". action on behalf of justice and participation in the transformation of the world fully ap-pear to us as a constitutive dimension of the preaching of the Gospel, or in other words, of the Church's mission." The priest today is called to integrate this dimension into ongoing ministry. The American bishops echo this thrust by presenting their descrip-tion of the priestly ministry under four co-equal divisions: To Proclaim the Word of God, To Preside at Worship, To Serve the Christian Com-munity, To Serve Humankind. The last-named section begins as follows: "The Church is called to serve all of society: that is its mission and the hope of its ministry. While the priest may have a certain primary respon-sibility to the Catholic community which he serves, nonetheless he has been sent by Christ and the Church to all people who comprise the larger community in which the parish community exists. The concern for all people gives reality to the presence of the risen Lord" ('~As One Who Serves," par. 50). The priest has a double role in this ministry to humankind. As ser-vant- leader of the Body tile priest is called to be engaged personally in actions on behalf of justice to witness most effectively to the Church's concern. In addition, the priest is called to facilitate action and leader-ship by others for the transformation of society. Church teachings ac- 339 / Review Jbr Religious, May-June 1990 knowledge that time constraints may limitthe priest's personal involve-ment but also point out that the apostolate within society is also most ap-propriate for the laity: "The apostolate of the social milieu, that is, the effort to infuse a Christian spirit into the mentality, customs, laws, and structures of the community in which a person lives is so much the duty and responsibility of the laity that it can never be properly performed by others. In this area the laity can exercise an apostolate of like towards like" (Decree on the Apostolate of the Laity, para. 33). In addition to working for justice throughout society, the priest is called to have spe-cial concern for the poor: "Although the presbyter has obligations to-wards all persons, he has the poor and the lowly entrusted to him in a special way. The Lord himself showed that he was united to them, and the fact that the Gospel was preached to them is mentioned as a sign of his messianic a.ctivity'" (Decree on the Miniso3, and Life of Priests, par. 6). Again Christ is the model of the priest in this dimension of minis-try. Jesus' concern for others was not limited to his immediate commu-nity of disciples. He continually extended himself beyond his followers to others. His entire ministry is marked with personal compassion for any person who came to him in need. In addition to his one-on-one concern for others, Jesus also spoke out against society's injustices. At times the condemnation was marked by actual disobedience to laws when he viewed them as contradictory to the revelation he received from his Fa-ther. Indeed, his criticism was so threatening to the establishment that it eventually precipitated his death. And finally the Gospel reflects that Jesus had special care and concern for the poorest of the poor, the out-casts of society. The parable of the Last Judgment testifies to the cen-trality in Jesus' eyes of service to the hungry, thirsty, shelterless, impris-oned. To enhance the priest's effectiveness as a witness of Christ, the Church asks all priests to have special concern for evangelical poverty within their own priestly vocation, diocesan or religious. And again the model is Christ himself. Christ was poor. He let no material desire or possession come between himself and doing the Father's will. He was detached from possessions in order to be more free to serve. And Christ chose to live a simple lifestyle, perhaps to be more approachable by the poor or to witness to the sufficiency of the Father's providence for his material needs, taking his cue from the birds of the air and the lilies of the field. Through embracing evangelical poverty the priest refuses to al-low any inordinate attachment to food, clothing, shelter, possessions to Ministerial Priesthood / 333 affect service of the kingdom either within or outside the Body of Christ. With this inner quality of heart the priest thus becomes an even more ef-fective witness of Christ to the Church and world. To be faithful and responsive to the call of promoting justice in the world we priests must ask whether we have adapted to this rather new dimension of priestly ministry. First, does my ministry include leader-ship in witnessing to Christ's concern for the world both through actual "hands-on" service to promote justice in society as well as through fa-cilitating service of my congregation? Most especially am I an effective sign in witnessing to Christ's concern for the most needy and under-privileged of my parish and my society'? Second, what is my attitude to evangelical poverty? Do I desire to imitate Christ by adopting a simple lifestyle? Do I embrace evangelical poverty as a gift because it conforms me more closely to Christ and so makes me a more effective symbol-person of Christ in my leadership, especially in his concern for the poor'? Do I allow the crosses of poverty to deepen my bonds with Christ'? Ministerial Priesthood: Challenge and Consolation The challenge of priesthood is perhaps greater today than ever be-fore. In the ministry of leadership for the Church the priest is called to become the person-symbol of Christ and so live and serve in a way that awakens awareness of God's continual presence and love both for the com-munity and for the world. A recent document from the American bish-ops catches the immensity of this challenge putting it in the context of the role of the pastor today: "The pastor in the parish today becomes-- whether he knows and likes it or not--a religious symbol to his people. The pastor becomes a religious symbol of tradition, the keeper and speaker of the revealed Word in all of its rich expressions. He becomes the religious symbol of God's care for his people, expressing compas-sion for the wounded and outrage at injustice. He becomes the religious symbol of order, calling the community to an effective stewardship of its gifts and shared use of its resources" ("A Shepherd's Care: Reflec-tions on the Changing role of Pastor," 1988). But if the challenge is immense, so is the consolation. Through or-dination the priest exists in a new, distinctive, and permanent relation-ship to Christ, to the Church, and to society. But like all sacraments the sacrament of orders confers the grace it proclaims and signifies. There-fore, priests have the immense consolation of knowing that the Holy Spirit stands behind them enabling them to live this threefold relation-ship conferred at ordination. In their relationship to Christ, the Spirit en-ables priests to be configured to Christ poor, celibate, and obedient and 334 / Review for Religious, May-June 1990 so be more powerful person-symbols of Christ. In their relationship to the Church, the Spirit enables priests to be effective servant-leaders in the fourfold dimensions of priestly ministry: proclaiming the Word of God, presiding at worship, caring for the pastoral needs of community, and facilitating charisms of the community. Finally in their relationship to society, the Spirit enables priests to be eloquent witnesses of Christ's care for.the world in promoting justice in society and most especially in serving the poor both personally and in their leadership of the Body of Christ. Priestly ministry, like all ministry, is a charism, a gift of the Spirit. The challenge for us priests is living in a way that facilitates the Spirit's action. We must take a serious look at our daily schedules and ask whether they, in fact, foster our living in tune with the Spirit, thereby growing in knowledge and love and Christ and so radiating a Christ-presence in all our ministry. Being fully effective sacramental signs of Christ demands daily attention to our physical, emotional, and spiritual needs. And this may require rearrangement of our schedules, especially to assure we have the leisure to grow in an ever deeper union with Christ whom we sacramentalize in our leadership. A recent document from the Priestly Life and Ministry Committee pointedly advises us that the crite-ria for the effectiveness of our ministry ought not be the quantity of our work but its quality: "One of the most probable causes of difficulties with spirituality in a priest'~ life today is simply his ability to find (or at least justify) sufficient time to spend in solitude and prayer. A consci-entious priest, especially when under pressure of incessant demands, can forget that the quality of his work is more important than the quantity. What people are looking for in him more than anything else is a spiri-tual guide and model who will help them come to know the Lord and find his peace. Thus he must be, first of all and above everything else, a man of God's peace. Regular time each day for prayer, meditation, and spiritual reading is a sine qua non for the unfolding in a priest's life of an authentic Christ-centeredness" ("The Priest and Stress," 1982). There are many ministries in the Body of Christ. The priest's is but one of these, yet it is distinctive. Only the priest is called by today's Church to a ministry of leadership whose essence is symbolizing Christ's presence. Hopefully a deeper appreciation of this calling will have its ef-fect on morale of current priests as well as attract many others to this vo-cation. Where is Religious Life Going? M. Basil Pennington. O.C.S.O. Father Basil Pennington, O.C.S.O., is well known for his conferences and writings on centering prayer. His address is Assumption Abbey: Route 5: Ava, Missouri 65608. This is a question that is being asked with concern not only by religious themselves and the Church at large but even by the wider community. One significant indication of this is the fact that a secular foundation has recently given a secular university over a half million dollars to study the question. Lilly Endowment, Inc. has awarded Boston University a $575,000 grant to have its Center for Applied Social Sciences serve as the site to study the question "Factors Influencing the Transformation of Religious Life in the Catholic Church in the United States." This cur-rent research grant follows the successful completion of an earlier $100,000 planning grant. It is almost twenty-five years since the close of the Second Vatican Council which called for an adaptation and renewal of religious life. In that time the average age of members of many religious congregations and monastic communities has increased dramatically while the number of members has decreased just as dramatically. Many traditional works of religious have been called into question. New works have been un-dertaken and the whole understanding of mission reconsidered by some groups. The sense of separation from the laity is greatly diminished. Lay persons take a much greater part in the life and mission of religious and religious generally feel closer to the active lay Catholic. What does all this portend for the future'? More importantly, what must religious do in order to be truly renewed, adapted to the twenty-first century Church, so that they may continue to bring to the Church 335 336 / Review Jot" Religious, May-June 1990 and to society as a whole the gift that they are? The proposal submitted to the Lilly Endowment set forth six basic or broad objectives for the study: I. Identify the interpretative schemes used by reli-gious to describe the meaning structure of their commit-ment and their perceptions of the distinctions of religious life in relation to the other ministerial roles in the Church. The interpretive schemes will be examined from the perspective of the psychological, theological, and or-ganizational changes that have occurred over time, with special attention to the degree to which religious orders are becoming more or less distinct. 2. Describe and analyze the psychological, struc-tural, and organizational changes that have occurred and those yet to occur both in religious life in general and within congregations in order to predict the future shapes of religious life. 3. Identify individual religious who are perceived as the emergent leaders of religious life and explore with them systematically the changes that have occurred and must yet occur if religious life is to remain a vital social and ecclesial reality. 4. Describe and analyze some effects of change and perceptions of religious life on the commitment of in-dividual religious, former religious, and recent candi-dates to religious life. 5. Describe the environmental influences on re-ligious life in the United States, including cultural shifts that influence commitments, the supply and demand econ-omy for religious service, and the enhancement of the role of the laity in the Church within the historical con-text of theology. 6. Provide a paradigm for developing strategies of leadership that will enable leaders to move the pro-cess of renewal that was begun in Vatican II through a process of systematic transformation. The term "interpretive schemes" may not be familiar to many but it refers to a very important factor in religious life. Interpretive schemes are made up of the understanding the members of the group or commu-nity share in regard to the world and their place in it. They are primary Where is Religious Life Going? in drawing the members together, giving them a shared sense of belong-ing. These guide religious as they interpret their own past and look at their present environment, select their value priorities, and allocate their resources. Oftentimes these interpretive schemes are not explicitly articu-lated by a group. They are revealed rather in the metaphors the mem-bers use to describe their community, the stories they tell and the rites they celebrate. Transformation involves a shift in interpretive schemes. The pro-posal describes transformation as "qualitative, discontinuous shifts in organization members, shared understandings of the organization, accom-panied by changes in the organization's mission, strategy, and formal and informal structures." Transformation usually begins with a crisis that unfreezes dominant organizational members' current interpretative schemes by presenting a significant challenge to their validity. The Sec-ond Vatican Council did this to religious. But not the Council alone. The transition from the modern to the postmodern era, one of the three great cultural shifts in the history of humankind necessarily brought on a "cri-sis" for all human organizations. The next step in the transformation pro-ess is the development of alternative interpretative schemes leading to new types of action which in turn leads to changes in the structure of the organization. There is likely to be considerable conflict among the origi-nal and developing interpretive schemes and the subgroups espousing them. Leaders of the community will necessarily have a large impact on the process and its outcome. If they support only one perspective they are likely to decrease the potential creativity of the transformational pro-ess and the sense of belonging and involvement of the members whose perspectives have not been taken into account. If they try to separate out the different perspectives they are likely to perpetuate splints within the community. If they facilitate the interaction among the conflicting per-spectives they will increase the chances of paradoxical outcomes of trans-formation, of new and creative shared understandings, of a truly renewed and vital religious life. During the course of the process members will experience discomfort both with the ambiguities and the confusion. The conflict of understandings and those who espouse them will create ten-sions. But when (and if) a new synthesis is reached that is experienced by the whole group as acceptable, there will not only be a sense of satis-faction but there will be a new force in the community for life. In its study of the factors influencing the transformation for religious life, the study is going to give special attention to two: the environment, 338/Review for Religious, May-June 1990 that is, the factors external to the community that impinge on it in some way and can effect the transformation process by inducing the crisis and affecting the development of new interpretative schemes, and the lead-ership. Two types of leadership within the communities need to be and will be considered. There are formal leaders, those who are designated to see that the roles, resources, and necessary structures are maintained to provide for both the mission and the members. Emergent leaders are members who are generally recognized in the community as complemen-tary to the formal leaders, but distinct from them in purpose and func-tion. These often act as catalysts for new ideas within the community and, as such, are seldom selected by the membership to represent them. The study hopes to explore the underlying changes in interpretive schemes both qualitatively and quantitatively arid at several levels: within the social institution of religious life as such, within individual congre-gations, and within individual members of religious communities. This will involve questionnaires, regional meetings, and individual interviews to be carried out over the course of the next two to three years. The proposal sees as the outcome of the project: I. Identification of the normative beliefs about reli-gious life and how they will likely shape the future of re-ligious life in this country. 2. Build a national comparative data base of all male and female religious that includes current demographic data, membership information, existing and emerging structures, current member attitudes on multiple dimen-sions, and projections for the future. 3. Enable the leadership of religious communities to identify in the current context paradigms of planning that enable transformation, consolidation, merging, or extinc-tion. 4. Label the changes that must yet occur if reli-gious life is to remain a vital social and theological gift to the Church into the next millennium. The results of the study will, of course, be published and generally available to interested parties. But the researchers hope also to work with organizations and groups of religious to consider and further explore the findings. The principal researchers for the project are David Nygren and Miriam Ukeritis. Father Nygren is a Research Associate at the Center for Applied Social Science, a unit of the Graduate School of Boston Uni- Where is Religious Life Going? / 339 versity. He has been a member of the Congregation of the Mission (Vin-centians) since 1968 and has served his congregation in many capacities over the years. He holds six academic degrees. Sister Miriam, a mem-ber of the Congregation of Sisters of Saint Joseph of Carondelet, is com-pleting a term as a Post-Doctoral Fellow at the Harvard Community Health Plan, Boston. She is a clinical psychologist by profession and has served as a director of the House of Affirmation in Hopedale, Massachu-setts. Besides the extensive facilities of the Center for Applied Social Sci-ence, the researchers will be aided by a National Advisory Board which includes Archbishop Thomas Kelly, O.P., the newly elected chairper-son of NCCB's Committee on Religious; Abbot James Jones, O.S.B. of Conception Abbey; Howard Gray, S.J., former provincial of the Detroit Province, five religious women, two brothers, a monk and two represen-tatives from the Lilly Endowment. The Advisory Board will meet regu-larly with the researchers to assess the results of their work and offer guid-ance to the pursuit of the project. The success of the project will, of course, depend largely on the col-laboration of religious, both as groups and as individuals. But the bene-fits that they can hope to reap from it are considerable, so such collabo-ration is well assured. However, they will not be the only ones to profit from the study. Reviewing the expected outcomes it is easy to see why the Lilly Endowment and a community oriented university are willing to make such a considerable investment in this study. If the study does suc-ceed in producing the results it projects, there can be little doubt as to the significance of the contribution it will make not only to the Church but to society as a whole by enlivening and promoting the social outreach which depends so heavily on the leadership and support of the religious communities. Whence Come the Candidates? Gabrielle L. Jean, S.C.O. Sister Gabrielle Jean, S.C.O., last appeared in these pages with her article. "'The Alcoholic Religious Woman," in September/October 1985. Her address is 715 Per-shing Drive: Silver Spring, Maryland 20910. Over the past several years, authoritative articles on the assessment of can-didates for the priestly/religious life have appeared in Catholic periodi-cals. Kraft (1978)~ clearly stated the differential role and competencies of the psychiatrist and psychologist relative to evaluation and treatment of religious personnel. While both professional groups are involved in therapy, the psychiatrist focuses on the abnormal behavior while the psy-chologist deals with a much broader range of human behaviors. The psy-chiatrist's forte lies in his medical expertise and pharmacological arma-mentarium; the clinical psychologist's educational background provides for research and evaluation of human behavior, especially personality as-sessment. Kraft strongly recommended that such professionals have a working knowledge and appreciation of the role of spirituality in the life of religious men and women. Values incongruent with those of the cli-ent could prove prejudicial to his or her ongoing spiritual growth. A more recent article by O'Connor (1988)~- addressed the appraisal of candidates with attention directed to the formation process, the test-ing of the applicant's spirit, assessment of his or her motivation and fit-ness for the chosen institute. The key elements lie in the interactional pro-ess of interview and dialogue. The present article focuses on the instrumentation for the screening of candidates, that is, the psychological tests selected for that purpose. It is intended to inform superiors, vocations directors, and formation teams of the rationale and philosophy inherent in the selection of instru- 340 Whence Come the Candidates? / 34"1 ments; a "model" battery will then be suggested. Do the candidates come from the general "normal" population or from a psychiatric pool? The choice of instruments such as the MMPI (Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory), TAT (Thematic Apper-ception Test) and Rorschach Inkblots reflect the latter since they are stan-dardized or normed on a psychiatric or dysfunctional population. Granted, they provide valuable information (in terms of impairment), but would it not be more helpful for the formation teams to know the strengths and weaknesses of the personality of their candidates? Would they not be in a better position to maximize the psychological and spiri-tual growth of their charges with a positive set of data on them'? If one begins the psychological screening process with scales normed on a psy-chiatric population, the results can only reveal the extent of the pathol-ogy found in that individual when compared to psychiatrically impaired individuals. The strengths of the personality are clouded by the pathol-ogy and the formation personnel are left to ferret for themselves the per-sonal resources of the recruits. Personality measurement is a typically American phenomenon; it originated in the United States and has evolved greatly, especially since the early 50s. Its scope includes both personality inventories (standard-ized on the general population) and instruments designed more specifi-cally to detect the presence and extent of behavior pathology. The re-spective personality theories provide the background for such instruments and caution the user relative to the holistic nature of the person. Because of the importance of the psychological screening process, further clarification seems warranted, especially since Vatican II alerted to the need of heeding the advances made in the behavioral sciences. So-ciology and psychology do shed scientific light on human behavior both as individuals and in groups. Purpose and Ethics Tests are standardized tools for the measurement of individual dif-ferences in intellectual, emotional, social, and motivational aspects of behavior. Personality assessment focuses primarily on the emotional ad-justment, social relationships, motivation, attitudes, interests, and val-ues of the individual. The American Psychological Association has codified ethical prin-ciples to govern psychological testing. Many personality tests are re-stricted to qualified users, and the qualifications vary with the type of test. The rationale is that test scores should be released only by and to persons qualified to interpret them. The candidate is entitled to know the 342 / Review for Religious, May-June 1990 information he or she revealed in the testing. Knowledge of the test scores only may be emotionally disturbing to the candidate; they should be properly interpreted to him or her in a situation that allows for dis-cussion of the results. Many personality instruments and measures of emotional, motiva-tional, or attitudinal traits are necessarily disguised; the subject may re-veal characteristics about the self without realizing that he or she is do-ing so. It is of primary importance that the examinee have a clear understanding of the use that will be made of the test results, who will receive the report, and how long it will remain in his or her file. Quot-ing directly from the Ethical Standards of Psychologists: "The psycholo-gist who asks that an individual reveal personal information in the course of interviewing, testing, or evaluation, or who allows such information to be divulged to him, does so only after making certain that the person is aware of the purpose of the interview, testing, or evaluation and of the ways in which the information may be used." No report should be sent without the consent of the examinee through a "release of confiden-tiality" form. The receiver of such information is bound by confiden-tiality; the information is privileged; if the examinee agrees to release such information, it is because it will be handled as privileged commu-nication. Evaluation: Testing, Interviews, or What? There are many arguments for and against testing, and I wish to share my biases with you; I do so willingly because psychological test-ing is my area of specialization and, therefore, I feel better qualified to support them than I would be in other areas of psychology. The arguments I would advance in favor of a sound testing program are these. First, it serves to provide an appraisal of candidates who feel attracted to the religious/priestly life. Secondly, it can help the candidate gain insight into his or her own behavior. Thirdly, it can serve as a basis for counseling in view of overall personal growth. The reservations I would have to comprehensive testing are many; my remarks here pertain primarily to candidate assessment for the priestly/religious life. ( I ) Psychiatric screening should not be required of all candidates; if the findings on the personality inventory suggest more than average pa-thology, a psychiatric instrument could be used to determine the extent of the pathology. If psychiatric screening is required for all candidates, are we not suggesting that our pool of subjects lies in the "disturbed" group? However, I favor scheduling a psychiatric interview/evaluation Whence Come the Candidates? / 343 for applicants to monastic life. The withdrawal from the world implied in the lifestyle could attract individuals ill-equipped for social inter-course. (2) There is a danger of categorizing people for life, very much like the penal system where no room is allowed for growth and change. (3) In the hands of poorly trained people, these instruments are ex-tremely dangerous. Granted that most formation personnel would not ad-minister the tests themselves, there is still grave danger that reports will be misinterpreted. People with little sophistication in this area tend to put more faith in the instruments than is warranted. (4) The use of test information for acceptance/refusal makes sense only if the results are validated by information from other sources: let-ters of reference, observed behavior, and the like, No matter how good and competent that psychiatrist or psychologist is, the dynamics of grace elude measurement, and everyone involved in the assessment process must be mindful of this fact. (5) I would not advocate involvement in a screening program unless there is a willingness to share the information with the candidate. A good policy is to provide a feedback interview to discuss the test findings with the examinee. Should the evaluation be psychodiagnostic (with the use of psychiatric questionnaires), the feedback would then be provided by the therapist who would be in a better position to decide on the timing for such disclosure. In all such work, Catholic psychologists consciously strive for the fundamental attitude which Pope Pius XII advocated in 1953: 'Psychotherapy and clinical psychology must always consider man as a psychic unity and totality; as a structured unit in itself; as a social unit and as a transcendent unit, that is to say, in man's tending towards God.' ,3 Candidate Assessment We are reminded through the Second Vatican Council documents that the unity of the Church thrives on the variety of gifts in its mem-bers. In Perfectae Caritatis, it is explicitly stated that religious are to bring "to the execution of commands and to the discharge of assign-ments entrusted to them the resources of their minds and wills and their gifts of nature and grace" (PC, Art. I). The text is supported by Paul's I Corinthians: "All these gifts are the work of one and the same Spirit, distributing them separately to each individual at will" (I Co 12:l I). The decree on religious life was intended for all religious men and women, whether in the ranks or in authority. It must be admitted; how- 34"4 / Review for Religious, May-June 1990 ever, that when it comes to acknowledging the "special gift of each," we are somewhat in the dark. The Superior/Director/Coordinator is ex-pected to be respectful of the Giver of gifts by avoiding arbitrary assign-ments. The religious man or woman may be an individualist who feels that one owes it to oneself to fulfill the self in the sense of using one's gifts for personal enhancement and satisfaction; a correct interpretation would lead one to regard all gifts as intended for service to the commu-nity and to the whole Church. A scientific way of arriving at a knowledge of these gifts is psycho-logical testing and evaluation. I would set as one of the primary func-tions of candidate assessment: the identification of the assets of the indi-vidual. There is room for screening out undesirable applicants but this aspect of screening should not supersede the screening in of those who have great gifts of heart and mind to use in the service of the Church. As a marginal note, may I add that it is usually enlightening for the vocation directors (or whoever requests the assessment) to subject him-self or herself to the whole process. It may be an eye-opener as to the anxiety-provoking experience of personality assessment. For some cli-ents, self-disclosure is a very traumatic experience, and counseling may be advised. For most who have been exposed to testing in all forms, the whole procedure is taken in stride. Criteria Used What are we looking for in a good candidate to the priesthood/ religious life? The criteria have generally been clearly stated by the vari-ous religious groups, rectors of seminaries, experienced masters in the formation of candidates, and vocation directors. In general, they can be grouped as follows. ( 1 ) Intelligence I think we are justified in looking for average intelligence or better; without it, a religious professional cannot grasp the import of his or her commitment to Church service within the framework of a religious life-style. During the assessment, the candidate's intellectual efficiency is con-sidered in the light of one's intellectual potential. Does the client oper-ate better in a situation where conformity is rewarded or where auton-omy and independence are viewed as positive behaviors? The individ-ual's cognitive style is also studied along with factors capable of reduc-ing his or her mental efficiency such as anxiety, perfectionism, compul-sivity, or poor thought control. (2) Personality Here, it is important to have inventories/questionnaires standardized Whence Come the Candidates? / 345 on a non-psychiatric population; the candidate is not expected to live in a psychiatric ward! Instruments are usually selected which address prin-cipally the personality characteristics important for social living and so-cial interaction. Attention focuses first on personal integration: the individual's self-concept as covered by such factors as social presence, sociability, self-acceptance, sense of well-being. The candidate's social maturity and re-sponsibility come under scrutiny in a cluster of scales tapping socializa-tion, self-control, and tolerance. Temperamental variables such as per-sistence, cooperation, aggressiveness, tact, moodiness, impulsiveness, and adaptability are given some attention. The motivational aspects of the applicant are usually considered in a separate scale covering the home environment, career, religion, social endeavors, needs, values, and in-terests. A social-religious orientation is usually a more favorable indica-tor of a true call than a political or power orientation. (3) Sexuality This area is considered critical for today's candidates who will com-mit themselves to a celibate life. Projective techniques (disguised tasks) are used in this case to assess the basic sexual orientation of the candi-date and impulse control. The leads provided by the test data are openly discussed with the candidate in view of verification of the findings and subsequent recommendations. Not all information gathered in the inter-view need to be reported; problems resolved earlier fall in this category. (4) Magisterium The candidates are also queried about their attitudes toward author-ity, toward the Church and her teachings, and toward the ministry or apos-tolate. Feedback The feedback interview can be used advantageously to cover impor-tant areas such as interpersonal relationships: at home, at school, and at work, and for the older candidates, relationship to the local church. The individual can be further interrogated relative to anger and hostility: what triggers his or her anger and how is it handled? Recommendations for the proper handling of st.tong emotions are usually in order. The area of sexuality is probed further: orientation, ~,ex education, if given (when, by whom), dating history, the applicant's understanding of celibacy/ chastity, and his or her readiness to make the commitment to a celibate life. The last area tapped in the interview pertains to "spiritual evolu-tion," or the applicant's personal spiritual journey. When was he or she first attracted to the Church, (rites, sacraments, music, service, and so 346 /Review for Religious, May-June 1990 forth) and how did that attraction grow (or lapse) in the course of his or her life? Conclusion It is obvious to whoever has read up to this point that the evaluation/ assessment of candidates is serious business and a time-consuming propo-sition. Is it not worth the effort for a lifetime of service to the Church? The full day of testing and the few hours needed for the feedback/ interview are little when one considers the benefits to be derived through a lifetime of dedicated service to others. It is a rewarding task tbr the examiner who is constantly confronted with the promptings of grace in the life of today's young people. NOTES ~ William F. Kraft, "'Psychiatrists, Psychologists and Religious." R~vw.w FOR RF.LIGIOUS, Vol. 37, (1978), pp. 161-170. 2 David F. O'Connor, "Appraising Candidates for Religious Life or Priesthood," Human Development IX (Fall. 1988), pp. 26-30. 3 Address of His Holiness Pope Plus XII, "On Psychotherapy and Religion," Fifth International Congress on Psychotherapy and Clinical Psychology (April 13, 1953). Converted i come into Your glorious presence Changed, Newly dressed In Your garments, Feeling strangely at home there. Delighted, excited, I am waiting . . . Longing once more For Your kiss of peace. Sister Columba Howard St. John of God Convent P.O. Box 14 SUBIACO 6008 Western Australia Wishes for a "Novice" Novice Director Melannie Svoboda, S.N.D. Sister Melannie Svoboda, S.N.D. is currently dividing her time between teaching and writing. She served as novice director for six years. Her address is Notre Dame Academy; Route One, Box 197; Middleburg. Virginia 22117. For six years I was novice director for my religious community. During those years, the number of novices I had was anywhere between nine and one. As I reflect back on my experience as novice director, especially now that I have a little distance from that ministry, I ask myself, "What advice would I give to a new novice director--to a novice novice direc-tor? What would I wish for him or her?" There are many things I could say, much I could wish for. But if I had to limit myself to five words of advice, five wishes, what would they be? My answer to that question is this article. Warning.t Self-knowledge. Beware.t And give thanks. In my second year as novice director, I made my annual retreat as usual. During my first one-on-one conference, the retreat director asked me what my min-istry was. When I told him I was novice director for over a year, he smiled and said, "Well, well! I bet you've come to a beck of a lot of self-knowledge this past year!" His words struck me. They encapsulated something I had been experiencing, but something I had not yet been able to name: formation ministry has a terrible and marvelous way of en-couraging growth in self-knowledge--and this growth is usually accom-panied by discomfort, confusion, or even pain. Prior to becoming novice director, I had been a successful teacher and free-lance writer. It was easy for me to begin to find a good meas-ure of security in my obvious successes in these two areas. Success has 347 348 / Review for Religious, May-June 1990 an insidious way of leading us into a kind of "spiritual coziness." My success tended to give me the illusion that, indeed, God is in his heaven, I am in my classroom or at my typewriter, and all is well in the world. Formation work, which was both new and challenging, had a way of nudg-ing me (sometimes even shoving me) out of my complacency. I noticed my prayer becoming less pharisaical: "I thank you, Lord, that I am so successful!" and more "publican-ish": "Lord, now what do I do? Help!" As disconcerting as this growth in self-knowledge was at times, I see it now as a very real blessing for me. There is another reason why formation work was such a challenge for me personally. Both teaching and writing have goals and objectives by which one can, to an extent, measure one's success. Are my students learning? Yes. Are editors accepting my articles? Yes. The'n I am doing something right. I am a success. But formation ministry does not have such clear-cut ways of measuring success. In fact, by some measures, I was quite unsuccessful as novice director. Were novices flocking to our novitiate now that I was director? No. In fact, the formation team and I were not even accepting all of the few that did apply. Once they came to our novitiate, did they stay'? No. Some stayed, but many left. And, worse yet, some of the ones that did leave, ! even encouraged to leave. Formation ministry forced me to redefine success. More than that, it caused me to question how much l needed success in order to minis-ter. The ministry of formation challenged me to devote time, energy, and creativity to a work that, for the most part, did not give me the steady encouragement of measurable results. It called forth new kinds of strengths in me--such as patience, trust, letting go, and greater depen-dence on others who could help me. I needed such qualities which might otherwise have remained undeveloped because of apparent outward suc-cess. Decisions, decisions! Shortly after receiving my appointment as nov-ice director, I met my own novice director in the lunch line at our pro-vincial house. She had been a novice director for more than twenty years. Now, confined mostly to a wheelchair, she continues to serve the com-munity in the mailroom and archives. When she saw me in the lunch line, she took me aside, wished me well, and then said, "Just remem-ber: as long as you believe your decisions are right before God, that's all you've got to worry about." In those few words, my novice director had gotten to the core of for-mation ministry: the making of decisions. For me, the crux of being nov-ice director (and I use the word "crux" intentionally) was having to Wishes for a Novice Director I 349 make a decision that affected the future of another human being. Of course, I knew that I was not totally responsible for deciding whether a woman should remain in our novitiate or leave. The novice herself played a paramount role in that decision. I also knew full well that I had other people I could and did consult for valuable advice and input. I also realized that the provincial and her council ultimately were responsible for this decision. But despite knowing these things in my head, I still felt in my heart that the decision whether a novice should stay or leave was essentially mine. For me there was nothing ever easy about making such a decision--one way or the other. And there certainly was nothing easy about being the one to tell a novice that she could not stay--especially if she was unable to understand why. As I told my provincial superior onc+ after the council had decided to let a candidate go, "You're not the one who has to look into her eyes and tell her. I do." For me personally, this was the greatest challenge as novice direc-tor: trying to make the right decision for each individual. It meant I also had to face the possibility that, despite my conscientiousness and my good will, I could, indeed, make the wrong decision about someone. I had to ask myself, "Do I trust God enough that ! can be at peace with every decision I make? Can I entrust even a possible wrong decision to his love and creativity?" I never fully appreciated what a burden this was for me until I no longer bore it. After | left formation work, I was given other big respon-sibilities- among them was being local superior of a rather large com-munity. But, so far, none of these new responsibilities quite compares with the responsibility I felt as novice director: having to make a deci-sion that profoundly affects the future life direction of another person and a religious community. At the risk of sounding pious, this is a burden we cannot bear alone. As my own novice director implied, we make our decisions before God. I add: we also make them with God. With hoops of steel. In Shakespeare's Hamlet, Polonius gives some beautiful advice to his son, Laertes, before he sets out on his own. His words of advice should be given to every new novice director: Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel. l, iii One of the greatest needs of a novice director is friends. Hopefully, most novice directors enter their ministry with a "generous supply" of good and loyal friends. But even if this is the case, a novice director soon 350/Review for Religious, May-June 1990 learns that the ministry of formation has some built-in obstacles to the retention of friends. First of all, as novice director, I was in a ministry all by myself. No one else in my community did exactly what I did. As a teacher and writer, I had enjoyed the camaraderie of other sisters in my community who were actively engaged in the same ministry. We swapped stories, shared ideas, and encouraged each other in our com-mon ministry. But when I became novice director, I suddenly had no one. There is another reason for the sense of aloneness that novice direc-tors sometimes feel. Much of our ministry involves things we cannot talk about or share with others. Even our schedule may prevent us from so-cializing with our friends. For example, as a teacher I looked forward to weekends when I had a little time to "unwind" with my sisters and friends. But as novice director, my weekends suddenly became my busi-est time. That was when 1 had classes with the novices, I tried to see them individually, and I "socialized" with them. These factors cannot be allowed to become excuses fo~" losing touch with our friends. But they are challenges for us to find new and creative ways to "grapple" our friends to our souls "with hoops of steel." Eventually, I did find considerable support from novice directors in other religious communities. Sometimes when we got together, we tended to "talk shop." We found ourselves talking only about problems in formation and expressing to each other worries and frustration. This has its place, of course, but we soon realized we needed each other not merely to "gripe with" but also to "play with." As a new novice di-rector, find ingenious ways to hang on to your old friends, and be ready and eager to make new ones. The wideness of the sea. One of my favorite old hymns says this: "There's a wideness in God's mercy like the wideness of the sea." I think we could paraphrase those words and say. "There should be a wideness in a novice director's life like the wideness of the sea." A nov-ice director could be tempted to live in a very narrow world--a world no larger than his or her novitiate. Do not succumb to this temptation. It is important for a novice director to receive some professional prepa-ration for the ministry of formation. Yes. It is also vital for him or her to keep abreast of developments in the field of formation. Definitely. But we novice directors must not limit our input solely to formation. My ad-vice is to widen your world. Get involved with other groups of people, with issues besides formation and religious life. As novice director, for example, I taught a course in pastoral ministry at our college almost Wishes for a Novice Director / 351 every semester. The course met once a week in the evenings. Teaching that course was extremely healthy and beneficial for me. When I was not teaching a course, I was often taking a course. Some of these courses had nothing to do directly with formation. I also continued to write arti-cles for publication--the vast majority of them riot on formation. I know other novice directors who widened their world by being life guards at swimming pools, music ministers in parishes, volunteers in soup kitch-ens, or teachers in seminaries. As directors, we need ample time for a ministry of formation, true. Bui we also need time to extend our bounda-ries beyond the walls of the novitiate and our religious community. Let them love you. So far I have said nothing specifically about the novices themselves. As novice director, you must love your novices. Sometimes your love will take the form of gentleness and kindness. Other times it will assume the shape of firmness or even apparent hard-ness. Whatever form it takes, love is essential. This goes without say-ing. But there is a flip side to this fact that gets too little attention: allow your novices to love you. Be open to their love. More than that, encour-age it, welcome it. As directors we can become overly conscious of our role as director, as formator. We can shield ourselves from the give-and-take of relationships by setting strick boundaries with our novices. I am director, you are directee. I form you. I love you. Formation becomes a one-way street. When we do this, we are forgetting this great truth about formation: while we are helping to form our novices, they are also helping to form us. If we allow them. My novices helped form me in many ways--sometimes gently, other times almost roughly. They formed me by their honesty and humility-- especially in the one-on-one sessions I had regularly with each one. I was always amazed at how the novices were, for the most part, incredibly honest with themselves. By their honesty, they encouraged me to be more honest with them. During my six years, I found myself trusting the novices more and more. I had always basically trusted other people, I believe, but my six years as novice director only encouraged this atti-tude. The novices ministered to me at times in my need. One time a friend of mine in the community was dying of cancer. I left her infirmary room one night on the verge of tears. Shortly afterwards I ran into one of my novices in the hall. My initial reaction was to put on a cheerful front and hide my tears from her. After all, I was her director. In fact, I was the one who had dried the tears of this particular novice on more than one 359 / Review for Religious, Mav-Jttne 1990 occasion. But when I saw the concerned expression on her face, I was unable to hold back my tears. I cried, "Nadine's dying." Without a word, she took me in her arms and held me for a few minutes, comfort-ing me. In one way, it was a reversal of roles, but I still treasure the mem-ory of that moment when I allowed the novice to minister to me. Sometimes novices will love us in "tougher" ways--challenging our judgments, questioning our decisions, asking us to explain something we would just as soon leave unexplained. As novice directors, we must be open to that kind of love, too. My father, now retired, spends much time growing things on my par-ents' three-and-one-half acre plot of land. He grows apple trees, exotic grapes, peach trees, English walnut trees, and'the like. He once told me, "I get a kick out of figuring out how to help things grow." I would hope that every new novice director could say something similar: "I get a kick out of figuring out how to help people grow." My final wish for the "novice" novice director is this: May you figure out (often through trial and error--plus the help of God's grace) how to help (not "make" or "'force") people grow. And, in the process of your helping, may you yourself grow in faith, hope, love, and much joy! Retreat at Glenstal Abbey I have no preacher here but only quiet trees that pray one solemn silent so-be-it frown cell, from sap, from sinewed standing stem frown bough and branch from twig and sprig all said all summed in this brief silent now. The Master called and with the stars each answered to the limit of every limned lettered lace-like latticed leaf: "Here 1 am." Cothrai Gogan, c.s.sp. Naraiga Catholic Church Box 220 Limuru Kenya, Africa The Associate Movement in Religious Life Rose Marie Jasinski, C.B.S., and Peter C. Foley Sister Rose Marie Jasinski. C.B.S. is currently director of the associate community for the Sisters of Bon Secours and president of Bon Secours St. Joseph Hospital and Nursing Care Center in Port Charlotte, Florida. Peter C. Foley is presently working as a free-lance consultant and facilitator for religious congregations, dioceses, and parishes. Correspondence should be addressed to Associate Membership Office: Sis-ters of Bon Secours: 1525 Marrionsville Road: Marriottsville, Maryland 21104. The task of the imagination, specifically the religious imagination, has been described as naming, even "composing," the real. Another way of saying this is that the religious imagination unveils where God is at work among us. Stories of God at work, and of the unfolding of a real-ity whose scope and power have not yet been imagined were told in May 1989 at the Bon Secours Spiritual Center in Marriottsville, Maryland where more than 100 Directors of Religious Associate Memberships, and associates too, gathered to share the histories of their associate move-ment. It was the first such gathering of lay people and religious designed .just to explore how spiritualities or charisms of the Church, previously identified with particular religious congregations, were being assimilated by groups of lay people who claim the identity, history, and traditions of a particular spirituality as their own. The reality that emerged is that the traditional spiritualities are alive and well, even flourishing, but in ways we had not imagined. Most congregations reported more applicants to the associate program than to the congregation, and some associate members outnumbered the sisters themselves. But even more striking than the rapid growth of associate memberships was the intensity of the 353 Review for Religious, May-June 1990 commitment brought to them. These were not casual or sentimental re-lationships- it was clear that there was great personal significance in be-longing to an evolving spiritual community. This powerful movement has been quietly erupting within the Church for the last ten to fifteen years. Among the groups gathered to-gether in May we discovered associate members of women, men, sin-gle, married, of various professions, of differing faiths and even a few clergy and religious of other congregations. Associate membership tends to look and act differently within individual religious communities. The basic ingredient, however, is a strong emphasis on forming bonds be-tween laity and religious around a specific charism and mission; attempt-ing to live out that spirit and charism in one's particular lay lifestyle be-comes a significant piece of the "bonding" together. An area of richness that was shared by the groups in May was the expressed felt need and desire to journey together toward deeper spiri-tual growth. The word "together" here is significant and seems to be gaining in popularity. While indeed there still lingers the sentiment that "sister is better at this than I am" we discovered also that the notion that "the same Spirit moves among all of us" is gaining ground as well. Of course, this growing sense and desire for "bonding" also tends to blur the distinctions between laity and religious which is a challenge for some and a gift for many. Developing a sense of community was an important and, at times, a primary reason for approaching associate membership. For some it is the lack of community experienced in the local parish setting; for others it is the desire to deepen their prayer life that initiated the attraction. This sense of community and "bonding" that begin to take shape between the lay and religious members is encouraged and strengthened through regular times of coming together to share prayer, ritual, reflections, Eucharist, and other social feastings. Along with these activities the de-sire to have a "significant" role within the religious community is also exerting its influence among laity and religious. Participating in commu-nity decision-making, committee functions, chapter meetings and the like were not an uncommon topic at our May meetings. The area of service or ministry had a broad range of response among the groups. For some it was an integral part of the associates" role; for others it almost appeared as a distraction from the original intent of spiri-tual development; and still others seem to be on a progressive path of moving through spiritual development outward to "mission.'" This brings us to the progression of "gerierations" that is becom- The Associate Movement / 355 ing evident to those people who have been around this movement ['or a period of time. A pattern appears to be evolving within the associate move-ment. The first generation seemed to be people who wanted to be "filled up" spiritually plus a few who just could not say "no" to sister in those communities where the religious extended the invitation to join. In this generation the religious were looked to for the leadership. The second generation seemed to move more deeply into spiritual development in that the laity and religious have journeyed that path together as equals. The third generation emerges as associates become active in, or are in-vited into, various ways of participating in community life itself. Spiri-tuality as well as leadership is shared. A fourth generation seems to be spiritually motivated and supported by a faith community to go out in mission to share the charism. Throughout this progression of generations has remained a growing, though sometimes ambiguous, sense of commitment--ambiguous in that it is not always clear if the commitment is to the congregation, to the lo-cal community, to the associate community, or to individual sisters. And growing in that there are those rich experiences when associate members feel they have no choice but to live the charism--they have become so imbued it is as though "the charism has me!'" It seems most desirable for each group to grow in its own understand-ing and expression of, and comfort with, the focus of its commitment. While all groups expressed uncertainty about the long-term embodi-ment of their spirituality, they were equally comfortable with a sense of journeying together, accompanying ehch other in a life of prayer, shar-ing, and service. This was the area of greatest commonality among the participants. Otherwise their differences were so great that many of our assumptions about the associate movement were exposed and dispelled. Our first assumption was that a healthy associate program needed to be closely knit to the sponsoring congregation, starting with a strong for-mation program (conducted by the sisters), ongoing liaison with or lead-ership from the sisters, and some degree of monitoring of prescribed norms of behavior. Not so. Although many of these chara~:teristics were present in most programs, there were some that were not even started by the sisters, much less "managed" by them. A "healthy" and vigorous program depended more on the quality of the relationship between indi-vidual lay person and sister (living or dead) than on the sophistication of its organization and structures. The spirit or charism of the congrega-tion was passed on most effectively, it seemed, from person to person. In one group, the "formation" program consisted primarily of one-to- Review for Religious, May-June 1990 one storytelling on the part of the retired sisters with the prospective as-sociate. Another had an adoption structure, in which the associate and sister became family with each other. Another assumption was that there were sisters, on the one hand, and associates on the other. But for some, the associate membership con-sisted of lay people and those sisters who chose to join it including, in-terestingly, sisters from other congregations. These groups, obviously, had no trouble "getting sisters involved"--one of the more common