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Issue 61.1 of the Review for Religious, 2002. ; ,2002 VOLUME 61 NUMBER'1 Review for Religious helps people respond and be faitlsful to God's universal call to tsoliness by making available to them the spiritual legades tbat flow from the cbarisms of Catholic consecrated life. Review for Religious (ISSN 0034-639X) is published bimonthly at Saint Louis University by the Jesuits of the Missouri Province. Editorial Office: 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, Missouri 63108-3393 Telephone: 314-977-7363 ° Fax: 314-977-7362 E-Mail: review@slu.edu ¯ Web site: www.reviewforreligious.org Manuscripts, books for review, and correspondence with the editor: Review for Religious ¯ 3601 Lindell Boulevard ¯ St. Louis, MO 63108-3393 Correspondence about the Canonical Counsel department: Elizabeth McDonough OP Mount St. Mary's Seminary; Emmitsburg, Maryland 21727 POSTMASTER Send address changes to Review for Religious ° P.O. Box 6070 ¯ Duluth, MN 55806. Periodical postage paid at St. Louis, Missouri, and additional mailing offices. See inside back cover for information on subscription rates. ©2002 Review for Religious Permission is herewith granted to copy any material (articles, poems, reviews) contained in this issue of Review for Religious for personal or internal use, or for the personal or internal use of specific library clients within the limits outlined in Sections 107 and/or 108 of the United States Copyright Law. All copies made under this permission must bear notice of the source, date, and copyright owner on the first page. This permission is NOT extended to copying for commercial distribu-tion, advertising, institutional promotion, or for the creation of new collective works or anthologies. Such permission will only be consi~tered on written application to the Editor, Review for Religious. .for religious LIVING OUR CATHOLIC LEGACIES Editor Associate Editors Canonical Counsel Editor Editorial Staff Advisot7 Board David L. Fleming SJ Clare Boehmer ASC Philip C. Fischer SJ Elizabeth McDonough OP Mary Ann Foppe Tracy Gramm Judy Sharp Jame~ and Joan Felling Adrian Gaudin SC Sr. Raymohd Marie Gerard FSP Eugene Hen,sell OSB Ernest E. Larkin OCarm Bishop Carlos A. Sevilla sJ Miriam D. Ukeriti~ CSJ JANUARY FEBRUARY 2002 VOLUME 61 NUMBER 1 contents 6 religious culture Teresa: Story Theologian and Transforzner of Culture Mary Frohlich HM provides a different lens for reading The Book of Her Foundations by Teresa of Avila in order to find some of Teresa's most profound teaching about the potential fruits of the contemplative life. 23 Instilling Christian/Religious Culture: Instinct and Connaturality Nihal Abeyasingha CSSR envisages a rationally planned and directed program for the transmission of the "subculture" of religious life and the "culture" of the Christian life to new entrants. 39 Conversion: A Summons from the Word of God 51 Kathleen McMpin RSM explores how the word of God comes to us through daily life experiences, calling us to an ongoing conversion that leads to mercy as justice. Seminary Formation and Lonergan's Conversion Theory Steve Wlusek uses Bernard Lonergan's theory of conversions to illuminate personal development in seminary formation. Review for Religious 57 moral insight The Workers in the Vineyard: Insights for the Moral Life Patricia Ann Lamoureux and Paul Zilonka CP reflect on one Gospel parable as an example of how to develop moral theology in accordance with biblical vision. 70 Creative Response to Racism Mary Alice Chineworth OSP shares her experiences of racism within the religious-life context. adaptive prayer 75 Lectio Divina: A Means to Wholeness Mary Ren~e Nienaber SND reviews the six parts that make up the practice of lectio divina, which fosters a spiritual-life wholeness. 84 St. Albert's Method: 19th-Annotation Retreats at Parishes and Schools Hank Hilton SJ shares an adaptation of the retreat method according to the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius for larger group settings in a parish or school situation. departments 4 Prisms 97 Canonical Counsel: Transfer 104 Book Reviews January-February 2002 prisms ¯ I .l.s we enter into the second year of this new millennium, the world presents us with a different face. The September 11, 2001, events that took place in the United States brought about a coop-erative stance of many of the world's nations against a terrorism grown to huge and horrendous proportions. Many agree in perceiving that terrorism breeds in behav-iors that denigrate others, in poverty that dehumanizes, and in politics that canonizes a status quo. Throughout history, there have been wars of religion, but today peo-ple question whether any war can be valued as religious or justified as just. No one could have suspected that the call which Pope John Paul II made only a year ago in his apostolic letter "At the Beginning of the New Millennium" would ring out with even greater challenge. The pope signaled our approach to this new age in the gospel words of Jesus "duc in altum," "put out into the deep" (Lk 5:4). He saw the new millennium as a vast ocean onto which the world's peoples were setting sail. We needed to hear God's call to set forth--fearlessly--because we often prefer to live with what is known, the past and the pre-sent. It is truly difficult, and sometimes fearful, to move into a future unknown and uncontrollable. Beyond our imagining, this is where we find ourselves as we begin the new year. John Paul II talked about a new face of Christ with which we refamiliarized ourselves as we entered into this Review for Religqous new millennium--a face that we had been contemplating in three preparatory years. When the pope had us focus on the face of Jesus in sorrow, we little realized that we would see that face in image after image during the final months of this past year. Where the pope turned our attention also to the face of Jesus who is risen, we found many weary faces of hope and help that became a part of our international drama. Beyond all our imaginings, we have been given a Pauline conversion moment in seeing Christ. This face arouses no fear, but rather leads us only to new ways of living, loving, and working. The pope challenged all Christians to be, and so to act as, "agents of communion." Being agents of communion is a necessary identity of being Christian in this age calling for a new evange-lizatiofi. The continuing public cooperation of many leaders of the various world religious traditions, especially Christian, Jewish, and Muslim, concretizes for us what an agent of communion attempts. Never have Jesus' directions about praying for our ene-mies and for those who do us wrong been writ so large and clear on the screen of our consciousness. Religious services, both in the public forum and in the neighborhood .church, have incarnated Jesus' injunction and continue to feed personal ways of praying. Humanitarian efforts to help the Afghan people in the midst of a wartime effort against their nation's ruling power are also an action of agents of communion. If images played out so vividly on the world stage call forth such prayer and action, we cannot fail to examine ourselves anew in our own little world of prayer and relationships. How does our prayer need to be enlarged beyond our narrow focusing on self, those dear to us, and our local concerns for well-being? What are the deeds we do that bring about a greater sense of community, of people working together, of a reaching out to the forgotten and neglected? Yes, the face of our world has changed, we say. But does this new face not give us the opportunity to see the face of Christ more clearly and to act, like Christ, as agents of communion? The Greek word kairos signified not ordinary measurement of time (chronos) but rather the special time of encounter with God. This kairos moment challenges us to set out fearlessly into the deep, "duc in altunl. " David L. Fleming SJ January-February 2002 MARY FROHLICH Teresa: Story Theologian and Transformer of Culture Even among fans of Teresa of Avila, comparatively few have read The Book of Her Foundations. Why has Foundations been comparatively neglected in relation to Teresa's other works? Probably because it has a rather different character. Although Teresa can never be accused of being a "systematic thinker," her other three books (the Book of Her Life, the Way of Perfection, and the Interior Castle) offer more or less organic overviews of contemplative life and development. If one looks for the same in the Foundations, one is likely at first to be disappointed. Here, however, I will pro-pose that, by reading with a different lens, we may find in this book some of Teresa's most profound teaching about the potential fruits of the contempla-tive life. ¯ Through the lens I experiment with here, Teresa can be seen as what Terrence Tilley calls a "story the-ologian." In 1972, when Teresa was named one of the first two female doctors of the church, the question arose how someone who was clearly not a systematic theologian, but rather an image-smith and a story- Mary Frohlich HM is associate professor of spirituality at Chicago Theological Union; 5401 South Cornell Avenue; Chicago, Illinois 60615. Review for Religi'ous teller, could attain this title. Since that time, awareness has grown that, in fact, stories and images are at the grass roots of all the theology that has ever been created and communicated. The example par excellence of "story theology" is the Bible. In his book Story Theology, Tilley proposes that theology in this genre has three major tasks: (1) to tell new and flesh stories which show a new era what the key Christian words mean, (2) to transform creatively the narratives handed down by tradi-tion, and (3) to proclaim and manifest the Good News in a way that speaks to and transforms the heart of a culture) In this article I explore Teresa's Foundations as an example of story the-ology that has a remarkable capacity to transform the heart of her culture and, as a classic, all cultures. The Text and Its Context The thirty-one chapters of the Foundations recount, in vary-ing degrees of detail, the circumstances and efforts pertaining to the founding of seventeen Discalced Carmelite monasteries. The text consists mainly of stories--some humorous, some poignant, some edifying, some pretty incredible--interspersed with shorter or longer asides of sage advice for her nuns and especially for her prioresses. Other features include several hagiographical accounts of the remarkable lives and deeds of individual nuns, friars, and benefactors and, of course, a good deal of autobiographical information about Teresa's attractions, friendships, physical sufferings, and moods. In short, the Foundations is decidedly not an organic presentation of spiritual principles, but rather more of a "down and dirty" chronicle of what happens when one tries to do God's work in this raucous and resistant "real world" in which we live. And that, I think, is why at this time in my life I am so strongly drawn to the Foundations. It is certainly not because I am any less interested in the interior life, but because I am now even more interested in what difference it makes. By that I do not mean taking a utilitarian approach to prayer, as if it has no value unless one can immediately see its fruits. I mean something more like what Teresa says at the end of the Interior Castle (VII.4.6): "This is the reason for prayer, my daughters, the pur-pose of this spiritual marriage: the birth always of good works, January-February 2002 Frohlich ¯ Teresa: Story Theologian The Foundations is the "first fruit" (literarily speaking) of Teresa's spiritual marriage. good works." In the Foundations we see what that statement meant, concretely, in Teresa's own life. Like the apostles in Acts, Teresa in the Foundations is a woman of mission, sent forth into the hurly-burly of the real world to Fooperate with the Holy Spirit in the construction of multiple "dwelling places of God," places that are not only interior but also physical and social and political, places in which deep interiority can find a home and can continue to be propagated far and wide. In view of this, it is helpful to note where the writing of the Foundations occurred in Teresa's life. Teresa was forty-seven years old when, in 1562, she made her first Discalced founda-tion at St. Joseph's in Avila. Over the next four years, she wrote her Life and the Way of Perfection and ¯ then began the whirlwind of founding activity that would continue until the end of her life. Nine new Discalced monasteries had already been established by the time Teresa received the grace of spiritual marriage on 18 November 1572 at age fifty-seven. It was about nine months after this breakthrough spiritual event that she began to write The Book of Her Foundations. Work on this text con-tinued intermittently until November 1576, by which time she had completed twenty-seven chapters and made four more foundations. Between June 1577 and November, right in the midst of one of the most intense periods of squabbling and harassment related to her reforming activity, she wrote the entire text of the Interior Castle. Finally, between 1580 and 1582, she made four more foundations and added their stories to the text of the Foundations. Chapter 31 and the epilogue were completed only a few months before her death on 4 October 1582 at age sixty-seven. Two things are interesting to note here. One is that this book, the Foundations, is the "first fruit" (literarily speaking) of Teresa's spiritual marriage. The other is that the first and last parts of the Foundations form a kind of sandwich around the Interior Castle. These two books are closely related to each other. Together--not separately--they are the fully developed fruit of -o°-j Teresa's human and spiritual maturity. And so, before delving Review for Religqous more deeply into the Foundations, let us review what Teresa says about the spiritual marriage in the Interior Castle. Spiritual Marriage: At One with God, Sell and World In the Seventh Dwelling Places of the Interior Castle, Teresa teaches that the soul that receives the culminating grace of the spiritual marriage is brought fully into its own center, where God alone dwells. Like a river that has flowed into the ocean, the soul now is completely and unchangeably at one with God. This differs from earlier stages of union and rapture in that here the faculties are not lost. That is, one retains the ability to understand what is happening and to carry on external activities even while in this form of union. This latter is especially impor-tant: Teresa repeatedly emphasizes that the purpose of the spir-itual marriage is not rest and delight, but to be joined to the sufferings of Christ and to spend oneself on behalf of souls. She describes the typical condition of such a person as consisting of deep interior peace while enduring extremes of exterior per-secution, struggle, and hard work for the sake of the gospel. When we put the stories told in the Foundations next to this, Teresa's astute but rather decontextualized description of spir-itual marriage takes on life. The stories reveal to us how Teresa's transformed interior self was united not only with God, but also in a transformative way with the physical, social, cultural, and ecclesial world in which she lived. In other words, the stories both depict and enact the way persons in spiritual marriage gain the capacity to transform their cultural world at its heart. Most obviously, the stories about Teresa herself depict a union of the divine and human, played out in this feisty, witty, and indomitable woman's adventures in living her gospel mission amidst the gritty reality of business affairs, human squabbles, stress, and struggle that looks a lot like what we all deal with in our day-to-day lives. But it is in Teresa's minibiographies of holy Christians--most of them women--that she expresses most fascinatingly for the heart of her culture the explosive truth of the gospel. It is by a deep reading of these stories that we may begin to get a glimpse of what it means to call Teresa a "story theologian and transformer of culture." January-February 2002 Froblicls ¯ Teresa: Story Theologian A "Little Story": The Testimony of a Female Infant Let us listen, then, to Teresa's stoW about Dofia Teresa de Layz, founding benefactress of the monastery at Mba de Tormes. As the fifth daughter of parents who desperately wanted a son, she was such a disappointment to them that--although they took care to have her baptized at once--they left her alone all day "as if she mattered little to them." The stoW continues: When at nightfall a woman came who was taking care of the baby and found out what was going on, she has-tened to see if the child was dead . Weeping, the woman took the baby into her arms and, complaining of the cruelty, said: "How is it, my daughter, are you not a Christian?" The baby girl lifted her head and answered, "Yes, I am," and spoke no more until reach-ing that age at which all children begin to speak. (20.4)2 At first glance we may find this story a bit. incredible. It is what Alex Garcfa-Rivera, in his recent book about the mulatto saint Martin de Porres, calls a "little story.''3 While "big stories" aim to speak universal truth and are acclaimed by those belonging to dominant cultures, "little stories" like this give the appearance of just being naive or superstitious tales aimed at the poor and uneducated. For example, many "little stories" about St. Martin de Porres tell of the saint healing animals and speaking with them as if they were human persons. Garcfa-Rivera shows how, despite their lowly appearance, "little stories" like those may actually convey potent gospel messages of the reversal of values. In a culture where those (such as Martin) with Indian or African blood were regarded as "like animals," the stories of him treat-ing animals "like humans" imaged a shocking upending of all-too- common assumptions. Garcfa-Rivera shows how in such popular "little stories" marginalized people not only express their conflicted position within cultural and religious systems of power, but also challenge and reinterpret those systems within a faith context. Tellers of "little stories" are ci'eatively working out painful personal struggles for meaning and identity and at the same time are offering their culture something new and potentially transformative.4 In view of this, there may be a lot more being conveyed by Teresa's "little stow" of the abandoned infant who speaks up Review for Religious for herself than we would see with only a superficial reading. Teresa is graphically expressing what was probably the most painful fact affecting her own struggle for meaning and identity, namely, the extreme devaluing of the female sex within the Spanish culture of that time. This poignant story of child aban-donment impresses readers with the death-dealing consequences of that devaluation more than any bare assertion ever could. There is more, however, in this story. The newborn female child miraculously speaks, testifying that she is a Christian. Teresa expresses deep irony here, for within the cultural mentality of the time it was as incredible for any female to speak in the name of the gospel as it would be if a newborn infant spoke intelligibly. Thus, through her "little story," Teresa artfully but quite potently affirms women's God-given vocation to proclaim the gospel. In fact, she is claiming that females and others who are cultur-ally regarded as valueless may be even more gifted by God than those who have been accorded an approved voice.5 Tellers of "'little stories" are offering their culture something new and potentially transformative. The Challenges of Teresa's World The stow, then, indirectly but powerfully presents a gospel perspective on the sociocultural and historical situation in which Teresa found herself.6 Let us review the characteristics of that situation and the very serious risks it posed for Teresa and her mission. Throughout the 16th century the Spanish Roman Catholic hierarchy was becoming increasingly rigid and con-trolling towards a series of perceived thi'eats to its authority. The first perceived threat was that of "judaizing" tendencies among those whose ancestors had been forced to convert from Judaism to Catholicism in 1492. Teresa came from such a con-verso family, a fact she always had to conceal, but which was probably known or suspected by many of her contemporaries. In this milieu those with Jewish blood were always considered sus-pect, regardless of their personal belief and behavior. Teresa, January-February 2002 Frohlich ¯ Teresa: Story Theologian The pain that led to Teresa's transformative storytelling was the spiritual anguish of one with a soul-hunger for God. therefore, was deeply sensitive to all forms of marginalization. The story of the child unwanted by people but gifted by God is about women, but it is. also a basic gospel message applicable to all who are devalued in human eyes. The second perceived threat of that era was the so-called "Lutherans," a category that expanded to include anyone who appeared to express any lack of respect for the pope, the priesthood, or the sacraments. It is noteworthy that, in the story of the infant Teresa de Layz, Teresa makes a point of saying that she was baptized, thereby depicting the child's amazing testi-mony not as a random outbreak of the supernatural, but asthe miraculous fruit of sacramental initiation. This is an important nuance, and typical of Teresa's careful balance in relation to the concerns of her environment. The third perceived threat of the time was a growing wave of illuminists or alumbrados, who claimed special spiritual author-ity on the basis of their mystical experiences and visions. Many of the alumbrados who were prosecuted by the inquisition were women; in the mentality in Spain at the time, women's assumed inferior intelligence made them particularly susceptible to being seduced by the devil. This pr6blem was exacerbated by the Index of 1559, which made most Spanish-language books on prayer and spirituality unavailable and thus prevented women--very few of whom were trained in Latin--from having access to the technical vocabulary and the theology of the spiritual life. Thus, throughout her life but espe.cially during the peak period of her activities of founding and writing, Teresa faced a huge personal and political challenge. Her culture insisted that no mujercita or "little woman"--particularly one of converso back-ground-- should be teaching others about the spiritual life, let alone doing so on the authority of her own spiritual experiences. In view of this, the.seemingly innocent "little story" of the baby Teresa de Layz speaks volumes to those who can read between Review for Religious the lines. Far from being merely a cute and improbable anec-dote suited to the low intellectual capacities of the mujercitas, it is a subtle and explosive parable aimed directly at the very heart of the antigospel forces that impinged upon Teresa's vocation to live out the full effects of her spiritual marriage. What Fueled Teresa's Imagination? In the story of Teresa de Layz, we see Teresa doing exactly what Terrence Tilley describes as the mandate of "story theol-ogy," namely, creatively telling the gospel story for her own culture. But where did Teresa's creative genius as a "story theologian" come from? Elaine Scarry's book The Body in Pain proposes that the basic motivator of creative imagination is pain? A simple, everyday example is the pinch of hunger, which moves us to creatively find a way around any obstacle that is preventing us from getting food. Several recent feminist inter-preters have taken a similar perspective on Teresa, proposing that her creative activity as writer and foundress was primarily a way of subverting the painful limitations imposed on her by her status as a woman in a repressive patriarchal milieu.8 There is an important element of truth here, yet it only goes halfway. The pain that led to Teresa's transformative sto-rytelling was not only social and cultural; it was the spiritual anguish of one with a soul-hunger for God. Above all, Teresa felt herself called to pursue the life of mystical union in its fullness, and to cooperate with God in creating the best possible condi-tions and guidance for others to do the same.9 Yet, as we have seen, there were many serious cultural obstacles to her doing this. She contended, then, with two sources of pain: both the interior rending that resulted from her hurtling into God and the exterior conflict stirred up by her determined efforts to live out her call to be a woman of God, a preacher of the gospel, and a foundress. Let us look at another story to see bow Teresa wrestled creatively and imaginatively with these inner and outer conflicts. "Uppity Women": Catalina Godlnez and Teresa This is Teresa's account of the sudden conversion of Catalina ~1~3~ .~anuary-February 2002 Froblicb ¯ Teresa: Story Theologian Godfnez, founding benefactress and one of the first to enter the monastery at Beas: [Catalina] had been thinking of a marriage that was being sought for her, which was better than she could have hoped for, and saying to herself: "With what lit-tle my father is content, that I.become connected with an entailed estate; I am thinking of becoming the ori-gin of a new line of descendants." She was not inclined toward marriage, for she considered it demeaning to be subject to someone; nor did she know where this pride came from . The moment she read the inscription [on a nearby crucifix], it seemed to her that, just as sunshine enters a dark room, a light came into her soul by which she understood the truth . Thus she began to despise herself, to have .great desires for penance, which after-ward she put into effect. She at once promised chastity and poverty and wanted to see herself so subject that she would have rejoiced to be carried off then to the land of the Moors and remain there. All of these virtues lasted in her, so that the experience was clearly seen to be a supernatural favor from our Lord. (22.5-6) The story continues on for many pages, recounting an uproar of demons disturbed by Catalina's conversion, then her conflicts with her parents, who refused to give her permission to become a nun, her extreme penances and illnesses, and finally her dra-matic challenge to her relatives and to God that, if she were healed by a certain day, she should be permitted to become a nun. Sure enough, on the appointed day she rose from her bed, ready to assist Teresa in founding the monastery of Beas. Some feminist interpreters have pointed out the fascinat-ing tension he?e between Teresa's delight in portraying Catalina's feisty statement of her desire to "found her own lineage" and not to be subject to anyone and her equal delight in portraying Catalina's conversion to fervent desire for suffering and sub-jection. The dramatic tension between willfulness and obedi-ence continues to play out in the story as Catalina steadfastly refuses to be subject to the wishes of her parents or relatives and then endures years of extreme physical suffering while stub-bornly holding out for fulfillment of her personal vision. It is a Review for Relig4ous great story in itself, and it is a prime illustration of a tension, at the heart of Teresa's story theology, between her culturally sub-versive claim for female authority and her acceptance of abso-lute obedience to God. In the eyes of her culture, Catalina Godfnez was, like Teresa, an "uppity woman." When Catalina dares to say in so many words that she wanted to "found her own lineage" and be sub-ject to no one, one can hardly help hearing Teresa behind her saying, "And look at me! In making these foundations I am actually doing it! I am founding my own female lineage!" Yet, in the next few lines, Teresa successfully dissociates her-self from the "pride" of such a statement as she affirms that God has supernaturally transformed Catalina so that she now desires to be subject to everyone and to be humiliated with Christ cruci-fied. It is as if Teresa is saying, "This is the way my new female lineage will be founded: not in pride, but in humble union with God." While some feminist interpreters have presumed that Teresa's frequent protestations of humility and obedience are largely a smokescreen thrown up to obscure her real goals of female power, my interpretation would be that her commitment to humility and obedience in relation to God was indeed radi-cal. For example, at the heart of all Teresa's stories about her founding activities is the conviction that God is the real founder. She repeatedly says things like "I want our Lord to make known to everyone how in these foundations we creatures have done next to nothing. The Lord directed all by means of such lowly beginnings that only His Majesty could have raised the work to what it now is" (13.7). Although her words about doing "next to nothing" are somewhat hyperbolic, her core conviction is clear: both the initiative and the ultimate success of her found-ing activity come from God. Indeed, it is exactly because she believed her commission for this work came from God that she was willing and able to take such great risks on behalf of estab- At the heart of all Teresa's stories about her founding activities is the conviction that God is the real founder. January-Februa~y 2002 Froblicb * Teresa: Story Theologian lishing the authority and lineage of women. Radical Obedience and the Lineage of Women The next story is one example of these linked commitments to radical obedience and to the spiritual lineage of holy women. In chapter 28 she recounts at great length the story of Dofia Catalina de Cardona,who left her life among the nobility for a hermitage, where she wore coarse cloth, ate only every third day, took the discipline with a heavy chain, and practiced many other harsh austerities and virtuous acts. Later on she suffered greatly in order to found the Discalced friars' monastery at Pastrana. One day Teresa, after Commu'nion in the church there (which was on the site of Dofia Catalina's original hei'mitage), experienced a "suspension." She states: In this suspension, through an intellectual vision, this holy woman appeared in a glorified body and some angels with her. She told me not to grow weary, but that I should strive to go ahead with these foundations. I understood, although she did not indicate this, that she was helping me before God. She also told me something else, but there is no reason to put it here in writing. I was left very much consoled and with a great desire to work hard, and I hope in the goodness of the Lord that with help as good as these prayers of hers I will be able to serve Him in some way. (28.36) In this story Teresa not only explicitly claims the patronage of a holy female spiritual ancestor in her work of founding, but also implicitly affirms what Gillian Ahlgren calls the "visionary epis-temology" that, for at least four centuries before Teresa's time, had been the primary path to spiritual empowerment for women,l° A visionary