problems expressed. The sisters were free to commit themselves to this other expression of their charism, or not. Another surprise was the range of expectations or requirements for associates to "keep up their membership." Many groups had calendars of annual events that included monthly meetings, annual retreats, "home-coming weekends" with all the sisters at the motherhouse, and some even offering weekly prayer meetings. But it was clear, due to geo-graphical movement of both sisters and associates, that the real and ef-fective criterion of memberships for some groups was the intention and commitment of the individual associate. In a movement like this there is a lot of giving and receiving. Who is giving? Who is receiving'? The obvious answer is that the congrega-tion is extending itself to others, including them, giving them something that they could not have by themselves. The opposite seems to charac-terize many of the groups reporting. The more the sisters listened to what was going on in the desires, dreams, and active faith life of their friends and dedicated collaborators, the more they received. Their own appre-ciation of their congregational charism and history was renewed and en-livened. Many sisters reported "receiving their charism back" from their lay associates. And, on a more pragmatic vein, the more the con-gregation included its associates in governance and community struc-tures, the greater the commitment of time and energy of the associates to the religious group. Finally, we had assumed, of course, that we were talking about per-sons of the Christian faith when we were discussing associates. Not so. A number of congregations reported including not only non-Catholic Christians in their associate programs, but also non-Christian persons. How could this be? We did not ask. If we had had the time, we would have asked three other questions: -What human behaviors facilitate the "passing on" of a charism from person or group to another'? -This seems to be more a women's movement than one The Associate Movement / ;357 commonly or equally shared by men and women. If so, how does it relate to the larger feminist or women's move-ment? And, also, how is it related to earlier women's movements in the history of the Church? -Are congregations that have a vital and active associate membership capable of having an equally vital and ac-tive group of "lay volunteers"? We ended the May meetings with no conclusions other than it was very good to get together and share what is happening; that some groups would initiate regional networks: and that we should all meet again in two years to hear the continuing story of the associate membership move-ment. As participants and observers we rejoice and hope to see the continu-ing openness to the Spirit-filled variety of associate memberships in the Church. A variety that may lead us to a fifth generation of associate mem-bers and "religious" sharing community: living together in a variety of many different ways, providing a variety of different services, praying in a variety of different styles--all through the power of one Spirit-- one baptism. Sunrise When the earth tipped its rim this morning, letting the sun in, filling itself with color and.light, You handed it to me; putting my mouth to the other side, I drank the dawn wind, the morning sun rising, dripping with glory. Then handing the cup back to You, I wiped the drops from my mouth, touching my lips again with Your light: Satiated with splendor, so glad of Your love. Sister Columba Howard St. John of God Convent P.O. Box 14 SUBIACO 6008 Western Australia Images For The Future Of Religious Life Thomas F. McKenna, C.M. Father Thomas McKenna, C.M., is an assistant professor in the theology department at St. John's University in New York. He has also served as novice director for the Eastern Province of the Vincentians. His address is Vincentian House: 101-25 104th Street: Ozone Park, New York 11416. One of the signatures of any age is the time-dimension to which it is drawn. At a given period, a culture is fascinated by past, present, or what is to come. For a number of interwoven reasons, religious life in this pres-ent age is taken with the future. The harder times it has fallen upon in filling up its thinning ranks and the upsetting wonder about what forms will take it into the next. century raise questions which only forward-looking answers will give. Add to this the growing appreciation that the origins and, therefore, the identity of religious life lie in visions precisely about what could be, and the reasons for concern about that future be-come all the more apparent. Often enough, these worries and hopes find expression in a search for what is termed "The New Image.'" That taken-for-granted inner land-scape which grounded the operations of a congregation for generations is less and less able to hold the center. Members realize that some new image is required, a different "root metaphor"~ which once in place will again provide that clear prism through which the apostolates, govern-ance, prayer styles, and, indeed, the very self-concept of the order can be freshly perceived. In his book on the meaning of history,2 Theodore White describes the precariousness of trying to peer into the future from the only van-tage point available, the present. He invites the reader into a small boat 358 Images of Religious Life / 359 bobbing up and down on the swells of the mid-Pacific, thousands of miles from any coast. Inside, the waves lifting and lowering the boat feel much the same, but in fact they are not all alike. Some are only surface ripples blown up for a few hundred yards or even miles. Others are surges left from mid-ocean storms out still farther over the horizon. They, too, will smooth out and die. But others still are the tips of deep running transoceanic currents. They were born in the river canyons of continents two thousand miles to the east and will crest on the shores of another coast four thousand miles westward. The historian is the person who thinks himself able to read which of the waves are shallow and so eventually will fade, and which reach to the floor of the sea and so will roll on into the future. While the bases for his judgments are not the kind which can serve up airtight predictions, they are rooted eno'ugh in pres-ent conditions to get him beyond clairvoyance. His knowledge of the cur-rents and tides enables him to give some backing for claims about what will continue beyond the horizon. This article intends to feel for some of those currents. While there are any number of root images which might be the synthesizing meta-phors on which religious life will be carried into the future, there are some which because of their ancient lineage in the religious movement on the one side and their attunedness to present society on the other show promise beyond mere guesswork--though, to be honest, not perhaps be-yond wishful thinking! The metaphors to follow can stand by themselves, but are more use-ful when anchored in the first. Connecting them sequentially allows for a certain priority but also for enough interaction that each can be a cor-rective for the others. The Religious Infiltrators of the Culture The scenario here is one body of people led forward by a common vision who insert themselves into the dead spots, so to speak, of the world of another group. They attempt to work their variant view into the places in the dominant culture which are spiritually empty and hunger-ing for freedom and new meaning. The sportscaster's phrase "in the seams" catches the idea. In a zone defense, players are assigned to cover certain sectors of the field or rink. The weakest points are along the bor-ders of zones because that is where confusions and even collisions be-tween the defenders are most likely to occur. The pass or shot is aimed "in the seams" between the zones; it is put "in the crease" at the edges of the coverage where the system most often breaks down. This analogy places religious among those believers who carry the 3BO / Review for Religious, May-June 1990 cause of Mystery to those border areas in a culture. Into those margins where the prevailing world view has lost its depth or has failed in nerve, religious bring the riches, appropriately enough, of religion. They are the outriders of the culture, the hikers along the margin where moder-nity has unraveled and is dealing death rather than life. The orders are among the entrepreneurs of the Mystery in a resistive society. This last figure brings out the assertive and perhaps even aggressive side of the image. Not intimidated by the muscular idols of the culture, religious purposefully seek out opportunities for evangelization and join with other groups who struggle to inculturate kindred values. They are convinced of the profundity of what they carry and so actively search out the soft spots in a society for chances to penetrate. Opportunistically, they move into the seams. In the description of the mid-ocean sailor, we spoke of the need to justify the use of a particular image. Why does this metaphor show more promise than another'? In this case, what signs of the times recommend the infiltrator over competitors'? Both negative and positive warrants come to mind. The negatives cluster around a foreboding sense of the spiritual bank-ruptcy of certain sectors in the modern world. By modern we connote here modernity, that whole ethos born in the Enlightenment and bred in the industrialized West whose place in history is slipping off its assumed highest perch to a level of one era among others, but one, indeed, whose effects are threatening to annihilate the gains of all the rest. Interestingly, this critique is being mounted by commentators who truly admire many of the accomplishments of the modern era such as freedom, communi-cation, labor saving devices, democracy, and so forth. They counsel not so much a nativist return to some pre-technological world, but rather a move beyond technology. To that end, they make the case that within the soil of the very blessings modernity bestows are sprouting the mostly unnoticed seeds of its own destruction. The most noxious plants on the American scene are being fed by the system of total capitalism. When left unchecked, they poison the very kind of moral character needed to sustain the democratic society in which capitalism flourishes. Among the more widely known critics are Robert Bellah and his as-sociates3 who have detailed the ways in which individualism threatens to remove its communal counterbalance, republicanism, from the ethi-cal arena in American life. A flattened self, the person as a "bag of needs" disconnected from other subjects and unable to collaborate from motives beyond self-gratification is the narcissistic prospect. Barbara Hat- Images of Religious Life / 36"1 grove's depiction of the "New Class" analyzes the ways which the spe-cializing and rationalistic tendencies of the baby boomer culture can shut down its own best possibilities.'~ In a more popular vein are the addresses of Franciscan preacher, Richard Rohr, who of late has been announcing "the death of the liberal agenda."-s An inability to cooperate with any-one besides an elite few, an idolization of personal feelings, and a per-fectionistic search for the fullest experience and/or the flawless process are some of the disturbing undersides he fears now beginning to surface. A more philosophical warning is being sounded by a group known as the Post-Modernists. Taking negative expression in its Deconstruction-ist variety,6 the critique is more optimistically stated by a group who call themselves, fittingly so, the Constructionists.7 Affirming the benefits of modernity, they also desire to move beyond its pitfalls and so join the assault on individualism. Their particular contribution is not only to have analyzed further its pedigree and progeny, but to have proposed means by which it can be overcome. There is an anthropomorphism in the culture, they contend, which immoderately subordinates the whole of creation to its human part. The attitude denies any "inwardness" to what is not human, thereby remov-ing nature's intrinsic value and laying it open to the worst kinds of ex-ploitation. The social counterparts of this dominative style are the patri-archal rules in society, assumptions which prevailed in all ages but get honed to their sharpest edge by the competitive, rationalistic, and ef-ficiency myths of the present.8 Powering everything are the twin dynamos of economism and con-sumerism. The blanket moral pardon granted the so-called side effects of the free market (steered by its invisible hand of self-interest) is ex-tended to all sectors of life. Social, aesthetic, moral, and religious issues are approached as if their ultimate bearings were also supply and de-mand. The pressures to define self by possessions, to regard the public good solely as economic wealth, and to eliminate concern even for one's posterity are some of the more chilling prospects when the profit princi-ple is transmuted into the universal moral touchstone. Such a world, in a Constructionist phrase, has lost its enchantment.9 Emptied of mystery and dulled to the wisdom of the best of its myths, it can no longer re-spond to the deeper hopes and so begins to feed on itself. Modernity's prospects: a superficial and morally spinning world set on a disastrous course that of itself modernity is powerless to change. If the infiltrator metaphor stayed only with condemnations, its indict-ments could have the ring of a culture-bashing fundamentalism which 369 / Review for Religious. May-June 1990 railed against the society but did not involve itself in it. Happily, these critiques are simultaneously stirring up a kind of religious revival or at least the beginnings of one. ~0 In the so-called secular disciplines for in-stance, there is a growing movement to sacralize the world. Proponents in the natural sciences for one, awed not only by the indeterminacy of things but also by their interconnectedness, are proclaiming a newly dis-covered mystery in creation. Various schools of psychology for another are reclaiming a spiritual base. Educational circles are feeling a surpris-ing pressure for more theology and religion courses at secular universi-ties. ~ These and other indications mark a widening search for values which are rooted in something other than the economic. This quest has a prag-matic ring to it inasmuch as the conviction is spreading that religiously grounded foundations are the only ones on which lasting social change can be built. Interestingly, the revival appears to have gathered greatest momentum among Roman Catholics. A 1987 Gallup poll names them as the denomination which feels most able to provide religious leadership in American society because of both the wide backing they accord their bishops' social teachings and because of the stronger communal bonds they enjoy. ~- In sum, there is on a number of fronts a growing unease about the spiritual vacuum in the culture together with initial signs of an initiative to fill it. Motivation for the renewal is not the self-righteous and con-demning sort, but comes from culturally sympathetic people who at the same time sense the dissonance between their own religious experience and the hollowness in key sectors of modernity. This analysis was done to indicate possible points at which religion could be inserted into the culture. Such intersections hold invitations for religious to join with other subgroups in society~3 in witnessing to firmer grounds of meaning. Carrying in their traditions such wisdom as the in-terrelationship between humans and the rest of creation, the universal dis-persion of spiritual energy, the immanence of the divine feminine, and the riches which cannot be packaged as a commodity and which flow out of the acts of loving and hoping, members of orders do not come empty-handed to those vulnerable seams. Nor do they come alone. The infil-trator is meant to work alongside of other servants of Mystery who are soon discovered to be, in Thomas Merton's phrase, "the monks' natu-ral allies in the world.''~4 If this line of thought sounds familiar to the religious reader, it is likely because something of the sacred time of his or her beginnings is hnages of Religious Life / 36:3 evoked. All founding persons were in effect entrepreneurs of religion in a culture. The desert journeys of the monks as response to the dying and brutal fourth-century society, the ingenuity of the mendicants in evan-gelizing a world of new city-states, the missionary fervor of the congre-gations of the seventeenth century reaching across from the Old World to the New--all these were tides taken at the ebb to penetrate a weak-ened and changing society. The crisis of meaning in American culture today and some initial responses to it present new windows of opportu-nity for would-be refounders. What special qualities are required of these so-called otitriders of re-ligion? In an essay on the future of spirituality, ~5 Karl Rahner addressed the situation of believers living in a time of sociological diminishment. Their faith must be sustained by what he termed "a solitary, immediate experience of God." They are to be new types of mystics whose con-viction does not come from any place other than the hearts of their own existence. Infiltrators are, therefore, marked in the first place by a per-sonal experience of God. Their second trait might be called culture-friendliness. Refounding persons exhibit that certain feel for the divine possibilities in society, that willingness to mix it up with the shapers of meaning in the wider world. While they are not uncritical of the age, their more basic desire is to engage it in order to move quickly into the spiritual openings it presents. But infiltrators also have blind spots. A common one is to so con-centrate on the strategy and practicalities of insertion into a culture that they lose sight of the sources of the salvation they bring it. Two further images, each able to stand on its own, speak more pointedly to ways of listening for the Word which religious carry to the world they would serve. The Navigator A type of spiritual sensibility long associated with the religious move-ment is at the core of this metaphor. To arrive at it, we add to Theodore White's image of the boat bobbing in the mid-Pacific the lore surround-ing certain revered individuals in Polynesian culture known as Naviga-tors. Now gone, these adventurers were the last repositories in their so: ciety of the secrets of open ocean sailing. Without modern navigational instruments, they could make landfall on a tiny dot of coral thousands of miles across the seemingly trackless Pacific. Anthropologists found their basic talent to be an ability to read the movements of the waves. Through a long and spiritually intense initiation, they learned to tell the crucial difference between the surface disturbances and the ocean- 364 I Review Jbr Religious, May-June 1990 spanning bottom currents which led in definite directions, changed head-ings with the seasons, and were deflected as they ran past the archipela-goes that speckled the Southern Seas. From their minuscule platform on the raft, they could judge which of the great ocean waves to follow and which to let roll past. In terms we will use, these were the special ones who could read in the present which movements had the long-range prom-ise and which would not reach the far shore of the future. Joseph Campbell speaks of an analogous phenomenon in other primi-tive societies which today might come under the title recruitment. While undergoing the long initiation to adulthood, one of the adolescents suf-fers a kind of nervous breakdown. He seems to take things too seriously. He does not see reality the way his peers do and is not in step with their pace and general rhythms. Observing this, the elders remove him from the group--and make him their religious leader! Their intuition, says Campbell, is that the youngster is picking up the contours of another world. He is reading signals from a different depth and perceiving a pic-ture of the way the tribe could be when at its very best. In the language of the previous example, this person becomes the tribal navigator, not just in sailing but in all things, because he can discern directions com-ing 'back from the future,' directions which the rest of the clan recog-nizes as valuable and even salvific. In this metaphor, religious are among those special ones with sensi-tivity for what of God's future is just over the horizon. Intuiting the source and goal of the divine good working in the world, their faith vi-sion focuses more on the da~vning of God's presence than on its fruition in the present. To paraphrase Karl Rahner, they are among the first to catch the glimmer of the morning light on the far mountain which will eventually turn into the brilliance of day. ~6 Following him again, these are the eschatologically inciined believers whose intimations of God's grace which comes from beyond the world creates the saving tension with those disciples whose more incarnationa[ faith celebrates the pres-ence of that grace already come. ~v Two signs of the times which in an obverse way recommend the Navi-gator are the sleek idol-making machines of secularism and materialism. To those driven by them, all observable ~:eality is explainable in terms of itself, and things (including persons perceived as things) hold the high ground of ultimacy. To counteract this massive message, there is great need for the relativizer, the individual who cherishes the good of this world but who also spots its incompleteness and inability to save. These are the ones who catch the presence of the world-to-come in the midst hnages of Religious Life / 365 of the world-that-is-here and so can accept the graciousness of the pres-ent while rejecting its different pretensions to absoluteness. Groups who can "name grace''~8 because they know the difference between groundings which are ultimate and penultimate help save a world which too indiscriminately mixes the two. And indeed, has it not always been one of the liberating functions of religion to lead people into places where, in one writer's imagery, "they can transcend the mazeways they have known to glimpse new visions of what may be"?~9 If this metaphor again seems an old friend, it is because it carries strains of both a classic description of religious communities and of a strong trait in the spiritual experience of their founders. Magisterial docu-ments depict religious orders as witnesses to the world-to-come, as fore-tastes of the kingdom's fullness, and as apostles of the transcendent.2° The innovative apostolic strategies of founding women and men sprang from their ability to see the world which hemmed in their contemporar-ies against the backdrop of the better one illuminated by the light of the coming kingdom. The ancestry of religious life is heavily eschatologi-cal. Witness to that faith-dimension is needed in every age but for the reasons discussed above crucially so in this one. The community which images itself as Navigator values discern-ment. As a group it not only spots the religious possibilities and then im-plements them, but lays explicit hold of the power and source of its vi-sion. It is a mobile group, able to roam free, and has a lower than usual need for the security and predictability of set roles. Its critique of the status quo will disturb those less attuned to the future and it will line up more quickly with other visionaries in the world and Church. For all its sensitivity, such a community also has its limits. Naviga-tors can so focus on the land over the horizon that they miss some of the places they travel through in the present. Eschatological types have their eyes on the better world ahead and tend to be impatient with the slow birthing process needed to bring that world to light of day. In the lan-guage of psychology, they can be perfectionistic, enamored of the ideal, and intolerant of development toward it. In theological talk, they are tempted to angelism, imagining they can detour around the process of history instead of laboriously going through it.2~ Often enough, naviga-tors need to be brought back down to the agitated ocean surface and re-learn the wisdom of the journey itself. Enter the next image, a specialist in the art of journeying. The Lean and Light Remnant The title draws the scene for this third metaphor. It is the Israelite 366/Review for Religious, May-June 1990 people on a long and ragged trek across the desert. Their march this time is not toward the new Promised Land but toward their old one, having just been released from their captivity in Babylon and now heading back to rebuild a ruined Jerusalem. They have little to carry because recent slaves do not amass many possessions. They rely on no social standing other than the dubious kind of the refugee. Most telling, because so many of their kin fell off the trail on the way to Babylon or chose to remain behind there, their numbers are hardly the kind to pose a threat to world order. For all that, they are grateful for their station because they have learned from their experience and their prophets that dispossession and pilgrimage have a way of opening hearts to Yahweh. They are the Remnant. Not lamenting their losses nor ashamed of their smallness, they are in some measure even glad for them because these deprivations have proved to be better teachers about what counts before their God than the power they wielded generations ago. These travelers have no preten-sions of overwhelming their world with multitudes or even talent. What they have to offer is what they are constan,tly aware of receiving, the di-vine mercy and sustenance. At best, they see themselves as catalysts, tiny enzymes in a large mass, invisible and unobtrusive. They are satis-fied on the circumference of society because their ordeal has convinced them that circumferences can often enough in God's eyes be near the cen-ter. The fit between Remnant and the orders of the 1990s is the obvious demographic one of diminishment. Not just on the way, smallness is al-ready here. To begin to extol the benefits of shrinkage at such a time could be written off as a kind but unreal attempt to console the dying, a thought which most likely occurred to Babylon-bound Israelites as they heard the same sentiment from their preachers. But to at least some of them, the truth of the claim proved itself over time. That proof is being given again today in a number of testimonies to the spiritual good which can come of vulnerability and powerlessness. One especially forceful witness is given by the liberationists who in their own pragmatic way have unearthed the riches at the margins. The poor evangelize the wealthy, the no-accounts unlock the Gospel's mean-ing for people of consequence, the small, ordinary, and forgotten ones are revealed as standing at the hub of the kingdom's activity. The very meaning of insignificant is transposed. Another more quiet testimony comes from Jean Vanier and his years of living with the handicapped.22 These sociologically most invisible of Images of Religious Life / :367 people have their own ways of making very visible the presence of grace in creation. The precariousness of their existence and their survival-need for the compassion of others lays bare the essence of how it is be-tween God and all of humanity. Such little people, when cared for and allowed to progress on their own terms, turn out to be large gifts to the caretakers. Gospels such as these are advancing the claim that diaspora time is the spiritually best time. Facing the onset of their own smallness, reli-gious communities could do worse than take to heart this winter spiritual-ity. In its bleakness they might come to see another kind of beauty and in its silence a call to a more anonymous style of influencing the world around them. Is this not the climate in which most all orders and con-gregations began? In the desert where smallness reveals itself as bless-ing by keeping the group real, minority status does not allow social and numerical superiority to figure in its estimation of success. Pilgrim com-munities of the coming decades will have both grieved the loss of high visibility and learned better to rely on their own inner experience as sus-tainer and guidepost. Like the tiny band of emigres approaching the out-skirts of Jerusalem, they will recognize their smallness as the lean and light condition which best suits them for the task of building their old/ new city. Scripture experts tell us that when the exiles entered the settlement, they found others already there, both their own who had been left be-hind as well as others who over the decades had wandered in. To move to our final metaphor, we add the following piece of imagination. Because the project of reconstructing the Temple and city would re-quire more arms than these pilgrims could supply, they realized they needed the help of the resident aliens. But the Jews also noted that these foreigners possessed building skills different from their own which might add much beauty to the final product. The New Jerusalem could better be built collaboratively. The last image is at hand. The Square Dance The picture here is of a swirling group, moving to the rhythm of the same tune and the shouts of the one caller. The dancers begin as a single couple, then join larger and still larger circles, change to other partners along the way, then come back to the original two--and repeat the cycle again and again. While at the beginning the steps and switches are a bit ragged and the caller's instructions hard to understand, the promenaders do not drop out because the energy spreading across the floor has caught them. They know best the partners they came with, but they also know 368 / Review for Religious, May-June 1990 how much more dance there is when they can join hands with other cir-cles and be part of the bigger whirl in the room. They trade some of the freedom of couple-dancing for the chance to be part of something larger to which they now know they can contribute. The dance metaphor speaks of new ways for the religious communi-ties to be together, both with themselves and with others. Beginning within the circles of their own congregations, they move out to other prov-inces and communities, to laity, to their natural families, couples, friends outside their order, co-workers, to other Infiltrators, Navigators and Remnants both Christian and non. The image encourages them to listen for the rhythm which matches the cadence of their own religious experi-ence no matter where in society it is sounding. With a graciousness, they let go the hands of the community partners with whom they began so that these too are free to step off into the bigger enterprise. But they are also happy to welcome them back when the time for regrouping comes round again. Each member of the congregation sacrifices some independence, convinced that the overall cause is worth the initial unsettlement and risk. The sign of the times for Square Dance is quite simply its present existence. Many congregations have already moved the borders on their maps of inclusion. Associates, service corps, laymission extensions, in-terprovincial apostolates, joint ventures by men's and women's branches of the same order all testify to the shifting sense of what it means to be-long. If the initial enthusiasm for widening circles produced some overly fluid boundaries, it did enlarge perceptions of membership. This stretch-ing permitted groups to recognize certain natural allies outside their walls who were in effect anonymous carriers of the community charism. A more recent attempt to strike a better balance between centrifugal and cen-tripetal forces has sought to tie tighter but still flexible bonds between the members. One fine instance is the recent essay by George Wilson which tracks the sharp change in attitudes of Jesuits about inclusion.-~3 The image of a single closed circle embracing all the spiritual, profes-sional, familial, apostolic, and even recreational aspects of communal life has largely been supplanted by another of many smaller circles, some not connected to each other and most tellingly not to the Jesuit one. Be-longing no longer means fitting everything inside the one ring of total community but rather negotiating between the different circles (for ex-ample, professional societies, local living group, non-Society friends both male and female, the world Jesuit fellowship, and so forth), espe-cially between those of one's primary and secondary commitments. hnages of Religious Life / 369 Useful as it is on the intra-community level, a Square Dance model also serves the wider society, Any truly collaborative venture on behalf of issues other than the group's self-preservation is a prophetic word to a culture so tilted away from the ability to cooperate by the weight of individualism. And could it not also be that arguments within religious communities themselves against widening the circle (phrased at times as the loss of needed autonomy or dilution of our special spirit) are partially an echo of the privatist bias in the wider society? Whatever the case, the move to collaborate for reasons beyond self-interest is not only evangeli-cally countercultural, but hearkens back to that surrender to something greater which gave rise to the religious movement in the first place. People of the Square Dance have a mind for the communal. The op-posite of in-house types who require the safety of same-sex, walled-off environments, they still maintain primary loyalties to their own, Their toleration for fluidity in boundaries is high. They have opted to learn ne-gotiation between different memberships rather than to close ranks around the one. This insight that collaborative communities are in a position to infil-trate the individualistic culture completes the circle. The Square Danc-ers widen the Remnant's sphere of influence. Both look to the Naviga-tors for the source and direction of their projects. And all three join in the Infiltrator's attempt to bring the depth of the kingdom to the shallow places of the world. It is time to conclude. Conclusion Nearly twenty years ago when reflecting on the spirituality of the fu-ture, Karl Rahner predicted that whatever forms it takes, it "will remain the old spirituality of the Church's history."24 He meant that even though the relationship between the different parts of Christian existence will shift, its essential elements (for example, adoring the incomprehensible God, following the suffering and triumphant Lord, protesting the world's forms of wealth, power, and pleasure, living within the Church, and so forth) will remain. In a somewhat reverse way, the same holds true for the different images of religious life with which we have been playing. These paradigms do not submerge those components which the recent Vatican document termed "Essential Elements,''25 but they do recon-figure them. Communal living, for instance, is linked to mission in a much different way in a Square Dance framework than it had been in more tightly inclusive forms of the Augustinian one-heart-and-one-spirit tradition. It is precisely that repatterning which makes all the dif-ference. For it allows religious the suppleness not only to set new courses 370 / Review for Religious, May-June 1990 by the waves of the future moving past them, but also to take conscious advantage of the momentum those waves contain. To return to Rahner, religious life will and will not remain the same. Its refounders are those people who through freshly imaging its possibilities will keep the reli-gious movement intact and at the same time reshape it into its most us-able form for the coming age. The overall interplay between the images seems an apt point on which to conclude. The Remnant calls the Infiltrator to remember the hum-ble conditions under which the message is given; the Infiltrator in turn cautions the Remnant against enshrining smallness as a value unto itself. The Navigator supplies the direction for the Infiltrator; the Infiltrator pow-ers the boat which the Navigator might be content only to steer. All three are vitalized by community living, but now expanded into its Square Dance form. Our attempt has been to suggest culturally relevant paradigms which might anchor 'newly emerging syntheses for religious life. If these par-ticular ones do not speak to individuals or communities, they might at least trigger the power of other imaginations to discover even deeper ly-ing metaphors which can again hold the center for this ancient and ever new blessing in the Church. NOTES ~ Thomas Clark, "Religious Leadership in a Time of Cultural Change," Religious Life at the Crossroads, David Fleming, ed. (New York: Paulist Press, 1985), p. 169. 2 In Search of History (New.York: Harper and Row, 1978). 3 Habits of the Heart (New York: Harper and Row, 1985). 4 The Emerging New Class (New York: The Pilgrim Press, 1986). 5 "Religious Life Of The Future," Origins, Sept. 22, 1988 (Vol. 18, no. 15) pp. 234-239. 6 For a general sketch of this school and its leading proponent, Jaques Derrida, see Religion and Intellectual Life, Wint

Issue 48.4 of the Review for Religious, July/August 1989. ; R~,vw:w voR R~:I,~cIous (ISSN 0034-639X) is published hi-monthly at St. Louis University by the Mis-souri Province Eduealional Inslilule of the Society of Jesus; Editorial Office; 3601 Lindell Blvd., Rm. 428; St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Second-class postage paid al St. Louis MO. Single copies $3.00. Subscriptions: $12.00 per year; $22.00 for two years. Other countries: for surface mail, add U.S. $5.00 per year; for airmail, add U.S. $20.00 per year. For subscription orders or change of address, write: Ri~v~i~w t:oR R~:,ucous; P.O. Box 6070; Dululh, MN 55806. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to R~:v~:w voR R~:,.~(aot;s; P.O. Box 6070; Dululh, MN 55806. David L. Fleming, S.J. Iris Ann Ledden, S.S.N.D. Richard .A. Hill, S.J. Jean Read Mary Ann Foppe Editor Associate Editor Contributing Editor Assistant Editors JulylAugust 1989 Volume 48 Number 4 Manuscripts, books for review and correspondence with the editor should be sent to Rv:v~:w voa R~:u{:lot~s; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Correspondence about the department "Canonical Counsel" should be addressed to Rich-ard A. Hill, S.J.; J.S.T.B.; 1735 LeRoy Ave.; Berkeley, CA 94709-1193. Back issues and reprints should be ordered from R~:v,v:w vo~ R~:uctous; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. "Out of print" issues are available from University Microfilms International; 300 N. Zeeb Rd.; Ann Arbor, M! 48106. A major portion of each issue is also available on cassette recordings as a service fl~r the visually impaired. Write to the Xavier Society fl~r the Blind; 154 East 23rd Street; New York, NY 10010. PRISMS . Religious life in no way merits the descriptive word dull. Currently conferences, workshops, and books deal with the theme of "refounding religious life." Another approach looks more towards a "creating of re-ligious life," often with the addition of "for the 21st century." Along with the recent publication of Pope John Paul II's letter to the United States bishops responding to the findings of the 1983 papal commission study of religious life in this country, we find ourselves confronted with various challenges which indicate that religious life remains a valuable concern not only for those who are dedicated to this special form of Chris-tian living, but also for those who support it and are the collaborators and recipients of its service. Religious life takes on its many different forms as a response by those people to God's call to point the way in bridging anew the gap be-tween the lived values of Gospel and culture. Any particular grouping of religious challenge the rest of the Church peoples (including other re-ligious) to a continuing conversion call in one or other aspect of their Christian living. Religious frequently make uncomfortable the govern-ing and teaching authority as well as their own benefactors and friends by their witness and service in those very areas where the Church may b~ slipping into more secular values and ways of acting than gospel val-ues and gospel acting. It is not surprising that religious have been in the forefront of the liberation theology and base-community movement in Latin America. The charism or grac~ which identifies the special call to a particular religious grouping often attracts some kind of participation by both di-ocesan priests and laity. The Third Orders of some of the older religious institutes and the sodalities of some of the more modern apostolic oiders are examples of a long-standing tradition of affiliation. Today there are many more questions about various ways of belonging within the relig-ious grouping--often referred to as "memberships" in the religious fam-ily. Sister Maryanne Stevens, R.S.M., raises some of these issues in her article, "The Shifting Order of Religious Life in Our Church." We are still in the early stages of this new focusing of collaboration in life and in ministry, and there are difficulties and obscurities still to be resolved. We will continue to find it necessary to clarify the identity and responsi-bilities for members dedicated in a specially graced form of life from 481 41~2 / Review for Religious, July-August 1989 other parties with different vocations and yet somehow drawn by grace to a similar model of discipleship. As part of the special spiritual legacy which monastic life, particu-larly in its more contemplative form, has been to the Church, this spe-cial form of religious life may have its own contribution to offer in terms of ecumenical efforts. Fr. Basil Pennington, O.C.S.O., opens up some possible ways of considering this question in his article, "Monasticism: A Place of Deeper Unity~" The AIDS crisis predictably draws forth a religious life response since it presents a special need calling for a gospel ministry. Robert Sirico, C.S.P., calls us to reflect upon our own reactions of fear and stigma concerning those with AIDS .within our own religio.us groupings as well as those AIDS patients whom we intend to serve. The issue of confidentiality is a particularly sensitive point both in our religious com-munity life and in our ministry. His article, "An Improbable Fiction?: Religious Life Confronts the AIDS Crisis," was originally printed in the October 1988 In-formation, the bulletin of the Religious Formation Con-ference. Re!igious life, with all its graced attempts to respon~l to gaps between the Gospel and culture, today finds itself, along with the wider Church and with the contemporary world, caught in the gap itself. As a result, the questions and issues will necessarily have only tentative and at-tempted responses while the Church and our world remain in this in-between time. Reflecting this kind of ongoing response, in FORUM we publish two recent letters from Father Stephen Tutas, S.Mo, president of the Conference of Major Superiors of Men, to its members. All of us continue to need prisms through which we might more quickly catch the movements and fleeting images of God's grace alive in our everyday religious life world. Each time we come to see a new aspect or see in new ways, we face the personal challenge of reinte-grating the truth of our lives, our relationships, and our work. May some of our writers in the articles in this issue be those prisms for us. David L. Fleming, S.J. Reproducing the Pattern of His Death John McKinnon, S.T.D. Father John McKinnon is a priest of the Diocese of Ballarat in Victoria, Australia where he is currently the Vicar for Religious. He works extensively with the various Ministry to Priests Programs and has played a pioneering role in the development of lay spirituality in Australia. His address is the Center for Human Development; 24 Custance St.; Farrer, A.C.T. 2607; Australia. ]n speaking about spirituality, I think that we Often tend to focus immedi-ately on the various ways by which we may seek to foster it--prayer, reflective ministry, and so forth--rather than on what it is we are seek-ing. Spirituality to me speaks of the way we look at life and respond to it. It is the assessment and response that we draw from the level of our own spirit, from that inner point of our self, that is closest to God. It is made up of the values, beliefs, convictions, insights, and so forth, ab-sorbed and developed over the years, which enable us to give meaning and pattern to the myriad experiences of life, and on which we base our deliberate choices. Basic Attitudes for Christian Spirituality For us as Christians these values, beliefs, convictions, and so forth are powerfully affected by our faith in tl~e person of Jesus and our'con-tact with him. This faith in Jesus and contact with him need to be per-sonalized and deepened through time spent intimately with him in prayer. The truth of any person is leai'nt most deeply only by opening to that per-son in love. Friendship is built on time spent together; it is expressed and nourished in devoted action. And it seems to me that both are equally indispensable. In his Epistle to the Philippians, in a very intimate and personally revealing passage, Paul writes about himself: 483 tlS~l / Review for Religious, July-August 1989 All I want is to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and to share his sufferings by reproducing the pattern of his death. In this way I can hope to take my place in the resurrection of the dead (Ph 3:10- ~). In writing this he was merely outlining his own response to the invi-tation of Jesus, recorded in Mark's gospel: "If anyone wants to be a fol-lower of mine, let him renounce himself and take up his cross and fol-low me" (Mk 8:34). Paul wanted to follow Jesus into the triumph of his resurrection, but he clearly realized that following Jesus meant firstly shar-ing his sufferings by reproducing the pattern of his death. The motivation for Paul's choice to follow Jesus was based on his knowledge of Jesus. Knowledge. in the Hebrew mind was not an aca-demic "knowledge about," but an enfleshed knowledge made possible only by love. I would think that only in this "love-knowledge" rela-tionship could any of us find the inspiration to face life as Jesus faced death, and to run the risk of "losing our life in order to find it," sus-tained only by trust in Jesus and the subtle intuition that in that way we might in fact find our life and live it to the full. Paul's comment in Philippians 3:10-11 seems to sum up for me the essential features of any disciple's looking at life and responding to it. It sums up the authentic Christian spirituality. Indeed, the pattern of Je-sus' death reveals the deepest dimensions of Jesus' own spirituality. I presume that Paul was not a masochist, and that Jesus was not in-viting his disciples to suicide. Jesus loved life. There is a sense in which we can say that in his moments of dying Jesus was never more truly alive and, indeed, living life to the full, at a depth and with an intensity that he had never had to muster before. The conclusion drawn by the centu-rion in Mark's gospel, who had known Jesus only in his dying moments, is also very revealing. Mark writes: The centurion, who was standing in front of him, had seen how he had died, and he said, 'In truth this man was a son of God'(Mk 15:39). In wanting to reproduce the pattern of Jesus' death, Paul was paradoxi-cally expressing his own desire to live life to the full. The Source of Salvation The Epistle to the Hebrews (5:9) says that Jesus "became for all who obey him the source of eternal salvation." We open ourselves to salvation as we in turn obey Jesus, as we attune our hearts to his, and through his to the Father's. It becomes ours, therefore, as we plumb the Reproducing the Pattern of His Death truth, as we accept the dignity and worth of every other human person, and as we commit ourselves to that dignity totally. That is why St. Paul dan write in his Epistle to the Philippians that he wants "to reproduce the pattern of Jesus' death." He sees that sim-ply as the way to become fully alive, and eventually "to take his place (with Jesus) in the resurrection from the dead." To obey Jesus and to find salvation mean to reproduce the pattern of his death, or, as the gos-pels put it, to take up our cross and to'follow him. What does this involve, then, for us? It means that we commit ourselves, too, to the vision and the priori-ties of Jesus; that, like Jesus, we let life touch us; that we respond to these temptations in the same way that Jesus responded to his. Our spiri-tuality is to be modeled on the spirituality of Jesus, on his values, be-liefs, and resources. Sharing His Sufferings No one can,be protected from the vicissitudes .of life. We do, how-ever, have some control over the nature of the inner suffering consequent upon these vicissitudes. In the face of the evil of the world we can choose our response. W.e can choose the inner suffering of absurdity and despair, of the sterile meaninglessness of a world without God, of the superficial and unsatisfying logic of the short-term, of the poisoning and paralyzing choice of bitterness and the refusal to forgive. We can face life with no hope and look on everyone as beyond redemption and on the world as condemned to an unchanging sameness. The other alternative is to taste the suffering involved in living the consequences of our own integrity with its seeming powerlessness; the feelings of irrelevance and nonserise involved in trusting a God who, we believe, makes sense of the meaningless sometimes only in the long-term; the dying-to-self ,involved in forgiving and the price of the perse-verance involved in pouring oneself out for others, trusting against hope that they may one day change and be converted. When St. Paul prayed to share the sufferings of Jesus, he was pray-ing that his sufferings would be those involved in the second alternative. Those were the sufferings of the dying Jesus. Those sufferings were the way to life. Context of Commitment It is the context of our life that gives flesh to the living out of our spirituality. I would like briefly to allude to a few consequences of this 4~16 / Review for Religious, July-August 1989 spirituality of Christ as it touches the lives of all involved in active min-istry, priests, religious and laity. To some extent we can shield ourselves from the difficulties of life by choosing not to love. That, however, would be to betray our call to discipleship. The source of Jesus' experience of failure was his commit-ment to love. Luke makes this point quite clearly in his final prelude to the public life of Jesus, the meeting at Nazareth of Jesus and his fellow townspeople. There Jesus declared his manifesto in the words of Isaiah: The spirit of the Lord has been giv~en to me, for he has anointed me. He has sent me to bring the good news to the poor, to proclaim liberty to captives, and to the blind new sight, to set the downtrodden free, to proclaim the Lord's year of favor (Lk 4:18); and it was there that he was violently rejected by the former companions of his childhood. The starting point of our imitation of Christ is a~commitment to depth in ourselves and to share with others the wonderful good news of God's love for all, and consequently to allow our own liberation to grow, to share in the liberation of others, and to work together for justice and free-dom for them. The Call 1. Being Authentic The choice to be authentic means firstly that, like Jesus, we accept and respect both the wonderful dignity of our human nature and at the same time its limitations. It means that we accept the' fact that to be human is to grow. To re-fuse to grqw is to be untrue to the thirst for life and fullness imprinted on our nature by our creating Father. But growth is painful. It is some-times easier to refuse to grow and to change, to opt instead for the fa-miliar and the unchallenging, even to obstruct and to attack change both in ourselves and in the institutions that we make up. Integrity means that we make peace with gradualness and that we re-spect the laws of sequential growth in ourselves and in others. It means that we accept the need for performance and ambition in the establish-ing of our own sense of identity, and it equally means that we be pre-pared to relinquish in time our reliance on performance in order to sur- Reproducing the Pattern of His Death / 487 render to the risk of intimacy, of forgiveness, and of grace. Eventually it means that we move to the even broader task of universal love and of generativity. Each of these transitions can be painful, and the tempta-tions to stay as we are, to secure our own comfort and peace, are strong. We do so, however, at the price of our integrity and the call of our cre-ating and redeeming God who sent. Jesus that we might live life to the full. Being authentically human means that we need to make peace even with our weakness. We have some strengths, but we do not have them all. What we admire in others is often beyond our own reach, and vice versa. We cannot do everything. None of us is "superman." We live, for example, in a day that has only twenty-four hours and not twenty-eight. We are not called to do whatever is good, but to discern what God is asking of us, to do no more than that, and to surrender the rest. Jesus had to choose between consolidating where he was, or going "to the neighboring country towns, so that I can preach there, too" (Mk 1:38)-- he could not do both. With time the very process of aging brings us in touch With new weakness and limitation. Eventually we have to make peace even with our sin. At the price of our sense of self-reliance we have to surrender to the need for forgive-ness and of mercy. In doing so we find our true dignity, and learn to re-spect ourselves because we are loved by God. A further consequence of the choice for discipleship is that we com-mit ourselves to follow our own duly informed and educated conscience. Jesus allowed himself to be led by the Spirit. It is so easy to avoid fac-ing truth and its .consequences and to persuade ourselves that what we are really doing from fear of the opinion of others or from a concern for our own comfort is being done for the sake of pastoral flexibility or main-taining peace or some other equally inadequate.excuse. And yet, at the same time, we also have to recognize that often we are not sure what our conscience is asking of us, and we have to live in uncertainty. Basically the commitment we make to ministry is a commitment to love. We know that love is the only kind of power that can ultimately give life and bring freedom. The commitment to love immediately rules out the possibility of using other kinds of power, all other kinds of power, even ostensibly for the good of people. It applies across'the board, within the Church as well as in the broader world outside. It pre-cludes manipulation, coercion, persuasion. It is notoriously ineffective. It raises whole issues of the interrelationship of institution and individ-ual person, because institutions made up of imperfectly converted and 41~1~ / Review for Religious, July-August 1989 motivated people necessarily require some kind ofsanctions. It requires clear perceptions of priorities; and the constant readiness to change and to repent, because our ongoing experience and reflection reveal that we do not consistently discernpriorities clearly and choose appropriately. The commitment to love also involves a commitment to non-violence (which is not the same as non-resistance to evil). It is the un-willingness to counter violence with violence; it is the choice to over-whelm evil with love, rather, than to double it by retaliating. Non-violent resistance sometimes calls for total self-sacrifice; more often it means apparent ineffectiveness. There are plenty of champions of jus-tice who are prepared to seek it~with violence. That was not Jesus' way. His non-violence made him unpopular, no. doubt, to the Zealots, the "ur-ban guerillas" of his day; it makes his followers equally unpopular in our day. It is~also ineffective. It ensured the inevitability of Jesus' arrest when he was apprehended in Gethsemane, but also elicited his strict cen-sure there of the violent response of one of his followers (Mt 26:52-54). It makes sense only in a world where God is the basis of meaning. It means that we may have to leave free, to go their own way, even to walk into disaster, those whom we love or for whom we have respon-sibility. That was the experience of Jesus. He had to let his ow.n special friends, hi's own diSciples, walk unheedingly into unfaith. He could not, and would not ev.en if he could, live their lives for them. He could not, would not, make their decisions for them. He had to let them_, grow up. Handing them over into the loving hands of his Father did not help all that much. He had learnt the requirements of love precisely from that same Father. As far as the Gospels are concerned, Judas did not come back. On the other hand, the Peter whom he had to leave to walk into utter perplexity and loss of faith did grow up and was a wiser and greater man. We follow the same paths as Jesus. The choice to love makes us notoriously vulnerable. Where our way of life is one that involves our working closely with others, an option for love may mean at times all the pain and frustration of working for consensus. The democratic vote can sometimes simply mean the coercive imposition on the minority of the will of the major-ity. At times it may be appropriate. Often it is not. An honest commit-ment to consensus will mean for many the readiness to devote the time and effort needed to develop the necessary skills of listening, assertion, and negotiation. We need to face the temptation to ineffectiveness, at times even to irrelevance, the jibes of naivete and so forth, and, like Jesus, explore the Reproducing the Pattern of His Death depth of our own authenticity, listen to his heart and to the heart of our creating Father. We need to listen to our own hearts, and somehow trust that integrity, truth, and love make sense, the only sense, and that our God is a God of the long-term, and not of efficient and immediate re-sults. 