epistemology asserts that real knowledge of God and real wisdom in relation to the world are conveyed through visionary experience. Throughout the Middle Ages, when women were systematically denied access to theological education and to positions of ecclesial power, the main route by which women could gain religious status and voice was by claim-ing to have visions or locutions in which God communicated directly with them. This was always a dangerous path, subject to suspicion and curtailment from powers that felt threatened. But Review for Religious in Teresa's time it was even more dangerous because of the inten-sive inquisitorial campaign that was being waged against the alumbrados, who claimed special religious experiences. It is quite remarkable that Teresa and her claims to special knowledge through visions not only survived in this atmosphere, but actu-ally thrived. To see how she did it, let us look again at her account of her vision of Dofia Catalina de Cardona. Teresa states, first, that the vision took place immediately after Communion, thus affirming an intrinsic connection between her experience and the church's sacraments. She states, second, that it was an intellectual vision, not an imaginative or bodily one. Although all visions were suspect, those involving less of the sensual component were slightly less so. Over time Teresa became increasingly adept at making this kind of tech-nical distinction, helping to allay the fears of her learned cen-sors. Third, her main emphasis in this story is on the good effects of the vision: it encourages her to dedicate herself even more firmly to serving God and building up the church through making monastic foundations. Gillian Ahlgren notes that, while in her earlier writings Teresa lingers longer over the experien-tial aspects of her visions, in later writings she focuses much more on how to discern their authenticity; and her key test was usually to note their effects)1 Thus we see in this story, written very near the end of Teresa's life, the masterful way in which she tiptoes through the minefields of criticism that could easily have doomed her and her projects. And once again we see how she manages to accom-plish two seemingly contradictory goals at once: reaffirming her humility and obedience to the purposes of God and the church and presenting herself as a uniquely favored female apos-tle and heir to a powerful female spiritual lineage. Troubling and Transforming the Status Quo With hindsight we kntw that, despite her radical and auda-cious vision, Teresa not only succeeded in her life's mission but even became a canonized saint and a doctor of the church. Yet, as the Foundations makes abundantly clear, Teresa's founding activities faced formidable obstacles and often stirred up intense opposition. There is high drama in the stories of Teresa push- January-February 2002 Froblicb ¯ Teresa: Story Theologian ing indomitably forward while bishops and religious superiors balk, wealthy people or town councils demand conditions she cannot accept, the owners of desired houses refuse to negotiate or their tenants refuse to vacate the premises, nuns and friars lose heart or get into squabbles with one another, and even the weather, the roads, and her aging body seem increasingly to conspire against her. In all this, Teresa usually attributes any form of suffering or resistance to the devil's opposition to her "good works." But, as Alex Garcfa-Rivera notes in relation to St. Martin de Porres, stories about troublesome demons always seem to appear exactly at the place where the symbols most cherished by cult-oral and political powers are being challenged. In Teresa's case, as we have seen, both her activity of founding and her written works artfully contested some of the key assumptions of the cultural and ecclesial status quo: namely, that women cannot teach or lead, that knowledge of God must come in an institutionally approved package, and that money, pedigree, and "pure blood" are the determinants of honor. It seems that in her spiritual marriage Teresa's ability to speak troublesomely and transfor-matively to the very heart of her culture came to fullness. "Water for All Our Needs" As a way of summing up the gist of the perspective pre-sented here--and, more importantly, of Teresa's key spiritual insights--let us listen to one more "little story" from the Foundations. Teresa recounts what transpired when, in the newly founded monastery at Medina del Campo, the nuns suffered from lack of good water: When I called some workmen to dig a new [well], they laughed at me as though I were wanting to throw money away. I asked the sisters what they thought. One said that it should be tried, that since our Lord would have to provide someone to bring us water as well as food, it would be cheap.er for His Majesty to give us the well on the grounds of the house and that thus He would not fail to do so. Observing the great faith and determination with which she said it, I became certain. And, contrary to the opinion of the Review for Religious one who understood all about founts and water, I went ahead. And the Lord was pleased that we were able to put in a conduit which provided enough water for our needs, and for drinking, and which we now have. (1.4) Once again, we see the mujercitas, the foolish little women who have nothing but their faith, being justified over those who sup-posedly "understood all about founts and water." But there may be more in this "little story," particularly when we recall the importance of the imagery of water, wells, and founts in each of Teresa's major books.~3 Given my original premise that the Foundations needs to be interpreted as a sort of"first fruit" of Teresa's spiritual marriage and as having a special relation to the Interior Castle, around which it forms a sandwich, I think we need to place Teresa's "little story" of the well next to this text from the Seventh Dwelling Places: For from these divine breasts where it seems God is always sustaining the soul there flow streams of milk bringing comfort to all the people of the castle. It seems the Lord desires that in some manner these oth-ers in the castle may enjoy the great deal the soul is enjoying and that from that full-flowing river, where this tiny fount is swallowed .up, a spurt of that water will sometimes be directed toward the sustenance of those who in corporeal things must serve these two who are wed . For just.as a great gush of water could not reach us if it didn't have a source, as I have said, so it is understood clearly that there is Someone in the interior depths who shoots these arrows and gives life to this life. (VII.2.6)14 This text from the Interior Castle is clearly talking about the mystical life. Teresa mixes several biblical images with long his-tories of use by mystical writers, such as the "divine breasts," "streams of milk," and "arrows." But Teresa's central image for the welling up of God's lif( in our interior depths is, as usual, water. Here she proclaims that the water of mystical union does not simply remain in the center of the soul, but gushes abun-dantly outward to sustain, enrich, and heal the whole bodily and psychological person. Yet I believe we can take the image one step further, especially if we understand the human person as an intrinsically relational and social being. After all, it is only January-February 2002 Froblicb ¯ Teresa: Story Theologian a few pages further on that Teresa makes her well-known affir-mation that the purpose of the spiritual marriage is not simply to rest in delightful interiority, but to share those riches with others through "good works." The "little stow" of the well at Medina del Campo is a very concrete, down-to-earth vignette of how the life of mystical union which it is Teresa's mission to promote bears fruit. Here it is physical water that gushes up because of the nuns' faith, providing abundantly for their bod-ily needs. The "spiritual marriage" is complete: divine and human, mystical and physical, are at one. Yet this reading of the Foundations suggests that the outflow of the spiritual marriage goes even further. The nuns' miracu-lous well is also a public testimony to the presence and activity of God in those whom society regards as mere mujercitas, foolish little women. The water of God that gushes up in the spiritual marriage works to sustain, heal, and transform not only the indi-vidual person, but her whole social and cultural world as well. For a perspective on this that is from a completely different tradition, yet is remarkably consonant with Teresa's spiritual insight, listen to this poetic text fromthe Chinese Tao-te- Ching:ts The highest motive is to be like water. Water is essential to all living things, yet it demands no pay or recognition. Rather it flows humbly to the lowest level. Nothing is weaker than water, yet, for overcoming what is hard and strong, nothing surpasses it. It seems that in The Book of Her Foundations Teresa teaches, through her consummate "stoW theology," that the gift of union with God in the ~piritual marriage indeed makes a person like water. Such a person flows humbly to the lowest level and is rad-ically obedient to the direction of her own and others' thirst for God. In this way she unites herself intimately with the heart of her culture and can ov4rcome that in it which is hard and strong. Notes Terrence W. Tilley, StoO, Tbeolog~ (V~lmington: Michael Glazier, 1985), pp. 11-16. All quotations from the Foundations are from The Collected Works Review for Religious of St. Teresa ofAvila, Vol. 3, trans. Kieran Kavanaugh and Otilio Rodriguez (Washington, D.C.: Institute of Carmelite Studies, 1985). 3 Alex Garcfa-Rivera, St. Ma~-tin de Porres: The "Little Stories" and the Semiotics of Culture (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1995). 4 As several commentators have noted, Teresa's style of rhetoric is "women's language"; that is, not only is it the vernacular instead of Latin, but it is conversational, imagistic, elliptical, and aimed at the general populace rather than an elite. See, for example, Elias R. Rivers, "The Vernacular Mind of St. Teresa," Carmelite Studies 3 (1984). In recent years feminist analyses have revealed how this "women's lan-guage" is far more sophisticated than it first appears; it often functions as a sort of "Trojan horse" strategy that lets Teresa speak in places and ways that would otherwise be closed to her. See especially Alison Weber, Teresa of Avila and the Rhetoric of Femininity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), and Carole Slade, St. Teresa of Avila: Author of a Heroic Life (Berkel.ey: University of California Press, 1995). s See Antonio P~rez-Romero, Subversion and Liberation in the Writings of St. Teresa of Avila (Atlanta: Rodopi, 1996). 6 For an overview of these trends, see Te6fanes Egido, "The HistoriCal Setting of St. Teresa's Life," trans. S. Payne and M. Dodd, Carmelite Studies 1 (1980); also Gillian Ahlgren, Teresa of Avila and the Politics of Sanctity (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1996), especially chap. 1. 7 Elaine Scarry, The Body in Pain: The Maki~zg and Unmaking of the World (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985). 8 See Weber, Slade, Ahlgren, and P~rez-Romero. 9 Among the above commentators, Ahlgren and P~rez-Romero offer an interpretation of Teresa's motives that is similar to my own. 10 Ahlgren, chap. 7. On the tradition of women visionaries, see Elizabeth Alvilda Petroff, Medieval Women's Visionary Literature (New York: Oxford University Press, 1986). 1, See Ahlgren, especially p. 10 I, for discussion of Teresa's devel-oping theology in relation to visions. ,2 Garcfa-Rivera, p. 36. ,3 In the Life, chaps. 11-22, she wrote of the "Four Waters," and in the Way, chaps. 19-21, of the "fount of living water." In the Interior Castle the same imagery appears, most prominently in the First, Fourth and Seventh Dwelling Places. 14 The Collected Works of St. Teresa of Avila, Vol. 2 (Washington, D.C.: Institute of Carmelite Studies, 1980). ,s Having been given this quotation on a prayer card, I consulted several English versions of the Tao-te-Ching without being able to locate this specific translation. I was able to determine, however, that .~anuary-February 2002 Frohlich ¯ Teresa: Story Theologian the first half of the quotation comes from poem 8 and the second half from poem 78. The Beast of Contemplation I walked past someflattened grass behind the house this morning, where an animal had lain in the night, touching a mystery by touching the fringe of the turf where something wild had passed and paused and passed again. What did the animal lying in that place think (or not think) in the otherness of its sojourn there? I ask this, even as I know the wild creature lying behind the house to be none other than myself. This, after all, is the patch of grass where I sprawl under the stars each night, sometimes lost in contemplation, other times in sleep. Them is an animal of God that makes its lair in me, some distance, often,from my mind. It comes as stranger, glimpsed in a vestige of presence, a pressed-smooth swath ofunmowed lawn. I marvel at the wildness of this elusive beast, leaving only the bay of its body at the place where God has passed and paused and passed again. Belden C. Lane Review for Religious NIHAL ABEYASINGHA Instilling Christian/ Religious Culture: Instinct and Connaturality At on the Internet, there is a link to Chimpanzee Cultures Website. Accustomed to speaking of culture as a human creation, one wonders how it might apply to the animal world. In fact, given that there are certain characteristics common to an entire species in the ani-mal world and that there are variants identifiable within the species, there is some evidence that one animal's "discovery" can gradually spread to other animals of the same species) The key words here--common, variants, spread--contain concepts to consider in discussing culture in human societies. The pre-sent article will use those concepts in looking at the culture of religious life. Religious or consecrated life has not been of a single mold through history. Common to it always and everywhere is the following of Christ in accord with one's baptismal commitment. Variants include hermit life and common life, enclosed monas-tic life and mendicant life, institutes of apostolic life and secu-lar institutes. Religious life that sprang up in one set of circumstances has often spread to other circumstances, and today religious life cannot hold itself entirely aloof from the many rapid changes occurring differently all over the world. Nihal Abeyasingha CSSR wrote for us twice in 1999. His address is 454/9 Piachaud Gardens; Peradeniya Road; 20000 Kandy; Sri Lanka. ~-2~ --- 2- January-February 2002 Abeyasingba ¯ Instilling Christian/Religious Culture The present article makes two proposals. First, if there is transmission of a common way of life all through a group and if innovations can be spread within a given species in the animal world, one can envisage a rationally planned and directed pro-gram for transmitting to new entrants the culture of the Christian life and the subculture of religious life. Second, I pro-pose certain "settings" where new entrants might be placed, where their religious instinct and sense of connaturality could be fostered. How Transmit Culture? Culture can be considered as the behaviors, skills, and knowl-edge that you acquire from and share with others of your species, but that differ from the way of life lived by members of your species elsewhere. This culture is neither