2. Forgiving We are familiar with the temptations to bitterness and to unforgi-veness. Not only is our world polarized; in some ways, too, our Church is also. Forgiveness is a decision. It is a decision that has consequences. When we decide to forgive, we surrender our right to use the memory of the wrongs again, either for our own self-pity or to store up and accu-mulate them in order to attack again whoever has hurt us. In a situation of ongoing disagreement or.difference, forgiveness in-volves a commitment to seek whatever common ground there is and to work for reconciliation and even at times for consensus. It involves the need to move beyond the words or the positions we may have adopted to listen to our own hearts and to the hearts of those with whom we dis-agree. It is a consequence of choosing the spirituality of Jesus. It leads to life and to peace, but it has its price. ~Forgiveness can seem like the surrender of our own dignity and self-respect, or of our loyalty to our friends and respect for them. 3. Committed . Perhaps our greatest temptation is to lose hope in people. We get hurt through life. We lose o~ur enthusiasm, even our courage. We try some things and our efforts are rejected. We know the temptation to cut our losses: we do our job; we do what is expected of us. But we lose our com-mitment, and we do little or no more than seems necessary. It is difficult to keep pouring out our lives, to keep working enthusi-astically or to try to introduce innovations only to be met with little or no response. It is easier to settle down, to look after ourselves, to make life comfortable to lose hope. But to lose hope is tochoose against life. Jesus faced blankness, in-difference, rejection, mockery, and blasphemy. In the face of that he chose to pour out his life "for the many." He knew the temptation, but he also listened to his own depths and to the heart of his Father. He died still hoping against hope in people. And for many his hope and his com-mitment bore fruit. There is in the depths of every human person an open-ing towards truth and a connaturality with love. Jesus believed that. He saw it in himself. He wanted to set it free in everyone. He would never 490/Review for Religious, July-August 1989 give up hope in people's changing and being converted; he would go to death for the sake of that hope. A truly Christ-based spirituality calls for a commitment in 'hope to people. The Outcome Our active ministry and lifestyle, therefore, whether we be priests, religious or laity, present us with infinitely nuanced temptations tO,work other than in love--to compi:omise and to find our way around our con-sciences, to choose :power in one or other of its many forms, to lose pa-tience with the apparent ineffectiveness of non-violence and love, to avoid the risk of intimacy and to settle instead for subst.itutes. We lose confidence in our God who gives meaning, sometimes too late and only beyond the grave, to our striving, for integrity and authenticity, and we prefer more tangible results and accountable successes, even at the price of what we know we are really called to be. We know we can give lip- ~service to forgiveness but not have the energy.to follow up its conse-quences. We feel the enticing attraction to settle down, to make life com-fortable, to. be "realistic." It is by facing these temptations, recognizing them and naming them, and then by choosing instead to be authentic, to trust, to forgive, and to hope that we work out our salvation and come to savor that life in abun-dance that Jesus wishes to share with us. As we respond to life as Jesus did, we know his peace and his joy, and we get in touch with the "blessedness" he spoke about in the be-atitudes. There is ai~ irrepressible quality to these experiences. We do not have to force 6urseives to find them. They come of themselves. They do not depend on circumstances beyond our control, and require no "fly-ing- carpet" ride through life. Like Jesus who could thank his Father even on the night he was betrayed, like Paul who could write: ". as the sufferings of Christ overflow to us, so, through Christ, does our conso-lation overflow" (2 Co 1:5), we, too, find the unexpected presence and power of peace and joy within us. Even in the very moments of our "re-producing the pattern of his death," we "know Christ and the power of his resurrection" (Ph 3: 10). It might seem to be paradox, but our ex-perience knows it to be truth. The victory that Jesus has won over evil, and in Which we share, is not a victory in which everything has been done already for us. The vic-tory won for us by Jesus means that we now have within us the resources to face whatever comes and to. triumph in love. It is a victory in which we actively participate, and through-which, precisely by our own par- Reproducing the Pattern of His Death / 491 ticipation, we ourselves become more fully alive and more authentically human. No one can do that for us, not even Jesus. But he does do it with us as we allow his Spirit scope to breathe within us. Mission to the World A~ccording tO John's gospel, on the night of his resurrection Jesus ap-peared,~ to his disciples and commissioned them to do what he had done: As the Father sent me, so I am sending you (Jn 20:21). Jesus had been sent to engage with evil and to overwhelm it with truth ~r~ love. He showed the way to us. The Epistle to the Hebrews writes: As it was his purpose to bring a great many of his sons into glory, it was appropriate that God . . . should make perfect, through suffering, the leader who would take them to their salvation (Heb 2: 10). The same Epistle consequently recommends: Let us not lose sight of Jesus, who leads us in our faith and brings it t6 perf6ction (Heb 12:2i. We follow the path that Jesus has trodden. He has commissioned us to show the same way, to others. That is our mission: we show the way, and we show it by living it ourselves. We cannot live the lives of others for them, any more than Jesus could live ours. But we can show them and, by our love, we can empower them, as Jesus has done with us. Though we might all feel embarrassed to say so, really our mission to others must be summed up in the words of St. Paul, "My brothers, be united in following my rule of life" (Ph 3:i7), or, more succinctly, "Take me for your model, as I take Christ" (1 Co I1:1). Like Peter we would all like to follow in the footsteps of a popularly acclaimed and universally accepted Christ. But there is no such Christ. Like the two sons of Zebedee, we would like to share in a victory where struggle is not necessary. But there is no such victory. Jesus has won the victory, but it was won on the wood of the cross. We share in his vic-tory, but we do it as we drink his cup and are baptized with his baptism (see Mk 10:35-40). As with the mission of Jesus, so, too, then, with our own: the suc-cess of our ministry will be counted not by the numbers of those who may listen to us or cooperated in our projects but in the ones who are encouraged by our example and empowered by our love to engage with the evil in their own breasts and meet it in love. It will be found in those 492 / Review for Religious, July-August 1989 who allow the failures of their lives and of their relationships and the .fail-ure of their projects to touch them, and who feel the consequences of those failures, but choose, whether wearily or resolutely, to continue to reach out lovingly in trust, in forgiveness, and in hope. Jesus' message really is one of love, of peace, ofjgy, and of happi-ness- but not as the world understands and gives them. His message is one of victory, but of victory through the Cross, even for his followers. They have to engage with life and they have to let life touch them. It will hurt, not because God wants it that way, but because of the sin of the world and the mutual destructiveness in which it takes shape. This sin of the world can be overwhelmed. Jesus has made it possible. But where it touches people, there people have to engage with it. Conclusion A truly Christian spirituality is one that responds to life as Jesus did. That is the only Christian spirituality. "All I want is to know Christ, and the power of his resurrection, and to share his suffering by repro-ducing the pattern of his death. In this way I can hope to take my place in the resurrection of the dead." As we treasure our experience and pon-der it in our hearts, as Mary did, I believe that our pondering can fruit-fully be done only by relating it to the pattern of his death. Other values and~insights will modify many forms of this basic Chris-tian spirituality; various lifestyles will determine the concrete shapes that it takes; and wisdom and experience will dictatehow best to ponder and to get in touch with those spiritual depths of Jesus. But all must be based firmly on him or they will fall short of salvation. And he wants so much that we share hig experience of life and taste that life "to the full!" Work and Leisure: Our Judeo- Christian Foundations Melannie. Svoboda, S.N.D. Sister Melannie Svoboda, S.N.D., is currently dividing her time between teaching and writing. She recently completed six years as novice director. Her address is Notre Dame Academy; Route one, Box 197; Middleburg, Virginia 22117. Recently I was asked to give a workshop on leisure and spirituality. As part of my research, I looked in the Reader's Guide to Catholic Periodi-cals to see what already had been written on the topic within the past few years. When I looked up the word leisure I was surprised to find very few articles listed under it, but I noticed, there were many articles under Lent. I looked up the word play and found even fewer articles under play, but there were many under Plato, and planned parenthood. Next I tried the word celebration. I found several articles under celebration but many more under celibacy, cemeteries, and censorship. Finally, I looked up the word fun. I found no :articles under fun, but plenty under fund raising, fundamentalism,, and funerals. This experience made me realize how little has been written on the topic of leisure and other related topics which, I feel, are fundamental to our Christian faith. This article will discuss the Judeo-Christian un-derstanding of leisure. It will begin with an exploration of the biblical understanding of the nature of work. Then it will look at the tradition of the Sabbath, the great 'leisure day,' and show how a balancing of work and leisure is essential to a healthy Christian spirituality. Let us turn first to the book of Genesis. What does Genesis tell us about work? It tells us many things. First, it says something extremely significant: God works. This concept of, a working God was something of an oddity among the peoples of that time period. Many other civiliza- 493 494 / Review for Religious, July-August 1989 tions envisioned their gods as beings who did not work. Their gods lei-surely romped around on mountain tops or lay around sleeping all day. But the Hebrews, based on their unique experience of God, saw their God differently. At the beginning of Genesis they posted a large orange sign with big black letters on it: Go~)AT WORK. But Genesis tells us something even more revelatory than the fact that God works. It tells us why God works. He works not because he has to work; he works because he wants to work. His work, creation, is not for his sake; his work is for others' sake, for humankind's sake, for our sake. In Genesis, God chooses to work because he chooses to share some-thing of himself with someone else. So already in the opening pages of Scripture, work is seen as being intimately associated with the act of self-giving-- a self-giving for the benefit of others. A third thing we notice in the creation narrative is how God works. He seems to enjoy it! God is not portrayed as someone who hates his job or finds it mere drudgery. We do not see God complaining, for exam-ple, at the beginning of the fourth day, "Darn it! Today l've got to make those stupid birds! I'll never get them to fly--I just know it!" On the con-trary, God takes delight in the work process, pronouncing creation, the product of his labors, as "good" at the end of each day. In Genesis, we also notice that leisure or rest is an integral part of the work process. God rests not merely on the last day; he rests, he takes "time off," between each day of creation. The ending of each day brings closure to that particular day's activity. The seventh day, the Sab-bath, is just a longer rest period--an entire day of complete rest. But throughout his work, God has been taking other rests--"mini-Sab-baths"-- all along, Rest or leisure is part and parcel of the work proc-ess. Leisure, like work, must be good if God himself does it. In the creation account, Adam, like God, works. "The Lord then took the man and settled him in the garden of Eden, to cultivate and care for it" (Gn 2:15). Work is not a punishment for Adam's sin. It is one of the ways Adam is made in the image of God, A working God means a working Adam. Adam's work is a sharing in the creative activity of God. Adam's work, like God's work, consists primarily in cultivation and care. But something happens to work after the Fal!: Adam sweats and Eve had labor pains. Genesis 'seems to be saying that after their act of dis-obedience, Adam and Eve suffered some serious consequences. All work--whether bringing forth new I.ife through farming or giving birth-- would now necessarily involve fatigue, frustration, and pain. Work and Leisure / 495 In summary, then, Genesis presents some fundamental attitudes to-ward work. Work is .good--even God works. Work is an act of self-giving directed toward the good of others. It consists primarily in culti-vation and care, in the bringing forth of new life. Work should basically be a joyful activity even though it often entails fatigue and pain. Rest or leisure is good, too. It is somehow integral to the work process. Altfiough Genesis beautifully describes work and leisure, it is in Exo-dus and Deuteronomy that we learn more precisely where leisure comes from and, more importantly, what leisure is for. For the Israelites, the concept of leisure is identified with the tradi-tion of the Sabbath. This tradition is expressed explicitly in the fourth commandment: "Remember to keep holy the Sabbath Day" (Ex 20:8). The key phrase in that commandment is "keep hol~,." What exactly does "keep holy" mean? The remainder of that commandment explains what it means: "Six days you may labor and do all your work,, but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord, your God" (Ex 20:9-10). The implication is that to "keep holy" means "not t.o work." But wl~y were the Israelites directed not to work on the Sabbath? The reason is found in Deuteronomy's version of the fourth command-ment. This version adds the following: Remember that you were a servant in the land of Egypt and that the Lord your God brought you out from there with a mighty hand and out-stretched arm; because of this, the Lord God has commanded you to keep the Sabbath (Dt 5:15). The reason for not working is found in the words "because of this." What does the "this" refer to? It refers to the exodus--the great work of Yahweh. In other words, the Israelites were directed not to work on the Sabbath in order to take time to remember their deliverance from bond-age in Egypt by a powerful yet loving God. In his book, Confessions of a Workaholic, Wayne Oates says that the chief motive for keeping the Sabbath was gratitude to God. It is not fear of God, nor the need to hew the line of ritualistic practice. Rather it is the motive of gratitude for deliverance from slavery, grati-tude for the gift ~f freedom. ~ But the Israelites were to do more than to set aside a day on which to thank God for their freedom--as important as that is. They were to express their gratitude to God by the way they used their precious gift of freedom during all the days of the week. Just as God had used his free-dom to free the Israelites from slavery, so, too, were they to use their 496 / Review for Religious, July-August 1989 freedom to free others from slavery--the slavery of ignorance, poverty, hunger, ill health, fear, old age or whatever form that slavery took. In his book, Flowers in the Desert, Demetrius Dumm, O.S.B., has written a beautiful section on the Ten Commandments. His treatment of the fourth commandment is especially relevant here. He sees the fourth commandment as a "transitional commandment"--one that comes af-ter the three commandments that are concerned with the Israelites' rela-tionship with God and one that comes before those six which govern the Israelites' relationship~with each other. The first three commandments called the Israelites to affirm the mystery of God, writes Dumm. They called the Israelites to trust in God's basic goodness, to see him not only .as powerful but as loving. The last six commandments direct the Israel-ites to affirm that same divine mystery present in every human being by the fact that he or she is created by God. Durum writes: Every creature deserves, therefore, to be respected because of its share of divine mystery. One of the most powerful tendencies of man is to eliminate mystery in his life because it cannot be controlled and thus seems threatening to him. The most natural way for man to control the mystery in :creation is through his labor. The Sabbath commandment or-ders the Israelite to interrupt his labor every seventh day as a reminder that that labor is intended by God to release the mystery in life and not crush it.2 What does all of this have to do with me personally and with my Christian faith? Maybe we can answer that question by taking a few "lei-sure moments" to reflect on these questions. What is my. attitude toward my work? Do I see it as a way of self-giving for the benefit of others, or do I view it as a drudgery or, worse yet, asia punishment? Is my work a way of earning God's love, or is it an expression of gratitude for God who loves me already? Is my work a way of serving others, or has it become my sole means of earning the esteem and respect of others? How is my work helping to free others from slavery--no matter what form that slavery might be? In my work, do I respect the divine mystery in creation and people, or is my work an attempt to control or manipulate creation and people? Have I become a slave to my work, or am I free to let go of it at times? Can I, for example, freely walk away from my work when lei-sure calls me to praye~, to relaxation, or to sleep? Have I learned the art of bringing each day.to a close, entrusting the fruits of my labor to the Lord? Do I set aside regular.time for leisure--for "mini-Sabbaths" and for longer ones? Do I use this "wasted time" to remember God's deliv- Work and Leisure / 497 erance.of me from sin, to reflect on his goodness to me, and to thank and praise him for his power and love? Can I just be with God or must I always be doing for him? Do I find the Lord both in my work and in my leisure? Do I take time to be with others, to enjoy their company, to play with them, to appreci-ate the divine mystery present in them? Or is the only time I am with others when I am working with them or for them? In conclusion, then, we have seen how a healthy balancing of work and leisure is essential for our Christian faith. In his article, "The Spiri-tual Value of Leisure," Leonard Doohan explains how work and leisure manifest our faith in God. Unlike those who profess some religions, we claim to believe that God is near to us, in us, in others, in the wonders of the world. Only in lei-sure dowe prove this belief by giving time to developing attitudes nec-essary to meet him. We also believe we can experience God personally and in community, but does our faith show this to others in the life we live? Are we "working" tourists who look at everything and see noth-ing, or do we pause, appreciate, wonder, and praise God who, we be-lieve, reveals himself in creation? It is not by work that we earn salva-tion, but in leisure that we appreciate that it is gift. Leisure is the cor-rective that puts work in perspective and shows forth our faith.3 NOTES ~ Wayne E. Oates, .Confessions of a Workaholic: The Facts about Work Addiction (Nashville: Abingdon, 1971), p. 35. 2 Demetrius Dumm, O.S.B., Flowers in the Desert: A Spirituality of the Bible (New York: Paulist, 1987), pp. 14-15. 3 Leonard Do6han, "The Spiritual Value of Leisure," Spirituality Today, 31 (June 1979), p. 164, Positive Wellness: Horizon for Religious Experience Jerome A. Cusumano, S.J. Father Jerry Cusumano, S.J., is a member of the Japanese Province of the Society of Jesus. He is currently engaged in studies at Arizona State University. His address is B:'ophy College Prep; 4701 N. Central: Phoenix, Arizona 85012. In this article I show how the integrated approach to health as exemplified in the holistic health movement can serve as a vehicle for opening a per-son's consciousness to the religious dimension of life. Since the goal of holistic health is "positive wellness," it is meant for those in good health who wish to achieve even better health, those who, in other words, are no longer focused on the negative problems of health such as giving up smoking, controlling drinking, losing weight, and so on. Holistic health encompasses at least the following four dimeffsions: nu-trition, exercise, awareness, and lifestyle. Since numerous self-help books as well as much scholarly research have more than adequately ex-plicated what is essential to each particular dimension, I do not intend to repeat here what has been better said elsewhere. However, I will briefly summarize what seems to be generally accepted in each area in order to establish a basis for the reflections which follow. 1 will treat the four basic factors in ascending order of importance. Nutrition Quantitatively, one should systematically "under-eat" in such a way as to maintain his body weight at the level it was when physical growth was completed, usually about the age of twenty. Qualitatively, one's diet should be based primarily on whole grains, raw vegetables, and fresh fruit. The diet should be, in yogic terms, sattvic, that is, nei- 498 Positive Wellness / 499 ther making the body sluggish nor stimulating it, but rather leaving it en-ergized and calm at the same time. Since one needs energy for exercise and calmness for awareness, a sattvic diet disposes the body properly for the next two dimensions of holistic health. Exercise Good food will not be adequately assimilated if the blood and oxy-gen circulation of the body are poor; conversely, a body kept in good condition will be healthy even on a poorer diet. Thus exercise is more important than nutrition for positive wellness. One needs to do some form of stretching exercises every day in order to maintain flexibility and alignment in the musculo-skeletal frame. What is gained during exercise times should be maintained at other times by sitting and standing in pos-tures which keep the shoulders and pelvis in line and the back straight. One also needs some form of daily aerobic exercise done for at least twenty minutes a session in order to revitalize and refresh the cardiovas-cular and respiratory systems by increasing the oxygen supply in the blood. The amount of time one devotes to exercise serves as a good gauge of one's desire for positive wellness. Nevertheless, even exercise is of less importance for positive wellness than the next dimension, aware-heSS. Awareness A period of at least twenty minutes a day should be devoted to some method of systematic awareness in the form of relaxation or meditation. The possibilities range over the spectrum from Feldenkrais's body aware-ness exercises or Jacobson's progressive relaxation method done in the prone, position, through the measured movements of Tai Chi done stand, ing and walking, to the one-pointed focusing of zazen or yoga done in the more demanding postures such as the full lotus. ~ Turning one's con-scious powers in on oneself while in slow m6vement and/or remaining still for a good length of time not only revitalizes the conscious mind and relaxes the body, but also provides a place where unconscious material, such as negative emotions, can .surface and be disposed of through aware-ness. While aerobic exercise refreshes one through an expenditure of en-ergy, in awareness one gathers his energy, concentrates it, and so re-charges himself. Furthermore, while it is possible to both eat well and exercise enough, and yet still lead a harried life, this is not possible for one who wishes to practice awareness regularly. The daily period set aside for purposefully quieting both body and mind through awareness presupposes a lifestyle conducive to such an activity. Thus awareness is 500 I Review for Religious, July-August 1989 both the support of and the fruit of an ordered lifestyle which is the fourth and most important dimension for positive wellness. Lifestyle In proportion as a stressful lifestyle has deleterious effects on the physical and psychical organism, so also a relaxed lifestyle is the single most important factor in promoting positive wellness. Such a lifestyle in-cludes a job ohe feels satisfied with and sees as worthwhile, as well as a personal life that has sufficient rest, satisfying human relationships, and some absorbing interests. Requisite to such a lifestyle, however, is a I . clear conception of the purpose of one's life, which serves as an implicit criterion by which one can judge which activities are to be undertaken and which relationsh.ips fostered. With a relaxed lifestyle and a clear pur-pose in life a man may reach a state of positive wellness even though he does not scrupulously follow all the directives with regard to nutri-tion, exercise, and awareness. Actually, a clear grasp of the purpose of one's life gives a meaning to striving for positive wellness. "Maintain-ing good physical and mental health is like preserving two fine instru-ments which can be used to carry out the purpose of life . Thus it is clear that the basis of holistic health lies in one's understanding the purpose of his life and learning how to achieve that purpose."2 Religious Experience The state of positive wellness, achieved and maintained by the inte-grated approach of the holistic health movement as summarized above, can dispose one to be more receptive to the transcendental and religious dimension of life. One becomes accustomed to an habitual state of vigor, energy, and wellness which hecan no longer do without. To use Glas-ser's term, one has developed a positive addiction to health itself. This addiction to positive wellness has its source in the good feelings gener-ated through the "spiritualization" of one's body by the increased vi-tality attained through conscious effort and the "physicalization" of one's mind by the greater calmness achieved through attention to bodily processes. At peak moments this dual action issues into a harmony which Glasser call the PA (positive addiction) state. "In the PA state the mind flows with the body. The two cease completely to be antagonistic to each other and blend into one. The state of positive addiction to health is experienced as a drive from within oneself, but not an instinctual drive such as that for sex, nor as a drive stemming from the force of one's will. One feels that he has tapped into another force which is now pulling him to higher levels of Positive Wellness health. Yoga terminology calls this force the Self as opposed to the self. However, it might just as well be conceived in terms of health itself. The healthier one becomes, the more he makes contact with the body's own innate drive to good health and experiences the power of that drive. He gradually opens his consciousness to the life force within him and allows it to work of itself. The healthier one becomes, the more he can tap into this life force. Paradoxically, this means that one becomes a "spiritual" person not by ignoring the body in the pursuit of higher interest, but rather by infusing the body with spirit, that is, by directing one's consciousness to the health of the body in such a way as to energize it as fully as possible. As a result one becomes a more suitable vehicle to channel the energy of life within himself and to others. "As you continue to develop your channels of energy, you will notice differences in your entire being, and these will likewise be observed by those around you, who also benefit from the increase in energy flow."4 Energizing the body through sustained, systematic daily care of one's health puts one into contact with a Life greater than one's own. It is this Life, more than individual will power, which makes possible the main-tenance of a sane lifestyle and consistent attention to nutrition, exercise, and awareness demanded for positive wellness. For some this may be the first step to recognition of transcendent being. For others it may be a preparation through a new experience of satisfaction from taking respon-sibility for one's life. As Bloomfield says, "There is joy in taking full responsibility for your health and happiness.''5 Children at play, fully alive and vibrant, exemplify the joy he speaks of. Theirs is a joy spring-ing from the flexibility and agility of their bodies as well as from the care-free state of mind in which they live. Paradoxically, Ardell notes, it is only as one grows older that he can fully enjoy youth.6 Conclusion If pursued within the holistic health framework the current quest of many for youthfulness and positive wellness can become the occasion for opening oneself to transcendent and religious experience. For positive wellness makes one aware of the source of Life itself. NOTES ~ M. Feldenkrais, Awareness Through Movement, (New York: Harper and Row, 1972), E. Jacobson, You Must Relax, (London: Unwin Paperbacks, 1980). 2 S. Rama, A Practical Guide to Holistic Health, (Honesdale, Pennsylvania: The 50~. / Review for Religious, July-August 1989 Himalayan Publishers, 1980), p. 13. 3 W. Glasser, Positive Addiction, (New York: Harper and Row, 1976), p. 56. '~ R. Shames, The Gift of Health, (New York: Bantam Books, 1982), p. 140. 5 H. Bloomfield, The Holistic Way to Health and Happiness, (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1978), p. 274. 6 D. Ardell, High Level Wellness, (New York: Bantam Books, 1981), p. 67. Full Circle Morning did come! Rise with the full-day Sun! Work begun. Thy Will be done! Day half-spent, Rest in the noonday Sun! Renewed, refre~shed--run! Day-work, toil done. Daystar, noon, setting Sun. Rest! Be still! Tomorrows come . . . maybe? Glory be! Walter Bunofsky, S.V.D. 1446 E. Warne Avenue St. Louis, Missouri 63107 Striving for Spiritual Maturity: Ideals as Obstacles Wilkie Au, S.J. Father Wilkie Au, S.J., has been working in psychological counseling and spiritual direction. He served for six years as novice director for the Jesuit California Prov-ince. He may be addressed at Loyola Marymount College; Jesuit Community; P.O. Box 45041; Los Angeles, California 90045-0041. The metaphor of a journey captures well what most adults come sooner or later to realize about spiritual and psychological growth: it is a never-ending series of changes and struggles. In a word, it is a hard road to travel. It is tied to the ways we respond to the crises of human life. These crises are both predictable and unpredictable. The predictable ones have been outlined in the literature of deve!opmental psychology, which de-picts the pattern of adult growth, not as an undisturbed straight line, but as a zigzag process often full of setbacks and frustrations. The unpre-dictable crises are easily recognized: sudden illnesses, career disappoint-ments, interpersonal misunderstandings, the loneliness of ruptured rela-tionships, the separation of death or divorce. When faced with the strug-gles that are the inescapable conditions of growth, people frequently ask themselves: "Why go on? Why keep trying, if there is no chance of suc-cess? What difference does it make any way?" The frustrations of seem-ingly endless change--new jobs, new residences, new relationships-- force many to question whether it is worth all the effort. These are nei-ther theoretical nor abstract questions. They emerge from the concrete experience of striving to grow in holiness and wholeness. These quan-daries frame the struggle to love as Jesus commanded. An effective spirituality today must strengthen the individual's com-mitment to the ongoing process of sanctification and maturation. It must 503 ~i04/Review for Religious, July-August 1989 do this by reminding us that God is always close by with divine love and power to help us in our struggles. As followers of the risen Christ, we are called to believe that "the power.by which life is sustained and in-vited toward wholeness is no human creation and abides and remains steadfast even in a world where death does have dominion over every individual." ~ As in other human journeys, we reach the destination of our spiri-tual pilgrimage only gradually. However, there is a paradoxical nature to the spiritual sojourn. While alive, we will never fully reach our goal of union with God and others. Yet, being on the spiritual path is already a way of attaining that end. God is to be enjoyed not only at the end of the search, .but all along the way. The Christmas story of the magi illus-trates this truth. God was present to them not only when they joyfully arrived at the cave in Bethlehem, but also in the original stirrings that sent them off in search of the promised Messiah. God's presence was also experienced in a guiding star that directed them through dark nights and in a dream that warned them of Herod's threat. They experienced God's support, too, in the encouragement they gave each other through-out an uncharted search that took them miles from home. God is more present to us than we think. Our search for union with God is life-long, often a strenuous trek punctuated by dark passages. If we are to persevere, we must take cour-age in God's abiding presence all along the way. Even as we are travel-ing towards God as destiny, Emmanuel is already with us in manifold ways. The disciples of Jesus were once given a dramatic lesson about how Christ is ever-present. One day they were crossing the Lake of Gali-lee when a fierce storm enveloped their little boat. Frightened by vio-lent winds, the apostles were stricken with panic. Suddenly, Jesus ap-peared to them walking on the water. He told them, "It is I. Do not be afraid" (Jn 6:21). Jesus then calmed the storm, and the boat quickly came to shore. The significance of Jesus' words is clear when we look at the original text. The Greek has Jesus saying "ego eimi" which liter-ally means "I am." In the Septuagint, the Greek translation of the Old Testament, the phrase "ego eimi" is used as a surrogate for the divine name (Ex 3:14). It is Yahweh's response to Moses' question, "Who shall I say sent me?" In placing these words in Jesus' mouth, John ex-p~' esses the early Church's belief in the divinity of Christ. The good news affirmed in this Johannine passage is identical to that contained in Mat-thew's story of the magi: God is always with us in our journeys through life. This truth must permeate our consciousness, especially when our Striving for Spiritual Maturity / 505 fragile boat is rocked by waves of worry and troublesome torrents. In our fear and confusion, we need to recognize the presence of the risen Jesus drawing near to us to still the storm. Calm will descend on us when we hear Jesus say, "Do not be afraid. It is I." Letting Go of Flawless Images ~The journey metaphor most accurately reflects reality when it is seen as a zigzag pattern i'ather than as an uninterrupted straight line. Human growth is not a process that moves relentlessly ahead in a single direc-tion. It, rather, is a mixture of progressions and regressions. At times, we experience forward movements; on other occasions, slips indicate re-gress; and sometimes, no matter how much effort we expend, we find ourselves at a standstill, seemingly stuck at a developmental plateau. Is this wrong? To the contrary. Accepting the jerky aspect of growth and relinquishing the illusion of a forever smooth-flowing journey is not only necessary but will bring serenity to our striving for maturity. Failures should not produce despair; temporary plateaus need not trigger paraly-sis. The expectation of a flawless journey is counterproductive because it misrepresents the process of developmenta~l growth. It also distorts the truth of what it means to be a human being. A view of the human person which does not acknowledge that sinfulness casts a shadow on every person is unrealistic. Such a notion can also have harmful effects. Our sinful condition renders us radically weak. In an iron'ic way, not to admit to our weakened capacity leads us to a sense of perversity and guilt rather than worthiness and self-acceptance. The refusal "to recognize the persistent ambiguity and the final impotence of our lives tantalizes us with an optimistic promise of self-evolved be-coming," concli~des theologian LeRoy Aden. It also "stands in danger of giving us a sense of failure and despair to the extent that we do not achieve it. ,.,2 Thus, failure to acknowledge the shadow aspect of human personality, diminishes, not enhances, self-esteem. Aden elaborates on the harmful effects of a naively optimistic view of human development in the context of a critique of Carl Rogers, the father of client-centered therapy and a major influence in the field of pas-toral counseling. Aden objects to a basic hypothesis of client-centered therapy: the belief that persons have within themselves the ongoing ca-pacity to reorganize their lives in the direction of maturity and fulfill-ment if the proper psychological climate is present. Concretely,. this hy-pothesis presupposes that if the counselor communicates empathy, warmth, acceptance, and genuineness, a client wil~ naturally begin to manifest behavior that enhances the true self. According to Aden, "Ro- 506 / Review for Religious, July-August 1989 gers' faith in the individual's ability to choose the good is absolute. He entertains no qualifications. He allows no doubts.In fact, therapists who begin to question the hypothesis and who shift to another mode of inter-action only confuse the client and defeat their own purpose."3 Roger~ clung tenaciously to his belief in the individual's absolute ca-pacity for constructive and enhancing behavior. Aden recounts an inci-dent in Rogers' life in which he nearly destroyed his own psychic health by maintaining at all cost this article of faith. Rogers once dealt with a very disturbed woman who continually demanded more of him--more time, more warmth, more realness. Although he began to doubt his own adequacy and to lose the boundaries between himself and the client, Ro-gers was very reluctant to let go. Finally, when he realized that he was on the edge of a personal breakdown,he swiftly referred the client to a psychiatric colleague and left town for an extended period. He eventu-ally sought therapy to overcome feelings of complete inadequacy as a therapist and deep worthlessness as a person. According to Aden, this "event shows that Rogers would doubt him-self as a therapist and as a person before he would question his basic faith in the individual.''4 Rogers had provided his disturbed client ~,ith un-derstanding and acceptance over an extended period of time. Neverthe-less, she got progressively more dependent and sicker, bordering on psy-chosis. Her behavior explicitly challenged the very foundation of his the-ory. Thus, it was easier for him to doubt his own worth as a clinician than to reexamine the linchpin of his therapeutic creed. Belief in the in-dividual's indomitable capacity for ongoing growth and actualization had to be maintained at all cost. Forgiveness: The End Point of Life Carl Rogers has made many contributions to pastoral counseling, but his trust in the absolute ability of individuals to grow continually toward fulfillment is a harmful assumption for Christians. It contradicts Christi-anity's deepest insight into the human person as radically good, yet bur-dened by sinfulness. This sinful condition impedes our struggle for growth in holiness and maturity~ It often leads to imperfect fulfillment. Unlike the contemporary tendency to absolutize fulfillment as the basic truth and the final goal of human existence, Christian faith reiterates the good news proclaimed by Christ: forgiveness is the endpoint of human life. Thus faulty fulfillment and incomplete development need not worry those who trust in the forgiving love of God. In thelend, we will fully enjoy the unconditional acceptance of God, not because we are flawless, Striving for Spiritual Maturity / 507 but in spite of our imperfections. Our merciful God's gift of forgiveness means that we "cannot and need not measure up to any conditions of worth."5 When forgiveness, and not fulfillment, is seen as the endpoint of our lives, we can live with greater acceptance of our weaknesses and with greater hope in God's power to complete what grace has started. No longer will the ambiguity of our fulfillment judge us, nor the impo-tence of our efforts condemn us. With St. Paul, we are "quite certain that the One who began this good work" in us "will see that it is fin-ished when the Day of Christ Jesus comes" (Ph 1:6). As Aden states beau-tifully., the promise of ultimate forgiveness "allows us to be incomplete and yet complete, estranged and yet related, distorted and yet fulfilled." When our journey reaches its termination, we will be wrapped in God's merciful arms, like the prodigal son. Because "you are forgiven" will be the final words we will hear, we are freed from the compulsive need to actualize perfectly our human potential and are released from the guilt that accompanies falling short of that goal. "Success and failure are accidental," writes one spiritual writer. "The'joy of the Christian is never based on . . . success but on the knowledge that (one's) Redeemer lives."6 Thus, the author encour-ages us to learn to li~,e peacefully to the end of our life with a certain imperfecti6n: The Lord will never ask how successful we were in overcoming a par-ticular vice, sin, or imperfection. He will ask us, "Did you humbly and patiently accept this mystery of iniquity in your life? How did you deal with it? Did you learn from it to be patient and humble? Did it teach you to trust not your own ability but my love? Did it enable you to under-stand better the mystery of iniquity in the lives of others?' ,7 Our lack of perfection will never separate us from God because the Lord's forgiveness is always perfect and total. What to Do Until the Messiah Comes Until that day of Christ Jesus, when we will receive "the perfec-tion that comes through faith in Christ and is from God," we are called to strive for the goal without ceasing (Ph 3: 9-10). We are to imitate St. Paul in his deep yearning "to have Christ and be given a place in him" (Ph 3:9). We have not yet won, but are still running, trying to capture the prize for which Jesus captured us. We too must forget the past and strain ahead for what is still to come. We must, in Paul's words, race "for the finish, for the prize to which God calls us upward to receive in Christ Jesus" (Ph 3: 14). Review for Religious, July-August 1989 Paul's expression of the Christian goal is beautifully poetic. We must look to a contemporary spirituality, however, to translate it into real-life terms. As a guide to Christian living, a spirituality' must spell out the prac-tical dimensions of that vision. It should keep the Gospel ideals eve~r be-fore the Christian sojourner. These ideals are meant to help Christians finish the spiritu~.l race and to receive a place in Christ. They can be use-ful in our spiritual odyssey. Like the stars, they may never be reached; but they are useful to steer our lives by. Ideals can hinder us, however, and discourage us from trying when the fear of performing poorly para-lyzes us. The French saying, "The best is the enemy of the good," il-lustrates this attitude of fearfulness. Ideals impede our spiritual progress when we use them as an excuse for mediocrity, thinking to ourselves: "Christian holiness is something for saintly people, not ordinary folks like us. ". Furthermore, ideals are injurious when they lure us into think-ing that we can earn God's approval by doing everything perfectJy. Paul refers to this as seeking a perfection that comes from the Law rather than from faithin Jesus (Ph 3:9). When striving for holine~ ss deceives us int6 thinking that we can stand in pharisaical judgment over others, we have been seduced by pride. Finally, ideals are harmful when they lead to cyni-cism and disillusionment. That no one fully lives up to espoused values should not undermine the importance of having high aspirations. The fail-ure of sincere efforts should not disillusion us, but the apathy of not try-ing should appall us. Dreaming is not the same as doing. Ideals should inspire us to act, not merely to dream. Thoughts of what could be tomorrow should lead us to do what we can today. When lofty aspirations lead to romantic pre-occupation rather than realistic pursuits, they retard our spiritual devel-opment. In a letter to a friend, C. S. Lewis makes this point nicely: We read of spiritual efforts, and our imagination makes us believe that, because we enjoy the idea of doing them, we have done them. I am ap-palled to see how much of the change which I thought I had undergone lately was on!y imaginary. The real workseems still to be done. It is so fatally easy to confuse an aesthetic appreciation of the spiritual life with the life itself--to dream that you have waked, washed, and dressed and then to find yourself still in bed.8 No matter how grand our ideals, they can only be achieved through small but steady steps. As the Chinese sage Lao Tze stated centuries ago, "The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step." We must bear this wise saying in mind as we let the star of idealism lead us, as with the magi, incompanionship to the Messiah. Striving for Spiritual Maturity / 509 Activity and Passivity in Spiritual Striving Striving for spiritual maturity is paradoxical. It requires us to be si-multaneously active and passive. We are called to exert our efforts and use our God-given talents to develop ourselves. And, at the same time, we must remember that our efforts alone can never bring us to holiness and wholeness; only God's grace can effect our transformation into Christ. While we ultimately cannot save ourselves, we must neverthe-less cooperate with divine grace. We must dispose ourselves to be re-ceptive to the sanctifying action of God's touch. In our spiritual journey we have to negotiate a delicate passage between the Scylla of presump-tion and the Charybdis of despair. Presumption, according.to St. Tho-mas Aquinas, is "an unwarranted dependence upofi God."9 It is the at-titude that God will do it all and that our efforts are not important. Fos-tering irresponsible inaction, it keeps us from doing our part. Despair, on the other hand, is losing hope in God's saving power. It stems from an exclusive reliance on our efforts, without any trust in God's power to make up for Qur human limitations. It results from thinking that eve-rything depends on us alone. Only ongoing discernment can help us main-tain the right balance in our spirituality between personal effort and trust-ing reliance on God. Both dynamics are encouraged by Scripture. Many New. Testament passages attest to the need to rely on God's power in order to bear spiritual fruit in our lives. A beautiful expression of this is the Johannine image of God as the vinedresser. Jesus is the vine and we are the branches. The Father prunes us so that we might bear fruit (Jn 15: I-2). Spiritual growth is passive in the sense that purification and progress are the direct results of God's action upon us. The evangelist Mark reinforces the centrality of God's action in his parable about the seed growing by itself. This is what the kingdom of God is like. A man throws seed on the land. Night and day, while he sleeps, when he is awake, the seed is sprouting and growing; how, he does not know. Of its own accord the land pro-duces first the shoot, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear. And when the crop is ready, he loses no time; he starts to reap because the harvest has come (Mk 4:26-29). Notice that the farmer's work is described with a minimum of words. The emphasis falls on the mysterious process of growth. Just as the earth produces fruit spontaneously, so God's reign comes by divine power alone. Once the seed is planted, the result is as sure, as dependable, and as silent as the forces of nature. Stage by stage--first the green shoot, then the spike of corn, and then the full grain in the ear--the seed of S10 /Review for Religious, July-August 1989 God's reign grows to harvest in a way that the farmer does not under-stand. This parable reminds us that nature (God's creation) contains a power which humans do not make or~direct. Similarly, God's grace will bring about conversion and growth in us in ways we may not understand. In human lives, the Spirit of Jesus is the divine power that brings God's kingdom from seed to harvest. When we remember that God's 'work-ing in us,.can do more than we can ask or imagine' (Ep 3:20), we will be protected from the pride and anxiety that stem from the myth of total self-sufficiency. But Scripture also stresses the importance of human effort. Luke's gospel strongly urges followers of Christ to translate words into action. "Why do you call me Lord, Lord," asks Jesus, "and not do what I say?" (Lk 6:46). Everyone who comes to me and listens to my words and acts on them ¯ . . is like the man who when he built his house dug, and dug deep, and laid the foundations on rock; when the river was in flood it bore down on that house but could not shake it, it was so well built. But the one who listens and does nothing is like the man who built his house on soil, with no foundations: as soon as the river bore down on it, it col-lapsed; and what a ruin that house became! (Lk 6:47-49). Jesus not only challenges us to practice his teachings, but also warns that our very hearing of his word must be done with care. In the parable of the sower and the seed, he describes the fragility ofthe seed of God's word. If it is not received by the right soil, it will not take root and grow. Grains that fall on the edge of the path represent people who have heard the word of God, but have it stolen from their hearts by the forces of evil. Seeds that fall on rock are like people who receive the word in a superfi-cial way, and give up in time of trial. Those that fall in the midst of thorns are Christians who let worries, riches, and pleasures of life choke their growth, preventing it from reaching maturity. Grains that fall in the rich soil signify those of generous hearts who have let the word take deep roots in themselves and have yielded a harvest through their persever-anc. e (Lk 8:11-15). Emphasizing the importance of human effort in dis-posing the soil of the inner self for receiving the word, Jesus concludes with a warning: "So take care how you hear" (Lk 8: 18). While Mark's parable of the seed growing by itself stresses the power of God actively bringing about growth, Luke's parable emphasizes the necessity of en-ergetic human cooperation. Another Lukan parable about a fruitless fig tree highlights the im-portance of personal effort. When its owner realized that his tree had Striving for Spiritual Maturity been barren for three years, he ordered his gardener to remove it. In-stead, the caretaker pleaded, "Sir, leave it one more year and give me time to dig round it and manure it: it may bear fruit next year; if not, then you can cut it down" (Lk 13:8-9). We too are called to actively tend the seed of God's word so that it can take deep roots in our souls and can bear fruit for the world. A classical biblical text used to illustrate the need for docility to God's formative action in our lives is Jeremiah's visit to the potter. Watch-ing the artisan working at his wheel, the prophet noticed that he contin-ued to shape and reshape the clay until he created what he was envision-ing. Then the word of Yahweh came to Jeremiah as follows: "House of Israel, can I not do to you what this potter does?. Yes, like clay in the potter's hand, so you are in mine, House of Israel" (Jr 18:1-6). While the image of the human person as clay being shaped by the divine Potter testifies beautifully to God's active involvement in our spiritual development, it should not be used to justify excessive passivity or in-fantile irresponsibility. While trying to be malleable to the fashioning in-fluence of God, Christians are called to take adult responsibility for their growth. This means taking active means to deepen one's love for God and neighbor. Activity and passivity must coexist in dynamic tension, if we are to remain.spir!tually healthy. In describing her Jeremiah-like visit to a pot-ter at work in Provincetown, situated at the tip of Cape Cod, a recent writer shed light on the active-passive dimension of spiritual formation. The observer discovered that the artist,, a woman-of more than seventy years, was a wise person as well as a potter. After conveying her belief in the direct relationship between the pliability of the clay and its strength, the artisan added, almost as an aside, "If you can't bend a lit-tle and give some, life will eventually break you. It's just the way it is, you know." ~0 The visitor noticed that the potter worked with both hands: one placed inside, applying pressure on the clay; the other on the out-side of the gradually forming pot,. Too much pressure from the outside would cause the pot to collapse, while too much pressure from the in-side would make the pot bulge outward. The old potter spoke wisely about life: Life, like the pot I am turning, is shaped by two sets of opposing forces ¯ . . Sadness and death and misfortune and the love of friends and all the things that happened to m~ that I didn't even choose. All of that in-fluenced my life. But there are things I believe in about myself, my faith in God, and the love of some friends that worked on the insides of me. ~ 512 / Review for Religious,. July-August 1989 Like Jeremiah, this modern day potter sheds light on the Lord's ways of dealing with us. The Lord who calls us to be holy is also the One who forms us into the image of Jesus, the living icon, of God. This divine Art-ist works on us with two hands: one shaping us from the inside and an-other molding us from the outside. Like the clay pot, we need to be mal- . leable. And, paradoxically, our pliability will give us strength to per-severe ac~tively in the process. Knowing how to bend a little will keep us from breaking. Experience as Manure in the Spiritual Field In the spiritual project of transformation into Christ, effort is what counts, not unremitting success. Acclaiming the value of practice in spiri-tual growth, the Eastern guru Chogyam Trungpa speaks of the "manure of experience and the field of bohdi." ~-~ Bohdi represents the search for enlightenment. If we are skilled and p~tient enough to sift through our experiences and study them thoroughly, we can use them to aid our en-lightenment. Our experiences, 'our mistakes, and even our failures func-tion like fertilizer. According to Trungpa, to deny or cover up our errors is a waste of experience. When we do not scrutinize our failures for the lessons they contain, we miss an opportunity. What appears to be use-less trash contains potential .nutrients for life. But, to convert our defi-ciencies into positive value, we need to pile them on a compost heap, not sweep them behind a bush. Hiding failure is to store it like rubbish. "And if you store it like that," the guru remarks, "you would not have enough manure to raise a crop from the wonderful field of bodhi.''~3 In a parallel way, experience can be said to be manure in the field of Christian development. Like manure, past experiences must be plowed into the ground to enrich the inner soil of the self, making it more re-ceptive to. the see.d of God's word. Then, we will reap an abundant har-vest base~l on our perseverance. Mistakes need not ruin our spiritual jour-ney, if we learn from them. Even saints like Augustine of Hippo and Ig-natius of Loyola learned how not to make mistakes by making many. The Lord who desires our holiness can bring good out of everything, can work in any and all of our experiences to transform us. In our fragmen-tation, we rejoice in the power of God to bring wholeness. If we bring our weakness before the Lord, humbly asking for the help of enabling grace, we can then trust that the Lord will produce an abundant harvest. Spiritual Growth Through Trial and Error The ideals of Christian spirituality cannot be achieved without im-mersing ourselves in the messiness of nitty-gritty experience. Learning Striving for Spiritual Maturity how to love God and others in an integrated way comes only through daily practice. The way of trial and error, not book learning alone, will teach us how to fashion a dynamic and balanced life in which there is room for solitude and community, ministry and leisure, autonomy and intimacy, personal transformation and social reform, prayer and play. Striking the right balance is a highly personal matter. No one can attain it for us; we must discover it ourselves through personal experience. As theologian John Dunne states, "Only one who has tried the extremes can find this personal mean., on the other hand, trying the extremes will not necessarily lead to finding the mean. Only the [person] who perceives the shortcomings of.the extremes will find it. 14 Blessings for the Journey Achieving wholeness and holiness requires traversing the difficult ter-rain of real life with all its challenges and crises. Even at the end of a lifetime of effort, we will still need to be completed by the finishin~g touch of the divine Artist. God will .then bring to completion in us the eternal design of persons destined to love wholeheartedly. While await-ing that unifying touch of divine grace, we pilgrims are called to follow the way of Jesus. And the Lord who walks with us assures that we will always be blessed. The blessings sent our way may not always be enjoy-able, but they will always nudge us forward in our efforts to love as God i'ntended. °~ A rabbi was once asked, "What is a blessing?" He prefaced his an-swer with a riddle involving the creation account in chapter one of Gene-sis. The riddle went this way: After finishing his work on each of the first five days, the Bible states, "God saw that it was good." But God is not reported to have commented on the goodness of what was created on the sixth day when the human person was fashioned. "What conclu-sion can you draw from tha~?" asked the rabbi. Someone volunteered, "We can conclude that the human person ~s not good." "Possibly," the rabbi nodded, "but that's not a likely explanation." He then went on to explain that the Hebrew word translated as "good" in Genesis is the word "tov," which is better translated as "complete." That is why, the rabbi contended, God did not declare the human person to be "toy." Human beings are created incomplete. It is our life's vocation to collabo-rate with our Creator in fulfilling the Christ-potential in each of us. As the medieval mystic Meister Eckhart suggested, Christ longs to be born and developed into fullness in each of us.