acquired genetically nor compelled by the environment, but neither can it be taught-- it has to be caught. In odaer words, there is a memory (one could call it "institutional memory") that the older generation of a species embodies and carries. In associating with that genera-tion and experiencing various of its devices, the younger gener-ation comes to share in the culture. These younger members do so not by compulsion, but because that way of doing things is "connatural" to them. They do it because they want to do it. John Henry Newman (1801-1890) suggested "that our most natural mode of reasoning is, not from propositions to propo-sitions, but from things to things, from concrete to concrete, from wholes to wholes.''2 He says that, as regards "the great fun-damental truths of religion, natural and revealed, and as regards the mass of religious men, these truths, doubdess, may be proved and defended by an array of invincible natural arguments, but such is not commonly the method in which those same logical arguments make their way into our minds. The grounds on which we hold the divine origin of the church and the previous truths which are taught us by nature--the being of a God and the immortality of the soul--are felt by most men to be recondite and impalpable, in proportion to their depth and reality.''3 Animals seem to have this concrete kind of "reasoning." Endowed with a natural sense, they learn their "culture" by liv-ing it and doing the things that accord with it. People are born Review for Religious with natural instincts and reason; they learn to be human beings within a culture somewhat as animals do. But, because of their reason and free will, they are not determined by their instincts. Yet--and here we enter the sphere of religion--the human being cannot be satisfied with the material. "Our hearts are made for you, O Lord, and they are restless until they rest in you" are the famous words of Augustine of Hippo (354-430). Religion provides for the restlessness of the heart. Some indi-viduals experience that restlessness more intensely, and often with particular nuances. This leads them to seek rest for their restlessness not only in Christian living within the broad framework of the church, but along a specific way of following Christ closely. This they find instinctively in a par-ticular religious congrega-tion. When asked why they entered this one and not that, they have their own idiosyncratic modes of saying so. But most impor-tant is that they feel at home in the institute and are happy in its life and apostolate. Today's religious come from a different social background from the religious of the first half of the 20th century. Ministering to Today's World Feeling at home and happy does not mean that they have reached the end of their journey. In fact, they have only begun. And that is why I suggest that there must be some way in which they can be helped to grow. Instinctively and by way of con-naturality, they should be assisted to grow, incorporating what is in accord with their quest and rejecting what is contrary to it. Today's religious come from a different social background from the religious of the first half of the 20th century.4 They bring with them a certain culture and the popular piety with which they have grown up in their homes. During the training period they are filled with a whole range of knowledge. But, once the period of training is over, they try to use as the basis of their ministry the popular piety they carried with them at their entrance.~ This does not work. ~tanuary-February 2002 Abeyasingba ¯ Instilling Christian/Religious Culture Change (rapid, radical, in almost every sphere) and diversity (abundant and bewildering) are unavoidable present-day reali-ties, but Christians have no cause to fear them. By baptism (see Rm 6:3-11) we are participants in the most radical of changes, the death and resurrection of Christ, phenomena that express themselves in a never-ending variety of ways. This reality, how-ever, needs to be instilled more and more into the life and min-istry of religious. In other words, in their response to problems related to all the change and diversity in the world, Christians and especially religious are continually called to return to the Christian mystery of Christ's death and resurrection. Popular piety is inadequate to face the modern world. Popular piety can be seen as "contractual": if one fulfills certain set obligations, then one will grow as a Christian and attain sal-vation. Sometimes this piety may border on the magical: if one does certain things in a certain way, then various desirable results will follow. This approach, still present in the life of many peo-ple, has helped many on the path of holiness. But is it the answer to today's problematic of change and diversity? Is going with the practices of many a help or a hindrance for religious in their life and work with and for others? Today's change and diversity have far-reaching effects. The Christian perspective on this situation might be stated briefly as follows: Human freedom is used and abused, but, no matter what, God remains faithful. The death and resurrection of Christ shows this, and Christians share in it. Their share is in what they do, not merely what they talk about. Jesus, knowing who would betray or deny him, shared a special meal with them. The church continues to remember that, on the night he was betrayed (by his disciples and by us), he took bread and said "Take and eat . " This meal shared with his betrayers--and continued by the community of believers--is the place where we learn how to handle the world in which we live. We learn, not by study, but by doing.We learn, not bj~ logical reasoning so much as by a kind of instinct and connaturality. This doing (in memory of him) is the source of knowledge, knowledge of a unique opportunity for us to turn to the pure victim of our betrayal and find both salvation for ourselves and cordial reciprocity with one another. If we learn by what we do, it follows that there can be no Review for Religious predetermined curriculum. We can only seek or provide set-tings where connaturality and the religious instinct can be evoked and then try to adopt or inculcate a "rationalized asceti-cism," that is, a commitment to continual self-control and dis-cipline over what does not serve our vocation as religious--in other words, engagement in ongoing discernment. The religious instinct and discernment need to work in har-ness. In a variety of settings, rationalized asceticism is only a means. What is primary is the goal, namely, following Christ according to the particular focus of one's institute. A kind of rationalized asceticism, however, could function, not so much by logical reasoning as by instinct and connaturality. The one who joins an institute feels "at home." In that situation, one is helped to rationally understand and discern one's way in the actual world where one lives. Gradually, feeling at home takes on a focus and content. Settings Where Connaturality Can Function By a setting I mean something on the lines of the Santiniketan, the school established in 1901 by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941). That school was meant to be a place where students could absorb the Indian spirit. It was out of the ordi-nary; it had eminent teachers, but few pupils. Yet those few learned something which others did not and made a contribu-tion to India as a whole. Times have changed, but the need remains for us to experience the world existentially and to work out our response in accord with the gospel and the charism of our institute. The extraordinary, if it happens, is something to be thank-ful for. Normal growth takes place in the ordinary situations of life. Growth in religious life occurs best, I think, when religious envision their own life stories (with their own memories, behav-iors, skills, and knowledge) against their faith-vision of their baptism--which made them sharers in the mystery of Jesus Christ dying and rising again. A certain interpretation and synthesis of his own life can perhaps be detected in Pope John Paul's first encyclical, Redemptor hominis (§ 14): Man in the full truth of his existence . . . --in the January-February 2002 Abeyasingba ¯ Instilling Christian/Religious Culture sphere of his own family, in the sphere of society and very diverse contexts, in the sphere of his own nation or people, and in the sphere of the whole of mankind--this man is the primary route that the church must travel in fulfilling her mission: he is the primary and j~tndamental way for the church, the way traced out by Christ himself, the way that leads invariably through the mystery of the incarnation and the redemption. In 1979 (within the first year of his pontificate), during the Mass celebrated in the Oswiecim-Brzezinka (Auschwitz- Birkenau) concentration camp, he said: Can it still be a surprise to anyone that the pope born and brought up in this land,, the pope who came to the See of St. Peter from the diocese in whose territory is situated the camp of Oswiecim, should have begun his first encyclical with the words Redemptor hominis and should have dedicated it as a whole to the cause of man, to the dignity of man, to the threats to him, and finally to his inalienable rights that can so easily be trampled on and annihi-lated by his fellow men?6 John Paul II lived and was educated in the West. Naturally his categories of thought are derived from the Western tradition. Is it not possible, though, for people of the East as well as the West, to see beneath these thoughts of his the process by which he worked through various situations and reached a synthesis that was connatural to him? That is, to see his experience of life in Poland (as worker, stage actor, writer, and so forth), the experience of the concentration camps, the search for the "causes" of the concentration camps, the articulation of the principles of his life, and finally, the synthesis of Christ, the church, and man as all interrelated.7 And this in the first year of his papacy! And now the evening of his life is filled with sym-bolic gestures flowing from that same synthesis--attempts to bring about reciprocal relations among human beings, Christ, and the church--a visit to a synagogue in Rome and to a mosque in Syria, asking pardon of God and of fellow human beings for the sins committed by the church and tendering apologies to the Greek and Ukrainian churches. Review for Religious Experience and Exemplary Religious Behavior Popular piety, as I have said, cannot respond to the present world with its change and diversity. No matter how much one repeats this to new entrants, the response is to point to how well popular piety is doing in pilgrimage centers, among a high percentage of regular churchgoers, among the Christian right, and in various emerging movements. Perhaps they are correct. The majority of Christians are rooted in popular or traditional piety. But is that the climax and high point of the following of Christ? Hardly. Without the interaction of popular piety with its roots in the Christian tradition in a context of continual conversion, does popular piety not dete-riorate into the justification and ratio-nalization of the baser instincts? Well-known preachers advocating a pop-ular and populist piety have been dis-covered to have been leading double lives. Corruption and violence are known as much among "practicing" Christians as among the general population. Religious, too, may experience a dichotomy between their piety and their work, between what they do in church and what they do outside. It can be valu-able to experience it, to have an ordinary job while at the same time trying to fulfill the obligations of a religious.8 This is a common situation for ordinary Christians-- the need to combine work with family life. In ordinary work-places, individuals claim no privileges, but simply share the lot of the others. In such circumstances, people discover the pres-sures that flow from the pace of change and the range of diver-sity that has to be confronted. Confronting the real world of jealousy, fraud, cutthroat com-petition, and intrigue provides an opportunity to reflect care-fully on one's behavioral response in the light of one's Christian commitment. In a study of the attitudes of people working in several private-sector companies in Sri Lanka, the following atti-tudes were measured (on a scale of ten): Among superiors: authoritarian 8, egalitarian 2, and permissive 5; among subor-dinates: rebel i0, cooperation 1, ingratiator 5.9 It is highly likely Popular piety, as I have said, cannot respond to the present world with its change and diversity. January-February 2002 Abeyasingba ¯ Instilling Cbristian/Religious Culture that Christians and religious in similar work situations have adopted similar behavioral patterns. How does such behavior fit in with gospel norms? Is equality not implied in baptism, the root of the religious vocation and of cooperation in the mission of a religious institute? Does the high score for authoritarian attitudes not imply that Jesus' exhortation about the greatest and the least, about the master washing the feet of his disciples, has been forgotten? The question arises: Can a process of"con-scious reflection" for religious be initiated on these lines? Conscious Reflection When young people tell Archbishop Rembert Weakland of Milwaukee that they are having a difficult time understanding what it means to be a Catholic,-he tells them to participate in the Eucharistic celebration with the same parish community every Sunday for six months and, during the same six-month period, to work in a soup kitchen. If they follow these two prac-tices, they will see for themselves what it means to be a Catholic.1° The question posed is conceptual ("understanding"); the remedy suggested is an existential commitment (the Eucharist in the same community, the same soup kitchen, for six months). It leads to a realization that Christian life is about worship and service. Commitment to the same group--but why? Because then one works one's way beyond immediate emotions (sense plea-sure), beyond the true-false dichotomy (intellectual pleasure), and beyond control-or-be-controlled situations (the pleasure of power), towards accepting realities for which no words can be found and tasks which are not directly pleasurable--but all of which, at a deep level, give satisfaction and joy. Following that advice, one avoids a "shopping" mentality; one learns through the drudgery and happiness of one's commitment. Oliver Goldsmith implies this about the parson in his "Deserted Village": "All his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. / As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, / Swells from the vale, and mid-way leaves the storm, / Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,/Eternal sunshine settles in its head" (lines 188-192). The "eternal sunshine" 6f a holiness that brings joy and fulfillment is for all. Religious are meant to pursue holiness Review for Religious with great intensity in the service of all Christians. In the Middle Ages, religious were more prominent in the guidance and accompaniment of the faithful in holiness than priests were.