~5 A blessing is anything that enters into the center of our lives and expands our capacity to be filled with Christ's love. Therefore, a blessing may not always be painless, but Review for Religious, July-August 1989 it will always bring spiritual growth. Being blessed does not mean being perfect, but being completed. To be blessed is not to get out of life what we think we want. Rather, itis the assurance that God's purifying grace is active in us, so that our "hidden self (may) grow strong" and "Christ may live in (our) hearts through faith." In this way, we will with all the saints be "filled with the utter fullness of God" (Ep 3:16-19). NOTES I Sam Keen, "Manifesto for a Dionysian Theology," in New Theology No. 7, eds. Martin E. M~irty and Dean G. Peerman (New York: Macmillan, 1970), p. 97. 2 LeRoy Aden, "On Carl Rogers" Becoming,"Theology Today XXXVI:4 (Jan. 1980), p. 558. 3 lbid, p. 557. 4 Ibid. 5 lbid, p. 558. 6 Adrian van Kaam, Religion and Personality (Denville, New Jersey: Dimension Books, 1980), p. 15. 7 lbid, p. 15. 8 C.S. Lewis, The3, Stand Together: The Letters of C.S. Lewis to Arthur Greeves (1914-1963), ed. Walter Hooper (New York: The Macmillan Co., Inc. 1979), p. 361. 9 Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, Latin Text and English Translation, Introductions, Notes, Appendices, and GIossaries,~Vol. 33 (Blackfriars, with New York: McGraw-Hill and London: Eyre & Spottiswoode, 1966), II-II, Q 21, a I, ad 1. ~0 Paula Ripple, Growing Strong at Broken Places (Notre Dame, Indiana: Ave Ma-ria Press, 1986), p. 68. ~ Ibid, p. 69. ~z Chogyam Trungpa, Meditation in Action (Boston: Shambhala, 1985), p. 26. ~3 Ibid. ~4 John Dunne, The Way of All the Earth (New York: MacMillan Company, 1972), pp. 37-38. ~5 Meister Eckhart once said: "What good is it to me if Mary gave birth to the son of God fourteen hund'r~ed years ago and I do not also give birth to the son of God in my time and in my culture?" As quoted in Matthew Fox, Original Blessing: A Primer in Creation Spirituality (Santa Fe, New Mexico: Bear & Company, 1983), p. 221. The Shifting Order of Religious Life in our Church Maryanne Stevens, R.S.M. Sister Maryanne Stevens, R.S.M., is currently Assistant Professor of Theology at Creighton University. She had served as formation director for the Sisters of Mercy, Province of Omaha from 1977-1982. Her address is Department of Theology; Creighton University; California at 24th Street; Omaha, Nebraska 68178. The difficulty of thinking thorough questions about religious life today should not be underestimated. Such reflection is often complicated by the fact that those straining to see and articulate what the shifts in relig-ious orders mean for their future in our Church are often themselves mem-bers Of religious congregations. Thus, the efforts to make sense of vowed living can be blindedoby both self-interests and past~ ways of understand-ing. Th6 blindness feels to me like the fuzzy sight of Mark's blind man who could see people "but they look like trees, walking" (Mk 8:24). It was only after the man "looked intently" that he was able to see ev-erything clearly. This ~article is more an attempt to describe the "tree walking" than to asser(any.de~finitive conclusions. Two circumstances in particular have sparked my own reflections on the changing order of religious life. First, we continue to have members "leaving." They do not leave in the dark of night as they did in the 1950s; rather many stand before us in assembly or community saying that their integrity prevents them from +ontinuing to live the vowed life, but they wish always to remain ""sister" or "brother" to us. Many are not immediately interested in a different lifestructure, for example, marriage, personal wealth, and so forth; rather, they are no longer able to connect celibacy, poverty, and obedience to any understanding of their life. Secondly, those within religious communities primarily vested with 515 516 / Review for Religious~ July-August 1989 the role of discerning vocations and incorporating new members are no longer called the "formation-vocation" team. They are now referred to as the "membership team." Some of these new membership teams are made up of non-vowed associates of the community~ as well as vowed members. The job description of these teams is unclear even though it includes the discernment of vocation and the incorporation of new mem-bers because vocation and membership have taken on new meanings. Vo-cation is not necessary to the "vowed" life and membership does not necessitate professing the vows. The new terminology and the alteration in the constitution of the teams are profound symbols of a "changing order." These two realities--members continuing to remain attached to con-gregations even though they "leave" and the development of "mem-bership teams"--can allow for i~ew insight into how, with decreasing numbers,,religious orders will continue the legacy of their foun~lresses or founders, women and men whose gifts have been confirmed as a vivi-fying influence in the Church and the world.2 These gifts or charisms are the animating characteristics for the style of life, witness, and apostolic action within the congregations. Membership within a congregation has meant at its most basic level that a person'believes he or she is called to re-offer the charis~m of the founder to the contemporary world. This offering is buttressed by the belief that the gifts of the founder or foun-dress are not time-bound and will continueto contribute to a further ap-proximation of the reign of God in history. Thus the Sisters of Merc~y (the "order" to which I belong) present the foundation for their exis-tence as the desire to continue the story of a nineteenth-century Irish woman, Catherine McAuley, in theChurch and in the world. This par-ticular goal is expressed by tfieir fourtti vow of gervice and through the wording of their present Constituiions which point to the ideals of their congregation as well as the way they presently understand their congre-gation and words the way they presently understand th6ir mission as a community within the Church. By the vow of service we commit ourselves to exercise the spiritual and corporal works of mercy revealed to us through~ t~,h.e life of Jesus. En-riched by his love, healed by his mercy and0taught by his word we serve the poor, sick, and ignorant. To celebrate our corporate word in a discordant society requires the courage of a deep'faith and interior joy. We believe that God is faithful and that our struggle to follow Christ will extend God's reign of love over human hearts. We rejoice in the continued invitation to seek jus- The Shifting Order of Religious Life tice, to be compassionate, and to reflect mercy to the world.3 The thesis of this article is simply that the clues for how to continue the legacy of a particular founder or foundress will be found by looking intently at how the tradition of the founder or foundress continues to be lived, seeking to confirm all those ~'ho focus their discipleship of Christ through the prism of his or her life and legacy. In order to amplify this thesis, I will discuss eight understandings that result from an attempt to "look intently," and then present several ideas intended to help the "re-ordering" of religious communities. But, first, one caveat is necessary. No matter how blind men and women religious feel as they grope toward an understanding of their .lives, they must trust that they faithfully embody the tradition of the par-ticular foundress.or founder. When I was in formation work in the 1970s, I was fond of telling the newer .members that the Sisters of Mercy were made up of the names in the current directory and the names on the tomb-stones in our cemeteries. This was the most concrete way of describing what they were getting into~companionship with persons who were char-acterized by a variety of shapes, sizes, quirks, personalities, sickness, gifts, skills, weaknesses, ideas, and so forth--but with one thing in com-mon: they all believed they were called to focus their discipleship through the story of Catherine McAuley. It seemed essential that each member act toward the other with the belief that each sister was a part of this tradition and that all were searching for what was necessitated by the call to appropriately renew the story (or tradition) in the light of the sources of Christian life, the original inspiration behind the community and the changed condition of the times.'* At that time I was pointing the novices toward the vowed members of the group, the Sisters. Now the names in our directory include asso-ciate, that is non-vowed, members who have made a contract with us in which we promise our support for their attempts to live the tradition of Catherine McAuley and they promise specific ways in which they will contribute to the offering of Catherine's gifts to the Body of Christ. There-fore, wl~ether we be Sister JaneSmith, R.S.M. or Jane Smith, Associ-ate of the Sisters of Mercy, we must believe in and support one another as we seek to embody the tradition of our foundress. Each of us brings only a part of the story, thus each person who focuses his or her disci-pleship through the same tradition helps focus the present and the future "order" of one's specific congregation. Part I The following are my understandings of religious life today: I ) Men and women in religious orders are disciples of Jesus. We be- 511~ / Review for Religious, July-August 1989 long to a pilgrim people searching for the reign of God. We are blinded by sin and limitation as we seek to discover the ways of our God as re-vealed through Jesus. We learn how to follow Jesus in our times and in our circumstances. The primary mode of ou'r learning is experiential. It is complex and it calls us to struggle with our daily realities to see anew w,hat patterns in 6ur lives need conversion. The greatest threat to our dis-cipleship is to think that we have learned enough or to reduce the reign of God to the glimpses of glory which we see in our own time. Liberation theology is probably the clearest indication to today's Church that it is still on pilgrimage. Begun with Moses' vision of a God who had heard the crying out of the Israelite slaves, reiterated in Han-nah's canticle that praises God as one who will raise up the lowly, and reborn in the 1970s through the efforts of those struggling to see God and understand God's ways from the experience of twentieth-century op-pression, this theology reminds us as a Church that we are still learning not only how, but where to find Jesus.5 2) Members of religious orders are those who are disciples of a par-ticular charismatic leader recognized by our Church. Recognizing that our stories do not belong to the time and culture of the founder or foun-dress, the charisms of these characters and their companions are a way of expressing discipleship in Christ. To be members ofa religious con-gregation~ is to take one way of interpreting discipleship of Jesus, namely the life of a founder or foundress, as a way to focus discipleship. Again, congregational members are disciples of this way of focusing, that is, there is no profession, ministry, office, or role, no direct service or in-stitutionalized ,ministry, that exempts members frorri continually learn-ing what it means to pattern their lives or focus their discipleship of Je-sus through the prism of this great man or woman. All of our lives are mystery, not in the sense that they defy explana-tion, but in Gabriel Marcel's sense that the more we are involved in them, the more inseparable we become from their depth.6 Our Church has confirmed the legacy of some men and women as mysterious, that is, there is within these persons a depth of discipleship that calls and be-comes involving for others. Nano Nagle, Francis of Assisi, Ignatius of Loyola, Elizabeth Seton, Angela Merici, and Catherine McAuley are some of these people. Their gift to the Church is mysterious to us, and that is why they can properly have disciples. The more their lives, their stories are considered, the more insight we gain into what it might mean to be a disciple of Christ in our time. Thus, many religious congregations acknowledged with Vatican II The Shifting Order of Religious Life that reflection on what it meant to follow Christ and to plead the radical nature of the Gospel through the focus on their particular founder or foun-dress meant that they must be learners of new ways. The call for renewal necessitated a refounding and a reordering of these congregations that con-tinues into the present.7 This challenge reminds many in a very profound way that they are indeed learners. 3) We are co-dikciples. There can be no doubt about this. Baptism incorporates us into a community of disciples. As members of religious communities, we are co-disciples, learners with the other clergy and la-ity. Appropriating Gospel values and finding patterns of life that typify holiness are calls received by all within the Christian community, whether they be married, single, or vowed. The sixth-century understand-ing of Pseudo-Dionysius who envisioned the grace of God as descend-ing through three hierarchical angelic choirs into two earthly hierarchies of clergy and laity respectively was normative until Lumen Gentium's statement that "in the Church, everyone . . . is called to holi-ness . ,,8 No longer do lay folk stand below those ~who profess the evangelical counsels nor do the latter stand below those who are ordained to the priesthood in the Church. Paul VI reiterated the Vatican Council's hierarchy-shattering words when he said that the whole Church received the mission of Jesus--"the community of believers, the community of hope lived and communicated, the community of love. ,,9 The consideration of volunteers, partners, and associates who claim the life and charism of a founder or foundress of a religious order in our Church as their way of focusing discipleship reminds us that we are co-disciples. These new relationships can intimidate as well as inspire and so we must continually remind ourselves of John Paul ll's challenge to the whole Church to embrace mercy. In Dives in Misericordia, he de-fined Christian mercy as "the most perfect incarnation of "equality" between people., love and mercy bring it about that people meet one another in that value which is the human person., thus mercy becomes an indispensable element for shaping mutual relationships between peo-ple, in a spirit of deepest respect for what is human . ,,~0 4) As members of apostolic congregations, ministry is our reason for existence. A common life and the vows have constituted the order of re-ligious life, but the purpose of this order for apostolic communities has always been service. Many founders and foundresses wrote words simi-lar to those of Catherine McAuley, the foundress of the Sisters of Mercy, when describing the qualifications for an aspirant to apostolic groups. Catherine stre'ssed "an ardent desire to be united to God and to serve 520 / Review for Religious, July-August 1989 the poor" and a "particular interest" in helping the sick and dying. ~ The rereading of the history of apostolic orders, which was occasioned by the cali of Vatican II to renew, led many congregational members to realize that "order" or common patterns in the style and structure of the lives of men and women who focused their discipleship through the charism of a particular founder, is negotiable, but the reason for the or-der is not. This should help women and men religious to open themselves and their ownership of the legacy of their founder or foundress to those who do not "order" their lives in the same way. If the purpose of the order is service,or ministry, then should those who do not profess the evangelical counsels be excluded? This can be a very challenging ques-tion, because throughout history the only way to claim concretely many of these charisms or legacies was to order one's life through the evan-gelical counsels of poverty, celibacy, and obedience. But, as Dorothy noted in the Wizard of Oz, "Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore." Men and wom'en who do not profess these vows are desiring both to minister after the fashion of these great men and women and to receive the sup-port of congregations dedicated to these legacies without maintaining a common living style or divesting themselves of marriage possibilities or ownership of property. 5) It is not order, but mission that describes our lives. John O'Mal-ley, S.J. claims that the history of apostolic religious orders might more properly belong to the history of ministry than to the history of institu-tionalized asceti~cism. ~2 Groups that banded together for the sake of serv-ice presented a whole new trajectory within our Church, as they were a break from the ascetical tradition. However, the Church in its concern to regulate these groups modeled their "order" on the flight of Anthony into the desert in 275 A.D. Many of the great women foundresses, in par-ticular, found their desire to gather others for the sake of service to a par-ticular need frustrated by an order of enclosure, profession of vows, and obedience to an ecclesiastical superior. ~3 For example, the Sisters of Mercy often reflect on the history of Cath-erine McAuley whose companionship with other women grew around their mutual attention to the poor in early nineteenth-century Dublin. In-dependently wealthy, she commissioned the building of a "House of Mercy'r in which women could gather to devote themselves to the relief of suffering and the instruction of the ignorant. She resisted and ex-pressed discomfort about the "order" of the lives of those in congrega-tions of nuns, to the point of abhorring the thought of spending time in the Presentation novitiate to learn the ways of an established canonical The Shifting Order of Religious Life / 591 institute into the Church. However she submitted to the "ordering" be-cause without it her mission would have failed. ~4 The time in which she lived demanded that women engaged in companionship for the salve of service be organized as vowed religious women. Among many active congregations of religious in the United States, especially congregati.ons of women, the question of whether or not to re5 main canonical has arisen. This question is motivated primarily by the difficulty involved in gaining the Congregation for Religious and Secu-lar Institute's (CRIS) approbation for Constitutions and the reordering of "religious" life so that it more properly aids in fulfilling the particular mission of the group. ~5 The question, however, is not whether religious congregations will choose to remain canonical, that is, of some standard within our Church; the question is how their "order" will be specified within the Church,-that is, how will they organize themselves as women arid men embodying the charisms of great founders or foundresses within the Church. Ignoring for a moment the enormous difficulties of dealing with a bureaucratic power structure that often seems less than open to anything irregular, let us look at the question before us. Can we, as disciples of the great founders and foundresses in our Church, make a distinction be-tween vocation to a particular lifestyle or life structure (that is, marriage vows/the choice of single life/vows of poverty, celibacy, obedience) and the vocation to a particular charism and mission within the Church (a deep identity with the spirit and gifts of a particular person who focuses our discipleship of Jesus)? I think that the movements of associate membership, volunteers, part-nership (all of which imply non-vowed varying degrees of membership in religious "orders"), mighi be a tremendously important break within the history of what have come to be called "active orders" in our Church, but these movements will further our ability as a Church to do ministry as baptized disciples of Jesus. 6) One of the most pressing questions for: religious congregations is what life structure or "order of life"facilitates discipleship of Jesus focused through the mission of their founder or foundress. The current documentation abou( the life structure of those called to follow a foun-der or foundress organizes it around the three vows of poverty, celibacy, and obedience. Both the Vatican II document on religious life and the 1983 Essentials of Religious Life promulgated by the Vatican Congrega-tion for Religious and for Secular Institutes present the evangelical coun-sels as not only "essential," but also as the basis for the organization 522/Review for Religious, July-August 1989 of life for those in religious congregations. However, both Sandra Sch-neiders and John Lozano, show effectively in their recent and widely read treatments of religious life that the vows cannot be taken as impor-tant in themselves. 16 The vows, if taken at all, need to be placed in the context'of a statement of desire to,pursue the mission of the community, how we promise to accept the responsibilities of this mission in our lives, and how others dedicated to this mission accept us within their group. Furthermore there is more and more recognition (fueled by the relatively new science of psychology) t.hat intimate, committed relationships to per-sons, ownership, and autonomy do not make one less holy. Along with this, New Testament scholars have shown that these counsels do not flow from the gospels as such, but were constructs of our Church at a later time. And, even without Vatican ll's assertion of.the universal call to holiness, experience tells most of those who are presently members of religious congregations that they are no more holy than thos6 who choose to marry and have children, own property, and center their autonomy dif-ferently. Indeed, if men and women are going to structure their lives by pro-fessing the evangelical coufisels, (thus sacrificing the gifts of sex, own-ership, and autonomy), then these must only be given up for the sake of mission. Johannes Metz is perhaps the most clear and the most chal-lenging on this point. In his Followers o.fChrist: Perspectives on Relig-ious Life, he argues that the vows are both mystical and political. Thus, poverty demands not only a protest against the tyranny of having, pos-sessing, and pure self-assertion; it also impels those practicing it into a practical and situational solidarity with those poor whose poverty is their condition of life and the situation exacted of them by society, rather than a matter of virtue. Celibacy, as a state of being radically seized by a long-ing for the reign of God, impels one toward those unmarried people whose not having anyone is not a virtue but their social destiny, and to-wards those who are shut up in lack of expectation and in resignation. And finally, obedience is the radical and uncalculated surrender to God and it impels one to situate oneself .among those for whom obedience is nota matter of virtue but the sign of oppression and placement in tute-lage.~ 7 It is only in this way that these counsels can ever be real signs of eschatological witness. Metz has called vowed communities "shock therapy instituted by the Holy Spirit for the Church as a whole.''~8 Us-ing Metz's ideas, if I read him right, many more of us might call our-selves "associate members" of religious congregations than already do out of integrity. There may be many who want to focus their discipleship The Shifting Order of Religious Life / 593 of Jesus through the legacy of a great founder or foundress, but their ac-commodations to the culture would indicate not that they are lesser dis-c! ples, but rather that the functions they perform and the gifts they bring to the reign of God are not th6se that necessitate or call them to the vowed life. That is, "association" may be more appropriate for those who draw support from the tradition or story of a great founder or foundress and find the mission of that congregation an animating principle for their dis-cipleship. Whereas formal vowed commitment to one another, relinquish-ing of goods and full authoring over one's choice of service might be re-served for those whose discipleship leads them to more radical under-takings. The question here concerns the life-structure (or "order") that has traditionally been associated with claiming followership of a specific mission in our Church. Are there ways to embody the tradition of minis-try defined, by a great founder or foundress in our Church as one group in which some are vowed to poverty, celibacy, and obedience and oth-ers are not? Those who are vowed in the traditional way choose a life-structure which more clearly binds them to the ~reedom to move around and respond to unmet needs among the poor, alone, and oppressed. 19 Those who do not profess the vows but do center their discipleship on the founding charism might be called to a,life-structure which points to-ward a certain stability within a local Church community. One could as-sert that there must be ways to accommodate this diversity because even using the traditional ordering of religious life, which included the vows of poverty, celibacy, and obedience as part of the package, I would sub-mit that there are some within religious congregations who have the free-dom to live the vows as Metz proscribes and others whose lives point toward and demand a different modi~ of discipleship. That is, the vows may not be absolutely constitutive of focusing one's discipleship through the charism of a great founder or foundress.2° 7) There is a need for enabling ministers who are not constrained by local church boundaries. According to O'Malley, one of the most re-markable characteristics of the development of active orders is that it in effect created a "church order (or several church orders) within the great church order and itdid this for the reality to which ~:hurch order primar-ily looks--ministry."z~ That is, pontifically erected religious orders en-joy a warrant and exemption from the bishop of Rome to act publicly on behalf of the Christian community wherever the needs to which their charism responds arise. This has, throughout history, caused some ju-ridical as well as cultural complications. However, despite difficulties, 524 / Review for Religious, July-August 1989 needs have been' attended to that would never have been served if it was necessary to rely only on the personnel within local boundaries. As the order of religious life shifts, this is a very important compo-nent of our history that should not be lost. This "pontifical warrant" for the sake of ministry has allowed for tremendous creativity in meet-ing the needs of the people of God. Glimpses of the reign of God are seen in the histqry Of religious orders who have brought literacy, heal-ing, and economic stability to the uneducated, sick, ahd poor around the world. 8) Finally, men and women in religious orders need to realize the gifts they can sh~are with the Church. The emergence of the laity is very new to our Church, and the long history that religious orders have of do-in~ ministry leaves many' within them unskilled at enabling and serving with others. But vowed men and women need to recognize that one of the gifts they may have is 6ffering those who have taken to heart the mes-sagegf the gospel and the spirit of Vatican II both some encouragement and some means for realizing their call. Many who~desire a more intense following of Christ may find that the sp, iritual, intellectual, and apostolic life in their parishes does not encourage these needs and aspirations. Thus, they only feel frustration in their call to maturity and co-responsibility in the Church. Religious orders ha~,e a wealth of experi-ence in thinking through methods for spiritual development and encour-aging other adults in gro~vth. Many find in religious life rich resources of the heritage of the Church not avail~.ble in local parishes. They find a focus and discipline for spiritual growth, a unifiedvision of the pur-pose of discipleship, .and a structured identity with a family in a living tradition of the Church. The challenge is to share these gifts, without thinking people have to become "mini-religious'"l~o acquire them. An extension of our charisms beyond those in the vowed ranks might mean that many more can become effective ministers in the parish and the Church at large. Part II We should not be surprised that a "new ordering" is difficult for us to think about and may even create controversy, dissention, and fear when we attempt to talk about it with one another. Anything new always brings a death to something within the present. Many of us love our way of ordering our .lives. We have lived the vows and known ourselves and our companions to grow through the experiences they have presented to us. We want to share our-lives, extend them, and see the "ordering" that has facilitated our growth be embraced by others. Yet this "order" The Shifting Order of Religious Life / 525 may have to die so that discipleship focused on the great charismatic lead-ers in our Church might continue. We are challenged to refound our con-gregations. This challenge implies the freedom to consider reordering our lives for the sake of mission. From the above understanding flow the following ideas that may help religious congregations to reorder their membership and to reorder the perception of religious life in the Church. I) We, as those who vowed ourselves to the legacy of great founders and foundresses within the order specified by the Church, must continue to think about what that means. Imitating her tongue-in-cheek, I quote the twentieth-century Jewish philosopher, Hannah Arendt, "what I pro-pose, therefore, is very simple: it is nothing more than to think what we are doing." The thinking, although allegedly simple, is.indeed quite com-plex and we of.ten try to escape it, precisely because we did it once be-fore during the 60s and the 70s. Even though new life was born in our midst, many of us remember the struggle and some among us have not quite recovered. Thifiking usually means that we risk conversation of sub-stance. And conversation of substance usually implies the same kind of controversy as that depicted in the Gospel account of Jesus asking Peter a question of substance. "Who do people say .that I am?" is the query of the man who had just multiplied loaves and then cured a blind one. Peter knew who Jesus was. "You are the Christ." But Peter did not like the implications of the insight. "Get behind me, Satan" is the rebuke heard when Peter tried to squirm out of the new order specified not only for Jesus but also for his own discipleship. Insights gleaned from thinking and from conversation of substance can be threatening. But we must remember that even more threatening is the possibility that some valuable offerings to the further approxima-tion of the reign of God will be lost if we are unwilling to gain and ex-press the insights of our experiences. If our experience is that the vows do not make meaning in our lives, but the charism of our founder does, then perhaps we must search for other ways to order our lives so as to offer more fully the charism of our. community to the Church. And, if our experience is that others who are not vowed can claim the legacy of our founders, (and more importantly if their experience confirms this), then they must be allowed to do so in an equal fashion. 2) We must effect reconciliation and a spirit of interdependence within our Church, especially with persons and groups claiming the same charism. As stated earlier, a tradition specifying that God's grace flowed toward the non-vowed and non-ordained last was reinforced in 596 / Review foUr Religious, July-August 1989 popular piety until the Second Vatican Council. This distanced many re-ligious from other laity and created a perception ihat vows or ordination meant that one was more graced and clos+r to God'. Men and women in religious; congregations must actively pursue reconciliation with other la-ity because, intentionally or non-intentionally, some disunity has been effected within .our Church. We can take a cue from Paul, ambassador of reconciliation, who was .furious with his community at Galatia when they entertained the idea ofclassifying and categorizing the early Chris-tians. In Christ, there is neithe~ Jew nor Greek, slave nor free person, male nor female, women religious nor lay women, Dominican from Mercy, associate member from more traditionally ordered mem-bers . Often former members of religious orders continue to claim the charism of the order as a way of focusing their discipleship. We must reach out to these people and ask them if,. even though they found the "order" of our lives restrictive, they still find themselves drawn to the charism asa focus. We need to confirm the existence and continuance of the charism in these people, and perhaps just as importantly, let them confirm the continuance of the charism in us. A more concrete way of symbolizing our reconciliation and interdependence on one another is a very simple, yet awkward thing. We need to re-form our vocabulary so that "sisters" and "brothers" does not refer to a closed group of vowed women or men. Just as many have committed themselves to the use of gender inclusive language, we need to change the language specific to our communities, so that "sisters and brothers" becomes a way to refer to all, vowed and non-vowed, who find themselves bound to the same charism. 3) Within our working places, we must announce what inspires us. We must claim our founder or foundress as inspirations, as stories that aid our belief in and discipleship of the Christ. Many people look for a way to focus and sustain their belief, and there appear to be few heroes of a depth able to sustain followers in our contemporary life. Since many of us have been inspired by and nurtured in the founding spirit of a great man or woman disciple of Christ, we must share the gift. We must let others know what moves us, inspires us, and keeps us going as disciples in a world where the odds against the fullness of God's reign dawning seem to be mounting. Perhaps we need ways to be again inspired and again encouraged in our own focus before we will feel enthusiastic enough to inspire others. In many cases, our associates are formally rethinking and reaffirming The Shifting Order of Religious Life / 527 their commitments each year. They renew their covenant with the leg-acy of the community, and they reconsider and recommit themselves to their association with others who share the same focus. Might we not learn from them something about animating our own commitments by using this model? Let us not merely resurrect the passivity of receiving an appointment card with our job and the provincial's name on it, even though there was important symbolism there. Let us every year rework and represent our covenant with the legacy of our founder or foundress. Let us reconsider and recommit ourselves to the implications of disci-pleship and association with others who share the same mission. These understandings and recommendation are initial forays into a very difficult, yet timely, topic. They are intended to spark further thought and discussion. Although I doubt there is danger of them being considered a "last word," let me close with a few lines from T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets. They reflect, 1 think, what it means to see trees walking, to be fuzzy in our sight, and what it means to face this period of time as religious men and women in our Church. These are only hints and guesses Hints, followed by guesses, and the rest Is prayer, observance, discipline, thought, and action. The hint half guessed, the gift half understood is Incarnation. Here the impossible union of spheres of existence is actual, Here the past and future Are conquered, and reconciled . -~-~ NOTES ~ An associate member is defined for the purposes of this article as one who wants to share in the life and apostolate of a religious institute and to become a member to a certain extent. "They are members associated and not incorporated by profes-sion. For a discussion of the variety of such groups and their notation in the new code of Canon Law, see Elio Gambari, Religious Life According to Vatican II and the New Code of Canon Law, (Boston: Daughters of St. Paul, 1986), pp. 625-635. Also, David F. O'Connor, "Lay Associate Programs: Some Canonical and Practi-cal Considerations," REview For~ REt.~;~ous 44, 2(March-April, 1985), pp. 256-267. 2 How to continue the legacy of the founder or foundress or how to continue the mis-sion of the congregation is understood to be the underlying concern of those who e.xpress dismay of the declining numbers in religious congregations. 3 Sisters of Mercy of the Union, Constitutions (Silver Spring, Maryland, 1986), nos. 29-30. Most active congregations use wording similar to this to describe their mis-sion. 521~ / Review for Religious, July-August 1989 4 This describes the call to religious men and women from the Second Vatican Coun-cil, See Perfectae Caritatis, the "Decree on the Appropriate Renewal of the Relig-ious Life," no. 2 in Walter Abbott (ed.), The Documents~ of Vatican !I (The Amer-ica Press, 1966)." " 5 For a concise description of liberation theology by two of its most challenging pro-ponents, see Leonardo and Clodovis Boff, Introducing Liberation Theology (Ma-ryknoll: Orbis Press, 1987). 6 See his Being and Having, (New York: Harper Torchbook edition, 1965), p. I 17, 145. 7 For some initial strategies presented to and used widely in the early 1980s by men and wom,en religious struggling with the call to '~refound," see Lawrence Cada et al, Shaping the Coming Age of Religious Life, (New York: Seabury Press, 1979). s "The Dogmatic Constitution on the Church," in Abbott, no. 39. 9 Evangelii Nuntiandi, "On Evangelization in the Modern World (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Catholic Conference, 1976). no. 15. ~0 "Rich in Mercy," (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Catholic Conference,. 1981), no. 14. ~ 1836 letter to a parish priest in Nass, Ireland, Quoted in Kathleen O'Brien's Jour-neys: A Preamalgamation History of the Sisters of Mercy, Omaha, Province (Omaha, Nebraska: Sisters of Mercy,1987), 6. ~20'Malley conceives of "active orders" as a '~critically important phenomenon in the history of ministry claiming "apostolic" inspiration," rather than as the insti-tutional embodiment of an ascetical tradition traced back to Pachomius. See -Priest-hood, Ministry, and Religious Life: Some Historical and Historiographical Consid-erations," in Theological Studies, 49 (1988), p. 227. ~3 The sweeping 1298 decree of Boniface VIII (repeated by Pius V in 1566) com-manded that "all nuns, collectively and individually, present and to come, of what-soever order of religion, in whatever part of the world they may be, shall henceforth remain in their monasteries in perpetual enclosure." Insight into the unfortunate ef-fect of this decree throughout the centuries following on women's attempts to or-gaoize associations for ministry can be gleaned from reading histories of women foun-dresses, such as Angela Merici, Nano Nagle, Mary Ward, and Louise de Marillac. ~'~ For more information about Catherine McAuley, see Sr. M. lgnatia Neumann, R.S.M., ed., Letters of Catherine McAuley (Baltimore: Helicon Press Inc., 1969) and M. Joanna Regan, R.S.M., Tender Courage: A Reflection on the Life and Spirit of Catherine M~Auley, First Sister of Mert3, (Chicago: Franciscan Herald Press, 1988). ~5 Note the history of the Glenmary Sisters of Cincinnati or the Los Angeles I.H.M.'s in addition to the more recent stories of Agnes Mary Monsour, Arlene Violet, and Elizabeth Morancy, all Sisters of Mercy unable to continue their ministries as vowed women ifi religious congregations. Consider also the present renewal attempts of the Association of Contemplative Sisters. For brief surveys of these cases, see "Inside- Outsiders" chapter three of Mary Jo Weaver's New Catholic Women: A Contempo-rary Challenge to Traditional Religious Authority (New York: Harper and Row, 1988) . ~6 See Sandra M. Schneiders, New Wineskins: Re-imaging Religious Lift, Today (New York: Paulist, 1986) and John M. Lozano, Discipleship: Towards An Understand-ing of Religious Life (Chicago: Claret Center tk)r Spiritual Resources, 1980). Also see O'Malley, "Priesthood," p. 249 tbr the same point from a different perspec- The Shifting Order of Religious Life / 599 tive. ~7 J.B. Metz, Followers of Christ: Perspectives on the Religious Life (New York: Paulist Press, 1978), chapter 3. ~8 lbid, p. 12. 19 Being "bound to freedom" appears at first sight to be an oxymoron, however the phrase is an attempt to reflect the demands made by the vows. ~0 Of interest in this regard is that even though various documentation from our church and the recent writings on religious life avert to the vows as important, if not essential, the Fifth Interamerican Conference on Religious Life, inclusive of leader-ship from men and women religious of North and South America, did not name the vows as essential. In a preparatory paper, the Leadership Conference of Women Re-ligious named mission, community, freedom, ministry, participative government, pub-lic witness, apostolic spirituality, spirituality of the founder, and ecclesial character as characteristics of religious life. None of the descriptions of the above included the vows. See The Role of Apostolic Religious Life in the Context of the Contempo-rary Chu'rch and World: Fifth Interamerican Conference on Religious Life (Ottawa: Canadian Religious Conference, 1986). 2~ O'Malley, p. 236. 22 T.S. Eliot, The Four Quartets (London: Faber and Faber, 1960), lines 212-219. Monasticism: A Place of Deeper Unity M. Basil Pennington, O.C.S.O. Father Basil Pennington, O.C.S.O., well-known for his many publications on prayer and the contemplative life, may be addressed at Assumption Abbey; Route 5; Ava, Missouri 65608. In 1976 for six months I had the privilege of living among the Orthodox monks on Mount Athos, the semi-autonomous monastic republic in north-ern Greece. There the Gospels are the law of the land and day-to-day liv-ing is governed by the writings of the great spiritual fathers of the past, most notably those of Saint Basil, Archbishop of Caesarea, named the Great. I noted the remarkable affinity between the life lived on the Moun-tain and that lived by the monks of Saint Joseph's Abbey in the United States, from whence I came. The one great difference that struck me was the way lay visitors were incorporated into the life and worship of the monks. It was evident that there was no gulf between the life and wor-ship of the monks and that of the ordinary devout member of the Ortho-dox church. Orthodox monasticism is at the heart of the Church and all the rest of Church life is deeply influenced by it. In Western Christianity, monasticism is further removed from the life of the ordinary church member. Yet the historical influence of the monas-tics can not be denied, even among those Christian Churches which have largely disowned monasticism. Catholics generally revere monasticism, especially the more contemplative variety, and hold it in reverence as something vital to the life of the Church. The Second Vatican Council affirmed this strongly. Quite generally Catholics frequent monastic guest houses and retreats and find there something that speaks deeply to them. Protestant Christians from such contacts are beginning to reclaim this part of the common Christian heritage. The Anglican or Episcopal church 530 Monasticism and Unity/531 has been in the forefront in this. But the most notable Protestant monas-tery is one within the reform tradition--the monastery of Taize which is found in a part of France filled with monastic resonances: Citeaux, Cluny, Molesme. Most re~:ently the General Conference of the United Methodist Church has authorized the exploration of the possibility of es-tablishing an ecumenical monastic community in the United States. ,Monasticism is, then, a widespread phenomenon within the Chris-tian community and is becoming ever more present. It would be difficult to exaggerate the role of monasticism within some of the other world religions. Tibet, before the recent Communist take over, could have been called, like Mount Athos, a monastic coun-try, more a theocracy than a republic. In many Buddhist countries it has been the expected thing that every male would spend sometime within a,.monastery as part of his preparation for life. Although secularization is having an increasing effect within the Buddhist world, the monastic influenc

Issue 48.1 of the Review for Religious, January/February 1989. ; R F.vu-'.w FOR RF.uG~OUS (ISSN O034-639X) is published bi-monthly at St. l_x~uis University by thc Mis-souri Province Educational Institute of the Society of Jesus: Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Blvd., Rm. 428: St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Second-class postage paid at St. Louis MO. Single copies $3.00. Subscriptions: $12.00 per year: $22.00 for two years. Other countries: for surface mail. add U.S. $5.00 per year: for airmail, add U.S. $20.00 per year. For subscription orders or change of address, write: REviEw FO~ REt.~GOUS; P.O. Box 6070; Duluth, MN 55806. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to REVtEW ~'oa RE~ol~;totJS; P.O. Box 6070; Duluth, MN 55806. David L. Fleming, S.J. Iris Ann Ledden, S.S.N.D. Richard A. Hill, S.J. Jean Read Mary Ann Foppe Editor Associate Editor Contributing Editor Assistant Editors Jan./Feb. 1989 Volume 48 Number I Manuscripts, books for review and correspondence with the editor should be sent to REVIEW FOR REI.IGIOUS; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Correspondence about the department "Canonical Counsel" should be addressed to Rich-ard A. Hill, S.J.; J.S.T.B.; 1735 LeRoy Ave.; Berkeley, CA 94709-1193. Back issues and reprints should be ordered from R~:vtEw r'oa REU~aOUS; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. "Out of print" issues are available from University Microfilms International; 300 N. Zeeb Rd.; Ann Arbor, M! 48106. A major portion of each issue is also available on cassette recordings as a service for the visually impaired. Write to the Xavier Society for the Blind; 154 East 23rd Street; New York, NY 10010. Review for Religious Volume 48, 1989 Editorial Offices 3601 Lindeil Boulevard, Room 428 Saint Louis, Missouri 63108-3393 David L. Fleming, S.J. Iris Ann Ledden, S.S.N.D. Richard A. Hill, S.J. Jean Read Mary Ann Foppe Editor Associate Editor Contributing Editor Assistant Editors R~:vIEw FOR RELIGIOUS is published in January, March, May, July, Sep-tember, and November on the twentieth of the month. It is indexed in the Catholic Periodical and Literature Index and in Book t~e te~I Index. A microfilm edition of R~:v~Ew FOR RELIGOUS is available from University~ Microfilms International; Ann Arbor, Michigan 48106. Copyrighl© 1989 by R~vmw FOR RELiGiOUS. A major portion of each issue of REvmw FOR RgL~G~OUS is als~o regu-larly available on cassette recordings as a service for the visuallyl' im-paired. Write to the Xavier Society for the Blind; 154 East 23rd Street; New York, NY 1 O010. PRISMS . Religious life today presents a varied landscape of images. Some would see the landscape more in the fading light of autumn colors or, perhaps, far more somberly in the gray bleakness of a barren wintertime. Others look out and observe a springtime of new growth, with tender fresh green shoots and small delicate blossoms just visible above the ground level. All the various ways we have of picturing religious life have some basis in reality. For there are various prisms through which we view all life, including religious life. Prisms are very important because they do provide a way for us to see, to highlight and to emphasize, to reject and to ignore. As others share their prisms of vision with us, we gain en-trance to worlds of different colors and new life. Of course, if we main-tain our vision only through our own prism, our world begins to take on a singleness of color and a frozen artificiality of life. REVIEW FOR REL~C~OUS, from its first January issue in 1942, has tried to provide various prisms through which we might view the whole worldscape which must be a part of a vibrant Christian spiritual life and so necessarily a part of religious life. As newly appointed editor of this journal, I intend the variety of insights into the consecrated lifeform, tra-ditionally called religious life, to remain an essential contribution of REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS. This contribution seems all the more necessary at our particular moment in the Church when often more time is spent in defining and establishing one's own position than in listening or learn-ing of another's. I do not want to wear out an image, but there is another important pointer for us in the kaleidos6ope. The prisms of a kaleidoscope only pro-duce their beauty because of their relationships, one to another. I find that the prisms through which we view life only present us with adequate truth, new life, and fresh ways ofacting if we maintain the relationship of various viewpoints. That is the great strength of the Church who pos-sesses various pictures of Jesus in her gospels, who allows differing phi-losophies and theologies to provide understanding to her faith, and who approves the charisms of vastly differing forms of religious life to be le-gitimate icons of Christ for all the Christian faithful and for the world. It is in the maintenance of relationship that we possess the criteria of le-gitimacy, continuity, and true creativity. 4 / Review for Religious, January-February 1989 In our current issue, the usual variety of articles gives indication of the richness of interests which help form the context of religious life. In subsequent numbers I intend to take the opportunity to highlight one or other article because of the importance of its issue or the insight or un-derstanding it provides. Sometimes I would like to reflect more broadly about certain key concerns of religious life as it is being lived in our Churc,h and world today. REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS in this way will continue to provide prisms as well perspectives on the relationships of the many prisms that make up our religious lives. David L. Fleming, S.J. What Do You Want?m The Role of Desires in Prayer William A. Barry, S.J. A frequent contributor, Father Barry wrote "God's Love Is Not Utilitarian" for our issue of November/December 1987. His address is Jesuit Community: Boston Col-lege; Chestnut Hill, MA 02167. know: you're going to ask what I want. "As I was driving up to the retreat house, I thought of your perennial question: 'What do you want?' and here's what l~came up with." I have often noticed that peo-ple who see me for some time for spiritual direction or directed retreats say things like this. It even becomes a bit of humorous byplay, as though they want to beat me to the punch. Clearly, one of my favorite questions for directees is the one Jesus put to the two disciples who began to fol-low him: "What do you want?" (Jn 1:38). If directees pick up on this predilection and start asking themselves the question, then, I believe, a good deal of my work as spiritual director is done. If we know what we want in prayer, we are going to find our way. After a practical belief that God wants an intimate relationship with each one of us and that God is directly encountered in our experience, nothing is more important for the development of our relationship with God-~-for our prayer, in other words--than knowledge of what we want and of what God wants. In this article I want to discuss the role of desires in prayer. Anyone familiar with the Spiritual Exercises knows that among the preludes to every meditation or contemplation is: "I will ask God our Lord for what I want and desire." In the various stages or weeks of the Exercises, Ignatius states what the desire is in each case. For example, in the First Week I "ask for a growing and intense sorrow and tears for my sins," and in the Second Week I "ask .for an intimate knowledge 5 Review for Religious, January-February 1989 of our Lord, who has .become man for me, that I may love him more and follow him more closely." In an earlier article in the R~v~Ew, l tried to show that each of the desires of the Exercises is a desire for some par-ticular revelation by the Lord. ~ On the face of it, it looks as though Ignatius is saying: "Here is what you should desire at each stage of the Spiritual Exercises." One conclu-sion might be to take a person through the four Weeks and just put be-fore him or her what Ignatius gives as the desire. In fact, this has been the procedure in preached retreats, including the preached thirty-day re-treats we older Jesuits and other religious made in novitiate and tertian-ship. But what happened if, as a matter of fact, I did not really desire to know Jesus more intimately when the Second Week was presented to me. Suppose, for example, I was still too afraid of what he thinks of me. In most instan(es, I would guess, we just presumed that we had the de-sire if it was Second Week time. But I would contend that without the real desire we never got very intimate with Jesus. Indeed, I believe that "what we really desire" is diagnostic of the stage of the Exercises we are actually in. To demonstrate this thesis we need to look at the role of desires in any relationship. If you get a call from someone asking for a.meeting, is not your first question, at least to yourself, "What does she or he want?" In fact, many meetings between people come off badly because the individuals involved have mistaken ideas of what each other wants. For example, I want to become your friend, and you believe that I want help with home-work; you want to help me, but are not even thinking of a deeper friend-ship. At the end of the meeting both of us are going to be pretty frus-trated unless we talk about our different desires and come to some understanding. Often enough, too, relationships become frustrating be-cause of ambivalent or incompatible desires in one or both parties. For example, I want to get closer to you, but I am also afraid of you. Or I want a friendship with you (a happily married woman), but I also want to goto bed with you. Every intended encounter with another person is accompanied by a"desire or desires'. We are not always aware of our de-sires, but they are present, and they condition our behavior in the encoun-ter. Now suppose that I want to befriend you and you do not want my: friendship. Will my efforts :at befriending get me or you anywhere? Only to frustration and resentment, probably. But let us say that I persist in trying to do nice things for you. What will happen? You will probably get more and more irritated and thus less and less likely to become my Role of Desires in Prayer friend. And like many a "do-gooder" whose good deeds are rejected, I may eventually wash my hands of you and call you an ingrate who de-serves his fate. Friendship is possible only when the desires are mutual, when you freely desire my friendship and I freely desire yours. Friend-ship cannot be coerced. "But," someone may object, "we often do things that we don't want to do. Because of my friendship for you, for example, I will go to a movie I don't like." But what do you want? If it is because of friend-ship with me that you go to the movie, is not your deepest desire to please me or to be with me? The friendship is more important than the movie. I believe that the centrality of desire for the developing of a rela-tionship cannot be denied. Now let us look at the importance of desires for the relationship with the Lord. In the first chapter of John's gospel, the two disciples of John are intrigued by this Jesus whom John has just pointed out as the lamb of God. So they start following Jesus. When Jesus asks them what they want, they say, "Rabbi, where are you staying?" They do not yet have strong desires, it seems; curiosity seems to be the desire. Jesus does not disdain this desire. "Come," he replies, "and you will see." Unless we have some attraction toward God, some curiosity or hope or desire, we will not take the time to begin our side of the relationship. If I be-lieve in my heart and feelings that God is an ogre, ready to pounce on any infraction, then I may try to placate him, but I will never want to get close to him. And God, as it were, does handstands.to convince us that he really is benign, that he is, as Jesus asserted, Abba. The p.rofli-gate wonders of nature, our own creation and life, the words of Old and New Testaments, Jesus himself, and other loving, caring people in our lives--these are all signg of God's desire that we find him attractive and let him come close. But he cannot force himself on us, or will not. We must have some desire to get to know him better. Sebastian Moore af-firms that God's creative touch which desires us into being arouses in us a desire for "I know what," that is, a desire for the Mystery we call God.2 This experience (understood as the experience of one's creation and continued creation) can be seen as the affective principle and foun-dation for the development ofone's relationship with God. The desire for "I know what" is what makes' our hearts restless until they rest in God. Many people need help to recognize that they have such a desire. Be-cause of life's hurts they may not recognize any other desire but to be left alone, or not to be hurt any more. Telling such people that God is Review for Religious, January-February 1989 love has little or no effect. They may need help to admit to God that they are afraid of, him and desire to be less afraid. Indeed, they may need help to voice some of their anger at life's hurts which seem to them to have come from the Author of life. The fact that they have not completely turned away from religion indicates that they may still want something from God, even if only an acknowledgment that he knows what hap-pened to them in life. Like Job some may cry out: "Then know that God has wronged me and drawn his net around me. Though I c~'y, 'I've been wronged!' I get no response; though I call for help, there is no justice." Only after he has poured out his sorrows, seemingly, can he say: "I know that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand upon the earth" (Jb ! 9:6-7.25). In other words, it may take a great deal of pas-toral care and patient spiritual direction for some people to come to the point where they can trust life and the Author of life enough to let into their consciousness the desire for "'I know what.'" Job's friends have tried to derail him from expressing his desires to God: In his misery he wants God to speak to him. He will not lie and say, as his friends insinuate,, that he deserves his calamities because of his sins. Hewill not accept the just-world hypothesis proposed by his friends according to which anyone's sufferings must be deserved. No, he knows~that he does not deserve the awful fate that has befallen him and desires to speak directly .to God and to hear God's answer. Often enough we Christians are like the friends of Job. To a mother who has just.lost her only child we might say, "God knows best." and thus make it difficult for her to voice her outrage at God and her need for God's own answer to this awful loss. Sometimes we feel that we have to de-fend God against the anger directed at him by people in pain. Yet the anger may be the most authentic way for a person to relate ~o God and to ex.press a desire to know God's response. Finally in chapters 38 through 41 God does answer Job out of the whirlwind. The response may not sound very comforting or apologetic to _us, but apparently Job is satisfied, for he says: "My ears had heard of you but.now, my eyes have seen you. Therefore I despise myself and repent in ~du.s.t and ashes." Moreover, then God speaks to Job's friends, "I am angry with you and your two friends, because yQu have not spo-ken of me what is~right, as my servant Job has" (Jb 42:5-7). Whatever else God's speech from the whirlwind means, it certainly does not mean that Jg~bohas lost God's friendship by voicing so strongly his desire to have God answer him. Another biblical instance of an attempt to derail a desire directed to- Role of Desires in Prayer ward God comes in the first chapter of the First Book of Samuel. Han-nah, one of the two wives of Elkanah, is barren and miserable. She wants a son. Her husband, seeing her weeping and fasting, says to her, "Han-nah, why are you weeping? Why don't you eat? Why are you down-hearted? Don't I mean more to you than ten sons?" In other words, Elka-nah wants Hannah to forget her desire and be satisfied with what she has. In the story we do not hear Hannah's reply, but her actions tell us that she is not put off by Elkanah's entreaties. She goes to the temple and "in bitterness of soul., wept much and prayed to the Lord." Indeed, when accused of drunkenness by Eli, the priest, she says, "Not so, my lord, I am a woman who is deeply troubled. I was pouring out my soul to the Lord." Hannah knows what she wants and is not afraid to tell God over and over what it is (I S 1:8, 10, 15). Often we tell ourselves or are told to quell our desires, to look at all the good we already have. We can be made to feel guilty and ungrateful for desiring what we want. But if we do suppress our desires without be-ing satisfied that God has heard us, then, in effect, we pull back from honesty with God. The result for our relationship with God often is po-lite distance or cool civility. Perhaps God cannot or will not grant what we want, but for the sake of the continued development of the relation-ship we need to keep letting him know our real desires until we are sat-isfi~ d or have heard or felt some response. In 2 Cbrinthians Paul says, "There was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to tor-ment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' " Now Paul could stop making known his desire because now he knew God's answer. "Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. :For when I am weak, then I am strong" (2 Co 12:7-10). Convictions such as Paul's come not from theological or spiritual nos-trums, but from the experienc~ of growing transparency between a Paul and the Lord. Too often we use the hard-won wisdom of a Paul to short-circuit a similar transparency in our own relationship with the Lord. A woman may, for example, be experiencing the "dark night of the soul" and not like it at all. Her desire may be for it to be removed. She may be helped by the knowledge that others have experienced the same thing before her and been the better for it, but such knowledge does not have to satisfy her desire to be rid of the "dark night." A short circuit in the Review for Religious, January-February 1989 relationship might occur if she is told by her spiritual director or tells her-self to squelch her desire "because the experience is good for you." What she needs to experience is God's response, not a theorem of spiri-tual theology. She needs to know (really, not notionally) that God does want this darkness for the good of their relationship. Such real knowl-edge comes only through mutual transparency. Most of the healing miracles of the New Testament depend on the desire of the recipient for healing.The example of the blind beggar Bar-timaeus (Mk 10:46-52) stands out, but is not unusual. "When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout, 'Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.' Many rebuked him and told him to be quiet, but he shouted all the more, 'Son of David, have mercy on me.' " Obviously Bartimaeus will not be hindered from expressing his desire by any num-ber of voices trying to quiet him. These "voices" can come from within us as well as from without, by the way. "Jesus won't have time for the likes of me; other people have more important problems; things aren't so bad." These interior voices may be expressing our ambivalence about being healed. Just as Bartimaeus had made a way of life out of his blindness, so too we may have made our own physical or psychological or sPiritual limitations a way of life and be afraid of what a future without them might be. One person on a retreat thought that he desired healing from a kind of dark-ness that seemed to rule his life. But then he heard the Lord ask, "Do you want me to heal you of this?" and he had to admit that he was not sure. Interestingly, he felt that God approved the honesty of his response. The inner voices may also express our fear of arousing strong desires for healing only to have them dashed. "Suppose I really want to be healed and I hear the answer Paul got? What a disappointment!''3 Desires are complex and often contradictory. However, once we have allowed the ambivalence and complexity of our desires to surface, we have some-thing else to ask the Lord about. In the Bartimaeus story Jesus calls him over and asks, "What do you want me to do for you?" Bartimaeus is quite clear and unambi-valent, "Rabbi, I want to see." "Go," says Jesus, "your faith has healed you." I have italicized Jesus' words. Without the faith of Barti-maeus, apparently, this miracle could not have occurred. The miracle re-quires a. partnership between Jesus' healing power and desire to heal and Bartimaeus' faith and desire to be healed. Indeed, Bartimaeus' desire is his faith in action. An example may help to illustrate this point. Once I was filled with Role of Desires in Prayer anger and self-pity about the turn a friendship had taken and thought that I was praying for healing. I was contemplating the story of the two blind men in Matthew 9:27-30. When Jesus asked them, "Do you believe that I am able to do this?" I knew immediately that I was not ready to give up my self-pity and anger. If I did desire healing, it was with the same "but not yet" desire with which Augustine at one time desired chastity. I did not have the "faith" found in the two blind men and in Barti-maeus, a faith that showed itself in unambivalent desire. Another exam-ple that shows how desire is faith in action is provided by the father of the boy with the evil spirit reported in Mark 9: 14-29. Instead of asking directly for a healing, the father said to Jesus, "But if you can do any-thing, take pity on us and help us." Because he did not believe in Jesus' power to heal, he could not desire the hea!ing directly. "If you can?" said Jesus. "Everything is possible for him who believes." To which the father replied, "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief." In effect the man is saying, "Help me to desire healing." This last example brings us close to the hub of why desires are the raw material out of which relationships are made. In order for the heal-ing to occur, there must be a meshing of desires. Bartimaeus's desire for healing meets Jesus' desire to heal; without both desires there is no rela-tionship, at least no mutual relationship. This point is beautifully illus-trated in the story of the leper. "A man with leprosy came to him and begged him on his knees, 'If you are. willing, you can make me clean.' Filled with compassion, Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. 'I am willing,' he said. 'Be clean!' Immediately the leprosy left him and he was cured" (Mk 1:40-42). Clearly desire meets desire. The kind of relationship Jesus desires is a mutual one', where desire meets desire. The need for a partnership of.desires becomes even clearer when we look at friendship. In John 15:15 Jesus says, "I have called you friends," and then goes on to indicate what that means from his side, "for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you." From his side the desire has been to be fully transparent, to com-municate to them all that he is. His desire meets their desire to know him as fully as possible. Of course, full mutuality of friendship means that they desire to be fully transparent before him and he desires to know them fully. Take away one side of these desires and there no longer is a mutual relationship. Of course, on the apostles' part (and on ours) the mere desire for mu-tual transparency does not carry it off. "Between the cup and the lip . " Our desires are ambivalent and complex; we are fearful crea- 12 / Review for Religious, January-February 1989 tures, as well, and our fears get in the way of what we most deeply want. We need help and healing to grow toward mutual transparency with the Lord. But that help is available if we want it. If we notice, for example,, that we want to know Jesus better, but are afraid of the consequences, we can ask Jesus for help to overcome our fears. But again we notice that desire is the key to developing the relationship. The retreatant mentioned earlier who told God that he was not sure that he wanted healing of the darkness that ruled his life provides another example of the reciprocity of relationships. Later in the same day he be-came more sure that he wanted healing and asked the Lord to heal him. The Lord's response was perplexing; "I can't," he seemed to say. The retreatant was enraged at such a response when his own reluctance had been overcome, and he let God know in no uncertain terms. Yet still later in the day, out of the blue, as it were~ he heard the Lord say, "But we can." He knew immediately that the Lord meant that he could live more out of joy than sadness if he kept desiring the Lord's helpful presence rather 'than withdrawing into himself. "We can" meant partnership. At the beginning of this article, I stated that the real desires a person has are diagnostic of where the person is in terms of the four Weeks of the Exercises. Let me now return to that point. If retreatants do not have a real trust in God's loving care and providence, they will not desire that God reveal to them their sinfulness. Without an experienced-based be-lief in God's goodness and 16ve, without, in other words, what I have called earlier an affective principle and foundation, people are too fright-ened of God to be able to say and mean the last words of Psalm 139: "Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting" (23-24). If there is no such real desire, then the First Week of the Exercises is not on. And, it seems, at this point God's desire is not so much to reveal sinfulness as to convince the person that he is "Abba." Similarly, if a retreatant voices the desire to know Jesus in or-der love him more and to follow him more closely, yet in his prayer con-tinually identifies with those who need healing, perhaps his real desire is to be healed. The desire of the Second Week to know Jesus shows it-self in an interest in Jesus himself, his values, his emotions, his dreams, his apostolate. If the retreatant is not really interested in these matters, but continually focuses on his own needs and weaknesses, then the Sec-ond Week is not. really in progress. Jesus himself may at this time desire more to heal than to call to companionship. The difference between the First and Third Weeks also comes down to a difference in desire. In the Role of Desires in Prayer First Week I desire to know that Jesus forgives me (and us), that he died for my (and our) sins; the focus is on desiring to have a deep experience of how much Jesus loved us even though he knew how sinful we were. The desire of the Third Week is more to share the passion with Jesus in-sofar as this is possible. The focus is on what Jesus felt and suffered, and the desire is that he reveal that to me. Retreat directors, I believe, do their most important work when they help their directees to discover what they do in reality want. And so every retreat could begin with a con-templation of Jesus as he turns and says, "What do you want?" As re-treatants hear these words and let them penetrate their hearts, they will come to know better what they desire; in other words, they will know better who they are at this time in their relationship with the Lord. NOTES ~ "On Asking God to Reveal Himself in Retreat," REVIEW FOR REI.IOWOUS 37 (1978): 171-176; reprinted in David L. Fleming (ed.), Notes on the Spiritual Exercises of St. ignatius of Loyola (St. Louis: REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS, 1983), pp. 72-77. 2 Sebastian Moore, Let This Mind Be in You: The Quest for Identity Through Oedi-pus to Christ (Minneapolis: Winston-Seabury, 1985). 3 In another context I have discussed the courage of Bartimaeus. See "Surrender: Key To Wholeness," REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS 46 1987): 49-53. Perspectives on Parables and Prayer Donald Macdonald, S.M.M. Father Macdonald's most recent contribution to our journal was "A Pathway to God" (May/June 1988). His address continues to be: St. Joseph's; Wellington Road; Todmorden, Lancashire; 0L14 5HP England. A sister said that her annual retreat was less than satisfying because "the priest, who shall be nameless, seemed to spend a fair bit of time telling us how good he was. I nearly offered him a trumpet." My response was and is to wish that he could come for my annual retreat, if only to exer-cise my sense of humor, even though, as I suspect, he may be speaking tongue in cheek. If not, so much the better! This is not meant to be flip-pant, for it seems to me in recent years that retreats and such like are becoming more technical, esoteric, and managed. So often there has to be a title with content specified, ra~nging from privately directed to Bet- .ter World and charismatic, by way of the Spiritual Exercises, Inigo, Sadhana, Progoff, Zen, Yoga, and so much else; it seems a prudent step, therefore, to first inquire before one enters. The seeker for silence and stillness, for example, is likely to find an all-action organized retreat not a little off-putting. But it all seems so terribly earnest, with little humor. A retreat is undeniably important when seen as a chance for inspira-tion, encouragement, and vision, particularly if the opportunity comes only once a year. It is important that the Gospel is preached; arguably, over the years, some vocations may have gone by default, even among those who die as religious, inasmuch as the Good News, as the New Tes-tament would understand it, might not have been heard. It is sometimes asking much of a preacher during a retreat to try and shore up a creaking building on the verge of collapse when the day-by-day support has not been given. But what seems to happen today is a grasping for technique 14 On Parables and Prayer which is expected to provide the key to the Gospel. The search for the philosopher's stone is endemic. This, of course, may not be quite fair to someone who senses per-haps that "Thou [God] hast made us for thyself and our hearts are rest-less till they rest in thee" (Confessions 1:1).~ But expectation is not God, nor is disappointment nor, indeed, sat-isfaction. To set one's all on technique or the competence of the preacher or the receptivity of the audience is to risk losing everything. Humor will spare us that and much else. The late John Main, O.S.B., told a friend, a Ramakrishnan monk, who had asked him how he proposed to teach meditation, "Sit down, sit erect, say the mantra, and that's it.''2 His friend said that such an approach would never work with Westerners. It is so simple they will not believe you. His advice was to deliberately com-plicate it, saying you have esoteric knowledge which you can give only after they have been coming for at least ten weeks. Only then can t.hey be initiated. Throw in the name John Cassian for good measure. That should attract them. This raises a smile, as it is so close to reality as some of us observe it. A Greek Orthodox priest spoke similarly of students coming to his monastery asking to be initiated into the Jesus Prayer. "Say it." "But. ? . No, just say it." As you advance you need guidance. It is all rather deflating, for someone seeking the heights, to be told to begin at the beginning. It will be recalled that Peter L. Berger identified humor as one of his "signals of transcendence," a marvelous way out from all which might tend to dominate and frighten us in a seemingly locked-in world. It is crucial for perspective. "Laughter can show that power is ultimately' an illusion because it canno( transcend the limits of the empirical world. Laughter can--and does every time it relativizes the seemingly rocklike necessities of this world.''3 There is such a thing as gallows humor. Laughter can be a link with the divine and all that is, not just all that is here. How could a preacher or a community ever take themselves wholly seriously again after hearing this little story about a retreat director? He impressed a community as an obviously saintly man. His reputation grew as the week progressed--until he asked for meat on Friday. No saint would ever do that! On such are reputations built and lost. Favorite humorous authors such as P. G. Wodehouse or James Thurber can provide permanent links to God and reality. Once in their friendly and familiar company, we find space to simply relax and enjoy ourselves. We smile at Walter Mitty as we see ourselves in him. Our prob- 16 / Review for Religious,'January-February 1989 lems lessen in the face of what some of the Wodehouse characters have to meet. A Sergeant Bilko on black-and-white television can do as much. Holding on to the relative like this may help us see that there is always another chance--and if the Go.spei is to be believed, the time is now. I am far from underplaying the need for a properly prepared retreat or suggesting that one can laugh off whatever happens. Nor would I dis-count the value of any particular technique or approach. I would but say that everything here is relative and humor can help us see it. Father Enomiya-Lassalle once gave a day's Zen retreat to forty Korean novices, whose reaction was that "Up to now we used to have a scriptural text in our daily meditation to meditate on. Today for the first time we have felt that to meditate is to pray."4 One is grateful;for the sisters' experi. ence, but even if the priest had neve.r set foot in Korea, the providence of God would not have neglected them. Everything then can help, but nothing is essential. When the retreat .disappoints, all need not be lost. This is particularly so for those who know how to interpret their life in terms of Scripture. A fairly comprehensive experience convinces me that few can. If there is one cause of failure both in preacher and audience, it lies in the inability to do that. I would be astonished if novices knew how to do it, and very surprised to find it in the great majority of their senior brothers and sisters. One simple test is to listen for the Gospel when religious speak of what is happening to them and how they see it. The Gospel is the common coin of the Catholic Church, but many use it gingerly like a foreign currency. They do not know its value, or what to do with it. Authentic Sources 'Religious have been authoritatively urged that to genuinely live their calling they should draw "on the authentic sources of Christian spiritu-ality., in the first place they should take the Sacred Scriptures in hand each day" (Perfectae Caritatis, no. 6). Here faith and life are meshed as one. What a Jewish commentator, W. G. Plaut, said of the Torah, the Christian can wholeheartedly endorse for Scripture in its.entirety. "We hold that the Torah is a record of Israel's striving to meet God and un-derstand his will. In centuries of search, of finding and forgetting, of in-spiration and desperation, God touched the soul of his people and the sparks of these meetings burn in the pages of the Torah.' ,5 The "sparks of these meetings" are found in the pages of Scripture, and once prop-erly kindled they produce an enduring, not fitful, flame. In each meet-ing with God, which really means now, the religious by profession would wish his or her mind to be at one with the will of God, faith and life re- On Parables and Prayer flecting the one reality: "That man is Your best servant who is not so much concerned to hear from You what he wills as to will what he hears from You"(Confessions 10:26). That distinction is crucial, and none knew better than Augustine how hard it was to really make the transi-tion. All of us are innately self-centered, easily deceived. It is, then, prac-tical to go to the authentic sources of the Church's tradition, where "in the centuries of search, of finding and forgetting. God touched the soul of his people." Even Augustine intuitively seems to have felt this in his search for God. "I absolutely refused to entrust the care of my sick soul to the philosophers, because they were without the saving name of Christ. and whatever lacked that name, no matter how learned and excellently written and true, could not win me wholly" (Confessions 5: 14; 3:4). So while the attraction for God in Christ and authenticity was there, Augustine could not at first bring himself to find this, least of all in Scripture. He tells us honestly why: "So I resolved to make some study of the Sacred Scriptures and find what kind of books they were . My conceit was repelled by their simplicity, and I had not the mind to penetrate into their depths" (Confessions 3:5). He lacked "sincerity, openness of mind and that fundamental rev-erence which is a willingness to be commanded" which one who went deeper than most saw as minimum requirements before the Bible can do anything for a person.6 It is so hard to change one's mind radically, and that lovely quality of fundamental reverence before Scripture Js rarely found, especially in those who like to do things their own way--which means all of us, but for the grace of God. ~ Augustine was later to envy the Church's faithful whom he had once patronized as ignorant and unlettered. Once he himself had discovered the treasure which they so nonchalantly possessed, how his perspective changed: "Of what great harm to Your little ones was their far slower intelligence: since they strayed not far from You and so could fledge their wings in safety in the nest of Your Church, and nourish the wings of char-ity with the food of solid faith?" (Confessions 4:16). In thus moving from inauthentic to authentic existence as he saw it, he now realized that his "superior" stance was only that of the man with the empty stomach who does not know where to find food, in his case, "the food of solid faith." The search, tension, and struggle are perhaps heroic and the stakes are life or death, but nothing is gained by patronizing those who sit down each day at a full table. He finally knocked at their door and asked to come in and share what they had. Again his perspective changed: "It is with utter certainty that I love You. You have stricken Review for Religious, January-February 1989 my heart with Your word and I have loved You" (Confessions 10:6). It is well known that an appar.ently chance reading of Romans 13 and 14 finally enabled Augustine to see. Now from within the heart of the Church he is convinced that "Thou [God] didn't touch me, and I have burned for thy peace" (Confessions 10:27). This is not notional knowl-edge enabling him to speak to his intellectual peers, but the real insight given him by the word of God from within the Church enabling him to see faith and life as one. The sparks of the earlier meetings with God are now aflame in re-sponse to his word. His life and perspective are transfigured. It is per-haps not without its underlying humor to see this gifted man, with many of the gli~tering prizes within his grasp, now held enthralled by the faith of his mother and her nurse (see Confessions 9:8). He had traveled for miles and years searching for what he had left at home. If religious had this innate feeling of fundamental reverence before Scripture, always subordinating themselves to the word, never dominat-ing it, they might more easily warm to the sparks of the meetings with God in their own daily life, and so find a flame which they could never leave. Even among the trumpet calls of a preacher's self-proclaimed ex-cellence, the word of God isthere if one knows how to listen, but it is unlikely to be heard unless one is habitually doing this. That perspec-tive is all-important. A practical illustration may perhaps make the point. A Treasure Found Parables form much of the Gospel, and few strike a cord with the religious vocation more than "the kingdom of heaven is like a treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and covered up; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field" (Mt 13:44). Taken from life, it is meant to make us think. What is being said here? We under-stand what is being said, of course, but we are meant to assimilate its implications. Its dynamic is as powerful as Christ is real. Insofar as I be-lieve that God in Christ is here speaking to me, I shall respond and so attempt to make the Gospel my own. In fact, that parable, for many, is little more than an interesting analogy. It is a helpful example, an exter-nal, verbal, and indeed visual aid, as useful in the junior school as in the religious community. Precisely because that may not unfairly be de-scribed as the most usual understanding of the parable, the true perspec-tive is little known, and so those words scarcely ever spark into a flame. If that is compared with the approach to parables of T. W. Manson in a fine book first published over fifty years ago and often reprinted, we will find ourselves in another world where the sparks of the meeting On Parables and Prayer between Christ and ourselves can really catch fire. He says: Jesus is not concerned to demonstrate that God exists but rather to show the nature of the God whose existence is common ground for him and his audience. His aim is not to make God an article of faith but the ob-ject of faith. We are often concerned to make God probable to man; .he set out to make God real to them. It is this fact which makes parable the inevitable form in which the teaching of Jesus on the nature and ways of God should be delivered . The true parable., is not an illus-tration to help one through a theological discussion. It belongs to the same order of things as altar and sacrifice and prayer, the prophetic vi-sion and the like . It is a way in which religious faith is attained, and, as far as it can be, transmitted from one person to another. It is not a crutch for limping intellects but a spur to religious insight. Its object is not to provide simple theological instruction but to produce living re-ligious faith.7 This is Scripture seen from the inside. How many readers of this page honestly think like that? If religious habitually think in those terms, it seems to me that they keep it well hidden. Could the average reader echo, from experience, all that Manson sees--parable, the obvious teach-ing medium to make God real . . . a mode of religious experience on the same plane as altar, sacrifice, prayer, and insight., a way in which faith is attained, not a crutch for limping intellects., producing living religious faith? The easiest way to answer such questions is to ask: What did we feel when the parable was first quoted--' 'the kingdom of heaven is like a treasure hidden in a field."? If Manson was articulating what we have long known and felt, the resonances first produced by the par-able will still be there on the level of faith, not necessarily feeling. His comment would then simply buttress what we know to be true. Is our faith like a treasure found? Is this what has brought us to religious life? Is it a superb insight into reality? Is any sacrifice worthwhile to really possess it? What do we give in view of what we ~et? Can this treasure in any sense be found through the medium of an imperfect preacher? Do these words hold us up as they obviously show us up? One has to ask questions and link details together for the purposes of writing, but if the parable is properly assimilated to any degree, it is better to be silent and still and let the image absorb us and lead us where it will. We are then on the level of altar, sacrifice, prayer, and insight, willingly or even grudgingly, in view of the demands, letting ourselves be drawn into God through his Word. Perspectives that we perhaps know notionally are opened up to limitless horizons. Faith, not feeling, is seek- 20 / Review for Religious, January-February 1989 ing to really understand. For years we have known the parable by heart. Have our hearts ever got the point and made it our own? Only silence and wonder stemming from fundamental reverence will do that. Fundamental Reverence For some years now virtually all religious communities have the for-mal daily prayer of the Church as their morning and evening prayer. In-variably, individuals or groups are given charge of liturgy and prayer, which generally means that coming to daily prayer one has to first find out what has been rearranged. Pages have to be marked, hymns noted, and alternative readings attended to. The pattern is rarely predictable. All this is done, one hears, because the community wants it, for the ordi-nary daily office is boring and repetitive. This constant adaptation is then seen as a practical attempt to engage the community in really meaning-ful prayer. In view of what has already been said, much of this suggests that those who foster or want this, apart from the risk of choosing only what-ever has personal appeal, may have no real feeling for Scripture, which may be why continual rearrangement is felt to be necessary to hold at-tention. This is, of course, the technique of the junior school, .where the children's attention span is limited and meaning has to be immediate. Yet if one receives~a line, phrase, sentence, or sentiment of Scripture on the level of altar, sacrifice, prayer, or insight, one just cannot keep chang-ing the focus without fragmenting the reality. Even to move, pick up a hymnbook, attend to alternative prayer or reading, or in general to be .never quite sure what is happening next, can be to break concentration. There may be some gain in alertness but, arguably, loss in continu-ity and assimilation. The Psalms and readings from the daily office have not yet been heard for the first time as Augustine, Manson, the Jewish commentator Plaut, and others would understand it, and will never be if one constantly changes the focus of attention in terms of relevance. One is all the time being brought up to the surface, never left long enough to go down to the depths. Ideally, the Psalms and readings could be so predictable that one almost knows them without turning the page. Only then do they have a chance of becoming part of ourselves so that we can truly listen, not just hear. Fundamental reverence would ask no less. But, however well intentioned, when one has to scan the board for the next item on .the agenda of prayer, or wait for the inspiration of a colleague, one is perhaps paying too high a price for spontaneity. The seemingly prosaic parable as a "spur to religious insight" must be in-vited to speak, not ordered to. On Parables and Prayer When Scripture is approached like this in the context of prayer, what one hears matters little. In time, perhaps less and less comes to mean more and more. It has not been and cannot be quite assimilated. Occa-sionally its relevance may be all too clear, as when, on the morning fol-lowing news of the horrific deaths of the seven astronauts in January 1986, one read: "Naked I came from my mother's womb, naked I shall return. The Lord gave, the Lord has taken back. Blessed be the name of the Lord. If we take happiness from God's hand, must we not take sorrow too?" (Jb 1:21, 2:10). Even if the words appear as dull as a school textbook, it does not matter. Nor does immediacy or surface mood. On the level of prayer, altar, sacrifice, and insight, it is one's faith responding to God that makes the connection. In time the words will peel away and matter less and less as one is held in faith, just as a smile or wave from a friend has a mean-ing out of all proportion to the action. It is a perspective on reality for which one is grateful. NOTES t The Confessions of St. Augustine, translated by F. J. Sheed (London: Sheed and Ward 1944). All references to The Confessions are from here. 2 John Main, O.S.B., "Christian Meditation," The Grail, 1978, p. 19. 3.Peter L. Berger, A Rumor of Angels (Penguin Books, 1971), p. 91. 4 The Tablet, London, January I 1, 1986, pp. 31-32. 5 The Torah, W. G. Plaut and B. J. Bamberger (New York: Union of American He-brew Congregation, 198 I), p. 1294. 6 C. H. Dodd, The Authority of the Bible [1929] (Fontana Paperback, 1962), p. 269. 7 T. W. Manson. The Teaching of Jesus (CUP, 1931; paperback, 1963), pp. 72-73. The Gift of Not Giving Jane Kammer C.S.Bo In our issue of January/February 1983, we published Sister Jane's "Three Times I Asked: Reflections on Weakness." She is a pastoral associate at St. Benedict Church in San Antonio. She may be addressed at 5107 Ozark; San Antonio, Texas 7820 I. So Jesus said to them, 'Well, then, pay to the Emperor what belongs to the Emperor and pay to God what belongs to God ' (Mt 22:21). "Jesus exclaimed, 'You ask me for a miracle? No! The only mir-acle you will be given is the miracle of the prophet Jonah' " (Mt 12:39). "As Jesus was getting into the boat, the man who had had the de-mons begged him, 'Let me go with you!' But Jesus would not let him"(Mk 5:18-19). A popular Christian saying and song is "God loves a cheerful giver." Giving has been exalted as a hallmark of Christianity, and so it is. Didn't our leader, Jesus, give his very life to show us God's great love? Giving has also been extolled as the virtue of the ideal Christian woman. For most of her life, my mother gave. She waited on my father; she gave of herself for her children. For all but the last few years of her life, I never heard her say no to anyone who asked a favor. But after she had grieved over my father's death, a change took place in my mother. At sixty-two she learned to drive a car; she went on vacations; she joined groups and clubs; and she began to say no to requests she really did not want to fulfill. She had discovered another dimension of giving. Giving is not always healthy for the giver or for the receiver. It is not true respect when I continually do for another what the person can do for him/herself. I am beginning to learn the gift of not giving. Teilhard de Chardin said, "Your essential duty and desire is to be 22 The Gift of Not Giving united with God. But in order to be united you must first of all be --be yourself as completely as possible. And so you must develop yourself and take possession of the world in order to be. Once this has been ac-complished, then is the time to think about renunciation; then is the time to accept diminishment for the sake of being in another. Such is the sole and twofold precept of complete Christian asceticism" (The Divine Mi-lieu [New York: Harper and Row, 1960], pp. 70-71). I believe that part of developing myself is learning, through practice, the gift of not giving to everyone who seems to ask. If I continually place my focus on others, then I cannot really give myself in love to them, for I do not have a self to give. It is my task to discover and develop the unique person God intends for me to be. I am codependent. To me that means I tend to place my center out-side of myself. I am inclined to seek affirmation and validation from some-one else. I feel safest when giving, not receiving. I am a people pleaser who fears rejection. Taking things personally and blaming myself for whatever seems less than perfect are aspects of my codependence. I have lived with many "shoulds" from the past which I have interiorized. In many ways my life repeats the story of my mother. But it is not too late to refocus my center within myself. I can learn to allow the true "me" to emerge from within. In time I can become a self-validating, self-affirming person whose peace is permanent and whose happiness does not depend on the mood of another. If I stay with myself, I can learn to love and accept myself as I am, even while want-ing to change some things about myself. I can give myself the gift of not giving up on the real, beautiful, and exciting "me." Moreover, I can learn to give the gift to others of responsibility for themselves. By re-fusing to absorb and carry the emotions of others, I will gift them with the faith that they are capable of living their own lives, making their own decisions, and caring for themselves. One morning I attended a meeting of four people who work in the same field. One of the workers continually griped and complained. Ne-gativity flowed out of her every word and facial expression. At the end of the session, I felt depressed, oppressed, and.burdened. I had absorbed into myself the flow of her negativity. But I can give myself the gift of not taking responsibility for other people's feelings, for others' pleasant or unpleasant feelings. I can maintain my joy, peace, and positive out-look if I am aware of my tendencies and if I give myself the gift of not giving in to codependence. I can learn to trust other people to run their own lives. I can deepen my trust in God. Review for Religious, January-February 1989 As codependent I also try to control others, though I may not be aware that I am doing so. I have not seen my friend for quite a while. I miss him or her. I may long with emotional intensity to see and be with my friend again. This is all right; this is me~ I fall into codependence, however, when I expect my friend to feel the same emotions that I do, the same strong loneliness. Because he/she feels differently does not mean that we are no longer friends. We are still connected by the bonds of love and the union of our spirits, but my friend is entitled to his/her own emotional swings. Occasionally we may both experience the same feelings, but that just happens; it cannot be programmed. By giving the gift of not giving my friend the task of living up to my expectations, I free him/her to be a unique self, and I free myself from the frustration of unmet expectations. As I grow, I learn the gift of n6t giving allegiance to everything that is said about,~me, even when it is said by significant others in my life. Opefiness to consider feedback is good and necessary for growth, but I can take the comments offered, test them sincerely against what I know of my true self, and decide to allow them to influence me or reject them as not fitting. More and more I stand free: receptive but able to make choices and.changes for myself. Each of us operates out of a specific personality type. I know that those "unacceptable" aspec.ts of myself, my "shadow," can become for me sources of undreamt growth and expansion. If I am introverted, recognition' of the shadow invites me to promote the development of more assertiveness, more sociability. By taking up the challenge of my "opposites," I give myself the gift of not giving in and becoming com-pletely immersed in my dominant qualities. I also give to others the gift of my expanded personality., my versatility to be reflective and quiet, and to be spontaneous and outgoing. I then realize that I have the potential to grow in all qualities of personality. Giving the gift of not giving can be risky. This is especially so if one is looked upon as a professional "helper." 1 am supposed to rescue peo-ple, or so it is often assumed. But the divine in me nudges me to grow and to foster my own "undependence" so that I do not need to rescue in order to feel worthy or worthwhile. I can then rejoice with the other in his/her efforts that lead to confidence, success, self-esteem, and de-victimization. When I encourage the other to look within her/himself for the indwell-ing God, the source of strength and goodness, then the other's success in dealing with difficulties is truly authentic and lasting. I become, not The Gift of Not Giving a rescuer or savior, but a real companion and friend. Recently a friend said to me, "I am upset over certain events that have taken place lately. I feel I can share with you about those situations because you are concerned and will give your support and prayers, but you won't take on my problems and become as upset as I am, and so be-come an added problem and burden to me. And you won't smother me with sympathy either." I consider those remarks a confirmation of the rightness of the gift of not giving and an uncovering of the true meaning of compassion. Jesus gave the gift of not giving. He refused to give direct answers to the Pharisees who were trying to trap him. He did not allow them to control him or his mission. Jesus did not perform miracles for those un-believers. He refused to compromise himself in order to please them. He did not even accept the adoration of the man who was cleansed from evil. Jesus will not allow us to follow him out of coercion or ignorahce. We must make up our own minds. He gave us the gift of not giving easy answers; he taught in parables. Jesus leaves us free and invites us to re- .sponsible living and loving. He refuses to take on our responsibility for ourselves and our world even though we often try to put on him th~ blame for our misfortunes and our mistakes. o Christ's peace was from within. He was "self-centered," anchored in the depths of his love springing from deep within. We too are chal-lenged to anchor in the gift of self that we find within, put there by God. One way to self is through the gift of not giving. Chapters and Structures William F. Hogan, C.S.C. Father Hogan wrote "The Cross Reconsidered" for our issue of March/April ! 988. His address remains: Fratelli Cristiani; Via della Maglianelli, 375; 00166 Roma, It-aly. Postconstitution chapters in most congregations take a very different form from those in which much labor was directed to working out, concept by concept, word by word, texts of constitutions to be submitted for ec-clesiastical approval. If there was perplexity in some institutes as to what a chapter would do when there were no more constitutions to write, the wonderment soon dissolved as attention was focused on the principal calls of the times: justice, peace, preferential option for the poor, sim-plification of lifestyle, apostolic spirituality, and so forth. Less legisla-tion emerged from the chapters; the accent was on setting immediate goals for administrations and planning steps for implementation of di-rection by the community: simple documents of challenge for reflection, inspiration, action. A variety of formulas, techniques, and approaches have been used to provoke a deep listening to the Spirit during sessions and to share the chapter's reflections and concerns with the larger con-gregation. Our times have seen much effort and creativity to make chap-ters meaningful experiences, and more will be needed in the future be-cause there is no magical formula that can cover every set of concerns or apply to all chapter circumstances. The uniqueness of each chapter will demand an approach suitable to its particularity: what works for one may very well not be beneficial to another. The experience of many congregations would advocate that it is not necessary for chapters to go over every element of the life of a congre-gation, as ordinarily done in the past, because there are so many other 26 Chapters and Structures participative structures in place between chapters. More effective results emerge when one topic is pursued in depth and the congregation's ef-forts are channeled in a particular direction. At the same time it is im-portant that a chapter and other community organs related to a chapter devote some attention to important points other than the principal topic. The 1983 code of Canon Law determines a number of issues to be treated in the particular law of religious congregations, and these fall under the responsibility of a general chapter. Most of these matters have been leg-islated in the constitutions; there is widespread reluctance to touch them after experiencing the difficulties of having constitutions approved, even when a group intellectually acknowledges the need for modifications. Oth-ers are taken up in the secondary book and should be reviewed by the chapter, even though its primary thrust is not concerned with the particu-lar law as such. There are ways of accomplishing this so as not to dis-tract from the major chapter consideration--for example, through the use of an ad hoc committee reviewing the legislation and making recommen-dations to the assembly. Without this review there is always the possi~ bility of a gap developing between living and the calls of the Spirit to move forward in mission. One of the most basic areas not to be overlooked is that of the struc-tures of government, where there are many questions deserving ongoing congideration even though structures are usually treated in the constitu-tions and considered of more permanent nature than rfiatters'of the sec-ondary book. Frequently the particular law of a congregation will state that structures are for the mission:, that the participation of the institute in the continuing mission of Jesus is the determining factor for structures of authority and government and the division of a congregation into life-promoting and mission-serving units. It .is far too easy to let the concept of structures for mission become a dead letter, since the mission is not staticbut constantly undergoing variables. Reflective vigilance is needed to take into account the changing factors of the mission of Jesus today and be at the service of the mission in fact and not just in word. This is especially true in international congregations with their divi-sions into provinces, regions, sectors, and so forth, but finds application also'in national and diocesan groups. Religious institutes are experienc-ing decreases in some of their internal divisions because of aging, loss of members, and other factors with the result that some previously sta-ble units no longer appear capable of maintaining the autonomy neces-saryto function as a unit in the same way. In not a few instances there is occurring a reversal of what have up to this point been geographical Review for Religious, January-February 1989 central and peripheral areas in congregations; then, too, there often is dis-persion of individuals and communities, along with new forms of com-munity. New foundations in third-world countries being made by differ-ent provinces of the same congregation point to a need for a networking among them to provide for sharing of experiences and insights, even if situations are not yet sufficiently clear to establish more permanent struc-tures. And surely, sufficient reflection on the units of a congregation will give rise to other situations in need of monitoring. Canon law and practice leaves the regulation of internal divisions to the individual institute and the authority therein determined, as long as the basic points of the approved constitutions are followed. These latter often allow for more flexibility than seems apparent at first glance; where there may be lacking the necessary suppleness, recourse should be had to the appropriate Church authority. A desire for survival may force the issue of restructuring in some congregations rather than a more overt con-cern that structures serve the mission; whatever be the motivation in fact, watchfulness is called for and the occasion of a chapter provides an op-portunity to exercise a healthy vigilance. Reflection on structures is not meant to pull religious in on them-selves, but outwards to furthering the work of Christ and promoting the qualitative dimension of ministry, life, and contribution to the local Church--lest there be a discrepancy between what we say of ourselves in principle and the reality of what we live. Connected with this reflec-tion is the issue of identity and charism, in the sense that the question at times arises whether to bolster the presence of the congregation in one part of the world through bringing new members from countries where vocations are still in abundance or simply to let the presence eventually fade out of existence. The tendency is to give an answer in terms of the works the religious are doing and whether the apostolates should be con-tinued; yet there is a deeper element than simply the works: Are the re-ligious bringing anything different in terms of witness to the local Church that others cannot effect? Not just a question of doing, but the reality of being: How are we in wha~ we do? No simple answers can be given to this; much soul-searching about the identity to which we witness is en-tailed. And if there is nothing .particular being shared with the local Church in terms of charism, it may be that the Spirit is saying that the congregation's presence is no longer gifting the local Christian commu-nity. A number of other matters concerning authority structures deserve periodic consideration, such as terms of office, interimsbetween chap- Chapters and Structures / 29 ters, and whether chapters are the only or best vehicles to accomplish the promotion of the mission and life. Many congregations have gone through a number of changes during the last two decades concerning the duration of offices because of concern with people being in positions too long, the need for freshness of vision in monitoring change and the cur-rents of the times, and the promotion of participation and development of individuals' gifts and talents. Sometimes in addressing one set of val-ues and making decisions in accord with them, experience shows that other values suffer and perhaps there is conflict in trying to integrate all the facets. Thus some congregations have gone full circle and returned to their original terms of office after various experiments; others have opted for a longer nonrenewable mandate; and still others have deter-mined upon several shorter terms. It would be idealistic to think that the workable formula reached for the present should not be open for recon-sideration if changing circumstances would indicate the need for another solution. Frequently religious Speak of the amount of energy that is expended in preparing chapters and implementing their decisions and orientations; also of the insufficiency of time between chapters for a congregation to realize the implications of chapter decisions before being moved on as a group to other subject matters. The frustrations sometimes expressed in this regard, in conjunction with fatigue over the number of meetings in which religious at times have to participate on different levels, raise the issue of whether there are other ways to accomplish the goals with-out the mechanism of chapters so regularly and all that is entailed therein, and still preserve and foster the principles of members working together toward policies of life and mission. Creativity of thought is needed here to safeguard the values intended by the structure of chapter and at the same time to prevent excessive use of energy that could be more directly channeled toward mission. Further, it might prove opportune from time to time to reflect on some of the points brought over into religious structures from corpora-tion models to assure the rights of individuals and promote participation. Some were needed to correct abuses or remedy problem areas at a par-ticular time. Are they still needed? Has something been lost from the com-munity- of-faith dimension while stressing organizational approaches? Where is the congregation now in the balance of values? Some benefi-cial insights could be gained by a congregation relative to structures for mission from treating these and similar questions. Not to be overlooked either would be the number of people involved :30 / Review for Religious, January-February 1989 in community administration full time: too few? too many? enough for the needs of mission on the part of the congregation? How do we under-stand these needs now, taking into account the concept of community for mission and the need for good government and sufficiently broad-based decision making? The answer given at one time will apply only as long as circumstances remain basically the same: hence the need for periodic review. To look at some of these issues of structure from the viewpoint of service of the mission and the community's growth for mission may ap-pe. ar as an invitation to furiher instability in religious life; perhaps it would involve furthe~r unsettling, but in terms--hopefully--of the unset-tling aspe~zts of Jesus' message and mission a~d of the mentaJity of foun-ders and foundresses. Their primary passion, in following Jesus,,was to reveal the Father's love and assist others to experience it in their lives; institutionalization of religious life and structures as such generally arose after the founders' times. Stability of life is an important aspect of relig-ious life; it is expressed in the Church's definitions of consecrated life (see can. 573,1). However, stability must not be equated with no change, especially when the mission that gives meaning to the consecrated life demands change. Stability demands serious prayerful reflection on the whole issue of change, keeping our vision focused 'on the person of Je-sus arid his mission today. And while we concentrate our ,energies and attention on the great sweeping calls of the Spirit of Jesus as reiterated through the Church, we must also keep alert to whether internal struc-tures are enabling for response to mission. Meta-Expectations and the General Chapter J. Roberta Rivello, S.S.J. Sister J. Roberta Rivello is a Sister of Saint Joseph of Philadelphia. She is currently Dean of Graduate Studies Division at Chestnut Hill College in Philadelphia; prior to that she was research analyst for the Department of Army where she worked for the past seven years. This paper is about the difference between expectations reasonably held and "meta-expectations," and what happens when "meta-expecta-tions" are part of the agenda for a general chapter in religious institutes. Having to deal with these meta-expectations in the general chapter may be a part of the reason why so many religious institutes find themselves, in the years immediately following a general chapter, in the midst of a good deal of frustration, anger, even~outright rejection of some of the mandates of the general chapter. I believe this occurs because many of the expectatio.ns explicitly ex-pressed by the members of an institute are clearly not the substantive con-tent for the general chapter to consider. When a religious institute re-quests from the membership proposals, recommendations, and sugges-tions prior to a general chapter, it may be of some benefit to explain at the same time what is reasonable for the members to expect from the chap-ter, and to provide some criteria for arriving at the proper methods for expressing those expectations to the chapter delegates. Part of this edu-cation could include guidance into what constitutes "reasonable expec-tations," and how to differentiate between these and what I term "meta-expectations." I use the term rneta-expectations as a phenomenological description for the kinds of aspirations and expectations which are not structurally 31 Review for Religious, January-February 1989 . and substantively significant to the issues ~hich h~ive been identified as chapter material. Persons who express such "meta-expectations" through their proposals and letters certainly do not perceive them as meta-expectations-- or they would not submit them. I believe it is the job of the prechapter committees to communicate to those who submit such pro-posals, even personally if possible, why it is that their expectations are not reasonable for the chapter to include in its portfolio of proposals. Do-ing this would eliminate some of the postchapter frustration, even if in-itially the explanation is quite difficult to accept. A general chapter may, for example, need to deal with spirituality and prayer as they relate to the charism of the institute, and proceeds to invite proposals to that effect. When the proposals are reviewed, how-ever, it is found that some members have expressed a variety of expec-tations which~ are, not substantive.ly identifiable with the charism and spiri-tuality of the institute. If these .expectations were to become content for the~delegates' consideration during the chapter, they could seriously im-pair the effectiveness of chapter deliberations and could ultimately erode the charis~n itself of the institute. The "mandates" of a general chapter are simply directives with en-forcement p.ower. These mandates deal with matters which have an im~ pact on the~members' sPiritual development, community life, prayer, ap-ostolic works, or other important areas which are integral to the life of a religious.The precise direction which the general chapter should take is undergirded by the constitutions and charism of the institute. Whatever else, a chapter accomplishes, it ought to accomplish the ful-fillment of its members' first-order reasonable expectations. These rea-sonably held expectations, in turn, ought to flow from the institute's spiri-tuality and charism. Ageneral ch.apter,, however, need not attend with great detail to ful-filling second-order expectations since these do not necessarily consti-tute the ne'cessary and sufficient matter for a general chapter to entertain. It is these latter which I term meta-expectations. Meta-expectations are something which a newly elected leadership might need: to consider sometime soon after entering into their term of office. But religious institutes which choose to concern themselves with such non-reasonable expectations during the general.chapter frequently find that there are.significantly sharp differences between the way the dele-gates perceive of the proposals presented to them and the way the pro-posing me,.mbers perceive the resulting chapter mandates. They will ac-cept the mandates accord.ing to what their expectations were prior to gen- Meta-Expectations and the Chapter eral chapter. Even in the Church today there is a growing sense that religious in-stitutes are experiencing very serious differences in the way the mem-bership perceives the outc0me of general chapters. This is partially due to the way general chapters often conduct their prechapter preparations and the way that Chapters of Affairs are conducted. These differences in perception and interpretation area result of the failure to differentiate between the reasonable expectations and the meta-expectations of the in-stitute's membership. This failure further fragments the members and their acceptance of the mandates and authority of the chapter. In this paper I will try to clarify what are reasonable expectations for a general chapter, and to show the difference between reasonable expec-tations and meta-expectations and how they influence the general chap-ter, Conflict between these two kinds of expectations can exist whenever expectations of any kind are elicited and aroused. For example, if one is invited to dinner, it is all right to expect something to eat but it is not reasonable to expect filet of beefi That is a meta-expectation, and while it may not be wrong to hold such a meta-expectation, it certainly is not reasonable; nor need the host meet it. Neither should the one holding such a meta-expectation be disappointed or offended if the host does not ~erve filet! More relevant to our discussion are the expectations religious have about their general chapters especially when preparations for them evoke strong expectations among the members as well as among the delegates. As I gtated above, two. of the things which ought to be simultane-ously evolving in the months prior to a chapter are how to identify and clarify the proper content for consideration and how to prepare both dele-gates and members to be able to differentiate between meta-expectations and reasonable expectations. It is reasonable for members of a religious institute to e£pect its gen-eral chapter to ~nandate programs for renewal, for spiritual development, for apostoli6 works, and for good community life. But it is not.reason-able to (xpect it to'decide how the membership ought to rest and relax, even thou'gti such matters are very important and time arid thou~ht~ought to be given to their consideration. It is as unreasonable for the member-ship to expect this to be considered as it would 'be for the general chap-ter to consider it---even if some of the delegates want it added to the agenda. The business of a general chapter is to redesign the future of the institute as it finds itself called to reveal Christ to the world in its con-temporary situation. This is its first-order work and is the only claim any- Review for Religious, January-February 1989 one can reasonably make on a general chapter. If the institute is true to its charism, the general chapter will succeed in fulfilling reasonable ex-pectations, and a newly elected leadership, or a reelected leadership, will be confirmed and authorized in working together to find ways and means to carry out what the chapter has mandated. In doing so, general administration should act in such a way that it further clarifies the difference between reasonable expectations and meta-expectations. Acting thus after the chapter assures continuity as well as flexibility in the institute's lived-out charism, since it preserves the in-tegrity of the institute's constitutions even while assuring versatility in their application to the reality that presents itself here and now.