~L "All the faithful of Christ of whatever rank or status are called to the holiness of the Christian life and to the perfection of charity" (LG §40). "Mother Church rejoices at finding within her bosom men and women who more closely follow and more clearly demonstrate the Savior's self-giving by embracing poverty with the free choice of God's sons, and by renouncing their 6wn wills . . ." (LG §42). The point of the "specialized" pursuit of holiness is to bear witness among the followers of Christ that everything should not be cut down to the size of the self, but rather that the self needs to be expanded to recognize and embrace the glory of God man-ifested in the world, in one's fellow humans, and in Christ. Religious Cultural Literacy In the Catholic tradition, faith is a personal adherence to God that involves, inseparably, "free assent to the whole truth that God has revealed" (tides quae). It differs from faith in the Reform tradition, which emphasizes trust and commitment (tides fiducialis). Sometimes the distinction is forgotten. It is important to maintain the difference if one wants to remain rooted in the Catholic tradition. Thus a first requirement would be cultural literacy~2 within the Catholic tradition--in church doctrine, in religious life in general, and in one's own institute in particular. What is needed is a clear and accurate understanding of the truths that one's community shares and the standard of behavior that community members together endorse, as approved by the church. This is not expert knowledge, but simply accurate knowledge. Accuracy is, I think, not too much to ask in an age of computers, where email addresses and Web sit~s have to be keyed in without an error of even a single letter. Beyond an accurate minimum, one can and should, of course, increase one's knowledge, while not necessarily claiming that one always practices the behavior that one endorses. This knowledge and these standards of behavior must, however, be understood as constituting the bottom line without which the present collectivity will not survive as a group. January-February 2002 Abeyasingha ¯ Instilling Christian/Religious Culture This minimum has to be learned by rote. "Learning by heart" is one of the most popular techniques of education in Asia. It has to be tested not just once but periodically. This knowledge and these behavioral standards should be the content of discussions, decisions, and vision statements. Otherwise, indi-viduals might interpret the words to mean exactly what serves their own personal interest within the existing network of roles and relationships. Before entering the novitiate, candidates should be able to move easily and accurately within the idiom and grammar specific to the Catholic tradition. Afterwards, in the novitiate, they can learn the idiom, grammar, and standard of behavior specific to the institute. The Eucharist as Cultural Activity The great formative influence in Christian living and a for-tiori in religious life is the Eucharist and the other sacraments. There is a constant danger in Asia that these sacramental rites may be reduced to the level of popular religion and sometimes even of magic. Two aspects of the Eucharistic celebration are relevant here. First, people should have a basic knowledge of the elements that come together in the liturgy.~3 Second, but far more important, is the actual celebration of the Eucharist. Every Eucharistic celebration includes the great metaphors and images of Christianity. Every celebration has at least seven points of reference--assembly and gathering, table of the word, memo-rial, sacrifice, food for the journey, eschatological reality, and cosmic transformation.~4 Every celebration cannot highlight all these, but the meaning of the celebration is in the reality that is done by the group of believers. The liturgy is not an act of per-sonal piety or a situation for personal devotion. It is of its very nature community building. Even these ordinary actions and realities are sacred, binding the group together in Christ as they do. In Christ, the Eucharist makes the church and the church makes the Eucharist. This imposes a certain style and spirit on the participants.~5 Linked to this style and spirit is a rationalized asceticism, a renunciation of self in order to share the celebration with others. This elementary structure, idiom, and grammar of the liturgy needs, then, to be understood and the liturgy's forma- Review for Religious tive process realized. This formation is also a journey. Its out-line is the Rite of Initiation of Adults,16 which consists of our personal pilgrimage to know ourselves, reflection on the story of other Christians, purification and enlightenment, accepting the mystery, reflecting on the mystery and renewing our lives. Here, in the context of the metaphors and images of the Christian faith remembered and celebrated in the liturgy, can-didates move to total conversion: intellectual (without which there is no growth in under-standing the Christian mystery), moral (with-out which one does not seek to improve one's life), and religious (without which one makes no judgment about the condition of one's own faith). One learns from what one does (the way of action). This has a knowledge dimension in which the memory is recalled and cel-ebrated, a pledge of future glory is given, and devotion is nour-ished for continued Christian living. Christian cultural literacy provides one with the language and communication needed to be part of the Christian tradition as it is at this time in history. Lamentation about what might have been serves little purpose. What possibilities exist within the Asian tradition for carrying the Christian tradition further? While the idiom and grammar of the Christian tradition can be stated and understood briefly, there is a richness of imagery that aims at evoking faith beyond some brief concepts. Take the language of the creed: "I believe in Jesus Christ, [the Father's] only Son, our Lord. He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended into hell. On the third day he rose again. He ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again to judge the living and the dead." Clearly, this profession of faith includes more concrete images than abstract Before entering the novitiate, candidates should be able to move easily and accurately within the idiom and grammar specific to the Catholic tradition. January-February 2002 Abeyasingba ¯ Instilling Christian/Religious Culture concepts. It is perhaps, in this area that Asia would be most com-petent to make a contribution. Possible Asian Enrichments The "text"--the idiom and grammar--remains untouched. Without denying the text, Asia is supremely gifted to enrich the imagery. Jacome Gonsalvez (1676-1742), who is considered an important writer in Sinhala (the local language of Sri Lanka), did not try to reexpress theology in the Sinhala idiom: his the-ology repeats the Scholastics. But, relying on the apocryphal tradition (as regards details of Mary's early years) and on an abundance of imagery drawn from local sources, his work evokes an attitude of respect for the Christian faith even among read-ers of other religious persuasionsY Given the technique of learning the idiom and grammar by heart, the specific Asian contribution would be faith reflection in love--not by negating that idiom and grammar, not by lamenting the shortcomings of history, not by challenging or seeming to defy authority, but by being rooted in our tradition and proposing to our countrymen, especially fellow believers, images and perspectives that serve to enrich their faith. Another element of enrichment is the liturgy. Here we are to find meaning in what we do within our community of believ-ers. But there is the danger of making the liturgical action (com-munitarian of its very nature) an act of private and personal devotion. This is a real danger, and not only in the Christian religion. In Sri Lankan Buddhism, certain innovations, espe-cially the inclusion of the vernacular in a form of devotion (Bodhi Piija), have become popular in a short time. But other (quasi-magical) rites and patterns of popular thinking that were in no way in the mind of the innovator have found their way into the rite.L8 This development has taken place within some twenty-five years. Similarly, Christian Asian religious can offer new perspectives. Most p~:obably, in the Eucharistic prayer of Addai and Mari, there was no narrative of the institution. Would evi-dence of such a liturgical tradition give indication (for the uni-versal church) that the meaning of the liturgical action is in what is done? Asian celebration could give the liturgy an enrich-ment (and sometimes, unfortunately, a deformation). Review for Religious If cultural literacy is an "understanding that follows love and commitment," the liturgy is the celebration that "faith and promise are correlative." The word of God proclaimed to the liturgical assembly is received in faith; its promise is fulfilled today in the midst of the assembly. It is not a question of con-cepts so much as the reality of the commitment. Ever Searching for God The present article considers religious life as a search for God. That search is intense--as intense as the desire of a drown-ing person for air. Growth in the religious life is giving focus and content to that desire in accordance with the Christian tradi-tion (particularly the idiom and grammar of doctrine and litur-gical celebration) and th~ specific charism of the religious institute. The process is within the realm of the ordinary, and the manner is by way of instinct and connaturality. The search occurs in a world permeated by both sin and grace. The vision always involves the death and resurrection of Jesus. In this search, reli-gious in Asia, after identifying the specific contribution they can make, need to make it with courage without jeopardizing com-munion with the universal church. As St. Irenaeus (c. 130-c. 200) wrote, "though languages differ throughout the world, the content of the tradition is one and the same. The churches estab-lished in Germany have no other faith or tradition, nor do those of the Iberians, nor those of the Celts, nor those of the East, of Egypt, of Libya.''19 Yet there has to be a distinct element in the manner in which the faith is lived, celebrated, and expressed as spirituality. As Francig de Sales (1567-1622) has said, "the prac-tice of devotion must differ for the gentleman and the artisan, the servant and the prince, for the widow, young girl, or wife. Further, it must be adapted to their particular strength, cir-cumstances, and duties: . True devotion never causes harm, but rather perfects everything we do."2° Notes ~ It was reported in Newsweek (21 May 2001) that scientists dis-covered in 1981 a humpback whale creating waves with its tail to trap fish. That innovation of a single reported case is now said to have spread to half the humpback whale population. January-February 2002 Abeyasingba ¯ Instilling Christian/Religious Culture 2 John Henry Newman, An Essay in Aid of a Grammar of Assent (Garden City: Image Books, 1955), p. 260. Some examples provided by Newman of how this sense of natural inference works are worth recording: "A peasant who is weather wise may yet be simply unable to assign intelligible reasons why he thinks it will be fine tomorrow; and, if he attempts to do so, he may give reasons wide of the mark, but that will not weaken his own confidence in his prediction. His mind does not proceed step-by-step, but he feels all at once and together the force of various combined phenomena though he is not conscious of them. Again, there are physicians who excel in the diagnosis of com-plaints, though it does not follow from this that they could defend their decision in a particular case against a brother physician who dis-puted it. They are guided by natural acuteness and varied experience; they have their own idiosyncratic modes of observing, generalizing, and concluding; when questioned, they can but rest on their own authority, or appeal to the future event" (pp. 261-262). 3 Newman, Grammar, p. 264. Thi~ "feeling" of which Newman speaks is "a feeling in the human mind., allied perhaps to that sense of danger which animals exhibit when placed in the vicinity of natu-ral enemies of their race, and which makes birds cower when the hawk is in the air, and beasts tremble when the tiger is abroad in the desert" (p. 264; read pp. 260-299 for a better understanding of this natural inference and illative sense, as propounded by Newman). 4 See N. Abeyasingha, "The Next Generation of Religious in Asia" in Review for Religious 58, no. 6 (November-December 1999): 621-629. 5 Some years ago I was asked by a boy whom a religious in a lead-ing Catholic school was preparing for First Holy Communion whether it was true that, if he were to bite the host, it would bleed. In fact, he asked me this after he had observed me biting the host at a Mass I cel-ebrated. 6 L'Osservatore Romano (English edition, 16 July 1979), p. 6. 7 "In recent times--particularly during the Second Vatican Council--there have been long discussions whether this relationship is theocentric or anthropocentric. There will never be a satisfactory answer to this question if we continue to consider the two terms sep-arately. In fact, Christianity is anthropocentric precisely because it is theocentric, and simultaneously it is theocentric, thanks to its extraor-dinary anthropocentrism. But it is just the mystery of the incarna-tion which, in itself, explains this relationship" (John Paul II, L'Osservatore Romano, English edition, 7 December 1978, p. 1). 8 I am the only Catholic priest working in a state university that has a large majority of Buddhists among staff and students. Over the years I have had to make certain decisions and adopt certain behav-ior patterns in order to practice a minimum degree of Christian wit-ness. Review for Religious 9 See Gunapala Nanayakkara, Public Administration: The Socio- Cultural Milieu (Study Series: Public Administration 88-2, Jayawardenepura: Postgraduate Institute of Management, 1988), p. 10. 10 Cited in William C. Spohn, "The Need for Roots and Wings: Spirituality and Christian Ethics," Theology Digest 47, no. 4 (Winter 2000): 329. 11 See the Catechism of the Catholic Church, §927. See also Sacramentum Mundi, Vol. 4, p. 394: "In Palestine, for example, in the 6th century, the abbot of a monastery exercised penitential discipline even in regard to capital sins. Sometimes little attention was paid to whether the monk-confessor was a priest or layman (as early as the 5th and 6th centuries), but this drew protest from Pseudo-Dionysius. After the Iconoclast controversy (8th century) only the priest-monks had in practice the right to hear confessions." ,2 See E.D. Hirsch Jr., Cultural Literacy (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1987) and The Dictionary of Cultural Literacy (1988). 13 See Dennis C. Smolarski, Liturgical Literacy from Anamnesis to Worship (New York: Paulist Press, 1990). ~4 See Kevin Irwin, "Models of the Eucharist," Origins 31, no. 3 (31 May 2001): 33-44. ~s See Aidan Kavanagh, Elements of Rite: A Handbook of Liturgical Style (Bangalore: NBCLC, 1996); Dennis C. Smolarski, How Not to Say Mass: A Guidebook for All Concerned about Authentic Worship (New York: Paulist Press, 1986). 