~ After all, it is in the real world that the institute exists, and its contemporary situation should be the focus of the institute's energies if it is to survive. If, however, the general chapter takes into consideration everything sub-mitted to it, the real essence of the institute's life becomes obscured. In addition, every proposal presented to the chapter contains its own par-ticular character and language which force the delegates to unpack its meaning before addressing the issue it contains. By sifting out the recta-expectations from the agenda, the delegates will be freed to concentrate on the constitutions and charism of the institute and to interpret the con-temporary situation in light of the Gospels for the world the institute is called to serve. There is good evidence that the bishops did this in Vatican II docu-ments. The document Lumen Gentium shows that they were aware of their .responsibility to separate out the recta-expectations from the rea-sonable ones.2 Their emphasis was on common-good considerations. Common-good considerations evolve from whatever the community has in common, not from things incidental to it. I believe this is why the docu-ments are clearly and straightforwardly parousial (expectant), so fitting for a Church in labor to reveal Christ to the world. For religious insti-tutes, the emphasis should also be on the common good, that is, on what the institute holds in common and what it shares as an institute in labor to reveal Christ to the world. For religious, this is found in their consti-tutions and in the charism of its founding. The document Perfectae Cari-tatis expresses the expectation of the Church about what it believes re-ligious institutes are called to be: Religious should carefully consider that through them, to believers and nonbelievers alike, the Church truly wishes to give an increasingly clearer revelation of Christ. Through them Christ should be shown con-templating on the mountain, announcing God's kingdom to the multi- Meta-Expectations and the Chapter / 35 tude, healing the sick and the maimed, turning sinners to wholesome fruit, blessing children, doing good to all, and always obeying the will of the Father who sent him.3 Rather than stating the expectations of religious, the document states what it is the Church expects of the religious institutes. This sense of expectation is not alien to either the Old or New Tes-taments. Scriptures retell the sacred history of a people filled with ex-pectation for a Messiah. For some, that expectation was misplaced or mis-focused so that when the Messiah came, when the expectation was ful-filled, they did not recognize it. Likewise, the message of Christ was clearly a statement of what it was he expected of us as we await his sec-ond coming. It is this same degree of expectation which is the ground-ing for religious institutes coming into being in the first place, that is, to reveal Christ to others even as we await (expect) his second coming. At this time some institutes are preparing for their chapter. A great deal of preparation will take place, I am sure. Included in that prepara-tion should be some education on what constitutes reasonable expecta-tions for the membership to have and how to express those expectations in proposals, letters, and prechapter committee work. I believe that some of the meta-expectations expressed prior tochapter in proposals to the general chapter are the result of excessive reliance on congregational and personal self-analyses which, in turn, rely too heavily on current statis-tics, social analysis, and popular trends. This tendency is best described as the historicist versus the historical view of events.4 Both views are needed but if they are not balanced, the religious institutes are robbed of either their historical tradition and dynamism (charism) or of insights derived from knowledge of the cultural and intellectual shifts occurring in society. Needless to say, I believe the omission of either is wrong. In fact, one of the tasks of the general chapter is to ensure that the bal-ance between both perspectives is maintained. Furthermore, an advan-tage to holding the Chapter of Election after the Chapter of Affairs is to ensure that the elected leadership is committed to carrying out the man-date of the general chapter and to the mission of the institute visible in its charism. The business of meta-expectations derailing expectations occurs daily in society--in the system of justice, in education, in government and other natural systems. It ought to occur less frequently in religious institutes if they are open to the Spirit unfolding in them. One other example of the distinction between meta-expectations and Review for Religious, January-February 1989 expectations might clarify what I am saying. In a religious institute mem-bers may experience some dissatisfaction with the missioning process, and all kinds of proposals expressing both meta-expectations and expec-tations emerge. The dissatisfaction is with the process and not with the people doing the job. Instead of focusing on the dissatisfaction, the dele-gates begin, as a result of some meta-expectations, to design new roles and functions for the persons charged with missioning when they ought to have seriously looked at the process and analyzed the cause of dis-content. The process is in need of change; failure to redesign it changes nothing, and future chapters will find themselves still dealing with dis-content about the process. Sometimes an issue is finally resolved but only after it has resurfaced in several chapters. One cannot be sure, however, that the ultimate resolution flows from reasonable expectations or not. What is certain is that if it is the result of meta-expectation something of the institute's charism is diminished. A model for expectations showing the process involved in discern-ment of the kinds of things which happen as a result of responses pro-vided in proposals follows: -Perception: dissatisfaction with missioning process -Response: a change is needed in the process In this model the response is a ~reasonable expectation for members to have. The model also lends itself to scrutiny by the delegates who will then test various recommendations made in the context of chapter to see how they relate to the charism and spirituality of the institute. In doing this, no special interest or meta~expectation will drive the final outcome. After chapter, the information and proposals not used in chapter can be given additional study and perhaps even be used for input into some ad hoc trial period of experimentation. A second model based on meta-expectations follows: -Perception: dissatiSfaction with missioning process -Response: establishment of new roles for persons charged with process The response in this case is the fulfillment of a meta-expectation since it begins to deal with m'any different aspects of the dissatisfaction. The issue is clearly defined as dissatisfaction with the process; then the charism and spirituality of the institute should dictate the solution. The response in this model is expressive of one of the many meta-expecta-tions expressed, all of which are not substantively, relative to the insti-tute's charism and spirituality. This model is provided as example; it is not a definitive model. Religious institutes can substitute ever so many examples which violate their own particular charism. This is not to say Meta-Expectations and the Chapter / 37 that it is wrong to have the vision to redesign the institute or to follow "paths unknown." What this paper is addressing is the growing aware-ness among religious that somewhere things are going amiss and worse, that it is becoming increasingly more difficult for the institute to recog-nize its own charism and spirituality at work in the Church for which it is called to reveal Christ and through him the Father. In this brief essay I have tried to make a distinction between the jus-tifiable and reasonable expectations one might have for a general chap-ter and the meta-expectations one might have, which are not reasonable for a general chapter to consider in its deliberations, no matter how at-tractive or relevant those meta-expectations appear. NOTES ~ Bernard J.F. Lonergan, S.J., Insight: A Study of Human Understanding. London. 1958. passim. 2 Walter M. Abbot, S.J. (ed.), The Documents of Vatican !!, p. 225, n. 26. All ref-erences to the Documents are taken from here. 3 Documents, p. 77, n. 46. 4 For an insightful account of the distinction between historicism and historicalism, read Bernard J.F. Lonergan, S.J., Method In Theology: London, 1971. pp. 323- 326, 239, 318. See also the works of Wilhelm Dilthey and Ernest Troeltsch; Maurice Mandelbaum. Enc. Phil., 4:22-25. Thomas Merton and His Own Cistercian Tradition M. Basil Pennington, O.C.S.O. Father Basil's most recent article in this journal was "Simple Contemplative Prayer" (March/April 1987). He now resides at Assumption Abbey; Rt. 5, Box 193; Ava, Missouri 65608. I presume most of the readers of this essay are fairly familiar with the life and development of Thomas Merton. In the last pages of the Secular Jour-nal, Merton sums up his spiritual journey towards the Church and mon-astery: From Gilson's Spirit of Medieval Philosophy I learned a healthy respect for Catholicism. Then Ends andMeans taught me to respect mysticism. Maritain's Art and Scholasticism was another important influence, and Blake's poetry. Perhaps also Evelyn Underhill's Mysticism, though I read precious little of it. I was fascinated by the Jesuit sermons in Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man! What horrified him, began to appeal to me. It seemed to me quite sane. Finally G. F. Lahey's Life of Gerard Manley Hopkins; I was reading about Hopkins's conver-sion when 1 dropped the book and ran out of the house to look for Fa-ther Ford. ~ It is not surprising that this author would be influenced primarily by authors and their books. In a preface to A Thomas Merton Reader, published in 1962, six years before his tragic death, Merton summed up his monastic years: I would say that my life at Gethsemani has fallen roughly into four pe-riods. First, the novitiate. I was a novice in 1942-1944. Those were hard years, before the days when radiators were much in favor during the win-ter, when the hours of communal prayer were much longer, when the 38 Merton and Cistercian Tradition fasts were much stricter. It was a period of training, and a happy, aus-tere one; during which 1 wrote little. The best Gethsemani poems be-long to this period. At the end of the novitiate my health broke down and I was ap-pointed to write and do translations of French books and articles. I was also studying philosophy and theology in preparation for ordination to the priesthood. This second period extends from 1944, my first vows, to ordination in 1949. At first the writing was very bad . In 1946 I wrote Seven Storey Mountain, in 1947 Seeds of Contemplation, and in 1948 The Waters of Siloe. After ordination, in 1949, there was an-other brief period of poor health and nervous exhaustion. I was almost incapable of writing for at least a year and a half after I became a priest. Then after a rest period in the hospital, I wrote The Ascent to Truth and Bread in the Wilderness (both about 1951) and finished The Sign of Jonas, 1952. In 1951 1 was appointed the Master of Scholastics, that is, of the young monks studying for ordination in the monastery. This en-tailed a fair amount of work preparing conferences and classes. Books like The Living Bread and particularly No Man is an Island and The Si-lent Life belong to the end of this period. Finally, a fourth stage. In 1955 I was made Master of the Choir Nov-ices. This is an office involving considerable work and responsibility. No writing of any account was done in ! 956, but after that it was possi-ble to produce short books or collections of essays, and some poetry. Disputed Questions, The Wisdom of the Desert, The Behavior of Titans, and New Seeds of Contemplation belong to this last period. So too do more recent essays on nuclear war, on Chinese thought, on liturgy, and on solitude.2 It is notable that in all of this literary reminiscing, Merton does not mention specifically any Cistercian Father or any of the work he did con-cerning them. Actually he does not seem to have had any contact with the Cistercian tradition prior to entering the monastery. But, in fact, once he entered the Cistercian life he so immersed himself in it that it became the very matrix of his life and .thinking. In his early days as he was as-similating Cistercian spirituality, Merton wrote about the Cistercian Fa-thers explicitly. When he served the community as Master of Scholastics and as Novice Master, he spoke about them constantly; his notes and his taped conferences are full of them. Later they cropped up spontaneously in his writings, the paradigm against which he evaluated what he was then absorbing. One of his favorites would find his place in the final talk Merton gave a few hours before his sudden death.3 When Merton first entered the monastery, there was, as he said in the epilogue of The Spirit of, Simplicity,4 little of the Cistercian Fathers 40 / Review for Religious, January-February 1989 available in English.5 But this did not hinder him. He not only found no problem in reading the Latin texts in Migne, he strongly believed that translations always lacked something of the origin~il.6 How carefully he studied these texts is witnessed not only by his frequent use of quota-tions from them in his early writings and the talks he gave his scholas-tics and novices, but also by the .und.erlinings and annotations found in the voit]mes of the Fathers which he used. One of Thomas Merton's-- or Frater Louis, as he was then called-- earliest assignments was to translate a.report from the CisterCian Gen-eral Chapter, entitled The Spirit of Simplicity,7 and provide a suitable in-troduction for it. He'not only did that but gathered a complementary selection of texts from St. Bernard on interior simplicity in its fullness. He translated these and commented on them, turning the report into a full book. This part of the The Spirit of Simplicity has recently been published in a volume in the Cistercian Studies Series with two other early Bernar-dine essays of Merton.8 He wrote a five-part study of Bernard and St. John of the Cross for Collectanea which expresses his concern of that period when he was writing The Ascent to Truth .9 We can detect in these essays a certain struggle Merton was experiencing in trying to respond both to the rich, fully human patristic heritage Bernard offered him and the exciting, stimulating, scholastic approach which John of the Cross was able to integrate with a high mystical theology. It wbuld be Ber-nard's approach that would win him over. In the prologue to The Sign of Jonas he would write: "I found in writing The Ascent to Truth that technical language, though it is univer-sal and certain and accepted by theologians, .does not reach the average man and does not convey what is more personal and most vital in relig-ious experience. Since my focus is not upon dogmas as such, but only on their repercussions in the life of a soul in which they begin to find concrete realization, I may be pardoned for using my own words to talk about my own soul." ~0 The third piece in the Cistercian Studies volume witnesses to another early concern of Merton--the superiority of thecontemplative life. In an extensive essay which was first published serially in ~Collectanea and later appeared as a volume in French,~ Merton is at pains to establish that the apostolic life, though it may have a fullness beyond the purely contemplative life, as Bernard ,acknow!edges,.has true:value only inso-far as it flows out of contemplation. And thus the contemplative life is in itself more important or of greater dignity. Merton's~argumentation Merton and Cistercian Tradition here is not all that easy to follow, nor that cogent. Later he himself would comment negatively about such preoccupation.~2 The eighth centenary of Bernard's death led to a spate of publishing on the saint. Merton translated the papal encyclical produced for the oc-casion and wrote an introduction to it. ~3 He was invited to introduce other works. His preface to Bernard de Clairvaux, a collection of studies pub-lished by the Historical Commission of his order and edited by its chair-man, Father Jean-de-la-Croix Bouton, shows the increasing influence of Bernard on Merton.~4 The piece is filled with scriptural texts and allu-sions. We might.say it is a very Bernardine piece about Bernard. In line with his earlier concentration, Merton sees that Bernard added to the Cis-tercian reform "an emphatic call to contemplative union with God." ~5 At the same time Merton begins to reveal a more integral understanding of Bernard as a "man of his times . . . a many-sided saint." 16 This is further in evidence in the next piece. His .introduction to Bruno Scott James's translation of the letters of St. Bernard, he considered important. ~7 At his behest it was included in A Thomas Merton Reader in the section ".Mentors and Doctrines."~8 It revealed Thomas Merton's growth in his appreciation for Bernard in line with his own personal growth. Merton had had his experience on the cor-ner of Maple and Fourth. He now beheld all with a greater integrity. He had a new .appreciation for Bernard the man. H~e appreciated the letters because they so well brought out the human dimension of the great saint: They [the letters] show the man as he is, and because he is so much a man, readers who forget that saints must be men may sometimes be in-clined to question his saintliness . Bernard is sent to instruct us how human a saint must be to forge'out the will of God in the heat of the affairs of men . He had the humility to be himself in the thick of a silly argument. He had the good grace to admit that a saint might pos-sibly have to bicker with another saint . The angry Bernard, the pas-sionate Bernard . . . the merciful Bernard, the gentle long-suffering monk who could be as tender as a mother . 19 As Merton noted in his brief literary biography quoted above, liturgy came more to the fore in a later period of his life. In Seasons of Cele-bration he published one of his most beautiful pieces on St. Bernard: "The Sacrament of Advent in the Spirituality of St. Bernard.' ,20 It is undoubtedly St. Bernard, the "Theologian of the Cistercian Life" (as Merton's friend Jean Leclercq would name him), who received the most attention from Merton. Besides Bernard's prominence as the mas-ter of the Cistercian school, there would be the influence of Gilson. As 42 / Review for Religious, January-February 1989 we have seen above, Gilson was one of the first to open the way for Mer-ton towards Catholicism. Merton's respect for him never diminished, and his masterful work The Mystical Theology of Saint BerndrdZ~ was most carefully studied and wholly accepted by Merton.22 But Merton read all the significant Cistercian Fathers, and spoke and wrote on them as occa-sion offered. The "Bernard of the North," Bernard's disciple, the abbot of Rievaulx, Aelred, received special attenti.on. Merton has an extensive un-published piece on him, which looks like it was on the way to becoming a book. We can hope it will. soon appear in Cistercian Studies. It is an important piece, and I shall return to it later in this esgay. As one of his first projects for Cistercian Publications, Merton wrote an introduction for Father Amfd6e Hallier's Monastic Theology of Aelred of Rievaulx. Here again we see the later Merton rejecting earlier attitudes: Let us be quite clear the monastic theology of Aelred is not a partisan "theology of monasticism." It is not an apologia for .the life of the monk, and not a kind of gnostic system organized to prove some sup-posed superiority of "the contemplative life," urging a flight to ineffa-ble convulsions,z3 He saw that "the Christian life is, for Aelred, simply the full flow-ering of freedom and consent in the perfection of friendship. Friendship with other human beings is an epiphany of friendship with God." Mer-ton notes that "Not so long ago, some of Aelred's books were kept un-der lock and key in Trappist libraries. ,,24 Merton never wrote a particular essay on Bernard's closest friend, William of Saint Thierry, but he considered him "a profound and origi-nal theologian and a contemplative in his own right."25 He dedicated one of his first books to him, "one of the saints and mystical theologians of the Golden Age," and quoted him extensively in the foreword.26 In regard to the fourth of the evangelists of Citeaux, Guerric of Igny, we have the opportunity to get a sampling of Merton's more ordinary treat-ment of the Cistercian Fathers in his talks to the juniors at Gethsemani. Sister Bernard Martin of Chimay transcribed two of Merton's talks which had been taped and published the transcription in Cistercian Studies in 1972.27 For Merton, "Guerric was really deep and very spiritual and very mystical."28 And as Merton.opens him up for his novices, he is also very much alive, very practical and down to earth. It is in these intimate talks that we best see how the Cistercian Fathers reverberated in the mind and heart of this twentieth-century Cistercian Father. Merton and Cistercian Tradition There is a more formal treatment of Guerric of Igny and his liturgi-cal sermons in Merton's introduction to the Gethsemani Christmas book for 1959: Sister Rose of Lima's translation of Guerric's Christmas ser-mons. 29 Other Cistercian Fathers turn up in Merton's published writings. There are poems about St, Alberic3° and St. Malachy.3! When Cister-cian Studies began publishing Sister Penelope's translation of the ser-mons of Isaac of Stella, Merton provided an introduction for this "not the least interesting of the Cistercian writers."32 He found him a "more independent thinker and less subject to the dominant influence of Saint Bernard''33, whose writings reminded him "at times of Eckhart in their tone."34 Merton's spirit resonated with this abbot who withdrew from a large and important Cistercian abbey to an erernus, a poor and lonely island foundation. Merton provided an introduction for another Cistercian Father, one of his favorites, Adam of Perseigne.35 Earlier he had written about Adam's theory of monastic formation in an essay that was published in Charles Dumont's French translation.36 Adam was for Merton something of a mentor in his duties as novice master, and his admiration for the ab-bot of Perseigne remained till the end. In his final talk at Bangkok he brings him forth to illustrate a basic monastic theory.37 When the earlier essay was further developed, Merton gave it a new title, one that wit-nessed to his own development: The Feast of Freedom. Adam, Aelred, all the great Cistercian Fathers led Merton in the same direction. But Merton did not have an unbounded admiration for all the twelfth-century Cistercian writers, Here is an example, Gamier of Langres: Gamier was not deep and not spiritual and not mystical. He was a literal-minded person with a lot of learning. As a matter of fact he is quite in-teresting, On the liturgy, he has a lot of little statements about what they did at the time and what they thought they were doing and why they did it. But these are just little statements of historical fact. Today Gamier would be a scientific-minded critic. "But a scientific-minded critic in the Middle Ages is just about zero, because he has nothing to work on . He's finished, he's dated, he's way back. He is no more modern than 'a twelfth-century concept of the universe.38 He goes so far as to say: "His work., is not in English at all, and if it never gets translated into English that won't be too soon.' ,39 This does, though, give, us another indication as to the extent to which Merton worked his way through the pages of Migne4° and ex-plored all the published writings of the early Cistercian Fathers. 44 / Review for Religious, January-February 1989 Above I have mentioned the monograph that Merton was working on entitled "Saint Aelred of Rievaulx." This is a significant piece of work. In placing Aelred in context Merton gives a fine synopsis of Cis-tercian history and especially literary history from the foundation in 1098 up till the death of Becket (+ 1170). But I think one of the valuable ele-ments of this work is the insight that Merton has as a later Cistercian writer into these early Cisterclan writers. Indeed, as I read the pertinent section I ask.myself if this is not a candid insight into Merton himself as a Cistercian writer: ¯ . . the rich and elegant vitality of Cistercian prose--most of which is sheer poetry--betrays an overflow 0( literary productivity which did not even need to strive for its effects: it achieved them, as it were, sponta-neously. It seemed to be second nature to St. Bernard, William of St. Thierry, Adam of Perseigne, Guerric of lgny, to write with consummate beauty prose full of sound and color and charm, There were two natural explanations for this. The first is that the prolific Cistercian writers of the Golden Age were men who had already been thoroughly steeped in the secular literary .movements of the time before they entered the clois-ter. All of them had rich experience of the current of humanism that flow-ered through the twelfth-century renaissance . There is a second explanation for the richness and exuberance of theo-logical prose in twelfth-century monasteries of Citeaux. If contact with classical humanism had stimulated a certain intellectual vitality in these clerics, it hlso generated a conflict in their souls. The refined natural ex-citements produced by philosophical speculation, by art, poetry, music, by the companionship of restless sensitive and intellectual friends merely unsettled their souls. Far from finding peace and satisfaction in all these things, they found war. The only answer to the problem was to make a clean break with everything that stimulated this spiritual uneasiness, to withdraw from the centers in which it was fomented, and get away somewhere, discover some point of vantage from which they could see the whole difficulty in its proper perspective. This vantage point, of course, was not only the cloister, since Ovid and Tully had already be-come .firmly established' there, but the desert--the terra invia et inaquosa in which the Cistercian labored and suffered and prayed . The tension generated by the conflict between secular humanism and the Christian humanism, which seeks the fulfillment of human nature through ascetic renunciation and mystical union with God, was one 6f the proximate causes of the powerful mystical writing of the Cistercians. , However, once these two natural factors have been considered, we must recognize other and far more decisive influences, belonging to a higher order . It is the relish and savor that only experience can Merton and Cistercian Tradition give, that communicates to the writings of the twelfth-century Cister-cians all the vitality and vividness and impassioned sincerity which are peculiarly their own . The White Monks speak with accents of a more personal and more lyrical conviction that everywhere betrays the influence of an intimate and mystical experience . It is the personal, experiential character of Cistercian mysticism that gives the prose of the White Monks its vivid freshness . Since the theology of the Cistercians was so intimately persona! and experiential, their exposition of it was bound to take a psychological di-rection. All that they wrote was directed by their keen awareness of the presence and action of God in their souls. This was their all-absorbing interest.4~ Many scholars have noted that Merton's writings show a rather su-perficial knowledge of the Eastern religions. But when I traveled in the East and spoke with the spiritual masters there who had come into con-tact with Merton on his last journey, they said they had never met any-one from the West who had so fully understood their ways. I think the same might be said of Merton and the Cistercian Fathers. Certainly many scholars know more about the Fathers and the early history of the Cis-tercian order. But few, if any, so fully understand their spirit as does this twentieth-century Cistercian Father. Moreover, no one has been able to express so fully and clearly, and in a way that communicates to our times, what these Fathers have to say to our times and to the renewal of the Cistercian order. Cistercians cannot but profit from choosing Tho-mas Merton, their F.ather Louis, for their lectio, from spending time with him and letting him lead them into a deeper, fuller understanding and appreciation of their Cistercian Fathers. NOTES ~ Thomas Merton, The Secular Journal ofThomas Merton (New York: Farrar, Straus & Cudahy, 1959), pp. 268f. 2 A Thomas Merton Reader, ed. by Thomas McDonnell (New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1962), pp. viiif. 3 Adam of Perseigne. See The Asian Journal of Thomas Merton (New York: New Directions, 1973), p. 333. 4 The Spirit of Simplicity: Characteristic of the Cistercian Order (Trappist, Ken-tucky: Abbey of Gethsemani, 1948). 5 Ibid., p. 137. Merton played an important role in remedying this situation in the part he played in the founding of Cistercian Publications, which has now published more than forty volumes of the Cistercian Fathers in English. 6 Reader, p. 317. 46/Review for Religious, January-February 1989 7 See note 4 above. 8 Thomas Merton on Saint Bernard, Cistercian Studies Series (hereafter CS), vol. 9 (Kalamazoo, Michigan: Cistercian Publications, 1980), pp. 103-157. 9 New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1951. ~0 Thomas Merton, The Sign of Jonas (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1953), pp. 8f. ~ Marthe, Marie, et Lazare (Bruges: Desclee de Brouwer, 1956). ~2 In the preface to A Thomas Merton Reader he would write: ". it would be a still greater misapprehension to say I am simply trying to prove that the contempla-tive life is 'better than the active life,' . Not only am I not trying to prove these propositions, but stated in this bald and unqualified manner, I do not even hold them. It is true that fifteen years ago I was able to get excited about such theses, but I have come to see that controversy about speculative matters of this sort is not only a waste of time but is seriously misleading. We are all too prone to believe in our own pro-grams and to follow the echo of our own slogans into a realm of illusion and unreal-ity"( p, viii). 13 The Last of the Fathers (New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1954). ~4 Bernard of Clairvaux (Paris: Editions Alsatia, 1953). It was later published in The Tablet and Cross and Crown and in Disputed Questions (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1960),.pp. 260-276, under the title "St. Bernard, Monk and Apostle." ~5 Disputed Questions, p. 263. 16 Ibid., p. 262. ~7 Bruno Scott James, St. Bernard of Clairvaux Seen Through his Selected Letters (Chicago: Henry Regnery Company, 1953), pp. v-viii. ~8 Reader, pp. 315-319. 19 Reader, pp. 316f. zo Seasons of Celebration (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1965), pp. 61-87. z~ New York: Sheed and Ward, 1955. 22 There is a copy of Gilson's work in the Merton Center at Columbi~ University with Merton's underlining and marginalia which indicate the care with which he stud-ied this book. 23 Am~d~e Hallier, The Monastic Theology ofAelred ofRievaulx, tr. by Colum-ban Heaney, CS 2 (Spencer, Massachusetts: Cistercian Publications, 1969), p. viii. 2,~ Ibid., pp. xif. 25 "Saint Aelred of Rievaulx," MSS, p. 20. ??26ft2The Spirit of Simplicity, pp. vf. 27 Thomas Merton, "Guerric of lgny's Easter Sermons" in Cistercian Studies, vol. 7 (1972), pp. 85-95. 28 Ibid., p. 85. 29 The Christmas Sermons of Blessed Guerric of lgny, tr. by Sr. Rose of Lima (Trap-pist, Kentucky: Abbey of Our Lady of Gethsemani, 1959), pp. 1-25. 30 "Saint Alberic" in Selected Poems of Thomas Merton (New York~ New Direc-tions, 1959), pp. 44f. 3~ Ibid., pp. 75ff. This poem is reproduced in the Reader, pp. 177f. 32 Louis Merton, "Isaac of Stella: An Introduction to Selections from his Sermons," in Cistercian Studies, vol. 2 (1967), p. 243. 33 Ibid. 3,~ Ibid., p. 244. 35 "The Feast of Freedom: Monastic Formation according to Adam of Perseigne," Merton and Cistercian Tradition in The Letters of Adam ofPerseigne, vol. 1, tr. by Grace Perigo, Cistercian Fathers Series, no. 21 (Kalamazoo, Michigan: Cistercian Publications, 1976), pp. 3-48. 36 "La formation monastique selon Adam de Perseigne," in Collectanea Ordinis Cisterciensium Reformatorum, vol. 19 (1957), pp. 1-17. 37 The Asian Journal of Thomas Merton (New York: New Directions, 1973), p. 333. 38 "Guerric . . . Easter Sermons," pp. 85f. 39 Ibid. 40 He read Garnier in Patrologia Latina, vol. 205. 4~ MSS. pp. 10-17. Liturgy of the Hours: A Canticle for Canticles Three canticles encompass all our praise: Three sacred songs of trusting love and hope. At dawn there breaks upon us like the sun, Old Zechariah's paean to God's work. At dusk, like Vesper star, young Mary sings Magnificat for mercy to us all. Then at day's end in darkness gently fall Old Simeon's thankful words, as clear and bright As Compline candles glowing in the dark To mark the end of day, perhaps of life: To let God's servants go in peace to him. Three son~s that with their jeweled antiphons, Like winking diamonds, daily bring delight As we lift hearts at dawn, at dusk, at night. Maryanna Childs, O.P. Ohio Dominican College 1818 Sunbury Road Columbus, Ohio 43219 The Challenge of Church Teachings: How Do I Respond? Lucy Blyskal, C.S.J. Sister Lucy Blyskal, C.S.J., has a doctorate in canon law and is a diocesan judge on the Tribunal of the diocese of Rockville Centre, New York. Her article is the fruit of her canon law dissertation on the Church's teaching authority. Her address is Tri-bunal of the Diocese of Rockville Centre; 50 North Park Avenue; Rockville Centre, New York 11570. In view of the increasing number of official Church pronouncements on many debated issues, how can today's religious keep informed and re-flect intelligently on such statements? How does one discern and listen to the Spirit of the teaching Church and the Spirit within oneself? The purpose of this article, comprised of two parts, is to help us to respond appropriately to papal and episcopal documents. The first sec-tion discusses three main aspects of the Church's teaching authority: (I) the truths of the faith as given to the ff.hgle.Church; (2) the concept of infallible Church teaching; (3) the noninfallible teaching and the response owed to it by the faithful. The second part offers the reader a practical method for analyzing doctrinal statements, and then applies this method to evaluate three somewhat controversial doctlments issued recently. Hopefully, this information will lead to a deepened knowledge and love of the faith which ought to transform our hearts and impel us to serve justice and peace in the world. Part I: Church Teaching Authority Revelation as Given to the Whole Church To set the correct context for'a discussion of teaching authority, it is important to keep in mind that the Church is fundamentally a commu- 48 Challenge of Church Teachings / 49 nity of faith and witness which worships God in Jesus Christ and bears witness to the Church's divinely given message throughout the world. Because Christ handed over the deposit of revelation to the whole Church, it is in the possession of the whole body of Spirit-empowered people, not just the hierarchy. While Scripture calls Peter the "rock" on which the Church was to be built, it never refers to him or the twelve apostles as "the Church." Thus, to speak of "the Church" as having done something when in fact an office or official is the source is theo-logic. ally incorrect; one should name the office involved, for example, "the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith stated . "~ In its doctrine on infallibility, Vatican I carefully and explicitlyaf-firmed that the deposit of revelation is with the whole Church. The text of Vatican I names the Church as the primary subject of infallibility in stating that: "the Roman Pontiff. enjoys the infallibility with which the divine Redeemer wanted his'Church to be endowed in defining doc-trine concerning faith or morals."2 Vatican II in The Constitution on the Church (article 12) clearly reitera.ted that, thanks to a supernatural sense of faith which characterizes the People of God, "the body of faithful as a whole, anointed as they are by the Holy One (see Jn 2:20, 27) can-not err in matters of belief." Since all believers possess, can perceive, and have insights into the Christian revelation, what is the specific task and charism of the hierar-chy? By Christ's will, the disciples were commissioned: (I) to be his "witnesses. to the end of the earth" (Ac !:8); (2) to "go and teach all nations" (Mt 28:19) his full revelation, under the guidance of his Spirit. (1) The chief vocation of the disciples and their successors is "to witness" to the integrity and truth of the evangelical doctrine. This call to witness does not necessarily include the capacity to have and to ar-ticulate the deepest insights into the meaning of the mysteries of our faith,3 which is a special gift. It is noteworthy that this gift has produced some of the most significant developments in the understanding of the faith not in members of the hierarchy but in such persons as Thomas Aqui-nas, honored as the common teacher of the Church, and Teresa of Av-ila, named doctor of the spiritual life. (2) Because of Christ's command to his disciples to "teach all na-tions," the Christian community from its earliest days has also recog-nized the importance of an authoritative teaching body to maintain inner unity as the gospel was being spread. By Christ's will, this teaching authority, termed the "magisterium," belongs to the hierarchy who are 50 / Review for Religious, January-February 1989 sacramentally empowered and assisted by the Spirit to speak in the name of.Jesus Christ. Therefore, Catholics are to trust what pope and bishops teach, not because of their personal learning or stated reasons for their teaching, but precisely because of the spiritual authority of the office they occupy.4 Infallible Teaching Authority Vatican Council I first defined the infallible teaching authority of the Church as an article of faith in promulgating the dogmatic constitution Pastor Aeternus in 1870.5 While it reaffirmed this dogma of Vatican I, Vatican Council II integrated it into the doctrine on the collegiality of the bishops united with the pope and the doctrine of the Church as the People of God (Constitution on the Church, articles 12, 18, 25). Article 25 of this constitution6 states that when the pope or the episcopal col-lege (pope and bishops together) solemnly,proclaim matters of faith and morals, they are protected by the Spirit of Christ from misleading the peo-ple by teaching erroneous doctrine; hence their teaching is infallible. Several conditions need to be fulfilled for a teaching to be consid-ered infallible. First, the doctrine must deal with a matter of faith or mor-als. Second, it must be proclaimed by a duly authorized Church teacher as binding on the universal Church. Finally, it must be proclaimed "to be definitively held" by all Catholics as a dogma of faith. This infalli-ble teaching authority has been exercised only rarely since its cautious and circumscribed definition by Vatican Council I. More recently, the Constitution of the Church and the 1983 Code of Canon Law7 describe three ways in which this infallible magisterium can be exercised. (I) The pope may issue a solemn or ex cathedra pronouncement. Ac-cording to Vatican Council I, popes possess and can articulate the infal-libility with which the Divine Redeemer endowed his Church for defini-tive decisions in matters of faith and morals. For example, Pope Pius XII proclaimed the dogma of the Assumption by the bull Mun~ficentissimus issued November i, 1950. (2) The episcopal college may act solemnly in ecumenical councils. In ecumenical councils, the episcopal college, assembled in one place, acquires a special clarity and efficacy. Here the corporate episcopate can act in a solemn manner to define an article of faith; for example, Vati-can Council I promulgated the doctrine of infallibility in Pastor Aeter-nus in 1870. (3) The episcopal college may exercise its "ordinary and universal magisterium." In their ordinary and universal magisterium, the same bish- Challenge of Church Teachings / 51 ops, without coming together in one assembly, and with each remaining at his post, can definitively set forth some doctrine for the absolute ac-ceptance oLthe entire Church. In practice it is not always easy to ascer-tain whether or not the magisterium in a given case is exercising infalli-bility through this "ordinary" manner. It has been suggested that a pos-sible example of this level of Church doctrine is the common and con-stant teaching of pope and bishops throughout the world on the moral evil of abortion. How is an infallible doctrine to be received by the faithful? Vatican II's Constitution on the Church and the 1983 Code hold that infallible teaching must be accepted with obsequium fidei, translated as the 'as-sent of faith." This assent of faith is to be absolute and unconditional because it involves divine authority which utteriy excludes the possibil-ity of error. Consequently, the obstinate denial of truths proclaimed as infallible would constitute heresy. However, various Church documents warn the faithful to receive a teaching as infallible only when it has been definitively proclaimed as such. Vatican II, for example, declared that its statements on faith or morals should be seen as binding on the Church only when the council expressly declared them as such.8 Like'vise, the new Code cautions that no doctrine is understood to~ be infallibly defined "unless this is manifestly demonstrated. ,,9 From this review of the meaning of infallible teaching, it is obvious that the great majority of doctrinal statements issued on a day-to-day ba-sis do not fit into this category. Rather, most documents seem to belong to the nondefinitive level of authority--which makes the accurate under-standing of this noninfallible teaching crucially important today. Noninfallible Church Teaching The noninfallible magisterium is the term used to refer to the follow-ing exercises of the Church's teaching office: (l) the pronouncements of the pope when he is not teaching ex cathedra; (2) the declarations of an office of the Roman See with the special approval of the doctrine by the pope as his own; (3) the declarations of a curial office with routine but not special papal approval; (4) the promulgation of a doctrine by the pope toget, l~er with the college of bishops in council; (5) the teachings of an individual bishop; (6) the pronouncements of a grouping of bishops in an episcopal conference or a particular council. In order to respond appropriately to the numerous doctrinal state-ments issued by these official teachers, one needs to understand: (I) the nature of noninfallible teaching; (2) gradations among nondefinitive teach-ings; (3) inherent difficulties. Review for Religious, January-February 1989 ( I ) The Nature of Noninfallible Teaching. Three basic principles un-derlie this exploration of the noninfallible magisterium. (a) The concepts of noninfallible Church teaching and the response owed to it are evolving concerns whose complete meanings are not yet in the Church's consciousness. ~0 Recall that the definition of infallible teaching authority (1870) took place only within the last one hundred twenty years of the Church's two thousand year existence, (b) The issues of nondefinitive Church teaching and the response owed to it are being examined and applied by a Church that is itself an evolving reality as a community and an institution. ~ (c) With the spread and evolution of the Church, there has been a concomitant growth and development of doctrine, for example, "a growth in the understanding of the realities and the words which have been handed down" (Constitution on Divine Revelation, article 8). Vati-can II reiterated in its Decree on Ecumenism that: "If there are deficien-cies in the formulation of doctrine . these should be appropriately rectified at the proper moment" (article 6). More recently, the Congre-gation for the Doctrine of the Faith for the first time officially acknowl-edged that even the Church's expression of a truth of revelation at a par-ticular age may need to b~ reformulated in a subsequent era. ~2 These of-ficial statements on the growth possible in dogmatic teaching can be ap-plied afortiori to the noninfailible level of teaching. ,Basically, it is difficult to categorize the precise nature of nondefini-tire teaching. According to Orsy, noninfallible teaching is composed of two types of doctrine in an organic unity: some changeable h~uman thoughts (often of a particular school), and incorrupt expressions of the deposit of revelation. For this reason, simplistic statements such as "non-infallible statements by ecclesiastical authorities are binding," or, "dis-sent from noninfallibly stated doctrine should be always permissible" do not recognize .the complex content of the body of noninfallible beliefs. Orsy also makes the important observation that a particular document may, and. usually does, contain a mixture of infallible and noninfallible teachings without any indication of the different levels involved. ~3 In 1967, the German bishops referred to another significant aspect of noninfallible teaching authority when they pointed out that this level of magisterium "can, and on occasion actually does fall into error." 14 Francis Sullivan, a theologian, comments that it seems impossible to fault the reasoning of the German bishops: if the nondefinitive teaching of the magisterium is not infallible, it can be erroneous and can stand in need of correction. ~5 Here the basic principle of the development of Challenge of Church Teachings doctrine comes into play. Indeed the Church has corrected or reversed its stance on a number of occasions. 16 For example, the Decree on Ecu-menism of Vatican II clearly departed from previous papal teaching re-garding the Church's negative stance on relationships with non-Catholic Christians. Another obvious example is the final lifting of the condemna-tions imposed in the celebrated "Galileo case." ~7 In their pastoral letter, the German bishops point out that the Church has always been aware of the possibility of error. They conclude, how-ever, that in order to maintain the true and ultimate substance of faith the Church officials must, even at the risk of error in points of detail, "give expression to doctrinal directives which have a certain degree of binding force." (2) Gradation Among Noninfallible Documents. The weight or gra-dation of importance of a noninfallible statement can be indicated either by the person or body issuing the teaching, or the type of literary genre of the document itself that is utilized to promulgate the teaching. (a) As noted earlier, noninfallible statements can be issued by the pope or the bishops. Since the formal authority o.f the pope and the epis-copal college exceeds that of the bishops acting individually or con-jointly, there are obviously gradations among the various teachings prom-ulgated. (b) The second criterion for ascertaining the weight of a particular ~ondefinitive pronouncement is its literary genre, or, "the nature of the document" that is utilized (Constitution on the Church, article 25). Ap-ostolic constitutions, for example, are considered the most solemn form of papal documents. Then come papal acts in the form of letters in two categories, encyclical epistles and encyclical letters, the latter form be-ing less solemn than the former. The ordinary magisterium of the pope is also found in doctrinal dec-larations of the curia, for example, of the Congregations for Doctrine and for Seminari

Issue 47.4 of the Review for Religious, July/August 1988. ; REVIEW FOR RELIGIOUS (ISSN 0034-639X), published eveD' two months, is edited in collaboration with the faculty members of the Department of Theological Studies of St. Louis University. The edito-rial offices are located at Room 428; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO. 63108-3393. REVIEW FOR RELiGiOUS is owned by the Missouri Province Educational Institute of the Society of Jesus, St. Louis, MO. ©1988 by REVIEW FOR RELIG~OUS. Single copies $3.00. Subscriptions: U.S.A. $12.00 a year; $22.00 for two years. Other countries: for surface mail, add $5.00 per year; for airmail, add $20.00 per year. For subscription orders or change of address, write: REwEw FOR RELIGIOUS; P.O. Box 6070; Duluth, MN 55806. Philip C. Fischer, S.J. Dolores Greeley, R.S.M. Iris Ann Ledden, S.S.N.D. Richard A. Hill, S.J. Jean Read M. Anne Maskey, O.S.F. Acting Editor Associate Editor Review Editor Contributing Editor Assistant Editors July/August 1988 Volume 47 Number 4 Manuscripts, books for review and correspondence with the editor should be sent to Rwv~v.w Eon RvJ.w.~ous; Room 428; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. Correspondence about the department "Canonical Counsel" should be addressed to Rich-ard A. Hill, S.J.; J.S.T.B.; 1735 LeRoy Ave., Berkeley, CA 94709. Back issues and reprints should be ordered from Rwv~v.w FOR Rv.~,w, lous; Room 428; 3601 Lindell Blvd.; St. Louis, MO 63108-3393. "Out of print" issues and articles not published as reprints are available from University Microfilms International; 300 N. Zeeb Rd.; Ann Arbor, M! 48106. A major portion of each issue is also available on cassette recordings as a service for the visually impaired. Write to the Xavier Society for the Blind; 154 East 23rd Street; New York, NY 10010. Jesus and Francis as Gospel Makers: An Experience in Kenosis Jude Winkler, O.F.M.Conv. This paper is adapted from lhe keynote address of the 1987 meeting of the Inter-province Conference of the Conventual Franciscans. Father Jude is slationed al St. Hyacinth College and Seminary; Granby, Massachusetts 01033. When one speaks of Jesus and Francis as Gospel makers, one is led to ask exactly what is meant by the term "Gospel." Probably the best way to respond to that question is to consider the formation of a particular Gospel. This will help one to determine which material the community considered to be so essential, so central to the message of Christ that it was necessary to pass it down to future generations of Christians. The starting point, therefore, is an individual Christian community: the com-munity which produced the first Gospel, that written by the evangelist Mark. Although there are other opinions, most scholars believe that the Gospel of Mark was written in Rome around 70 A.D. How could one describe Rome and the Roman Christian community of those days? Rome was the center of the Western world. Wealth poured in from the empire, which stretched from the English Channel to the Syrian De-sert. In certain ways the city was reaching the apex of its magnificence. The ruins from the great fire under Nero had been removed and much 0f the city was being rebuilt, this time in marble and not wood. A sense of the glory of Rome can be found in chapter 18 of the Book of Revela-tion, where John speaks of the many products that could be bought and sold in that city. Yet there was also a certain amount of instability in the Roman psyche in 70 A.D. The previous decade had witnessed the forced suicide of Nero and the two-year period during which three different em-perors ruled the empire. The civil war which ensued had been as bad as 481 482 / Review for Religious, July-August 1988 that which had followed the death of Julius Caesar, and it had left the empire badly shaken. As often happened in the ancient world, instabil-ity in Rome had led to rebellion in the provinces. One example of this is the fact that the Romans were only now crushing a troublesome rebel-lion in Palestine. In addition to this, the social fabric of the city had de-generated over the past several decades. Large numbers of slaves had been brought to Rome following the conquests of new territories. Be-cause there were so many slaves to do work which had formerly been done by members of the lower middle class and the artisans of Rome, large numbers of people had been put out of work. These unemployed masses were fed by the public dole and kept occupied by the spectacles sponsored by the government (the proverbial bread and circuses). Thus, even though imperial power was great and the empire would soon reach its greatest expanse, there was something unsettled in the Roman char-acter. Essentially, the city was socially, morally, and spiritually bank-rupt. This is most evident in the fact that large numbers of Romans were participating in various mystery cults that had arrived from the east. They were looking for something which would give their lives purpose. And what of the Christian community of Rome? The community had been founded as early as the forties during the reign of Emperor Claudius, but it was not yet very large. The first missionaries to Rome were probably Jewish Christians from the Jerusalem community. This young church had suffered persecution: an edict had been issued by Claudius which expelled certain Jews (most probably the Jewish Chris-tians) from Rome because of difficulties caused by a troublemaker named Crestus (most probably a form ofChristus = Christ). Recently there had been the persecution under Nero in which both Peter and Paul are said to have died. Further complicating the situation was some internal dis-sent in the community: From what can be gleaned from Paul's Letter to the Romans, it is obvious that there was a bit of tension between those who had allied themselves with a more Jewish interpretation of the Chris-tian life and those who followed Paul's ideas. Add to that the fact that most of the new converts in the city were now coming from the Gentiles (and would thus be less likely to defend the old Jewish ways) and one can see that there was bound to be some confusion. And now, some forty or fifty years after the death and resurrection of Jesus, another crisis was facing this fledgling church: the apostles and the disciples who had known Jesus were dying. One after another the wit-nesses to the Christ event were passing from the scene. This would be especially frightening in a time of instability. For the Jewish Christians Gospel Makers and Kenosis / 41~3 of Rome, there was the confusion of the Jewish rebellion in Palestine which had resulted in the destruction of the temple. The building which they had called the dwelling place of God on earth was now a ruin, and the Jewish Christians did not know what to make of this. Would Juda-ism continue? For the Gentile Christians, there was the political and so-cial instability. For,the entire Christian community, there was the uncer-tainty of which direction the Church was taking. Would it remain a Jew-ish sect or would it become something radically new? What would unify the Church and give it stability? It was in this context that the Gospel of Mark was produced. Its author, whether or not he was actually the John Mark mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles, wrote it so that the Gospel message of what Jesus had done and said, of how he had died and rose, might be passed down. His Gospel would become the ballast which steadied the course of the Roman church in those troubled times. ¯ Given all of this, one would certainly have some expectations about how this Gospel would present the character of Jesus. If the Gospel were intended for the Jewish-Christian audience, one would expect Jesus to be the perfect fulfillment of all the Old Testament prophecies. He would be the Messiah whose power was greater than that of the Romans. If the Gospel were intended for the pagans, then Jesus would have to be at least as great as the pagan gods. Mark would have to show, as did Moses and Elijah, that the God of Israel was far superior to the gods of the Gen-tiles. For either audience, this Jesus would have to manifest his power and authority openly, for the people needed a wonder worker, a great hero who would give them hope in these troubled times. And yet, oddly enough, this is the exact opposite of the Jesus pre-sented by the Gospel of Mark. While one would expect a powerful and glorious Messiah, Mark presents one who is weak and lowly, one who has embraced an emptying Out (kenosis) of his divinity, as Paul describes it in the Letter to the Philippians when he speaks of Jesus who had been in the form of God but who emptied himself by becoming human and even dying on the cross. This idea is presented ina number of ways in the Gospel, but the most evident is the so-called Messianic secret. Over and over again Jesus commands his disciples and the demons whom he has expelled to be silent concerning the fact that he is Messiah. Why should he do that when the entire purpose of the Gospel is to show that he is, in fact, the Messiah? The reason is that his audience has the wrong idea of what it means to be the Messiah. They want a political Messiah who will manifest himself in power. Jesus is not that type of Messiah, 484 / Review for Religious, July-August 1988 and he refuses to be categorized in that way. Peter's profession of faith at Caesarea Philippi makes that clear. Je-sus has asked his disciples who people think that he is. Peter responds that some think that he is a prophet and others that he is John the Bap-tist. He then asks Peter who he thinks he is. Peter responds that he is the Messiah. Jesus commends him on this and then describes how the Mes-siah will have to suffer and die. When Peter hears this, he cannot be-lieve what Jesus is saying. He is sure that the Messiah will become a king and that he, Peter himself, will rule with him. Here Jesus is predicting defeat. This is too much for Peter; it is obviously a bad mistake. So Pe-ter takes Jesus aside and tells him not to say these things. Jesus responds harshly, telling Peter to get behind him .and calling him Satan, the tempter; This misunderstanding by the apostles is repeated again in later chap-ters when Jesus again predicts his passion. Once, as a response to the prediction, the apostles argue about who the greatest among them might be while another time James and John ask to be seated at his right and left when he comes into glory. He is telling them that he will die, and all they are interested in is to divide his inheritance. Why do the apos-tles and even the family of Jesus speak in such an inappropriate man-ner? Why do they have such a difficult time understanding who he is and what his being Messiah means? Basically it is because their entire con-ception of God is mistaken. They think that God will come in power on the Day of the Lord to defeat the powers of evil, such as the Romans and the Pharisees. Instead, Jesus defeats them in weakness. As John would later state, Jesus was the king who ruled from a tree, the cross. It was exactly in this emptying out that evil was defeated, for while the powers of evil clung to power and tried to exercise it over others, Jesus clung to love and wanted to share it with all. That is the point behind the temptations of Peter and the apostles as well as the temptation in the desert. Even the taunts with which the crowd jeered Jesus, that he should come down off the cross, are a call to power. If Jesus had come down from the cross, he would have shown himself to be God almighty, but since love necessarily involves a sacrifice of self, he could not have shown himself to be loving. The author of the Book of Revelation presents this same idea with the images of the lion and the lamb. In the Book of Revelation, that which one sees is that which is superficial while that which one hears is the spiritual significance. John sees a lamb which was slain, and he hears that it is the lion of Judah. This lion of Judah was one of the fa- Gospel Makers and Kenosis / 485 vorite symbols for the Messiah in the Old Testament. The lion of Judah was a symbol for power. A lion conquers by tearing apart its enemies, and this was what the Messiah was supposed to do--defeat his enemies with power. This particular lion is different, however, for it will con-quer by dying. This becomes evident when one realizes that this lion is also the lamb who conquered evil by allowing himself to be slain. In other words, all of the Old Testament prophecies concerning the Mes-siah in which he is seen as a powerful conqueror are turned on their head. He would not be a paradigm of power but rather of powerlessness. This is the greatest of the ironies of the Gospel message. This einptying out of oneself is not only intended for the Messiah, but it is an open invitation and a necessary prerequisite for a life of dis-cipleship. Unless you take up your cross and follow me, you cannot en-ter the kingdom of God. If you would save your life, you must lose it. Sell all you have, give it to the poor, and then come, follow me. The consequences of such a surrender are frightening, for it means a loss of control. It means living totally for and in another and never being sure where the life of discipleship will lead one, The foxes have their lairs and the birds (Jr the air have their nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head. But he who had invited them to this life of radical faith was himself faithful. The very fact that he allowed his story to be told in this Gos-pel, the fact that his living spirit infused these human words with that which was divine, proved that he would never abandon his loved ones. For these words, the words of the Gospel, were inspired, and this inspi-ration was itself an example of kenosis. Theologians sometimes speak of inspiration as if the Holy Spirit were an executive dictating a letter to a secretary, the evangelist. But this image does not respect the human dimension of the process or the great love expressed by God in allowing his word to undergo a kenosis. Msgr. Edelby, who spoke at the Second Vatican Council, suggested another model: Just as the Holy Spirit entered into Mary and joined the eternal Word of God with that which was human and thus produced the Word made flesh, so also the Spirit inspired (breathed into) those who wrote so that the eternal Word of God entered into that which was hu-man, their human ability to write and their own talents and energy and purpose, and they gave birth to the word made flesh, this time the Gos-pels. In other words, the divine word of God became enfleshed in hu-man words with all that that means. It was st~bject to the weakness of human expression. One example of this is the horrendous literary style 486 / Review for Religious, July-August 1988 of the Gospel of Mark. Unlike the other Gospels, it is a pasting together of various preexistent sources that barely become a narrative. One would almost think that it was written by a high school freshman writing his first term paper. He went and photocopied twenty or so articles (or, in this case, preexistent sources), cut out the important sections, and stuck them together with his glue pen. And yet this Gospel contains the eter-nal word of God. What greater sign of love could God give this commu-nity, what better way to guide them in this time of confusion? God was clearly showing the community that he would work in and through weak-ness. And the miracle of God's love does not even end there. Just as the eternal Word of God joined with that which was human in Mary and be-came the Word of God made flesh, and just as the eternal word of God joined with that which was human in the literary talents of the evangel-ist and became another manifestation of God's kenosis, so his word, the Gospel message, joined that which was human, the individual Christian of the community, to become a new manifestation of God's presence, his body, the Church. The community, insofar as it cooperated with the grace of God, became a continuation of the IncarnationS:'~ What are some of the consequences of this fact? One of the most im-portant is that, in combining with the human, the word of God necessar-ily assumed the weakness of that condition. God did not reject the hu-manity of the believers as the Gnostics and Docetists would have it, but he transformed that humanity so that it was to be that which God in-tended it to be. A practical application of this principle is to spirituality. We are not so much called to be perfect as to be faithful. If we were to seek to be perfect, freed from all weakness, we could very well be try-ing to control our own destiny and to show God that he owes us some-thing, that is, love, salvation, and so forth. In trying to be faithful, we admit our weakness and rely upon God's mercy and love, which enables us to do what we really cannot do on our own. Which raises a second consequence: In order to manifest God's pres-ence, we must surrender. Let it be done to me according to your word. Each believer is called to empty himself of that which is selfish, that which bespeaks control, and to place himself in the Lord's hands. We are to undergo metanoia. As was said before, that can be frightening, for we would like to know where we are going. We like to think that given the right formula, given the right therapist, and so forth, we could do it (a subtle form of Pelagianism). But the crucial message of the Chris-tian experience is that the believer really cannot make it, that sooner or Gospel Makers and Kenosis / 41~7 later we will hit the wall and realize that we are all fundamentally weak, broken, unable to save ourselves. When we finally admit that we are anawim, the lowly ones, and we reach out, it is then that we will allow the Spirit of the Lord to inspire us (to send his life-giving breath into flesh which was all but dead). Finally, one of the most disturbing consequences of this process is the fact that we are so human, even as a faith community. Who of us would not prefer to live among people who were more spiritually ma-ture, who would support us in our weakness and be perfect companions for the journey? Instead, what do we get--all too often we are the blind leading the blind. To the human eye, this community of ours barely looks like Christ incarnate, but to the eyes of faith it is obvious. Consider Mark's portrayal of Jesus and the apostles' difficulty in recognizing him as Messiah--it is the same difficulty we have in seeing Christ in our com-munities, which are so often so fleshly. And yet he is there, and if we put aside our prejudices and we become weak, we will see him. The New Testament saw this process of becoming a manifestation of the kenosis of Christ and speaks of it at length. Paul calls the believ-ers ambassadors of Christ in 2 Corinthians. The Acts of the Apostles serves as the second volume of the Gospel of Luke to show how this con-tinuation of the Incarnation provoked a response of faith among those who would listen. And then there are the Johannine writings, which are even more intimate. Everyone knows that love is one of the central themes of the Gospel of John, but some of the richness of that message is sometimes lost be-cause one fails to recognize all of the symbolic messages contained in the Gospel. For John and the author of the Book of Revelation, Christ is the bridegroom and the Church is his bride. Each follower of Christ, as a member of that Church, is to produce heirs for Christ. An example of this emphasis is the story of the woman at the well. This well story is actually a clever use of a leitmotif. A leitmotif is a set literary pattern that one finds throughout a literary work. One example is the set pattern that one would expect to find at the end of a western movie: the hero rides off into the sunset. The well stories are a leitmotif of the Old Testament. One meets one's spouse at a well. Isaac meets Re-bekah there (through Abraham's servant), Jacob meets Rachel, Moses meets Zipporah, and Ruth meets Boaz. Furthermore, one can tell what is important in the story by small changes in the set pattern. The normal pattern is that a man comes to the well, meets a woman who offers him water, and they decide to marry and live happily ever after. In the Jacob 488 / Review for Religious, July-August 1988 story, however, Jacob must first uncover the well, for it is covered by a heavy stone (a sign of his difficulty in being able to marry her). With Ruth, it is the man who offers the woman water, for she is a foreigner and is being invited into the people of Israel. What of the Samaritan woman at the well? Sheis intended to be a symbol for the bride of Christ, the Church. Like the Church (and Israel), she has been married five times before, chasing after any god who offered her what she wanted. The woman offers Jesus water, but he offers her a different water, one that signifies the spiritual life that he would give her. They would not cling to each other in human form (as did the Jews in Jerusalem and the Sa-maritans on Mount Gerazim), but would live a spiritual marriage. Their marriage would be fruitful, for she would become a spring which would overflow (a spring or well being a symbol of her'womb which would pro-duce many children for the Lord). A second series of text.~ carries this message under the form of vo-cabulary taken from the Song of Songs. The Song of Songs is an Old Testament work which speaks of a very sensual love between a man and a woman. Even in Old Testament times it was interpreted as represent-ing the love of Yahweh for his people Israel. Two pericopes in the Gos-pel of John use that vocabulary extensively to remind the reader of that love. The first is when Mary anoints Jesus with oil in chapter 12 and the other is when Mary Magdalene searches for her beloved, the Lord, in chapter 20. Again, the message is clear in both: The women represent the Church which would be united to Christ in a spiritual marriage (that is, the order to Mary Magdalene not to cling to him for their marriage is not physical). Finally, there is a series of texts based upon the Old Testament levirite marriage institution. This institution was an attempt to ensure a progeny for a family. If a man died and had not produced a male child, then his next of kin would marry the widow and the first male child of this union would be named after the deceased husband. If the next of kin refused to marry her, she would take him .before the elders of the city and untie his sandal and spit in his face, saying that this was what a man deserved who would not give a descendant to his brother. John the Bap-tist, when asked whether he was the Messiah, responds that he is~not wor-thy to untie his sandal. This is not only a proclamation of humility; it is a message that he has no right to marry the widow (Israel, which had treated God as if he were dead). Jesus is the next of kin, and he will pro-duce an offspring. In fact, John speaks of how he rejoices at the voice of the bridegroom and he speaks of how that bridegroom must increase. Gospel Makers and Kenosis / 489 The word used when he speaks of how Christ must increase is the same word as that used when God tells humans to go forth and multiply in the Book of Genesis. In other words, John the Baptist is giving the best man's toast at a wedding, for he is wishing that Jesus have many chil-dren. But does Jesus have children? He really does not have any children during his lifetime, which explains another scene. Jesus tells his mother that John is to be her son, and he tells John that Mary is to be his mother. He is adopting John so that he (and the apostles) may bear children in his name (for they would, in fact, be called Christians). And when does Christ marry the Church? There are three possibili-ties. One of them is Pentecost, when the Spirit gives life to the Church. The Fathers of the Church also speak of two other possibilities. One of them is the Baptism of Jesus, when the Spirit comes upon Jesus in the form of a dove. Why a dove? Because it is a sign of love ("my little turtledove"). This is the love of Jesus and his Church. Still a third pos-sibility is on the cross. How do the first man and woman (Adam and Eve) marry? God took a rib from his ~side and formed woman. And the sol-dier pierced his side with a lance and immediately blood and water flowed out, the signs of his sacramental love for his bride, the Church. This message that Christ is our groom is sometimes distasteful to some males. Yet the image is not only operable but is profound as long as one leaves the image a bit vague. When we allow Christ's Spirit to enter us, we become one with Christ. Isn't that, after all, the purpose of the Eucharist? We take his flesh and make it one with our own. And the two of them shall become one flesh. In other words, the Eucharist is making love with God. And that union has to be fruitful, producing many offspring. Jesus: the union of the eternal Word of God and created flesh. The Gospel: the union of the eternal word of God and human lan-guage. The community: the union of the eternal Word of God and weak in-dividuals, each becoming a manifestation of Christ's presence. And what did all of this mean for Francis of Assisi? Francis was born in an age in which the kenosis of the eternal word of God had been deem-phasized. Historians speak of two major reasons for this deemphasis. The first has to do with the Arian heresy, which overemphasized the human-ity of Christ to the detriment of his divinity and which refused to recog-nize Jesus as the equal of God the Father. As a reaction to this heresy, many in the Church centered in upon the glory of the eternal Lord Je- 490 / Review for Religious, July-August 1988 sus. A second reason for the situation was the social conditions of the time: the feudal system. People tended to pattern their God upon the po-litical reality of the day, and so they made Christ into a feudal Lord who was to be obeyed, and not so much loved. Francis himself was a product of his age. This can be seen in his first futile attempt at conversion when he had a dream that he was to serve a great lord. He naturally interpreted this as a call to fight in one of the many wars for the cause of the Lord occurring in his day. He saw this call as a call to po~ver. It was only when he came to know his Lord that he realized that the call was actually one to powerlessness. It was no accident that his con-version is intimately tied to his vision of the crucifix speaking to him. In coming to know the Lord who empties himself of power and glory, he was able to recognize the need to surrender to the will of that Lord, to become smaller and humbler. As in the days of the origin of the Gos-pel of Mark, the opposite would have been expected. There were great upheavals o.ccurring in the world: political, economic, and religious. Fran-cis could have been expected to search for a model based upon a great emperor or a successful burgher or even the lofty Holy Father, but he chose none of them. He chose instead a Lord who became flesh and let that flesh be nailed to a tree. And because his Lord had emptied himself of power, Francis felt him-self called to do the same. He would strip himself of his father's clothes so that he could belong to the Lord alone. He would lay aside even those most deeply rooted prejudices such as his loathing of lepers and see them as children of God. Bonaventure reports: "Francis now developed a spirit of poverty, with a deep sense of humility and an attitude of pro-found compassion. He had never been able to stand the sight of lepers, even at a distance, and he always avoided meeting them, but now in or-der to arrive at perfect self-contempt he served them devoutly with all humility and kindness, because the prophet Isaiah tells us that Christ cru-cified was regarded as a leper and despised. He visited their houses fre-quently and distributed alms among them generously, kissing their hands and lips with deep compassion." In this surrender Francis went beyond the service of an ideal. He was not so much striving after perfection as being a man in love, for Francis had fallen head over heels in love with his God. He, like John the Evan-gelist, interpreted the kenosis of his Lord as an act" of unreserved love, and he wanted to respond in a like manner. He recognized, too, the con-tinuing kenosis of our Lord in his word and in the sacrament of his body Gospel Makers and Kenosis / 491 and blood. He had great devotion to the presence of God in his word. He wrote the following to a general chapter of his friars: "I urge all my friars and I encourage them in Christ to show all possible respect for God's words wherever they may happen to find the.m in writing. If they are not kept properly or if they lie thrown about disrespectfully, they should pick them up and put them aside, paying honor in his words to God who spoke them. God's words sanctify numerous objects, and it is by the power of the words of Christ that the sacrament of the altar is conse-crated." He believed that this word was effective, for he knew that it was a manifestation of the eternal word of God. As 2 Celano reports, "he often said that a man would easily move from knowledge of himself to a knowledge of God who would set himself to study the Scriptures hum-bly, not presumptuously." Likewise, knowing that the sacrament of the Eucharist is a continu-ation of the Incarnation and thus of the living kenosis of his Lord, he held it in greatest esteem. He admonished his friars over and over again to honor and respect that presence. His letter to all clerics is a good ex-ample: "We clerics cannot overlook the sinful neglect and ignorance some people are guilty of with regard to the holy body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ. They are careless, too, about his holy name and the writings which contain his words, the words that consecrate his body. We know his body is not present unless the bread is first consecrated by these words. Indeed, in this world there is nothing of the Most High him-self that we can possess and contemplate with our eyeslexcept his body and blood, his name and his words, by which we were created and by which we have been brought back from death to life." Francis, being thus in love with his Lord, did not limit his recogni-tion of the presence of the Lord to these signs. Bonaventure states that in everything beautiful he saw him who is beauty itself, and he followed his beloved everywhere by his likeness imprinted on creation. He saw a worm and thought of how the words of the suffering servant of Yah-weh were applied to Jesus, "I am a worm and not a man." He saw a lamb and remembered the lamb of God who died for his sins. He saw a bird or a fish and felt compelled to preach to it. Being one with his Lord, he saw him everywhere and in everything. And being one with his Lord, he shared his goals. Bonaventure re-ports that "enlightened by a revelation from heaven, Francis realized that he was sent by God to win for Christ the souls which the devil was 499 / Review for Religious, July-August 1988 trying to snatch away. And so he chose to live for the benefit of his fel-low men, rather than for himself alone, after the example of him who was so good as to die for all men." And like all loves, that of Francis and his Lord was fruitful. As John the Evangelist had done in his Gospel and its matrimonial symbolism, Francis exhorted the friars to produce offsprin~ for the Lord. He states' this in his letter to all the faithful: "We are to be servants and should be subject to every human creature for God's sake. On all those who do this and endure to the last, the Spirit of God will rest; he will make his dwelling in them and there he will stay, and they will be children of your Father in heaven, whose work they do. It is they who are the brides, the brothers, and the mothers of our Lord Jesus Christ. A person is his bride when his faithful soul is united with Jesus Christ by the Holy Spirit; we are his brothers when we do the will of his Father who is in heaven, and we are mothers to him when we enthrone him in our hearts and souls by° love with a pure and sincere conscience, and give him birth by doing good." The love affair of Francis and his God went even beyond this most intimate moment, though, for Francis was seen not only to produce off-spring ~or his God, but he came to be seen as a living sacrament of the presence of God. This is especially true in his stigmata. Bonaventure re-ports, "The fervor of his seraphic longing raised Francis to God and, in an ecstasy of compassion, made him like Christ, who allowed him-self to be crucified in the excess of his love. Then one morning about the feast of the exaltation of the holy cross, while he was praying on the mountainside, Francis saw a seraph with six fiery wings coming down from the highest point in the heavens. The vision descended swiftly and came to rest in the air near him. Then he saw the image of a man cruci-fied in the midst of the wings, with his hands and feet stretched out and nailed to a cross. Two of the wings were raised above his head and two were stretched out in flight, while the remaining two shielded his body. Francis was dumbfounded at the sight, and his heart flooded with a mix-ture of joy and sorrow. He was overjoyed at the way Christ regarded him so graciously under the appearance of a seraph, but the fact that he was nailed to a cross pierced his soul with a sword of compassionate sor-row." He was lost in wonder at the sight of this mysterious vision. He knew that the agony of Christ's passion was not in keeping with the state of a seraphic spirit, which is immortal. "Eventually he realized by divine inspiration that God had shown him this vision in his providence in or- Gospel Makers and Kenosis / 493 der to let him see that, as Christ's lover, he would resemble Christ cru-cified perfectly not by physical martyrdom, but by fervor of the spirit." And Bonaventure later adds, "True love of Christ had now transformed his lover into his image." It was no wonder that when Francis appea~-ed after his death to some of the friars, they asked each other whether it was Christ or Francis, for, as Celano reports, it seemed to the brother and all the great multitude that Christ and Blessed Francis were one and the same person. And so, as with the apostolic community, the early Franciscan com-munity was founded upon and became a manifestation of the kenosis of Christ. It celebrated his kenosis in his incarnation and passion; it es-teemed highly his continued kenosis in the sacraments of his body and his word; it became itself a manifestation of Christ's kenosis. Francis and each member of the community recognized that they were weak and lost, but when they were filled with the life-giving Spirit of God, they became fruitful and even sources of life. Having emptied themselves of pride, they never attributed that new life to themselves, but were always con-scious of how God had worked a miracle of love in them. They were so in love with the Beloved that they became his image. That is today's challenge. When we look at the example of Jesus and Francis and how each embraced a kenosis, we realize what we are to do. We are to empty ourselves of that which closes us off from God and each other. We do this by our own kenosis through listening, understanding, and challenging. We are to allow the life-giving Spirit of God to unite with our °weak and fragile self so that we may be healed or, even more precisely, be recreated in his image. We want that union of spirit and flesh to be fruitful as it was in Christ and Francis so that we can invite, so that we can make children for Christ. Finally, one of the most important ways of engendering children for the Lord is to tell our stories to each other. If we remember how the ap-ostolic community became a manifestation of Christ's presence, as did Francis and his followers, then we will fully appreciate the sacredness of sharing our experiences and our vocation stories. Our lives, insofar as we have cooperated with the grace of God, in spite of our great weak-nesses and very often through those very weaknesses, are manifestations of the kenosis of God. He has entered us and we have become one with him. Telling our stories, then, is not just an exercise in group dynamics. It is an anamnesis, a recalling and a re-presenting of sacred history. And in our sharing of our stories and our unveiling of the mystery of God's action in those stories, we make the word visible again and we permit 494 / Review for Religious, July-August 1988 the spirit to enflesh itself in the memories of our sisters and brothers. A warning needs to be given, though. This all sounds wildly opti-mistic, especially for those who have experienced the disappointments that seem almost inevitable when one lives in a Christian community. It really is not unrealistic, though, if we approach our stories with the eyes of faith. Just as the apostles had a difficult time accepting the di-vinity of Christ hidden under his human form and in Francis's day many had difficulty seeing God under the form of a host, so we might become cynical and look at our stories with eyes of flesh. The only way that we will be able to avoid that is by embracing a kenosis. We must empty our-selves of our pride and preconceptions and allow the Lord's grace to be seen. If we do that, we, like John and Francis, will prove ourselves to be men and women madly in love with our God, for we will be truly one with him. The Call: Basic Law of the Religious John M. Hamrogue, C.SS.R. Father Hamrogue preaches parish missions and gives retreats to priests and religious. He may be addressed at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Rectory; 526 59th Street; Brooklyn, New York 11220. In entering upon religious life, each of us promised to live up to the rule of our particular institute. We may be living out that promise happily or unhappily. The religious rule itself may pose very little problem on pa-per, especially since it probably sounds much less legalisti.c and more in-spirational than it used to. Still, we all have to cofiae to terms with this, that it catches us in a web of relationships inside and outside the com-munity, of duties, of places in which we must live and work, and of peo-ple we must live with and try to love. Very often we have little control over these things. So the religious rule still stands painfully for law, for what often comes into our life unbidden, for what we must accomplish and accept--for an alien brother or sister. But we all entered religious life in response to a Call, a conviction each of us had that we were entering this religious community because this was my life, because in choosing these convents or rectories or mon-asteries, because in freely giving ourselves over to our duties, we would find ourselves and our joy. We clutched a personal promise we thought we heard: that we would be holy, that our lives and works would mean something. But now we may be living with a frightful question: "Surely I was not deceived, was I? Surely someone made a promise to me!" The question may come of our own personal failures, but it may also arise out of a feeling that our religious rule and our community has failed us, in changing so much, or in changing so little. "Surely I have not made a big misiake with my life, have I?" 495 496 / Review for Religious, July-August 1988 All human beings ask questions like that about their lives, as they try to make sense of them. In trying to come to terms with our religious life, with how our dreams and projects have gone for us, we probably cannot do better than to direct our reflections to the call that brought us here in the first place. This is God's call, of course, a law that we con-tended with before we knew any religious rule. It is a call that has cre-ated us, has made promises to us, and has taken charge of writing our individual stories. This call, this law, is the grace of the Holy Spirit in our individual lives. The Call that Creates Out of his study of the Scriptures, Father Francois-Xavier Durrwell, C.SS.R., says this about our God: "The-one-who-calls-you" is his name. Maybe I Peter 1:15-16 best expresses the import of this naming of God: "Become holy yourselves in every aspect of your conduct, af-ter the likeness of the holy One who called you; remember, Scripture says, 'Be holy, for I am holy.' "~ Though he is no careless scholar, Fa-ther Durrwell's citations of Scripture rather more evoke meditation than establish a tightly reasoned case. He recalls our hearts to truths we have long cherished: that God always loves first, that he seeks our response to his love, that he made and makes promises to a people and to every single human being, .that he keeps his promises. We should remember about Jesus that God called him his Son, his beloved, when Jesus was baptized by John. In Mark's Gospel, this call-- this sense of his identity--is described as Jesus' own secret. Only he sees the sky open and the Spirit descend (1 : I 0). He knows who he was, where he has come from, and where he will return. In this connection Paul preaches that Jesus has been raised from the dead: "We ourselves an-nounce to you the good news that what God promised our fathers he has fulfilled for us, their children, in raising up Jesus, according to what is written in the second psalm, 'You are my son; this day I have begotten you' " (Ac 13:33). The Father has proved faithful to his call of Jesus. The early Christians had a clear notion of their identity; they saw their life as a calling. Their life challenged them, but a call supported them. Paul told them, "He who calls us is trustworthy, therefore he will do it" (1 Th 5:24). He reproached them in terms of the call. "I am amazed that you are so soon deserting him who called you in accord with his gracious design in Christ, and are going over to another gospel . Such enticement does not come from him who calls you" (Ga 1:6; 5:8). He told them they partook of the call of Jesus Christ: "God is faithful, and it was he who called you to fellowship with his Son, Jesus Christ The Call / 49"/ our Lord" (i Co 1:9). Mary Magdalene first grasped the sense of this promise when the Risen Christ called her name: "Jesus said to her, 'Mary!' " (Jn 20:16). Who he was and who she was in relation to him had changed to something she could never have dreamed of. Paul, too, heard his name called. "Saul, Saul, why do you perse-cute me?" (Ac 9:4). His whole sense of himself and his work is rooted in his call. He opens the Letter to the Romans this way: "Greetings from Paul, a servant of Christ Jesus, called to be an apostle and set apart to proclaim the gospel of God . " He identifies himself in the same way at the opening of 1 Corinthians: "Paul, called by God's will to be an apostle of Christ Jesus . " For the call it was that made him an apos-tle. What brought each of us to religious life, what event, what dream, what fascination? Each one of us has a story of a call, though it is prob-ably not so exotic as that of St. Margaret Mary Alacoque. She wrote that at the age of four or five "I found myself saying something I couldn't unde, rstand: 'To God I give my purity, and vow perpetual chastity.' " In later years our Lord told her: "I chose you for my bride . We plighted our troth when you made your vow of chastity. That was my doing . ,,2 Our call, too, has always been his doing. For those, then, who try to follow Jesus, God is "the-one-who-calls" (I Th 5:24; Ga 1:6; 5:8), .just as he is "the-one-who-raised- Jesus" (Rm 4:21; see I P 1:21; 2 Co 1:9; Ga I'1) and "the-one-who-brought- Israel-out-of Egypt" (Ex 20:2; Jg 6:8). "The-one-who cails-you"~ is his name (I Th 5:24; I P 1"15; 2 P 1:3).3 The Call that Makes a Promise Every call includes a promise; there is something in it for the one called. When God called Abraham to go up from Haran to the land of Canaan, he made him a promise in terms that anyone would immediately and thrillingly understand. He would make of Abraham a great nation, a man in whose very name all the communities of the earth would find a blessing (Gn 12:1-3). Of course, Abraham could never have dreamt how it would all turn out--and the story is not yet finished. How could he have known that in our day the religious communities of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam revere him as a father? But he heard God's prom-ise in terms of lands and children. That he could clearly grasp. God prom-ised him, in his childlessness, that his life would matter, that someone would remember him (Gn 15). Is there anything else that any human be-ing ever wanted out of life? True, Abraham thought only in terms of a personal life with God that ended with the grave. Only much later did 4911/Review for Religious, July-August 1988 the Jews arrive at a belief in a personal life after death. Yet Jesus too, who preached and promised a life without end, also spoke of the call in terms of the great values of this life: brothers and sisters, land and home, spouse and children (Mk 10:28-31). Those of us who take on the classic renunciations of religious life are not throwing life away like yesterday's newspaper. For each of us this life--the only one we know--this life will matter. And we will be remembered for hav-ing lived it. How, we do not know. But neither did Abraham. We cling to the call, knowing God has made us a promise. To repeat, God's promise concerns earthly life and the worth of the labors and sacrifices his servants make for love of him. It is not as though we receive eternal life in exchange for anguishing our way through a bar-ren existence, a human life that really has no meaning in it, that at best is only a contrived testing ground. A jeweler often sells watches by ad-vertising for junk: hand in a useless old watch and get a discount on a new one. But God does not see a human life as a trade-in. For all that anyone knew on Good Friday, Jesus had failed in everything he had given his life to. His disciples had fled; he had died a criminal. But by raising him from the dead, the Holy Spirit also has played the revealing light of tongues of fire on his earthly life for us who contemplate it in the Gospels. We remember that life of his. How we remember it! It mat-tered. The Call that Writes a Story With the call and the promise to Abraham in the Book of Genesis, the Bible begins to talk about history in the usual sense--people and events to which we can assign a particular time and a particular place on this earth. The whole long tale of the Scriptures hangs from God's call to Abraham and from Abraham's putting his faith in him. We are merely the actors now pronouncing the lines and pacing the stage of the ongoing drama of God's faithfulness to his promise. The other side of this story of God's faithfulness is that of our unfaithfulness, our sin. Jeremiah the prophet one day glimpsed God's resourcefulness in the face of our unfaithfulness as he watched a potter at work. God had told him to visit the potter's house, where Jeremiah saw the craftsman's in-tentions sometimes turn out badly. Some pots just did not go well at all. "Whenever the object of clay which he was making turned out badly in his hand, he tried again, making of the clay another object of what-ever sort he pleased" (Jr 18:4). In leading his prophet to the potter's house, God was reading him a lesson on the divine patience in waiting for the conversion of his peo- The Call / 499 pie. But he also was telling Jeremiah that conversion rested on God's res-toration and re-creation of a life and a situation that his people had often totally wrecked by their unfaithfulness. We should ponder the potter's care and intention as he sees the clay elude his skill and the design he had in mind for it. Somehow it is misbegotten. But the potter has an-other idea, another chance for the clay. He will try something else--a different shape, a different vessel. As we look at the story of our life, it may seem that we have not turned out as we should, and we might be right about that. We have all been unfaithful. But the call and the promise mean that God always has something else in mind, something new to create as he continues to shape our life. Although we may have wasted years and energy and talent, al-though we may have weakly or willfully thrown off our religious voca-tion altogether, we still remain within the work and the motion of his crea-tive hands. He still has something else in mind, even if it is only our con-trite acceptance of a littered past, which we yield totally to him as part of a broken self. Psalm 51 provides the words to celebrate God's having his way with us at last: "My sacrifice, O God, is a contrite spirit; a heart contrite and humbled, O God, you will not spurn" (v. 19). The Law of Our Life: The Grace of the Holy Spirit We have seen that the most basic law of Christian life is the call of God, which is played out in the stories of our lives. For stories are pow-erful laws, often in their way more piercing than laws in the strict sense. Which, for instance, do we find more unsettling when we come upon a stalled car along the highway, or a fallen derelict on a city street--the command to love our neighbor as ourselves or the story of the Good Sa-maritan? Which makes it harder just to pass by? Maybe we have had the privilege to hear religious or priests talk about their wrestling with their vocations. Even if they have to speak of infidelity, they talk in terms of their stories rather than of laws and rules in the ordinary sense. They often weep as they tell their story; for it con-tains the law and the call they cannot escape, and really do not want to escape. We find a crucial chapter of Paul's story in Acts 9. If the call is the grace of the Holy Spirit, then this scene portrays this grace most vividly. For Paul on the road to Damascus did not meet the earthly Jesus, the friend of Peter and the other disciples. Paul never met him, never knew him. He hardly ever speaks of him at all, though he had to know very much about the life of Jesus of Nazareth. But Paul met Jesus Risen, this same man resurrected; he fell in love with the Jesus raised by the power 500 / Review for Religious, July-1988 of the Spirit; he knew Jesus in the Spirit.4 His call then was the grace of the Holy Spirit. This grace of the Holy Spirit made him. It was the law and impulse of his whole life thereafter. We too meet Jesus as Paul did--in the grace of the Holy Spirit, in the story of our life. A Call to Communion Rather Than to Observance In emphasizing the primacy of the call, Father Durrwell notes that Paul did not recognize the absolute character of any law imposed from outside the person. He preached that Christian life was a call to a free-dom surging up from within us. This limitless new law of life made space for our souls: "The law of the spirit, the spirit of life in Christ Jesus, has freed you from the law of sin and death" (Rm 8:2). Since this Spirit is the love of God poured into out hearts (Rm 5:5), in surrendering to it Christians yield to what they love. No one could be more free.5 We must learn, then, to love the law, to find that it has become part of us or that we have been taken up into its secret life. Rabbi Abraham Heschel discourses on this mystery when he speaks of the Jewish tradi-tion of kavvanah. The music in a score is open only to him who has music in his soul. It is not enough to play the notes; one must be what he plays. It is not enough to do the mitzvah; one must live what he does. The goal is to find access to the sacred deed. But the holiness in the mitzvah is only open to him who knows how to discover the holiness in his own soul. To do a mitzvah is one thing; to partake of its inspiration is another.6 But who writes the music in the heart so that we may live out the very soul of written notes and law? St. Augustine would answer--the fin-ger of God. By the finger of God we learn to find delight in the law. He says that we learn "to keep Sabbath in the spirit" through the Holy Spirit poured forth in our hearts (Rm 5:5).7 Father Durrwell acknowledges that the New Testament does not ex-plicitly identify the Holy.Spirit with the call. But the Scripture does speak of the Holy Spirit as an anointing (2 Co 1:21), as a seal upon one's in-ner life (2 Co 1:22), and as a promise of final redemption (Ep !:14).8 In Paul, and also in John, we see an emphasis on an available expe-rience of this life in the Holy Spirit, one that tells us that within this very ordinary life something else goes on. So Paul preaches: "God is the one who firmly establishes us along with you in Christ; it is he who anointed us and has sealed us, thereby depositing the first payment, the Spirit, in our hearts" (I Co 1:21-22). John also preaches: "As for you, the anoint- The Call / 501 ing you received from him remains in your hearts. This means you have no need for anyone to teach you. Rather, as his anointing teaches you about all things and is true--free from any lie--remain in him as that anointing taught you" (1 Jn 2:27). In reading these Scriptures we have to conclude that this anointing-- this interior impulse and promise--amounted to a real presence for these ancient fellow believers of ours. Paul and John were appealing to their people to look to their hearts, to their experience. What has happened, then, to us? Where has the awareness gone? Nothing has happened! The awareness has not disappeared. We have known the same things, felt at least sometimes the surprise of God's peace and joy in a desperate situ-ation. We have lived by the light of a secret promise that told us we could and would be better, that we could make our world better. St. Augustine reflected on this with his people as he preached on the First Letter of John. Note how he gives up trying to talk and appeals to what the people knew--the anointing. ¯ . . What is the promise given us? "We shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is" [3:2]. The spoken word has done all it could; the rest must be pondered in the heart. In comparison of him who "is," what could John say, and what can be said by us whose desert is so far below his? We must go back to the anointing of which he has spoken, that anointing which teaches inwardly what passes utterance; and since as yet you cannot see, your work must lie in longing. The whole life of the good Christian is a holy longing.9 As Father Kilian McDonnell, O.S.B., points out to us, the experi-ence John considers is the gentle, ordinary conviction of God's loving presence that we all have known, as the early Christians knew it. No need to be put off by our usual guardedness against sensational experi-ence and display. ~0 The Scriptures are urging us to trust to a patient and faithful longing for the completion of what we know has begun in us and in our world. A Woman of the Spirit Jean-Marie Cardinal Lustiger is Archbishop of Paris. He oversees a church suffering far more desperately than most others. What does he preach to his people? In homilies worthy of a Father of the Church, he stirs them with questions like this one: "Are Christians the masters of Christianity, deciding what it should be, or is it Christ who, through his Spirit, takes hold of you and leads you where you do not want to go'?" ~ And he places before the eyes of his people the image of Mary stand- 509 / Review for Religious, July-August 1988 ing at the foot of the cross. They must pray, he tells them, "for the Marian grace of silent patience and long waitings in faith.''~2 So must we pray. As St. Augustine put it, the life of the Christian is one long and holy yearning. We know that. We have always known it, even though we may sometimes have too little appreciated the peace that has come along with living out our longing. This peace and this power is the anointing that Christians have always known. NOTES ~ Francois-Xavier Durrwell, C.SS.R., "Vous avez gtd appelds . " Studia Moralia 15 (1977): 345. z The Autobiography of Saint Margaret Mary, trans. Vincent Kerns (Westminster, Maryland: Newman Press, 1961), 4, 18. 3 Durrwell, 345. 4 Yves Congar, I Believe in the Holy Spirit, 3 vols. (New York: The Seabury Press, 1983), I: 30. 5 Abraham Heschel, Between God and Man: Art Interpretation of Judaism (New York: The Free Press, 1959), 165-166. 6 Augustine: Later Works, ed. John Burnaby (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1955), The Spirit and the Letter, -#27, 216. 7 Durrwell, 352, 357. 8 Durrwell, 356. 9 Augustine: Later Works, Fourth Homily, -#6, 290. ~0 Kilian McDonnell, O.S.B., "A Trinitarian Theology of the Holy Spirit," Theo-logical Studies 46 (1985): 223. ~ Jean-Marie Cardinal Lustiger, Dare to Believe: Addresses, Sermons, Interviews, 1981-1984 (New York: Crossroad, 1986), 16. ~2 Lustiger, 226, 228. Superiority of the Religious Life Brendan Knea/e, F.S.C. Brother Brendan is an associate professor in a great books program and can be con-tacted at Box H; Saint Mary's College; Moraga, California 94575. One of the reasons why religious life is not attracting vocations is, no doubt, a failure to emphasize its superiority. In fact, vocational leaders and their literature tend to deny that there is any such superiority. Such a failure, it seems, must be counterproductive. Traditionally, of course, the opposite view prevailed. Recall the famous lines attributed to St. Ber-nard indicating a clear superiority: The religious 1. lives more purely, 2. falls more rarely, 3. rises more promptly, 4. walks more cautiously, 5. is graced more frequently, 6. rests more securely, 7. dies more confidently, 8. is cleansed more promptly, and 9. is rewarded more abundantly. "More" than who? Clearly St. Bernard means, "more than those in secular states of life." Does the teaching of Vatican II confirm this view? Even a cursory reading of the documents shows that it does. Not only do the official statements twice refer to the religious life as "a state of perfection," but in several places the language uses, like St. Bernard's "more," various comparative terms. 503 ~i04 / Review for Religious, July-August 1988 Vatican II Thus, in Lumen Gentium 42 we read concerning the evangelical coun-sels of religious, "Outstanding among them is that precious gift of grace which the Father gives to some men (see Mt 19:11; I Co 7:7) st-" that by virginity, or celibacy, they can more easily devote their entire selves to God alone with undivided heart (see I Co 7:32-34)." And, "Since the disciples must always imitate and give witness to this char-ity and humility of Christ, Mother Church rejoices at finding within bosom men and women who more closely follow and more clearly dem-onstrate the Savior's self-giving by embracing poverty with the free choice of God's sons, and by renouncing their own wills.''~ In the chapter of Lumen Gentium devoted specifically to the vowed life we find a summary stotement, again in the comparative language "greater": "These religious families give their members the support greater stability in their way of life, a proven method of acquiring per-fection, fraternal association in the militia of Christ, and liberty strength-ened by obedience."2 A direct comparison with other Christians is made in the next section, where the text notes about the vowed religious, "is true that through baptism he has died to sin and has been consecrated to God. However, in order to derive more abundant fruit from this bap-tismal grace, he intends, by profession of the evangelical counsels in the Church, to .free himself from those obstacles which might draw him away from the fervent charity and the perfection of divine worship. Thus is more intimately consecrated to the divine service. This consecration gains in perfection since by virtue of firmer and steadier bonds it serves as a better symbol of the unbreakable link between Christ and His Spouse, the Church." The same section goes on to say, "Furthermore, the religious state constitutes a closer imitation and an abiding reenact-ment in the Church of the form of life which the Son of God made his own . Even the language of superlatives is used here: "Finally, everyone should realize that the profession of the evangelical counsels, though en-tailing the renunciation of certain values which undoubtedly merit high esteem, does not detract from a genuine development of the human per-son. Rather by its very nature it is most beneficial to that develop-ment . The counsels are especially able to pattern the Christian man after that manner of virginal and humble life which Christ the Lord elected for himself, and which his Virgin Mother also chose."3 It is well known that Vatican II was a pastoral council concerned, therefore, with changes in discipline, not doctrine (though for pastoral Superiority of the Religious Life reasons it changed the wording and emphasis of some dogmas). Hence, Vatican II does not contradict the Council of Trent. In particular, it did not withdraw its teaching about the superiority of the religious state. The earlier council anathematizes those who would place all Christian "states" on the same level. Specifically, it condemns those who say "that it is not better and more blessed to remain in virginity and celi-bacy than in the matrimonial bond" (Denz. no. 1810). Hans Urs von Balthasar notes one reason for this doctrine: "Marriage does not cross the threshold of the eschatological realm (Mt 22:30), and a person who wishes to live eschatologically should therefore renounce marriage if he can (Mt 11:12; 1 Co 7:8).''4 In a scholarly work, as part of his chapter on "Christian Voca-tions," Father John Lozano, C.M.F., has remarked, "The Council's in-sistent use of comparatives is such that theologians must, of necessity, fix their attention upon it." His own analysis (carefully nuanced and, I believe, erroneous) leads him to abandon comparatives and to vote against the traditional view, which he describes as follows: ". Chris-tian people have always considered monasticism as being, objectively, the more blessed (beatius) situation.''5 If we look at the special Decree on The Appropriate Renewal of the Religious Life (Perfectae Caritatis) issued by Vatican II, we find that the religious state "is of surpassing value" (section I), though we are not told overtly what other values it "surpasses." Section 5 observes about religious, "They have handed over their :entire lives to God's serv-ice in an act of special consecration which is deeply rooted in their bap-tismal consecration and which provides an ampler manifestation of it.' ,6 It is true that an "ampler manifestation" of one's baptismal graces is expected after confirmation, and penance, and marriage, and after all moral choices--but the context of the passage, and the background of the whole tradition, require us to read "ampler manifestation" (and other comparatives) in accord with Trent's clear anathema (even if to-day there seem to be several writers who fall, inadvertently, under that anathema). Inferiority We should pause here to note that the religious life is also inferior. The religious state cuts a very poor figure in the context of a capitalist and consumer competition, and in the realm of biological reproduction, and in the area of political power struggles and status seeking. Indeed the three vows are instruments designed precisely to keep a person as in-ferior in these secular arenas as he or she is superior in the religious 506 / Review for Religious, July-August 1988 arena. In the worlds of finance, medicine, the military, and so forth, there is no reason to ascribe superiority to the religious state. In the world of holiness and the sacred, there is. After Vatican II Official documents subsequent to the council enable us to read with proper understanding its intent. In 1971, for example, an Apostolic Ex-hortation on the Renewal of Religious Life came from Rome with some pointed recommendations. It continued to push the language of perfec-tion and comparatives: "more closely conformed" to the life of Christ (sec. 2); "follow Christ more freely and to imitate him more faithfully ¯ . . with greater fullness" (sec. 4); "to derive more abundant fruit" and be "more intimately consecrated" (sec. 7); "your obedience is more strict" (sec. 27). It quotes Lumen Gentium: "The Council consid-ers 'a proven doctrine of acquiring perfection' as one of the inherited riches of religious institutes" (sec. 37). Finally,, it assure us that "by the threefold renunciation of your religious profession [you] realize the greatest possible expansio.n of your life in Christ" (sec. 55).7 The present pope--certainly an expert on Vatican II--freely speaks of the superiority of the religious state. In his exhortation Familiaris Con-sortio (I 98 i), he makes it a point to say so even when his theme is fam-ily life. In section 16 he quotes with approval St. John Chrysostom's words on the superiority of consecrated virginity to sacramental mar-riage: "What appears good only in comparison with evil would not be particularly good. It is something better than what is admitted to be good that is the most excellent good." John Paul goes on to say, ~'It is for this reason that the Church throughout her history has always defended the superiority of this charism to that of marriage . ,,8 The follow-ing year Pope John Paul spoke to a representative group of sisters and said, in part, Most of all, the recommendation I would want to give you is this: pre-serve and foster a correct and lofty concept of religious life and conse-cration, according to what the Master always taught and still teaches. The Church today certainly encourages secular and "lay" forms of re-ligious life which if properly understood are of great blessing for the Peo-ple of God and for the world. The Council made clear the dignity of the earthly values and the spirituality of the laity. Nevertheless, the same Council, stressing the unique value of the religious vocation, takes care not to depreciate it with distortion of a misunderstood secularity, for-getting that the religious life achieves a perfection beyond baptismal con-secration . Superiority of the Religious Life / .507 The superiority of the religious state certainly does not depend on the Christian's final end, which is the same for everyone: blessedness in God . [There are gifts] which as such are superior to those de-riving from baptismal consecration sufficient to characterize the secular or married state . 