16 See J.D. Dunning, "The Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults: Model of Adult Growth," Worship 53 (March 1979): 142-156. See N. Abeyasingha, Towards Contextualizing Theology with a CSsR Bias (Bangalore: Joint Secretariats, 1990), pp. 80-95. ~7 There is a precedent for this kind of reading, reflection, and interpretation of the Christian tradition. Very early in the New Testament, there was a Christological interpretation of the Exodus (1 Co 10:1-4). Aphraates (260/275-345), the oldest Syrian father, wrote: "Jesus the son of Nun led the people over to the promised land. Jesus our Savior promised the land of life to all who, passing over the true river Jordan, have believed and are circumcised in their hearts" (Dem 11, 12). The title "physician" is applied to Jesus by Ignatius of Antioch (+ c. 110): "There is one Physician, who is both flesh and spirit, born and not born, who is God in man, true life in death, both from Mary and from God, first able to suffer and then unable to suffer, Jesus Christ our Lord" (Letter to Ephesians 7.2). The early fathers were so rooted in their faith and commitment that their understanding and interpretation of Scripture and doctrine fol-lowed that faith and commitment. Perhaps their interpretation of the January-February 2002 Abeyasingba ¯ Instilling Christian/Religious Culture Scriptures and the tradition may not be endorsed by modern exege-sis, but they still remain a "faith reading in love" of the Scriptures and the Christian tradition. Through narrative, drama, allegory, allit-eration, and other literary devices, they contributed to the faith by evoking it in their fellow believers. It was in this particular and lim-ited way that they contributed to the enrichment of the tradition of other churches. It was a "pedagogy" in the sense that "nothing exists except what God causes to be. "There is nothing, therefore, that is hated by God, nor is there anything hated by the Word. Both are one, both are God" (Instructor of Children 1.8.62.3-4). 18 See Richard Gombrich and Gananath Obeyesekere, Buddhism Transformed: Religious Change in Sri Lanka (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988), pp. 348-410. 19 Adversus Haereses 5.20.1. 2o Introduction to the Devout Life, Part 1, chap. 3. "Attentiveness is the natural prayer of the soul" Nicolas de Malebranche A new resident in the yard: pink stars, in clusters, growing in the hollows of the lawn where the old copper beech roots sank. Four-petaled blossoms, a tube, perhaps, slit four ways and splayed to points, each crayoned pale magenta on the vein, centers barely green, white stamens half an eyelash thick, white pollen feet in the air, visible only an inch from the eye. The buds are tight pink dots, slightly gray, sand-grain small. Alone they'd be invisible. They grow in clusters, three or four rising frrom a claw of six petals, green and spiked as cosmos seeds, opening like orange slices around the straight, slightly furred stem. Doretta Cornell RDC Review for Religious KATHLEEN MCALPIN Conversion: A Summons from the Word of God All conversion happens through a summons from the Word of God. There is an intensity about the word summons ("called with authority or urgency"l) that heightens it beyond a simple call. It poises us to respond. In this instance the summons calls us to a journey of conversion. God's Word comes to us in special moments and in ordinary and unlikely places. The word of God comes in Scripture. It summons us as a personal and communal call to encounter the Mystery of God. The gospel readings abound in calls to deeper faith and more confident hope and to ever effective love of God, neighbor, and all creation. The word of God is God's self-communication, God's love.2 The ultimate word of God's self-communication is the paschal mystery--the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ--a mystery that remains in God's ongoing self-communication. The Letter to the Romans assures us that God's love is poured forth in our hearts (Rm 5:5). We know this mystery as grace, a pers6nal encounter with God. Grace is the word of God, the self-gift of God, telling us of a God with us and3'br us.3 Kathleen McAlpin RSlVl works with theological students at Regis College in its integration-for-ministry and spiritual-direction programs: Regis College; 15 St. Mary Street; Toronto, Ontario; M4Y 2R5 Canada. January-February 2002 conversion process . 40 McAlpin ¯ Conversion The Word of God in Ordinary Places How does the word of God have its origin in natural events and forces? The movie Chocolat offers a good example of how conversion comes in ordinary and unlikely places. For the inhabitants of a storybook town in France, conversion comes in the form of the stranger who opens a chocolate shop. This myth is set in a sleepy but rigidly conservative village in southern France in 1959. Vianne, a young woman of multiethnic background (Latin American and French) arrives in town, her young daughter in tow, hoping to establish a chocolate shop using some secret Mayan chocolate recipes with strange mystical properties, recipes handed down to her by her mother. Vianne has a great compassion for people and a capacity to listen to them. She becomes a catalyst for change. For some in the village, she becomes a healing presence. In others' eyes, however, because she does not share in the Jansenistic spirituality of the Catholic community, she appears scandalous and represents temptation. The word of God has summoned Vi~nne to conversion--in her relationships with the townspeople, through her involvement in the joys and sorrows of the lives about her, and through love. For Vianne also finds love and support in Roux, yet another stranger, whose arrival in town is a further catalyst for conversion not only for Vianne but also for the townspeople. The word of God comes from love. It calls people to love. The word of God came to me in a similar way. At a liturgy at Romero House, a center for refugees in Toronto, I met a refugee couple from Uzbekistan, a country of the former Soviet Union, near Afghanistan. They left because of the extreme religious and political persecution they suffered. Circumstances forced them to leave their two teenage daughters behind. They hoped to bring them to North America soon after their own arrival, but were unaware of all the protocols involved. They now realize they may have to wait for more than a year--if the plan works at all. The deep empathy I felt was a call to be in prayerful solidarity and close community with this couple as they wait in their political dark night. As we prayed at Mass, their presence, their story, haunted me. I united with them as whispers of translation occurred between them during the liturgy. The word of God comes to us in the everyday world of our relationships, in society, and in the mystery called church. The Review for Religious summons to conversion comes in the word of God: from a friend asking for prayers during struggles, in the news of family grief, in the snow falling on cedars, in the call to be patient with an irritating person, in delight at the sun breaking through darkness, in the efforts of racial reconciliation, in the call to reuse and recycle, inthe faith exerted in a trial of doubt, in the hopeful efforts of a community trying to respond to the reign of God. The summons is God's self-communication that reveals what we love. The summons to conversion is a call to find God in all things, and to fall forever in love. "Nothing is more practical than finding God, that is, than falling in love in a quite absolute, final way.''4 In finding God, in falling in love, our lives hope to be changed in a permanent way. In times of doubt and anxiety, we may have many questions about the darkness or seeming nothingness of the world, and the powerlessness of our lives. In times of hope and joy, we often find it simple to seek and to know the living God and discern our response to God with full hearts. In other words, "what you are in love with, what seizes your imagination will affect everything. It will decide what will get you out of bed in the morning, what you will do with your evening, how you will spend your weekends, what you read, who you know, what breaks your heart, and what amazes you with joy and gratitude. Fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything." s What or whom do we love? What seizes our imagination as women and men, as religious, in the church, in the world? What gives us hope in our relationships and in our decisions? Falling in love is more about relationships than it is about issues or agendas. We are seekers of God on a mission. Our God is a living, loving God. Our mission is the dream of God, the reign of God. Our very lives reveal what we have found and with whom we have fallen in love. In grace, a living and loving God is present with us when our hearts are encouraged to respond in trusting relationships. God is with us when our hearts are broken over the unending wars and disasters that envelop our world, the universal suffering of women and children, the oppression of the Our mission is the dream of God, the reign of God. January-February 2002 McAlpin ¯ Conversion earth, and the prejudice regarding those who are "other" by race or culture, poverty or status. God is with us and for us as we endure personal grief with our families and friends. Grace abounds in sorrow and in the amazement of love. God embraces us as we embrace others and our own conversion in the unfolding events of our daily life. Conversion in the Experience of Religious Life The history and the wisdom of our Christian tradition have led us to believe that the only reason for religious life is the experience of God. This experience can come through other forms of life, and ~o there is wisdom in being mutually supportive in our search for the living God. We search for this mystery explicitly in relationships with associates and partners in ministry. This can be done only with oil in our lamps. In her recent book Finding the Treasure, Sandra Schneiders reminds us that religious life is about our quest for God. Our life is about the "one thing necessary":6 being in a loving relationship with God, living our sorrows and joys in the embrace symbolized by the religious vows. As I understand it, the early vow formulas of religious were simpler. Women and men dedicated their lives to the love of God and neighbor and professed this love in one vow. For almost a thousand years, the vow for this self-donation-in- love was "ongoing conversion of life." This vow was a deepening of the first call to conversion, baptism. .Religious life has always been influenced by developments in the world community. By the high Middle Ages, the centuries-old practice of special dedication to God as hermits or cenobites was being carefully studied by Scholastic theologians. They focused especially on three principal practices that had long been identified with that special dedication: celibacy or chastity, poverty or unpossessiveness, and obedience or consciously seeking God's will in one's life. Some of this study went into much detail, sometimes enough to distract people from the original intent of their dedication, namely, seeking God exclusively or following Christ closely. Consecrated life itself came to be thought of and ceremonialized as the life of the (three) vows. For almost eight hundred years now, most orders and congregations have expressed their consecration in terms of those vows. In the early history of Review for Religious the Sisters of Mercy, a fourth vow, service, was included--a vow to care for the poor, the sick, and the uneducated. Similar modifications have occurred in other congregations. Over time the idea of the ongoing conversion of life was lost in some communities of religious life. Or was it? Ongoing Conversion Religious life is an ongoing drama of individual and communal experiences of conversion. Most religious have had numerous experiences summoning them to conversion. They have known the limitations and graces of ministry, personal prayer, friendships, deaths in families and communities, political struggles, retreat experiences, natural disasters, personal and community griefs and joys. In communal conversion they have known the power of the whole gracing them with more ene.rgy than any individual could have imagined. They have experienced a call to a deeper awareness of the connection between Christ and the cosmos. They have known chapters calling for renewed faith in the paschal mystery. They have experienced charisma and resistance in this continuing mystery. Each event summons a response to new life. The life, death, and resurrection moments of our lives continue to reveal the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, the Christ. An early example of my particular experience of this mystery was the use of the word justice in our community. It was quite a political term in the 1960s and early 1970s; born of revolutionary stands, it was quite controversial. At a 1975 prechapter meeting, a vote was taken on the issue. By the grace of God, the acceptance of justice as a topic slipped through by a narrow margin. It was a resurrection moment: the chapter document was ritled "Mercy Looks at Justice." More than twenty-five years later, we gathered to reimagine a new justice structure. It is clear now that justice is not a peripheral issue, but rather the heart of the matter for us. Justice is the very term for the slow, developmental process of conversion in our life of faith. The paschal mystery is interwoven with the conversion of the community. Our current chapter is calling us, as women of the church, to ongoing conversion at the very roots of the spirituality of .~anuary-February 2002 McAlpin ¯ Conversion religious life. We are called to our own conversion as we face the concerns of the earth: multiculturalism, racism, solidarity with the poor. This call comes from no other source but the Source of life, of wisdom, of sophia. Our response connects us with all the religious figures who have gone before us; through them we seek courage and grace. The Spirit of God desires integrity of word and deed even more than we do. We are called and graced--and we are limited by our own weakness--to renew the very structures of our community with the wisdom of justice. Conversion is initiated by God and given as gift. A gift presumes a giver, and for persons of faith the giver is ultimately God. The initiative, the invitation, the summons to conversion is with God. Simply stated, conversion is the movement away from evil and toward good or from one good to a greater good. We trust that through discernment we will learn how to move away from such evils as racism and consumerism and grow in appreciation of all creation and of other cultures, grow in compassionate and just relationships in society and with creation. Three images found in theologies of conversion are helpful when reflecting on a desire for conversion: conversion as God's flooding of hearts through the Holy Spirit, conversion as the awakening of the gifts of the Spirit, and conversion as the loving, compassionate life of Jesus. All three images lead to radical religious conversion of Christian conscience, which ultimately leads us to the loving compassion of the life of Jesus. 44 God Flooding Our Hearts Bernard Lonergan uses the image of God's love flooding our hearts through the Holy Spirit given us in Christ (Rm 5:5).7 He considers conversion as the heart of the Christian life. Conversion, through the work of the Spirit, enables persons to make new judgments and decisions and to .move beyond established horizons into new horizons of knowing, valuing, and acting. Conversion transforms and affects all relationships. "It is not merely a change or even a development; rather, it is a radical transformation on which follows, on all levels of living,~ an interlocked series of changes and developments. What hitherto was unnoticed becomes vivid and present. What had been of no concern is a matter of high import. So great a change in one's Review for Religious apprehensions and one's values accompanies no less a change in oneself, in one's relations to other persons, and in one's relations to God." 8 These changes can be dramatic or slow, intimate but never solitary, concrete and communal, dynamic and ongoing.9 This is consistent with our experience as a community of faith and of the reflections of many of the people encountered in ministry. Conversion "can happen to many, and they can form a community to sustain one another in their self-transformation, [to] help one another in working out the implications and in fulfilling the promise of their new life. Finally, what can become communal can become historical. It can pass from gen-eration to generation. It can pass from one cultural milieu to another. It can adapt to changing new situations, survive into a different age, flourish in another period or epoch." 10 This conviction about conversion engenders hope in current experiences of communal conversion--as a community, among our associates, and with our collaborators. We trust that this grace influences all those in relationship with us from one generation to another. Conversion is initiated by God and given as gift. Awakening to God The second image of conversion is the awakening of gifts of the Spirit that challenge relationships to be mutual and courageous. Awakening is the empowerment of the Spirit of Wisdom. Sophia releases the capabilities of giftedness in the individual and in the communal experience of conversion. Elizabeth Johnson places empowerment and relationships central to her understanding of conversion: "A permanent process of both turning away and turning inward--turning away from all that intellectually, morally, and spiritually keeps one mired in abusive relationships characterized by domination, inti~nidation, fear, or dishonesty and turning toward the unlimited grace of God ever calling us to relationships characterized by mutuality, respect, courage, and truthfulness." ~ January-February 2002 McAlpin ¯ Conversion In this image, conversion is empowerment and affirmation of one's strength and responsibility. It is rooted in women's experience of an excess of self-denial in following the call to conversion. Conversion is the movement toward the discovery and appropriation of the potential gifts within an individual, group, or society. As women of the church, we are summoned to discover the gifts necessary to be converted in solidarity with the poor, to value multiculturalism, to eliminate racism, and to act in harmony with all of creation. Our summons is a word of God calling us to appropriate our gifts in the name of Christ for the sake of the reign of God. The Loving, Compassionate Life of Jesus From the conversion experience of Thomas Merton, it is clear that Christian conversion reorients a person's whole life to the truth, value, love, and experience of God as brought to us in Christ. The fruit of conversion in the life of Merton was a transformation of conscience to loving compassion. As Walter Conn says, "the personal measure of Christian living, therefore, is the conscience which has experienced a Christian conversion at once cognitive, affective, moral, and religious. Only a person thus converted is fully and concretely sensitive to the loving life of Jesus. In Merton's life we discovered again the fundamental gospel truth that lies at the heart of Christian tradition: The radical religious conversion of Christian conscience finds its fullest realization in loving compassion--the self-transcending perfection of human empathy and justice. In its total surrender such religious conversion radically relativizes the moral autonomy of Christian conscience." 12 As followers of the gospel, we are summoned to a life of self-transcendence lived in a life of empathy and justice. In the life of Merton, we see that contemplation liberates the conscience for conversibn. Self-transcending love is found to be at the heart of the holistic development of the converted Christian. The fruit of conversion is compassion born of reflection on the life of Jesus. In community we hear of many who are willing to surrender to the needs of the others and thus be a part of the struggle for world freedom. The mystery of Christ is seen through contemplation of suffering and through reflection on the cross Review for Religious and the resurrection of Christ. Though we retain the freedom to refuse God's summons, any movement toward conversion is already the movement of God's grace within us. As I listen to stories in ministry, I frequently hear of how people are changed through events not of their own making, through persons and situations that were beyond their control. Conversion is grace. Conversion as Grace In Sacred Scripture we see grace offered in the prophetic calls to repentance and intimate love. John the Baptist made such calls, and, of course, Jesus did too. In Mark the first words of Jesus are a proclamation of the good news and a call to conversion: "The time is fulfilled and the reign of God has come near. Be converted and believe in the good news" (Mk 1:15). Matthew speaks of "seeking" God, or the reign of God, as the beginning of conversion. Jesus may have sought this experience at his baptism: "Jesus was not renouncing his sinfulness, but was taking his place with all those in. Israel who were saying: 'We are ready, Lord; please make this the moment of your Messianic salvation.'" ,3 In this, Jesus may have been responding to a call to a kind of conversion: "Jesus' experience at his baptism, so far as it can be recovered from the gospel records, seems in many respects akin to the effects of a sudden conversion. There was a sudden and intense personal experience of God. There was a new awareness of personal status with God, a call to a new way of life and acceptance of that call. There was, in fact, a reorientation of his whole personality.''14 Such an experience of God can have a transforming effect on a person's life.'5 While contemplating his baptism, Jesus heard the Spirit of God assuring him, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with whom I am well pleased" (Lk 3:22). Through this prayer, Jesus experienced an unconditional acceptance of God. Grounded in this religious experience, Jesus reorganized his life for the sake of Matthew speaks of "seeking" God, or the reign of God, as the beginning of conversion. January-February 2002 McAlpin ¯ Conversion the .reign of God. He moved from one way of living to another: "He gave up an earlier aiad long-standing way of life as no longer satisfactory, in order to take~ up a new and perilous way of life that now seemed to him imperative.''16 Through the conversion at his baptismal experience, Jesus turned to his mission of public ministry by affirming the reign of God. Elaine Wainwright notes that the reign of God is "the just and righteous purpose of God for all humanity.''~7 She says that after his baptism Jesus continued the mission of announcing this vision of God, which entails hearing, understanding, and doing God's word (Mr 13:23). Jesus enfleshed this vision in his compassionate encounters with those considered least (Mt 25:40).18 Called to a prophetic role, Jesus proclaimed a confidence in God's activity and lived within the reign of God. Jon Sobrino describes his acts and gestures: "His most fundamental gesture is taking sides with human beings in a concrete situation where the existing political religious structure has dehumanized people . Jesus does all he can to concretize and make present real love as the quintessence of the kingdom." 19 The story of the Canaanite woman illustrates a conversion in Jesus' public ministry (Mt 15:21-28). This woman is an ethnic and religious outsider in Israel. She pleads with Jesus for mercy for herself and healing for her daughter. At first Jesus does not respond to her; he understands his mission to be to the Israelites. The disciples, lacking understanding and compassion, want Jesus to get rid of her. Persistent, she continues to appeal to Jesus for help. As he listens to her, he is moved to enter into deeper discussion and uses a familiar parable to oppose her request. He refuses her plea for help with the image of the family's bread not being meant for dogs. Picking up on the image, the woman asks for crumbs from the master's table, thus boldly claiming a share in the reign of God that Jesus proclaims. Jesus is moved by her faith and expands the boundaries of his ministry to include the Gentiles. And so it is that Jesus, through dialogue with an outsider and a woman, sees his God-given mission changed to a greater inclusiveness. This decision of compassionate love comes from a summons through relationship. God is revealed through-others. In relationships we know and experience God. In his relationship with the Canaanite woman, we see Jesus Review for Religious emotionally engaging the spirit of the woman as she challenges his position. He realizes that he has to be responsible to this new interpersonal relationship. His decision is a moral choice within a sociopolitical and religious setting. His discernment is based on a wider understanding of the reign of God. This story gives evidence that even Jesus had a kind of conversion upon receiving a word-of-God summons through someone else's plea for mercy. The Principle of Conversion When we engage in a life of merciful love, when we place ourselves in situations where we work for and develop relationships with others, such relationships begin to include compassion. As this compassion deepens, it leads us to a greater justice. When systems and strategies meet an impasse, we are led into the deeper mystery of Christian love. Conversion to mercy is not primarily about doing specific works. It is an attitude, a horizon of being, or what Jon Sobrino calls a principle. The "principle of mercy is a fundamental attitude at the root of every human interaction," which then "affects all subsequent interactions." The principle of mercy "becomes justice" by engaging all levels of energy: intellectual, religious, scientific, and technological.2° Mercy animates a conversion that leads to changes in relationships, changes in thinking, acting, and believing. Sobrino learned an amazing truth through the martyrdom of his brother Jesuits and the women who worked with them. He now believes that nothing is as "vital in order to live as a human being than to exercise mercy on behalf of cn~cified people, and that nothing is more humanizing than to believe in the God of Jesus.''21 The exercise of mercy becomes a quality of being in all who engage in merciful justice. In discerning mercy as justice, we are summoned to share in the life of the Word of God, to fall in love, and, through ongoing Christian conversion, to live forever. Notes Gage Canadian Dictionary (Toronto: Gage Publishing Co., 1983). Karl Rahner, Foundations, trans. William V. Dych (New York: Seabury Press, 1978), p. 127. January-February 2002 McAl~in ¯ Conversion 3 Karl Rahner, Nature and Grace (New York: Sheed and Ward, 1963), pp. 24-26. 4 Attributed to Pedro Arrupe, superior general of the Jesuits from 1965-1983. s Attributed to Pedro Arrupe. 6 Sandra M. Schneiders, Finding the Treasure (Mahwah: Paulist Press, 2000), pp. 37-39. 7 Bernard J.E Lonergan, Method in Theology (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1971), p. 105. 8 Walter E. Conn, Conversion: Perspectives on Personal and Social Transformation (New York: Alba House, 1978), p. 13. 9 Conn, Conversion, p. 45. 10 Conn, Conversion, p. 45. 11 Elizabeth Johnson, She l.Vho Is: The Mystery of God in Feminist Theological Discourse (New York: Crossroad, 1993), p. 64. 12 Walter E. Conn, Christian Conversion: A Developmental Interpretation of Autonomy and Surrender (New York: Paulist Press, 1986), p. 268. 13 Demetrius Dumm, Flowers in the Desert: A Spirituality of the Bible (New York: Paulist Press, 1987), p. 28. ~4 Donald Gray, "Was Jesus a Convert?" Religion in Life 43 (Winter 1974), citing Hugh Montefiore, Awkward Questions on Christian Love (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1964), p. 449. ,s Conn, Conversion, p. 215. 16 Gray, "Was Jesus a Convert?". p. 449. ,7 Elaine Wainwright, "The Gospel of Matthew," in Elizabeth Schiissler Fiorenza, ed., Searching the Scriptures: A Feminist Commentary (New York: Crossroad, 1994), p. 636. ~8 Ibid, p. 637. 19jon Sobrino, Christology at the Crossroads (New York: Orbis Books, 1978), p. 92. 20 Donald L. Gelpi SJ, The Turn to Experience in Contentporary Theology (New York: Paulist Press, 1994), p. 134. 21 Jon Sobrino, The Principle of Mercy: Taking the Crucified People from the Cross (New York: Orbis Books, 1994), p. 10. Review for Religious STEVE WLUSEK Seminary Formation and Lonergan's Conversion Theory i~arpe~P diem! Seize the day! Make your lives something ~ remarkable!" With these words Robin Williams's char-acter in the movie Dead Poets' Society begins to inspire his students not to just go through the paces of the educational system, but to make something of their time in school and of their very lives. He evokes their conversion from apathetic docil-ity to active participation in their own education. At turning points such as this, people begin to discover their own identity and mission. Bernard Lonergan's theory of conversions can illu-minate such personal development, anyone's, but here my focus is on seminary formation. Lonergan identifies four main conversions in life: moral, affec-five, critical moral, and religious.1 Each of these conversions opens people to a deeper awareness of their true self and brings about greater self-transcendence, allowing true relationships to develop with other people and especially with God. Lonergan bases his theory of conversions on the concept that everyone is self-cen-tered to some degree and that everyone's growth must begin from that point.2 From my perspective of ministering to many people in both parish and seminary, I have seen a number of degrees of self-centeredness. Steve Wlusek, a diocesan priest, is a faculty member of his diocese's St. Peter's Seminary; 1040 Waterloo Street; London, Ontario; N6A 3Y1 Canada. January-February 2002 Wlusek ¯ Seminary Formation A brief description of these conversions of Lonergan's will, I think, elucidate the validity of his theory for the ministry of seminary formation. Lonergan defines conversion as a fateful call to a dreaded holiness, an about-face by which we move into a radically new horizon, a personal entrance of God into our life and history, a communication of God to us.3 A person's con-version does not just happen; rather, it is a fundamental choice: "Conversion is a change of direction and, indeed, a change for the better. One frees oneself from the unauthentic. Harmful, dangerous, misleading satisfactions are dropped. Values are apprehended where before they were overlooked. Scales of pref-erence shift."4 Moral conversion is "choosing value as the criterion of one's life.''s In undergoing this form of conversion, one realizes that there is more than oneself that needs to be protected and respected. One's sensitivity is changed from wanting one's own life to be fair, to wanting justice for others and realizing that one has an obligation to work toward providing that justice. Moral conversion, therefore, is an impetus to move outside of oneself, which stretches that self to becoming other-conscious. Lonergan likens affective conversion to falling in love. Whereas moral con-version moves a person to be concerned for the well-being of others, affective conversion arouses one to be so moved regard-ing the other's well-being that one's entire orientation shifts to a concern which is expressed in action. Affective