9 Perhaps the Holy Father was recalling here the words of Adrienne yon Speyr, a wife and mother who became a well-known spiritual writer under the aegis of Hans Urs von Balthasar: If rightly chosen, the married state can be lived to perfection in a fam-ily life that is in complete accord with Christian faith and with a posi-tion in the Church, community and state . Nevertheless, there are certain limits [in married life] that cannot be moved and that simply re-lateto the finiteness of the human person . The evangelical state, whether active or contemplative, gives evi-dence from the beginning of a stronger preoccupation with God . In marriage, the individual must forgo these helps proper to the evan-gelical state. If it were possible to compare at the end of their lives two individuals who, at the moment of choice, possessed exactly the same qualifications, the same education and knowledge, the same piety and readiness to follow Christ, and of whom one chose the married state and the other the evangelical state, the advantage enjoyed by the latter would be plainly visible . Although there is a level on which the ecclesial states [including sacramental marriage] stand side by side as possible modes of Christian existence that are both good and willed by God, there is also a hierarchy among the states that clearly reveals the greater ex-cellence of the evangelical state. ~0 Later, in 1984, Pope John Paul issued a special Apostolic Exhorta-tion on the Religious Life addressed to religious themselves, Redemp-tionis Donum. He starts off in section I saying about the universal voca-tion to perfection, "While this call concerns everyone, in a special way it concerns you, men and women religious, who in your consecration to God through the vows of the evangelical counsels strive toward a par-ticular fullness of Christian life." In section 4: "This way is also called the way of perfection," a claim repeated in section 6. At the same time he twice uses the expression "state of perfection" but leaves it in quo-tation marks, and one can tell that he does so out of deference to the con-temporary sensitivities, not out of rejection of the doctrine. Also in 1984 the new Code of Canon Lawwent into effect. Careful wording characterizes it. The part devoted to religious life begins, "Life consecrated by the profession of the evangelical counsels is a stable form of living by which the faithful, following Christ more closely under the 508 /Review for Religious, July-August 1988 action of the Holy Spirit, are totally dedicated to God . " Contemporary Misapprehension How is it that this superiority is denied by many well-informed Catho-lics? We find in the influential and reprinted book Shaping the Coming Age of Religious Life (1985) by Cada, et al., the following passage: "At the start of the Modern Era the Council Fathers of Trent promulgated the teaching that the state of consecrated virginity was inherently better and holier than the married state. At the end of the Modern Era the Council Fathers at Vatican II taught that the religious life was no more a state of perfection than the Christian life in general" (p. 49). It is difficult see how the authors can take such a position, especially since the coun-cil documents explicitly refer to the religious life as "a state of perfec-tion," and Pope John Paul, as cited above, says just the opposite. Read-ers of this journal will be familiar with other texts, often written by vo-cation ministers, making clear disavowals of superiority. The negative psychological impact of these misreadings of Vatican II on the work of vocation ministry should be obvious. These authors no doubt worried about the invidiousness of claiming personal "superiority." They should have recalled what Thomas Aqui-nas had already pointed out in the Summa (I1-II, 186, I ): that we are speak-ing figuratively. We call all members of an order "religious" even when some are not, and we call their state one of "perfection" although none of its members may be perfect. The figure of speech we are using, he tells us, is called ~'antonomasia." We can illustrate it by the example of our calling a king, antonomastically, "His Majesty" even when is not majestic. It appears that there are two reasons (~)ne of which has just been al-luded to) why such misrepresentations of Catholic doctrine have oc-curred. (!) There has been a strong egalitarian, anti-elitist mood in most the Western world for many years. This same appetite for leveling found when one speaks of churches, even non-Christian ones. Thus, with regard to the Catholic Church, contemporary society wants her to avoid "triumphalism" and therefore to avoid claiming superiority over other religions, since "all religions are equal," Try arguing, even amon.group of Catholics, that their religion is "superior," and see, in our egali-tarian age, the resistance you meet. Similarly, members of religious con-gregations today tend to suppress the superiority of their state, even when giving vocational advice--thereby, of course, reducing the attractiveness of that state. SuperioriO, of the Religious Life / 509 (2) There is a chapter entitled "The Call to Holiness" in Lumen Gen-tium which seems, on superficial reading, to support the modern appe-tite for equality. But the chapter simply recalls that Christ summoned all people, secular and religious, to "be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect"--hardly a new doctrine in pastoral theology. In every state of life Christians have the sacraments, prayer, apostolic opportunities, and self-denial (see section 42) to help in the universal vocation we all have to perfection. It is natural to conclude (although long habit made even the fathers of the council keep the usage) that "the state of perfection" is not a title that ought to be arrogated to the religious life alone: it has been too easy for people to relegate other states to "imperfection." We certainly want to~ avoid that imputation~, and so a pastoral concern leads us to stop emphasizing~that the religious state is the state of perfection, even though it is clearly a superior state for the purposes of religious per-fection. Likewise, since we live in an ecumenical age, we do not go about saying the Catholic Church is superior to others, even though, as an instrument of salvation, it is. If, out of pastoral concern for giving emphasis to the religious value of secular and lay states~ we avoid stressing the superiority of religious and clerical states, we should not at the same time forget (or fail, at ap-propriate times, publicly to recall) that superiority. Thus Pope John Paul, as noted above, did not hesitate--even in a document about the dignity and worth of family life (Familiaris Consortio)--to remind us of the su-periority of the religious state. To disavow it is nbt humility; it is fal-sity. The accusation of elitism can be met in the same way that colleges and universities meet it. The best schools claim to be superior as instru-ments of higher education, and they are--in virtue of their curricula, their faculties, their social opportunities. Indeed the best institutions as-sure excellence by hiring the best faculty, and admitting and supporting the best students, regardless of their social status. Moreover, they do not claim that all the students and courses at other places are inferior. Ex-cellence does not demand putting others down or denying the principle of human equality. But it certainly does not require the best colleges and universities falsely to deny their own superiority, especially when seek-ing new faculty and students. Neither should the religious state in seek-ing new members. This analogy is quite forceful: the religious state is like a superior university--people seeking a "higher education" try to find suitable "instruments" for that purpose. Some of these "instru-ments" are superior to others, namely, the best universities and colleges. 510 / Review for Religious, July-August 1988 It is in this sense that St. Thomas (Summa, II-lI, 184, 3 and 7) speaks of the religious state as instrumental to perfection; it is "the state of perfection" in that way, not in some invidious way. Among secular persons there are often some closer to perfection than many religious are. Chesterton has said somewhere, "Alone of all superiors the saint does not depress the human dignity of others. He is not conscious of his su-periority to them, but only more conscious of his inferiority than they are." When we call attention to the superiority of an instrument, we do not thereby claim superiority for the user of that instrument. When St. Paul in I Co 12:28ff. set up a ranking of charisms, he did not intend to offend anyone. Thus, in saying that bishops have the high-est vocation, that their state is the superior one, he was hoping to attract, not repel, vocations. St. Paul, a good vocation minister, ended by urg-ing us to "be zealous for the better gifts." God indeed hath set some in the church: first apostles, secondly proph-ets, thirdly teachers; after that miracles, then the graces of healings, helps, governments, kinds of tongues, interpretations of speeches. ~l'here are similar rankings at Romans 12:4 and Ephesians 4: 10. Conclusion As an aid to vocation ministers we should update and add to St. Ber-nard's list of comparatives. By way of a partial extension, we might say of the contemporary religious that he or she: 10. witnesses more eschatologically, (Religious vows are greater eschatological signs than are offered by secu-lar lifestyles.) I 1. serves more apostolically, (Corporate efforts at ministry multiply through space and time the work of a single individual.) 12. lives more theocentrically and Christologically, (Opportunities in re-ligious community for retreats, liturgy, meditation, silence, self-denial are abundant.) 13. operates more freely, (Support in religious life reduces financial, domestic, and decision-making chores.) 14. reaches out more ecclesially. (An international religious order extends one's circle of friends and pro-vides a worldwide family for its members.) Superiority of the Religious Life NOTES ~ Abbott, W. M., S.J., ed., The Documents of Vatican H, America Press, New York, 1966, p. 71. 2 Ibid., pp. 73-74. 3 Ibid., p. 77. 4 Von Balthasar, H. U., New Elucidations, Ignatius Press, San Francisco, 1986, p. 180. 5 Lozano, John M., C.M.F., Discipleship: Towards an Understanding of the Relig-ious Life, Claret Center for Resources in Spirituality, Chicago, 1980, pp. 55ff. 6 Abbott, p. 471. 7 Flannery, A., O.P., ed., Vatican Council II, Liturgical Press, Collegeville, 1975, pp. 680ff. 8 Origins 11, no. 25 (December 3, 1981): 443. 9 Consecrated Life 9, no. 2, pp. 214-215. ~0 Von Speyr, A., The Christian State of Life, Ignatius Press, San Francisco, 1986, pp. 81-84. Mary and the Announcer So many questions you leave unanswered That 1 would ask: why it is 1 Who am chosen, when will this happen, how Shall I know it happening, what am I To tell the kind man to whom I am bonded. Tell him nothing? And already you gather Yourself for departure; the dark tower Of your presence stands a shadow On the floor, unfolding long Skirted pinions, lifting them higher. If I lifted my eyes, I would see light, Where you have stood. Where I am standing Now in light brighter than windows, the dance Of it is like rings at my fingers, Like bracelets adorning my ankles, a lightness Crowning my hair. Harmless as I am, No harm can come to me of standing In light where I cast no shadow Yet am overshadowed, where again ! hear The calm announcement: Mary, do not fear. Nancy G. Westerfield 2914 Avenue B Kearney, NE 68847 Celibate Loving Rosemarie Carfagna, O.S.U., Ph.D. Sister Rosemarie's "Spirituality of Suffering" appeared in our March/April 1988 issue. She is in the Philosophy and Religious Studies Department at Ursuline Col-lege; 2550 Lander Road; Pepper Pike, Ohio 44124. Can two women from the late Middle Ages have anything to say to con-temporary religious women about their efforts at celibate loving? Al-though the times and the circumstances have changed, the central issues involved in celibate loving have not. This article will look at the writ-ings of two spiritual mothers for practical guidance about the conduct of religious in love relationships. Teresa of Avila was a sixteenth-century Spanish Carmelite. Margaret Mary Alacoque was a seventeenth-century Sister of the Visitation in France. Both women wrote poignantly about the experience of learning how to love. Both women learned from hu-man love lessons that led them to divine love. Their wisdom and their advice can be helpful for religious women and men today. The Desire for Affection In her classic work The Way of Perfection, Teresa speaks to her sis-ters about their efforts to love. She is aware from her own experience of the danger and temptation of looking to human beings for the ultimate satisfaction that can come only from God. Teresa herself needed to learn about detachment and transcendence, so it was with humility and sim-plicity that she could refer to the desire for affection as blindness. She tells her sisters, "I sometimes think this desire for affection is sheer blind-ness . When we desire anyone's affection, we always seek it because of some interest, profit or pleasure of our own." ~ It is the self-interest underlying the desire for affection that alerts Teresa to the imperfection of the love. As she matured in love, Teresa began to see through its more 512 Celibate Loving / 513 superficial forms. Speaking about the subversive effect of self-interest on love, she writes, "Of course, however pure our affection may be, it is quite natural for us to wish it to be returned. But, when we come to evaluate the return of affection, we realize that it is insubstantial, like a thing of straw, as light as air and easily carried away by the wind."2 Teresa wants more than this for herself and for her sisters. She realizes that the call to celibate love offers greater, more permanent rewards. How-ever, these gifts are deeply hidden. Mature religious are sensitive enough to know where to look for them. Describing the deeper vision of holy souls, she writes: ¯ . . the things which they see are everlasting. If they love anyone they immediately look right beyond the body, fix their eyes on the soul and see what there is to be loved in that. If there is nothing, but they see any suggestion or inclination which shows them that, if they dig deep, they will find gold within this mine, they think nothing of the labor of dig-ging, since they have love.3 The kind of love Teresa is describing is a purified and noble love. It is a kind of love she came to know because she was led to it by the Spirit. It is purified through a gentle and continuous process of detach-ment. Detachment Margaret Mary Alacoque learned about celibate loving directly from Jesus, whom she acknowledged as her Spouse. Her Thoughts and Say-ings record the instructions she received that guided her spiritual and emo-tional development and brought her to the fullness of love. The follow-ing message was addressed to her in prayer: "Know that if you wish to possess Jesus Christ and to dwell in his Sacred Heart, you must have no other desire and be content with him alone.' ,4 These are puzzling words for beginners in the spiritual life. Speaking of contentment in the same context as such radical detachment appears paradoxical at first. Perhaps Margaret Mary experienced a degree of consternation, too, when she heard these words. Her instructions continued in the same vein. How-ever, she was assured that Jesus her Spouse would teach her and help her become accustomed to purified love. She recorded the following mes-sage that she received by way of encouragement: May he teach you what he desires of you, and may he give you the strength to accomplish it perfectly. If I am not mistaken, this in a few words is what ! think he chiefly requires of you: He wishes that you should learn to live without support, without a friend and without saris- Review for Religious, July-August 1988 faction. In proportion as you ponder over these words, he will help you to understand them.5 The message may seem harsh if we focus only on the radical detach-ment it implies. Who among us finds the prospect of living without sup-port and without a friend attractive? But a second look at the meaning behind the words can sustain us. Rather than taking away the help that we need, Jesus is offering himself to us as helper, lover, and friend. Mar-garet Mary was told: Our Lord would fain be your sole Support, Friend and Delight, provided you seek neither support nor delight in creatures. Nevertheless, you must not be ill at ease or constrained in your intercourse with your neighbor, but always humble, bright, kind and gracious in your manner. The Sa-cred Heart of Jesus gives you these holy aspirations through the ardent love he bears you, which makes him desire to possess your heart whole and entire.6 Having this kind of intimacy with Jesus makes detachment easy. All other love relationships fall into place when our hearts are focused on him. Those experienced in celibate love know, however, that coming to such intimacy with Jesus is a gradual process. They are familiar with tri-als and temptations. They know that growth in celibate love is a constant effort at putting God first. Putting God First Both Teresa and Margaret Mary would offer advice to religious to-day, as they did to their own sisters. The unifying theme found in the writings of both of them is the importance of putting God first in the or-der of our love and of having a faithful spousal commitment to Jesus. They might say that as it is in any state of life, the religious life will have its share of trials and temptations. This is to purify and test the soul for worthiness to heaven. Only in heaven will the soul be free of suffering and only in heaven will the soul be filled with delights and satisfaction. Because these spiritual mothers were human as well as holy, they would admit that it can happen in religious life that there are attractions and even sexual arousal to one of the opposite sex or even of one's own sex. This is not wrong in and of itself. What does offend the good God is when the religious, especially the religious woman whom Jesus con-siders to be his own bride, succumbs to these attractions and sensations and knowingly and willingly seeks the intimacy with another that one would seek with a betrothed or wedded lover. It is not wrong to love or even to be in love with another when one is a religious. What is wrohg is seeking one's own selfish ends rather Celibate Loving than putting God first in one's heart and behaving seductively and ador-ingly to one's earthly beloved. No soul on earth can ever expect to find peace or happiness unless God is first in one's heart and one wills to be-have faithfully to God according to one's state in life and according to vows taken. Purified Love Loving another person in the temporal realm means loving him or her spiritually and from afar sometimes. Sexually arousing contact, be it eye contact, physical proximity, flirtation, or any seductive behavior that intends to arouse sexual passion in the other, is highly offensive to God. It would be better for the religious to leave the community than to behave so, for this can only lead to unhappiness. If one finds oneself in a love relationship and if the relationship has God's blessing, it will be peaceful and characterized by friendship, equal-ity in status, pure affection, chaste intention, and discretion in intimate behavior. Behavior toward any others will be spiritually beneficial and charitable as a result of this love. If, on the other hand, the love rela-tionship originates from one's own inordinate desires, it will be charac-terized by behaviors which seek sexual arousal and aim at sexual con-summation. There will also be exclusiveness, possessiveness, and ob-sessiveness, leaving the heart in a profoundly miserable state.7 Only, as Augustine has said, when one's heart first rests in God will it be happy and be pleasing to God. It is only in willing to please God first that the soul can find the love and satisfaction it seeks. This is especially so for a religious whom God holds responsible for shepherding his flock. The primary concern of the religious is to glorify God and to save souls. All other relationships are to flow from this holy and serious duty. May the example and the wisdom of women like Teresa and Margaret Mary help us to grow today in our efforts at celibate love. NOTES ~Teresa of Avila, The Way of Perfection (New York: Image Books, 1964), p. 70. ~-Ibid. 3 Ibid., p. 71. 4 Margaret Mary Alacoque, Thoughts and Sayings of St. Margaret Mary (Rockford, Illinois: TAN Books and Publishers, Inc.), p. 73. 5 Ibid. 6 Ibid., pp. 74-75. 7 See Teresa's descriptions of spiritual versus sensual relationships in The Way of Perfection, pp. 54-59, 67-81 (i.e., chap. 4 lall but the beginningl and chaps. 6 and 7). Hope for Community: A Kingdom Perspective Kristin Wombacher, O.P., and Shaun McCarty, S.T. Sister Kristin, a licensed clinical psychologist, was a writer for the Pontifical Com-mission on Religious Life in th~ United States and is presently Prioress General of the Dominican Sisters of San Rafael. She resides at Siena Convent; 4038 Maher Street; Napa, California 94558. Father McCarty, of the Missionary Servants of the Most Holy Trinity, teaches in the Washington Theological Union and is a staff mem-ber of the Shalem Institute for Spiritual Formation. He resides at Holy Trinity Mis-sion Seminary; 9001 New Hampshire Avenue; Silver Spring, Maryland 20903. Since Vatican II both have been extensively involved with programs of renewal for relig-ious communities of women and men, lay and religious, especially in the United States. In response to Vatican II, religious congregations have made changes in their lifestyles and structures in order to open themselves to renewal. A key area of concentration during this time of adaptation and renewal has been a desire to improve the quality of community life. The initial focus on community life following Vatican II centered pri-marily on local living situations and was largely problem-oriented. It em-phasized quantitative changes in existing structures, for example, chang-ing schedules, modifying prayer styles, and minimizing rules. As help-ful as these changes have been, the overall fruits of such a focus have been limited. What gradually has become clear is the need to shift the focus of community life, to broaden the horizons of "community," consider community not only within the context of religious life, but also within a broader Christian context as related to the life, work, and mis-sion of all God's people. This shift in focus calls us from a more intro-spective view of community life to an enhanced vision of community as related to Kingdom. 516 Hope for Community This article will be an attempt to explore "community" within the horizon of the kingdom of God. We will deal with the past development, present challenge, and future promise of community as viewed within this perspective. These observations are based on some fairly extensive experiences since Vatican II of working with a variety of religious groups, of women and men from various denominations, especially within the United States. Some Preliminary Understandings (1) Kingdom of God: This term attempts to express something of the mystery of the corporate vision of the People of God, that is, God's reign that embraces values such as love, freedom, peace, justice, unity, and fellowship. There are several perspectives of Kingdom, none of which exhausts the symbol. Kingdom is larger than any one of them. There is a sense in which the Kingdom is behind us, ahead of us, within us, and among us. The Kingdom is behind us in that it was the principal theme of Christ's preaching and was enfleshed and inaugurated in his person. The Kingdom is ahead of us in that it will reach consummation as a "new earth and a new heaven." In the words of Vatican lI's Pastoral Consti-tution on the Church in the Modern World: ". God is preparing a new dwelling place and a new earth where justice will abide and whose blessedness will answer and surpass all the longings for peace which spring up in the human heart" (n. 39). The Kingdom is within us in that it describes inner fellowship with God in mystical union and points to a human yearning for the living God that is deeper even than the hunger and thirst for the justice of God. The Kingdom is among us now in that it is already present among people who honestly seek to follow God's call and who live justly with others. This perspective refers to growth towards wholeness in the collective life of humanity--its laws, customs, institutions, works, politics, art, and so forth. It summons people now to the work of cultivating (or perhaps "uncovering" is more apt) the Kingdom "to give some kind of foreshadowing of the new age." (2) Future: In speaking about future hopes, distinctions need to be made between different kinds of futures: There are possible futures-- those which might be, limited only by the horizons of imagination; prob-able futures, those which are likely to be, indicated by present trends and tendencies; preferable futures, those which should be, in accord with sys-tems of values; and plausible futures, those which can be, capable of be-ing practically realized. Our focus here will be on a future vision of community within King- Review Jbr Religious, July-August 1988 dom perspectives that can shape attitudes, indicate behaviors, and mus-ter energy for further uncovering the Kingdom now. Our contention is that religious today are called to explore the possible, to assess the prob-able, to proclaim the preferable, and to implement the plausible. It is our further contention that such vision is essential to God's call to cocreate our future, to renew, indeed to refound community. Any community with-out a vision is moribund. (3) Community: In this context we are speaking about religious com-munity primarily, that is, intentional ecclesial groups of Christians who are called together in faith and bonded by memories of a shared past, hopes for a shared future, and commitments to a shared present. To-gether, members carry out a specific mission in service of the kingdom of God according to the unique charism of the group and by using their gifts for ministry in a concerted way. As with individuals, the commu-nity itself is called to ongoing corporate renewal in response to the Gos-pel, the charism of the group, the signs of the times, and the graced in-itiatives of its members. Community as Theological Imperative The origin of everything--the world and its people, all creation, the entire cosmos--is a God who is Trinitarian. The life of God, by its very nature, is relational, societal, communitarian--a perfect union without confusion, distinction without separation. The ultimate destiny of the whole of creation is the kingdom of God, which is also at its core communitarian, a perfect communion of all hu-mankind, the world and its history. As R. P. McBrien says: The initial experience of God's renewing and reconciling presence, which is the kingdom of God, evokes our theological quest for under-standing and excites the hope that one day our union with God and with one another will be realized to its fullest, when God will be all in all. ~ Communitarian, societal, relational life, then, is both the origin and the destiny of all creation. As disciples of Jesus we live in incarnational time that originates with the Trinity and finds completion in the fullness of Kingdom. Christ came in the flesh to show us that the way to God is through membership in the Kingdom, the principal sign of which is unity--oneness with God and with each other in Christ. Jesus' parting prayer for his disciples was: "May they all be one, just as, Father, you are in me and I am in you, so that they also may be one in us. that they may be one as we are one. With me in them and you in me, so may they be perfected in unity" Hope for Community / 519 (Jn 17:21-23). The Christian way to God is in and through community. Community, then, is not just a dimension essential to religious life; it is an invitation shared with all people, indeed, with all of creation. All are called to com-munity that, together with Christ, they may seek and proclaim the king-dom of God. The theological imperative of community is clearly enunciated by Vatican II in its Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World: God did not create man for life in isolation, but for the formation of so-cial unity . This communitarian character is developed and consum-mated in the work of Jesus Christ. For the Word made flesh willed to share in the human fellowship (n. 32). Community as an Evolving Reality in Human History The need to belong, to be part of a larger whole, is a basic human need. The experience of community has evolved over time. Families at first came together into kinship groups of tribe and clan primarily for sur-vival. Eventually tribes and clans grew into villages. Over thousands of years the tribes/clans/villages grew into cities/states/nations. Today the nation is the predominant human grouping. But already further changes seem to be moving towards what is referred to as the "global village" (interdependent world communi!y). We become members of these groupings by birth. Formerly living closely together over a lifetime in tribe/clan/village provided an unques-tionable sense of belonging and membership. In addition, such member-ship provided a clear sense of identity, values, and life-purpose. While life in the city/state/nation continues to give some sense of belonging and membership, it is less tangible than the former. Today nationality, for most, primarily shapes neither identity, values, nor life-purpose. All must struggle to find their own. While some people today would claim membership in the "global village," this certainly is not yet a univer-sal experience. One movement in this evolution of human community seems to be towards increasing fullness, beyond any single nation, race, or culture-- towards a community of humankind in this "global village." To Chris-tian ears this would seem to have a "Kingdom" ring that Teilhard de Chardin heard better than most: As the centuries go by, it seems that a comprehensive plan is indeed be-ing slowly carried on around us. A process is at work in the uni- 590 / Review for Religious, July-August 1988 verse . Through and thanks to the activity of mankind the new earth is being formed and purified and is taking on definition and clarity.2 Sociologists suggest that with the development of broader "born into" human groupings has come a proliferation of intentional groups which have provided a more tangible sense of belonging/connectedness. People choose to join such groups because they share a common purpose; for example, cause, interest, profession, problem. Intentional groups re-quire that members already have identity, values, and life-purpose. It is the shared purpose that brings people together concretely and gives them a sense of felt membership and connectedness. In these intentional groups, membership and connectedness are sustained by collaborative ac-tion as well as by personal presence and support. What we seem to have, then, evolving alongside the development of "born into" human group-ings, is the development of intentional groups. This evolutionary tracing makes clear that while communities (hu-man groupings) are constant human realities, the dynamics and processes of such groupings have been changing over time. Today the evolution of "born into" groups is moving toward more of an interdependent world-community. Rather than village or nation, the world itself is coming to be viewed as a single worldwide community in which we all are members. The obvious interrelatedness of world peace, world hunger, global economy, and so forth is an indicator that, as members of the planet earth, we share a common destiny. The devel-opment of intentional groups also illustrates the importance of shared pur-pose which brings individuals together and provides them with a sense of membership and connectedness. Changes in Religious Life Community Since Vatican II During the last twenty years, religious community has gone through many changes. One of the greatest impediments in the struggle to expe-rience true community, perhaps, is an obsession with local living as the focal point of community. In order to be free to look at community in terms of creative options, there is need to take another look at local liv-ing- what it can or cannot do now. In the past there seemed to be three factors that enabled local living situations to provide a strong sense of community: (I) Group living for many was an efficient way to support ministry. (2) It provided for most of the basic needs of the members, for example, physical (food, cloth-ing, shelter), relational (acceptance, support, companionship), spiritual (common prayer, liturgy, retreat day). (3) It gave each member a sense Hope for Community of relatedness and a strong sense of belonging due to commonly shared experiences and a clearly defined authority/obedience structure. At pre-sent these factors no longer seem operative in the same way and for the following reasons: (1) Because of increasing diversity in ministry, de-creasing involvement in corporate apostolates, and larger geographical distances, local community living is not always the most efficient arrange-ment to support ministry. More and more religious are living alone, in small groups, and with other congregations. (2) It can no longer be as-sumed that local living can adequately meet individuals' basic needs. This is due in part to an increasing diversity of lifestyles, prayer prefer-ences, work schedules, and so forth. In addition, increasing numbers of religious have discovered personally enriching relational and spiritual re-sources and experiences outside local living and even congregational life. (3) The experience of local living no longer automatically guarantees a sense of belonging/relatedness/membership. This is due, at least in part, to the decrease of commonly shared experiences and the minimizing of authority/obedience structures. In fact, for some the experience of local living has become alienating. Trying to force it seems only to make things worse. What then can people in a local living situation realistically do in terms of (I) finding support for ministry, (2) basic need satisfaction, and (3) nurturing a sense of belonging/relatedness/membership? Would it not seem to call for a change in expectations of what local living can pro-vide? In terms of finding support for ministry, might this not be more re-alistically supplemented by others with whom one is involved in the same or similar ministries both inside and outside the congregation? In terms of basic need-satisfaction: (a) Concerning physical needs, those who do live together must have some minimal compatibility; for example, as to what constitutes simplicity of lifestyle. (b) Concerning relational needs, the degree of required compatibility will depend on the degree of relationship expected. It may not be valid to expect intimacy (innermost, confidential, close relationship) or friendship (warmth, depth of feeling, affection). But it does seem valid for religious living together to expect a sense of companionship (living on good terms with one an-other). (c) Concerning spiritual needs, there must be moderate compati-bility in gathering for common prayer and basic respect for individual expressions of spirituality. As with relational needs, one cannot expect every local living situation to provide opportunities for deeper, more af-fective forms of prayer; for example, personal faith-sharing. 522 / Review for Religious, July-August 1988 In terms of membership (belonging/relatedness), living together does not automatically yield a sense of belonging. Reasons for living together tend to occur more on the basis of ministry or, in some instances, on the basis of personal preference. It may be that the experience of member-ship is not dependent on living together or daily presence. Perhaps more significant, yet less frequent, coming together may be more conducive to a sense of belonging in religious life today and in the future. But there is a need for some kind of congregational structures through which mem-bers can experience belonging to the whole. Belonging in community goes beyond socializing, meeting, living, and finding comfort with one another. Community is primarily the re-sult of bondedness around a common mission. This mission is some as-pect of Christ's mission--proclaiming the kingdom of God, according to the charism of a particular congregation. Community, in this perspec-tive, means belonging to a group that continues to call members to more, to stretch, to sacrifice, to move beyond themselves. It means going more deeply into that core relationship of commitment and belonging, of be-ing able to share, support, and challenge each other at that level. It means looking beyond individual development to group development. The time may have come to make more qualitative, attitudinal as well as structural changes in order that members can identify and experience what com-munity could/should be about. Today, looking at the communal dimen-sion of our lives, we would suggest that mission can guide us in identi-fying how religious can come together so as to have a matrix from which to be sent out to serve. Religious need to feel, sense, experience mem-bership in their congregations and exercise it in interdependent (rather than dependent or independent) fashion. Psychological Development Accompanying Changes Since Vatican II As already indicated, the initial changes that followed Vatican II were primarily external adaptations; for example, changes in dress, time, and form of prayer. Still these external adaptations opened the door to more significant changes. Soon efforts moved beyond the adaptation of externals to more substantive issues of renewal. This appears to have oc-curred in three general phases which can be viewed also as stages of matu-ration. The first phase consisted of a search for congregational identity (identity statements). Contrary to earlier practices, at this phase there was an attempt to engage the participation of the entire membership. This so-licitation of individual opinions helped catalyze the disassembling of re-ligious congregations as collective entities and evoked movement toward individuality on the part of members. Hope for Community / 523 At the second phase, there were many attempts to foster personal shar-ing (for example, house meetings, prayer groups, and small-group liv-ing) and the greater development of interpersonal relationships. Although this search for intimacy took place within the local living situation and in the workplace, both in and outside the congregation, the emphasis was primarily a within-the-congregation experience. In the third phase, attention turned to writing "mission statements." During this period energies were directed more externally with greater emphasis on ministry and service to others outside the congregation. The changes which occurred in these three phases were much more significant than the external adaptations mentioned earlier. These three phases in religious life are not unlike Erikson's fifth, sixth, and seventh stages of human growth and development: Identity Formation (in ado-lescence); Intimacy (in young adulthood); and Generativity (care and serv-ice of others in adulthood).3 Viewed in this perspective, the movement of individuals and congregations through these three phases can be seen/ understood in terms of maturation. For many religious this was a neces-sary maturing process which challenged them to greater personal growth and increasing individuality. This process of maturation enabled great numbers of religious to move from earlier patterns of passivity, compli-ance, and dependency towards becoming more active, assertive, and in-dependent. Each moved through this process along her/his own path, which was appropriate because the task was increasing individuality. But the movement towards active, assertive, and independent living only paved the way for additional movement and further change. Now many religious seem stuck, stagnant, experiencing, if you will, a "stalled generativity." True generativity demands that religious con-tinue to mature and become interactive, resonant, and interdependent. But such movement cannot be executed alone. In order to make this next step, religious will need a renewed sense and experience of co~nmunity. Present Inadequacy of Local Community Living We would contend that community, as we have known it, is no longer adequate because it has been based too largely on local living. Lo-cal community living, for many, no longer has the capacity as a struc-ture to provide members with a sense of community. Whether one's liv-ing situation is positive, neutral, or negative, there remains among many religious women and men a lack of connectedness to a group which at present can challenge, inspire, provide a vision significant enough to con-tain the religious commitment of one's life. It is becoming clearer that local living situations can more appropriately address the daily basic 524 / Review for Religious, July-August 1988 needs of religious members, but that they are inadequate in providing the context for their life commitment. In other words, community member-ship/ connectedness comes primarily from a sense of belonging to the larger whole. Alvin Toffler in projecting community for the future says it well: "Community is more than emotionally satisfying bonds. It re-quires strong ties between the individual and the organization. Commu-nity is absent because there is little sense of shared mission.' ,4 He con-nects the absence/loss of a sense of community with the lack of a shared sense of mission. So what can be done? How can religious meet their needs? Find sup-port for ministry? Reestablish bonds of belonging (membership)? Rather than problem-solve, as has often been done in the past, by focusing on how to "fix" local living, perhaps there is a need to step back and look at the goal of community as described earlier. Again, the purpose and path for all Christians is the kingdom of God as disciples of Jesus. Many have moved from dependence to independence and now need to move towards greater interdependence. In short, what we are suggesting is not so much structural change as a shift in perspective which can enable in-dividuals and groups to see community primarily in service of the King-dom. This, in turn, requires interdependent relating, both in order to pur-sue the group's mission and to meet the needs of members. Next Step: "Upper Room" Experiences In order to experience better a sense of membership/connectedness to the larger whole, religious must gather to profess their common be-lief in the Risen Lord. Such was the gathering of the disciples in the up-per room (Acts 2). Here we find: a coming together in fellowship; as dis-ciples (men and women); in confusion, fear, and uncertainty; united in their memory of and belief in the Risen Christ and his promise of the Spirit; gathered in prayerful support of one another; and open to the power of the Spirit who comes as gift, creates them anew, and unifies and empowers them with a passion for continuing Christ's mission-- proclaiming the kingdom of God. Perhaps what religious communities need today is a quest for simi-lar "upper room" experiences in which members can gather for prayer, reflection, celebration, and support. Conditions for "Upper Room" Experiences The kind of experiences we are suggesting basicallyrequires events at which members gather not just to attend, but to participate in local, regional, and congregational events for significant exchanges around mis-sion and the means for pursuing it. Not only is the topic of mission ira- Hope for Community/525 portant, but so also is the process of gathering. It, too, should mirror the Kingdom. This calls for approaches that will enable people to pray/reflect/ interact in such a way that mutual experiences can become disclosures of God's actions and invitations to a further "uncovering" of the King-dom. This implies sharing prayer at deeper levels, prayer proceeding from the very experiences of life and ministry in this incarnational King-dom. It also calls for celebrations of life together--its joys and sorrows, successes and failures, hopes and fears. In short, what is reflected upon, prayed from, and celebrated needs primarily to relate to the larger per-spective of the kingdom of God. Common community events that already provide such opportunities include: renewal/retreat programs, convocations, chapters, regional meet-ings, professions, jubilees, funerals, missioning ceremonies, and litur-gical and paraliturgical services commemorating special feasts and events. Perhaps even committee meetings have Kingdom potential! In ad-dition, there are larger ecclesial, ecumenical, and civic events to which religious groups could bring and find Kingdom perspectives. These perspectives hopefully can point to attitudes, dispositions, val-ues for preferable futures that include: a passion for the Kingdom per-meating not just the matter covered, but also the manner of the sharing (with reverent honesty); a spirit of sacrifice and compromise that allows people to let go of fixed positions (not of principle or conviction how-ever!) that might impede plausible steps for now (discernment is a mat-ter of when as well as what!); a determination to love each other until all embrace the same truth; a hunger for justice and peace tempered by compassion; a profound respect for freedom with accountability; a per-sistent quest of unity while preserving diversity. "Upper Room" Dynamics Some dynamics for gatherings that might further the Kingdom would include: (I) commonly accepted agenda that concern significant issues; (2) "contemplative listening" that would value periods of silence and listening with the heart; (3) sincere reverence for the opinions and espe-cially for the experience of others; (4) sensitive sharing that helps per-sons speak the truth in love with the authority of their own experience, yet with a certain tentativeness and humility; (5) seeking to build con-sensus rather than deciding by vote, which tends to create division be-tween "winners" and "losers." Obstacles to "Upper Room" Experiences There are, of course, obstacles to such "upper room" experiences. 526 / Review for Religious, July-August 1988 Most seriously obstructive to any effbrt towards greater interdependence in community is a certain immobility resulting from a loss of belief the mission and of hope in the future of community. Unfortunately there are those who have become victims of the inevitability of probable fu-tures and who are unable or unwilling to live into the Paschal Mystery in present diminishments as the prelude to new life. There are lesser resistances of varying degrees. On the one hand, there are some who desire to restore past forms of community life rather than to renew them. Those inclined this way tend to depend on others (usually in authority) to tell them how. These are often angry, depressed, apathetic, or passively aggressive in resisting change. On the other hand, there are those who have opted for more independent styles of living and working and who .are reluctant to forgo individual paths or alternate groups which have claimed prior allegiance of membership. Many of these not only are frustrated, but have become increasingly more alien-ated and indifferent to the community; some have a pervasive resistance to the accountability true interdependence requires. Then, of course, there are obstacles from the logistics of coming to-gether- with considerations of distance, expense, ministerial commit-ments, depletion of energy, and so forth. A formidable deterrent also is the memory of poor past experiences at meetings that have not only fallen short, but have also been destructive, of "upper room" experi-ences. Signs of Hope for the Future In seeking signs of hope for the future of intentional faith communi-ties, we would point to some significant developments that perhaps fall within the range of probable futures. Some are occurring outside religious life as such and even beyond the confines of the Roman Catholic Church. In general, there is a grow-ing consciousness of and desire for the "global village" especially among those committed to nuclear deterrence and ecological balance. Common causes of justice and peace (kingdom of God among us) have brought together various religious groups into organizations like the In-terfaith Center for Corporate Responsibility. What seems to be a wide-spread quest for deeper interiority (kingdom of God within us) has stimu-lated ecumenical attempts to nurture prayer and to train spiritual di-rectors; for example, Shalem Institute for Spiritual Formation, in Wash-ington, D.C. A particularly striking phenomenon is the emergence of "new com-munities" like Taiz6 and L'Arche which bear some common character- Hope for CommuniO, / fi27 istics including: inspiration from existing spiritual traditions; the follow-ing of Christ as proposed by the Gospel; equality among the members as regards sex, state in life, and ministry; ecumenical membership with-out loss of confessional identity; cordial relations with Church authori-ties; a place for couples and children; a strong sense of presence among others; a readiness to adapt to changing situations; commitment to com-munity linked to commitment to each person's ministry; decisions by dis-cernment and shared responsibility; gradual movement towards perma-nent commitment with room for temporary association; a nonjudgmen-tal spirit; varying degrees of involvement in community; and a spirit of hospitality.5 Some developments are occurring within religious life itself. Evi-dences of these are intercongregational endeavors on a national scale like the LCWR (Leadership Conference of Women Religious), the CMSM (Conference of Major Superiors of Religious Men), and Network. Lo-cally and regionally there are examples of collaboration like intercom-munity novitiate programs and union theological schools. Along less formal lines, intercommunity and even interdenomina-tiona~ support groups are emerging among people involved in ministries like spiritual formation and spiritual direction. Within congregations themselves, internal support groups (of mem-bers from different local communities) seem to be increasing, as do pro-grams of lay affiliation and the utilization of lay volunteers. Conclusion The future belongs to those who dare to hope and who are willing to commit themselves to help shape it. Some questions that members of religious communities might ask themselves in fashioning such a future are: To what extent is our life together focused on the Kingdom? How can our gatherings be more like "upper room" experiences? What atti-tudes/ behaviors/dynamics do we need to make them so? What obstacles hinder it? What signs do we see (inside or outside the congregation) of the Kingdom being uncovered? Where do members feel nudges towards further corporate transformation (conversion) in moving in the direction of a greater Kingdom-orientation? The concluding lines of Lillian Smith's Journey6 articulate some questions perhaps pertinent for those who would help shape the preferable futures of community life: A century from now, what shall be said of our journey in these times? And who shall the shapers have been'? . . . Who shall have shaped the future more? The hopeful dreamers who were strong enough to suffer 528 / Review for Religious, July-August 1988 for the dream? Or the fearful pessimists who were convinced that dream-ing and hope are for sleepers only, not for those awake to the age? A century from now, shall hope and humor been strong enough to enable living with unanswerable questions? Or shall the pain that a tran-sitional age necessarily brings have caused a retreat to old answers that no longer acknowledge new questions'? A century from now, we shall have indeed journeyed . . . backward or forward. Direction can no longer be given by circumstance; real journeyers know that the direction is always chosen by those who make the journey. Who shall choose the direction? ¯ . . So the question is still the same . A century from now, what shall be said of our human journey in these times? And who shall the shapers have been? NOTES ~ R. P. McBrien, Catholicism (Minneapolis: Winston, 1980), p. 907. 2 p. Teilhard de Chardin, Hymn of the Universe (New York: Harper and Row, 1961), p. 93. 3 E. H. Erikson, Identity: Youth attd Crisis (New York: Norton, 1968), pp. 128- 139. 4 See A. Toffler, The Third Wave (New York: William Morrow & Co., 1980), p. 384. 5 New Beginnings (Reprint from Bulletin 92, Pro mundi vita, spring 1983; Washing-ton, D.C.: Religious Formation Conference). 6 Lillian Smith, The Journey (New York: Norton, 1954). Finding Prayer in Action John R. Welsh, S.J. After a considerable career in high-school work in the South, Father Welsh became a pastor in New Orleans and then in Brazil, where he has also given retreats and par-ish missions. At present he is the director of the Apostleship of Prayer for the arch-diocese of S~.o Paulo. He may be addressed at Patio do Col~gio, 84:01016 S~o Paulo, S.P.; Brazil. The most abiding challenge to those who direct the prayer life of people in "active" apostolates or engaged in pastoral activity has to be that of indicating the relevance of prayer within the context of apostolic action. "Relevance" may not be the most apt word to denote that vague, haunt-ing feeling that somehow the period of my formal prayer ought to "say something" or "bear upon" all the rest of my day, devoted to activity. I use "relevance" rather to connote through an association of images, instead of trying to define precisely what we all sense: that prayer and action, certainly as an ideal, are conjoined. On the other hand, in offering these reflections of a method for con-sciously uniting our activity with our prayer, I prefer to use the language of precision and definition. Supposing agreement that in day-to-day prac-tice we rarely advert to definitions and hardly at all do so with any pre-cision, I hope in what follows to awaken in readers a sense that "I'm already doing that"; then, through some precision, to help them to at-tend more reflectively on its advantages in prayer-action dynamics. In other words, this article has no pretensions of describing a brand-new method, but only of setting out in a descriptive way the interaction or relevance of prayer and apostolate. Circular Interaction The interaction may be imagined as circular, starting with (a) prayer, 529 530 / Review for Religious, July-August 1988 (b) going on rounds of activities, and (c) closing the day with reflection. True, these three "instants" are well known and practiced widely. What makes of them a dynamic is the interconnection, the uniting, of each "in-stant" with the others and thus a closing of the circuit, so to speak. It is on the value of this "fitting together" of prayer-action-reflection that I am focusing. (a) The "prayer" I speak of is simply the time of formal prayer at the start of the day, the morning meditation or set of prayers or readings which are often done in common, either as preparation for the Eucharist or within the Liturgy of the Hours. It comprises both "hearing the word of the Lord" and "pondering on it in one's heart"; listening to the Lord and responding as that word motivates and arouses sentiments in my heart. As a simple illustration, I fix attention in morning prayer on a chal-ice on the altar as a symbol of my daily offering to Christ in union with the Holy Sacrifice offered "from the rising to the set of the sun." (b) "Activities" include all the occupations of the day, be they study, raising children, teaching, nursing, directing, counseling, travel-ing, attending planning sessions, doing business, or keeping house. Here it is vital that the sentiments evoked in prayer "overflow" and stream into the kind of person who is performing the tasks of the day. To put it another way, the one who prayed earlier should be saturated in the af-fectivity or the spirit that the prayer stimulated and in this spirit continue thinking, feeling, and deciding; and, of course, he or she should act and judge and treat others in that same spirit. Continuing the illustration above (the chalice on the altar), I set out for a meeting on the other side of my vast city, choosing the wrong bus, missing the interurban train, and arriving long after the appointed time, only to discover that I have come to a parish with the same name as another in the same sector and that the.meeting, now concluding, is at the other parish, a good two miles distant. Staying where I have arrived, I visit the staff of a recreational program for children, which is modeled on a type common throughout the city. Though frustrated, I sense I have made an important contact for my work, one more useful perhaps than the meeting I missed. (c) The "reflection" at the close of the day may come in many forms: examination of conscience, recitation of Evening Hour, commu-nity night prayers, an evening Mass, or a private review of the day. In this moment one passes in review the significant moments of the day's activities, letting what is "significant" come to the fore spontaneously: an image deeply impressed, a personality encountered, a conversation whose very overtones I recall, or the salient emotional tone of the day, Finding Prayer in Action ! 531 such as anguish, euphoria, anger, frustration, or quiet satisfaction in un-folding events. Reverting to the illustration I have been using: late at night I look back on my day. Th~ sentiments of frustration tinged with resentment somehow evoke the Lord's challenging words to the two "sons of thunder": "Can you drink the chalice that I will drink?" And I think, this is the chalice I saw on the altar when I prayed my daily of-fering, but through the day's events now it is a chalice of frustration and incomprehension, like the one Jesus chose in union with the Father's will. Now I have, in deed and in fact, just such a chalice to complete the offering I made to the Father through this morning's words of offer-ing. Visit to a Bairro and Back Coincidentally, on the very day I was planning what to say in a con-ference on "prayer and action" to lay ministers of an impoverished com-munity on the outskirts of an important urban center in northwest Bra-zil, the events I recount below took place. My day began with a reflection on the situation of the great majority of families living in this bairro spread out all over this dry, unproduc-tive area, whose only "in