conversion involves not only the possibility of committing oneself to a course of active servi~e of another, but also the ability to execute that decision over the long haul.6 Lonergan identifies critical moral conversion as changing one's standard for personal orientation. Those who undergo this conversion come to a healthy sense of the sacred within themselves. They do not need to look somewhere else beyond themselves to discover what is real or valuable; they accept the validity of their own judgment. During the gradual process of their personal development and their prudently increasing autonomy, they reach a crucial point. They discover that their own judging and deciding affect them no less than the objects of their judgments and decisions. They realize that they are respon-sible for what they make of themselves, and that their choices are crucial in the process of becoming authentic persons.7 Review for Religious Through religious conversion, one falls in love with God and surrenders oneself completely to God. This conversion moves one to live with this attitude: "Whatever you want for me, God, I want it too." Lonergan portrays the one who has been trans-formed through this religious conversion as being "a subject in love, a subject held, grasped, possessed, owned through a total and so an other-worldly love.''8 Religious conversion creates a basic consciousness that enables one to appreciate all as gift from God. This consciousness impacts how one views oneself, one's situation, and one's role in the human condition.9 In mov-ing out of oneself to embrace God in religious conversion, then, one also lovingly em-braces other people, sensing their Beloved dwelling therein. Lonergan's theory of con-versions can have constantly renewed application, for the Christian life is one of ongoing conversion, with people's lives seldom following his theory once and for all, neatly, step-by-step. Ongoing conversions, relevant as they are for people in general, are relevant also for seminar-ians and those who assist in their discernments on their path toward the priesthood. Using composite portraits of three sem-inarians, I hope to show how Lonergan's theory may be of help. The first of these three, John, had a sense of conversion at around the age of twelve. He had for several years been a server at parish Masses and had a deep admiration for his parish priest. John saw in him a man of Eindness and deep faith and love for God. As John served at the altar with this priest, and watched him minister, he came to a growing awareness that he wanted to be a priest just like his pastor, dedicating his life to serving God. His parents were eager about the prospect of their son becom-ing a priest. John entered the minor seminary at age thirteen. John has completed his college studies and is now studying the-ology in the major seminary. Although John is ardent in his prayer and during liturgies, he seems deficient in some of his relationships. He comes late for class and other formation group Lonergan identifies critical moral conversion as changing one's standard for personal orientation. January-February 2002 Wlusek ¯ Seminary Formation events, and he shows little respect for his peers. He and a friend from his hometown talk exclusively to each other at meals, ignoring the other seminarians nearby. Lonergan's theory reveals that John may have experienced a moral conversion, which set him on the path to serving God as a priest, but he still seems to need an affective conversion so as to have much more respect and compassion for others. Peter, another seminarian, was very much involved in his parish before entering the seminary. He experienced conver-sion through youth retreat weekends, which seemed to change his life. Since these weekends, he has served in many ways through his parish youth ministry: visiting nursing homes, vol-unteering at a soup kitchen, and packing boxes in his local food bank. In his seminary activities he does tremendous service at his field-education placement. His supervisor reports that he is looked up to by everyone at the center and that the physically challenged people he works with look forward to his visits with them. Although all of this is true and highly commendable, Peter's behavior in the seminary community is less than could be desired. He forgets his duties to read or serve at Eucharist, he gives people who disagree with him the silent treatment, and he snubs those who are not in his select group of friends. Peter seems to have undergone moral and affective conversions: he has been moved to work for the care of others and for justice towards them. Peter, however, has compartmentalized this awareness; it pertains only to those outside his immediate com-munity. He is eager to go out of the building to do outreach, yet he fails to recognize opportunities for outreach right in the hall-way where he lives. The third seminarian, Mark, entered the seminary after graduating from university and working in a respected career for several years. While engaged in this career, which involved help-ing others, he came to a realization that what he was doing was not enough. Even though he was helping pgople, he felt he could help them only materially. He came to understand deeply that God was calling him to use his intelligence and ability to help people not only materially but spiritually. Currently, in the seminary, Mark quietly serves others and looks after the needs of sick seminarians and those overly stressed by their studies. He does so in a quiet manner, seeking no recognition or praise. He Review for Religious goes to his parish field-education placement eagerly, seeing an opportunity for the kind of service to which he feels God is calling him. While others complain around the meal table about the food or about the workload they are under, never is "heard a discouraging word" from Mark. He has lived on his own and has done plenty of work in his former career. In the chapel he is often found in prayer or reading books from the spiritual masters. Mark is a man of self-assuredness, maturity, and desire for God. He seems to have undergone moral, affective, and crit-ical- moral conversions. I believe that Mark and the other semi-narians mentioned have experienced different degrees of religious conversion as well. All of them, however, still need further growth toward a complete yes to God (as we all do). Understanding the level to which seminarians have under-gone these conversions is crucial in the role of seminary for-mation. Part of the role of seminary formators is to discern, with other faculty members, candidates' readiness to progress further in the formation program. Lonergan's theory of con-versions can help tremendously in this work. Awareness is the first step towards action. By being more aware of the levels of seminarians' conversion, we will be able to identify areas in which we can help them grow. The saying that "faith is caught and not taught" is good to remember when reflecting on our seminarians' conversions. It is not simply the teaching of the-ology that will evoke a personal about-face. We need to foster various circumstances wherein conversion may be experienced: in supportive and nurturing encounters of spiritual direction, in open and mutually respectful formation-group dialogues, in teaching filled with dynamism and conviction, in field education and theological reflection which help students reflect on the needs of people in their community, in experiences of working with the poor, and in celebrations of liturgies that are inspiring and affectively moving. The teacher in Dead Poets' Society took seriously his respon-sibility to motivate his students to make their lives remarkable. Through the insight gained from Bernard Lonergan's theory of conversions, we can appre.ciate in a new way our role in priestly formation to discern the status of candidates' conversion life and to present them with opportunities for deeper conver-sion, so they can make of their lives what they were made for. January-February 2002 Wlusek ¯ Seminary Formation Through these experiences of faith, nurture, and co~nmunity, seminarians will be able not only to come to deeper conver-sion, but to embrace more fully their true identities in union with God. Notes 1 Bernard Lonergan, Method in Theology (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1990), p. 238. 2 Walter E. Conn, The Desiring Self(New York: Paulist Press, 1998), p. 67. 3 Lonergan, p. 113. 4 Lonergan, p. 52. s Conn, p. 118. 6 Conn, p. 121. 7 Mary Kay Kinberger MSC, Lonergan on Conversion: Applications for Religious Formation (New York: Peter Lang, 1992), p. 38. 8 Lonergan, p. 240. 9 Kinberger, p. 46. January January blizzards on the heels of Christmas. Winter grips the snow-encrusted land with the iron determination Grandma whipped egg whites into stiff miniature Alpine peaks. The time of rushing has passed. No birds sing joyously. Nor do dogs bark with gusto. Last year's wild roses have long gone into seed. It is a season for me to listen: maybe to a heartbeat, an old man fingering his worn beads. Or, in my moments of stillness, hear the whisper of the Epiphany Child inviting me go out into the cold and visit those who are old, grieving, sick, and forgotten. Richard Heatley Review for Religious PATRICIA ANN LAMOUREUX AND PAUL ZILONKA The Workers in the Vineyard: Insights for the Moral Life Bracelets with the letters WWJD are popular these days. They are meant to remind the wearer and others to keep asking What Would Jesus Do? This practice assumes that we can fairly quickly see or reason to what Jesus would do in response to the moral dilemmas of life in 2 lst-century America. It ought not surprise us that these bracelets are promoted more by evangelical groups than by those who take more seriously the challenge of modern biblical exegesis and hermeneutics. In light of the Second Vatican Council's call to develop moral theology in accordance with the biblical vision, Catholic moral theologians have given the relationship of Scripture and ethics increased scholarly attention.1 Increased knowledge, however, has led to greater appreciation for the complexity of the task. Although constructive proposals for relating Scripture and ethics are still only being tested, many people nowadays are better prepared to avoid facile answers and improve inadequate ones. In this essay we try to discern ethical implications of the parable about the workers in the vineyard (Mt moral insight Patricia Ann Lamoureux teaches moral theology and Paul Zilonka CP teaches Scripture at St. Mary's Seminary and University; 5400 Roland Avenue; Baltimore, Maryland 21210. ~tanuary-February 2002 Lamoureux and Zilonka ¯ The Workers in the Vineyard In Galilee at that time, there were three types of relationship pertaining to work: patronage, exploitation, or cooperation. 20:1-16). The story disconcerts many people's sense of jusfce. We undertake this task with recognition of the danger of selecting one text from "a rich symphony of literary forms . . composed of a chorus of voices speaking out of a variety of historical and cultural contexts and a number of theological perspectives and addressing a broad spectrum of moral questions.''2 While focusing on the vineyard parable, we are not attempting to reduce this "rich orchestration" to a "simple melody line.''3 Nor are we suggesting that this story somehow contains all that Scripture has to say about morality in general or justice in particular. We approach the parable in three steps: (1) investigating the original set-ting and meaning of the parable (the exegetical task); (2) assessing how to appropriately employ this parable within the various levels of moral reflection (the methodological task); (3) interpreting the meaning of the parable for our contemporary situation (hermeneutical task).4 Let us begin with the parable: For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard. After agreeing with the laborers for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his vineyard. When he went out about nine o'clock, he saw others standing idle in the marketplace, and he said to them, "You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is just." So they went off. When he went out again about noon and about three o'clock, he did the same. And about five o'clock he went out and found others standing around, and he said to them, "Why are you standing here idle all day?" They said to him, "Because no one has hired us." He said to them, "You also go into my vineyard." When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his foreman, "Call the laborers and give them their pay, beginning with the last and then going to the first." When those hired about five o'clock Review for Religious came, each of them received the usual daily wage. Now when the first came they thought they would receive more, but each of them also received the usual daily wage. And when they received it, they grumbled against the landowner, saying, "These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat." But he replied to one of them, "Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous? So the last will be first, and the first will be last." (Mt 20:1-16) Exegetical Task In this section we explore what the parable meant to the people who first heard or read it. It is possible and even likely that Jesus' original audience, and Matthew's community too, included people of the social class of the vineyard .owner (landholders, merchants, entrepreneurs) as well as employed and unemployed workers. In lst-century Galilee, harvest time in a vineyard was fraught with tension. When the crop was ready, there could be no delay. All hands were needed to bring in the fruit at the peak of maturity. Also, the condition of day labor in the Hellenistic-Roman world was dreadful. The employer of the ancient world was master of his money; he could do with it as he chose. Commonly, employers looked in the marketplace of the city for unemployed men hoping to be hired. The agreement with those called at dawn was for "the usual daily wage" in that agrarian context. These men worked for whatever the employer was willing to pay, usually subsistence wages at the lowest level for a day's work. As the day went on, more laborers were needed. Thus we can understand the repeated excursions of the owner of the vineyard back to the town square seeking extra workers, even as the day waned. These others were promised what was "just," but the amount remained unspecified.5 In Galilee at that time, there were three types of relationship pertaining to work: patronage, exploitation, or cooperation. The January-February 2002 Lamoureux and Zilonka ¯ The Workers in the Vineyard latter would seem to explain the parable in regard to the workers of the first hour and those of the subsequent hours too. They agree to cooperate in doing the work for a stipulated amount, "the daily wage" for the first group and "what is just" for the latter groups. They are day workers rather than those enjoying the pati'onage relationship, which has a more permanent quality. Nor are they being exploited as slaves.6 Yet they grumble when workers hired at the 'end of the day receive the full daily wage. Over the years many people have been upset by the logic of the landowner, startled by what seems to be his "unbusinesslike" behavior. Those hired in the last moments of the workday could hardly have hoped for more than a small fraction of what the first would receive. After all, they had worked so little. The vineyard owner's payments take

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